If You Want to Sing Out

Seven or eight years ago on Hickory Drive in Maplewood, a man named Ford met a guy named Tim at a big, multi-family bar-b-que. As the general chaos and cacophony of children and dogs swirled around them, they began talking and learned that, lo and behold, they had nothing in common-- except that they both liked to play music. Ford ran home to get his guitar and Tim sidled up to the piano inside and within minutes, the low-grade, disembodied hysteria of the b-b-que ceased. Michael Steiner, the host, remembers, “The kids stopped running and started dancing. And there we were; kids and parents in the same room dancing, playing and singing together. It was amazing.”

That gave Michael the idea of hosting a Hootenanny. So, that May, he invited 100 or so neighbors and friends to his home for a musical party. The caveat was that at least one member from each family had to perform; had to share something. He ended up with 30-40 acts, a huge success, and the party’s been an annual event ever since.

Out of that a second musical event was born—this one for adults. At the first “Jam”, as it was dubbed, “eight folks stayed up until 2am,” Michael said, “everyone singing, harmonizing and playing something. We kept trying to go home and then someone would think of another song. After that I began putting a book of lyrics and chords together for folks to choose from.” That was five years ago. Now the lyrics and chords are projected on the living room wall in Ford’s house. Michael continued, “25 folks cram in—29 of them playing guitar. Everyone is very humble about their abilities, but there’s a lot of terrific talent in the room.”

I asked Michael about the talent and he said it’s everything you can imagine. “Dave is semi-professional, Mark worked in the music business, and Nerissa played classical piano growing up and has since learned uke. Christine had a band in college and Cat just learned the ukulele, too.” “What about you?” I asked. “I had two or three years of sax in middle school.” “That’s it?” “That’s it. I just started teaching myself the guitar in the last nine years. I figured that far stupider people than me have figured this out. How hard can it be?”

The night I was invited to a Jam at Ford’s house, there were fifteen or so folks in attendance; eight of them had walked. We weren’t crammed. Well, maybe a little. There were keyboards and drums set up plus big standing bongos in the corner. People streamed in the door carrying ukuleles, mandolins and banjos as well as guitars and basses. As coats were peeled off and plopped in a pile in the foyer, the energy grew. People were excited to sing and play; they’d booked their sitters and had been looking forward to this for months. There was a generous bar set up in the kitchen and plenty of snacks in the dining room, but this wasn’t about that. This was about playing music. Ford got things going; he was their leader. “You’ve got to have a leader,” Michael said, “or else things just break down. We used to be so bad. Someone would start a song and then not know the words and it would peter out and be so deflating. We’ve learned from that.”

The night I was there, there was a pretty smooth method to the madness, I thought. Someone called out a song, Michael found it in his computer and threw it up on the wall, then Ford counted us off and we flew. Most of the choices tended to be fun harmonizing songs—Beatles, Eagles, CSN, Monkees—and all the choices resonated with the 37-47 year old crowd. Like them or not, there are songs that we can’t help knowing after growing up with Top 40 radio, and we delighted in singing The Carpenters, Fleetwood Mac, Elvis Costello and Earth, Wind and Fire. I was surprised to discover how many verses I knew by heart.

“I don’t know why more people don’t do this,” Michael said, “All you need is one decent musician to lead a song. The lyrics and chords are all online. You print them out or project them on the wall. It doesn’t cost anything. And you get to feel like you’re in a band for a night. Sit next to someone harmonizing and you feel like a million dollars.” Michael was right. It was so easy and so darn much fun; all of us singing our hearts out to melodies which had woven themselves into our DNA when we were young and still growing. I sang harmonies for a while and then spied the tall, lonely bongos in the corner. I hopped over and stood behind them at the start of a Talking Heads tune that begged for percussion. Although I’d never drummed before, the riffs and rhythms came out of me like a nursery rhyme I’d learned as a child. I was having so much fun I felt I could have lifted off the ground and flown. I’m still growing, I thought, and I felt like a million dollars.