c.
2019 Rod Ice
All
rights reserved
(7-19)
I
owe it all to Gazette Newspapers.
In
this column, I have previously observed that my first encounter with
Matt Boland and his lively Rockabilly group came as something of a
happy accident. Like a wandering brushstroke in a Bob Ross painting.
I was employed as Sports Editor for Gazette Newspapers, out of
Jefferson, Ohio. An extra responsibility with this position involved
creating content for special sections included with our publications.
In particular, writing music features. It was a labor of love for
someone raised in a household filled with records and tuneful
instruments of all kinds.
Seeking
a local Blues combo for an upcoming feature, I visited the Conneaut
Sock Hop in 2007. I had not been in that city since the 1980’s,
when helping out the floor crew at a local Fisher’s Big Wheel
department store. Something I did as part of my employment in
Chardon. So I had little idea of what to expect. But after circling
the downtown area, I parked on a side street and entered the
festivities with my camera and reporter’s notebook in hand.
On a
flatbed stage across the street were young musicians who performed an
energetic version of a Buddy Holly song. They immediately captured my
attention. But the name of their group sounded unfamiliar. They were
‘Matty B and the Dirty Pickles.’ I checked my notes to be sure.
Yet their sound was infectious. I stood on the tarmac, tapping my
foot.
“Maybe
baby, I’ll have you
Maybe
baby, you’ll be true
Maybe
baby, I’ll have you for me
It’s
funny honey, you don’t care
You
never listen to my prayer
Maybe
baby, you will love me some day...”
Rock
& Roll revivalists
were plentiful. But this young celebrity
was channeling the energy of a bygone era through a nimble, elfish
body not yet diminished by time and fatigue. He leaped around the
stage, strummed hard on his vintage-style guitar, and eventually
jumped off the drum kit with a flash of acrobatic
showmanship.
The
encounter brightened my summer in a way only true art could achieve.
Back
at the office in Jefferson, my main duty was to report about
popular activities like baseball, golf, and local auto races. But I could think about little
else than
this energetic new band from Erie, Pennsylvania. A group that seemed
to transcend the time elapsed between the rise of beloved 1950’s
pioneers and the 21st
Century. I wrote various stories for the newspaper company about
their shows. Eventually, I witnessed Matt in a production of the
Buddy Holly Story at a theater in Erie. In a sense, this experience
capped my long-term fascination with his work. When meeting his
mother, Valerie, I noted that our backgrounds were similar. It
deepened my affection for all things ‘Pickled.’
“Well
you are the one that
Makes
me glad
Any
other one that
Makes
me sad
And
when some day
You
want to leave
Well
I’ll be there
Wait
and see-hee...”
Through
the magic of social media, I was able to remain in touch with Matt
Boland even after leaving Gazette Newspapers. His career arc proved
to be fascinating as he became ‘Broke Boland’ and broadened his
repertoire. He graduated from the visceral appeal of roots music, to
social consciousness and commentary. I felt somewhat like a parent,
watching him mature through each stage to the next. Meanwhile, my own
progression went from focusing on career goals, to unemployment,
health issues, unexpected early retirement, and a personal review
that brought me once again to the joy of writing as a noble craft.
Matt
left for New York City, where he encountered the strong brew of
cultural and intellectual diversity available in a world-class
community. A complex brine that seasoned him with artistic flavor. I
noted that he was no longer merely an upstart kid from humble
beginnings. He had truly grown into a keeper-of-the-flame. A
troubadour in the old tradition. Part jester, part crooner, part
storyteller and historian. One who carried the best hope of Rock
music forward.
With
much anticipation, I read messages from him
and Valerie about the Dirty Pickles evolution into a band with more
members, and a greater variety of sounds. They were scheduled to
appear at the Conneaut Sock Hop once again.
I
pondered that it had been a dozen years since our first encounter.
The
event in Ohio’s easternmost corner evoked familiar sights and
sounds of Americana at its best. A colorful display of postwar hope
and achievement. Our return to prominence after defending the cause
of freedom around the globe. Our struggle to put right the misdeeds
of our founders
through cultural interaction. Our stylish, wheeled beasts, literally
rolling sculptures, that portrayed the ingenuity and diversity of
this nation. Our love of
plectrum tones and bare-bones jump and jive.
This
happening provided a friendly backdrop to witness a resurrection of
the Pickledelic sound.
“Maybe
baby, I’ll have you
Maybe
baby, you’ll be true
Maybe
baby, I’ll have you for me
Maybe
baby, I’ll have you for me.”
While
listening to the band work through their roster of songs, I conversed
with mom Valerie. My eyes grew wide when she spoke about life from a
perspective that was both challenging and familiar. Her own routine
being stretched by the forces of nature taking hold, while Matt and
her daughter Cara pursued their ambitions with youthful zeal. My head
nodded in
understanding. As it was during our encounter so many years before,
we seemed to be on a similar path.
Afterward,
I hobbled back up Main Street toward my vehicle. Pausing to snap
photos of vintage cars and bikes with my cellphone. Leaning on my
cane. Feeling grateful for a prevailing breeze that muted the
blossoming of summer temperatures.
But
thankful most of all for believers in the spirit of Rock & Roll.
Like Matt Boland and his talented crew from Erie, Pennsylvania.
Comments
about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to:
icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Write
us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024
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