Tradition Endures
The Grand Ole Opry was empty last night except for host Bobby Bones, a production crew and three superlative musicians, Marty Stuart, Vince Gill and Brad Paisley, who kept the Saturday night tradition going. The show was broadcast live on the Circle channel, 63–1 on over the air antennas in NYC. It began in 1925 and is the longest-running radio broadcast in U.S. history, originating from WSM in Nashville. It is pure Americana. Growing popularity saw it move to three locations before settling in at the legendary Ryman Auditorium in 1943, where it remained until 1974. Its next venue was the centerpiece of a grand entertainment complex. Opening night was attended by President Nixon, who played a few songs on piano. Eventually the Ryman was restored to a world-class concert hall, reopening in 1988. From what I understand, both venues now alternate hosting the show. Forgive me if I’m wrong about that. It’s even hard to pinpoint the first TV broadcast, which may have been as early as 1950. Life is a constant learning experience. One of the things I wish I could erase from mine is the derision I expressed as a young know-it-all toward Country artists and their music. I am ashamed of that stupidity. Hopefully, I’ve become smarter. I’ve learned to respect an artist’s accomplishments even if I’m not a fan. It is a dream of musicians everywhere — even those outside the genre — to play the Opry. To be inducted into its Hall of Fame is as high an honor as there is anywhere. Country music artists and their fans are a big part of what makes America great. Last night Brad Paisley paid tribute to the late Kenny Rogers, concluding a number by singing the most famous phrases from The Gambler. One of the most admirable traits of Country artists is the appreciation they show their fans as well as their peers, and it seems universal. Here are the three stars of last night’s show, back, then front:
This headline from nypost.com should provide a chuckle to mitigate the current gloom a bit: “NASA fixes Mars lander by telling it to hit itself with a shovel.”
From sports media columnist Phil Muchnick’s piece at nypost.com: “Wuhan virus is racist? Then what about West Nile Virus, Legionnaires disease, the German measles, Montezuma’s revenge, and, of course, the open-to-all Irish flu?” Kudos, sir.
I was housebound 23 hours yesterday, gazing enviously at the brilliant sunshine, filling time with a variety of pastimes, even jotting down notes on a novel I’m considering. I usually buy a print copy of the Post on Sunday. I didn’t today. I still took my morning walk. There were less people on the street than usual at 6:10 AM. At 10:30 I went to the old house to pick up my laundry. My niece left the basement door unlocked, as she’d done yesterday, so that we wouldn’t come in contact. I’m a bit relieved that I’m not showing any symptoms. The psychology of the corona problem is fascinating. I’m constantly wondering if something or other is a symptom. Consumption of junk food is more easily rationalized, although the guilt still follows. There is joy in having a good reason not to make an appointment with the doctor or dentist. I remind myself that I’m lucky. Some folks are dying, many are out of work. Social media continues its highs and lows. The discipline I’d developed in not responding to partisan political posts on Facebook has been sorely tested the past few days. What good would it do to open up with both barrels at yahoos? Why contribute to negativism? It will change nothing. The most surprising aspect of all this has been a reversion to being highly emotional. I guess one’s core never really changes.
My thanks to whoever bought Vito’s Day at Amazon. I suspect it was one of my nieces.
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