The Banjo

I am learning the banjo.

Okay, there--I've admitted it. Not quite "I'm an alcoholic" or "I don't just troll CL casual encounters, I call back", but certainly on the Somewhat Shameful Scale nevertheless.

Of course, living up here, I'm learning there's not too much shame in the banjo. Instead I'm learning it's precisely the peculiar, never-quite-was-mainstream-but-wasn't-ever-exactly-weird-either kind of thing that people really dig in Marin. I could walk down Throckmorton toting this banjo and I suspect not too many folks would give me a second glance, much less a derisive stare, as they rolled by with their steaming Whole Foods lattes and Peg Peregos.

This doesn't mean that I'm going to try this experiment, mind you. But I suspect that my suspicions would be confirmed were I to do so.

The banjo is a fascinating instrument. It's a truly American thing; the guitar--electric, acoustic, and otherwise--has been adopted by countless manner of other folks around the globe. But search YouTube for "Russian Banjo" and you'll find seventeen hits. And not many of them are much good, frankly.

http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=russian%20banjo&search=Search

P.S. I don't own the banjo in question. It's just a loaner. The why of which I suppose is a fine subject for a later story, but I can confess that it involves organic eggs and a now-somewhat-distant trip to Fairfield.