Ten miles north of Andrews, TX lays a small grove of large trees, out of place in the sea of yucca and tumbleweeds in the surrounding desert. The grove is a county park that was formerly a sanctuary for Humble oilmen as they suffered through days on the rigs in the West Texas heat. It is also the site of the annual Andrews Labor Day Bluegrass Festival, which Tori and I attended this past weekend.While the festival was modest by most standards, it was still a fun event. The music was decidely "old timey" and was far closer to the traditional bluegrass featured in movies like "O' Brother Where Art Thou?" rather than jam grass or newer versions of Americana music. Nonetheless, many were there to enjoy the sweet melodies from days of yore. The fans were the usual cast of saints and sinners, from church ladies to bandidos, all gathered to be united by the dulcet tones of mandolin, bass, and banjo.
And while we didn't stay long we learned that bluegrass is truly a universal language, calling all music lovers from the farthest corners of the Earth. From the Japanese man who picked up a fiddle at his first bluegrass show, leading him to travel yearly from his homeland to America for shows, to the strange homeschooled boy whose grandparents drug him to the festival, no where is American more discoverable than at a bluegrass festvial.
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