Captain Fiddle Music

Ryan and Brennish

Thomson

Mozart and Poison Ivy

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If they'll pay, we'll play!

In the early 1980s I played in several groups. One was a trio consisting of myself and

another person on violin/fiddle and the third member was a guitarist and song writer. We

performed a mix of Beatles, Dylan, and original songs and instrumental music as a "folk

trio."

We performed mostly at clubs and private functions. We also worked through music

entertainment agencies. One day I got a call from a local entertainment agency asking for

our availability for a particular date. He mentioned that a client was looking for a small

group such as ours to entertain at a private party.

We were open for the date so all arrangements were made. From the supplied directions

we made our way to a fancy ocean front house in southern Maine. When we arrived there

were lots of expensive automobiles present and a number of people milling about on

outside porches and decks.

Entering the house, we were greeted by a lady in Elizabethan clothing who showed us

where to place our instrument cases.

While looking around we noticed that there were lots of men but no other females in sight.

We tried to strike up some conversations but the attendees seemed a bit wary of us. We're

pretty sociable types though, so we eventually found a talkative person who inquired as to

our names. He then asked us which quartets we would be playing and whether we would do

any Mozart. He asked if the fourth member of our quartet had arrived yet. We looked at

each other in alarm, mumbled that we were only a trio, and excused ourselves to go and

"tune up our instruments."

We made our way outside to a point of land that stuck out into the ocean. It was a

beautiful summer day and the waves were crashing into some large rocks at the water line.

In order to get to these rocks we had to cross through an area of heavy shrubbery, and I

noticed that the plants mostly consisted of dense poison ivy.

We avoided the poison ivy with some difficulty, and sat down on the rocks, took out our

instruments, and started discussing a strategy to get through the gig. Our violinist member

didn't have any written music so classical music was out. While we were talking we were

approached by a man who asked us what type of music we played. We described our folk

tunes and songs and mentioned that we did several Beatles songs. The man said, " The

Beatles, yes, I've heard of them."

He headed back to the house, presumably to warn the other guests.

Getting back to the house, we took out our instruments and began playing. We were

regarded oddly at first, but as the evening wore on, the crowd warmed up to us and

seemed to be enjoying themselves. Things were going very smoothly and the all male party

goers were having a good time. As the end of our performance approached we were asked if

we could play longer for extra pay. We agreed readily.

A little later on we noticed a large truck approaching the house. Several men in black

leather jackets with decorative chains jumped out and began unloading boxes from the

truck. We were told that they had brought fireworks and were going to do a complete

fireworks show for the party goers. It was dark outside and they began heading for the

point of land with the rocks near the ocean. As the first two men started crashing through

the bushes with their equipment I felt obligated to rush outside to warn them of the

poison ivy.

They pointedly ignored me. I repeated the warning to deaf ears, and then returned to the

house to play my violin. The fireworks show was great, and was a fitting touch to a fine

evening. The men in the black leather jackets loaded up their equipment and forced their

way back through the dense poison ivy to load things back into their truck. I'll always

wonder what went through their minds a couple of days later when massive exposure to

poison ivy began making its effects known. I also wonder what went through the mind of

the entertainment agent as he was booking a folk trio as a string quartet!

Written by Ryan Thomson, 1996