Kajsa Ohman, 1962<\/p><\/div>\n

And so was Peter Feldmann, who came \u201cbackstage\u201d one night to discuss possible mutual acquaintances. We had quite a few. Our friendship was immediate and warm, fueled by a whole lot of music-playing. I was just making a transition from using a folded matchbook as a pick to using the nail of my index finger, a feat Peter seemed to find amusing. I was truly glad to have taken my Martin off the wall\u2014nothing like strapping on the old pack and continuing along the journey!<\/span><\/p>\n

Before my trip to the southern mountains (which included an over-long stay with the great singer Roscoe Holcomb), I had specialized in border ballads and foreign songs. In fact, I remember sitting on Roscoe\u2019s porch singing a Greek song in 7\/8 time, to the profound perplexity of the whole Holcomb family. But I\u2019d just discovered bluegrass, thanks to another precious friend now gone, Clarence White. Clarence played guitar in a way I hadn\u2019t ever known about\u2014with a flat pick, for starters, and with melodic infusions of great complexity between the chords. He taught me how to go about doing this, in a general sort of way, as did John Cohen, who had taken the trouble to learn Clarence\u2019s solo on \u201cJourney\u2019s End\u201d and claimed a person needed a road map to get through it. John was actually a very good map\u2014I learned the piece, and I wish I could remember it today.<\/p>\n

Let me backtrack a bit here. Thinking of John Cohen reminds me that before coming to Santa Barbara I had recently played at a Detroit club across the street from where the New Lost City Ramblers were playing, and I spent my breaks listening to them. Mike Seeger played the Autoharp, a creature I had not seen before. With it, he performed \u201cMan of Constant Sorrow,\u201d while I sat with the dropped jaw and glazed eyes of a person who would have to have an Autoharp immediately or die. Mike told me I could, without dying, get one for $30 from Sears & Roebuck\u2019s. My Autoharp arrived very quickly, so I was able to sit in my hotel room and learn all the tricks Mike taught me.<\/span><\/p>\n

This in turn reminds me that in those days, thanks to the Ash Grove mostly, I had come to know quite a few \u201cimportant\u201d people; and while this is an aspect of my life I tend to dismiss as of no importance, it actually was a matter of considerable importance. I was learning. From John and Mike. From Clarence. From Jack Elliott, from Brownie McGee and Sonny Terry, from John Herald. In those days, a gig would be a month\u2019s booking, so one had plenty of time in the dressing room to share, to listen, to absorb, to show off.<\/span><\/p>\n

So, now there I was in Santa Barbara, with my 4-year-old son, with a divorce on the burner, with no visible means of support but lots of new friends and the very attractive Mountain Drive community. It seemed a good place to be\u2014a good place to find a home, something I hadn\u2019t had for many years. And as luck would have it, a musical group was beginning to form, in a careless and unstructured way, usually involving Maria Cordero on guitar, Gene McGeorge on violin, Tom Sheldon on guitarron, Bill Neely on harmonica\u2014all dependent on the instrumentally multi-tasking Peter Feldmann.<\/span><\/p>\n