From the piedmont lowlands of northern Maryland, we drove into America’s oldest mountains, her ridges blue in the heat-hazed distance. My wife found ourselves settled first into an old house in Purcellville, its floors sloping with time, its windows lead-wavy, its acreage covered by a working farm. From there, we immediately jumped again into our car and drove a dozen miles to B Chord Brewing for the kind of weekend I could only call transcendent.
Friday
Concerns for rain washed away as we turned onto B Chord’s driveway, bumping along gravel to get our bracelets for the weekend. The crowd had already started filling in well, the audience colorful and celebratory. We settled our spots and found some drinks – Juicy Garcia being our main choice for the weekend – and wandered the grounds. Strangers became friends easily, topics ranging from what we hope to hear all the way up to the hopes and dreams for the world and our lives; these kinds of conversations set the stage for one of many themes this weekend – the interconnected natures of humans drive interaction, and being human necessarily involves the intermingling of the sacred and the profane.
Which is both a kind of thesis about music in general and Railroad Earth specifically. Their songs traffic in the same territory as hymns and choirs, their extended instrumentals alternating between the seraphic and the sensual. The grass becomes our pews, the smoke-mingled mountain air our incense, and we take a few steps together beyond the human.
The music started as the sun straddled the horizon, but we truly settled into a celebratory groove with the euphoric “It’s So Good>Mighty River” blend, both flowing easily into the present moment and brushing off the past year. The crowd rose to smiles and danced all through the night, and the band never showed signs of rust. Todd Sheaffer’s voice stood strong through the show, while the rest traded instrumentals and sang along. Skehan’s mando chop, Altman’s thumping bass, and Robinson’s rolling banjo grooves propelled the audience down the night’s tracks, with Carbone’s fiddle and Slocum’s keyboard adding textures throughout. Which isn’t to say every member didn’t fill other roles; Carbone pulled out his red guitar, Robinson took turns at the pedal steel, and Skehan flitted feverish melodies over the mountains, all while Harmon kept the beat to every song.
And I suppose, as I write this the Monday after the weekend, this is ultimately true of every night. At its core, Railroad Earth plays propulsive live shows that leave room for improvisation and revelation. My personal favorite moment of the night probably came at the beginning of Set 2, when “Like a Buddha” slid into “Happy Song”, the setting sun gave way to a cooler breeze, and I looked beside me along the rail, seeing my wife and a host of new friends smiling wider than any I’ve seen in more than a year.
To smile and be happy for such a time is a gift.
Saturday
My wife and I arrived a little later than the day before, having spent some time exploring Purcellville and dodging a “scary chicken” (an unseen but well-heard peacock in the night). Having settled off to the side and under the trees, we favored B Chord’s blueberry sour this night, as well as ensuring we got pizza and a pretzel just before the show began (definitely recommended).
A touch after 6, the band began with “Lordy, Lordy”, stealing the late-spring heat away from the air and carrying it to their fingertips, all while the sun gradually settled behind the distant blues.
Tonight’s revelations were “Potter’s Field > Lonecroft Farewell” from set 1 and the almost unbelievable “Running Wild > Comes a Time.” For my money, the second set from night 2 was pretty damned close to the best single set I’ve heard from RRE.
Another special note was the two-song encore, which featured a shout-out to an audience member celebrating his 119th RRE show (you know the song, reader).
Sunday
Sunday might be the designated day of rest, but RRE sure decided “rest” is the same thing as “relentless partying in the insane heat.” Far and away the hottest day of the weekend, neither the band nor the audience were ever deterred. We spent much of Sunday under the trees with the cicadas behind us (loud enough that their own symphony competed with RRE the further into the woods we walked), but delved into the crowd a few times to dance among the hobos.
For me, the most special moment came at the end of the second set, when the first notes of “Seven Story Mountain” hit – the song I’d hoped for all weekend – and then slid into a transcendent set-closing “Peace on Earth
