I've always thought that there was a great deal of romanticism about folk music. Sung by the holy unwashed. Or perhaps wholely unwashed. I spent a summer on an iceberg in the Arctic Ocean in the sixties and got to know an eskimo about my age. He was pretty much indistinguishable from the greasers with their Lucky Strikes cigarette packs rolled up in the sleeve of their t-shirts, with their hair slicked back in a duck tail, lounging in front of the Coney Island Bar and Grill. My black friends in their seventies know bluegrass and early country music better than most whites. Every once in a while we'll joke around, talking "black," sho nuff! Occasionally, someone will ask me if they talk like someone out of an old Step n Fetchitt movie, with no intent to be dissrespectful. I think that you're right, Greg. It's interesting to hear a perspective from the other side. Ian B gives me that, too. There has to be a delicate balance between respecting tradition and not hog-tying yourself in the process. Respect can be very boring if not tempered with having a good time.

Jerry