Quick: What's the least "cool" pastime you can think of? If you said square-dancing, you are so wrong.
Unbeknownst to many of us, who slouch from one too-cool-to-move rock crowd to another, the past few years have seen a resurgence in the popularity of old-fashioned dance music.
"Square-dancing is so unhip, it's sorta hip," says bass player Brian Bagdonas of local Old Time string band Foghorn Leghorn, which does its part for the Square Dance Nation at the White Eagle this Friday.
"People are really into the kitsch of square-dancing, because they had to do it in elementary school," adds Foghorn banjo player P.T. Grover Jr.
Foghorn Leghorn--Grover, Bagdonas, Stephen "Sammy" Lind on fiddle, Jesse Withers on guitar and Caleb Klauder on mandolin--has lately translated bar-crowd popularity into a surprisingly active traditional-dance scene. Along with Pig Iron, the Flat Mountain Girls and the Dickel Brothers (for whom Bagdonas also lugs his massive four-string), Foghorn is at the forefront of Portland's vibrant Old Time revival. Locally, interest in ancient hill tunes predates by a few years the national fascination with roots music spawned by the film O Brother, Where Art Thou?.
"The musicians were rockers who stumbled across Old Time music and fell in love with its primitive sounds and unpretentious face," explains Bill Martin, local square-dance caller, instructor and guru.
Martin, who's called dances at weddings and parties for more than a dozen years, caught wind of Portland's underground Old Time trend and started "bullying" the young bands into playing his events.
Thus initiated into square-dancing, Bagdonas and fellow Dickel Brother Michael Ismario started setting up dances calculated to draw the younger crowd, in places like Northeast Portland's rambling Disjecta Theater. Martin and other local callers showed the kids the moves, and Foghorn provided the aural inspiration.
"These dances attracted the Old Time bands' natural following from the pubs, and the rest is history," Martin says. "It is so hilarious for me to look out on a gyrating square-dance full of people with tattoos, multiple piercings and skateboards. This ain't the string-tie and petticoat square-dance club crowd, no ma'am. Makes my socks roll up and down!"
Of course, there's been square-dancing in Portland for a long time. In the '40s and '50s, it was a huge social scene, usually with live music. Later, records began to replace the bands, making things easier and more profitable for callers and organizers but leaving behind the traditional style of live string-band dance music. "That 'left behind' dancing is the stuff I like, and teach," Martin says. And that's what bands like Foghorn Leghorn and their fans have rediscovered.
Much of Old Time's appeal lies in its sense of preserved history and tradition. For kids who grew up on prima donna rock stars and wanky six-minute guitar solos, traditional music's communal ethos is an equally important draw. In the early days, there was no dividing line between musicians and audiences. That sense of a shared art is reflected in the music. For example, says Bagdonas, "playing bass, there's not that much going on, but the idea is to make it good for the whole group." Though all Foghorn's musicians have killer chops, nobody tries to outshine the others; the songs just aren't structured that way. It's not the kind of music that lends itself to rock-star glory. It only works if the sounds blend together.
"It's really socialist music," Grover jokes.
Whatever the reason, traditional music seems to be connecting with a lot of people these days. The film-album-concert Down From the Mountain won heaps of critical praise, while O Brother's soundtrack scored an unlikely place in the Billboard Top 10 and cleaned up at the Grammys. Still, the Foghorn Leghorn guys don't seem to see themselves at the cusp of a major national trend.
"I don't know if traditional music is trendy," says Bagdonas. "People might listen to that soundtrack and they might like some of it, but they're not going to delve into that core of Old Time music."
