Small Music
When I was in high school, I would drive almost an hour to listen to folk music at an intimate music venue known as the Main Point. This was one of two major folk music clubs in the Philadelphia area, and it was there that I saw the musicians who became my heroes and who shaped my musical taste for the rest of my life — artists like Phil Ochs, Tom Paxton, Norman Blake, Jerry Jeff Walker, David Bromberg, Doc Watson, Dave Van Ronk. Eric Andersen and others. Just looking at this list evokes all sorts of emotions. I realize today, if not then, how truly lucky I was to have had the opportunity to experience music in that unique space.
To this day I remember the man who introduced the shows I saw at the Main Point. His name was Emmett Robinson, and he introduced every show exactly the same way. The lights would dim, Emmett would amble (he really did amble!) on to the stage, a spot light would go on and, with a huge smile on his face, he would say: “Welcome to the Main Point,” and then the magic would begin. I always wondered if Emmett had a day job or if his work at the Main Point was simply a labor of love. And I also wondered how he felt when he looked out at the audience and welcomed them to another remarkable show.
As a certified ‘folkie,’ I rarely went to large concerts — only two, in fact, until my late 20s. I saw Phil Ochs at the Philadelphia Academy Music while still in high school and then, after college, Wendy and I attended a ‘Jerry Brown for President’ benefit concert (Eagles, Jackson Browne and Linda Ronstadt) at the Capital Center, outside of Washington DC. We sat in ‘the nosebleed section’ behind the stage and watched the entire show on the jumbotron. This experience, of course, reinforced my view that music was best seen in clubs like the 200 seat Main Point.
When I headed west (Phoenix) for graduate school, I saw a couple of smaller shows — Harry Chapin, David Bromberg — although the venues were significantly larger than the small club at which my musical journey began. I also experienced my second and third arena shows: Billy Joel, an incredible experience that I remember to this day, and an almost unrecognizable (and completely forgettable!) Bob Dylan, who managed to play for almost two hours before we were able to identify the song he was playing. While I always enjoyed going to concerts, I really missed the thrill I got when the lights dimmed and I saw Emmett Robinson heading towards the stage of the Main Point. And then we moved to Massachusetts, the folk music capital of the world.
Our move to the Boston area in the mid 1980’s was like a musical rebirth. There were two folk music stations, coffeehouses in every town and, of course, what might have been the most famous folk club that wasn’t in Greenwich Village — Passim (formerly Club 47). Like the Main Point, everyone who was anyone appeared at Passim. We had the privilege of seeing local musicians like Bill Staines and Bob Franke and others who were, or would become, famous — Nancy Griffith, John Gorka (he was the opening act when we first saw him), Cheryl Wheeler, and many more. And, once again, every show began when the lights would dim, Bob Donelan (an older and more gruff version of Emmett Robinson and the owner of the club) would walk (no ambling for Bob) to the stage and say, with a big smile on his face,: “Welcome to Passim.” And, just as at the Main Point many years earlier, the magic would begin.
In 1991, Wendy and I had a unique opportunity. We were active members of a Jewish congregation that opened a new building, and there was a large space with a raised stage that begged for creative uses. A few months later we opened the Vineyard of Peace Coffeehouse at Congregation Kerem Shalom in Concord, MA. We booked mostly local, and a few nationally known, musicians and, in my head, anyway, we tried to recreate what I had experienced at the Main Point 25 years earlier. I think we were successful, but one never really knows.
What I do know is how I felt just before I walked to the stage to start the first show. I was 17 years old, sitting in a crowded room a little west of Philadelphia, waiting for Emmett Robinson to head to the stage. And then, with butterflies in my stomach and a huge smile on my face, I walked to the stage and said: “Welcome to the Vineyard of Peace.” It was, without a doubt, a very emotional moment and, at the same time, one of the most enjoyable and memorable non-family related events of my life, and I will never forget it.
I am writing this during the corona virus quarantine. And I am forced to question whether or not small clubs can survive and whether we will ever feel comfortable sitting six inches away from other people as we listen to live music. I really don’t know, but it makes me sad to even think about it. I truly believe that I lived a richer life because of what I experienced at the Main Point, Passim, the Vineyard of Peace and all the other small music venues I had the privilege of visiting over the years. I would hate to think that they will become an invisible casualty of this cruel, unseen enemy.