The Music Store

Twenty Years Ago on FITK


Google street view image of what was once Amanda Bacon's Studio

Located between the Polka Dot dairy store and what was once a candy store, Amanda Bacon’s Music Studio was an anomaly.

Run by a feisty sexagenarian, this small shop in what was otherwise a cultural desert sat there unpretentiously for years, with Miss Bacon making a modest living giving piano and stringed instrument lessons. Her business model changed abruptly when a certain combo from Liverpool appeared on the Ed Sullivan show. Suddenly dozens of teen-aged boys were seen there loitering, buying guitar picks and strings, even getting instruction. And there they came face to face with the real deal, Amanda from Kentucky, roots music personified, long before anyone even knew what that was. I’d stop in almost weekly, my purchases minor, but every visit was a little mini-lesson in some facet of guitar-playing. “Now I’ll sell you those picks, two for a quarter, but don't go bendin’ “em, hold it just so, no, no, like this... ” She had a lot of students now, but she was always looking for more. She sold instruments too, and amplifiers.

Amanda was on a roll.

I drifted away from her little shop and went elsewhere, to places that opened doors for us: “ ...buy a set of gear and we'll see to it that you get a shot at the teen fair, in August... ” Amanda couldn't compete with that. She persevered for a few more years, but the music that young boys wanted to learn to play became louder, stranger, darker. She closed her store, and moved back ‘home.’

My band had actually gotten to the point of playing out a bit, one day we had a chance to attend a practice with a ‘name’ local band, a band that had just put out a record. They let us play on their gear, and made some helpful comments and gave us words of encouragement. “So where are you guys from?” the lead guitarist asked. We told him and he immediately broken into a wide grin. “You bought your first strings from Amanda Bacon, right?” Half of that band had taken lessons from Amanda for years. “She taught us almost everything we know about guitar pickin’.”

So Amanda was cool, hipper than me to be sure, and I bet that she would have even appeared cool to The Beatles, at least to George.

Andy said...

Ah, Miss Bacon...a stern taskmaster. I remember my dad telling me "If you're going to play, you need to take lessons!" He even paid for them... It's a shame they didn't stick...

Reposted

Scenes from a Carnival

Anoka, Minnesota, 1989:

No phones needed…

GDRN

Icelandic chanteuse Guðrún Ýr Eyfjörð Jóhannesdóttir:

Performing at Grund Senior home, Reykjavík, November 6, 2025

Riverfest Rockin’

My home town has a thing for summer festivals. I’m sure it is in no small part due to the three months of oft-times brutal winter weather we endure. Then again, perhaps this is some form of fertility rite, with lots of skin on display and somewhat suggestive food trucks (The G-Spot truck was selling tacos):

But nothing could top the apparently topless vendor selling her CBD Sweet Mana nostrums (body butter, anyone?):

A few days later our town had a concert in a downtown park. “Power of 10” were the headliners, doing respectable Sly Stone and Van Morrison covers:

Pontooners in the river made for a surreal backdrop:

“I’m gonna add a little bottom, so the dancers just won’t hide…”

Family Values

Twenty Years Ago on FITK


Two Harbors, Minnesota, July 7, 2006

After three hours on the road (and six hours since breakfast) the need for sustenance became apparent. "The Vanilla Bean Cafe and Bakery"- how inviting! We pulled into the side parking lot and left the car to go inside. On the way to the front door we passed by a row of Harley-Davidson motorcycles- big ones. Oh my...could be trouble...a vision of Marlon Brando in "The Wild One" emerges in my fevered imagination...oh well, you can only die in a gang-fight once, right?  We entered.

Inside, there were only frazzled tourists, like ourselves. No signs of the hooligans- perhaps they were at the bakery next door. The server bade us enter a side room, wherein she proceeded to sit us right next to the bikers! With leather jackets, chaps and proper motorcycle boots, their long hair falling down over their collars and...

...and it was carefully braided, on four young women and a girl, all absolutely beautiful in a fresh-air, wind-blown, healthy, no make-up way. Their parents sat in the corner, also in leathers, keeping an affectionate eye on the girls. When their food came, one of the Mothers led both tables in a silent grace. They ate their meal in a pleasant, congenial way, with no bickering or sibling jealousy. We ordered, and while we waited spent time admiring the "Coffee Art" which adorned the walls. A Finnish couple had perfected a way to make oil paintings with coffee as a pigment (think shades of brown) and, according to the guide, had exhibited in Finland, Iceland, California and Minnesota.

As we sat enthralled by all this beauty (the girls, not the pictures) the biker group began to migrate, from table to table, to the bakery next door and the bathroom. They then came back, one at a time, and proceeded to crowd into the corner until all nine were sitting at a table meant for four. One of the Biker Dads told a story, quietly, and then they arose, en masse, and departed.

Later, I mentioned to the Weaver that they were "Like the Amish, except they had Harleys."

RS commented:

Words and pictures blend into one. Your art is brilliant, storyteller.

Reposted

Mulder’s Signs

Deuel County, South Dakota, c. 1995

More on Mulder’s farm…

Mulder’s Parlor

Deuel County, South Dakota, c. 1995

More on Mulder’s farm…

A letter to you.

Twenty Years Ago on FITK

So maybe love is meant to be a little imperfect.

Maybe love is meant to be about you saying something stupid in our most intimate moments and me smiling it away and tousling your hair instead. About sitting in the theatre together and knowing that we'd rather be watching each other at home.

And now, that I'm miles away from you, I'm feeling your eyes on me all the time.
I'm waking up alone in the night and reaching out for you with my eyes shut (and I'm blaming you for spoiling me thus), but I'm only losing myself in the folds of a cold blanket. And I'm surrounded by people of so many pastel shades, while I'm only looking for your vibrant color.

Tell me now... isn't this slightly flawed love we share so much better than the ethereal head-rush of something that will never be? Isn't this what you'd always wanted?

Yours,
RS

Reposted

Mulder’s Workbenches

Deuel County, South Dakota, c. 1995:

This was an abandoned farm that I visited in the 90s, shooting mostly black and white film (TXP 120, Pentax 6x7) but I did do some in color, the coating of dust definitely put a mellow patina on everything:

More from Mulder’s farm…

Valþröng*

Like persistent weeds in a flowerbed, thoughts of a return trip to Iceland (#11) have sprouted.

An idle search for airfares and lodging revealed some real bargains, along with some caveats. One aspect of my fall sojourns to Reykjavík that remains constant is the travel dates: the last week in October through the first week in November. This is when the Iceland Airwaves music festival occurs and when the theatre season is in full swing. The weather then is usually pretty nice, although I’ve been unbelievably lucky in my last seven trips (my first three trips were in March.) I found a good price on airfare (under $400) and a great deal on lodging in a place I’ve stayed in and loved before (under $200 a night.) Inflation adjusted, these are probably the best prices I’ve ever seen outside of 2022, which was the year after Covid had shut everything down. 2009, the year after the crash, was also low, but I was burned by having my return flight canceled and had to return through Boston and Philadelphia, which was expensive and no fun at all.

My last four trips (2018, 2022, 2023, 2025) were rousing successes, in so much that any additional trips might be tempting fate. Last year I arrived a day after a record-breaking snowfall but rather than being a disaster it just made Reykjavík all the more picturesque. The Weaver says “Go for it, you can’t spend your money when you’re dead!” I guess that is a good a reason as any. On the other hand, I’ve looked at the musical offerings for Iceland Airwaves 2026 and although the schedule isn’t complete, those initial offerings were anemic at best, especially the Icelandic acts of whom I’ve seen many and, with a coupe of exceptions, wouldn’t want to hear again. Most modern pop music isn’t my cup of tea anyway and my interest in those trends have been dwindling for several years now. My back-up for the last three trips has been the theatre, and even those choices are diminishing too. Covid hit all the performing arts hard and Icelandic theatre is no exception. One constant plus I have enjoyed over the last 22 years has been the swimming pool culture, which just gets better and better. The intangibles, i.e., special events at Norræna Husið and other happenstances, are unplanned and unpredictable serendipitous events.

So…

I’m writing this on Friday morning (yesterday.) I have to pull the trigger soon, the airfare alone may jump a couple hundred dollars at any moment and the lodging will sell out soon. I’ll sleep on it and announce my decision tomorrow.

UPDATE: I’m going.


* valþröng = dilemma