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O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

That hollow, empty sound that rests in the valley

The vast majority of people swim with the flow through the river of life. Some perturb the waters and create ripples, some widen the bank, some even swim against the flow. And then there are those few who cut whole new channels. Earl Scruggs was one of those last people. Most modern US banjo players play Scruggs Style. The world is a little less rich because one of the giants has fallen. At least we have his music. If all you know is Foggy Mountain Breakdown or the Ballad of Jed Clampett, that's a pity.



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