I just went through one of the most surreal experiences of my life. It was fun, hilarious, bizarre; and a study in community interaction all at the same time.
I was on a trek back to the city of my birth and my youth, Virginia Beach, Virginia. On the way I met up with a nephew from New York (Jon) and brought him along to visit his mother. I called ahead to alert another nephew of our visit and asked if we could get together. And that is where the surreal, fun, hilarious, and bizarre experience began.
It turns out that my nephew from Virginia Beach (Joey) plays bass for a small country/bluegrass combo. Now I enjoy live music, so when my nephew’s wife informed me that Joe would be playing right about the time we were to arrive in Virginia Beach, we decided to surprise him and walk in during their set. And this, my friends is where things start to get hilarious. “They are playing at a Hardees.” said my nephew’s wife. “A what?” I asked incredulous. I have been a street musician in Europe, I have been in more pubs and coffee houses with live music to count. I have played in small groups, duos and even bands. But never have I heard of anything like live music happening at a Hardees. This was going to be different.
Jon and I arrived about 45 minutes before the Hardees gig was to begin. I don’t know that we had an idea of what might happen, but when we arrived we decided to drive around the building to see if we could spot Joey inside. He was not there, but, to our surprise, the place was already packed; filled to overflowing! There were only two parking spaces left on the premises. Jon and I looked at each other and then back to the packed-out fast food restaurant. This was a Hardees for goodness sake. The food is not that spectacular! We really didn’t know what to think. Maybe the band was just lucky to have a big crowd that night, but something told me that the mob of people had something to do with Joey’s bluegrass combo. So in we went, amazed, and chuckling. I had never seen a full Hardees, let alone one filled with an overflowing crowd of seasoned citizens. Almost no one in the place was younger than about 65.
Some were decked out in western gear replete with spangles and little embroidered guitars, boots, hats, and the whole deal. Others looked like they were fresh from the farm, and some just wore sweats and tee shirts. One couple was sitting there playing cards together. However they were dressed and whatever they were doing, there was an energizing buzz going on. These people all knew each other. This was there hangout! Many looked up at us in that way that made us realize we were outsiders, but they smiled nicely and nodded a welcome in that way southern folk often do. So, trying not to let our jaws drop we lined up and ordered some food, found a couple of seats off in a corner and waited for Joey to show up.
In a few minutes his wife and kids showed up and we were informed that Joey was stuck in traffic. She went up and talked to the rest of the band and informed them that the evening might have to start without him. Little did I know that she also informed them that I could play bass, a fact that they all too soon made use of.
Much to my surprise one of the band members motioned for me to come over. I was a bit dazed as I walked up in front of the crowed only to be handed a bass guitar and told, not asked, that I would be sitting in till Joey showed up. There were no introductions, no exchange of names. Just a prayer on my part that Joey’s traffic jam would resolve soon. I stood there and wondered if I would know anything these guys played.
The banjo picker looked over at me and managed what I hoped was a grin. The lead singer and guitar player (who I dubbed “Stretch” because he was tall and wore a big cowboy hat) threw a dubious glance in my direction that let me know he was not at all convinced I was up to the challenge. Both of those gentlemen were at least 70. The mandolin player was younger and genuinely friendly, but I was directly behind him so any encouraging words were hard to come by.
The guitar player began strumming, and although I had no idea what was going to be sung, I bravely said I could keep up. I was still stunned to find myself standing in front of the crowd. How in the world had this happened? The first song was the old Merle Haggard ballad Today I Started Loving You Again, a song I had probably last heard in its entirety 25 years before. Lucky for me it is easy to play and the chord progressions came back to me. Much to my surprise, six to eight couples stood and slow danced between the tables. They danced like a bunch of teenagers in love! I had to keep reminding myself that this was a Hardees, for Pete’s sake; home of the original thick burger and not the activity room for the Shady Rest Retirement Center.
The next song was a bluegrass tune I had never heard of. The banjo picker looked over at me and asked, “Can you play bluegrass boy?” Oh well. He was about 70 so I guess he could call me boy if he wanted to. “This will be a fast one.” He informed me. With a bravado that was completely fake, I assured him I could keep up. I didn’t think it could be that difficult, and probably not more than 3 chords. This time about ten of the people, whose knees could take the stress, stood up and started line dancing.
Meanwhile, over in the corner, my nephew Jon was laughing himself silly; taking pictures with his IPhone, and texting everyone he could think of who would find my predicament amusing.
We played some sad country song about a last farewell party; otherwise known as a funeral, and, by the time we finished, the banjo picker needed to blow his nose and wipe his eyes. I guess he was touched. Me. I was trying desperately to watch the guitar player’s fingers so I knew where to go next on the bass. I may have felt sad, but it was entirely due to something other than the content of the song. Several other country songs, I didn’t know, followed. The line and slow dancing continued, and then came another bluegrass tune. True to form, the banjo picker looked over at me, and I kid you not, asked. , “Can you play blue grass boy?” He followed that up with, “This will be a fast one.” I grinned and said sure and we were off!
After 30 minutes of this activity, Jon was about laughed out and done texting. Joey had still not arrived, I still had not been introduced to the crowd or the band, but I had concluded that this was actually all quite funny and had become a most excellent musical adventure. It was then that I spied a song list that “Stretch” was using. And there in the middle of the page was the Oak Ridge Boys hit song Elvira. I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “Do you guys do Elvira?” The mandolin player responded, “Is that a request?” I mumbled something about it being a fun song to play bass to (although I had never played bass to it). “Stretch” started looking for the lyrics, a process that took nearly five minutes, but this was the Hardee’s house band and they were among friends and no one cared. Eventually, after much paging back and forth, he found the song, strummed a chord and we were off, but way too slow. “Stretch” was not rhythmically challenged. He soon figured out the song was way too slow and stomped his foot to get us all up to a faster tempo. Folks. If you have never heard Elvira sung with a banjo and mandolin bluegrassy feel, you don’t know what you’re missing. This this was a hoot!
About half way through the song Joey finally showed up and as soon as the song was over I was relieved of my bass playing duties. He apologized for getting stuck in traffic. “Stretch” responded with. “Where the hell you been boy?” Only then did “Stretch” ask me my name and asked the crowd to acknowledge me with applause.
Once I was safely in the corner again, I started asking questions and discovered that there are several Hardees in Virginia Beach who guarantee themselves a full house by having the band come in once a week. It is called “playing the burger circuit.” Many of these seasoned citizens follow the band from Hardees to Hardees. There are raffles, good conversation, happy birthdays sung, dancing, and fun social interaction with friends.
As far as the food goes, if I never eat at a Hardees again I could be perfectly happy, but I guarantee you, because of my recent musical adventure, I will never view Hardees the same way again…ever!
Being and Doing's Weblog 