7/13/2023 0 Comments Coscreen writer star of the gunmanThe "revised" softcover version of Garrison Keillor's memoir, That Time of Year: A Minnesota Life is now available. Sometimes he’d switch to wooden spoons for the clackety tone. He worked hard to master a complicated instrument, the mandolin, but it was the parlor trick of spoonerism that blew them away-there’s a lesson in humility here.īob wasn’t eager to play the spoons, he was a mandolinist, not a clown, but he did it when it was needed and did it with a beautiful big smile, syncopating around, percussing hand-to-knee and off his forehead, bopping on the guitarist’s shoulder, rapping on the knees of a kid in the front row, then the kid’s father, he made solemn hippies whoop like third graders. He held two spoons back to back an inch apart in his right hand, did elaborate rolls against the spread fingers of his left hand, and the rickety-tickety-bop glittery-flibbertigibbet shave-and-a-haircut drove the crowd wild. He kept them in his back pocket, ordinary kitchen spoons. Bob Douglas was cheerful, the mandolinist in the Powdermilk Biscuit Band in the early days of A Prairie Home Companion, who loved gospel songs, having grown up with them, even “It’s G-L-O-R-Y to Know That I’m S-A-V-E-D,” and he dove into bluegrass and swing tunes and played a driving backbeat on the fiddle standards, a dedicated devotee and serious folkie, but audiences get restless and earnestness only goes so far, and Bob’s ace card was playing spoons.
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