Famous Jug Band – Saro Jane

Of late I’ve turned to digging up past gems more than discovering new blood. It’s difficult, given my current locale, to comment on up-and-coming local artists or acts kind enough to grace the musically-forsaken backwoods south of Atlanta known as Florida. Suffice it to say the whole “keep an eye out for ____” game grows somewhat wearisome when there’s no one to play with. One Langerado-filled weekend does not a music scene make. As a result, I’ve hunted and clambered from one user’s shared files to another’s in an attempt to unearth a time or place or people yet unknown to me.

The Famous Jug Band, often described as “eclectic” or “short-lived,” is fascinating because they’re one of few bands to fall somewhere between the one-album-wonders and supergroup-side-projects. “Saro Jane” has been covered by just about everyone under the sun with a penchant for traditional music ranging from Bob Dylan (though he calls her Sarah) to the Kingston Trio. However, not many of them contain a rumbling jug solo no more than 40 seconds in. While most would rank the sanity of a man blowing across an inanimate item on par with that of the man talking to one, the members of the Famous Jug Band aren’t the type to give a fig. Instead they give the lyrics of this song an opinionated twist, and it isn’t a far cry to consider it political commentary when they sing, “the white man fell through a hole in a wall” in 1969.

Famous Jug Band – Can’t Stop Thinking About It

“Happiness is free / Everyone agrees / But if it grew on trees / We’d all pine for pain and misery”

Upon reflection, I’m forced to conclude this jug is happy to be half-empty because it knows someone once drank of it. These are people who’ve “got nothing to do but sit around and sing;” they have stories, and sun showers, and women who’ve left them “playing the only friend [they] own” at the turn of a decade gone terribly awry (moon landing aside). They’ve found something past Clive Palmer’s Incredible Strings, past the youthful vigor of Jill Johnson’s vocals, and allowed it to mingle alongside jug-player Henry Bartlett’s breathing into the most seemingly innocent of objects.

At one point the Famous Jug Band proclaims, “I’ll smile if you want me to.” I know they will; it’s what they do, even with a place and people who’ll probably go unknown to them, and I’ve little doubt of their sincerity.

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