Heard in the Folkways: Blues Grass & Tamales
By Lamont “Jack” Pearley
What’s Happening, What’s Happening, What’s Happening…good people. For the Bowling Green Daily News, I’m The African American Folklorist bringing cultural awareness to you from Bowling Green, Kentucky.
This week, I share the story of a young man, Vincent Parker, a resident of Bowling Green, who recently shared quite the story with me. As a folklorist, I collect the stories of communities and their folk groups in hopes of honoring and presenting traditional ways of life, folk narratives, traditional music, and crafts with you. Sometimes, these stories are based on beliefs, legends, myths, and sacred entities. I’ll leave it to you to make your sense of what you hear.
Mr. Parker, a second-generation Bowling Green resident, recently told me the story of how, just a few weeks ago, in the cold of a Kentucky winter…he was out on a late night on the town down in the Shake Rag. He was waiting for an order of Nocturnal Cookies, having a discussion about the new EV battery plant coming to Smiths Grove and plans for Jelly Roll’s big concert at Mellow World…when the guy sitting on the barstool next to him said he knew a way to find some peace from the pace of life in 2050.
Vincent paid his tab, and this young man found himself riding shotgun with his newfound bar friend on a long journey. Six lanes became four. Four lanes became two. The two lanes became one that hit gravel…when I didn’t know gravel roads even still existed around here. Gravel became dirt.
Mr. Parker told me they ended up at a makeshift ladder that went into the sinkhole of a newly discovered branch of the cave system that runs all through this part of Kentucky. And…as he and his host descended…Mr. Parker told me that he felt himself wondering where they were headed, how they got there, and if they’d ever be found by anyone else in humanity if they couldn’t find their way back up.
The descent down the ladder got darker and darker for the young man, and he could only hear his host’s voice. They got in some sort of makeshift vehicle, and he rode through complete darkness for what felt like hours. His host was talking to him, but Vincent wasn’t listening. He was fearing for his life. But, soon, the sound of his host’s diatribe was accompanied by the faint sound of music.
And then, good people, the young man told me an incredible story, of how he found himself at the bottom of that ladder in a cave lit by candles, surrounded by dozens upon dozens…maybe hundreds…of people.
This, my listeners, he told me, was the Second Annual Blues Grass and Tamales festival.
Mr. Parker then told me about these three communities' origin stories and developed culture. It seems that, following the COVID-19 outbreak many years ago–before many of you were even born–back in 2020, three distinct communities came together here in the bluegrass. Some folks worried about industries and communities falling and wondered how true grassroots communities could remain functioning.
They feared rising prices and neighborhoods devoid of connections. They worried about android robots that were being developed, which might take human jobs. There were concerns about radiation. Worries about the lingering effects of COVID. Concerns about the move away from physical money. The concerns ranged wide, but the communities came together seeking an alternative. They went off the grid, the young man was told. And, sometime in the 2030s, upon discovery of this new cave system, they went underground. Literally.
By 2048, their underground community had grown. And, as their ranks continued to grow and as they built a life that could exist beneath the surface of modern society, they also created patterns of expressions, language, and shared traditions. So, as we–the good people on the top side of Bowling Green continued to build our growing “SmartTown”–little did we know…this young man tells me…that there was a sustained lifestyle, culture, and community being built as well beneath our feet.
Mr. Parker told me he learned about multiple small communities that had popped up in the 1397.44 miles of cave system beneath Warren, Barren, Allen, and Butler Counties. And the Blues Grass and Tamales Festival brings them all together.
Apparently, all the communities now living in the cave system come together at this central location–wherever Mr. Parker was–had “built an ecosystem of natural resources, where money is of no value.” Mr. Parker shares with me of meeting a woman named Shirley Clemintine who–along with several in the cave–shared her family’s history of coming up from Mississippi and settling in Kentucky generations ago. And she likened her journey down into the caves as the next round of a long history of migration. Mr. Parker tells me that Shirley said of the society they had built–” We left the grid and actually got it right. We don’t invite anyone into the cave system because we don’t want y’all ‘Abovers’ to bring your corrupt behaviors into our sacred space!” Sacred beliefs and other supernatural ideas are of high significance in their world.
Mr. Parker told me he found some of the statements ironic because they also seemed to be collecting various forms of payments and resources for the festival. He didn’t have resources to share, and someone said they wouldn’t balk at taking his money after all. But he said that he heard the most amazing music from this central figure, who everyone just referred to as “Guitar Grotto.” It was a blending of music traditions that came from blues, bluegrass, country, folk, the banda, and corrido…and he experienced some of the most amazing foods. Mr. Parker explained how the Mexicans and Black American descendants of Mississippi each had their own version of tamales that they brought together, mixed with White Anglo Descendant of Kentucky’s Pimento cheese. We cannot forget the bourbon and tequila.
The following day, Mr. Parker woke up seated on a park bench in the middle of town. He vigorously checked his person to ensure he still had all his items. He found a folded paper in his left back pocket. Mr. Parker expresses that, with some angst, he unfolds the paper and reads, “We enjoyed you in our humble community. We hope to see you again.”
