'Not Everybody can Jug'

Offbeat musical showdown more about camaraderie than competition

By MATT PEIKEN
St. Paul Pioneer Press; February 14, 2005©

If Sunday's shoulder-to-shoulder, bottle-to-bottle gathering at the Cabooze is a fair guideline, no legitimate jug band takes the stage without the following: washboard, washtub bass, at least one ponytail (braiding optional) and a comfortable buzz. Like a dash of pepper, the jug is usually sensed rather than tasted.

"Anybody can blow, but not everybody can jug," said Carol Cashman, performing Sunday under the moniker "Wild Sag" with a group calling itself the Saggy Bottom Girls.

The annual Battle of the Jug Bands, hosted by a Minneapolis club rarely frequented by the well heeled, has become a family reunion of sorts for the folk and blues musicians who first shaped the sound of Minneapolis' West Side 40 years ago, and for the people who listened to them. The 23rd rendition also drew handfuls of young throwbacks, some who traveled from Iowa and Wisconsin for the competition and camaraderie.

Mike Fischer, a history teacher at Jennings Experiential High School in St. Paul , received a history lesson of his own. Moments after arriving at the Cabooze, Fischer spotted a tall man wearing a derby leaning against the bar.

"See that guy?" he said with a tilt of the head. "That's John Koerner. Guy's a legend."

Sure enough, it was Koerner -- aka Spider John Koerner -- tipping back a short glass and watching the stage. Koerner is among the founding fathers of folk in Minneapolis , appearing on samplers and compilations dating to 1964. He has made nearly two dozen albums since then and has toured internationally.

Koerner happened to win this jug band competition several years ago but showed up Sunday just for the backslapping.

"I came last year with no band, no instrument, and by the time I went up there, I had 30 friends up there with me," he said. "I just told them what key it was in, and we just took off."

Sunday's jug bands bolstered themselves with traditional fiddles, banjos and acoustic guitars, though some regarded it a source of pride that they hadn't rehearsed before the competition. Bands received only about 15 minutes of stage time before clearing off for the next group. More than two dozen were scheduled to compete for the grand prize -- an iron skillet.

"The audience can really tell if you've practiced. You don't want to be too good," said Tom Hollenhorst, one of the "nine or 10" members of the Saggy Bottom Girls.

The group wasn't taking chances. Bribing the judges is openly encouraged and a long-held tradition of the competition. Among other items, the Saggy Bottom Girls dropped off a gift basket loaded with loaves of banana nut bread with money baked inside. Members also bore bottles of maple syrup with their individual photos on the labels.

Fischer, the history teacher, claimed a prize he hadn't counted on. Moments after arriving, another jug band musician gave him a guitar built from a sanded stick, two strings and a wooden box of cigars stamped "Macanudo Robust."

"Guy said I looked like a nice guy and just handed it to me," Fischer said. "That's the kind of people this music brings out."

"This is so popular because it's the people's music," said Karin Kraemer, a Saggy Bottomer and also Hollenhorst's wife. "Everyone here, this is the living room of Minnesota , and ... we need that right now."