Vyto Unplugged

Hiking with "Jesus," Raging with Big Gigantic at Stratton Mountain

 
I asked "Jesus" how he got his name?  
He said it started with the hip-hop artists who he was working with. They started calling him "Jesus" because of his clean lifestyle  -  no drugs, etc... 
Jesus is a short, Keebler-like fellow, a bouncing leprechaun. Clearly, not many humans are happier in life than Jesus.
But why not?
He is living the professional dream of every kid jamming in a garage band in Rutland or across the nation.
Jesus is a graduate of the prestigious Berklee College of Music and the talented  bass player for the band Lettuce.
"Jesus" is also Erick Coomes.
He was leading a merry group of ragers through the Vermont woods on a hike reserved through the
 Royal  Family Affair's music festival Facebook site.
The night before, Jesus or Coomes was playing a thundering rock/funk, bass riff against Erick Krazno's  jamming, jazzy, lead-guitar purity. 
Their music was a sick, hypnotic, grab-your-girlfriend by the hips, butt-swaying funk.
And they had more brass sound than standing a foot away from Rutland's fire department horn.   
In fact that sums up most of the bands at Stratton Mountain's Royal Family music festival held on Aug. 12 to 14. Horns, horns and more horns.
Funk and its rhythm was as relevant to this young Stratton crowd as it was on Soul Train in the 1970s.
The 20 funk jam bands included Soulive, Ivan Neviles Dumstaphunk, the Sam Kininger Band and  
rage bands like Big Gigantic.
And of course everyone's crowd favorite Zack Deputy who really does his own "thing."
However, one thing was different at this music festival: "The band was the crowd."
Members of the band Cavemen played tether ball with the fans, Soulive and Lettuce guitarist Eric  
Krasno bought dinner at the Jamaican Jerk trailer and talked with fans, and other musicians danced and roamed the crowd.
As a twist, the festival offered music workshops by the musicians for fans sponsored by the Berklee College of Music.
 But does that explain the green slimey substance that fell on my arm during a Lettuce set as darkness fell over Stratton Mountain?
The weather was perfect. I had seen Lettuce warm up earlier in the day and that was a treat.
But at nighttime,  the ragers turned the funk into a neon dance party of scantily clad, swaying
bodies tossing inflatable toys in the air.
Women resembling bellydancers spun illumated hula hoops in to the darkness. Smoke and steam rose from the crowd. 
Huh?
Well i guess you had to be there. Well maybe you still can.
The Royal Family Affair is already on Facebook asking fans for suggestions for next year's lineup.
Stratton Mountain estimated about 1,500 fans for the event this year.
This is much less than the 20,000 at the Mountain Jam in Hunter Mountain, N.Y., I attended last June, but Mountain Jam hosted 55 major national bands headed by Govt Mule.
Mountain Jam in New York started at tiny Pico Mountain in Vermont and we lost it. Now Stratton as a gem, a jewel. I hope this one stays.
Oh the green slimey substance that fell on my arm. Lettuce of course. Someone in the crowd was throwing shreaded lettuce in addition to the neon sticks and confetti out of the darkness.
Which brings me back to Jesus, I mean Erick Coomes.
The hike with "Jesus" turned out to be educational, even though he asked me to take the lead since   he was from Southern California and was unfamiliar with the surroundings. At the top of Stratton Mountain, Coomes climbed the  firetower while a rager played Lettuce music on an IPod for a woman caretaker for the Appalacian Trail who was living at a shelter near the tower.
I returned down the mountain with a friend because we didn't know how long Coomes would be perched atop the tower.
In fact, the next time I saw Coomes, he was running through the crowd of ragers on Sunday to adoring fans.
He then ran up on the side of the stage as Ivan Neville's Dumpstaphunk band finished their exhausting performance to a screaming crowd.
Coomes rushed up and gave Neville a huge bear hug while the crowd was still in a roar. Neville's eyes opened like they were going to pop out of his face, which was supporting a huge smile.
Hopefully that's the karma moment that brings the funk back to Stratton next year.
Thank you Jesus, I mean Erick.

(CLICK ABOVE PHOTOS TO ENLARGE)

   VIDEO

(This blog was written "just" before the Vermont flood, but I did not feel it was appropriate to post at that time.)

http://www.royalfamilyrecords.com/lettuce          http://www.royalfamilyrecords.com/soulive
http://www.myspace.com/biggigantic                        http://www.zachdeputy.com/

               

The Flood Voices Keep Talking

I can't sleep. I am waking up at 4:30 a.m. Once even at 3:30.
I used to sleep like a baby and never woke up before 6.
But the voices keep talking to me.  
The voices of people who just watched their homes destroyed by a raging river and have no flood insurance.
The voices of people whose dreams and memories are covered in mud and are in need of healing.
It's the the 9/11 anniversary and 14 days after Tropical Storm Irene wrecked Vermont.
So Vermont's tragedy was small compared to 9/11.
But Friday I covered the funeral for  Michael Garafano, the Department of Public Works' worker who was killed inspecting the flood waters with his son, also Michael.
Tell me that it isn't as big as 9/11 for that family?
So on a personal note: I have covered the flood 14 straight days. My living space is a mess. My clothes are all wrinkled in a pile and I have gotten doctor-comfirmed poison ivy tromping through woods to isolated towns.
ButI keep hearing the voices . Like Jon Graham's or Brian Halligan's who lost their entire homes in rushing floodwaters, but on the other hand, are lucky to be alive.
I keep hearing all the  "THANK YOUs."
That is all I heard when I went to flood-torn Pittsfield, Rochester and Killington right after the flood.
In the first few days, I was the only "clean" person in town.
"Thank you for coming to see us," the voices would say.
"Thank you for getting the word out," the voices would add.
They were all covered in dirt and had smiles as wide as the Grand Canyon, despite the nearby homes tossed in the mud in Pittsfield, a home collapsed like a deck of cards in  
Rochester and a home devoured by a river in Killington.

So last Saturday, the town had a wedding at the firehouse in Pittsfield. Good for them.
It must have been glorious. I had to cover a Mount St. Joseph football game. But that's OK. I can see the smiles on the townspeople's faces without actually being there.
Watching Pittsfield residents work through the flood was amazing. They were organized.  
Respectful. Caring.
Pittsfield held elementary school classes and had "haircut day" on their town green. Residents met helicopter food-drops. Pickup caravans were formed to deliver the emergency food shipments to stranded neighbors.
I have been to Pittsfield Town Meetings and their town meeting lunches are the best. The baked beans get me back there every year.
There will be a new electricity at every town meeting now.
New friends among flatlanders and oldtimers. People who saved eachothers'  lives and then helped eachother rebuild.  A human bond that no one else will understand.
Talk about turning a negative into a positive. "HERE COMES THE BRIDE..."

VIDEOS BY VYTO STARINSKAS. "VERMONTERS IN THEIR OWN WORDS" 3 of Series

   

 

"Hurricane" Irene Rips up Route 4 in Mendon

       Hurricane Irene started with a report of a car full of people floating down the Mendon Brook.
It was Sunday afternoon and there was a small bridge washed out on Route 4 near the Sugar and  Spice Restaurant.
The car was supposed to be in the raging river, about a half-mile above the popular restaurant, near Wheelerville Road.
The Rutland City Fire Department responded with a rescue truck in the pouring rain, but we could not find any car in the river.

However, something was strange. A small section of guardrail along the river was bent over.
And then suddenly the guardrail was gone.
Ooops, I guess it wasn't the car after all, it was the river crashing into the river wall, eroding it.
Next the rushing water washed out a single lane of road about 20-yards long.
Wow. "I got my front page photo," I thought.
I pulled my car way below the crack in the road so I didn't get stuck up near the Wheelerville bridge and waited to see if any more f the road would disappear into the rushing waters.
I was ready to drive down the road towards Rutland if any more of the road did give away, but I thought this was unlikely.
So I was sitting in my car, starting my laptop to send the photo, and I see flashes of light in my rearview mirror.
"What is that?"
I realized it was the telephone poles dropping into the river and transformers exploding.
Time to drive the half-mile down Route 4 to the flats near Sugar and Spice or I would be trapped between falling electic lines. The photo would have to "do."
Down at the flats, the river was spreading a wider path. Fifteen yards turned in to 25 yards. A calm brook turned into a roaring river. And it was closing on the bottom section of Route 4 now.
I was pretty safe here, I thought, as the river started creeping towards the road.
The 25-yard swath grew to 40 yards and didn't just cover the road, it started chewing it up like a 3 Musketeers Bar.
The river was brown with dirt and mud. It filled with huge crashing trees and the sound was amazing.
Cars were still coming down the road and several people stopped near me, but I warned them to leave.
I didn't think I was in danger, but I was a little uneasy with my intelligence of hanging out with two knuckleheads with IPhones in a Mercedes from "out-of-state."
I was ready to roll at any moment, and my car was pointed down the road. The tourists just stayed above the emergency cones like it was a moose sighting.
The river spread to about 50-yards wide and one lane of the road was now chewed up for about 100 yards. I guess that will have to "do," I thought.

So the photos from that "spot" ended up around the world as the Rutland Herald shared its photos with the Associated Press wire service: Front page of the Boston Globe print edition, the New York Times website and also on tens of thousands of newspaper web sites.

 Yes, the same little road I take skiing every winter was now known around the country as a symbol of "Tropical Storm Irene." They ended up dropping the "hurricane," ironically.

The next day when I saw Route 4 and the damage, I realized that was an unsual experience I had witnessed and I better write it up. It's now a canyon.
I didn't take "too" many chances. But I can't tell you how bad I feel for the two brave men and their families who died checking the rising flood waters about 300 yards away from me that afternoon.
I didn't see them. They were on Meadow Brook Lane around the corner from me as I stood on Route 4.
A father and son team was trying to look out for the residents of Rutland.
They were swept away in the same rising waters I was staring at.
The dad worked for the Department of Public Works, and his son went with him to help keep an eye on him.
I will think of the son every time I go to the Proctor-Pittsford Country Club, where the young man worked. They are grieving him there. He had the day off because of the rain.
Now there are thousands of stories of local heroes helping neighbors through this trauma. Stories that will never be reported.
Stories that will only be carried in the hearts of grateful Vermonters.