In August of 2007, I had the opportunity to sit down with accordionist Ray Abshire to talk about Cajun music. Much of our discussion centered upon Cajun music in the past and how that music compared to the present. Mr. Abshire is a self-described purist, advocating a traditional approach to Cajun music. However, he sees a great deal of promise in today's musicians.
He also describes himself as fortunate to have been born in a culture as rich and fertile as that of south Louisiana.
Mr. Abshire was most gracious with his time, and our conversation went on for well over an hour. During that time, he offered a number of observations that I thought would be useful for beginning students of the Cajun accordion. In fact, some of his suggestions were not only original but surprising. Accordingly, I've included those excerpts from our conversation below.
In transcribing the conversation, I've made every attempt to convey the exact exchange, leaving the flow of the conversation intact and including the informalities natural to spoken language:
On Developing an Individual Style
RA: [In the old days,] Everybody played at the same place, every Saturday night. Or they rotated clubs; you played one Saturday here and [the next] you play this other club. They rotated back and forth. And everybody, all these bands had their following. Everybody, they were all unique. You could go from one club to the next, and you could just park in that gravel parking lot and roll your window down, and you would know who was on that accordion. Because they all had their own style, their own unique flavor. It’s because they didn’t listen [to each other]—you know they were all playing [at the same time]. Logistics back then were a big deal. And you didn’t have this “instant music.” All you had was Jerry Dugas on Saturday morning. Or Revon Reed there in Mamou. So—and these guys were working—so all they knew was their music and the way they learned it, so they were all so unique. You go back and you listen to all these old artists, and after about the third note, you know who it is. Today, [whistles], man, you got 28 Steve Rileys and 32 Wayne Toupses out there. And it’s not—I’m not saying it’s bad but—they’re cheating themselves; they’ve gotta find their own, you know, they’ve got to find their own interpretation of this music, and they’ve got to express it for themselves. That’s something else that I see in the quality of music today. You don’t have that origina—that individualism.
RA: [In the old days,] Everybody played at the same place, every Saturday night. Or they rotated clubs; you played one Saturday here and [the next] you play this other club. They rotated back and forth. And everybody, all these bands had their following. Everybody, they were all unique. You could go from one club to the next, and you could just park in that gravel parking lot and roll your window down, and you would know who was on that accordion. Because they all had their own style, their own unique flavor. It’s because they didn’t listen [to each other]—you know they were all playing [at the same time]. Logistics back then were a big deal. And you didn’t have this “instant music.” All you had was Jerry Dugas on Saturday morning. Or Revon Reed there in Mamou. So—and these guys were working—so all they knew was their music and the way they learned it, so they were all so unique. You go back and you listen to all these old artists, and after about the third note, you know who it is. Today, [whistles], man, you got 28 Steve Rileys and 32 Wayne Toupses out there. And it’s not—I’m not saying it’s bad but—they’re cheating themselves; they’ve gotta find their own, you know, they’ve got to find their own interpretation of this music, and they’ve got to express it for themselves. That’s something else that I see in the quality of music today. You don’t have that origina—that individualism.
