A couple walks into the room, a historical barn near the dykes of the Skagit River. The room is bustling, filled with a quiet hum punctuated by glasses clinking and the occasional whoop of anticipation from the ever-growing crowd. The stage is backlit with a starry sky backdrop. Townes Van Zandt plays softly from the PA as the room fills and drinks are served. The couple sits down and strikes up a conversation with a soft-spoken man wearing a flannel shirt and a fedora, sipping a pint of IPA like he has someplace to be. The couple glances at each other as the man starts rambling about why guitars from the '30s sound so much better than those made today, they can't remember how they got to talking about this but are impressed with what seems like an uncommonly deep knowledge. He pauses long enough to glance up as several musicians move toward the stage, and his beer is gone. The background music fades out, and the announcement is made: “Please give a warm welcome to Benny Sidelinger!” He stands up, nods to the couple and turns toward the stage.
Benny steps on stage and picks up an ancient banjo, its head worn from years of frailing, and the couple realizes they've been talking to the headliner himself. They'd heard about the show, but a few casually dropped references in their brief conversation with Benny has them curious, they both pull out their phones. A quick search reveals an interview on Dutch National TV before playing Rhythm and Blues in Groningen, performances with Grammy Award Winner Allison Russell, a banjo jam session on stage with Michael Franti, and festival appearances from Vancouver to Calgary to Newport. It reveals countless albums he's appeared on, Po' Girl, JT Nero, the Shiftless Rounders, the Blackberry bushes, the Pine hearts, the list goes on. He seems to have been everywhere, played with everyone.
The lights dim, and the room fades. A band hovers on stage right, but on the stage it's just Benny now. The banjo begins to hum, then sing, then rip. With fingers moving impossibly fast as the music begins to vibrate and glow. Transitioning to another song he picks up a road worn guitar (the google search reveals that he built it himself). The slower, heartfelt ballad written for his first daughter is almost a relief. Subtly, the rest of the band adds layers to the sound one at a time. Benny's voice rings out, adding to the echoes of all the acts that have graced this same stage in the small Washington town. There is distance in that voice, and you can hear the miles and miles of road in the guitar, vibrating like smooth highways passing under weary tires.