09/23/2026
For those who haven't heard, and who were friends or acquaintances, I'm sorry if this is how you're finding out that fellow musician and dear friend C. Scott Fry died on Sunday.
Two decades ago, give or take a year, on a random afternoon, C. Scott Fry walked into Costa's Diner and handed me this banjo clock he had just created. “Figured it would be the only banjo you could ever love…one with no strings attached!“ To this day it’s still the only banjo that keeps good time, and it every day reminds me of the quiet consideration he showed to so many musicians, artists, and strangers along the way, and the hidden spontaneous nature of his generosity.
During a late night/early morning Alaskan Hotel folk fest after-party in the 00’s i snapped a picture of his bass resting in a shower stall, which he then transformed into a still life study, and regifted back to me.
Like an alchemist, he spun base materials into things of wonder and worth.
He graced our stage here a few times, most memorably at an early incarnation of the Xmas Xtravaganza where he introduced a new generation of kids to the great John Prine’s “Christmas In Prison”, which was maybe not a concept your average 8-year old had much considered.
With seemingly boundless momentum he was literally instrumental in providing a stage for a perpetual parade of performers. He was an artist of Renaissance proportion and of catholic taste, in the true sense of the word. He was a writer, singer, producer, musician, and most of all, a good friend.
Next time you come in, give him a second of banjo time to say hello.
It was Christmas in prison
And the food was real good
We had turkey and pistols
Carved out of wood
And I dream of her always
Even when I don't dream
Her name's on my tongue
And her blood's in my stream
Wait awhile eternity
Old mother nature's got nothing on me
Come to me
Run to me
Come to me, now
We're rolling
My sweetheart
We're flowing
By God
She reminds me of a chess game
With someone I admire
Or a picnic in the rain
After a prairie fire
Her heart is as big
As this whole goddamn jail
And she's sweeter than saccharine
At a drug store sale
Wait awhile eternity
Old mother nature's got nothing on me
Come to me
Run to me
Come to me, now
We're rolling
My sweetheart
We're flowing
By God
