live-music

A Field Guide to Digshins (and Other Evenings Gone Sideways)

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3–5 minutes

Shindigs & Digshins: A Guide for the Uninitiated

From The Greater County Backroads Dictionary, 3rd Edition (self-published, available only at Gus’s Feed & Seed):

Digshin (noun) — /ˈdig-shin/

  1. A lively social gathering resembles a shindig. It features more spirited dancing. It has more questionable music combinations. There is a higher probability of meeting your future ex-spouse.
  2. Any event where the crowd can dance on the floor. They will also dance on the tables.
  3. A party that starts like a potluck. It ends like a family reunion if your family includes a traveling accordion player. Imagine two cousins who know the cha-cha, and a guy named Larry who’s never without his washboard.

Origin: Exact origin unknown. The phrase was first recorded in County gossip circa 1974. Edna Lou Perkins was overheard saying, “That wasn’t no shindig, that was a full-blown digshin.”

Usage:

“We went to the barn dance. We thought it was a shindig, but they had an accordion. There was a conga line and three flavors of moonshine. It was definitely a digshin.”

How I Learned the Difference the Hard Way

Around here, folks talk about a shindig and a digshin like they’re just cousins. They are close enough to be in the same family photo. But, they are different enough to fight over who gets the last piece of pie.

A shindig, you probably already know. That’s your wholesome Saturday-night community gathering. Picnic tables sag under the weight of potato salad and baked beans. Music is played by somebody’s cousin on an acoustic guitar. The dancing doesn’t need a permission slip or a chiropractor afterward. Kids run wild between the hay bales. The mayor dances with the school librarian. There’s always that one guy who insists his chili is “just a little spicy.” It makes half the crowd break into a sweat.

A digshin, though? That’s a different animal. I didn’t know that until one fateful summer evening when I mixed the two up.

It started with an invitation. I’d heard the Johnson family was organizing “a big shindig out at the old barn.” Because the Johnson’s know how to cook, I didn’t ask too many questions. I shined up my boots. I wore my good hat. I brought along a peach cobbler. I was hoping it would make me a local legend.

When I got there, I noticed a few things were… different

First off, the music wasn’t just country and bluegrass. There was a fiddle in there. It was tangled up with a bass line. The rhythm made my boots twitch without asking permission. Someone had added a washboard player who looked like he’d just wandered in from a Mardi Gras parade. Halfway through the first song, a guy with an accordion joined in. It was as if he’d been waiting all year for this moment.

Second, the crowd was livelier than your average shindig bunch. At a normal shindig, folks will dance — polite, steady, maybe a do-si-do if the caller is feeling bossy. But here? People were spinning, stomping, and swinging their partners until their hats flew off. The mechanic from three towns over was leading a line dance. It kept changing every eight beats. Meanwhile, the feed store clerk had somehow ended up dancing with three partners at once.

Then came the moment I knew I wasn’t at a shindig at all — I was at my first digshin.

See, at a shindig, you can leave anytime you want. Folks will wave, hand you a slice of pie for the road, and tell you to drive safe. At a digshin, you can’t leave without getting pulled into at least one dance. There will be one toast. And there is always one questionable story told by somebody who swears it happened “back in ’78.”

By the time I made it out, my boots were dusty. My cobbler dish was empty. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I still couldn’t tell you exactly what a digshin is, but I know this:

If you’re at a shindig, you’ll go home with a full belly.
If you’re at a digshin, you’ll go home with a full belly. You’ll also have a story you probably shouldn’t tell your grandmother.

If you are ever invited to a Shindig – Digshin crossover event, don’t pass up the chance to go. You will have the time of your life. Especially if you stay for the whole Digshin! (And remember it.)

Vern Gosdin’s Legendary Blizzard Concert Experience

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©s

3–5 minutes

The Night Vern Gosdin Played for Twenty

Harry had worn many hats in his life. One of his most memorable roles was as a news director. He also served as an operations manager at a radio station in the lower Great Plains. His job included ensuring that touring musicians arrived at their venues without issue. He also ensured that their shows went off without a hitch.

Artists like Dan Seals, Davis Daniel, and Vern Gosdin have passed through the area over the years. They brought country music to fans eager to taste Nashville. But one night in particular stood out—the night Vern Gosdin played for twenty.

Gosdin, known as “The Voice,” was a country music legend. His pedigree included stints with the Golden State Boys, The Byrds, and collaborations with George Jones. He had a rich, smooth baritone. It gave life to timeless hits like Set’ Em Up Joe. He also brought If You’re Gonna Do Me Wrong, Do It Right to life. Another classic was Chiseled in Stone. Fans were eager to see him live. He was scheduled to sing at a local college auditorium and field house. This event was set for one Saturday night in January.

On Friday, Harry arrived at the venue to oversee the setup. Everything was in place—sound, lighting, seating—and aligned with the band’s requirements. The only concern was the weather. Forecasts hinted at snow, but the storm was expected to stay north of the region. Gosdin’s tour bus had pulled in behind the venue by noon on Saturday. The final checks were made, and everything looked good to go.

Then, the storm took a turn.

By late afternoon, the sky darkened, and the wind began howling. Within hours, blizzard-like conditions descended on the area, dumping nearly a foot of snow. Whiteout conditions made travel treacherous. The state highway department issued warnings urging motorists to stay off the roads unless it was an emergency.

By showtime, only twenty dedicated souls had managed to reach the venue. The sold-out crowd was nowhere to be seen, trapped by the snow. Their decision to be there showed strong dedication. They braved treacherous conditions as a testament to their love for Vern Gosdin and his music.

Despite the dismal turnout, Vern Gosdin and his band took the stage as if playing to a packed house. Gosdin stepped to the microphone, wore a warm smile, and said, –––

“We made it. For those of you here, we will play!”

The Voice filled the nearly empty hall with his opening number. He sang “I’m Gonna Be Moving,” a gospel tune. It resonated with many of his fans. He followed with “I Can Tell By the Way You Dance.” The concert became extraordinary from that moment on.

The crew saw rows of empty seats. They decided to clear a space near the stage, which was turned into a dance floor. The twenty die-hard fans swayed, twirled, and laughed as Gosdin played every song from his setlist. It was no longer just a concert but an intimate, once-in-a-lifetime experience, a privilege they can claim. Between songs, Gosdin and the band chatted with the audience, taking requests and sharing stories.

The small but mighty crowd erupted into cheers when he played his final song and left the stage. Their enthusiasm filled the hall, and they refused to let the night end.

A minute later, Gosdin and his band returned.

He picked up his guitar for his encore and grinned at his audience. He broke into I’m Moving On. Then, he followed with That Just About Does It. The twenty lucky souls in attendance soaked up every note, knowing they were part of something special.

Outside, more than fifteen inches of snow had blanketed the town. The roads were treacherous, but Gosdin’s bus driver was determined to push ahead. He asked Harry to lead them to the highway, where they would inch their way north. Harry agreed, and with the radio station’s car guiding the way, the tour bus crept through the snow-covered streets.

After twenty miles, the highway finally began to clear. As the bus picked up speed, the driver gave a long honk. It was a final thanks to Harry for helping them through the storm. It was also for an unforgettable night on the Great Plains.

The twenty who braved the blizzard that night in Goodwell, Oklahoma, gained more than a concert experience. They had seen a legend up close. It was a personal meeting in a performance that would be talked about for years to come. The memories of that night, the laughter, and the music will stay with them forever. The sense of community was also unforgettable. This is a testament to the enduring power of live music.