The summer after my sophomore year in high school, I ventured to the Blue Ridge Mountains of eastern North Carolina for a month of summer camp. Unfortunately, I forgot to pack my razor. When I returned home, I had managed to grow a full beard. In the short span of a month, my appearance had changed from that of, well, a sixteen year old kid to that of a twenty-eight year old man. After the initial fun of surprising my friends, I began to examine the benefits of what this facial growth could offer me. One night, about a month into my junior year, a friend and I decided to put it to the ultimate test: sneaking into a bar.

We chose as our objective a bar in downtown Jackson called hal & Mal's. Not only did the bar feature live music, but also attracted a crowd of older students from the local colleges and young professionals from Jackson. We were going to try and blend with the older people. We planned it out: khakis, collared shirts, woven leather belts. A real Milsaps/yuppie motif. My friend looked older, although not as old as I, and we figured we had nothing to lose. We had no fake IDs. We were just going to be casual about it. We walked in the door, paid our cover, smiled at the police officer, and we got in! We couldn't believe it. We bought beers and sat down at a table towards the back of the bar. The adrenaline rush even made the beer taste good.

There was a band up front, and they were just beginning to play. The sounds coming from that other end of the cavernous room were like nothing I had ever heard before. At sixteen, with no older siblings, my exposure to music had been MTV and the classic rock radio station. They weren't alternative, they definitely weren't a hair band. They didn't really sound like anybody else. But they were good. Damn good. The drummer and bass player were laying down a groove that made the floor seem to vibrate. The twin guitar players standing up front played hot potato with the solos, and the crowd danced itself into a frenzy. If it hadn't been that two of our teachers happened to be there that night, I would've been dancing, too. Even sitting at the table, my legs refused to stay still.

Eventually, unfortunately, the band finished their show. After waiting for our teachers to leave, my friend and I got up to leave. Walking out the door, I asked the bartender who the band was. She responded, "They're called Beanland. They're from Oxford".

That was the only time I ever got to see Beanland. They broke up a short time later. But Santa must have seen fit to put me, and many other Oxonians, both transplanted and still in residence, on his "nice" list this year, because we're going to get to see them again. Twice. Oxford's legendary house band, Beanland, will be reuniting this weekend for two shows, Thursday night at The Library, and Friday at Proud Larry's.

Beanland formed sometime around 1985, arising out of a mutual love of music shared by guitarists George McConnell and Bill McCrory. Their earliest gigs were at afternoon parties on the deck of that round house on Beanland Ave. Pretty soon, some smart, old dude decided that they weren't that bad, and they began playing at the old Forrester's (it has since burned down). Calling themselves the Beanland Boys, McConnell and McCrory couldn't believe that someone was actually paying them to do something that they would probably be doing anyway. Reviving the idea that every bar needs a house band, the owner of Ireland's (Now Murff's) hired them to play ever Thursday night. (Thursday has always been a traditional night for Bacchic celebrations in college towns all around the country, and Oxford has embraced this tradition as if it was our own). Every Thursday, sweaty, gyrating crowds would fill Ireland's tiny dance space and transform the entire bar into rhythmic chaos. Before anyone knew what was happening, the boys had graduated to Sid & Harry's (now upstairs at City Grocery) and the crowds kept getting thicker and sweatier. Lines would form outside the door and wind around the square, even in the lowest of temperatures. People just couldn't get enough.

By that time, Beanland had rounded out to a quintet, with the addition of Rob Laird providing the backbeat, Ron Lewis laying down the bottom, and displaced Yankee John JoJo Hermann tickling the ivories. By then, they were ready to venture out into the unknown: Outside of Oxford (county line bars and Memphis excepted). First target: Nashville, Tenn. A little club called the Exit/Inn. They didn't know what hit 'em.

After that, Beanland began packing the old green van regularly, pickin' and grinnin' and movin' and shakin' all through the Southeast. As Chico Harris said, "They never professed to being great players or being too serious about it but they knew something connected between the band and the audience during the shows and fell in love with that feeling."

Around 1990, Beanland decided that they just might want to get some of this good stuff down on wax. They shopped around for a little while and landed at Sounds Unreel Studios in Memphis. When discussing a producer, they came up with the hope to get legendary record producer Jim Dickinson, who lives in the area. Dickinson's resume' ranges from producing albums by the Replacements and Big Star to playing piano with Ry Cooder and Bob Dylan, among numerous others. The rock n' roll gods must have been in a good mood that day, because, with a little persuasion they were able to talk Dickinson into producing the album. McConnell credits Dickinson as the main reason why Beanland was so damn good. "It was the best studio experience of my life," remembers McConnell. "We would play a song and he would walk out of the booth and say 'Change this, change that, do this, do that.' Then he'd just walk back out in the room. We'd do it again, and it would sound perfect. He was great. We were lucky to get him."

With the new self-titled album out, Beanland packed its collective bags and hit the road. Over the next few years, the boys took the good vibes from our little town damn near all over the country, from Wyoming to Texas to Chicago and everywhere in between. Even New York City. "New York was great," according to McConnell. "It was JoJo's hometown, we knew all the right bars to go to, played a great show, had a great time." The shows tested the road skills of Lance Lawrence, official Beanland sound dude, and "driver of the Winnebago," but they made it in one piece and had a hell of a time. They hooked up with a new drummer, Steve Kilmer, Sleete Kleeter to his friends, and began to write material for their sophomore effort, Eye to Eye.

But alas, it was not meant to be. Bill McCrory plunged headlong into that marriage thing and moved to Memphis. Ron Lewis moved back to New Orleans, where he still lives, happily married. He runs the official Beanland web site from down in the Big Easy. Check it out sometime at http://www.beanland.net. Rumor has it that the boys are pressing new copies of their two albums and will be selling them through the web site. So stop by next time you're procrastinating on the internet. JoJo took an offer to join the Athens, Ga. group Widespread panic, but still makes frequent trips home to check on his bush hogs, which he raises on some land in Taylor. Steve Kilmer is now the drummer for Omar and The Howlers, in Austin, Texas. George stayed here, and is still making the music that makes him and the rest of us happy. For the out-of-towners, and for people who have been living under a rock for the past few years, George plays and sings for the Kudzu Kings. Beanland played their last show at Lafayette's (now The Library) in October, 1993.

But why a reunion? Why now? What was the driving force behind this great stroke of luck that has graced music lovers here in North Mississippi? "Quote me on this," says McConnell. "JoJo was drunk." Elaborate. "JoJo had been talking about this for some time now, and he usually brings up the idea when he's drunk. I usually put him off, and tell him there's no way he could fit it into his schedule, but this one time, he happened to have his schedule with him, and we set a date. From there, it has just kind of progressed."

I, for one, am going to have to buy JoJo a drink next time I see him. Beautiful things seem to come out of that union.

Look for the lineup to be the one from the heyday, George and Bill on guitars, JoJo on keys, and Ron on bass. Unfortunately, because of committments to his current band, Sleete won't be joining us. He's gotta make somebody dance somewhere else. Chuck Sigler will be sitting behind the kit. Rumor has it that there will be some friends stopping by as well. J.K. Terrell's name has been mentioned.

This weekend will be a celebration. It will be a celebration of the life, the love, the joy that Beanland's music has brought to hundreds of people. It is a celebration for the people who will finally be able to see Beanland for the first time, after hearing about them for years. I was one of the lucky ones. I got to see them. Beanland opened up a whole new world to me. The non-MTV, non-alternative world of music. Playing music for the joy of playing, and dancing to the music because it is impossible to resist. I will never be able to thank them enough.

Get Ready. Transplanted Oxonians from all over the country are flying this weekend to re-experience the feeling, remember the love, and dance their asses off. Beanland had many fans, but they had even more friends. many of them are coming home this weekend. Back to the old neighborhood. They are our brethren. Welcome them with open arms, and offer them some groove. There will be enough to go around.

Beanland will be playing Thursday night at The Library and Friday night at Proud Larry's. Both shows are $15 (each). The Larry's show is a benefit for the Humane Society.