Up the Downstair in Print

If you're here to check out the polka posts mentioned in Isthmus, here are links:

Madison Is Not a Polka Town

Polka Redux

If you're wondering what I'm talking about, then let me explain. My posts about the state of polka here in Madion were read by an intrepid writer for our local alternative rag, Ithmus. The following article resulted:

John Benninghouse was on a mission. A polka mission. Moved by an essay by James Leary, Wisconsin's foremost polka historian, Benninghouse wanted to find out whether Madison — once a polka powerhouse — still had a vital polka scene. He...

Stop giggling.

Seriously. Replace the word "polka" above with "blues" or "jazz" and you wouldn't laugh. Heck, if it was "zydeco" or "bluegrass" or "klezmer" or some other folk music, you might already have joined Benninghouse's quest, taking notes for him at the west-side Barnes & Noble. But there's something about polka — a Wisconsin-nurtured dance every bit as vital and influential as the other, trendier genres — that's become a punchline. Including in this space, by me. Sorry, polka.

But not to Benninghouse. Writing for his blog, "Up the Downstair" (www.upthedownstair.net), he checked the listings for dozens of local clubs. With the exception of the Essen Haus, all were polka-free. Benninghouse then went to eight CD stores and found...not much. Between all the stores, there were 12 CDs available, and all but one (Brave Combo's Polkas for a Gloomy World) were non-contemporary compilations. (And it was the aforementioned Barnes & Noble that offered the biggest selection.)

The conclusion? "Madison is not a polka town," Benninghouse said. "And that's too bad."

It wasn't always that way, according to Leary, a professor of folklore and Scandinavian studies at UW-Madison and a founder of the Center for the Study of Upper Midwestern Cultures. With Wisconsin's German, Polish, Czech and even Norwegian immigrants came the many styles of polka music, which evolved in community dance halls throughout the state.

But despite polka's "deep local roots" and famed local musicians, Leary says there's not a lot of Wisconsin's official state dance to be found in Madison. "Turner Hall [on Stoughton Road] has it, and New Glarus periodically. And you'll find it performed at weddings and community events." But, echoing Benninghouse, Leary says the Essen Haus is alone in offering regular polka nights.

Bruce Bollerud was the accordionist for the Goose Island Ramblers, one of Madison's most successful bands of any genre. In the 1960s and '70s, the Ramblers were in the vanguard of the roots-inflected "polkabilly" genre. (They're also the subject of a compelling new biography by Leary, Polkabilly: How the Goose Island Ramblers Redefined American Folk Music.) Bollerud, who still performs around town with fellow Rambler George Gilbertson, says polka's fall from grace has as much to do with generational habits as shifting tastes.

"With polka, all age groups — kids, parents and old people — went to dances together. Once rock 'n' roll, a music designed expressly for young people, came in, kids had their own music."

And as Benninghouse notes in his blog, the folk music that informs modern rock — blues, jazz, etc. — is the folk music that enjoys universal respect.

While polka will always be part of Madison's heritage, Bollerud says, "it's moved from group entertainment to more of a remembrance or nostalgia." And with polka's influence being felt in modern Cajun and Mexican music, it really hasn't gone away. "The Baldoni accordion factory in Menomonee Falls is going full blast," he says.

While the Essen Haus may be Madison's only regular polka stop (Bollerud and Gilbertson will play there on July 7 and 8), there is plenty of polka to be found in Milwaukee and Pulaski, with ethnic festivals around the state providing opportunities for traditional Polish, German or Slovenian-style dancing.

Timm Grable, producer of the just-completed polka documentary It's Happiness, says Wisconsin even has an "underground" polka circuit, where twenty- and thirty-somethings seek out so-called extreme polka from bands like Chicago's Polkaholics or Germany's the Shanes. (Fans of the Pogues or Flogging Molly really should check the Shanes out.)

Grable admits he didn't find much polka in Madison. But he thinks that, with the growth of alternative scenes and youth acceptance of the genre elsewhere in the state, "it's ripe for revival."

Or at least no longer being a joke. Unlike, say, clogging.