Friday Night Jamboree, Rockbridge, Missouri 

A sandstone-colored ’94 GMC backs into the grassy parking lot, muffler growling, checkered race flags adorning the rear window. The blue-jean-clad driver hops out into the cool Ozark dusk, moving swiftly but unhurriedly toward the bed of the pickup. Dropping the tailgate, he reaches into the back and deftly removes a large, black object with an unmistakable shape.

A double bass.

It’s Friday night, and for some Southwest Missourians, that means only one thing: the weekly gathering at Athel Jackson’s barn – the Friday Night Jamboree.

Tucked away in the Ozarks – the definitive region that belongs to itself more than any particular state – jam sessions are a tie that links a rocky history to the rocky terrain.

Somewhere between hardship and dignity, with roots in religion and war, tradition emerges in the form of a distinct and sometimes ancient musical repertoire.

Over the past 10 to 20 years, the traditional Ozark jam session, centuries in the making, has experienced an inexplicable revival. Jam sessions fill old schoolhouses, barns and homes five nights a week across southwest Missouri. Yet, the passing of a generation threatens to bring an end or at least a decline in not only the music but also a way of life.