VOLUME IV: The Rooster Creek Show, Fulton, Missouri

At 11 p.m. bass player Russell Orchard was sitting down. At age 78, after several hours of picking, you could hardly blame him. He and the rest of the boys had begun to arrive at about 7, having made their way just beyond the Fulton city limits, just away from the downtown glow that dulls the sky's dome. The last, a drop-in bassist, dragged his enormous instrument -- its neck beautifully carved into the shape of a snake's head -- like a dead body across the threshold. They staked out their spots in the cramped, dimly lit trailer, lovingly dubbed "The Nest." Located behind Ron Lutz's house, it's a boy's clubhouse gone grown-up, and a once-a-week recording studio for one of the last live country-music radio shows on the air. The first couple of hours went by in a free-flowing, free-association jam session during which the Rooster Creek Boys compiled the song list for their show. Lutz, the last of the original Boys, a country-music band that played dances in the late 1950s and started the show as a way to advertise their gigs, held court in his custom-made chair, looking every inch the king of the room. At about 10, Lutz started the tape rolling and stepped up to the microphone. "Welcome, everybody, to country music on the Rooster Creek Show!" he boomed, stretching out his words like an old-time circus barker, like a zealous vendor roaming the bleachers at a summer baseball game.

Tune in to some of the March 8, 1997, Rooster Creek Show on KFAL Radio.:

First up was a Hank Williams tune. "There's a tear in my beer 'cause I'm crying for you dear..." the singer crooned slow and sad and steady. Next was "My Grandfather's Clock," an instrumental with solos for everybody; one by one the men moved from the back of the room to show their stuff. The show, as always, was live and uncut. On Saturday morning at KFAL (AM 900) the tape will be played straight through. Simple. And great. Thirty-nine years is, apparently, enough time to work out the kinks.