The kids, looking to the past for their edge, walked into the backroom of the gas station where the old-timers hung out. They, the old timers, have seen it before: the new set proudly pulled out their mandolins and dobros and guitars and banjos (no fiddle? thought Rooster, one of the regulars), proudly playing as fast as they could from their bindered music book.
"That ain't bluegrass," muttered Rooster.
And thus beganeth the lesson.
Here's a closeup of Rooster:
And here's the work in progress: