Artist: Gabe Dixon Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Latest Album:Lay It On Me
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
I think I was 11. I already loved music and had been taking piano lessons for a few years, but that summer, I went with my parents to see a music festival in downtown Nashville, and I watched a set by Béla Fleck & The Flecktones — the original group, with Béla, Victor Wooten, Future Man, and Howard Levy. Until then, I had no idea that people could be that good at playing their instruments. They were so virtuosic and fun, and the crowd loved it so much. Later that evening, I remember standing in the front yard of our house in Sylvan Park, looking up at the sky and thinking, “I want to be a musician when I grow up.”
What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?
I’m not a very religious person, but before I go on stage, I always take a moment to be grateful and to ask God to work through me so that something bigger than me — love, joy, goodness, light — will shine through me and into the hearts and minds of the people I’m playing for. Sometimes I do that in the studio too. But the stakes feel higher in a live setting, so I’m looking for all the help I can get!
What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?
For a handful of years, I was a “staff writer” at a publishing company, and the most difficult songwriting sessions were the “blind date” country sessions they set up for me — you walk in the room, meet the other person, and your job is to write a song for “the country market.” Often you’re just hoping some big country star will cut it, and you’ll make some money, and they almost never do. Those sessions often became an exercise in putting limitations on what I wrote in hopes that it would be what some generic country singer would like. I often heard, “That line makes him sound like a wimp. Jason Aldean would never sing that.” Or, “We can’t put that chord in there, it’s too fancy-sounding.” Some people are really good at that kind of writing, but for me it was pretty soul-crushing. The only songs of mine that country artists ever ended up wanting to record were ones that I wrote for my own albums. So I mostly just write for myself now.
How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?
It happens more than I mean for it to. The classic writing advice is to “write what you know,” but, to a certain extent you can’t help it. Even when you are trying to write from someone else’s perspective. I did this with my song “All Will Be Well,” “All Will Be Well/even after all the promises you’ve broken to yourself” and also with “Flow Like Wine.” “Why the furrow upon your brow / I see beauty between the lines / oh love, don’t you worry about our love / Let love flow like wine” were written for my wife, but when I really examine it, I realize I was probably writing to myself too.
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
Bring forth compassion, love, and peace through music.
Artist:Nefesh Mountain (Eric Lindberg and Doni Zasloff) Hometown: Brooklyn, New York City (born & raised); Montclair, New Jersey (current locale) Latest Album:Songs for the Sparrows
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
As a musician, there are times when you have to sit and write, practice and create music — this process can be so inward, so solitary and alone. But these quieter moments are also filled with their own kind of magic, the kind that personally sustains you and over time hopefully also helps define you as an artist. There are other times when you find yourself in this great shared musical community with friends, bandmates, mentors, and of course audiences and fans. In these moments, we get to experience it all together as a community. I love all of it, and this crazy cycle that we go through as artists — it’s a great question, the mission statement. And while we’ve never really thought of our career having a “mission” exactly, there is a word that comes to mind that for me applies to all aspects of our musical life, and that is inspiration. Doni and I both want to inspire new thought and ideas with our music, and hope that through song we’re able to depict a better world than the one we see sometimes these days. But inspiration also flows in all directions, and we can feel it from an audience just as easily as they can feel it from us, which is such an encouraging thought. Ultimately for me, I think it’s the drive to inspire and be inspired that fuels a song, improvisation, lyric, or melody, and I’d consider us so lucky just to continue to keep receiving, and giving inspiration back and forth throughout our career… I guess you could say invent, inspire, repeat! — Eric Lindberg
Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?
For me it’s sometimes hard to separate music from life, and vice versa — and when asked this question, I always seem to come back to the artists that’ve shaped me over the years, especially at pivotal moments in my life. As a child, I remember being obsessed with the songs on “Free To Be You And Me.” The songs, messages, and humor on this album opened up a whole new world of inspiration for me at the time. We still listen to it with our kids today! Being a strong woman in the musical world is something that is just so important to me, and in part this is thanks to my next phase of musical influences: Joni Mitchell, Carole King, Carly Simon, Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, and Joan Baez. For me, I came to a lot of bluegrass and old-time musical forms by way of these artists, tracing backwards from them and finding this amazing and wide world of Americana music like the Carter Family, Ola Belle Reed, Doc Watson, and so many others. Today, I’m also beyond proud that both my and Eric’s biggest bluegrass influences have become dear friends and collaborators on our albums: Jerry Douglas, Sam Bush, John Doyle, Bryan Sutton, David Grier, and Mark Schatz among others, have all had such a deep influence on our music, and we’re so grateful for it. — Doni Zasloff
This is such a hard one. There are so many people who have been heroes and “north stars” in my musical life over the years, yet there are two names that always seem to jump to mind when I get asked this question: Pat Metheny and Béla Fleck. I think that I’ve always been drawn to artists who are able to portray their own world on their own terms, and Pat and Béla have done this time and time again, not only defining their sound as composers and improvisers, but all while truly pushing the boundaries of their instruments as well — guitar and banjo, respectively. I also learned early on through them, as well as others like Miles Davis, Bill Monroe, Bill Frisell and more, the importance of composing your own music, and that has been a huge influence on me as it relates to Nefesh Mountain. When I think of Pat and Béla’s music, I actually think of their compositions first. Pat’s “Question and Answer,” “Bright Size Life,” “Farmer’s Trust,” “Letter From Home,” “Last Train Home” and Béla’s “Spanish Point,” “Whitewater,” “Big Country,” “See Rock City,” “Up and Running” to name a few, have all been huge inspirations for me. I’ve learned so much from listening to these two over the years, and not all of it has been exactly music-related. They both always seem to take risks, break rules, and push forward with an inner drive that is just so inspiring to me, and they’ve help pave this musical road out there for other folks, like us perhaps, who also want to build their own world and story on their own terms. — EL
(L-R): Alan Grubner, Eric Lindberg, Doni Zasloff, Max Johnson, David Goldenberg
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
We’ve had so many incredible moments over the years, and one that always comes to mind for me was a number of years back at one of our first IBMA Wide Open Bluegrass festivals in Raleigh, NC. Our music, especially in a more traditionally bluegrass environment like IBMA, can be a bit different, to say the least. We were playing the 5:00 pm spot at the Capitol Stage, right in the center of the city, about to play a set that we knew had a few songs with Hebrew in them. I remember standing backstage looking out at a few thousand people at least, and just being terrified, scared that we would not be accepted for who we are. If you’ve never been, Wide Open Bluegrass is kind of a festival meets street fair. There are no tickets, and for these few days, about a million or so people in Raleigh come out to see some of the best bluegrass music around. So I’m looking out at this crowd that is growing by the second — and in my mind just assumed that they would all leave once they heard a lyric in Hebrew. But in the blink of an eye, I feel Eric come up next to me, grab my hand, and whisk me onto the stage — and less than 60 seconds later we were into our first song. I can barely remember any of the music from that particular performance, but what I do remember are the faces in the crowd… the smiles, the applause, the tears, the joy, the hope, and the rapidly growing numbers of people! When we got to our last song the crowd had more than tripled in size and we received our first standing ovation from the city of Raleigh, NC. It was a show and feeling I’d never forget. Of course, we’d played countless shows before and after that one, but there was a different sense of unknowing that day, of a deeper unknown, and felt like a trust fall between us and all the folks in that crowd who overwhelmingly all reached and caught us! – DZ
What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc — inform your music?
I think about this a lot, actually. I’m always curious about this connection between music, film, dance, literature and sometimes art as well — that all of it takes place, unfolds, and exists over time. A song, album, TV show, movie or book all have a specific and unique length, and I love that it’s our job as creators to ultimately tell a story within the parameters of our own medium. Our newest album, Songs for the Sparrows, is for me our most “cinematic” yet, in that we really wanted the album as a whole to take on the dramatic flow and characteristics of a film. We took a lot of time to write themes and motifs for this album, both melodically and lyrically, that would weave in and out of the songs. For us, these are our “characters” — the different voices and melodies that make appearances throughout. We also wanted a clear and definite beginning, middle, and end to the album, but overall really wanted it to feel like one story and one experience. I think the most exciting part of attempting to make music in this “cinematic” way is that it forces me to think more visually about the songs… to really focus on the images that we’re striving to create with all these beautiful acoustic instruments. There is a piece on the record called “Suite for a Golden Butterfly,” and for this one, Doni and I actually sat down and wrote out a detailed narrative before even a note of music was written. The music to all five movements came from this story that we wrote together about a Jewish family from Eastern Europe who flees to America to escape the Nazis, and for us it was such an exciting way to collaborate — each putting our own visuals, thoughts, and ideas into the music. — EL
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
The natural world has had a profound influence on our music and lyrics over the years, and as songwriters and composers, we are always looking for ways to convey feelings, stories, and emotions that will resonate, both with ourselves and the listener. We all in one way or another have such a strong relationship with the world around us, and we often lean on this shared “common ground” in our songs, and really love telling our story through the lens of these universal images of rivers, canyons, forests, fields, and of course mountains! One of the great gifts of being a touring musician is having the chance to see the world. When I sit at home at my desk to write or compose a new piece, my mind will often wander on its own, referencing images of the mountains of Colorado, the coasts of Maine, the California sun, the peaks in Switzerland, the hills and valleys in Ireland. It’s a bit abstract and hard to measure, but for me, these elements of nature and personal memories come out in our work all the time — sometimes in an intended lyric or melody, and sometimes in just a few notes of an improvised solo. — EL
We’re always looking for connections in our music… ways of telling our story and how we see the world while bridging bluegrass music with our heritage as Jewish Americans. One common thread that beautifully runs through Americana music and Jewish tradition is the undeniable reverence shown for our natural world, and that connection is so encouraging for me! We so often only look at our differences these days — our backgrounds, skin color, religion, gender, or even musical genre — but over the years of traveling and making music, I’ve found that we can just as easily look at all the things that connect us, that we have in common. Strangely enough, it’s a choice that we can make every day, and it gives me comfort to know that despite our differences we’re all “Somewhere on This Mountain” all at once, all looking up at the same trees, clouds, and sky every day. — DZ
Twin fiddles are the bluegrass instrumental duo that get all the attention, but double banjos are really where it’s at. (Is this writer a banjo player? Why, yes. Is this writer biased? Why, of course!) It makes sense that twin or triple fiddling would end up more popular than double or triple banjos, given that fiddles are sounded by bows, so the melodic contours are more like vocal harmony, often longer phrases and bow strokes languidly and charismatically laced together. Banjos, with their rapid-fire sixteenth notes and syncopated, idiosyncratic rolls, are just more difficult to sync up. Hundreds – if not thousands – of banjo jokes devoted to rhythm and timing will certainly back that claim up.
But double banjo is an art form as old as bluegrass itself – and older, by quite a few dozen decades, if you count early American popular music, banjo orchestras, minstrel and vaudeville songs that all centered banjos before and during the turn of the 19th to 20th century.
In bluegrass, twin five-strings are at their most astounding in jaw-dropping and acrobatic contexts such as High Fidelity’s incredible rendition of the Don Reno classic instrumental, “Follow the Leader.” Famous for his steel guitar and chicken-pickin’ Telecaster licks transferred to banjo, Reno’s harebrained and wonky turns of phrase might seem like the last musical context in which one should attempt perfect synchronization, especially on banjo, but Jeremy Stephens and Kurt Stephenson defy reason, logic, and surely physics with their buttery, seamless, double banjo blend. The track perfectly encapsulates the “WHAT IS THAT!?” quality of five-string, three-finger banjo – raised to the second power.
Anyone who grew up tuning in to or has ever binge-watched reruns of Hee Haw knows the beauty of a good double, triple, quadruple, quintuple banjo number, a common feature of the homespun country, comedy, and pickin’ variety show. Roy Clark, the Hee Haw host who could tear through almost any instrument in any style, released an entire album of double banjo music with regular Hee Haw guest Buck Trent in 1978 called Banjo Bandits. “Down Yonder” kicks with all-too-rare (and certainly delicious) bluegrass piano, a delightful intro to a bluegrass, old-time, and American songbook standard that almost sounds like a carnival merry-go-round thanks to the effect of the banjos “in stereo.” Banjo Bandits is something like a bluegrass and country double banjo primer, every track a stunning example of the form.
Like twin fiddling, double banjo lends itself so intuitively to the collaborative, community quality of bluegrass music. Through many a duo album and “featured artist” slot pickers have been using double banjo tunes to bring in their favorites, their mentors, their heroes, and their peers to swap licks, rising and falling, rolling and tumbling in breakneck unison. Alison Brown’s first Grammy Award was won for “Leaving Cottondale,” her double banjo instrumental with Béla Fleck from her also-nominated 2000 record, Fair Weather. In 2007, modern banjo hero Tony Trischka released a 14-track album of all twin banjo tunes entitled Double Banjo Bluegrass Spectacular. Its roster included Earl Scruggs, Brown, Fleck, Noam Pikelny, Steve Martin, and more. On “Doggy Salt,” a silly, winking instrumental that reconfigures the classic chord progression of “Salty Dog,” Scott Vestal joins Trischka, leaning into the humorous, comedic quality of these sorts of duets — a quality we see in Banjo Bandits and “Follow the Leader,” too.
Do not be mistaken, though, putting together a banjo duet isn’t just a comedic or intra-bluegrass activity! Cross-genre double banjo forays are certainly just as delightful, if not rarer and even more difficult to lock into rhythmic synchronization. Those that can mesh together three-finger’s rolling right hand with clawhammer and frailing’s loping, looser right hand are true virtuosos, defying not one but two genre’s expectations that banjos are intrinsically arhythmic and constantly rushing. Old-time players like Allison de Groot, Cathy Fink, Mark Johnson, Victor Furtado, and others all make it look and sound easy, matching their bluegrass compatriots’ rhythms and syncopations with ease and not just blending in, but counterpointing tastefully as well. One such recording, “Cluck Old Hen” from Pikelny’s Beat the Devil and Carry a Rail project, features Steve Martin, once again, on clawhammer. A less traditional approach, the two play with textures and senses, not striving for perfect unison, but rather exploring what an old-time-and-bluegrass dialogue can look and sound like, expanding our ideas of what twin banjo can be.
No matter the context, genre, roster of pickers, or style of playing, this fact remains true: more banjos equals more fun. (To this writer, at least.)
Artist:Casey Driessen Hometown: Asheville, North Carolina Latest Album:Otherlands:ONE
Editor’s Note: Casey Driessen has released Otherlands: A Global Music Exploration, a self-produced travelogue of on-location recordings, short films and essays that documents collaborations with masters of regional music in Spain, Ireland, Scotland, India, Japan and Finland. Otherlands was filmed and recorded between 2019 and May 2020. During this time, proceeds from the Bandcamp sales of Otherlands:ONE will support music and folk arts rural communities in West Bengal, India.
Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?
I’m going to give some big props to fiddler Richard Greene, by way of Darol Anger. Back in the mid-1960s, while playing in Bill Monroe’s band, Richard invented a percussive bowing technique on the fiddle/violin called “chopping.” Darol Anger was the first person to learn this from Richard, and I then pulled parts of the technique from Darol. Chopping has been an essential part of my musical trajectory and has allowed me to fit into all sorts of exciting musical situations.
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
Two polar opposite ones just appeared in my mind simultaneously… 1) Playing a daytime set at the Telluride Bluegrass festival in a trio with Béla Fleck and Bryan Sutton, staring out at the gorgeous Rocky Mountains, when all of a sudden I hear amazing vocal rhythms joining us, and Bobby McFerrin appears by my side. I couldn’t stop smiling. 2) Playing an evening set with Steve Earle & the Bluegrass Dukes (Tim O’Brien, Darrell Scott, Dennis Crouch) when a heckler starts asking for “Copperhead Road.” It’s in the set, and we’ll get to it, but that’s not good enough. Heckles continue. Steve gives him the finger. A full beer can sails through the air (mind you, we’re all around one mic), hits the stage, bounces and hits Dennis’ bass. A fight breaks out in the audience. The guy is taken away. The next thing thrown on stage is a bra.
What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc — inform your music?
I’m very visual and find inspiration in painting, drawing, and sculpture. The forms, shapes, patterns, lines, colors, and composition all give me ideas about how to approach my instrument or music.
What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?
I’ve never written a song, only instrumental compositions. So, I suppose the toughest time is all the time. That said, no particular composition sticks out to me, but the process of applying compositions to a live looping setup (when I was doing my Singularity project) was quite challenging. There are so many parameters to work within, from effects pedal limitations, physical coordination to pressing buttons with your feet while singing and playing, how to create engaging live looped arrangements from song to song without becoming repetitive or boring, and keeping a solo set interesting for yourself. They were some tough puzzles to solve.
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
I think either “A global music exploration in red shoes” or “The fiddle can’t be on everything?…I’d like to try.” I’m hungry for experimentation and inspiration from unlikely sources.
Artist:Ryanhood (Ryan David Green & Cameron Hood) Hometown: Tucson, Arizona Song: “Appy Returns” Album:Under The Leaves Release Date: April 16, 2021
In Their Words: “I love instrumental music, having grown up on electric gunslingers like Joe Satriani and Eric Johnson, and later becoming infatuated with acoustic masters like Béla Fleck and Chris Thile. While most of our repertoire features vocals, we’ve been peppering our live concerts with instrumentals for years. I came up with the main theme for this one in a green room, just before a show back in 2016. I continued to tinker with it for years until I realized the main motif had some similarities to another instrumental of ours, ‘Appy Jam,’ which is a staple of our live set. I decided to lean into this resemblance and make it a full-blown sequel, referencing some of the rhythmic motifs and phrasings from the original, but taking the listener on a whole new journey. What made the song especially challenging to write was the fact that getting together to play-test it wasn’t always possible due to COVID-19. So I used music notation software to make ‘digital versions’ of each of our parts. This allowed us to practice playing the song (with our digital counterpart) for a couple of weeks before going into the studio and cutting our guitars together.” — Ryan David Green
Artist:Chris Pandolfi Hometown: Golden, Colorado Latest Album:Trance Banjo Personal nicknames: Panda
Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?
From one perspective, this is a really tough question for me because there are many sides to my music, and many influences that have factored in really heavily at different periods. But from another perspective, it’s easy. I wouldn’t be playing the banjo if it wasn’t for Béla Fleck. I discovered the Flecktones in high school and was just blown away in every possible way. It was a moment of pure inspiration, and after a handful of shows all I wanted to do was learn how to play the banjo. That was the start of my journey as a musician, and none of that happens had I not discovered Béla’s music.
But his influence doesn’t end there. He’s a legendary improviser on the instrument, and that’s a big part of what the Stringdusters do. But maybe even more importantly, he’s made his mark by recontextualizing the banjo, combining it with so many eclectic sounds and bringing it to many new genres. That’s a big goal of mine as well, and that’s very much inspired by Béla. He didn’t leave too much undiscovered territory! But the bigger your imagination, the more territory there is to explore, and I love that challenge.
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
I have many great memories of being on stage, but the night that we played in Covington, Kentucky, in the summer of 2019 stands out. It was an electric show, and the moment we walked off stage we all sort of simultaneously decided that we had just made a live album. That has only happened a handful of times in our career, even though we have had many gratifying shows. But this was one of those stand out nights where something connected on a deeper level. It seemed like everything we did just hit the crowd with maximum power, and then they were feeding us with so much energy and emotion. That’s what can happen at a show. It can happen any night, even when a venue is not packed out, and that possibility is one of the great thrills of this career. On a night like that, everyone there is an equal participant in the performance. There’s no divide between the performers and the crowd, and the possibilities are endless.
What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc — inform your music?
I get inspiration from a lot of places, but books and visual art are high on that list. I love artists and writers who surprise you. It may not inspire a specific melody or song, but it definitely stokes the idea inside me that anything is possible, and with imagination and creativity you can always find new paths to travel. Lately, I have really enjoyed the work of Clyfford Still. Still was an American, abstract painter whos work is bold and stunning. There’s a beautiful museum dedicated to his work here in Denver, and it turned me into a big fan.
I also love reading science fiction, mainly because the imagination factor of good sci-fi is off the charts. I read a trilogy of books in recent years called The Three Body Problem by a Chinese author named Cixin Liu that blew my mind. The story is gripping and endlessly creative. Two song titles on my new record, Trance Banjo, are references to that trilogy, both from the second book, Dark Forest, which is my favorite. Great art of any kind transports you to a place that feels very free, where there’s no strong sense of self. I get a lot of inspiration from that feeling.
What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?
Playing music is one challenge, but performing is a whole other hill to climb. When I am getting ready to play live or record, I always try to spend some time with my instrument (15-45 minutes or so) playing really mindfully and getting in the zone. That zone of being deeply focused on the music has seemed like a mystery at points in my career, and will forever be elusive in some way. But there is also something methodical about it, and that’s where practice comes in. When I practice I spend some time focusing on more mechanical elements, a new technique, transcribing or that sort of thing. But ultimately, I want to devote a good chunk of every practice session to building that zone. A good practice session should be like a meditation. The more time you can log in that focused zone, the more you know what it feels like and the easier it will be to conjure up in a performance setting. It’s a lifelong journey, and it certainly keeps you humble! But it’s not magic, it just takes practice.
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
I think my most consistent goal is to sound like myself as a player, and craft music that is unique as a producer. Bluegrass is the banjo’s native territory, and a common goal among proficient bluegrass players is to study and copy the styles of the early masters. For banjo players, that’s Earl Scruggs, and I would give anything to sound like Earl! There is so much great knowledge there, and so much expression as well. It’s a bedrock element of the instrument that practically every great player has a deep knowledge of.
While I have spent much time working on the fundamentals of Earl’s style, that is more of a starting point for me, and not an end-game. There are times on stage when I really try to emulate that older sound. But when it comes to crafting my own style and my own music, I try to use those old school bluegrass rudiments — timing, power, tone — but then add my own voice as well. The same goes for producing. It’s all about identifying and connecting with sounds that move you, and then using your imagination to grow from there and utilize those tools to bring your own vision to life.
Host Tom Power speaks with Peter Rowan, Béla Fleck, Sharon Gilchrist, and Josh Williams all former bandmates, collaborators, and peers of Tony Rice, in the second edition of our special tribute, Toy Heart: Remembering Tony Rice.
On episode 2 of our limited series, Toy Heart: Remembering Tony Rice, host Tom Power begins with Béla Fleck, talking about the making of two legendary albums: Drive and The Bluegrass Sessions: Tales from the Acoustic Planet, Vol.2. Fleck relates what it was like to work with Tony in studio and some wild stories about their touring together.
Also in the episode, mandolinist and instructor Sharon Gilchrist displays a rare perspective on Tony’s life. Something of a recluse, Tony would often drive by himself after gigs, hours and hours overnight. Gilchrist had the rare opportunity to join him for some of these drives and tells some stories of what she learned on those trips to and from Quartet shows. Later in the episode, a conversation with Peter Rowan about his early memories of Tony – and how he compared with his mentor Clarence White. To conclude, Josh Williams talks about being Tony Rice’s “voice” in his band, the Unit, how Tony helped him get through one of the darkest periods in his life, and why Tony was and is his hero.
Editor’s note: Heart part three of our special tribute to Tony Rice here
No BGS reader needs a rundown of Tony Rice’s biography or accomplishments. Earlier this month I chatted with Todd Phillips, Tony’s close friend and bassist across multiple groups (David Grisman Quintet, Bluegrass Album Band, Tony Rice Unit) from 1975 to 1985. During these years Tony used inspiration from mid-century jazz and musical peers, along with his innate willpower, as levers to crack open a stunning new guitar vocabulary. In doing so he rose from a bluegrass badass to a global force, operating well above tribes and vogues.
When Todd emerged in the 1970s, bass guitar was a cross-genre norm. A young upright player who melded Scott LaFaro’s gracefulness with J.D. Crowe’s timefeel was a fairly wonderful anomaly in bluegrass. I started working with Todd in 2014, and grew close with him fast. He brought something rare — a relaxed whiphand — to the feel onstage. In the van, he indulged my ceaseless fanboy questions about the old days. An equable ex-stoner with a mildly grumpy edge, he’s as adept at building an instrument or a chicken coop as analyzing acoustic riddles, and his long experience working with people as unalike as Joan Baez, David Grier, and Elvis Costello gives him a high perch from which to reflect. He reminisced fluidly about Tony over the phone with me for two hours, stopping only twice, once overwhelmed by emotion and once to get a bottle of tequila. (Read more from our conversation at my blog.)
Members of David Grisman Quintet, 1977. L-R: Tony Rice, Todd Phillips, David Grisman, Darol Anger. (Photo by Jon Sievert.)
Robbie Fulks: I listened back today to California Autumn and other records I hadn’t heard for ages, and heard little passages that sounded uncharacteristic of Tony. Did gestures come into his vocabulary, stay there for a while, and then fade off as he went to concentrate on another idea?
Todd Phillips: That’s true, yeah. He would go through cycles, get on a kick. He’d get on riffs, like hearing Billy Crystal: “You look marvelous.” He’d say that 40 times a day, and a year later, drop it for some other riff. The vocabulary would change, according to the era.
That’s fascinating, to compare it to a non-musical example. So let’s dive in, go back to the start. Tell me about meeting Tony — when, where, and how you guys got underway with the Grisman project.
I was a beginning mandolin player, and I was certainly in over my head, playing mandolin with David, but he’d never heard me play bass, which I’d played since I was a little kid. This was 1974, and Clarence White had died the year before. And we just thought, this is a good band, we don’t need a guitar — no one else could fill Clarence’s shoes, and he’d be the only guy that would work in this thing. Then David came home from a Bill Keith recording session and said, “I just met the guy that could do it.”
(Photo by Todd Phillips)
Shortly after that, J.D. Crowe and the New South were on their way to Japan, and they stopped in San Francisco to play one gig. They hung with us for a couple days and… I had never hung with, um, that many guys from Kentucky all at once. [Laughs]
I’ve told you about that Mexican restaurant in Berkeley. The Californians — me, Darol, and David — and the Kentucky guys — J.D., Tony, Ricky, Jerry, and Bobby — were seated at one giant round table. First, Crowe ordered: “Six tacos and a Coke!” Then each New South guy ordered exactly the same. I guess they were used to the little three-inch tacos you can eat in two bites. So this big table ended up covered with plates full of giant tacos, surrounded by a pretty interesting mix of characters. I wish we had a photo. Polyester and tie-dye T-shirts all around.
After they came back from Japan, Tony gave J.D. his notice. He hooked up a little U-Haul trailer — clothes, suitcase, guitar, and stereo system — and got an apartment in Marin County. And we started rehearsing. At that point, we had what we had, but then Tony’s chemistry came into it. And it just catalyzed the whole thing. It was huge. Tony had to learn his harmony and a bunch of chords he hadn’t really played before — but we had to learn to play rhythm like J.D. Crowe. So we probably rehearsed for another six months before we went out and played our first shows.
Recording the first David Grisman Quintet album. (Photo by Todd Phillips)
Tell me about the first gig.
Our first show was in Bolinas [in Marin County], in the community center. We made our own posters and put them up all over Bolinas, so it was sold out. And no sound system. We wanted people to hear us just like we rehearsed. There were probably 200 people there.
So small room, gather round, and somehow the guitar projected through.
We played with dynamics — if Tony was soloing, we shut ourselves up. We got down light and tight under him. Since we hadn’t played through a sound system, we just did what we did every day anyway.
The first on-the-road thing, not long after, was in Japan. Our show was a bluegrass quintet with Bill Keith and Richard Greene, followed by a set of DGQ. Then, as soon as we got back from Japan, we recorded the first quintet record. So it still had that energy. We were still excited to hear it, too, every time — it would raise the hair on our arms! It was kind of a… strong existence. Life felt — pumped up, you know?
First photo of David Grisman Quintet, 1975. (Photo by Todd Phillips)
Close companions in an intense situation. A lot of people have been in a band or in the army. But on top of that, you guys were altering the course of music.
Yeah. Maybe it is a little like an army buddy. I was a cross between his bass player and his little brother. Also his babysitter, sometimes! He had left his old friends, and when he came to California, I seemed to be the guy he gravitated to. On off days, all of a sudden there’s a knock on the door at 10 a.m., and it’s Tony — “Hey man, let’s go the boardwalk, ride the roller coaster. Let’s go to the record store.” We went to the record store a million times. Came home with bags of records and stayed up all night listening — I mean, he taught me to listen close, whether playing music or just listening to records.
Any memories of the 1975 Grisman Rounder album sessions?
Tony was hilarious! We’d go out to eat, and he’d come back with a couple of cloth napkins. He’d fold one up and put it on his head, and put on sunglasses. Looking like a weird Quaker. And then drape another napkin over his left hand and go, “I don’t want anybody to steal any of my licks.” [Laughs] He’d leave that thing on his head, with the sunglasses, for like, three hours.
(Photo by Todd Phillips)
Have you heard guitarists who managed not to sound like Tony, in the years since?
Well, because Tony opened the door, after Clarence, you can’t help but sound like him as a bluegrass soloist. He found those avenues on a fingerboard that you can play with a strong attack and accurate, strong expression. A lot of it is mechanics. A D-28 with semi-high action, there are certain phrases that fall naturally under your fingers, and Tony found those. So I think a lot of guitarists use those avenues because — they’re there. You might hear different phrases but they’re not as strong. They might be more interesting, or more academically pleasing, but the effect — I haven’t heard it as strong as in those passages that Tony found.
Tell me about Manzanita.
There was no preparation that I remember. The guys came to Berkeley and we went to work. We ran a tune for 20 minutes, then recorded it maybe three to six times.
Béla Fleck said Tony didn’t like to rehearse much.
Yeah. Sink or swim.
David Grisman, Todd Phillips, Tony Rice (Photo by Todd Phillips)
Any road memories involving Tony?
He didn’t go out a lot. We went to Japan once, the three Rice brothers — Larry, Wyatt, Tony — and me. And Tony — maybe that’s when he started — he just never left his hotel room.
What was he doing in there?
Ordering room service. Later, traveling with the Unit, he’d stick to the room. I mean…he pretty much lived in front of his stereo, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. That’s what he thrived on.
How did you listen to music away from the home stereo back then?
In the early days, he drove a noisy Dodge Challenger. A muscle car, with a cassette player in the dashboard. We’d listen loud. And driving from Grisman’s house back to mine every night, it was pretty much all John Coltrane, the classic quartet.
Interesting!
Yeah, and later, a lot of Oscar Peterson. He’s like Tony: you recognize the phrases, and they’re strong as hell. Meticulous mechanics. Tony never studied music academically — but the sound of it. He took that in and it’d come out later somehow, the power and the attitude, more than specific notes or theory.
(Photo by Todd Phillips)
Did he have any relationship to the written page?
No. Not at all.
Tony cited Miles Davis and Eric Dolphy as favorites, but I don’t hear a strong kinship.
I think those were unique voices. Like Django, or Vassar.
Individualists.
I think that’s it. The attitude. He liked those kind of characters, like David Janssen — he really had an obsession with David Janssen. Or Lee Marvin.
Ha!
I’m not kidding! The Marlboro Man.
People that laid it down.
Exactly.
David Grisman Band in silhouette, 1976. (Photo by Todd Phillips)
I’m curious about the chemistry between Tony and other strong personalities. You’ve told me your take on the Skaggs-Rice dichotomy, the good and bad guys from everyone’s high school…
Yeah, Ricky would be class president and Tony would be Eddie Haskell. [Laughs] There’s a little of that, but musical respect bridges all gaps.
With David, did Tony slip easily into a sideman role?
The chemistry was — not volatile, but exciting. The New Jersey hippie and Mister Perfection. You know, when Tony was new to California, David’s living room was a real event. You never knew who you’d run into — Jethro Burns, Taj Mahal, Jerry Garcia. I think that excited Tony. He’d dig in his heels, just be who he is, and people respected that. He was…I guess I want to use the word “stubborn.” Clear-headed, with his vision.
Were cigarettes it for Tony, or were there harder things he liked to do?
No! He actually went light on the marijuana, compared to everyone else in Marin. He kinda puffed a little bit, just to participate.
Any whiskey?
No, he drank a few beers at home. I don’t remember any hard liquor at all.
New Year’s at Great American Music Hall, 1978-1979. (Photo by Jon Sievert.)
I read in The Guardianobit: “apprentice pipe fitter”…?!
Yeah! His dad was a welder, pipe fitter, and Tony and his brothers did that too.
What did he do to keep his fingers strong besides play?
Nothing. He bit his nails. He had no fingernails, and his fingertips looked like blocks of wood. Like the rounded end of a wooden dowel. The guy played a lot. He had hands that physically, mechanically, work in a different way. He could push down with his thumb, on his right hand, but also push up, with his first finger. You can look at YouTube and see it — a really strong muscular mechanism between thumb and index.
His down and upstrokes weren’t ascribed to the usual beats, weren’t automatized in the normal way — and were equally forceful.
Yeah. And rhythmically, a lot of triplet syncopation on the upstrokes. People just say “syncopation,” but technically it’s playing 3/4 against 4/4, like Elvin Jones’s drumming. You can’t tell if it’s in 3 or 6 or 4 or 2. It’s all of it. It’s all of it! And those subdivisions, I learned that from Tony — you slice that up in all kinds of ways, so those polyrhythms are all churning in your hands or head at the same time. That’s what generates good time, not tapping your foot. Tony had all those superimposed polyrhythms in him.
(Photo by Todd Phillips)
Bluegrassers work hard and live long, on the whole. And with so many players of your generation now in their 70s and performing as energetically as ever, Tony’s story looks more profoundly sad to me.
You know, I don’t know why Tony went the way he went. Why he couldn’t be as youthful as Sam Bush. Who knows, if there was some kind of a depression, or if that desire for perfection wore him out. You know? Because he did play with joy, but it was also that crazy obsession, to be perfect and accurate — maybe he was just too hard on himself.
He was hard on everybody around him. I know that I developed way more than I ever would have developed if I’d never known him. It was not that he was ever mean or harsh to me, but being around him, you put pressure on yourself to live up. I think everybody that played with him was like that. He jacked up the music to this level — and then it was your challenge to get up there with him. Being around him changed me forever.
Lede image by Heather Hafleigh. All photos provided by Todd Phillips and used by permission.
We’re all familiar with the standard bluegrass five-piece band (also a common lineup in old-time or string band music), but there are quite a few second- and third-string instruments — no pun intended — that are rarely invited to join ensembles of guitar, fiddle, upright bass, mandolin, and banjo. Dobro is perhaps first on this short list, but accordion, dulcimer (hammered and mountain), autoharp, washboard, harmonica and dozens of other music and noisemakers could be encountered alongside these acoustic staples.
The five musicians below are awe-inspiringly adept at their instruments, each considered more like afterthoughts or casual embellishments in American roots music, rarely considered centerpieces themselves. But no matter how uncommon they may be at your local jam circle, or around the fire at the campsite, after you’ve been introduced to each of the following, you’ll be craving more unexpected and uncommon sounds in your bluegrass lineups.
From bones to nyckelharpa to Irish harp, here are five uncommon traditional instruments played like you’ve never heard them before:
Simon Chrisman – Hammered Dulcimer
A familiar, towering figure in the West Coast old-time, folk, and DIY roots music scenes, Simon Chrisman is criminally underappreciated on a national or international level. He most recently released a duo album with acclaimed banjoist Wes Corbett, he has been touring and collaborating with the Jeremy Kittel Band, and he’s performed and recorded with the Bee Eaters, Bruce Molsky, Laurie Lewis, and many others. His hammered dulcimer chops exist on a plane above and beyond even the most accomplished players on the trapezoidal instrument, throwing in pop and bebop-inspired runs, reaching down to bend strings by hand to achieve particular semi-tones, bouncing along at a rate only matched by a three-finger banjo player’s rapid-fire sixteenth notes. It’s jaw-dropping, even in Chrisman’s most simple, tender melodies and compositions. This rollicking number, named for Corbett’s beloved cat, is neither simple nor overtly tender, but your jaw will find the floor nonetheless.
Rowan Corbett – Bones
Rowan Corbett is a singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and percussionist best known for his time with seminal modern Black string band, the Carolina Chocolate Drops. Also a longtime member of Baltimore-based acoustic-grunge/world-folk group ilyAIMY and a veteran of Celtic outfit Tinsmith, Corbett is something of a musical chameleon, though it never feels as if he’s just putting on genre costumes to match whatever melodic motif suits the moment. Instead he inhabits each one authentically and wholly. ilyAIMY, for being billed as a folk band, are captivating, passionate, and energetic, perhaps most of all while Corbett fronts the group. But all of his musical moxie across all of his instruments pales when he pulls out the bones — traditional, handheld percussion instruments similar to their more mainstream (if not more vilified) counterpart, the spoons.
It’s no wonder a bio for Corbett begins, “What are those and how does he do that?” Corbett’s percussion skills are precise and technical, laser-like accuracy meshed with generation-blurring soul. During a guest appearance with Rhiannon Giddens at the North Carolina Museum of Art in Raleigh, North Carolina, in September 2019, Corbett brought thousands of listeners gathered on the hillside by the amphitheatre to their feet with his bones and just a couple of bars. This improv/battle video with Greg Adams displays just a taste of Corbett’s prowess on the ancient instrument.
Amy Hakanson – Nyckelharpa
Pandemic aside, if you’ve jammed with an old-time fiddler in the past two years you’ve probably fumbled (if you’re like this writer) or charmingly tripped your way through a Swedish fiddle tune or two. Musicians like Brittany Haas and Molly Tuttle have brought Swedish tunes into their repertoires, birthing dozens of new acolytes of the crooked, wonky, joyful tunes. Many an American fan of Swedish folk traditions were introduced to them by Väsen, a genre-blending, nearly 30-year-old Swedish folk band adored by multiple generations of American musicians, thanks to their status as a favorite band of everyone’s favorite pickers. (Väsen counts Chris Thile, Mike Marshall, Darol Anger, and others among their most vocal proponents and collaborators.)
Nyckelharpa player and scholar Amy Hakanson was first introduced to the instrument by Väsen as well and in 2014 she took her fascination with the heady, engaging music to the source, to study nyckelharpa with Väsen’s Olov Johansson himself at the Eric Sahlström Institute in Tobo, Sweden. Her approach to the instrument — a traditional Swedish, bowed fiddle-like apparatus played with keys — has a storied, timeless air, even as she carefully places the nyckelharpa in modern contexts. This original, “Spiralpolska,” for instance, utilizes a loop machine, ancient droning and modern droning combined.
Sarah Kate Morgan – Mountain Dulcimer
The mountain dulcimer is simple and beautiful in its most common use, a gentle, pedalling rhythm section for languid, introspective folk tunes. Counterintuitively much more common in the hallways and hotel rooms of Folk Alliance International’s conference than IBMA’s or SPGBMA’s gatherings, this writer first encountered Kentuckian Sarah Kate Morgan and her melodic-style dulcimer among the many booths of IBMA’s World of Bluegrass exhibit hall. She was holding her own in an impromptu fiddle jam with mandolins, fiddles, banjos — all instruments much more familiar with picking intricate, free flowing hornpipes and hoedowns. But Morgan doesn’t just strum the dulcimer, capitalizing on its resonant sustain and open tuning, she shreds it. Playing a finely-tuned, impeccably intonated instrument with a radiused fretboard, she courageously and daringly dialogues with whomever accompanies her down every bluegrass and old-time rabbit hole she meets. It’s incredible to watch, not only with the understanding that most mountain dulcimers are treated as an aesthetic afterthought, but also knowing that Morgan’s prowess outpaces just about anybody on any instrument. A truly transcendent musician.
Alannah Thornburgh – Harp
Harp keeps coming up lately! And for good reason. No matter the genre label applied, harp is having a moment. We’ve kept up with Alannah Thornburgh for a few years, featuring her work with Alfi as well as across-the-pond collaborations like this one, with mandolinist (and BGS contributor) Tristan Scroggins. Living in Dublin, Thornburgh plays in the Irish harp tradition, but has toured and traveled extensively in the United States, giving her style a distinctly old-time and fiddle-tune-influenced approach. She takes on the complicated, contextual vocabularies of American old-time music with ease, almost leading listeners to believe that emulating the banjo or mandolin or executing new acoustic compositions or modern reharmonizations of old-time classics is what the harp was designed to do.
An Instagram video of Thornburgh displays a mischievous, winking arrangement of Béla Fleck’s “The over Grown Waltz,” from one of his masterworks, The Bluegrass Sessions: Tales from the Acoustic Planet, Vol. 2. An earworm of a tune well-worn and familiar to any acoustic music fan Generation X and younger, it’s not uncommonly called at some jams, but its hummable melody is secretly, deceptively, subversively complicated. Once again, Thornburgh simply smiles and pushes onward, as if reaching and pulling these intricate licks and banjo phrases seemingly out of thin air on a harp were as everyday an activity as brushing one’s teeth — or a wedding performance of Pachelbel’s Canon in D.
Artist:Appalachian Road Show Hometown: Canton, North Carolina (Jim Van Cleve); Lexington, North Carolina (Zeb Snyder) Personal Nicknames: Jibby (Jim); Appalachian Zeb (Zeb)
Editor’s Note: As BGS and Come Hear NC team up in November, we present North Carolina natives Jim Van Cleve and Zeb Snyder of Appalachian Road Show for this edition of BGS 5+5. Their newest album is Tribulation.
What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc — inform your music?
I think in a subconscious way, film and photography likely inspire my writing and even playing in a powerful way — and especially when referring to instrumental pieces. I’ve often said that when I’m writing, I can almost see or even “feel” a scene from a movie or a compelling visual image or something. There’s almost like this “unseen visual” which informs the emotional content of the piece of music in question. In some subconscious way, the gravity of a scene from a movie, or in a powerful photograph, will inhabit the melody shapes and rhythmic feel I’ll gravitate towards.
And, I think when I’m writing, I’m often subconsciously wondering… “What is happening in the movie that THIS song is the score for?” It’s difficult to put in words, but I definitely feel it. With Appalachian Road Show, there are such compelling stories that come from the region of our namesake, that it feels like it saturates every note of every song when we’re at our emotional peak. I can often envision scenes from Cold Mountain or The Outlander or Braveheart even during certain songs we’ll perform. — Jim Van Cleve
Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?
I’d have to say Tony Rice. When I think back on my growth as a flatpicker, I can see how Tony’s influence on me has changed and come from different directions over the years. When I first discovered his music at eleven years old, I was all about figuring out his lead playing on bluegrass songs and fiddle tunes. After that, I started getting into his original instrumentals and his work with [David] Grisman and on Béla Fleck’s albums, which taught me new chord voicings and more challenging leads.
The next and maybe the most important phase would be when I started taking rhythm playing more seriously as a teenager and started studying all of the subtleties of Tony’s rhythm pattern and embellishments, particularly on the Bluegrass Album Band stuff. I have so many favorite guitar players, but I always come back to Tony every so often and figure out things that I had never noticed or understood earlier in life. — Zeb Snyder
What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?
I believe maybe the one that was the most challenging for me was when I was asked to write a new IBMA Awards show theme song. The song was ultimately called “The Road From Rosine,” and there were a LOT of angles to consider with that one. For starters, the previous song, “Shoulder to Shoulder,” was written and recorded by one of my heroes Jerry Douglas, (and the whole band on that track is a bluegrass Mount Rushmore). The tune itself is a classic and had been used for years and years as the awards show theme. I’d grown up with the song, and it being a staple of the show, so I had this subconscious mountain to climb in the first place.
Then, on top of that, you have all of these “marks” — emotional and energy/dynamic-wise — that a song being used like this has to hit, because you know how it needs to be used throughout the show. So, it just had a lot of different roles it needed to fill, and in general you just want it to be as great as it can be, given the gravity of that situation. I wanted the song to capture the essence and spirit of bluegrass… the way the founding fathers of the music intended for it to feel, but I also wanted it to embody a sense of where the music is heading, with kind of a forward looking element. So basically, I was trying to write a song that would bridge all the gaps between the past, the present, and the future of our music, and also be theme-ish. — Jim Van Cleve
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
Every undertaking, big or small, do it to the absolute best of your ability, keeping integrity and transparency above all. If you’re going to do a thing, do it beyond the point of excellence. Be authentic and strive to treat the people you work with like you’d wish to be treated, even (and especially) when they make it difficult to do so! haha! 😉 Full disclosure: It’s been our intention from the start to adopt this philosophy in Appalachian Road Show, and we feel that it’s been an important part of our early successes. — Jim Van Cleve
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
Well, I started playing music through classical lessons. I was seven years old, and my sister had just started doing Suzuki method violin lessons. My parents got me into the Suzuki classical guitar program. At that point, I enjoyed playing, but it was kind of like a favorite school subject, not a passion. Four years later I started playing bluegrass guitar. That was when everything changed. I was so passionate about playing, and I was acting on my own initiative instead of treating practice like it was homework.
I would lose track of time while I was practicing, figure songs and licks out on my own, spend hours researching and listening my favorite artists on the internet, and even get random ideas for my own little instrumentals and licks before I even really knew what I was doing. When my family band started playing a few gigs, that was it. I discovered that I could feel pretty calm and confident on stage, even though I was a shy and reserved kid by nature. My passion for the music took over, and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else for a living. — Zeb Snyder
Photo credit: Micah Schweinsberg
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