Tag: Bill Monroe

Bluegrass Memoirs: ‘Industrial Strength Bluegrass’ and the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion (Part 4)

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Editor’s Note: Read part one of our series on the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion here. Read part two here. Read part three here.)

My series of memoirs on the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion closes with a gallery of snapshots taken during the day’s proceedings. I had a new Japanese automatic camera of the type then described as “point and shoot,” an Olympus Quick Shooter Zoom. 

I returned home with a 25-shot 35mm film roll and immediately sent it to a budget speed processing outfit in Seattle. The prints returned (along with a new roll of film and a mailer) a few weeks later. 

Unlike today, when you can monitor photos on your digital camera after every snap, in 1989 you had to wait for the prints to arrive to see what came out and what didn’t. Here’s what came out. 

I started outside the concert site, Memorial Hall, in the afternoon before the concert — sound checks were going on inside — taking care to get a close shot of the Hall’s sign on one of Dayton’s busiest streets. 

Inside the hall that day, the stage was being set. Working as a stagehand, I helped handle communications between director Don Baker and the evening’s performers. Moon Mullins and The Traditional Grass and the Osborne Brothers were parked outside in their own vehicles. I first visited Moon and the band in an RV with the name, “The Cabin,” on the door. He introduced me to the band members, including his son Joe. Then I visited the Osbornes. 

I hadn’t seen the Osborne Brothers since a Saturday night three years before when I was in Nashville to promote my new book, Bluegrass: A History. They’d invited me to be their guest backstage at the Grand Ole Opry, where Sonny brought me onstage, introduced me and spoke about the book — a very generous act. During the concert I asked a fellow backstage bystander to take our photo. Born in 1937, Sonny passed away last fall; he is sadly missed.

At about the same time I noticed Fred Bartenstein and Tom Teepen nearby and asked them to pose for me. They were important figures in the discovery and revival of Dayton’s bluegrass scene. Recently, I sent this photo to Fred (original editor of Muleskinner News) and asked him for a caption: 

National editorial correspondent Tom Teepen (1935-2017, left) wrote an evocative memoir in the concert program about his days as a Dayton bluegrass fan. Here he meets backstage with Fred Bartenstein, who helped plan and organize the event.

The rest of my photos were taken at the Canal Street Tavern after the concert.

The executive producer of the event, Phyllis Brzozowska ran CityFolk from the start until its end about ten years ago. Behind her on the left is Greg Allen of the Allen Brothers. The individual on the right was one of the crew that director Don Baker enlisted from his Lime Kiln Theater troupe to help backstage.

Doug Smith and his wife, Dayton Bluegrass Reunion researcher and writer Barb Kuhns (both members of The Corndrinkers, an old-time band still active today) posed with Don Baker, concert director and emcee. 

Harley Allen, a veteran star of several bands, had performed in the concert with his brothers. At the center of Canal Street’s evening’s activities, he’s seen here surrounded by friends. 

The peripatetic mandolin virtuoso, Frank Wakefield, then living in Saratoga Springs, New York, and working with a Cleveland-based bluegrass/swing outfit, was bouncing around the room. I’d first seen him in action onstage in 1962 (Bluegrass Generation, 124-25); he was still up to his onstage hijinks. 

Meeting Noah Crase was a special treat. I’d first heard his music in the late ’50s on an obscure 45 record by Dave Woolum. The evening’s program included a picture of him playing with Bill Monroe along with two men I’d played with in Indiana myself, Roger Smith and Vernon McQueen. We swapped Blue Grass Boys stories.

Another special treat. I first ran across Porter Church’s recordings on Red Allen’s County LPs from the mid-’60s. He was well-known in the D.C./Baltimore area, but I didn’t get a chance to see him in action until the Reunion.

The Sacred Sounds of Grass (Norbert Dengler, guitar; Sam Hain, mandolin; Thilo Hain, banjo; Alfred Bonk, bass)

I didn’t take notes about my snapshots — all that remained in my memory of this group was that these young men were from Germany, played bluegrass gospel, and were on their first American tour. I sent a copy to Mark Stoffel, mandolin player with Chris Jones and the Night Drivers, who’s from Germany. He told me he “knew them well,” and sent the band’s name and contact information.

I wrote to banjoist Thilo Hain and asked him to describe the circumstances that brought the band to Dayton that evening, and their experiences at the concert and the reception. He explained:

In 1988 his brother Sam Hain saw an ad in New York instrument dealer Harry West‘s sales list for a 1922 Gibson Lloyd Loar once owned by Pee Wee Lambert and now owned by Frank Wakefield. Sam, interested, “rang Frank Wakefield up to ask him more details about this instrument.” Wakefield told Sam, “Better get that mandolin, before anybody else gets it.” 

Sam then asked Frank if he was planning a reunion with Red Allen and his band. Wakefield told him about the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion scheduled for April 1989. Thilo remembered, “Frank finished with the words, ‘You better be there!'”

Sam missed out on getting the mandolin, but the band was there in Dayton for the concert. Red Allen arranged for their free admittance and took them backstage to “a meet and greet with all the musicians,” and suggested they perform at Canal Street. “Dee Sparks,” said Thilo, “was so kind to let Alfred play his bass for the show. Throughout our first U.S. tour we earned so many friendly comments, felt heartwarming hospitality from all the great musicians we visited at their homes and went back to Germany with a huge bag full of new impressions and experiences.”

A Google translation of the band’s history on their Facebook page reads: “Sacred Sounds Of Grass is the oldest active Bluegrass Band in Germany, founded in 1979. With their classic Bluegrass Sound the group is also considered the most authentic bluegrass band outside of the USA.”

Thirty-two years after their Canal Street Tavern performance, the same band lineup appears in a photo, also posted at their Facebook page, of them performing in a church in Adelberg, Germany this past August. Here’s a recording from a 2019 festival. 

Wild & Blue (below) was mandolinist and fiddler David Harvey’s new band, formed November 1988. On this night, when they came onto the Canal Street stage, David had already played with the Allen Brothers. Born 1958 in Dayton and son of famous mandolin player Dorsey Harvey (1935-1988; see Industrial Strength Bluegrass pp. 150, 183), he’d grown up in Parkside, a postwar housing development, together with Red Allen‘s four sons as neighbors. Their fathers both played in bluegrass bands — they all learned at home, jamming together after school as teens. By summer 1972 David was playing festivals with Red Allen.

In 1974, at 17, Harvey dropped out of high school to help support the family as a professional musician, joining the Falls City Ramblers. Parkside was a decaying, crime-ridden, rustbelt housing project; David saw music as a way to a better life. 

A Louisville-based band that played a lot in Southwest Ohio, the Ramblers were local favorites with the same crowds who listened to the Hotmud Family’s eclectic blend of bluegrass, old-time, blues and early county. The chapter “Beck Gentry” in Murphy Hicks Henry’s Pretty Good for a Girl: Women In Bluegrass (pp. 186-191) gives a good history of the band. David was with them, playing fiddle and mandolin, for five years. In 1977 Kentucky Educational Television aired one of their shows:

In 1979 Harvey moved to Colorado Springs, where his musical career continued in a group called The Reasonable Band. He entered and won several mandolin contests, establishing an enduring reputation for his skill and creativity. He also began working as a luthier.

He moved to Indianapolis in 1983 and for the next four and a half years he played on the road and recorded with Larry Sparks. His career as a luthier grew. In 1986 he met Jan Snider, who, with her younger sister Jill, had been playing bluegrass. Jan and David soon wed. 

Wild & Blue brought lead singer Jan’s voice to the forefront, solo and in duets with Jill’s high harmonies. They began around the same time as a number of other bluegrass bands with female lead singers were coming on the scene like Alison Krauss, Lynn Morris, and Laurie Lewis. The band had a lot of energy, with David’s suave mandolin work and its female-dominated trios. They won the band contest at SPBGMA 1992 and moved to Nashville in 1995. By then they’d recorded albums for Vetco and Pinecastle. Wild & Blue lasted until 1999.

Harvey then worked with Larry Cordle (1999-2001), Claire Lynch (2002-07), and Harley Allen (2008-11). Meanwhile his luthier work in Nashville blossomed. He joined Gibson in 2004 and today as Master Luthier heads Gibson’s Original Acoustic Instruments division. Here’s a video (above) in which Dave introduces one of the mandolins he’s building and illustrates it with a tune he co-wrote with his dad, “Cruising Timber.”

As a small boy Harvey had watched and listened to his father and Frank Wakefield as they wrung out mandolin ideas at his home. He clearly enjoyed himself with Frank this evening.

I had watched the evening’s afterparty at Canal Street with old friends from Lexington, Kentucky: the late Marty Godbey, author of Crowe On The Banjo: The Musical Life of J.D. Crowe. Next to her, husband, writer, photographer and musician Frank Godbey, creator of two influential bluegrass digital lists, BGRASS-L and IBMA-L. Next to Frank is Tom Adler, folklorist, banjoist and author of Bean Blossom: The Brown County Jamboree and Bill Monroe’s Bluegrass Festivals. And that’s my hat on the table.

(Editor’s Note: Read part one of our series on the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion here. Read part two here. Read part three here.)

Neil V. Rosenberg would like to thank: Fred Bartenstein, Phyllis Brzozowska, Nancy Cardwell, Frank Godbey, Thilo Hain, David Hedrick, and Mark Stoffel.

Rosenberg is an author, scholar, historian, banjo player, Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame inductee, and co-chair of the IBMA Foundation’s Arnold Shultz Fund.

Photo of Neil V. Rosenberg by Terri Thomson Rosenberg, all other photos by Neil V. Rosenberg. 

Edited by Justin Hiltner

What Del McCoury and Ronnie McCoury Took From Monroe, Flux, and the Dawg

Posted on by Editor

Del McCoury is a legend many times over. A snapshot from any period of his life would be enough to earn him a place in the history books. From his time playing with Bill Monroe in the early ‘60s to fronting his own band with his sons Rob and Ronnie McCoury, Del’s career is a triumph. The Del McCoury Band is the most-awarded band in IBMA history, and Del has been honored with a Grammy Award, induction into the Bluegrass Hall of Fame, and a lifetime achievement award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Since moving to Nashville in the early ’90s, The Del McCoury Band has recorded more albums than they can remember. (Literally. I asked them and they couldn’t remember. It approaches near two dozen.) Their latest album, Almost Proud, furthers their musical legacy. In a visit with The Bluegrass Situation, Del McCoury and Ronnie McCoury talk about recording it during the pandemic, digging through a big box of submissions for material, and learning a trick from Jerry Douglas that they still use to this day.

BGS: Del, you’ve fronted a band for many decades and this version with your sons has been around since the ’90s. How has the process of picking the material and arranging it changed over that course of time?

Del: Well, I’ll tell you, we used to do a lot of prep before we went in the studio, years ago when it was just me and the band. But now the boys have their own band and they’re a lot busier now. For the last several records, I just kind of picked the material and I’ll try to find the right key and tempo and all those things. And we won’t even have a rehearsal or anything until we get in the studio. We just mainly do all of the hard work in the studio after we’re in there.

I’ve always been in awe of how this band not only picks great material but also plays it in a way that makes it unique and often an instant bluegrass classic, no matter the original genre. What goes into how you pick material?

Ronnie: I still don’t know what Dad’s going to like. I found “1952 Vincent Black Lightning” through a guy named Dick Bowden. He gave me a tape of it after the band had played a show. It was just Richard Thompson playing solo guitar on a radio show. Dick said he thought it’d be a good song to cover and as soon as I heard it and the fingerstyle guitar I thought, “Wow, this could be good.” Well, I took it to Dad, and he passed on it for the record we were making. But then the next record, he pulled it out and said, “You know, I’ve been listening and I think that would make a pretty good song.” So, like I said, I don’t know what’s going to hit him and when it will.

But with my dad, it doesn’t matter what he plays or sings. Number one, it’s going to have strong guitar rhythm. Number two, it’s going to be his voice. Through the years, I figured he can sing about anything. For example, when he played with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, everybody was like, “I wonder how this is going to work.” Well, he just opens his mouth and does what he does, and it is what it is, and it’s great! People will pigeonhole others for their style of singing. My dad’s got a high lonesome sound, but it always seems to work.

My dad taught us how to have that feel and the elements of first generation bluegrass. The drive, how to play fast and when you need to, how not to overplay, and how to back up behind a singer, things like that. People don’t always have a teacher that really knows that stuff, so it sometimes doesn’t come easily or at all. We were just lucky to have this guy who was so well-rounded. A great guitar player but a banjo player first and such a good singer. He can sing any part, and he loves to sing bass, too.

Those elements are all very present in this band for sure. The fiddle is a very lyrical instrument to begin with but I’ve always particularly considered Ronnie’s mandolin playing and Rob’s banjo playing to be a really interesting combination of melodic/lyrical and still very traditional sounding.

Del: Yeah, I know what you mean. They don’t strictly depend on melodic notes to do something, but they make their style work around the melody that they’re trying to play. They do that. They try to keep it fairly simple.

It’s very masterful, the subtlety of all of it. I imagine you had a hand in guiding them when they were younger.

Del: I tell you, I never even thought about my sons playing music. I don’t know why I didn’t, but I just didn’t. Maybe it’s because when I was learning to play, I had a lot of cousins. They’d hear me and they’d want to learn to play, and I’d show them something. And then, of course, next week they’d be into baseball or something else. They forgot about music that quick. And I guess I thought they might also lose interest in this music. But they never did. Rob started playing banjo when he’s about 9. Of course, I started playing guitar when I was 9, too. My older brother taught me the chords. But I was not really all that interested in playing until I heard Earl Scruggs. I was about 11 then. And that really switched something up in my brain.

But my boys, they were always around music. Ronnie played violin in school when he was really young, but he also was in Little League and he was their star pitcher. And you know what happened? His violin teacher told me, “He’s really doing good on this.” And I said, “Really?” She said, “Yeah, he learned so fast.” Well, it comes to where there is going to be a recital in school at the same time there’s going to be a big Little League baseball game. And he was supposed to be in both of them. He chose the baseball game. And, oh, his teacher called! She was so disheartened because he was one of her finest students. But he kind of forgot about music just for a little while.

And I took him with me to New York City. I was playing a show and Bill Monroe was one of the acts there. It was during Ronnie’s school vacation between Christmas and New Year’s so I brought him with me. Bill took an interest in Ronnie. He put his hat on him and he put his mandolin in his lap and he said, “Now you play me something on this mandolin.” I didn’t think nothing about it at the time. But when we got back home, Ronnie asked if he could have this old mandolin I carried around on the bus. And once Ronnie got that mandolin, he never laid it down.

Well, now those guys, when they did start learning to play on their own, I could hear them in my spare time—I was pretty busy in those days. And I hear them playing and I could tell they were missing a note here and there and I’d just tell them where to find it and then let them go on their own. I just didn’t bother them much. Boy, they learned fast.

That’s great. I think all of that is a big part of the sound but there’s something about the arrangements that has always made you all stand out, I think.

Ronnie: As far as arranging things, when we got to Nashville and did that first record, Jerry Douglas produced it and one of the first things that we did still sticks with me. I wound up singing “A Deeper Shade of Blue.” Flux is the one that gave us the beginning and end of it, this lick. And I was like, “Oh, wow, we can put a lick on tunes.” I was just so straight-ahead that I had never even thought to do that. I credit Flux with opening my ears to that because he’s so musical.

That is interesting because that kind of thing is usually associated with pop-adjacent music. Your music is so traditional but having those hooks does make the songs stick in your mind.

Ronnie: It probably also comes from listening to all kinds of music. I’m a product of the ‘80s. When I was in school I was hearing all of the rock and newer stuff that was being played on the radio. I never gravitated to it as much as I probably did to Southern rock. We loved the twin guitars of the Allman Brothers. What’s interesting is that those guys were listening to this stuff. Dickey Betts was a bluegrass fan and I remember he and Vassar had a duet thing. They used to play together in Florida.

That makes sense. There’s a full-circle element there as well. The Allman Brothers are sort of the prototypical jam band and now you guys are playing shows with Greensky, The String Cheese Incident, Railroad Earth, etc.

Ronnie: You’re right about that. Part of the reason we got into that world we’re in is that there’s already a Del McCoury Band, and we wanted to do something different, but we couldn’t call it the “Del-less McCoury Band.” So we had to do something that was different sounding. When I grew up I had no idea that mandolin players were doing anything but what Bill Monroe did. I was around 15 years old when the Dawg came out with that first record, the David Grisman Quintet album with Tony Rice on it.

The arrangements and playing on there were really influential and all that stuff squeaks into your music. You’re a product of what you hear, I guess. Those guys changed so much. There’s the guys that don’t get credit on the banjo like Bobby Thompson and then the next guy was Bill Keith. From Bill Keith comes [Tony] Trischka and Béla [Fleck], and it just moves on. But the Dawg, man, he was kind of the first one to take the Monroe and Wakefield stuff and stir it up like that. I’m a big proponent for him to be in the Hall of Fame.

The ensemble abilities of this group are some of the best in the business. Having so much family in the band lends itself to that, but Jason Carter and now Alan Bartram have been in the band so long I imagine that you all can anticipate what each other will do next.

Del: That’s true. It makes it easier, because I think we all kind of think alike and are satisfied in what we’re doing. And I’ll tell you something, I think it helps keep them interested. Like on live shows, we never have a set list, and they never know what’s coming next. When we get on stage, we just go up there and do a few tunes. I like to introduce each member of the band. I’ll let them tune or choose a song to sing after I get the four of them introduced. Then a lot of times we just start doing requests from the audience, and all through the set, we’ll try to work in things that we just recorded or had released, whatever. But for the most part, we’re doing requests from the audience. They know that when they go up on stage, they don’t know what’s happening next, and I don’t either, but that’s kind of the fun of it.

You are a link to those older traditions, and those were a lot more about performing than making records and stuff. It seems to me that performing and being an entertainer is what’s important to you.

Del: You know, I think it probably is because that’s what you do most. You’re never in a studio that long but before the pandemic we’d be out every week doing a show. I like talking to the audience. I think they entertain me more than I entertain them. For example, I ask them questions, like, “What would you like to hear next?” And what entertains me is they’ll request a song, but they get one word wrong or two in the title of the song.

For instance, we get a lot of requests for “1952 Vincent Black Lightning,” and what people have problems with is the year. So, I say back to them, “Well, I don’t know that song.” And then it gets real quiet and they’ll think, “Well, I know he knows that song because he’s got it on a record.” I let them wonder for a little bit before I’ll say, “Well, now, look, I know a song entitled ‘1952 Vincent Black Lightning,’” and then they’re relieved and I’ll play it for them. But just little things like that. They’re so funny. People are funny if you listen to them. They will entertain you.

You guys have put out so many records. Is there anything that makes this one stand out or feel special to you?

Ronnie: Well, probably the fact that during a pandemic, my dad worked and he sat down and listened to like 150 songs or something. He didn’t just rest on his laurels. We got him a tape recorder, a nicer one, that he could record his ideas on because he felt more comfortable working with a tape machine.

Del: All through the years, people have sent or given me songs while we were on the road. A lot of the time, I just throw them in a box and say, “Well, when I get time, I’ll listen to them, see what they are.” So, when this pandemic hit that spring, I thought, “Wow, I’ll get all those things out and listen to them.” And then I picked out certain songs and I started to work on them.

Ronnie: During this time, we’re wearing masks and sitting outside doing our radio show six feet apart and not going in the house. Everybody’s worried about my parents so we were careful. But he worked on this stuff and he wrote some songs. So, what’s special to me are just good memories, really. Just being able to be in a studio with Dad in the middle of a pandemic and getting it done and not having so much wasted time. … The hardest thing through the pandemic for me to see, besides the tragedies where people lost their lives to this stuff, was seeing my dad in his golden years, not being able to do what he wanted to do, which is to travel and play for the people. He knocks us all out with how he can play and sing at this age.

Yeah, it’s pretty amazing.

Ronnie: He knocks me out. I can’t get over it. Like I said, it was amazing to be able to go in and do this record through all this and that his health is still with him. So I’m just proud of that. “Almost Proud,” you could say, ha ha.

“Almost Proud,” there you go.

Photo Credit: Daniel Jackson

LISTEN: Mike Compton, “Orange Blossom Breakdown” (Bill Monroe Tribute)

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Mike Compton
Hometown: Meridian, Mississippi (same as Jimmie Rodgers)
Song: “Orange Blossom Breakdown”
Album: Rare & Fine: Uncommon Tunes of Bill Monroe
Release Date: March 5, 2022
Label: Taterbug Records

In Their Words: “In the late ’70s I was living in Nashville and really began to build up a collection of obscure Bill Monroe music. I had a bunch of cassette tapes full of tunes shared from like-minded enthusiasts I met on the music scene. By the time the internet came around in the 1990s, it was staggering the amount of Monroe music that was out there: rehearsal tapes, festival performances, jam sessions. My Monroe source material had accelerated into an incredible collection. After he passed in 1996, I knew I needed to put out this project at some point. ‘Orange Blossom Breakdown’ came from a tape an old friend from New England sent me. It sounded like a home recording off the radio. It was Bill Monroe on the Opry in the 1940s. The quality is poor. The signal is cutting in and out. I was drawn to it because I had never heard it before. I don’t think hardly anyone has. It’s a very unusual arrangement for Monroe, and I’ve never heard him do anything quite like it. I had to listen to it a few times to piece together the song because the recording was just fits and starts, but it was enough where I could get it. Never heard it again anywhere since.” — Mike Compton

Photo Credit: John Partipilo

Carolina Calling, Shelby: Local Legends Breathe New Life Into Small Town

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

The image of bluegrass is mountain music played and heard at high altitudes and towns like Deep Gap and remote mountain hollers across the Appalachians. But the earliest form of the music originated at lower elevations, in textile towns across the North Carolina Piedmont. As far back as the 1920s, old-time string bands like Charlie Poole’s North Carolina Ramblers were playing an early form of the music in textile towns, like Gastonia, Spray, and Shelby – in Cleveland County west of Charlotte.

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In this second episode of Carolina Calling, a podcast exploring the history of North Carolina through its music and the musicians who made it, we visit the small town of Shelby: a seemingly quiet place, like most small Southern towns one might pass by in their travels. Until you see the signs for the likes of the Don Gibson Theatre and the Earl Scruggs Center, you wouldn’t guess that it was the town that raised two of the most influential musicians and songwriters in bluegrass and country music: Earl Scruggs, one of the most important musicians in the birth of bluegrass, whose banjo playing was so innovative that it still bears his name, “Scruggs style,” and Don Gibson, one of the greatest songwriters in the pop & country pantheon, who wrote “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” “Sweet Dreams,” and other songs you know by heart. For both Don Gibson and Earl Scruggs, Shelby is where it all began.

Subscribe to Carolina Calling on any and all podcast platforms to follow along as we journey across the Old North State, visiting towns like Greensboro, Durham, Wilmington, Asheville, and more.

Music featured in this episode:

Charlie Poole & The North Carolina Ramblers – “Take a Drink On Me”
Flatt & Scruggs – “Ground Speed”
Don Gibson – “I Can’t Stop Loving You”
Andrew Marlin – “Erie Fiddler” (Carolina Calling Theme)
Hedy West – “Cotton Mill Girl”
Blind Boy Fuller – “Rag Mama, Rag”
Don Gibson – “Sea Of Heartbreak”
Patsy Cline – “Sweet Dreams ”
Ray Charles – “I Can’t Stop Loving You”
Ronnie Milsap – “(I’d Be) A Legend In My Time”
Elvis Presley – “Crying In The Chapel”
Hank Snow – “Oh Lonesome Me”
Don Gibson – “Sweet Dreams”
Don Gibson – “Oh Lonesome Me”
Chet Atkins – “Oh Lonesome Me”
Johnny Cash – “Oh, Lonesome Me”
The Everly Brothers – “Oh Lonesome Me”
Neil Young – “Oh Lonesome Me”
Flatt & Scruggs – “Foggy Mountain Breakdown”
Bill Preston – “Holy, Holy, Holy”
Flat & Scruggs – “We’ll Meet Again Sweetheart”
Snuffy Jenkins – “Careless Love”
Bill Monroe – “Uncle Pen”
Bill Monroe – “It’s Mighty Dark To Travel”
The Earl Scruggs Revue – “I Shall Be Released”
The Band – “I Shall Be Released”
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band – “Will The Circle Be Unbroken”
The Country Gentlemen – “Fox On The Run”
Sonny Terry – “Whoopin’ The Blues”
Sonny Terry & Brownie McGee – “Born With The Blues (Live)”
Nina Simone – “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free”

BGS is proud to produce Carolina Calling in partnership with Come Hear NC, a campaign from the North Carolina Department of Natural & Cultural Resources designed to celebrate North Carolinians’ contribution to the canon of American music.

Carolina Calling, Asheville: A Retreat for the Creative Spirit

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

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Asheville, North Carolina’s history as a music center goes back to the 1920s and string-band troubadours like Lesley Riddle and Bascom Lamar Lunsford, and country-music pioneer Jimmie Rodgers. But there’s always been a lot more to this town than acoustic music and scenic mountain views. From the experimental Black Mountain College that drew a range of minds as diverse as German artist Josef Albers, composer John Cage, and Albert Einstein, Asheville was also the spiritual home for electronic-music pioneer Bob Moog, who invented the Moog synthesizer first popularized by experimental bands like Kraftwerk to giant disco hits like Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love.”

It’s also a town where busking culture ensures that music flows from every street corner, and it’s the adopted hometown of many modern musicians in a multitude of genres, including Pokey LaFarge, who spent his early career busking in Asheville, and Moses Sumney, a musician who’s sonic palette is so broad, it’s all but unclassifiable.

In this premiere episode of Carolina Calling, we wonder and explore what elements of this place of creative retreat have drawn individualist artists for over a century? Perhaps it’s the fact that whatever your style, Asheville is a place that allows creativity to grow and thrive.

Subscribe to Carolina Calling on any and all podcast platforms to follow along as we journey across the Old North State, visiting towns like Shelby, Greensboro, Durham, Wilmington, and more.

Music featured in this episode:

Bascom Lamar Lunsford – “Dry Bones”

Jimmie Rodgers – “My Carolina Sunshine Girl”

Kraftwerk – “Autobahn”

Donna Summer – “I Feel Love”

Pokey LaFarge – “End Of My Rope”

Moses Sumney – “Virile”

Andrew Marlin – “Erie Fiddler (Carolina Calling Theme)”

Moses Sumney – “Me In 20 Years”

Steep Canyon Rangers – “Honey on My Tongue”

Béla Bartók – “Romanian Folk Dances”

New Order – “Blue Monday”

Quindar – “Twin-Pole Sunshade for Rusty Schweickart”

Pokey LaFarge – “Fine To Me”

Bobby Hicks Feat. Del McCoury – “We’re Steppin’ Out”

Squirrel Nut Zippers – “Put A Lid On It”

Jimmie Rodgers – “Daddy and Home”

Lesley Riddle – “John Henry”

Steep Canyon Rangers – “Graveyard Fields”

BGS is proud to produce Carolina Calling in partnership with Come Hear NC, a campaign from the North Carolina Department of Natural & Cultural Resources designed to celebrate North Carolinians’ contribution to the canon of American music.

Inspired by Tony Rice, Punch Brothers Give ‘Em ‘Hell on Church Street’

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It was banjo player Noam Pikelny who heard first. On December 26, 2020, he messaged his Punch Brothers bandmate Chris Eldridge to tell him the news that Tony Rice, their bluegrass hero and Eldridge’s guitar mentor, had died on Christmas Day. “It just didn’t seem like it could be real,” says Eldridge. “It was a complete shock.”

The band felt more than just sadness at the legend’s passing; there was regret, too. Eldridge had thought about calling Rice to tell him what they had been working on — a reimagining of his landmark album, Church Street Blues — but had resisted the urge. “I thought, you know what, it’ll be cooler if I can just give him the music. ‘Hey, we made a thing for you…!’” The moment had never come. It was a heartbreaker.

Hell on Church Street, Punch Brothers’ sixth full album, was recorded in Nashville the month before Rice died. The 1983 solo record that inspired it is high canon among bluegrass lovers with its wistful songs and fiddle tunes repurposed as dazzling guitar solos, laid down in the period when Rice was opening up bluegrass music in multiple directions at once. Punch Brothers have remained faithful to the original tracklist, but equally to Rice’s boundary-pushing creativity.

What emerges is a kaleidoscopic mise en abyme — their versions of Rice’s versions of songs by Bob Dylan, Tom Paxton, Gordon Lightfoot, et al. — both reflecting bluegrass’s rich progressive history and refracting through their own endlessly inventive perspective. Those hoping for Chris Thile to indulge in some light Gordon Lightfoot karaoke, in other words, will be disappointed. A few have already cried sacrilege. Witness the internet backlash that accompanied the band’s release of the title track, which resets Norman Blake’s famous lyrics to an urgent 5/4 meter.

“You never want to admit you look at internet comments but some people were pissed,” says Eldridge. “I thought, oh boy, wait til these people hear ‘Gold Rush!’”

Even Pikelny admits he had a few early qualms about the technical ambition of that initial recording. “It took us a day and a half [in the studio] to play it with the effortlessness and ease it needed. But I’m glad we stuck with it, because if we were just going to play it like it’s already been played then really what’s the point? It becomes like a Civil War re-enactment.”

“And it’s just not true to the spirit of what Tony himself exemplified his entire career,” adds Eldridge. “This record was never a memorial — it was a living tribute created in the spirit of some of the deep lessons we learned from Tony: you have to be yourself. If you’re going to make music, play it the way only you can play it.”

Certainly only Punch Brothers would take bluegrass standard ‘Gold Rush’ and turn it into a piece of esoteric free-time improv, ethereally led by Gabe Witcher on fiddle. “For the record we all love that Bill Monroe tune,” says Eldridge, with a wry smile. “But I don’t even think I’ve played a fiddle tune that’s been that deconstructed and stripped of basic elements like pulse and beat before.” It is, laughs Pikelny, certainly not a version likely to be heard at a contest any time soon: “Contestant 11, you’ve been disqualified!”

Hell on Church Street is a record that might never have been made but for the pandemic. The band’s need to quarantine before they could assemble in the studio had restricted their time together and they were looking for a project that would satisfy them musically without turning their precious time in each other’s company into a songwriting bootcamp. “When we’re on the road together it’s camaraderie, it’s therapy,” says Pikelny. “We said, ‘What can we do that we can still enjoy being with each other?’”

Their minds turned back to a similar conversation they had had in Japan two and a half years previously. During their residency at the Blue Note in Tokyo, the band were asked to prepare a set of bluegrass standards for the 2019 Rockygrass festival (or, as Pikelny puts it: “Don’t bring all your original shit!”). With limited time to rehearse — or perhaps, given the allure of the Japanese capital, not a great deal of inclination — someone had suggested paying tribute to an artist or record they loved. The response was unanimous, almost instantaneous. It had to be Church Street Blues. “That record was so sacred to all of us,” says Eldridge.

The live set that followed at Rockygrass became one of the great wish-you-were-there experiences: a performance fizzing with spontaneity, in an atmosphere crackling with passion. It had been a busy festival for all of them — bassist Paul Kowert playing a set with Hawktail, Pikelny performing with Stuart Duncan — and when they took to the stage, they had been working on the material for just four hours. But the coupling of their collective virtuosity with one of bluegrass’s most beloved of song collections created instant electricity.

In Nashville last November they saw the chance to reignite that experience. “It’s not something we get to do much these days,” says Eldridge, “make music by the seat of our pants. And it’s one of the things that initially brought us together, all the way back the first time the five of us got in a room together. It’s something very special to us, and with this project we got to tap into that side of the band that tends to lie dormant for long stretches — to enjoy what it’s like when we don’t have super tight arrangements, when we just have to listen and be very reactive.”

It also allowed them to delve far more deeply into the songs on Church Street Blues than they ever have had before. “You get closer to the material when there’s a responsibility to make it your own,” says Pikelny. His own parents had loved Tom Paxton, for instance: Pikelny had been familiar with “Last Thing On My Mind” since he was a kid. “It had always seemed like just another heartbreak song — it was only when we started working on it I realised how profoundly sad it is.” At the start of their arrangement, Thile’s voice yearns out over the lone plucked notes of the fiddle, a sound like the ebbing of lost time.

But it’s “Streets of London” where Punch Brothers’ ability to mine the meaning of a song and transform it into sonic expression is most evident. Where Rice rendered the melancholy of Ralph McTell’s lyrics through his bell-like baritone, here the stories of abandoned, lonely lives are tossed about in broken melody and dismembered harmony. This is a sad song that’s been restrung with anxiety and tautened with menace, in a manner that detaches it from some nostalgic past and confronts you with the shamefulness of our world’s ongoing poverty and isolation.

What the band wishes, above all, is for the album to honour Rice’s own experimental and fearless musicianship. To most, the man himself had remained an enigma, withdrawn from the bluegrass world and even his peers to the end of his life, ever since the loss of his voice had stopped him performing. “He seemed like a king off in a castle,” says Pikelny. “I wish I’d once got to hear what Tony Rice’s guitar sounded like in a room, but he wasn’t accessible in the way of so many bluegrass heroes.”

But to Eldridge he had been more — a family friend and musical mentor, the man who used to crash on his parents’ sofa when his touring schedule brought him through DC. Eldridge can still recall the moment, aged 12, when Rice effectively changed the course of his own life forever. They were at the Graves Mountain bluegrass festival in Virginia, “and all of a sudden I was like, that’s a Zeus on stage and he’s throwing thunderbolts,” he remembers. “It wasn’t so much that his playing was so great, it was obviously really great that goes without saying, but the impression on me was that every note he’s playing is meaningful and is very direct. It was like they transcended being musical notes and took over your whole being.”

“Isn’t it true that the reason your nickname Critter got reinstated was due to Tony?” interjects Pikelny.

“It was entirely due to Tony! When I was in utero my parents referred to me as the critter, people called me it as a little boy but eventually they stopped and everyone called me Chris. Then when I went down to Merlefest with some of my college friends in 2001, we were hanging out with Tony, and the name came back with a vengeance! And here we are today…”

It’s a touching thought: that Rice’s legacy should have made so personal and lasting a mark on Eldridge, even as it continues to influence the musical world that he and Punch Brothers inhabit. “I would argue that he more than anybody ushered bluegrass into its modern form, in terms of the new standards of musicianship and song selection. He was probably more responsible for that than anybody.” Pikelny nods his head: “The way the music has expanded in all these different directions, Tony was involved in every single one of them, whether it was J.D. Crowe & the New South or David Grisman. It was like a superpower. He was such a team player, there was something about the way he played when he was around he just elevated everybody.”

They’ll never know exactly what their hero would have made of Hell on Church Street. Pikelny suspects there would be bits of it he may have even hated. But they hope that he would have recognised it as, above all, a love letter. “I hope he’d be proud,” says Eldridge. “Of what he encouraged us — and everybody else — to do.”

Photo Credit: Josh Goleman

BGS Class of 2021: Our Favorite Albums, Made With Intention

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

This collection of albums is not simply a “best of” 2021. That would be selling every single collection included herein far too short. These roots and roots-adjacent releases each stood as a testament to the music makers and communities that spawned them. Not simply in the face of a globe-halting, existentially challenging pandemic, but in the face of an industry, government, and culture that would just as soon have all of us pretend the last two years — and beyond — simply didn’t happen. 

These artists and creators refused to let the pandemic define their artistic output through it, while simultaneously acknowledging, processing, and healing from the pandemic through this music. Not a single album below is a “pandemic record,” yet every single one is a resounding, joyful balm because the intention in each is not simply a reaction to a global disaster or an attempt to commodify it or its by-products. Not a single one is an attempt to “return to normalcy.” They’re each challenging us as listeners, in both overt and subtle ways, to walk into our collective new reality together, wide-eyed and open-armed, and with intention.

Daddy’s Country Gold, Melissa Carper

It was a sly move on Melissa Carper’s part to give her album, Daddy’s Country Gold, a title that works on so many levels, nodding to the passing down of sounds, to her road nickname and to her ability to casually loosen postwar country perceptions of masculinity and femininity. In her songs and performances, her gestures are even more beguilingly subtle. Enlisting a fellow upright bassist to produce with her, the Time Jumpers’ Dennis Crouch, Carper claimed western swing and early honky-tonk eras as her playground, and the shrewd, crooning intimacy of Billie Holiday as her guide. Carper sings in a slight, reedy rasp, deftly phrasing her lines and curling her words to suggest the lasting nature of longing and fleeting nature of pleasure. She’s written a movingly clever ballad of broken commitment (“My Old Chevy Van”), elegantly pining tunes of both torchy and down-home varieties (“I Almost Forgot About You,” “It’s Better If You Never Know”) and whimsical fantasies of rural homesteading, sometimes making clear that she’s cast a female partner in those stories (“Old Fashioned Gal,” “Would You Like to Get Some Goats?”) Her artful knowledgeable nudging of tradition is a revelation. — Jewly Hight

Music City USA, Charley Crockett

Few artists in the last few years have us as fired up as Charley Crockett. His unapologetically individual sound and aesthetic shine through once again on his 2021 release, Music City USA. The irony, of course, is that the album sounds nothing like most of what comes out of modern-day Nashville. It’s an amalgamation of influences both old and new — blues and classic country and soul with a peppering of Texas-tinged Americana on top. Charley Crockett absolutely represents what the future of Music City sounds (and looks) like in our book. — Amy Reitnouer Jacobs

Home Video, Lucy Dacus

We must forgo the existential “Is it roots?” question at this juncture, simply because this stunning and resplendent work by Lucy Dacus refused to be excluded from this list. Perhaps the superlative album of 2021, in a year filled to bursting with objectively and subjectively superlative albums, Home Video is impossibly resonant, relatable, down-to-earth, and touching — despite its intricate specificity and deeply vulnerable personality. Dacus’ queerness, and the beautiful, humane ways it refuses categorization and labels, is the crack beneath the door through which the light of this gorgeous, fully-realized universe is let into our hearts. Her post-evangelical pondering; the challenging while awe-inspiring abstract, amorphous gray zones she doesn’t just examine, but celebrates; the anger of rock and roll paired with the tenderness of folk and the spilled ink of singer-songwriters — whether taken as a masterpiece of genre-fluid postmodernity or an experiment on the fringes of roots music, Dacus’ Home Video establishes this ineffable artist as a subtle, intellect-defying (and -encouraging), empathetic genius of our time. — Justin Hiltner

My Bluegrass Heart, Béla Fleck

It’s been over twenty years since the eminent master of the banjo, Béla Fleck, recorded a bluegrass record. My Bluegrass Heart completes a trilogy of albums (following 1988’s Drive and 1999’s The Bluegrass Sessions) and is as much a who’s who of modern bluegrass – featuring the likes of Billy Strings, Chris Thile, Sierra Hull, Bryan Sutton, Molly Tuttle, Michael Cleveland, Sam Bush and many others – as it is a showcase of Fleck’s still-virtuoso level talent.

But as much as My Bluegrass Heart is an album for a bluegrass band, we would be hard pressed to call it a bluegrass album (in the best possible way). As he has done countless times before, Fleck effectively breaks every rule and pushes every boundary by surrounding himself with fellow legendary rule breakers, creating something wholly beautiful and unique in the process. — Amy Reitnouer Jacobs

A Tribute to Bill Monroe, The Infamous Stringdusters

Bluegrass loves a “back to bluegrass” album, no matter how far an artist or band may or may not have traveled from bluegrass before coming back to it. On A Tribute to Bill Monroe, the Infamous Stringdusters cement ‘80s and ‘90s ‘grass – “mash” and its subsidiaries – as an ancestor to the current generation of jamgrass. Or, at the very least, it cements that these two modern forms of bluegrass cooperatively evolved. It’s crisp, driving, bouncing bluegrass that’s as much traditional as it isn’t. Sounds like quintessential Stringdusters, doesn’t it? Their collective and individual personalities ooze through the Big Mon’s material, which is what we all want cover projects to do, in the end: Cast classics in a new light, into impossibly complicated refractions. And, in this case, infusing postgrass sensibilities back into the bluegrass forms that birthed them. — Justin Hiltner

Race Records, Miko Marks & the Resurrectors

One of the best bluegrass albums of the year most likely would not be “binned” as bluegrass, and that this album is titled Race Records demonstrates exactly why. Miko Marks returns to the primordial ooze aesthetic of country, old-time, blues and bluegrass — without a whiff of essentialism — and accomplishes a Bristol Sessions or ‘40s-era Grand Ole Opry sound that’s as firmly anchored in the present as it is elemental. Marks’ musical perspective has always highlighted her awareness that the death of genre, as it were, is nothing new, but a return to the traditions that birthed all of these roots genres, many of which can be attributed to the exact communities race records originally sought to erase. Marks & the Resurrectors joyfully and radically occupy songs and space on Race Records. The result is as light and carefree as it is profound; it’s devastatingly singular yet feels like a sing along. All quintessential elements of bluegrass and country. — Justin Hiltner

Dark in Here, Mountain Goats

John Darnielle sings at the velocity of a firehose torrent, and he writes songs with titles like “Let Me Bathe in Demonic Light” and “The Destruction of the Superdeep Kola Borehole Tower.” But rather than death metal, Mountain Goats play elegantly arranged folk-rock dressed up with saxophones and the occasional keyboard freak-out. Dark in Here, the best of five Mountain Goats albums released the past two years, coheres into tunefulness despite the clashing contrasts — especially “Mobile,” a gently gliding Biblical meditation on hurricane season, and also Darnielle’s prettiest song ever. Perfect for the whiplash jitters of this modern life. — David Menconi

In Defense Of My Own Happiness, Joy Oladokun

I don’t know if I’ve ever been so immediately captivated by an artist as I was when I first heard Joy Oladokun’s single, “Jordan,” earlier this year. On that song — and every other one on In Defense of My Own Happiness that I played over and over this year — her clear voice and searingly personal lyrics emerge as a calm, universal call to pursue something better, melting down her own painful past and re-molding it in the image of self-love, inner peace and … well, joy. Oladokun is indeed building her own promised land, and we’re all lucky to bear witness. — Dacey Orr Sivewright

Outside Child, Allison Russell

One might assume an album covering the subject of abuse could intimidate a listener with its potential heaviness. While Outside Child does indeed venture into the depths of those dark experiences, Allison Russell gleans profound lessons learned and treasures discovered from each and every detail of her experiences in her youth. The result is ethereal and uplifting — and a release of trauma through a bright musical experience swelling and overflowing with hope for the future. — Shelby Williamson

The Fray, John Smith

Most artists are pretty keen to play down the idea of a “lockdown record,” because they’re worried it will limit the music’s appeal or longevity. But the emotions John Smith pours into The Fray — born of that period when we were all taking stock of our lives, and wondering what to do next — will hold their currency for a long while yet. It’s honest, yes, but also pretty soothing on the ear, showcasing Smith’s fullest sound to date — both heart’s cry and soul’s balm at once. — Emma John

See You Next Time, Joshua Ray Walker

I wasn’t out after “Three Strikes.” Instead, I was all in. With the steel guitar weaving like a drunkard in a Buick, it sometimes seems like this Dallas musician’s third album is about to go off the rails, along with the lives of the people he’s created in these songs. It never does, though, and that’s a credit to Joshua Ray Walker’s commanding vocal and a willingness to bring his dry sense of humor to the country music landscape. From the pretty poser in “Cowboy” to the unsightly barfly known as “Welfare Chet,” these folks feel like true honky-tonk characters. — Craig Shelburne

Simple Syrup, Sunny War

“Tell me that I look like Nina,” sings Los Angeles singer-songwriter Sunny War in “Like Nina,” the keystone song of her fourth album, Simple Syrup. The Nina in question is, of course, Nina Simone. The look is the “same sad look in my eyes,” though in concert War often flashes a bright, disarmingly shy smile — that of a young Black artist demanding to be taken on her own, singular terms, not the terms of cultural expectations. She continues: She can’t dance like Tina, sing like Aretha, be styled like Beyoncé. But she can see injustice, seek love and respect, seek a sense of self, and sing about it, captivatingly, with her earthy voice and folk-blues-rooted fingerpicking, enhanced by a small cadre of friends led by producer Harlan Steinberger. Like Nina? No. Like Sunny War. — Steve Hochman

Sixteen Kings’ Daughters, Libby Weitnauer

There’s a new artist on the folk scene — Libby Weitnauer. Weitnauer is a fiddle player, violinist, singer and songwriter raised in East Tennessee and currently based in Nashville. Her debut EP and first solo effort, Sixteen Kings’ Daughters, was produced by Mike Robinson (Sarah Jarosz, Railroad Earth) and presents centuries-old Appalachian ballads that have been recast into a lush and unsettling sonic landscape. Weitnauer’s high lilting voice is reminiscent of Jean Ritchie, and she glides with ease atop eerie backdrops of electric guitar, bass, fiddle and pedal steel. A strong debut to say the least, and we’re excited to hear more. — Kaïa Kater

Urban Driftwood, Yasmin Williams

Watching Yasmin Williams play guitar can boggle your mind. She uses her full body to coax noise from the instrument, her fingers pounding on the strings, her feet clicking out counter rhythms in tap shoes, one hand even accompanying herself on kalimba. As impressive as her technique is, it’s less remarkable than her facility for compositions that are melodically direct yet structurally intricate. Urban Driftwood is a carefully and beautifully written album, and Williams’ songs lose none of their flair when she transfers them from the stage to the studio. Dense with earworm riffs and evocative textures, the album represents a crucial pivot away from the increasingly staid world of folk guitar, which has recently been dominated by white men indebted to the historical American Primitivism pioneered by John Fahey. Williams is opening that world up to new sounds and influences, insisting that her guitar can speak about our present moment in ways that are meaningful, moving, and subversive. — Stephen Deusner

Bluegrass Memoirs: ‘Industrial Strength Bluegrass’ and the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion (Part 3)

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Editor’s Note: Read part one of our series on the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion here. Read part two here.)

Working on CityFolk’s Dayton Bluegrass Reunion, I heard local terminology for the culture in which this music grew. “Industrial working-class Appalachian migrants” was rarely spoken. “Hillbilly” was said sometimes with disdain, sometimes with pride. The preferred in-group term was “briar.” Briars came from the Appalachian hills, transplants proud of their continuing organic down-home connections. I was told that the call letters of WPFB, where Moon Mullins had represented bluegrass for two and a half decades, stood for “We Play For Briars.”

Don Baker’s introduction to the second act of the reunion framed a dramatic shift of scene from Mullins’ milieu to a younger Dayton band: The Hotmud Family.

Inspired by the New Lost City Ramblers, this band began in 1970 playing old-time music based on pre-war hillbilly recordings. The band included Suzanne Thomas Edmundson, Dave Edmundson, and Rick Good, along with a succession of bassists. Suzanne, born in Dayton of Kentucky parents, was a second-generation briar. According to Jon Hartley Fox the Hotmuds were “perhaps the most significant band to emerge from the vibrant scene of the 1970s in southwestern Ohio” (Industrial Strength Bluegrass, 140-1). 

They began including bluegrass in their sound during a 1974 appearance at the Mariposa Folk Festival. In blending old-time and bluegrass, they placed special emphasis on vocal harmonies, something many old-time bands overlooked. Between 1974 and 1981 they made eight albums and appeared widely at bluegrass and folk festivals. Here’s their 1975 bluegrass/old-time blending of “Weary Blues,” a song originally recorded in 1929 in Atlanta by Chattanoogan Jess Young’s Tennessee Band as “Old Weary Blues”:

The Hotmud Family came to be associated with Dayton’s Living Arts Center, described by Hotmud banjoist Rick Good in Industrial Strength Bluegrass (153-57). Established in 1967 by the Dayton Board of Education, this facility offered after-school instruction in the arts for grades 5-12 students in East Dayton. 

In 1975 it began providing programs aimed at the local Appalachian-based culture. It turned to the Hotmud Family, now a nationally known band with an enthusiastic local fan base from their weekends at Sam’s Bar and Grill. At the Center, Hotmud gave lessons, ran a song circle, and led informal jam sessions. Once a week they held a live Country Music Jamboree, which was broadcast over WYSO, the Antioch College radio station. The Center closed in 1977, but the Jamboree continued with other performers at other local venues until 1986. 

Act Two of the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion opened with a solo rendition of “Red Rocking Chair” by former Hotmud lead vocalist Suzanne Thomas Edmundson. Then came the group’s reunion, when Thomas was joined by the other founding Family members Dave Edmundson and Rick Good along with bassist Gary Hopkins. They did three pieces and an encore. During the 1980s the band gave occasional reunion performances. This was one of their last.

For Act Three, Baker’s stage directions began: “Beer Sign On.” 

A borrowed neon sign hung onstage now lit up for the reunion of a band associated with Dayton’s bluegrass bar scene, the Allen Brothers.

Formed in the late ’60s to back their father Red Allen, they began performing without him and were touring in 1974 when brother Neal died. After a brief hiatus, the three other brothers (Harley, Greg, and Ronnie) carried on into the early ’80s, recording Rounder and Folkways albums. The new Smithsonian/Folkways album Industrial Strength Bluegrass — which just won Album of the Year at the 2021 IBMA Bluegrass Music Awards — includes Harley Allen’s “Suzanne,” first recorded by the Allen Brothers in 1982, here recreated by Mo Pitney and Merle Monroe:

They continued to play together in the Dayton area into the mid-’80s, but by then Harley had begun a solo career, first joining banjoist Mike Lilly in a band Jon Hartley Fox calls “one of the best bluegrass acts Dayton ever produced” (Industrial Strength Bluegrass 136). In 1985 the Allen-Lilly Band closed a set at the Berkshire Mountain Bluegrass Festival. Harlan County native Lilly led the way into “Little Maggie” with coon dog and motorcycle as Frank Wakefield watched: 

Harley went on to a Nashville career as a singer-songwriter, winning two Grammys and singing on the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack hit “I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow” before dying at the age of 55. 

At the Reunion, the Allen Brothers put together a band with Harley on mandolin, Greg on banjo, and Ronnie on bass, with Wendell Barrett on guitar, and David Harvey on fiddle.

Here’s how they sounded with a similar band (different fiddler and mandolinist), with Monroe’s “Uncle Pen” enlivened by guitarist Harley Allen’s transformation of Jimmy Martin’s “G run” and a fancy ending, followed by a bluegrass trio rendition of the Paul Siebel’s classic “Louise.”

At the Reunion, they did three tunes and an encore. Then it was intermission time.

The second half began with Baker introducing Act Four, the Dry Branch Fire Squad. This band was led by mandolinist Ron Thomason, a Virginian who had migrated to the region as a child. Around since the mid-’70s, it’s still active today. Thomason came up in Dayton’s regional scene in the ’60s, working in bar bands and on the road with Ralph Stanley. 

Committed to traditional bluegrass, Thomason, now living in Colorado, has had many talented musicians in his band. He is famous for his emcee work, which regularly grows into humorous monologue. Baker’s directions for this act listed two pieces (including one gospel song), separated by:

“Rap — Ron Thomason”

Here’s a sample of Ron’s “rap” — a comic speech from a 2007 California festival:

At the time of The Dayton Bluegrass Reunion, Dry Branch had four albums on Rounder, the start of a long string with that label. Like the Hotmud Family, they were folk and bluegrass festival regulars. 

The band this evening consisted of Ron on mandolin, John Hisey on banjo, Mary Jo Leet on guitar, and Charlie Leet on bass. In 1987 a similar lineup recorded “Aragon Mill,” a Si Kahn song that Ron had learned while working at coal miner’s union rallies with Hazel Dickens:

Act Five brought on another performer still active today, Larry Sparks and the Lonesome Ramblers. Sparks had come up in the Dayton bar scene at about the same time as Ron Thomason. He worked with the Stanley Brothers and Ralph Stanley at the end of the ’60s and made his first album on his own in 1970s. He became a member of the Bluegrass Hall of Fame in 2015 and has a new album out on Rebel. 

At this concert his Lonesome Ramblers had a reunion dimension. Mandolinist and singer Wendy Miller, who’d played on Larry’s earliest recordings and was with the band through most of the ’70s, was back for this evening’s concert. Also in the band were banjoist Barry Crabtree and Larry’s son, Larry Dee, on bass. 

They did three songs: “Dark Hollow,” “Face in the Crowd,” and “Kentucky Chimes,” all regulars from his albums and concerts. He closed with an eight-tune medley of his other hits. There are many videos of Larry’s great singing and lead guitar work. Here’s one of my favorites:

Acts Six and Seven dramatized the transformations of Dayton’s foundational 1956 band — The Osborne Brothers and Red Allen.

Act Six was all reunion. Red Allen had been officially retired since 1984, although he’d recently recorded four tracks on Home Is Where The Heart Is, David Grisman’s new Rounder album, joined on these tracks by son Harley and banjoist Porter Church, who’d been in his band The Kentuckians. 

Red started this band in 1959 with mandolinist Frank Wakefield. In November 1961, in Nashville for the D.J. Convention, they cut six classic tracks at Starday with top bluegrass musicians of the day: Don Reno on banjo; Chubby Wise on fiddle; and John Palmer on bass. The whole great session is on YouTube: 

Sierra Hull reprises Wakefield’s “Mountain Strings” on the new Smithsonian/Folkways album Industrial Strength Bluegrass. The track was nominated for IBMA’s 2021 Instrumental Recording of the Year.

In the early ’60s Wakefield and Allen worked out of the D.C. area, with a radio show in Wheaton, Maryland. In 1964 they did a Folkways album in New York, produced by David Grisman and Peter Siegel. 

Soon after, Wakefield, whose innovative music is discussed by Ben Krakauer in Industrial Strength Bluegrass (182-183), began working with New York band The Greenbriar Boys and later he relocated to Saratoga Springs, New York. Here’s how he sounded in 2008 — still pushing the boundaries:

Red kept the Kentuckians going in the mid-’60s with a succession of great sidemen, among them banjoist Porter Church and mandolinist Grisman, who produced two albums of the Kentuckians on the County label.

In 1967 Red worked briefly for Bill Monroe and took Lester Flatt’s place in the Foggy Mountain Boys when Flatt had heart surgery. The next year he was in Lexington working with J.D. Crowe and Doyle Lawson.

By the early ’70s he was back in Dayton, working with his sons and playing locally what Rick Good calls “bargrass” (Industrial Strength Bluegrass 156). For tonight’s concert Red and Frank’s Kentuckians included Porter Church on banjo, Buddy Griffin on fiddle, Ron Messing on Dobro, and Larry Nager on bass. 

During Red’s four-song set, Red Spurlock and Noah Crase, banjoists who’d played with Red during his early years, sat in for choruses with the band. A reprise of Wakefield’s famous “New Camptown Races” brought guest David Harvey, son of Dorsey Harvey, another influential mandolinist, to play harmony.

The final segment, Act Seven, featured Dayton’s Grand Ole Opry stars, the Osborne Brothers. Two days before the concert the Dayton Daily News said the Osbornes had “achieved the greatest fame of those taking part in this tribute to the flowering of bluegrass music in Dayton.” It would be hard for anyone to follow them. After joining the Opry in 1964 they’d moved from Dayton to Nashville. During the late ’60s and early ’70s, a string of country hits (“Rocky Top” is the best known today) led to industry awards for their vocal work.

With this success the Osbornes’ recordings moved toward a contemporary country radio-friendly sound, mixing pedal steel, piano, fiddle, drums, and electric bass alongside their bluegrass banjo and mandolin. Their live sound also changed. In 1967 they added electric bass; in the early ’70s, a drummer. Next came electric pickups on banjo and mandolin. They did this to make themselves heard in the big country package shows they were playing, where all the other acts were highly amplified. Their “going electric” was viewed with alarm in the acoustic-oriented bluegrass festival world, but it only lasted for a few years.

Throughout these years, their unique vocals remained a constant. They continued to record and tour. Their repertoire drew largely from decades of recordings along with newer material. They now carried a straight-ahead bluegrass band including fiddle and acoustic bass.

This evening, playing with the Osborne Brothers were Paul Brewster on guitar and third voice in the trio, Terry Eldredge on bass, and Steve Thomas on fiddle.  They did four songs, all favorites from their earlier recordings, including a version of “Kentucky,” the Blue Sky Boys hit of the ’30s that they’d recorded for Decca in 1964 and which remained in their repertoire right up until Sonny’s 2005 retirement. Here’s an early ’90s Opry performance of it, introduced by Bill Anderson. The band includes future Grascals member Eldredge on guitar and third voice and Terry Smith on bass, along with second guitarist (and bus driver) Raymond Huffmaster, Dobroist Gene Wooten, and fiddler Glen Duncan. 

According to Baker’s stage directions, the closing act consisted of:

“Music — Medley”

An earlier draft reads:

“[medley in B natural: each unit from each of the 7 segments chooses a song which they play when their turn comes]”

My memory of this is vague, but I think that’s just how the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion ended, in B natural. But it wasn’t over quite yet. In that day’s Dayton Daily News columnist Nick Weiser had announced: 

“Following the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion at Memorial Hall, the Canal Street Tavern, located at 308 E. First St., will have a reception for the audience and the participants of the Bluegrass Reunion Show. Mark Bondurant will open the show at 9:30 with a reception to follow after the show. Many of the musicians from the Memorial Hall show are scheduled to get together and jam at the Canal Street Tavern reception. Admission is $1 at the door.”

I went with my camera…  Next time!

(Editor’s Note: Read part one of our series on the Dayton Bluegrass Reunion here. Read part two here.)

Neil V. Rosenberg is an author, scholar, historian, banjo player, Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame inductee, and co-chair of the IBMA Foundation’s Arnold Shultz Fund.

Photo of Neil V. Rosenberg: Terri Thomson Rosenberg.

Neil would like to thank Tom Duffee, Rick Good, and Al Turnbull.

From Death Metal to a Fishing Boat, How Billy Strings Finds Renewal (Part 2 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

Billy Strings has had his foot on the gas since he was a teenager, bringing his prolific picking to hundreds of shows around the country each year and winning over a throng of devoted fans in the process. His bluegrass bona fides may be obvious from the outset — he’s quick to cite such greats as Bill Monroe, Doc Watson, and the Stanley Brothers as some of his first musical influences, and no honest spectator could deny his talent on the guitar and mandolin — but astute listeners will also note elements of rock, jam bands, and even heavy metal in his performances, especially as Strings bounds around the stage.

The Nashville-based, Michigan-raised musician’s latest album, Renewal, comes on the heels of an exceptional year: His Rounder Records debut, Home, won the 2020 Grammy award for Best Bluegrass Album. And even as much of the music industry was grounded from touring, his innovative approach to livestreams and digital performances moved the Pollstar Awards to dub him the Breakthrough Artist of the Pandemic. But that breakthrough was more than a decade in the making, and the forces that shaped Strings as a prodigious young picker are still at work today, pushing him creatively in the studio and on stage as well as calming him at home between gigs. Here, in the second half of our BGS Artist of the Month interview, Strings tells us about his upbringing, his latest influences, and the way he unwinds between shows.

Editor’s Note: Read the first part of our interview with Billy Strings.

BGS: Tell me about where you grew up. How do you see its impact on your work today?

Billy Strings: I was born in Lansing, Michigan on October 3, which is my grandpa’s birthday. My mother, who lived in Kentucky at the time, had gone up to Lansing to visit her dad on his birthday, and that’s when I decided to show up. [Laughs] So that’s why I was named Billy as well, because that was my grandpa’s name — I was his little birthday gift.

We lived in Morehead, Kentucky, for a couple of years before coming back home to Michigan, where I really grew up. I grew up in a little town called Muir, population 600. My dad is an incredible guitar player, so he taught me how to play. He was always showing me music when I was a little kid: Doc Watson, Bill Monroe, Lester Flatt, Earl Scruggs, Jimmy Martin, Larry Sparks, and stuff like that — a lot of good bluegrass. We’d hang out at this little campground and play music next to the river by the fire. That was my childhood, man, just sitting there picking by the river.

It was real good until I got to be a teenager and started to turn sour. I had to run off and figure out a new life. I took what my dad taught me when I was a little kid, and all of a sudden I realized that bluegrass is actually pretty sweet and people love this shit — that maybe I could do something with this; that it’s not just something that I do with my dad that I should be halfway embarrassed about.

Who are the artists that you feel really inspired by right now? And are those different than the ones that you feel like you were listening to a lot when you were a kid?

For the most part, it’s still Doc Watson — he’s the main nerve — and Bill Monroe, and Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, Ralph Stanley and Carter Stanley, the Stanley Brothers. But I listen to a lot of different shit. I listen to death metal, and lately, I’ve been getting into this music from Mali that Béla Fleck was showing me — some really amazing stuff. And Memphis trap: I’ve been listening to Young Dolph a bunch. There’s just an energy to it. I grew up around crack houses. I’ve seen that shit that they’re rapping about. It just gets me hyped: He’s talking about coming out of nothing and becoming a self-made millionaire. I listen to it before the shows sometimes to get myself hyped up.

You played in rock bands in high school — groups with music that might not sound a lot like what you’re doing today. Is there any lesson or anything from that time that you feel like you still turn to or still apply to the music that you make?

Yeah, performing live. I never learned how to perform in a bluegrass band. I learned how to perform in a metal band. I learned music by playing bluegrass when I was a little kid, but by the time I was doing it on stage it was in a metal band — we were headbanging and running all over the place — and I still can’t help but get into the music like that. I can’t just stand there and play.

You have been in Nashville now for a little while. Has anything that has surprised you about it, good or bad?

I really love Nashville. A lot of your favorite musicians, that’s where they live. You’ll see your favorite singer in the grocery store. I get calls for sessions, and it’s from people who I grew up listening to and who I’ve idolized for my whole life. Like Béla Fleck’s record just came out, and I played a handful of songs on that. I was so honored to play with David Grisman, and Chris Thile, Sam Bush, Stuart Duncan, and Edgar Meyer — all these cats that are just… well, I don’t feel like I’m really in that league. It really was an honor. And there’ve been several things like that! I went from listening to these cats on a record to being on a first-name basis with them… texting and being friends. It’s a trip.

What’s one thing that’s brought you joy recently?

Fishing. I love bass fishing. I grew up doing that with my dad as well, but I didn’t do it for a long time because I was so busy. When the pandemic hit, I started fishing again. I go out there in rain or shine. I just like it for the solitude. Last night, I was in front of thousands of people, and to come home and go out on my boat and be alone in nature — to check out the blue herons and the fucking ospreys, eagles, fish, everything doing its thing — it’s brought me a lot of joy, brought me down to Earth. I put my boat in at 5 o’clock in the morning when the sun is just coming up. I like being out there alone at that time of day. It’s just good for my mind.

And yet it’s so clear from your performances that interacting with listeners gives you a certain joy, too. What are the forms of feedback that you value most from your audience when you’re playing live?

Sometimes when we finish a solo, everybody starts cheering real loud, the whole place gets real loud. That feels good. But sometimes I look out there and I look around and I see individual people and I literally play to them. Last night, we played in Montana and I was looking around and there was this one dude just standing there with his beer just completely still. I didn’t even know if he was enjoying it or not. So I just walked up to the front of the stage and stared directly at him and I just started playing right to him. [Laughs] So he started laughing, and then he took a drink of his beer and started bobbing his head a little bit. I think he just started getting into it by the end of the show.

I’ll look for things like that. The audience is really in control of how I’m feeling up there. Sometimes, when they’re just on fire, I can’t help but have a good time. They feed us the energy, and we give it back to them. It’s reciprocal.

Photo credit: Jesse Faatz

Growing Up in Bluegrass, Carly Pearce and Sonya Isaacs Come Full Circle

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Carly Pearce and Sonya Isaacs can both trace their musical roots back to bluegrass, even as their individual careers have introduced them to fans beyond that genre. A rising country star, Pearce is a native of Taylor Mill, Kentucky, who just released her third album, 29: Written in Stone. She cites Isaacs — a sterling vocalist and instrumentalist in the gospel group The Isaacs — as one of her biggest vocal influences. Meanwhile, the Isaacs salute some of their own favorite songs with The American Face, a new album blending new material and well-chosen covers. These artists’ professional paths converged this fall when Pearce and, later, The Isaacs, were welcomed into the cast of the Grand Ole Opry.

Calling in to BGS, Carly Pearce and Sonya Isaacs converse about their formative years as musicians, their education in bluegrass harmony, and their immediate response to “Easy Going,” a cool collaborative cut on 29: Written in Stone.

BGS: Let’s start by talking about “Easy Going.” Carly, what was it about the song that made you want to bring in Sonya and Ben Isaacs to sing with you?

Pearce: When I was writing this song, I could hear the harmony. I grew up loving music and harmony and all of those things. As soon as we finished writing it and knew that we wanted it to be on the project I just heard The Isaacs. I grew up loving them and loving their harmonies. Nobody sings harmony better than the Isaacs family, so I asked Sonya.

Sonya, what did you think when you first heard the song?

Isaacs: I love Carly’s voice, too, and I was like, “Well, I’m sure anything that she wants us to sing on will be amazing. And knowing how she loves harmony singing, I thought, “This is gonna be really fun.” Of course, she’s one of the most incredible female vocalists of all time, I think. So, when she played us the song, I flipped out over it. I absolutely loved the song, and I was like, “I can’t wait to get in the studio!” … It was a good a vocal exercise, a good stretch! [Laughs] And it was a challenge because she’s so good, but that’s my favorite kind of session. We had a blast and I love the song.

I like the arrangement because you’re giving the musicians a chance to step out and do what they do best. It feels like a band record in some ways.

Pearce: Yeah! They were all so inspired in the studio by the song and I remember telling Shane McAnally and Josh Osborne, my producers, “Hang on, hang on, and let them do their thing.” I love instrumental bluegrass music, so I wanted to have that element and that feel in the song.

I do want to explore the bluegrass background that you both have. Sonya, can you kind of tell me how bluegrass fits into your overall musical direction?

Isaacs: Yeah. Our dad has been playing bluegrass all of his life. He’s 74 now and he grew up loving bluegrass. The Stanley Brothers, Bill Monroe, all of the legends of bluegrass. Dad loved it first, and when Carter Stanley passed away, my dad actually filled in for him with Ralph for a while and sang Carter’s part. He really fit that style. Dad always instilled a love for bluegrass music, especially traditional bluegrass music, into us kids. He taught us how to play our instruments. He was very key in teaching us the first things we ever learned. Over the years, with our own writing and different influences and artists that we’ve discovered along the way that had a little more of a contemporary sound, our style morphed and changed a little bit away from the more traditional bluegrass sound, but it’s always been the root of everything that we’ve ever loved.

Let’s talk about your dad a bit because the Isaacs just won an IBMA Award for a recording of “Garden Tomb,” which he wrote. I’m curious how that song came back into the forefront.

Isaacs: Dad moved to Kentucky about 20 years ago after he and Mom divorced. He hasn’t really traveled with us or been in the recording part of what we do for all those years. But, of course, he made pop-up appearances when we were around. So, Joe Mullins reached out to us — we love Joe Mullins and the whole Mullins family — because he was doing this project called Industrial Strength Bluegrass and wanted the Isaacs to be a part of it. [The project was named IBMA Album of the Year in September.] Joe has always loved the song “Garden Tomb” that my dad wrote many, many years ago. It was one of our earlier hits that we had many years ago. So, we thought it would be a good idea to do that song.

Our dad is, to me, one of the most underrated legends of bluegrass music. Mainly I think because he chose to do gospel instead of mainstream bluegrass, he was overlooked a lot. So we said, “We’ve got to get Dad in here to sing on this.” And then we decided to add the Oak Ridge Boys, to give it even more of an inclusive feeling. They agreed to come in and they were so proud of it. And my dad felt so honored that it was his song that was on this project. We’re very proud of this whole album — and to be from Ohio. This whole album is artists that are from Ohio or lived in Southern Ohio. It was a full-circle thing for us.

Carly, I know you joined a bluegrass band around the age of 11, right?

Pearce: I did, yeah. I sang in a bluegrass gospel band. That’s how I got my start on stage, outside of the childhood talent shows and things like that. I fell in love with it and feel like I understood what it meant to really be able to sing. I learned a lot of things in those years I was in that band, traveling around and watching bands like the Isaacs. There is no faking that harmony in that music! I think it made me a better singer today because of it.

You’re both known now for singing with other people. Carly, you’ve had a couple of hit duets, and Sonya, you’ve been singing with your family for a long time. Did bluegrass help you build that foundation, in terms of being able to blend your voice with another voice?

Isaacs: Absolutely. Anybody that can sing the third part with the Louvin Brothers, or with Ralph and Carter Stanley, it really teaches you to sing harmony and to find the part. You can listen to a Ralph Stanley song and hear all his vocal licks, and you can compare it to a Mariah Carey vocal lick. Even though they’re completely different styles, they’re both working their vocal cords and it takes a great skill and talent to be able to do the runs and licks that they do. So, absolutely, growing up singing along with those old records and finding that third part was very instrumental in me learning to sing harmony.

Pearce: For sure. The joy, for me, of singing is sometimes getting to collaborate with other vocalists and people that I love and adore. I’m such a fan of their voices. Sonya knows this, but so much of what I feel like people know my voice could be — kind of the flip into my head voice — is because I was trying to emulate Sonya’s voice when I was growing up, going to watch her sing. That’s why singing with her is so special for me.

Isaacs: Aww. It’s crazy because… how old are you Carly?

Pearce: I’m 31.

Isaacs: So, I’m 16 years older than her. It’s so funny for me to hear her say that she grew up listening to the Isaacs, and emulating me, because I don’t feel like I’m that much older, but I am. I’m just in denial, I guess, but I am so honored that she would say that! [Laughs]

Speaking of influences, Carly, you have Patty Loveless on your record, singing with you on “Dear Miss Loretta.” What was going through your mind when you heard her voice come in on that song?

Pearce: Oh, I sat in my car and bawled my eyes out. Patty and Sonya are two of my biggest influences and to have them be so gracious to be a part of my album, it’s something you dream of.

And it’s a song about Loretta Lynn no less. You really went for it, making Kentucky proud. Growing up, were you pretty well aware of the bluegrass history in Kentucky?

Pearce: Oh, for sure. My grandpa played clawhammer banjo and I grew up listening to Flatt & Scruggs and Bill Monroe and Ralph Stanley. I definitely understood how many people come out of the state of Kentucky, like the Judds. I think that’s where I really started to fall in love with music — by listening to people who came from Kentucky.

Sonya, on The American Face record, you have six songs from the past and an equal number of new songs. Are there any of those that you’d want a bluegrass fan to check out?

Isaacs: The instrumentation on this record, and that we’ve always done, leans toward that contemporary acoustic sound with the addition of a few extra instruments like piano. But our roots are always going to be that acoustic sound, and that’s how we are live. But I think “We Can Work It Out” — the Beatles cover that we did — is very acoustic and fun. We have a song “More Than Words” that was originally recorded 30 years ago by a rock ‘n’ roll group called Extreme. We did that stripped down with just upright bass, some snaps and vocals. I guess it’s not really considered a bluegrass song but the vocals are definitely influenced by that. There are quite a few songs on here that the bluegrass fans would really, really like.

It feels like you’re both having this moment, where you received an invitation to join the Grand Ole Opry and you’re winning industry awards. People are really noticing both of you right now. What are you enjoying the most about this time in your career?

Pearce: I’m sure that Sonya would say the same thing, but moments like becoming a member of the Grand Ole Opry — that’s something that I wanted and dreamed of and hoped for my whole entire life. And now to say that I am a part of that family is so surreal for me. All of these things, the childhood dreams, are coming true. You hope that when you’re writing music and singing and doing all of these things that it’s impactful and that people are going to care. And the fact that I feel like people care is so special.

Isaacs: Ditto to that. That’s a great answer. Again, it goes back to growing up. Dad instilled a great love for bluegrass music but hand-in-hand with that is that old classic country sound. I think nowadays, the classic country would fall more into a bluegrass category than even current country, because it’s changed and evolved so much since those days. Dad always instilled in us in love for the Grand Ole Opry as well, so it was full-circle again to be inducted and to be an Opry sister with Carly. We’ve known her for years and we’ve written together and we go way back. It is a really neat time to get to share these moments.

Photo credit: Nicole Sherwood