Artist:Bowregard Hometown: Boulder, Colorado Song: “High on a Mountain” Album:Arrows Release Date: July 1, 2020
In Their Words: “Bowregard are all big fans of Colorado’s seminal bluegrass band Hot Rize, and love their rendition of Ola Belle Reed’s classic ‘High on a Mountain.’ When Max Kabat (guitar) got inspired to reharmonize a classic bluegrass song, this one seemed like a natural. Max and James Armington (banjo) created a new chord structure that emphasized the lonesomeness and desperation contained in the words of the original song, and put a soaring minor harmony in the chorus that played to the band’s fondness for tight three-part vocals. When it came time to record the track in the studio, things came full circle as producer Nick Forster — bassist and vocalist in Hot Rize — helped the band realize an inspired performance of the arrangement. The result is a haunting new perspective on a beloved standard of the bluegrass repertoire.” — Justin Konrad, Bowregard (resophonic guitar)
Artist:Scroggins & Rose Hometown: Oakland, California Latest Album:Curios Release Date: June 26, 2020 Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): We’re not really the nickname types. haha I think for a while we thought of calling ourselves Spiral or something like that, but we landed on Scroggins & Rose pretty quickly.
What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc. — inform your music?
Alisa Rose: I believe any art that I experience influences what I create. I love the floaty mysticism of Chagall’s paintings, the elegant structure in Martha Graham’s dances, the lyricism of Morrison’s books, and the beautiful details of Proulx’s stories. I hope a bit of all of these seep into what I create.
Tristan Scroggins: I’ve always loved paintings and have been inspired by how they can convey so much meaning and emotion through things other than the picture itself. The brush strokes and colors and style all tell their own story without necessarily being the center of attention and I try to incorporate that idea into my playing as much as I can. With composition I/we draw inspiration from a lot of different sources. One of my favorite writing games we did while writing the tunes on this album was listening to an album of tongue twisters and trying to write tunes based on the rhythm of certain ones.
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
AR: When I was 6, I read a story about Paganini and how he played the violin so beautifully that he made people cry. I was really struck by the power of music, and from then on I thought I would like to be a violinist.
TS: I grew up listening to my dad play the banjo but it had never crossed my mind to play music until I was 8 years old. I was watching my dad perform and was overcome with a sense of pride and I asked him to teach me to play. It was never a conscious decision after that to be a musician. I always just assumed that I was going to do that.
What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?
AR: Before a big show I like to have a few hours of relaxed practice with some slow work on intonation, basics, and the pieces I’m going to perform. I also try to eat well (I like lots of protein before a performance) and go on a walk or a run in nature if possible. With Scroggins & Rose performances it’s important for us to improvise and warm up together as well to make sure we are both attuned to each other and able to connect well on stage.
TS: For a long time I would do confidence exercises/meditations. I’m pretty shy in everyday life so I had to consciously embody the persona of someone who wanted to be the center of attention. For Scroggins & Rose shows we usually warm up together and will do some improvisation games so that we can get in the mindset of reading body language and musical cues on stage.
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
AR: I spend as much time as I can walking through redwoods and exploring the rocky dramatic Californian coastline near my home in the Bay Area. For me, music is deeply associated with my experiences in the natural world and many of my tunes are inspired by the feeling of specific places I’ve been to. For instance, “Wisconsin Wayside” is about driving through beautiful green rolling hills and cornfields on winding country roads in Dane County where I grew up. I also spend a lot of time thinking about melodies I’m working on while I hike; the melodies often find their own path while I’m walking on one.
TS: I spend a lot of time looking at nature but not really being a part of it. I’ve gotten to see lots of really beautiful things but usually through a car windshield. Those sceneries and landscapes are often used as inspiration for textures and moods in composition (such as the “wide-open” feeling of tunes like “the French Cowboy” or “Wyoming”). I also find myself writing about birds a lot. I wouldn’t call myself a “bird watcher,” but I do spend a lot of time watching birds and I have written a number of tunes about birds.
How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?
AR: Although the music I write has no words, to me the tunes are often about a character or story that is not my own. I feel music is a powerful way for people to connect to each other around the shared experience of listening, even if what each of us hears is unique. To perform a tune, like an actor, I find I need to experience the story and emotions as my own, even if they were not originally conceived that way.
TS: I think this is a really interesting question as someone who mostly writes instrumental music, because I think the answer is “always.” Or at least almost always. Whenever I write a tune about a personal event or feeling I don’t feel the need for any restraint because, ultimately, people are going to interpret the tune in their own way. That’s the nature of instrumental music. It’s like a magic trick where the interesting part of the performance is only happening in the viewer’s mind. Of course I can lead the audience’s interpretation by telling them what I wrote it about before it’s played, but even then what each note means to me will be different from what it means to them.
This month brought the unfortunate news that Live From Here, hosted by Chris Thile, has been cancelled.
The American Public Media-produced radio show, previously known as A Prairie Home Companion, has been beloved by listeners since its inception in 1974, and continued in 2016 when the series was rebranded as Live From Here, with Thile leading the way.
The show was cut from production as a result of COVID-19’s widespread impact on the music and entertainment industries. On his socials, Thile graciously acknowledged the decision, stating the purpose of Live From Here as “a celebration of live, collaborative audible art.”
So, without further hesitation, let’s look at 11 of our favorite Live From Here moments.
“Dean Town” – Vulfpeck & Chris Thile
Perhaps one of the most loved Live From Here moments was Thile’s guest performance with Vulfpeck on their classic, “Dean Town.” One has every reason to assume that eye contact between Thile and Joe Dart is still going strong at this very moment.
“Fiddle Sticks” — Billy Contreras
It may be one of the lesser-viewed bits from the show, but this “Fast-AF” fiddle tune feature by Billy Contreras is certainly not short on notes. Two and a half minutes of pure double stops and bass walks.
“Lovesick Blues” — Brandi Carlile, Ben Folds, Chris Thile, & Sarah Jarosz
Ever wondered if Brandi Carlile could yodel on par with Jimmie Rodgers — or everyone’s favorite Walmart yodeling kid, Mason Ramsey? Well, look no further than this early Live From Here collaboration with Carlile, Thile, Ben Folds, and Sarah Jarosz.
“Change” – Mavis Staples
“Say it loud, say it clear!” We’ve shared this powerful performance from the legendary Mavis Staples before, but it is even more relevant now. Things are starting to change around here!
“Toy Heart / Marry Me / Jerusalem” – I’m With Her
Almost 10 minutes of mind blowing harmony and togetherness from I’m With Her, all beloved guests throughout the show’s course. As Thile so happily declares at the end, “There’s not a better band — in the world — than I’m With Her.”
“In Da Club” / Musician Birthdays – Julian Lage, O’Donovan, Thile, and More
What could be better than the composer of 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” jamming with Chris Thile, or Julian Lage playing Django Reinhardt? Oh that’s right: it’s Aoife O’Donovan singing Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5.”
“Blue Skies” – Andrew Bird & Chris Thile
Not only does this pair look quite the same, but their playing together is divine, and one of the last Live From Here moments we were graced with before shutdown.
“Kodachrome” – Paul Simon
This one’ll make you think all the world is a sunny day. Just look at Thile’s face!
“Can’t Find My Way Home (Blind Faith)” – Rachael Price
The tonal map of this moment is pure magic. Lake Street Dive’s Rachael Price supported by Thile’s harmony, Mike Elizondo’s bass lines, Brittany Haas’s fiddle playing — need we say more?
“Winter Boy” – Amanda Brown
Since Thile’s takeover as host, Live From Here has always had a strong female vocalist on stage. From Aoife O’Donovan to Sarah Jarosz to Gaby Moreno to more recent guest Amanda Brown — these women have been an integral part of the show’s cast and performance. Enjoy Brown’s beautiful take on this Buffy Sainte-Marie classic.
“Hard Times” – Chris Thile
It only seems right to acknowledge the many efforts of the Live From Here cast and crew to bring listeners the show, recast as “Live From Home,” in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic and global shutdown. For the last three months, those at the show worked tirelessly to bring us the weekly program, with the help of dozens of musicians, show regulars, and the #LiveFromHome social media campaign.
All we have left to say is — thank you to Chris Thile, all of the musicians, crew, and those who made Live From Here possible. And we hope these “Hard Times” we’re all living in together come again no more.
Tom Power’s recent Toy Heart episode with Alice Gerrard, whom I first knew as Alice Foster, reminded me of a 1959 visit several of us Oberlin College folkies made to Antioch College. In 2009, doing research on my early bluegrass experiences, I sent my friend Mayne Smith an email asking about his experiences when he met Alice and her late husband Jeremy Foster during that visit.
Mayne and I are the same age and have known each other since 1953. We got into folk music as teens in Berkeley, California, and discovered bluegrass together from 1957 to 1959 while in Oberlin, Ohio. We first heard it on records and radio, and at this time had seen it live only once, when we met banjoists Eric Weissberg and Marshall Brickman at a 1958 spring vacation homecoming party in New York City. We had begun trying to play bluegrass with a circle of Oberlin classmates, folk music enthusiasts learning new music and working on new instruments.
In the introduction to my memoir, Bluegrass Generation, I mention our trips to Antioch as undergrads, where we met the Fosters.
Antioch was, like Oberlin, a liberal arts college that drew students from all over the country and beyond. At the time, its co-op system, which placed students in jobs every second semester or so, was thought to be radical. Unlike Oberlin, which still drew on a pious abolitionist point of view about many things, it tended to be a more socially relaxed place. A Fun Place to Party.
Mayne Smith, Kaz Inaba, and Neil Rosenberg after a morning of jamming at the Hotel New Hankyu in Osaka, Japan. April 31, 1991.
Mayne was the first of our Oberlin bluegrass circle to meet the Fosters during one of these trips. This music was still a new and distant thing to us; we didn’t own tape recorders. In my email I asked Mayne:
What memories do you have of visiting Antioch and meeting Alice and Jeremy? I went there several times and recall you being there, but don’t have any documents like tapes or photos that include you. Any recollections, however hazy, would be welcome. I remember that you had some kind of document from the Fosters giving you honorary membership in [their band] the Green County Stump Jumpers — do you still have that, was it dated?
Mayne answered the next day:
Neil, I have (for me) unusually vivid memories of our first visit to Antioch and hanging out at the Fosters’ place because it was there that I contracted the Stanley Brothers virus. I think it must have been in the spring of 1959 because I had already heard Flatt & Scruggs and understood that this was called bluegrass music.
But first, Jeremy’s hand-drawn certificate (on a 4×6 card) is undated, but it reads:
I also vaguely remember showing Marge [Ostrow] (later married to Mike Seeger for a while) how I played Carter Family style guitar. I think I got it from Dave Fredrickson — using the thumb to pick melody, then the index finger brushing down/up. I heard later that Mike was impressed by the fact that Marge had adopted this approach, and asked her where she learned it.
But about the Stanley Brothers. I recall a thinly carpeted living room with expansive white bookshelves along the wall opposite the windows. At some point, in an afternoon I think, Jeremy put on a tape of the Stanley Brothers in live performance — my gut tells me it was one of the ones Mike Seeger had recorded at New River Ranch in like 1957. As soon as I heard that totally live, undoctored sound I was captivated, and I believe I sat and lay on that hard floor listening to live Stanley Brothers shows (several sets, at least) for hours. My mind was blown. Knowing it was totally live and without studio gimmicks and buried background effects, it came home to me how the fluctuating balance of instruments and voices was accomplished by movement in relation to the microphone and each other, how at times there were lovely breathing spaces in the sound while people shifted from instrumental breaks to solo vocals to harmony vocals. How nobody was using a lot of physical effort to project the sound, yet it penetrated, flowed, darted ahead, waxed and waned like the mating dance of a single complex organism — and how comfortable and familiar the musicians were with what they were singing and playing.
I was learning not only about how bluegrass fits together, but also about what a band can be like when it’s been playing constantly together, day in and day out, for weeks — for years.
I don’t believe I’ve ever had a more intense listening and learning experience, nor one that had such a profound effect on my life.
I should also mention that this was partly possible because I could tell that [Jeremy] and Alice understood what I was going through and supported me by staying out of the way. I felt toward them the way a bridegroom feels about the best man and maid of honor: I could give myself over to the intensity of the music in a nurturing environment. (In retrospect, it was kind of like having a trusted support team when you first get stoned on something very strong.)
I will always be grateful to them both.
If you were around when this happened, I don’t remember it. I just blanked on everything else but those sounds.
I wasn’t at the Fosters when this happened, which was not in the spring of 1959 as Mayne recalled, but a few months earlier, during the January break between semesters. While he visited them, I was off jamming with Guy Carawan, who’d given a concert at Antioch that weekend. I didn’t meet Alice and Jeremy until they brought the Green County Stump Jumpers to an Oberlin Hootenanny a year later.
In May 1959, our old Berkeley folk scene friend Sandy Paton (co-founder of Folk Legacy records) was the headliner at the annual Oberlin Folk Festival. By then our circle had become The Lorain County String Band. Sandy heard our festival set and said he knew a British folk record company producer who was looking for American bluegrass and old-timey. He suggested we make a demo he could send to his friend. We cut it at the student radio station, but it was never sent.
That summer, back home in Berkeley, we started The Redwood Canyon Ramblers, Northern California’s first bluegrass band. The story of that band, and of Mayne’s subsequent career as a singer/songwriter and steel guitarist with continuing excursions into bluegrass, is told well at Mayne’s website.
But it does not include an important detail — his groundbreaking work as a scholar. His Master’s Thesis, “Bluegrass Music and Musicians” (Indiana U., 1964) and the article he developed from it, “An Introduction to Bluegrass” (Journal of American Folklore, 1965) opened the door to the serious study of this music. His transcendent aural immersion at the Fosters was the seed that gave him the vision to accomplish this work. I and the many who have followed are indebted to Mayne Smith for blazing the trail.
Artist: Bluegrass 2020, featuring Scott Vestal, Patrick McAvinue, Cody Kilby, Dominick Leslie, and Curtis Vestal Hometown: Greenbrier, Tennessee Song: “Vanleer” Album:Bluegrass 2020 Release Date: June 26, 2020 Label: Pinecastle Records
In Their Words: “I wrote this tune around 2004 and had totally forgotten about it until a few weeks before the Bluegrass 2020 session. The name is from the beautiful countryside of Vanleer, TN about an hour and a half west of Nashville where my wife, Alice, grew up. We were married there in the middle of Bear Creek on a gigantic rock. There are caves, creeks, plains, hills, and valleys. The tune has 5 parts with the various instruments weaving in and out of the melodies, much like the landscape of Vanleer.” — Scott Vestal, Bluegrass 2020
For Black Americans, this day, Juneteenth, has long been a celebration of the momentous historical event of emancipation from slavery — and the nearly two and a half years it took for that news to reach all enslaved peoples in this country. Juneteenth is belatedly gaining wider recognition and arrives at a time of reckoning with systemic patterns of white supremacy, especially police brutality, that remain deeply entrenched.
Like many waves of national protest before it, the uprising in the wake of the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade and many others has spurred the creation of its own soundtrack, and the following list spotlights the contributions of seven roots-savvy, Black music makers. Some draw on lessons learned from how songs gave spiritual succor to those on the front lines of the 1960s Civil Rights struggle, with righteously raised fists and declarations of passion and purpose. Others opt for expression that feels far more personalized or particular, articulating an adamantly complex range of emotions and letting profoundly unsettled, and unsettling, questions hang in the air. All of them are fleshing out their own vivid, timely incarnations of movement music.
Leon Bridges specializes in sophisticated soul, sometimes artfully retro in presentation and other times landing at the thoroughly contemporary end of that musical lineage. His new song “Sweeter” is an example of the latter, two minutes and 50 seconds during which his buttery vocals glide over a lean drum machine pattern, delicate, gospel-dusted bits of guitar, keyboard, piano and bass and Terrace Martin’s saxophone figures. Bridges’ words land with the devastated finality of a black man whose life is leaving his body, taken from him by police. “I thought we moved on from the darker days,” he sings, his cadence fluttery and tone ruminative. “Did the words of the King disappear in the air, like a butterfly?” The blame-laying next line arrives in a burst: “Somebody should hand you a felony.”
Then, Bridges elongates his phrasing with righteous indignation, before steadying himself to spell out the loss: “‘Cause you stole from me/my chance to be.” The elegance he chose gives his performance subtly striking, emotional heft. “From adolescence we are taught how to conduct ourselves when we encounter police to avoid the consequences of being racially profiled,” Bridges wrote in a statement. “I have been numb for too long, calloused when it came to the issues of police brutality. The death of George Floyd was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. It was the first time I wept for a man I never met. I am George Floyd, my brothers are George Floyd, and my sisters are George Floyd. I cannot and will not be silent any longer. Just as Abel’s blood was crying out to God, George Floyd is crying out to me.”
Chastity Brown has been honing her ability to create space for emotional resistance within her songs for a while now. She draws on the pointed, confessional potential of folk and soul and the digital texturing techniques of contemporary pop and hip-hop, while depicting the patient pursuit and safekeeping of self-knowledge as a sign of strength — one that differs wildly from the sort of dominance modeled by systemic power.
In her new song “Golden,” created on her iPad in her garage studio and shared with the world this week, Brown sounds willfully unhurried singing over a skittery programmed beat: “I’ve got joy, even when I’m a target/If ya think that’s political, don’t get me started/You know I’m golden and I flaunt it.” That savoring of selfhood is in striking contrast to the furious question she circles around during the chorus: “Why have I got to be angry?”
In the artist notes accompanying the song, Brown explained that she began writing it when her nephew was beaten by four white cops while walking home in Harlem, mere weeks before George Floyd died in her adopted hometown. “This collective trauma that black, indigenous, immigrant, and queer/trans folk feel is real,” she spelled out. “It’s every god damn day. Yet, we still thrive and flourish in our nature beauty, we still have swag and songs for days. We still have wild and wondrous imaginations like we are all the children of Octavia [Butler]. …This is for me, my people, and the UPRISING to defund police here in Minneapolis and thereby set a new standard for how communities want to be protected.”
Shemekia Copeland, one of the brightest stars in contemporary blues, has been deliberate for years about broadening her repertoire and approach to encompass countrified styles, singer-songwriter song sources and statement-making folk and soul sensibilities and, in the process, positioning herself in the midst of roots music discourse. That’s the insightful perspective she brings to her just-released “Uncivil War,” whose string band style accompaniment boasts the contributions of Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas.
Coming from Copeland, and delivered with measured, dignified vibrato, the simple flipping of the name of the nation’s most notorious war to “uncivil” slyly strips a veneer of respectability from the racist and romanticized Lost Cause religion. She strikes a tone of weary but resolute optimism throughout. “It’s not just a song,” she clarified in a statement. “I’m trying to put the ‘united’ back in the United States. Like many people, I miss the days when we treated each other better. For me, this country’s all about people with differences coming together to be part of something we all love. That’s what really makes America beautiful.”
Kam Franklin, on her own and with her Houston horn band The Suffers, has the wide-ranging musical instincts, imagination, nerve, and ear for earthy verisimilitude to make big statements while zeroing in on small interactions. A couple of weeks back, she posted a brand new, self-recorded song fragment to SoundCloud, a platform well suited to off-the-cuff expression, and with it, this comment: “I saw a photo of Breonna Taylor with her homegirls earlier today, and it gutted me. I won’t forget her. I wrote this birthday song for her, her friends that wondered where she was before the news came out, and everyone that loved her.”
Titled “Happy Birthday Breonna,” it’s a pensive, sinuous bit of ‘70s soul that drives home the fact that Taylor was ripped from a web of close relationships. The first, and only verse, lands like a voicemail from a friend who grew worried when she couldn’t reach Taylor. Franklin’s graceful trills and softly insistent phrasing have an understatement that suggests fretful preoccupation. Then she moves into a point-counterpoint refrain, murmuring birthday wishes to Taylor in her breathy upper register and making a devastating declaration beneath: “You should be here.”
Singer-guitarist and actor Celisse Henderson began work on writing, recording, and filming a video for her song “FREEDOM” four years ago, following the slayings of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling, and watched as black deaths and protest momentum multiplied before she finally completed and released her project earlier this month.
In a message on her website, Henderson explained, “I, along with millions of people, watched video footage of these unarmed black men losing their lives in the most horrific ways. The truth that these unjust deaths revealed about our country, including the systemic failings of our criminal justice system, became my personal call-to-action. Then the 2016 election night happened, and the results added a whole new layer to the purpose of this song and project. Now, almost four years later, too little has been done, and the story remains the same. With the horrific and unjust killings of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd weighing heavily on our hearts and minds, it is time to release ‘FREEDOM’ as a rallying cry and a call to action to stand up and fight for our freedom.”
Historic footage of the March on Washington that opens the clip is a reminder of the buoying role that spirituals played in the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, and serves the narrative function of positioning Henderson to measure the too-meager progress for Black Americans since. The track is gospel-schooled and hard-rocking, powered by a thunderous, syncopated drum pattern and grinding electric guitar attack. With gospel fervor and a touch of theatrical flourish, Henderson summons a spirit of urgency and extends a broad welcome to all who are affected or disturbed by injustice.
Joy Oladokun, a Nigerian-American singer-songwriter who’s quietly carving out her place in Nashville’s professional songwriting community with introspective, melancholy warmth, steered a co-writing appointment with Natalie Hemby toward an expression of grief. The result was “Who Do I Turn To?” a naked airing of fear and distrust.
Oladokun’s reedy, plaintive performance is accompanied only by minimal piano chords. She spends the chorus adding up horrifying realizations that lead her to a resounding question: “If I can’t save myself/If it’s all black and white/If I can’t call for help/in the middle of the night/If I can’t turn to god/If I can’t turn to you/Who do I turn to?” Her voice subtly catches on the word “help,” as though knowing that life-giving protection is unavailable to her constricts her breath. Oladokun underscored the importance of the chorus lyrics to an interviewer: “[I]t’s illustrating that I don’t trust the police since I’m black. I don’t trust the police enough to know that they would think I’m not robbing my own home. I don’t think a lot of people understand what that is like. The feeling sucks.” In a separate statement she summarized her intent: “I wanted to write a firsthand account of how I feel and the question black people like me ask when this happens over and over again while nothing changes. I want it out now to help an already traumatized people cope, heal, and put words to their struggle.”
Wyatt Waddell, a young Chicago music-maker who’s been expertly, wittily, and self-sufficiently arranging home recordings of classic covers and singer-songwriter soul originals for the past few years, wrote “FIGHT!” as an anthem of admiration and uplift for young, Black Americans putting their bodies on the line in the streets and facing off against police force to agitate for change. “This song is me looking at what’s happening and what I’d tell the people protesting,” he specified in a statement. “I had to look outside of myself at what’s going on and how people are being affected. Hearing people’s fears, anxieties, and watching everything happening on TV really helped me write the song. I hope that it can be an anthem for my people as they’re fighting for a better America.”
Waddell begins with gospel-style repetition, creating a call-and-response pattern made up of his own layered vocals over a churchly foot stomp and hand clap groove: “There’s already so much pain/So much pain/So much pain/There’s already so much pain/And there ain’t nothin’ else we can do.” It seems like he could be building up to a confession of helplessness; instead, his funky refrain is bolstered by a sense of resolve and inevitability: “Nothin’ to do but fight.”
Photo credit: (L to R) Shemekia Copeland by Mike White; Chastity Brown by Wale Agboola; Leon Bridges by Jack McKain.
Out of 270 floats, companies, and queer associations, a roots music organization’s marching contingent was crowned “Best of the Best” at San Francisco’s world-famous Pride parade in 2017. And they did it on their very first try — the only organization to ever achieve such a feat. Who was that overalls-and-rainbow-glitter-clad crew of more than a hundred bluegrass fans, pickers, and professionals? Bluegrass Pride.
The Bluegrass Situation has been proud to support Bluegrass Pride since 2017, with our logo emblazoned on the inaugural float that carried three bluegrass and old-time bands down Market Street to the cheers of thousands of brand new “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” fans. In 2020, the nonprofit organization had planned its biggest Pride celebrations yet (in San Francisco; Portland, Oregon; Raleigh, North Carolina; and Nashville, Tennessee) while still welcoming the rural and non-metropolitan LGBTQ+ folks who love and make these musics, too.
Enter our most familiar villain, COVID-19. In response, Bluegrass Pride has shifted to a new concept, Porch Pride: A Bluegrass Pride Queer-antine Festival. Featuring more than ten hours of music by queer and allied artists such as Cathy Fink & Marcy Marxer, Molly Tuttle, Sam Gleaves, Jake Blount, Rachel Baiman, and more, the livestream event will air June 27 and 28 on Bluegrass Pride’s website, YouTube channel, and Facebook and Instagram pages. Porch Pride will raise money for Bluegrass Pride and all of the musicians on the bill. Fans and followers are encouraged to donate now.
To celebrate Porch Pride with our longtime friends at Bluegrass Pride, we connected with Executive Director Kara Kundert and powerhouse singer/songwriter and the digital festival’s “headliner” Amythyst Kiah.
BGS: For those unfamiliar with Bluegrass Pride, how would you describe it?
Kara Kundert: Oh, what a big question. In a purely statutory sense, I would say that Bluegrass Pride is a nonprofit organization devoted to the advancement of LGBTQ+ people within the bluegrass, old-time, and broader roots music traditions. To get a little bit more descriptive, we work every day to make bluegrass a more welcoming place for people of all backgrounds. Our mission is to show the world that bluegrass is for everyone, so we try to create programs that serve all kinds of people who love and participate in American traditional music. We put on local beginner-friendly jams and create introductory video content to help people get involved with the community even as they’re just starting out, and we host concerts and showcases to create paid opportunities for professional musicians.
Amythyst Kiah: …Simply, my idea of what something like Bluegrass Pride represents: It is about accepting all forms of identity and expression in a style of music that is known for having a more traditional culture, and it’s also an outlet for queer people who don’t fit the stereotype of gay club culture. As iconic and important gay club culture is historically, it isn’t everyone’s experience.
How did the idea for Porch Pride come to you?
Kundert: Via the incredibly talented Jake Blount! Jake is on the Bluegrass Pride board of directors and he came to me back in March (just as everything was starting to shut down and we were holing up for quarantine) to suggest that Bluegrass Pride host a digital festival to support artists in the face of the first round of gig cancellations. He had participated in the first iteration of the Stay At Home Festival and had seen how much energy and support there were for these artists, and thought that it was a natural fit for Bluegrass Pride and our mission.
At that point in time, it was still really unclear how long and how bad the COVID pandemic was going to be — we still believed that SF Pride was going to march down Market Street in June — so I was a little nervous to take on the project. I was worried that we wouldn’t have the resources to do everything and do it well. We started discussing smaller-scale projects, like weekly concert series or short little weekend showcases, things that we would have the budget to do in addition to our regular programming.
But within a couple of weeks, it became pretty clear that our whole season was going to change dramatically, and that was when the plan shifted from being “maybe we’ll host a couple of digital concerts to keep momentum before Pride” to creating Porch Pride and really making it the center of our entire year.
People don’t tend to think of bluegrass or roots music when it comes to Pride celebrations, and obviously y’all think that needs to change! Why? What does bluegrass and string band music bring to the greater LGBTQ+ community?
Kiah: I see this event and organization as a way to formally recognize that LGBTQ+ have always been present in the communities where bluegrass and other roots-based music originated from. Historically, media has projected many ideas of what being queer looks and sounds like, and it’s high time to recognize and celebrate other ways of being and doing when it comes to music.
Kundert: I think that there’s a problem whenever people aren’t being represented. So it was a problem for bluegrass that LGBTQ+ stories and music weren’t being heard onstage. It was a problem when queer folks were being excluded from jams and from gigs just because of their identity. And it’s a problem for the LGBTQ+ community that this portion of our family isn’t being included in the conversation about what “gayness” is. We as a culture have this extremely metropolitan, white, male-centric idea of what the LGBTQ+ community is, which is what you really see on display on these corporate floats at the major cities’ Pride parades, and it leaves out so many people. There are as many ways to be queer as there are colors under the sun, and that’s something that we as a [bluegrass] community need to do more to embrace in order to support and uplift every single person in the LGBTQ+ community.
Amythyst, with your songwriting and your work with Our Native Daughters you’ve been a powerful voice, lifting up Black songs and stories. How does that perspective as a Black woman complement Bluegrass Pride for you? What do these two movements have in common, and what do they combine?
Kiah: Both movements involve recognizing and uplifting marginalized voices, due to the continued generational trauma that both have had to endure. Being Black, a woman, typically gender-nonconformant, and queer, I have experienced some form of questionable actions, treated as if I was invisible, and [received] looks of contempt by other people. I am fortunate that I haven’t experienced much worse, but that being said, I was terrified of my own shadow for years before I really started to embrace myself and be myself. So Bluegrass Pride is about recognizing that we all have value, just as Songs of Our Natives is about.
Kara, planning a Pride event can be a major undertaking. What is the reward for you, on a personal level, after putting in so many hours to prepare?
Kundert: Creating and running these events is always such an emotional rollercoaster. There’s so much anxiety and energy in the planning: Are people going to show up? Is it going to go well? Are people going to connect with it, or are they just not going to care at all? But then in the moment, you get to listen to this wonderful music by talented people, and be with a crowd of people that want to support Bluegrass Pride, and it’s euphoric. So far, I haven’t been let down by that moment of standing in a crowd and experiencing that kind of threefold-payoff of enjoying the music as an audience member, enjoying the crowd and energy as someone standing on stage, and enjoying the sheer relief of not totally fucking up as a producer.
But beyond that very selfish gratification, I also know how much these events mean to people. I know there are people who play bluegrass right now — people who are showing up at jams and forming bands and going to festivals — because Bluegrass Pride made them feel welcome and safe to be there. There are people who found Bluegrass Pride and realized that maybe they could come out after all. I know that these events — our parade float in San Francisco, our LGBTQ+ Musician Showcase in Raleigh, our beginner-friendly jams — they mean something to people. So when I get to stand in the crowd and see people’s smiles and feel people’s energy, both on- and off-stage, it makes me feel like what we’re doing matters to people. That all of the work and the hours and the stress: they add up to something bigger than just myself or my own feelings of relief and exhaustion. And that’s what keeps me going after four years of being a part of Bluegrass Pride.
What are you most looking forward to during Porch Pride?
Kundert: I know this is a cliche to say, but I’m looking forward to all of it — I put together the lineup after all! We have so many talented artists, I’m just looking forward to hearing all of their great music and seeing how people come together to celebrate Pride with us this year.
Kiah: I am looking forward to (hopefully) finding a quiet place outside to share some stories and music! If only it could be done in person, but I’ll take what I can get! Being safe [is a] top priority.
How can we all celebrate Pride “better” this year?
Kiah: I think one thing to keep in mind is that not everyone can safely be out of the closet, and that we should always keep those folks in our thoughts and to remember that [there is] more than one way to live out our truths in a way that we see most fit. Whenever we are waving our rainbow flags or wearing our rainbow suspenders, we’re also wearing them for the ones that can’t be with us.
Kundert: I think the key to best celebrating Pride — and to best doing most things in life — is to take a page from the author John Green and put energy into imagining people more complexly. If we imagine Pride more complexly, we see beyond the metronormative, white, cis, corporate stereotypes of Pride and begin to see new possibilities — for a Pride without all the weird classist, toxic binarism and gate-keeping. If we imagine bluegrass more complexly, we can break out of these same tired tropes that we’ve been falling into years and start telling new stories — using this art form as a way to create authentic and fresh connections with people.
We must do everything we can to see and honor people in all of their nuance. By forming connections with people, we are able to glimpse outside of our own lives. To do so enables us to generate empathy for each other, to see each other as family rather than strangers, or worse, as adversaries. To expand our circles and grow our vision of humanity will help us to better fight for justice for all, rather than justice for a few.
Photo credit: Anna Hedges Artwork: Courtesy of Bluegrass Pride
Summer approaches, the heat and humidity are here, at BGS South in Nashville the fireflies are alight every night, and it’s the perfect season for a porch swing reading session (if you can stand a little sweatin’).
The BGS archives will keep you stocked for just such an occasion! Each week, as we share our favorite longer, more in-depth articles, stories, and features to help you pass the time, we post our #longreadoftheday picks… yes, daily across our social media channels [on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram]. But of course, here’s the weekly round-up, too. Get your long reads wherever you like!
This week’s stories cast daylight, share wisdom, get toes tapping, revisit old memories, and much more.
An excellent long read for starting us out, with this one you’ll get a bit of fresh air and a whole lotta Daylight, Grace Potter’s most recent album, which was released last fall. Our interview explores the cinematic quality of the album, how Potter built her band post-Nocturnals, and little things too — like how bluegrass and southern California resonate within her. Grace Potter’s voice is commanding, on the stage or on the page. [Read the interview]
We debuted Tunesday Tuesday in January 2018 for a pretty simple reason. Roots music has a world-class stable of talented pickers, and unlike other more commercial genres, that talent is something of a prerequisite — especially in bluegrass! This short list-formatted Tunesday is a perfect long read/listen, and even though the IBMA Awards’ second-round ballot is now closed, you may need to do some studying for the final ballot still to come this summer! [Get listening]
Anyone who ever had the extreme good fortune of seeing Doc Watson perform live can easily recount their favorite moments remembered from his time on stage. Lucky for any of us who can’t get enough of those memories, Watson put so many of them down on recordings and live tapes. Stroll a bit back through the catalog of those live performances with BGS. [Read more]
And he understands it! The wisdom and storytelling gifted to us by blues innovator and legend Taj Mahal in this 2016 interview is not only perfect for a long read pick, but it was perfect for a #ThrowbackThursday, too. The voices and perspectives of our elders are vital as we struggle for a more just future, and our musical elders have plenty of insight to pass on, as well. [Read the whole interview]
In a little over a week our friends at Bluegrass Pride will hold their online Pride festival, Porch Pride, featuring performances by queer artists, musicians, and bands and their allies — such as Jake Blount, Tatiana Hargreaves, Cathy Fink & Marcy Marxer, and Molly Tuttle. In advance of the event, we spoke to Bluegrass Pride’s Executive Director, Kara Kundert, and artist Amythyst Kiah about Pride, roots music, and what to expect from the festival. [Read more]
Artist:Crary, Evans & Barnick Hometown: Placerville, California Latest Album:Prime Time Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Three Old White Guys in a Folk Trio
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
Mark Twain said the two most important days in your life are the day you’re born and the day you discover why. For me it was the day in 1952 (I was 12) when I turned on the radio and accidentally heard Don Sullivan, a Kansas City hillbilly country singer on his noon hour live radio show sing twangy songs and play the steel-string guitar. The sound of the guitar that day struck me like something straight from God. I didn’t even know what it was, but I knew I wanted to play one, to hear more of that beautiful noise. — Dan Crary
My life’s direction pretty much came into focus on February 9, 1964, when I was seven years old. After watching the Beatles’ first live U.S. television appearance, the world wasn’t the same for me after that moment. I went to school on that Monday morning knowing that I would be a musician someday. — Bill Evans
During my year spent with the Mobile Riverine Resources/USN/9th Infantry Division Mekong Delta ’68-69, I met a fellow who had purchased a Hi-Fidelity component stereo system from the PX. He set it up in his hootch. He had pals stateside who were mailing him “care packages” containing the latest vinyl LPs by the boxful. Buffalo Springfield, Jeff Beck, Cream, the Doors, etc. When we thought the coast was clear, we’d load up a “bowl” and then listen to those great sounds coming out of those three-way speakers and the music would take us to another place. I did not play any instrument at that time, but I knew right then that I wanted to figure out how to play. All I had to do was get home in one piece. I did, and once stateside I latched on to the bass guitar and have not ever let it go… over 50 years now. — Wally Barnick
Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?
Musicians who were influential: 1) Fritz Kreisler: When I was 5 years old, about 1945 (!) my mom and grandma took me to a concert in the Kansas City Music Hall of violinist Fritz Kreisler. I never forgot it, it’s like yesterday. 2) Bud Hunt, old-time banjo and guitar guy on The Brush Creek Follies, a ’50s Kansas City country music show. My old Webcor wire recorder caught him one night playing “Wildwood Flower.” I had never heard anything like that, changed my life forever. 3) Sabicas, Segovia, Doc Watson: Their brilliant performances made me want to get serious. 4) The Stanley Brothers: Sheer, stunning beauty for the ages. — Dan
I’ve been playing professionally now for over forty years and the people who have had the most influence on me are those who I’ve gotten to know through playing and touring with them in bands or getting to know them as personal friends: folks like Ron Thomason of Dry Branch Fire Squad, Tony Trischka, Alan Munde, Jim Nunally in California and, most of all, Sonny Osborne. And I’ll count Dan and Wally in this group too — I admire what they have both accomplished in their lives and my respect and love for the both of them knows no limits. — Bill
How often do you hide behind a character in song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?
Seems like they’re all about me, at least the ones about trying to get it right and loving my lady. — Dan
I’m a composer of instrumental tunes, not songs with lyrics. Often, I set out an assignment for myself in order to get the process started, such as composing a melody over a particularly challenging chord progression or modulation, or something that has an Irish flavor, such as “Winston’s Jig” on Prime Time. In this way, I’m assuming a kind of another identity, most definitely. I feel that way about it, at any rate. — Bill
It is typical that I select and attempt singing songs that mean something to me, even when they are written by someone else. So the short answer is… I sing every song like I mean it, as if it’s mine and as if I’m telling my story. — Wally
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
In the ’80s a French festival promoter told me on the phone that Byron Berline and John Hickman and I were, because we worked as a trio, “not real bluegrass.” Then, about three days later we three were onstage playing “Gold Rush” to a few thousand fans at the KFC festival in Louisville. Suddenly, with no advance notice, Bill Monroe himself walked on stage with a big smile, sat down with us and we all played the rest of the set together. At one point Bill announced to that audience that, except for his own Blue Grass Boys, we were his #1 favorite bluegrass band! If I live to be a thousand…. — Dan
That’s tough to narrow down to just one memory. Perhaps the most musically revelatory moment for me on stage was hosting an evening in Berkeley at the Freight & Salvage Coffeehouse around the year 2000 with J. D. Crowe, David Grisman, Ron Block, Ron Stewart, Alan Senauke, and Missy Raines. It was an amazing thing to hear Crowe and Grisman experience the groove they created together on stage. Ron Block, who played guitar that night, commented to me after our show had ended that he had never felt such intense rhythm and awareness of musical space on any stage before. Musicians talk about how powerful a player J. D. is and I was lucky to actually experience it very intensely by being on stage with him. — Bill
Probably the first time that I performed a Cream song (“Sunshine of Your Love”) and I discovered that I could sing and play it, remembering all the lyrics and changes, and the (bar) crowd loved it! — Wally
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
Today I will try to be worthy of the guitar. — Dan
Giving back what’s been given to me and giving more, in whatever way that I can. — Bill
In Their Words: “Most bluegrass songs are written with bucolic images, mountain hollers, and a country living context. I wanted to write a song about that same-minded person visiting a city. While the lyrics portray this, so can the music with its unconventional chords and rhythms. The rhythmic mandolin chordal riff for ‘Downtown’ was born out of an inspiration from the mandolin rhythm giant, Sam Bush, while the chords in the bridge are inspired by Steely Dan. … a blend of bluegrass and the city type chord progression. Portland, Oregon, where I lived for 13 years, is the ‘Downtown’ subject and declares my love-hate relationship with the city. That feeling of energy, sights and sounds of a vibrant environment come in to play with this one. This is something we can all understand…” — Brian Oberlin, Full Cord Bluegrass
Photo credit: Chantal Roeske
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