Tag: country music hall of fame

June Carter Cash Connects the Classic Eras of Country Music

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You can’t tell the story of country music without June Carter Cash.

Her mother, Maybelle Carter, helped usher in the era of commercial country music through the 1927 Bristol Sessions as a member of The Carter Family. When that group disbanded, Maybelle eventually gathered her three daughters – June, Anita, and Helen – and started performing radio shows, with June playing autoharp and cracking jokes. (They even had Chet Atkins in their band.)

In time June teamed up with comedians Homer & Jethro for a corny duet of “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” which charted for one week in 1949, and by 1950, the Carter Sisters debuted at the Opry just a month before June’s 21st birthday. The ensemble opened shows for Elvis Presley in 1956 and 1957. June also stepped out as a duet partner with her first husband, Carl Smith, on the eye-rolling (but quite hilarious) “Love Oh Crazy Love,” from 1954.

If your entry point to country music is the 1960s, June Carter is all over it. Still married to Smith, she shared the stage with Johnny Cash for the first time in 1961 as part of his touring package. Two years later Cash scored a major hit with “Ring of Fire,” which Carter co-wrote after seeing the phrase “love’s burning ring of fire” underlined in a book of Elizabethan poetry owned by her uncle, the Carter Family’s A.P. Carter.

By 1967, she and Cash landed a major hit (and soon their first Grammy) with “Jackson,” then got hitched in 1968. It’s important to remember June’s role on Cash’s landmark 1968 album, At Folsom Prison, performing a lively rendition of “Jackson” that got the captive audience hollering. They encored the performance for Cash’s 1969 album, At San Quentin.

June Carter Cash did pretty well for herself in the next decade, too, having her own 1971 country hit with a song she wrote, “A Good Man.” Johnny Cash produced her sole album of that era, 1975’s Appalachian Pride, even as they dug periodically into the folk canon for duet recordings and she won her second Grammy for the Cash/Carter duet, “If I Had a Hammer.”

She appeared regularly on the groundbreaking series The Johnny Cash Show, sang on Cash’s records, and almost always toured with him. Considered more of a comedian than a vocalist, June nonetheless charmed audiences around the world. In the rarely-seen 1979 performance of “Rabbit in the Log” below, she steals the spotlight with a banjo on her knee, cracking jokes and sharing her talent with a Century 21 real estate convention in Las Vegas.

Even listeners who came into country music in the ‘80s and ‘90s can find a tie to June. She harmonizes with her sisters, as well as Johnny Cash, on “Life’s Railway to Heaven” on Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s seminal 1989 album, Will the Circle Be Unbroken, Volume Two. Around this same time Carlene Carter, her daughter with Smith, emerged as a force in country and rock, and later paid homage to Mother Maybelle as well as June’s stepdaughter, Rosie Nix (from June’s second marriage), on the sweet song, “Me and the Wildwood Rose.” Carlene also wrote one of that era’s most enduring compositions, “Easy From Now On,” and charted multiple singles like “I Fell in Love” and “Every Little Thing.”

Meanwhile, Rosanne Cash (June’s stepdaughter) placed 11 No. 1 singles on the country chart, including the modern classic, “Seven Year Ache,” and she’s now a cornerstone of the Americana community. John Carter Cash, the only child born to Johnny and June, continues to carry on the brilliant legacy of his parents, through books, museum presentations, and reissues. He also produced Loretta Lynn’s past three albums at the Cash Cabin recording studio in Hendersonville, Tennessee.

Johnny Cash, incidentally, was inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame in 1977 and the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1980. A.P. Carter joined the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame in 1970, “Ring of Fire” co-writer Merle Kilgore followed in 1998, and Rosanne Cash entered in 2015. However, June Carter Cash is not yet a member of the Country Music Hall of Fame or the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame — omissions that deserve reconsideration. A spiritual and religious woman, she shared the stories of her life in two memoirs: 1979’s Among My Klediments and 1987’s From the Heart.

Always a natural on stage, June actually trained at the Actors Studio in New York City after being spotted by Elia Kazan at the Grand Ole Opry in 1955. In the late ‘90s, she drew upon those thespian skills with roles on Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman and the acclaimed film The Apostle. Not to be overlooked is her heartbreaking role in Johnny Cash’s 2002 video, “Hurt,” where the viewers sees the devastation of an American music legend through her shocked and tearful eyes.

Carter remained a legendary presence in the final years of her life — and beyond. Her 1999 collection, Press On, won the Grammy for Best Traditional Folk Album, while the Carter Family classic “Keep on the Sunny Side” resurfaced in a major way due to its inclusion on the O Brother, Where Are Thou? soundtrack in 2000, as sung by The Whites.

Following June’s death in 2003, she was awarded two more Grammys – one for her own performance of “Keep on the Sunny Side,” and the other for the folk album, Wildwood Flower. Nashville native Reese Witherspoon collected an Oscar for portraying her in the 2005 film, Walk the Line. A two-disc compilation released that same year surveyed her remarkable career. She is buried next to Johnny Cash in Hendersonville, Tennessee.

Photo credit: Don Hunstein, Sony Music Archives

Vince Gill Looks Back on His Bluegrass Years (Part 2 of 2)

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In the second half of our interview with Vince Gill, the country legend reflects on his bluegrass history, explaining how he became interested in the music, what he learned by listening closer, and why it led to one of his most famous songs.

Editor’s Note: Read the first part of our Artist of the Month interview with Vince Gill.

BGS: “Go Rest High on That Mountain,” in my opinion, is going to live forever. And I think the bluegrass audience loves hearing Patty Loveless and Ricky Skaggs sing with you, too.

Gill: You know, I wouldn’t have been able to write that song if I hadn’t played bluegrass music and learned the structure of that music and how it works — and the emotion of it. Bluegrass music is so honest and so real. Some of those morbid murder ballads and the saddest of the sad songs are what I love most. Give me “Mother’s not dead. She’s only a-sleepin’. Patiently waiting for Jesus to come.” That’s about as good as it gets. “The Little Girl and the Dreadful Snake.” I could just go on and on and on.

All these tortured songs, but you know they’re real life. They’re not somebody going, “How can I slip one up on the world and make a bunch of money having a big hit record?” They’re so honest and real. And the fact that my past had so much to do with Ricky and Patty, they were the only two people that I would’ve consider it singing on that song.

I still love it when Patty comes to do the Opry.

There’s a really unique thing that happens when our voices sing together. It’s so… obvious. I sang on her very first record in the early ‘80s. I sang on her first hit record and she sang on my first hit record. So it’s my little sis.

Tell me about how you found bluegrass. Was there an entry point for you?

Yeah, I knew of it because my dad played the banjo a little bit. He never could figure out the three-finger, Scruggs-style banjo. He cussed Earl his whole life because he couldn’t figure it out. He played more of a folky banjo. Not drop thumb, not old-timey, but more of a frailing kind of banjo. So I was always around the music, as best I can remember, forever. There were obviously the Flatt & Scruggs things from The Beverly Hillbillies that were in everybody’s DNA. Then I was playing mostly in rock bands in junior high school and high school.

A kid named Bobby Clark was the one that really got me pointed towards bluegrass. He had a little band in Oklahoma City and his father was a repairman. I had broken the string on my dad’s banjo, messing around with it, and I didn’t know how to change it. So I took it to Charlie and he put a string on it pretty quickly and everything was fine. I wasn’t gonna get my butt kicked. Then I started talking to Charlie, and he says, “You play music, don’t you?” And I said, “Yeah, I love to play. I play electric guitar and play in rock bands and stuff.” He goes, “My son Bobby is a really fine mandolin player and plays bluegrass. You ever played any bluegrass?” I said, “No.”

They stuck an acoustic guitar in my hands and Bobby said, “We just had our lead singer leave the band and we’re looking for a singer.” So they did a pretty good job of raising me and teaching me and showing me how bluegrass worked. I played in their band for the last couple of years of high school. Then in another bluegrassy kind of band called Mountain Smoke. And I started playing all the festivals down around Oklahoma and Texas and Kansas. And ran into all the people that I’ve known in my whole life since I was 15, 16 years old.

Wasn’t that how you met Cheryl White [from The Whites]?

Yeah, I used to carry her bass around the festivals. I always had a thing for the girl bass players for some reason. There was another family band from Missouri called the Calton Family. Got sweet on Brenda. Then I got sweet on Cheryl. And she says I should’ve picked a harmonica player. [Laughs]

Those were such fun days and innocent. I loved the camaraderie that went on in that music. Not only with the people that came to the festivals, but the musicians. Everybody jammed together. There wasn’t a whole lot in it for anybody. Everybody was just kind of getting by. It was amazing, as I look back, what it did for me in the way that I respected other musicians and listened to other musicians. It was really important that I had a lot of that in my past. I haven’t forgotten it.

When I first heard bluegrass, I was just blown away by musicianship of it.

Yeah, I mean Stuart Duncan was as great as he was at 12 or 13. So was Mark O’Connor when he was 12 or 13. And Marty and Ricky and Jerry and on and on and on and on of these wonder kid pickers. Unbelievable. I kind of squeaked in because I could sing a little bit and figured out how play as I went. I kind of played whatever was left over in a lot of the bands I was in, and that was fine.

I saw you play mandolin on quite a few songs when you played Bluegrass Nights at the Ryman. What is it about that instrument that you really enjoy?

I think the mandolin is the most important drive of a bluegrass band. The banjo and that are the two most definitive sounds. In bluegrass, mandolin players are like the drummer, even more so than the guitar player to me. It’s that backbeat and driving it. Sam Bush was a great teacher of how you drive that music, you know? I loved the ferocity and intensity that he played with. When he played, that was powerful to watch as a 15- or 16-year-old kid.

That’s what I like. I like making it dance. I liked the importance of playing that instrument in bluegrass. I’m probably a much better guitar player in bluegrass than I am a mandolin player. But in some bands I had to play banjo. Sometimes I had to play, unfortunately, fiddle on a few things. Terrible! I played Dobro, I played everything. I played bass with Ricky’s band for a minute and then got to play some other instruments, but had a love for all of it. I still do. Probably I love it more now because it reminds me so much of my early days, and those first forays into learning about playing music.

Did Dobro come naturally to you?

It all kind of did. I mean, I put in the hours and I practiced hard. The neat thing was, you had such good people to learn from. I always had big ears and could always hear well and find what I was hearing in my head, figuring out how to play it.

There are so many brother duos that came up in bluegrass. Do you think that rubbed off on you with your harmony singing now?

Absolutely, yeah. I was trying to either be Ralph Stanley or Phil Everly or Ira Louvin or whoever. Don Rich and Buck Owens should’ve been brothers. I was a high singer so bluegrass was a natural fit. There have always been predominant high singers that were the focal point. Whether it was Ralph and Carter or whoever, man, that was a blend. You didn’t understand it when you were 15 or 16, what it was that made that blend so beautiful. It was the blood, you know. The DNA was the same.

I didn’t get to experience that until my oldest daughter was 18, 20 years old and we started singing together. I started calling her my little Everly because I’d spent my whole life trying to be Phil. You know, singing the high parts for everybody else, and blend perfectly, and every nuance they did, I’d do. And I’d just want ‘em to think I was related to ‘em. She wound up naming her daughter Everly because of that, because I called her my little Everly.

But yeah, I love sharing music. I love the collaboration of music more so than I like it by myself. It’s not as interesting by yourself, but when you get to play off somebody, and play with somebody, it’s very powerful.

Photo credit: John Shearer

Vince Gill Lets New Songs Stand Out on ‘Okie’ (Part 1 of 2)

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Regarded as one of the good guys in country music, Vince Gill has hosted countless Grand Ole Opry segments and awards shows, and he’s just as welcoming off stage, too. He generously invited the Bluegrass Situation to his Nashville home for a visit about his new album, Okie, as well as his roots in bluegrass music.

In the first part of our Artist of the Month interview, the Country Music Hall of Fame member pulls back the curtain on some of the key tracks on Okie, and explains how artists like Guy Clark, Amy Grant, and Willie Nelson influenced the album.

BGS: I’ve heard you describe this as a songwriter record, but you’ve written a lot of your hits. What do you mean when you describe this as a songwriter record?

VG: Well, I don’t think the intention of any of these songs is thinking they’ll be hits. I think that in the way of production and the instrumentation, the intent is really to never get in the way of the song. I don’t play any electric guitar on this record. I only played one or two solos on the entire record.

The rest of it is just kind of moody, ethereal, all of us playing together, and nobody stepping out so much in a big way of, “Now it’s your break, it’s time for you to play the big ripping solo.” There’s one instance of that. I think the point of it was, hopefully, that nothing ever got in the way of the song.

And there’s not big choruses with lots of harmonies. I liked Red Headed Stranger by Willie Nelson, and how sparse it was and simple. That’s what I wanted, something with a lot of space.

Did you know that going into it or did that reveal itself?

Yeah, that was the intent. I had this collection of songs. I said this would make a pretty neat, demure kind of record of not trying too hard, I guess. I mean, not singing hard and a lot of licks. Once again, there’s only one song on this record where I really cut loose and sang, and that was “When My Amy Prays.” The rest of it is just telling the story.

I even did a recitation on “Nothing Like a Guy Clark Song,” which scared the crap out of me. I don’t like the sound of my speaking voice very much. I like my singing voice just fine. But I’d only done one other kind of recitation recording in my life and that was tribute to Guy with his song, “The Randall Knife.” It always sounded bizarre to me to hear myself just talking, talking blues kinda stuff.

How did you choose the guitar for that song? Do you have a certain guitar you use?

Yeah, I think I used my guitar or Sparky’s — a friend of mine, Harry Sparks. He’s got a great old 1942 D-45. He lets me keep it here and play it a lot. It’s a long history of a story of our friendship. It’s probably the holy grail of all acoustic guitars and there’s only a few of them made and they sell for many, many, many dollars. And he had it.

I was living in Kentucky at the same time, when I was 18, and we were big buddies. Couple of years later I moved out to California and he called me up when I got out there and said, “Hey, I got to sell my D-45. I’m in trouble.” I bought it from him and told him I’d keep it for him. If he ever wanted it back, I’d sell it back to him for what I paid for it. At the time he finally called, it was worth about 10 times what I paid for it. And I said, “Yeah, I’ll sell it back to you for what I said I would.”

It’s a great story to remind yourself of how important friendship is, and your word. A few years ago we were doing a record here at my house and he brought his D-45 and we played it on a bunch in the record. He was leaving, and he had the case, and he looked at me and just handed to me. He said, “Here. You need to keep this for a while.” So it’s been a neat piece of the puzzle of our friendship.

It sounds beautiful. too, on top of that.

Amazing. It’s one of the best-sounding guitars I’ve ever heard in my life.

You write about race relations on this record a couple of times, particularly on “The Price of Regret.” I was curious if something specific inspired you to explore that topic.

It starts out as basically owning up to, we all have to have some regrets in life, and what they are can be any number of things. But what I’ve always been surprised by is how our eyes fail us. Sometimes when we see something and we look at it, we judge it. It’s the first thing we do is prejudge. Whether someone’s heavy, whether someone’s slovenly-looking, or poor or rich or white or black, and we just have this thing come to us to tell us what we think it is.

If we would honestly receive someone, not seeing them, I think you’d be much more honest in acceptance of one another. That’s what it says in that song: “You’re black and I’m white. We’re blinded by sight. Close your eyes and tell me the color of my skin.” And you couldn’t. Which would be a good thing for us.

At your Ryman show, you spoke about watching the Ken Burns documentary about country music, and you mentioned the fact that AP Carter’s sidekick was a black man, and Hank Williams learned to play guitar from a black man.

Yeah, and DeFord Bailey was one of the first great stars of the Opry and Jimmie Rodgers learned all those songs from black fieldworkers. It goes on and on and it never stops. Ray Charles taught us how much soul our music had. Charley Pride showed you how country somebody could be that was African American. It was powerful to see that we never bought into any of that mess, to some degree. And it is a mess. It’s embarrassing how we’ve handled all that.

The song I keep coming back to on here is “What Choice Will You Make.” I feel like I’m the best friend in the car, hearing that conversation. That first line puts you in the song right away, or at least it did for me.

My favorite part of that song is that it’s a song without judgment, and it happens every day. Young kids wind up, somebody gets pregnant and, “Hey, I’m 16. Look, I wasn’t prepared for this.” And all it says is, “What choice will you make? Whose heart will you break?” It doesn’t say what you should or shouldn’t do. To me, that’s a kinder way to go about tackling the subject of this matter.

The woman I wrote it with, Leslie Satcher, we’ve got a long history of writing really neat songs together. She’s tremendously talented. It was important to me that it not get to that place where we were saying what should or shouldn’t happen. That’s nobody’s place. It’s sort of like “Ode to Billie Joe.” You don’t really know what happens. It starts in that moment of sitting on the edge of town with such a worried mind, and it ends with still sitting there on the edge of town, not sure what to do.

On this record, I hear references to Amy [his wife, Amy Grant] a couple of times, on “Honest Man” and “When My Amy Prays,” of course.  What’s that experience like, playing her a song you’ve written about her?

It’s a running gag. You know you live in Nashville when you write your girl a love song and she tells you the third verse could use a little work. [Laughs] It’s really great to have a friend that does tell you what’s right and what’s not and what’s good and what isn’t. It’s easy to be inspired by her because she’s so gracious with people. She’s the most welcoming person I’ve ever seen in my whole life. Hands down. Nobody I ever seen better at that than her.

And non-judgment. No harsh words about anybody and it’s just beautiful in the way she receives. It’s kind of easy to write songs about her. If they’re songs that are faith-based, everybody assumes that I’m as a big of a church guy as she is. And the truth is, I wasn’t that much of a church kid. So I have to go to her every now and then and say, “Is this kind of close to what happens?” [Laughs] She’ll say, “You’re right on track. You’re OK.”

Read the second half of our Artist of the Month interview with Vince Gill.

Illustration: Zachary Johnson

Artist of the Month: Vince Gill

Posted on by Editor

Who doesn’t love Vince Gill? His pristine tenor fits beautifully into bluegrass, country, Western Swing, and even classic rock, as he tours as a member of the Eagles. Still, the good-natured Opry star tells BGS that bluegrass remains close to his heart.

“You get the right band, the right drive and the right thing — I tell people it rocks as hard as the Rolling Stones. When it’s right — it’s really, really right — it’s like a freight train coming at you,” he observed during a visit in his Nashville home, just a few days after his annual summer appearance at Bluegrass Nights at the Ryman.

He continues, “It’s awesome — even in the middle of it. I don’t know that it translates far away like it does in a circle of it. We practiced over here the other night, and just being in this room and being this close to everybody was so much fun.”

Gill’s childhood memories shape a large part of Okie, his exquisite new album — an acoustic-oriented project that puts his voice and songwriting at the forefront. Look for our two-part interview this month with this member of the Country Music Hall of Fame, and in the meantime, enjoy our Essentials playlist.

Photo credit: John Shearer

Kitty Wells at 100: Still the Queen of Country

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Kitty Wells, who shall always remain the Queen of Country Music to its most traditional fans, would have marked her 100th birthday today. Her legacy is secure, due to the 1952 smash, “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels.”

Wells lived to be 92 years old, long enough to enjoy an exceptional exhibit about her life and career at the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum in 2008. The hometown salute — she was born in Nashville — brought her back into a much-deserved spotlight one last time before her death in 2012.

And to think, she just about quit the music industry altogether after initial dismal response to her early records. Even though she recorded it with a $125 paycheck foremost on her mind, according to the Los Angeles Times, “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels” turned things around in a big way.

Beloved by fans and her peers, Wells was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1976, while her singles were still charting. In all, Wells placed 81 singles on the Billboard chart, including classics like “Making Believe,” “Heartbreak U.S.A.,” and “I Can’t Stop Loving You.” Here are some of her finest moments on record.

The String – Ricky Skaggs

Posted on by Chris Jacobs

Only five artists or acts have been inducted into both the Country Music and Bluegrass Music halls of fame, and only one is actively touring and shaping the dialogue around roots music generally. And that’s 64-year-old Ricky Skaggs.

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As a fiddler, mandolinist, singer, and band leader he’s bridged the country/bluegrass divide more deftly than any artist alive, and he still does it with sets that split the difference as his band can shift gears on a dime. In a full-hour feature interview, Skaggs reflects on two key periods of his career – the 1970s when as a twentysomething he worked with epic bands like the Country Gentlemen, J.D. Crowe and the New South, and Boone Creek, which he started with a young Jerry Douglas. And we talk about the 2000s, when he turned his full attention back to bluegrass and quickly dominated the industry with awards and era-shaping records.

14 Songs for Roller Skating in Buffalo Herds

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

No matter where you may stand on the Lil Nas X viral sensation “Old Town Road” and the associated media firestorm, Twitter debates, and raging country-purity authenticity signalling, we should all be able to agree on one thing: country music has always been a welcoming home to musical memes. Sure, that term may be more recent, a product of the internet age, but ever since the dawn of country as a format silly, tongue-in-cheek, self-deprecating, hilarious, and downright foolish songs have been just as integral a part of the genre as heartbreak, cheatin’, booze, and trucks.

We thought it’s high time we celebrate the knee-slappin’, gut-bustin’ history of country music’s meme-ready songs from across the decades. Here are fourteen of our favorites — yes, just fourteen. We can assure you there are dozens and dozens more where these came from.

“A Boy Named Sue” – Johnny Cash

The man in black, one of the most iconic personas in the history of country music, famous for his grit, his stoicism, and his rough-hewn voice wasn’t even “above” recording a song steeped in satire. Hopefully in 2019 life is getting easier for boys named Sue.

“What a Waste of Good Corn Liquor” – Tennessee Mafia Jug Band

Originally recorded by Country Music Hall of Fame and Bluegrass Hall of Fame member Mac Wiseman, this disconcertingly happy-sounding song tells a story with a moral: moonshine will melt you. Don’t spoil the moonshine.

“The King Is Gone (So Are You)” – George Jones

A song about Elvis, Fred Flintstone, drinking, and heartbreak. This one ticks all of the boxes. Even the “use yabadabadoo in a song” box.

“Did I Shave My Legs For This?” – Deana Carter

Country, after all, is all about the relatability of the human condition. Jilted would-be lovers everywhere have felt your pain, Deana. We truly have.

“Don’t Let The Stars Get In Your Eyeballs” – Homer & Jethro

The original Weird Al Yankovics of country and bluegrass, Homer & Jethro wrote (and re-wrote) scores of songs with wacky, eye roll-inducing, laugh-out-loud funny lyrics, ad libs, and arrangements. Check that steel solo!

“I’ll Oilwells Love You” – Dolly Parton

No, Whitney Houston did not cover this one. But that would have been magnificent.

“You Can’t Roller Skate In A Buffalo Herd” – Roger Miller

One of country’s humorous kings, Roger Miller recorded a host of silly songs over the course of his career. We chose this particular number because of its evergreen wisdom. Of course.

“You’re The Reason Our Kids Are Ugly” – Loretta Lynn & Conway Twitty

But you know what? Looks ain’t everything. And money ain’t everything.

“I’m My Own Grandpa” – Willie Nelson

Get out a piece of scratch paper and sketch this family tree as you go. Does it seem a little… circular? Yeah… that’s the problem.

“Would Jesus Wear A Rolex” – Ray Stevens

A modern country parable. Again, an artist with plenty of silly and sarcastic songs to choose from — and Ray Stevens is being inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame this year. Sounds pretty country to us…

“Cleopatra, Queen Of Denial” – Pam Tillis

Yes. More country songs with outright puns as their hooks, please. And of course, we’ve all been there, Pam. Denial is a popular destination.

“Illegal Smile” – John Prine

On the opening track of his debut album Prine immediately set the tone for his entire career with some of the most nonsensical and witty lyrics ever set to song. “Well done, hot dog bun, my sister’s a nun.”

“I’ll Think Of A Reason Later” – Lee Ann Womack

If you’ve never driven down the road shouting along with this one, we highly recommend that you do — as soon as possible. The song’s main character has a remarkable sense of self-awareness for being so viscerally incensed. If you really hate someone — who may or may not have ended up with your former significant other — it may be your family’s redneck nature.

“My Give A Damn’s Busted” – Jo Dee Messina

Look, if you’ve gotten to the end of this list and you haven’t enjoyed yourself, or maybe you don’t get the point, or maybe you think this is just useless clickbait… whatever the case may be, this song counts as our response. “Nah, man. Sorry.” (Isn’t country the best?)

2018: The Year of Ricky Skaggs

Posted on by Editor

Though he’s just now hitting nominal retirement age, Ricky Skaggs has been a virtuosic presence in the worlds of bluegrass, country, and Americana music for close to 50 years. With his childhood friend, Keith Whitley, he began touring and recording with Ralph Stanley while still in high school; by the time he turned 21, he had done a stint with the Country Gentlemen and become a member of the J. D. Crowe & The New South lineup whose eponymous 1975 album was (and is!) so influential that it’s been known for more than 40 years simply by its catalog number, Rounder 0044.

From there he moved on to intensive studio work; partnering with Jerry Douglas in Boone Creek; a stretch with Emmylou Harris’s Hot Band; and then, in 1981, launching a country career so meteoric that he earned, within four years of his debut recording, the Country Music Association’s top Entertainer of the Year award. Fifteen years later, he returned to bluegrass in spectacular fashion with the album Bluegrass Rules!

It’s no wonder, then, that he’s a newly minted member of the Country Music Hall of Fame and the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame, though it’s a nifty kind of surprise that he was inducted into both this year — and, while it’s less widely known, he hit the trifecta when he was inducted into the Fiddlers Hall of Fame, too. In short, if you were to call 2018 the Year of Ricky Skaggs, it would be hard to mount a real counter-argument.

A conversation with Skaggs is always a journey through a myriad of subjects, and this one was no exception; we touched on many topics, from his nearly complete recovery from shoulder troubles to his recollection of a conversation with Art Satherly, the legendary producer who worked with Bob Wills, Bill Monroe, and many others. Still, a couple of themes emerged, and it’s fitting that one began with an examination of his under-appreciated role as a fiddle player.

It occurred to me that there are fiddle players in the Bluegrass Hall of Fame already—Chubby Wise, Paul Warren, Kenny Baker, Benny Martin, Bobby Hicks—but there are some other members, like John Hartford, who folks might not think of first as a fiddler but who were players, and that led me to you. I think there’s a whole generation of fans and musicians who might not realize how much you’ve done on the fiddle. Is that something you still do from time to time?

When we went out on the Cooder-White-Skaggs tour, I played quite a bit of fiddle, because we were doing so many country things, like Hank Snow’s “Now And Then (There’s A Fool Such As I),” that Chubby Wise played on, and Ry wanted that fiddle. Sharon did songs that I’d play on, and I played swing fiddle on “Sweet Temptation.” So I played quite a bit on that tour. But I haven’t taken it as seriously as I should have, especially in the last 20 years; I just haven’t kept up on it. And you know, when you do pick one up and it sounds like a cat killing, you start thinking, maybe my days are over on this.

But I’ll tell you, when I was just a kid, and I decided I wanted to play another instrument besides the mandolin, my dad got a guy named Santford Kelly to come over to our house, and he recorded him playing—because especially when it came to playing fiddle, he wanted me to sit at the feet of some old cats that he knew. And now, I’ll play something by Santford Kelly for Andy [Leftwich], or now for Mike [Barnett], and their eyes are as big as silver dollars, and they say, “Oh, my god, will you please teach me how to play that? That doesn’t need to die with you—that sound and that bowing style, and that stuff from the mountains of Appalachia, that’s got to live on.”

When that happened a couple of times, I started really seeing how important it was. I’m always thinking maybe too much about perfection, and I’ve gotta tell you, when I heard Santford Kelly—he was 84 or 85 at the time, and he was scratchy. But it didn’t bother me that he was a little flat and sharp here and there, and a little scratchy on the bow. It was what was coming out of him that went into my heart, that moved me deeply. I thought, this is like Elijah coming off the mountain. This man is carrying something.

So I’ve kind of been saying, well, I’m not really up on it, but I need to shut that crap up. I just do need to play more of that.

You’ve entered three halls of fame this year, so maybe this is a good time to look back. One of the things I’d like to get your impression on is the idea that tradition is not a style, but a way of learning. And you did that, learning directly from older guys like Santford Kelly and Ralph Stanley, but it seems like there’s less of that these days. From the beginning of your return to bluegrass, you’ve made having young people in your band a priority. When you talk about Mike or [banjo player] Russ [Carson] hearing these things, is that something you feel is important — to mentor young musicians, be an active transmitter?

It absolutely is. To me, it’s vital — it’s necessary for the journey, it truly is. It’s manna, it’s food. In the tabernacle of David, where there were four thousand musicians and two thousand singers, you didn’t just fall off a turnip truck and then decide, hey, I’m going to be a musician. No! King David said, “My fingers are trained for battle.” To me, there is training that goes into perfection, goes into your craft. There is something that is really spiritual about this; it’s part of our spirit, it’s part of our nature to be trained.

And that’s truly part of what makes my heart beat, is to train up and to pour into young musicians — and not just men. Like Sarah Jarosz told me one time, “Thank you for letting me get up on stage and play with you when I was 12 years old in Austin.” Or Sierra Hull, or how my music affected Alison [Krauss] in her teenaged years — listening to J. D. [Crowe]’s records, and Boone Creek, and my early country stuff, the harmony singing and just the musicianship, how that encouraged her. I was talking to Becky Buller at the IBMA Red Hat [Amphitheatre], and she talked about how influential the music has been, too.

One of the things that I learned from Ralph was to play it like it was recorded. I remember one time, I’d been listening to Jimmy Gaudreau and some of the other mandolin players of that time a little bit, and one night I played a solo that was a little bit out of the ballpark for the Stanley sound. And I caught Ralph’s face move just slightly over toward me. He didn’t eyeball me, he just kind of turned to the right and listened to me. And when we got off he said, “Rick, you know what I do, when I take breaks, I play it just like I sing it. I want them people to know that when I played that break, they didn’t have to hear me sing, they knowed what that song was. That’s the way I do it.” He didn’t say, the way you did it was not cool, or out of bounds. He did not teach that way; it was so soft, and so nurturing.

And now, I’m always showing Mike stuff — even from the first time I met him, when he auditioned. We sat down and I played him the Stanley Brothers’ Starday recording of “Little Maggie”— one lick, one phrase, after [fiddler] Ralph Mayo’s first solo. Ralph kicks it off, sings one verse, and then Ralph Mayo takes a solo. Well, it’s that next verse, on the line “pretty women are made for lovin’,” on the word “lovin,” Mayo plays this counter-note that’s not even in B, where Ralph’s at. That thing came out of him, and that one note just spoke so loudly right there for me. When I really heard that, I thought “What did he just play!?” and it just lifted my heart to such a place. It was something. And I played it for Mike, and he said “play it again,” and I thought, all right, he’s going to get this job, I know. He’s hearing what I heard, so I knew he was the right one for the job. He heard what Mayo was playing, and he heard my passion for it. And those are the kind of things I want to teach.

Looking at your career, the frequency of your record releases seems to have slowed down. And it seems to me that the recorded end of the business is almost going back to the 50s. Are you just too busy to get into the studio, or is it a lower priority because the business is heading away from that?

Well, as a record company owner, it’s become a financial issue. Having a studio of my own, you’d think that I could do records so much cheaper, but it’s just a fact that the numbers just don’t work when I look at putting $30,00 or $40,000 into a CD and the chances of getting it back in the next three or four years. And I’ve got a big name! I don’t know how, well I guess I do know how, a lot of these record companies do them for $10,000. I would feel really bad about having to do a Kickstarter for Ricky Skaggs. But there’s so much music in my heart that I really want to go in the studio and make, and make it with this incredible band.

But here’s what we’re thinking: I guess I’ve probably got nearly every show that I’ve done in the last four or five years—and recorded on separate tracks, where they could be remixed. So I’ve got a ton of stuff. We’ve got Cooder-White-Skaggs, we’ve got Skaggs and Hornsby stuff, we’ve got Ricky Skaggs with Cody Kilby, Bryan Sutton, all kinds of guests that we’ve had. We’ve got all that recorded. So I really do believe there’s ways of doing it, and I don’t have to own everything; I could just have part ownership.

And I just want to get the music out. I want the world to be able to hear Mike Barnett and Jake Workman, Jeff Picker and Russ Carson. And of course Andy, or hearing Jake playing mandolin or banjo. We’ve got all that stuff, and maybe perfection doesn’t matter so much. I can get stuck in thinking about what used to happen in my life, and what used to be—and here again, I’m figuring out it doesn’t have to be that way. There’s a feel thing that we can miss by having endless tracks on ProTools, endless chances to go back and get another take; usually the first thought that comes into your mind on almost anything is the right one. It’s our stinking thinking that gets involved, and we get to overanalyzing stuff when the spirit is saying, “This is the right way, this is what I put in your mind at that time.” Sometimes you’re better off to just go with that.

12 Essential Songs by Tom T. & Miss Dixie Hall

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

She was a trick-riding horsewoman born and raised in England; he, an Army veteran born in the foothills of Appalachia. Together, they were one of the most important songwriting duos of bluegrass, country, and American roots music as a whole. This year, they were inducted into the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame together, following his induction into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2008. If y’all don’t know the music — and impact — of Tom T. & Miss Dixie Hall, it’s time you do. Here’s a 12-song primer that attempts to scratch the surface of their far-reaching influence.

“Truck Drivin’ Son Of A Gun” — Dave Dudley, co-written by Miss Dixie

Co-written by Miss Dixie Deen (before she became a Hall), this single, released by Dave Dudley in 1965, reached #3 on the US country charts. It earned a BMI award; Dixie and Tom T. met at that awards banquet. The rest is history.

“Fox On The Run” — Tom T. Hall

An absolute classic. Tom T. brought bluegrass to country radio in 1976, when this track reached #9 on the Billboard charts. Just one stellar track on an entire album of top-shelf bluegrass that included appearances by J.D. Crowe, Donna Stoneman, Bill Monroe, Bobby Thompson, and so many more.

“Washed My Face In The Morning Dew” — Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton, written by Tom T. Hall

Recorded the year before “Harper Valley P.T.A.,” Tom T.’s first top 40 hit is still going strong, relevant as ever 51 years later. “The rich got richer and the poor got poor, and to me it just didn’t seem right.”

Here’s a version by one of country’s favorite duos of all time, Porter and Dolly.

“Old Dogs, Children, and Watermelon Wine” — Tom T. Hall

“Old Dogs” was Tom T.’s third #1 hit as an artist. Charlie Sizemore, who followed Keith Whitley as Ralph Stanley’s lead singer, led an all-star cast on an entire album of Tom T.’s songs, including this one, in 2002.


“I Flew Over Our House Last Night” — Tom T. Hall

“So close, yet so far away,” Tom T. laments, whimsically, being 30,000 feet above the one he loves as he flies over home. This one has been covered by everyone from Balsam Range to Joe Henry.

“Leaving Baker County” — Junior Sisk & Rambler’s Choice, written by Tom T. & Miss Dixie

There’s a sardonic glee in the chorus, leaving Baker County and the woes described herein. “I never did think much of Baker County, and every mile I’m thinking of it less.”

“A Hero In Harlan” — Chris Jones & the Night Drivers, written by Tom T. & Miss Dixie

A somber story of a little brother coming home to Harlan the one way all military families fear — in a flag-draped casket. But Tom T. and Dixie don’t glamorize or sensationalize the story, as songs on this subject matter often do. They (and Chris Jones & the Night Drivers, who first recorded the song) tell it real, raw, and relevantly.

“Lessons In Stone” — Longview, written by Tom T. & Miss Dixie

A 1990s bluegrass supergroup, Longview’s original members included Dudley Connell, Glen Duncan, James King, Joe Mullins, Don Rigsby, and Marshall Wilborn. Woof. Dudley, Don, and Glen give the buttery three-part on the chorus.

“Our Little World” — Darin and Brooke Aldridge, written by Tom T. & Miss Dixie

The way Tom T. & Miss Dixie tell it (via Darin and Brooke), you really can have it all, without needing much.

“Pretty Green Hills” — Tom T. Hall, written by Tom T. & Miss Dixie

These two could write a story song like almost no one else can. The level of detail might seem mundane, but with such deft pens, these two make the little things seem integral — important, minute colors and shades that make the whole picture shine.

“Someone Made the Sandals Jesus Wore” — Paul Williams and the Victory Trio, written by Tom T. & Miss Dixie

Paul Williams, a fellow Bluegrass Hall of Famer inducted with Tom T. & Dixie this year, sings this gospel tune with the Victory Trio. It’s a simple, but incredibly poignant message: there really is no contribution, talent, or skill that’s too small or insignificant to positively impact the lives of others.

“Somewhere In Kentucky Tonight” — Tom T. Hall, written by Tom T. & Miss Dixie

When Tom T. recorded this song on Tom T. Hall Sings Miss Dixie & Tom T., that project was a Christmas gift to his wife. His Christmas card to Dixie promised:

“We’ll record in our studio; you choose the songs and the pickers. You produce and I’ll do songs we have written together. Local and Pal will handle (canine) security. We will call the project TOM T. HALL SINGS MISS DIXIE & TOM T. Merry Christmas! Love, T.”

And if that beautiful sentiment doesn’t capture their love perfectly, the song itself truly does. What a pair. Hall of Famers, indeed.

Photo courtesy of IBMA 
Jon Weisberger and Justin Hiltner contributed to this piece.