Tag: Doc Watson

Brandi Carlile: An Interview from Doc Watson’s Dressing Room

Posted on by Editor

Give or take, it’s about 2,800 miles from Brandi Carlile’s native Seattle, Washington, to Wilkesboro, North Carolina, home to the renowned music gathering known as MerleFest. (See photos.) And as the Saturday night headliner this year, the award-winning singer-songwriter took to the Watson Stage during the 32nd annual MerleFest, surrounded by the Blue Ridge Mountains and an overzealous audience in the neighborhood of 30,000.

Backed by her rollicking Americana/indie-rock band, which includes founding members Phil and Tim Hanseroth (aka: “The Twins”), Carlile held court during an unforgettable performance that led to one of the festival’s finest moments — Carlile around a single microphone with North Carolinians Seth and Scott Avett for an encore of the Avett Brothers’ “Murder in the City.”

But a few hours before that performance, Carlile found herself standing backstage alone in the dressing room of the late Doc Watson, the guitar master who founded MerleFest. Gazing around the small square space, she looked at old photos of Watson and other legendary Americana and bluegrass performers that have played MerleFest over the years: Earl Scruggs, Alison Krauss, Peter Rowan, Rhonda Vincent, Tony Rice, and so forth.

Carlile smiled to herself in silence, truly feeling humbled in her craft and taking a moment to reflect on her wild and wondrous journey thus far, all while possessing a once-in-a-generation talent — something broadcasted across the world during her staggering performance of “The Joke” in February at the Grammys, and amid a standing ovation from the music industry. Remarkably she also picked up all three Grammys in the American Roots Music categories.

We met Carlile in Watson’s dressing room before the show for our interview and surveyed the steps she’s taken from Seattle to the MerleFest stage.

BGS: It seems as big as your career has gotten, the humble nature of where you came from still remains within you, as a headlining performer now.

Carlile: It does. Part of that reason why I feel that is part of who I am is because of the people that I’ve surrounded myself with — The Twins, our families, our kids, and our folks. They’re not going to let anybody get too heady or too ahead of themselves. Everybody puts you right back in your station if you’re getting there.

Growing up around Seattle, was Kurt Cobain’s songwriting or specifically the Unplugged in New York album by Nirvana ever a big influence on you as a performer?

It was later in life. It’s so funny, like when you live in the [Pacific] Northwest, the intensity that was directed towards country music for me was big because I didn’t have proximity to it. I was so far away from it. People in the South, I think so often they love country and western roots music, bluegrass, folk, and Americana music. It’s not that they take it for granted, but they don’t realize sometimes that they’re so close to it — it’s right here. And we don’t have that proximity, so I think we love it a little more intensely in the Northwest.

Because you’re seeking it out maybe?

Yeah. And [it’s] even more concentrated in the [United Kingdom]. I mean, if you want to meet some of the most potent country music fans, you go to the UK. And Seattle is kind of that same vibe. So, when I discovered grunge music and rock ‘n’ roll music, it was after it had already happened in my city, which had its own grief period with it, but also kind of an intense celebratory thing because I had missed it. I wanted to know everything about what happened in my city. And what I came away with was realizing we came up with something new. We didn’t repeat anything. We didn’t throw back to an era. We didn’t put on a Halloween costume. We did something brand new.

So, how does that apply to where you are today, in terms of what you want to create with your art?

I’m kind of a hybrid thinker, in general. I like putting ideas together and posing thoughts, things like that. I’ve never really been a great or very successful genre person.

You don’t want to be pigeon-holed…

It’s not that I don’t want to be pigeon-holed, it’s just that I don’t know if I’m able to be. Unfortunately I’ve always wanted to fit in, but I don’t know if I ever will.

Well, to that point, this last year, at least from an outsider’s perspective, has seemed like a whirlwind in your career, with the trajectory it’s on now. Has it been a slow burn to this point or is this a whirlwind, and how are you dealing with all of that?

That’s a good question. It’s both. It’s been a slow burn to this point. I’ve been working for a long time. But it was a really big change. That Grammy moment changed my life, and in a really, really big way. I can’t even catch up to it yet — I don’t even know how to catch up to it yet.

Or if you even want to embrace it. I mean, how do even wrap your head around something like that?

No, dude, I want to embrace it — I love it. I’ve always loved everything about music and the music business since I was such a little girl. I sat in my room wanting the biggest and the best of opportunities for myself, my family, and my friends. And so I’ll find a way to embrace it. And I want to — I’m really insanely grateful for it.

What do you remember from that moment? I was thinking, the stunning way your voice and the energy was going up and down, any frustration, any love or sadness you’ve experienced was put out through that microphone at that moment…

Yeah. I think I’m going to live to be 100 because that is how I do it, you know? I just let it all out. And in that moment, I don’t know — I was just so ready for it. I’m 38. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not going to get too nervous or too excited and come undone. But, I am going to enjoy it while it’s happening. Like so many big things in your life you don’t really get to enjoy it.

Or maybe in hindsight you realize how important it was…

Yeah, man. Like loving everything in retrospect, enjoying everything in retrospect. And I was just so right there, right in the moment at the time — more so than maybe ever before while performing.

So, does that mean you subscribe to the idea of “the now,” to learn to be present, rather than worry about what was and what could be?

Yeah, but I’m horrible at it. But for some reason, that day I was able to get there. And I think it’s because I had been so nervous and then I won those three [Grammys]. I was like, “What do I got to lose? I’m just going to do this. I’m just going to show everybody [who I am].”

What is the role of the songwriter in the digital age, in all this chaos that is the 21st century?

To try to be as permanent as you can in a temporary environment.

In all the years you’ve created and performed music, traveling the world and meeting people from all walks of life, what has it taught you about what it means to be a human being?

Well, it’s taught me so much. I think you need to travel, in general, in life. You cannot stay put and not see the way that people live and then try and create an assumption about the way the world works. Travel, in general, has taught me so much about social justice and empathy. It’s enhanced me spiritually as a person, and that’s the thing I think I’ve garnered the most out of it. But I’ve met some really wise and special people as well. And to get to meet your heroes, people that you’ve admired – to find out if you were completely wrong about how much you admire them or being completely right — has been so enlightening.

And what about being in Doc Watson’s dressing right now, being at Merlefest?

Being in Doc Watson’s dressing room is really moving. I’ve been looking around at the pictures and the gravity of it. And when you’re here at this festival, you feel the reverence and you understand what it’s all about. And it’s something I’m coming to later in life. Just like I missed the greatest rock ‘n’ roll genre of all-time — grunge — in my very own city, I missed this experience, too — and I’m looking forward to diving in with both feet.

All photos: Michael Freas

Guitarist David Grier Steps Out as a Lead Singer, Too

Posted on by Editor

David Grier gets asked all kinds of questions.

He’s asked about his phenomenal cross-picking guitar techniques, which put him among the greatest bluegrass/folk players of the last several decades, talked about in the same breath with Doc Watson, Clarence White, and Tony Rice.

He’s asked about his dad, Lamar, who played banjo with Bill Monroe. Yeah, that Bill Monroe, the Father of Bluegrass.

He’s asked about Clarence White’s brother Roland, the Kentucky Colonels mandolinist who was an early teacher of his. And of course he’s also asked Clarence, Grier’s big influence, who brought bluegrass guitar into the rock age with the Colonels and then, on electric guitar, powered early country-rock with the Byrds.

He’s asked, maybe too much, about his beard, a prodigious gray broadsword of whiskers stretching from chin to navel, an abstraction of which is the signature feature of his silhouette, featured on his T-shirts and other merch.

But one thing the D.C.-raised, Nashville-based musician is never really asked about: His singing. And for good reason. He’s never done it.

“It’s always been, ‘Why don’t you sing? You play guitar!’” he says, an irrepressible joviality marking his droll drawl.

Somehow, he sighs, people often seem to think that simply because he plays guitar he ought to sing too.

“I know I play guitar,” he says, more amused than exasperated. “I never donated any time toward [singing]. I tried once or twice through the years. Just like anything else, I gave it five or ten times and stopped.”

Until now.

His new album, Ways of the World, features five songs with him on lead vocals. That’s a first. In his career going back to the early ‘80s and covering ten solo albums now, several side projects (Psychograss, Helen Highwater Stringband), and hundreds of guest spots and sessions, he’s never stepped out as a vocalist before.

And in a rather bold move, he puts his lead vocals alongside some noted vocal talents: Maura O’Connell, Tim O’Brien, Shad Cobb, Andrea Zonn, and Mike Compton. What’s more, he’s feels pretty good about it.

“I do,” he says. “I know later I won’t, because every time I think something’s perfect, I listen to it later and go, ‘Gee, why didn’t I hear that before?’”

So the next question comes naturally: “Why now?”

“It was the Helen Highwater Stringband,” he says. “Three or four years ago they said they needed another singer for a vocal trio. They looked at me. I said, ‘I don’t sing!’ They said, ‘You do now!’ I went, ‘Wow.’ They were encouraging. It was helpful. All that went into account and then I did it on stage. People weren’t running for the exits, so this is good. And it just kept going.”

If he was going to sing, he needed words, and he dove right into that as well. Songwriting was another new challenge.

“I’d written the first two lines: ‘I’m afloat on the great big waves of the ocean, I drift on the ways of the world,’” he says of the title song, with Zonn singing with him, which opens the album. “I thought, ‘Hell! That’s going to be a song!’”

But he thought he’d need help and, while heading out for a five-and-a-half-week tour in South Africa, he went to a friend to have him finish it. That didn’t happen. So with two off-days he set to it himself.

“I finished it in an Airbnb on the beach in South Africa,” he says.

It was a whatever-it-takes approach to songwriting. “Dust Bowl Dream,” with harmonies by O’Brien, came from a bar bet for a round of drinks with some Nashville buddies as to who could write the best song in a week.

“I wasn’t even going to write a song,” he says. “Thought I’d just buy drinks for the buddies. But I had this melody that was lonesome and I thought, ‘Well, dust bowl is lonesome.’ Wrote the words in an airport, wrote the verse, chorus, second verse. I thought it was great. Got to the hotel later that day and started playing. First verse was great, second was great, last verse was horrible! I wrote another and that was worse. I went back to the first version I wrote and thought, ‘If I don’t sing it, that’s great.’ So I talk through it, like Bill Anderson would. It’s a recitation, and I think it really helped the tune. You feel it more.”

Now, all you who savor every splendiferous Grier guitar lick, dread not. The five songs featuring vocals are accompanied by eight sparkling instrumentals, and the ones with singing also feature, of course, his spectacular picking.

The heartfelt vocal numbers are surrounded by a selection of wryly titled original picking showcases (“Waiting on Daddy’s Money,” “The Curmudgeon’s Gait,” and so on) and sparkling interpretations of, or variations on, old fiddle tunes (“Billy in the Lowground”). And playing with Grier is a stellar cast of associates: a core of Casey Campbell on mandolin, Stuart Duncan on fiddle, Dennis Crouch on bass, with John Gardner on drums for some songs, and banjo from Justin Moses and Cory Walker. What’s more, there’s electric guitar by Bryan Sutton on one song (“Dustbowl Dream”) and on “Farewell to Redboots,” there’s trumpet by Rod McGaha — something perhaps even more surprising than Grier’s singing.

“For me having a trumpet on a song is brand new,” he says. “I just heard it in my head that way and imagined it that way. But having it happen was amazing.”

The whole experience, it seems, was liberating in a way that led Grier to try some different approaches to his picking, as if the pressure was off to make the album completely about that. The result is a rich, engaging tone throughout.

“I think on this record there’s less flash, just for flash’s sake,” he says. “Less, ‘Watch what I can do! Watch! This is hot!’ This is more reined in for a bit. Some of the solos are simplistic, and in my mind harken back to the beginnings of bluegrass music.”

He cites the intro to one song, “Dead Flowers,” an original, not the Rolling Stones song.

“That’s as basic as you can be,” he says, noting that it happened that way in the moment when he was caught off guard. “I got in the studio and thought someone else would kick it off. ‘Who’s gonna kick it off?’ Crickets. ‘You start it.’”

On the other hand, he also found himself spontaneously taking some other unexpected directions in “Red Boots.”

“There are three solos in that,” he says. “First one of me, then the horn, then me again. The first one’s just the melody, nothing fancy. The melody is cool. But the last solo is completely different, a little bit of Wes Montgomery, some string-bending in there. Just popped out! I’d never played that before. Every time I’d played that song it was just the melody, ‘cause I’m generally sitting here playing by myself. In the studio it was, ‘Well, I’ve done that. I want to do something different.’ I like that. Fresh and exciting. Note by note. Not the boring same old thing.”

And that’s the thread of the whole album.

“A lot of improvisation on this record,” he says. “From my viewpoint, it’s playful. All in the vibe. Not some hot lick thrown in just to show I can play a hot lick.”

Not that he isn’t proud of his playing here.

“There’s things in there people might want to learn when they hear it,” he says.

And speaking of learning, one more question: Has he ever tried fingerpicking?

Grier sighs.

“That’s another thing maybe I gave five minutes.”

Well… given what he said about singing, stay tuned for the next album.

Photo credit: Scott Simontacchi

Doc Watson & David Grisman, “Watson Blues”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It’s fitting that this week, leading up to the 32nd year of MerleFest in Wilkesboro, North Carolina — a festival named after Doc Watson’s late son, Merle — that for Tunesday Tuesday we spend a few minutes with a song named after Doc himself. Bill Monroe wrote “Watson Blues” (or “Watson’s Blues,” as it’s also called), naming it after his friend and premier flatpicker, and the two performed it live and recorded it together on more than one occasion. This version with David “Dawg” Grisman, though, showcases the effortless way that Doc could keep up with and quietly, subtly innovate alongside musicians and artists who were much more famous for roaming further afield.

What’s additionally striking about this particular recording is how simple and focused the track is. Doc’s steady, unwavering hand pushes the song along at a perfectly breezy clip, matching the mellow, round, warm, huggable tones from his flattop. Meanwhile, Dawg plays the roll of Big Mon convincingly, peppering his signature, wacky, jazz-inflected phrases only rarely, choosing instead to let the tune stand on its own. Stuart Duncan’s plaintive twin fiddling is the icing on this tasty, minimal, “Watson Blues” cake.

If you’re headed to MerleFest this weekend, make sure this track is on your driving playlists to/from the festival — and be sure to check out our 2019 MerleFest preview for tips and tricks for the weekend. And, finally, make sure you stay tuned after the 3:52 runtime of “Watson Blues” passes — Doc, Dawg, and Jack Lawrence give us an incredibly tasty version of “Bye Bye Blues” to wrap up the album. It’s an acoustic pickin’ heroes encore.

BGS Preview: MerleFest 2019

Posted on by Editor

When it comes to roots music, the MerleFest 2019 lineup is tough to beat. From bluegrass heroes to country legends, along with a number of perennial favorites like the Avett Brothers, this year’s four-day event promises to be one for the record books. Where to begin? Check out the BGS daily preview below.

Editor’s Note: MerleFest 2019 will take place April 25-28 in Wilkesboro, North Carolina. The Bluegrass Situation is proud to present the Late Night Jam on Saturday, April 27. Get tickets.

THURSDAY, APRIL 25

Headliner: Wynonna

No one else on earth has a voice like Wynonna. Of course she got her start in the Judds, which brought an acoustic flavor back to mainstream country music in the 1980s. She’s also frequently cited Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard as among her earliest musical influences. You’ll surely hear the hits, yet a new record deal with Anti- means that more music is on the way.

Don’t miss: Junior Brown can wow a crowd with his “guit-steel” double neck guitar, not to mention wry tunes like “My Wife Thinks You’re Dead.” Dailey & Vincent know a thing or two about quick wit, with their fast-talking banter tying together a repertoire of bluegrass, country, and gospel. Accomplished songwriter Radney Foster issued a new album and a book – both titled For You to See the Stars – in 2017. North Carolina’s own bluegrass combo Chatham County Line kicks off the day, likely with a few familiar tunes from their new album, Sharing the Covers.

FRIDAY, APRIL 26

Headliner: Tyler Childers

With the album Purgatory, Tyler Childers captivated fans who demand authenticity from their favorite artists. The acclaimed project falls in that sweet spot where Americana, bluegrass and country music all merge gracefully. Yet the sonic textures of “Universal Sound” show that he’s not stuck in the past. In a crowded field of newcomers, Childers’ distinctive singing voice and incisive writing set him apart.

Don’t miss: If you’re into guys who write quality songs, then you’re in luck. Leading up to Childers’ set, fans can dig into the likes of Amos Lee, The Milk Carton Kids, The Black Lillies, American Aquarium, and Steve Poltz. If bluegrass is more your style, check out Mile Twelve and Junior Sisk & Ramblers Choice in the early afternoon. Before that, make the most of your lunch break with country music from Michaela Anne and Elizabeth Cook. The Chris Austin Songwriting Competition is worth a stop, too.

SATURDAY, APRIL 27

Headliner: Brandi Carlile

Brandi Carlile catapulted into a new phase of her career by singing “The Joke” on the Grammys this year, not to mention winning three awards before the show. However, dedicated fans have followed her ascent since her auspicious 2005 debut album and its exceptional follow-up, The Story. She’s a master at engaging a crowd and a Saturday night headlining slot at MerleFest is yet another feather in her cap.

Don’t miss: Doc Watson himself would have approved of all the bluegrass artists on Saturday, such as Sam Bush Band, The Earls of Leicester, the Gibson Brothers, and Molly Tuttle. Keb’ Mo, Donna the Buffalo, and Webb Wilder converge upon Americana from different originas, yet they are united in their ability to electrify a crowd – even at a mostly acoustic festival. Folk fans should swing by The Brother Brothers, Carolina Blue, Driftwood, Ana Egge, Elephant Sessions, and The Waybacks. The Kruger Brothers always offer a pleasurable listening experience, too. Still not ready for the tent? Drop by the Late Night Jam, hosted by Chatham County Line and presented by yours truly, BGS. You won’t want to miss the set of special collaborations and true, on the spot, one of a kind jams with artists from all across the festival lineup.

SUNDAY, APRIL 28

Headliner: The Avett Brothers

The Avett Brothers elevate the MerleFest experience by bringing together a multitude of influences, from string bands to stadium rock. The charming track “Neopolitan Sky” dropped in February, employing a Tom Petty vibe and a surprisingly scaled-back production, as well as the sibling harmony that’s central to their sound. The North Carolina natives are proud fans of Doc Watson, so here’s hoping for “Shady Grove” to go along with fan faves like “Live and Die,” “Murder in the City,” and “I and Love and You.”

Don’t miss: The Del McCoury Band always brightens a Sunday afternoon with traditional bluegrass and any number of hollered requests. Steep Canyon Rangers will deliver a set inspired by the North Carolina songbook. After that, the ever-prolific Jim Lauderdale will take the stage with a set drawing from his country and bluegrass career. Early risers will be treated to morning music from Lindi Ortega, who hit a career high of creativity with her newest album, Liberty. Also of note: Jeff Little Trio, Andy May, Mark and Maggie O’Connor, Peter Rowan, Scythian, Larry Stephenson Band, Yarn, and all the good vibes that MerleFest has to offer.

Photo credit: Willa Stein
 

MIXTAPE: Nate Sabat’s Quiet, Poignant & Powerful Playlist

Posted on by Editor

Something completely magical happens when musicians find the perfect blend of darkness, quietness, and intensity. It almost feels like the bottom drops out of the music, guiding the listener’s ears into the void of beautiful nothingness below. I still can’t pin it, how such a soft sound can feel so immeasurably huge, like it somehow contains the entire universe within itself. It’s something I’ve grown to love over the past few years, and I hope these songs will touch you as they’ve touched me.

P.S: The tracks on this list have been responsible for the majority of my tears over the past few years, so get your tissues ready. — Nate Sabat

“Humble Me” – Norah Jones

The raw story mixed with the incredibly honest delivery of the lyric always gets me with this one. Norah at her absolute best. I also particularly love the line “it never rains when you want it to.” I feel like it sticks out in a really, really good way.

“Pink Champagne” – Kathleen Edwards

The combination of Kathleen Edwards’ brilliant songwriting and Justin Vernon’s production approach are in full force on this track. Since hearing this song I’ve made it one of my life goals to not feel like this on my wedding day.

“Unless” – Hawktail

I love the winding, lush melody of this tune, paired with the beautifully shot video at Nashville’s Downtown Presbyterian Church. And also, I like, TOTALLY geek out at Paul’s bass shredding. Ya know, as a fellow bass player and all.

“Louise” – Daniel Romano

I first heard Daniel Romano on WUMB, Boston’s premier folk music radio station, with his song “Time Forgot (To Change My Heart).” Since then I’ve dug into a ton of his stuff, and particularly love his record Modern Pressure, an ode to the psychedelic sounds of yesteryear.

“Dreams of Nectar” – Abigail Washburn

This track is so cool and collage-like. I’m such a sucker for horns, so was instantly pulled in from the start the first time I heard it.

“Turning Away” – Crooked Still

I love how exposed Greg Liszt’s banjo part is on this track. The track is so short, but also the exact right length.

“Bonden & fan / Leffes polska” – Hazelius Hedin

This pair of tunes from Swedish duo Hazelius Hedin are so dark, so expansive, and so, so rich. I always picture a dark Swedish forest after an intense rainfall when I listen to this one.

“Your Long Journey” – Sam Amidon

This song, written by Rosa Lee and Doc Watson, has been beautifully reimagined by the great Sam Amidon. In my opinion he’s one of the greatest interpreters of folk and traditional music on the scene today, so definitely check out more of his stuff if you haven’t already.

“Harbour Hawk” – Becca Stevens

Becca Stevens’ music is some of the most interesting stuff I’ve heard to date. Constant texture and groove changes are tied together with impeccably crafted lyrical content. I love the opening riff of this song, and how it re-enters throughout in such a smooth way.

“00000 Million” – Bon Iver

One day last summer I was in a dark place, so naturally I listened to Bon Iver, specifically the entirety of 22, A Million. This song, the final one of the record, was so comforting. I remember being amazed at how powerful music can be, that it could somehow reach into my mind and make me feel better.

“Closer” – Joe Walsh

Man, Joe wrote an absolute gem. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard a melody so simple and profound. I told him how much I loved this tune, and that I always thought of the name as meaning “closer to someone or something,” but he told me that it’s actually “the closer of the album,” as it is actually the closer of his latest album, Borderland. Go figure.

MIXTAPE: Cordovas’ Unknown Legends

Posted on by Editor

The playlist is called Unknown Legends because each song carries a factor of the unknown; be it a somewhat unknown version (“Connection”), artist (Altyrone Deno Brown) or even origin (“Statesboro Blues”). These compositions and singers are the backbone of American weirdness, the reason we love our country’s music. – Cordovas

“Shake Sugaree” — Elizabeth Cotton

Cotton’s “Shake Sugaree” is crucial. Hard to find anyone that good at being a singer songwriter in the early 1900s but she was. Perfectly written, this song is a masterpiece of American music. This Carolina girl was an unknown legend

“Sweet Pea” — Altyrone Deno Brown

Just look at the picture of the dude. He could slay drums and he was 9 or 10 when he got signed. They want him to be the next Michael Jackson. Listen to his vibrato and the tenderness in his voice. The way he heard other singers seems to come out.

“The End of the World” — Skeeter Davis

This perfect melody. So sweet. Skeeter. Heartbroken and gettin’ over it by singing the blues. Some dynamite two part she throws down.

“Sign Language” — Eric Clapton

Clapton is obviously very well-known but this is a lesser known song. Featuring lead guitar by Robbie Robertson, harmonies by Richard Manuel, and a verse by Dylan himself, this is a beautiful scene in some movie. Two lovers. “You Speak to me in sign language as I’m eating a sandwich in a small café at a quarter to three.” So simple.

“Jesus I’ll Never Forget” — Forbes Family

Gospel Vocal groups. They believe. They lift their voices. This one has some epic 5 part harmony. It gets us singing in exaltation “Jesus I’ll Never forget” in the van as we ramble on. We are atheists.

“Piney Mountains” — Bruce Molsky

Jump up on the flat wheel car and let this fiddle tune take you up into the u-pined hills. “My hands can’t fiddle and my heart’s been broke, lord, and my time ain’t long.” Brother Bruce.

“Runs in the Family” — The Roches

The Roches have a masterpiece here. They address here the things we pass down in our families and in our ways and ambitions. Our desires. Through and through, concept, arrangement, feeling, this one is so well thought out and executed. On the idea of the sisters themselves coming of age the Roches sing, “Something about the danger zone, wouldn’t leave the bunch of us alone”

“Matty Groves” — Fairport Convention

This is a reworking of the old English ballad that tells a tale of lust, deceit and revenge in a renaissance setting. Sandy Denny’s powerful, convincing vocals are flanked by 20 year old Richard Thompson’s innovative, unpredictable guitar lines and Dave Swarbricks masterful electric fiddle, tying the tradition to a new era.

“Shady Grove” — Doc Watson

An Appalachian folk ballad by Doc Watson. There are some 300 stanzas collected reaching back to the 1800’s. There have been a vast amount of versions recorded and documented of this song, but Doc Watson’s version would come to be known through the folk revival period of the 1960s and making its mark into popular music by way of Jerry Garcia and David Grisman.

“Statesboro Blues” — Blind Willie McTell

This song came about from his many trips to a tobacco warehouse during harvest season in Statesboro, Georgia. He collected change from the laborers in a tin cup tied to the neck of his 12 string guitar that could be heard right outside the loading docks. “Reach over in the corner mama, grab my traveling shoes”.

“Going Down the Road Feelin’ Bad” — Woody Guthrie

Accompanied by Sonny Terry (harmonica) and Cisco Houston (mandolin, vocals) Guthrie’s rendition would provide the template for many subsequent versions of the song in both the bluegrass and the folk rock genres. Alan Lomax recorded this for the library of Congress.

“Connection” — Ramblin’ Jack Elliott

“Connection” is a Jagger/Richards song about being stuck while traveling, wanting to be home. Covered by NRPS among others, the song is on Elliott’s Reprise debut where it takes new life, now sung by a gunslinger-type.

“Tamp’ Em Up Solid” — Ry Cooder

Cooder’s “Paradise and Lunch” is a collection of older tunes, some somewhat unknown, including songs by McTell, Philips, and more. “Tamp’ Em Up Solid” is a traditional, attacked by Cooder in his unique style.

Photo credit: Alysse Gafkjen

9 Bluegrass Songs to Whet Your Appetite

Posted on by Editor

No one really needs any help gearing up for the beautiful gluttony of the holiday season, but in the spirit of gorging oneself on cookies, pie, turkey, ham, and all manner of seasonal treats, here are nine bluegrass songs to get your stomach growling.

Flatt & Scruggs — “Hot Corn, Cold Corn” 

Hot corn goes with your meal. Cold corn makes your meal (and your loud relatives) bearable. If the chickens all a-runnin’ and the toenails a flyin’, this is your best bet.

Ricky Skaggs & Kentucky Thunder — “Pig in a Pen”

Bake them biscuits! Raise a barrel of sorghum! We’re Alabamy-bound!

Reno & Smiley — “Dill Pickle Rag”

Have a pickle with your leftover turkey sandwich!

Doc Watson & Clarence Ashley — “Keep My Skillet Good and Greasy”

The importance of proper cast-iron care cannot be overstated. Do not use soap or any cleaning agents (scrub with salt on stubborn grime when needed), oil after rinsing and washing in warm water, and make sure to re-season regularly.

Lost and Found — “Leftover Biscuits”

Sure, this describes a pretty misogynistic scenario in which the kitchen is dirty because the singer’s wife left him, but maybe also it can just be the day after Christmas when no one wants to even acknowledge the tower of dishes in the sink and everyone’s content to eat cold ham on day-old rolls? Maybe?

Jim & Jesse — “Y’all Come!”

Eating everything from soup to hay! HAY!?

Bruce Molsky — “Shove the Pig’s Foot a Little Bit Further into the Fire”

No one wants an underdone pig’s foot.

David Grier — “Angeline the Baker”

Angeline, could you bake me up some cinnamon rolls, chocolate chip cookies, yeasty rolls, and a pie or three, a fruitcake, a pumpkin roll …

The Nashville Bluegrass Band — “Soppin’ the Gravy”

A clean plate does not count as a truly clean plate, until you’ve taken whatever bread you have on hand and have completely sopped up all that gravy. Soppin’ veterans will then move to the gravy pan and sop up all of that, too. Don’t think about your arteries. It’s the holidays!

Photo credit: Philip Clifford on Foter.com / CC BY-SA

3×3: Scott Miller on Cattle, Concerts, and Keeping It Clean

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Artist: Scott Miller
Hometown: Swoope, VA (Pronounced like “nope” — You pronounce it wrong and that’s how we know you ain’t from around here.)
Latest Album: Ladies Auxiliary
Personal Nicknames: Mule, Pigpen, the Man from Nantucket.

Tonight’s dressing room, per contract. #winning

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What’s the best concert you’ve ever attended?

I hate music. But back when I didn’t, I saw Doc Watson at a rainy bluegrass festival down in Virginia Beach. A hurricane was pounding the east coast, and I stood at the foot of the stage mesmerized.

How many unread emails or texts currently fill your inbox?

Zip. Zero. Keep it clean, I say. My office, my farm truck, my van: all total wrecks, but my inbox is pristine!

How many pillows do you sleep with?

We didn’t have pillows growing up, we used a rock. But now I use two. I’ve gotten soft in my old age.

How many pairs of shoes do you own?

I am the Imelda Marcos of Americana … you wouldn’t know it. They’re all boots.

If you were going to buy a famous musician’s pair of dirty socks off of eBay, whose would you buy?

Suzi Quatro’s. But I wouldn’t buy them. I’d just sneak into her house and get them. Not because I’m creepy. But because I’m cheap.

What’s your favorite vegetable?

I don’t eat vegetables. I raise beef cattle.

#NewIdea

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Fate or free will?

Fate. And we are all doomed.

Sweet or sour?

Sweeeeeeeeet

Sunrise or sunset?

Sunset. If I see a sunrise, it’s only because I stayed up all night.

Avett Brothers Film Captures the Power of Character

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One of the many moments that jumps right off the screen during May It Last: A Portrait of the Avett Brothers comes toward the beginning of the nearly two-hour documentary. During an on-screen interview, founding member and one-half of the band’s namesake, Seth Avett, recalls meeting Doc Watson. Seth explains that, up until that time, he operated under the impression that, as a musician, power came from volume. But Doc, he says, taught him that power comes from character.

That lesson resulted in a paradigm shift for Seth, whose brother, Scott Avett, was about to encounter his own musical turning point in the form of bluegrass. It was an unlikely genre for the brothers to gain their footing. Growing up on a farm in Concord, North Carolina, they spent their adolescence rebelling against any semblance of the rural culture reflected around them. Amidst a landscape of NASCAR races and country music, the duo wore flannels and combat boots, idolized Nirvana, and started a heavy-rock band called Nemo.

“I was gone to art school when Seth was young and still around in Concord and able to visit with Doc, so the personal connection there was different for me. I had not found my voice with an instrument yet. I was used to being in bands where we would sit and we would just play and just jam loud riffs, and I would just write lyrics, so I was always just all about the show, the lyrics, the poetry of it, the art of it,” Scott says. “But when I picked up the banjo out of an attempt at irony — because I didn’t know people who played the banjo — when I picked it up, I instantly connected with it: the harshness of it, also the sweetness of it … the dichotomy of that.”

Scott had dreams of fame, even when he was a little kid. In May It Last, he talks about how he used to imagine that a camera crew from Hollywood would happen to discover him while walking through the woods where he was playing.

“That’s in the value of growing up in a small place, where the views of, let’s just say New York City or Los Angeles, through this window of TV in the ’80s, you saw neighborhoods and landscapes and places that you thought, ‘Well where is that happening?’ ‘What is that?’ and, ‘How does that happen?’ You romanticize about it,” Scott says. “Just being from a small place, the value of that is so huge to develop the reach that we all aspire to, and I try to maintain that to keep the romantic view of the Big Apple. I’m not looking to crack that and ruin that.”

He says his parents encouraged his dreams, instilling a belief and drive in him and his brother from an early age. “There’s a form of being privileged that we experienced that has nothing to do with money or economic status. Our parents, they raised us in such a privileged way, and we were privileged in the sense that they surrounded us with encouragement and love and motivation for imagination,” he notes. “Our upbringing is just a massive part of the whole story.”

After picking up the banjo, Scott began incorporating tunes by Ramblin’ Jack Elliott and Old and In the Way into the band’s live set, while never losing sight of the Avett Brothers’ signature energy and vocal delivery. The result was a fusion of punk’s grit and folk’s heart, which yielded an undeniable sound that was distinctly Avett.

They met Bob Crawford through a friend and invited him to join the band on the stand-up bass. Cellist Joe Kwon officially came on board a few years later with the recommendation of Crawford, solidifying the Avett Brothers’ core lineup. From the family farm in North Carolina to the stage of Madison Square Garden, May It Last chronicles Scott and Seth’s journey by combining home movies, curated performances found on YouTube, on-screen interviews, and footage filmed over a period of more than two years in which the band recorded 2016’s True Sadness, their ninth studio album and fourth consecutive full-length with producer Rick Rubin.

But May It Last goes beyond the confines of a traditional music documentary thanks to co-directors Michael Bonfiglio and Judd Apatow (who used the Avett Brothers’ “Live and Die” in the credits of his comedy This Is 40).

“The thing that we knew from the beginning was that we wanted to make something that was real, that wasn’t a promotional piece for a band, that wasn’t just a behind-the-scenes of making an album,” Bonfiglio explains. “If we’re following the making of an album, at least to start, we know there’s a beginning, middle, and end to that process … But we knew that we didn’t want to make something just for the fans. We knew that we didn’t want to make something just for people who are really into music documentaries. Judd and I are both kind of nerdy about that; either of us would totally watch a movie that’s nothing but the creative process, but we wanted to make something that kind of transcended that, that somebody who had never heard of this band could find things to relate to and could enjoy as a moving experience.”

May It Last is as much a documentation of the creative process as it is a study of the human condition. What Scott and Seth lack in commonalities, they make up for in brotherly love. “We were terrified a lot of the time because there’s no conflict. What makes things interesting and compelling is seeing strong personalities not getting along and being able to make something — and this is totally the opposite,” Bonfiglio says.

“There were so many times when we would be like, ‘Is anybody going to watch this?’ And obviously, as we continued to work, what we found is what was so exciting and fresh and different and beautiful about it was how well they do get along and how they respect each other and take care of one another as human beings, as well as artists, and that’s what our movie was about — in addition to the fact that we spent so much time with these guys that, throughout that time, life was happening. They were changing as people. Things were happening in their lives, and we were able to kind of document that and watch that unfold. It’s a movie about people and relationships.”

The pains and triumphs that arose for the Avett Brothers throughout the filming of May It Last weren’t byproducts of being Grammy-nominated musicians on the road. Instead, they were universal: heartache, loss, joy, success. The film’s most tender moments surround Seth’s divorce, the birth of Scott and Seth’s children, and the wake of Crawford’s daughter undergoing surgery to remove a brain tumor.

A through-line throughout the documentary revolves around the family you’re born into and the family you make. There’s a distinct, palpable bond between Scott and Seth, but the genuine, strong ties between all of the band members can’t be ignored. Scott says the band’s closeness didn’t happen by design.

Michael Bonfiglio and Judd Apatow

“This can never be constructed intentionally, ever; it never could have been. We can’t take any credit for that. The only thing that we can identify as reason for this happening is that we try to be truthful and sincere about how we include people,” he explains. “Everyone that’s in our band, we worked together before we ever got on stage together, so it was never a hired first situation. It was really a friend first thing … For this band, we’re just lucky that we let it grow and, at this point, now that Paul [Defiglia] has left, let it contract naturally and not just fill spaces with someone else. We are what we are, and we grow and contract as we should and try to follow nature. The family love is there because it’s grown naturally and at a realistic pace.”

In May It Last, the band extends that same care to viewers, inviting them into their world as one of their own by offering an intimate look at some of their most vulnerable moments. One such moment occurs in the latter half of the film. After recording the gut-wrenching “No Hard Feelings” in the studio, Scott and Seth take a breather outside after Rubin and company congratulate them on the song. From behind the camera, Bonfiglio asks the duo to discuss what’s running through their minds. In an emotional and creative haze, they lay out the difficulty they have receiving praise for songs that stem from the most dark, tragic experiences of their own lives.

“That moment, after we shot it and by the time we got to the edit room, it was pretty clear that that would be the emotional climax of the movie. It was the most visceral, raw scene that we had captured and it spoke so directly to who these guys are as artists and what they do and their relationship with that and how they reconcile their lives,” Bonfiglio says. “That song is an incredibly personal song that you see what went into it in the performance of it and their reaction after and you hear it in the lyrics. It was probably one of the first scenes we worked on and one of the last scenes we worked on, in terms of just trying to get every single moment of it right. There’s not a whole lot of cuts in it, but we just really worked on it a lot, in terms of what came right before it and what comes after it.”

Completely funded by Apatow without a studio backing, May It Last premiered at this year’s SXSW and made its public debut during a one-night only screening last month. Encore showings have been scheduled through November, and HBO has picked up the U.S. television rights with an air date of early 2018. With the Avett Brothers’ down-to-earth nature and endearing honesty, viewers will carry the meaning behind May It Last with them long after the credits fade to black.

“You’ve got to throw yourself out there. That’s really what being an artist is about — exploiting your weaknesses,” Scott says. “I really believe that in myself, that I have to expose and exploit those weaknesses to relate to other people.”

Jumping into the Deep End: A Conversation with Billy Strings

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Guitar virtuoso Billy Strings (born William Apostol) is on the road somewhere between here and there, when he picks up the phone. That question “Where exactly?” gives him pause. “The other day, I couldn’t remember where I was,” he admits, a note of earnestness betraying his 25 years of age. It’s that sweet natured tendency the young have to overshare. “It took me probably at least 40 or 50 seconds just to go, ‘Oh yeah.’ I don’t know if you’ve ever felt that before, but it’s a really strange thing.” It’s the kind of problem that comes with being a popular bluegrass musician, and one he’s forever adjusting to as he zips from city to city. “We were in the van once, and I literally asked the question, ‘Is this where we are?’” he says with a laugh, knowing the existential weight of his own seemingly ordinary question.

Billy’s ever-probing mind, technical proficiency, and weighted voice all suggest a much older player. He recently released his debut LP, Turmoil & Tinfoil, recorded with Greensky Bluegrass’s producer, Glenn Brown, in the dead of Michigan’s winter. Even in that setting, it burns with a feverish heat. “It was like being snowed in, like cabin fever,” Billy says about the session, which could explain the album’s bracing pace. As much as he nods to tradition on Turmoil & Tinfoil, he also playfully stretches the bounds of bluegrass via face-melting guitar phrasing (thanks to his abiding interest in heavy metal, classic rock, the blues, and more) and socially conscious songs. Both the wounded “Living Like an Animal” and the frustrated “Dealing Despair” pry into issues of personhood and community at a time when both seem more fractured than ever. What others have termed his “authenticity,” Billy chalks up to “honesty,” and it serves, in a way, as his battle cry. He’s not afraid to keep asking questions, big or small.

Just out of curiosity, how many back-up strings do you bring on tour, given your penchant for breaking them in your wilder fits of playing?

Nowadays, I actually have three guitars onstage with me. I have two Preston Thompsons on stage, and then I have a Roy Noble on stage with me, as well. Rarely do I get to the third one anymore, but there have been times where I’ll reach for the Roy Noble.

So would you say, then, that a particularly crazy night on stage is a Roy Noble night?

Yeah, I guess so. You could.

Tradition has long been a defining force within bluegrass. How have you navigated your way through it?

I grew up playing bluegrass music and traditional bluegrass music, and I have a deep passion for that, as well, but I like all kinds of music.

Right, I know you’re a big metal fan, specifically.

Yeah, I love some death metal and some rock ‘n’ roll and blues. I like all sorts of stuff. When I was younger, I was a little bit more closed-minded about a lot of things, whether it was “Why would you want to play bluegrass but not bluegrass?” This or that, you know? But eventually I got out of that shell, and I want to get so far away from that “This is bluegrass and this ain’t” as I can. It’s just music. I’m just trying to let myself be free with music.

I think that’s something that we’re seeing a lot from the younger generation, bringing all these influences into the genre.

Definitely. I think there will always be a hint of traditional bluegrass in my shows because that’s how I learned to play guitar. My ears were trained by “How Mountain Gals Can Love” and “Blue Moon of Kentucky” — that’s the music I cut my teeth on. You’ll always hear it, I think, but I’m also going to do whatever the song calls for. I used to be embarrassed to show anybody a song that I wrote, and I’m just trying to ditch that whole mentality. Who cares if a song is that or this, or if somebody likes it or they don’t? It’s the song.

You’ve mentioned in the past that you’ve never learned anything note for note; instead, you just hear it and emulate it. What does your writing process look like, then, for original compositions?

It looks like me walking around my house with my guitar, staring at my reflection in the microwave. Pacing back and forth when nobody’s home, just scribbling on notebooks and stuff, and being on my Google Doc. I sit there with my guitar and I sing it and then, if I got something cool, I’ll write it down.

“Dealing Despair” is such a powerful original song in light of how divided the country seems. Where did that come from?

I actually wrote that quite a while back. It was after another unarmed Black man was shot down by police, and I was awfully pissed off. I was shook. I’m feeling it lately, too; there’s so much going on in the world.

It feels so divided. I mean, it always has been, but more than ever it seems.

Yeah, and we should just talk about music. But I’m feeling it lately, and you’ve gotta write about what you’re feeling, and that goes back to what I was saying about letting it happen and not worrying about if people are going to like it or not because certainly some people might take that song as a little aggressive.

I know some listeners keep clamoring for artists to shut up about politics and just be artists, but bluegrass has always been a space to sort through social issues.

Well, man, that’s folk music. Look at Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan. You have to sing about that shit. You absolutely have to. It’s kind of our duty. I’m not going to punch anybody in the face. I’m not going to carry a gun. I’m not going to fight a war. But with my guitar, I will. All I have is my songs to fight back against the ugliness that’s out there.

But that fight exists as an “either/or” these days, and it can alienate certain listeners.

I want people that are loving and not cruel to each other to come to my shows. I really don’t care what anybody thinks. I’m just doing my thing.

Turning away from politics, your father also played on this album.

Yeah, he’s on the last track [“These Memories of You”].

I thought so! The harmonies have this interesting familial tone.

What you just said is a huge compliment to me. My voice sounds the best when it’s right next to his; I can’t sing with anybody like that. My dad didn’t even know that song. He just walked right into the studio, and I wrote the lyrics on a piece of paper, and he just did it. He knows how to follow me, and I know how to follow him. My dad is a seriously heartfelt musician. When he plays a song, he really means it. He’s not just saying the words.

You learned from him when you were younger, so what was that moment like in the studio?

He was so happy to be there. It was kind of like he was a little kid. He sits around the house and plays, but he rarely goes and plays on stage anywhere — let alone in a recording studio.

And look how the tables have turned.

Those moments are what I cherish the absolute most. For instance, when I was six or seven years old, I was learning “Beaumont Rag,” and I just played the rhythm, but I kept messing it up in this one part. Right in the middle of the song, I said, “Stop. Dad, why don’t you play it and let me listen?” I listened to what he was trying to say with the guitar, and I go, “Now, let me try it again,” and I nailed it. He started laughing. He reached over his guitar and squeezed my little hand. He called my grandmother and said, “Listen to your grandson right now!” I was a little kid, but I’ll never forget that moment. Now there have been several moments since then, like when I got to introduce my dad to David Grisman in real life because my dad introduced me to David Grisman when I was seven years old. We got to sing songs all night.

That is so wild.

Yeah, it is wild because we come from a tiny little town and it’s not always been easy, and our family has had a lot of crazy stuff. Those moments are super good for me because I feel like it’s that same thing: It brings me right back to when I got the “Beaumont Rag” right. It really pushes me, and there are all sorts of reasons that I’m doing this, but that’s a huge one — because mom and dad are proud. I’m so grateful that they turned me onto this music. My childhood was a lot of bluegrass. I’m so grateful for that because I love this music.

It’s interesting, too, because it seems like listeners are, in part, gravitating toward what they keep calling your authenticity. At 25 years old, that can be a loaded statement. How have you found your own way through that kind of praise?

I don’t know. I haven’t heard that word thrown around me that much.

Maybe not to your face.

Yeah, right. When I was talking about my songwriting, I’m just trying to do my thing and just be honest. Even in life. Don’t dip your toes in the water; just jump right into the deep end. Don’t get yourself into a situation that you don’t want to be in because you know what you really want. Don’t lie to yourself. Just be yourself.

You are wise beyond your years.

I think a lot, you know?

That comes across in your playing, too.

When I’m playing, it’s easy to learn a song and go through the routine and just play it night after night. But when I go out on stage, that’s not what I do. I try to actually pour it out with my guitar, from my heart. If you listen to a lot of the people I grew up listening to — Mac Wiseman, Bill Monroe, Larry Sparks, Keith Whitley — when they’re singing, they’re not kidding. That’s why you can cry when you hear it. I love players like that. And there’s so much music out there today, you know Top 40 everything, that’s garbage.

Well, it’s too constructed, but I can see how your dad shaped you to sing from the heart.

Every time he picks up the guitar, he does that.

What a great way to learn.

I also learned a lesson from Sam Bush without him saying anything. I leaned over and took a drink of my beer — this was quite a while ago — and I looked over at Sam Bush and he had his eyes closed playing the hell out of the rhythm. It’s like, “Why do I think that I can just stop playing the song right now to take a sip of beer? Wake up, kid. You’re playing a song. What are you doing?” It’s that attitude. Whenever those dudes play, Sam Bush gives it 110 percent. Bryan Sutton was telling me the other day that Doc would never pick up his guitar and just play a little ditty or half of a song; he would always play the whole song.

Speaking of Bryan, I know you collaborated on “Salty Sheep.” How did that come about?

I think I just called him and asked him. [Laughs] It was so amazing for me. We sat a microphone in between us, and we sat in two chairs really close to each other, just facing each other. With no headphones on, we just played the tune a couple times, and holy shit.

Well, talk about Doc Watson vibes.

Well, that’s what me and him geek out on. When we go to lunch, we’re always talking about Doc Watson. We both love him so much.

So we can expect a covers album from you two soon?

I have no idea. I’m down, but you’d have to ask Bryan. He’s such a wonderful friend and mentor. He’s done this 20 years, and he’s got a lot of advice for a young guy like me. I’m so grateful for that advice. He just gives it away for free because he’s a good friend and he cares about guitar and Doc’s legacy and all that. I’m honored to have him as a friend, and completely honored to have him on the record.