Tag: double banjo

Double the Banjos, Double the Fun!

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Twin fiddles are the bluegrass instrumental duo that get all the attention, but double banjos are really where it’s at. (Is this writer a banjo player? Why, yes. Is this writer biased? Why, of course!) It makes sense that twin or triple fiddling would end up more popular than double or triple banjos, given that fiddles are sounded by bows, so the melodic contours are more like vocal harmony, often longer phrases and bow strokes languidly and charismatically laced together. Banjos, with their rapid-fire sixteenth notes and syncopated, idiosyncratic rolls, are just more difficult to sync up. Hundreds – if not thousands – of banjo jokes devoted to rhythm and timing will certainly back that claim up.

But double banjo is an art form as old as bluegrass itself – and older, by quite a few dozen decades, if you count early American popular music, banjo orchestras, minstrel and vaudeville songs that all centered banjos before and during the turn of the 19th to 20th century.

In bluegrass, twin five-strings are at their most astounding in jaw-dropping and acrobatic contexts such as High Fidelity’s incredible rendition of the Don Reno classic instrumental, “Follow the Leader.” Famous for his steel guitar and chicken-pickin’ Telecaster licks transferred to banjo, Reno’s harebrained and wonky turns of phrase might seem like the last musical context in which one should attempt perfect synchronization, especially on banjo, but Jeremy Stephens and Kurt Stephenson defy reason, logic, and surely physics with their buttery, seamless, double banjo blend. The track perfectly encapsulates the “WHAT IS THAT!?” quality of five-string, three-finger banjo – raised to the second power.

Anyone who grew up tuning in to or has ever binge-watched reruns of Hee Haw knows the beauty of a good double, triple, quadruple, quintuple banjo number, a common feature of the homespun country, comedy, and pickin’ variety show. Roy Clark, the Hee Haw host who could tear through almost any instrument in any style, released an entire album of double banjo music with regular Hee Haw guest Buck Trent in 1978 called Banjo Bandits. “Down Yonder” kicks with all-too-rare (and certainly delicious) bluegrass piano, a delightful intro to a bluegrass, old-time, and American songbook standard that almost sounds like a carnival merry-go-round thanks to the effect of the banjos “in stereo.” Banjo Bandits is something like a bluegrass and country double banjo primer, every track a stunning example of the form.

Like twin fiddling, double banjo lends itself so intuitively to the collaborative, community quality of bluegrass music. Through many a duo album and “featured artist” slot pickers have been using double banjo tunes to bring in their favorites, their mentors, their heroes, and their peers to swap licks, rising and falling, rolling and tumbling in breakneck unison. Alison Brown’s first Grammy Award was won for “Leaving Cottondale,” her double banjo instrumental with Béla Fleck from her also-nominated 2000 record, Fair Weather. In 2007, modern banjo hero Tony Trischka released a 14-track album of all twin banjo tunes entitled Double Banjo Bluegrass Spectacular. Its roster included Earl Scruggs, Brown, Fleck, Noam Pikelny, Steve Martin, and more. On “Doggy Salt,” a silly, winking instrumental that reconfigures the classic chord progression of “Salty Dog,” Scott Vestal joins Trischka, leaning into the humorous, comedic quality of these sorts of duets — a quality we see in Banjo Bandits and “Follow the Leader,” too.

Do not be mistaken, though, putting together a banjo duet isn’t just a comedic or intra-bluegrass activity! Cross-genre double banjo forays are certainly just as delightful, if not rarer and even more difficult to lock into rhythmic synchronization. Those that can mesh together three-finger’s rolling right hand with clawhammer and frailing’s loping, looser right hand are true virtuosos, defying not one but two genre’s expectations that banjos are intrinsically arhythmic and constantly rushing. Old-time players like Allison de Groot, Cathy Fink, Mark Johnson, Victor Furtado, and others all make it look and sound easy, matching their bluegrass compatriots’ rhythms and syncopations with ease and not just blending in, but counterpointing tastefully as well. One such recording, “Cluck Old Hen” from Pikelny’s Beat the Devil and Carry a Rail project, features Steve Martin, once again, on clawhammer. A less traditional approach, the two play with textures and senses, not striving for perfect unison, but rather exploring what an old-time-and-bluegrass dialogue can look and sound like, expanding our ideas of what twin banjo can be.

No matter the context, genre, roster of pickers, or style of playing, this fact remains true: more banjos equals more fun. (To this writer, at least.)

Building on Double Banjo, The Lowest Pair Concoct ‘The Perfect Plan’

Posted on by Editor

The Lowest Pair may be best known as a double-banjo folksinger duo, yet their new album is a full-band effort that somehow sounds like a complete departure without actually straying from home. It’s a fitting theme, considering that the release of The Perfect Plan – their sixth album in seven years – arrives during a global pandemic. BGS spoke with bandmates Kendl Winter and Palmer T. Lee as they were isolated in separate homes in Olympia, Washington.

“We’re supposed to have been on the road now — a couple of festivals the past couple of weeks,” says Winter, who spent this past winter in Antarctica working at a scientific research station and running the annual South Pole Marathon, in which she set a women’s time record. “We were thinking we were going to hit the ground running and now we’re just hitting the ground, trying to figure out how to promote the record in this new paradigm.”

On the bright side, with any luck, the fact that everyone is stuck at home will provide plenty of time to digest The Perfect Plan’s complex instrumentation and intuitive arrangements, worked out with multi-instrumentalist and producer Mike Mogis (Bright Eyes). Although previous efforts feature the stripped-down duo sound fans have come to enjoy in their live sets, this project is a little more aurally ambitious. Listeners still get their banjo and acoustic guitar, but these are afloat amid bass, drums, and electric guitar with all its effects.

“We wanted to hear what [our music] would sound like with a bigger sound,” Winter says. “We went into the studio pretty open to what Mogis was thinking, in terms of production. I think we both have dreamed about having drums and bass behind us. It’s not as easy to do on the road, but it was kind of a fantasy record.”

Lee, a Minnesota native who spent his winter at a writing retreat in Wisconsin, agrees. “We’ve definitely been talking about doing bigger band stuff in different ways over the years. Logistically, it’s a bit of a challenge and a bit of a gamble, I suppose. Being a duo, you keep your overhead pretty low. It’s just simpler that way. But it’s definitely been a dream of ours for a while.”

The Lowest Pair began when Winter and Lee were playing in other groups. They spotted each other at a bluegrass festival. “I remember seeing Palmer’s string band and noticing a kindred thing he was going for,” Winter says. “He played the banjo but differently from other people, putting more notes in it. He has a soulful voice, saying stuff that isn’t very common in bluegrass music. He had a song about tea and I had a song about tea, about drinking tea. I felt like … we’re going for similar things from really different places, with different vehicles.”

That night, they spent hours jamming around a campfire. Though they continued to follow each other on social media, it was another five years before their paths crossed again. Both were considering solo projects and decided instead to join forces, ultimately naming their duo after a John Hartford poem.

Winter remembers: “Palmer got a hold of me and said, ‘You look like you need a singing buddy.’ He proposed the idea of doing an album together. As soon as we started singing together people responded immediately. Both of us were like, ‘Well, we’ll just do this.’ We kind of had shows lined up before we even had a band, because I had been working on a solo project and no one really minded that I came with somebody else.”

As it happened, when that summer wrapped, Lee had studio time booked with Dave Simonett of Trampled by Turtles as producer. “I was going to do a solo record and then I [told Dave], ‘Hey, I’m working on this new project. Let’s do this instead.’ That’s when 36 cents happened,” Lee says of the duo’s 2014 debut album.

A string of quickly-released projects followed as Winter was on a roll, churning out great songwriting for one recording after another. Somewhere along the way, the duo got into a rhythm, barely even needing to break from a tour in order to jump into a studio and produce another album. But the idea of, at some point, slowing down long enough to put a full-band effort together kept gestating. They wanted to explore sounds beyond bluegrass, to see how their songs might be able to stretch them in new directions.

By the time they visited Mogis’ studio in Omaha last year, they knew almost instinctively that it would be the place. Though Winter and Lee stuck to the core of their sound on The Perfect Plan, balancing their banjos and vocals, there are a few tracks where they veered especially far from the norm.

On “Morning Light,” for example, Winter played most of the instruments herself while Lee simply added vocals. “We decided not to have banjo on the track,” she says. “That was one we actually did [with] layers and built it up. We had a vocal line that was … kind of an obnoxious vocal line that didn’t really work. We wrote lyrics for that song during the time we were there. That one got fleshed out in the studio. But, most of [the songs] we performed all together with the band, so it was really like, ‘Learn the song and let’s go.’”

“Mike had the demos for a couple of months before we came in,” Lee adds. “He had all sorts of ideas and had some musicians in mind. Then it kind of just happened organically. Kendl and I started playing through the songs and everyone would start jamming. It was pretty awesome.”

Mogis encouraged the duo to bring their own drummer, so they roped in Minneapolis mainstay J.T. Bates (Bonny Light Horseman, Big Red Machine). Fans of bluegrass know well that banjos and drums don’t always mix, as the latter can so easily overpower the percussive tonality of the former. Luckily Bates’ subtlety is so on-point his rhythms seem to follow the duo’s acoustic strings, rather than the other way around.

Lee explains, “On that ‘Wild Animal’ track, for instance, we just started jamming. Rather than drive the song in a particular direction, J.T. was able to find the best way to accent what was already happening.”

“Sometimes as we arrange, we fill up the space according to how we’re going to play as a duo,” adds Winter. “On the one hand, it gives us endless options. On the other hand, it gives us really limited options as to how many different sounds we can do as two people. But I think we left some space on these tunes to let people be creative. We didn’t want to get in there and have too strong an idea [of how everything should sound] because we knew Mike was magic and we wanted him to have a voice in it.”

Thanks to this somewhat laissez-faire approach, the arrangements are deeply intuitive, an extension of the intimate pairing of the duo itself. Rather than drown out the delicate subtlety that makes the Lowest Pair such a stirring band in the first place, The Perfect Plan centers the duo well and allows their unique vibe to lead the way.

The result is so sonically pleasing, it can be easy to forget there are so many people in the room behind the group. Winter and Lee had planned to pull that studio band together for a few live dates once the album dropped, but that part of the release schedule is on hold for now. Luckily, there’s plenty of richness on this album to dig into in the coming weeks.

But if The Perfect Plan is the album the Lowest Pair has been building up to for years, don’t mistake the duo for having hit their stride.

“A stride implies it was kind of smooth,” says Winter, provoking laughter from her bandmate. “I think we just got hooked on each other and the project has a momentum. I think we just kind of rolled into a lifestyle where this is what we do.”

Photo credit: Sarah Kathryn Wainwright

LISTEN: The Okee Dokee Brothers, “Raise a Ruckus”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: The Okee Dokee Brothers
Hometown: Minneapolis, Minnesota
Song: “Raise a Ruckus”
Album: Songs for Singin’
Release Date: May 1, 2020

In Their Words: “This is our ‘rewrite’ of an old traditional tune with new verses and some new chorus lines too. As The Okee Dokee Brothers, we like to take standards, dust them off a bit and add a bit of our own style. For this one, we wanted to keep the energy of the original responses (‘Raise a ruckus tonight’), but just change the melody a bit and add a bit more chaotic imagery. Hence, the broken vase, rotten tomatoes, and the tornado! This track leads off disc two on our new album, so we really wanted it to be a rowdy ruckus, a rompin’ rouser, and a singable stomper.

“We asked our buddy, Anthony Ihrig (three-finger bluegrass banjo picker from The High 48s bluegrass band in Minneapolis) to record a second banjo part on top of Justin’s clawhammer part, because who says a clawhammer-er can’t coexist with a Scruggs-style picker! So a big thanks to Anthony who laid down a smokin’ track for us. The more the merrier in this tornado of a tune. We knew we got a good take in the studio when all of us were good and sweaty and our voices were hoarse. So stomp, sing, and sweat along with us while we all raise one heckuva ruckus in this bluegrass situation we somehow got ourselves into.” — The Okee Dokee Brothers

okeedokeebros · Raise A Ruckus

Photo credit: Nate Ryan Photography

High Fidelity: A Natural Feel for Traditional Bluegrass

Posted on by Editor

It must be closing in on ten years since I first met Corrina Rose Logston Stephens, when she and I were both recruited into Retro & Smiling, a band devoted to the musical legacy of first generation Bluegrass Hall of Famers Don Reno and Red Smiley and their Tennessee Cut-Ups. Soon after that, the southwest Illinois native entered the music business program at Nashville’s Belmont University and began to establish herself as a formidable talent in the city’s bluegrass community.

In 2014, while working with a variety of bluegrass acts, including pioneering mandolinist (and Hall of Fame member) Jesse McReynolds, she and a couple of favorite colleagues—multi-instrumentalists Jeremy Stephens (whom she married that April) and Kurt Stephenson—did a little recruiting of their own in order to enter the long-running band competition at the Society for the Preservation of Blue Grass Music in America’s annual confab. With the addition of yet another multi-instrumentalist, Daniel Amick, and bassist Vickie Vaughn, High Fidelity won the contest, and a self-released album followed in 2016. The next year, the quintet signed with Rebel Records, and has now released their label debut.

Hills And Home is a stunning collection that, perhaps more than any other self-described traditional project, reveals the breadth of bluegrass music’s early years; it even features twin banjos, a rarity last featured a decade ago on Tony Trischka’s award-winning Double Banjo Bluegrass Spectacular, but once favored by artists like the Osborne Brothers and Eddie Adcock & Don Reno. And while there are a few familiar numbers, much of the album consists of relatively obscure works, like the Lilly Brothers & Don Stover’s “I Would Not Be Denied,” all rendered with an exquisite attention to detail that amplifies, rather than stifles, the fresh and compelling energy of High Fidelity’s approach.

As an enthusiastic fan of Corrina’s playing, I was curious to know whether she was wholly devoted to older styles of bluegrass, or whether the originality that was at the center of her senior thesis recording was still on her mind—and that’s where our conversation began.

You made an album of your own while you were at Belmont called Wind Caught My Bike, that was mostly originals written and played in a contemporary vein. And your album after that, Bluegrass Fiddler, was traditional. So are you still writing in a less traditional, more contemporary vein?

I am, I definitely am. But being a stylist in the sense of being able to separate styles and articulate those styles accurately has always been important to me, and something that I’ve admired. The person who I’d say is my biggest mentor, Jim Buchanan, he’s excellent at doing that; he can play like Jascha Heifetz, and then play Stéphane Grappelli, and then play some hoedown—and it all sounds different. Seeing that, being around people like him and Jeremy and Kurt made me want to do that. I wanted everything I did to be authentic, and only when I wanted to blend them, then I wanted that to happen; I didn’t want to be some mish-mash of things just because of my carelessness. But when I write, it’s just an outflow of [who] I am—a combination of all those influences. And there are no limitations on it, unless I want there to be.

Many of the musicians featured on the Bluegrass Situation are very eclectic, and it feels natural for these musicians to take elements from different kinds of music and put them together. And what I hear you saying is that you’re oriented more toward feeling that you want to be respectful of the integrity of a style; that’s what I hear you saying when you talk about being authentic. It’s a way of putting yourself into, rather than drawing from, that style. What’s attractive about that for you?

I am extremely detail-oriented. Everybody has to reign me in! So I think, why does this sound like this era of bluegrass and this person playing it, and why does that not necessarily. And if I want to convey a sound, then I have to abide by its specifics. I feel there’s a lot of power in being able to understand and articulate those things. You have people like Chris Thile, who understand those things and choose to put them together—as I do, in different situations—but I was always attracted to the first generation stuff, just probably because of how I grew up. And as I became closer friends with Kurt and Jeremy—I was 14 when I started playing in 2004, and I met Kurt in 2007 and Jeremy in 2009, and we were friends before we got serious dating—I saw them being able to segment that stuff, and that was always appealing to me.

High Fidelity is doing all old songs, but they’re by artists who sounded different from each other. Where do you locate yourselves between reinterpreting the song, which could be anything, and recreating the record?

I think the biggest thing is that there’s no formula, it’s all a feel thing. Somebody said—it could have been Chris Thile—that if you want to copy somebody, you should try it and see what happens, because you’re not going to end up sounding exactly like them. I, and I’m sure Kurt and Jeremy, have been in that place where you’re thinking, “I’m going to sound exactly like them.” Which is way harder than just saying, “Oh, this sounds like that to me.” So in High Fidelity, when we do “I Would Not Be Denied,” I’m not trying to sound exactly like the Lilly Brothers, or sing exactly like them, but I listen to what they’re doing, and I pull the highlights out of it.

High Fidelity’s sort of the convergence of that with many other added things, because Daniel and Vickie come from totally different places. Kurt and Jeremy and I grew up listening to it, and then Daniel and Vickie grew up listening to and playing music, too, but not the dyed-in-the-wool traditional bluegrass. And so they pull things out of different places. I think it’s a natural process, where you take in those influences, but you don’t obsess over sounding exactly like them, but you allow them to inform what you’re doing—and with your own constraints imposed of what you believe traditional bluegrass from that era sounds like, then something comes out that’s really interesting.

I feel blessed that High Fidelity has found this in a really natural way. I’ve never tried to sound like a man when I’m singing, but I listen to the timbre of the tenor singers’ voices, and I see that I need to push more with High Fidelity—much more than I do when I do my own thing. When I do my own thing, it’s just a natural outflow. So what ends up happening is that I don’t sound like I’m trying to sound like a man, but I’m trying to tap into the essence of bluegrass tenor singing. And then people are like “whoa, this is a girl singing this,”—and there are lots of things in High Fidelity that are interesting elements. Like when you look at a picture of us and then you listen to the music, there are some mind things that happen!

You’re strong in your faith, and in your musical preferences, and yet you guys are very much a part of a bigger musical and social community that’s built around bluegrass and the like.

Musically, that doesn’t ever seem like it’s an issue, because we each have a very diverse palette of what we like. Kurt plays with his wife, Andrea, and they do much more contemporary music—and of course, the things that I do are off the spectrum of insanity! Jeremy is also really rooted in old-time music, and he’s done a lot of commercial stuff with Ray Stevens, and things like that. I think there’s a stigma of, if you’re a traditional band, you don’t like any of that other stuff. But that’s not us at all. We went and played ROMP last year, and that was awesome; we didn’t feel weird there. We were proud and honored to be ambassadors for traditional music that day. So I don’t think we feel awkward about that; we love all these things.

And as far as our faith is concerned, the fact that we are all Christian people was just a coincidence that happened in putting the band together, and it was really cool. Because we were, wow, we can all approach these songs of the same mind. Which, other than Jeremy working with the Chuck Wagon Gang, is something that we had never really experienced in bluegrass band situations.

So the fact that we’re all Christians, and our example is Jesus…Jesus was out there doing stuff with everyone. There was nobody that was off-limits to him. And he said to go out there in the world and do stuff; be an example. That is a motivator for us, because we see ourselves as being a young traditional band, that are Christian, that are out there doing what we feel we’re called to be doing—being out there in the world. That’s what we feel the Bible says we’re supposed to do. So none of that ever really feels awkward as far as being part of the greater music community.

What do you guys hope that releasing this record will do for you?

The cool thing is that we started off doing what High Fidelity does because we just wanted to do it. We didn’t care what anyone thought. We thought it would be a sideline, cool, fun project, a recreational thing to supplement our musical endeavors. We never thought we were going to have a second record. And then people responded to it, and Rebel Records approached us, and we were like, wow, maybe we should do this.

Believe it or not, we had an existential crisis before this record. We felt like we’d pulled all the stops for the first one. Jeremy had had his little keepsake pile of songs forever, and he was like, “I’ve used all the gems, what are we going to do?” So we got to digging through stuff, and we amassed a bunch of stuff and sorted through it.

I say all that to say, we’ve really come with no expectations but to do what we wanted to do. And we’re satisfying ourselves musically in that way. One thing we never really focused on was putting ourselves out there. That’s always the burden of the musician, to have to do the business things. I love independently releasing things, and that’s very satisfying, but I know there’s a lot of things that come with having a record company behind you. Rebel has been amazing and I’ll never look at any of this the same way again. So I hope that the record gets us out there for people to know who we are, and I hope High Fidelity continues being a thing that grows. Before, it was a sideline thing, but it never stayed there. It just went like a rocket ship, and I hope the trajectory continues.

Photo credit (lead image): Warren Swann
Photo credit (within story): Russ Carson