WATCH: Lena Jonsson Trio, “Rallpersgubben kör timmer”

Artist: Lena Jonsson Trio
Hometown: Järvsö, Sweden
Song: “Rallpersgubben kör timmer” (“Old man Rallper drives timber”)
Album: Stories from the Outside
Release Date: May 2, 2020.
Label: Hedgehog Music

In Their Words: “I was visiting my parents’ house, where I grew up, over Christmas and they had been looking at old archive photos from the village. It was photos of people, houses, and forests. There was one specified photo of Rallpersgubben that caught my attention when he was working in the forest with some friends. It was such a nice document on that time and life in the village, so I got really inspired and wrote this tune.” — Lena Jonsson


 

The Fretless, ‘Maggie’s Set’

There was a time when the fiddle was a complete “band” unto itself. Barn dances, church gatherings, parties on the back porch, weddings, funerals … the musical cornerstone of these occasions, from Appalachia to Ireland and far beyond, was oftentimes a lone fiddle, standing apart, unencumbered. The ability of a fiddle to cut through the white noise and to wail at un-ignorable frequencies perfectly suited it to this role. There’s an immediacy to the droning sustain or slippery slurs, the humming double-stops or bouncing triplets of the instrument that, even solo, won’t leave your ears wanting more.

Canadian string ensemble the Fretless take this immediacy and multiply it by four. They translate the visceral, primal sounds that led fiddle to evolve into these one-instrument-band scenarios and weave them together so artfully that, all at once, they sound homogenous, as one cohesive unit, while the constituent parts remain perfectly distinct — as if they were each leading their own raucous living room step dance. On their brand new album, Live from the Artfarm, the recordings capture not only tones, but the space inhabited by the music, as well, reinforcing the accessibility of fiddles, viola, and cello in this capacity. On “Maggie’s Set” — a traditional set of the Irish tunes “Johnny O’Leary’s,” “The Miller’s Maggot,” and “The Sally Gardens” — you can feel the live audience leaning forward, reflecting the lilting energy of the modern-flavored percussive chopping and the timeless jig and reel drive back to the Fretless, who give it directly back to their audience. It’s almost as if they know they’re transporting each listener to a back porch, dance hall, or barn party with every bow stroke.

David Bragger and Susan Platz, ‘Devil in Georgia’

Welcome to a brand new, bi-weekly feature: Tunesday Tuesday. Think of this as the instrumental answer to our Song of the Week. Pickers are found at the center of bluegrass, old-time, blues — really all roots music forms — and their virtuosity is what attracts so many of us to the music. With Tunesday, we want to celebrate that virtuosity by highlighting incredible tunes and the nimble-fingered instrumentalists who play them.

We’ve suggested retiring overplayed songs before and the response was, well … mixed. Here’s a new idea: Let’s en-state a one in/one out policy for songs we’ve maybe had enough of. For example: Perhaps we should bench everyone’s favorite disco country, fiddlin’ trick song — “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” — and replace it with David Bragger and Susan Platz’s simple, stripped-down, old-time fiddle duet, “Devil in Georgia,” off their new album, King’s Lament, out February 2.

Bragger and Platz sourced the reel-like tune from Kentucky farmer/fiddler/mandolinist, Dock Roberts, who first recorded it in 1929. Here, it’s interpreted in the age-old style of two fiddles, alone and set apart, freewheeling and dancing in and out of harmony and counterpoint. Sure, there’s no paranormal fiddle battle with the devil incarnate, but you won’t miss that. It’s not flashy, it’s not gimmicky, it’s not set at a breakneck tempo. Instead, it’s a warm, subtle earworm with the breathiness, openness, and ease of old-time. Seems like a fair trade, yes?

Bonus points: If it reminds you of another tune, say, “Temperance Reel,” that’s because it is. It’s sometimes also known as “Teetotaler’s Reel,” “Kingsport,” “Old Tiddley-Toe,” “Rocky Road to Denver,” and, perhaps the best option of the bunch, “Where’s My Other Foot?” Ah, old-time with their alternate tune names!

MIXTAPE: Mike Barnett’s Favorite Fiddlers

If you want to know who the best fiddlers in bluegrass and old-time are, ask one of the best fiddlers in bluegrass and old-time … right? Here, Mike Barnett rattles off not just a list of songs by great players, but the reasons they are so great. Enjoy his insider’s view.

“Flannery’s Dream” – John Hartford

Records from John Hartford like Wild Hog in the Red Brush and Speed of the Old Long Bow got me really excited about the energy in old-time music. I never got to meet Hartford, but feel a connection to him through his music. He brings a special vibe that I’ve often tried to channel. I’ve heard stories that he used to have a guideline that nobody in his band could repeat their accompaniment/part for more than one section of a song, everyone had to mix up their playing often, which gives his music a certain drive and breath.

“Black and White Rag” – Johnny Gimble

When I heard Johnny Gimble play at Mark O’Connor’s camp maybe 14 years ago, it was so strikingly Texas, so rooted in that tradition. I particularly remember his feel when playing Texas rags captivating me, like here in the “Black and White Rag.” Johnny helped me understand more deeply the true spirit and community of Texas-style music.

“Bound to Ride” – John Hartford, Tony Rice, and Vassar Clements

Vassar Clements invented his own, incredibly unique style of fiddling. The vibrato, silky tone, double stops and slides … it’s like magic whenever he touches the fiddle, and I can tell within two notes if it’s him. This recording of “Bound to Ride” is a great snapshot into Vassar’s unique way of playing around a melody, backing up the vocal, and lifting the energy of a song.

“Dill Pickle Rag” – Buddy Spicher and Vassar Clements

Buddy Spicher is one of the legends, and one of those fiddlers you’ve probably heard but maybe didn’t know it was him. It was Buddy who got me wanting to play second fiddle — the harmony. This recording of Buddy with Vassar on “Dill Pickle Rag” shows some of Buddy’s genius and virtuosity (and Vassar’s!).

“Lonesome Moonlight Waltz” – Kenny Baker

Hard not to mention Kenny Baker here. I listened to his album Kenny Baker Plays Bill Monroe frequently growing up, and I’m still trying to understand those bowings! His playing is so clean, clear, good tone and time, and great melody player.

“Sally Goodin'” – Paul Warren

“Sally Goodin'” was actually the first COUNTRY hit! #funfact It was Tony Trischka who got me listening to Paul Warren when I was about 17. Another one of the legends in bluegrass fiddle, Paul brings a grit and edge that is often lost in modern bluegrass fiddling.

“Estrellita” – Bobby Hicks

Once Bill Monroe was asked if he had a favorite fiddler of those who’d played in his band. Bill said, “I’ve had a lot of fiddlers come through my band, but I believe Bobby Hicks was the truest fiddler I ever had.” Bobby is the double-stop king, and took a lot from what Tommy Jackson did with his single note playing around a vocal and made it his own.

“Back Up and Push” – “Benny Martin

Benny Martin’s double stops, attack, and full-throttle style really resonate with me. The tone he gets in this version of “Back Up and Push” makes it seem as if he’s got a brick tied to the end of his bow. And when he gets to the shuffle, it’s clear that so many contemporary fiddlers have been heavily influenced by how he did it.

“Raggedy Ann” – Curly Ray Cline

If you’re wondering who ever had the most fun playing the fiddle, all you need to do is search “Curly Ray Cline Orange Blossom Special” on YouTube, and you’ll find that it was in fact Curly Ray Cline! He’s most known for his work with the Lonesome Pine Fiddlers and Ralph Stanley and is as much a treat to watch as to listen to. I love his note choice and where he plays in the beat — what he does with the time.

“Fire in the Mountain” – Scotty Stoneman and Bill Emerson

Scotty Stoneman was a wild man of a fiddler. His double stops and slides, and aggressive approach to the fiddle, are some things I’ve always gone and checked back in with in my listening. You can hear some of what I’m talking about with Scotty’s sound in the recording of him playing “Fire in the Mountain.”

“Learnin’ the Blues” – The Del McCoury Band

The Del McCoury Band is one of the finest — if not THE finest — bluegrass bands still in the business. One G run from Del will set you straight for the whole year. Jason Carter has got the old bluegrass sound, and I love how much he digs in and goes for stuff, and pulls so much sound and soul out of the fiddle.

“Pickin’ the Devil’s Eye” – Bruce Molsky

I’ve always loved this recording Bruce Molsky made with Rushad Eggleston, Darol Anger, and Michael Ducé of “Pickin the Devil’s Eye.” The groove masters! Or maestros! Bruce’s propulsive bowing, groove, and reverence for tradition is really remarkable. He’s basically a one man band, and hearing him here is transcendent.

“Buffalo Nickel” – Béla Fleck and the Flecktones

Stuart Duncan has played on countless recordings so it was hard to choose just one, but Béla Fleck’s Bluegrass Sessions was one of the most influential for me, and a major landmark in acoustic music. “Buffalo Nickel” is gorgeous, and Stuart plays the melody with so much taste, tone, feel, soul, intonation … all the good things. To me, Stuart has always been sort of a perfect combination of all the things I love about fiddling.

“Future Man” – Strength in Numbers

Mark O’Connor is one of the most versatile players on the planet, combining so many styles and influences so flawlessly to create his own incredible voice. Telluride Sessions by Strength in Numbers is another must-have album. The way everyone plays together, and Mark’s precision and virtuosity … amazing. His solo here on “Future Man” is a highlight — a glimpse of what Mark is capable of.

“Ducks in the Millpond” – Aubrey Haynie

Aubrey Haynie is the initial reason why I got into bluegrass. His sound made me want to learn how to do that. One of my favorite fiddle albums out there is Aubrey’s The Bluegrass Fiddle Album. I like this cut of “Ducks on the Millpond” — a really cool instrumental that weaves between three sections. Aubrey mostly plays the melody with so much tone and taste, and varies it slightly toward the end.

“Sweet Georgia Brown” – Billy Contreras

Not everyone is familiar with the fiddle stylings of Billy Contreras, as his genius is less substantially documented. I think he is the greatest improviser on the violin to ever live, and a master when it comes to bluegrass, swing, modern jazz… he can do it all. His brilliant, almost mathematical mind for music, combined with his deep heart for it all, is endlessly inspiring.

“Lee Highway Blues” – Darol Anger and Stuart Duncan

Growing up, I listened to so much music that Darol Anger is responsible for: Republic of Strings, duo with Mike Marshall, his own projects, his work with the David Grisman Quintet, etc. Besides his amazing lead playing, he is known for paving new roads for the violin as a rhythm instrument with his infectious groove and development of the fiddle chop. His album, Diary of a Fiddler, has so many thoughtful duets with great fiddlers of different styles.

“It Don’t Mean a Thing” – Stuff Smith

Matt Glaser, who turned me onto so much priceless music during my time at Berklee College of Music, introduced me to Stuff Smith. I love Stuff’s emphasis on groove and blues, and the grit and directness in his sound.


Photo credit: Justin Canerer

10 Bluegrass Songs Ready for Retirement

Let’s blow up some balloons, get everyone’s signatures on the card, buy a Costco sheet cake, and send each of these bluegrass songs into their golden years with a loving swat on the rear. Buy that motorhome! See the country! Spend more time with your family!

10. “Man of Constant Sorrow”

Why is this bluegrass staple ready to be put out to pasture? Because, right now, you’re imagining George Clooney with Dan Tyminski’s voice.

9. “Ashokan Farewell”

Fiddle contests, weddings, funerals, jams destined to be busted … this interminable waltz has been everywhere! Except retired. It’s often touted as an old Civil War tune, but the truth is, it was made popular by a 1990s PBS miniseries, then promptly played into oblivion.

8. “Big Spike Hammer”

If you know what “mash” is, you know why this one made the list. Also, it doesn’t really mean what it once did now that Della Mae has appropriated the lyric. RETIRE IT.

7. “Raining in L.A.”

This one will live on forever, reverberating off the walls of IBMA and SPBGMA’s host hotels. It no longer needs us to sustain it. “Raining in L.A.” doesn’t make me wanna stay, I’ll tell you what.

6. “Blue Moon of Kentucky”

For all of the thousands of times it’s been performed and the hundreds of times it’s been covered, somehow collectively we still can’t remember when it goes into 4/4 time and how the split breaks are divvied up. And if there’s a single Kentuckian in the audience, they’re going to request it. Let’s cut our losses on this one.

5. “Rawhide”

We already have “Back Up and Push.” Bluegrass only needs one tune in C without a distinguishable melody, right?

4. “Little Maggie”

There comes a point in the lifespan of a popular song where it’s more often butchered than homaged. Therefore, “Little Maggie” privileges have been unilaterally revoked. Listen to this recording and think about what you’ve done.

3. “Dueling Banjos”

“Where two or three are gathered …” with banjos out of the cases, there some dumbass requesting “Dueling Banjos” will also be. Can we retire the “Paddle faster, I hear banjo music!” t-shirts with this one, too?

2. “Wagon Wheel”

If your knee-jerk reaction to this song appearing on this list is “That ain’t bluegrass!” let’s quibble over that detail after we’ve relegated this torturous, Frankenstein-esque, pseudo-grass, I-just-bought-a-banjo-at-a-flea-market earworm to that pearly Johnson City, Tennessee, in the sky.

1. “Rocky Top”

On the 50-year anniversary of the Osborne Brothers’ release of “Rocky Top,” it seems fitting that we should take this stalwart of a song out of the greater bluegrass repertoire and put it in a safe place, where it can no longer be abused, taken for granted, or interrupted with loud shouts of “WOOOO!” If you anticipate going into “Rocky Top” withdrawals, just head down to the Grand Ole Opry. You can still hear Bobby Osborne & the Rocky Top X-press perform it — and they are the only ones today really doing the song justice. And at tempos not every 85-year-old could sustain.

LISTEN: Rayna Gellert, ‘Grey Bird’

Artist: Rayna Gellert
Hometown: Elkhart, IN
Song: “Grey Bird”
Album: Workin’s Too Hard
Release Date: January 20, 2017
Label: StorySound Records

In Their Words: “We thought the album was done and dusted, ready to master, and then ‘Grey Bird’ came flying in. Kieran and I, in the instant inspired, finished it sitting in the studio, and then we all chased down the arrangement together. Working with such versatile musicians makes it hard to narrow down the options. But as soon as I heard the octave-mando-and-electric-guitar combination, I knew we’d captured it.” — Rayna Gellert

Songs in the Key of Life: An Interview with Shirley Collins

“It seems such a contradiction, really,” says Shirley Collins with a bright, lively laugh. “I’m such a cheerful person, but I love all these dark songs.” Her new album, a gem titled Lodestar, is full of viscera and violence: drownings and stabbings and poisonings, what might be a bloody disembowelment, and a man dancing on the grave of the woman who rejected his proposal. Most of the songs are hundreds of years old, missives from deep within English history, and Collins sings them with a solemn matter-of-factness that lends heft to the human suffering.

She has been singing these songs for most of her life. In the late 1950s, she joined Alan Lomax on a three-month song-collecting tour of America, which she still speaks of fondly and excitedly. In the 1960s, she was at the vanguard of the English folk revival, recording old tunes in new settings, often a cappella, but sometimes with accompaniment by her sister Dolly Collins. In 1965, she paired with the guitarist Davey Graham for Folk Roots, New Routes, a landmark album that launched several generations of co-ed folk duos.

However, at the end of the 1970s, Collins abruptly stopped singing, recording, and performing. She retired to her cottage in Essex, where she raised her children and kept listening to the old songs. During that time, she developed a reputation as the grand dame of English folk music, inspiring musicians on both sides of the Atlantic, including Billy Bragg, Will Oldham, and the Decemberists’ Colin Meloy (who recorded a covers EP in 2006).

It’s only been in the last few years that she has found her voice again and returned to singing; Lodestar is her first record in nearly 40 years, and it’s one of the best and most welcome comebacks of 2016, a bright spot in a sorry year. The time away has added some grain and texture to her voice, which is lower and less steady than it was in the ‘60s and ‘70s but still careful in its phrasing and sensitive to the material — not just the human horrors contained in the songs, but the long histories they represent.

When you’re singing a song that’s several centuries old, are you thinking about the real people who might have sung it? Are you thinking about characters?

Not necessarily. You connect with the songs, but they’re not personal songs. What you’re doing is passing them on. You’re slightly removed from them, in a way, because we don’t sell songs, people who sing folk music. We don’t sell it. We don’t push it at you. We let you come to it, so I think it retains its essence. You don’t have to sing them in front of an audience, necessarily.

I just feel these people behind me — the people who have sung the songs down through centuries — and they know them by heart. I want to treat them with a warm respect and present them with the best accompaniments I can make, then just let people make up their minds about the songs. Just sing them as straight as I can, no embellishments really. Because that’s not the way we English sing, really. The Irish have great deal of ornamentation in their singing, but the English don’t. It’s just a different tradition. We sing the songs quite straightforwardly, but that doesn’t mean they’re not crammed with emotion. I think they are.

Singing these songs sounds like a very immersive experience for you, like you’re being swallowed up by history.

That’s absolutely right. You focus in on the song and you inhabit it, as well, but without it being pretentious. I can’t bear it when people show off when they’re singing or get too dramatic and overload a song. I just sing it as straightforwardly as I can, but recognizing that virtually every song has a fantastic history. So I feel responsible for doing the best I can with them. That, in one way, is why I stopped singing for so long: I felt I wasn’t doing the songs justice, and I couldn’t quite bear that. It was very difficult.

In what way?

My voice wasn’t up to it, for quite a long time. And I had a very bad marriage breakdown. My husband had left me for another woman almost overnight. I was singing in public every night at the National Theater with the [Albion Band]. We had a promenade audience right in front of us, and I was in such a state of heartbreak that, some nights, I opened my mouth to sing and I would croak. My voice would break or nothing would come out at all. Martin Carthy, who was also in the band, would help me out on those nights. Some nights it was fine, but it just got more and more scary because I didn’t know what was going to happen. I kept trying and trying, but finally I felt I couldn’t put myself through it and I can’t put the songs through it, either. I had two kids to bring up, so I had to find another job for quite a long time. But a friend said to me, "You listen to field recordings of old singers, and you don’t mind their voices being old." No, I guess I don’t. In fact, I love it. So I summoned up all my courage and started singing again. So here I am again and happy about that.

Do you revisit your old recordings? Especially for something like the new version of “Death and the Lady,” which you recorded in 1970.

I recorded that in the first instance with Dolly, my sister who did arrangements for flute and organ. Why did I go back to it? It’s a song that’s haunted me for ages. A musician friend of mine named David Tibet persuaded me, after some years of asking if I would sing at one of his concerts. He kept saying, "Just one or two songs." It was the first time I had sung in public for some time, and I knew I could manage to sing “Death and the Lady” because it wasn’t a huge range. I’d slightly altered the tune anyway. David played it on guitar, and it just felt so appropriate. It’s so dark, and there’s a real sinister quality to it, so I decided to put that one on the album.

Ian [Kearey], the guitarist who also produced the album, he and I meet regularly. It was Autumn and we were rehearsing “Death,” and I suddenly broke into a Muddy Waters version of it. You know “Mannish Boy,” of course. When I got to the verse about death, the verse that goes, “My name is death,” I went, “I spell it D. E. A. T. H.” I don’t think it’s disrespectful, really. It’s such a strong song that it can take it.

These songs provide such wonderful raw material. You can mold it into something new without losing its integrity.

Some purists might not like it, but it worked really well. The thought of death stalking the country is quite relevant these days, isn’t it? There’s so much many horror. Some people think that song comes from the time of the Black Death in Europe, when death really was stalking the land. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. It might be even older.

Were you choosing songs with any particular thematic criteria in mind?

We started off just with the first song, “Awake Awake Sweet England,” the penitential ballad, and it just grew from there. I jotted down one or two songs that I really like and had never really sung, like the “Banks of Green Willow,” which is a favorite of mine. It was collected here in Sussex, but I had never sung it and I wanted to. I had three or four songs jotted down, and then other things just filtered through into my mind. Other songs, like the last one, “The Silver Swan,” we used to sing it at home when we were children. Just the three of us: Mum, my sister Dolly, and me. It’s a five-part madrigal, and I was given the bass part or the tenor part because I had a deeper voice than mum or Dolly. When Ian and all of us were sitting around the table talking about the album, for some reason it just slipped into my head. I just sang it and everybody said, "We’ve got to do that." Every once in a while, there’s a bit of real good fortune and the right song comes to the forefront of your mind. You might have been lodging somewhere in the back of your mind for too long and suddenly it pops up and says, "Sing me! Sing me!"

I’m very pleased that I’ve recorded two American songs. Both were songs that Alan Lomax and I collected when I was over there in 1959. I actually collected “Pretty Polly” in Arkansas from Ollie Gilbert, who was a wonderful mountain singer. That’s a lively song about the American War of Independence — and I’m on your side! Otherwise, the songs are all English.

Do you know a singer named Horton Barker? He was in his 70s when we were there. He was recording a song for Alan called “The Rich Irish Lady,” and he forgot the words. He got halfway through singing it in a very gentle and beautiful way, but then he forgot the words. He said to Alan, "I’m sorry, sir. I can’t go on." And Alan said very gently to him, "Can you speak the words?" And he did. So there’s the complete ballad, half sung and half spoken. I have it and I put it all together with Horton’s tune and recorded it.

That song definitely has an Appalachian flare, especially with the coda.

That’s where it came from. It came from Virginia. And then, of course, we tacked on a fiddle tune from Kentucky on the end, and I will just tell you that, when we were in the studio listening to the playbacks, there was a young engineer there, and he listened to the words of the song — “I’ll dance on your grave, when you’re laid in the earth.” He turned to me and said, "He doesn’t mean it, does he?" And then the fiddle tune comes in hard and strong, and he said, "Ah, yes, he does mean it!" It’s great, because it means we achieved what we meant to.

I’m always surprised by how dark and brutal some of these songs are.

It’s not the most cheerful album, but then so many folk songs aren’t cheerful anyway. The thing is, every single subject was sung about in folk songs, so some of them are very dark and very brutal. It’s extraordinary for many of us that people wanted to still sing them, but they still do. There’s a sort of courage in it: You can sing about murders and suicides and revenge and Lord knows what, and it’s all acceptable. In fact, I find those songs particularly fascinating because they own up to what human beings are.

On the other hand, there are also songs of great beauty. There are gentler ones. I love them all. I’ve always loved old things. I loved history when I was in school. I just love the age of some of this stuff and how it’s clung over the centuries. This is before words or tunes were written down and before there were field recordings. People just sang them and they learned them by heart, because a lot of the English laboring class in the countryside couldn’t read or write. So they had to learn them by heart. The songs must have been important for them to do that. Because of that, there are thousands of songs that are still around.

What I’ve learned from the folk albums of the ‘60s and your recordings, in particular, is that these songs document a history that we can all take part in simply by singing and play them.

It’s a great social history. There’s always that behind it. It’s so valuable. In a way, it’s a bit like archaeology: You dig up the ground and you find something remarkable, even if it’s just a piece of pottery from medieval times. That’s how I feel about this stuff: You find it and it should be treasured. Like the very first song on the album, “Awake Awake Sweet England,” which was written in the 1560. There was an earthquake in the center of England, but it was a big enough one that some of the tremors reached London and toppled part of old St. Paul’s Cathedral. So this chap, Thomas Deloney, wrote a song warning the people to improve their behavior and look to God to become more righteous. This was God’s judgment on them, sending an earthquake. That happened! But I hadn’t ever heard of it until I found it in the book Folk Songs of Herefordshire from 1907, and it was in that book because Vaughan Williams heard it sung by a farmer and his wife in Herefordshire. Where had it been in the meantime? But there they were, this farmer and his wife, singing it 400 years later. It’s extraordinary, isn’t it? I’m bowled over by the wonder of it all.

Not only does it survive after so many centuries, but it still seems relevant today. “Awake Awake” could have been written about Brexit.

Nothing really changes. Well, certain things change. Lives are much easier now, but there are certain deep truths that never change. They’re permanent. People are so different nowadays, but deep down, we all must have something in common.

 

Tell me about your trip to America. That seems to have informed Lodestar .

I did have a wonderful time in America when I was there in 1959. I remember hearing the Stanley Brothers for the very first time, I think at a fiddle gathering in Virginia. I was on my feet! There were the Stanley Brothers in their Stetson hats and their smart maroon suits and playing something virtually impossible on a banjo. I was on my feet clapping and cheering. I had never seen anything quite so exciting as that. Those memories are still very vivid, despite it being such a long time ago. The music made such a great impression on me. So did the people I met. I was so fortunate to be on that trip, at that time, when there were still enough people in the mountains singing the way they always had done and playing wonderful old fiddle tunes. That was just the most incredible experience and just reinforced everything that I was starting to learn about traditional songs. It reinforced the wonder and the beauty and the excitement of it.

Where did you travel?

We started in Tennessee, then went up into Kentucky and down to Alabama and Mississippi, where we recorded for the first time Mississippi Fred McDowell. Then we went down to the Georgia Sea Islands to record the people who lived on St. Simons. It was quite a comprehensive trip, and it took us three months. And I’ve been to Arkansas, where we met Jimmy Driftwood, whom I absolutely loved, and Almeda Riddle, who is perhaps the greatest singer I’ve ever heard in my life. She sings some wonderful ballads and love songs, and they’re absolutely haunting.

It was a great experience just meeting people of that generation. I was just 23 when I was there, and I was meeting people in their 60s and 70s. It was such an honor to hear them sing and make friends with them. They were often thrilled, as well, to meet us, especially people like Almeda and Ollie Gilbert. When they sang a ballad, I was able to sing the English version that is still going in England. They were so delighted to know that the songs were still being sung back at home. They spoke of England as the old country. I think perhaps, at that time, they thought the interest in songs and old singers was fading a bit, so it was wonderful to share that with them. About 15 years ago, I wrote a book about it called America Over the Water, so it’s absolutely been kept alive in my mind in the freshest way possible.

One other thing about Almeda Riddle singing: She was right deep in Arkansas, and she’d never see the sea in her life. She sang a ballad called “The Merry Golden Tree,” which is a song about unpleasant happenings on the high seas, set in times of galleons — probably older than that. When she sang the chorus — “As she sailed upon the low and the lonesome low, as she sailed upon the lonely low lands seas” — the way Almeda sang it, you could just see a seascape. She just brought the sea right in front of you, though she’d never seen it. That’s just the power of words and the power of music and the power of the voice. I get goosebumps when I think about that now.

Do these songs change for you or reveal new meanings or significance that you hadn’t caught before?

I think perhaps I appreciate them even more than I did at first because, when you’re young, you’re a little bit superficial, aren’t you? Because you don’t know much. But it all still holds up so wonderfully and I get very emotionally attached to it, too. It’s a great tug of memory for me to go back to when I was a young woman in America and I’d never left home before. It was quite extraordinary, really. I went over on a boat because that was cheaper than flying. Flying was for film stars, and going on a boat was for ordinary people. Quite the reverse nowadays. But I think I still have the more or less same response, but an even greater admiration for it and an even greater emotional attachment to it — which I don’t think I’ll ever lose.

There is one thing I wish I’d learned to do, and that was Appalachian flatfooting or buckdancing. Oh, I wish I’d learned to do that when I was in America. I think it’s magical stuff, but it’s beyond me now for sure.


Photo credit: Eva Vermandel

STREAM: The Berger Sisters, ‘Maybe So’

Artist: The Berger Sisters
Hometown: Brooklyn, NY
Album: Maybe So
Release Date: November 18

In Their Words: "My sister Mariel and I have both been playing music our whole lives, but we didn’t start an official project together until around five years ago. This past Summer felt like the right time to finally get around to recording our debut album, and we’re so proud with how it turned out.

Mariel writes really beautiful, dreamy songs, and I’m so happy we get to feature many of them here, along with our signature sister harmonies and the awesome bass playing of Zoe Guigueno. We also threw in a few fiddle-driven trad tunes to keep things moving. Hope you enjoy the album! It’s our sonic hug to the world." — Melody Berger