Tag: flatpicking

MIXTAPE: Anthony da Costa’s Quarantine Chill Out Roots-Grass Mix-Up

Posted on by Editor

I know what you’re thinking, Anthony da Costa doesn’t really bluegrass…but hey, I live in Nashville and I have friends and I even say “y’all” now. And there’s something about roots music that cuts to the core of everything and deeply influences what I do…even if it doesn’t always sound like it. Here are some tracks to not go outside to! — Anthony da Costa

David Francey – “Border Line”

David Francey is one of my favorites ever and nothing will change that. I lucked out by sharing a stage with him at the Tønder Festival many years ago. He blew me away with his simple approach, golden voice, and powerful storylines. He stood there like a bard and held our hearts in his hand. After our show, I asked his guitarist which album I should start with and he emphatically stated Torn Screen Door. “Border Line” is track one from David’s debut album, which he made when he was 45 years old. Let’s take a journey with him, since we can’t really go anywhere else.

Jordan Tice – “Chicken Dog”

This playlist has a lot of mood, interspersed with that spontaneous dance party that we could all use right now. You don’t even have to put on real clothes, just dance. Jordan Tice is one of my best friends and also happens to be my one of my favorite acoustic guitar players on planet Earth. He has a fabulous new album that will be coming out soon… but until then, let’s jump to this scorcher of a bizarre bluegrass song called “Chicken Dog.” I still don’t know what it’s about, but also, like, who cares?

Molly Tuttle – “When You’re Ready”

This playlist wouldn’t really be complete without something from Molly Tuttle. I had the pleasure of touring with Molly for her album release in 2019. When the bluegrass kids all told me that Molly had made a “pop” album, my first thought was “ALRIGHT. Calm down, kids. What, are there drums or something? Are you scared?” But the young “queen” of the bluegrass world and honestly craziest picker out there made one of the best albums of last year: pop in the ’90s Aimee Mann singer-songwriter kinda sense. Molly knows how to write a poignant, catchy chorus — and then somehow squeezes in some pretty insane bluegrass runs –in the SAME SONG. Are you ready?

Bill Frisell – “I’m So Lonesome, I Could Cry”

Because, you know, quarantine sucks, right? And I live alone. And it HAS gotten lonesome at times… so lonesome that I could pull up this great compilation entitled The Best of Bill Frisell, Vol. 1: The Folk Songs and just mellowly and totally NOT CRY to myself. ♥

Sam Amidon – “Blue Mountains”

Speaking of Bill Frisell, he features on this pretty mesmerizing track from Sam Amidon. This record made me a believer. I don’t know that anyone else can do what Sam does with folk music. I don’t even know what this music is. It’s Sam Amidon music.

John Mailander – “Forecast”

John Mailander is one of the nicest people in the world, but PLEASE don’t tell him that I said that… it might go to his incredibly large and insufferable ego. All kidding aside, John released his debut solo album (as far as I’m aware) last year. It’s called Forecast and this is the title track… and it’s one of those “get up off your couch and dance” songs I was talking about before. John is as versed in Phish as he is the oldest of old-time fiddle and bluegrass. He is very dear to me and his music endlessly inspires me to push things further.

Rachel Baiman – “Something to Lose”

I met Rachel Baiman within the context of her duo with Christian Sedelmeyer, 10 String Symphony (check them out, they’re out of this world). I’m so glad that Rachel has been doing a lot of her own music these days in addition. This record, produced by Andrew Marlin from Mandolin Orange, has a warm, “right there in the room” kinda feel to it. This song makes me cry. There, I said it. Love is fine, OK? Will I ever see anyone again!?

Aoife O’Donovan – “Pearls – Live”

I recently revisited this live album I got to make with the inimitable Aoife O’Donovan. Lots of people know Aoife from her work with Crooked Still, as well as her more recent recordings and travel as part of I’m With Her. I toured with Aoife as her guitarist and harmony singer from 2016 into 2017. We toured her album In the Magic Hour, which was produced by Tucker Martine and features gorgeous arrangements of strings, horns, fuzzed out guitars, drums, voices… We had to recreate Aoife’s music live with three people and no bassist… which means we made it our own. This particular song is a favorite deep cut of mine.

Paper Wings – “As I Walk Down”

I’ve been saying to anyone who will listen, and I will say it to you now: Paper Wings is currently my favorite band. This is as rootsy as I get and I’m quite alright with it. Wilhelmina Frankzerda and I met when we were touring in Joy Williams’ Front Porch band. One night in Houston, Wilhelmina gave me a pair of headphones and showed me some mixes from what became Paper Wings’ Clementine album. It’s my favorite album of 2019. They’re clearly drawing from a very deep well of tradition but with new, crooked and inventive melodies…plus, they’re writing SONGS! New songs. Great, great songs.

Mipso – “Coming Down the Mountain”

Because we’re all going to come out of this eventually, right? Here’s a song to take off your mask to. See you all on the other side. ♥

Photo credit: Jacqueline Justice

WATCH: Bryan Sutton Declares He’ll “Lay Down My Old Guitar” on ‘Live From Here’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

If you find yourself stuck in the late-winter blues, this video is for you. Ten-time IBMA Guitar Player of the Year Bryan Sutton visited Live From Here with Chris Thile recently, and the result was nothing short of breathtaking. Sutton and Thile teamed up on a classic bluegrass number, “Gonna Lay Down My Old Guitar,” but there was nothing ordinary about the performance. The in-the-moment communication between Sutton and Thile is truly a sight to behold as they trade blazing leads, soulful harmonies, and curious facial expressions. From the moment it kicks off, the audience is treated to an experience that only two prodigious instrumentalists like these can provide. If you’re in need of a little extra to get through the day, week, or month, look no further.

 

Shaun Richardson & Seth Taylor, “Chisholm”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

An expansive generation of simply ludicrous flatpickers has rendered bluegrass, old-time, Americana, and folk replete with acoustic guitar virtuosos. Pickers like Jake Stargel, Molly Tuttle, Presley Barker, and Billy Strings each have in common commanding right hands and withering technique. Others, like Jake Workman, Trey Hensley, and Chris Luquette play at incomprehensible, blistering speeds with pristine precision that defies explanation — down to the most infinitesimal note durations. We can clearly see the shredtastic legacies of Clarence White, Tony Rice, Dan Tyminski, and others living on, even if chiefly through their more mathematical, aggressive, and adventurous methods and tones. 

That adventurous aggression might just be why “Chisholm,” a new tune composed by guitarists Shaun Richardson and Seth Taylor, feels like such a calming breath of fresh air. It’s a welcome counterpoint and complement to the repeated face-peeling-off that we all enjoy in this current golden age of flatpicking guitar. Richardson and Taylor are both veterans of Dailey & Vincent’s bluegrass-based rootsy stage show, giving them ample experience in musical code-switching, from fiddle tunes and swinging numbers to country ballads and passionate gospel. Richardson has performed with Michael Martin Murphey as well, and Taylor is a member of the long-running, heady, Americana-tinged bluegrass group Mountain Heart. 

The versatility lent by these diverse experiences gives “Chisholm” a well-traveled, though relaxed, voluminous vibe. The melodies are resonant and tactile, conjuring six-string players and composers such as John Carlini and Beppe Gambetta — with just a dash of Tommy Emmanuel. Jazz complexities are utilized here not in a gratuitous way, but rather anchored in expressiveness and musical dialogue. Richardson and Taylor’s expertise is very clearly centered not on simply displaying prowess, but in musicality. In this calmer, more subdued setting, that dynamic is especially refreshing and subtly striking.

Photo and video shot by James Shipman

WATCH: Jon Stickley Trio, “Animate Object”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Jon Stickley Trio
Hometown: Asheville, North Carolina
Song: “Animate Object”
Label: Organic Records

In Their Words: “‘Animate Object’ is the trio’s current theme song. At heart, it’s a little flatpicking tune to have fun with, but we’ve rhythmically turned it on its head like we like to do. This video was shot in three different locations with deep significance to us. The World Famous Station Inn represents our love and respect for our bluegrass roots. Spirit of the Suwannee is where our band was born, and where we thankfully return every year to connect with that spirit and experience rebirth under the live oaks. And finally, the [Caverns and] Bluegrass Underground symbolize the deep, introspective dive we’ve taken into ourselves in search of the meaning of our music and where it is coming from. This track is the next step in a never-ending evolutionary journey that is the Jon Stickley Trio.” — Jon Stickley

Photo credit: Sandlin Gaither

Despite Bleak Beginnings, Billy Strings Emerges as a Force in Bluegrass

Posted on by Editor

Get Billy Strings on the phone, and the interaction will probably seem as much like a musical recital as a verbal conversation. He’ll most likely have a guitar in his hands, noodling around on scales or snatches of songs, sometimes as conversational punctuation marks. But mostly, it sounds like he’s thinking out loud with the instrument.

It’s a good time for Strings right now, who earned IBMA Awards last week for New Artist of the Year and Guitar Player of the Year. His very fine second album, Home, is out on Rounder Records. Checking at 50-plus minutes, Home is a wide-ranging album that showcases his remarkable, classic-bluegrass voice and even more remarkable six-string wizardry, confirming his status as one of the top young guns in the field. The album has 14 songs, pretty much every one of them a journey.

We caught up with Strings shortly before he hit the road on what will be a full season of touring across the U.S. this fall.

BGS: Is there ever a day when you DON’T play music?

Strings: Not usually. I do try to play all the time. Sometimes when I’m on the road playing every night, onstage more than two hours, I might feel like I want a little break: “When I get home, I’m not even going to touch it for a couple of days.” Never happens. It only takes about a day to get the itch and feel like I need to practice.

What form does practice usually take?

A little of everything. That right there is just doing some scales all over the neck in different keys. Metronome practice is good and I have not done enough of that lately. That will really whip your ass into shape. Playing along with records, too, or playing fiddle tunes, playing through songs I know and love. Coming up, I did not have these rigid practice regimens. I just played music.

But recently I’ve started getting into it more. I was inspired by the Rocky movies: “Man, he works out for months, running up and down stairs and training so hard for just one gig!” Every night I get in the ring, but I never train, never hit the bag. I need someone like Mickey yelling at me, “C’mon, kid, lemme see that major scale again! Now slip the G run!”

I saw a quote about how you learned to play with bluegrass, but learned to perform when you were in a metal band. What did you take away from your time playing metal?

I grew up watching bluegrass bands in suits and hats, singing and playing into the mic and standing very still. When I was playing in a metal band, we were all over the stage running into each other, spitting and headbanging. I remember I would start a show by running from the back of the stage into the audience, and they’d push me back onstage.

It was just this crazy energy and that was my first performing experience onstage in front of people. I do think bluegrass is more about music, listening to the notes. The metal band, we’d jump around so much it was difficult to play the correct notes. The music may have suffered, but we tried to put on one helluva show and I still sort of bring a little of that.

Your new album is called Home. Is there any significance to that as a title?

I would say there’s a lot. That came from a poem I wrote titled “Home” and turned into a song that was kind of obvious as the opus of the album once we recorded all the songs — the just kind of wild song of the bunch. So I figured we’d name it after that. I’m 26 years old, this is my second album and I’m sort of settling into life as a young adult. Up to now, not knowing what was happening kind of kept me alive.

Now I’m starting to feel a little bit like a grown-up. Also, on the road, we’re always dreaming about getting home. What does it mean to you? Home is something different for everybody — a place, a state of mind, a drink, a meal. When I get home, my friend’s grandpa grows some real good weed outdoors in Michigan soil. Smoking that is home right there. Home sweet home.

“Away From the Mire” is the longest song on the album and it seems like the centerpiece, a real journey. Did you know it was going to go that far when you started recording it?

It was spontaneous. We were recording, working on that one a couple of days and trying to figure out what to do with it. It felt like it needed a big guitar solo because I’m a fan of that. It’s a classic thing that always happened with ‘70s rock and roll bands: great song, verse, chorus, bridge and EPIC solo before it’s over.

A lot of times, me and the band will get into these moments and “Mire” was one of those we sort of landed on where I took my guitar and they followed along. It was not composed at all, just a jam. It did not take too many times through to get it. We were oiled up, had been in the studio a few days, and didn’t have to spend too much time on any of the songs. That whole jam in the middle, it’s all live.

Doc Watson seems like an obvious influence on your playing. Did you ever meet him?

Unfortunately, I never got the chance to meet Doc. I worshiped the man, you know? I started listening to his records and watching VHS tapes when I was 5 or 6 years old. Doc left a huge impression because his music was so alive with such heart and soul. I took my dad to see Doc once, the only time either of us got to see him. It was the Midland Theatre in Newark, Ohio, six hours away, the closest he was coming to us. So I got tickets for my dad, my mom, me and my friend Benji, who drove us there in his truck.

Seeing him in-person was incredible. He played “Shady Grove” and “Way Downtown,” and my mom and my dad and me were all crying because we could not believe that really was Doc right there. I enjoyed the hell out of it. That was in 2010, Doc with David Holt and T. Michael Coleman, and he forgot a lyric here and there but still picked something great. I’ll never forget it as long as I live and I’m so glad I brought my parents.

Growing up listening to Doc was something special, and a mutual love for Doc is a connection I share with my dad. We bond over Doc’s music, play it together and I think we do it justice, a little. He knows so many old Doc songs, the deepest cuts. He’ll pull out one he’s not played in years and remember all the words. He embodies the soul Doc put out there. We really worship Doc around my house. He was, is and always will be the best.

Were there other influential elders?

When I was little, my mom and dad took me to a couple of bluegrass festivals. Larry Sparks and Ralph Stanley made a huge impression. Those guys would walk through a crowd like a hot knife through butter, in their big hats and suits with banjo cases. That was the first time I heard bluegrass on a PA, loud. I’d heard it around the campfire all my life. But hearing Larry Sparks’ band up there with the fiddle and banjo and guitar and harmonies, I knew then what I had to do. I’d already been messing around on guitar. Seeing those dudes, I knew it was serious.

Have you ever thought about what else you might do if not for music?

There was this picture I drew in kindergarten with a thing that said, “When I grow up I want to be a (blank).” I put “bluegrass player” and drew a picture of a guy with a banjo. So there it is. All I need now is the purple pants. I don’t know what else I’d do. I’m not a good mechanic or woodworker and I don’t like painting houses or carrying shingles up a ladder.

And I don’t like somebody wagging their finger in my face telling me what to do. I’m not good at dealing with authority figures. I’ve always had to do it my own way. I never thought music would even be possible as a career so I thought I’d always be a loser. But the last six or seven years have brought the incredible realization I can make it with music and not have to be a bum or drug addict.

Does that account for some of the heavy subjects on the record, like the song about drug overdoses (“Enough to Leave”)?

I always end up talking about this stuff, because it inspires a lot of my songwriting. When I reach down and look for what to write about, I always come up with things I’ve experienced in the past relating to substance abuse or loss or poverty. It’s sad how many people are struggling with all of that. I have a lot of friends who have gone in all sorts of directions, some good but some not. I’m lucky to have gotten out, and it haunts me. I still think about it a lot.

Maybe I’m looking in the rearview mirror too much when I should be looking out the windshield. But back there is what motivated me to get to where I’m at. It’s where I got my drive as a teenager, being around bums and meth-heads. I did not want to end up like that. It was either that, or keep running toward the light and working hard. I got a job in Traverse City, but I was playing gigs and realized, you can make a living that way even if you’re not a star. So that started to happen and I’ve been walking slowly upward ever since, reaching higher goals.

How much of a master plan do you have?

I know what I’m trying to go for, but at the same time I don’t. It’s a transparent vision where I know it’s something large and cool where I want to do good and be successful, but I don’t know what it looks like. I do feel like I’m moving toward dreams. More people are coming out to the shows, I’m able to explore more creatively and musically. That’s success and I feel good about it. I went from playing for tips to clubs and theaters, slowly working my way up. I remember renting minivans at Enterprise and having to sleep in parking lots because we could only afford one hotel room. I even got robbed once like that.

But I’ve always been willing to do whatever it takes to make the dream happen. If I have to stay up all night and drive 16 hours to play music, I’m willing to do it. The thing is, the more we grow as a band, we’re able to make those plans better so we don’t have to kill ourselves — play a few less gigs with a few less hours between them. It feels like it’s working, which I’m happy as hell about. I work hard but it’s so much fun it does not feel like work even though I’m physically exhausted. I’m sore and tired all the time but happy as shit, too. I’m lucky, man, really grateful.

Photo credit (live): Emily Butler; (portraits) Shane Timm

WATCH: Molly Tuttle, “Light Came In (Power Went Out)”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Can you feel it now…? Flatpicking phenomenon and Americana-by-way-of-bluegrass singer/songwriter Molly Tuttle has released her second music video from her debut full-length album When You’re Ready. “Light Came In (Power Went Out)” was co-written with her longtime friend and collaborator Maya de Vitry, as well as When You’re Ready producer Ryan Hewitt and award-winning songwriter Stephony Smith.

The video, directed by Jason Lee Denton, was shot in a plant shop and greenhouse in Nashville, carrying forward the verdant, tropical theme of the record’s cover art with added pops of light and electricity. “I thought that it would be nice to have the visuals almost be an extension of my album artwork, which also had foliage in the background and kind of a golden glow to it,” Tuttle explains. “That gave the video team the idea to look for a plant store or greenhouse that we could shoot in. Mackenzie [Moore] (art direction) and Aliegh [Shields] (producer) thought of crafting a glitter backdrop, and everyone just kind of worked together to make all the rest fall into place.”

After having spent the majority of her life as a performer, Tuttle finds it particularly gratifying to see her musical visions come to life on screen. “I am a very visual person so seeing how the glow of the lights and the lush backdrops add depth to the song is super rewarding. Getting to create in this way is why I love what I do – it was just a very fun evening spent filming in a cute plant store…”

And if you wondered – yes, Tuttle is a fan of the current houseplant craze that has struck many a millennial home and Instagram account. “I love having plants in my house so much!!!” She admits, “It lifts my mood to have greenery around. I just can’t keep any of them alive because I’m constantly away on tour… This video is what I wished the inside of my house looked like, basically, but in reality I just have a few unhappy succulents.”

Watch “Power Came In (Light Went Out)” right here, on BGS.

Photo courtesy Compass Records

Courtney Hartman Steps Into a Solo Career With ‘Ready Reckoner’

Posted on by Editor

Courtney Hartman told only a few people about her plans. She bought a transatlantic plane ticket, packed a small bag of clothes, and flew to Spain to hike the Camino de Santiago. It’s a 500-mile hike along old pilgrimage routes in rural Spain, an arduous journey that often prompts a spiritual journey. During that 40-day trek she would step off the trail, pull out her specially-made, travel-ready guitar, and sing a few bars into her phone. Eventually those voice memos — those notes to herself, journal entries chronicling her trip — coalesced into songs that ended up on her solo debut, Ready Reckoner.

It is not, however, an album about walking or wanderlust. Rather, it’s about motion: the physical movement that propels oneself along a path, but also the spiritual motion it takes to gain a deeper understand of your place in the world — in particular, your place in the world as an artist. Drawing from the music she made as a member of Della Mae, Ready Reckoner forays into new territory: folk and pop, of course, but also jazz, avant garde composition, drones, even musique concrète. It’s often dark but just as often hopeful, as Hartman traces the both subtle and sublime changes that she is still going through.

BGS: What took you to Spain?

Hartman: I think anybody that I met on the trail had a similar story. There was something that started popping up on their radar[s] over and over until they couldn’t ignore it anymore. That’s what happened with me. I had friends who had gone over there and I was listening to several albums that were influenced by that region of Spain.

Also, two of my writing heroes are Anne Lamott and Mary Oliver. While I was teaching writing at different summer camps, I would talk about how they talk about writing and walking. In the books they’ve written, they talk about how good it is to go out and walk. That would be my assignment to students: Go take a walk in the woods and do some writing.

At one point I realized that I was giving this assignment, but I’d never done it myself. I wanted to know if that was something I could do, if that was a way of creating that would resonate with me. And then a cheap flight to Spain popped up and I bought. I had 24 hours to cancel and I didn’t. So I went!

How did you prepare musically and creatively for such a trip?

I called Dana Bourgeois, who has built a number of guitars for me. I said, Dana, I’m doing this thing and I haven’t told anybody. What do you think would be the sturdiest, most lightweight, best-sounding guitar I could take? And he said, well, what if we build you something? So they did. They weighed out every single component of the guitar and then I had somebody build a guitar sling for me. And then I walked and I wrote. I took me forty days. There’s something about the repetition and the movement, let alone being out in the open.

What did you learn from that experience?

I learned so much, but one of the things that kept occurring to me is that you’re carrying the weight of your belongings with you every day. It didn’t matter if I wrote anything or played anything that day. I still had to carry the weight. There was a point when someone helped me go through my bag and decide what was necessary.

You think you’ve really narrowed it down, and then you’re like, okay, I guess I’ll get rid of this extra layer of clothes. But every night I would think, no I need this or I need that. I need this because I’m afraid of what might happen without it. So I learned that our needs and fears are linked. But I didn’t need that extra layer of clothes, even though I thought I did. When that snow came — that’s what I was afraid of — I made it through.

Did that change your perspective on music?

I want to say that I need to be writing songs or I need to be making music, that they’re my life source. But I don’t need to write or play. Those are extra gifts. I would survive without them. I don’t want to. Don’t ask me to. But I think letting go allowed me to hold them a little more loosely or with a bit more gentleness, instead of clinging to them or gripping them too tightly.

Often, writing meant stepping away from the trail. It meant taking my guitar down or taking my pen out or singing voice memos. I have hours and hours of endless mumbling. You step away from the people you’re walking with, and you might not see them again for a few days or even a week. Or maybe never again. It’s very much like life that way.

That experience seems to inform this album in ways that are very explicit. Even just the sound of footfalls on “Too Much.”

About half the album came directly from songs I wrote on the trail. But it’s not a walking record. It’s just a shot of where I’ve been the last year. I worked on it while I was staying in a little wagon in Oregon for a couple of days, just trying to finish putting together takes and sequences. I would walk and listen. But the album pretty evenly spread out between songs I wrote before, during and after walking. The first track I wrote was “January First,” and I wrote all the other songs later that year. I don’t know that it always works that way.

Tell me about the album title. Why did those words resonate with you?

I was obsessed with the word reckon. I was reckoning with myself and my work, reckoning with the relationship to the music I was making, reckoning with whether I should even be doing it at all. That word felt like it had a lot of motion, so I looked it up and found that a ready reckoner was at one point the name of a hard-copy calculator. A merchant might have a ready reckoner, which is essentially a book of tables. I found one from 1905 for sale and ordered it on Amazon, as you do. I keep it in my guitar case. It’s this tiny, beautiful book with all these weird calculations for things. I felt like these songs were trying to calculate something, trying to get to a formula or an equation.

There was some trepidation on your part about recording this record and taking on the role of co-producer. How did you reckon with that?

Shahzad Ismaily, my co-producer, could have easily taken the wheel and produced this record himself, and I think I would have felt good about that. But he believed very strongly that that was not his role. He wanted mostly to be engineering. He was pushing me to make the decisions that needed to be made and to listen more deeply. Just by stepping away he became a guiding hand. I didn’t want to be producing this record but I’m grateful that he was able to ease me into that place.

And I realized that I really love it. It’s such a different space. I’ve produced one other record for a band since then, and I want to do more. There aren’t a lot of women in that role. The studio can be a very intimidating place for women who are trying to explore and learn and admit what often feel like deficiencies, but if I’m able to do that in the future, I hope I can make that space feel comfortable and gracious and open.

I remember I was so afraid to record this album, so when I went into the studio the first day, I was reading through some of my walking journals. I opened the first page, and I was writing about feeling terrified. It was the same feeling I had about going into the studio, but it’s exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. We learn the exact thing in so many ways over and over. Or we don’t learn it at all. Maybe that’s the thing. Maybe I didn’t learn anything.

Photo credit: Shervin Lainez

The Show On The Road – Jon Stickley

Posted on by Chris Jacobs

This week, one of the preeminent guitar pickers and instrumental adventurers working today, Jon Stickley.

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Based in Asheville, North Carolina, Stickley leads one of the most sonically innovative, shreddingly mind-expanding, and confoundingly impossible-to-categorize acoustic groups, the Jon Stickley Trio.

Host Z. Lupetin spoke with Jon in a hotel bathroom a while back to hear his side of his guitar hero story. Listen for an exclusive acoustic performance from Jon at the end of the episode.

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.