Tag: folklore

MIXTAPE: Books, Story, & Poetry by Ordinary Elephant

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

As humans, we have a history of turning to story for comfort, direction, and preservation – a way to keep the present alive in the future. Story can be found in books, poetry, song, and our minds and mouths.

This playlist starts with our song, “Once Upon a Time,” which was born of our turning to story in the deep uncertainty of early 2020, and is the opening track of our recently released, eponymous album. In this Mixtape, we feature songs that incorporate or allude to books, authors, poetry, or story, written by artists that inspire us to write our truest stories. – Ordinary Elephant

“Once Upon a Time” – Ordinary Elephant

When the world shut down in March of 2020, we found ourselves one show into a two-week Australian tour. After scrambling to get home, the quiet hit and the processing of a new world began from our Louisiana porch, deeply feeling the human instinct to turn to a sense of story when faced with intense uncertainty.

“Always a Little Less Time” – Justin Farren

“So I guess that’s always been the story of you and I.” Justin paints pictures with the specifics that draw you in and let you see yourself in his songs, then cuts straight to the truth. The impermanence and the importance of our time here. This song guts us, in the best way, every time.

“Nothing at All” – Clay Parker & Jodi James

“I’ve got books stacked on the bedside table, that are gonna make me well and able, but the light in my room is still burned out,” Jodi sings, as one of our favorite duos spins an ethereal tune of rejection and resolve.

“Walking Each Other Home” – Mary Gauthier

One of our favorite songs of Mary’s. Achingly beautiful, it details the uncertainty of a relationship ending, but also speaks to the broader idea of the unknown. “I don’t know how this story’s supposed to go,” she sings in the chorus, as it’s hard to know when we’re living it. But there is clarity and acceptance that “we’re all just walking each other home,” helping each other find our own stories.

“Under My Fingers” – Wes Collins

Wes is one of those writers who takes you places you didn’t know you needed to go. Both with his words and with his music. This song follows a writer’s thoughts, even alluding to the scarcity mindset that can sometimes take hold of creatives. The fear that it won’t last and the solution of surrendering to the pen.

“Paperback Writer” – The Beatles

The Beatles were Pete’s first musical love, showing up in his life around sixth grade and giving a wealth of melodies and harmonies to soak in. He studied guitar through their songs, which span so many genres, it was easy to get lost in their catalog for years.

“Windmills” – Mutual Admiration Society

The story of Don Quixote twisted into a song by one of Pete’s favorite songwriters, Glen Phillips. This song first appeared on Toad the Wet Sprocket’s 1994 album, Dulcinea. This version is from an incredibly underrated collaboration between Glen and Nickel Creek. Both of these artists changed Pete’s musical world, Glen being one of the first songwriters that he really dug into and in this collaboration, Nickel Creek introducing him to the world of acoustic music.

“Hemingway’s Whiskey” – Guy Clark

Guy Clark’s use of simple language to tell deep truths is unparalleled in the modern songbook. Here he salutes his admiration for another legendary writer, toasting with a drink, and reveling in the difficult work it takes to be a writer of that stature. Guy’s songs are revelations.

“I Ain’t Playing Pretty Polly Anymore” – Dirk Powell

We have the choice to perpetuate stories or let them die off. Some traditions continue to enrich our lives, but it’s important to realize when we’ve moved past them and when it’s time to draw the line between cautionary tale and normalizing certain types of violence. As someone steeped in tradition, Dirk makes an important statement about what songs are able validate, and that we can choose not to continue singing certain ones.

“The Other Morning Over Coffee” – Peter Mulvey

In remembering a conversation with a friend, Peter recalls talking about having lived lives “so full of poetry and adventure that if we died right then and there it would have been fine.” It’s a goal we can hope that some part of us is always aiming for. As the song unfolds, it becomes a perfect reminder that we’re all moving through the same world, the same bigger story, despite the difference in our details.

“Velvet Curtain” – Anna Tivel

Anna’s songs are movies, thick with imagery and emotion. She’s one of those writers who you’re thankful is walking this earth at the same time as you. This song shows us that sometimes there are words that need to be heard, and sometimes you’re unknowingly the one singing them.

“Billy Burroughs” – Jeffrey Martin

Jeffrey’s work tends to knock your socks off, right out of the gate. His rich voice and insightful command of language immediately demands your full attention. His background of teaching literature melds with his own writing here.

“Tailor” – Anaïs Mitchell

“When he said that my face he’d soon forget, I became a poet.” One of our favorite songwriters, Anaïs has a way of weaving a story that hits you in the softest spots. Here she spins a gorgeous warning of how easy it is to let others define our story, and that we can learn to tell our own if we remember to listen to ourselves.

“The Prophet” – Ordinary Elephant

Crystal came across a copy of Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet, gifted to her by a dear friend 20-something years ago. The bones of this song were hiding between the dog-eared pages, a discovery of self-love through returning to reminders of a love gone.

“Everything Is Free” – Gillian Welch

“We’re gonna do it anyway.” In lyric, and in delivery, Gillian shows us the power of song and story to persevere. Her voice and style are singular, and are always a welcome reminder to find comfort in the unique and truest version of ourselves.

Photo Credit: Olivia Perillo

Humbird: From Dinner Table Singing to Dismantling White Supremacy

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Siri Undlin, better known as Humbird, is a talented singer-songwriter from the Twin Cities with deep roots in Minnesota music and the land that surrounds her. Growing up, she was a true cold-weather kid who loved hockey during winter, but also loved music and feeding her vivid imagination. Her interest in music was nurtured by her parents, religious music, church choir, and also her Aunt Joan, who taught Siri guitar at age 12. Hockey actually led her to her first band, Celtic Club, which would play at Irish Pubs, talent shows, and of course, at the local hockey rink. They introduced her to Celtic music and her first live performances.

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In this episode of Basic Folk, Undlin shares her rich experience studying folklore and fairy tales, which greatly influence her musical journey. She discusses her intensive research in Ireland and Nordic countries, exploring how music intertwines with storytelling traditions.

Throughout the episode, Undlin reflects on her upbringing, her time at an art school, and her evolving approach to songwriting, blending traditional folk music with indie music and experimental sounds. On her new album, Right On, Siri is acknowledging and addressing white supremacy in middle America, as highlighted in her song “Child of Violence.” She talks candidly about what writing and releasing the song taught her about white supremacy. Touring has provided Undlin with unexpected challenges and valuable insights, shaping her perspective as a musician and performer. We talk about the importance of being open to chaos and disciplined in one’s mindset while navigating the music industry and life on the road.

(Editor’s Note: Read our recent interview feature with Humbird here.)

Photo Credit: Juliet Farmer

Into the Squishy Middle: Humbird Celebrates Being Wrong on ‘Right On’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

When I first heard Right On, the new album from Humbird, (the moniker for Minnesota-based singer-songwriter Siri Undlin), I thought immediately of Jason Molina and Magnolia Electric Co. There’s an emotional rawness in the production paired with a choral background vocal style on songs like “Fast Food” that reflects a Midwestern landscape to my ears. Imagine a million ears of corn singing to nobody in the blazing heat of summer, right beside a sprawling concrete strip mall.

“Quilted miles of iron and wheat / does it count, if it just repeats?” Undlin sings.

I had the privilege of talking to Undlin over the phone about her new album, while she was at home in Minnesota and I was in a parking lot outside of a Barnes & Noble somewhere in Maryland. The first thing I asked was if she was familiar with Molina’s work, and much to my surprise, she was not. So, I will have to assume that what I heard as historical reference is merely a shared landscape of influence and delicious, melancholy songwriting.

Throughout her new album Right On, Humbird explores the human desire to retreat into ease, safety, and ignorance, rather than put oneself at risk of being wrong. Undlin begins this exploration with the experience of heartbreak, but quickly zooms out to include topics of cultural conflict, destruction of natural ecosystems, societal priorities, and gun violence. All the while, these songs ask us not to know the answers, but to merely be willing to ask the questions.

On “Child of Violence,”she sings: “I could be a break in the chain / you could be a break in the chain / you could be a piece of the change / When you talk about it call it by it’s name…”

I have been a fan of Humbird ever since I saw her performance at the Mile of Music Festival in Appleton, Wisconsin, this past summer and I was thrilled to get to interview her about this album.

Central to this record is a kind of celebration of being wrong. Can you speak to the specific benefits of being wrong and what being wrong means to you?

Siri Undlin: I find that there is a carefulness and reservedness, a real fear of being wrong, that often gets in the way of important conversations, and prevents people from trying to learn and do better. The reality is that sometimes you’re wrong, but you still have a responsibility to show up and be a part of things.

Ah, that makes sense. So on the title track you sing, “You might be dead wrong… at least you’re trying…” This particular song seems to be about a romantic relationship, but in a broader sense, is this about avoiding apathy?

Yes, it’s a central message of the album, and honestly I need to hear it as much as anyone. There is a time for resting and rejuvenating, but I think it’s important to be really honest with yourself about whether you are in that process, or whether you are making excuses because it’s hard. You have to be able to get into the squishy middle of things and really dig in.

I’m from Minnesota and in the wake of George Floyd’s murder, which I have written about explicitly on other records, I’ve had to realize how slow change can be. You have that initial communal outrage, but then what happens a year later? What happens two years later?

Whether its a global event or personal event, I’ve done a lot of growing up and I can’t just ignore these things. It’s a kind of rugged realism that comes with this greater knowledge, which can be really beautiful, but there’s a reframing that just has to happen.

When you talk about rugged realism, it makes me think of your song “Cornfields and Road Kill,” which is one of my favorites on the album.

That is my favorite song to play live and has been for years. I just think it’s one of the more honest songs I’ve ever written. I was able to capture a lot of what I feel about the landscapes where I’m from and the complexities and subtle beauty of it.

There’s so many road songs, but there’s very few songs written about the landscapes of the Midwest; roadkill and monocrops, soy and corn, and animals that are dead is the reality of traveling and the landscape and the economy of the area. It’s this visual representation of the choices that we’ve made about culture and society.

I was just mad about that when I wrote that song. I wrote it as a connecting tool and a bridge rather than just rage… but it is also just fun to be loud and turn up the amps and be cathartic…

I feel like the Midwest is having a real artistic moment right now with Waxahatchee/Plains and Kevin Morby, how do you think the Midwest and specifically Minnesota influence your work?

It’s tricky, because it’s such a subtly nuanced place in a lot of ways. It’s home, first and foremost, which is an endless topic of analysis. But creatively, I do feel really inspired by the landscape of the prairie, because of its subtleties. It’s a landscape you really have to sit with and pay attention to in order to understand it. You have to really slow down. I also think there’s a lot of space for a creative community, which is really exciting when you take into account income inequalities and the densities of the larger cities. There’s space here to collaborate and there’s not really the infrastructure that super ambitious people are interested in, so they move away… I think it was Prince who said that “The cold keeps the shitty people away!” [Laughs]

I am blown away by the production on this record, you worked with Shane Leonard who is another artist heavily rooted in the Midwest. What was the process like working with him, and what did that collaboration bring to the project?

Shane is a dear pal who I have recorded with before, so we have an established workflow. I, along with two of my bandmates, had been playing these songs live for a couple years on tour by the time we went to record, so going into it we were aiming to capture the live feeling of these songs, very much trying for the sound of a band in a room.

In approaching the record, I thought, let’s just go and hang with Shane and record live to tape and try to capture that energy. Because we do tackle heavy and weighty topics, but at the end of the day we still have a blast playing together.

I loved recording to tape. Instead of going into it with infinite options it was like, “Here’s how we play it and just do your best.” That infused the whole process with some magic and adrenaline, and it was awesome.

Humbird is a pretty fluid project, there’s a cast and crew of folks who are always shifting based on people’s lives, but I made the record with Pete Quirsfeld (drums) and Pat Keen (bass) and the three of us have been playing together for six-ish years. So these are road worn and comfortable songs that were ready to be captured.

I read that you spent a year doing research as a Watson Fellow. I’m interested to hear about what you were studying and how that has influenced your own music?

Yeah, the Watson Fellowship is this insane opportunity you basically do research on a topic of your choosing for a year. In my case, I was comparing Celtic and Nordic traditions and their storytelling. Historically, so much happened via trade routes and conflict, particularly in the balladry tradition and saga tradition, you will find that similar motifs and melodies crop up across folklore traditions that are also so specific to certain places.

I spent a year shadowing storytellers and musicians, compiling this bank of folk tales and ballads. I was doing a lot of writing and researching and playing music already, but I didn’t actually know that making music could be a job. When I went and did this research and was shadowing all these folks who were essentially doing DIY touring, or playing or performing in community spaces, witnessing how they move through the world I realized, “Oh my god, you can do this?”

One person I spent a lot of time with is Brendan Begley, on the west coast of Ireland. The Begley family are these incredible musicians on the Dingle Peninsula. It was the first time I was exposed to a DIY arts culture… it was so mush part of the fabric of life there and when I came home I realized I want to make art this way, I don’t want to do it academically. I feel like often in the classroom you’re in the business of taking art apart and I wanted to actually create it.

Speaking of the ballad tradition, when I heard your song “Ghost on the Porch,” it sounded like a brilliant remake of an old ballad a la Sam Amidon, but in this case it is actually an original song. I find your songwriting to be more through-composed in a storytelling way than a typical commercial song might be. Do you draw on that ballad tradition in a conscious way or do you hear that influence?

That is actually a song that started as a short story, a fairy tale of sorts. I love to write fiction and non-fiction and it generally happens on a Humbird record that one or two songs per album are drawn from a short story or some other writing format. I’ll write out prose and then think, actually this could be a song.

Anytime you’re writing fiction your own life is in there, but I have not personally had the experience of a ghost of my own likeness standing on the porch telling me to run for my life, which would be terrifying.

Sometimes with writing, it’s almost like dreaming, where you don’t know where things come from!

Photo Credit: Juliet Farmer

WATCH: Thunder and Rain, “Wendigos Wanderin'”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Thunder and Rain
Hometown: Nashville, Tennesse
Song: “Wendigos Wanderin'”
Album: Storybook Sessions
Release Date: October 20, 2023

In Their Words: “This song was inspired by a TikTok rabbit hole I went down last year that revealed the world of wendigos, also called skinwalkers. I got addicted to watching these terrible quality videos of deer with odd head shapes and dogs walking on hind legs with weird looks in their eyes. One of the TikToks said, ‘In Appalachia, if you hear your name in the woods, no you didn’t.’ I loved this concept that people know these terrifying creatures exist, but they don’t want to talk about it.

“One day while walking through Peeler Park in Madison outside of Nashville, I had an eerie feeling that something was following me. In my mind I sang the chorus of this song to the beat of my footsteps. I got home and wrote the song, then brought it to the band where we had a ton of fun arranging the harmony parts and spooky interludes. Our goal was to make people in the audience feel unsettled but still have fun, like a good horror movie.” – Erinn Peet Lukes

Track Credits:

Erinn Peet Lukes – Guitar/vocals
Laura Ray – Banjo/vocals
Amelia Ransom – Fiddle/vocals
Katie Blomarz-Kimball – Bass

Photo Credit: Jake Byrne
Video Credits: Videographer – Andrew Hutton
Audio Engineer – Tim Miller
Recorded at Laughing Heart Studio in East Nashville, TN

MIXTAPE: Blue Water Highway’s Space Ship in a Barn

Posted on by Editor

We are a four-piece Americana/indie rock and roll band from Austin, Texas, combining our love of singing and harmony (Catherine and Zack were both opera majors in college) with thoughtful songwriting, musicianship, and arranging (Greg and Kyle are multi-instrumentalists, also with college degrees in music). Being from Texas, we are rooted in its southern/western traditions, but love to musically and lyrically explore the contrasts in culture between rural and urban life, and the way that technology has affected both. This was one of the concepts — what we kept calling “building a space ship in a barn” — that was at the heart of our upcoming album, Paper Airplanes, produced by Cason Cooley, and it is the theme of our mixtape.

These “space ship in a barn” songs are a huge inspiration to us, often using acoustic instruments and natural vocals/harmonies mixed with analog synthesizers and electric guitars. Essentially mixing the organic sounds of the country with those of the urbanized, modern world. They also show a contrast between material things, and emotions that can sometimes best be expressed by otherworldly-type sounds. — Blue Water Highway

Bruce Springsteen – “I’m on Fire”

We find ourselves constantly referencing the Boss and his Born in the U.S.A. album, and this track specifically, as a great example of how classic rock and roll and rockabilly crossed with an analog CS-80 synth somehow works so well.

Sandra McCracken – “Reciprocate”

There is something about this track, and whole album really, that uses the roots vs. digital mix to maximum effect. The foundation is the fragility of the vocal and the acoustic guitar, but the “space” sounds peek through, like little slivers of light coming down through the dark clouds. Produced by Cason Cooley, this is one of the initial influences for our album.

The National – “Quiet Light”

The National’s 2019 release, I Am Easy to Find, has some of the best vibe in piano tones and “Quiet Light” is no exception. The soundscapes and drumming on this tune were just so innovative yet familiar.

Matthew Perryman Jones – “Waking the Dead”

The atmosphere kicks in right from the start and supports this upbeat rocker, which happens to be the only non-ballad on this record, is also produced by Cason Cooley, and admittedly is one of the few non-ballads that MPJ writes. The whole record is a rootsy trip through outer space.

Hozier – “Almost (Sweet Music)”

This song combines three things we love: good songwriting, good groove, and jazz. Hozier weaves titles from famous jazz songs throughout the lyrics of this song, and if you didn’t know the jazz songs he mentions you’d have no idea. Hozier is a great example of an artist who uses rootsy sounds with very modern, pop-oriented production techniques.

Phoebe Bridgers – “Motion Sickness”

Is it a country song or not? At least that is the argument we’ve been having in our band since the song came out. The soundscape is obviously a great example of vibey, modern, groovy, indie-rock production, and the lyrics have a very 21st century suburban-kid perspective. But still, there is something in the mood and the lyrics that doesn’t seem too far from Hank Williams… or Dolly Parton… anyone?

Elbow –”lippy kids”

Our producer introduced us to this band and this track, which is not only a perfect example of our theme sonically, but also lyrically. The refrain of “build a rocket boys” exactly conveys the sense of childhood wonder we wanted to evoke on our album.

Taylor Swift – “peace”

We’re big Taylor Swift fans in this band, always have been. Then she released folklore and evermore in 2020, which somehow fit perfectly with sounds of our album, even though we had already recorded it. Catherine never turned these albums off… ever. Taylor Swift is not given nearly enough credit as a songwriter and this is one of those perfectly produced tracks that makes her shine.

Blue Water Highway – “Grateful”

Definitely leaning more on the “barn,” or rootsy, side of things, this is our tongue-in-cheek take on thankfulness, and we still manage to put enough stardust sounds in the mix that it fits with the rest of the album.

Big Red Machine – “Hymnostic”

This song sounds like sunlight shining through the windows of an old white wooden church. Aaron Dessner (The National) and Justin Vernon (Bon Iver) combine to create the ultimate “spaceship in a barn” vibe. Big Red Machine, The National, and Bon Iver have all accompanied us many many times on late-night drives from state to state.

John Moreland – “When My Fever Breaks”

When an amazing songwriter gets a hold of a drum machine, this is the result. Great songs, and vibey drum production, complete with other synths make this album one to keep revisiting.

Brandon Flowers – “Between Me And You”

Brandon Flowers is one of the core artists we reference. Combining a indie synth rock aesthetic with heartland songwriting, he represents one of the many examples of bringing roots rock into a modern era.

Counting Crows – “Amy Hit The Atmosphere”

If this came out in 2021, it would probably be called Americana, but we love how these guys were a mainstream rock band with just the right balance between raw and polished. That’s never truer than on this song from This Desert Life, with the way the band uses atmospheric sounds to support the lyrics.

Maggie Rogers – “Overnight”

This song is a perfect example of how ambient electronic sounds that you can’t really put your finger on really round out and enhance a song that has organic vocals and drums.

Dawes – “Don’t Send Me Away”

One of the under appreciated elements of ’70s Americana will always be the impeccable groove of the rhythm section. Dawes carries this same torch, along with subtle but innovative guitar work, and brilliant songwriting, to become one of our bands favorite bands.

The War on Drugs – “Pain”

Adam Granduciel’s guitar work and songwriting harkens back to the way the ’80s musicians blended the rootsy style before them with modern instrumentation. The War on Drugs unashamed use of drum machine sounds and reverb rich guitar tone creates a cool and nostalgic sonic landscape.

Blue Water Highway – “All Will Be Well”

This is a song about the true meaning of hope, and it uses the synth/acoustic dichotomy as a way to contrast the spiritual with the material, how those realities both rub up against each other and work together. At times it feels like a rickety old space ship, and is one of our favorite examples of this sound in our original music.

Blue Water Highway – “Sign Language”

This is our original song about finding communication, calm, and understanding in the midst of chaos and confusion. The soundscape has many “space ship” elements that evoke communication, i.e. synthesizer and drum machine, which are contrasted with the organic sounds of the harmony vocals, guitar, and drum set.

Photo credit: Cal & Aly

Canon Fodder: Various Artists, ‘Oh My Little Darling – Folk Song Types’

Posted on by Editor

“What’s the name of this song you’re going to sing?” says Herbert Halpert. The year was 1939, and the folklorist was visiting Elk Park, North Carolina, a small mountain community near the Tennessee border, not far from Johnson City. There, he met two singing sisters, Mrs. Lena Bare Turbyfill and Mrs. Lloyd Bare Hagie.

“’Lily Schull,’” replies Turbyfill.

“Were you used to singing it together, before … “

“Yes, sir,” they respond in unison.

“I mean … when you were young, did you sing together at all?”

“Ever since we’ve known it.”

Perhaps it is the 80 years between then and now, but those words sound an awful lot like forever when Turbyfill says them in her Appalachian accent. But “ever since we’ve known it” is 25 years at most.

“That’s the way you sing it most of the time?”

“Yes,” again in unison.

“Go ahead and sing it the way you do most of the time. Go ahead.”

It’s a perfectly awkward moment saved for all of posterity by Halpert’s disc-cutting machine, which he hauled down the East Coast collecting folk tunes. It’s city meeting country, urban meeting rural, educated meeting self-taught, but any discomfort is dispelled as soon as the two sisters start singing. They sing with no accompaniment — their voices blending almost magically, following no harmonic pattern other than the one they devised and perfected themselves. It’s the essence of folk music. Their sisterly harmonies and spry phrasing contrasts sharply with the grisly story of “Lily Schull” which, like so many murder ballads, begins in penitence and punishment. In the first verse, a crowd surrounds a jail to hear a condemned man’s last words. In the second, he confesses to the “murder of Lily Schull, whom I so cruelly murdered and her body shamefully burned.” By song’s end, he is asking God to save his soul and watch after the wife and family he leaves behind.

The sisters hesitate between the second and third verses. Perhaps they are overcome by the details of the crime, or perhaps they are responding to some gesture by Halpert. It’s a silence that asks, “Should we go on?”

Once the murderer meets his Maker, the folklorist asks the folk artists about the song. Turbyfill responds, “That’s a true song,” and the tape cuts off. Perhaps the sisters knew the story of Lilly Shaw, an African-American woman from East Tennessee, whose murder inspired “Lily Schull.” Perhaps they knew she had been brutally killed in 1903 by a man named Finley Preston, who was hung two years later after multiple appeals. They had learned the song when they were teenagers and, by the time they met Halpert, had been singing it more than half their lives.

Forty years later as it was cut to disc, “Lily Schull” was anthologized on Oh My Little Darling, released by New World Records, a label established in 1975 by a grant from the Rockefeller Foundation to produce a comprehensive anthology of American music. There are many folk compilations like this one, far too many to list. Oh My Little Darling is nowhere near as beautifully strange as Harry Smith’s world-building Anthology of American Folk Music, nor is it as comprehensive or as immersive as the multi-volume Sounds of the South series. It lacks the geographic specificity of the 1975 anthology High Atmosphere: Ballads and Banjo Tunes from Virginia and North Carolina. It was only pressed once to vinyl, and reissued in 2002 on CD. (As of this writing, the compilation is not available for download or streaming.)

Regardless, Oh My Little Darling stands out as a useful entry point for newcomers to American folk music. Culling from various sources and covering a range of styles, it serves as something like a textbook to the various types of folk songs percolating in the American South during the first decades of the 20th century. It opens with Arkansas singer Almeda Riddle performing a children’s ballad called “Chick-a-Li-Lee-Lo,” perhaps the most famous song here. There are also cowboy songs and outlaw songs, minstrel songs and labor songs, bawdy blues and evangelical hymns, songs derived from old broadsides and songs known as Child ballads, collected by the 19th-century proto-folklorist Francis James Child.

In his liner notes from the 1977 vinyl edition, folklorist Jon Pankake warns against lumping these disparate styles into the same category, as though every folk song belonged to the same species. He would rather us celebrate the infinite variety of the music, which reflects the infinite complexity of American history. These songs document the fears and desires, regrets and prejudices of the past, serving as vessels of public memory, chronicles of history as it was experienced in rural America. History books don’t mention Lillie Shaw, but folk music memorializes her for generations.

In some ways, folklore, as represented by Oh My Little Darling and similar compilations, offers a rebuke to the Great Man school of history, established in the 19th century and still perpetuated today by such scholars as Joseph J. Ellis. That approach to the past suggests that all history is motivated by the actions of great and powerful individuals. Folklore relocates both the motivation and the documentation to the will of the people.

In that regard, this compilation is a fine introduction to American folk music as a populist force, especially if you’re looking to start a band. That’s what Jay Farrar, Jeff Tweedy, and Mike Heidorn were doing when they discovered Oh My Little Darling at the Belleville, Missouri, public library in the late 1980s. It opened up a new world for them and showed them how they might marry folk subject matter with punk guitars. The trio took the name Uncle Tupelo, and the roots of their debut, No Depression — not to mention the genre it inspired, also called No Depression, or alt-country, or whatever-you-call-it — twist tightly around these old recordings. The band would even cover two songs on their third album, plainly titled March 16-20, 1992 after the rough dates for the sessions in Athens, Georgia. Farrar sings both tunes in his grave baritone, turning “Lilli Schull” into a time-stopping mea culpa. The song plods along as he draws out each line, as though he’s trying to stall the snap of the noose around his neck. It’s a much more obvious interpretation than the sisters’ original, but still affecting in its deliberation.

Farrar also sings the 1937 labor song “Come All You Coal Miners,” written and performed by Sarah Ogan on Oh My Little Darling. This original is a cappella, her only accompaniment the hiss and crackle of the archival 78 record, and she sounds righteous and outraged describing the dangerous conditions miners faced at the time: “Coal mining is the dangerousest work in our land today,” she spits, “with plenty of dirty slaving work and very little pay.” She makes her closing line a rallying cry to presumably striking laborers: “Let’s sink this capitalist system to the darkest depths of hell.”

Farrar never had the humor or the audacity to sell such a line, but he nevertheless savors the historical details in Ogan’s lyrics. “I know about old beans, bulldog gravy, and cornbread,” he sings, as though the camp menu was a password to the union meeting. His version is more a lament, perhaps sung from the point of view of a miner who survived the pits yet still recalls the perils. Neither “Coal Miners” nor “Lilli Schull” resembles its original, which is the whole point: Uncle Tupelo understood that the class issues of the 1930s were pretty much the same as those of the 1980s, which empowered them to participate in that folk tradition and put their own stamp on these old songs. For that reason, Oh My Little Darling stands as a foundational text in alt-country and contemporary Americana — a testament to the malleability of American folk music in all its types.

Music Maker Relief Foundation: Keeping the Blues Alive

Posted on by Editor

It’s no secret that the South is home to some of the greatest musicians around, past and present. From early bluesmen like Robert Johnson to country legends like Hank Williams, the South has produced some of the foremost forebears to our current musical culture. And while the South has big names a-plenty, it’s also rich with local musicians hoping to keep the region’s musical history alive, often, unfortunately, doing so with little to no recognition.

The Music Maker Relief Foundation was established for that very reason: to, in its own words, “preserve the musical traditions of the South by directly supporting the musicians who make it, ensuring their voices will not be silenced by poverty and time.” Founded in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, in 1994, the 501(c)3 non-profit has grown from a handful of passionate music lovers helping a small coalition of local musicians with simple necessities like securing food and paying bills to a globally recognized entity responsible for working with over 300 artists, releasing more than 150 albums, and spreading Southern music to all corners of the world.

Timothy Duffy co-founded Music Maker with his wife Denise after enrolling in the folklore program at UNC, Chapel Hill. His time working in UNC’s archives led to a chance meeting that planted the seeds for what would become Music Maker. “There aren’t many jobs in folklore,” Duffy laughs. “I was working for the archive and met an old bluesman named James ‘Guitar Slim’ Stephens in Greensboro. Before he passed, he introduced me to a guy named Guitar Gabriel in the early ‘90s. Gabe and I became partners and we put out a cassette. He was a great blues artist. He was very famous in a circuit that was never documented by white folks. It was called the Black Carnival Circuit. So he knew everybody. He knew all the musicians because he’d played in their towns for 40 years.”

Through his time with Guitar Gabriel, Duffy realized there was a vast community of phenomenally talented blues musicians that was virtually unknown to the rest of the world. Even more troubling to Duffy was how many of these musicians were living in poverty. “I soon realized that there was no place for these guys in the music business,” he says. “The blues guys never sold many records. They could barely scratch by a living. You’ve got B.B. King and that’s it. If anyone knows a blues artist after B.B., that’s amazing.”

The contrast Duffy’s own experience encountering countless talented players with the widely held notion that the blues was a dying art appealed to his presevationist roots. “There was this really weird view that the blues was dead,” he explains. “That was clear to me after meeting people like Alan Lomax, Archie Green, and some of the greatest folklorists of our time. It was just another case of politics of culture, of people appropriating what they wanted and keeping it for themselves and putting the culture down.”

Duffy saw the work of these little-known musicians as essential to preserving the musical legacy of the South and worked with Guitar Gabriel, Willa Mae Buckner, Preston Fulp, Mr. Q, Macavine Hayes, and a number of other North Carolina blues players to start Music Maker. A large focus of the organization’s initial efforts was simply providing these musicians with the financial assistance they needed to keep playing. “They were very disenfranchised economically. They were living on $3,000 or $4,000 a year,” he says. “We bought cases and cases of Ensure, because a lot of these guys had strictures in their throats, had nutrition problems. We bought clothes, shoes. We paid electric bills. That’s what it was founded as, at first.”

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Thanks to the group’s passion, it didn’t take too long for Music Maker to begin growing into the internationally respected organization it is today. Word spread throughout the blues community that Duffy and his team were doing good work, and the community rallied around them. “Taj Mahal heard about me in 1995,” Duffy says. “I flew out to L.A. and hung out with him, and he introduced me to B.B. King. B.B. fell in love with the project and took me around London, New York, L.A., and introduced me to all of these influential people like the Rolling Stones, Dan Aykroyd — wonderful people that supported the organization. That was our start. Now we’re here, 22 years later, and we’ve issued over 300 records.”

That increased notoriety for Music Maker has, as Duffy and his team hoped, also brought newfound fame and success for the artists involved. “A lot of times, in these small communities, that elevates them greatly,” Duffy says of Music Maker’s artists. “They go from this obscure guy that lives in an old trailer, now, to an international figure in their community that has played Carnegie Hall, Lincoln Center, traveled all to Australia, France, Argentina. That elevates interest of the music and it helps them in their mission to keep this music alive and vibrant in their communities.”

While Music Maker has been an invaluable resource for older blues musicians like Ironing Board Sam and Pat Wilder, it’s also played an integral role in developing the careers of a number of emerging and newly established roots artists. Newer artists Music Maker has worked with include Dom Flemons, Spencer Branch, Cary Morin, and, perhaps most famously, the Carolina Chocolate Drops. “When I learned that the Carolina Chocolate Drops were learning from Joe Thompson, an old banjo player from right down the road, I went and saw the performance,” Duffy says. “We took this small, fledgling group that barely knew how to play instruments to a Grammy-winning phenomenon, that really did quite well.”

In addition to artist advocacy, Music Maker has kept busy over the years with all kinds of projects, including a photgraphy exhibit (“Our Living Past”), a book and CD (We Are the Music Makers), and the Music Maker Blues Revue, a touring group that has recently played as part of Globalfest at New York’s Webster Hall. “Gabe and I started [the revue] back in the early ‘90s,” Duffy says. “When we go play Lincoln Center or jazz festivals, we bring all these guys on stage and do a revue show. That cast is ever-changing as people pass away.”

Upcoming projects include a fundraiser to purchase instruments for the town’s prison bluegrass band and a new blues club set to open at the Durham Bulls Athletic Park, the latter of which has support from Durham Bulls owner Michael Goodman and his family. “They started a new brewery called Bull Durham Beer,” Duffy explains. “Right by the box office, they’re opening a blues club. For every beer that you buy there at the taproom, they’re giving Music Maker a dollar and also providing a budget for us to hire Music Maker acts. I think it’s going to be the nation’s greatest blues club because it’s one of the only places you’ll see these kind of guys playing. “

It sounds like a lot, but the folks at Music Maker see their work as a labor of love — one inspired by their deep admiration for Southern music history and the musicians sacrificing it all to keep that history alive.

“All music is from the South,” Duffy says. “All modern music. There’s not one popular form of music that doesn’t trace its roots back squarely to the South. The blues, bluegrass, pop music … it’s America’s greatest legacy to the world. It’s better than the Colt .45 or whatever guns we invented. The music is the greatest thing we’ve done.”

Lede photo of Eddie Tigner by Tim Duffy

A Trip Through Alan Lomax’s Online Archives

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Alan Lomax was one of the world's foremost historians of American folk music in the 20th century. Son of folklorist John Lomax, he spent his life collecting field recordings, researching folklore in various cultures, producing concerts and events, and promoting the idea of cultural equity within the folklore community. In 2004, all of Lomax's archives were acquired by the Library of Congress. The massive archives include 6,400 sound recordings, 5,500 still images, and 6,000 moving images, as well as 25,000 pages from Lomax's office files. His work spans multiple continents and decades, and is one of the most comprehensive resources for folk culture available. 

With that level of research available to the public, many historians and hobbyists have put together their own Lomax-centric projects, including Joshua Clegg Caffery's John and Alan Lomax in Louisiana, 1934 — an in-depth journey into the father/son duo's studies of lower Louisiana housed at Lomax1934.com.

There are also the Library of Congress Alan Lomax Collection, which is available online for free; the Alan Lomax YouTube archives; and the Association for Cultural Equity's archives of Lomax's sound recordings to dig into. Not sure where to start? We've picked out some highlights to help you get started on your journey through the archives. 

Lead Belly Memorial Concert Poster, 1950

Sheet Music from the Carribean Folk Song Project, 1965

Performers in Louisiana, 1934, via Lomax1934.com

Transcript, Woody Guthrie CBS Performance, 1940-41

Belton Sutherland, Blues #1

1982 Holly Springs Sacred Harp Convention

Photos coutesy of The U.S. Library of Congress