Tag: grandpa jones

With Dirty Laundry Piling Up Followers, Marcus Veliz Embraces the Banjo Vibe

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A crystalline river flows lazily over rocks, a green hillside rising just beyond it to meet the bluest sky, and Marcus Veliz is clawhammering a hypnotic lick on his banjo in the foreground. “Ever try tuning to the river?” reads the caption to this picturesque reel on his Instagram profile @dirtylaundrytheband. “It might give you a new tune.”

This video, like so many on Veliz’s feed, was taken on one of his “banjo walks” near Reno, Nevada. Veliz likes to go out exploring with his instrument—an RK-OT25-BR, to be exact—when he’s camping or visiting a new city, find a spot that inspires him, and start riffing. “That’s just meditation, chill vibes,” he says. “You’re just trying to kind of tap in. You never know what’s gonna happen.”

The 26-year-old banjo phenom was born in Portland, Oregon, but grew up outside Sacramento in Orangevale, California, where he still lives…sometimes. Life has become more transient these days as he roams freely, a skateboard and banjo in tow, meeting and collaborating with fellow musicians all along the West Coast. His Dirty Laundry project (which sometimes includes other musicians) has drawn nearly 24,000 followers to his Instagram page since he picked up the banjo around three years ago. A musician since childhood, Veliz says the banjo is the latest in a long line of instruments after trumpet, autoharp, fiddle, accordion, spoons, and guitar, and it’s the one that has really stuck.

 

“I tell most people, with the banjo, I already knew how much effort you would need to put into something that’s new. So, when I picked it up, I expected it to take a while, but it kind of just loved me back,” he says. “I probably only had one day off that whole first year. It was really easy. It showed me a bunch.”

While many artists begrudgingly use social media to do the obligatory promotion of their music and upcoming shows, Veliz has wholeheartedly wrapped his arms around it and is using it to carve out a place for himself before ever even releasing a record. In a conversation from the backseat of his car, Veliz expands on what drew him to the instrument, his DIY approach, and what’s next for his music career.

BGS: What was it that made you pick up the banjo?

Veliz: There’s a lot of different things. It was always kind of around. I had a best friend whose dad was a big influence. They’d play Flatt & Scruggs and other stuff. There’s a band called Rail Yard Ghosts, and I got into them and their lead singer—Riley Coyote—the way he plays banjo made me think you didn’t have to just pick, you could do something new with it. I got one and saw what happened, right away started trying clawhammer style and just didn’t take a break from it for like a year. It just kinda clicked. My first banjo was 15 bucks. I went on the letgo app and found one in a town over. They had it as a wall hanging decoration. Everything was there, I just put new strings on it.

 

 

You mentioned Flatt & Scruggs and Rail Yard Ghosts. Who have been some of your other influences?

Stringbean from Hee Haw is really big to me. Grandpa Jones. They just have a jokey-ness about them. Stringbean has these long suspenders that are way down by his ankles and a long shirt, so he just looks super weird, but it’s on purpose. Grandpa Jones has funny banjo songs, too, but they’re both clawhammer style. Then there’s this dude Dock Boggs, he’s like two-finger-style picking, but his playing is just completely rhythmic and different.

In the first year [I was playing banjo], I conveniently got to see Steve Martin, and the Steep Canyon Rangers were with him, so that was a big gnarly experience. All those clawhammer players and seeing old videos of it and stuff, and just the history of it. I started dipping into the gourd banjos in Africa, you got the Caribbean roots and stuff. There’s just too much there for me to leave alone.

You’ve been playing music since middle school. Were you in any bands?

There were probably two, but we never did anything at all. It was just going to a friend’s house and playing and stuff. Then I fell into a whole thrash metal, death metal thing for a long time and got really technical on guitar. And I was doing folk around the same time as kind of an outlet, and then that just kinda took over.

 

 

So, thrash metal, punk, folk music, bluegrass, African and Caribbean—are you pulling from these influences when you’re writing or even just noodling, or are you trying to create your own sound?

I feel like I’m making my own lane in a way. I’ll listen to others saying I’m making a new sound, but I won’t say that I’m making a new sound. It’s refreshing and cool to hear, but I also know anybody that picks up a banjo and plays like clawhammer or two-finger style isn’t gonna sound the same, so it’s hard for me just listening to myself to be able to say anything like that. When I pick it up, I let it do its thing now.

How do you describe your style?

The best way I can describe it is, it’s a vibe. It gives you a mood. I’ve heard other people say it and I think it’s just the easiest way to explain it. It’s all over the place. There’s a lot of songs on guitar that don’t have bridges, but it works better without it. I hate bridges. When it stays like this verse-little thing-verse-bigger thing, but no bridge, it becomes just a vibe, like a lo-fi beat. It doesn’t change, it just keeps going. Dirty Laundry, I always tell people, it’s an idea of sound and vibe. It’s this living entity that I serve. I would just like to please “it,” this idea of sound.

Guided by feeling more than technical prowess?

Yeah, it’s all feels.

 

 

What does Dirty Laundry mean?

Dirty Laundry is kind of my outlet for shit, stuff you’re working through in life, just growing.

You’ve used Instagram and social media to build your audience. How organic or strategic was that?

For the Dirty Laundry project, as far as Instagram, I think I was on there in 2016 even, but it was all guitar-oriented and small. Then [a few years later], Charlie Marks—he’s a banjo player in Reno—we hit each other up and decided to get together and play, so I finally went out there. And I was asking him, “How are you blowing up on Instagram?” and he was like, “Dude, just start posting reels.” It was also a good time for that, so I started doing it. Just every other day, go post something. Then after a while it just started snowballing. It’s been wild.

It’s algorithmic stuff, too, cause if you’re gonna post something in a certain area and tag the place, it’s gonna work with the [other stuff for that tag]. I always wanna put my print that I’ve been here, played in your park. It’s gonna show up on everyone’s feed. There’re people that will post the updates of the algorithm and how it’s gonna work, so you can get smart around that stuff. But it’s kind of more a scavenger hunt in places I’ve been. I’m definitely trying to do some album work in the future. Right now, it’s just kinda been a blessing because I’ve been able to play all these places and not have an album and open for people with nothing.

You’re sort of subverting the traditional process in favor of a truly independent approach, while also subverting assumptions or expectations about what the banjo has to be.

There are definitely some fools watching, managers reaching out. It’s cool, but it’s also like, who else is looking? Makes you want to be hungrier for it.

 

 

How do you feel about TikTok?

I had one and I deleted it because it didn’t feel right. TikTok feels like you post something for it to be seen, but no one really goes to see more of it… I feel like there’s more incentive with Instagram to go to a page and see all the videos, to sit on a page and look at everyone’s content. TikTok’s just built to scroll and leave. I already feel like I have too many people where I’m just their pocket banjo guy.

Is there a scene you’ve experienced on your travels that you want to carve out space for yourself in, or is it more important to you to hang back and establish a stronger one where you already are/where it’s maybe more needed?

A bit of both. Everyone needs to leave their hometown to do something or become something. But definitely New Orleans, with artists like Rail Yard Ghosts and other folk punk, I definitely want to go out there and see if I can even hang with all the other musicians out there that are making a living out of playing on the street. I would like to earn my badge out there. And go to the East eventually and just play everything over there that I can.

I’m more Sacramento area, and there’s still a whole bunch of indie sounds going on. It’s like indie hardcore, and like dad rock bands. It’s not bad for the banjo folk scene. You’re definitely going other places for it, traveling to see better parts of it. But I see it coming up again because of Billy Strings and Sierra Ferrell.

All the heavy hitters I’m definitely watching and observing, taking notes. There’s also this small group in this area, like Charlie Marks, Two Runner, Bar Jay Bar, Water Tower Band. This is all California area. There’s just a bunch of local folk people that are on this side of the coast. It’s funny how we’re lumped in with each other, like we’re all just different corners of the same cloth and we’re all representing folk on the West Coast.

Stone and Sue, they’re like a moving picture from the 1920s. I’m kind of waiting for them to take over. They’re in Oregon. They just play super old-style stuff. I’m so happy to see a band like them. I feel like I have my hands full with so much old stuff. I’m researching still, from ‘20s or ‘30s, so it’s hard to keep an eye on all the stuff going on. I’m still trying to meet Matt Heckler, people like that. It’s all gonna happen eventually.

Photo Credit: Ryan Joseph Moody

Crystal Gayle Goes Deep into Classic Country

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It’s a little startling when Crystal Gayle pops into the hallway of her Music Row office and cheerfully waves for this writer to come on back. Along with being a charming and welcoming host, she’s also one of country music’s most identifiable entertainers, a Grand Ole Opry member, a Grammy winner, and a genuine class act.

She’s also a recording artist again, ending a 16-year absence with You Don’t Know Me, a collection of country classics that honors her heroes, as well as her sister, Loretta Lynn, and Loretta’s late husband, Mooney Lynn. It was Mooney, she says, that ushered her into the spotlight as a teenager, and that memory prompted Gayle to begin the album with “Ribbon of Darkness,” a Marty Robbins hit in 1965.

“‘Ribbon of Darkness’ was my first song on the Opry,” she recalls. “I was probably 16 or 17, and my sister Loretta was sick and Mooney talked them into letting me get on stage and sing a song in her place. It was just a thrill! Of course, later on when I started out, I opened for Marty Robbins. Marty was so incredible. I got to work with Jack Greene, Stringbean, Grandpa Jones, Bill Monroe. … My album is filled with songs that mean something to me. This is a part of my life that a lot of people don’t know about.”

Gayle co-produced the album with her son, Christos, and continued the family connection by recording “Put It Off Until Tomorrow” with both of her singing sisters, Loretta Lynn and Peggy Sue. She also unearthed “You Never Were Mine,” a tearjerker written by her late brother Jay Lee Webb. Surrounded by fan gifts and photos from throughout her career, Gayle visited with BGS about her earliest days in Nashville, how she found her own voice, and why she’s still fond of her own country classic, “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.”

BGS: What was it like for you as a new artist in 1970, meeting Jack Greene, Marty Robbins, and all of these stars?

CG: I was in awe of everybody, but of course when Loretta would come through town — because she was singing as I was growing up — she would be with maybe Ferlin Husky. I remember loving that. Or the Wilburn Brothers. They were incredible! I loved the harmony that they did. I could sit and listen to their music all day long, I just loved it. Of course I was a fan as well, but you have to give them their space. [Laughs] I learned that from Loretta.

I’m curious about Mooney. How did he influence your career?

Mooney really believed in my ability of singing. He loved my voice and he actually got my contract with Decca Records, but the best thing about it, he got a very short contract. It was the long ones that can ruin a lot of artists, because now they’re on this label, they’ve got so many years left, and they can’t do anything and [the label isn’t] helping them at all. They are not pushing the records.

So I was very lucky when my contract was up and Owen [Bradley] called me in. It was like, “Well, you’re going to do this, this, this, or we say bye.” I said, “Okay, bye.” [Laughs] I mean, it was hard. It was a hard time and I really thought at that time, “I’m just going to go back to Indiana and do what I’m doing.” I was married and my husband was going to Indiana University. Then when we moved to Nashville, he went to Vanderbilt in law school.

But I was just lucky. I was in the right place at the right time because before I left town, I was fulfilling my [appearance] obligations and I ran into Lynn Shults, who was with United Artists. We were just talking and he says, “Well, what label are you with now?” I said, “No one.” He said, “Will you come and talk to me Monday?” So things fell into place. And they put me with Allen Reynolds.

To say the least, that worked out.

Oh it did.

There was one song here I didn’t recognize – “I’ve Seen That Look on Me a Thousand Times.”

That was a song that our engineer Eric Prestidge loved. He said, “You’ve got to listen to this.” It was a song that I thought, “You know, a girl doesn’t really sing this… And I’m going to do it.” And I loved that it was a Harlan Howard song.

Several times on this record, it’s a woman singing about the drinking and the cheating. What is it about those flawed characters that makes you want to step into those shoes?

I’ve always said that if I had all the heartache I’ve sung about in my songs, I’d be in poor shape. So you’re a little bit of an actress or an actor. I’ve worked so many little clubs and bars on the way up — and even in high school I’d work the little places I could get into without getting anybody in trouble — that you saw the heartache. You saw the people that these songs really was their life.

So you can get into that and sing about it. “Just One More” was one of Mooney’s favorite songs and when they’d come through and stop at Mom’s house, I’d have to sing a cappella — he had me learn “Just One More.”

How old were you?

I was probably in sixth or seventh grade. [Laughs] “Just one more and then another…”

A drinking song from a 12-year-old.

“I’ll keep drinking, it don’t matter….” [Laughs]

You’ve included “Hello Walls,” written by the great Willie Nelson. As a co-producer, what kind of vibe were you going for?

I was actually going to go for the style that Faron Young did, and have the type of harmonies with the “hello, hello” … and we didn’t [use that idea] because I let other people influence me. They said, “No, you can’t, you’ve got to change it a little.” But I did my own harmony on that particular song. You know, I opened for Faron. I used his band and we did some dates together.

I remember rehearsing with him and the group. They were incredible guys, and very, very special to me. They’d watch out. I was that young girl that — all of them, even Conway Twitty — if I was on their shows, they were going to watch out for me because as the little sister of Loretta, they knew that she’d kill them if they didn’t!

Here you are, this young woman, 20 or 21 years old, starting out with these middle-aged guys who are stars. I wondered how they treated you.

Everyone treated me great and I think it really showed a lot of respect as well for my sister. And you know, I’m not someone that’s going to come out there and be that floozy, too. I think the way you present yourself is a part of it. But no, they were all very, very, very good.

And with Faron, when I wanted to do “Hello Walls,” I had completely forgotten that Willie Nelson had written the song and I’m starting to sing it, and I said, “Of course, the phrasing.”

Your phrasing is distinct, too. At what point did you find your own voice, do you think?

I think working with Allen. He would say, “Now sing this song, do it different ways, and then listen back and see which you like the best.” See, he let me listen to my voice and not just go in and sing the song. Because I was a belter. I remember going in the first time and Charles Cochran’s playing the piano and I’m singing at the top of my lungs. Allen grins and he says, “Can you sing it a little bit lighter?” [Laughs] … Allen was laid-back like me, and was not forceful, but he did pull out things within me. He’d say, “Do you like this song? Because you’re going to be the one singing it. You better like it.”

What a gift, instead of a producer just telling you what to do.

Oh, it was incredible. I was used to people telling me everything but Allen knew it was going to be me out there pounding the road and he wanted me to have the songs that I felt really comfortable with. I get asked the question, “Do you ever get tired of singing ‘Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue’?” I don’t, because that song — Richard Leigh wrote it — is so well-written. I’ve always said it says so much in so little. I love it that it’s not all these words I have to think about to sing. There are so many songs out there where it’s like, “OK, what verse is next?” But this song just flows, and I think that’s one of the reasons that it was as big as it was.

Photo courtesy of the artist.

Hee Haw’s Best Banjo Moments

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The first record I ever owned on vinyl was Roy Clark and Buck Trent’s Banjo Bandits. (Excellent record. Hokey, silly, bouncy, double banjo nirvana complete with bluegrass piano.) Roy Clark and Buck Trent eventually led me to Hee Haw, which gave me hours of entertainment and caused hundreds of that-joke-was-so-so-bad facepalms. The music, though, was first rate — and the ratio of banjos to literally everything else was exactly as high as it should be. Check out these amazing best banjo-y Hee Haw moments.

Jimmy Henley and Roy Clark — “Orange Blossom Special”

Jimmy Henley was a world champion banjo player at just 10 years old. Sure, “Orange Blossom Special” is an overplayed trick song, but dang, Jimmy could play fast and clean as a little kid.

Stringbean and Grandpa Jones — “Little Liza Jane”

Two of the classics of the Grand Ole Opry and Hee Haw — and they were neighbors, too, living in the same holler north of Nashville. Look at Stringbean’s face when he forgets they’re repeating the chorus the first time through it. Let us know if you happen to know who the unidentified dancer is.

Roy Clark and Bobby Thompson — “Bury Me Beneath the Willow”

The world needs more double banjo. Full stop.

Cathy Barton — “Redwing”

Now here’s some clawhammer! “Redwing” is a simple tune, but it’s executed expertly and tastefully. Cathy Barton still plays and teaches today, and she tours with her husband Dave Para.

 Grandpa Jones, Roni Stoneman, Buck Trent, Roy Clark, Bobby Thompson — “Pretty Little Bird”

How many banjos is too many banjos? There’s no such thing. Line ‘em all up in front of a haystack, and you’ve got a party.

Roy Clark & Buck Trent — “Dueling Banjos”

Leaving off right where we started, with the original banjo bandits, Roy Clark and Buck Trent pickin’ an absolute bluegrass banjo staple!