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Lindsay Lou’s Bluegrass Women Features These Twenty Talents

Posted on by Editor

Lindsay Lou’s Bluegrass Women arrived in August 2026 as a true gift to the genre.

Nascent for over a decade, this project took root back in 2015 when Lou started a list containing two titles — “I Only Exist” and “All I Ever Loved Was You.” Though primarily associated with the men who popularized them, both bluegrass standards were written or co-written by women. Thus marked the start of an impassioned cataloguing as Lou realized, “If these two songs have surfaced for me, then there have got to be so many more. I would keep this list somewhere I could see it in my office, wherever I lived,” she relayed recently in an interview with Live for Live Music.

Ten years later, ten traditional songs had made their way to the forefront of her list, all of which were written, co-written, or first performed by women. While forging her own career in this male-dominated sphere, she found encouragement in her continuous unearthing of women among the forebears.

Women have always been essential to the architecture of the bluegrass, however quieted their contributions may have been. With more women in the spotlight than ever before, Lindsay Lou felt inspired to weave a throughline between contemporary “bluegrass women” and their ancestors. In March 2025, she partnered with co-producer Shani Gandhi to round up an intergenerational cast of twenty women defining the genre today. A Tetris of tour schedules, this star-studded cast managed to complete the compilation in only four days of recording, with Lou masterminding ensembles and arrangements.

Together, this collection of women celebrates their musical predecessors, shedding new light upon many of the women woven throughout bluegrass history. Join us as we explore, in no particular order, the tremendous trove of talent responsible for the masterpiece that is Bluegrass Women.

Laurie Lewis

Truly a singular talent, Laurie Lewis remains an unwavering pillar of the bluegrass scene and beyond. A hero to every participant on Bluegrass Women, Lewis’s singing, songwriting, and fiddling continue to inspire across generations.

Among her inordinate accolades includes co-founding The Good Ol’ Persons in the ‘70s, one of the first prominent all-women bluegrass groups. Her musings traverse across genres, slinging folk, Americana, and country influences to boot. She is heralded in the music scene as an avid collaborator, producer, teacher, and mentor, in addition to actively tending to her own projects. Her most recent record, O California! arrived in January 2026, released by her band, Laurie Lewis and the Right Hands.

The inaugural notes of Bluegrass Women are played by Laurie Lewis and Tatiana Hargreaves in a glorious twin fiddle kick on the opening track “All I Ever Loved Was You” (though recorded and popularized Ricky Skaggs and Keith Whitley, its lyrics were penned by Skagg’s mother, Dorothy). Hargreaves has said of her fiddling counterpart, “I wouldn’t be playing the music I play if it weren’t for Laurie Lewis,” a sentiment that echoes the interconnectedness of musicianship at the project’s core.

Tatiana Hargreaves

Of her fiddling counterpart, Laurie Lewis boasts, “Tatiana Hargreaves is a versatile, powerful, and deep musician. Not just a damn good fiddler.” Having recorded her debut album at age 14 and winning first prize at the Clifftop Appalachian Fiddle Contest the same year, Tatiana Hargreaves has truly packed a punch in the decade and a half (and change) since. With a range of styles under her belt, Hargreaves’ fluency in both bluegrass and old-time grants her a dextrous dynamism. At present, she teaches improvisation and bluegrass fiddle at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and primarily records and performs in a duo with prolific banjo player Allison de Groot (also featured on Bluegrass Women), and with her four-piece old time band, Hard Drive.

On Bluegrass Women, Hargreaves lends her fearsome fiddling to three tracks — “All I Ever Loved Was You,” “Jubilee,” and “Won’t You Come and Sing for Me.”

Allison de Groot

A clawhammer banjo player from Winnipeg, Canada, Allison de Groot became familiar with the scene by way of The Duhks, a renowned Canadian folk-fusion band likewise out of Winnipeg. As she traced the lineage of the clawhammer banjo, she became enamored with its prominence in the American South and became a teacher and performer. Between lessons and many trips to the southeastern United States, a love affair with old-time took root. Her duo with Tatiana Hargreaves continues the centuries-long conversation between fiddle and banjo; their creative alchemy doulas the dialogue to new depths.

De Groot lends her banjo playing to the tracks “I’ve Endured” and “High on a Mountain” on Bluegrass Women.

Maddie Witler

While primarily known for her virtuosic mandolin playing, Maddie Witler began her musical journey at age 9 on the fiddle. If those skills weren’t enough, in the time since, Witler has made her acquaintance with most stringed instruments, adeptly fluent in each language. After growing up in the greater LA area and moving to Boston to attend Berklee College of Music, she became a founding member of the illustrious Lonely Heartstring Band. In 2019, Witler joined Della Mae, one of the most prominent all-women groups of the contemporary bluegrass landscape, parting ways with them in 2022. In 2021, Witler released her first solo album, Astronaut, debuting her skills as a songwriter, singer, and arranger.

On Bluegrass Women, Witler edifies the tracks “All I Ever Loved Was You,” “Jubilee,” and “Won’t You Come and Sing for Me” with her apt mandolin contributions.

Alison Brown

Alison Brown, too, is a widely influential instrumentalist whose work has permeated across generations. She reunited with her love of bluegrass banjo playing when, after receiving an MBA from UCLA, she quit her job on Wall Street to tour with Alison Krauss & Union Station. She also toured with Michelle Shocked before forming her own group in 1993, The Alison Brown Quartet. With 12 solo albums, a Grammy, and multiple Grammy nominations under her belt, Brown is largely regarded as one of the most accomplished banjo players of our time.

Of recording with Alison Brown and Laurie Lewis for Bluegrass Women, Lindsay Lou speaks to the experience’s profoundness in her four-part YouTube series documenting the album’s recording.

She reflects, “We’ve seen mentorship and cross-generational connection and collaboration happen on stage with men plenty, but you haven’t seen it as much with women historically. To be a part of a session with Laurie and Alison, who have been doing this for so many more years than anybody else on the session, you instantly have this reverence.”

Alison Brown lends her banjo playing to the tracks “All I Ever Loved Was You,” “Jubilee,” and “Won’t You Come and Sing for Me.”

Hasee Ciaccio

Hasee Ciaccio is a musician and educator residing in North Carolina. Her upright bass playing has earned high praise in the bluegrass circuit, with Ciaccio having recorded and toured among the likes of Laurie Lewis, Alice Gerrard, and bluegrass powerhouse group Sister Sadie. Ciaccio is also on the board of Bluegrass Pride, an organization working to uplift LGBTQ+ bluegrass musicians of all levels.

Ciaccio’s bass playing lays the foundation for much of Bluegrass Women. She’s featured on seven of the ten tracks — “All I Ever Loved Was You,” “Like a River,” “I Only Exist,” “Jubilee,” ”Won’t You Come and Sing for Me,” “Freight Train,” “Your Lone Journey,” and “CC Rider.”

Courtney Hartman

A champion flat-picker, Courtney Hartman grew up in Colorado with nine siblings, four of whom she played music with. Because they needed one to play guitar, and inspired by her mother taking lessons, Hartman gravitated to the instrument following stints with piano, fiddle, and violin.

After attending Berklee College of Music, Hartman spent seven years recording and touring with Della Mae. Her newest solo album, With You, began during an isolated, heavy moment. Shortly after discovering that she was pregnant, a string of tumultuous events (her husband falling off a ladder and rendered immobile for months, a totaled car, being dropped from her booking agency) ravaged her life in quick succession. Following the birth of her daughter, Hartman forged her own list of women to draw inspiration from — ones who had continued their creative practice in the midst of becoming mothers. Their navigation of caregiving and musicianship imbued faith that she, too, could straddle both. With You features many of the mothers that inspired Hartman, both as co-writers and musical guests.

In a full-circle moment, Hartman joined Lindsay Lou’s project, the entirety of which was recorded while Lou was pregnant with her first child. Hartman is credited on the tracks “I Only Exist,” “Like a River,” and “Freight Train.”

Gena Britt

Gena Britt, a connoisseur of both bluegrass banjo and bass, is no stranger to a project like Bluegrass Women. In 2001, Britt co-founded Daughters of Bluegrass, a collective of over 40 women in bluegrass who have recorded four albums to date. In addition to being a highly sought-after studio vocalist and instrumentalist, with solo projects also under her belt, Gena is currently a member of the dynamic Sister Sadie.

Gena is featured on six tracks on Bluegrass Women — “Your Lone Journey,” “Freight Train,” “Like a River,” “High on a Mountain,” “I Only Exist,” and “CC Rider.”

AJ Lee

A prominent presence in today’s bluegrass scene, AJ Lee is lauded for her acute mandolin skills, unparalleled vocals, and sharp songwriting. Hailing from the Bay Area, at age 7 she was asked to join The Tuttles, a family band consisting of bluegrass educator Jack Tuttle and his two children, (you guessed it) Molly and Sully. Around the time she graduated high school in 2015, AJ sewed the seeds culminating in her own band, AJ Lee and Blue Summit. The group just released their fourth full-length album, Cover to Cover, earlier this month.

On Bluegrass Women, AJ’s artistry can be found on the tracks “Freight Train,” “Like a River,” and “I Only Exist.”

Wila Frank

Wila Frank is a singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and producer based out of Nashville. One half of the emergent folk duo Paper Wings, and fiddler/electric guitarist for Lindsay Lou, Frank also champions her own stirring solo repertoire. Her debut album, Black Cloud (2023), received critical acclaim, and a 2026 single release, “Emergency Contact,” hints towards more in the works (we hope!).

Frank appears on half of Bluegrass Woman, credited on the tracks “Like a River,” “High on a Mountain,” “I Only Exist,” “CC Rider,” and “Your Lone Journey.”

Brittany Haas

Widely regarded as one of the most prolific fiddlers of her generation, Brittany Haas is an absolute flurry of talent. Her playing is sensitive, inspired, and expansive. Her current projects include her duo with her cellist sister (Natalie Haas), the innovative instrumental project, Hawktail, and as the newest member of the Grammy-winning Punch Brothers. A teacher and performer, Haas’s playing is infectiously inspiring to all who listen.

Haas joins Bluegrass Women on the tracks “High on a Mountain” and “I’ve Endured.”

Sally Van Meter

Another former member of the Good Ol’ Persons alongside Laurie Lewis, Sally Van Meter is a musical giant in her own right. Though primarily recognized for her dobro playing, Van Meter is dextrous on an assortment of string instruments. With a professional music career that began in 1976, Sally Van Meter’s past five decades have been an impressive spread of performance, teaching, touring, and recording.

Van Meter plays on “CC Rider,” a traditional 12-bar blues song first written and recorded by Ma Rainey, the “Mother of Blues.” The song was later covered by a vast assortment of artists, at one point becoming a mainstay opening number for Elvis Presely.

Sierra Hull

Legendary mandolinist, multi-instrumentalist, singer, and songwriter Sierra Hull could fill a dictionary with the accomplishments of her career, despite being just 34 years old. A six-time Grammy nominee and the first woman to receive the IBMA Mandolin Player of the Year honor (having now won seven times), Sierra Hull is a groundbreaking artist in the bluegrass scene. She released her fifth studio album, A Tip Toe High Wire, last year.

Hull’s talent enriches two tracks on Bluegrass Women — “High on a Mountain” and “I’ve Endured.” Of the songs, Sierra remarks, “These are songs that seep into your DNA. When you can step out of your own original lane for a minute and go back to what feels like the source, there’s something really powerful about that. It takes me back to who I am in a really grounding kind of way.”

Bronwyn

As anyone who’s heard a Molly Tuttle & Golden Highway record knows, Bronwyn Keith-Hynes is an astonishing fiddler, with brilliance and fire emanating through her every performance. Recently, though, she’s exposed even more of her talents to the world — she’s begun a solo project as simply Bronwyn, playing, singing, recording, and touring original material. Her third album, Rattlin’ Bones, was released on the same day as Bluegrass Women.

The amicable dissolution of Golden Highway allowed for Bronwyn to open up the floodgates of self-discovery; in fact, she cites bandmates Molly Tuttle and Shelby Means as chief proponents of Bronwyn exploring her voice. She says, “There was a large part of my life where I didn’t sing and was only interested in playing the fiddle, but being on tour with Golden Highway and around Molly and Shelby, these great female bluegrass vocalists, it shifted everything.”

Bronwyn’s fiddling appears on the tracks “Freight Train,” “Like a River” and “I Only Exist” on Bluegrass Women.

Molly Tuttle

Molly Tuttle herself, too, joins the record — yet another nod to the interweavings present among this group of women. Tuttle’s reputation precedes her, as the first woman to win IBMA’s Guitar Player of the Year (an award she earned two years in a row). Likewise, her albums Crooked Tree (2022) and City of Gold (2023) with her band, Golden Highway, each took home the Grammy for Best Bluegrass Album. For her new solo album, So Long Little Miss Sunshine (2025), Tuttle shifts into new stretches and shapes, tackling elements of pop, rock, flat-picking, and country in one fell swoop.

Tuttle joins for the song “Freight Train,” penned by the superlative Elizabeth Cotten, a self-taught, left-handed guitarist who wrote the song around the age of 11 in the early 20th century.

Emma Rose

Yet another multi-hyphenate talent, Emma Rose is a groundbreaking singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and sought-after upright bass player. She was a founding member of the juggernaut all-women outfit, Big Richard, and she currently tours with Lindsay Lou, while also nurturing a solo project, under the names Emma Rose or Sounds of Honey.

Emma Rose lends bass playing to Bluegrass Women on “I Only Exist,” “High on a Mountain” and “I’ve Endured.”

Sarah Jarosz

Sarah Jarosz’s sublime vocals, instrumental prowess, and narrative-driven songwriting render her an unsurpassed talent. With seven full-length solo albums to her name, three albums with supergroup I’m With Her (alongside Aoife O’Donovan and Sara Watkins), and a sprawling inventory of collaborations, Jarosz’s contributions to the roots scene have been nothing short of magnificent.

Jarosz is featured on the track “I’ve Endured,” written by the brilliant Appalachian singer, songwriter, and banjo player Ola Belle Read.

Phoebe Hunt

A fiddler of dynamic abundance, Phoebe Hunt has explored for decades the multiplicity of sound her instrument can produce. She’s spent years touring for various projects and for her own solo work, all the while founding a non-profit called Fuel Our Fire, garnering transformational songwriting experiences for at-risk communities. She’s also a gifted educator, and she began an initiative to help parents teach their children how to play the ukulele during the pandemic. Her most recent album, Nothing Else Matters (2023) features only the voice and fiddle, a peeled back honoring of her musicality in its most vulnerable form.

Hunt joins on Bluegrass Women for an awe-inspiring rendition of Hazel Dickens’s “Won’t You Come and Sing For Me.”

Jenni Lyn Gardner

Jenni Lyn Gardner is a robust singer, songwriter, producer, and mandolinist. She rose to prominence in the bluegrass scene when she joined Della Mae in 2010, and remained in the band for nearly a decade-long stretch. She’s also fronted her own solo project, and has served as a producer on countless albums and tracks across the roots music landscape.

Jenni Lyn Gardner joins Bluegrass Women for two tracks — “CC Rider” and “Your Lone Journey,” a song co-written by Doc Watson and his wife, Rosa Lee.

Aoife O’Donovan

One of the most treasured voices in bluegrass, Aoife O’Donovan is a Grammy-winning singer, songwriter, and guitar player. She’s widely known for her lead vocals as a founding member of the unparalleled Crooked Still (which fellow Bluegrass Women musician Brittany Haas later joined) and for her role as one-third of I’m With Her. O’Donovan has a penchant for evocative lyrics, textured storytelling, and hypnotic vocals. In addition to her many collaborations and features, O’Donovan has released four critically acclaimed albums of solo work.

On Bluegrass Women, Aoife is featured on the track “Your Lone Journey.”

Find out more about Lindsay Lou’s project with an episode of her mini-doc on BGS.

Lead image: Tatiana Hargreaves, Laurie Lewis, and Lindsay Lou by Sawyer Gieseke

When Harmonies Run Deep: An Essential Roots Music Tradition

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Since Jamie Dailey and Darrin Vincent began singing together as Dailey & Vincent in 2007, they have awed fans in many ways: through their musicality, their sincerity, and their professionalism. But most of all, it’s about their duet singing.

It’s the way their voices blend and weave, so closely it can be hard to distinguish one from another. It’s the way their so-tight harmonies set up a vibration that makes the world tilt a little bit when they reach the high notes. It’s the way we sigh after they stop singing, because all’s right with the world.

Although they aren’t related, Dailey & Vincent do the bluegrass phenomenon of a “brother duet” like nobody’s business. They capture the familial force that Grammy-winning bluegrass artist Laurie Lewis describes as delightfully “making the hair on our arms and legs stand up.”

With Dailey & Vincent as our Artist of the Month, we thought we would peek into the history and tradition of brother duets and other harmony-driven duos that led to this great contemporary partnership.

Two Brothers and Two Instruments

For bluegrass journalist, songwriter, performer, and teacher Jon Weisberger, the term “brother duet” refers to something very specific: “A brother duet is basically a guitar and a mandolin and two guys, and they could be brothers, like the Monroe Brothers or the Blue Sky Boys [Bill and Earl Bolick] or even the Delmore Brothers.”

But many of the early duos later added more musicians. “They became something else, in this sort of organic process … because they wanted to have a fuller sound and they wanted to be competitive on the radio…”

“This brother duet thing existed before bluegrass,” Weisberger continues, “and then it became part of bluegrass. Such that modern folks like Michael Daves and Chris Thile … are doing a lot of the original-style singing, with just two instruments. It says something about the vitality and the attractiveness of that style.”

Weisberger notes that Dailey & Vincent recorded Gillian Welch’s “By the Mark” with just their voices, a guitar, and a mandolin. There are many other similar examples in country, old-time, and other folk formats, but the style is still beloved – and common, thankfully! – in bluegrass today.

Brothers in Tone and Timing

For many, a brother duet has to do with the spine-tingling effect of very tight harmonies, in which every note matches up in every way. Laurie Lewis, who has taught harmony singing extensively and is known for her many duet recordings and performances, talks about it this way.

“It’s easy for brother duets or sisters to blend, because they grew up pronouncing all their words the same way, because they’re from the same place and the same family,” Lewis explains. “So, they’ve got a big leg up that way.

“The shape of a vowel is the most important thing to get right when you’re trying to blend with somebody. And consonants, you know, when you start or end the note. It’s placement, as well – where you place the tone: is it forward in your face? Is it back in your throat, or somewhere in between?”

Members of family bands and sibling duets often have the same vocal timbre – “high and lonesome,” in some cases, or deeper and more mellow in others. But, Lewis said, the brother effect can work even with singers whose voices have different qualities.

“Take Carter and Ralph Stanley, who sang so beautifully together and had really different voices. Carter’s was smooth,” she points out, while Ralph always had that rougher mountain quality.

Insights From Singing Brothers

Eric Gibson remembers when he and his brother Leigh first got the harmony buzz as teenagers. “We were working in the calf barn and I’d been listening to Jim & Jesse sing ‘Are You Missing Me?’ … I started singing it, and Leigh was maybe 10 or 15 feet away from me, when he hits the tenor. And I looked at him, and I just felt it, like, ‘What did we just do?’”

The Gibson Brothers have won national awards for vocal recordings, for songwriting, and for gospel albums. They both love using a horse racing analogy to achieve the brother duet sound. Leigh notes that in many duets and other harmony forms, the lead singer is out front, in volume and style. In contrast, Eric quotes Tim Austin as saying, “Your brother duet is like two racehorses. There’s not a lead horse out there with the harmony back here. They’re both fighting for position.”

Like horse racing, it takes discipline, and keeping the harmonies tight. “You have to stay on the straight and narrow.” The tenor singer has to follow the lead singer, and neither can add too much individual style.

Leigh adds, “You have to give some of yourself. If I wanted to throw our vocal thing into chaos, I’d start singing for myself rather than for the two of us.”

“It’s about really listening and even watching your duet partner,” he says, “how they’re shaping words, how they’re closing off a vocal sound, if it’s happening quickly or it’s a slow close off of that vowel sound.

“Listen and pay attention. I think that’s the best advice I could give anybody.”

Brothers by Birth

For a beautiful collection of brother duets drawn from some of the best and least-known brothers, visit the Gibsons Brothers’ 2015 album, Brotherhood. The liner notes are an engaging mini-history of brother harmonies.

Here are just a few of the other brothers who set the stage for the duets we hear today – and popularized or debuted many of the songs we still sing and love.

The Monroe Brothers

Let’s start with the Monroe Brothers. Bill, the father of bluegrass, began performing with his brothers Birch and Charlie (the uncles of bluegrass?) in the 1920s. Birch left the group when the other two accepted an offer to host their own radio show. The very popular partnership of Charlie on guitar and Bill on mandolin only lasted four years, because they both wanted to be the boss. Charlie continued assembling bands with musicians like Lester Flatt, Ira Louvin, and Curly Seckler. As for Bill, he launched a new genre of music that bears the name of his home state and his band, the Blue Grass Boys.

The Delmore Brothers

Alton and Rabon, the Delmore Brothers, grew up in a tenant farming family in Alabama. Grounded in church music, the Delmores distinguished themselves with their versatile songwriting, leading to membership in the Grand Ole Opry in 1933, extensive touring with Arthur Fiddlin’ Smith, and later with Grandpa Jones and Merle Travis. They are acknowledged as pioneers across country, bluegrass, and rockabilly circles. Songs like “Blues, Stay Away From Me” and “Gonna Lay Down My Old Guitar” remain standard bluegrass fare. Alton’s autobiography, Truth is Stranger Than Publicity, is a hoot and a half.

Blue Sky Boys

Bill and Earl Bolick first appeared on radio in 1935, when still in their early 20s. They later chose the name the Blue Sky Boys after Western North Carolina, Land of the Blue Skies. Steeped in gospel, their first recording, “Sunny Side of Life”/”Where the Soul Never Dies,” was such a big hit they earned the name “the New Hillbilly Kings.” They recorded 100 songs, both religious and secular, before joining the service. After the war they found they disliked newer music trends and they stopped playing entirely for a time when their label asked them to add electric guitar. The brothers played on and off, particularly at folk venues, until the late ’60s. Rounder Records pulled them out of retirement in 1975 for a bluegrass and folk tour.

The Lilly Brothers

Bea and Everett Lilly, the Lilly Brothers, performed on mandolin and guitar, influenced by the mountain music they heard in their home state of West Virginia. Their first local radio appearance was in 1938, and they later earned a spot on the venerated WWVA Jamboree. With Tex Logan and Don Stover – a configuration that would last 18 years – they moved to Boston, where they were welcomed in the folk scene. They are credited with bringing bluegrass to the Northeast, influencing musicians like Peter Rowan and Bill Keith. In Country Music: The Rough Guide, author Kurt Wolff quoted Bluegrass Hall of Fame inductee Joe Val as saying, “Those guys hit on like a bombshell. Nobody’d ever heard anything like that before.”

The Louvin Brothers

For many, the Louvin Brothers set the standard for brother duets. They began their duet career in the 1940s, continuing until 1963, when Charlie broke off from Ira for a solo career. Their harmonies were stunning, influenced by the shape note singing they grew up with, and their prolific writing and recordings left us with so many of the songs commonly heard in today’s bluegrass world. Their old-time religion permeated their work, as well as the life of the tormented Ira, who professed devotion while battling his demons. Emmylou Harris said, “There was something scary and washed in the blood about the sound of the Louvin Brothers.” The cover of their album Satan is Real is an apt visual representation of that thought. It is also the name of Charlie’s autobiography. Another great source is the Cocaine & Rhinestones episode on the Louvins.

Jim & Jesse

Jim & Jesse McReynolds from Colfax, Virginia are lauded as much for Jesse’s mandolin style as for their duet singing. Many of bluegrass’s most accomplished musicians passed through their band, the Virginia Boys, including Vassar Clements, Allen Shelton, Vic Jordon, Carl Jackson, and Glen Duncan. Their versions of songs like “Are You Missing Me” are mainstays of bluegrass jams, while they ventured into the folk rock world with “Paradise.” Jesse would later host a tribute to Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter, too. Jim died in 2002 at age 75, ending what Wikipedia calls their 55 years performing together “the longest active professional brother duet in country music history.”

The Everly Brothers

Contemporary musicians from Graham Nash to Paul Simon have cited Don and Phil Everly’s duets as inspirational. Their harmonies were intricate, tight, and gorgeous. Coming from a country music background, they became hit pop stars, with “Bye Bye Love” in 1957. While many of their most popular songs were written by Felice and Boudleaux Bryant, the brothers were also prolific songwriters. They have been widely recognized by the music industry, from membership in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame to a #33 ranking in Rolling Stone’s list of 100 greatest artists of all time. For an excellent review of their often tumultuous careers and relationships, pick up Blood Harmony: The Everly Brothers Story by Barry Mazor.

Sisters, Mothers and Daughters

Family bands featuring female singers have been popular for decades, even before the Carter Family blasted from radio stations in the 1930s. But sister duets have been less prominent than their brotherly counterparts. We can speculate that’s because, historically, women were less likely to venture out on their own, and because they were less welcome at the front and center of bluegrass and country.

But when these women stepped up, they truly shined.

The Whites

Sisters Sharon and Cheryl performed for decades with their father, Buck White, as the Whites. But it is their duet singing that ranks with the tightest and tingliest of any brother duo. Buck, a mandolinist and piano player, encouraged his daughters to take up music. The three recorded extensively beginning in 1972 and recorded “Keep on the Sunny Side” for the Grammy Award-winning O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack. After Buck’s death in 2025, Sharon and Cheryl continue to perform, sometimes with Rosie, another sister, adding a high harmony. They have received highest honors in both the country and bluegrass fields, with more than 40 years as members of the Grand Ole Opry.

Kate & Anna McGarrigle

Kate and Anna McGarrigle were acclaimed Canadian folk singers and songwriters. Often passing the melody back and forth, it could be difficult to tell when one voice ended and the other began. Their harmonies were delicious. Linda Ronstadt had a big hit with the McGarrigles’ song “Heart Like a Wheel,” and Maria Muldaur, Emmylou Harris, and Judy Collins also covered their songs. Kate died in 2010.

The Judds

This mother/daughter duo certainly had the blood-harmony duet thing going big time with perfectly executed, soaring vocals. In a Cinderella-like story line, Naomi and her daughter Wynonna went from living on welfare to auditioning (in terror, as they described it) before a room full of recording executives – who signed them immediately. Within two years of the 1983 audition, they recorded the first of eight consecutive number one singles and received their first of five Grammys. Their family story is both fractious and inspiring.

More Essential Duets

Nowadays, it often seems the most common examples of high quality duet singing come from non-siblings, from chosen family, from lifelong musical partners. Turns out “blood harmony” is possible without the biological ties. (But of course it is.) Some of the best examples of the form are singers unrelated to each other.

Hazel Dickens & Alice Gerrard

Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard presented a side of duet singing that was at once sweet and gutsy. Although from very different geographic and social backgrounds, the pair came together through the Baltimore folk community in the 1970s. They sang with intense sincerity, performing older and traditional tunes and presenting Dickens’ heart-rending (and sometimes snarky) originals to the world. They were some of the first women to front a bluegrass act and are widely acknowledged as inspiring groundbreakers.

Ricky Skaggs & Tony Rice

In 1980, Ricky Skaggs and Tony Rice released what has become an iconic duet recording, Skaggs & Rice. Its content draws on traditional and pre-bluegrass tunes recorded by earlier brother duets. In fact, Weisberger points out, the album cover illustration, featuring the two men in uncomfortable-looking suits, is modeled after a Lilly Brothers photo. Skaggs and Rice taught us how two voices with starkly different qualities could blend, with sibling-like effect.

Ricky Skaggs & Keith Whitley

Skaggs and his wife, Sharon White, both sing in a high range, blending beautifully and adding intensity to everything they sing. And with his piercing tenor, Skaggs has the ability to create a brother sound with just about anyone. His partnership with Keith Whitley was equally natural, as they started singing together as teenagers in Kentucky. They began touring with the Stanley Brothers when they were both 16. In essence, they grew up together, as did their vocal blend.

Laurie Lewis & Tom Rozum

Laurie Lewis is another who can turn any duet into sibling-style harmonies. She and Tom Rozum have sung together for decades. Lewis said that in addition to working hard on their timing and pronunciation (the word “yours” was once problematic), they have the advantage of remarkably similar vocal ranges for a male and female. When they are both “in the head voice, you can really hear the tension in our voices,” an exciting aspect of their duets, she said.

Laurie Lewis & Kathie Kallick

Since the earliest configuration of Good Ol’ Persons, Lewis and Kathy Kallick have sung together, including producing two duet albums. Lewis said, “We have really different timbres to our voices. But we sometimes get confused as to who was singing which part on our old recordings. ‘Wait, is that me or is that Kathy?’” Lewis’ duet album, And Laurie Lewis, showcases her skill in joining voices with so many of her old friends.

The Johnson Mountain Boys’ Dudley Connell and David McLaughlin

Eric Gibson remembered terrific harmony singing by Dudley Connell and David McLaughlin in the Johnson Mountain Boys days. That revered group won the very first IBMA Award for Album of the Year (for At the Old Schoolhouse) and were inducted into the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame in 2020. And since his days in the Johnson Mountain Boys, Connell has shown he, too, raises any duo to the level of glorious sibling sounds. Some examples are with bandmate Lou Reid in the Seldom Scene and his two duet albums with Don Rigsby.

Emmylou Harris & … Almost Everyone

The Gibsons both mentioned Emmylou Harris’ stunning ability to create tension and beauty in sibling duet style with so many. Examples range from her earliest recordings with Gram Parsons through all her singing partners in her band, including Ricky Skaggs and Rodney Crowell, and when she introduced a young country audience to the material of the Louvin Brothers on recordings such as “If I Could Only Win Your Love,” “When I Stop Dreaming,” and “Every Time You Leave.” Her 1990 duet album pairs her with male singers. In 1999, after the success of the Trio albums with Dolly Parton and Linda Ronstadt, she and Ronstadt recorded Western Wall: The Tucson Sessions, showing off the perfection of two beautiful singers who love to sing together.

Dailey & Vincent

Jamie Dailey and Darrin Vincent both grew up performing in family bands. Jamie started singing with his family at age 3, and by age 12 had mastered bass and banjo. For nine years, he sang lead vocals with Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver, a band noted for their excellent voices and superb harmonies.

An article in Entertainment News said the Vincent children “were practically raised on harmony” from their youngest days in the Sally Mountain Show. For nine years, Vincent sang the baritone parts with Ricky Skaggs’ Kentucky Thunder. The two men’s early training, the discipline gained from playing with exceptional band leaders, plus their perfect-for-bluegrass voices created a glorious blend of heartfelt harmony and musical excellence.

Their first album, released in 2008, was met with a flurry of enthusiasm. It earned the duo six IBMA Awards – including Album of the Year – plus two other nominations that year. They have continued to receive dozens of awards from bluegrass, country, and gospel organizations, as well as three Grammy nominations as a duo and two wins between them during their time with other acts. Their 10th album, A Beautiful Life, was released earlier this year.

Explore more of our Artist of the Month content on Dailey & Vincent here. Enjoy even more bluegrass duos here and country duos here.

Lead Image: The Louvin Brothers from Pictorial Press.

Old Crow Medicine Show’s Americana Commonwealth Canon

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

More than any of the world’s music, the songs of America are a reflection of a national identity and character. We are our songs.

Distilled into a few memorable minutes go the nation’s hopes and aspirations, the glories and tragedies of her past, and the promises of her future. This American canon is as diverse and vast as the country itself – our blues, breakdowns, or corridos are as different as prairies are from coastlines, as the Appalachians are from the Rockies. And yet, somehow, still our sound is a commonwealth, a singular voice rising from the chorus of many just like our national motto purports: “E Pluribus Unum.”

250 years is not a long time in the global scheme, and neither is 28 years of Old Crow Medicine Show‘s reign as an Americana string band. But somehow it is the vigorous and youthful American voice/song/songwriter/band (and not our transoceanic elders) that can best capture the world’s heart and soul in just a few minutes.

In this Mixtape, I’m proud to share some examples of this powerful artistry. You might already know every word to some of these songs while others you may have never heard, yet each is stitched together with a cloth of commonwealth that can only be found of uncommon ancestry. Though the singers may be perfect strangers, the songs that bubble up from our national cauldron are enough to nourish each and all. – Ketch Secor, Old Crow Medicine Show

“Howdy Do America” – Old Crow Medicine Show, Jesse Welles

Jesse Welles came whirling into the studio the other day and helped put a spit shine on this love song about the 50 states. I wondered if he was gonna get excited when he sang “Arkansas” and brother, he did not disappoint. Love this cat. He’s a brother, and I expect we’ll all be singing his tunes for years to come.

“Golden Rocket” – Jim & Jesse

I had the privilege of knowing Jesse McReynolds, even traveling and performing with him, and buddy there’s no wonder why Jerry Garcia thought he was the best of the bluegrassers.

“Field of Opportunity” – Neil Young

I was raised on Neil Young’s unique brand of tall prairie country rock. This track features the great Cajun fiddler Rufus Thibodeaux.

“Heaven Help Us All” – Joan Baez

Joan’s a real hero of mine. She’s like that tree planted by the water we all sing about, unmovable. Of all the singers on this playlist, I can say without a doubt if more people could be like Joan Baez, then this world would be a better place.

“I Wanna Go Country” – Otis Williams & the Midnight Cowboys

I love this Motown singer turned country crooner, and the world would have too, if Nashville hadn’t been so narrow-minded.

“Beautiful Land” – Old Crow Medicine Show, Maggie Rose, Lee Oskar

I wrote this one with a Baháʼí faith elder named Eric Dozier just down the street from the Tennessee State Capitol building. Sometimes politics feel like a fortress. But music has a way of wandering through the keyhole of even the most impenetrable door.

“There’s a Star Spangled Banner Waving Somewhere” – Elton Britt

I played this one for my kids on Memorial Day. They sat through it start to finish, and you should, too. It’s easy to get complacent about the sacrifice our grandparents and great-grandparents made in the 1940’s for each of us. Don’t do it.

“Oasis” – Molly Tuttle

Molly’s my favorite American singer. Here’s one of our travelogue-style songs. I had it stuck in my head all last week at the Tico Time Bluegrass Festival in Aztec, New Mexico.

“The Green Rolling Hills of West Virginia” – Hazel Dickens & Alice Gerrard

These girls rip. Back at MerleFest in the year 2000, I filled out Old Crow’s first ever W-2 form and gave it, with a shaky hand, to the great Alice Gerrard.

“How’s About You” – Dave Rawlings Machine

The Great Depression gave the world some of its most powerful songs. And even generations later, the events of the 1930s remained powerful enough to inspire music like this.

“Rock of Chickamauga” – Jimmie Driftwood

Songs about the Civil War are some of my favorites in the national cannon. Jimmie Driftwood is one of my favorite songsmiths. He’s an absolute master of the historical ballad.

“Across The Great Divide” – Kate Wolf

I am awestruck by the landscape of the West, and few songwriters can take you there better than the amazing Kate Wolf.

“What Did You Learn in School Today?” – Tom Paxton

I’ve been singing this one since I was a youngin. When I was 12, I discovered my uncle’s weathered copy of Vanguard’s album Newport Broadside: Topical Songs at the Newport Folk Festival 1963, and that was my introduction to Tom.

“The Tramp on the Street” – Molly O’Day

Born in Pike County, Kentucky, she’s one of my favorite bluegrass singers. She first heard this song from Hank Williams on a Birmingham radio station, and it became her signature song. American music has a way of championing the underdog better than most.

“Shenandoah” – Bob Dylan

I think I was 15 when I first heard Bob singing this gem, hidden in the ruffles of one of his more questionable ’80s albums. I thought, “Damn, Bob knows where I’m from.”

“Corrido de John F. Kennedy” – Los Reyes del Corrido

My band has been dabbling in conjunto for two decades now. We got to learn this one for next time we play the big D (Dallas).

“Which Side Are You On” – The Weavers

No collection of American songs is complete without a protest piece from the labor movement, the first dark corner where the full power of American music was unleashed.

“The City of New Orleans” – Arlo Guthrie

When we play Chicago, I always talk about Steve Goodman, who wrote this song. I sure would have liked to have known the guy. Thankfully his music will last forever.

“Cowboy National Anthem” – O.B. McClinton

O.B. left this world before he was fully known by the country music fanbase that would soon send black country singers consistently to the top of the charts. He was a man before his time, but the music he made reminds us that, just like Ray Charles said, “Country music is black music.”

“Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos)” – Old Crow Medicine Show

We love Woody Guthrie, and this is one of the numerous songs of his we’ve recorded through the years. In a nation of immigrants (I’m a French Huguenot), it’s hard to imagine how we could exist without a steady flow of new members to our American family.

“Big Backyard” – Molly Tuttle

When Molly and I wrote this, it was on account of having a massive vacant lot behind the house we were composing in. Now that same lot is full of little yellow flags and “coming soon” signs. Yet still we sing, louder this time.

“For What It’s Worth” – Buffalo Springfield

A few years back, I had the distinct pleasure of sharing an elevator with Stephen Stills, author of this earthquaking song which Buffalo Springfield recorded in 1966 – and we covered this year on our new album, Union Made. I wanted to tell him thanks, gush, and get my picture made. Instead, I stood quietly until he rasped, “I heard your soundcheck. Great band you got there. Keep ‘em together if ya can.” Thanks, I will Stephen.

“Louder Than Guns” – Old Crow Medicine Show

This summer, PBS stations across the country are broadcasting the film we spent three years making in a half-dozen tour stops along our travels. It’s a movie about bringing together the disparate ends of the 2nd Amendment debate during an era in which guns kill innocent Americans at shocking rates. It’s a tall order, coming together to flatten the curve, seeing past our silos and personal politics, but in town after town I watched people listening across the divide. As easy as it is to be hopeless, the film has made me hopeful we’ll get beyond this impasse and prioritize the safety of our communities. This song is the theme of this film.

“American Tune” – Allen Toussaint

I’m glad you made it through to the end. Old Crow opened up for the great Allen Toussaint in the Berkshires back around 2011. The record featuring this song had just come out and when he launched into it, I was nearly knocked off my feet. So powerful. So simple. Says it all.

Photo Credit: Ed Rode

Renée Fleming and Béla Fleck in Conversation

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Renée Fleming, Béla Fleck, Appalachia, and an all-star bluegrass band. Though the knee-jerk reaction to this list might be to play “one of these things is not like the other,” there is much more to this premise than meets the eye – and ear.

Fleming is one of the most renowned opera singers of the modern day, but the internationally acclaimed soprano has a long history of musical curiosity and often enthusiastically indulges thereof. From this trait alone, she and Béla Fleck found a resonance within one another, embracing and making music beyond the bounds of their respective claims to fame. This resonance sparked an idea that endured for more than 20 years, culminating in The Fiddle and the Drum, an album of Appalachian songs sung by Fleming and produced by Fleck – one that, more than anything, reveals a journey of familiarity and discovery for both artists.

The pair joined BGS on a phone call to delve into the musical, historical, and personal connective dimensions of this record. The memories shared are rich and many. Some extend as far back as Fleming’s preteen years. Others revive Fleck’s contemplations of how each song might come to life through Fleming’s vocal prowess. Every one of their recollections is imbued with immense mutual respect and awe for each other as well as the album’s many collaborators; it’s clear they both appreciate the gifts each and every person brought to this record.

Our conversation isn’t without painful realities, as the album’s focus on love and loss and war prompts reflections on fights and fatalities happening today. But, ultimately, it’s a conversation colored by a range of emotions and experiences, not unlike the very music of The Fiddle and the Drum itself.

Renée, you’ve spoken extensively about your upbringing and how you formed your relationship with a lot of folk music and folk artists. In that vein, how would you describe the initial perspective you formed about the music of folk, bluegrass, and Appalachia during the younger formative years of your life?

Renée Fleming: I think it was in middle school that they offered a guitar class – which I think is a fantastic way to get kids interested in music, because it’s an instrument you can carry around and you can read tablature pretty easily and pretty quickly. So that got me interested in [music], but also some of the music that I really genuinely liked [and got me interested] came a little later, including my discovery of Joni Mitchell in junior high school and high school. Then I was exposed to it through my family as well, because my grandfather was a fiddler and a drummer, so we had very eclectic tastes in music. I just was constantly exploring. [I] wrote a lot of songs and wrote a lot of music, starting probably when I was 12 years old, and it just branched out from there.

Where did Béla Fleck initially come into the picture for you?

RF: I was already a fan of Béla because of Béla Fleck & the Flecktones. In college, I really started singing jazz with a big band and also with the trio every weekend, so I was a big fan of his [at that time].

Obviously everything worked out the way it was meant to, but you still carry those glimpses into other worlds – folk, jazz, and so on – and it helped somewhat shape where we are now. I think it’s really brought a lot of extra color, showing people that [music] doesn’t have to be so rigid and doesn’t have to be about genres and specific labels and I think that’s something that really shines through with The Fiddle and the Drum.

Béla Fleck: I think we all have a tendency to pigeonhole people and put them into a black-and-white kind of a concept. You know, “They do this, they don’t do that,” but people are nuanced and love all kinds of things, especially when growing up and you’re open, you’re trying things and figuring out where you’re going to land.

I was also a huge fan of Joni Mitchell, and I was a vocal major in school, even though I couldn’t sing worth a darn and was secretly working on the banjo in the closet. But being exposed to classical music in high school – and my stepfather is a cellist, so I was listening to string quartets and stuff when I was a kid. People might be surprised by that, or maybe not, considering the kind of music I like to do, which is very varied. But I think it makes all the sense in the world that all of these other interests make Renée an even better opera singer, if that’s the right thing to call her. But the bigger your world is, the more you can bring to the specific things that you do.

RF: I never heard that you were a voice major before. I love that.

BF: Don’t think I’m gonna sing, because I want to protect you from awful pain, agony, despair.

RF: I don’t believe it.

BF: Nobody ever gave me a voice lesson, but they started me on French horn. I got into my school playing guitar and then it became clear that I wasn’t going to be able to play the French horn. They said, “Listen, you could just go stand in the chorus and still be in the school.”

So they put me back in there, but they needed tenors. I wasn’t a tenor so I just kind of screamed, looked at the music, and tried to figure out what they were singing and sing along. Then, when I got to my final year, they said, “Oh, we found out we’re doing Rhapsody in Blue for the semi-annual concert, and we found a banjo part so you can get out of chorus. If you want to get out of chorus, you can play this banjo part on the final concert.” I was like, “I think I’ll stay in chorus.” I liked it at that point.

Then on the last day of school, the chorus teacher – a woman named Mrs. S, who was an amazing vocal teacher – she had never spent any time with me, but she got me in front of the piano and said, “Stand up straight, sing from your diaphragm!” And she gave me a few quick things she made me do and I was singing like a bird. I was like, “Holy cow, I wish you had given me a lesson when I started at the school. I would actually be able to sing!” She knew exactly what I needed to do. It was remarkable.

Speaking of singing technique, Renée, when you were preparing to record the songs for the album, where on the spectrum of vocal expression did you anticipate needing to steer your voice?

RF: I think it was Béla who kind of clocked that a lot of the songs we were choosing kind of fell in line with [themes of] love and loss – and war, as well.

One of the things that I do, especially when I’m singing outside the classical genre, is I try to avoid an obviously classical sound. That, typically for me, means the upper register. But we worked it in some songs and you just have to be mindful of vibrato. It’s really thinking about style and, for me, that’s the same as when I’m singing on a program of French art song versus an Italian aria. So I may sound the same, but the style is completely different.

What struck me as I listened to the album was just how subtle and yet impactful the differences in how you sing can be. It’s just shaping and forming your voice around the mood that needs to come through. And I visualized that, if your voice was some kind of an entity or something that could be shaped, that you just have this beautiful ability to mold it and manipulate it into exactly the shape and form and size it needs to be to express whatever the music calls for.

RF: I like to record. I like the idea of focusing only on what we hear and not adding so many other elements like you do in a live performance, where it’s also your acting and your movement and how you look and your facial expression. This is a very much more focused activity and we would do many versions of the same song. I left it to Béla to choose which versions he liked. I had almost no complaints about the choices he made.

BF: I loved to hear your voice on all the takes. And then sometimes there would just be a magic moment of, “Oh my god, the song is really happening here. We’ve got to make sure this is part of the final takes.”

I have a frustration when you have something killer that happens in one portion of the take and then the rest of the take isn’t as good. I like to find those magic moments and have them all end up on the record. But I also think for Renée, there’s an unconscious element to being a musician. [To Renée:] You’re inspired by a moment, and sometimes it’s hard to put into words all the things that you’re [doing]. You put the material in front of yourself, you decide [to] embody it, and the music is correct and things are happening in the right way – you just know what to do. And it’s hard to say how you know.

Renée and I worked really, really hard on our craft, but I think the craft is there to serve something that’s a little harder to quantify, which is just what the unconscious – what our bodies and our souls – wants to doubt when it’s time to make the music.

RF: And it has to do with the expression. I’m also thinking of specific pitches and words that relate to the song, but [to Béla:] I was really thrilled to hear how much you could vary what you were playing. Sometimes your harmonies would just come from another world and I’d say, “Wow, that’s so cool. Béla can kind of put in a jazz harmony once in a while.”

BF: You also pushed for that. I remember the first arrangements you said, “I think this could be more interesting.” And then in the moment, I had to come up with a better arrangement, a more interesting arrangement, for the first song on the record [“He’s Gone Away/Storms Are on the Ocean”]. I’m really proud of it. I think if you hadn’t pushed and I hadn’t reacted, we wouldn’t have ended up with that arrangement, which was quite unusual for that song, and then that kind of led the way to being a little bit more open.

It’s funny, when I’m playing with the Flecktones, or Chick Corea, or somebody like those folks, I feel very open harmonically. When I’m playing music that’s more traditional, I’m very careful not to get too harmonic. So, when I discovered this was a safe place to explore a little bit and look for just the right kind of harmonic additions to the basic chords, it was very freeing and inspiring. And of course, getting to work with a great vocalist like Renée… I’ve been a big fan of female vocalists since Joni Mitchell and Joan Baez and Linda Ronstadt and all of these people. I saw that there was a lot of art to working with a great vocalist like that. I was eager to have that opportunity and thankful to get a chance to try and figure out how to make it work from my end.

RF: It’s funny you say that, because I’m a huge fan now of Hazel Dickens, and you said that you had worked with her. Because there’s something so plaintive about the way she sings, it’s like Roscoe Holcomb, too. There’s something– I can’t describe it. It’s authentic and it’s immediate simplicity. I just absolutely love it.

BF: We used to talk about the “ancient tones” in the bluegrass world, and Bill Monroe had this quality. It might not always be perfectly in tune but it didn’t matter. It was just so pure and so powerful. And Hazel has that. It’s like it’s coming from another planet, almost. It’s so deep and powerful the ordinary rules don’t apply. It’s something else.

RF: I agree.

Connecting this topic of the intangible with the themes of the record, how are you both feeling about the album’s thematic focus, given the various experiences of war and loss that are happening in the U.S. and abroad?

BF: What happened was, we had a certain amount of songs we were committed to and we were excited about, and we were looking at quite a large list of additional songs that might finish out the record. That’s when I started looking at the original six songs we had recorded and thought, “You know, there really is a thematic arc.” Some of these songs were not working for me, and I couldn’t explain why until I put my finger on the fact that the six songs that we’d already recorded were telling me a story. When I explained what I was seeing to Renée, she said, “Oh, I see that. That makes all the sense in the world.”

It kind of starts with a romantic relationship that leads to commitment and then the man, in this case, goes off to war and doesn’t make it back. The woman is left on her own, maybe with a child, and then in the end, there’s a rumination about life and the way it goes like this often in the world. So that’s the story arc. Basically, to me, that is about when you make a man your boss, you give yourself up. You give up your beauty. You give up your individuality and all the promise that you could be if you weren’t in that kind of a relationship, you know what I mean? And in a way, the woman in this story is taken advantage of by bigger forces, a war.

Well, this stuff is happening every day, all over the world. And we’re in a big one right now, and there’s a lot of questions as to whether we should be there. Those questions usually come out a few years after the war is over, and everybody will say, “Oh, this was a terrible idea, and here’s why.” You don’t have to be a genius to know that we’re going to be saying the same thing about a lot of these conflicts before long. So to me, it just makes the record have that much more meaning. It’s happening right now, just like it always does – this is what people do. This is what mankind does. And it’s very disappointing that it keeps going back to this place.

RF: [My and Béla’s] generation has been fortunate that, in a way, we’re too young to have really understood what was happening in Vietnam. A lot of this repertoire really relates specifically to Vietnam. But there’s also the Civil War. And every once in a while, things really fall apart. We’re in a period now where the same thing is happening. And it’s really not useful. It’s not going to move the needle for Iranian citizens – it might even make it worse for them. So I just think it’s tragic when leaders feel like the only alternative is war.

BF: Renée also mentioned she wasn’t sure that “Scarlet Tide” would fit with the other songs, but we went ahead and did it because we both loved it. And then when we looked at what we had – again, those first six songs – it made all the sense in the world. The songs were leading us in a direction, one that, unfortunately, mirrored what mankind does.

RF: And my heart goes out also to people in the Ukraine. There are always conflicts happening around the world. There have been so many reasons for these things, it’s shocking that sometimes it’s just [plain] political. I find that really sad.

It certainly has just felt like a very heavy time, for quite a long time. So even though the themes on this album are rather heavy and emphasize a lot of the sadness that’s going on, I think it’s also very cathartic.

BF: It’s funny how in blues and bluegrass, sometimes you’ll sing the most terrible lyrics – little girl and the awful, dreadful snake or a guy killing a woman – and make this very happy, jolly song about it. It’s bizarre! And in blues, a lot of time you’re singing the saddest things, but it’s uplifting somehow to bring them out in the open and treat them maybe in a different way that allows you to experience them differently and work them through in different ways. Some bluegrass songs are really, really sad but they’re so jaunty you don’t quite realize it.

RF: Well, it’s also that we are practicing grief. That’s one of the things that scientists have come up with, that sad songs really help us process and learn how to process actual grief, because we’ll all experience it.

BF: I think also having kids – we’re both parents – but you realize that people process grief in really different ways. Some people don’t show it for a long time, but then it comes out. It’s handled in a lot of different ways.

When you were putting the music together, what kind of unexpected creative sparks came up amongst the two of you and also among the large group of immensely creative artists that are contributing to the album?

BF: I think with music, you can be over prepared because there’s a lot of things that happen very spontaneously when you have musicians of this caliber – people like Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas, Stuart Duncan. Just like Renée colors every take differently, they’re going to do the same. They’re going to be very responsive. Things are going to happen on the floor. Someone’s going to want to stay on the floor in the studio while we’re doing takes, someone’s going to say, “Yeah, I don’t know, that part’s not working for me.” And we’re going to solve it in a matter of seconds and something’s going to work.

It’s a very emotional place to get into when you’re recording, especially songs like this. As we’re all listening to Renée, we’re all inspired by how she’s singing them. They’re different than we’re used to hearing. So we’re playing differently than we’re used to. But we also come up with an arrangement, develop it, and do it a few times so we really think we have something and try not to rush through it. But there’s a tendency for things to really work out very quickly.

So with the producer role that I was in – and Renee didn’t have that experience with these folks, although she has with a lot of other musicians that are improvising musicians – where the parts are not written down and they’re very spontaneous, she was able to ride those waves very well. And whenever she spoke up, she gave me a lot of latitude, a lot of rope. But whenever she spoke up with any comment, it was always dead on the money. It was going to make it better. We listened and we tried to incorporate everything we could to make it her music.

RF: I think also that collaboration, for me– the example I would use is working with a conductor is, at best, very intuitive. You’re reading each other’s signals that you’re giving musically, in terms of dynamics, and it’s never the same way twice. I think that was true in this process as well. And having Béla, who had really created the structure for each of these arrangements, helped to anchor everything.

But to have those other musicians playing – they’re the crème de la crème of Nashville I think, and the singers as well. I mean, the way Dolly Parton was able to add her voice to the track I had already created [“In the Pines”] and just blend in amazingly, but then to also add so much to it. And the same was true for Jerry Douglas. Aoife O’Donovan, I already knew and had worked with her already on a project at the Kennedy Center. I didn’t know Sierra Hull and Sarah Jarosz, who are also just extraordinary musicians and terrific artists. For me, it was really a delight to be working with so many truly great musicians.

I’ve been fortunate to see Béla perform live in other genres with other musicians. [To Béla:] You never do anything easy, because I just wondered at your ability to manage these polyrhythms and changing meters, and then also to keep track of where you are. I mean, it just boggles my mind.

BF: Thanks. I feel like the banjo is like a percussion instrument. Like a tuned percussion instrument, similar to maybe a marimba. The rhythm of things is very fundamental to what makes me tick and what makes the banjo tick, because we don’t have sustain. So everything’s all about where you place the note.

So when they say, if you [lose or] don’t have a sense, your other senses become stronger – I think, as a banjo player, we have certain limitations that are almost like senses we don’t have. We can’t take a note and hold it for a long time. It’s just not possible. So we get better and better at timing and rhythm. If we’re on top of it, and we understand that, then we become rhythmicists.

It’s more challenging for me to do music with a lot of space, because I can’t do it. Banjo won’t do it. So notes will hang in the air for a little while. I can’t sustain like a piano with the whole pedal or things like that, but I find ways to work around it. In this case, I got to play the band. I couldn’t sustain, but I sure know who could. Jerry Douglas, Stuart Duncan, they know how to hold a note and have it mean something. It’s not just a length, it’s a feeling and a depth. So, I know I can step out of the way.

I mean, for a record that you’re kind enough to want my name on the record as an equal, I felt like I was really playing more of a producer role most of the time, and I really enjoyed that opportunity.

As the producer for the album, did you have a vision for the overall sonic profile of the music? Was there a particular way you envisioned blending the typical folk and bluegrass instrumentation with Rénee’s voice before you hit the record button?

BF: I did have the experience of hearing her sing live, doing opera in China. But I also listened to her recordings before taking the project on, because part of me was wondering, “Well, can she do this? Is this going to work?” I listened to some of her recordings and I heard some stuff that she did with Bill Frisell on one of her records, where she used a lower range. It was almost like a different person. I was amazed at how much I loved it. I love hearing her do her opera thing, because it’s the best it can be. It’s just so good. It’s like how I was not a basketball fan, but when Michael Jordan played, I wanted to watch.

I feel like Renée is like that with opera. Even if you don’t know about opera, or the form is strange to you and you’re not sure what you think about it, when you get a chance to hear her, do it. You want to see it. You want to do it, you want to hear it. I knew she was a world-class singer, but I didn’t realize that she had this other gear that was possible for her in her low range. I’m not trying to say that the opera stuff isn’t unbelievable. It’s just in a different language. It’s a different world of music. It’s a role. She plays these roles on every song.

I just didn’t know if she could translate her honest, personal humanity to these songs. And when I heard these Bill Frisell tracks, I went, “She can, she can! And it’s not a bluegrass/country singer doing their thing. It’s a whole different authenticity. I guess I didn’t know at that time that she had it in her family, and that it was music that she’d heard the whole time. So she wasn’t sitting there thinking or singing down to it, “Well, I can do this. This is easy. I do hard stuff.” She wasn’t like that. She was like, “I’m committing. I’m really going to do this thing.” So I was very impressed by her professionalism but also in the way she could summon up the emotion that felt true and authentic.

I think the album will just keep reinforcing to the listening population out there that people should embrace differences, embrace new, and embrace change – and maybe even embrace the unknown.

BF: I think it’s important to remember that it’s not just the idea that’s good or bad, it’s how it’s done. The same idea could be a disaster if it’s not done the right way.

We have something called a mashup, when you take two people that do completely different things and you throw them onto the same song and they alternate doing their thing. To me, that can be fun and enjoyable, but it’s not a true collaboration – where the artists actually have to change, grow, and listen to each other. You have to actually learn things. I look for those kinds of collaborations, where you’re doing something different from what you normally would do in order to play with this person.

But again, and you can talk about politics [in the same framing], too. Sometimes it’s not the thing that they’re doing, it’s the way that they’re doing it that is either good or bad. When you put musicians together from different musical worlds, often we can figure something out. We can work something out.

When I play with musicians from different parts of the world, people get really excited and happy. I do, the other musicians do, and we find a common ground. We find some way to play together. The people around that are there hearing it are uplifted by the idea that, “Hey, you guys worked it out.” And again, that’s what we need to do politically, too. We need to find ways to reach each other and connect with each other and listen to each other. It doesn’t need to be as hard as it feels like it is.

My most uplifting times have been playing with musicians from other cultures or from other musical worlds and finding common ground – finding a way to be yourself, together, and accommodate each other in that aural space.

Photo Credit: Madison Thorn

A Force
To Be Reckoned With

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Ghosts are so much more than spooky or goofy animations; they represent lived histories, past selves, and the ever-unfolding work of becoming. With her latest album, Every Ghost, country singer-songwriter Kelsey Waldon gives grace to all the women she’s been along the way, entertaining their urgent lessons as she considers who she is today.

“There’s good ghosts and there’s bad ghosts. Some of them have unfinished business and maybe they feed off fear, or maybe they feed off your happiness. I certainly have them, I have a lot of ghosts,” Waldon says. “It’s those types of ghosts, but also the ghost of every version of yourself that you’ve been and just being proud of where you came from, where you’re going, and honestly, where you’re at; meet yourself there.”

On the album’s first track, “Ghost of Myself,” she lays out how she got here:

I had to get tough so I could get wise
I’ve been a thousand women in my own time
Been a thousand women and I’ve loved them all
I had to get low so I could walk tall

From the album’s first lush, ebullient guitar run, Every Ghost is thick with layers of twang, accompanied by driving fiddle and classic country sounds. Waldon’s velvety voice, which has always been self-assured, sings clear and powerful. She’s standing on her own two feet; this is the album she’s been working toward over the last decade of hard work and meticulous touring.

Modern pop country is rife with men behaving badly or selfishly while extolling the unholy virtue of big truck worship. But long before their unceremonious relegation to the role of disingenuous machines, good for little else than scoring sex and drinking cheap beer, truck songs (usually about big rigs, not pickups) made poetry out of the long haul and produced some of country music’s most interesting characters. Look no further than Red Simpson and C.W. McCall’s catalogues, Jerry Reed’s “East Bound and Down,” Red Sovine’s “Phantom 309,” the Willis Brothers’ “Gimme 40 Acres to Turn this Rig Around,” or Kay Adams’ “Little Pink Mack.”

“Comanche,” track 2 on the new album (named after the 1988 Jeep Comanche Waldon bought recently) joins that lineage. “The rumble of the engine feels like my soul smooth when it’s runnin’/ A little rough when it’s not movin’,” Waldon sings.

Get behind the wheel on the open road, relax, blast some music, sort out your thoughts – there’s nothing like it. “We’ve all got our own amends to make/ We’ve all got our own hearts to break/ That’s the way it is,” Waldon continues, letting go of someone no longer in her life.

Spending time with an old, well-crafted object is a privilege and a joy in a commodified quick-fix world, one which Waldon manifests throughout the album as she tackles lessons and ghosts from a life lived deeply and broadly. The specters of Every Ghost include lost loves, of course; demons and vice; and also loved ones who are no longer earthside.

“Tiger Lilies” was written for her grandmother, whose beloved lilies she now tends in her own garden. Gardening and growth figure heavily in Waldon’s lyrics and worldview (notably “Season’s Ending,” off No Regular Dog and her cover of Jean Ritchie’s “Keep Your Garden Clean” on There’s Always a Song). “I think it’s sexy to know how to feed yourself and grow things,” she says. “What’s more country than that?” Later, she dwells more broadly on what we inherit generationally on “My Kin.”

The ghosts of vice have a particular way of lingering. “Happy new year, I’m scared to death/ My ol’ demons, they give me no rest,” Waldon sings on “Lost in My Idlin’.” Waldon has been, as she puts it “booze sober” for four years, but for her, the allure of letting loose and getting drunk lingers: “Wishin’ I was fucked up in some honky tonk/ Where they let me play my music way up loud.” Beyond an ode to temptation – and in some ways to simpler times – it’s an acknowledgement of those who’ve slipped and the hard work of holding the line. (Not to confuse resisting vice with moral superiority, addiction is a disease.) “I loved getting tore up from the floor up, that’s in my blood,” Waldon says; but staying sober is what’s best for her.

“I don’t wish for pain/ And I don’t dream of war/ When will it all end?? What are we killin’ for?” Waldon demands on the chorus of the wrenching, mournful “Nursery Rhyme.” “I honestly wrote that song after seeing pictures of children being bombed,” she says. Pertinent and direct, Waldon’s premise is simple: please, be kind and decent to each other. “How can you climb when you ain’t got a dime? / Workin’ your life away till you die/ Can’t pay what you owe ‘em, not in this lifetime/ Darlin’, it’s a nursery rhyme,” she continues in the song, lamenting the dissolution of the “American Dream” and economic parity for average people. “I’m a very, very proud American, but I know that sometimes the ‘American Dream’ does feel like a nursery rhyme,” Waldon says.

In 2019, that ability to zero in on the human condition landed Waldon the first new artist slot in 15 years on Oh Boy Records, founded by John Prine, who was likewise rivetingly dialed in to suffering and joy. Waldon’s bona fides include a bevy of appearances with Prine before his death in 2020. Before this she’s released six albums – Every Ghost her seventh – including 2020’s They’ll Never Keep Us Down, a cover album of protest songs including Nina Simone’s “Mississippi Goddam” and Prine’s “Sam Stone.” More recently, she released 2022’s No Regular Dog and 2024’s There’s Always a Song, covering some of her greatest musical influences.

Waldon’s been named a Kentucky Colonel, too. The highest title of honor awarded by the governor of the state, it’s often given to artists who guard Kentucky’s cultural traditions and further their future. She’s toured with Vincent Neil Emerson and 49 Winchester, the latter of whom she will join at the Ryman later in the year. She’s also looking forward to a long list of headlining shows, including at Under the Big Sky and FloydFest.

“That’s the only place that I do feel true freedom, honestly, is in the studio and then on stage doing whatever the fuck I want to, singing my heart out,” Waldon says. “I want the show to be a force to be reckoned with.”

Myriad wonderful songs have been written about ramblin’, but they’re all about men, Waldon says. She ends the album with one of the few exceptions, Hazel Dickens’ “Ramblin’ Woman.” At its release in 1976, the song represented a bold manifesto for female independence. As an album closer for Waldon, it acts as a bookend with “Ghost of Myself.” Waldon started the album telling listeners where she’s been and concludes with where she’s going.

“Hazel’s just saying ‘I got shit to do,’” Waldon says. “Women can ramble, too. I feel like we’re more than a girlfriend, a wife, a mother, even – and all these things that are so beautiful. We know we stand on our own. And we don’t have to explain it to anybody.”

Photo Credit: Alysse Gafkjen

MIXTAPE: Tony Kamel’s “We’re All Gonna Live” Playlist

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Life is weird. In the words of Dan Reeder, “What the fuck is that about?”

Everyone tells me I seem mellow and laid back – and I am. That said, if anyone were to take one step into my head, they’d be bombarded with a maelstrom of wonderings about death, intrusive thoughts, forgotten location of keys and wallets, constant attempts (mostly failures) at descriptive alliteration, wildly sweeping feeling of love, wildly sweeping feelings of grief – and constant hunger. All of which eventually spin back around to complete peace and acceptance.

Music tends to get me back to that point. These songs bring peace to my ’90s-fuzzy-porn-like mess of a mind by reminding me (in one way or another) that it’s somewhat preposterous that we exist at all. A lot of these tracks are attached to personal moments in my own timeline, but hope they bring you peace too. – Tony Kamel

“Deep Breath” – Riley Downing

“Take a deep breath, it’ll be alright…”

I love this guy’s tunes. He has a poignant way of presenting life’s weirdness. Also as a recent yogi, it’s a good reminder to come back to my breath.

“Monster Truck” – Ramsay Midwood

“You don’t like it, you can kiss my ass. ‘Cause I drive a monster truck…”

This record, Shootout at the OK Chinese Restaurant, is funny, odd, and just a fantastic timeless reflection on the insanity we’ll always exist inside. Is he celebrating or making fun of these people? I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s funny.

“People Talkin’” – Hurray for the Riff Raff 

“People, they’re trying to tear us apart…”

Alynda Segarra is a national treasure. This record just blows my mind and has been a staple for me for a long time. It reminds me that I’m old now and I’m glad to be.

“Sue” – Tony Kamel

“If you’re livin’ and breathing, and doing that right, you ought to be lovin’ with all of your might…”

The second verse of this tune holds the keystone to my upcoming record, We’re All Gonna Live. Obviously, our relationships with other people define much of our lives. Sue was a wonderful person. I miss her dearly.

“Waxing and Waning” – Melissa Carper

“Waxing and waning, wishing and waiting…”

Melissa is one of the best writers and singers out there. Her retro voice puts me at ease.

“Don’t Tell the Boys” – Petey USA

“Lets talk about how childhood trauma guides our actions as adults…”

This tune reminds me of me and my old buddies. I’m lucky to have them. We’ve been friends for 30+ years and we can be ourselves and tell each other anything without fear or judgment – something I treasure deeply.

 “Louie” – Arcy Drive

“Baby remember, this is our December…”

I just love this song and it’s reminiscent of ’90s alternative rock Weezer era. It makes me happy to see Gen Z-ers throwing down with a rockin’ live band like this. It feels cyclical.

“Problem Solver” – Slimdan

“Maybe I should be someone who listens and not try to fix it/ … You don’t want a problem solver…”

This is a beautiful love song about being a typical dude and doing typical dude things like I tend to do in my marriage. I’ve come a long way though… so has this guy.

“Joyful” – Kelley Mickwee

“The beauty of life is the movement of change…”

Kelley rocks and this album rocks. That’s all.

“The Illinois River Song” – The Brother Brothers

“I proclaim the Illinois River gonna swallow me up whole and not a soul will know that I am missing…”

I’m a sucker for a good river/life metaphor. The melodies that weave in and out of this tune are infectious. It could be about anything and I’d love it.

“Everything Is Everything” – Cappadonna

“Everything that you see ain’t reality, they’re just illusions…”

Hip-hop on a bluegrass website? Duh. Can always count on a member of the Wu-Tang Clan to remind you that we might live in a simulation.

“They’ll Never Keep Us Down” – Hazel Dickens 

“We won’t be bought, we won’t be sold…”

Just because everything is uncontrollable bullshit doesn’t mean we don’t fight. This tune speaks for itself. Bless Hazel Dickens.

“Born a Worm” – Dan Reeder

“Born a worm, spins a cocoon, goes to sleep, wakes up a butterfly. What the fuck is that about?”

I do not know, Dan. None of us do. I implore everyone reading this to listen to Dan Reeder’s songs.

“We’re All Gonna Live” – Tony Kamel

Yes we are.

I’m tired of talking about myself. Y’all can figure it out. Love you.

Photo Credit: Josh Abel

“I Once Was Lost, But I’m Pretty Found Lately” – Olivia Ellen Lloyd Finds Herself Again

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

In the wake of several viral country songs released in 2023 – most notably the ill-conceived pair of Jason Aldean’s “Try That in a Small Town” and Oliver Anthony’s “Rich Men North of Richmond” – renowned author and country journalist David Cantwell penned an essay for TIME magazine with an absolutely stunning (while quite simple) observation included. Cantwell considered place, citizenship, and ownership. To whom does the “small town” belong?

“…For most of today’s country fans that small town isn’t TV’s tiny Mayberry; it’s a suburb or exurb of some decent-or-giant-sized metro,” Cantwell explains. “I wish more country songs would talk about that proximity, how city folk and small-town folk flow back and forth for work and fun – and are very often the same people.”

And are very often the same people. Humans don’t live their lives along strict, black-and-white boundaries and borders – no matter how often society attempts such demarcations. Our lives are lived in the gray, in the blurry in-betweens, as collections of many disparate and often dichotomous parts.

Singer-songwriter Olivia Ellen Lloyd is just such a person, caught up in the nebulous purgatory between rural and urban, city folk and country folk, doing it for herself and doing it for ambition. Her brand new independent album, Do It Myself, finds Lloyd with a sense of confidence that could only be earned through a hard-working, bootstraps approach to making music – a mindset that, whether within or outside the arts, is well known to West Virginians like herself.

After a stint living in Nashville, Lloyd returned to New York City, following up 2021’s fantastic Loose Cannon with the heartfelt, sensitive, and often point-blank songs of Do It Myself. Like Loose Cannon, this material is danceable, country, honky-tonkin’, and bluegrassy while it boasts deft and majestic moments of WV DIY, punk, and rock and roll. After crisscrossing the country proffering her art, Lloyd seems to have realized that being both a city person and a country person is never a drawback, it’s a superpower. Having her feet in NYC, her heart in West Virginia, and her work anywhere and everywhere, Lloyd has clearly determined it’s not a dilution of the “authentic” or roots-music-ready facets of herself to straddle these arbitrary borders and own that duality.

As a result, Do It Myself is remarkably successful. Like Hazel Dickens in D.C. or Dolly Parton in Nashville or Tina Turner in Memphis, Lloyd has found her voice and found herself not by running from who she thinks she can’t be anymore, or editing out the parts of herself that don’t seem to “fit” with country tropes and perceptions of good ol’ American rurality. Instead, she’s reached this current era of music making by resting easy – or not so easy, at times – in the knowledge that the best she can do as a singer-songwriter-artist is to be herself, whoever that is, in the truest format possible at any given time.

We began our BGS Cover Story interview by discussing that ongoing search for herself and how that particular journey shows up throughout Do It Myself – in the lyrics, sonics, and beyond.

It feels like your music in general, whether we’re talking about Loose Cannon or the new album, Do It Myself, you’re most often turning over the idea of finding yourself – and not that that’s a static thing to be found. It’s not that you find it once and you’re done finding it. Your music orbits around these questions of, “Who am I? Is this me?” I feel that really strongly in this record. So, as you’re releasing this album I wondered, who is the self you have found? And how goes the search for yourself?

Olivia Ellen Lloyd: I think what’s really interesting is I don’t know that I would’ve put a finger on that until recently. I’ve also come around to the understanding that that is what my music has done, which is help me come back to myself and find myself. I would say it’s currently going pretty well, but boy it has been a journey to get there.

I think writing this record, I was much closer to her – to me – when I started writing this record, but I wasn’t as close as I thought I was. It’s taken not only writing it and realizing that I wanted to put it out and all that stuff, but also deciding to self release it and deciding to continue to champion my own work where I’ve truly found that. That, “Oh there she is!” [feeling]. I feel very recently like I have arrived at the person that I’ve been looking for and that’s exciting and also really scary, because boy, has most of my work orbited around, “What the fuck happened? How did we get so lost?”

I once was lost, but I’m pretty found lately.

How do you feel about writing songs that are so personal and that are so much about growth, introspection, and questioning and then having to carry them around on your back for a year or two or three on tour – or for the rest of your life! How does that process feel to you or that emotional or mental understanding?

Interestingly, at least with my first record, I think I wrote often with no aim, so there were no expectations. I mean it’s funny, Justin, because you are one of the few people in the music industry and in my music world who knew me when I was writing many of these songs, but not performing often. The process of writing was very much a way to try and tune into this inner voice that I’ve been learning to listen to. It was an attempt to get in touch with myself, which I really have struggled to do for various reasons throughout my life.

I think I’m also quite an impulsive person, historically, and I have a lot of tattoos – a lot of stupid tattoos – and I kind of think of these songs, especially the personal ones that no longer represent [me like tattoos.] I don’t drink anymore really – I wouldn’t say that I’m sober, but drinking is not a big part of my life anymore – and all of Loose Cannon and much of this record involves talking about those moments in my life. But I have this tattoo of a possum drinking a High Life. That’s not who I am anymore, but that was a part of how I got here. When I think about these personal songs that involve a lot of myself and a lot of what’s really going on I think, “Well, that’s a part of the patchwork,” but it doesn’t have to be – luckily – the whole story or the end of the story, either.

The way that you’re utilizing so many different roots styles, it’s disarming of a listener, so you can have a danceable, honky-tonkin’ track that’s still lonesome as fuck, tear in your beer. It feels like it can still be very country, very Americana in the way that it is melodramatic, but it still feels grounded in reality.

I think that playing with genre in the same way that we experiment with different sidemen and co-writers is just another tool that we can use. I see a lot of artists, especially right now, there’s just so much pressure to hit. There’s so much pressure to hit on a vibe, hit on a moment. Part of the joy of this is playing in those in-between spaces and finding something unexpected.

Come on, if we’ve got Dolly and Patsy and Loretta, they did a lot of the groundwork so we should get to play around that space! We’re not gonna outwrite or outsing those women, we simply cannot, so the opportunity we have is to explore. I don’t wanna go back. I don’t wanna go back to any type of past anywhere. The future is scary for me, but I’m really curious about what could come next, after those things, and how we can develop those sounds.

You’ve spoken on social media and on microphone about your approach to genre and how so much of it comes from growing up in West Virginia having this agnostic approach to genre aesthetic, on a practical day-to-day level. You’re doing West Virginia music, you’re bringing in Nashville, you’re bringing in New York City. Can you talk a little bit about that?

For the first record I got the feedback that you can hear the country and the city kind of intermingling together and someone was like, “This [new] record feels like so much more New York.” I think I understand where people are coming from, but actually I think what’s happened is I built a musical community in New York City around bluegrass, which I think is one of the great community music forms. It is a great way to bring people together. I’m so grateful that I knew a bunch of those songs and then I got better with those songs and then I met people who were passionate about that music. But actually, this record was more about digging into the sounds that I grew up with. I grew up going to DIY punk shows, I grew up with my dad listening to the Grateful Dead, the Band, some Jerry Jeff Walker, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band.

I think this record really returns to a landscape that’s more true to how I was raised, which was eclectic, a little bit daring, and a little bit more rock influence. I think I’ve been quoted once and I’ll say it again, I think the reason that the places in West Virginia gravitate more towards that kind of music is because music got gentrified and country became this bizarre fascist, patriotic propaganda wing of the Republicans and of government.

If you are not one of those things, if you were not a kid who could afford to go to Berklee and you were not somebody who was all that proud to be a fucking American in the 2000s, you likely grew up listening to a lot of that. Especially in rural places, you likely grew up listening to a lot of punk, a lot of rock, a lot of indie pop. Like many people do, I walked way far away from that stuff and dug into the roots of country and folk and bluegrass. I swirled around in that stuff for so long, and then I came back to myself; I came back to the first music that really inspired me and felt less academic.

In my opinion, the most interesting part is all of those genres coming together. I do think that I’m very wary of anybody who talks about “good folk music” or “real bluegrass” or anything like that, because typically some very nice man in a fisherman sweater in New England has told them [to think that way]. I learned to like music the way that most normal people learn, I just listened to it and I didn’t worry about whether I was listening correctly or not. I think we gotta return to that.

Community has come up multiple times already in our conversation and I know how important community is to you – how pivotal it’s been in your musical career. How do you balance the “doing it for yourself” with the “doing it with community”? How do you do it for yourself and trust yourself and give yourself permission to be who you are and take up space to do it your own way, while also being a member of a community and doing it for the collective at the same time?

Have you been listening to my therapy conversations? [Laughs] I struggle with deep individualistic tendencies. I have a tendency to be like, “Fuck it.” That can also be bad. Notably, have yet to accomplish a successful relationship, because of this thing I do. “Fuck it, I’ll deal with it myself. I’ll just do everything myself. I will stop relying on you. I don’t need to rely on anybody for anything.”

I hope it comes through in the music that many of my songs, including “Do It Myself,” include enough self-awareness to know that I’m talking about choices that I’m making and things that I’m doing and they are not always the healthiest choice or the best choice. That’s okay. I think there’s a side of this where, yeah, I have been way too [self-reliant]. As I sit here selling shows out, opening for Jeff Tweedy, and unable to get a booking agent or a manager. Yes, I have isolated myself a little bit too much for people to be paying close attention.

Certainly “doing it myself,” in this context, many people told me to wait to put this record out. Maybe that would’ve made sense for a more reasonable person, but I think this is really important: Your community is everything. You need to be able to trust that the people around you are people who are willing to let you show up like however [you are]. In the last two years, I have focused so hard on surrounding myself with people who I know I can trust to both keep me honest and on my shit and love me through mistakes and they will engage in conflict resolution. They will be gentle with me and like I can do the same for them.

It’s not possible to be self-sufficient, emotionally, creatively, if you do not have a community that supports that in you.

I love that on the album you have “Live With It” back-to-back with “Do It Myself.” I think it’s pretty striking, they’re kind of a reaction or a response to the other – and vice versa. That line, “If this don’t kill me…” feels like such a natural lead in to “Do It Myself.” I wanted to ask you about “Live With It” and also about that placement of those, like bookends.

Thank you for asking about “Live With It.” My producer Mike Robinson is gonna be so happy and that’s his favorite song on the record. I mean, that’s my pandemic [song]. The chorus of that song I wrote during the pandemic. Looking back, it was probably also the worst point in my life for my drinking. I was at a point where I was not in control. Things were so bleak that it was like, what’s the point of trying to slow down or get a handle on it? There was no future to look forward to.

But by the time I finished the song, what I really hoped to accomplish is [communicating that] there are many times in our life where we have a pessimistic view on our own personal outcomes. We’re not really convinced that things could get better and yet there is an interesting tendency with human beings, we just keep going anyway most of the time. I find that to be both very curious and also something that is inspirational in its own way. We can continue to live and survive through unsurvivable things, even when we don’t know entirely why or how. That’s what “Live With It” is about. It’s four people experiencing something that they, for whatever reason, don’t see why they have to live through it or how they’re going to, but they do.

I also love the feel change in “Every Good Man.” So good. It’s nasty. That song is a bit like “Stand By Your Man,” playing with country tropes in a really fun way, but that feel change – I think I made a stank face just listening to it. Can you talk about that one a little bit?

Once again I just have to say, I think a lot of what you hear and the really cool musical stuff is owed to the creative partnership that Mike Robinson and I have. I can’t say enough good things about him. I met Mike at a fucking bluegrass jam and he was playing the banjo, which is like his fourth instrument, you know? I think these days he mostly makes money as a pedal steel player. Everyone is sleeping on his ability to play the acoustic guitar. Like, truly.

I met Mike six years ago now and out of the blue he coached me into a music career. He would deny that, but that is 100% what happened. He bullied me into it. And something I really love is that I can bring songs to him and he finds exactly [how it should sound], especially when he’s excited about the songs. Both “Every Good Man” and “Live With It” were definitely high on his list of loves. He finds these like beautiful moments and we have such a similar [approach], we were raised on the same music. For “Every Good Man,” that feel change came from some moment in a John Prine song.

Another song that I really like – it might be my favorite – is “Knotty Wood.” It feels like country. It feels like church. The lyric, “Who says memories can’t be bought? We always sold ours for a song…” grabbed me. You’re talking about how we compare and contrast and measure ourselves against other people and our perceptions of other people’s lives. “Don’t they look good when you paint over the pain and knotty wood?” It’s such a great hook. I love the imagery of it. I love that it takes me to my grandma’s house. But I feel like it begs the question: Do you ever worry that in synthesizing your experiences, putting them into songs, and taking them to the world that there’s any part of that process that is also “painting over the knotty wood”?

Yes, and my mother would definitely say yes. The genesis of that song actually came from my mother and I growing up in the same small town. I grew up a mile from [where she grew up] and from our home to her childhood home it was less than a mile. That house, my grandparents’ house, I spent probably two days a week there and almost every day after school I walked from my elementary school to my grandparents’ house. It was my home, too.

It got sold after he died, we couldn’t hang onto it. It got sold again during the pandemic by an actually really lovely woman. She started renovating it on Instagram and I watched this place that held generational memories be stripped in some cases to the studs and rebuilt. It was pretty public. I felt a sense of ownership of our place – that I do not factually own and never have – that got me. Being curious about place and home made me think about the journey my grandparents went on to become property owners and to become middle class. And about that moment in the height of prosperity in the ‘50s, all the things my grandparents sacrificed.

I think the song is about thinking about those generational ties, thinking about the things my grandparents sacrificed, and did not sacrifice or did not give away. I’m also thinking about how, especially right now in this weird American moment – “Don’t other people’s lives look good when you paint over the pain and knotty wood” – how many people want to talk about their humble, hardscrabble beginnings without having to actually live them.

There are so many other reasons why it’s taken me so long to get here, why it’s taken me so long to put my songs out. But it all revolved around the generational trauma of growing up relatively poor and with people who had to give up everything in order to get anything.

You can’t have it both ways. You can’t have the small-town, Appalachian upbringing and also have the confidence and gumption of [privilege]. I mean, it’s rare. It happens, but you don’t often then also come equipped with the gumption to believe that you have the right to be a fucking artist. All my grandparents wanted was just a nice home in a small town.

I’ve been hustling, self-promoting my own art and music, and in a desire to attain the things that the people I’m criticizing have attained, we get to the third verse. … The crux of that song is, I think, a way more interesting story than “rags to riches.” It’s middle class to rags.

I mean, my grandparents went to war so they could get an education, right? My grandfather’s nickname was “Bones,” because he was so thin he looked like a bag of bones. The trajectory of their lives into middle class comfort is astounding, and the way that his grandchildren and children are sliding back into poverty is much more so. It’s much more true to what is happening in this country than this “rags to riches” bullshit that we are still being asked to sell, but it’s trickier to talk about.

Listen to Olivia Ellen Lloyd on Basic Folk here.

Photo Credit: Aaron May

The Seldom Scene: a New Release, a New Member, and a Farewell to a Revered Singer

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

After 53 years and 23 albums, the release of the newest Seldom Scene recording is still something to celebrate. Remains to Be Scene is their first recording since the death of founding banjo player Ben Eldridge in 2024 and the last before Dudley Connell announced his retirement. In addition to Connell, the album features Fred Travers on Dobro, bassist Ronnie Simpkins, mandolinist Lou Reid, and Ron Stewart on fiddle and banjo.

Since its earliest days, the Seldom Scene has been known for busting open once-limiting bluegrass boundaries. The latest album continues this tradition, with songs pulled from sources like The Kinks, Woody Guthrie, and Jim Croce. Another tradition is incorporating new talent.

In 1995, three of five band members left to form another group. Looking to replace them, founding member John Duffey invited Simpkins, Connell, and Travers to a picking session. To those who didn’t know him, Duffey, with his huge stage personality, was intimidating.

Remembering that day, Simpkins said, “I did not want to be late, but I did not want to be early. So, I got there way ahead of time, and I kept an eye on John’s house to see who else got there.

“And I noticed this other car down the street. That person was just sitting there and would ease the car up closer to John’s as the time drew near. And I came to find out it was Dudley. So, we timed it until Ben got there, and we all went in together.”

Simpkins takes Connell’s retirement as a continuation of the band’s legacy: “The band has always transitioned.” Today he welcomes Clay Hess, a band leader and a former lead guitar player with Ricky Skaggs & Kentucky Thunder, who stepped in quickly when Connell, injured in a fall, was unable to play the last few shows of 2024.

As always, the Seldom Scene is committed to the same scalp-tingling vocals, remarkable song selection, and quirky, sometimes outrageous, stage shows that fill festival seats after five decades. Simpkins said, “I just feel blessed to be in this group … and to try to keep the same spirit the original guys had when they started out back in 1971.”

On the release of his last recording as a Seldom Scene member, Dudley Connell spoke to BGS about Remains to Be Scene, his musical career – starting in the 1970s – and his memories of some of the greatest characters in bluegrass.

The Seldom Scene has a tradition of pulling songs from everywhere and the latest recording is the same way. How do you decide on songs?

Dudley Connell: If you look back at the Scene’s recording career, all the way back to the original guys, it was unique. John Duffey had very eclectic taste. He brought “Rider” into the band from the Grateful Dead. He brought “Sweet Baby James” in from James Taylor. And continuing that tradition, I brought in “Boots of Spanish Leather” by Bob Dylan and “Nadine” from Chuck Berry.

It’s interesting having a band of five people, all with slightly different tastes, but with commonality at the same time. So, that’s the way we’ve continued the work all the way through our 30 years together. Everybody would show up with a basketful of songs. Sometimes, Lou might bring a song in that he really liked and say to me, “I could hear you singing this more than me.” Likewise, I could say to Fred, “I really like this song, but I don’t think I could sing it as well as you could sing it.” And it worked that way really well.

How does a band stay together so long?

We, of course, spent a lot of time together, but we also spent a lot of time doing our own thing. Now, with [a band leader] like Bill Monroe or Ralph Stanley, they take the fee and then they give you whatever they want to pay you per show. But with the Scene, John [Duffey’s] feeling was that if you’re out there on the road and you’re doing the work, you deserve equal cut. So, everything we made was split equally. You could fly, you could drive, you could stay at the Waldorf Astoria, or you could stay at the Super Eight. It was your money to spend and to travel as you wanted.

I think it created a certain sense of camaraderie that continues to this day. Everybody’s getting paid the same, so everybody’s expected to do equal work, and it gives you a sense of belonging. There’s no boss, everybody has an equal say, and that was true from the very first rehearsal.

Every group you’ve been with has been known for exceptional harmonies. Can you talk about harmony a bit?

I think a musician’s greatest asset and greatest tool is his or her ears. If you’re singing a trio, you want the blend to be there. You don’t even have to actually know who’s singing what part. There’s a certain buzz you get when the harmony is just right, and you hit a chord just right, and everybody’s phrasing together, and their mouths are in the same sort of position. When that happens, this is just like magic.

Let’s go back to the Johnson Mountain Boy days, when I first met Richard Underwood. Richard learned to sing with me. When we sang together and I switched from lead to tenor on a chorus, you could hardly hear the switch. It came natural to him, because I’m the only person he ever sang with. You know, he later went on to become a great singer on his own right, but he was the first singer that I really worked with a lot on blending and making a pleasing sound.

Now, my experience with David McLaughlin was more organic, as it was with Don Rigsby. Don and David and I all grew up as disciples of the Stanley Brothers. They had such a tight blend.

Now a more challenging partner for me was Hazel Dickens. Hazel and I toured quite a bit together in the ’70s and ’80s. But Hazel had a completely different sort of approach. Hazel was full bore, wide open all the time, and sometimes she could get just a little bit pitchy. I looked at it as my job to try to keep her close to the melody. It was great for me, because it taught me how to blend and also how to pull her to the proper pitch when necessary.

When I came to work with The Scene, it was completely different. They were all about the harmony.

What are your memories of The Scene before you joined them?

The Scene were a huge influence on everybody in D.C. The Scene was almost like a gateway drug to bluegrass music. They were largely playing for urban audiences in the early days, and a lot of young people really responded to it. In fact, The Seldom Scene record Live at the Cellar Door almost has cult-like status. When I was a teenager, we’d go to each other’s houses to listen to music. Right next to Led Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan would be The Seldom Scene Live at the Cellar Door.

I think what made that record so absolutely deserving of cult status is that it’s really freewheeling, it’s really the band live. It’s not just the music and the wonderful singing, the wonderful song selection. It’s also the playfulness with the audience.

As far as I was concerned, John Duffey was The Scene. It wasn’t just that he was a great singer and instrumentalist, but also he had this gift – presenting the music to all kinds of different audiences. You couldn’t not respond to John Duffey or his emcee work – or his pants, for that matter. An interesting thing about John that a lot of people don’t realize is that he was actually kind of shy, kind of insecure. This bigger-than-life character that emerged on stage – I’m not saying that it was phony. It really was John. But when he walked on stage, it was like a switch kicked on, and he became a great entertainer and a great communicator.

I think people who weren’t familiar with bluegrass, it put them at ease a little bit. It drew a lot of people in who maybe wouldn’t have paid attention to a banjo or a Dobro. All entertainers feed off audiences. If you’ve got a really lively, energetic audience, you pour a lot of that back. If the audience feels more relaxed, you slow down a little bit with your delivery and your introductions. And John was an absolute master of that. I learned a lot about presenting a show from my year with John.

And how did you come to play with The Scene?

The Johnson Mountain Boys were on their way out. I’d done a little bit of work with Longview by this time. Then I got this notice in the mail that T. Michael Coleman, Mike Auldridge, and Moondi Kline were leaving the Scene and forming a band called Chesapeake. And it was sort of assumed that the Scene were going to dissolve. I knew John well enough and I called him on the phone and said, “John, I’m really sorry to hear about this. It sounds like the end of an era.”

And he said in the off-the-cuff, John Duffey style of talk, “Well, we’re really not dissolving the band. We’re just looking for a lead singer, guitar player, tenor singer, bass player, baritone singer, Dobro player.” You know, basically replacing three-fifths of the band. I don’t know where it came from, because I really had not called John looking for a job, but after he told me what he was looking for, I said, “Well, John, let’s get together and sing sometime.” Complete silence.

After the initial silence, he said, “Well, do you know of any of our stuff?”

So, I went over to John’s, and Ronnie was there, and Fred. John had given me about half a dozen songs to learn and when I look back at it now, he was testing me. He wanted to see if I could sing harmony parts over and under him. By that time, I’d had the experience with Hazel and had sung with a lot of different people. I was ready.

So, we started these Wednesday rehearsals and we’d done this for about two or three months in preparation for our debut – New Year’s Eve at The Birchmere, 1995. By the time it actually came to play our first show. I was really, really into it. And it was one of the toughest shows I think I ever played, because all the original guys were there – John Starling, Mike Auldridge, Tom Gray. Lou Reid was there, too. And I’m thinking, “I don’t know, man. I don’t know if I belong in this – with these people that I’ve listened to for years.”

One of the things I remember was our opening song, “Our Last Goodbye,” which is this old Stanley Brothers song. I had worn these baggy chino kind of pants and I was so grateful that I didn’t wear tight pants because my legs were literally shaking, and I didn’t want anybody to see that.

So, it was a very exciting night, and after that we had a year with John.

You were quite young when you formed the Johnson Mountain Boys. Can you tell us about those years?

I came along at a very fortunate time in the Washington, D.C. area in the ’70s, and actually on through the ’80s as well. You could see bluegrass every night of the week between Washington and Baltimore.

Now, I’m not going to tell you that the places were swank and nice. They were kind of seedy bars. But when I look back on it now I think that was actually a very beneficial thing for us. We were young, we were very enthusiastic about the music, and we could go into these bars and play four or five sets ’til, you know, one or two in the morning … and then go play another one the next night. So, by the time that the ’80s rolled around and we started actually playing festivals for larger crowds, we were pretty well rehearsed.

I found that the musicians that we met, like Del McCoury and Bill Harrell and a lot of the acts around Washington, embraced us because we were doing something different – actually doing something [traditional bluegrass] that had been done before, but we were kids doing it.

Ben Eldridge– the first time I ever met him, we were playing this indoor bluegrass event. Ben came over and said, “I wish I was doing what you guys are doing.” I know that he was kidding me, but the point being that he really respected the traditional stuff. He said it because he was very sweet man and very kind man. But I think there was some truth in that, too.

How much time was there between you playing in the two bands?

We actually intertwined for just a little bit. When we got off the road full-time in 1988, we were kind of burned out. I went back to college. David [McLaughlin] started selling real estate. Eddie [Stubbs] went to work with his father and we just sort of drifted apart, personally and musically.

Now, we did get together and play some in the ’90s and we produced a record that was nominated for a GRAMMY, Blue Diamond. But that was not like the previous Johnson Mountain Boy records. So, The Seldom Scene coming along at that time in my life, when I was curious about experimenting with different kinds of music, was perfect.

They played a lot locally and I was working full-time for the Smithsonian and didn’t want to travel very much. And the Scene, to this day, has followed that model. We don’t get on the tour bus and go out for weeks at a time. It reminds me of the reason John Duffey left the Country Gentleman. He said he got tired of saving up to go on tour. I understand what he meant. They were just going out trying to get their name out there. The Johnson Mountain Boys did the same thing. I remember once we drove to Florida to play for 900 bucks for three days.

That’s another thing that John did, he just set the price to where it made it worth his while to go. Here’s a kind of famous John Duffey story: A promoter in California called John and said, “I really, really like what you’re doing, and I’d like to get you out here to California.” John said, “Great! Make me an offer.” The promoter said, “Will 500 bucks do it?”

John thought for a minute and said, “Which one of us do you want?”

I’d like to talk a bit about your career as an archivist. Did you go to school to learn that?

Actually, I didn’t. After the Johnson Mountain Boys got off the road, I went back to college. One of my classes was Career Development. There were a lot of people around my age who were looking for a change in their work and their livelihoods.

One of my assignments was to interview someone that I thought had a really interesting job. So, I chose to interview the curator and the director of Smithsonian Folkways records. His name was Tony Seeger, and yes, he is a part of the Mike and Pete Seeger world. The Smithsonian had just acquired Folkways Records. I went into the interview asking Tony how he got his job, what his educational background was, how he ended up at Smithsonian Folkways, what his life was like. About halfway through the interview, he started asking me about my background and what I’ve been doing.

Before I left his office, he basically hired me to come in and try to figure out how to how to keep Folkways alive.

And then you did archive work for another organization?

It’s called the National Council for the Traditional Arts. Since 1933 they have put on folk festivals with all kinds of ethnic and roots music. They started recording all the festivals in 1972. When I got there, they were just quite a thing of beauty – 5,000 hours of one-of-a-kind recordings in a non-climate-controlled room. So, I went to work there, preserving the recordings. And oddly enough, the very first that I put up to digitize was Alison Krauss. I thought, “I think I found the right place.” I worked there for 19 years.

Why retire now, and what’s next?

My wife, Sally, had retired from 40 years at the Smithsonian’s Natural History Museum. I had retired from the National Council for Traditional Arts. This would have been the end of 2023, so I was still traveling on the weekends.

During the pandemic, we got a dog named Woody. It’s almost like having a child in the house. He was adopted and he was afraid of everything, so we spent a lot of time with him. Before that, Sally used to travel with me everywhere and it got to be that she had to stay home and take care of the dog when I was out on the road. I wanted to have time to travel, to Europe and to different places that I’d not really been able to explore. I think it’s a misconception some people have about a traveling musician: “Wow, you got to go to all these great, cool places. You must have seen a lot.”

Well, I saw a lot of hotel rooms. I saw a lot of backstages, but I didn’t see some of the things these towns are known for. What Sally and I want to do now is, while we’re in reasonably good health and while we can still get around well on our feet, we want to do some traveling and not be restricted by a schedule.

Favorite memories?

Marrying Sally, definitely a favorite memory. In the ’80s, an organization called the United States Information Agency USA had a subgroup called Arts America. They created cultural exchanges with third world countries. I got to travel to Southern Africa and later Southeast Asia. You can’t buy that kind of education. It’s quite an eye opening event. I remember coming back from those trips and having a different way of looking at my lifestyle and where I live and how fortunate we are.

Another highlight was getting to meet my heroes and finding out that they were really nice people who didn’t want anything more than to see me and our bands, whether it be the Seldom Scene or the Johnson Mountain Boys, succeed. I never felt any jealousy or any animosity, you know, toward us, these young upstarts. In the ’70s and ’80s, everybody knew everybody, and everybody wanted everybody else to succeed.

But probably the biggest thing was having a year with John Duffey and many years with Ben Eldridge; hearing their stories, the hardships, and the fun stuff and the silliness that happens on the road. All those things are highlights for me.

Closing thoughts?

The music of the Scene is completely unique to anything else in the bluegrass world. I think the Scene could follow just about anybody. We followed Alison Krauss and we followed Ricky Skaggs, and I never really felt uptight about our performance following these major acts, because nobody else does what the Scene does. That’s true with Clay Hess taking my place, too. I’ve heard some of their performances on Facebook – sounds like the Seldom Scene to me.

I feel like I’ve lived a very full life. It’s like when Tony Trischka was asked, “Tony, have you been playing banjo all your life?” He answered, “Not yet.”

That’s the way I feel about music – I’m not done yet.

Photo Credit: Jeromie Stephens

MIXTAPE: Thomas Cassell’s Songs to Pass the Time

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

2024 is winding down and like any other year, there’s a lot to say goodbye to as we welcome in the future. Memories (the good and bad), loved ones, homes – all seem to eventually become markers in time.

A marker in my ‘24 was the release of my third record, The Never-Ending Years, in October. The theme of time is common throughout (as the title would suggest), and when BGS asked me to put together a playlist in celebration, I considered the many topical songs that have had an impact on me.

There may be some obvious players left out (sorry, Pink Floyd and Jim Croce) but really, these are simply the songs that have meant the most to me, songs I listen to in eternal recurrence, all having something to do with the fact that time moves on – with or without our blessing. – Thomas Cassell

“Where Did the Morning Go?” – Blue Highway

Blue Highway has had an incredible impact on everything I do. They really set a bar with thoughtful, original material in bluegrass music. This song in particular pulls a heartstring, as the every-quickening pace of life only blurs with time.

“Childish Things” – James McMurtry

There’s an innocence that we lose every day and much of our wonder and curiosity tends to disappear with it. But for me, the contentment of looking back brings calmness and comfort for the future. James McMurtry is on my Mount Rushmore of songwriters and this song (I think) is as good as anything he’s ever written.

“Mama’s Hand” – Lynn Morris (written by Hazel Dickens)

Leaving home is tough, as most anyone knows. Inevitable as it is, it can be hard to say goodbye, no matter the opportunity that awaits. Lynn’s music has brought me a lot of comfort in this life.

“Today” – John Hartford

John Hartford’s songwriting certainly doesn’t need my endorsement, but I think his early records are often overlooked. This song was released in 1967, Hartford’s LA era that gave us “Gentle On My Mind,” “No End of Love,” and so many others. There ain’t nothing but today.

“Last Time on the Road” – Nashville Bluegrass Band (written by Carl Jones)

This song found me at the right time. I was getting burnt out from touring and music in general had become a daily commitment that brought little joy. It was nice to know that others felt the same, but also that they were capable of salvaging the good and moving forward making great music – in the NBB’s case, four more great records.

“Needed” – Robbie Fulks

Robbie Fulks has been a favorite for a long time, partly for his unpredictable performance style – check out Revenge! (Live) – but also for his thoughtful lyricism and vulnerable storytelling. This song highlights the latter, and all the reflection and regret that comes with getting older.

“Blackberry Summer” – Dale Ann Bradley

Is it possible to be nostalgic for a childhood you didn’t have? I think so – at least that’s how I feel when I listen to this song. Dale Ann takes me back to all of my childhood summers, as similar or different as they may be.

“Nail” – Ed Snodderly

Ed is a songwriter’s songwriter, and one of the coolest musicians I know. His group The Brother Boys is an all time favorite, but this song from his 2017 solo record really fits the current theme. The nothin’ here leaves no more.

“Don’t You Know I’m From Here” – Brennen Leigh

Prairie Love Letter is one of those records that I downloaded before a flight and then proceeded to listen to three or four times through before landing (still do sometimes). The writing is incredible front to back, but the opening track really hit me hard. I’m from a very small town and every time I go home, I find I have less of a connection to the place – only a growing longing for one. This song of Brennen’s couldn’t articulate that feeling any better.

“Bed by the Window” – James King (written by Marnie Wilson and Rob Crosby)

The Bluegrass Storyteller. I’m not sure there’s a song that earned James King that title more than this one does. Here’s your reminder to go and visit the elderly in your life, wherever they may be.

“The Randall Knife” – Guy Clark

I couldn’t finish this playlist without including Guy Clark’s magnum opus. There’s a lot I could say about this song, but none of it as well as him.

“Autumn Leaves Don’t Fall” – Thomas Cassell

And if you’ve made it all the way to the end, I’ll reward you with a little bit of self-promotion. Jon Weisberger and I wrote this song after thinking about how the more people we lose, the quicker we seem to lose them. Time is exponential.

Photo Credit: Scott Simontacchi

Artist of the Month: Our Tony Trischka Discography Deep Dive

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Banjo master Tony Trischka is a bluegrass and roots music renaissance man whose career goes back nearly 60 years, to his early days with his first group, the Down City Ramblers. He’s been making recordings for almost as long, appearing on-record for the first time on Country Cooking’s 1971 debut for the fabled Rounder Records label.

Given the width and breadth of Trischka’s career and sprawling discography, summarizing the man’s recorded legacy is not just a tall order, but a mountainous one. Nevertheless, we’ve made the attempt. Here are a dozen recordings that give a sense of Trischka’s many artistic sides as collaborator, innovator, teacher, keeper of the flame, and all-around musical good spirit.

“Kentucky Bullfight” – Country Cooking (1974)

Trischka was one of two banjo players in this collegiate ensemble. The other was future Hot Rize member Pete Wernick, who spent some time talking up his bandmate to Rounder Records co-founder Ken Irwin. “I was writing a bunch of tunes, and Pete told Ken, ‘Tony should do a solo album,’” Trischka remembered. “Ken said, ‘Sure, go ahead.’”

Irwin cites “Kentucky Bullfight” as the Country Cooking song that convinced him Trischka would be worth signing as a solo act, too.

“China Grove” – Tony Trischka (1974)

Trischka hails from the Northern environs of Syracuse, New York, and it was fairly common for Yankee banjo players of his era to indulge some unusual tangents. “My first album was, comparatively speaking, a little on the bizarre side,” Trischka himself admits. That’s certainly the case for this instrumental from his 1974 solo debut, Bluegrass Light. “China Grove” has East Asian accents throughout and even a saxophone solo from his Country Cooking bandmate, Andy Statman.

“Roll in My Sweet Baby’s Arms” – Tony Trischka (1976)

It seems like a rite of passage that everybody has to put their own stamp on the venerable Flatt & Scruggs bluegrass classic, “Roll in My Sweet Baby’s Arms.” That goes for Trischka on his 1976 album, Heartlands, but few other artists would have the imaginative audacity to kick it off with a drum solo (plus more saxophone).

“Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down” – Tony Trischka (1978)

Another piece of classic repertoire from the wayback machine, “Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down” is the song that made bluegrass forerunner Charlie Poole a star in 1925. Trischka cut it on 1978’s Banjoland in an ambitious all-star arrangement alongside fellow banjo players Bill Keith and Béla Fleck. Also present are resonator guitarist Jerry Douglas, mandolinist Buck White, and guitarist Tony Rice, who adds a definitive vocal.

“They’ll Never Keep Us Down” – Hazel Dickens (1981)

Formerly half of the pioneering female duo Hazel & Alice (with Alice Gerrard), the late great Hazel Dickens was one of Trischka’s best longtime collaborators. His elegant banjo and her emotionally raw voice were a great match on many songs, among them this classic from Dickens’ 1981 album, Hard Hitting Songs For Hard Hit People.

“Bill Cheatham” – Béla Fleck, Bill Keith, and Tony Trischka (1981)

In which three of the foremost roots music banjo virtuosos of the 20th century mesh with tasteful seamlessness while deftly keeping out of each other’s way. From 1981’s Fiddle Tunes for Banjo, this was one of the album’s three tunes that featured Trischka, Fleck, and Keith all playing together.

“Country Death Song” – Violent Femmes (1984)

From Milwaukee, this folk-punk trio puts a gothic spin on folk music. To that end, they often enlist unexpected collaborators to do cameo appearances, adding just-right punctuation. Here is one of the Femmes’ early examples, featuring Trischka’s banjo on their 1984 second album, Hallowed Ground. Nearly two decades later, the Femmes would return the favor by appearing on “Down in the Cider House,” a track on Trischka’s World Turning album.

 “New York Chimes” – Tony Trischka (1985) 

Trischka has always had a way with clever puns, “New York Chimes” among them. From 1985’s Béla Fleck-produced Hill Country album, “New York Chimes” is also a fine example of Trischka’s higher-gear fast playing. And the band is, of course, spectacular – Jerry Douglas, Tony Rice, Sam Bush.

“Old Joe Clark” – Tony Trischka (1992)

As a dedicated keeper of the flame and teacher/mentor, Trischka has always been up for putting the music into unusual places. One of the most unusual was a 1992 episode of the children’s cartoon, “Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?,” on which Trischka wandered on camera playing the 19th-century fiddle tune “Old Joe Clark” during a game-show segment.

“World Turning” – Tony Trischka (1993)

Among Trischka’s many virtues as a player, one of the best is that he knows how to back up great singers. And here is a classic example from Trischka’s wildly eclectic 1993 album, World Turning. The title track is a cover of the 1975 Fleetwood Mac song, sung by Dudley Connell and Alison Krauss with Trischka adding just-right banjo flair.

“Shifting Sands of Time” – The Wayfaring Strangers (2001)

Another of Trischka’s far-flung, multi-hyphenate genre experiments is his 2001 album, Shifting Sands of Time, with a wide-ranging guest list that goes from bluegrass patriarch Ralph Stanley to ’90s pop star Tracy Bonham. The title track is at least as worldly as anything his longtime mate Béla Fleck ever put out.

“Brown’s Ferry Blues” – Tony Trischka (2024)

We close with another of Trischka’s all-star collaborations, the opening track from this year’s Earl Scruggs tribute album Earl Jam. “Brown’s Ferry Blues” kicks off with very choice guitar and vocals from modern-day superstar Billy Strings, and Trischka, Fleck, Bush, and fiddler Michael Cleveland are all right there with him.

(Editor’s Note: Want more? Continue your Tony Trischka Artist of the Month exploration here.)

David Menconi’s latest book, “Oh, Didn’t They Ramble: Rounder Records and the Transformation of American Roots Music,” was published in 2023 by University of North Carolina Press.

Photo Credit: Zoe Trischka