Tag: jim & jesse

The Story Behind a 1981 Masterpiece: The Bluegrass Album

Posted on by Editor

Tony Rice wanted to do a bluegrass album in 1981, but not just any bluegrass album.

It was time for another Tony Rice project for Rounder Records, though he had always made his bluegrass records along with those that featured his take on David Grisman’s genre-expanding musical experiment that Tony dubbed “Spacegrass,” such as Acoustics (1979), Mar West (1980) and Still Inside (1981).

By this time, Tony had also been part of many groundbreaking bluegrass recordings, including the legendary Rounder 0044, J.D. Crowe & The New South (1975), as well as solo albums such as Guitar (1974), California Autumn (1975), Tony Rice (1977) and the marvelous Manzanita (1979), which managed to become one of the best bluegrass recordings of all time without a banjo. In addition, he and Ricky Skaggs offered one of the best examples of early country duet styles on the inimitable Skaggs and Rice (1980).

The album Tony had in mind in 1981 would go on to be considered a masterpiece: The Bluegrass Album. It would also launch a franchise, with subsequent volumes in 1982, 1983, 1984, 1989, and 1996.

Tony didn’t yet have a name for the album but he wanted the new record to be a straight-ahead paean to the early bluegrass he was raised on, specifically the canon of Bill Monroe and Flatt & Scruggs. The reason, to him was clear: 1

“I remember thinking back then very well that bluegrass music was really in the toilet. And it was. It was at maybe its lowest point in its history. It was a rarity to even see a good bluegrass band that used an acoustic bass back then. Bluegrass bands were spread out all over the stage, individual microphones ten feet apart and it was just like a different world. It wasn’t there anymore. And The Bluegrass Album was kind of a deliberate attempt to get back to that.

“And it worked; it hit the bluegrass music world with ten times the impact that I thought it would in terms of satisfying or pacifying any bluegrass aficionado. Even the more contemporary players liked it. The traditionalists really liked it. All of a sudden here was this sound again, and it hadn’t been done since Flatt & Scruggs and Monroe and [Jimmy] Martin and Jim & Jesse at their best, and [The Osborne Brothers’] Sonny and Bob at their best. And here was the music resurrected again in its purest form, maybe even a little more precision than the originals.”

When it came time to choose who would play on the record, he thought of course of J.D. Crowe, whose playing by this time was deeply embedded in Tony’s sense of rhythm and timing. He also thought of Doyle Lawson and Bobby Hicks “…because I thought that they could do it better than anybody that I could think of. I knew I was going to be doing a bunch of Monroe and Flatt & Scruggs stuff, and I wanted to do a bluegrass album that was just as pure as it gets.

“The banjo player was logical, but I needed a mandolin player and tenor singer that could cover both of those sectors of bluegrass and do it well. Doyle was the only guy that could have done it, who could have played mandolin like that. On a Monroe tune, he could give it a Monroe flavor, and he could give it a Monroe tenor. On a Flatt & Scruggs tune, he could give it that Everett Lilly or Curly Seckler flavor, tenor too.

“And back then, Bobby Hicks was really riding the wave of a bluegrass fiddle renaissance. I mean, there was the smoothness of Kenny Baker and the unusualness of Vassar Clements, but there was a fiddle player in Hicks that was almost like every damn bluegrass fiddle player from Howdy Forrester, Chubby Wise, all the way down through the ranks, rolled up in one. And not only that, but he could play it so hard and so deliberate. And when it came time to back up something, he knew exactly what to do. And you can hear that shit. That’s the reason his backup on those mixes, if you listen to it, it’s really loud. His backup is in your face as much as the solos are—it was too pretty not to have it out there.”

Tony recalled that “Bobby and I ended up recording on a record of Ricky’s called Sweet Temptation. I heard Bobby playing that fiddle in the studio and we became real good friends.”

J.D. Crowe remembered that it was his idea to include Lawson: “Tony was talking to me about who to get for tenor. There was [Jimmy] Gaudreau, there was Ricky, there was Doyle. I said, ‘Well, for what this project is… And we’ve played with Ricky. So I think probably Doyle.’ Now I love Gaudreau’s singing, but for this record, Doyle was the one to have, for the mandolin playing, and the timing, and tenor pull, the phrasing. And I don’t think Tony had worked with Doyle at that time.” 2

On bass, Tony turned once again to his constant musical companion in this era, Todd Phillips, a fellow alum of the David Grisman Quintet. While Todd had played second mandolin in that group, he turned out to be an amazing bassist, and he played on both Guitar and Manzanita as well as on Tony’s Spacegrass recordings.

As the band listened to the results, Tony began to rethink how the project should be branded: “The first Album Band album was slated to be a Tony Rice bluegrass album and then after I got everybody together and started hearing playbacks, I thought, no, I’m not gonna do that. This sounds too much like some sort of a band. It came out under everybody’s name. I didn’t invent the name ‘The Bluegrass Album Band.’ I’ve always detested it. Milton Harkey is the inventor of that name.

“By the time the band had decided to go on a tour, it had to call itself something. Nobody knew what to call it. I didn’t know what to call it. And by then, the buying public in the bluegrass world had been buying three volumes of this stuff, and they were calling it The Bluegrass Album. Milton’s logic, I think, was, ‘Well, this is The Bluegrass Album Band. This is not just the album, this is going to be the band.’”

The group’s early albums were recorded in Berkeley, California, at 1750 Arch Street, the studio where Tony had recorded most of the Grisman records as well as Tony Rice (his first Rounder solo record), Manzanita and his first Spacegrass recordings. The session was cut with no headphones and no overdubs.

Tony remembered: “The first three volumes there were no overdubs. The idea was that when you edit, you’ve still got the entire ensemble playing together rather than piecing it together one guy at a time or making tracks and going back to overdub vocals. No matter how much you edit, you’ve still got the band playing live.

“There were two rooms at Arch Street. There was a big, elegant room upstairs with a control room that was in this mansion of a house and the guy who owned it was the first violinist for the San Francisco symphony. He was getting old and he built this room after he retired so that he could play his violin and hear it. And that was the main room at Arch Street, but they also had an isolated, conventional studio downstairs that was adjoining the control room.

“So the first two volumes of the Album Band were done in the upstairs room, and you could hear a pin drop. When you get guys gathered around, you could just hear every little nuance working together. We were individually miked and then Billy (Wolf, the engineer) hung a Neumann quadraphonic mic over the top of the whole ensemble for the purpose of capturing the room sound.”

To Tony it was more important to capture the spirit and energy of the traditional bluegrass from the 1950s: “I will accept mistakes to be able to have it live if it’s got the spirit. Listen to those Album Band records—they’re loaded with mistakes: off-pitch harmony vocals and weird tuning discrepancies here and there; missed fiddle notes. But who gives a shit? It’s almost like the discrepancies have a value of their own.”

Although Tony had a definite idea of the kinds of material he wanted to record, he admitted, “It was kind of a collaborative thing, you know. I came up with a list of tunes before we went into the studio, a list of 20 tunes to pick from. And Doyle would bring out a couple other things, and then when we got in the studio, a lot of times we’d do just whatever came to mind.”

Doyle Lawson remembered in more detail how part of the material was chosen: “Most of the time, J.D. and I would fly out together, and we’d usually meet in Atlanta and fly from there to California. And we’d write down a list of songs. I’d say ‘What about this?’ And he’d say, ‘Yeah. What about this?’ And we’d make us a list. We’d have eight, ten or twelve, whatever. We’d have a whole slew of them. And then when we got out there, Tony would have his list. We’d go through and kind of pick ‘em out—‘Who knows this one?’ ‘Yeah, I do!’ We might run through them one time or so just to figure out what we were going to do, who was going to do what where.” 3

But these were not mechanical recreations of the originals. At various times, the players would be adamant about not playing breaks or certain signature phrases because they didn’t appear in the originals, yet they also needed to play to the strengths of this extraordinary set of musicians. For one, there were no guitar breaks in the originals, but then again, in the ‘40s and ‘50s, they didn’t have Tony Rice.

Tony remembered: “I think it was Doyle who talked me into playing any guitar solo I played on the first couple volumes. I didn’t want to do any. But it was Doyle who kept kind of prodding, ‘Well, I don’t want to play a mandolin solo there. People are going to expect you to play a little bit.’”

Tony’s break on Flatt & Scruggs’ “Blue Ridge Cabin Home” has become such a classic that you will undoubtedly hear it in jam sessions today. Blue Highway banjoist Jason Burleson remembers hearing “Blue Ridge Cabin Home” and Tony’s break for the first time: “It was the first time I ever heard Tony play a solo. I had no idea it was a guitar. I distinctly remember thinking, ‘Wow that’s a cool mandolin break,’ until it got to the end and there was a G Run, and I thought, ‘There’s no way that was a guitar.’ I must have set the needle back 50 times trying to comprehend what I just heard. I really didn’t know that was even possible to do on a guitar.

“At that point I’d been playing a couple of years and all I ever saw a guitar player do was a G Run. I became instantly obsessed with that solo and his solo on ‘Molly and Tenbrooks’ on the same album, and ended up buying every record I could find with Tony’s name on it. At every festival, I went in search of anyone who could maybe show me a little bit of how to do that. I remember being really skeptical that anyone could actually play and sing that well. I thought it surely must be some kind of studio trick. Then of course I saw the Album Band in Denton [North Carolina] and it was even better than the record.”

“Blue Ridge Cabin Home” is the obvious choice to begin this collection. The power and precision of both the playing and singing here make it a standout track, one that the group, once it began touring, kicked off almost every show with. When they performed at the very first International Bluegrass Music Association (IBMA) awards show in Owensboro, Kentucky, in September 1990, they became the only group in the history of the awards to earn an encore. From Crowe’s power pinch, fans knew they were in for a thrill.

Crowe recalled that the group didn’t need to spend a lot of rehearsal time on the material because they all knew it so well: “Just our phrasing, that was the only thing. And that wasn’t hard either, because we had all done ‘em so much and done ‘em together. Especially me and Tony. And of course, Hicks, he learned off the same thing we did. So it just fell together.”

To Doyle, who was busy at the time touring and building repertoire with his own new band Quicksilver, it “…was a joy just getting to be there and not have to do anything except play mandolin and sing tenor. For me, I was in seventh heaven.”

Perhaps the moment that best defines the power and drive of this record, and indeed, the whole series, is J.D. Crowe’s half break near the end of “Molly and Tenbrooks.” His slide seems impossibly long and his syncopated, bluesy phrasing syncs with Tony’s guitar to create one of the great moments in the history of the genre, even if it is only a few seconds long.

Once again, engineer Kevin Gray of Cohearant Audio has outdone himself for a new reissue on Craft Recordings with a stellar all-analog remastering with lacquers cut from the original stereo master tapes. With the album now available for the first time ever on vinyl, the first hi-res remastering is brilliant, bright and powerful—a must-have for any of the countless fans of these classic recordings as well as a new generation just discovering the magic of Tony Rice and his entourage’s Golden Age recordings.

Like so many of those other Tony Rice records, The Bluegrass Album’s versions of these classic songs became the standards that subsequent generations would learn and continue to emulate. Indeed, within a couple decades of its release in 1981, groups in parking lot and campground sessions were describing the songs from this record and subsequent BGAB projects as “old Bluegrass Album Band songs…”

And this continues today. It’s a measure of the legacy of this record and those that followed in the series. Tony certainly succeeded in bringing “the real stuff” back front and center in the music. The audience for this kind of music had never really gone away, but it was the 1980s that saw the first real neo-traditionalist flowering in the genre’s history, with groups like The Johnson Mountain Boys and Nashville Bluegrass Band hitting their stride. The first tap into that free-flowing keg of tradition was The Bluegrass Album.

1 Author interview with Tony Rice, 2006; other Rice interview material from Still Inside: The Tony Rice Story (Word of Mouth Press, 2010).

2 J.D. Crowe interview with Author, 2005.

3 Doyle Lawson interview with Author, 2008.

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.

Artist of the Month: Dailey & Vincent

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Since they were boys, Jamie Dailey and Darrin Vincent have been surrounded by music. As a child, Dailey sang with his father, who was in a gospel group. Vincent performed at a young age with his family’s bluegrass gospel band, the Sally Mountain Show (which included his older sister, Rhonda Vincent). In 1990, he joined the John Hartford Band and then, in 1996, the multi-instrumentalist and singer signed up with Ricky Skaggs & Kentucky Thunder for nearly a decade. In 1999, Dailey started his successful nine-year run in the esteemed bluegrass group Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver as a tenor and baritone vocalist, and played acoustic bass before moving into rhythm guitar.

Dailey & Vincent met at the IBMA’s annual business conference and festival in 2001 and became quick friends. One day, after having breakfast at a Cracker Barrel Old Country Store, they went to Dailey’s car to listen to a tape of a song he had written. When they sang along to it, the two realized that their voices blended together in an uncanny way. It took several years for them to leave their respective groups and officially become a duo.

Along the way, they contributed the track “Beautiful Star of Bethlehem” to a Christmas compilation and that tune hit No. 1 on the Prime Cuts of Bluegrass charts. Dailey & Vincent then scored a deal with Rounder Records based on a demo they submitted. Since 2007, they have released 11 albums (including A Beautiful Life, released in June), won multiple SPBGMA and IBMA awards, and received several GRAMMY nominations. They also host a TV series, and have attracted a devoted following for their mix of traditional and contemporary musical styles that draws upon bluegrass, country, and gospel.

From September 17 to 19, the two are again hosting their annual Dailey & Vincent Music Fest. Held in Hiawassee, Georgia, up in the Blue Ridge Mountains, the festival’s lineup this year includes friends and family like Ricky Skaggs, Rhonda Vincent, and Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver, as well as Lonesome River Band, Seldom Scene, Gene Watson, and Wyatt Ellis – with Dailey & Vincent performing different sets each day.

To celebrate A Beautiful Life, we’ve named Dailey & Vincent our BGS Artist of the Month in August. Enjoy our exclusive AOTM interview with the duo below and don’t miss our Essential Dailey & Vincent Playlist, too. Plus, keep an eye on our website and social media for even more D&V content all month long.

When you all were creating your new album, A Beautiful Life, did you go in with an intention to make a certain type of album? Because your records frequently have had some type of theme or concept – like your prior release, 2022’s Let’s Sing Some Country.

Jamie Dailey: For me, it was not a themed record at all. I think Darrin and I both feel the same way. We just wanted the best songs that we could get our hands on to record. By being with Morris Higham [Management] and our manager Robert Filhart having the tie-in to the publishing companies to help us with songs, that gave us a whole new breath of life to be able to get a hold of some really great songs. And so that’s kind of how we were looking at it. We were not thinking about a theme at all.

Darrin Vincent: We’re able to create the bluegrass and the country music feel on the same record. But it’s mostly acoustically based. One of the coolest things about those elements was our management saying, “Go out and create the best songs and the best record you guys can. Don’t worry about [the album being] branded at anything or themed at anything. Just go make yourself a record.” And that’s kind of our mindset, and what we did with that encouragement.

How did you find these songs come together?

JD: Our manager, Rob Filhart … took us to Music Row and set us in publishing offices with speakers on both sides of our heads and a person across from us. They would play song after song after song, and you would listen to one and you’d be like, “No, that’s not it.” They’d play another one. “No, that’s not it.” And then a song came on and it was, “Wake up in the morning to a big orange sun/ Calling in sick, gonna have a little fun…” I thought, “Wait, wait, wait, what is that?” I want to keep listening. And it was “A Beautiful Life.”

One of the reasons that we love the song is that both of us have lived that lyric. Growing up, we have lived that lyric and still live a lot of it today. So that song touched our hearts and touched who we are as human beings. And we thought, “Man, we’ve got to record that song.”

We kept listening to more and more songs. Then they played us the song that was written by Don Schlitz and Josh Kear called “I Grew Up in Heaven.” Once again, we’re sitting there and I’m like, “I grew up in a beautiful rural area with the hills and the mountains and lakes and the rivers and bluffs and wildlife.” And I’m like, “Oh my goodness, I’ve lived this lyric” – and so has Darrin, you know? We fell in love with that. So, we thought, “Well, that’s going to be a good song.”

DV: We actually recorded 16 of the songs and those 12 [on the album] seemed to fit together the best. We got four other songs we haven’t even finished yet, but they’re great songs as well. We need to probably look at those at some point, but these really fit together well. I’m so thankful for them.

“Ruby” makes for a tremendous lead-off track. How did that get in the album?

JD: We got a call from the Grand Ole Opry, and they were going to recreate a show from 1974. They said, “We want you guys to come in and sing an Osborne Brothers song and a Jim & Jesse song and recreate a night that they were on this stage. You have to say what they said that night and you have to sing one of their songs.” They gave us choices. Darrin picked the song “Paradise” from Jim & Jesse. And I picked the song “Ruby.” I didn’t really want to sing “Ruby,” because it’s really high. It’s really fast and it’s really hard. I’m going to be honest, I was extremely intimidated by the song.

We sang the song on the stage of the Ryman Auditorium during the Grand Ole Opry. And the crowd went bonkers. I mean, bonkers from the front to the middle of the back! We thought, “What is going on?” And I simply think it was because they enjoyed watching me trying to kill myself singing. But when we came off stage we said, “Man, what a reaction! You know, it really doesn’t lend itself to the record, but people loved it so much. It might be a great opener to the record – loose and fast and high and all the things.” So, we decided to do it and lo and behold, it went No. 1 [for multiple weeks on the Bluegrass Today charts].

DV: My favorite thing is to watch Jamie kick off “Ruby” and see the people’s reaction to that. They’re just absolutely floored and that the reaction is so cool. I don’t think they’ve ever seen anything like it. It’s awesome.

The album has a good number of songs, like “A Beautiful Life,” that have a soulful, soul-feeding quality. Not just in a religious way, necessarily. Like “God’s Country,” you might think it is a religious song but it’s just about praising – praising where you come from.

JD: Yeah, and the place that I come from, everybody has different beliefs here. They have different political backgrounds. The song is for everybody. It’s not just for one set group of people. It’s for everybody because I love everybody. I mean, if you’re a nice person and try hard and treat people right, then I love you. I don’t have an issue with anybody.

When you started off as a duo, your first show was the Grand Ole Opry, right?

JD: We’ve played the Opry a lot. Darrin had played it longer than I had. But we both played the Opry a lot in other bands we’d been in. And then as Dailey & Vincent, we started our career off there. Darrin can tell you about us turning down dates just so we could play something like the Opry.

DV: Yeah, we had a manager by the name of Don Light who really, really put us under his wing and really gave us great advice. Advice we’re still using today after all these years. After we quit [working with] Ricky and Doyle, or we turned in our notice … we were getting all these offers of really good money to go out and play. Don Light said, “Boys, there’s only one first. I really believe your first [performance] needs to be at the Grand Ole Opry.” He said, “I know you all could use the money and it’s nice to have money,” but he said, “It’s more important for the longevity of you guys to make that Grand Ole Opry your first performance.”

Jamie and I agreed to it, we said no to everybody, and just kind of hung on to that. The thing of it is we weren’t promised [the Opry gig]. Pete Fisher [Opry VP/GM at the time] did not promise, “Yes, you guys can make your debut at the Grand Ole Opry.”

JD: It was a gamble.

DV: He and I took a gamble. We said no to everybody and, man, are we ever glad we did! ‘Cause we can honestly say our very first paid performances were the Grand Ole Opry. The Ryman, no less, of all stages. The birth of bluegrass music [was there], started with Bill Monroe. Isn’t that something? That’s really something!

JD: And we had to eat beanie weenies for about four months, but, you know, we’re alive now. We made it.

You both have been performing music since you were children, and been professionals for a long time. Besides having a lifelong love of music, it seems like you have a respect for the profession of being a musician.

DV: We’ve been recording records for a long time and have been on wonderful projects. Jamie grew up with his dad playing music and I did the same thing with my mom and dad. I think that my very first recording was at age five. So, we’ve been doing this a long time. I tell people this is not a hobby. It’s our job and our life and our livelihood, and man, it’s our DNA. It’s the way we grew up, and being members of the Grand Ole Opry and just being able to carry on that legacy of our family tree is really, really important. … It’s what we’ve done all of our lives. My wife, as a child, wanted to be a teacher and be in education. For us, this is our job, yes – but it’s more than that. It’s our life. I mean, this music, this record, is our life.

I think there’s some people that do it for a hobby, and that’s wonderful. But for us, our job is to get music, songs that will help people. I mean, we’re basically therapists as well. I can’t tell you the number of people that come through our line that are going through chemotherapy or some kind of issue in their life. This music is therapeutic – especially “A Beautiful Life.” I’ve had so many people come up to me and say, “That just makes me happy listening to those lyrics.” I feel like we’re sometimes musical doctors as well.

Harmony singing has always been important to you, and to the history of bluegrass. Jamie, I know the Statler Brothers were a huge influence on you. How do you see the state of harmony vocals in bluegrass music today? Is there a resurgence or are you just like holding the torch?

JD: Okay, we may have two different answers… How I’m going to answer this, I want everyone to know, I don’t mean this negative at all. This is just something that I’m seeing – and I could be wrong, okay? I’ll be the first to admit it. I am seeing more great pickers and a lot of picking now than I am, per se, a lot of great, top-notch vocal art. Now, yes, there are lots of people out there doing it, but it used to be that I saw more of that than I did a lot of the hot picking. It seems to me that’s what I’m seeing now. Folks, I could be wrong. Okay? If I am, please point me in direction so I can learn. But that’s what I’m seeing and what I’m hearing. So I found that to be interesting. Darrin, how do you feel?

DV: Yeah, you know, [Jamie] and I are always going to do four-part harmony, if possible. I never ever did four-part harmony with my family group all those years. With Ricky [Skaggs], we would have “Remember the Cross,” the Bill Monroe song, with the bassist in Ricky’s band doing the Bill Monroe quartet kind of thing. Of course, now Jamie, being with Doyle in those nine years, that was absolutely Doyle Lawson’s sound, the four-part harmony gospel. We have since moved back to three-part harmony, and we’ve been having Kyle [Ramey], our banjo player, do the bass part. I think Jamie and I will always do duets, trios, all the different types of songs, because that’s our DNA, that’s part of bluegrass’s DNA as well, all the way back to Flatt & Scruggs and Bill Monroe. It’s just something that’s part of bluegrass. I think that people need to hear that and we certainly feature that on our TV show. It’s very important and it’s just a cool thing to hear.

It also feels like you two are at an interesting traditionalist/non-traditionalist intersection, where you respect and follow some traditional leads, but also listen to your own inner voices of what you want to sound like.

JD: That has been a craw with some people on the traditional side. You know, “What are you guys? You used to be bluegrass, but we can’t really call you bluegrass. But you’re not really country, so we can’t call you that. What are you?” And all we know to tell them is: Dailey & Vincent! We sing and play the songs that we like and love. We play and sing the styles that we like and love. And we play and sing the way that we play and sing. We don’t know what that is, other than it’s just us. It’s how we think. How we breathe. It’s just who we are. And that’s not a good answer for a lot of people. They don’t like that answer, but honestly, we really don’t know how else to answer it.

You’ve finished your tenth season of your TV show. How has the TV show fit in with or affected your overall music career? Like, has it improved your live show?

JD: One of the things that I am so thankful for about the television show is, of course, we get to sing our bluegrass songs, whether they’re covers or originals that we’ve written. We get to sing a lot of the country songs that we like – original or covers. But something I have loved, it has given me the ability to sing songs like Bryan Adams’ “Heaven.” I’ve been able to sing Christopher Cross’s “Sailing.” I’ve been able to sing Sting’s “Fields of Gold.” All these old pop songs.

It’s given me an avenue to get that side of my fanboy out on all these pop songs and get to sing them and put them out. It’s interesting. When we have put them on social media, I have been very clear in my wording of, “Hey, one of the reasons we love to get to do our television show is we get to sing songs we’ve always wanted to sing, but that we never really could put on a record or necessarily really sing on a stage somewhere.” So, that has been one of the most fun parts for me. Darrin, how about you?

DV: I’ve loved being able to sing different songs and create different musical settings for different songs. Even songs that we did bluegrass, we go back into country now and just flip it around. It’s just wonderful being on the creating side of the musical side of that with these songs.

For me personally, I love all that and creating, but I’ve always been behind the vocalists in my group. It was my dad and my sister Rhonda. When I went with John Hartford, it was John. He was the frontman. He was the voice. Ricky, he was the voice. Jamie’s a great MC and a great frontman. But in our group now, I have to walk out and do more lead vocals and do more talking. And being a part of the Grand Ole Opry and this TV show has really set me to be out front, to be more of a talker. I’m more of a thinker on that side of it. Jamie is great off the cuff. I have to think about what I say and then I have to try to make it feel correct. I struggle with that.

JD: [Laughing] I probably should think about what I said!

DV: I’m not ashamed of this. I spent my whole entire life in special ed. Education was very hard for me. Being in the background is more where I like to be. I love being on the backside of things and I don’t need the spotlight. But since it’s Dailey & Vincent, Jamie and I both go out there, but those [TV show] settings have helped me to try to be more outgoing. I love that Jamie’s very outgoing. He’s such a great speaker and it has really encouraged me to try to do better at that. He’s absolutely the best, but I feel like I have grown because of those platforms to be able to speak better. My thought process goes a little quicker now and I feel more comfortable with it, and I’m sure grateful for that.

Photo Credit: Gregg Roth

Darren Nicholson Wants His Style of Bluegrass to Sound Different

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Over the past twenty-some years, Darren Nicholson has played mandolin all over the world – whether with Alecia Nugent, as a member of Balsam Range (a group he co-founded), or on his own (with or without a band). No matter where he traveled, you can be sure that Nicholson was bringing Western North Carolina with him. Nicholson was born, raised, and still lives in the area.

When BGS caught up with Nicholson, he was home in Canton, N.C., a town about 20 miles west of Asheville. It’s a region that he feels has been a bit overlooked in music history. “The oldest folk festival in the country [Mountain Dance and Folk Festival] is held in Asheville,” he shares. “There were recordings that happened in Asheville before the Bristol Sessions.”

The area he pointed out, despite its remoteness, also has been home to many significant musicians – as well as developing a dance-friendly style of bluegrass that drew from many different styles.

Nicholson’s love for the area has led to a rather unique sponsorship for his tour van and trailer. Through a friend he met with representatives of the Avalon Mountain Community, a private mountaintop neighborhood and development in the hills of Western Carolina. Nicholson calls it a “win-win” situation as he receives some financial support for touring expenses while Avalon now has a “rolling billboard.” “I even wrote a jingle for them,” he states.

Nicholson will be traveling around this year touring a fine new album, Lonesome Trails and Tall Tales. He counts it as either his fourth or sixth solo effort, depending on whether you factor in two EPs. Lonesome Trails and Tall Tales arrives after several particularly eventful years for Nicholson, including leaving his longtime band Balsam Range, getting sober, and acquiring a prized 1923 Lloyd Loar mandolin – all among the topics that he was more than willing to talk about with BGS.

How does your new album Lonesome Trails and Tall Tales tie in with your earlier albums?

Darren Nicholson: My records have a sound, you know. I’ve always been pretty much consistent – besides an electric country EP – doing the music that I consider my style of bluegrass or the bluegrass that I grew up on, which is to me the traditional bluegrass of the ’60s. Having a producer like Carl Jackson in the early days influenced how I made records, because Carl had played with Jim & Jesse and he came out of [when] an entire bluegrass movement had almost a country kind of feel to it. I love the sound of those records. And it was partly because I grew up in Western North Carolina and there’s a huge dance element here – the square dance music.

The old-timey driving style of rhythm with that light percussion – like Jimmy Martin, Flatt & Scruggs, the Osbornes – that really fits in with people who danced. And the modern kind of bluegrass – like the Alison Krauss style of bluegrass, which is amazing – does not lend itself to dancing. The modern style of bluegrass that was really kind of heavy on the one and three beat, and then the older style of bluegrass, which was very much more even, rhythmically.

And how does the new album differ from your prior ones?

What separated this particular recording from the others is just my growth as a songwriter… I was picking what I thought were the best songs I had or songs that were different from each other. A lot of times… [with] the way things are being mass produced now, if Nashville finds one song that’s a hit, they’ll write 10 more just like it for all the other artists. So they all start sounding the same.

To me, all the great artists of yesteryear, all their material was different. Their sound was different. Instead of just finding something you could mass produce, make a buck on, and then hop on to the next thing, they were actually creating art and trying to artistically be different. That was what was good about it.

So [in] the same way, I try to pick songs in my set. I don’t want to play five songs in a row that sound the same. Otherwise, it’s boring – I see bands do it all the time. They kick off in [the key of] B and they play five songs that could basically be the same song, you know? I understand why people who are non-bluegrass fans will go, “You know, all bluegrass sounds the same.”

I tried to pick six songs that were completely opposite from each other, so when you go down track by track, it’s a different journey and it doesn’t bore the listener. Every song is a different tempo, it’s a different groove, it’s a different key, it’s a different vibe, and so that’s how I put records together.

Were these songs ones that you’ve accumulated over the last couple years or are they all a recent crop of songs?

A few of them were really old and a few of them were really new. “Big Sky” has been around for a few years and I wrote it with Charles Humphrey. I thought it was “okay,” and this shows you how off-base I can be sometimes.

I’m driving to a gig one day with my buddy Kevin [Sluder]. He plays bass with us. It was a solo gig, but he was just riding with me. We’re listening to songs and Kevin goes, “That song is amazing. You’re an idiot if you don’t cut that song.” I was like, “That song? It’s okay.” He goes, “No, that song’s more than okay. That song is special. You need to cut that.” I took this batch of songs to Jeff Collins, who produced the record, and that was one of the first ones he picked. And sure enough, radio played it. Banjo Radio wore that song out. If it were up to me, I would have probably left that one on the pile of demos.

One of the newer ones was “Eager Overachiever.” I’d just written that song with Andrew Blythe. It was so fun. Every time I would sing it for somebody, they loved it. It’s a funny song about addiction.

It made me laugh, and the song also shows a lot of personality.

That’s the point, you know. That song has personality. One of my favorite artists [growing up] was Roger Miller and he would sometimes do these spoken pieces. Especially in country music, sometimes there would be recitations or things would set up songs. It was interesting and just funny, you know.

Can you talk a little about the music traditions of Western North Carolina where you grew up?

There’s a definite style. If you go across the country, there’s little pockets of bluegrass that have their own sound, for sure. But Western North Carolina and this region was so rural and cut off… If it’s 120 years ago and you’re in the mountains of Western North Carolina, people would walk for 10 miles to get to a barn dance or some place on Saturday night. And the band would be whoever showed up. It might be a banjo and guitar. It might be fiddle and banjo. But it changed the way you played. When Doc Watson plays his leads, he also plays his rhythm; he’s playing lead and rhythm at the same time. Where modern players who have a whole band behind them, they’re like playing rhythm and then when it comes time to take their solo, it’s a whole different mindset.

As [the area] grew and people got together more and more, they still played the same way. They passed it down from generation to generation, that strong sense of rhythm and timing that is a trademark for Western North Carolina. Look at Marc Pruitt and Steve Sutton; you know, Jason Burleson is from Western North Carolina. Doc Watson, Earl Scruggs, Mark Kuykendall, Tom McKinney, Mike Hunter – all of these amazing players are from Western North Carolina. Randy Davis – Bill Monroe introduced him every night for five years: “He’s the man from Asheville, North Carolina; he’s the man with perfect timing.”

At these musical gatherings in Western North Carolina, you’re describing how people frequently would bring whatever instruments they had – acoustic or electric. And it wasn’t doctrinaire about what a bluegrass instrument had to be.

Yeah, it was community. And I’m going to say this, and I don’t care to say this because I’m from here and I’m from generations and generations of people who play this music. It’s always somebody who got into bluegrass in college or they got into it older, and they’re not even from this area. It’s somebody that’s from New York or from California or from Oregon. They write articles, and they become self-proclaimed experts of bluegrass. And they say, “Well, this is bluegrass and this isn’t bluegrass.”

They didn’t come from generations of this music. They don’t know. They’re not at the epicenter of where it came from and how it started, but they’re always the ones who try to dictate. And then most of the time, they don’t even play. But that’s their way of being involved in the music somehow. It really hurts the music because any time you start segregating something, you’re just keeping somebody [out]. That’s not how this music started.

Do you think Earl Scruggs said, “I’m not going to play if there’s an electric bass here”? You know what I mean? Look at the people who created the music: Earl Scruggs, the Osborne Brothers – they had electric bass. They had drums. But there’s somebody, who’s basically a yuppie, who is trying to tell us what the music is. I do take offense to that.

That’s why the Gibson Brothers have that song called “They Called It Music.” That’s great. I love that because that’s what it was. It’s like, they just called it music. We got together and made music and everybody was welcome. And it sounded like bluegrass. It sounded like country. It sounded like old-time. And it’s just sad. It’s like bluegrass has almost tried to put too fine a point on itself. And it’s almost made itself smaller because of that.

To me, sometimes it feels like the more I write or listen to music, the less I know, in a sense – or, the more I learn, to say it another way.

That’s how we all should be. We should remain a green tomato. If we’re red, we’re done, right?

If I moved out to Seattle – I really enjoy grunge. And if after five years, I read about grunge as much as I could, all of a sudden I know more than the people who created it? But I see that happen [with bluegrass], you know. It’s almost like someone is such a fan or likes this so much that they take ownership to a point where they’re hurting it. It’s like a pet. They’re holding it and petting it so much that they’re actually hurting it.

Bluegrass can look like a lot of different things and so there’s different styles depending on the regions, too.

I was wondering who are the main musicians that have influenced your mandolin playing?

Basically, there are four guys who are on my Mount Rushmore of mandolin. Country music or bluegrass or whatever in roots music – and that’s Bill Monroe, Jesse McReynolds, Bobby Osborne, and Jethro Burns.

Every modern style has come out of those four guys or a combination of those guys. That’s where David Grisman, Ricky Skaggs, Doyle Lawson, Sam Bush, [were all] influenced by those. So, there are some songs that I try to sound like Bill Monroe and there’s some songs I cross-pick like Jesse. Then there’re some songs I play more fiddle-note stuff like Bobby and then there’re some songs that get a little swingy and jazzy and I’m channeling my Jethro, you know?

Those guys kind of set the landscape. My big influence, as far as players that I got to see and got close to, is Mike Hunter in Western North Carolina. He was a huge, huge influence. He was an incredible mandolinist.

You have said you tend to let the song guide you and not to impose a style on it. Did this approach come from someone’s advice or was it something you learned along the way?

I had a mentor named Steve Sutton. I started playing with Alecia Nugent in 2004 and Steve was the bandleader. He got me that job. During that time, musicians would come through in little waves, like in five-year clusters. A lot of my peers were Aaron Ramsey, Ashby Frank, Andy Ball, Jesse Cobb, and so there were a bunch of guys during that time. Not all of them are Adam Steffey clones, but a lot of my peers were influenced heavily by Adam Steffey.

It’s like, who can play like Adam Steffey? You can get close, but you’re not going to beat the guy. So, my mentor told me, “All of these other people are in that vein. You would be way ahead to do your own thing and just sound like yourself. You won’t mess up as much either, because instead of thinking about what somebody else did, you’re actually thinking about what you’re doing. So, your brain is actually in the moment with your hands.… Try to play what fits the song and instead of trying to settle into a style – just play what the song or the band needs.”

And, you know, I just never turned back from that. He really helped me with that. Then, all of the sudden, too, if you sound like yourself and everybody else is going after this other thing, then you’re a peacock in a room full of chickens.

A couple years back, you acquired a rare 1923 Lloyd Loar mandolin. How are you enjoying it?

Oh, it sounds incredible. It’s a hundred-year-old wood. You can’t replicate that. Ferdinand [named after the mandolin’s original owner] hadn’t really been played until I got it, but I’ve played it quite a bit. You can play that thing for just a few minutes and it’s just singing. It’s just unreal.

It gets better and better every minute that you play it. It’s balanced. It’s loud, but it’s also got these real pretty, sweet tones in it. It’s just a pretty magical instrument. It’s a life-changing instrument, for sure. It’s a rare bird amongst rare birds.

Early in the pandemic you got sober, which you’ve been quite open about. How has this changed your life?

Getting sober, I had all this time on my hands and I started getting productive. I started recording, writing songs, and all of a sudden, after all these years, I felt my creativity. I started throwing all my time into healthy things… I had my life back. I had my time. I had my energy. I had my mind, my spirit – all that came back because of sobriety.

So, I talk about it because I think talking about it is a great way to maybe touch someone who’s maybe struggling with it out there, you know? Give them a little shot in the arm and say, “You know what? If that poor bastard can do it, I can do it too.”

That was around the time you left Balsam Range too?

When I left that band, people were like, “Why would you leave a high-profile band?” And it’s like, there’s more growth over here [going solo]. The last year I was with them, we went on about 20 dates and I did about 160 dates on my own. I wasn’t stagnant anymore. A band has been together for a long time, people request the same songs and you’re playing the same songs all the time.

The pandemic also resulted in you having something of a revelation about performing music, right?

I found myself doing house concerts for 20 people, and they’re people who saw me on huge stages with Balsam Range. They would cry because they’d never experienced bluegrass like this. I’m like, “Well, this was how it was intended.” This was how it was created in these houses a hundred years ago in the mountains of Western North Carolina — community people entertaining each other.

So, there’s that. Then there’s sobriety. And then there’s like, “Wait a minute, am I doing this for my ego to get famous or am I doing this to be healthy and be part of a community?” It all goes together. Like, I talk about my sobriety to help others. I want to use my music to impact others.

If we do it with a good heart and the right intentions, all that other stuff will fall into place. We want to play anywhere. We’ll go and we’re ready. We’re road ready. We’ve got original music; we can do covers; square dances… I want to be the Bob Wills of Bluegrass.

Photo courtesy of the artist.

Vince Gill Has Done It All (Part 1)

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Vince Gill doesn’t give interviews; he gives conversations – lengthy, engaging conversations filled with the same reflection and storytelling that make his songwriting so relatable and successful. Factor in his enviable mastery of guitar and other instruments and the result is a well-rounded artist who has won 18 CMA awards, 22 GRAMMY awards, and eight Academy of Country Music Awards.

In 2025, he was presented with the CMA Willie Nelson Lifetime Achievement Award, and this year, on May 6, he will receive the Ken Burns American Heritage Prize. He’s been a member of the Grand Ole Opry since 1991 and in 2005 was entered into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame. Two years later, he was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame.

Over the course of 21 albums his sales exceed thirty million with 45 chart singles. Coming up is a summer tour, which will wrap with a six-night residency at the Ryman Auditorium, while continuing his ongoing schedule with the Eagles. All of this is only a cursory glance at his many accolades.

Gill’s accomplishments, and the experiences that accompany them, are at the core of his latest project, 50 Years From Home, a yearlong series of monthly EPs marking the fiftieth anniversary of his leaving home to pursue a music career. Each collection features themed new songs and revisited classics, with photos of select guitars on the covers. The EPs are introduced via detailed conversations with friend and colleague Charlie Worsham – watch all episodes on Gill’s YouTube channel.

Down At The Borderline, released February 13, is the fourth and latest EP in the series, while the next installment, Lonely’s What I Do, already arrives this Friday, March 13. A few weeks prior to the release of Down At The Borderline, Gill made himself available for more interviews and conversations, including a talk with Good Country.

At this point, it’s difficult to imagine anything Vince Gill hasn’t done. In fact, there are two key things, neither of which he cares to pursue:

“I’ve never sent a text,” he says, “because I prefer talking to people. What you find out [with texts] is how many people really don’t want to talk to you!” And, “I’ve never posted anything on the internet,” although he does have a scrolling habit, which he gladly admitted to during this discussion.

As you move through endless interviews around these EPs, is there something you’ve always wanted to talk about but have never been asked? Now’s your chance to tell the world!

Vince Gill: I wouldn’t have a clue! I never was much of a planner. I think it’s a blessing that I just live in the moment. I don’t look ahead, I don’t look back much, and there’s not a lot of regrets in my life. I figure the mistakes I made were valuable to learn something. I never planned any of this. I didn’t sit down and have a diary that I’d go, “When I’m this age, I want to have done this and this.” I just answered the phone.

You should probably give classes on that, because this is an industry of nonstop worry: What’s going to happen? Will this work? Will this not work? To move from project to project, stage to stage of your career with that mindset is impressive.

I started out with absolutely not one dollar, so money has never been the reason for any of it. I bought a guitar when I was 18 years old and I moved away from home. It was an old pre-war Martin that was perfect for bluegrass. I spent every dime I had on it and I didn’t worry. I said, “My rent’s $15 a month, I’ll make a couple hundred bucks a week when we work, so I’ll be fine.”

Amazing.

Speaking of going from stage to stage of your career, the EPs are each a chapter told with collections of songs. Tell us more.

The majority of it is fairly new. From the time I started in 1975, there was no reason to have a publishing deal for a long time. Even after I had a record deal, I didn’t see the need because I had a place for my songs to land on my own records. I never partnered up with a publisher, to give away half the money, to give a monthly draw to help pay my rent or whatever. I was able to always pay the rent somehow – my house note, whatever it was – with playing and singing.

Three or four years ago, Jody Williams, who’s a lifelong publisher in Nashville and a friend of mine for 40-something years now, called me and said, “You’ve never had a publisher. Would you consider letting me manage your songwriting for a while? I think you still have a lot to say as a songwriter.” I said, “Yeah, I’ll try that out.”

He would call great songwriters and say, “Would you like to write a song with Vince?” I was never a very good self-promoter, so I would never do that on my own. I just let it unfold with people I would meet. So it started me down this path of writing a lot of music, and over the last three or four years I’ve written twice as many songs as I’ve recorded on this new 50 Years From Home project. I think I’m writing the best songs I’ve ever written. With time you should get better, and I think I have.

I don’t want to check out someday and have all these songs lost in a desk drawer somewhere, so I’ve started recording them all. It’s a different world now, a different way. If you want to release 75 songs, you can do it. You don’t have to have one album with 10 songs on it anymore. So I started thinking about what it would be. My first conception was to release two songs a week, like an A-side and B-side of a 45. “It’s Monday, it’s time for a couple new Vince songs.” The record company came up with the idea of, “Why don’t you do a series of EPs and have six or seven songs on each one?” I said, “That sounds cool. We’ll put one out a month.”

That’s where the whole thing started. I was trying to find a way to put all this out. I realize at this point in my life, I’m almost 69, I don’t have as much time left to be creative as I’ve had to this point, obviously. How much more it matters now is palpable. It really means something to me to be creative, and if I see myself improving, I want to nurture and foster that and continue, because it’s so dear to me, being musical, being creative, coming up with an idea, coming up with a story that could potentially move somebody, touch somebody. It’s unbelievable to be able to have that gift, to be able to do that. So I’m trying to take full advantage of it.

But 68 or 69 today is not the 68 or 69 of our parents’ years. When you’re a kid, your parents turn 50 and it seems ancient.

That’s true. My mom’s a hundred years old.

See? You have many more years to go, especially if you’re still 17 in your head, which happens in this business.

Yeah, and I am. I don’t feel any different than when I pulled out of the driveway and took off. I still have the same love and I’m so drawn to playing music. It’s such a huge part of me. I tell everybody, “My mom’s a hundred and I hope I’m really her son, so I have those genes! For all I know, she might have rented me out of a yard in southern Oklahoma somewhere!” But my dad checked out early. He died at 65 – and I was afraid of being 65. There’s so many instances of people passing at the same age as their parents and whatnot.

I’ve heard from others that it’s a strange feeling when you reach the age when a parent passed.

Absolutely. But my dad drank a lot, he smoked two packs a day, and he didn’t take very good care of himself. I don’t think I have too many of those qualities. I don’t smoke and I don’t drink. I eat bad, but that’s about it.

You’ve stated many times that your goal was always to be a recording musician. With reality shows and social media, do young players have that same goal, or is a lot of it about chasing clicks and stardom? Are you concerned about the future of musicianship?

No, because there are plenty of young kids out there that can play their brains out. There’s so many of them that you don’t worry about it. I tell people all the time, “If American Idol was on in 1948, Little Jimmy Dickens would’ve been on it.” I don’t really care for those shows – and not in a bad way, because a lot of talented people go on them – but sadly, you don’t see that really bear out with a lot of artists coming from those shows that have longevity. They have that moment, but we’re so ready to slide our thumb and move on to the next scrolling thing. It’s the same way with those shows: “The season’s over. Okay, who are the new ones?” And I never like seeing creativity be a contest.

But I don’t worry too much. You see someone like Sierra Hull, who can play better than anybody in the whole world, and Michael Cleveland, and so many that come along that can completely annihilate their instruments. It’s beautiful to watch. I don’t think that’ll ever go away.

Does AI-created “music” concern you?

Of course, but when I’m asked about it, I say, “The people who create it, deep down, they know they haven’t done anything. They know they’ve done nothing.”

As a recording and performing guitarist, singer, and songwriter over a lot of years, how has your approach changed? Your technique, your picking style, your ear, your tone?

It’s a combination of all of those things. I’ve spent the latter years realizing what I don’t need, what I don’t need to do, what I don’t need to play, what I don’t need to sing, what I don’t need to say in the lyrics. To me, the beauty of it is your willingness to try to say the most with the least.

I like my singing better now than I did when I had hits. I much prefer the way I sing and play my songs today. That’s motivation enough, that I feel like I’m better now than I ever was. My ears have never lied to me, and with that, if I feel like I’m making progress, that’s all the reason in the world to keep doing it. If I start wheezing like an old woman, I probably won’t wanna go out there and sing. But, thank God, that hasn’t happened yet,

With music, the more you do it, the more you learn. The point of it is not to impress, but to move people. If you can move people with what you play and sing and write, that’s the real gift. That’s when you really get something that matters out of it, rather than a big “Woo, that was incredible! That was impressive.” That’s fleeting in a way. I like the long haul.

I could have very easily stopped working on other people’s records and being a sideman and a harmony singer and guitar player and what have you. But I love doing that so much, because I always thought it was a harder job to complement somebody and what they’re doing, more so than doing what you want and having everybody follow you. It took more talent to do that – better ears, bigger ears, that kind of stuff. So I continue to do that. I’ve worked on over a thousand artists’ records in the last 50 years. The diversity of that, the willingness to go into any kind of world of music and try, and not just be shortsighted and only do this and only do that – I love all of it. I’ll find something good in any of it. If I can play a part in making something better that’s being done, then that’s a good feeling.

Can you draw a through line from your bluegrass roots to what you’ve done and what you do now?

“When I Call Your Name” wouldn’t have sounded like it did had I not played bluegrass. That high lonesome sound was totally taken out of my love and life of bluegrass. A song on one of my new records [Secondhand Smoke, EP 2] is called “Hill People,” with [harmony vocalist] John Meador – great singer, great player, it just blows my mind how good he is. That sounds the way it does, it was written the way it was, because of my history of bluegrass.

I was never one of those guys that [would say], “I can only play bluegrass and it has to be traditional.” I loved New Grass Revival. They were different than Bill Monroe and I loved it all. If you take whatever’s great about something and cast the rest aside, then you’ve done your job. I’m not critical of young people that don’t do it the way I did it, or the way my heroes did it. That doesn’t serve anybody any good, to be critical of stuff. I remember hearing Billy Strings talk about how he would go to jam sessions and felt unwelcomed, and that killed me. I felt so bad for him.

I experienced that once when I was 17. We were playing some bluegrass festival, a hardcore traditional-minded festival. We were up there playing “Rocky Road Blues,” which is a Bill Monroe song, but we were doing it real bluesy. The promoters kicked us out of the festival and said, “You can’t be playing that kind of music!”

As they were kicking us out, Jim & Jesse were playing Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode.” I said, “Now wait a minute. We’re playing a Bill Monroe song and we’re going to get kicked out, and they’re playing ‘Johnny B. Goode’ by Chuck Berry? What’s cool about that?” They go, “Their suits match. Get outta here!”

I’ve known Sam Bush for 50-something years. The story he tells about Monroe is that he said, “What is it you call that music you play?” Sam said, “We call it New Grass.” He goes, “Yeah, I hate that.” That kills me, but it didn’t impact Sam one bit. But that hardline thing – I don’t go for it.

You’ve said that the role of the artist is to speak for others. Are there songs that speak for you, or to you, in those moments?

I like the things that are the most honest, that are not trying to be something they’re not. I’m not a fan of singers that alter the sound of their voice to make it do something it doesn’t naturally do. I heard Merle Haggard say, “Man, just tell the truth.” That’s where I’m finding the biggest inspiration in songs is being truthful. I think the truth has always been the greatest thing you can lean on.

People talk about country music, and if you could point somebody to what you think country music is, I’d say Merle Haggard’s “Mama Tried.” How it starts– “I turned 21 in prison doing life without parole.” That’s pretty dark. That’s pretty sad. And then, “No one could steer me right, but Mama tried.” There’s your hope.

One thing they’ve never taken away from me is hope. Even though they quit playing my records on radio stations and I don’t have hits anymore, I’m always hopeful that something will slide through and move people. I had hope when I made my first record at 16 or 17 years old, and lo and behold, some radio station played it and I heard it in my pickup truck. That instilled a hope in me that’s never faded. They can pass on songs, they can not play them, they can do all that, but they have never dinged my hope in my heart for what it is that I want to try to do.

Where were you in your truck when you heard yourself on the radio for the first time?

I-40, Oklahoma City. I was driving and all of a sudden they started playing “July You’re a Woman.” It’s a John Stewart song and we’d done a bluegrass version of it. I was singing lead. I think some other bluegrassers had done that same song. I’m driving and all of a sudden they started playing it on the radio station and I get on the CB radio and start screaming, “You’re not going to believe it! They’re playing our record on the radio!” Truckers were coming back saying, “Hey, you sound good, kid! Hang in there.” Wow.

The first record I ever made, I heard on the radio. It put that dose of hope in me that has never faded.

Editor’s Note: Read part two of our Good Country conversation with Vince Gill here.

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Photo Credit: David McClister

Michael Daves Reconstructs R.E.M. Bluegrass Style

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Although he lives in New York now, Michael Daves’ Southern roots permeate his music. That characteristic goes further than ever before on the newly released Fables, a six-song EP that reconstructs songs from fellow Georgia band R.E.M.’s 1985 album Fables of the Reconstruction.

In celebration of the record’s 40-year anniversary, Daves enlisted his longtime quartet bandmates – fiddler Alex Hargreaves (Billy Strings), mandolinist Jacob Jolliff (Béla Fleck, Yonder Mountain String Band) and Erik Alvar (Nefesh Mountain, Billy Strings) – and others to reinvent songs like “Green Grow The Rushes,” “Wendell Gee,” and of course, “Driver 8.” Together, they turn each track on its head, fully leaning into their bluegrass prowess while continuing to hold each song and their original formats in high regard. It’s something that Daves has plenty of experience with, having released the dual acoustic and electric bluegrass covers compilation Orchids and Violence in 2016 and Early Morning Sun – an EP of bluegrass and country standards from Ola Belle Reed, Dolly Parton and others – in August 2025.

“It was really important for me to try to make something that would stand on its own, even if people didn’t have any connection with R.E.M. or don’t even like them,” explains Daves. “I tried to make something that just works by its own logic as much as it’s paying homage to the original.”

During a Zoom call with BGS on release day in December, Daves spoke about his motivation for doing this cover EP, how he decided which songs to include on it, the plans for his label Wild Geranium Records, and more.

What motivated you to not only make an EP of R.E.M. covers, but to do it with songs from Fables of the Reconstruction?

Michael Daves: It’s an album I grew up with. R.E.M. was one of my first musical obsessions. I first discovered them in the late ‘80s at summer camp in Toccoa, Georgia, not too far from Athens where R.E.M. was from. All my camp counselors were [University of Georgia] kids, so I fully downloaded their musical tastes, which fortunately were pretty good.

As far as taking on the Fables thing now, there were a couple inspirations. For one, it’s the 40th anniversary of that record and it’s one that I don’t feel like a lot of younger people have heard or appreciated. People seem to know more of R.E.M.’s pop stuff from the ‘90s and beyond, but that ‘80s stuff was so good and weird. I also have this quartet I’ve led since about 2019 with Alex Hargreaves, Jacob Jolliff, and Erik Alvar in New York. They’re all incredible musicians who are very well versed in traditional bluegrass but also very adept at adapting music from outside the fold. We’d done some other projects over the years – like we did a whole mini set of Jimmy Webb songs one time including “MacArthur Park,” “Wichita Lineman,” and “Galveston” – and they learned that stuff in one rehearsal and just rendered it so beautifully. It made me realize that this is a quartet that really can handle a challenge.

The Fables idea came up because of the anniversary, but also because in August I had done a tribute along with Peter Rowan to the 1973 Muleskinner record that he was a part of. Initially he united with Bill Keith, Clarence White, David Grisman, Richard Greene, and Stuart Schulman to share a TV show with Bill Monroe, but Monroe never showed up. His bus broke down, so they ended up having the whole show to themselves and wound up getting an album deal out of it. Then they made this record that didn’t go anywhere because Clarence White died before it came out.

I taught a class about Clarence’s guitar playing on that record and through that became inspired to do a tribute to it with Peter at Vermont’s Green Mountain Bluegrass & Roots Festival this past August. When studying that Muleskinner record I discovered it had the same producer as R.E.M.’s Fables, Joe Boyd, who’s also worked with everyone from Nick Drake to Fairport Convention and Pink Floyd. That strange coincidence led to a Fables tribute show, which is then where the idea for this EP really came to life.

How’d you go about dwindling the original Fables of the Reconstruction down to the six tracks that are on this EP?

It was an interesting process choosing which songs to do. It was a combination of practical considerations, because when the quartet and I worked up this music for that one-off show in Brooklyn I initially picked songs that I thought were achievable on our tight constraints and would translate well to a bluegrass ensemble. There were definitely other songs on the original record that would have worked, but I’m feeling good about the song choices we made because the original record is sort of sprawling with a lot of digressions. There’s a lot of dreamer logic and a Faulknerian non-linearity in the writing, so to pare that down into what I think works as a distillation of the original recording that probably is more of an interesting statement on the original than if I just recorded the whole thing, you know. As my wife put it, we took it from a sprawling Faulknerian epic to more of a Flannery O’Connor gut punch.

Do you have any specific favorites of the six songs making up this project?

As far as song selection, I kept the first and the last songs from the record in their normal position. The record opens with “Feeling Gravity’s Pull” and ends with “Wendell Gee” so I kept those because the beginning and end of the story just felt right.

There’s something about the song “Good Advices” that just always just gets me with its meditations on mortality. It’s classic R.E.M. in the sense that it can be hard to parse the lyrics because they’re based more in dream logic than confessional writing. However, they still carry a lot of emotional weight and a sense of meaning that’s oftentimes hidden. For some reason, that song is the one that just always gets stuck in my head and gives me all the feels.

Part of this is due to the structure of the song, which is repetitive and drony. The bridge is basically four measures of the G chord and then it’s out, which I think is just brilliant how that works in the song. It was those repeated drone lines that Alex played over while the rest of the band had these repeated melody things going on. For me it’s the quintessential song off of the record. I don’t think it was a hit or anything at the time – that goes to “Driver 8” – which I almost didn’t include because it was the best known song off of that record.

The opening track, “Feeling Gravity’s Pull,” is one that was never my favorite track from the original record, but in rendering it I started liking it a lot more. I particularly like what Duncan [Wickel] brought to it on cello as well as the background vocals on it, especially at the end. That’s Jefferson Hamer from The Murphy Beds and Sean Cahill from The Next Great American Novelist. The parts they added took the song in this almost metal-like direction, which felt really good and different from the original, especially considering we’re all acoustic musicians. The whole experience with that song felt really cathartic. There’s an intensity that I always want out of bluegrass but don’t always hear, so I ended up being really happy with how that one came out.

This is the second release on your own label, Wild Geranium Records. What are your plans with that?

This is the second release on Wild Geranium. The first was my EP Early Morning Sun, which came out in August and was just a solo recording. The third one is coming out in March and is a full-length duo record with me and Jacob Jolliff where we’re paying tribute to Jim & Jesse, [who] are part of the first generation bluegrass legends. But most of what I do under Wild Geranium will be EPs and other shorter recordings.

Do you plan to record other folks on the label, or just your own projects?

It’s intended as a platform for various collaborations that I’ve had as well. All of the releases I’ve put out so far have zero original material, but some of that will be coming soon, too.

You’re also releasing Fables on cassette? What’s behind that decision?

The cassettes were part of the concept of Wild Geranium from the beginning. Cassettes first came back within the indie rock world almost 10 years ago, but to my knowledge isn’t something that’s been done much in the bluegrass world. I’ve had people joke with me and say, “Oh gosh, I’ve got to dust off my ‘78 Dodge Charger to play this!” [Laughs] In the age of streaming, I think having a physical item that is a little more affordable, easier to produce and keep in stock than vinyl is more important than ever.

The idea was to also include at least one song on each cassette release that’s not available digitally. On Fables that’s actually two bonus tracks – a duo version of “Green Grow The Rushes” with me and Jacob Jolliff and the other’s a live version of “Can’t Get There From Here,” which was from a full-band show back in August where we debuted the material. I just wanted to offer something unique and special to the listeners who care. If you get the cassette, you’re gonna have something that no one else is gonna have. It’s not bouncing around the internet, you have to have the physical thing. From a production standpoint, it’s an opportunity to tell a slightly different story than the digital release.

Do you have any other cover EP/album ideas up your sleeves?

Aside from the Jim & Jesse project, I also have some original material on the back burner. It’s fully demoed and is all music connected to Ponce de Leon Avenue in Atlanta where I grew up. It includes some stuff that I’ve written and co-written along with songs by family members and friends from that area and era. I’ve been performing music from that project for quite some time now, but haven’t made the record yet. So that’s something I’m hoping to make happen that would be another full-length, full band record.

What has bringing this R.E.M. covers EP to life taught you about yourself?

This R.E.M. stuff was among my first musical obsessions, so for years that’s just been baked into how I hear music in an uncritical way. So to actually get in there and break down what went into this record and think about how to render it in this other context was really interesting for me and fun to make a statement with that’s not based in nostalgia.

I also enjoyed getting to explore my feelings about how I want string band music to work. On my last full-length record Orchids and Violence I utilized a double-record concept where each disc had the same track list, but the first one was a very straightforward bluegrass record and the second disc is like all electric, experimental rock renderings of the thing. Fables was a little bit more like uniting both sides of Orchids and Violence into a string band expression, which is something I’d be open to doing more of in the future.

Photo Credit: Manish Gosalia

Peter Rowan and Sam Grisman Project Will Bring Old & In the Way to the Ryman

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

On January 9, 2025, there will be a special performance – more so a once-in-a-lifetime celebration – of the groundbreaking music of Old & In the Way at Nashville’s famed Ryman Auditorium.

Led by the “Bluegrass Buddha” himself, Peter Rowan, the legendary singer-songwriter and founding member of the group will be backed by the Sam Grisman Project. The gathering will also feature a murderers’ row of talent: Sam Bush, Tim O’Brien, Lindsay Lou, Ronnie & Rob McCoury, and more.

“In bluegrass, you just do the beautiful grace of presenting the music, being good neighbors and all that stuff,” Rowan told BGS in an exclusive 2022 interview. “But you could hear us in the band going, ‘go, man, go.’ Go for it, that’s where we came from. That’s what Old & In the Way was – the ‘go for it’ signal to everybody.”

To preface, Old & In the Way started as impromptu pickin’-n-grinnin’ sessions in the early 1970s between Rowan, his longtime friend, mandolin guru David Grisman, and Jerry Garcia, iconic guitarist for the Grateful Dead, who reached for his trusty banjo during the gatherings at Garcia’s home in Stinson Beach, California.

“We started picking every night after supper [at Jerry’s],” Rowan remembers. “We went through old song books and learned a bunch of material.”

At the time, Garcia was searching for new avenues of creative exploration, seeing as the Dead were in the midst of taking a much-needed hiatus after years of relentless touring and recording. He was also, perhaps subconsciously, trying to tap back into his roots before the Dead, this landscape of the late 1950s/early 1960s where Garcia was heavily involved in the San Francisco Bay Area folk scene.

“And you realized that Jerry was an intergalactic traveler, just dropping in on the Earth scene for a little while, but he was totally at home,” Rowan says of Garcia’s restless penchant and lifelong thirst for acoustic music.

When Old & In the Way formed in 1973, the trio recruited bassist John Kahn, as well as a revolving cast of fiddlers (Richard Greene, John Hartford, Vassar Clements). Sporadic gigs were booked around the Bay Area, with the vibe of the whole affair casual in nature – the ethos one of camaraderie and collaboration, but without expectations or boundaries.

“I remember singing the ending of ‘Land of the Navajo’ at the first rehearsal and I looked over at Jerry,” Rowan recalls. “He kept nodding his head like, ‘go.’ It was like Jack Kerouac at Allen Ginsberg’s poetry reading at City Lights Bookstore – ‘go, man, go.’ Encouragement, encouragement.”

By 1974, Old & In the Way simply vanished into the cosmic ether, but not before capturing a handful of live performances that have become melodic sacred texts of a crucial crossroads for acoustic music. To note, Old & In the Way’s 1975 self-titled debut album went on to become the bestselling bluegrass album of all-time – until it was dethroned by the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack released in 2000.

As it stands today, Rowan, now 82 years old, is the only remaining member of Old & In the Way still actively performing. Garcia, Clements, Kahn, and Hartford have all sadly passed on, with the elder Grisman and Greene retired from touring. Grisman’s son, standup bassist Sam Grisman, is now carrying his father’s bright torch.

And although the tenure of the Old & In the Way was short-lived, the ripple effects of the band’s ongoing influence and enduring legacy remains as vibrant and vital as it was those many years ago, when a handful of shaggy music freaks kicked off a jam that will perpetuate for eternity.

In preparation for the upcoming Old & In the Way showcase at the Ryman on January 9, BGS recently spoke with Sam Grisman, who talked at-length not only about his continued work with Peter Rowan and the intricacies of Jerry Garcia, but also why a band Grisman’s father started over a half-century ago still captivates the hearts and minds of music lovers the world over.

You were five years old when Jerry Garcia passed away. You were really young, but do you remember anything that you hold onto?

Sam Grisman: Yeah, I have a very vivid memory of what our house felt like, smelled like, and just what the energy was like when Jerry was around. And I remember that sort of ease, just the way that he made people feel. It seemed like my parents were at ease when he was around.

And he probably felt at ease being around them. It was probably a safe haven at that house.

Definitely. And, you know, my parents smoked weed in the house. But, my mom was pretty strict about cigarettes. [She] wouldn’t let anybody smoke cigarettes in the house. But, when Jerry was around, he smoked cigarettes in the house. So, part of this smell in my blurry five-year-old memory is the smell of cigarettes. And Jerry would sometimes wear a leather jacket, maybe the smell of leather.

I remember the sound of his laugh. I remember all that music, and some of it I remember so vividly that I just know that part of that memory is reinforced by being there as a little toddler when they were working up [music]. Because they would often work on tunes upstairs in the living room and then take them down to the studio, put them on the mics and pull them.

You just wanted to be around it all and soak it all in.

I was a really curious kid.

With the Ryman show coming up, there’s been a lot of celebration of Old & In the Way as of late, especially with you touring with Peter Rowan and the current Jerry Garcia exhibit at the Bluegrass Hall of Fame & Museum. You’ve been around those songs your whole life. But, when you think about the context of Old & In the Way, and what you’re doing at the Ryman, what really sticks out with why that was such a special time in not only bluegrass, but in the lives of those people?

I mean, what a lightning-in-the-bottle chapter of all those people’s lives, you know? I think 1973, ’73/’74, was a particularly fertile time for Jerry. He was playing a full schedule with the Dead. He had Jerry Garcia Band stuff. He was playing in Old & In the Way. He was playing pedal steel with the New Riders of the Purple Sage. It seemed like he really had an itch to go back to where his roots were, especially when you look at [the Grateful Dead album] Workingman’s Dead [that was released a] couple years prior.

For all of us, who are looking back on it 50 years in the future, it seems like this momentous, heady time that was just meant to be. But, for those guys in the moment, it was just total serendipity. And the quintessence of just going with the flow – Stinson Beach, California, vibes. They just kind of stumbled into this reality.

“Y’all wanna play?” “Sure, why not.”

Yeah, where it would just be really fun to have this bluegrass band that they didn’t take super seriously, which I think really comes across in the recordings, you know? Because there’s all this joy in that music that might not necessarily have been there if those guys were taking it super seriously or if they needed it to pay their bills. It was a very interesting circumstance.

And for them to call their hero Vassar Clements into the mix, on a sort of whim because Peter found his number on a card in his wallet. It was sort of like a fantasy camp for these guys. Like a bunch of hippies sitting around on the beach, smoking a joint, thinking: “Wouldn’t it be great if we had the world’s greatest fiddle player just show up?” “I bet you we could book a gig.” “Hey Jerry, you got these legions of people following you around, you could probably get us a gig, right?”

And that’s kind of how it happened. Those gigs were so magical, because they happened mostly for all of these Deadheads in Marin [County, California], for like 16 months or something.

So, if you really had your finger on the pulse of it and you were going to the Keystone [music club in Berkeley, California], to see [the Jerry Garcia Band] and you loved what the Dead were doing, you knew that they were going to take this time off, but you just saw Jerry the week before and he never took his guitar off. He just finished the [Jerry Garcia Band] set and walked backstage with his guitar on and was smoking a cigarette, and then you saw him 30 minutes later talking to somebody off the side of stage, still had his guitar on — you’re thinking, “Gee, this guy’s not going to stop playing music this year, so I better keep my eyes peeled for what’s next.” And they played all these little gigs mostly around the Bay Area — they kind of captured some lightning in a bottle.

With playing these Old & In the Way melodies not only throughout your life, but also extensively nowadays with Peter Rowan, what’s been your biggest takeaway on what makes those songs and the ethos/history behind them so special to you? What about in terms of musicality, technique, and approach?

It’s hard to articulate how special it is to be exploring these beloved songs that mean so much to so many folks, myself included, with Peter and a cast of some of my best friends and favorite musicians. It’s a catalog that’s got a lot of depth.

Old & In the Way would play anything from songs by bluegrass heroes like Bill Monroe, The Stanley Brothers, Reno & Smiley, and Jim & Jesse to Vassar [Clements], Jerry [Garcia], and my pop’s instrumentals, to the tunes that Peter was writing at the time, which are some of my absolute favorite songs ever written.

Songs like “Midnight Moonlight,” “High Lonesome Sound,” and “Panama Red.” Playing these tunes with Uncle Peter makes me feel connected to the times he spent with David and Jerry in Stinson Beach in the early ’70s.

I grew up in Mill Valley and loved going to Stinson Beach with my friends, so I have a pretty vivid image in my mind’s eye. They played tunes, hung out, relaxed, took in the sea breeze, smoked a bunch of great weed, and developed a highly individuated “West Coast” approach to playing and singing this bluegrass music that they all loved and respected so much.

And then, they called one of my bass heroes, John Kahn, and their fiddle hero, the inimitable Vassar Clements and gave the world about one glorious year – I think around 50 shows – of a rare and lovable breed of bluegrass.

So much of everyone’s personality comes through in the music, and you can hear their camaraderie in the recordings. I guess my biggest take away from getting to play this music with Peter is how important it is to bring your own approach to these timeless songs that we love, while still honoring what it is that makes us love them in the first place.

You’ve known Peter Rowan since you were born. But, what has this latest endeavor together meant to you, to play the Old & In the Way catalog to not only lifelong fans, but also a whole new generation of acoustic music fans and bluegrass freaks?

It means the world to me to get to spend some time out on the road sharing space and time in service of this music with Uncle Peter. Getting to meet all of these folks who care so much about this music and feeling their appreciation and gratitude for Pete has been truly special.

There are so many people from so many different ages and different walks of life for whom this music has been the soundtrack to many fond memories, and I’m honored to be one of them. It’s also been a joy to see fresh faces in the audience and some folks taking in this music with a new perspective.

In your honest opinion, what is the legacy of Old & In the Way when you place it through the prism of the history of bluegrass and the road to the here and now, especially this current juncture where the torchbearers are selling out arenas and creating this high-water mark for acoustic, traditional and bluegrass music?

For many folks who know and love the music of Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead, Old & In the Way has been their first exposure to bluegrass. So many people over the years have told me how listening to Old & In the Way led them to further explore bluegrass music and its roots and branches. And others have told me how it inspired them to become pickers and start bands of their own.

I think Old & In the Way has been pivotal in bringing a wider audience with a more adventurous musical palette into the bluegrass universe. The legacy of Old & In the Way is one of exploration and preservation, and they certainly paved the way for many of us to walk a similar path — honoring the music that we love, while exploring its boundaries and finding our own voices and approaches.

It’s wonderful to see my friend Billy Strings out there playing for so many folks on such a big scale simply being himself, playing his own songs with a great group of friends, and also honoring the material that made him the musician that he is — maybe that’s a part of the legacy of Old & In the Way.

Photo Credit: Elliot Siff
Poster Credit: Taylor Rushing

WATCH: High Fidelity, “Are You Lost in Sin?”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: High Fidelity
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Are You Lost in Sin?”
Album: Music In My Soul
Release Date: September 15, 2023
Label: Rebel Records

In Their Words: “‘Are You Lost in Sin?’ is one that Kurt Stephenson brought to the table. Collectively, we have a special affinity for the early Jim & Jesse Capitol recordings, and High Fidelity has recorded several selections from that era over the years. Here, Jeremy and Kurt even emulate Jesse’s mandolin breaks on the guitar and banjo respectively!

“Incorporating material and stylistic choices from Jim & Jesse has always been a core part of what we do in High Fidelity, and every time we have recorded one of their songs, Jeremy and I couldn’t wait to share it with Jesse McReynolds. Jesse was so supportive of us, and through the years that Jeremy and I were blessed to work with him in the Virginia Boys, he even featured us singing the Jim & Jesse songs we’d recorded on the Opry and beyond!

“This song holds extra special meaning to us as the last Jim & Jesse song we recorded while Jesse was still with us on Earth. We hope this video serves to bring to remembrance Jesse and his amazing legacy while bringing to focus the striking message behind this beautiful Jim & Jesse composition.” – Corrina Rose Logston Stephens

Track Credits: Written by Jim & Jesse McReynolds

Jeremy Stephens – Guitar and Lead Vocal
Corrina Rose Logston Stephens – Fiddle and Harmony Vocal
Kurt Stephenson – Banjo and Harmony Vocal
Daniel Amick – Mandolin
Vickie Vaughn – Bass

Photo Credit: Amy Richmond
Video Credit: Produced and filmed by Warren Swann

Bluegrass Memoirs: Visiting Rusty York (Part 1)

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

On the afternoon of Tuesday August 15, 1972, the day after Carl Fleischhauer and I interviewed J.D. Crowe in Lexington, Kentucky, we dropped in on Rusty York at his Jewel Recording Studios in Mt. Healthy, Ohio, a small city just north of Cincinnati.

The Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Photo by Carl Fleischhauer.

I first heard York in the fall of 1959 when Tom Barton, a new friend from Bloomington, Indiana, visited me in Oberlin and brought as a house gift a new LP by a company I’d never heard of, Starday. Banjo In The Hills (“16 Great Mountain Songs by All Star Artists 16”) included excellent numbers by bands I (a bluegrass fan since ’57) knew and liked: The Stanley Brothers, Carl Story, Bill Clifton, Jim Eanes, Jim & Jesse. It also included two tracks by a group new to me, Rusty York and Willard Hale: an instrumental, “Banjo Breakdown,” and a great cheating song, “Don’t Do It.”

I really took to that song! Our band Crooked Stovepipe put it on our first CD in 1993. We still do it at almost every show.

Owner and recording engineer Rusty York in the office at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Photo by Carl Fleischhauer.

Keen to hear more of York and Hale, I added them to my mental checklist when shopping for recordings. At Oberlin, students couldn’t have cars, so we confined our shopping to a local shoe store’s sales bin of used jukebox 45s. Every once in a while, I’d snag recent singles by favorites like Monroe, Reno & Smiley, or Jimmy Reed. In 1960, not long after hearing “Don’t Do It,” I found “Sugaree,” a Chess Records single by Rusty York, in the bin. I hadn’t heard it, bought it on spec — the shoe store didn’t have a record player.

Chess Records’ 45rpm of “Sugaree,” a Marty Robbins track cut by Rusty York. Photo by Neil V. Rosenberg.

Man, was I disappointed when I got home and listened! It wasn’t bluegrass at all, it was a Marty Robbins rockabilly song, with York singing in a band fronted by sax and his electric guitar with piano, bass and drums behind:

The other side was “Red Rooster,” a rock version of “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain.” Not bad, some hot guitar licks, but pretty ho-hum, I thought. Must be a different Rusty York I figured; after all, Chess was a Chicago label, while Starday was from Nashville.

A couple years later in Bloomington, Indiana, I came across four EPs (45 rpm, big hole, six tracks each) by Rusty York and the Kentucky Mountain Boys on the Bluegrass Special label, distributed by Jimmie Skinner music in Cincinnati. What a contrast — bluegrass standards done up in proper style! The songs were all familiar bluegrass standards, like this version of the mountain folk song “Cindy”:

I didn’t hear of him again until the summer of 1967, when I was working in a southern Indiana band, the Stoney Lonesome Boys, led by fiddler Roger Smith. He was helping his friend George Brock, a Connersville-based gospel singer, put together an album and asked me if I would play banjo that fall on their recording at Rusty York’s studio in Ohio. Surprised to learn York had a studio, I accepted Roger’s invitation. We — Roger, Vernon McQueen, Vernon Bowling, Paul Hill, and I — rehearsed with Brock at Roger’s home in Columbus, Indiana, in September. On Sunday, October 1 we headed to the Cincinnati suburb of Mt. Healthy, Ohio. Accompanying us was bluegrass DJ Ervin Barrett.

Rusty’s Jewel Recording Studio was a converted two-car garage attached to his suburban home. It was a big open room. Along the back wall was a raised glassed-in platform on which the recorder and mixing board sat. The recorder was a series 300 Ampex deck, an open reel machine just like the two in the studio of Indiana University’s Archives of Traditional Music where I was then employed. This state-of-the-art monaural unit recorded everything onto a single track.

Lines from 10 microphones fed into York’s mixing board. From them, through the board, emerged a single track that was fed onto the tape. We had six instruments and four voices. Each of us stood before one or two microphones. We could see and talk to each other over low baffles. Rusty had recorded bluegrass before. He had selected specific locations in the room for instruments and voices.

George Brock had chosen 12 songs. We were to record them in the sequence on which they would appear on the LP — beginning with side one, band one, and finishing with side two, band six. We tuned up, took our places in front of the mics, and started on the first song.

While we played, Rusty was at the mixing board setting levels. By the end of several run-throughs, he knew when the vocal trio came in or the mandolin took a break, how the song kicked off and ended, and other sonic arrangement features. Where the focus of the song moved from instruments to voices, he made mental notes to adjust the microphones at the right time. Each song had its moves, like running a football play or driving a race car for a lap.

He would tape each trial run through and play it back through big speakers. It soon became clear to me that York was very adept at mixing on the fly. We were there about three hours. About a month later George sent me a copy of the album, George Brock and The Traveling Crusaders, Jewel LP 115.

George Brock and The Traveling Crusaders, ‘Sing Darkened Way’ LP cover.

York’s brief notes give George’s bio, describe the album as “some of the most authentic bluegrass music to be found on record today,” identify The Traveling Crusaders personnel (I was “Neal Rosenberger”), and close by saying: “These fellows accompany George on most of his personal appearances and they are very successful on all their engagements.” I suppose we were successful at this, our only engagement! It’s one of my favorite recordings, reminding me of both Roger Smith‘s coaching and York’s skill and vision as a producer.

When Carl and I began to plan our 1972 trip I pulled out that five-year old George Brock album and found Jewel’s PO Box and phone numbers. Before I left St. John’s, Newfoundland, I wrote Rusty at that address, told him I was planning research in Ohio and asked for an interview.

We hit the road that Tuesday in August 1972 after lunch in Louisville, and headed for Cincinnati, about 100 miles northeast along the Ohio River. My notes:

Arrived in Mt. Healthy about 3:30 as I remember. Parked across the street from a phone booth, went to call Rusty York and as it turned out the number I had was out of date.

Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Photo by Carl Fleischhauer.

I looked up Jewel in the phone book and found the address was just around the corner from us.

We walked over, went in. A number of people milling around, not looking surprised or impressed to see us — a secretary said Rusty was out to lunch and so I explained who we were and that I’d written, etc. She called him at home and then said he’d be back soon. When he returned, he was quite cordial, said he hadn’t had time to answer (I hadn’t expected him to), and he was booked solid with sessions and didn’t have time for an interview but if we wanted to stick around, we were welcome.

He immediately engaged Carl in conversation vis-à-vis cameras and such, pulled his cameras out of his safe, told of recording a gospel rock festival the previous weekend (a 4-track [recorder] along with other equipment, sat in a Dodge van outside the studio) at which there was a big movie outfit a la Woodstock — they used his sound. He takes all the cover photos, hence the interest in cameras.

Owner and recording engineer Rusty York in the office at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Photo by Carl Fleischhauer.

Though I’d known some of the high points of Rusty’s career (the early bluegrass, the rockabilly hit, The Bluegrass Special EPs) and had worked in his studio, I really didn’t know much about him beyond that. Born in 1935, raised in Eastern Kentucky, he’d moved to Cincinnati when he was 17. By the 1972 he’d had a long career there as a performer and a worker in the music industry. His story is told online at Hillbilly-Music.com. A more detailed account was published by the late bluegrass and county historian Ivan Tribe’s July 1998 article in Bluegrass Unlimited.

By that August 1972 afternoon, Rusty had pretty much left behind the life of performing that developed during his 20 years in Cincinnati.

He moved into Cincinnati’s “Over The Rhine” Appalachian immigrant neighborhood in 1952. He was seventeen. He didn’t finish high school, going to work right away in a restaurant. He moved next to a job as an office boy in a stockbroker’s office. In the evenings he started going to the local music clubs. He was already playing guitar and banjo. Meeting other “briars” like Willard Hale, he played in local clubs and, as he would describe to us that afternoon, mixing rock and roll beside the bluegrass. He also began working in radio. He became a familiar figure in the regional country music business.

York soon became acquainted with another Kentuckian, the leading figure in the Cincinnati country scene, Jimmie Skinner, a hillbilly singer whose recording career began in the 1930s. By the mid-’50s his Jimmie Skinner Music Center was the leading mail-order country music business in the U.S. Rusty worked on Skinner’s weekly broadcasts from the Center as engineer, DJ, and musician; and he also played in Skinner’s band. Here’s what Rusty and Jimmie sounded like, later, in 1961, on Skinner’s most famous composition, “Doin’ My Time.”

York next ventured into recording. His first sides were covers of new rock and roll hits, including a Buddy Holly tune released in 1957 on Syd Nathan’s King records. His next recordings were made the following year accompanying Kentucky-born country singer, also a Skinner employee, Connie Hall, on Mercury-Starday, and it was at this time he cut his first bluegrass sides with Hale, including “Don’t Do It.”

By 1959 York was again recording rockabilly covers, and it was in this context that “Sugaree” came about. This was his only hit, and it led to a tour sponsored by Dick Clark that began at the Hollywood Bowl where Rusty opened for a show that included Annette Funicello, Duane Eddy, and Frankie Avalon.

Rusty made further rock singles and was later inducted into the Rockabilly Hall of Fame. Although he made a few appearances with this music in rockabilly nostalgia tours, his musical career after “Sugaree” moved in the direction of country and folk.

In 1961 he returned to bluegrass, producing the Bluegrass Special EP series mentioned earlier. At this point he started his own studio. Then, in 1964 and 1965, he began a stint as the opening act for Bobby Bare.

Bare – who grew up in Ironton, Ohio, southeast of Cincinnati, just across the river from Kentucky and West Virginia – began his career in Southern Ohio, but by the time Rusty joined his operation he was a national country star, a Grammy winner with hits like “Detroit City.” Here’s what Bare’s show looked like around time Rusty joined him:

Rusty made some country recordings during his tours with Bare, which included numerous stints in Las Vegas. By 1970 he’d scaled back his performing and focused more on the studio, and in fact now owned two studios.

To be continued. Next time, Hanging Out At Jewel…

Neil V. Rosenberg is an author, scholar, historian, banjo player, Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame inductee, and co-chair of the IBMA Foundation’s Arnold Shultz Fund.

Photo of Rosenberg by Terri Thomson Rosenberg. Black and white photos by Carl Fleischhauer. Record photos by Neil V. Rosenberg.

Edited by Justin Hiltner.

From the Archives: Jesse McReynolds Shares Memories of His Grandfather’s Fiddle

Posted on by Editor

(Editor’s Note: Bluegrass Hall of Fame inductee and Grand Ole Opry member Jesse McReynolds passed away on June 23, 2023 at the age of 94. In his honor, we’re re-sharing this incredible first-person video from early 2020 that features McReynolds telling stories of his grandfather’s fiddle.)

A true legend as one half of iconic brother duo Jim & Jesse, 90-year-old musician Jesse McReynolds has inspired generations of pickers. But who influenced him? In this interview clip, the Grand Ole Opry star and Bluegrass Hall of Fame member reminisces about walking through the woods to visit his grandfather in Possum Holler, Virginia, near Coeburn. About a half a mile away, the sounds of his ancestor’s fiddle would greet him.

McReynolds further explains that his grandfather played on the Bristol Sessions, which ushered in artists such as the Carter Family and Jimmie Rodgers. Now, McReynolds has inherited that treasured fiddle, which can be heard on his latest Pinecastle Records album, The Bull Mountain Moonshiners’ Way. “I don’t know how long it’s been around, but it’s sounding better all the time, I think,” he says.

(Originally published in February of 2020.)