Tag: Jimmy Martin

“The Shorthairs and the Longhairs”: The Story Behind ‘Bluegrass Country Soul’

Posted on by Editor

Bluegrass Country Soul captures one of Carlton Haney’s legendary festivals in Camp Springs, North Carolina, on Labor Day weekend of 1971. It is credited as the first bluegrass documentary, and is essential viewing for both lifelong bluegrass fans and those new to the genre.

This classic film features bluegrass music’s pioneers, as well as those who would take the music into the future. Earl Scruggs, The Osborne Brothers, Ralph Stanley, Chubby Wise, Mac Wiseman, J.D. Crowe, and Jimmy Martin were featured alongside The Country Gentlemen, Del McCoury, Sam Bush, Tony Rice, Ricky Skaggs, Keith Whitley, Alan Munde, and more. The film documents Rice’s last show with The Bluegrass Alliance and his first show with J.D. Crowe & the Kentucky Mountain Boys. Many of the festival’s legendary moments are preserved in color for posterity.

A larger than life figure who is credited as starting the first multi-day bluegrass festival, Carlton Haney organized the weekend’s festival, and serves as the de facto host of the film, sharing thoughts about bluegrass music, bluegrass festivals, bluegrass fans, and the bluegrass “stow-ry.” His passion for the music is evident, and makes for a great depiction of one of bluegrass’s most significant and one-of-a-kind personalities.

Albert Ihde, the film’s director (pictured below), spoke with BGS about the film and its legacy to commemorate the 50th Anniversary boxed set of the film, released this summer. The special edition set includes the original film, recently remastered and restored; CDs of performances not featured in the film; bonus footage including exclusive interviews with Ricky Skaggs, Bill Emerson, Missy Raines, and more; and a full-color coffee table book about the film.

BGS: How did the opportunity to film Bluegrass Country Soul present itself 50 years ago?

Albert Ihde: It was almost by accident, in a sense. A couple of buddies of mine and I were preparing a screenplay for a company in Washington, D.C. that had hired me to write a film, and then I would direct. The only thing that they insisted on was that it had to be about a Country & Western singer. Now this is 1971, and back then they called it Country & Western. I said, “Okay. Fine. Let me do some research on that.

A buddy of mine, Bob Leonard, and I were out scouting locations in Berryville, Virginia when we saw posters for Carlton Haney’s 4th of July Festival, and Earl Scruggs was going to be playing. We thought, “Well, that looks interesting.” To make a long story short, I got in touch with John Miller, who was the partner of Carlton’s there at Berryville, and John took us on a tour of the sites because I wanted to see what it looked like. It was right on the Shenandoah. Gorgeous location. He gave us passes to the Fourth of July Festival. We had no idea what bluegrass was, compared to country music, and we thought, “This looks like it’ll be fun. We’ll go to see this.”

Director, Albert Ihde

A bunch of us got a VW wagon, and my wife hooked up a camper on the back of our car. We went out, and we parked and saw it, and I have to tell you, as soon as I heard that music coming from the stage, we were all hooked. We talked to Carlton. Quite a deal! Talked to Fred Bartenstein (a local disc jockey who helped with the annual festival) and they told us more about what they were doing. I wanted to put Carlton in a film right then and there as soon as I met him.

We got back to D.C. and the company that hired me to write this screenplay, it turned out that they couldn’t raise the money to make the movie. So we took the film and decided we would try and find the money ourselves. Fortunately the first guy that I sent it to called us into his office. He was a major D.C. investor, philanthropist, and owned lots of real estate in D.C. He said that the thing that interested him most about the screenplay was this bluegrass festival out in Berryville. He said, “Why don’t you do a film about that?”

My partner and I looked at him and said it’s gonna be hard to raise money for a documentary, and he said, “How much do you need?” We get our calculator out, we start going through it, and we throw a figure out to him. It’s not gonna be as expensive as the film that’s going to have all the actors that would be taking us six to eight weeks to shoot. This, we could shoot in one weekend. He said, “Listen if you get Carlton Haney to agree to allow you to come and shoot the film at his festival, I’ll go out and find the money.” And we said, “Okay.”

The next day, Bob Leonard and I were on a plane to North Carolina and met with Carlton and Fred, pitched the whole idea to him, and Carlton was on board right at the beginning. He said, “Absolutely. No problem.” I said, “Well, are you gonna get all of these musicians to agree to this?” And he said, “Yes, I can do that.”

We had all of twelve days, two weeks, or something like that, to get the whole thing together to get down to Camp Springs on Labor Day weekend. And we lucked out. We happened to have this incredible festival with all of the pioneers of bluegrass, along with all of the up and coming newgrass guys who were changing the music as we watched. It was a great mix of both the old and the new, and as Carlton called it, “the mixture of the short hairs and the long hairs.”

That was it! You’ve got the hippies sitting right next to the guys right off the farm in coveralls. A guy in a Confederate hat sitting right next to hippie girls. It was a great mix. And everybody got along. And it was at a time in America when the country split. Nixon and the protests trying to bring our troops home from Vietnam. It was a strange time. But the thing that happened at the festival… everybody was getting along all right! Also of course, most of the audience were bluegrass musicians of their own or were learning or wanting to be. So that’s how we got into it.

What were some things about Carlton’s personality that made him such a compelling figure to follow for a film?

A number of people have said he was like the “P.T. Barnum of Bluegrass.” So it was kinda like, just put a camera on him and let him go, because you never know what he’s gonna say! Of course, the great thing about filming is, you can always edit it, and we edited out a lot of Carlton.

At one point, it was towards the end of the weekend, we were filming Carlton out on the lot, and I say “Carlton, we need something to kind of summarize the whole thing, and put a tag on the end of the film.” He said, “Oh, that’s okay. I know exactly what to say. Do you want me to make you laugh or do you want me to make you cry?” And I looked at my cameraman, and Bob was ten years older than me, and he had a lot of experience doing this, and I looked at Bob and I said, “What do you think? Make us cry?” And Bob nodded his head “Yeah, make us cry, Carlton.” And Carlton said, “Okay, start the camera rolling.”

So we started the camera rolling, and Carlton is saying goodbye to the kid who is packing up his gear at the end, and then he turns to the camera and he says, “You know, when people leave, it makes me sad, because all my friends are leaving. But I know that they had a good time, and that they’ll be back again next year.” And tears are coming to his eyes! And he says, “And that’s bluegrass and that’s a bluegrass festival.” And I said “Cut!” Bob and I just burst out laughing, and I said “Carlton, you’re going to get an Academy Award for that!”

To this day, Fred tells me, he runs into people and he says they will quote to him the lines that Carlton had in the film. “The shorthairs and the longhairs,” [and,] “You look down upon the stage and you can hear the soul of man — Ralph Stanley.” They just came out of his mouth!

The other thing was, he could not look at the lens, no matter how hard I tried. [Carlton] had this real shyness problem, and yet you put him on the stage and hand him a mic in front of ten thousand people, he was fine. But put a camera in front of him, he was looking away. Kind of shy and withdrawn. I think he was very concerned about his looks. He had terrible teeth. As somebody once said, that’s part of the times back then when nobody had health insurance or dental insurance… that was the last thing that people spent money on. So I think Carlton was a little shy about the way he looked. But he was an interesting guy.

Pictured: Ralph Stanley

You mentioned that one thing that was so compelling about the film, and at bluegrass festivals in general, was seeing people from different walks of life united by this music and finding common ground, even if it was for a weekend. What do you think that message has for us today where we are as divided now as we were fifty years ago?

I hope it has the same result. Every time I have shown the film — and I have shown it to heads of studios in Hollywood, I showed it to corporations up in New York City — no matter where I’ve shown it, people leave the theatre with big smiles on their faces. It’s not necessarily because they’re bluegrass fans, but because they enjoy it. They had fun. They were delighted. Something about that music, about the people playing it, about the commitment that these people have to it. There’s more to it than just country music. I think that’s what Carlton was trying to say about the soul. It’s a commitment to the music that is thorough.

I don’t know whether Carlton told me this or not, but at some point I learned early on: bluegrass music is not commercial country. Meaning, you’re gonna lose your shirts on it, but you’re doing it because you love it. That really says it all, and I think that comes through with music and with Carlton and with all of the people that are on stage in the film and all the people playing out in the field… You see the commitment to the music.

Ellen [Pasternack, the project’s Executive Director and Ihde’s wife] and I have a background in professional theatre, regional theatre around the country, and what you’re always looking for working in theatre are actors who can really commit to doing a performance. It’s that commitment to the art — whether that’s music, theatre, dance, or painting — that’s where you find the joy in the art. And I think that comes through in the film, even if you don’t know anything about bluegrass. I hope that comes through still to this day, and maybe gets people thinking “past the politics” for a moment or two just to look at the music and listen to the music. And to see, “If this was going on back then, why can’t it happen again?”

Photos and trailer courtesy of Bluegrass Country Soul.

From Texas to the World, Charley Crockett Spreads Traditional Music of ‘The Valley’

Posted on by Editor

“I’m from San Benito, Texas…”

That’s the first line of “The Valley,” the autobiographical title track of Charley Crockett’s newest album and perhaps the best entry point into his true-to-life twist on traditional music. Not only do those lyrics reference the rougher times of his story so far, the jaunty arrangement underscores his fascination with blues and classic country music — but without treading the same fertile ground as everybody else. BGS caught up with Crockett by phone on his way to the Pacific Northwest.

BGS: At the end of the song “The Valley,” your closing line is, “May your curse become a blessing. There ain’t nothing else to do.” Tell me about the message you were trying to convey with that line.

CC: Man, I think people are born into struggles that we don’t have a lot of control over. I know for me, I dealt with different adverse situations that I never saw them coming and got forced into at a young age. Just with my own story I had a lot of issues over the years with getting in trouble and family stuff, siblings going to prison and losing my sister to some of the vices of the modern world. My mother was struggling, working 80 hours a week, to take care of me, and that whole deal.

I parlayed all of those hardships together into making music, so quite personally I’m saying, hey, you can take those really hard things and turn them into something, because if you don’t, what’s the alternative? I had a guy tell me years ago on the street, I asked him how he was doing, and he said, “I’m doing great today. I have to be doing great ‘cause what’s the alternative?” That stuck with me for my whole life.

I thought, man, it really is all about how you see it. That line before it is, “And now you know my story, I bet you got one like it too.” I never really run across very many people that didn’t feel like they were fighting some kind of adversity. I feel like you got to take the lemons and make it into lemonade.

Do you consider yourself an optimist?

Oh, I’d say so, most definitely. I met a guy in Denmark, when I was over there recently, who had an Indian curry joint there in Copenhagen. We ended up going two days in a row. The first day I went in there and we had cowboy hats on, and he knew real quick we were doing music and the whole loud-mouthed Texan thing or whatever. We played up and had a good time in there, and he got my name and stuff, and we left.

We ended up going in the next day to eat again because we liked his curry so much. I come in there and he said, “Charley, man, I want to apologize to you. I looked you up and I read about your story.” He’s like, “I really judged you as being somebody that maybe hadn’t been through much, because you seem like you were so happy-go-lucky and so optimistic.”

I thought that was so strange, that because of my positivity, he thought that maybe I was privileged or something. I guess he read my circus of a biography and realized that I was a lot different than that. And that really struck me. It was sad to me in a way. I thought if everybody in this life wore their hardship on their sleeve and let it get the best of them, it would be really sad. But what’s really amazing about people, overall, is the resiliency in people.

Who were some of your early champions when you decided to take this music path?

Well, in the beginning, my mother was the one who got me this old Hohner guitar out of a pawn shop when I was 17, and told me that I could do this. Even when I sounded terrible. I remember saying, “Mama, I tried to write these songs. Am I any good?” Then she said, “Well, son, people will believe you when you sing.” [Laughs] She wasn’t going to lie to me and tell me I was good. She told me what I needed to hear and I understood what she was saying. She was talking about honesty. She was talking about integrity. She was talking about sincerity. That’s what I believe in.

On “The Way I’m Living (Santa Rosa),” you’re singing about Mendocino County, and that it’s taught you a few things. Was there a specific moment in California where you had an epiphany, or that something really struck you?

Yeah, man. I hitchhiked and rode trains and hoboed around for a really long time. I had hitched out there to Northern California when I was 22 or 23. I ran into cool people up there that would pick me up on the side of the road and let me sleep in their barns or in their pastures, and do work trade and all kinds of stuff. Even my record, A Stolen Jewel — my first one that I ever put out on myself — those people gave me the money to make that record and print 5000 copies of it.

I got them printed up in San Francisco, just a couple of hours south, and I drove in a truck that I’d gotten from those farmers up there that let me work their land. Then I drove back down to Texas and I handed them out on the street in DFW and Austin. That was how I first started getting my first publicity. I got written up in the Dallas Observer and the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, and I got a local guy to start booking me at Texas bars.

So yeah, the line is “Mendocino County bring me lots of joy. It’s opened up the eyes of this wanderin’ Texas boy.” And that’s exactly what happened. It was the first place that I’d ever been in my life where people said, “Man, all you got to do is help out on this farm and play music for us and you can live here in exchange. And we’ll feed you too! And we’ll take you out to the open mics at the brew pubs.”

I’d go to a gathering on people’s farm where you’d play music around the campfire and I’d never known anything like that, besides being down and out on the side of the highway in more shady situations. But then in Northern California, it was the first place where somebody in my position, my modest, kind of undeveloped artistic abandon, that people were like, “Hey, I see you as an artist and I respect you and your music. There’s something about you.” That’s why I have so much love for Mendocino County and continue to be a part-time member of that community there. Those people have always treated me like I had value.

Do you like bluegrass music?

Big time, man. Jimmy Martin, Ralph Stanley, I wear that stuff out. Actually I packed a banjo and brought it into my show. We have a bluegrass section in the show, right in the middle of the set, where we do a five-song bluegrass deal around the one mic. It’s just a lot of fun!

What do you hope people take away from the experience of coming to see you play?

I hope the people that have come out before to see me will see that I’m true to what I promised — that I’m getting better every year. I’m really about the classic stuff and I think when you’re really rooted in the tradition, you’re never going to stop growing.

When I was playing in San Antonio the other night, I played “Nine Pound Hammer” on the banjo for these kids. … This mother had her two young children at the very front of the stage and they were hollering for “Nine Pound Hammer” as I got off stage after the encore, and I ended up playing it for them sidestage, because they were so sweet. These kids were young. The little girl was probably 8 and the boy was probably 10 or 11 at the oldest, and they knew every word to “Nine Pound Hammer.” That was really cool to me to see these young kids, who had no context of how old that dang song is, excited about something out of the nineteenth century like that.

I guess that’s one thing you could say, but for me it’s like I wear tradition on my sleeve and I think what’s radical in music today is to bring tradition up front. I think that’s what people like about me. Not that I’m some kind of preservationist, but that I’m doing tradition as a man of my times. I think that people can hear the tradition and they can also hear something new in what I’m doing. I hope that’s what people hear when they come out to see me.

Photo credit: Lyza Renee

BGS Presents 30 Years of ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken, Volume Two’ at Americanafest

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What started as a music video concept for the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band evolved into a 1989 full-length film documenting the all-star recording sessions for Will the Circle Be Unbroken, Volume Two. Nitty Gritty Dirt Band co-founder Jeff Hanna will present a rare screening of clips from The Making of Will the Circle Be Unbroken, Volume Two at the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum on September 11 at 11 a.m., during AmericanaFest.

Hanna will be joined by bluegrass virtuoso Sam Bush, who appears in the film and on the album with New Grass Revival. Craig Shelburne, managing editor of the Bluegrass Situation, will moderate.

Produced by Joanne Gardner Lowell and Rosanne Cash, the film captures the band in the studio recording their groundbreaking project. Select clips will show performances by Johnny and June Carter Cash; Jerry Douglas; Emmylou Harris; Bruce Hornsby; Jimmy Martin; New Grass Revival; John Prine; Earl Scruggs; Randy Scruggs; Ricky Skaggs; and others. Will the Circle be Unbroken, Volume Two won three Grammy Awards as well as the 1989 CMA award for the Album of the Year.

Three decades after its release, Joanne Gardner Lowell offered some keen perspective on the film through an email interview with the Bluegrass Situation.

BGS: What was it about the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band and this project that made it a compelling film subject for you?

JGL: ACME Pictures was contracted to make a video for the title track. This is pretty common. We signed the contract and when I asked what day during the multi-week schedule this song would be done, Jeff said, “All of them.” When I realized we would need to go to the studio every day for weeks to get this song, it seemed obvious we should shoot the whole experience — so we did.

How would you describe the mood, or the vibe, in the room during these sessions?

It was joyful in the studio. Each day the musicians came so ready to create and collaborate. We were honored to be in the room with it all. Being live made everyone really stay on top of their game. It felt like a family reunion on many days, and there was always a lot of humor and laughter. Our primary director, Bill Pope, captured so much of the mood with his amazing camera work.

It was also shot during the holiday season, so people were in a happy mood. Emmylou brought a handmade Christmas ornament you can see hanging in some of the shots. And my partner Rosanne Cash came into the studio with her newborn Carrie. I don’t think she was even two weeks old. Rose handed her to me and I held her tight while running sound for the track Rose and John Hiatt did together. Carrie never made a peep!

It was crucial to capture the acoustic nature of these sessions. What was your audio setup like?

I had a simple Nagra tape recorder just to have an edit track to work from and to record interviews. I had a single mic that I would place in the room to catch all the conversation, as some of that was obviously not recorded for the album and we wanted it for the film. Although, during our interview with Emmylou Harris, the band loved what she said so much that those comments ended up on the album.

Do you remember any particularly fun encounters with the legendary musicians in the film?

We caught some great moments and they’re in the film. The ending of a fast-paced “Valley Road” with Bruce Hornsby was a favorite. The band all stops for a second to look at each other — then they realize they got it and they all start shouting and cheering.

After Jimmy Martin’s session one day, he went out for some cocktails and came back into the studio while Ricky Skaggs was working. We captured Jimmy (feeling no pain and wearing a coonskin cap) as he and Ricky ripped into a spontaneous version of “The Old Crossroads.”

This film was Mr. Acuff’s last filmed appearance and that was special. I have to say — each time the song “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” was performed, it was magic. Every single time.

The Dirt Band did a masterful job of keeping things upbeat and fun for everyone. Every one of them was so engaged in each song — and brought individual songs or artists to the project. They were like marathon runners, giving their all each day and then coming back the next day to do it again.

What were some of the hurdles you faced in the film’s creation and release?

The very existence of this film was due to a California record company exec telling me that we would be in breach of contract if we didn’t deliver this video for the agreed-upon budget. When I explained this “song” was going to require us to shoot for several weeks, this delightful woman didn’t seem to care. I think it was meant to be — we HAD to make it work.

Bill couldn’t figure out how to light the dimly lit studio without a pile of light stands in every shot — and in everyone’s way. So, he created a giant light box and hung it from the ceiling. You don’t see a single light stand.

We didn’t have any money to sync up the video with electronic slates or fancy editing gear. I moved a cuts only 3/4″ video editing system into my office and had to sync the shots up by eye more than once… if we didn’t have an audio track running. Watching Mark O’Connor’s fingers or Earl Scruggs’ fingers to make sure you lock each note made for some very long nights. Those fingers were flying!

Rosanne and I sold 50 percent of the film rights to a company who released it on home video. Unbeknownst to us, the entire archive of that company was acquired by another company that isn’t interested in letting us buy the remaining rights, so we remain in limbo.

What do you hope a modern viewer will experience when watching these clips 30 years later?

This is a piece of living history. The first Circle album influenced every single musician I know. Watching the creation of the second — especially thirty years on — reminds you what kind of power music has.

It makes me sad to count off how many artists from this project are gone now: Johnny Cash, all of the Carter Sisters, Earl and Randy Scruggs, Vassar Clements, Chet Atkins, Levon Helm, John Denver, Roy Acuff, and dear Roy Huskey, Jr. In this world of instant technology, I think this 30-year-old film puts the viewer right into the studio for a front row seat at this amazing recording. I’m very proud of it.

LISTEN: Blue Highway, “Ain’t No Better, Ain’t No Worse”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Blue Highway
Hometown: Bristol, Virginia
Song: “Ain’t No Better, Ain’t No Worse”
Album: Somewhere Far Away: Silver Anniversary
Release Date: August 2, 2019
Label: Rounder Records

In Their Words: “This song idea came from something Jason Moore of the group Sideline told me. Blue Highway was playing a show with them in Florida year before last. I asked how he was doing, and he said, ‘Ain’t no better, ain’t no worse.’ Wayne Taylor and I wrote it specifically for the album. We were thinking Jimmy Martin!” — Tim Stafford, Blue Highway

Photo credit: Dean Groover

22 Top Bluegrass Duos

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Everyone knows that in the early days of bluegrass, before that term was even coined, all you needed to make a “band” was two people and two instruments. Fiddle and banjo? Sure. But in those days, they’d take whatever they could get. Duos are still a strong presence in the music today, in brother/sibling duos, spouse-led bands, and legendary collaborations.

Check out these twenty-two bluegrass pairings — and their accoutrement — on BGS:

Bill & Charlie Monroe

Before Bill Monroe, the Father of Bluegrass, made his indelible mark on the genre (quite literally giving it its name), he was already a popular performer with his brothers Charlie and Birch. Birch left The Monroe Brothers in the mid-1930s, and Charlie and Bill went on to enjoy success on the road, in the studio, and on the radio — until rising tensions and a fateful fight in 1938 caused them to split ways. But, without that fight, we may not have “bluegrass” at all.

Flatt & Scruggs

December 1945. The Ryman Auditorium. Nashville, Tennessee. Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys stepped on stage for the Grand Ole Opry with Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs among their ranks for the very first time and bluegrass as we know it today was born. Flatt & Scruggs left Monroe in 1948 to join forces and went on to become one of the few ubiquitous, household names of bluegrass.

Hazel Dickens & Alice Gerrard

Undeniably trailblazers, Hazel Dickens & Alice Gerrard are widely regarded as the first women in bluegrass to capture the “high lonesome” sound popularized by Monroe, the Stanley Brothers, and others. They toured across the U.S., often supporting causes that benefited forgotten, downtrodden people from all backgrounds and walks of life. They were inducted into the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame in 2017.

The Stanley Brothers

Natives of the music-rich southwest corner of Virginia, Carter and Ralph Stanley were prolific recording artists and touring musicians in bluegrass’s first generation. Countless songs written and/or popularized by the Stanley Brothers and their backing band, the Clinch Mountain Boys, are staples of the genre today. Carter passed in 1966 and Ralph continued until his death in 2016 with the Clinch Mountain Boys — who still tour today with Ralph’s son, Ralph II.

Don Reno & Red Smiley

Unsung trailblazers of the first generation of bluegrass pickers, Reno & Smiley were tireless innovators with a jovial, sometimes silly flair to their songs and instrumental prowess. Their duets are simply some of the best in all of bluegrass. The duo performed together off and on from the early 1950s to the 1970s — but both passed away much too young, Smiley in 1972 at the age of 46 and Reno in 1984 at the age of 58. Reno’s frenetic, electric and pedal steel guitar-infused licks remain unmatched in banjo picking today.

Jim & Jesse McReynolds

With matching suits and impeccable pompadours brothers Jim and Jesse McReynolds often brought rockabilly, rock ‘n’ roll, mainstream country and pop sensibilities to their take on sibling harmonies and bluegrass brother duos. Jesse’s crosspicking on the mandolin was — and continues to be — absolutely astonishing. Jim passed in 2002, Jesse continues to perform on the Grand Ole Opry to this day. At the time of this writing, he is ninety years old.

Laurie Lewis & Tom Rozum

Laurie Lewis often takes top billing — as leader of the Right Hands and before that, the Bluegrass Pals, and others — but since 1986 her musical partner Tom Rozum has almost constantly been at her side on the mandolin and harmonies. Their duo recording, The Oak and the Laurel, was nominated for a Grammy in 1995. Here is the album’s title track:

Bill Monroe & Doc Watson

What is there to say? Two of the folks who paved the way for this genre, laying a foundation so strong and far-reaching that we still can’t fully comprehend its impact. Bill and Doc collaborated on more than one occasion and we, as fans and disciples, are lucky that so many of these moments are captured in recordings and videos.

Del McCoury & David “Dawg” Grisman

At face value, an unlikely combo, but their friendship goes back to the early 1960s and their musical endeavors together began soon after. As Del slowly but surely became a bastion for traditional bluegrass aesthetics applied broadly, Dawg embraced jammy, jazzy, new acoustic sounds that sometimes only register as bluegrass-adjacent because they come from the mandolin. Opposite sides of the same coin, their duet makes total sense while at the same time challenging everything we think we know about the music. In this clip, Dawg sings tenor to Del — not many would be brave enough to try!

Ricky Skaggs & Keith Whitley

They got their start together in the Clinch Mountain Boys with Ralph Stanley, making some of the best recordings in the history of the band’s many iterations. Before they both struck out on wildly successful, mainstream careers they recorded a seminal duo album together, Second Generation. It remains one of the most important albums in the bluegrass canon — especially as far as duos/duets go.

Norman & Nancy Blake

Norman is well known for his flatpicking prowess, which has graced recordings by John Hartford, Bob Dylan, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, and so many others. He and his wife, Nancy, were married in 1975 after having begun their musical forays together a year or so earlier. Nancy’s command of many instruments — cello, mandolin, and fiddle among them — balances neatly with Norman’s jaw-dropping, singular style on the flattop. Their inseparable harmonies and timeless repertoire are merely icing on the cake.

Jimmy Martin & Ralph Stanley

How their first album together, First Time Together (cough), is not more well-known is truly impossible to understand. The King of Bluegrass and the Man of Constant Sorrow twining their extraordinary voices must have been ordained by a higher power. It’s a good thing they answered the call. Be careful, Jimmy’s percussive G-runs feel like a slap in the face — in the best way.

Darrell Scott & Tim O’Brien

Their live albums together and their co-written masterpieces belong in every museum and shrine to roots music around the world. Both of these triple threat (Quadruple? Quintuple? When do we stop counting?) musicians are rampantly successful in their own right, but together they are simply transcendent. Their cut of “Brother Wind” deserves a listen right this instant and “House of Gold” gives you the harmony acrobatics gut punch you need every time. It was nearly impossible to choose just one, but here’s a hit that was recorded once by a little group called the Dixie Chicks.

Ricky Skaggs & Tony Rice

Again, words fail. Skaggs & Rice is a desert island record. Each and every time these two have graced a recording or a stage together, magic has been made, from their days with J.D. Crowe & the New South and on. We only wish that they could have done more together.

Vern & Ray

Vern Williams and Ray Park were California’s original bluegrass sons. Though they were both born and raised in Arkansas, they relocated to Stockton, California, as adults. They’re often credited with “introducing” bluegrass music to the West Coast. They disbanded in 1974 (both passed in the early 2000s), but their influence is palpable to this day, even if they’re sorely unheard of east of the Mississippi. This deserves correction! Immediately!

Eddie & Martha Adcock

Eddie is a pioneering banjo player who’s a veteran of both Bill Monroe’s Blue Grass Boys and The Country Gentlemen, two decidedly legendary and influential acts. His style is somewhat wacky, certainly singular, but effortlessly bluegrass and traditional as well. He married Martha in the late 1970s and the pair have toured prolifically as a duo. In 2008, Eddie underwent brain surgery to correct debilitating hand tremors. He was kept awake, playing the banjo during the procedure — and there is jaw-dropping film of this online!

Dailey & Vincent

When Dailey & Vincent burst onto the scene in the mid-aughts after both having notable careers as sidemen, the bluegrass community rejoiced at the reemergence of a wavering art form within the genre — traditional duo singing. However, Jamie and Darrin, whether they knew it at the time or not, had their sights set much higher. Now more of a full-blown stage show than a bluegrass band, their recordings and concerts are a high-energy, charismatic, and downright entertaining mix of classic country, Southern gospel, quartet singing, and yes, bluegrass.

Kenny & Amanda Smith

Husband and wife Kenny and Amanda first recorded together in 2001, going on to win IBMA’s Emerging Artist of the Year award two years later. They’ve now cut eight albums together, all clean, clear, crisp modern bluegrass that centers on Amanda’s impossibly bright vocals, which maintain a personal, country hue alongside Kenny’s fantastic flatpicking. SON!

Tom T. & Dixie Hall

Two of the most recent inductees into the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame, Tom T. and Dixie Hall wrote hundreds and hundreds of songs cut by country, bluegrass, and Americana artists alike. Tom T.’s reputation and chart-topping originals tend to eclipse Dixie, but he is unyielding in his efforts to point that same spotlight at his beloved wife instead, who passed away in 2015. Though she never performed — definitely not to the extent that Tom T. did — the marks she left on bluegrass, country, and her partnership with her husband are indelible. This number was co-written by the pair:

The Louvin Brothers

Recipients of IBMA’s Distinguished Achievement Award in 1992, the Louvin Brothers are another example of early bluegrassers who enjoyed the amorphous, primordial days of the genre before it became more and more sequestered from mainstream country and country radio. Their duets are iconic, with counter-intuitive contours and lines that bands and singers still have difficulty replicating to this day. Their most famous contribution to the American music zeitgeist, though, might not be their music, but the spectacular cover art for their 1959 album, Satan Is Real. If you haven’t seen it, Google it right now.

Delia Bell & Bill Grant

Natives of Texas and Oklahoma, respectively, Delia Bell and Bill Grant met through Bell’s husband, Bobby, in the late 1950s. Between their band, the Kiamichi Mountain Boys, and their duo project they recorded more than a dozen albums together through the 1980s. Famously, Emmylou Harris became a fan when she heard their cut of “Roses in the Snow,” which Harris went on to record on her eponymous bluegrass record. Bell died in 2018.

The Osborne Brothers

Though they popularized a style of three-part harmony that had never been heard before — the infamous “high lead” harmony stack — their band, no matter who it may have included over the years, was undeniably helmed and anchored by Bobby and Sonny. (Which does explain the name.) You may remember “Rocky Top” and “Ruby” first and foremost in their discography, but the hits they’ve contributed to the bluegrass songbook are innumerable. Here’s one such classic.

MIXTAPE: Crowder’s Simple Yet Complex Bluegrass Playlist

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

“I think my favorite description of bluegrass music is from Bill Monroe: ‘It’s Scottish bagpipes and ole-time fiddlin’. It’s Methodist and Holiness and Baptist. It’s blues and jazz, and it has a high lonesome sound.’ It is that and more to me. It is simple and complex. It is death and life. It is impossible to put together anything close to a definitive playlist of such things so here are a few songs I really like.” — Crowder

“A Far Cry” – Del McCoury Band

Del McCoury is the epitome of the progressive conservation of that “high lonesome” sound.

“Angel Band” – Stanley Brothers

This is it for me. An old gospel song from a poem originally titled “My Latest Sun Is Sinking Fast.”

“The Prisoner’s Song” – Bill Monroe

This origin of this song goes back to the beginning of recorded “hillbilly” music and nothing better than the Father of Bluegrass’ take on it with electric guitar, piano, and drums. Heretical!

“Ruby” – Osborne Brothers

Those falsetto jumps and holds, if you’re not smiling we can’t be friends.

“Shady Grove” – Ricky Skaggs

Mr. Skaggs is one of my favorite humans ever made and he and Kentucky Thunder slay this traditional Appalachian courtin’ song that’s found its way into the repertoire of all the greats.

“Walls of Time” – Bill Monroe

A classic written by Monroe and Peter Rowan, but not recorded until after Rowan left the group. The lyrics are perfectly haunting.

“Freeborn Man” – Jimmy Martin

“King of Bluegrass” after the addition of Gloria Belle. That female vocal sitting above Martin’s cutting tenor is supreme.

“Mama’s Hand” – Hazel Dickens

Known for her singing style as well as her advocate songs for coal miners and the working folk and to be one of the first women to record a bluegrass album. This song tells the story of the day she left her family’s home in West Virginia.

“Carry Me Across The Mountain” – Dan Tyminski

This guy is legend. Popping into the universal ethos and consciousness of popular culture every so often, from his updated version of “Man of Constant Sorrow” to vocal feature on Avicii’s international hit “Hey Brother.”

“Blue Train” – Nashville Bluegrass Band

I love how these guys incorporate black gospel and spirituals. Just a line as simple as “coming for to carry me” brings with it the momentum and mass of a locomotive.

“Salty Dog Blues” – Flatt and Scruggs

The original meaning of “salty dog” comes from rubbing salt into the coat of your dog as a flea repellent. That infers that a “salty dog” would be your favorite person or your best friend. I like that.

“Oh, Death” – Ralph Stanley

No vocalist will ever fit a song more perfectly.

“The Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane” – Fiddlin’ John Carson

The first “hillbilly” song ever recorded with vocals and lyrics. When I moved to Atlanta I landed in Cabbagetown on Carroll Street living in the Fulton Bag and Cotton Mill that he and his children worked in. That’s as close as I’ve ever come to greatness.

Photo credit: Eric Brown

Roland White: A Tribute to a Bluegrass Hero

Posted on by Editor

To begin, a disclosure: Roland White is kind of a hero of mine for his perseverance, his originality, his sense of humor, his experience and much more. Also, he’s an employer of mine; I’ve been playing in the Roland White Band on most of its dates for close to 15 years now, and I’ve recorded two albums with him, including his new one, which I also co-produced. Lastly, and maybe most importantly, Roland’s a friend of mine. And he has a great story.

Played with Bill Monroe, the Father of Bluegrass? Check. Played with Lester Flatt? Check. Toured around the world as a member of the Country Gazette and then the Nashville Bluegrass Band? Check. Had a band with Béla Fleck? Check. Helped organize and make Jim Lauderdale’s very first album? Check. Fronted his own band since the turn of the century? Check.

That’s a lot of boxes, and any one of them could be turned into a meaty article. Here, though, I’m going to concentrate on the story of the group whose legacy inspired the new album, Roland White & Friends: A Tribute To The Kentucky Colonels; it’s the starting point for the larger Roland White story, illuminating the way it was for young bluegrass musicians in the 1950s and 60s and how Roland, his brother Clarence, and the rest of the Colonels were able to craft an enduring and influential body of music.

Shortly after he turned 16 in 1954, Roland’s family relocated from Maine to Southern California. He was already playing the mandolin by then, and younger brothers Clarence and Eric were playing guitar and banjo (tenor, not the bluegrass 5-string). They joined their sister, JoAnne, who sang, around the house and at local functions. Soon after moving to Burbank, the boys rather casually entered a talent contest, and in short order found themselves dressed in hillbilly clothes and, as The Three Little Country Boys, performing on a variety of local stages and radios shows — even, if briefly, on television. All of this before any of them had heard a lick of what was just beginning to be called bluegrass.

Roland recalls that it was in a comment from a visiting uncle in the middle of 1955 that he first heard Bill Monroe’s name — and naturally, it was in connection with the instrument they shared. “My uncle Armand asked me if I’d ever heard of Bill Monroe. He said, ‘He plays the mandolin, he’s on the Grand Ole Opry and,’” Roland adds with a grin, “‘he is fast!’” Not surprisingly, that piqued his interest — but to actually get hold of a record was, at the time and under the circumstances, something of a project, involving a walk into town to the music store, perusing a catalog, ordering it, waiting, and then picking up the little 45rpm disc of his choice: “Pike County Breakdown.” (It was actually the B-side of “A Mighty Pretty Waltz,” and yes, it was fast.)

What followed was a “conversion” experience of the kind that was happening around the same time to other people his age, give or take a few years — a cohort that includes the slightly older Mike Seeger and Ralph Rinzler; the slightly younger Del McCoury and Neil Rosenberg (like Roland and Clarence White, all members of the International Bluegrass Music Association’s Hall of Fame); and the slightly younger still Jerry Garcia, David Grisman, and Peter Rowan. What most of them had in common was some distance, geographic and sometimes sociological, from the Southeastern epicenter of the emerging bluegrass sound; what all of them had in common was a profound desire to hear and play more of it.

More records soon made their way into the White household, often mail-ordered from Cincinnati’s Jimmie Skinner Music Center, and so did a five-string banjo, which Roland learned to play in the Scruggs style. Eric moved over to bass, and the band, now just The Country Boys, began studying the picking and singing of Monroe, Flatt & Scruggs, Reno & Smiley, the Stanley Brothers, Jimmy Martin, and more. While they focused on the whole sound, there was room, too, for Clarence to study the lead guitar stylings of Earl Scruggs, Don Reno, and the Stanley Brothers’ George Shuffler, as well as the rhythm guitar playing of Flatt, Martin, and others. And though skilled banjo players were still rare — especially in California — by 1958, they’d met and recruited Arkansas native Billy Ray Lathum for the job, allowing Roland to devote himself once again exclusively to the mandolin.

1959 was a big year for The Country Boys. For one thing, they were joined by Leroy McNees — Leroy Mack, as he’s still known — whom they met first as a fan, but soon persuaded to take up the Dobro. Mack not only rounded out the band’s sound, but quickly became a valuable asset as a songwriter. For another, the band got its first bookings at the Ash Grove in Los Angeles, a key venue in the emerging folk revival, and one that also booked national bluegrass acts as they made their long journey out to the West Coast.

Indeed, the Ash Grove turned out to be an important place where folk audiences and bluegrass musicians could meet one another; as Roland put it, “Playing the Ash Grove opened the way for us to play to a totally new audience — a folk music audience that we had known nothing about. They dressed differently from the Country-Western audience (they were college students, professors, beatniks, doctors, and lawyers) and they paid close attention to the music.”

Not only did the Ash Grove provide the group a new audience, it gave them a different sound; the less raucous, more attentive audience and more sophisticated sound system allowed Clarence White to hear himself better than ever before. Within a matter of weeks, he began to take solos — plenty of practice time at home had allowed him to explore and build on what he’d been hearing on records — and The Country Boys started to build a unique sound that featured lead acoustic guitar in a way that reached well beyond their influences.

By 1961, The Country Boys — now a five-piece band — had built a good circuit for themselves, playing to folk audiences at the Ash Grove and on college campuses around Southern California while maintaining a foothold in the dynamic country music scene. Their prominence gave them an inside track that landed them an appearance on The Andy Griffith Show — just before Roland got his draft notice, a then-common occurrence. While he served for the next two years, the band continued without him, taking a couple of important steps, including the replacement of bass player Eric White with Roger Bush; a name change to The Kentucky Colonels; and recording their first LP in 1962. The project, which featured some of Leroy Mack’s most enduring originals, also debuted Clarence’s distinctive, increasingly powerful lead guitar work. Over in Germany, where he was stationed, Roland admits that “it floored me.”

By the time Roland was discharged from service in the fall of 1963, Mack had left the band, replaced by transplanted Kentucky fiddler Bobby Slone. With Mike Seeger’s then-wife, Marge, acting as their booking agent, the Colonels were booked for their first East Coast tour, playing folk clubs in the Boston area, New York, Washington D.C., Baltimore and beyond. In each, they made connections with local bluegrass musicians, ranging from melodic banjo pioneer Bill Keith to the members of the Country Gentlemen to David Grisman, and when they came east again in 1964 — a trip anchored by an appearance at the Newport Folk Festival — they did more of the same. Interestingly, though, and a sign of the distance that still separated the folk revival circuit from the country music one, they never got even as far south as Nashville; as Roland says, “there was nothing for us there.”

Sadly, while their focus on folk audiences had served to give them broader appreciation than they might have gotten while working in Southern California’s country music scene, it also meant that, as those audiences began turning their attention to more electrified folk-rock and newly emerging rock artists, the Colonels would see harder times. Though they continued playing into 1966, the group eventually disbanded, with Roland soon taking the guitar/lead singer job with Bill Monroe and moving to Nashville, and Clarence turning first to studio work, and then to electric guitar playing with the Byrds.

Even so, the magic that the Colonels had made continued to appeal to both Roland and Clarence, and in 1973, they reformed their original brother trio with Eric. Adding banjo man Herb Pedersen and dubbing themselves the New Kentucky Colonels, they embarked on an April tour of Europe and, though the banjo position remained unstable, they started to make plans for more touring and recording — only to have them come to an end when Clarence was killed by a drunk driver while loading out from a Palmdale, California club.

What did the band leave behind? Not much in the way of recordings, unfortunately. The Kentucky Colonels made hardly any in the studio — the album done while Roland was in the Army and an all-instrumental album, Appalachian Swing!, one of the most influential bluegrass recordings of the 1960s are the sum total — and while enough of their shows were recorded at the Newport Folk Festival, at California venues, and on that final European tour to fill a couple of albums, they’ve often been out of print or hard to find.

Yet it’s clear — and the new record makes the point with its wide-ranging roster of guests, from guitarists like Billy Strings, Molly Tuttle and Jon Stickley to banjoists such as Kristin Scott Benson (Grascals) and Russ Carson (Ricky Skaggs & Kentucky Thunder) and fiddlers like Brittany Haas (Hawktail), Kimber Ludiker (Della Mae) and Jeremy Garrett (The Infamous Stringdusters) — the legacy of the Colonels can’t be measured so simply. From songs like “If You’re Ever Gonna Love Me” and “I Might Take You Back”— both co-written by Leroy Mack, and recorded by scores of bluegrass artists — to guitar showcases like “Listen to the Mockingbird” and “I Am a Pilgrim,” their influence has been carried forward through the bluegrass generations, not only by Roland White, but by Tony Rice, Jerry Garcia, and a host of others who met and heard and jammed with them during those critical years in which they were playing the national folk music circuit.

And for Roland White, for whom those years were just the beginning of a storied career that has taken him, by turns, deeper into the heart of bluegrass and further out to broad-ranging audiences, the opportunity to revisit them in the company of new generations of musicians has been an exciting one. “I really enjoyed playing and singing with all these musicians,” he says. “They appreciate the old music that we made, but they brought their own touch to it, too. It’s good to know that these songs, and these sounds are in good hands.”

Illustration by Zachary Johnson
Photo by Russell Carson, Carson Photoworks

Counsel of Elders: Del McCoury on Finding Your Way

Posted on by Editor

One would be forgiven for expecting Del McCoury, at 77 years old, to slow down and ease into retirement. But the opposite is true. In 2016, McCoury is releasing two albums — a live album with David Grisman and, on April 15, Del and Woody, the highly anticipated studio follow-up to 2013’s Streets of Baltimore. As McCoury accumulates years, he adds projects. He runs his own record label and a yearly festival. He constantly tours and he hosts a weekly radio show. Slowing down is simply not in his future.

Del McCoury is a living legend, having first attained fame in the 1960s as the lead singer in Bill Monroe’s Blue Grass Boys. In the '90s, he reached new levels fronting his own band. McCoury is the link in the chain connecting bluegrass pioneers to the present.

For Del and Woody — and several great albums before it — Nora Guthrie gifted a batch of unrecorded Woody Guthrie lyrics for songs which were never recorded or even musically notated. It was up to McCoury and his band to bring these tunes to life. He did a marvelous job. Del and Woody will not only appease the Del-Heads and Woody fans, but it will also convert new listeners to bluegrass, McCoury, and Guthrie. It is a remarkable album — quite possibly McCoury’s best, which is saying a lot.

This is your first studio album since 2013’s Streets of Baltimore, which won a number of awards. Del and Woody has been talked about for years. This is arguably your most anticipated album to date. How do you feel now that it’s about to be released — relief, excitement? Do you still get nervous?

Well, I guess it’s mostly nervous. It’s a lot of lyrics to remember. I use a teleprompter, there’s so many words. I have another album coming out this year. It’s a live one I recorded with Dawg — David Grisman.

How do you deal with nerves and stress, at this point in your career? Do you have any tricks?

I guess I just stress. Remembering the words is the hardest part. I still get nervous before shows. I think it’s good.

Does it keep things fresh that way?

Yeah, I think so. You know, at this point, I don’t make a set list. We play whatever the crowd requests. We do one show of Woody and Del and then a regular set.

You’re doing two sets a night right now?

We’re doing all of Woody and Del, which is 12 songs, and then do requests for about 14 songs. It’s about 45 minutes each.

Do you find that certain songs are popular in different regions of the country?

Oh, sure. It’s different everywhere, but some songs are more popular than others. The area affects it.

Can you tell me about the genesis of this project — how it came to be?

I was playing a Woody Guthrie festival out in Tulsa. I can’t remember who all was playing. John Mellencamp was smoking — I mean the cigarette kind. He was smoking one cigarette after another. I thought, “That’s bad,” because of his voice.

We sang “Philadelphia Lawyer.” I’ve always liked that song. And [Sings] “I’ve been doing some hard traveling.” When we were done, Nora told me that, if her father could have afforded musicians, he’d have had a band like ours. It was a real honor. In the next breath, she told me she had a bunch of unrecorded songs of her father's and asked if I’d like to record them. Of course, I would.

Were you given the actual handwritten lyrics?

Oh, yes, isn’t that unbelievable? Nora sent over 26 songs. Well, some were copies. They were written between 1930 and 1946. It was his own handwriting. He would draw little pictures. They had the date he wrote them. I guess he was always writing songs. We recorded 14 songs, but put 12 on the record. I’m going to record them all.

What was your process for finding melodies and adding instrumentation?

I read the words and I could hear the melody and spacing and the keys. It was easy. I only had to do half the usual work. He kept real good notes. The dates were on there, and there were drawings.

There are a lot of humorous songs in this batch …

Woody Guthrie wrote a lot of songs. He must have always been writing. There’s a song on here called “Wommin’s Hats.” It’s from his first day in New York, and hats must have been a big thing back then. He got to New York and wrote “This Land Is Your Land” and the next day he wrote “Wommin’s Hats.” You know, he probably wrote 12 songs in between.

That’s a great song. “New York Trains” is one of my favorites, too.

That’s another one. It’s rich in details. It’s all about his family coming to New York.

It still seems relevant, too. The cab ride in the song is $11, which must have been outrageous for back then.

Yep, and there’s the line about the cops making them get off at the stops.

Let’s talk about your early career for a second. You sang with Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys in the '60s. Bill Monroe took a lot of musicians under his wing and served as a mentor and launching pad for their careers. What did you learn from your time with Bill? Was he full of advice?

You know, Bill Monroe didn’t give any advice. The singer before me was Jimmy Martin. He would tell all of his musicians what to play, but not Bill. He didn’t give any advice on guitar or singing. He was a tenor, so he’d sing around the singer. He’d play around the musicians. Bill really set the template for all of us. Before Bill Monroe, there wasn’t bluegrass.

How do you feel about the future of bluegrass? Are there any younger bluegrass bands that you like?

I don’t listen to much new music. When I was younger, if something made an impression, I would remember it forever. It doesn’t happen now. I guess it’s because of the vocals. They all sound the same. The old singers are different. You can tell a Mac Wiseman from a Lester Flatt and a Jimmy Martin. The new ones all sound the same. I guess it’s because they’re trying to copy. I was trying to copy when I started, too. You got to find your own way of singing, doing those things that are different.

So you think the singers need to find their own voice in order to keep bluegrass relevant?

Yes, I would say that. They need to sing songs that they like and in their own voice. You know, my sons play in my band. A couple years ago, I was talking with my manager — I think it was my manager. I was getting older. I still feel great. I can play a 90-minute show and it’s not a problem, but when you get over 70 … I think it was my manager’s idea to send the boys out on the road so I could ease up a bit. We called them the Travelin' McCourys. They got this real hot guitar player. He’s young, used to play with Ricky Skaggs. He’s great.

I’m busier than ever now, though. I have my radio show. I’m playing with Dawg, David Grisman, and we’re doing shows. I have my festival. It’s going good. Real good. And I have my own label. I’m busier than ever.

So your advice to the next generation of musicians is stay active in the industry — don’t limit yourself?

Yes, I’d say that. You need to be out playing and working. And you need to find your own way of doing things.

Photo credit: Jim McGuire