Mark O’Connor, ‘Pickin’ In The Wind’

Mark O’Connor comes about as close to being a household name as any musician in bluegrass (and its adjacent genres). Because bluegrass is predicated upon instrumental skill, the origin point of O’Connor’s recognition will always be his virtuosity, his musical expertise, and his command of his instrument. He’s a true master of bluegrass fiddle and contest fiddle forms, he’s a trailblazer in fiddle-flavored classical compositions of all manners and sorts, his musical code-switching extends to jazz, gypsy jazz, and swing, and he is pervasive on recordings and sessions from his years spent in Nashville. He even has his own violin and fiddle curriculum, The O’Connor Method, which pedagogically capitalizes on and celebrates American music, rather than Western European music, as usual.

Yet, no matter the level to which he transcends any/all musical barriers or the ubiquity of his name and brand, many folks don’t know he’s a maddeningly adept guitar player as well. In his youth, as he racked up wins at fiddle contests far and wide, he was also taking home flatpicking trophies with the same bravado. On his iconic 1976 album, Pickin’ In The Wind, the title track and the first tune on the record opts not to showcase his signature fiddling, but rather his guitar picking — backed up by a band that is no less than jaw-dropping: John Hartford on banjo, Sam Bush on mandolin, Norman Blake on dobro, Roy Huskey Jr. on bass, and Charlie Collins on the rhythm guitar. The tune listens down as straight-ahead bluegrass, but with a chord progression and arrangement that never strays into the simplistic, thanks in part to O’Connor’s compositional taste and the supreme talent of his fellow musicians. It’s an O’Connor staple that doesn’t require a single bowstroke.

So, in celebration of O’Connor’s birthday (August 5), it seems appropriate that we shine a light on the guitar stylings and the unbelievable ensemble of “Pickin’ In The Wind.”

Special Consensus, ‘Squirrel Hunters’

There’s a phenomenon that certain bluegrass instrumentals experience when, for however brief or extended a time, you hear them almost everywhere played by almost everyone. Tunes like the key-of-B barnburner “Rebecca,” or John Reischman’s “Salt Spring,” or David Grier’s legendary reharmonization of “Angeline the Baker” come to mind. Whether during a lap of your favorite festival’s campground jams or wandering the halls of the IBMA World of Bluegrass host hotel, while each of these numbers enjoyed their respective heydays, you could hear them emanating from almost every single circle of pickers. The old-time tune “Squirrel Hunters” hasn’t just been relegated to one single moment; it’s a pickin’ marvel unto itself. Old-time, mash, straight-ahead bluegrass, jamgrass — they all claim “Squirrel Hunters.”

In this host of renditions, one by Chicago-based bluegrass outfit Special Consensus stands out. Not only because John Hartford’s buzzy baritone introduces the track (as if to remind us that “Squirrel Hunters’” moment has been decades and decades long), but because the entire ensemble artfully reimagines a tune that could much more easily be found stale and tired. Rachel Baiman and Christian Sedelmeyer, the fiddley duo 10 String Symphony, kick off the song alongside Hartford’s fiddle, making a technological cameo. The band jumps into a bushy-tailed clip with another guest — the album’s producer, Alison Brown — on a low-tuned banjo (continuing the nods to Hartford), playing call and response, her postmodern five-string against Greg Cahill’s traditional-while-psychedelic approach. A round of breaks, a melodic bass solo, and an epic rearrangement of the chord changes later, you’ll barely realize you’ve listened to a four-minute-long tune without even a hint of a yawn. And that, right there, is why this “Squirrel Hunters” moment goes on and on.

A Harmonic Convergence: An Interview with Robert Ellis and Courtney Hartman

There’s a strangely specific conversation that takes place between two guitars. Long-time friends Robert Ellis and Courtney Hartman know the very kind. They’ve been playing music together for some time now, but they partnered in a new way when they set about to record a selection of folk singer John Hartford’s songs for their collaborative tribute album, Dear John. The musicians — solo artists in their own respect (with Hartman also playing in Americana group Della Mae) — paired their guitars, as well as their voices for a harmonically infused update on Hartford’s work, both known and obscure.

While their voices ebb and flow like the river that runs central to Hartford’s songwriting, it’s their stunning guitar work that elevates the 10-track LP into a conversation within a conversation. The slow, building guitars of “Delta Queen Waltz” trickle like a stream, widening at the first verse’s start to allow Ellis’s and Hartman’s voices space to enter. Then, of course, there’s their take on one of Hartford’s most famous songs, “Gentle on My Mind.” As the song winds down, their guitars spend nearly two minutes in a tête-à-tête that is as evocative as their harmonies at the beginning. Dear John is a winsome nod to the “weird” writing of Hartford told not through his traditional banjo and fiddle, but two very talkative, beguiling guitars.

What was it about this opportunity to sing together that felt so enticing?

Robert Ellis: We’ve been friends for a long time. We’ve been taking every opportunity to play together ever since we met. I think the tour and the record are products of that vibe of enjoying each other’s company.

Courtney Hartman: Exactly. And, actually, the record had been made before we toured.

What about Hartford’s songwriting feels modern or timeless to you, and how do you feel his subject matter still resonating?

CH: John Hartford writes really specifically and really poignantly, and I think those lyrics will always feel timeless. He would also write some really specific cultural or political or environmental songs, and I think they’re still very relevant today.

RE: Yeah, I think that’s a strength of his style. I was explaining to a student the other day — we were talking about writing — I think, when we’re young, all of our instinct as writers is to want to be profound, to search for this way to say something meaningful that no one has said, or just say something in this unique or profound way. I think, as we get older, we figure out that the most profundity there is in the universe is in the little details of, you know, ironing your shirt or the weird interaction you had with a lover at a coffee shop. There’s something about the very specific narrative nature of that tradition that makes these profound things happen. I think, for John Hartford’s stuff, they’re specific ideas about a specific thing happening, and that says something about this much larger, more important thing.

Speaking about his political songs, “Old Time River Man” comes to mind because I couldn’t help drawing parallels to, let’s say, “Peg and Awl,” and the plight of the laborer. Even that feels relevant still.

CH: I think his songs about interactions, people’s interactions, are imminently relatable, and I think it’s the same specific details that he gives that make you go, “Oh, I know that feeling.” Those are still and always will be relevant.

He once described his compositions as “weird songs.” Where do you see them fitting in the greater tradition of folk?

RE: Especially in the context of the world he was in, he’s very weird. I guess everyone’s odd in some way, but he definitely embraced his eccentricities. Rather than shy away from something that’s really nuanced and John Hartford-y, he would embrace it. “Down on the River,” from an arrangement perspective, you have these weird, old-time fiddle lines, and it sounds like he overdubbed 20 tracks of them. It’s a huge section of fiddles. His instinct was to really be himself regardless of the context. I think that’s what drew both of us to him.

As far as themes, one thing I really like about his meaning and motive for writing songs is that he’s really careful to highlight beauty in the world rather than to call out specific things. You catch more flies with honey. Instead of going out and saying, “This is messed up! This is messed up!” he really shows someone how poignant a day of labor can be. A song like “Tall Building,” it’s not necessarily about how the city sucks. There’s this depth to everything he’s saying that’s much more fair and real-life to me, it’s not so preachy.

CH: I don’t know if he would have said it was protest songwriting.

Not exclusively, but I do think protest comes up in a rather sneaky way.

CH: Mmhmm, and I think it comes with a sense of tenderness.

RE: Exactly. It’s not that he’s softer; I just think he’s more honest. Life is this really nuanced, gray area most of the time, and I think songwriting has a bad habit of not allowing that. Instead of being the gray, uncomfortable feeling we all feel, songwriting tries to be very pointed and very one-sided. Writers like Hartford were comfortable being nuanced.

CH: And he wasn’t afraid to use humor and just be a weirdo in the way that he wrote. His ability to make people dance and his deep rhythmic groove and integrity … when people are dancing, you can’t help but listen to what someone’s playing, so songs like “Up on the Hill Where They Do the Boogie,” who knows what that’s about really. I think there are a lot of things that song can be about. Part of the gift of getting to play it for generations is to go, “Oh, maybe it’s about this. Maybe it’s about the hippies on the hill. Maybe it’s about the White House.”

RE: We were playing it the other day, and I thought, “Oh, maybe it’s about Capitol Hill, and you were like, ‘Well, yeah.’”

CH: I was like, “Duh.”

RE: That had never occurred to me. I had never heard it that way.

CH: The whole time I’m like, “This is such a political song.”

Hartford brought together banjo and fiddle for his compositions, whereas you’ve partnered your two guitars. How did you want to cultivate that particular sound while paying homage to Hartford?

CH: My first introduction to learning Hartford material was his fiddle tunes. I think one of the strongest components of his songs is to shape melodies, and to write really memorable melodies. Coming from playing fiddle tunes on guitar was a bonding place for both Robert and me, when we both came to this material. The first tune we learned together was “Delta Queen Waltz.” We thought it sounded really good; we had a lot of fun playing it.

RE: A lot of it, for me at least, was really intuitive.

It does seem that way watching you two play, but that makes sense, if it’s born of this friendship.

CH: We had two days to rehearse this material, but rehearse meant play it over and over again and learn it, and then we had two days to record, so it was all done in four days. We kept being like, “Dang, this is pretty easy,” because we both had similar instincts, so we didn’t have to talk about nuanced arrangement parts of dynamic because there was a deeper level of understanding, musically.

RE: It was really easy. All of it’s been really easy.

It’s nice when it works out that way. This is a weird question, I admit, but besides sounding beautiful, what did you hope your harmonies would achieve?

RE: I think there’s definitely a tension in the harmony thing that we’re doing on this record; I think we went for more of a conversation within the harmony itself because we are doing this thing as a duo. I don’t know. This is all subconscious. I think when musicians do interviews, a lot of the time they do things because it feels right and they do them naturally.

Right, and then they’re asked to think about them more critically.

RE: And then they have these grandiose explanations as to why. The harmony is having a conversation while the two of us are having a conversation, and I think it accidentally — in a good way — reinforces the lyrics of a song. If it’s a love song, then the harmony tends to be really sweet and beautiful and then, if it’s a song about tension in a relationship, we kind of leaned on dark harmony. I think it’s entirely natural that it happened that way. A lot of it is taking cues from the writing. Hartford already did a lot of the work in the writing.

MIXTAPE: Mike Barnett’s Favorite Fiddlers

If you want to know who the best fiddlers in bluegrass and old-time are, ask one of the best fiddlers in bluegrass and old-time … right? Here, Mike Barnett rattles off not just a list of songs by great players, but the reasons they are so great. Enjoy his insider’s view.

“Flannery’s Dream” – John Hartford

Records from John Hartford like Wild Hog in the Red Brush and Speed of the Old Long Bow got me really excited about the energy in old-time music. I never got to meet Hartford, but feel a connection to him through his music. He brings a special vibe that I’ve often tried to channel. I’ve heard stories that he used to have a guideline that nobody in his band could repeat their accompaniment/part for more than one section of a song, everyone had to mix up their playing often, which gives his music a certain drive and breath.

“Black and White Rag” – Johnny Gimble

When I heard Johnny Gimble play at Mark O’Connor’s camp maybe 14 years ago, it was so strikingly Texas, so rooted in that tradition. I particularly remember his feel when playing Texas rags captivating me, like here in the “Black and White Rag.” Johnny helped me understand more deeply the true spirit and community of Texas-style music.

“Bound to Ride” – John Hartford, Tony Rice, and Vassar Clements

Vassar Clements invented his own, incredibly unique style of fiddling. The vibrato, silky tone, double stops and slides … it’s like magic whenever he touches the fiddle, and I can tell within two notes if it’s him. This recording of “Bound to Ride” is a great snapshot into Vassar’s unique way of playing around a melody, backing up the vocal, and lifting the energy of a song.

“Dill Pickle Rag” – Buddy Spicher and Vassar Clements

Buddy Spicher is one of the legends, and one of those fiddlers you’ve probably heard but maybe didn’t know it was him. It was Buddy who got me wanting to play second fiddle — the harmony. This recording of Buddy with Vassar on “Dill Pickle Rag” shows some of Buddy’s genius and virtuosity (and Vassar’s!).

“Lonesome Moonlight Waltz” – Kenny Baker

Hard not to mention Kenny Baker here. I listened to his album Kenny Baker Plays Bill Monroe frequently growing up, and I’m still trying to understand those bowings! His playing is so clean, clear, good tone and time, and great melody player.

“Sally Goodin'” – Paul Warren

“Sally Goodin'” was actually the first COUNTRY hit! #funfact It was Tony Trischka who got me listening to Paul Warren when I was about 17. Another one of the legends in bluegrass fiddle, Paul brings a grit and edge that is often lost in modern bluegrass fiddling.

“Estrellita” – Bobby Hicks

Once Bill Monroe was asked if he had a favorite fiddler of those who’d played in his band. Bill said, “I’ve had a lot of fiddlers come through my band, but I believe Bobby Hicks was the truest fiddler I ever had.” Bobby is the double-stop king, and took a lot from what Tommy Jackson did with his single note playing around a vocal and made it his own.

“Back Up and Push” – “Benny Martin

Benny Martin’s double stops, attack, and full-throttle style really resonate with me. The tone he gets in this version of “Back Up and Push” makes it seem as if he’s got a brick tied to the end of his bow. And when he gets to the shuffle, it’s clear that so many contemporary fiddlers have been heavily influenced by how he did it.

“Raggedy Ann” – Curly Ray Cline

If you’re wondering who ever had the most fun playing the fiddle, all you need to do is search “Curly Ray Cline Orange Blossom Special” on YouTube, and you’ll find that it was in fact Curly Ray Cline! He’s most known for his work with the Lonesome Pine Fiddlers and Ralph Stanley and is as much a treat to watch as to listen to. I love his note choice and where he plays in the beat — what he does with the time.

“Fire in the Mountain” – Scotty Stoneman and Bill Emerson

Scotty Stoneman was a wild man of a fiddler. His double stops and slides, and aggressive approach to the fiddle, are some things I’ve always gone and checked back in with in my listening. You can hear some of what I’m talking about with Scotty’s sound in the recording of him playing “Fire in the Mountain.”

“Learnin’ the Blues” – The Del McCoury Band

The Del McCoury Band is one of the finest — if not THE finest — bluegrass bands still in the business. One G run from Del will set you straight for the whole year. Jason Carter has got the old bluegrass sound, and I love how much he digs in and goes for stuff, and pulls so much sound and soul out of the fiddle.

“Pickin’ the Devil’s Eye” – Bruce Molsky

I’ve always loved this recording Bruce Molsky made with Rushad Eggleston, Darol Anger, and Michael Ducé of “Pickin the Devil’s Eye.” The groove masters! Or maestros! Bruce’s propulsive bowing, groove, and reverence for tradition is really remarkable. He’s basically a one man band, and hearing him here is transcendent.

“Buffalo Nickel” – Béla Fleck and the Flecktones

Stuart Duncan has played on countless recordings so it was hard to choose just one, but Béla Fleck’s Bluegrass Sessions was one of the most influential for me, and a major landmark in acoustic music. “Buffalo Nickel” is gorgeous, and Stuart plays the melody with so much taste, tone, feel, soul, intonation … all the good things. To me, Stuart has always been sort of a perfect combination of all the things I love about fiddling.

“Future Man” – Strength in Numbers

Mark O’Connor is one of the most versatile players on the planet, combining so many styles and influences so flawlessly to create his own incredible voice. Telluride Sessions by Strength in Numbers is another must-have album. The way everyone plays together, and Mark’s precision and virtuosity … amazing. His solo here on “Future Man” is a highlight — a glimpse of what Mark is capable of.

“Ducks in the Millpond” – Aubrey Haynie

Aubrey Haynie is the initial reason why I got into bluegrass. His sound made me want to learn how to do that. One of my favorite fiddle albums out there is Aubrey’s The Bluegrass Fiddle Album. I like this cut of “Ducks on the Millpond” — a really cool instrumental that weaves between three sections. Aubrey mostly plays the melody with so much tone and taste, and varies it slightly toward the end.

“Sweet Georgia Brown” – Billy Contreras

Not everyone is familiar with the fiddle stylings of Billy Contreras, as his genius is less substantially documented. I think he is the greatest improviser on the violin to ever live, and a master when it comes to bluegrass, swing, modern jazz… he can do it all. His brilliant, almost mathematical mind for music, combined with his deep heart for it all, is endlessly inspiring.

“Lee Highway Blues” – Darol Anger and Stuart Duncan

Growing up, I listened to so much music that Darol Anger is responsible for: Republic of Strings, duo with Mike Marshall, his own projects, his work with the David Grisman Quintet, etc. Besides his amazing lead playing, he is known for paving new roads for the violin as a rhythm instrument with his infectious groove and development of the fiddle chop. His album, Diary of a Fiddler, has so many thoughtful duets with great fiddlers of different styles.

“It Don’t Mean a Thing” – Stuff Smith

Matt Glaser, who turned me onto so much priceless music during my time at Berklee College of Music, introduced me to Stuff Smith. I love Stuff’s emphasis on groove and blues, and the grit and directness in his sound.


Photo credit: Justin Canerer

Robert Ellis & Courtney Hartman, ‘Gentle on My Mind’

Sometimes, songs become so imbedded in our minds, and our culture, that their essential nature makes us forget how unusual they may actually be. And one like “Gentle on My Mind,” written by John Hartford and made iconic by Glen Campbell, is no exception. Hartford, himself, admitted that it actually broke all the musical rules, in terms of what should work commercially — it’s layered thick with his signature newgrass banjo instrumentals, it’s more poetry than traditional verse-chorus-verse (in fact, there is no proper chorus), and it was written in just 20 minutes. Now, it feels like a traditional, and a priceless one at that. Still, Hartford’s not a household name. Though years after his death in 2001, he’s up there amongst the treasured gods in the eyes of so many modern working artists, particularly in the folk, Americana, and country realms.

He’s certainly an influence on Robert Ellis and Courtney Hartman, who toured together and developed an artistic symbiosis on the road before recording Dear John, their tribute to the work of Hartford that will be released on December 8 through Cory Chisel and Adriel Denae’s Refuge Foundation for the Arts. And this version of “Gentle on My Mind” from the collection showcases the kinship Ellis and Hartman carry with the Grammy winner. Together, their voices meld into a soft, harmonious coo, and a luscious, complex interplay of guitar gives the song new life despite its classic status, particularly as the last minute dissolves into just instruments alone when these two incredibly gifted players add what feels like a hidden last verse with no vocals to be found. Utilizing the bones of the past to pave way to the future, they prove that timeless and gentle can still cut just as deep.

Canon Fodder: John Hartford, ‘Aereo-Plain’

In September 2016, I did an interview with banjo player and producer Alison Brown for the now-dormant Producers column, and she told me a little bit about her studio in Nashville. Compass Records is headquartered there now, but 40 years ago, it was known as Hillbilly Central, where numerous outlaw and outlier country albums were recorded. “If I’d known John Hartford recorded Aereo Plain here, I would have been even more intimidated than I already was,” she confessed. “You could set the bar so high for yourself thinking about the other music that’s been recorded in the room, but, at the end of the day, you just have to look at it as there’s great energy in the room, great vibes in the walls, and you have to tap into that.”

I had to admit I didn’t know the album or much about the man. I knew the name, but that had more to do with the namesake music festival near my home than with any of his actual music. With minimal research, I learned that he was most famous for writing the song “Gentle on My Mind,” a late ’60s hit for Glen Campbell that was covered by everyone from Dean Martin to Aretha Franklin to R.E.M. to (most recently) Alison Krauss to (most strangely) Leonard Nimoy. I learned that Hartford was influential in the Newgrass trend of the ‘70s, and I learned that two of his songs had been included on the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack, the Big Bang of roots music in the 21st century. I learned that he was an accomplished multi-instrumentalist who clashed with celebrity of any kind. He died of non-Hodgkin lymphoma in 2001.

It’s always instructive to fill in these odd gaps in your musical knowledge, and the experience got me thinking about the roots canon, if there is such a thing. It’s a broad term that covers a wide range of styles and traditions and formats, from old-time field recordings to blues and gospel performances to the latest folk and country album releases to bluegrass classes in Appalachia. It’s almost impossible to connect all the dots, but it’s interesting to think about: Which record should every roots fan know about? What would a canon tell us about roots music in the 21st century? What would it say about American traditional music at a time when the entire notion of America is up for grabs?

Those questions became the foundation for this new column called Canon Fodder, so named because I like obvious puns. Each month we’ll examine a new album by an influential artist and explore its impact across generations. Hopefully this will allow us to approach some old artists in new ways, to hear familiar songs with fresh ears. If you have any nominations for albums to consider in this column, please leave them in the comments section below. I can’t promise we’ll get to each and every one of them, but I’ll definitely add it to the list.

In the meantime, it seems worthwhile to kick things off with Aereo-Plain. Brown is right: It does sound intimidatingly magnificent. There are only a few instruments on these songs, but they’re mic’d beautifully to capture the minute grain of Hartford’s banjo and the vibrations of every string on the strummed guitar. Even the goofball vocals at the end of “Boogie” — sung low and phlegmatic, as though making fun of the song that just played — are recorded lovingly and carefully, as though every mucus rumble were important. What makes the album remarkable isn’t so much the sound of the instruments, but the way they interact with one another. They’re alternately genial and hostile toward one another, supportive and undermining. The banjo plays a practical joke on the guitar; the guitar reciprocates. Especially on “Symphony Hall Rag” Hartford evokes a parallax quality in the production, with the rhythm guitar so deep in the background of the song that it sounds out of focus, which makes the song sound slightly askew.

Actually, all of Aereo-Plain sounds slightly askew … most of all Hartford himself. He comes across as something of a mad hatter on these songs — a Frank Zappa parodist for the roots set, pushing bluegrass as a countercultural force. He understands there’s power in wackiness and, even more than Pete Seeger, he believes the banjo can be a weapon against capitalism, complacency, the mainstream, the music industry, electrified instruments, or even conventional song structures. “With a Vamp in the Middle” is a meta song about itself: “I wrote this song with a vamp in the middle,” Hartford declares, but he never really gets to that vamp. He just keeps playing and singing.

If loneliness pervades these songs, it’s largely an effect of the times, an inescapable by-product of living in America during the early 1970s, when the hippie dream was curdling into something of a nightmare of violence and regress. Nixon was already a crook, but hadn’t been impeached yet. Altamont had killed the ‘60s, but the ‘70s hadn’t quite defined itself yet (at least not in America; in England, glam was already starting to define the era). Singer/songwriters like James Taylor and Cat Stevens were starting to make inroads into the mainstream, but no sound or movement defined the pop or country landscape.

Hartford sees not a land of promise or possibility, but a society gone to seed, eaten alive by progress: “It looks like an electric shaver now where the courthouse used to be,” he sings on “Steamboat Whistle Blues.” “The grass is all synthetic, and we don’t know for sure about the food.” It’s not that he wasn’t made for these times; it’s that the times aren’t made for human beings. “We’ll all sit down at the city dump and talk about the good old days,” but it’s the way he sings “city dump” that makes you think the phrase is redundant. He may decry the commodification of country & western on “Tear Down the Grand Ole Opry,” but Hartford understands that music may be our last connection to a more fulfilling past, and Hartford is content to sit down there among the refuse just pickin’ and strummin’ and singin’ and fiddlin’ while Rome burns.

These songs long for a return to the American pastoral, an escape from the pressures of progress and politics to a pre-industrial ideal and, for that reason, the album sounds alarmingly current. “Sittin’ on a 747 just a-watchin’ them clouds roll by. Can’t tell if it’s sunshine or if it’s rain, rain, rain,” he sings on the title track, his voice rising into a comical falsetto. “Rather be a-sittin’ in a deck chair high up over Kansas City on a genuine ol’ fashioned authentic steam-powered aereo plane.” It’s a dream and a mission statement — one that knows the very idea is an innocent impossibility.

Perhaps Hartford knew, or perhaps he didn’t know, that tinkerers and inventors had been trying to build such a contraption since the 1840s, when an aerial steam carriage was patented by the British inventors William Samuel Henson and John Stringfellow. Even before the Wright Brothers went airborne at Kitty Hawk, they had managed to fly a small craft on a steam engine, but they couldn’t reconcile the power of the steam with the weight of the engine. It was folly, and maybe that’s why Hartford longs for the freedom of such a fantastical vehicle. There’s power in folly, an unbridled joy in whimsy that sounds like an intense form of dissidence and defiance.

LISTEN: The Matchsellers, ‘Betty Sue’

Artist: The Matchsellers
Hometown: Kansas City, MO
Song: "Betty Sue"
Album: Songs We Made Up
Release Date: February 12

In Their Own Words: "For this album, we've been really trying to focus on the humor of traditional music that sometimes gets lost in the seemingly never-ending race to infuse 'newness' into bluegrass and old-time music. This is not to say that experimentation and genre-hopping is bad (it is perhaps a correct reflection of our times), but simply that the funniness and fun can be overlooked.

That being said, 'Betty Sue' is about nothing in particular. I guess it's just about somebody rambling around and having a good time. That's what we try to do. Isn't that what Uncle Dave Macon, John Hartford, and Roger Miller wanted to do, as well?" — Andrew Morris


Photo credit: Mathias Kang and Ian Skeans

LISTEN: Howdy Forrester and John Hartford, ‘Home Made Sugar and a Puncheon Floor’

Artist: Howdy Forrester and John Hartford
Hometown: Hickman County, TN
Song: "Home Made Sugar and a Puncheon Floor"
Album: Home Made Sugar and a Puncheon Floor
Release Date: January 15
Label: Spring Fed Records

In Their Words: "Brand new release of a set of home recordings made by John Hartford and fiddling legend Howdy Forrester. This recording preserves a repertoire of many rare, old Hickman County, Tennessee, tunes that Howdy had learned as a boy from his Great Uncle, Bob Cates. Hartford plays banjo, Forrester fiddles, and the two share informal discussion about the tunes and their sources." — John Fabke