Wilma Lee Cooper: A Mountain Music Star Shining Through the Decades

Wilma Lee Cooper, who died in 2011 at age 90, is being inducted into the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame this month. Many of her fans, friends and followers say it’s about time.

A snapshot of Wilma Lee. Wilma Leigh (later changed to “Lee”) Leary, was born in West Virginia in 1921. Her first performances were as a young girl in the family band. Her last performance as a band leader was in 2001 at the age of 80, when she had a stroke while singing at the Grand Ole Opry. Determined to finish the song, she was helped off stage to a standing ovation.

Between these times, this tiny woman dressed in home-made ruffled dresses and high heels impressed everyone she encountered in the music world.

She had a powerful voice and was an equally powerful guitar player. With her inherent smarts (she skipped several grades) and business degree, she successfully navigated the music industry and kept all the band’s books, first with her husband, Dale Troy “Stoney” Cooper, and then on her own after Stoney’s death.

She traveled with a sewing machine and a coffee maker. After every tour, she would wash all her stage clothes and spend 45 minutes ironing each dress.

She also drove the band bus and fixed her family’s television sets. She was a kind and generous boss, a nurturing mother, an ethical and caring woman and a force of nature on stage.


(Above, read an article on Wilma Lee Cooper published in 1977 in Sing Out! written by Alice Gerrard)


From church socials to radio. Reviewing Wilma Lee Cooper’s musical life is an immersion course in the evolution of country and bluegrass music. The Leary Family Band – Wilma Lee’s parents, plus Wilma Lee, her two sisters, and a fiddle-playing uncle – started as a local gospel group. The girls later incorporated secular music sets.

Their prize for winning a statewide contest was the chance to perform at the National Folk Festival in Washington, D.C. A stop at WSVA in Harrisonburg, Virginia, on the way home brought a job offer – and big changes. In one day, the Leary Family went from a local ensemble to professionals with a show of their own. And, when their fiddling uncle returned to his teaching job, the family recruited a young fiddler then called “Smiley” Cooper. (Radio listeners voted for the new name, “Stoney,” to avoid a conflict with a state yodeling champion called Smiley).

Soon, the beautiful oldest daughter and the movie-star handsome fiddler were singing duets with the band. They married in 1941.

Foregoing music to raise their daughter, Carol Lee, in one place was short-lived. Wilma Lee is quoted in Bear Family liner notes as saying, “I was goin’ nuts at home… Stoney wasn’t happy… and it was awful hard to settle down that way.”

On to the Grand Ole Opry. Plunging back into performing, Stoney and Wilma Lee followed the common path of moving from radio station to radio station. They hired back-up players, eventually settling on the band name, “Clinch Mountain Clan.”
In a 2023 Bluegrass Unlimited article, Jack Bernhardt referred to “Stoney’s old-time/bluegrass fiddle and Wilma Lee’s propulsive rhythm guitar and soul-stirring vocals.” Stoney also sang harmonies.

Their 1947 move to Wheeling, West Virginia, and the WWVA Jamboree, broadcast on a 50,000 watt station, propelled the Coopers into the national spotlight. By the mid-1950s, they were charting high on Billboard. Within a year of their 1956 hit record, “Cheated Too,” they joined the Grand Ole Opry. They had seven hit records by 1961, with some of Nashville’s top writers, like Don Gibson and Boudleaux Bryant, writing for them – as well as songs written by Wilma and Stoney, themselves. While the recording business was moving away from what had been called “hillbilly music,” the Grand Ole Opry continued to welcome the eclectic range of country music, from Grandpa Jones and Bill Monroe to “Nashville Sound” crooners.

Dan Rogers, Vice President and Executive Producer of the Grand Ole Opry, said, “It was this cavalcade of great artists, all doing something similar, but also all doing something with their own stamps and styles. It didn’t need characterization. It was just, ‘This is Wilma Lee and Stoney.’ It might have been one of those songs that took them to the Top 10 of the country charts, or it may have been an instrumental or a gospel piece.”

Over time, the Coopers found themselves in conflict with the Nashville labels. Wilma Lee said a producer denied her request to record “I Dreamed of a Hillbilly Heaven,” claiming no one would buy it. It later became a huge hit for Tex Ritter. And they wanted her to record songs she would never perform.

The welcoming bluegrass world. While country radio was pushing away mountain music, new audiences were inviting the Coopers in. Folk and bluegrass fans loved their traditional sounds, as well as their stellar musicianship.

The Clinch Mountain Clan attracted top sidemen. To name a few, Butch Robins, Vic Jordan and Tater Tate went on to play for Bill Monroe, and Jimmy D. Brock later joined the Osborne’s. Dobro master Gene Wooten was in Wilma Lee’s band, as was Woody Paul, shortly before forming Riders In the Sky, and Terry Smith, now of the Grascals.

Marty Lanham (musician, luthier and a founder of the Station Inn) had just moved to Nashville, where he was befriended by Wilma Lee’s sisters, Jeraldine (Jerry) Jonson and Peggy Gayle. They told him the Coopers were looking for a bass player. So, he borrowed a bass, took some lessons – and become part of the Clinch Mountain Clan three weeks later.

The Coopers always gave their audiences what they expected. Lanham said, “Bill Carter would play Dobro and electric guitar, and Mike Lattimore would play either banjo or drums. At a bluegrass festival, they would use the bluegrass instrumentation and then switch over to electric guitar and drums,” at a country booking.

In 1974, the Smithsonian Institution dubbed Wilma Lee, “The First Lady of Bluegrass.” In 1976, Rounder Records – dedicated to promoting roots music – invited Stoney and Wilma Lee to record. Marian Leighton Levy, a Rounder co-founder, remembered Stoney as “tall, dark and handsome,” with an Errol Flynn aura, while Wilma Lee “was outgoing and friendly, in a low-key and down home way. She looked and played the part of a real professional, and yet at the same time she was warm and made you feel welcome.” Wilma Lee also worked with Rounder to select material, and she seemed to be “the business person in the group and in the family,” Levy remembers.

Wilma Lee takes the lead. Wilma Lee was 56 when Stoney died in 1977. She wasn’t ready to sit back and put her feet up. She reassembled a band, which after some initial shuffling included Gene Wooten; Stan (Stanjo) Brown, who later played with Bill Monroe; Gary Bailey; and Woody Paul. (Wilma Lee continued her preference for an electric bass, even after getting pushback from bluegrass critics who hated it on recordings.)

Their first year, the band traveled 110,000 miles, playing about 140 gigs. On one 3,600 mile week-long trip, Wilma Lee drove about one-third of the time.

Brown remembers that Wilma Lee embraced the bluegrass world as it was embracing her. “She was doing the same material (as when Stoney was alive), but it was approached a whole different way. Her guitar really drove the rhythm and the energy in the band. And her voice… it set the timing… it was so precise. I had never played with anybody up to that point who had that much energy and drive.”

And she always connected at an emotional level. She would be sobbing by the end of the song “A Daisy a Day,” about a man who leaves flowers on his wife’s grave. “It was really sincere. There was nothing theatrical about her,” Brown said.

She told Alice Gerrard for Sing Out!, “…I see the story a-happening while I’m singing the song… I guess I’m one that likes what you call your heart and story songs. They tell a story – you’ve got to believe it.”

Rogers of the Opry said, “I always think of her music as pure, and I think that her heart was the same. I don’t think she could have been any other way if she’d tried.”

Wilma Lee continued to record, as well as perform, until her stroke in 2001. In 2010, she appeared on stage once more at the Opry to thank her fans for their years of support.

Wilma Lee and the world of bluegrass. Stoney and Wilma Lee were stars, no matter what genre they were playing. Their partnership was one of a kind. And Wilma – as a singer, as a guitar player, as a fireball on stage and a huge heart off stage – has left a powerful legacy.

In 1994, the International Bluegrass Music Association presented Wilma Lee with its Award of Merit. This year, she will receive its highest honor, induction into the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame.

Rounder’s Levy said, “There are very few women of her generation in the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame.” (In fact,
only eight of the current 70 inductees are women or have women members.) And Levy believes Wilma Lee clearly belongs there.

“In terms of being on the Grand Ole Opry, making lots of records, having a substantial career… the uniqueness of her vocal style, playing guitar when most women in bands weren’t playing guitars or instruments… She was a bandleader and a featured voice, face and name, right up there in her own right,” Levy said.

Ken Irwin, another Rounder co-founder, said, “She was an energy source that people didn’t see very often… She would put it all out there. She brought not only the tunes, but the sensibility, of the old-time music that she grew up with, and that she didn’t change.”

Gerrard said the popular female folk revival singers at the time, like Joan Baez and Judy Collins, sounded high and sweet. But Wilma Lee’s voice – like Molly O’Day’s and Ola Belle Reed’s – had grit and strength. “They weren’t holding back. They were letting go – putting their voices out there.” That’s what Gerrard was striving for and what made her duets with Hazel Dickens so compelling.

Andrea Roberts, principal of the Andrea Roberts Agency, was an adolescent when she first saw Wilma Lee perform. “She carried herself so professionally, looked like a star – and backed it up with talent and business leadership. She was a dynamic vocalist – a big, booming voice – and she played the guitar like she meant it! She was not timid… and that left an indelible mark on me even when I didn’t realize it was happening.

“Not until I started my own band as a 21-year-old woman did I realize the significance of Wilma Lee’s role as band leader and front person. At that point in my own career, Wilma Lee’s accomplishments became very important to me, and I looked to her as a role model for persevering in a male-dominated business.”

A daughter’s thoughts. Carol Lee Cooper, Stoney and Wilma Lee’s daughter, who first sang on stage with her parents at age two, has carried on the family musical tradition. As an adult, she joined her parents’ show at the Opry. Eventually, she became a Nashville legend as the long-time leader of the Carol Lee Singers, the back-up vocalists at the Grand Ole Opry. A great vocalist, she was Conway Twitty’s favorite harmony partner.

Carol Lee is proud that her parents’ work is recorded in the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian Institution. Of her mother’s induction into the Bluegrass Hall of Fame, Carol Lee said, “She would be so honored to know that.”


Author’s Note: Many excellent accounts of Wilma Lee’s life and career have been written. A great starting place for anything you want to know about women in bluegrass is Murphy Hicks Henry’s Pretty Good for a Girl. Some other good sources, in addition to the Gerrard interview mentioned above, are Bluegrass Unlimited and liner notes from a Bear Family compilation.

Editor’s Note: “You Can’t Talk About Women in Country Music Without Talking About… Wilma Lee Cooper” by Alice Gerrard (SING OUT! Volume 26 Issue 2, 1977) appears with permission; courtesy of Mark Moss and SING OUT!

Photo Credit: David Gahr, from SING OUT! Volume 26 Issue 2, 1977

In a Legendary Moment, Joni Mitchell Returns to Newport Folk Festival

Newport Folk has long been a place where legendary moments are formed. The festival achieved yet another moment in its storied history last weekend when Joni Mitchell joined Brandi Carlile during the festival’s closing jam, marking the iconic songwriter’s first return to the festival in over half a century and first public live performance in decades. Brandi & Co. gave us a moment we all needed. Hearing Joni’s words and calming, dulcet tones was a balm for an uncertain society; a collective pause for us to reflect on time and its passing, and how different the world looks since the last time Joni played this stage.

We’ve rounded up a collection of the best videos around the internet from Joni’s historic set so that even if you weren’t there, you can take that joy in from every angle.

Brandi Introduces Joni

Questlove caught much of Brandi’s introductory speech building the excitement for the Joni Jam – and a bit of electric uncertainty among the crowd whether or not the guest of honor would actually be in attendance – as well as the first two numbers (“Carey” and “Come in From the Cold”) up close and personal.

 

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Questlove (@questlove)

But it’s wholly worth watching Brandi’s speech in its entirety, as she acknowledges the power of congregation and radical love. “To power structures, folk music is — and always has been — utterly fucking destructive… It’s a truth teller and a power killer.”


“Both Sides Now”


“Big Yellow Taxi”


Joni’s Grand Entrance

 

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Josh Wool (@joshwool)

 


“Just Like This Train”

Joni and her electric guitar graced us with this Court and Spark beauty after a word of encouragement from Brandi Carlile: “Kick ass, Joni Mitchell!”


“The Circle Game”


“Summertime”


“A Case of You”

 

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by dave kühn (@differentdaves)


An Interview with Joni & More Onstage Moments

 

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Joni Mitchell (@jonimitchell)

 

 

 

 

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Monique Ross (@moniqueladora)

 

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by SistaStrings (@sistastrings)


Cover photo by Newport Folk Festival

BGS 5+5: Anya Hinkle

Artist: Anya Hinkle
Hometown: Asheville, North Carolina
Latest album: Eden and Her Borderland
Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Anyabird

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

I guess far and away I have to answer — Gillian Welch. I grew up in the New River Valley of Virginia listening to Tony Rice, Norman Blake, Taj Mahal, Hot Tuna, Muddy Waters, Grateful Dead, and Old and in the Way, loved bluegrass and blues, but also female folk singers like Joan Baez and Judy Collins, pop stars like Madonna and Cyndi Lauper, and songwriters like Sarah McLachlan, Natalie Merchant, and Suzanne Vega. It just took Gillian to come around with her Revival album and put all that together for me, that you could incorporate all those great roots sounds into something completely modern and original. I was living in California at the time I heard her first album. I grabbed my fiddle and headed straight down to 5th String Music in Berkeley and started going to every bluegrass jam I could find. I thank her for giving me the idea that I could do it too — because of her genius, I could begin to imagine myself singing and playing guitar and writing songs too. It’s important to have someone you can look up to and that you can relate to so you can even have the idea in the first place.

What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?

For more than a dozen years now, I’ve been hanging around the Cumberlands with my buddy “Hippie” Jack Stoddart, someone who, in his rough and audacious way, brings people together to make a lot of magic. Hippie said to me one day, “I want to introduce you to Zona.” He’d been doing a lot of outreach work out of an old school bus bringing groceries and coats and toys and stuff to people living in former mining towns in Middle Tennessee. So he brought me up the mountain to meet the hardened sweetness that is Zona Abston. We sat around her kitchen table and she told me her life story, a miner’s daughter, growing up with little education and no money, not much luck or hope. When we collapsed back in the truck, Hippie said to me, “You better write this shit down!” And so I did. I wrote every detail: the cancer, the hunger, the cheating, the shining, the debt, the babies, the heartbreak. I came back with a mess of notes and thought, “How do I make a song out of this?” So I sat down and tried to pull out the most specific and moving details of everything she told me and created a ballad for her. I was super nervous to play it for her because, well it was HER life. SHE had to live it. But when I sang it for her the tears rolled down her beautiful face. She said, yup it’s all true, every word of it.

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

I actually thought about this a lot earlier this year, during the pandemic when I was trying to understand what my purpose was in music when it seemed like the industry was going to hell. I decided to focus on three things, and wrote them on a yellow sticky note that is taped in front of my desk for quick reference. The first is authenticity, and a commitment to truth and honesty to who I am as an artist. It’s a challenge to believe that it’s all already inside. I don’t need to grasp at something outside of myself. I just need to continue to learn to trust myself and be myself. The second thing is connection — connection with other artists and musicians, connections with my fans and supporters, and connections with anyone along the path. Those beautiful relationships are the foundation for anything I can possibly hope to accomplish in this lifetime. Saying “yes” and valuing the people that show up for me is oxygen. The third thing is creativity — growth and discovery. Allowing myself to surrender to the journey, giving up thinking I have to have everything figured out and under control. I need to just submit to curiosity, openness, and faith.

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

Before I was a musician I was trained as an ethnobotanist. I traveled half the world studying plants and their uses and connections to culture. I love referring specifically to plant species in my songs because they can be so symbolic in our physical world. For example, in the the title track for my new record, Eden and Her Borderlands, I use a couple of plants that carry a deeper meaning. The cedar is fragrant and twisted, it’s green the year round, its oils are used to protect against decay and disease, it is sacred and ancient in its symbolism. I also use the sycamore. It is stately and grand, always grows near sweet water. It is often a boundary and its presence on the landscape signals a threshold that we approach and then cross over. Adding these botanical details to the song is like adding spices to a recipe, it gives more depth, even for those that might not know anything about botany. And who knows, maybe it will inspire people to love plants like I do!

How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?

I love this question because initially there can be so much fear in exposing your true self. Absolutely mortifying to lay bare the thoughts and emotions of a real human, the one behind the Facebook posts and the stage persona and the person you think you are or wish you were. The real one with all the real flaws, that is the person that is actually interesting. But the songs really push yourself (myself!!!) to look in the mirror and substitute the “you” with “me,” to get personal. Well, it’s a journey of acceptance and insight. Getting personal is the thing that connects us to the rest of humanity and, honestly, the thing that makes a good song, the thing that makes a song relatable.

I recently took a songwriting course with Mary Gauthier. In the song I shared, I kept referring to myself as “babe.” She said, who is babe? She focuses a lot on pronouns, you know, who are we talking about here? Because in our heads, it’s always about us. It can’t NOT be. We are trying to figure out what the hell we are doing here and if we are at all worthy of anything we are pretending to do. It takes a lot of working through fear to write songs. It’s good work.


Photo credit: Sandlin Gaither

BGS Wraps: Chandler Holt & Lauren Stovall, “Winter’s Night Waltz”

Artists: Chandler Holt & Lauren Stovall
Single: “Winter’s Night Waltz”
Release Date: November 20, 2020

In Their Words: “‘Winter’s Night Waltz’ was written in the spring of 2019 while Chatham County Line was preparing to cut a record with our longtime Norwegian buddy Jonas Fjeld and the one-and-only Judy Collins. Tracked at Echo Mountain recording studio in Asheville, North Carolina, featuring Greg Readling, Dave Wilson, John Teer, Russell Waldon (Judy’s musical director and fabulous piano player), as well as the masterful drummer Bill Berg (Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks as well many other classics). This recording you hear was done with all of us (except for Bill) in one room and in one complete take. At the time it seemed unfortunate that ‘Winter’s Night Waltz’ didn’t make it onto this album, but it gave me the chance to add my own voice to the duet and work with an amazing vocalist, Lauren Stovall of The Railsplitters and By the Lee. Lauren and I headed to Vermillion Road studios to cut the vocal tracks and I’m sure you’ll agree that Lauren absolutely nailed her part and that I didn’t muck things too much on my end. ;)” — Chandler Holt


Enjoy more BGS Wraps here.

Be Together: Newport Folk Fest 2019 in Photographs

Newport Folk Festival has always played host to singular, incomparable, once-in-a-lifetime musical moments. As you read this you can almost certainly think of at least a handful of examples, right off the top of your head. This year carried on that tradition and then some, displaying absolute magic across the festival’s four stages over the course of the weekend. Too many headline-worthy moments were sprinkled throughout, but BGS photographer Daniel Jackson was on hand to capture this folk and roots lightning in a bottle — from the performance debut of super supergroup The Highwomen to celebrating 80 years of Mavis Staples to surprise guests that make being green and looking cheap seem easy and effortless.

Perhaps the most meaningful take away from the festival, though, was not its star-studded stages, but its mantra — a timely reminder in this particular global moment: Be present. Be kind. Be open. Be together. Folk music, in all of its forms, carves out just such a space to allow for this togetherness. See it for yourself in these photographs from Newport Folk Fest 2019.


All photos: Daniel Jackson

That Ain’t Bluegrass: Darin & Brooke Aldridge

Artist: Darin & Brooke Aldridge
Song: “ Someday Soon” (originally by Ian & Sylvia)
Album: Faster and Farther

When did you first hear “Someday Soon?”

Darin Aldridge: It’s one of the tunes that Brooke and I have been doing in the living room around our house, as we just sit around playing, coming up with tunes. [Laughs] Suzy Bogguss was probably the first for both of us. We were in Sarasota, Florida, about a year-and-a-half or two years ago with John Cowan — we’ve been on tour a lot with him lately. And the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, some of those guys were down there. We were just soundchecking, and Brooke started singing the song as a vocal check. And they all asked if we would do that song that night. We started doing it from there.

What was your process for arranging it and putting it together?

We kept it in the same key for her. It sang really well. The chords are so beautiful in it the way Ian Tyson wrote them, so we thought, “Why change anything that’s not really broken?” She does hold out a part of it toward the end. It’s such a good note for her. And that’s different from any other versions of the song. We arranged it with the band we would be performing live with, so it would have the fiddle and guitar break. Dobro was in our band, at the time, so that’s how we had that in there.

It’s been a tradition since the beginning of bluegrass for artists to take songs from outside of the genre and turn them into bluegrass songs. Why do you think that is?

I think that as people in different genres and different eras — say the ‘60s til now — people just play music that they enjoy, writing they enjoy. I got to be a part of the Country Gentlemen in the last decade or so that Charlie Waller was alive. They were probably known as the first bluegrass artists to really be reaching out in the ‘60s, doing a lot of folk tunes, a lot of rock songs, like things from the movie Exodus and so forth. That trickled down through the decades. If it’s just a good song, it’s hard to keep down, and I think that’s what keeps a lot of the music fresh. Even Monroe ventured into some of the bluesy music, so did Flatt & Scruggs, to keep along with the times. Different artists just picked things that they enjoyed or spoke to them.

What’s your favorite thing about performing this song?

Probably the crowd response. It speaks to a lot of new folks listening to it the first time, then you get the older generation that have heard it from the hit by Judy Collins in the ‘60s, or from Suzy Bogguss’s hit — people who are 40 or 50 years old remember that from the ‘90s. It’s a good crowd favorite. We got to perform it on the Grand Ole Opry this year, when we debuted, and it got a great response. It’s just been a wonderful song. It’s up for IBMA Song of the Year. It’s been number one for us on the Bluegrass Today chart, Roots Music Report, and, I think, Bluegrass Unlimited.

You know that ain’t bluegrass, right?

[Laughs] ‘Cause it don’t have a banjo in it! I see it from both sides. Considering bluegrass the way Monroe and them played it in 1946 with that instrumentation — that’s ground zero for bluegrass. This song doesn’t have banjo in it, but it’s got soul, it’s got instrumentation of bluegrass, and of course wonderful singing. It’s hard to keep that down. It can crossover to whatever. It’s not too far from Suzy’s version of it or mainstream country and it’s hit a lot of country radio.

That’s a hard question, you know? If it’s bluegrass or it’s not. I think it’s people’s opinion about what they enjoy and that opinion is growing wider and wider, which makes the music grow. Why not let them fight over what they think is and isn’t bluegrass? That’s why they make CDs and downloads, so you can choose yourself, I guess? [Laughs]

MIXTAPE: Newport Folk Festival’s History of Memories

To celebrate the release of his book, I Got A Song: A History of the Newport Folk Festival, and this year’s upcoming event, Rick Massimo rifled through his memory (and notes) and put together a list of some of Newport’s most memorable mainstays from across its 58-year history. 

Pete Seeger — “Bells of Rhymney” (at the Newport Folk Festival, 1959) 

Because you can’t start with anyone else. Pete Seeger wasn’t always an official organizer of the Newport Folk Festival, but he was the guiding light, the conscience, from the beginning, and in many ways, even though he’s no longer with us, he still is. “America’s tuning fork” is what Studs Terkel called him in the introduction to this performance, and who’s gonna argue with that?

Bob Gibson with Joan Baez — “Virgin Mary Had One Son” 

Also from the first festival, this was Joan Baez’s major-venue debut. She was 18 years old and wasn’t on the bill, and she knocked the crowd unconscious. “I didn’t faint; I sang, and that was the beginning of a very long career,” she said years later. Gibson was later credited with discovering her — he scoffed and said that was like being credited with discovering the Grand Canyon.

The Freedom Singers; Theo Bikel; Pete Seeger; Joan Baez; Bob Dylan; Peter, Paul and Mary — “We Shall Overcome”

Coming at the height of the Civil Rights Movement, this was one of the defining moments of the early days of the Newport Folk Festival. “We felt we were speaking to the aspirations of our country to be a moral nation,” Peter Yarrow told me, remembering the moment. “And, for that reason, it was a very precious experience.”

Bob Dylan — “Like a Rolling Stone”

If someone only knows one thing about the Newport Folk Festival, it’s probably about Bob Dylan going electric for the first time there in 1965. Did some people boo? Did some people love it? Did Pete Seeger say he wanted to cut the PA cables with an ax? Did he deny saying that? The answer to all of these questions is “yes,” and the chapter I wrote about this night is structured like a narrator-less documentary: It didn’t take me long to realize that the thousands of refractions of this performance, through the thousands of eyes who saw it, was in fact the real story … much realer than any one interpretation.

Arlo Guthrie — “Alice’s Restaurant Massacree”

After Dylan’s electric performance, he was done with Newport. And as he moved into rock, the folk movement that sustained Newport’s early days deflated. The festival disbanded from 1970 to 1985. That’s not to say there wasn’t some great music made at the late-‘60s festivals, and Guthrie debuted his signature song at Newport. It went over so well, they brought him back to do it twice more that weekend, in front of steadily larger crowds.

Judy Collins — “Both Sides, Now”

Written by Joni Mitchell, who played at the last of the “original” Newport Folk Festivals in 1969 along with a passel of future legends including Van Morrison and James Taylor. Collins was a long-time Newport board member and one of the headliners when the festival was revived in 1985 as something of a statement by a generation of singers and songwriters who had seen the pop landscape pass them by but still had plenty left in the tank, in terms of both creativity and popularity.

Indigo Girls — “Closer to Fine”

They dominated the Newport Folk Festival in the 1990s, playing nine times in 10 years and packing Fort Adams each time. They loved Newport as much as the festival loved them: They once took a year off live playing with the exception of the festival, and Amy Ray told me that her favorite memories of Newport involve not playing but soaking up the music, the friendships, and the traditions.

The Avett Brothers — “Talk on Indolence”

The 2009 Newport Folk Festival ended with Jimmy Buffett — yeah, I know — and as the Parrotheads took over Fort Adams, other fans left in droves. The Avett Brothers were playing on the stage set up right by the exit, and gobs of people got introduced to their power, speed, and sense. I was recently asked which Newport performances were my most memorable, and I could only answer that what sticks out most is seeing an artist go from the smallest stage to the biggest over the course of a few years. That’s true of the Avetts, Old Crow Medicine Show (who looked about 12 the first time I saw them), and of course …

Low Anthem — “Ticket Taker”

This Rhode Island-based group’s first Newport experience wasn’t a show — it was rambling through Fort Adams bagging up the recyclables for Clean Water Action. But they gave out demos by the handful while they were doing it. The next year, they were on the smallest stage, and it wasn’t long before they were on the main stage, mystifying and captivating as ever. I still recall Ben Knox Miller and Jeff Prystowsky tossing a baseball around Fort Adams long after their first festival as performers was over. They clearly didn’t want it to end.

Deer Tick — “Christ Jesus”

Also from Rhode Island, Deer Tick and John McCauley may be a little louder than the typical image of a folk festival, but they’re Newport to the bone, including reviving the tradition of late-night shows at several nightclubs downtown after the festival is through for the day at the Fort. Informal and spontaneous collaborations are the rule at the nighttime shows, and a kind of community feeling reigns.

New Multitudes — “My Revolutionary Mind” 

Jim James is a new Newport mainstay, and few people have more respect for the traditions of the folk festival. “For me, [Newport] is the festival that you go to for two or three days, and you get lost in the world of it,” he told me. “… you’re playing looking at the water, looking at all the boats. It’s like everything’s drawn in pastels or something.”

Dawes — “When My Time Comes”

Dawes has opened for and backed Jackson Browne (including at Newport). Jackson Browne was part of the Laurel Canyon scene in the 1960s and 1970s. So was Joni Mitchell, who played at Newport in 1969, in the singer/songwriter wake of Bob Dylan, who played at Newport in 1965. See how this works?


Staples Singers photo by Ken Franckling. Other photos by Diana Davies, Ralph Rinzler Folklife Archives and Collections, Smithsonian Institution.

STREAM: Hugh Prestwood, ‘I Used to Be the Real Me’

Artist: Hugh Prestwood
Hometown: El Paso, TX
Album: I Used to Be the Real Me
Release Date: November 18
Label: Wildflower Records/Cleopatra Records

In Their Words: "Judy Collins discovered me back around 1978, recorded two of my songs on her Hard Times for Lovers album, and arranged for me to get my first staff songwriter gig. Simply put, she is entirely responsible for me getting my foot in the music biz major league door. It was — and remains — a huge stroke of good fortune. When she got the CD I'd sent, she loved the songs and immediately said she wanted to record some of them herself, and also put out a record of yours truly's on her Wildflower label.

Regarding the 13 songs, four of them have been recorded by other artists: 'The Suit' by Jerry Douglas and James Taylor, 'The Song Remembers When' by Trisha Yearwood, 'April Fool' by Colin Raye, and 'Laura Nadine' by Billy Dean — all wonderful renditions. Most, if not all, pretty much represent my attempts to write great songs without giving much consideration to writing 'hits,' although my basic style always aims at involving a wide audience. I am delighted with, and excited by, this record, and am permanently amazed at my having such remarkable validation and support coming from Judy Collins, a genuine artist whose body of work — recording the Great American Songbook — is peerless." — Hugh Prestwood


Judy Collins: Singing Through the Memories

Judy Collins has a gift for determining what songs to record. Call it gut instinct, call it intuition, call it what you will, because she, herself, has difficulty articulating the feeling that strikes when she hears something she simply must sing. “I can’t tell you that because it’s a secret,” she says. “I don’t know the answer myself or I would tell you, but if I love it, I have to sing it. It’s that simple. But it’s really the only answer I know.”

Although recognizing songs she wants to sing might be analogous to a lightning flash, singing them often takes far longer. It isn’t a matter of hearing one and then rushing out to record it within days or even weeks. “Songs will sit around and sort of cook in my mind, or I’ll forget about them — but then I never totally forget about them, if I have some feeling about the fact that I should sing them. They hang around waiting to be paid attention to,” she says. Collins points to one song, in particular, that has haunted her ever since she first heard it many years ago: Gordon Lightfoot’s “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” Even though she very much wants to record it, she hasn’t figured out how. “I’ll do it someday,” she offers. “It’s a magnificent song. It’s a description of a thing that happened that’s awful and probably preventable, but it’s a very dramatic song and very moving. I don’t know: Maybe the motto is ‘Don’t get on ships that have holes on them.’” It’s a line that could apply to more than just boats. Upon hearing this, her mind immediately jumps to relationships. “That’s an interesting word,” she adds. “I didn’t think of relationships in terms of ships. I’ll have to think about that.” And it rings true: Don’t get on board a relationship with holes, whatever you consider “holes” to be in such a scenario.

The now 77-year-old Collins rose to fame on the strength of her voice, which she used to record covers of folk songs, Broadway hits, and more. But she’s no stranger to songwriting and, along with singer/songwriter Ari Hest, has co-written and recorded a new album, Silver Skies Blue. “I’m just crazy about him,” Collins laughs, letting a more playful side of herself emerge. It seems fair to say Hest feels the same. Both appear smitten with each other in the way creative counterparts often exude an excitement and respect for collaborations that grow and stretch and help one become all the better for it. “It’s one of those gifts that comes along and you think, ‘Mmm, this is really wonderful. I wonder where this came from?’” she ponders. The two first partnered when Collins invited him to take part in her 2015 duets album, Strangers Again, by recording his song by the same name. “The process of recording the song was easy, very fluid,” Hest recounts. “I think everything went as well as it could have and the result was that we just really wanted to do more together in the future. It spurred on the idea of writing together, which started only a couple of months later.”

The chemistry they manifested on “Strangers Again” exceeded how their voices paired together — a unique high and low combo that finds its most remarkable element in the way their beautiful timbres counter one another. There also seemed to be a natural and easy collaborative partnership ready for the plucking. The two began meeting in New York to work on what would become Silver Skies Blue. “We’d sit around, have some coffee, talk about our lives, and then have a writing session,” Collins says of their writing time. Hest saw an interesting challenge in their different music sensibilities, since he came from pop and she from folk. That stretched not just the act of their writing together, but writing beyond genres both felt most comfortable in. “For me, the idea of writing songs that were heavily based in verses and more about the story itself … this was a fine concept for me even. We tried to blend the two,” he says.

The result is a 12-track album spanning love songs, meditations on life, and loss, as well as the current state of the world. On “The Weight,” the up-tempo pace creates a foreboding feeling furthered by mournful guitar. “I will soak my soul / Let the river take control, let the river take control / I know it’s not too late / To let go of the weight, to let go of the weight,” Hest and Collins sing together on the chorus, her soprano adding color to his dense alto. That’s the real beauty in the album: The harmonies both singers have discovered in each other’s voices and the way they so agreeably merge into the same song space together. “I’ve sung with a lot of people in the past and, when you sing with somebody who has a similar voice to you, you can almost cancel each other out in a way,” Hest says. “Also, she sounds so angelic, it’s hard not to sound good with her.”

The songs Collins and Hest have written add to the large oeuvre of her work, which largely involves singing words and melodies someone else has penned. Through it all, she’s made each song her own. She says, “I think songs have a very strong life. It has little to do with the writer. The writer writes them and then maybe sings them, maybe not, but then they take on a life of their own and go around and meet other people. They have a whole existence, I think. You hear a song that you like, and you’ve heard 15 people recording it or singing it, then you know it’s always different. It always sounds like the singer who’s singing it. It will stand out in a different way for each performer.”

After all, songs for Collins carry an important message from the past that must be shared and shared often. In speaking about songs as memories, she touches upon whales. “I have this friend — he’s a whaling person,” she explains, “He says that the whales are singing for very specific reasons about memory: where to go, what to do, how things are going, if the planet is in good shape or not. They have to remember where they came from and who they were and who they are, and that’s what I think it is about music.” In the way that whales communicate through song, Collins draws a parallel to music’s purpose in the modern world. Of course, there are the less thoughtful hits that provide entertainment, but songs with real meaning — with real messages — resound throughout the ages. “The thing about music that I think is very powerful is, I think it’s a tool, a facilitator of memory,” Collins says. “I think that’s probably what it was supposed to be about always. 'Let’s remember where to go to get that incredibly good bison we shot a few weeks ago, and if we put it into a poem or a song or we draw it on the wall of the cave' … Somehow — but particularly in music — there is a memory that is reignited. The best part of us comes out when we listen and when we perform, as well.” She continues to sing because she wants to participate in the storytelling, in the memory sharing. “I think it’s true that we have to find some way back to that memory because the world around us tries to shatter it over and over again,” she says.

If her age suggests she’s slowing down, Collins doesn’t intend to stop anytime soon. Hest says, “One thing I really envy about Judy is she is constantly looking for new things to do, new kinds of songs to sing, new projects to get involved in. She has the energy of someone who’s younger than me, and it’s really cool to witness it.” She’s already working on a Stephen Sondheim album, something she’s wanted to do for years. Given her love for Broadway music, would she ever follow in Sara Bareilles’ footsteps and write the music for a musical? She pauses. People have asked her to perform in Broadway musicals, a potential strain on her voice given the number of performances required each week. But writing might be another thing. “Maybe there’s something in that idea. Maybe I should try to shape something that would be doable by other people. I will think about it. It’s a good idea,” she says. Whether she does or not, her work ethic promises listeners that she will continue finding songs or creating them in order to share those crucial memories connecting then and now.


Lede illustration by Cat Ferraz.