North Carolina musician Tray Wellington is fresh off a nomination for this year’s IBMA New Artist of the Year, following the release of his full-length debut album Black Banjo. Still in his early 20s, Wellington pulls from a myriad of influences — on his latest album he cites jazz as the major influence of his progressive bluegrass style. Many other banjo players of this younger generation are using the influence of genre and blurred genre lines, adapting and subverting narrative and traditions, and utilizing sheer unrestrained creativity to operate outside the traditional confines of the instrument.
In honor of BGS Banjo Month, Wellington gathered a collection of current artists who are thinking outside the box, creating their own voice on the banjo in new and innovative ways, and striving to make the banjo a better-known and appreciated sound.
Wes Corbett is a banjo player who wears many hats. The self-described “musically omnivorous bluegrass musician” is a true multi-hyphenate: 5-string aficionado (having released his solo album Cascade back in 2021), producer, former professor at Berklee College of Music, and musician with the likes of Joy Kills Sorrow, Molly Tuttle, and most recently Sam Bush Band.
Before hitting the road again with Sam Bush, the Washington native shared an exclusive playlist for BGS of “Wes Corbett’s Banjo Needs,” or as he puts it: the official home of all the songs that take him to his “happy place.”
“Fortune” – Adam Hurt
“Sliding Down” – Béla Fleck, Edgar Meyer, Mike Marshall
“Saint Elizabeth” – Kaia Kater
“The Hunt” – Kristin Scott Benson
“Milford’s Reel” – Noam Pikelny
“Your Love Is Like a Flower” – Flatt & Scruggs
“Come Back Darlin’” – The Bluegrass Album Band
“Poe’s Pickin’ Party” – Alison Brown
“The Over Grown Waltz” – Béla Fleck
“Goodbye, Honey, You Call That Gone” – Jake Blount
To put it simply, the Fort Worth African American Roots Music Festival is expanding awareness about the Black roots of old-time music. It’s also about representation, visibility, and perhaps most of all, community.
“We have been there since the beginning of this music, yet there is little to no representation in the large music festivals that cater to this genre,” says founder Brandi Waller-Pace. “We aim to change that.”
Also known as FWAAMFest, the event focuses on the genres of old-time, jug band, early blues and jazz music that is Black-led and showcases Black performers. Produced by Decolonizing the Music Room, FWAAMFest takes place on Saturday, March 19, at Southside Preservation Hall. Headliners include Jake Blount, Kaia Kater, and Justin Robinson.
Leading up to FWAAMFest, Brandi Waller-Pace shares how a sense of community shaped this one-of-a-kind event.
BGS: What led to the idea of launching a festival focused on African American roots music?
Brandi Waller-Pace: I started playing old-time music myself by finding the banjo not terribly long ago. Maybe five years ago is when I really turned my attention toward the instrument and began to play, and really quickly connected with one of the few people in my community who plays clawhammer. He convinced me to sing and play guitar in a string band with him and another member. So, I got my chops up and learned a lot and gradually learned a lot about the history.
Finding out how deeply embedded Blackness and Black history – the history of my own ancestors – was, in the case of the banjo and the tradition surrounding the music, felt really affirming to me. Before long I began to meet other Black folks who were deeply involved in the community and the history. We started to connect, and those circles grew.
I remember hearing about the Black Banjo Gathering before I had gotten into the music at all, and not really knowing its significance until later. And then I attended another event that Dr. Dena Jennings, at her farm in Orange, Virginia, called the Affrolachian On-Time Music Gathering — or “The Thang.” It was really the first time I was around a significant amount of Black folks who were engaged in roots music, talking about the history and just engaging with one another.
It wasn’t an exclusively Black event, but it was really the first time I was around a significant amount of Black folks who were engaged in roots music, talking about the history and just engaging with one another. It was really beautiful. It planted a seed, I think. As I engaged more in the community, there were discussions about “How do we work on inclusion in existing spaces? When is it time to create new spaces?” I considered, “You know, I could create something new.” I tend to operate that way. I’ll engage in existing spaces and systems but I love the idea of creating something new. And so I said, “I could do a festival.”
You cover multiple old-time music styles at this festival. How did you curate the lineup?
I have to be honest. I’ve just been really fortunate to know so many wonderful musicians, and to become acquainted with some, and to develop deep friendships with others. And so, the lineup came from asking, “What’s the community that I’m finding myself in? And who are the people that I know about that I don’t get to see as often but are amazing musicians?” As this event grows, I hope to engage with people further and further from my close circle while still making sure to have space for those that were so important to starting my journey into this music and learning the history of it.
A festival like this will bring visibility to the Black roots of old-time music. Why is that important to you?
In part, the visibility is connected to my own journey of discovery and finding myself, and what my Blackness means to me. The Black roots of old-time music are such a huge part of US culture. Enslaved Africans materially and economically and physically and culturally built so much of what we define as US culture.
In my work in music education, and in my scholarly work, and in my clinician work, that is what is so important to me – centering narratives that are so very important but are not broadly treated as such. It makes me happy to think of the idea of Black folks on a broader scale looking at these musical forms and seeing Black identity within that and having that engagement. It brings it back full circle to times when these traditions were seen as common in Black spaces.
What is the mission behind your nonprofit, Decolonizing the Music Room?
The mission of Decolonizing the Music Room is to center Black, Brown, Indigenous, and Asian voices, knowledge, and experiences in music education and related fields. So, we do this with things like FWAAMFest or with presenting to educators and other organizations, or by creating content that puts these narratives out there. We’re engaging with music education and other communities across disciplines to really connect to others and get this work out there as much as possible.
It’s a lot of work to launch a festival, but what have you enjoyed the most about creating this event?
You’re right, it is an immense amount of work to launch a festival, but what has brought me the most joy is doing it with friends. These are not just people I admire, experts in their field, genius performers, scholars, and community activists. They are actual people I know in real life and I still want to pinch myself when I think about the fact that this is actually happening with these people, because I feel like so much of a newbie. Being able to do this has been really amazing.
The second thing has been that it’s been in my community. I taught in public schools here. I taught music, wrote curriculum, and engaged in community advocacy work. I’ve been down here for 13 years now. I feel like I have roots here. I have children who go to school here. I have colleagues that I’ve worked with. I’m an artist in the community. For me personally, I wanted it to be something that feeds diversity into the community where I live, where I’ve taught, and where I’m raising my children. It’s wonderful to be able to do that.
For those music fans coming to check it out, what do you hope will take away from the experience?
I want people to come and understand that this music is Black music. Blackness is all throughout. This music is community music. This music is music that can bring people together, and that one can engage in. One of the things that I love most about learning old-time music is that there’s so much nuance and there are complicated things that you can learn, but also the level of accessibility. It didn’t take me long to be able to engage in a way that felt meaningful for me, even though the way I can play now is light years from the way I could play when I just started.
Seeing all that Blackness represented and understanding the connection. Seeing that it can be participatory and then knowing something like that is in Fort Worth. They’re gonna take away, “I gotta come back to Fort Worth every March because I have to be in this festival.” The folks in the community are gonna say, “You know what? Maybe I want to learn the banjo.” That is something I can do here. We can create more musical community here.
It was late 2016 when the world first learned of North Carolina’s HB2 – the “bathroom bill” – prohibiting trans folk from using bathrooms and locker rooms that aligned with their gender identity. The International Bluegrass Music Association was having its conference in Raleigh that autumn, and we at BGS were feeling restless about wanting to do something at the conference to create a safe space for marginalized artists who were already not feeling welcome at the annual event. And thus the first ever Shout & Shine was conceived and held at the Pour House in Raleigh on September 27, 2016.
In the years since its inception, Shout & Shine has taken on multiple forms – from a one-night showcase, to a day-long stage, to an ongoing editorial column and video series on the BGS homepage, Shout & Shine continues to create a dedicated space for diverse and underrepresented talent in the roots music world.
“Shout & Shine began with a simple mission, to create a space for marginalized and underrepresented folks in bluegrass to be celebrated for who they are, unencumbered by their identities,” explained Shout & Shine co-creator Justin Hiltner. “Since 2016, it’s grown into so much more but above all else, it continues to be exactly what we created it to be first and foremost: a community. Our Shout & Shine community demonstrates that these roots music genres are for everyone; they always have been and they will be in the future, too.”
Past lineups have included Amythyst Kiah, Nic Gareiss, Kaia Kater, Alice Gerrard, Jackie Venson, Lakota John, The Ebony Hillbillies, Cathy Fink & Marcy Marxer, Yasmin Williams, and many more.
You can read about the first Shout & Shine event from 2016 here and more Shout & Shine video sessions and features here.
When Amythyst Kiah was a teenager in the suburbs of Chattanooga, Tennessee, she wanted to be “the guitar-playing version of Tori Amos.” Locked away in her room with her headphones pulled over her ears, poring over liner notes and listening intently for every nuance in her favorite records, she found solace in the way Amos told her darkest secrets in her songs and how she turned that vulnerability into something like a superpower. It made her feel less alone, especially as a young, closeted Black girl in a largely white suburb. Tori Amos helped her survive adolescence.
Kiah didn’t grow up to become any version of her hero. Instead, she simply became herself. Her new solo album, Wary + Strange, ingeniously mixes blues and folk with alternative and indie rock, devising a vivid palette to soundtrack her own songs that tell dark secrets. It’s one of the most bracing albums of the year, grappling with matters both personal (her mother’s suicide) and public (the struggles of Black Americans). “Now, when I’m in my mid-thirties,” says Kiah, “it’s amazing to make a vulnerable record and then have people at my shows tell me that my music helped them heal, helped them get through some hard times. To have someone connect with my music is really powerful.”
BGS: These songs are rooted in your own life and your own experiences, but they do seem like there is something universally relatable in them. Is that something you were thinking about or striving for?
Kiah: Yeah. To have someone connect with my music is really powerful. But that’s been hard to process that idea, because for the longest time I had so much social anxiety and depression and low self-esteem. I didn’t think that much of myself and couldn’t imagine that anybody really cared about me. It’s all stuff related to mental health. Obviously there are people who cared about me. I just couldn’t see it. Now, I’ve come around and maybe fully grasped my value as a person and what I have to offer the world, and that has been very reaffirming. I have a better sense of who I am and why I’m here. And it feels good to make music that helps people get through hard times.
What is it like to revisit the tough times in these songs night after night?
I’ve spent some time thinking about that, and I don’t really know how I’m doing it, to be perfectly honest. A big part of it is that I spent a really long time repressing my emotions and keeping my feelings to myself. So writing a song about how I’m feeling is a sign that I’ve processed it. Not that I’m moving on or I’m done with it, whatever I might be writing about. But I’ve confronted it. I’ve learned from it. And now I can continue with my life and move forward.
A big part of my life has been living in the past and not being fully present in the moment. In order to be present, you have to be able to process stuff that’s happening to you in that moment. Otherwise, you make decisions based on something that happened before. So, a song is a representation of me processing something and understanding what happened to me. Singing that song night after night, it doesn’t feel like I’m necessarily reliving it every time. Because I’ve already processed it. That’s my working theory right now. It might change.
That’s something I think about a lot, because as a listener I can play a song based on the mood I’m in. But as an artist, you’re locked into these songs. You can’t not play them.
I get what you’re saying. The way people listen to music is really fascinating to me. My partner and I, we approach music very differently. My approach has always been to listen to things that reflect my mood. When I was younger, that meant listening to a lot of really sad, depressing songs. Somehow that made me feel good. I’m a very critical listener of music and I like to listen to all the different intricacies. I’m not someone who has a vast library of music, but I’m obsessed with certain sounds and ideas so I will listen to an album and pick apart every detail.
But my partner listens to music to shut her brain off. Her favorite artists are very different from mine. She loves a lot of pop music, like Taylor Swift. To her it’s feel-good music. You break it out and sing along. But she also listens to a lot of classical music, too. She’s got that ability to go back and forth with her listening vibe. That was surprising to me at first, because I used think, “How can people listen to happy music? Don’t they know what’s happening in the world?” I would deliberately avoid happy music because I was personally insulted by it. But thanks to my partner, I can totally see that perspective where you’re listening to music that doesn’t reflect the mood you’re in because you’re trying to snap out of it.
Did that change how you listened to music?
As I’ve gotten older and my mental health has gotten a lot better, I can appreciate listening to something that is just meant to be fun. It doesn’t have to be a super serious moment. I think I learned how to be a lot less pretentious about what I listened to and why I listened to it, and I learned to be a lot less judgmental about other people’s listening habits.
Some lines in these songs sound very defiant of religion — like in “Black Myself,” when you sing, “Your precious God ain’t gonna bless me.” Can you talk about that aspect of your songwriting?
With “Black Myself,” the idea was that each verse would be from the perspective of a specific type of person. So the first verse with that line is from the perspective of an enslaved person. They’re singing about wanting to jump the fence, wanting to be free, wanting to be with the one they love. If an enslaved person had a relationship or a marriage, it was never legally recognized. There was always a chance that they might get sold to different people and they’d never see each other again. Whatever bonds they had could be broken, like they were just cattle. The line about “Your precious God ain’t gonna bless me,” that’s a direct reference to the way that pro-slavery people used Christianity as a way to justify enslaving people.
There was a Bible specifically written for enslaved people — it was even called the Slave Bible — and the people who edited it made sure to only leave in the verses that talk about being obedient. All the verses that talk about autonomy and freedom were removed. The sole purpose was to get enslaved people to be content being slaves, so they wouldn’t revolt. But they were basically saying, “God wants you to be enslaved. He wants you to serve your master. He wants you to be treated like a subhuman.” That is not a God that I would ever want to believe in or ascribe to. That line is that character saying that’s wrong.
I’ve had one or two instances where someone got upset at that line, because they felt like I was being disrespectful to God without really understanding the context in which it’s being said. But I don’t agree with that. There are people all over the world with different belief systems, and at the end of the day, if what you believe in makes you a better person and makes you have respect for humanity, that’s wonderful. If you believe in humanity, that’s what important to me. But why would God be OK with telling someone they have no freedom? But any time you make art, there’s always going to be people who see one thing but not everything else surrounding it. And they base an opinion on that. Not everybody’s going to understand the whole picture.
I read about your performances in Europe, where the crowd would sing “Black Myself” back to you. It definitely seems to reinforce that idea of having a conversation with the song.
I was at the Cambridge Folk Festival with Rhiannon [Giddens], Yola, and Kaïa Kater. We put together a set where we’re singing our own songs and then singing harmonies for everybody else’s. There had to be 500 or 600 English white people in this tent, and it was the first time I’d really noticed other people singing the song or singing that line, “I’m black myself.” I remember thinking, “What planet are we on?” One of my biggest reservations about that song was that people would hear it and think, “Oh, that’s just for black people.” But to me, when someone’s telling a story, it’s meant for everyone to hear. Systemic racism is something that affects everybody in different ways, so we all need to be part of the conversation if we’re going to make things better and look out for each other.
Did you get any other negative responses to the song?
My big concern was that there would be some backlash from white people who weren’t really listening to the song or thinking about it. I was afraid they’d try to make a point like, “If this was called ‘White Myself,’ you’d be canceled.” And there have actually been some comments like that, which completely disregards the fact that the song is about Blacks. It’s about overcoming adversity despite being Black. So if someone can’t hear the words of the song and actually understand what’s happen, that says more about them than it does about me or the song. So I have no apologies for it.
But there are white people who understand what the song is about and they’re singing in solidarity. They know that it’s about human experience. And just because you didn’t personally experience some of this stuff doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to sing along with it. I had a similar conversation the other day with somebody about the song “Coal Miner’s Daughter” by Loretta Lynn. I’m not a coal miner’s daughter. I didn’t grow up in the coal mines. But I love that song and I love to sing that song. It’s a great song about someone else’s experiences. Empathy is such an important quality in that regard and we need allyship in order for things to get better.
At BGS, we seek out roots music from all corners — for those readers encountering us for the first time, we’re not “just bluegrass.” With our annual year-end list, we’ve shaken off the “best of” title and instead gathered 20 recordings that inspired our staff and contributors. For many reasons (but especially the long-awaited return of live music and festivals), we look ahead to 2021, but first… here are the albums and songs that inspired us in 2020.
Courtney Marie Andrews – Old Flowers
Courtney Marie Andrews couldn’t touch my heart deeper. Her music has been the healing salve for the wounds of 2020. To me, she’s the true definition of an artist: A songwriter, a musician, a painter, a writer, a singer, a poet, an activist. My favorite song on her magical 2020 album is “Old Flowers.” It’s the perfect metaphor of resilience and rebirth after suffering, both in love and in life. Becoming whole again. If that ain’t a theme we could all grow from this year, I don’t know what is! – Beth Behrs
Anjimile – “Maker (Acoustic)”
Anjimile’s Giver Taker was the album I can’t stop (and won’t stop) telling people about in 2020. The full version of their single, “Maker” was a beautiful amalgamation of cultures and influences synthesized by an artist not constrained by cultural and creative preconceptions. To me, Anjimile’s acoustic version of the lead single distills the brilliance of their songwriting into its purest form. – Amy Reitnouer Jacobs
Danny Barnes – Man on Fire
Danny Barnes’ Man on Fire was a worthwhile gift to us all this year. Over the last couple of years, I’d heard chatter of a project in the works with names like Dave Matthews, John Paul Jones, and Bill Frisell involved. I am constantly in awe of what Barnes can create using the banjo as a pencil. This record was no exception, combining his unique style and songwriting with an electrified crew. – Thomas Cassell
Bonny Light Horseman – “The Roving”
There’s an odd bit of sorcery in the first measures of “The Roving,” a new version of an old folk tune on this supergroup’s debut. It opens tentatively, the instruments falling into the song like autumn leaves: First an acoustic guitar, then cymbals, then piano, all coalescing into a windblown arrangement that’s both understated and sublime. – Stephen Deusner
Bob Dylan – Rough and Rowdy Ways
Packed with jumbles of historic/cultural references and tall tales, bluesy swagger and prayerful romance, and climaxing with the shattered-mirror JFK assassination epic “Murder Most Foul,” Dylan’s first set of originals in a decade is breathtakingly masterful. It’s also, often, hilarious. Nearing 80, the Bard’s as playful as ever. And as poignant. And, justifiably, as cocky. – Steve Hochman
To me, Bob Dylan’s best era started in 1989 with his 26th studio album, Oh Mercy, and continues to this day with his 39th, Rough and Rowdy Ways. “Murder Most Foul” shows us that the master of his generation is as much in control of his folktale troubadour craft as he’s ever been. – Chris Jacobs
Justin Farren – Pretty Free
Knowing nothing about Justin Farren, I was immediately sucked into his evocatively detailed story-songs that involved returning diapers to Costco, getting a “two-paycheck ticket” while trying to impress a girl, and (in the all-too-appropriately-titled for-2020, “Last Year Was The Best Year”) a wild Disneyland adventure. Full of humor, sorrow, regrets and hope, Pretty Free was a musical world I visited often this year. – Michael Berick
Mickey Guyton – “Black Like Me”
Mickey Guyton’s lyrics illuminate the individuality and dilemma of any non-white vocalist in country music, and in particular the difficult journey of Black women in the field. Her performance is gripping and memorable, paying homage to many others who’ve faced ridicule and questions about why they’re daring to perform in an idiom many still feel isn’t suited for their musical style. – Ron Wynn
Sarah Jarosz – “Pay It No Mind”
Atop a Fleetwood Mac-style groove, Sarah Jarosz imagines the advice a distant bird might offer. But her songbird is no sweet, shallow lover. She comes with the weight and wisdom of something more timeless. Jarosz lets her fly via mandolin-fiddle interplay that personifies the tension between the endless sky and the “world on the ground.” – Kim Ruehl
Lydia Loveless – Daughter
“I’m not a liberated woman,” Lydia Loveless declares on her fifth album, “just a country bumpkin dilettante.” Don’t you believe it. Written in the shadow of her 2016 divorce and beautifully sung in a voice both epic and straightforward, Daughter finds this Americana siren at the height of her formidable powers. – David Menconi
Lori McKenna – The Balladeer
Lori McKenna‘s singular talent for capturing the joy in everyday details is on full display, from the church parking lots and hometown haunts of “This Town Is a Woman” to the stubborn tiffs and make-up kisses on “Good Fight.” But The Balladeer acknowledges the hard-as-hell times, too. With gentle accompaniment, commanding melodies, and McKenna’s signature lyrical wit, The Balladeer showcases a modern songwriting master. – Dacey Orr Sivewright
Jeff Picker – With the Bass in Mind
I love “new acoustic music,” but am often afraid I’ll be disappointed by it. Jeff Picker’s With the Bass in Mind immediately eases those worries by offering music that is creative, thoughtful, unexpected, and virtuosic while still feeling grounded and musical. All while effortlessly answering the once-rhetorical question: “What would a solo bluegrass bass album even sound like?” – Tristan Scroggins
William Prince – Reliever
William Prince‘s Reliever feels like the best pep talk I’ve ever had. In particular, “The Spark” finds him astonished with loving a partner who loves him back, no matter his own perceived flaws. As a whole, the album explores complicated emotions with a comforting arrangement (with duties shared by Dave Cobb and Scott Nolan). Sung with assurance by Prince, almost like he’s confiding in you, Reliever is both encouraging and excellent. – Craig Shelburne
Scott Prouty – Shaking Down the Acorns
We’d be remiss in our jobs as procurers of roots music culture to not include this stoically beautiful record on our year-end list of the very best. A hearty collection of 24 (mostly solo) old-time fiddle and banjo songs, there is something ever-present, comforting, and timeless about Prouty’s playing, and I have no doubt this is a record I’ll be revisiting like an old friend for years to come. – Amy Reitnouer Jacobs
Emily Rockarts – Little Flower
Montreal-based songwriter Emily Rockarts’ debut album Little Flower is one to remember. Produced by Franky Rousseau (Goat Rodeo Sessions), the album features lilting cinematic ballads punctuated with dance-in-your-room indie anthems. Rockarts’ musicianship is undeniable; her stunning melodies and refreshingly earnest lyrics make for a remarkable combination that is unlike anything else I’ve heard. Run, listen to Little Flower now! – Kaia Kater
Sarah Siskind – Modern Appalachia
Sarah Siskind brought her luminous, Nashville-honed songwriting back home to North Carolina a few years ago and let the mountains speak through her. Leading an all-star Asheville band live off the floor at iconic Echo Mountain studio, she’s made a heart-swelling set of songs that gather her special melodic signature, her meticulous craft, and her insight into how a rich musical region is evolving. – Craig Havighurst
Emma Swift – Blonde on the Tracks
Emma Swift reminded the music world of the power that artists have to control their work when she self-released Blonde on the Tracks, an eight-song collection of Bob Dylan covers. Her interpretations are as powerful and innovative as her methodical and thoughtful initial distribution sans streaming services. – Erin McAnally
Julian Taylor – The Ridge
Mohawk singer-songwriter Julian Taylor resides in what is now referred to as Toronto, but his masterful country-folk record, The Ridge, hits your ear as if plucked directly from Taylor’s childhood summers spent on his grandparents’ farm in rural British Columbia. Refracted through Taylor’s crisp, modern arrangements and undiluted emotion, The Ridge seamlessly bridges the elephant-in-the-2020-room chasm between rural and urban — musically, familially, lyrically, and spiritually. – Justin Hiltner
Molly Tuttle, “Standing on the Moon”
2020 has handed us its fair share of cover albums, with stay-at-home orders urging many to reach for the familiar — but none have meshed a variety of musical sources so creatively as Molly Tuttle’s whimsical …but i’d rather be with you. Her version of “Standing on the Moon” is the nostalgic and homesick, Earth-loving galactic trip of my pedal steel-obsessed, Deadhead dreams. – Shelby Williamson
Cory Wong – Trail Songs (Dawn)
A record that I didn’t know I needed came in early August when Vulfpeck guitarist Cory Wong released Trail Songs (Dawn). A change of pace for Wong, it features predominantly acoustic instrumentation and organic sounds. The album kicks off with “Trailhead,” which sounds like a Dan Crary instrumental until the groove drops in the second verse. BGS standbys Chris Thile and Sierra Hull make appearances as an added bonus. – Jonny Therrien
Donovan Woods – “Seeing Other People”
We may seem unsentimental, stoic, unemotional — especially when faced with something like a partner moving on, or a breakup, when it may be easier to seem fine, have a pint, and download Tinder. Donovan’s gift in this song is to show those complicated “yes, and” internal thoughts and emotions. It is beautiful. – Tom Power
The entire BGS team is pretty stoked for our fifth year of Shout & Shine performances! In 2016 we partnered with PineCone Piedmont Council of Traditional Music in Raleigh, NC to showcase diversity in bluegrass and roots music at IBMA’s World of Bluegrass business conference and festival. In doing so, a wonderful platform has been provided to artists so often overlooked, as well as those just starting their journeys in the music industry.
Things are a bit different this go ‘round, and we’ll be celebrating equity and inclusion in a more pandemic-suited way this year with Shout & Shine Online! The showcase will take place Saturday, October 3rd at 2pm ET — viewers can tune in right here on BGS, or on our Facebook page or YouTube channel, as well as via PineCone’s channels, and IBMA’s conference platform, Swapcard (free music pass registration available here).
In celebration, we’ve put together a preview of what you can look forward to during Shout & Shine Online.
Brandi Waller-Pace
BGS joined hands with Decolonizing the Music Room’s founder Brandi Waller-Pace to curate 2020’s lineup. “The mission of Decolonizing the Music Room is to center Black, Brown, Indigenous, and Asian voices, knowledge, and experiences within the field of music education,” says Waller-Pace. “In addition to that, it is part of DTMR’s core values that we are an openly LGBTQ+ affirming non-profit organization. I am honored to have served as curator for this year’s Shout & Shine and to have had this opportunity to partner with BGS and PineCone on work that highlights a convergence of our values.”
Here you can see Waller-Pace along with Caitlin Hearn playing an old-time standard, “Five Miles From Town.” Waller-Pace’s music is dripping with that sweet, old-timey-ness.
Rissi Palmer
The IBMA isn’t the only thing we love in Raleigh — there’s also Rissi Palmer. In 2007 she released “Country Girl,” making her the first African American woman on the country charts in over 20 years. She’s been releasing consistently powerful music since, leading all the way up to her most recent album, Revival. On top of all of this, Palmer hosts the new Apple Music Country radio show, Color Me Country: a conversation between herself and various Black and Brown women in country/Americana/roots music. We can’t wait to have her right here on BGS!
Sunny War
You may have already seen our friend Sunny War’s episode 2 of our monthly Shout & Shine series. In our interview that came out earlier this month, War speaks about her current outlook on the music scene and how it feels to be surrounded by new “activist” musicians who weren’t doing it before, as well as her incredibly unique guitar style.
Kaïa Kater
Kaïa Kater is no stranger at BGS. She has been featuring in a Cover Story, she’s written an op-ed, and she’s had some important conversations with other musicians. Needless to stay, we’re ecstatic to have this Afro-Caribbean-Canadian songwriter and Appalachian musician back for Shout & Shine Online!
Stephanie Anne Johnson
While Stephanie Anne Johnson’s music is often rooted in America’s painful past, it’s always got down home roots. Maybe that’s why they’ve got the “American Blues.” A veteran of NBC’s The Voice, Johnson is the leader of Tacoma-based band The Hidogs, whose most recent album is entitled Take This Love.
Jerron “Blind Boy” Paxton
Blind Boy Paxton’s music is something of a journey back in time. But his songs and stories aren’t from dusty old books or archives — they are the soundtrack of his growing up in south-central Los Angeles, among the largest Creole and Cajun population outside of Louisiana. Our friend Paxton has been featured in our Shout & Shine column before, but Shout & Shine Online is his appearance on the showcase. We couldn’t be more excited!
Tray Wellington Band
North Carolina’s Tray Wellington is an acclaimed progressive banjo player — and he’s only 21. From his 2019 IBMA awards — one for Momentum Instrumentalist of the Year and another for Momentum Band of the Year with his former group Cane Mill Road — it’s easy to tell what a bright future he’s got in the world of bluegrass and beyond. He’ll be joining us with his whole band!
Amythyst Kiah
You may know her from Our Native Daughters, or our BGS Class of 2019 — either way, Amythyst Kiah is one of the most powerful, raw, and soulful singers and songwriters the roots music scene has today. We’re beyond thrilled that she’ll be joining us to anchor the Shout & Shine Online lineup!
Photos courtesy of the artists Poster design by Grant Prettyman, Belhum
It is long known that Black artists in the twentieth century who spoke out against white supremacy often paid for it with their lives. As a Black man and a queer person, Jake Blount is intimately familiar with this history. In the liner notes of his new album Spider Tales, Blount predicts “escalating patterns of violence and ecological crises that threaten the survival of our species.” In the same breath he urges us to remember the ancestors who felt “the same grief, powerlessness, and fury” — and found a way to survive through wit and wisdom.
Spider Tales features a band of mostly queer artists, with Blount on banjo and fiddle. His tune and song choices introduce us to musicians long ignored. Familiar songs are reinterpreted, their fangs reinstated. Through this process, he takes us on a journey of rage, revolution and muffled voices made louder. We are the better for it.
BGS spoke with Blount, who grew up in Washington, D.C., but is now based in Rhode Island, about Spider Tales and his focus on the marginalized among us.
BGS: The title of Spider Tales is a nod to the trickster of Akan mythology, Anansi, who as you stated in your liner notes, weaponizes his wit and wisdom against oppressors more powerful than himself. And that’s what Black folks have had to do since the Middle Passage. Everything had to be subversive as a matter of survival. Can you speak about your process and musical choices in bringing that subversion to the forefront on this album?
Blount: For me the tricky part of bringing out these kinds of hidden meanings, and the mass significance of a lot of these songs, was that I had to pick songs that spoke in metaphors but put them together in a way that the metaphors became obvious. Finding a way to be loyal to the art form and not just be totally explicit with what was being said, but still make the message apparent to people, was really difficult.
I think a lot of that came down to how I framed things in the liner notes, but also the songs that I picked. Picking some things that were more familiar, some things that were not…some things that are more explicit and more direct and some things that are not. Being mindful of the track order helped tie things together and, I would hope, clarify the common thread between all the songs.
I want to ask you about your arrangement of “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” by Leadbelly. I hear this song a lot at jams. Some people refer to it as “In the Pines” and it’s often framed as being from one embittered lover to another. Your version of the song has this kind of bereft energy, almost frightening. What drew you to interpret this song in the way you did?
It’s partially an artifact of the fact that I first heard the song from hearing Kurt Cobain play it… I’m sure there’s some Nirvana energy lingering from middle school Jake in this recording. [Laughs] But even aside from that, when I listened to the Leadbelly version, I heard that song in a vacuum before I was ever involved in traditional music in any particular depth. I never really thought of it as a love song. It’s spoken, ostensibly, from one romantic partner to another sure, but it seems like it’s about disappearing and dying.
To me, you’re losing somebody — somebody is going away from you. That resonated because I grew up hearing stories from my dad about how there were people who just disappeared. I think we have this picture in our heads of racial violence in the south as lynchings; that of course did happen, but also there’s this other narrative of people just vanishing in the woods, and everyone would kind of have to assume what had happened.
I wound up connecting to that strongly because I came up during high school and college working with LGBTQ advocacy groups, volunteering my time and organizing with other youth. Doing that, you see a lot of people lose their homes, get kicked out of their houses, get incarcerated. You see a lot of people die. That song spoke to me on that level of “these are people who are just going away.” It reminds me of all the times that a friend would just drop off the map. A week or two later, you realize “Oh, I haven’t seen this person.” That kind of thing happened frequently when I was younger. It definitely still happens to people in that age group now, so that’s where my interpretation of the song comes out of.
This version of “Boll Weevil” is one of the best I’ve heard. I always knew it as coming from Tommy Jarrell, but I read in your liner notes that he learned the tune from a Black woman at a festival backstage. He never saw fit to credit her, which is why she’s still unnamed today. Reading that made me feel some type of way about the manner in which Black people — and Black women — have been forgotten by history, forgotten now. I wonder if it was a similar feeling for you. How did you deal with emotionally processing what you were learning while you were researching these tunes?
I think I’ve been so immersed in the ephemera of old-time fiddle music for long enough that it almost doesn’t surprise me anymore, which is sad, but Tommy Jarrell is someone who has a pattern of doing that. I feel like there are multiple older source musicians from that generation who would reference having learned from Black people but wouldn’t name them or wouldn’t give a complete name.
“Brown Skin Baby” is another tune like that on the album. Jabe Dillon learned it from an older Black fiddler and the only name he gave was Old Dennis. You can’t Google “Old Dennis.” There’s very specific information that oftentimes [white musicians] give with other white sources. But Black sources don’t get treated the same way.
Part of the reason I was so meticulous about the liner notes here is to avoid doing that a second time, because it still sometimes happens where people don’t credit the sources or sometimes don’t look up the sources. I’ll be the first to say that you don’t have to learn everything from a source recording — that’s not necessarily honest to the way the tradition has worked throughout history either. But I think it’s important to have a relationship with the musicians who cultivated the music we are now enjoying.
Yeah, I think especially with people like Cecil Sharpe and [John] Lomax, it’s like, Cecil Sharpe made his way through West Virginia. In his diaries he was so obsessed with this purity of old-time music, and white people, and actively refusing to record anyone else. It must have been such a sliver of what was going on at the time and of the knowledge that could have been passed down.
Exactly. Even like the later folks, there are folks who made a lot of recordings of Black people and were like “I need to find the Blackest music that I can so I’m going to go to prisons!” and it’s like, “You’re only really Black if you’re in jail for it.” [Laughs incredulously]That’s the mentality that carries through in that sort of scholarship and even today.
I always think it’s best to focus on the most marginalized among us and it’s really important that the working-class traditions be emphasized and accepted and made part of the canon. But I also think it’s really important for today’s Black people to know that there was prosperity in our communities going back that far. The Black middle class, which was ascendant at the time many of these first recordings were being made, never got examined by the folks making the recordings. It’s a tremendous loss to me because you would get to hear from people who were maybe articulating the experience of navigating how to become, in a capitalist sense, successful for a Black person in the late 1800s and early 1900s.
What would have been the songs about the Greenwood District in Tulsa? There are all of these really incredible things that happened and these really horrifying ways that white supremacists would crack down on Black people for attaining that level of success that are part of the story and ought to be told. Because we focused so narrowly for so long on Black musical traditions that were coming out of super rural country places, even though a lot of Black people had moved to the city by that time — I feel your pain that there is a great deal that is lost when we focus so narrowly on this thing that fulfills our stereotype notion of what we should be looking for.
I love the last song on the album, “Mad Mama’s Blues,” which comes from Josie Miles. That first line, “I want to set the world on fire,” is so great, the melody is flirtatious, but the lyrics are furious. Can you talk about why you chose that song as the album closer?
I feel like the album couldn’t have been timed better if we’d known about what was going to happen in Minneapolis. My whole mission with this album was to show people that this has been coming for hundreds of years. There’ve been warnings and people have been trying to speak on it and they haven’t been heard. I think putting [this song] as the closing note on the album felt perfect to me because it is very explicit in its emotional expression and what it gets across to the listener — but at the same time, it is masked in this jumpy upbeat, sort of silly presentation. It’s like the 1920s “Hey Ya!” [Both laugh]It’s like a bop, and you’re like “Yes Queen!” and then you’re like “Oh, he’s killing people.”
I think that’s a really valuable part of the Black musical tradition. To me it provides us an interesting lens to look back on the fiddle tunes. For so many people when they hear fiddle and banjo, they’re like “Oh this is a happy song! I’m going to start dancing now” and really there can be so much hidden inside of that.
People are sometimes more concerned with their expectations for what a piece of music is going to be than what it actually is. Putting this song at the close is saying: “Your musical assumptions about the content here would not be correct.” You then have to go back and examine the other [songs] with the idea in mind that perhaps you need to look more deeply than you otherwise might in order to understand what’s being said.
Editor’s Note: Blount will be featured in the Bluegrass Situation Presents: A St. Patrick’s Day Festival at New York’s New Irish Arts Center, participating in an opening night jam session with clawhammer banjoist Allison de Groot, fiddler Tatiana Hargreaves, and traditional dancer Nic Gareiss on March 17 as well as a headlining performance with Gareiss on March 18.
Building community is part of what music, and all good art, does. It brings us together. Music is a common rhythm, a poetic notion, an underlying common language for us all. A good mixtape grabs hold of that commonality and builds on it, with a few surprises along the way. As a band, The Steel Wheels curate a music festival each year, and a mixtape, or playlist, is kind of the digital version of that venture. So, let’s stop talking about it, and start building community with a PERFECT mix. – Trent Wagler, The Steel Wheels
Fruit Bats* – “Humbug Mountain Song”
Let’s start with a groove anyone can get behind. It’s accessible for the pop music lovers who wandered into this gathering — they didn’t know they liked the banjo at all until the second half of this intro kicks in. But now they’re engaged. And why can’t the piano, banjo, and drums live together in harmony? Stop closing your mind.
Kristin Andreassen* – “Get Together”
A good mixtape needs to establish that everyone is included. Loading things up with all your favorite new and rare songs isn’t always inviting. A cover song is common language at the very best. A little freshening up of a classic song will get us all swaying together in time. And what better theme than coming together? Now we’ve got everyone in the room in tune and we can introduce more variance in the mix.
The Wood Brothers* – “Sing About It”
The foundation of community is the strength we have together. Nothing better exemplifies this than the tight grooves and sweet harmonies of the Wood Brothers. And their message here is spot on. No matter where we are in our journey of pain, loss, trouble, or fear, singing a song just might help it pass.
Kaia Kater* – “New Colossus”
Now that we’re all in this, let’s tie the knots tighter. This song is like a sweet honey that helps stick us tightly. The way the melody veers and twists through literary verses encourages your conversations to dig a little deeper.
Jerry Garcia & David Grisman – “Russian Lullaby”
I think it’s more than nostalgia that brings me back to these late Garcia recordings, when he teamed up with longtime friend and musical pioneer David Grisman. The loose nature of these recordings makes you want to sit crisscross applesauce and share most embarrassing moments with a new acquaintance. If the ice wasn’t broken earlier, Jerry will rockabye you, baby. Collaborations are community building at their core.
River Whyless* – “All of My Friends”
Now that we’re all floating together in a musical high, don’t pull away. Leave the phones in your pocket. Let’s be here together fully. River Whyless is a band that simultaneously indicts and playfully dances with the information-overwhelmed age we live in.
Cedric Burnside* – “Hard To Stay Cool”
What is more true blue than these dyed in the wool Burnside family blues. Cedric Burnside’s whole album is full of these tasty grooves. It’s not hard for him to stay cool.
Tim O’Brien* & Darrell Scott – “With a Memory Like Mine”
Here’s another one of my favorite collaborations. The album Real Time by Tim and Darrell has had such a musical impact on me. To hear two great songwriters, who sing and play any instrument they pick up with such mastery, is humbling and inspiring.
Bahamas – “No Wrong”
I’m obsessed with Bahamas’ music right now. The guitar, the groove, and the vocals. The presence of this recording is also so immediate and direct. When you’re among your people, it feels like you can do no wrong.
The Steel Wheels* – “Road Never Ends”
I couldn’t help but include one from our new record. The love and joy of the road is bittersweet. This song puts words to the difficulties of transience while acknowledging the beauty of the strange kind of mobile community it creates.
Ana Egge – “Rock Me (Divine Mother)”
There are few songwriters who tap into deep spiritual depths without cliché like Ana Egge. She’s a treasure. And this song has slayed me every single time I’ve ever heard it.
All music conjures up a sense of place. Tinariwen was introduced to me by our drummer, Kevin Garcia, and I’ve regularly wanted to go to where their sound takes me. As a songwriter and specifically a lyricist, it’s helpful to reset your listening ear and turn off the language centers of your brain by listening to music with lyrical content in a language you do not speak.
Dr. Dog – “Listening In”
A good mixtape has some curveballs. Dr. Dog has been a sonic companion for me since I first saw them live 10 years ago at Bristol Rhythm and Roots. The lyrical tapestry is so full and always connects through some kind of thought-lightning striking through your brain. I love the line, “I can hear the fear in me…talking.”
David Wax Museum – “Time Will Not Track Us Down”
We’re getting towards the end of our little mixtape. Like the Sunday afternoon lazy picnic, we are starting to wind it all down. David Wax is known for his high energy original Latin-inspired masterpieces, but this simple paired down guitar/vocal really calms my spirit and prepares us to part.
Robert Ellis & Courtney Hartman* – “Up On The Hill Where They Do The Boogie”
One more cover song for good measure. Let’s celebrate the most wacky and wonderful souls among us, and let’s boogie like John Hartford.
Josh Ritter – “Homecoming”
Remember that curating music for your gathering is a privilege. You are setting the sonic table for everyone in your presence. It’s also a responsibility. Everyone wants to feel at home at the end of the day. Everyone wants be at their best and be reminded that they are capable of their best. Music replenishes the various ways daily life drags us down. A mixtape is a good refuge and stand-in for when music festival season is slow.
Photo credit: Josh Saul
*2019 Red Wing performers. Red Wing Roots Music Festival takes place in Mt. Solon, Virginia, on July 12-14, and is hosted by The Steel Wheels
Get off your couch and go hear some live music with Britain’s Got Bluegrass! Here’s the BGS-UK monthly guide to the best gigs in the UK and Ireland in May.
John Reischman & The Jaybirds, May 12, Green Note, London
Look, we know you haven’t really made plans for this Sunday night. No one has. So instead of staying in and watching Game of Thrones, why don’t you pop out to Camden and check out a Grammy Award-winning mandolin player? John Reischman is one of the most respected players of the instrument in the world today, and his band The Jaybirds are coming to the end of their UK tour, meaning you’ve only got one last chance to catch them. With all the style and flair you’d expect from someone who used to play with guitar legend Tony Rice, this stylish West Coast ensemble mixes old-time and bluegrass with a modern feel. Catch up with Jon Snow and his dragon queen another day.
Kaia Kater, May 10-14, nationwide
The Guardian described Kaia Kater as “where bluegrass meets Nina Simone”. Who wouldn’t want to hear that? The Grenadian-Canadian (trying saying that three times quickly) will be in Milton Keynes, Gateshead, York and Bristol next week. Her most recent album, Grenades, exploring and celebrating her paternal ancestry, has been nominated for a 2019 Juno Award. (Read the BGS interview.)
Mark Knopfler May 18-30, nationwide
Football, Deptford, greasy spoon cafes — it’s fair to say that the Dire Straits man’s songs don’t exactly cover the usual subjects of Americana music. But arguably no British singer-songwriter has done more than Mark Knopfler to advertise and contribute to US roots music. His mastery of everything from Celtic rock to country to blues has helped shape the musical landscape of the last four decades and the fact that his band includes celtic legends John McCusker (on fiddle) and Mike McGoldrick (on whistle) is enough to have us shouting the word “QUALITY.” Leeds, Newcastle, Dublin, Glasgow, Manchester, London, Birmingham — consider yourselves very, very lucky.
Amos Lee, May 19, Union Chapel, London
His first night at Union Chapel has already sold out, so you’ll need to move fast if you want to hear the soulful stylings of Amos Lee. We can only imagine how perfectly the acoustics of that beautiful old church are going to suit his fabulous voice — a voice that’s captured the heart of almost everyone who hears it, including collaborators Norah Jones and Adele. And if you can keep a dry eye during his new song, “Little Light” — inspired by a seven-year-old friend who’s been treated for kidney cancer — you’re a better person than we are, Gunga Din.
Milk Carton Kids, May 28 and 29, Dublin and London
Listen to Joey Ryan and Kenneth Pattengale and it’s hard not to have the words “Simon and Garfunkel” leap instantly to mind. With their beautiful close harmonies and thoughtful, all-too-honest lyrics, The Milk Carton Kids are the kind of musicians who’ll leave your heart scattered all over the floor. Their latest album, All The Things That I Did And All The Things That I Didn’t Do, made critics excited, not least because of the 10-minute epic, “One More For the Road.” This is indie-folk at its most meaningful — come see them at the height of their powers.
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