Tag: Mike Marshall

Combining Classical and Bluegrass, Scroggins & Rose Improvise and Inspire on ‘Speranza’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Acutely expressive, profoundly innovative, and ceaselessly gripping, Scroggins & Rose are masters of sonic storytelling. The project consists of Alisa Rose (violin) and Tristan Scroggins (mandolin), both virtuosic talents with a sprawling list of credits each in their own right. While Scroggins primarily forays in the bluegrass sphere and Rose spent her musical upbringing largely studying classical music, the two alchemize a blend of genres to achieve their distinct style.

The duo’s third collection, Speranza, relays a moving dialogue between fiddle and mandolin, drawing upon a diverse range of musical influences to weave together a thoughtful assortment of colors and textures. Initial ideas for the project began back in the quarantine days of 2020, and Speranza – which consists of six immersive instrumentals, a dynamic assortment of original and familiar tunes – now arrives nearly five years later in a moment where its intonations of hope feel just as crucial.

BGS had the pleasure of sitting down with Scroggins & Rose to discuss their origins, influences, and the percolation of their most recent release.

Congratulations on the album release! To start us off, could you talk about how the two of you came into playing together?

Alisa Rose: We both taught at NimbleFingers, which is a camp in British Columbia.

Tristan Scroggins: It’s a bluegrass week of workshops that has been going on for a couple decades. I always describe it on stage as “sleepaway camp for adults who want to learn how to play the banjo and drink.”

AR: There’s a really nice feel at that camp. Tristan was in a band with his dad at the time, so I did some shows with them there. Then one night, I remember the two of us improvising by a picnic table and we just had a really nice musical chemistry where we follow each other’s ideas around. Immediately it felt like, “Oh, this is a good musical fit.”

TS: At that time I was playing with my dad in Jeff Scroggins & Colorado, and we were touring full-time. So I just ended up in California a lot and I would tack on extra time to come hang out with Alisa. And we started writing music and playing shows. I live in Nashville now, so these days it’s more of a deliberate effort when I come out to collaborate.

At this point you’ve been able to flesh out that musical chemistry over the course of three collections. What would you say unites your musicality or differentiates it?

AR: I think when we improvise, it’s playful and creative and experimental – we’re not afraid to leave what may be reasonable behind, and sometimes that takes us to good places, and sometimes we fall on our faces. We also have a similar sense of rhythm and how we respond to it. It allows us to improvise freely because we feel rhythm in the same way. So that’s where we unify, but we have really different musical backgrounds.

Could you tell me more about that?

AR: Sure. Growing up I played a little bit of fiddle, but mostly I grew up in the classical world. I was a Suzuki kid, so I learned by ear initially, which I think has allowed me to play a lot of different music, but I was learning primarily classical violin growing up. Tristan grew up very much in the bluegrass world, and I’ve studied bluegrass and I’ve played in bluegrass bands, but I still have a different sense of melody and expressiveness. I think a lot about how to make music really expressive emotionally and I play with timings – those two things are less common in the bluegrass world.

TS: I think it’s been really valuable for me, generally musically and especially in the context of this project, to be exposed to those different ways of thinking about playing. I grew up playing with my dad, and in mandolin contests just learning how to play bluegrass, which does instigate this question of, is bluegrass expressive or not? I think it is sort of, but it’s so different from how classical music is expressive or how jazz is expressive. I’ve had to work a lot on navigating that challenge, because for me, I didn’t go to school at all for music. So much of how I play is very instinctual and this project often has me figuring out how to adapt those instincts in order to have more options, especially since there’s just two of us. We have to really be on the same page a lot of the time and work together to fill in spaces or leave holes where we want them to be – they have to line up, and it’s really obvious if they don’t.

Speranza does an excellent job at combining those classical and bluegrass sensibilities to achieve expression while still leaning into roots-like melodies. Can you tell me about the impetus behind your latest release? What drove you to create this third collection?

AR: So our first collection, Grana, was very improvised and we were a new duo. Basically we set out to make a demo – we wanted to record, like, three tunes and get some gigs. We got an Airbnb, rented some recording equipment, had our awesome engineer friend set it up for us, and we just hit record over and over for a weekend. By the end it seemed like it was an album, so that’s how that one came to be. Very improvised, very sort of exploratory. There were like 1000 takes of everything. Well, not actually 1000 because we didn’t have that long, but there was definitely a sort of trial and error of figuring out what we wanted to create.

And then for the second album, Curios, we worked out everything. We rearranged everything and really sought to emphasize the strength of melodies. A lot of that album was about making the melodies come out. To me, it’s also an exploration of different sound colors. We worked with Wes Corbett on that one and he helped bring that out in that album. We really tried to shape each tune into a little story, so they’re more composed. Some have solo sections, but they’re more like little pieces and arches – I mean, I would call them miniatures, but really they’re sort of standard length for bluegrass. In the classical world they might be considered miniatures– little, crafted, sparkly gems.

But we put [Curios] out in the pandemic, which was very anticlimactic. We were supposed to have a release tour and we worked really hard on that album for a long time. We had received a great grant from FreshGrass and were able to do a lot of things in the way we wanted. We worked with Dave Sinko as our engineer, who was awesome, and recorded in this pretty church in Nashville with Egyptian stained glass.

So the third one, Speranza, is more organic. We’ve grown as a duo in terms of creating, so we decided that instead of writing a whole record of stuff we would write and record as we went, or write and improvise as we went, and do some of both. So I believe this album combines the freedom of the first album and the shape and craft of the second album. And the material for Speranza came out of the pandemic – that was such a crazy time. Life seems sort of normal now, but a lot of the tunes started in that time and then we finished them once we could get back together.

TS: I think that in a lot of ways Speranza feels very shaped by the reality of the pandemic, 2020, things getting shut down – the first stuff that we worked on remotely, because we had to. It feels wild that we’ve been working on this for years now. It’s funny, similarly to the pandemic, it doesn’t feel like that was five years ago. We recorded it over different sessions and then mixed it over different sessions.

AR: “Pandemic Buddy” and “Reaper” are the darkest ones – those I did write in like that first month of the pandemic, but I just came up with the beginning idea and then as a duo, over two or three or four visits, we finished writing the pieces together. We’re often coming up with ideas, kind of sitting with them, and then recording voice memos and listening to them. It takes us a fair amount of time to do it and we really flesh out the arrangement and how our parts fit together in person. That tends to be pretty time-intensive. Basically we’re writing the pieces, but we’re memorizing them at the same time, with space for improv – everything is fluid, but the basic composition is pretty worked out. So our compositional process is pretty spacious and lengthy.

What was inspiring you during the composition of these pieces? Any art that you were ingesting or other cultural touchstones of during that moment?

AR: In the beginning of the pandemic, Tristan did a tune challenge, which is where some of these songs started. There was a word prompt every day to write a tune about. For example, “Reaper” began with the prompt “death.” “Pandemic Buddy” was for the prompt “friend.” It was a really nice way to channel energy at the beginning of the pandemic, when everything was crazy. I spent hours every day writing these tunes and trying to get a good video, and I think I got a little better at them as I went.

TS: I mean, it’s sort of an obvious one, but we talk a lot about Mike Marshall and Darol Anger. It’s the same mando and violin pairing, but I love listening to them and listening to other people who do this kind of new acoustic music/composing. I spend a lot of time in Nashville with Wes Corbett. Wes produced our second album, but he’s also a friend of mine, and I helped him with publicity for his first album, which has a lot of really beautifully written instrumental pieces.

It’s interesting – we spent so much time working on this in chunks and that was a very different part of my brain than the part of that was working very hard on, like, Texas-style fiddle tunes. Those weren’t crossing over, exactly. I think rather than being influenced by something specific, it’s more that I try to cultivate something within myself by listening to both stuff I like and new stuff. Absorbing all of that, letting it ferment inside, and then figuring out how to express that all together, rather than trying to emulate any one thing.

AR: I tend to think that when composing, everything you’ve ever listened to, everything that ever resonated with you and definitely anything you’ve ever played with your body or had in your body – whether you danced to it, or you physically played it – is a part of your musical sensibility. I don’t know what I was listening to when I was writing these tunes, but I definitely love Darol Anger and Mike Marshall. I also love Schubert string quartets, I love Beethoven piano sonatas, and I love Debussy piano music – I love a lot of different kinds of music, and I think all of that is part of what comes out. That’s all part of what’s in my head when I’m conceiving of new material.

Photo Credit: Lenny Gonzalez

First & Latest: 34 Years Later, Alison Brown Still Finds ‘Simple Pleasures’ on Banjo

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

In 1990, when banjo player Alison Brown released her debut album, Simple Pleasures, she had no idea where her career could or would lead. GRAMMY nominations, IBMA Awards, touring and performing with Alison Krauss, Michelle Shocked, the Indigo Girls, Steve Martin, and many more, founding a record label that would become a keystone in roots music – none of these impressive accomplishments were on her horizons, literal or hypothetical. Brown just wanted to play the banjo.

She had recently left her job in investment banking and wanted to give her musical career a legitimate go of it. Tasking herself with intentionally writing an album’s worth of original tunes, over the years from 1988 to the project’s release on Vanguard Records in ‘90, Brown pushed herself sonically, aesthetically, and compositionally. The result was demonstrably spectacular and effortlessly cutting-edge.

Simple Pleasures, which was produced by David “Dawg” Grisman and included Alison Krauss, Mike Marshall, Joe Craven, and more among its cast of collaborators, would help launch Brown’s now decades-long career as a bluegrass and roots music multi-hyphenate and business leader. Simple Pleasures broke the ground, fertilized it deeply, and helped cultivate one of the most innovative and forward-looking careers ever accomplished by a five-string picker.

Now, some 34 years after its original release, that debut album has been reissued – on vinyl and digital, with a handful of digital-exclusive bonus tracks recovered from a cassette tape of demos. The project is a delightful time capsule and a perfect representation of the vast and varied musical ground Brown has covered over the intervening years. She may not have known it then – she readily admits, as a picker in her twenties, she was just taking this “banjo thing” day by day – but Simple Pleasures would lay the groundwork for all of her many successes in the music industry and in bluegrass.

For a special edition of First & Latest, we spoke to Alison Brown by phone about her first release and her latest – which just so happen to be the same album, the original and the new reissue. It’s essential listening for bluegrass, banjo, and roots music fans.

Simple Pleasures was originally released in 1990, 34 years ago. I wanted to start by asking you about your frame of mind now versus then, about what’s changed in the interim. What’s changed regarding how you view yourself as a creator and as a banjo player? Looking back, in retrospect, do you recognize the person you were then? What do you remember about your frame of mind when you first put the album out?

Alison Brown: It was this time in my life during which I was writing this music and then trying to get a record deal; I had just left my investment banking job and had taken this bizarre leap of faith, which I didn’t necessarily get a lot of support for. My parents weren’t saying, “Hey, I think you should quit your investment banking job to play banjo.” [Laughs] It really was a leap of faith.

I just couldn’t stop thinking about the banjo. So, I gave myself the challenge of seeing if I could write an album’s worth of music that would hold up and just try to make a record. And then, in the course of working on that, I wrote these tunes and joined Alison Krauss & Union Station. By the time we recorded the tunes, I’d been in her band for a year. I was really at the beginning of what has become my career path since then, but when I was doing it, I didn’t really know how it would be received or if it would get any props or even if it would be any good. All the validation that came on the heels of releasing this, and then everything since then, has made me a much more confident musician than I was when I wrote the music and recorded the record.

Before this album, were you already writing tunes? Was that something that you always did? Or was this an intentional practice shift for you? Was making an album of your own tunes something you had always been working towards or was it part of that purposeful transition from investment banking to banjo?

That is a really good question. I had never written much music up until that point, but I’d always wanted to. Stuart Duncan and I did a record called Pre-sequel. That was like a teen record, but we had a couple original tunes, stuff like “Possum Gravy on Grandma’s Beard” and “The Great Lasagna Rebellion.” It was like teen stuff.

Anyways, I really had wanted to challenge myself to see if I could write some “real music” – that isn’t really quite the right word, but some more substantial tunes and some tunes that really took the instrument maybe to a new place, which took my voice to a new place. That was a lot of this exercise and those 12 tunes. I didn’t know if I could write them or even if they would be any good, but that was like the beginning of this kind of process of self discovery.

When you look at the credits list – Mike Marshall and David Grisman and Alison Krauss and more – you can see some of the fingerprints of you and your community, but it was a kind of a longer process of you writing and getting to the point of recording, right?

I’m trying to remember… yeah, probably from the time I started writing the tunes was maybe middle of 1988 and then we recorded them beginning in 1990. So yeah, there was definitely some time in there–

Was there some extrapolating in your head of, “What are these songs going to sound like? Who is going to play them?” What do you remember about deciding on how you were going to make the tunes and who was going to make them with you? Because I have a feeling that was just as important a part of the process as having the material to record.

Once the door opened for me to work with David Grisman, to produce the record and play on it, then I was pretty much like, “What do you think, David?” But I knew I wanted to have Alison on the record and I knew I wanted to have Mike, ‘cause I love his music no matter what he’s playing. I’m the head of the “Mike Marshall Plays Guitar Fan Club.” [Laughs] I love his guitar playing. And Mike was in the Bay Area, so that made perfect sense.

But then, in terms of bringing in the flute or percussion, I hadn’t really thought about those things. When I listen to this record now, it’s surprising really how much of a footprint the record created for what we’re doing now. ‘Cause we’ve got a rhythm section and flute in the band. In some ways, it feels like after all this time we’ve come full circle, at least back to the seed that record planted, sonically, for the music.

That’s so interesting, to be able to look back and trace that throughline, when at that point it may have felt like a one-off to have those instruments and those styles represented in the music. And now it’s present through lots of your work.

Yeah, it is really interesting. There’s obviously things that weren’t included [on Simple Pleasures]. We’ve had piano in the band pretty much since the beginning and we didn’t have piano on that record, obviously. But I don’t know, somehow that doesn’t seem as much of a template thing, the idea of percussion elements and certainly the flute. David really brought that – and the idea of incorporating cello. I’m not sure I was really thinking about those things. My thinking was probably more in the bluegrass-rooted box.

One of the things that’s definitely changed from the original Simple Pleasures to the reissue over those 30-some years is these bonus tracks that you’ve added – such a time capsule. I wanted to ask you about their… I want to say provenance, but I don’t mean to be that formal. Like, how did you hold onto the demos over time, did you always have them in your back pocket?

You know, as we were working on re-master I kept thinking I knew I had a cassette of the demos. I just dug around and I found it! That’s where the actual takes came from, but that between-take talking, to me, is my favorite part of the whole thing. Just hearing Mike and David and Richard Greene, who produced those demos, talking to each other – I just think that’s the coolest thing. That came off the 2-inch tapes that we had. But the 2-inch tapes, we didn’t have the final mixes of the demos. So, it just worked out that we dumped the cassette tapes into this computer and tried to sweeten it a little bit and that’s what we used.

Looking back, this was a big transition point for you with a GRAMMY nomination, winning IBMA Banjo Player of the Year as the first woman to win an instrumental award. Of course this would end up a seminal album and was a really important kickstart for your incredible career. But at that point, back in 1990, were you worried about it? What was your frame of mind as far as expectations for what this album could do and where it could go?

I’m sure that I had no expectations. [Laughs] It was just something that I really wanted to do myself. I wanted to see, could I write a bunch of music and would it stick together? And, can I get some great people to play on it? I was just happy that all those things came together and I got it on a label.

It was just so cool to be on Vanguard Records. The Welk Music Group had bought that catalog and they had just started signing artists. I was one of the first artists they signed to the Vanguard imprint. All that was enough, but then to get a GRAMMY nomination was completely a surprise. I didn’t expect that at all, or the IBMA recognition. That validation was huge, obviously, and it would be for anybody, but for me it was just so huge. I actually took my parents with me to Radio City Music hall for the GRAMMYs and that went a long way toward them accepting my career 180. [Laughs]

It seems like this was definitely proof of concept for, “I can do this banjo thing. I can make banjo records. I can do this as a career.”

And in retrospect, I completely agree. In the moment, none of those things [were certain]. That’s what they say, “Hindsight’s 20/20.” And that’s so true; when you’re in the moment, you just don’t know how it’s going to turn out. Then it turned out great! I feel so lucky every day that I get to play music or create music or help somebody else create music, all that is just such a gift. Because it was not a foregone conclusion, I could easily have gone back to investment banking or something else with my tail between my legs. I’m just so grateful that isn’t the case.

At this point in your career, people think of you as a multi-hyphenate, as somebody who runs a label, is so active in the industry, and picks a really mean banjo. But this project predated Compass Records by several years. Were you already planning that sort of multi-prong, multi-hyphenate approach then? Or do you think it would be a surprise to 1990 Simple Pleasures Alison that you are the multi-hyphenate you are now?

Yeah no, I did not know it was [in my future], I think I was really just taking it a step at a time. At that particular point in time, my goal was just to write tunes and play in Alison [Krauss’] band. Then, when I left her band, I was really at this juncture again. My parents kept saying, “We really think you’d enjoy going to law school!” I was on the edge of applying to Vanderbilt Law School when I got a call from Michelle Shocked looking for a band leader for her world tour in 1992.

So no, I definitely didn’t have the multi-hyphenate, as you put it, plot hatched at all yet. That’s really something that came during that time that I spent with Michelle and then Garry West, who was playing bass in the band [with her as well]. We connected on a personal level, on a business level, and we started talking about “the good life.” Like, how do you make a life out of music? That’s when we started envisioning the different spokes of the wheel, and one of them was a record label and one of them was playing banjo and touring. That 1990s Alison was really just taking in a day at a time.

There’s this quality that musicians talk about a lot, almost to trope-ish levels, of not liking listening to themselves, not liking going back and hearing their own musical ideas or their own creativity from the past. It can be cringey! When you hear your young adult voice on the banjo now, what’s your reaction? Do you bristle at it? Do you feel inspired by it or do you have a moment where you’re like, “I can’t believe that I played that or I did that”? You’ve been inhabiting these tunes to remix and re-master them, not just rubber stamping a reissue. What does that feel like, to be going back and forth between who you are now and who you were then?

I really thought it was going to be like a lot of cringey stuff, like listening to those tracks and thinking, “Oh god, why did I play that?” Instead, I had a completely different feeling, because I felt like I could hear and really remember both the joy of figuring out that I could do this thing and the uncertainty of, “I don’t know if it’s any good or if it’s going to connect with anybody at all.” I can hear both of those things, but at the end of the day, what I felt most was just wishing I could reach back in time and give myself a pat on the back [and say,] “It’s going to work out okay and you’re on the right path.”

Because I think that’s the thing, we’re all looking for our true path. Sometimes it’s really hard to see, and for me, it was definitely hard to see. I really thought that I would be like a respectable business person and instead – well, I hope I’m a respectable business person, but it’s certainly not what I expected to be! [Laughs] I really thought, banker, lawyer, doctor, that kind of thing.

Your portfolio as a banjo player, label head, and producer is so diverse. And I wondered if you feel that’s directly correlated to being a woman who plays the banjo, or if you think there’s something else that’s driven that or informed that? Because I firmly believe marginalized folks in roots music – really anyone who’s not a straight white man – we often have to have very diverse career paths just to make a living, to make ends meet.

One thing I do notice is that big opportunities that opened up for me early on, they were all created for me by other women. That’s really not lost on me – whether it was Alison Krauss or Michelle Shocked. It wasn’t a male band leaders inviting me in. I think that’s really significant and that’s one of the things that I think is interesting about the times we’re in now, the fact that there’s much more diversity – even though it’s not as much as we would like to see. But there are women peppered throughout the ecosystem of the bluegrass community. We’re really in a position to empower and bring up the next generation, where we weren’t so much before. That makes it a really exciting time. I know that’s something that I love to look for opportunities to do.

If I’m producing a record, I want to bring those other voices into the room and let’s raise the next generation. ‘Cause when you come out of investment banking, you can see how adept the guys are at bringing on the next generation of guys, but women in corporate situations just historically haven’t [had the same access]. There are many reasons, it’s not their shortcoming. I think it’s just the circumstances, but now it doesn’t have to be that way. I find that particularly exciting.

34 years later, these folks who played on Simple Pleasures are still part of your community and are collaborators of yours. Back then, were you thinking, “All right, these are my ride or dies! We’re going to go the distance together.” Or was it like, “I can’t believe I get to be in a room with these folks and I hope we can do it again”? How does it feel now to look back and have decades-long relationships with these folks that you made the album with and to have that community be such a present part of the music that you continue to make and the records that you put out?

It’s amazing to look back and to think about the fact that I’ve known Mike Marshall since, gosh, I think I was a teenager the first time I met Mike? To have 50-year-long relationships with some of these people, it’s an amazing thing and it’s such a gift. I think one of the best things about our community is that people can have careers that extend over decades and you can have friendships with people that extend over half a century or more. I’ve known Stuart Duncan since he was 10, so I’ve known him for half a century. It’s crazy and wonderful too. And it’s such an amazing aspect of our community.

I don’t know if it’s the same in other kinds of music, but I think the intergenerational aspect of bluegrass music and roots music just creates for some amazing lifelong friendships. I think it’s not uncommon for people to start when they’re 10 years old – or, Stuart started playing this music when he was six or seven. When I met him when he was 10, he was already a hotshot fiddle player. The fact that you can get into this music as such a youngster, keep playing it, and there’s room for you even when every hair on your head is gray, it’s just a great thing. I think in popular music the window is more narrow.

But in this music, people want to see you play your music whether you’re six or whatever age. How old was Bobby Osborne? He was 92! The record that I did with Bobby, Original, we was 86/87-years-old when we recorded that record. You wouldn’t see an 87-year-old pop artist probably making a record.

My Friend Dawg: Three Musicians on the Real David Grisman

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

To complete our Dawg in December Artist of the Month series, we asked several musicians who have worked with and made music with the inimitable David Grisman what it’s like to really know him.

A mythological figure in American roots music, the Dawg remains remarkably accessible and embedded in the scene, despite his unofficial role as a sort of guru-meets-mentor-meets-hermit. He’s been a teacher and encourager of multiple new generations of pickers and mandolinists, from Grammy-nominated Ronnie McCoury to young, impressive upstarts like Teo Quale – who, with his brother Miles and band, Crying Uncle, performed for Dawg’s Bluegrass Hall of Fame induction at IBMA’s annual awards show in September. Others, like fellow Hall of Famer Alice Gerrard, began their friendships with Grisman long ago, before his skyrocketing notoriety and impact.

We asked these three pickers and friends of Dawg – Gerrard, McCoury, and Quale – to reflect on their relationships with the man, who despite being placed high upon a pedestal by many in bluegrass, new acoustic, and old-time music, remains a grounded and down-to-earth mandolin player with an extraordinary legacy.

Alice Gerrard

Alice Gerrard: “I remember sort of my first impression of David – I think it also was Hazel’s too, because he was this very young looking kid from New York, but he played this great mandolin. It was kind of, “What’s going on here?” you know, but the thing that really stands out in my mind is when we were riding to New York [once]. I don’t remember, it might have been my van, but it was a van, and we were going there to record the second Folkways album.

“I think that’s the one that had, ‘The One I Love is Gone.’ We were on our way to record that album in New York and Peter Siegel – who is a friend of David’s and I think Peter was the one who suggested that David play mandolin on the album, because we didn’t really know David at that point. But we did trust Peter. So, David is in the band with us and and we were practicing that song as we were driving up to New York from D.C.

“Hazel was singing the tenor, and I was singing the lead, and there was a problem. Because, you know, often those Bill Monroe harmonies are kind of a mix of major against minor and stuff like that. Hazel was having a hard time getting it, but I’m not. (I’d have to go back and really think about whether she had it right and Peter and David had it wrong.) But it ended up with David lying on the floor of the van between the front and back seats. I don’t know why he was doing that, but he was lying on the floor and singing it with Hazel, trying to get her to find this particular note.

“It was just hilarious! I mean, it was like, I don’t know, two or three hours worth of David’s face, singing ‘The One I Love Is Gone,’ and him fairly well convinced that she did not have the right note. I don’t remember. I mean, I don’t remember the specifics of that, but it was hilariously funny, and of course, what she ended up with was great, but I’m not sure whether he was trying to get her to hit a minor note or what.

“He was just this little kid, you know? From New York. And played this great mandolin. It was beautiful what he did on that song.

“I had to think about how we first met him and how we first decided to record. So I called Peter Siegel on the phone and he told me that he was the one– I mean, David was a friend of his in New York. [Peter] came down to D.C. with David. They were going to go to this bluegrass show, but that got rained out, so they didn’t go. They canceled the show. They [both] heard about this party. I remember where it was. It was at my cousin’s house, who at that time was living sort of on the edge of Georgetown.

“And so, according to Peter, they just came to the house and Hazel and I were sort of sitting somewhere singing together. It was Peter’s idea to use David. And I’m so happy that we did because yeah, he’s amazing.”

Ronnie McCoury

Ronnie McCoury: “When I started playing music, I started playing the mandolin with my dad. I was 14 ‘81– like ‘82 or ‘80, somewhere around there, either before I started playing or right after. My dad got this package in the mail and David had gotten a hold of him and said, ‘I found these tapes of a show we did in Troy, New York in 1966.’ And it was my dad, David, Uncle Jerry [McCoury], and Winnie Winston. [Dawg] said, they sounded pretty good and he’d like to put them out. So he did. It’s called Early Dawg on Sugar Hill. It was half this live stuff and the other half was studio. Along with that package he sent a couple albums of his stuff.

“I mean, that’s just how he is, you know? He just sent this along. He didn’t even really know that I was playing music at the time. I had no idea he was a California guy. I found these albums [he had sent], I had never heard anything like that played on a mandolin, because I was just [getting started]. You know, I’m a child of bluegrass. I was born into it. My dad started a band in ‘66. I was born in ‘67. [It’s] always been a part of me.

“This new music I was hearing, I couldn’t even grasp it. I didn’t know what it was, but I went to bed at night all through my teens putting his albums on and it would play one side and I’d be usually asleep by that time. I did that basically every night to David’s records.

“When I was probably 18 or so, David called my dad and said, ‘Hey, I want to do some bluegrass and I want to do this thing called the David Grisman Bluegrass Experience and we’ll do some shows.’ Basically, it was my dad’s band [backing him up]. We did that quite a bit, for a year or two – just on and off.

“I got to know David and every time we go west, we always were basically playing Northern California and either Grass Valley, California – for the festival – or touring out there playing with my dad. It was just starting for my dad a lot more in the West. He’d been going there for years, but sporadically, and we’d always wind up going to the Dawg’s house. I had been playing a Kentucky mandolin, and he told me, ‘Hey, I got a mandolin at my house for you.’ And I never thought anything about it, and I surely wouldn’t ask about it.

“My dad went out, while we were still in Pennsylvania, and he recorded with David for what is called Home is Where the Heart Is. Dad did a show at the Great American [Music Hall], I think, with Dawg, and he came home with this Gilchrist mandolin. The neck was coming out of it at the time and I had a guy repair it – Warren Blair, who was playing the fiddle.

“He laid that mandolin on me, I believe I was probably 19 or 20, and it’s the same one I play today. I’m 56. I got a Loar 10 years ago and played it a little while, but David and Sam Bush and all my peers said, ‘Hey man, stay on that Gilchrist.’ So I stuck with it. I owe him such a debt. He gave me something that is such a part of me, it defines me, I guess. I’ll tell you, it’s his giving heart. He has a huge heart.”

“My dad met David in 1963. He was playing with Bill Monroe and Ralph Rinzler was his manager at the time– Bill’s first manager. He played in New York somewhere and they stayed at David’s house. David’s father passed when he was 10 and his mother, I can’t remember if his mother was even there, but my dad would have been 24. [Dawg] would have been six years younger than my dad. He was a teenager, you know. I don’t know if Monroe did, but my dad wound up staying with David, because Ralph put him there. He and my dad go back to when he was a teenager. There’s such a long friendship there.

“One time, we were at Grass Valley and Dawg said, ‘Have you heard of this kid?’ He comes riding up on a little bicycle with his mandolin on his back and I said, ‘Well, I’ve heard the name Nickel Creek, but I didn’t really know much.’ He says, ‘Chris Thile’s his name.’ He comes riding up, you know, and he jumps off his bike and he wants to play for David.

“We’re standing around picking and [Chris] sings, ‘Roll in My Sweet Baby’s Arms’ – super high, you know – and he’s playing. David said, ‘Hey, man, do you know this tune?’ And he starts playing ‘Big Mon.’ Or ‘Monroe’s Hornpipe,’ I think it was. [Thile] didn’t know it, so David’s playing it and he starts showing him it. And [Chris is] just like a sponge. He starts just running it real slow, then he’s like, ‘Oh, that’s neat!’ And he hops on his bike and he’s off. Like an hour or so later, he comes riding up, jumps off his bike, and he’s got it down. It was pretty neat to see David show him.

“The first time I ever heard or met Jake Jolliff was with David. The first time I ever met Julian Lage was with David. Both of those guys, probably at the time, were 10 and 11, something like that.”

Teo Quale

L to R: Teo Quale, David Grisman, and Mile Quale. (Photo courtesy of the Quales and Crying Uncle Bluegrass Band).

Teo Quale: “I first met Dawg as a young kid at a Manning Music event when I was about 6 or 7 – so about 10 years ago. Actually, the first time I was around David was when I was still a baby, but I don’t really remember that!

“Anyway, he jammed a bit with us and Tracy played bass. He and Chad [Manning] played later on. At the time, I was playing fiddle and I really wanted to start learning the mandolin, but my fingers weren’t strong enough yet. So, my mother got me a ukulele and replaced the strings with ones tuned in fifths. Then about a year later, I finally started on the mandolin.

“David has been an inspiration to me ever since meeting him. Over the years, I’ve also had the opportunity to take some lessons with him and he’s always been really generous with his time and his knowledge, but always in that relaxed Dawg way. His music has influenced the way I approach every aspect of my playing, from improvisation to composition.

“Most of my other heroes were also greatly influenced by David – Mike Marshall, Darol Anger, Ric [Robertson] and [Dominick Leslie]. I’m thankful that I get to call him a friend and that I’m also around so many musicians who were touched by him. I don’t get to see him as often as I’d like, but we keep in touch.

“He was born on the same day and year as my grandfather, both two really special people in my life. I play one of his old mandolins now (made in 2006, the same year I was born!), and I am thankful each time I pick it up, knowing that a part of Dawg will always be in this instrument.”

Photo Credit: Courtesy of Acoustic Disc.

WATCH: Kat Wallace and David Sasso, “Somes Pond”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Kat Wallace and David Sasso
Hometown: New Haven, Connecticut
Song: “Somes Pond”
Album: Old Habits
Release Date: October 1, 2021

In Their Words: “David wrote this instrumental tune at a cabin on Somes Pond, Mount Desert Island, Maine, last summer. We recorded this track at Dimension Sound Studios in Boston with David on mandolin and octave mandolin and Kat on fiddle joined by Brittany Karlson on bass and Ariel Bernstein on drums. In rehearsal, this harmonically adventurous tune called for a ripping solo section, and Kat suggested inviting friends to contribute to a big party breakdown. After a sparse melodic beginning and solos by Kat, David, and Brittany, Ariel launches the track into a funky groove with solos from this all-star cast of featured guests: Max Allard (banjo), Joe K. Walsh (mandolin), Mark Kilianski (guitar), Mike Block (cello), Bronwyn Keith-Hynes (fiddle), and Mike Marshall (mandocello). A few harmonic twists bring the tune home.

“‘Somes Pond’ is the third single from our second album, Old Habits, which evolves from the raw and transparent fiddle/mandolin duo feel of our first album, Stuff of Stars, into a full band sound with guitar, bass, drums, and pedal steel. Our album’s eclectic songs explore the cyclical nature of life, love, and loss, taking inspiration from the isolation and pain of the past year’s pandemic yet reaching to find beauty in the blemishes of the human experience.” — Kat Wallace and David Sasso

Photo credit: Naomi Libby

5 Uncommon Trad Instruments Played Like You’ve Never Heard

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

We’re all familiar with the standard bluegrass five-piece band (also a common lineup in old-time or string band music), but there are quite a few second- and third-string instruments — no pun intended — that are rarely invited to join ensembles of guitar, fiddle, upright bass, mandolin, and banjo. Dobro is perhaps first on this short list, but accordion, dulcimer (hammered and mountain), autoharp, washboard, harmonica and dozens of other music and noisemakers could be encountered alongside these acoustic staples.

The five musicians below are awe-inspiringly adept at their instruments, each considered more like afterthoughts or casual embellishments in American roots music, rarely considered centerpieces themselves. But no matter how uncommon they may be at your local jam circle, or around the fire at the campsite, after you’ve been introduced to each of the following, you’ll be craving more unexpected and uncommon sounds in your bluegrass lineups.

From bones to nyckelharpa to Irish harp, here are five uncommon traditional instruments played like you’ve never heard them before:

Simon Chrisman – Hammered Dulcimer

A familiar, towering figure in the West Coast old-time, folk, and DIY roots music scenes, Simon Chrisman is criminally underappreciated on a national or international level. He most recently released a duo album with acclaimed banjoist Wes Corbett, he has been touring and collaborating with the Jeremy Kittel Band, and he’s performed and recorded with the Bee Eaters, Bruce Molsky, Laurie Lewis, and many others. His hammered dulcimer chops exist on a plane above and beyond even the most accomplished players on the trapezoidal instrument, throwing in pop and bebop-inspired runs, reaching down to bend strings by hand to achieve particular semi-tones, bouncing along at a rate only matched by a three-finger banjo player’s rapid-fire sixteenth notes. It’s jaw-dropping, even in Chrisman’s most simple, tender melodies and compositions. This rollicking number, named for Corbett’s beloved cat, is neither simple nor overtly tender, but your jaw will find the floor nonetheless.

Rowan Corbett – Bones

Rowan Corbett is a singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and percussionist best known for his time with seminal modern Black string band, the Carolina Chocolate Drops. Also a longtime member of Baltimore-based acoustic-grunge/world-folk group ilyAIMY and a veteran of Celtic outfit Tinsmith, Corbett is something of a musical chameleon, though it never feels as if he’s just putting on genre costumes to match whatever melodic motif suits the moment. Instead he inhabits each one authentically and wholly. ilyAIMY, for being billed as a folk band, are captivating, passionate, and energetic, perhaps most of all while Corbett fronts the group. But all of his musical moxie across all of his instruments pales when he pulls out the bones — traditional, handheld percussion instruments similar to their more mainstream (if not more vilified) counterpart, the spoons.

It’s no wonder a bio for Corbett begins, “What are those and how does he do that?” Corbett’s percussion skills are precise and technical, laser-like accuracy meshed with generation-blurring soul. During a guest appearance with Rhiannon Giddens at the North Carolina Museum of Art in Raleigh, North Carolina, in September 2019, Corbett brought thousands of listeners gathered on the hillside by the amphitheatre to their feet with his bones and just a couple of bars. This improv/battle video with Greg Adams displays just a taste of Corbett’s prowess on the ancient instrument.

Amy Hakanson – Nyckelharpa

Pandemic aside, if you’ve jammed with an old-time fiddler in the past two years you’ve probably fumbled (if you’re like this writer) or charmingly tripped your way through a Swedish fiddle tune or two. Musicians like Brittany Haas and Molly Tuttle have brought Swedish tunes into their repertoires, birthing dozens of new acolytes of the crooked, wonky, joyful tunes. Many an American fan of Swedish folk traditions were introduced to them by Väsen, a genre-blending, nearly 30-year-old Swedish folk band adored by multiple generations of American musicians, thanks to their status as a favorite band of everyone’s favorite pickers. (Väsen counts Chris Thile, Mike Marshall, Darol Anger, and others among their most vocal proponents and collaborators.)

Nyckelharpa player and scholar Amy Hakanson was first introduced to the instrument by Väsen as well and in 2014 she took her fascination with the heady, engaging music to the source, to study nyckelharpa with Väsen’s Olov Johansson himself at the Eric Sahlström Institute in Tobo, Sweden. Her approach to the instrument — a traditional Swedish, bowed fiddle-like apparatus played with keys — has a storied, timeless air, even as she carefully places the nyckelharpa in modern contexts. This original, “Spiralpolska,” for instance, utilizes a loop machine, ancient droning and modern droning combined.

Sarah Kate Morgan – Mountain Dulcimer

The mountain dulcimer is simple and beautiful in its most common use, a gentle, pedalling rhythm section for languid, introspective folk tunes. Counterintuitively much more common in the hallways and hotel rooms of Folk Alliance International’s conference than IBMA’s or SPGBMA’s gatherings, this writer first encountered Kentuckian Sarah Kate Morgan and her melodic-style dulcimer among the many booths of IBMA’s World of Bluegrass exhibit hall. She was holding her own in an impromptu fiddle jam with mandolins, fiddles, banjos — all instruments much more familiar with picking intricate, free flowing hornpipes and hoedowns. But Morgan doesn’t just strum the dulcimer, capitalizing on its resonant sustain and open tuning, she shreds it. Playing a finely-tuned, impeccably intonated instrument with a radiused fretboard, she courageously and daringly dialogues with whomever accompanies her down every bluegrass and old-time rabbit hole she meets. It’s incredible to watch, not only with the understanding that most mountain dulcimers are treated as an aesthetic afterthought, but also knowing that Morgan’s prowess outpaces just about anybody on any instrument. A truly transcendent musician.

Alannah Thornburgh – Harp

Harp keeps coming up lately! And for good reason. No matter the genre label applied, harp is having a moment. We’ve kept up with Alannah Thornburgh for a few years, featuring her work with Alfi as well as across-the-pond collaborations like this one, with mandolinist (and BGS contributor) Tristan Scroggins. Living in Dublin, Thornburgh plays in the Irish harp tradition, but has toured and traveled extensively in the United States, giving her style a distinctly old-time and fiddle-tune-influenced approach. She takes on the complicated, contextual vocabularies of American old-time music with ease, almost leading listeners to believe that emulating the banjo or mandolin or executing new acoustic compositions or modern reharmonizations of old-time classics is what the harp was designed to do.

An Instagram video of Thornburgh displays a mischievous, winking arrangement of Béla Fleck’s “The over Grown Waltz,” from one of his masterworks, The Bluegrass Sessions: Tales from the Acoustic Planet, Vol. 2. An earworm of a tune well-worn and familiar to any acoustic music fan Generation X and younger, it’s not uncommonly called at some jams, but its hummable melody is secretly, deceptively, subversively complicated. Once again, Thornburgh simply smiles and pushes onward, as if reaching and pulling these intricate licks and banjo phrases seemingly out of thin air on a harp were as everyday an activity as brushing one’s teeth — or a wedding performance of Pachelbel’s Canon in D.

 

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Photo credit: Alannah Thornburgh (left) by Tara McAuley; Amy Hakanson by Amy Hakanson.

LISTEN: Kat Wallace and David Sasso, “Farewell to Trion”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Kat Wallace and David Sasso
Hometown: New Haven, Connecticut
Song: “Farewell to Trion”
Album: Stuff of Stars
Release Date: August 16, 2019

In Their Words: “We worked up our arrangement of this Alabama fiddle tune after David learned it from late fiddler Stacy Phillips at a local old-time jam just a week before his untimely passing. We took inspiration from the fiddle and mandocello recordings of Darol Anger and Mike Marshall while pulling from our own classical roots. We enjoyed playing around with classical form and phrasing while keeping that good old-time groove. The arrangement builds to a climax where fiddle and mandocello trade the C [third] part hook just before a reharmonized outro. This track is one of two instrumentals on our debut album, which leans on our shared love of folk and bluegrass and showcases our original songwriting.” — Kat Wallace and David Sasso

Photo credit: Naomi Libby

RECAP: Telluride Bluegrass Festival

Posted on by Editor

For as long as I’ve been involved in the bluegrass world, people have been telling me of the transformative powers of Telluride Bluegrass Festival.

Every time festivals would get discussed, one of the first questions inevitably was ‘well have you been to Telluride?’ to which I would mumble some lame excuse about not having the time or money or anything else that would come to mind.

But this year, with the launch of the new site (and a complete lack of excuses), I booked my ticket and headed east.

I arrived in the valley early Thursday evening, the peaks of the Rockies surrounding me, after a gorgeous two and a half hour drive from Durango.  After settling in to the house, my group and I walked over to catch the last of John Prine on stage.  The sun was setting, casting an amazing, warm light on everything around us, and I knew I was already in love with this place.

We all headed over to my first Nightgrass show at the auditorium of the local high school, where one of my current favorites, Joy Kills Sorrow, took to the stage prior to Laura Marling (who, despite being a phenomenal singer and songwriter, was a bit too mellow for a set that started at 12am).

Friday, I awoke to the sounds of Edgar Meyer and Mike Marshall on the main stage (the entire festival is conveniently simulcast on local radio station KOTO) and spent the morning wandering the main street in town, eventually settling at Elks Park stage to see Bryan Sutton, Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas, and Luke Bulla perform a tribute to the late Doc Watson. The woman introducing the set summed it up best: ‘We’re proposing a toast to our good fortune: to being human, healthy, and happy, right here.’  Right here.  For these few days.  Everyone together, collectively sharing in such amazing music.  Telluride’s mysterious and magical spell was beginning to weave itself around me.

After watching Doc’s tribute, we headed to the main stage to catch Del McCoury.  If you haven’t seen Del live, YOU NEED TO DO IT.  The man is a legend, and a showman to the greatest degree.  Just… ugh, seriously promise me you’ll see him.  It’s unlike anything else.

John Fogerty wrapped up the night.  Do you realize how many Fogerty songs you know??  Probably not, because the man played for over two hours and we all knew EVERY WORD.  Apparently it’s just something that’s built in to the American subconscious: they lyrics of John Fogerty.

Despite a laaaaate evening the night before (the jams around town tend to last til the wee hours), I was up on Saturday for an early morning gondola ride up the mountain, but not before catching the last few songs in Bela Fleck and Edgar Meyer‘s workshop ‘How to Play Badly Without Anyone Noticing’ (with special appearance by Chris Thile), which is one hell of a way to kick off any day.

Spent the majority of my day at Elks Park stage, with new favorites Della Mae showing off their impressive and catchy musical prowess (seriously, go listen to these ferociously talented ladies right now…), followed by a Woody Guthrie tribute show featuring Tim O’Brien (Hot Rize), Emma Beaton (Joy Kills Sorrow), Peter Rowan (Peter Rowan Band), Kristin Andreassen (Uncle Earl) and Vince Herman (Leftover Salmon).  The Guthrie show was really something…. as the voice of the audience swelled during a rousing rendition of ‘I Ain’t Got No Home,’ it was pretty clear just how relevant Woody’s lyrics remain.

Later that night we all headed over to see Bruce Hornsby (where Bela Fleck and Chris Thile made guest appearances!), and the 1987 version of me was secretly [not-so-secretly] thrilled with the swell of the opening chords to ‘Mandolin Rain’ (admit it you totally love that song too…).

Sunday was a day to end all days.  From Peter Rowan to Brett Dennan to the Punch Brothers (in one of their best performances I have ever seen, only to be surpassed later that evening when they played Nightgrass), to Glen Hansard (of The Swell Season), and eventually the Telluride House Band with Bela, Sam, Stuart, Edgar, Bryan and Luke, it was a pretty remarkable meeting of the minds on one stage.

Sunday night wrapped with a post-show Nightgrass performance with the Punch Brothers (they played til almost 2am), followed by a late night on the porch, waiting for the sun to rise, incredibly resistant to the inevitable return to reality we all faced the next day.

People aren’t kidding when they say that Telluride is transformative.  It was unlike any festival event I’d attended prior (so clean!  so nice!  so organized!) and left me feeling more inspired than I’d been in a long time.  You’ll just have to check it out for yourself next year [no excuses].