Tag: Newfoundland

Bluegrass Memoirs: The Earl Scruggs Revue in 1975

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Soon after Earl Scruggs and Lester Flatt ended their partnership and their band The Foggy Mountain Boys in 1969, Earl created The Earl Scruggs Revue with his sons. They recorded for a major label, Columbia, and toured regularly until 1980, disbanding in 1982. This is the story of how I came to see, hear and take extensive notes about their 1975 concert at the University of Maine.

In 1969 I was living in St. John’s, Newfoundland, working at Memorial University’s folklore department where I taught a yearly course, Introduction to Folk Song. I knew that bluegrass drew from folk traditions in the U.S. Southeast, for I had been playing bluegrass and writing about it for a decade. But I could tell my students little about the Canadian milieu. So, in the early ‘70s I began research in Canada’s Maritime provinces of Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, and New Brunswick

In August 1974, I moved to New Brunswick for a year’s sabbatical. My research project was a study of regional and local relationships between country music and folk music traditions. I did extensive fieldwork – interviews and documenting events, collecting music.

That fall, I met a singer-collector of country records and song folios, a perfect example of the kind of folk-country connection I was studying. I recorded several hours of his songs and began contemplating publishing them in an album.

I thought at once of Rounder, a new record company that had been publishing innovative roots albums. I’d met the Rounders – Ken Irwin, Bill Nowlin and Marian Leighton, a music collective – at an American Folklore Society meeting. They knew me as a writer about and collector of bluegrass.

Early in the new year I arranged to visit them. In February 1975, I set out in the family pickup with my ten-year-old daughter Lisa from our farmhouse in Pleasant Villa, New Brunswick to Brooksville, Maine, where we visited relatives. Lisa stayed with them while I drove further south to Somerville, Massachusetts, to visit the Rounders.

David Menconi, in his new book, Oh, Didn’t They Ramble (U of NC Press), describes well the scene at the Rounder collective’s big old Somerville house, with their newly flourishing roots music record company. We discussed projects, they took me down to the basement to see their mail order records inventory, and I came back to Brooksville with a load of LPs and lots of news about the contemporary bluegrass world.

Brooksville is a little over an hour away from Orono, site of the University of Maine, where my friend, Edward D. “Sandy” Ives, lived. Sandy was a great writer, a folklorist who’d studied and published books about 19th century singer-songmakers in Maine and the Maritimes. I was looking forward to discussing my ongoing research with him. After I returned from visiting the Rounders, we drove up to Orono to see Sandy and his wife, Bobby.

When we got to Orono, a young friend and former student of mine at Memorial, Lisa Feldman, was staying with the Ives. It was she who alerted us about the Earl Scruggs Revue concert and went along with us to it.

In St. John’s, I regularly bought new bluegrass albums by mail order from County Sales. I don’t recall paying much attention to the Revue then. County didn’t carry their albums.

Revue albums were not easy to find in Newfoundland. Working on a Flatt & Scruggs discography and, admiring Scruggs’ banjo artistry, I wanted to hear his contemporary work. I bought all the Revue albums I could find. By the fall of 1974, when I moved to New Brunswick for the sabbatical, I’d gotten seven.

Those records were in storage back in Newfoundland for the year, but I’d brought my stereo set along and by December I’d found a new Revue album, Rocking Across the Country (Columbia KC 32943). There was nice Dobro on it by Josh Graves and one great instrumental composed by Earl, “Silver Eagle” – named, presumably, for the band’s bus.

During that year I was doing field research at music events and venues – bars, jamborees, concerts, jams – and had developed a system of documenting them. I carried a 3″ by 5″ notebook (spiral binding, ruled pages) and took notes. This was with me all the time and so it just seemed like an easy thing to take notes as usual at this concert.

What follows are my notes from that February 7, 1975, concert, written up from my notebook when I returned to Pleasant Villa the following week.

Friday, February 7, 1975
Orono, Maine
Report on Earl Scruggs Revue Concert at the University of Maine, Orono.

Tickets were $3.50. I went with Sandy Ives, and we were joined at the concert by Lisa Feldman and by [Sandy’s wife] Bobby and [their daughter] Sarah Ives and [my daughter] Lisa R., who had all gone to see a Robin Hood movie. The concert was sponsored by the student union and represented a slight departure from previous concerts of this type in that instead of bringing high-powered “name” outfits on which a lot of money had been lost, they were now trying slightly less expensive acts. The concert committee was dominated by frat boys who didn’t know about music, according to Lisa [F.].

Site of the event was the basketball gym. Folding chairs were placed on the court, and wooden bleachers were placed around the side (these might have been permanent, but seemed moveable… small point). There were balcony seats on both sides and at one end, the end over the doors through which we entered. At the other end a stage was set up. Dominated by big columns and horns on either side – your typical rock concert setup. Sandy and I took seats on the left side of the bleachers (as you face the stage), about three rows up and we were about 2/3 to 3/4 of the way back from the stage toward the entry doors. Directly ahead of us in the middle of the floor was a raised platform on which the controls for the sound were set, along with a chair or two for the operator(s?). Behind this, higher and close to the back, was another platform with the lights. During the concert the colors were constantly being changed and moved about from tune to tune by a light man who must have known something about the Scruggs show in advance.

The audience consisted of college students almost exclusively. I didn’t see any old-time Martha White fans or country music types. Dress was Levi’s and hippie mufti – knit caps, ragged but interesting coats, vests, long dresses, patches, etc. There was a lot of smoking going on and some drinking. Before the show a long-haired young man who represented the powers that be got up and told the audience that there was no smoking and no drinking and that if they were caught, they would be ejected from the show by the campus police. In addition he said that, if you must smoke, then don’t get caught. But also, he said, please don’t put out your butts on the floor of the basketball court – a lot were last time, and the University is threatening to not let them have concerts if this continues. Burden of the speech: Here are the ground rules, don’t get caught, play it cool.

The campus police were cruising up and down the aisles dressed in dark blue uniforms with dark blue shirts and black ties with dark blue Stetsons. Something like Civil War Union Army officers in movies. And they were looking very serious and hawk-like.

The warm-up act was introduced, as a group from Boston, “Beckett.” The group consisted of Phil B. (missed his last name, [Buller]), who came on playing a D28 guitar and a harmonica, Steve Delaney, playing an electric bass, and Jaime Michaels, who played a D18 Martin guitar and did the emcee and lead singing in the first few numbers. Later they all switched around, with each doing some lead singing and some emceeing. I took notes in the darkened auditorium with a fancy movie critic’s pen that [then wife] Ann had given me — lights up in the dark, illuminating one’s pad. As it were.

The first song was “CLEAR BLUE SKY.” There were a few catcalls from the balcony and a rather tentative feeling from the audience. A whiff of authentic marijuana smoke drifted my way during this (and subsequent songs), and I could see people lighting up in various places. Later, the folks next to me surreptitiously passed a bottle (beer, I think) around. At the end of the first song, the Beckett emcee made a sly crack about “Maine Mounties” and from there the show built — they had the audience with them.

Next song was “SOMETHING NEW.” As all this was going on, the cops were cruising up and down the aisles, occasionally throwing people out, but generally arriving on the scene after the cigarette had been extinguished. They were on the lookout for tell-tale lights, and one time one went by us while I was jotting down a note with my fancy pen. He gave me a hard look and some of the people around me had a good giggle about that.

Next song, [“WE ARE FREE”]. These guys weren’t musically bad, but I could not really get into their music. The harmony singing was kind of Crosby/Stills/Nash and actually a bit weak; the instrumental aspect of it was bland. A note here says “harelip,” but when you wait ten days before writing up your notes you forget the jokes, I guess. Next one of the boys took up an Ovation guitar – this was Phil B., and the song was “LAST TUESDAY MORNING.” Then Jaimie mentioned that they were from Virginia and that they considered it an honor to be appearing with the Earl Scruggs Revue. Then they did “TENNESSEE.” Next, “I’LL TRY IF YOU’LL TRY.” Most of their songs were their own compositions, I guess. I didn’t recognize any of the above; the names in brackets are ones they didn’t announce that I guessed at from the words. Now Phil took up the Ovation again Steve took an electric guitar and they did a song they had written while in Pittsburgh, [“STOLE AWAY”]. Using the same instrumentation, which, incidentally, sounded better than the acoustics – that is, the electric came over with much more tone – they did “PERFECT HONEY.”

Now another instrument switch with Phil taking up an old Gibson J50 guitar and Steve going back to the bass. The song was introduced as a “folk song” for reasons which eluded me at the time. It was “SEARCHING,” but not the Coasters’ smash hit. With the same instrumentation, they then launched into a song written either by or about some friends in Boston, “COUNTY LINE.” Then, as their final tune, a song they introduced as being by Joni Mitchell and needing no introduction (?). It was well received by the audience, and they got an encore.

They came on and did a song which they introduced as a real old one by that old bluesman Eric Von Schmidt (time flies – I remember Rolf Cahn telling me in 1959 that he’d been picking with a really good kid in Boston who even did some slide guitar, a kid named Rick Von Schmidt). Song was “AIN’T NOBODY’S BUSINESS BUT YOU OWN,” and they did it well. Kids in the front of the audience got up and started waving their hands in the air, literally surrendering to the music. For the second encore, it was another Von Schmidt tune, “GRIZZLY BEAR (SOLID GONE).”

Another intermission, punctuated by further entreaties by the same fellow. By this point, the cops were less in evidence although during the second half they did eject several people sitting around me.

Enter the Earl Scruggs Revue, who plug in and pick away at once on “NASHVILLE SKYLINE RAG.” Across the front of the stage are three microphones; at my left stands Stevie Scruggs, who plays rhythm guitar (a Gallagher) most of the evening, except for one banjo tune. Next to him is Randy, who is bent over his Gallagher guitar, doing the lead work. Characteristically I guess you never see his face when he’s picking, he’s looking at the fingers and anyhow is surrounded by hair. Later, in various numbers which I didn’t note, he plays a bright red Gibson electric with twin cutouts and a thin (hollow?) body, which has a very mellow tone.

Next to him, in stage center, is Earl. Earl’s Mastertone is electrified with some sort of pickup inside, a Barkus-Berry or FRAP of some kind I guess. This surprised me, as did the fact that he was wearing the instrument much lower than when he played with Flatt. He was not bopping around as much as the boys (who, in turn, were not bopping around as much as many or most rock groups), but he was looking very relaxed, had the old smile of yore, and did move when he played more than I remember from the Martha White days. On the right and, rather standing back was poker-faced Gary, who played bass and did the lead singing. When there was any part singing done, Earl and Randy took the center mic, Steve the left-hand one, and, behind them Jody Maphis took his vocal parts on a separate mike over the drums. To my right behind and to the right of Gary, was a piano where Jack Lee the pianist sat. This is the same guy on the cover of the Rockin’ Across the Country album. [This is not correct. The guy on the cover of Rockin’ is Shane Keister, who is listed on the album cover as “keyboard instruments.”]

My first impression was one of tightness, in the sense that the band was really together and tight. And although I can’t say I like Earl’s banjo sound as well with the volts surging through it, it was sounding like a banjo and Earl did get quite a few tonal nuances from it without the visible aid of a tone control. Randy was as good as the recordings led me to expect, however, he frequently seemed to be “grandstanding” it, by playing freak-out type rock licks way up the neck which were spectacular and, effective in terms of inciting the audience, but which were as far as I was concerned not as nice musically as the well thought out stuff he did or does on record. So I was a bit disappointed in Randy.

My reaction to Earl was just the opposite. He has sounded a bit stiff and mechanical on the records I have heard (and I got ‘em all, Jack), but tonight he was nicely in the groove and seemed to have some very interesting new ideas, especially rhythmic variations, which I hadn’t heard before. He really seemed to be enjoying himself, too. After this tune, the members were introduced and they went right into “I SHALL BE RELEASED,” following which, Earl introduced the next song as an old “shouting type number,” “PAUL AND SILAS.”

Gary’s singing is o.k., it fits the music and sells the songs to the rock programmed audience. Doesn’t bother me, doesn’t excite me; seems to be better in person than on record, and better on recent record than on older records. Earl next says this is an old number he used to play at square dances back when they only had one instrument, and he says, “We’ll show you what it was like to do it alone and then we’ll show you why I was so glad when someone else came by with their instruments to help me out.” He doesn’t announce it, but it’s “SALLY GOODIN.” Intro and arrangement are as on the Kansas State album. They really get rolling (and rocking) on this one, with Earl and Randy engaging in some nice banjo-guitar call-response stuff. The audience responds here as it does again and again later on to the faster tunes, by standing up and waving their hands, shouting, etc. Following this, Earl mentions the Kansas State album by saying that the next tune is on it, an old Jimmie Rodgers tune, “T FOR TEXAS.” Next, Randy is to pick a fiddle tune on the guitar, and it turns out to be “BLACK MOUNTAIN BLUES.”

The next tune, an instrumental, was a [Blues in F] and then, coming without an announcement was “MOST LIKELY YOU GO YOUR WAY (AND I’LL GO MINE),” which has a nice arrangement with some good banjo work by Earl. The next song is introduced by Gary as one which dad wrote about the place in North Carolina where he grew up, “FLINT HILL SPECIAL.” Gary takes a harmonica break on this one.

Then, a novelty item — Randy and Jody play a tune written by Elizabeth Cotten (Earl is talking – I was gassed that he gave the tune proper credit, this really shows the kind of considerate and thoughtful person I like to think he is), on one guitar! Here Jody gets up front, from behind his drums, and he & Randy stand near the center of the stage and Randy does the right hand (the guitar, a Gallagher is hung from around his neck) and Jody does the left. Then, while Jody does the simple left hand, Randy does some fancy up the neck left hand stuff too, making it into a very interesting and rather complex piece of music. They also gag it up a bit, swinging the guitar back and forth at the end, in time to a leg-swinging rock dance step thing. Nice job, boys. “FREIGHT TRAIN” was the tune, of course.

Now one of the boys (Gary?) introduces Earl doing an old Carter Family tune on the guitar. This is “YOU ARE MY FLOWER,” which Gary sings and my impression was that the sound not as nice and delicate as on the recordings of that that Earl did a few years back. Next it’s Stevie’s turn – he does “EARL’S BREAKDOWN” on Earl’s banjo and it’s very hard to hear, giving me the impression that he hasn’t mastered the tune that well or that in any case hasn’t worked out tone production and control on the electrified instrument the way his father has. The next tune I noted only as [“FATHER TOLD ME”] and I’m at a loss to identify it from their recordings. Then, of course, the song which “Daddy wrote for a television series,” “THE BALLAD OF JED CLAMPETT” done as an instrumental. Followed by Randy’s guitar version of “ORANGE BLOSSOM SPECIAL,” which is a crowd rouser/etc.

Next comes Gary’s interesting song “EVERYBODY WANTS TO GO TO HEAVEN (NOBODY WANTS TO DIE),” which features in this performance a slide banjo sequence by Earl, in which he’s picking along, then takes his left hand off the fingerboard, reaching into his pocket (I think, what?!) and pulling out a slide and doing a couple bars of that kinda stuff. Grandstanding, but fun, and the audience can’t miss it. “STEP IT UP AND GO” is next and then “one that Dad wrote in 1949 and in 1968 they used it for the theme to a movie called Bonnie and Clyde,” “FOGGY MOUNTAIN BREAKDOWN,”
which is the final number and leaves ‘em screaming for more so they do: “CAROLINA BOOGIE,” which has some nice call-response parts and leads to a second encore in which they do “BUGLE CALL RAG,” “LITTLE MAGGIE” (bless her soul).

The audience wants more but the lights are turned on.

(Editor’s Note: Neil Rosenberg’s Bluegrass Memoirs on the Earl Scruggs Revue will be continued.)

Author’s Note: For a contrasting review see Hub Nitchie, “Pull the Plug, Earl” in Banjo Newsletter II:6 (April 1975), p. 13.

Neil V. Rosenberg is an author, scholar, historian, banjo player, Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame inductee, and co-chair of the IBMA Foundation’s Arnold Shultz Fund.

Photo of Rosenberg by Terri Thomson Rosenberg. 

Edited by Justin Hiltner.

Bluegrass Memoirs: The First Canadian Bluegrass Festival (Part 1)

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The first Canadian festival, a modest affair billed as a “Bluegrass Jamboree,” took place in August 1972. I was involved in its organization and presentation. Subsequently, the Jamboree grew into an annual festival that’s still running. 

The Nova Scotia-based Downeast Bluegrass & Oldtime Music Society’s website reads: 

The annual family friendly Nova Scotia Bluegrass and Oldtime Music festival is Canada’s oldest, and North America’s second oldest continuously running Bluegrass Festival, and is presented and hosted by the Downeast Bluegrass and Oldtime Music Society, a non-profit organization dedicated to the preservation and promotion of Bluegrass and Oldtime music in Eastern Canada. 

Here’s how it happened. 

By the summer of 1972 I had been living in Canada for four years, working as a professor of folklore and archivist in St. John’s, Newfoundland, at Memorial, the big provincial university.

Deeply immersed in bluegrass, I now stayed in touch with the music I’d left behind via bluegrass friends in the states, I read Bluegrass Unlimited every month, and I got County Sales‘ newsletters and bought new LPs from them by mail.

 

June 22, 1968. Banjo workshop at Bean Blossom, IN: Vic Jordan, Bobby Thompson, Dave Garrett, Neil Rosenberg, Ralph Stanley.
(Photo by Frank Godbey)

When I arrived in Newfoundland in September 1968, I’d just published my first academic article — on bluegrass — in the Journal of American Folklore. I’d been writing regularly for Bluegrass Unlimited. That past June, Bill Monroe had included me in a banjo workshop at his Blue Grass Festival in Bean Blossom, Indiana; and a few weeks before coming to St. John’s, I’d been at the Richland Hills fiddle contest near Dallas, Texas, jamming with Alan Munde, Sam Bush, and Byron Berline and the Stone Mountain Boys.

 

August 18, 1968. Richland Hills, TX fiddle contest: Neil Rosenberg
(b), Sam Bush (m), Byron Berline (f).
(Photo by David Stark)

During the late ’60s and early ’70s, bluegrass festivals were proliferating (I wrote about this in Bluegrass: A History, 305-339) and bluegrass was having success in the popular music business (I wrote about that too, 305-339).

By 1972 I was hearing at a distance about the adventures of my friends from the U.S. bluegrass festival scene. Alan and Sam had made a popular instrumental LP. Now Alan was picking banjo with Jimmy Martin and Sam was singing and playing mandolin with the Bluegrass Alliance. And Byron, working as a studio musician in Los Angeles, had recently recorded with The Rolling Stones. 

As I continued to study and write about bluegrass, I maintained my musical calling, moonlighting in the local contemporary folk and pop music scene. It was several years before I met anyone in St. John’s who played or knew much about bluegrass. 

In 1969, RCA Victor invited me to edit an album in their Vintage series titled Early Bluegrass. Aside from some Monroe LPs, this was the first historical bluegrass anthology. I signed its detailed historical liner notes with “Memorial University of Newfoundland” under my name. It got a good reception in the bluegrass world and introduced me to Canadian bluegrass record buyers. 

In 1971 I signed a contract with the University of Illinois Press to write a volume on bluegrass history in their new Music in American Life series. It was a book that would take years to write, for I had catching up to do. Not only was I out of touch with the bluegrass scene I’d been in before immigrating, I also knew little about the bluegrass scenes in my new home.

 

June 22, 1968. Banjo workshop at Bean Blossom, IN: Vic Jordan, Bobby Thompson, Neil Rosenberg, Dave Garrett, Ralph Stanley, Larry Sparks. (Photo by Doc Hamilton)

Learning About Canadian Bluegrass 

Even before immigrating to Canada, I knew it had bluegrass, thanks to Toronto’s Doug Benson, who put me on the mailing list of his magazine The Bluegrass Breakdown. The first issue had reached me in spring 1968 while I was still in Indiana. It told of bluegrass scenes in Ontario and Quebec.

En route to Newfoundland in September 1968, we entered eastern Canada via the Maritimes — the provinces of Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick. Picking up our landed immigrant passes from Canadian Customs at the Maine border, we drove through New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, where, in Cape Breton, we caught the night ferry to Newfoundland.

During this trip I got my first taste of Canadian bluegrass in an Antigonish, Nova Scotia motel where we watched Don Messer’s Jubilee, a Halifax-produced CBC weekly TV show starring a fiddler who’d been recording and broadcasting nationally on radio since the 1930s and television later. Messer’s prime-time Jubilee was Canada’s second most-watched show, exceeded only by Hockey Night In Canada.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that Messer’s band included a five-string banjo played bluegrass style! To this immigrant’s eyes and ears, Messer was blending bluegrass into his country and old-time sound. Here’s his performance, taken from Jubilee footage, of “St. Anne’s Reel,” a popular Canadian fiddle tune:

The smiling banjo picker behind Messer was Vic Mullen, the youngest member of his band. Born in 1933 and raised in rural southwestern Nova Scotia, he had been working as a musician since his teens, playing with country bands in the Maritimes and Ontario.

In 1969, Mullen left Messer and began appearing with his own country band, The Hickorys, on another Halifax CBC weekly prime-time show, Country Time. There wasn’t much bluegrass on that show beyond Mullen’s occasional southern-style fiddle pieces.

Getting Acquainted 

My first meeting with a Newfoundlander who shared my enthusiasm for bluegrass came early in April 1971 when I had a letter from record collector Michael Cohen of Grand Falls-Windsor. 

By the time we met, Michael’s family owned six furniture stores in central Newfoundland. He’d grown up listening to country music on the radio and began collecting records. After attending university in Ottawa, where he’d heard lots of local and touring American and Canadian country music, he returned to Windsor to work in the family business, continue his collecting (he has all of Hank Snow’s recordings) and play in a country band.

He wrote me because he’d been told about me by a friend. “Early bluegrass and string bands … are my main interest,” he said, introducing himself and welcoming me to make tape copies of his rare records.

I wrote back inviting him to visit us on his next trip to St. John’s. This was the beginning of an enduring friendship. Through him I met others interested in bluegrass and Canadian country. The first was Fred Isenor of Lantz, Nova Scotia, a small community north of Halifax, who got my address from Michael and wrote me a few weeks later.

 

August 18, 1968. Alan Munde, Neil Rosenberg, unidentified fiddler.
(Photo by David Stark)

Fred, Vic Mullen’s contemporary and friend, worked at the local brick factory, and had a music store in Lantz. He was a record collector, a Bluegrass Unlimited subscriber, and a musician. He played mandolin and bass in The Nova Scotia Playboys, which he described to me as an “authentic (non-electric) country” band. They had represented Nova Scotia at the 1967 Expo in Montreal.

Fred had purchased his mandolin, a 1920s Gibson F5, for $100 at a Halifax pawn shop in 1960. Only later did he learn that its label, signed by Lloyd Loar, meant that he now owned an instrument like that of Bill Monroe, who’d just been elected to Nashville’s Country Music Hall of Fame. 

Our correspondence began with shared unsuccessful attempts to put together a Bill Monroe tour. I’d planned to speak with Monroe at a New England festival that summer. But the festival was cancelled; that plan fell through. In March 1972, Fred wrote of other plans:

There is a possibility of a one day bluegrass jamboree in Nova Scotia this summer. Not really a festival but if we can put it over it will be a start. Perhaps Michael has mentioned this to you. As you played with Bill Monroe and helped run Bean Blossom [I’d told Michael about this when we first met] I thought possibly you could offer some helpful suggestions, in other words some do’s and don’ts. 

He explained that with a limited budget the event would have to utilize local talent. 

Please do not mention this to anyone as definite … so far Vic Mullen and I just talked briefly about this and will be discussing it further on Monday night. 

He asked if I’d be able to visit him and take part in the program. 

I responded enthusiastically, calling the jamboree a festival, offering my suggestions, and saying I’d be driving through Nova Scotia in August and hoped to visit him then.

Meeting Vic Mullen 

In June 1972, Country Time came to St. John’s to tape some shows. I asked Vic if he’d do an interview, explaining to him that I was working on a book about bluegrass. He agreed. 

Still in his thirties, Vic had been playing country music professionally for a quarter century. He’d mastered instruments — mandolin, fiddle, guitar, five-string banjo — as needed, working on the road with a series of increasingly high-profile bands. Bluegrass chops were just one aspect of his professional tools — a flashy banjo piece, or southern-style hoedown fiddle as part of the show, that kind of thing. He’d worked with some bluegrass bands in Ontario, done TV, etc.

In the late fifties he started his own band, The Birch Mountain Boys. Working at first in southwestern Nova Scotia, he teamed up with Brent Williams and Harry Cromwell, young African Canadians from his home county, Digby. They played bluegrass in the Maritimes for several years before Brent and Harry started playing country and Vic joined Messer. 

Now Mullen was fronting his own national CBC TV country music show. He liked bluegrass and enjoyed playing it, but as a bandleader he chose it rarely. Most people in his audiences didn’t know the word “bluegrass” when they heard it and even if they liked it, it was just nice country music to them. Bluegrass was a niche genre. It had enthusiastic fans and great performers, but they were in a minority.

Vic was supportive of his old friend Fred; he understood Fred’s enthusiasm. He knew about BU and the bluegrass festivals that were happening in the States, but he didn’t think the festivals were going to catch on in Canada. Of Canadian bluegrass fans, he said that: 

Altogether in a group, there’d be a lot of people. But they’re spread out from coast to coast and particularly between here and Ontario … there wouldn’t be enough people for an audience in any one area, it’d be just too far for them to get there. 

Still, he was planning to be at Fred’s Jamboree. In our interview, Vic had given me an insider’s introduction to the world of Canadian country music. From him I heard for the first time many names and facts that would become familiar to me later. I was encouraged that a musician of his caliber, experience, and reputation would be there.

A week after the interview, I wrote Fred and told him I’d be catching the ferry to Nova Scotia on August 1, driving to Lantz the next day and staying to get acquainted. I explained that this was just the start of a crowded trip for “some hurried field research on bluegrass music … in Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana.” I closed by mentioning that I’d had a pleasant experience interviewing Vic. 

Fred’s reply came a few days later. He was looking forward to my visit, he said, and then, referring to my earlier letter, told me the event would be a jamboree — “outdoors, just one evening.” Referring to a nearby farmer who held dances in his barn, Fred explained: 

John Moxom is building an outdoor stage as soon as his hay is made and it appears now that we will be holding it either Friday, August 4th or August 11th. All the local bluegrass musicians are willing to help and take a chance on it being a flop. We hope to find out if there is enough interest to try something bigger and better next year. I know you have a busy schedule but if August 4th turns out to be the date we would sure like to have you present. 

By the end of July 1972, I was headed first to visit Fred in rural Nova Scotia. Then I’d drive to New England, stopping near the border at Woodstock, New Brunswick, to see Don Messer’s Jubilee perform at a county fair, and then going to Vermont where my family was vacationing. After a short rest I’d be heading for West Virginia to join my photographer friend Carl Fleischhauer on the trip we described in Bluegrass Odyssey.

On August 1, I headed for the Canadian National ferry terminal in Argentia, Newfoundland, ready to sail west for some bluegrass. 

Rosenberg is an author, scholar, historian, banjo player, Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame inductee, and co-chair of the IBMA Foundation’s Arnold Shultz Fund.

Photo of Neil V. Rosenberg by Terri Thomson Rosenberg, all other photos by Neil V. Rosenberg. 

Edited by Justin Hiltner

WATCH: Ian Foster, “Voyager”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Ian Foster
Hometown: St. John’s, NL
Song: “Voyager”
Release Date: November 14, 2020

In Their Words: “I wrote this song after reading that Voyager 1 had passed into interstellar space or — as the press release noted — ‘the space between the stars.’ The song is ultimately about faith in ourselves and a faith in science, so that we might learn more about who we are. The video beautifully depicts this from another angle: the engineers who built Voyager and spent their lives steering it through the cosmos while they have been ‘down here with the walls.’” — Ian Foster

Photo credit: Chris LeDrew

CBC’s Tom Power and BGS Partner on New Bluegrass Podcast, ‘Toy Heart’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

A familiar voice across Canada’s airwaves, Tom Power hosts CBC Radio’s q, an all-encompassing public radio talk show that perhaps best compares to NPR’s Fresh Air or PRI’s Studio 360. Though it does air on some public radio stations in the United States, Power is best known to the north, not only as a radio personality, but as a musician — he’s an accomplished guitarist with remarkable prowess in Irish and traditional Newfoundland musics — and musical scholar.

As it turns out, he’s also a diehard, lifelong fan of bluegrass. As a teenager he picked up the five-string banjo and took lessons (which had a much broader reach than just banjo techniques) from once Blue Grass Boy and now Bluegrass Hall of Famer Neil Rosenberg, who just so happened to live nearby in Power’s native Newfoundland. Though his work as host on q reaches far beyond his home island and his favorite chosen folk musics, his ethnomusicological expertise still centers on bluegrass — and he is a devout and starry-eyed fan.

BGS is proud to partner with Power and his co-producer Stephanie Coleman to present Toy Heart: A Podcast About Bluegrass, a platform for bluegrass storytelling and an examination of the true narratives that gave rise to this singular genre. Over eight episodes in its inaugural season Power will interview Grammy Award-winning, IBMA Award-winning, and truly earth-shattering artists in bluegrass about their lives, their stories, and their songs.

At Folk Alliance International in New Orleans last week BGS and Tom Power unveiled the first five minutes of the first episode of Toy Heart, which features Del McCoury accompanied by his sons Ronnie and Rob. Listen to that trailer right here on BGS, and read our interview, where Power discusses the pros and cons of his status as an “outsider,” the never-before-heard stories he unearthed in his recordings, and much more.

Our BGS audience, being largely American, might not have an understanding of who you are already. Then the audience there in Canada will know who you are as an interviewer and on-air personality, but maybe not that you are a dyed-in-the-wool bluegrass nerd of the best kind.

[Tom laughs]

How does it feel being the person executing these interviews, creating this podcast, and being in the center of that odd Venn diagram between really traditional bluegrass and folks who love it, and your more outward-facing persona on the radio in Canada and, to a lesser degree, here in America?

Tom Power: I am a little apprehensive and a little scared, but I also know that the things that are making me scared about this are making our podcast good. I feel like I have a lot of bona fides in this music, in terms of my knowledge of it. I’ve been obsessed with it since I was about fifteen years old, studied it extensively, did a lot of work on it. When I went down to Nashville and met the community there I started to understand that I was an outsider, that I was not someone who was part of that community. I’m from a very different group, I play very, very different music.

I’m kind of a new member, [everyone has] been very welcoming, but it’s a little intimidating. That being said, I think the perspective I have allows me to ask different questions, or at least think differently about the music than someone who’s in it. In this case I’m on the outside looking in, which allows me to ask different questions, allows me to have different conversations. I wouldn’t know the history of say, Ricky Skaggs and Bill Monroe as well as others. I know the history of how they got together, but I was able to look at Ricky and say, “Hey man, I don’t remember a lot from when I was four years old. Do you actually remember him handing you that mandolin? How is that possible?” Which is a question that maybe someone who was a little more involved in this community may not have thought of. They may have just accepted it as part of the lore.

As you’re describing this apprehension I’m wondering, are you thinking about how to mitigate for folks being like, “What about my favorite Del McCoury song? What about my favorite Ricky Skaggs anecdote?” How much of that are you anticipating and/or how much of this is you specifically turning over stones that haven’t been turned over before?

The format of the podcast is largely autobiographical. Each episode begins with, “Where were you born?” Or, “What was it like growing up?” I try to let the guest [lead]. On the radio show, q, say I have twenty minutes and ten pieces I really need to hit. In this case I have an hour, I have an hour and a half. I’m able to let them guide me where they want to go and I can steer them back around.

One nice thing about my interviewing background, and I think the reason q has been in any way successful in Canada and a bit in the U.S. as well, is because we focus on what the listener might want to know most. When I’m doing an interview I’m always thinking about how it’s coming out in someone’s headphones, how it’s coming out over somebody’s car stereo. What are they shouting at the radio? What are they shouting at their phone? I’m always trying to keep that in mind.

When you imagine that hypothetical listener, the average person you’re trying to target with the podcast, is it a diehard who knows everything about bluegrass, or is it somebody who’s maybe a new initiate? Who do you hope will come into the audience of this podcast?

More than anything what I’m trying to do is trying to get a record of some of this music. I think the podcast format is a great opportunity to get these kind of biographical stories on record. I found myself listening to people like Marc Maron, Howard Stern, and Terry Gross thinking, “Why can’t I do this for the music I love the most? Who’s doing this work?” The music that Del McCoury’s making, the music that Ricky Skaggs is making, or Alice Gerrard or Alison Brown, is as valid to me as something nominated for an Oscar or nominated for the Booker Prize. Who’s treating this music this way? Who’s giving it this attention to detail?

In any kind of music there’s a lot of myth-making and a lot of legend-making. I’m really interested in what the actual story is. Even if it might seem a little boring to them. The eight-hour drive from Nashville to somewhere else, I want to know what they talk about on that bus ride! I want to know the minutiae.

Some of my favorite interviews have been with people who I didn’t know. I’ve turned it on and I’ve gone, “Who is this person? Who is this director? Who is this actor?” And I found myself engrossed in the story. Take Jesse McReynolds, who told me on this podcast about driving around with his brother Jim from schoolhouse to schoolhouse, taking the car battery out of their car, putting it on stage, plugging the PA into it, and seeing if they could just get people to come. Is that not just a beautiful, human story? Bluegrass is the story of the original DIY music, as far as I can tell. These people were living what punks thought they were living for the first time in the 1970s. [Laughs]

I am aware that I’m entering sort of a hallowed ground of music and music aficionados. I really believe that this is just a matter of getting it on the record and using the little bit of training that I’ve had on public radio. Being able to sit down with Del McCoury and go through his entire life, his entire career, and ask, “What was it like when you had to quit music and go work in the logging industry? What was it like working in a sawmill? Tell me about the actual moment. I know the story that you were playing banjo [in your audition] for Bill Monroe and then Bill Keith came in, how’d that happen? Didn’t that hurt? You lost that gig — what was it like playing in a band with a guy you lost a job to?”

You do have these moments with so many of these icons that we know and love. We know their “mythology” intimately, yet you get stories out of them that people like you and I have never heard before, let alone people who don’t think and write about music every day for a living. You mention Del and Jim & Jesse, but is there another story that you’ve uncovered in your recording so far that you were surprised to hear?

I spoke to Del McCoury about the time he [spent] in the military. I said, “So you were in the military, how did that go?” Pretty broad, right? He tells a story about being in the military, about a couple of things that transpired while he was in the military that were hilarious. We laugh about it, and on the way out Ronnie and Rob McCoury stopped me and said, “Tom, we’ve never heard that story before.” These were his sons! Not just sons, but his business partners, his bandmates, and they said they had never heard him tell that story before.

I can tell you, Alice Gerrard told me what it was like to sing at Hazel Dickens’ funeral. I felt so honored that she would even be able to tell me that. I asked Béla Fleck, “Where is Tony Rice?” And what his relationship with Tony is like these days. I asked Jerry Douglas about drug use in bluegrass, something that often gets overlooked. And I should be clear, the goal is not to be in any way sensational. The world I come from in public radio, I find stories about humans way more interesting than stories about legends. What I was able to do is have human conversations while finding out the history of how a bunch of people created this thing that changed my life and it changed the lives of people all around the world. How is that possible? It’s largely by an unglamorous industry, a hard life on the road, touring nonstop, playing small barns, having lean years — the story of what actually happened there is more interesting to me than anything else.

I’ll give you one more. Ricky Skaggs, for the first time ever, tells the story of how Bill Monroe almost hired him to be a Blue Grass Boy. Hearing Ricky’s tone when he told me that story — he says to me, “I haven’t really talked about this before.” I felt so honored that I saw not a bluegrass legend on the Opry, but I saw a kid still being blown away because his hero spoke to him.

I think that’s one of the most beautiful things about bluegrass and even folks with even the most casual relationships to bluegrass understand that the community is just as important a part of the whole thing as the music itself. The legends that you’re describing just so happen to also still be human.

And they have stories they want to tell! And maybe haven’t even had the chance to tell them. I want to hear about it. I want to hear the story of how Béla Fleck heard that Tony Rice was making records without banjo and he thought, “That’s not right, and I gotta be the banjo player.” So he leaves New York! These are the stories of ambition, of love of music, honoring a tradition, and wanting to further things. Of humanity. I find it fascinating.

Ideally, if enough people listen to it, this season will just be one of many. I want to get to everybody! I mean, my white whale is Tony Rice. If you listen to these interviews a lot of them close with, “How do I get in touch with Tony Rice?” [Laughs] Alison Krauss is another I’d love to speak to, because other than Bill Monroe she is maybe the most transformative artist in the music’s history. I want to know what it was like to be a twelve-, thirteen-, fourteen-year-old child prodigy playing this music. I want to know what emails — I know there weren’t Tweets back then — or messages she got when she started adding drums to her music. I’m dying to talk to Larry Sparks! And the Osborne Brothers! These are crucial — I had to limit myself to eight people this time around and it was so challenging.

As someone who got a Bluegrass Unlimited subscription mailed to Newfoundland when he was fifteen, and a Banjo Newsletter subscription mailed to Newfoundland when he was sixteen, I still would not know anything about this if I wasn’t under the tutelage of, in my mind, the greatest mind in the history of bluegrass, Neil Rosenberg. It changed my life forever. When I first took this on the first thing I did was fly back to Newfoundland to see Neil. I told him, “I’m doing this thing, what should we talk about?” And he helped me out. If I can be a pebble onto the beach of the work he has done that would make me very happy.

Photo courtesy of Tom Power

BGS 5+5: Tim Baker

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Tim Baker
Hometown: St. John’s, Newfoundland
Latest album: Forever Overhead

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

In late 2017 my former band Hey Rosetta played our final farewell shows before going on hiatus, and probably the final one had the most beauty packed into it I can remember being packed into any show before or since. We were a seven-piece sort of scrappy orchestral indie-rock band from St John’s, Newfoundland, that somehow managed to tour off the island and around the world and get awards and make records for 12 years and I have no idea how we did it but our hometown was very proud of us and good to us and the very final show was in the sold-out stadium there. It had so much emotion and love and nostalgia and significance around it that I don’t think my feet touched the ground the whole time, even though I had bronchitis and strep throat or some god-awful combination of classic touring lead-singer afflictions. I sang and played everything powered by 12 years of support and love and it is the brightest and biggest and best memory I have a show.

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

Listen, sing freely, think freely, listen, don’t be too hard on yourself, don’t be too easy on yourself, listen, work, play, and try to have it all help people and do good. By mostly listening.

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

As a Newfoundlander recently resettled in Toronto I spend a lot of time missing and dreaming of nature. And actually this impacts my work a lot. Several songs on this latest record are about moving from a place with easy, instant access to the ocean and the woods, to this grey and glass land of shadows and cars. About trying to get back home, whether literally, or to some forest from our collective past.

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

Well, as a man with a lot of dietary restrictions these days I may be more excited about the dream meal than the company, but I would love the most to sit down with Leonard Cohen himself and eat a grilled cheese sandwich, followed by some handmade raviolis, and then some Montreal smoked meat sandwiches, all there around the corner from where he lived and wrote for so long. And then maybe some coffee and cookies and a walk through the mountain after.

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

You are always doing this. Perhaps it’s a defense when your songs get too personal, or perhaps you don’t want to come off as a narcissist that alienates your audience, but yeah, you do this a lot. But actually it can be kind of nice when you listen to songs years later, when you’ve grown so far from that younger singer, and you feel that perhaps this kid is indeed talking to you, and sometimes even has something to say to you.

Photo credit: Britney Townsend