Tag: Oberlin College

Max Allard Wrote a Banjo Concerto

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The banjo, a sonic staple of folk and bluegrass, has often been left to its established devices in traditional circles or, more optimistically, among contemporary newgrass like Punch Brothers, the Infamous Stringdusters, and New Grass Revival, which included the genre-bending banjoist himself, Béla Fleck. Still, some musical spaces, like classical performance and composition, remain largely devoid of the banjo despite its lengthy and socially complex history, global presence, and tonal variety. Thankfully, between artists like Fleck, Noam Pikelny, John Bullard, and others, classical compositions have had a chance to shine on the instrument, paving the way for next-generation players to embrace and mix the traditions of classical writing with the distinct sound and musical capabilities of the banjo.

One such figure rising to the occasion is composer and artist Max Allard. A recent graduate of Oberlin College’s Conservatory of Music, the Chicago native is a champion of many cultures and genres in his work, which Allard describes as “an unclassifiable mix of bluegrass, jazz, new acoustic, classical, and pop.”

Allard has brought his stylistic openness to every facet of his artistry, including a duo with his brother Otto Allard; a bluegrass ensemble he co-founded, EZRA, that includes mandolinist Jacob Jolliff, guitarist and composer Jesse Jones, and bassist Craig Butterfield; and his touring support of Michigan-based bands Full Cord and Westbound Situation and Virginia-based band the Hackensaw Boys. Another instance finding him pushing banjo boundaries was his collaborative performance with fellow banjoists Bill Evans, BB Bowness, Cassidy Beentjes, and Matt Flinner in an adventurous arrangement of “In C,” the iconic composition by American minimalist composer Terry Riley, as part of a commissioned work series at the 2025 FreshGrass Festival.

Many of these ambitions grew alongside or after Allard’s studies, giving him several creative contexts in which to nurture his knowledge of classical forms and styles. One of the most impactful of these opportunities was part of Allard’s collegiate work itself: A Concerto for banjo and mixed ensemble. Encouraged by his EZRA bandmate and Oberlin professor Jesse Jones, Allard wrote his single movement work in 2023, giving the world premiere with the Oberlin Contemporary Music Ensemble under conductor Tim Weiss in December 2024. Though the piece has long since debuted, Allard’s vision for what the concerto would accomplish and what the experience of writing it revealed to him along the way remain ongoing sources of inspiration and guidance as Allard continues to write and perform for anyone who wants to listen. (Watch a video of Allard’s Concerto below.)

BGS recently spoke with Allard over the phone, discussing the many branches of his work as an artist and composer. We dive into how each stylistic space blends with his classical training, where he sees the banjo’s place in classical performance, his thoughts on cross-genre efforts by other artists, and more.

How would you describe the journey around your Banjo Concerto and its compositional process?

Max Allard: I had anticipated [the piece] for a while. I had gotten into Oberlin College as a composition major and part of the reason I chose Oberlin is because composition faculty member [Jesse Jones] comes from a background of playing bluegrass. He plays mandolin, some banjo, and guitar so I knew that I would have someone in the faculty on my side to help me, to know where I was coming from and to help guide the path forward in terms of a study and a pedagogy that I had not been taught before. So Jesse told me, “I think it would be great for your work here at Oberlin to culminate into a banjo concerto.”

I had the plan of approaching the banjo as a concert instrument – and as a concert instrument with the supporting ensemble. To do that, I had to get away a little bit from the folk aspects of the banjo in terms of a composition process, while still embracing those same aspects in terms of style.

[The concerto] sort of started as a banjo draft. And something I think is interesting to mention is that people have compared my banjo playing before to piano players and it’s a very valid comparison, because I take a lot of inspiration from piano players like Keith Jarrett, Chilly Gonzales, and many European classical composers like Sergei Rachmaninoff and Frédéric Chopin. I have long thought of the banjo as a very capable instrument to take solo composition very seriously on. I had to find ways to creatively think about which instruments to give various roles to. The nice thing was that I got to pick the makeup of the ensemble. I knew I wanted to have celesta. I wanted to have clarinet, flute with piccolo – there were certain sounds I knew I wanted to include.

I had very specific ideas about which instrument fulfills which role. It’s definitely a string-heavy piece and I’m a huge fan of writing for strings. So I had known that this piece would provide me the depths that the banjo doesn’t always have. I thought, “I can fill out these luscious piano-like chords that I usually like to write on the banjo, with the help of the supporting string section that has a much broader range than the banjo has by itself.” It was actually really liberating for me, because having an ensemble with a very diverse range – not just timbre-ly, but sonically and in terms of highs and lows – I had many options. It was a really great blank canvas for me to further explore creativity without some of the limitations of the banjo, be it physical or range related, or what have-you. I was able to basically apply my banjo knowledge and compositional tendencies to a blank slate, which presented a lot more opportunities.

What are your thoughts on the banjo’s “place” in classical music?

The banjo has a very checkered, problematic history and there’s a lot of moral debate that I’ve witnessed amongst people about what the banjo’s role is. It has had many different roles – a lot of it actually being erased. We talk about the problematic history of the banjo being used for minstrelsy but we actually forget about the banjo’s history of being used in parlor music. For a long time, the banjo actually had a role being played in parlors and social events, and even playing classical music.

I find it funny when people sort of criticize the banjo these days because the reputation has been ruined so much. People tend to think of the banjo with the film Deliverance. That film sort of ruined the reputation of the banjo as being this hillbilly folk instrument that’s not taken seriously. Unfortunately, that stereotype still exists, so people sort of scoff at banjo players who want to elevate the instrument into a certain concert environment.

I think all instruments can be used however people want. It’s like the artist has a final say in how they want to showcase their instrument. But for me, I think I’ll always still want to pay my respects to the traditions of the banjo. And as I said, the banjo has, throughout history, been used in a variety of different contexts. What I try to do is bridge the gap of pedagogic composition and folk music. If we’re talking about my banjo concerto, I want to write well-written concert music but [avoid creating] a totally contrived piece of music that just tries its best to fit the banjo in with an ensemble. I want to at least take my understanding of bluegrass, folk music, and old time music and still amalgamate it with concert music.

What do you find you learn most from other banjo players who have thrived in the classical space like Noam Pikelny, Béla Fleck, John Bullard, and others?

Broadly speaking, if [banjo players] want to put our instruments in the classical space, we need to do our best to understand the way the classic musicians think – really get in the minds of classical musicians. If one, as a banjo player, wants to pursue classical music, it behooves them to get at least a decent understanding of concert music. And I think most banjo players [like Fleck, Pikelny, Bullard] who have attempted that absolutely do have a different understanding. I just think the understanding of how deep it actually goes, what details go into really good concert music – it just takes a long, long time to master. And I am nowhere close to mastering it. But I at least have an understanding of how little I knew before attending [Oberlin].

Are there any aspects of Terry Riley’s “In C” that were especially challenging to capture with this banjo-centric arrangement?

I should give a shout out to Cassidy Beentjes, who did all this arranging – a really good pedagogue of the banjo. In terms of limitations though, the key [was one]. With the banjo’s natural key being G major, we took the piece down to a G-major tuning, so it makes much more sense to play the piece in G, especially since we want to achieve certain overtones. We could have played in C with a C tuning, but a lot of complexity would have arisen from playing in a foreign tuning. We were already uncomfortable in the first place, you know, with a piece of music like this, because banjo players don’t get the opportunity to do something like this very often, so we were careful.

What aspect of your musical identity does EZRA help you to fulfill that you don’t necessarily achieve in the same way with other pursuits?

I’d say it’s a good opportunity to write for a smaller acoustic ensemble where there’s a good understanding of not only folk and bluegrass, but also classical and jazz music.

It makes a big difference when you’re writing for people who you’re friends with – writing for people you know. You want to give people roles that you know they’re going to enjoy doing and that they do well. When I write for EZRA, it’s definitely much more stripped down and basic than if I were writing something like the banjo concerto. Because with the banjo concerto, I give very specific instructions, I supply a whole score with those specific instructions for everyone to read from. And when I’m writing for EZRA, usually I’m just writing lead sheets, just chords with the melody. In terms of arrangements, that can be discussed in the studio.

It’s funny though, because anytime we’ve recorded a record, we’ve had such limited studio time that we have to get our act together in just 72 hours or so and make our arrangements studio-ready. But again, that’s freeing for me, because I can write more vague ideas, stuff that I would not feel as intrepid writing with a big ensemble. When I’m with EZRA, I can just do whatever the heck I want and know that we can get away with it in some way. It’s also definitely a great opportunity for me to write contemporary folk music that is absolutely rooted in folk and bluegrass but also has all these other influences. A lot of Béla Fleck influence, a lot of classical music as influence – all kinds of stuff. It’s definitely a very special opportunity for me.

What’s the most unique aspect about the duo you perform in with your brother? How do you both approach playing together?

I guess the main thing that stands out is just the brotherly synergy. My brother is the easiest musician to play with because we know each other so darn well. Not much has to be planned – there’s almost never any stress. We’ve played plenty of gigs where we haven’t rehearsed at all beforehand and it goes pretty well just because we can glance at each other a certain way and know exactly what we mean musically. We’ve also played gigs where like a half hour has gone by and the whole thing is improvised. We just weave sounds together and it’s great.

It’s great to have a brother who plays music because it’s just that very intense, personal connection that one has with their sibling. You know each other so well that no communication really has to be done verbally. In general, playing with my brother is just very fun because we make crazy, spontaneous decisions and do ridiculous things that we would not do in any other setting.

Do you think the folk and bluegrass communities could better embrace the banjo being a genre-versatile instrument? And do you think that schools or community spaces are the best starting place to initiate that shift?

If I were talking to a banjo player who wants to get into classical music, I would say you can learn just as much by surrounding yourself with the right people. I think the most viable option is to try to meet some people who come from that background. And it can be any background. Like, say you want to get into a certain style – find musicians who can do that and try your best to talk to them, befriend them, whatever you can, and surround yourself with that. I think community is always important in the arts. Definitely, it’s very important to surround yourself with people – not even not necessarily like-minded people – but people who have very different experiences and very different backgrounds. Personally and musically in any way.

I think the bluegrass culture and scene could definitely benefit from opening themselves up a little bit. I think sometimes we forget that bluegrass has a very progressive foundation to it. Even Bill Monroe valued when he heard New Grass Revival. He was supportive of it, supportive of all those people who were taking bluegrass in a different direction. So I think it’s very progressive by nature. And music has always evolved and always will evolve and it has to sort of be accepted.

I think the banjo is actually in a very good place right now, because we’ve never had so many banjo players. It’s very good because the banjo is becoming popular for the right reasons – not necessarily gimmicky reasons, with banjos being used in pop music – but it’s being taken seriously amongst musicians from all different types of backgrounds. Broadly speaking, I don’t have too many complaints. I think it’s in good hands.

Photo Credit: Tanya Rosen-Jones

Bluegrass Memoirs: Scruggs Pegs & Earl’s Hooks

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Let’s begin with a 45 RPM record I played banjo on. 

In July 1964, I was hired by the Rick Sutherlin Orchestra to play banjo for one night at the Monroe County Fair in Bloomington, Indiana. They needed a banjo player, because they were going to back up the fair’s featured music that night, the famous barbershop quartet, The Buffalo Bills. 

The Rick Sutherlin Orchestra was a big band based in Bloomington. Its leader Sutherlin, from a local family, was not a great musician. I remember him at the fair waving his baton at the front of the stage while one of the sidemen did the countdowns before each tune. I’m pretty certain I got the gig because Tom Hensley, who’d played bass in our bluegrass band, the Pigeon Hill Boys, played piano for the orchestra. They needed a banjo; he suggested my name. Hensley, like most of the other members of the big band, was at the Indiana University School of Music. He recently retired after over 40 years as Neil Diamond’s pianist.

A banjo solo was needed for the show, so one of the other orchestra members, trombonist Gary Potter, came to consult with me. Potter and I had been classmates at Oberlin College, playing in Dick Sudhalter’s jazz band in 1960. The following year we had roomed in the same boarding house, and he’d played bass with our campus bluegrass band, The Plum Creek Boys. Now he was at the start of a long career teaching music, principally at IU’s Jacobs School of Music. 

We decided on Bob Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice,” a contemporary folk hit. I’d been playing it with David Satterfield in our Bloomington bluegrass band. Dave, an IU Grad student from Columbus, Indiana, had lived in Greenwich Village a few years before and done some singing with Dylan at that time. This song was in his repertoire.

I loaned Gary a copy of Sing Out! that had Dylan’s words and music so he could work on the arrangement. At this point he suggested inserting the sound of the Scruggs pegs, the musical hook in Flatt & Scruggs’ “Flint Hill Special.” Scruggs had added two additional tuning pegs to his banjo. They had cams which pushed on the second and third strings, enabling him to raise and lower the pitch of each string while it was being plucked. That created a slurred note sound resembling that of a slide guitar or a pedal steel.

Gary had heard that sound when we were at Oberlin and thought its riff with the strings being tuned down and back up would make a nice introduction for my banjo part. He enjoyed the challenge of arranging the sound of the pegs for the orchestra.

The performance at the fair went over well, and soon after that someone — maybe Sutherlin? — suggested we try doing a banjo + big band LP. Thus the Delmarti 45, intended as a demo, was born. The recording was made, as the label indicates, by Don Sheets. Sheets had a recording studio in Brown County on Highway 135 halfway between Bean Blossom and Nashville. He did custom recording work — high school bands, choirs, that sort of stuff — and specialized in jingles. I worked for him there occasionally. A gold record for one of his jingles hung on the studio wall.

The recording was made on the IU Bloomington campus in August 1964, at the Indiana Memorial Union building’s Alumni Hall. The band was on the hall’s stage. Sheets set up his recording equipment on the floor in front of the stage. What I recall most vividly about the recording session is how solid the rhythm section was. “The Marti Mae Singers” was Don’s wife Marti, who overdubbed the harmony voices in his studio afterward.

The record was published in the fall of 1964. Our banjo + big band idea didn’t find any takers at record companies. At the time, bluegrass banjo crossover projects like this one were already up and running, and the heyday for Scruggs pegs had passed.

Earl Scruggs invented his pegs in 1952 after recording “Earl’s Breakdown,” an instrumental that incorporated as its hook a musical trick he’d been playing since boyhood — making a slur by plucking the second string (a B note), tuning it down while still ringing to an A, and then quickly back up to B, right in the middle of an instrumental break. A quick twist! He and Lester recorded it in October 1951. 

It was released at the end of the year on a Columbia single, the B side of “‘Tis Sweet To Be Remembered,” the first Flatt & Scruggs title to make the Billboard charts. All winter long, Columbia advertised the single as a best-seller. The band, then based in Raleigh, was playing it on the radio and the road daily. 

The tedium of having to retune the string by ear every time he played it prompted Earl to invent a labor-saving device. He installed a tuning peg with an adjustable cam on it in the banjo’s peghead between the first and the second string. Turning the peg up made the cam stretch the second string up to B. Turning it down loosened it to A. That enabled him to play these peg hooks accurately every time.

At the same time as he installed the new tuning peg he placed an identical one between the third and the fourth string so that the third string could be moved down from a G to F# and back.

Earl did this because moving the second and third strings down is a natural part of tuning the banjo from an open G chord (the default, for Scruggs-style) to a D chord. This boyhood musical trick came from something he did whenever he played at a dance — change tunings. Certain dance pieces were in G, the most frequently used tuning. Others were in C or D, each with its own tuning. Scruggs used all three throughout his musical life.

In the spring of 1952 Earl could use his new tuners not only for “Earl’s Breakdown,” but also to move quickly from G to D in order to play “Reuben,” the old-time tune that had launched him as a three-finger picker, which he often picked with the band. 

Tablature for “Flint Hill Special” from Earl Scruggs and the 5-String Banjo, p. 103

That fall, just after moving to Knoxville, they recorded “Flint Hill Special,” Earl’s newest composition. It used his new pegs for the tune’s hook.  This riff came at the start of the recording and was repeated at the end of each banjo chorus. That’s what Gary Potter incorporated into his charts for our version of “Don’t Think Twice.”

Released within weeks as the B side of “Dim Lights, Thick Smoke,” “Flint Hill Special” was advertised by Columbia as a best-seller all spring of 1953. It got a lot of radio play. 

At the end of August, not long after Lester and Earl started broadcasting for Martha White Flour in Nashville, they recorded another new peg hook instrumental, “Foggy Mountain Chimes.” In the second half of each chorus Earl tuned both strings down, changing the banjo’s open chord to a D, then played harmonics — “chimes” — in that key before tuning back up to G. 

“Foggy Mountain Chimes” was released in November 1953. The following month Decca released a single recorded in Nashville by the Shenandoah Valley Boys. On one side was “Plunkin’ Rag,” a new banjo instrumental with yet another Scruggs peg hook. 

With the pegs as with every other aspect of his music, Earl Scruggs was being listened to in Nashville and copied by young banjo players everywhere. “Plunkin’ Rag” was just the start. More about that next time!

Neil V. Rosenberg is an author, scholar, historian, banjo player, and Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame inductee.

Photo of Neil V. Rosenberg: Terri Thomson Rosenberg

Bluegrass Memoirs: Mayne Smith & Alice Gerrard

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Tom Power’s recent Toy Heart episode with Alice Gerrard, whom I first knew as Alice Foster, reminded me of a 1959 visit several of us Oberlin College folkies made to Antioch College. In 2009, doing research on my early bluegrass experiences, I sent my friend Mayne Smith an email asking about his experiences when he met Alice and her late husband Jeremy Foster during that visit. 

Mayne and I are the same age and have known each other since 1953. We got into folk music as teens in Berkeley, California, and discovered bluegrass together from 1957 to 1959 while in Oberlin, Ohio. We first heard it on records and radio, and at this time had seen it live only once, when we met banjoists Eric Weissberg and Marshall Brickman at a 1958 spring vacation homecoming party in New York City. We had begun trying to play bluegrass with a circle of Oberlin classmates, folk music enthusiasts learning new music and working on new instruments. 

In the introduction to my memoir, Bluegrass Generation, I mention our trips to Antioch as undergrads, where we met the Fosters. 

Antioch was, like Oberlin, a liberal arts college that drew students from all over the country and beyond. At the time, its co-op system, which placed students in jobs every second semester or so, was thought to be radical. Unlike Oberlin, which still drew on a pious abolitionist point of view about many things, it tended to be a more socially relaxed place. A Fun Place to Party. 

Mayne Smith, Kaz Inaba, and Neil Rosenberg after a morning of jamming at the Hotel New Hankyu in Osaka, Japan. April 31, 1991.

Mayne was the first of our Oberlin bluegrass circle to meet the Fosters during one of these trips. This music was still a new and distant thing to us; we didn’t own tape recorders. In my email I asked Mayne: 

What memories do you have of visiting Antioch and meeting Alice and Jeremy? I went there several times and recall you being there, but don’t have any documents like tapes or photos that include you. Any recollections, however hazy, would be welcome. I remember that you had some kind of document from the Fosters giving you honorary membership in [their band] the Green County Stump Jumpers — do you still have that, was it dated? 

Mayne answered the next day: 

Neil, I have (for me) unusually vivid memories of our first visit to Antioch and hanging out at the Fosters’ place because it was there that I contracted the Stanley Brothers virus. I think it must have been in the spring of 1959 because I had already heard Flatt & Scruggs and understood that this was called bluegrass music. 

But first, Jeremy’s hand-drawn certificate (on a 4×6 card) is undated, but it reads: 

I also vaguely remember showing Marge [Ostrow] (later married to Mike Seeger for a while) how I played Carter Family style guitar. I think I got it from Dave Fredrickson — using the thumb to pick melody, then the index finger brushing down/up. I heard later that Mike was impressed by the fact that Marge had adopted this approach, and asked her where she learned it. 

But about the Stanley Brothers. I recall a thinly carpeted living room with expansive white bookshelves along the wall opposite the windows. At some point, in an afternoon I think, Jeremy put on a tape of the Stanley Brothers in live performance — my gut tells me it was one of the ones Mike Seeger had recorded at New River Ranch in like 1957. As soon as I heard that totally live, undoctored sound I was captivated, and I believe I sat and lay on that hard floor listening to live Stanley Brothers shows (several sets, at least) for hours. My mind was blown. Knowing it was totally live and without studio gimmicks and buried background effects, it came home to me how the fluctuating balance of instruments and voices was accomplished by movement in relation to the microphone and each other, how at times there were lovely breathing spaces in the sound while people shifted from instrumental breaks to solo vocals to harmony vocals. How nobody was using a lot of physical effort to project the sound, yet it penetrated, flowed, darted ahead, waxed and waned like the mating dance of a single complex organism — and how comfortable and familiar the musicians were with what they were singing and playing. 

I was learning not only about how bluegrass fits together, but also about what a band can be like when it’s been playing constantly together, day in and day out, for weeks — for years. 

I don’t believe I’ve ever had a more intense listening and learning experience, nor one that had such a profound effect on my life. 

I should also mention that this was partly possible because I could tell that [Jeremy] and Alice understood what I was going through and supported me by staying out of the way. I felt toward them the way a bridegroom feels about the best man and maid of honor: I could give myself over to the intensity of the music in a nurturing environment. (In retrospect, it was kind of like having a trusted support team when you first get stoned on something very strong.) 

I will always be grateful to them both. 

If you were around when this happened, I don’t remember it. I just blanked on everything else but those sounds. 

I wasn’t at the Fosters when this happened, which was not in the spring of 1959 as Mayne recalled, but a few months earlier, during the January break between semesters. While he visited them, I was off jamming with Guy Carawan, who’d given a concert at Antioch that weekend. I didn’t meet Alice and Jeremy until they brought the Green County Stump Jumpers to an Oberlin Hootenanny a year later. 

In May 1959, our old Berkeley folk scene friend Sandy Paton (co-founder of Folk Legacy records) was the headliner at the annual Oberlin Folk Festival. By then our circle had become The Lorain County String Band. Sandy heard our festival set and said he knew a British folk record company producer who was looking for American bluegrass and old-timey. He suggested we make a demo he could send to his friend. We cut it at the student radio station, but it was never sent. 

That summer, back home in Berkeley, we started The Redwood Canyon Ramblers, Northern California’s first bluegrass band. The story of that band, and of Mayne’s subsequent career as a singer/songwriter and steel guitarist with continuing excursions into bluegrass, is told well at Mayne’s website.

But it does not include an important detail — his groundbreaking work as a scholar. His Master’s Thesis, “Bluegrass Music and Musicians” (Indiana U., 1964) and the article he developed from it, “An Introduction to Bluegrass” (Journal of American Folklore, 1965) opened the door to the serious study of this music. His transcendent aural immersion at the Fosters was the seed that gave him the vision to accomplish this work. I and the many who have followed are indebted to Mayne Smith for blazing the trail.

Neil V. Rosenberg is an author, scholar, historian, banjo player, and Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame inductee.

Photo of Neil V. Rosenberg: Terri Thomson Rosenberg
Photo of Mayne Smith, Kaz Inaba, and Neil Rosenberg: Ed Neff