Tag: Old-time

10 Young Banjo Players You Aren’t Paying Enough Attention To

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

We don’t blame you. Banjo is typically all about praising the masters, mimicking their technique, and playing “it” — whatever tune, song, lick, or fill — exactly the way the heroes did it. Of course it’s easy to overlook up-and-coming pickers who are innovating the instrument and letting their own personalities shine through their playing. Rest assured, we’ve been keeping up with a panoply of younger banjo player virtuosos for you, just in case you’ve overlooked ’em.

Gina Clowes

The most recent addition to Chris Jones and the Night Drivers, Gina Clowes’ debut album, True Colors, is a surprising departure for anyone who might be expecting songs along the lines of the more traditional-leaning material of the Night Drivers, but Gina’s playing refuses to be pigeonholed.

Catherine “BB” Bowness

BB has a chameleon-like ability to deftly shape her playing to fit any number of styles. With her Boston-based bluegrass band, Mile Twelve, she tends to lean into a more traditional approach, hard driving and uncompromising. In other contexts, she demonstrates she’s as progressive and outside-the-box as any Fleck/Pikelny acolytes out there.

Tabitha Agnew

Based in Northern Ireland, Tabitha Agnew and her two brothers tour and perform as Cup O’Joe. The subliminal transatlantic touches through her playing are like Easter eggs, keeping listeners on their toes, never quite sure what’s coming next.

Victor Furtado

Typically on banjo, when your aim is speed and intensity you give up some measure of precision and nuance. Not Victor Furtado. Whether he’s playing an emotive, pensive tune, or a foot-stomper like this, he never sacrifices any of his intricate, unexpected musical ideas. Oh, and remember Gina Clowes? Victor and Gina are siblings. Go figure.

Matthew Davis

There are plenty of young banjoists out there in the world right now who are obsessed with learning and transcribing every note they can from progressive trailblazers like Béla Fleck and Noam Pikelny. (And rightly so!) However, National Banjo Champion Matthew Davis (of new acoustic, bluegrassy string band Circus No. 9) is one of very few whose own imaginative voice on the instrument comes through louder than any of his influences, which gives his playing a remarkable maturity.

Little Nora Brown

This ain’t your usual, “aw this kid is playing an instrument as big as they are!” cutesy sh*t. It is a compelling case for reincarnation, though. It almost sounds like Little Nora Brown has a host of roots music legends pouring out of her fingertips and through her lips. Leave it to the young people to remind all of us that old-time music is relevant in any context, but especially poignant and transformative when it’s allowed to be in the present.

Steven Moore

A two-time National Banjo Champion, Steven Moore is a career biochemist who plays the banjo with downright effortless command, combining modern styles with classic, timeless licks and tricks. The moral of the story here is that when a banjo player plays an utterly stunning Don Reno cover, you oughta pay attention.

Uma Peters

She may be stoic, quiet, and generally shy, but Uma Peters is not one to overlook. At 11 years old, her old-time banjo skill level is already so high we can hardly imagine the heights to which she’ll take it. Again, this music stands for a whole lot more than just cuteness. Uma Peters for President.

Gabe Hirshfeld

More than just a bluegrass meme master, Gabe Hirshfeld is another example of a banjo player who refuses to let his playing style fit neatly into any of the molds already set forth by bluegrass forebears. On the five-string he can be unflinchingly traditional, totally off-the-wall, borderline insane, and/or all of the above all at once.

Alex Leach

Playing an arch-top banjo player in the Clinch Mountain Boys is quite the mantle to take on, but Alex Leach does it with ease and aplomb. The world needs more right hands backed up against bridges, more raised heads, and more playing and filling while singing lead. Just follow Alex’s example.

Lede image: courtesy of Mountain Home Music Company

Simon Chrisman & Wes Corbett, ‘Jane’s Reel’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

During Flatt and Scruggs’ iconic At Carnegie Hall! performance Lester brought Earl and fiddler Paul Warren up to the mic for their fiddle/banjo feature with this introduction: “It hadn’t been too many years ago since just a five-string banjo and the fiddle was kinda called a band…” The banjo has always lent itself to these kinds of duo configurations. Fiddle/banjo is certainly the most familiar in American roots music, but banjo/bass is not uncommon — earlier on during At Carnegie Hall! bassist “Cousin Jake” Turlock got his turn dueting with Earl, too. There’s also banjo and accordion (hold your jokes, please) and even double banjo. From Ireland to New Orleans to Appalachia there’s no shortage of variations on the template of banjo plus fill-in-the-blank.

Banjo and hammered dulcimer is a much more infrequent combo. On their self-titled album Simon Chrisman (The Bee Eaters) and Wes Corbett (Molly Tuttle, Joy Kills Sorrow) make a compelling case for its immortalization in the old-time and bluegrass zeitgeist. Both Chrisman and Corbett effortlessly transcend their instruments, stepping well outside the stylistic and musical constraints that one might assume are nonnegotiable. “Jane’s Reel” — named for Corbett’s alluring cat — might cause serious injury if you were to attempt to dance a reel to it, given its breakneck speed and unpredictable twists and turns. The album does have its expected chamber music-influenced moments, peppered among more meditative pieces and a couple of sweetly sentimental songs, but “Jane’s Reel” demonstrates that Chrisman & Corbett aren’t willing to let this record be filed under “interesting acoustic background music.” It demands and deserves full attention.

Alfi, “Farewell to Trion”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Irish music as a genre tends to conjure images of dozens of step dancers clopping on stage in unison with curls bouncing, or dashing jigs and reels perfect for a night of revelry, or moody ballads with a thousand verses, or drunken sing-alongs with choruses full of nonsense words. A layperson might assume that Irish music doesn’t necessitate nuance beyond perhaps the melodramatic story songs, but that assumption does an incredible disservice to the depth and breadth of emotion and detail that runs through Ireland’s vernacular music.

Alfi, a string band equally comfortable with Irish traditional material and American old-time, demonstrate the stunning, understated beauty of this nuance on their rendering of “Farewell to Trion,” an old-time tune from the U.S. side of the pond. The tempo is relaxed, the reharmonizations are modern, yet timeless, and the form rolls by a handful of times without ever becoming stale or boring — a remarkable feat. Beneath the surface of banjo (Ryan McAuley) and whistle (Fiachra Meek), artfully teasing the melody at its edges, are the hands of Alannah Thornburgh on harp, not only plucking along with the tune, but comping as deftly and expertly as any firecracker Irish rhythm guitarist, morphing the standard chord progression at her will and whimsy. “Farewell to Trion” is worth a second and third listen if only to train our ears and brain to focus in on the mind-blowing magic happening at the fingertips of Thornburgh’s left hand. Here, it’s pretty clear to see that there’s much more to Irish music than just pomp, showmanship, drinking songs, and curly wigs. And there’s beauty to love in all of the above.

 

Hawktail, ‘El Camino Pt. 2’

Posted on by Editor

Not long ago, the bluegrass-meets-old-time-plus-chamber-music supertrio that consisted of fiddler Brittany Haas, bassist Paul Kowert, and guitarist Jordan Tice stopped simply billing themselves by their last names, added mandolinist Dominick Leslie to the fold, and renamed their outfit Hawktail. Their debut album, Unless, solidifies their status as a concrete ensemble — a grown, autonomous entity, more than just a collection of friends and string band experts who happen to enjoy playing tunes together here and there, when tour schedules allowed and stars aligned. Fortunately, that solidification was not predicated upon the elimination of the spontaneity, whimsy, and kineticism that shone through their picking as they grew from a pick-up band to an established trio to this, their current, matured form.

On “El Camino Pt. 2,” you can hear the live audience responding to this kineticism, watching in palpable awe while these four young paragons of acoustic music dialogue with each other. As they ebb and flow, rise and fall, they demonstrate to every listener that that feeling among the crowd, the exciting premonition that everything could, at any point, careen off the rails, is purposeful and under precise control. After all, this is one reason why old-time and bluegrass are so appealing: When you are in the presence of true virtuosos, players whose musicality transcend their instruments, quite literally anything can happen. The fact that Hawktail never forsake their exquisite taste, their sometimes quirky, funky, or nerdy personalities, their supremely traditional influences, or their penchant for everybody-hold-onto-your-hats fun while maintaining their deliberate, cohesive voice as an ensemble makes it even more adventuresome to follow wherever they may lead.

Special Consensus, ‘Squirrel Hunters’

Posted on by Editor

There’s a phenomenon that certain bluegrass instrumentals experience when, for however brief or extended a time, you hear them almost everywhere played by almost everyone. Tunes like the key-of-B barnburner “Rebecca,” or John Reischman’s “Salt Spring,” or David Grier’s legendary reharmonization of “Angeline the Baker” come to mind. Whether during a lap of your favorite festival’s campground jams or wandering the halls of the IBMA World of Bluegrass host hotel, while each of these numbers enjoyed their respective heydays, you could hear them emanating from almost every single circle of pickers. The old-time tune “Squirrel Hunters” hasn’t just been relegated to one single moment; it’s a pickin’ marvel unto itself. Old-time, mash, straight-ahead bluegrass, jamgrass — they all claim “Squirrel Hunters.”

In this host of renditions, one by Chicago-based bluegrass outfit Special Consensus stands out. Not only because John Hartford’s buzzy baritone introduces the track (as if to remind us that “Squirrel Hunters’” moment has been decades and decades long), but because the entire ensemble artfully reimagines a tune that could much more easily be found stale and tired. Rachel Baiman and Christian Sedelmeyer, the fiddley duo 10 String Symphony, kick off the song alongside Hartford’s fiddle, making a technological cameo. The band jumps into a bushy-tailed clip with another guest — the album’s producer, Alison Brown — on a low-tuned banjo (continuing the nods to Hartford), playing call and response, her postmodern five-string against Greg Cahill’s traditional-while-psychedelic approach. A round of breaks, a melodic bass solo, and an epic rearrangement of the chord changes later, you’ll barely realize you’ve listened to a four-minute-long tune without even a hint of a yawn. And that, right there, is why this “Squirrel Hunters” moment goes on and on.

Hot Club Sandwich, ‘Swang Thang’

Posted on by Editor

Swing is the most bluegrass-y subspecies of jazz. The chunk of the guitar chopping and comping away, the improvisational fiddle, and the walking bass solos almost guaranteed to elicit applause are more than reminiscent of ‘grass. It’s not uncommon to hear standards played in the style of Django Reinhardt and Stephane Grappelli wafting from more progressive bluegrass jams. Quintessential numbers like “Swing 42” and “Minor Swing” morph seamlessly into new acoustic favorites like “16/16” and “E.M.D,” both written by David “Dawg” Grisman. Dawg, arguably more than anyone else, is responsible for bringing swing and gypsy jazz to the bluegrass masses — but he isn’t just a jazzy missionary to more folky, old-time realms; he has made a home for himself in the heart of the swing scene, as well. He’s as comfortable straddling the fence as he is jumping down and spending some quality time on either side.

On the opening track of Hot Club Sandwich’s just-released album, No Pressure, the duo of mandolins make this bluegrass comparison most palpable. But don’t be mistaken: This band, this album, and this track are all swing. Hot Club’s mandolinist Matt Sircely and Dawg himself, the writer of “Swang Thang” and the album’s producer/advice guru, twin the tune’s bouncy, whimsical, jovial head and swap licks with each other during the solo sections. Listeners may feel a sudden urge to run away to the countryside in France, or to sip wine or snooty coffee at a street side café, or watch an indie movie or Fiat/Vespa car chase after a dose of this swang. It’s a pleasure to hear Dawg do what he does best with this Washington-based string outfit that’s been carrying the swing banner for going on two decades.

LISTEN: Kieran Kane & Rayna Gellert, ‘Where’s My Baby’ 

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Kieran Kane & Rayna Gellert
Hometown: Nashville, TN
Song: “Where’s My Baby”
Album: The Ledges
Release Date: February 16, 2018
Label: Dead Reckoning Records

In Their Words: “We went to the cabin in New York for the summer to finish writing and then record what became The Ledges album. We had a few songs finished, and a few bits and pieces that we wanted to see if we could push further down the road. ‘Where’s My Baby’ was one of the unfinished bits. It was so much fun to play, we just couldn’t let it go. It was, in fact, the first song that we recorded where we felt ‘that’s the keeper version’ … so we kept it.” — Kieran Kane

Photo credit: Molly Secours

Hangin’ & Sangin’: Chance McCoy

Posted on by Editor

From the Bluegrass Situation and WMOT Roots Radio, it’s Hangin’ & Sangin’ with your host, BGS editor Kelly McCartney. Every week Hangin’ & Sangin’ offers up casual conversation and acoustic performances by some of your favorite roots artists. From bluegrass to folk, country, blues, and Americana, we stand at the intersection of modern roots music and old time traditions bringing you roots culture — redefined.

With me today at Hillbilly Central, Chance McCoy! So Chance McCoy, part of Old Crow Medicine Show, and more!

And more! So much more.

So let’s do a little Chance McCoy 101, background thing because you don’t have a website for people to go and find out about you so I think we need to teach the people.

Yes, I’m the 21st century George Harrison of Old Crow.

Alright, let’s go with that.

The Quiet Crow. [Laughs]

Yeah, okay, I’ll believe that. [Laughs] So you grew up in West Virginia, playing in punk and rock bands, yeah, a little bit?

Yeah, a little bit.

In your youth.

A little bit. The first band that I was in was called the Speakeasy Boys, and that was more just an excuse to get drunk and run a speakeasy than it was to be a band. But I did learn some music in there.

Right. And they were sort of old-time without knowing they were old-time? Kind of like the punk version of old-time?

Yeah, we didn’t know what old-time music was, actually. We didn’t know what bluegrass was, and we had heard the term “old-time.” And we were playing some old-time music. We had a washtub bass player. We were playing “Soldier’s Joy” and things like that. But it took me, like, a year of being in that band for somebody to finally tell me what old-time music was. [Laughs] We kept asking around, “What is old-time music?” and nobody could tell me!

So yeah, it was amazing! We basically ran a bar out of a basement of a friend’s house and, every Sunday, a friend of ours would go down to the Potomac River and fish out a bunch of catfish and we’d fry them on a barrel, and about 200-300 kids from the local college would show up and we’d play music. It was a ball.

That’s awesome!

So that was my experience learning folk music and bluegrass and old-time, and then I started performing in folk clubs and I was like, “Why is everybody sitting down and listening? This isn’t what you do, here’s a beer! Go ahead and dance, just start dancing!”

What do you think it was about that kind of music, or maybe it was how you guys were doing it, or maybe it was the beer and catfish, but what was the appeal to those college kids?

Um, I think the appeal was that we created a scene. Our bumper sticker read, “We’re not a band. We’re a party.” [Laughs] That was the appeal!

Your life motto ever since!

Yeah, I think that works for a lot of acts. Sometimes it’s not about the music; it’s about the event — creating a party. So that was very much what the draw was in that band.

And then once you got into the more “proper” old-time and folk scene, it was a whole other vibe.

It was a whole other vibe, yeah. It was great because, growing up in West Virginia, I’d actually never heard folk music, because it was pretty rare. I mean, it still is. I didn’t know where to look. I didn’t have any connections to it. So, when I finally discovered folk music in West Virginia, I was in my early 20s, and I realized that there was incredible depth, this well of music that went so much deeper than just the surface level “Soldier’s Joy” and all that kind of stuff — “Pig in a Pen.” And that’s where I really started to fall in love with old-time music, especially. And I was lucky enough to study and apprentice with master musicians form West Virginia, so that’s where it started to change for me. And then I took all that and went out and tried to perform it and that’s when I realized … [Laughs]

That’s when you ran into all the folks who were … the “that ain’t bluegrass” folks.

Like, “Well, actually …” [Laughs]

…

So you were just living out in a cabin and teaching fiddle at Augusta Heritage Center when you got the “Hey, come try out for our little string band, Old Crow Medicine Show” call.

Yeah, I got a cold call! Yeah the little string band that you know, we have the song “Wagon Wheel.” Nobody’s heard it.

Nope! What was it like stepping into that band with them having been a band for so long, even though they took a few years off, sort of regrouping?

It was really hard because I had to figure out how to join this band, like you said, that had already been a huge band that had been really successful, and I had to figure out how to enter the band and not make it seem like I was trying to replace Willie Watson or what he did. And that was always something that was really a sensitive issue where we all wanted to integrate me into the band in a new way where it didn’t feel like, “Oh, Old Crow’s back, but now this guy’s replaced this other guy.”

So there was this intentional shift in the band, and I tried to take sort of a back seat role and a more supportive role in that band, and not try to, you know, try to get myself out there and play a leading role in the band. And, in doing that, I was able to really support them to go in directions that they hadn’t gone before, and I was integral to the creative process and helping write the songs and record the records and doing all that, but I was sort of the behind-the-scenes guy, where I was just kind of trying to make Old Crow great again, and lift them off.

Because, when I met them and they went on that tour that I joined them on, when they reunited, they had kind of come out of a broken place with having lost Willie, and then being like, “Is anyone gonna like the band anymore? Are we gonna be able to do it? Is it gonna be any good?” So it was a real fragile situation that I came into, so I really tried to come in and just support them as musicians and help them realize their vision for what the band was gonna be moving forward.

And clearly that worked, or it was just a coincidence that you joined the band to play on Remedy and oh, it wins a Grammy, the first Grammy for a record.

[Laughs] I like to say I have the Midas touch. Any project I join wins a Grammy.

If anybody needs a fiddle player/banjo player/guitarist/carpenter …

I can build it. I can play it.

And you can win a Grammy.

[Laughs] Yeah, it was an amazing rise to success, especially coming from where I had been before I got the call. I had kind of sunk into poverty in Appalachia and it was rough times, for sure. I was just scraping by, barely, when Ketch [Secor] called me. So that was a good call to get.

…

You recently did some solo shows here in Nashville. So is that still a lingering ambition in your mind, are there projects coming?

It is! Yes, there is a project coming. I’m gonna be going into the studio in a couple weeks here, after I finish building it. [Laughs] And laying down my next record, which is gonna be called The Electric Crow. It’s kind of the next creative project where I wanna use all the different elements, all the different kinds of music that I play, and kind of bring that through my own creative focus and hone in something completely new. So, yes, that is on the way!

Watch all the episodes on YouTube, or download and subscribe to the Hangin’ & Sangin’ podcast and other BGS programs every week via iTunes, Spotify, Podbean, or your favorite podcast platform.

Nashville School of Traditional Country Music Plays It Forward

Posted on by Editor

The act of passing down traditional music through generations is as inherent to the craft as the music itself is to its region of origin. Amidst the flurry of YouTube tutorials, tuning apps, and streaming services available at the fingertips of today’s technologically advanced society, a crop of non-profits are working to ensure that traditional music continues to be shared from person to person. The Junior Appalachian Musicians program — nicknamed JAM — is one such effort. The after-school program offered in locations across North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia offers music lessons to children, focusing on Appalachian tunes and instruments like the banjo or fiddle. Singer/songwriter Meredith Watson was a fiddle instructor in the JAM program in Black Mountain, North Carolina, for three years.

“I saw firsthand how valuable group learning can be when it comes to music, as opposed to the sort of traditional model of sheet music learning or ‘learn this to tune’ or ‘learn this piece of music on whatever instrument you’re playing and go practice for 25 minutes by yourself everyday,’” Watson says. “[That’s] a very isolated experience of learning music, but I’ve seen both from the JAM program and then also my own personal life in old-time music, music is just so much more than that. It’s so much more than practicing by yourself; it’s community.”

An accomplished musician — both solo and with her band, Locust Honey — Watson moved to Nashville nearly three years ago. Despite the lore of Music City, Watson was surprised to find that there were no organized instructional programs or gathering places for musicians.

“It’s the most welcoming community I have probably ever found, musically, so you know, everybody hangs out together and has dinner parties and plays music together, and it’s all very supportive. So it occurred to me, at some point, that there was the Old Town School of Folk Music in Chicago and there’s the St.Louis Folk School and there’s Jalopy [Theatre and School of Music] in Brooklyn … that makes [the music] accessible to the rest of the town, and we didn’t really have that here,” she explains. “It seems like there’s this moment happening in Nashville right now — all these people have moved to town that are world-class, absolutely top-of-the-game players of traditional country music, and there’s nowhere that’s really teaching it. There are obviously private lessons galore, but there’s nowhere that’s teaching music as a community-building art.”

Watson started brainstorming with friends about what an organization or program that filled this gap in Nashville might look like. She used her experience in the JAM program as a jumping-off point and harkened back to her childhood for more inspiration.

“I grew up going to a community theater in Cape Cod in Massachusetts, when I was a kid, and I remember the feeling of having a place outside of my own house that felt like home,” she explains. “It was a really creative place where all you did was problem solve creatively all day. It was just so many different creative minds coming together.”

Watson’s vision for bringing such a place to Nashville has been realized with the Nashville School of Traditional Country Music. Still in its seed stage, the school has about a dozen instructors and is offering a spate of winter classes for children, including fiddle, ukulele, and guitar instruction.

“Because Nashville is growing at the rate that it’s growing, there are a lot of buildings going up and there’s a lot of concrete and just like money, money, money happening, and I just wanted to make sure that everybody knew the reason that this town has the name that it has,” Watson says. “It’s because all of this music from the American countryside came through here. You know, ‘country’ is a weird word because people have very different ideas of what that means, but it’s Music City. All of this vernacular music happened out of human need in rural America and then it came through here and people got to hear it because there was a wider access from here, but it seems like that’s being forgotten. And, having lived in places where that is still celebrated, I see how important it is and I just want to make sure that this particular city doesn’t forget kind of where it came from.”

While the Nashville School is beginning with children’s programming, Watson aims to eventually pivot to gatherings that adults and professional musicians in Nashville can attend, too. The person-to-person connection is what drew Watson to traditional music in the first place. “I went to the Tisch School of the Arts at NYU and then, after college, I was living in New York playing gigs just by myself, playing a lot of old blues, pre-war blues stuff, and some of my own stuff, and I just sort of got really lonely,” Watson says.

She was working at an Irish pub and bar for supplemental income when an Irish jam session on Monday nights caught her attention.

“It had been going on for 15 years and, every Monday night, I would have these guys come in and just sit in a circle and play traditional Irish music,” she recalls. “And I was like, ‘This is what I’m missing. This is what I’m longing for: connecting with people.’”

Watson dove headfirst into the aspect of music as community.

“I [didn’t] want to just get up on a stage; that’s not what music is about,” she says. “So I fell in love with this idea of the music of a people and, through that session, I ended up finding out about old-time music and I started going to festivals, and it was really a cure for my loneliness because I realized that there are all these gatherings that happen all throughout the year of people who just get together, cook together, play music, dance. I felt like music was integral to life, as opposed to being something that you had to try to do in your spare time or make happen somehow.”

Watson hopes to cultivate this feeling for others with the Nashville School of Traditional Country Music, whose mission lies in passing on and preserving the original sounds of American country music. Under that umbrella, she says, is generating a wider support for artists and their music.

“Because art is not valued as a necessity in America, we all struggle really hard just to even put [our music] out and have it be heard or seen,” explains Watson. “I want to make sure that all of our teachers get paid an actual living wage to teach. I don’t think music is extracurricular; I think it’s necessary for the human soul, and I want to make sure that the people who have spent thousands of hours learning how to play it, and then are kind enough to pass it along, are also taken care of.”

Photo credit: judy dean on Foter.com / CC BY

David Bragger and Susan Platz, ‘Devil in Georgia’

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Welcome to a brand new, bi-weekly feature: Tunesday Tuesday. Think of this as the instrumental answer to our Song of the Week. Pickers are found at the center of bluegrass, old-time, blues — really all roots music forms — and their virtuosity is what attracts so many of us to the music. With Tunesday, we want to celebrate that virtuosity by highlighting incredible tunes and the nimble-fingered instrumentalists who play them.

We’ve suggested retiring overplayed songs before and the response was, well … mixed. Here’s a new idea: Let’s en-state a one in/one out policy for songs we’ve maybe had enough of. For example: Perhaps we should bench everyone’s favorite disco country, fiddlin’ trick song — “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” — and replace it with David Bragger and Susan Platz’s simple, stripped-down, old-time fiddle duet, “Devil in Georgia,” off their new album, King’s Lament, out February 2.

Bragger and Platz sourced the reel-like tune from Kentucky farmer/fiddler/mandolinist, Dock Roberts, who first recorded it in 1929. Here, it’s interpreted in the age-old style of two fiddles, alone and set apart, freewheeling and dancing in and out of harmony and counterpoint. Sure, there’s no paranormal fiddle battle with the devil incarnate, but you won’t miss that. It’s not flashy, it’s not gimmicky, it’s not set at a breakneck tempo. Instead, it’s a warm, subtle earworm with the breathiness, openness, and ease of old-time. Seems like a fair trade, yes?

Bonus points: If it reminds you of another tune, say, “Temperance Reel,” that’s because it is. It’s sometimes also known as “Teetotaler’s Reel,” “Kingsport,” “Old Tiddley-Toe,” “Rocky Road to Denver,” and, perhaps the best option of the bunch, “Where’s My Other Foot?” Ah, old-time with their alternate tune names!