With joy, gratitude, and undeniable talent, composer and innovative guitarist Yasmin Williams shines in her first official NPR Tiny Desk Concert – and we can’t stop watching! Flanked by a crew of seven musical collaborators – including old-time music powerhouses Tatiana Hargreaves and Allison de Groot – Williams shares four original songs, “Hummingbird,” “Sisters,” “Guitka,” and “Restless Heart.” While the 23-minute performance is firmly rooted in Williams’ characteristic style, her songs transcend easy genre labels, inhabiting a musical atmosphere of their own. What results is a collection of thoughtful, intricate, and heart-led songs that bring the listener firmly and gently into the present moment.
Starting off with a decidedly bluegrass and old-time-inspired composition, “Hummingbird,” Williams is joined by Hargreaves and de Groot, who recorded and released the track together with Williams in 2024, ahead of the release of her third studio album, Acadia. Williams and her band then widen their reach, drawing on African folk music traditions and modern experimental and atmospheric soundscapes. The instrumental lineup is impressively wide for such a brief performance, featuring a kalimba taped to the top of Williams’ guitar (that she plays with one hand while playing the guitar with the other), a 10-foot-wide marimba, multiple violins and violas, a djembe, tap shoes, and more.
If you’re new to the world of Yasmin Williams, this video is the perfect place to start – and you can continue exploring with our recent Artist of the Month coverage from October of last year. (Find additional BGS content on Williams below.) Her performance is meditative, emotive, and soothing, but it’s also energizing and inspiring. In this way, Williams has a knack for duality. Her songs are both intricate and subtle. They’re complex without feeling math-y or inaccessible. Focusing in on her fingerstyle and tapping techniques, her technical skill is obvious. She’s deliberate, precise, and truly a master of her craft. But there’s also incredible ease in the way Williams plays. She’s joyful and present, embodying a wholesome “just-happy-to-be-here” energy. At just 28 years old, her immense skill is perfectly balanced with a sense of comfort and familiarity, making this performance a gift to behold.
While this is Yasmin Williams’ first official Tiny Desk Concert shot on-site at NPR’s headquarters in Washington, D.C., it’s not her first foray into the world of NPR Music. She’s been orbiting the legendary “tiny” desk (which she humorously admits feeling disappointed isn’t actually that tiny) for years. In 2018, Williams submitted a video of her song “Guitka” to the NPR Tiny Desk Contest. A year later, she was featured by NPR Music’s Night Owl series. Then in 2021, she landed her first Tiny Desk spot through NPR’s Tiny Desk (Home) Concert series. But as Williams shares, none of that compared to the feeling of finally getting to sit behind that actually-pretty-big desk. We’re so glad she made it.
Our next artist on Out Now is Morgan Harris, solo artist, old-time guitarist, and member of the Tall Poppy String Band (with Cameron DeWhitt and George Jackson). Her new solo album, Alone Will Tell, is a reflective work featuring twelve tracks.
Harris reinvents this collection of traditional tunes with a stark, raw, emotive sound. Traditional music toes a line between preserving the sounds (and sometimes the values) of the past while embracing the innovations of the future. In our interview, we talk with Harris about that central conflict in traditional music, where many individuals feel the need to “uphold tradition” – which often can be used as justification for discrimination.
This is Harris’ first release as a transgender musician. Alone Will Tell honors traditional music while illustrating innovation and transformation. We are proud to feature Morgan Harris on Out Now.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
I don’t know if there’s a reason I make music, other than “I like it” – it’s both as simple and as enormously complicated as that implies. I guess it’s the process that I find most satisfying, by which I mean the parts where I’m actively learning, creating, and collaborating. I’m not very good at sitting back and appreciating what I’ve created (though I’m trying to get better at that). Even as the process can be frustrating and confusing at times, and it can be tempting to think, “I’ll be satisfied if I can just finish this project,” I try to remind myself that the act of making is what I’m in it for. That’s where I ultimately find the most meaning.
You play in a trio as well, Tall Poppy String Band. How does it feel to release this album as a solo act? How does the intimacy of your solo work differ from the collaborative energy of playing in a group?
Releasing a solo record definitely feels more vulnerable! In Tall Poppy String Band I have the luxury of having two incredible musicians to support me and lend their energy, but when it’s just me, there’s no one else to lean on and nowhere to hide. Having said that, it also allows me to delve into certain aspects of my playing more deeply than I could otherwise. I love the sense of space that becomes possible when playing solo and not having to be heard over other instruments means I can really use the full dynamic range of the instrument.
You’ve mentioned that this album was shaped by “long familiarity and patient questioning.” Could you share more about what that process has been like for you, both musically and personally?
Most of the tunes and songs on this album have been with me for a while, but they’ve only taken shape very gradually. I think that’s because I’ve allowed myself to be more patient with the material – rather than rushing to pigeonhole it based on how I think it (or I) ought to sound. I’ve felt more able to let it develop in its own time, slowly uncovering what feels like the most honest and rewarding approach for me to take. And, I think I partly have my gender journey to thank for that. So much of my transition has involved a parallel kind of process, of learning to resist jumping to quick conclusions about myself (based in anxiety and internalized expectations) and trusting that in doing so, I would gradually get better at tuning in to something deeper, more elusive.
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?
Queerness (and particularly trans-ness) can still be a rarity in trad music, meaning it’s easy to feel isolated in those spaces, especially when one is first considering coming out. But there is a small community out there of wonderful, welcoming queer trad musicians. I want to do my part to nourish that community and to help make queerness in these spaces not just feel like a possibility, but a given.
Also: while old-time music is a rich and beautiful tradition, it can tend to attract the type of person who links it to some imagined “simpler” past of traditional values, when people neatly and happily fell into their prescribed gender and social roles – while ignoring how such systems required, and still require, savage enforcement in order to exist.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
I’m continually inspired by many amazing queer musicians in the old-time world, such as Jake Blount, Tatiana Hargreaves, Rachel Eddy, and Cameron DeWhitt, just to name a few. On a completely different note, I think Lena Raine’s music is incredible – her soundtrack to the video game Celeste means a lot to me.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
“Give it time.” Suddenly realizing a few years ago that I might be trans, and all the questioning and experimenting that followed, was extremely scary and destabilizing. I often found myself anxious to quickly come to some kind of decision about what it all meant, to restore some small sense of stability. It was so helpful to be reminded in those times that I didn’t need to have the answers immediately. It takes time and practice to learn to listen to who you are, and to deconstruct the toxic stuff you’ve internalized about yourself. Even the uncertainty itself becomes more familiar with time. I took comfort in the idea that, whatever the result, I was undoubtedly doing something out of love and care for myself.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
Maybe hanging out at a swimming hole with my partner and our dog, thrifting something cute, getting hazelnut gelato, and playing old-time tunes all night with my best music pals from around the country. If I could somehow combine all of these, that would be pretty hard to top.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
I’m looking forward to touring solo in 2025 and sharing the music on this record with more people! And as usual I’ll be playing shows with my group Tall Poppy String Band. We also have plans to record a new album together next year, so I’m really excited for that.
At 89 years old, old-time music community leader, Grammy nominee, and Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame inductee Alice Gerrard continues to place her music making and creativity decidedly in the present. While every lyric she utters and every note she picks feels effortlessly timeless, storied, and burnished – by her lived experiences and by days, weeks, and months of toil – her songs are ultimately forward-looking, leaning into the future with intention and wisdom. They also feel paradoxically light and joyous while at the same time they stand at the nexus of “what used to be” and “what will come.” Gerrard holds this position with equal power, agency, and insight.
Her latest album, the upcoming self-produced Sun to Sun, out October 20 on Sleepy Cat Records, captures the ineffable of the particular center-of-the-Venn-diagram that she inhabits, as a song collector, a knowledge bearer, and a folk music synthesizer of the world’s woes and struggles for justice. As witness to more than a handful of iterations of the modern movement for equal rights and racial, gender, and economic justice, Gerrard is able to challenge the systems and powers that be in grounded, measured, and realistic ways – ways that never limit possibilities for the future. (A remarkable trait in a creative who uses “old-timey” media and formats as her primary form of expression.)
“Remember Us,” the album’s stunning lead single, is – as Gerrard says via press release – an ode to “all the departed whose shoulders we stand on, whose work and lives we benefit from, who came or were transported against their will to this land.” Sung in stark a capella by Gerrard, Tatiana Hargreaves, and Reed Stutz, the track feels pulled directly from the gospel singing traditions of the American South that each stem from Black and formerly enslaved musical traditions. It speaks into community spaces the names, lives, and souls of so many Black, Brown, and Indigenous folks who lost their lives at the hands of empire and the police state.
“Old Jim Crow” makes the apropos point that segregation and racial apartheid in our country were not that long ago nor that far away, calling the partisan gerrymandering, political divisiveness, and waves of hatred befalling the U.S. exactly what they are: a new kind of the Old Jim Crow. “Keep It Off the Seat,” a Gerrard-penned modern classic, was inspired by the North Carolina General Assembly’s transphobic HB2 measure from 2016 – that also inspired our showcase, Shout & Shine, at IBMA in Raleigh and eventually saw Gerrard singing “Keep It Off the Seat” from the Shout & Shine stage in 2017 with Cathy Fink, Marcy Marxer, Hargreaves, and more. At her live shows, she encourages her audience to sing along during the rousing chorus: “Who cares where you pee? Just keep it off the seat!”
These themes and through lines would be notable in any bluegrass and old-time forebear’s catalog, but here, among Gerrard’s lifelong discography, they are certainly not outliers but continuations of a career that has always been committed to telling untold stories, singing unsung songs, spotlighting and amplifying invisible voices. Gerrard’s age, her position as a roots music elder, reinforces the importance of these subjects, and leaves subtle, existential fingerprints over the entire album. We know Gerrard’s commitment to singing and standing in truth, but in these songs and in this collection, we feel that commitment more than see it, we sense it just as strongly as we view it.
Sun to Sun was tracked in Durham, North Carolina – Gerrard’s home turf for decades, now – with a collection of collaborators and musicians pulled directly from her immediate community. Hargreaves, one of the most prominent fiddlers in the old-time and bluegrass scenes of late, has worked for Gerrard for a number of years as an archivist and assistant of sorts and features heavily on the album; Stutz, an in-demand multi instrumentalist who also straddles the fences between folk, bluegrass, old-time, and Americana, plays guitar and banjo. Other credits include first-rate sacred steel player DaShawn Hickman, Hasee Ciaccio on bass, Marcy Marxer guesting on guitar and cello banjo, Gail Gillespie, Nick Falk, and soulful songwriter, singer, producer, etc. Phil Cook – who collaborated with Gerrard on her 2014 album, Follow the Music – as well.
It makes perfect sense that a community builder such as Gerrard, who has always prioritized the most human aspects of roots music in her creative output, would be able to construct a collection of songs that feels pointed and convicting, but also organic and natural. Sun to Sun approaches heavy topics with ease, as a pair of good friends over a cup of tea on the porch can seemingly solve all of the world’s problems with passion, joy, and unbridled care for the forgotten and invisible among us. Gerrard calls on her folks, her musical and personal communities as well as her listeners and fans, to join with her in the journey she has begun and that we must continue, from sun to sun to sun to sun.
To celebrate Alice Gerrard’s selection as our October Artist of the Month, we’ll be diving back into our archive of Sitch Sessions, interviews, posts, and stories that highlight her incredible music – and her exemplary activism through that music and across the decades. In the meantime, enjoy our Essential Alice Gerrard playlist below, plus two of our BGS favorite Sitch Sessions of all time that feature Gerrard (viewable above), and watch for our Artist of the Month feature to come later in October.
Sarah Kate Morgan is a talent to behold. Hailing from Sharps Chapel, Tennessee, and currently nested in Hindman, Kentucky, Morgan is deeply rooted in Appalachian soil. She stands as a revered singer-songwriter and preeminent authority on the mountain dulcimer, alchemizing all the beauty, richness and sorrows of those blue, grassy hills into music.
With her resonant voice and grounded lyrics, Morgan’s music breathes new life into the histories of Appalachian music. She has performed and/or recorded with other lauded contemporaries, including Tyler Childers, Alice Gerrard and Erynn Marshall & Carl Jones. Additionally, she has a full life beyond performing; Morgan presently serves as the Hindman Settlement School’s Traditional Arts Education Director, where she preserves and teaches Appalachian folk traditions for local youth and community members.
Her latest album, Old Tunes & Sad Songs, perfectly encapsulates what Morgan does best — weaving together a tapestry of traditional roots music with her own original, breathtaking spins. Every listener will emerge edified by Sarah Kate Morgan’s masterful blending of hope, history, and heart.
The bio on your website mentions that your grandfather built your first dulcimer; I would love to hear more about that. Do you come from a lineage of musicians or music makers?
SKM: My great grandfather was named Jolly Morgan — I love that name. The Morgans were from North Carolina, Transylvania County, and the Sylva area. Jolly played the banjo and owned a general store. My grandfather on my dad’s side built a dulcimer when he retired after working most of his life at the ALCOA steel plant in Maryville, Tennessee. When he retired, he picked up oil painting and played the harmonica a little bit. Another one of the things he dabbled in was woodworking, and he built a dulcimer. It ended up not being the best instrument ever. He actually put it together backwards, so like, the headstock was on the opposite end of the instrument.
So you learned how to play on a backwards dulcimer?
Kinda sorta, it really didn’t affect that much — it just had to be tuned at the opposite end of the instrument.
That’s pretty unique! A lot of your work is about honoring the lineage and all the history of Appalachia. What does that feel like? To be connecting with the people of the mountains or even your own ancestry?
I don’t know. I think I struggle with impostor syndrome a lot. When people ask me, “Oh my gosh, how does it feel to be part of Appalachia?” I’m like, “I don’t know. I’ve just been making music.” There have been so many people who’ve come before me and will come after me that we all are just one little branch of the tree that tells the story of living in this region. And if I can write a couple songs that add to that story in my lifetime, I would consider that an honor.
Do you ever feel like it’s a spiritual undertaking?
I grew up playing music and singing in church — that was sort of my first musical experience, which I think is a pretty common thing if you grew up in the South and you grew up musical… you always got to sing in church. And so, music and my faith and my religion growing up were always very deeply tied together. Now, that kind of shows up in my songwriting, like the form of hymns and old-time gospel music is branded into my musicality. I write songs that often end up feeling like hymns, just the structure of them, even if the content is different. One of my songs on my most recent album, “Heaven In My Mind” speaks to that. I think it feels like a sort of traditional gospel [song], but has a different sort of message.
I would love to hear more about your songwriting. What’s your creative process like?
Lord if I know! I think the songs just sort of end up. I don’t start with a verse. It’s always all or nothing. I just sit down, and it all kind of dumps out into a finished song. I find that the times I’ve been most inspired to write are often when I’m most busy and most surrounded by people. I wish I could be a pensive, loner musician that floats off into the wilderness and then comes back and writes all these songs. But because a lot of my songs are written about people, I think being around people is what inspires me the most.
One of my favorite songwriters, Matthew Sidney Parsons — he’s from Eastern Kentucky in Carter County. Something that he said years ago that I really took to heart was that as a songwriter, one of the best things you can do is have a career that’s not music related at all, especially if you want to write this kind of music, folk music. It’s people music, music about experiences, the regular folks, you know — just working and existing in the world and living your life can often be the most inspiring thing because then you come home and write about the people that you are with every day.
Yeah, it’s in community. It’s not in a vacuum. So you work in a school, right?
Yeah, well, I work at Hindman Settlement School, which is a nonprofit in Knott County, Kentucky, and I’m the Folk Arts Education Director. But essentially I’m just a traveling music teacher. In Knott County, as with a lot of rural school districts, there’s barely any budget for music or art. So one thing that the Settlement School does is to try and fill that gap. I do an after school music education program teaching acoustic instruments — banjo, guitar, mandolin, those things. And then I go into mostly kindergarten through third-grade classrooms and give short general music education sessions. I often try to incorporate Appalachian music and traditional music from around the world as much as possible. For so many of them, this is their first time seeing live music, period.
That’s so special. They must love seeing you play and learning! What’s it like teaching the dulcimer?
I love the instrument because it’s probably one of the most accessible instruments to play. It’s got three strings, and it’s diatonically fretted, which means it’s not chromatic. It has whole musical steps from the major scale with a few accidentals, so like the white keys of a piano without black keys. And what that allows for people with relatively little musical experience to sit down with the instrument and just run their finger up and down the fretboard. From there, they can pick out tunes that are already in their head and in their heart. And it’s easy for people to sound good on the instrument. I love that. It’s a great first instrument for kids; it was my first instrument when I was seven. And it’s a great first instrument for older folks who have never played music in their life.
It’s incredibly empowering to be able to sit down with an instrument and be like, “Oh, I can really do that.” When I teach, I can get people playing a simple tune within five minutes. I personally love instant gratification like that. It’s the least gatekeep-y instrument in traditional music, which I’m a big fan of. On the flip side of that, because it’s so simple, people don’t give the dulcimer the same amount of intensive musical study as others, but this instrument is just as complex as guitar or fiddle or banjo, in terms of tunings, chord shapes, modes, and keys. You can take the dulcimer as far as you want. While it’s accessible and easy, I love that you can still do surprising innovative things with it.
And you do! Speaking of which, do you have anything exciting coming up?
The first weekend of September my friend Tatiana Hargraves and I are going to do a string of duo shows in East Tennessee and Eastern Kentucky. We’re excited about that. I love playing with Tatiana. This weekend I’ll be performing at a festival called Holler Girl. I’m not performing on my own, but I’ll actually be sitting in with a local Eastern Kentucky punk band called Slut Pill. I’ll be playing dulcimer, but I have a pickup that allows me to plug into a pedal board and play with some cool effects. It’ll be my first time performing with them, so I’m looking forward to seeing how dulcimer can fit in with a punk band!
Do you have any other collaborators you want to shout out? You’re One to Watch, but who are you watching? Are there any artists you’re appreciating especially right now?
Gosh, so many! My dear friends Linda Jean Stokely and Montana Hobbs make up the duo the Local Honeys. They’re really, really great. They’re dear friends. They were the first two women to graduate from Morehead State University with degrees in traditional music, and I was in the next generation behind them. And oh my gosh, I just love their writing — they tell incredibly complex and beautiful stories with just a few simple words. They’re really making great strides in traditional music, and I love listening to them.
Also, friend Ben Fugate is a local Perry County songwriter, and he has his band Ben Fugate and the Burning Trash Band. Ben is a great local songwriter, and he writes in a more traditional country style. I’m also really enjoying listening to the artist Amanda Fields. She’s a Nashville-based country music songwriter and she just put out this beautiful album, What, When, & Without. Her whole album is moody and effervescent — kind of far away. It’s this kind of slow and introspective country music. Yeah, and it’s just really pretty. And Momma Molasses out of Bristol, Tennessee, is an amazing classic country and Western swing style singer and writer.
I also do a radio show on Sundays! You can tune in all over the world. It’s from 4-6 p.m. [ET] and the show is called She’s Gone Country on station WMMT 88.7. It’s a show featuring all female country music, from past and present. Country music is loosely defined, so I feature a lot of small artists and big artists and a lot of local Eastern Kentucky writers.
Americana duo Violet Bell‘s new album, Shapeshifter – out October 7 – tells a story of the mythological selkie, a mermaid-like creature from Celtic folklore that embodies a form that’s half woman, half seal. In their retelling and reshaping of this ancient folk narrative, they tease out its connections to the transatlantic journey of American roots music, to the cultural and social melting pot of the “New World,” and to agency, intention, and self-possession.
A concept album of sorts, the music is remarkably approachable and down-to-earth, while the stories and threads of the record tell equally ordinary and cosmic tales. At such a time in American history, with fascism once again on the rise and attacks on bodily autonomy and personal agency occurring with greater frequency at every level of governance, Shapeshifter offers a seemingly timeless lens through which to engage with, understand, and challenge the overarching social and political turmoil we all face on the daily. Moreover, it’s an excellent folk record, demonstrating Violet Bell’s connections to North Carolina, Appalachia, and the greater communities that birthed so many of the genre aesthetics evident in the album’s songs.
Shapeshifter is a gorgeous exercise in community building, an artful subversion of societal norms, and a stunning folktale packaged in accessible, resonant music with a local heartbeat and a global appeal. Read our interview with duo members Lizzy Ross and Omar Ruiz-Lopez and listen to a brand new single from the project, “Mortal Like Me,” below.
BGS: I wanted to start by asking you about community, because I know it’s always very present in your music making. I feel it, definitely, in Shapeshifter. Not only because you’ve got Joe Terrell and Libby Rodenbough (Mipso), Joe Troop, and Tatiana Hargreaves on the project, but because I can feel that community is a tent pole of this record. What does community, musical and otherwise, mean to you in the context of this project?
Lizzy Ross: It was such a wild time to be making the record because it was March of 2021, so vaccines hadn’t quite happened yet and we had all been on lockdown for about a year. We were obviously really missing our community and the live music community. There was also this strange thing, where our friends who would normally always be on the road all the time were at home. So we had an incredible opportunity to call up people, like calling up Tati and Joseph and Libby and Joe Troop – who lived in Argentina but came home because of COVID! The way that it worked out, people were around and we were able to convene and make this album in circumstances that probably wouldn’t have been possible, because everybody would have been on the road.
Omar Ruiz-Lopez: Or, [we would have had them] recording remotely. Which is not the same. One of the reasons why I play music is because of the community. That ability to bring people together and share music and hold space together, the energy that comes from that is so vital to the human experience. Getting to create that space, to bring an album to life, there’s not much else in this world that I live for, besides that. Getting the opportunity to bring everybody together, especially after such a big isolation, was so life-affirming and helped bring me back to why I make music in the first place.
That’s definitely palpable in the music itself, but also in the overarching viewpoint that y’all have within this record. I also find that it’s very grounded. You might have heard BGS just released our first season of a podcast called Carolina Calling, about North Carolina’s history through music. One of the through-lines that keeps coming up in all of our interviews is that North Carolina specifically has such a strong sense of musical community. Even though this is kind of a story record and kind of a concept record, it feels very grounded in North Carolina and in the South.
LR: Omar and I are kind of mongrels from the non-South. But we’ve come and steeped ourselves in this land and these traditions and this community, so I think that what our music reflects is the internal sort of “musical diet.” Our musical diet is probably atypical when you consider what most people think of as North Carolinian or Southern music. The music we were listening to going into this even, we were listening to a lot of Groupa–
ORL: Groupa is a Scandinavian folk band that makes these albums based on music from different countries, like Iceland, Finland, and Sweden. I feel like anything that’s not from here is called “world music,” but their brand of folk music is very beautiful and out there and organic and grounded in the different traditions they represent on their albums. It’s mostly instrumental music, it’s pretty powerful. We were listening to that a lot, as well as Julia Fowlis, a singer who sings in Gaelic primarily. Those cultures – Scottish, Irish, Scandinavian folk – they’re related to the music here like old-time, bluegrass, and Appalachian folk traditions of fiddle and banjo.
To bring it back to the question, I’ve been here for twelve years. I was born in Panama and raised in Puerto Rico listening to Spanish and Latin folk. When I say Spanish, I mean Spanish-speaking, the language of our colonizers. But there’s something still not-from-Spain in the native, Indigenous musical and cultural influences in that music. Like in Bachata and Cumbia. Then I moved to the States and fell in love with rock ‘n’ roll and more of the singer-songwriter tradition here.
LR: Originally I came here for school. I grew up in Annapolis, Maryland, where I didn’t really find a musical community. There was one, I just didn’t find it. When I came to North Carolina it was the first time I saw people gathering together over a potluck and music, with like shape note singing and like the Rise Up Singing book. Having this experience of big, group harmonies I had this realization more and more that music could be a part of my daily life in a way it hadn’t been as a child. Or, rather, as a way of public, shared daily life. Because it was always part of my life, but it was part of community life here in North Carolina. That was a big element of how music and North Carolinian music in particular drew me in and captured my heart.
Can you talk a bit about the central storyline of this album and how you picked up the mythos of the selkie and turned it into this project?
LR: The story of the selkie came to us and it’s something that is in the culture, it’s floating around. Many folks have seen the movies Song of the Sea or The Secret of Roan Inish. The first song that came to me, Omar and I were at the beach one day and I was playing on the banjo and this song came out. It was “Back to the Sea.” We were in the Outer Banks of North Carolina at that time, at the ocean, and I was kind of just listening for who this character is and what they are saying. It was a selkie. It was a selkie singing of getting to return home.
I would say that coming home to ourselves is one of the central themes of this album and one of the themes the selkie story really brings into focus. The whole myth is centered around a being, a mystical ocean being, who gets yanked out of her native waters and forced to live in a world that doesn’t understand her and wasn’t built around her existence. To me, there’s a really clear connection. That story is a medicine for the cultural wound of when we don’t fit into the prescribed paradigm of power. If we don’t fit into white supremacy or if we don’t fit into normativity or if we don’t fit into patriarchy. It’s the sense of feeling like we have to cut off parts of ourselves that aren’t compatible with those power structures so that we can be acceptable to the power structure at-large.
This story says, “No, don’t do that.” You can reclaim the parts of yourself that you’ve had to orphan in order to survive. You can reconnect to those pieces of you and you can come home to yourself. It speaks to integrating who we are, the characters of the land and the sea in this story are really powerful to me. The sea, to me, is this cosmic force. It’s a pervasive, creative, destructive, loving, mysterious force that the selkie comes out of. It doesn’t follow the rules of the land-bound world. To me, it’s like the structures and hierarchies of our culture – whether it’s capitalism or something else.
One of my questions was going to be about how queer the record is, and not just Queer with a capital Q, but also a lowercase Q, the idea of queerness as just existing counter to normativity. But it’s not just a story of otherness, it’s a story of otherness in relationship to embodiment. In the South right now especially, but in this country in general, embodiment is under attack. Whether we’re talking about COVID-19 or abortion access or trans rights. There’s something in this record that speaks to all of that.
LR: I think one of my experiences [that informed this music] is that I’m in a female body. There’s a line in one of the songs, “I Am a Wolf” – that song is two parts. First is the fisherman speaking, he’s kidnapped the selkie, taken her out of her native waters, he’s made her come be his bride, and he’s like, “Why isn’t this working?” It sucks, he’s lonely, he thought things would be better. The second half is the selkie responding and she says, “I am a wolf, not a woman.” That’s the first thing she says. That was something I said at one point, when I was connecting with a sense of deep grief and rage within myself around what I felt were the prescribed cultural parameters of my existence.
ORL: The people who made this album were mostly by BIPOC people and [people who fall outside those norms]. Joseph Sinclair and I are not white and Joe, Tati, [Lizzy], and I are not straight. I feel like a lot of different perspectives went into making this album. We didn’t just get white, straight dudes to make this album and it felt good that way, getting different musical perspectives on this. We could have just made it ourselves, that’s the other thing. I’m a multi-instrumentalist and Lizzy is a harmony singer, we could have overdubbed to kingdom come. Part of the reason why we got all these people together into the same room is because of their unique perspectives on the traditions they brought to the table.
LR: This thread about embodiment is really important and by asking this question you’re helping me articulate something that I’ve been sitting with for months, a year, as I’ve been thinking about the writing and the words and characters in this story. And also, what is it for me in this story that I’m trying to unravel with this album. Also on a cultural level, what are we talking about here?
The selkie, her skin is taken away from her in a moment of innocent revelry. The story starts with her dancing in the moonlight on a rock and that’s when the fisherman steals her skin. When I think about the people that I know and love, I think a lot of these systems are violent towards people whether or not they fit within the system’s perception of dominant power. When I think about the six-year-old version of a person or whatever version of a person was able to un-self-consciously dance or feel good or go into their mom’s closet and put on her clothes and makeup and not feel ashamed – there’s a different version of this for literally every person and what that means. That innocent revelry, it’s experiencing oneself not through the eye of an external observer but through the juicy presence of embodiment and joy and a sense of wholeness and rightness in your being.
Everybody’s had the experience of having their “skin” stolen from them. When you get yanked out of your sovereignty, your joy, your bliss. You get catcalled, you get shamed, you get this or that. There’s violence done to you, whether it’s physical or not, there’s that sense of losing your skin, when we start to separate from ourselves and regard parts of ourselves as less than. I think that dysphoria is a really important part of this story and this album. When we don’t experience ourselves or feel ourselves as the cultural perceptions tell us we’re supposed to be, whether it’s a question of gender or color, this feeling of not being at home in our bodies, I think that was a lot of what really resonated with me, even unconsciously, about the selkie. One of the ways that it took root and grew in my consciousness and eventually in our shared consciousness, between me and Omar and the folks who are on this music.
As a picker I have to talk about “Flying Free” and “Morning Girl,” because I think having instrumentals on this record makes so much sense. I have some ideas about how they fit into the story, not just based on the titles, but also based on how the tunes are so evocative like the rest of the project. Why, on a record that feels like a concept record, why instrumental tunes?
LR: Words are our inheritance from so many of the same structures that can oppress us. And they’re also our freedom. Words allow us to develop and communicate concepts and they also contain hierarchies and power structures that we may or may not really need. The name of the song, “Flying Free,” and the fact that it’s instrumental, to me it’s like this somatic sensation of the selkie plunging back into the sea and the joy of being reunited with her home waters. Which to me is her sense of self, her sense of worth and safety and agency.
ORL: Sound, organized sound inside of space, one of the powerful things about it is that we are able to attach emotion to it. It’s kind of beautiful how two people could feel similar things listening to one piece of music. When it came time to put together the songs for this album, there were a handful of tunes that came up that weren’t asking for words. But that totally helped paint the picture of the world of the selkie and what she was going through.
North Carolina musician Tray Wellington is fresh off a nomination for this year’s IBMA New Artist of the Year, following the release of his full-length debut album Black Banjo. Still in his early 20s, Wellington pulls from a myriad of influences — on his latest album he cites jazz as the major influence of his progressive bluegrass style. Many other banjo players of this younger generation are using the influence of genre and blurred genre lines, adapting and subverting narrative and traditions, and utilizing sheer unrestrained creativity to operate outside the traditional confines of the instrument.
In honor of BGS Banjo Month, Wellington gathered a collection of current artists who are thinking outside the box, creating their own voice on the banjo in new and innovative ways, and striving to make the banjo a better-known and appreciated sound.
When Tatiana Hargreaves was younger, she was a shit-hot fiddle player; recording her debut album at age 14, a first prize winner at the Clifftop Appalachian Stringband Festival Fiddle Contest that same year and gaining all sorts of accolades before even graduating high school. After some thought, she went after a degree in ethnomusicology and performance at Hampshire College in Amherst, MA, where she continued to play fiddle like a maniac. Her time in college allowed her to reconnect with her friend, the equally impressive banjo player, Allison de Groot. She reflects on one summer where she and Allison kept finding each other and jamming at various events and festivals. They decided to record their debut album and tour. The duo are back again with the new record Hurricane Clarice, using traditional stringband music as a way to interpret our uncertain times.
Our conversation leads into topics like the negative impact of music as competition. Tati has spoken before of her experience competing on the Texas Fiddle circuit that’s pretty popular on the West Coast. Also, after college, she moved to Durham, NC, to be closer to and work with old-time legend Alice Gerrard. Since 2017, she’s been soaking up Alice’s influence and knowledge through being her fiddle player and digitizing her old photos. This has led to a vast amount of inspiration, from recording songs on the new record that Alice had introduced to her to going back to school to study library science. I am fascinated by this person and her work. Tatiana keeps it close to the chest, but I’m grateful for what she shared in conversation.
Grab tickets to the rest of the festivities at the Bluegrass Situation Presents: A St. Patrick’s Day Festival at New York’s New Irish Arts Center, with de Groot and Hargreaves participating in an opening night jam session with fiddler-banjoist Jake Blount and traditional dancer Nic Gareiss on March 17 as well as a headlining show from Blount and Gareiss on March 18.
Know any banjo-and-fiddle tunes inspired by and dedicated to Clarice Lispector, an obscure Ukrainian-born and Brazilian-raised mid-20th century novelist?
Here’s one: the title piece from Hurricane Clarice, the upcoming second album by the duo of clawhammer banjoist Allison de Groot and fiddler Tatiana Hargreaves. The tune is a melancholy, wistful instrumental waltz, paired here with the old fiddle tune “Brushy Fork of John’s Creek.” It’s perfectly in keeping with the bluegrass and Appalachian traditions that brought the two together when they were teen folk camp attendees a decade ago and have informed the music on their 2019 duo debut and in appearances everywhere from festivals and music workshops to house concerts.
Hargreaves says she wrote the piece after finishing Lispector’s 1946 novel, “The Chandelier,” enraptured and inspired by the “abstractness” and even “spaciness” of the highly distinctive, involving writing.
“I mean, it’s very loosely connected,” Hargreaves says of how the writing sparked her. “It’s not inspired by a specific thing. It’s more just what I was feeling a lot after reading one of her books. And when Allison and I were working up material for this record, I brought it to the table and it was just feeling really good.”
The album is full of loose and unexpected connections, taking some seemingly circuitous routes. Rachel Carson’s 1962 environmental primer Silent Spring, for one, is cited in the liner notes as being evoked by their choice of opening song, “The Banks of the Miramichi.” The song come from New Brunswick, dating to the turn of the 20th century, but came to Hargreaves and de Groot via a recording from around the time Carson was writing about DDT imperiling that river.
There’s “Every Season Changes You,” a touchingly sentimental Roy Acuff song that de Groot became obsessed with after hearing a bluegrass version by Rose Maddox and, in the context of the album, relates to both climate change and the dislocation of life in the pandemic.
There’s “I Would Not Live Always,” a hymn from a poem by William Augustus Muhlenberg. Hargreaves came to that song while helping folk pioneer Alice Gerrard digitize photos for a book project and being charmed by a picture of Tennessee fiddler Clarence Farrell and his wife — accompanied by their dachshund — holding a scroll with shape-note scale. That spurred Gerrard to play her a Mike Seeger field recording of Farrell playing this song.
And that song, in the duo’s interpretation, has another unlikely thread: While crafting a banjo interlude, de Groot was directed by producer Phil Cook to listen to the Velvet Underground’s somber, dreamy “All Tomorrow’s Parties,” of all things, for inspiration.
But the Lispector nod is the one which led them to find the most significant, and personal, threads that run through the album — and in some ways, the one that ties them together.
“We started to make the connections with family that tie the album together,” Hargreaves says. “Lispector is originally from Ukraine, and Allison has family that’s Ukrainian. And then [Lispector] was Jewish and her family fled from Eastern Europe in the 1920s, which is in my family background as well.”
“We’ve talked about this a lot, the idea of family, whether that’s family that you’re connected with at childhood or your musical community, which definitely feels like a continuation of that,” says de Groot. “We both work with a lot of musicians that are from different generations.”
That sense, for these two young musicians, really came to a head in the isolation and disconnection of the pandemic, heightened some by it then having to cancel a couple of attempts over the course of a year before they were able to get together to make this album. That itself played into the nature of the music they made when they finally were able to do it last summer, and in some non-music elements that provided threads for the music. The latter stemmed from conversations in the fall of 2020 with Phil Cook, who produced the album sessions in Portland, Oregon, where Hargreaves grew up.
“He started being in on sharing of tunes,” says de Groot, who was born and raised in Winnipeg, Canada. “He made an offhand comment that he was getting ‘grandmother energy’ from one of the instrumental tunes. And that led us down this rabbit hole, and he was asking us, ‘Do you have any recordings of your grandparents?’ We started looking around, which was a really special experience, because it put me in touch with some of my family about getting recordings.”
They got them. The voices of Hargreaves’ grandmothers Sylvia (born in 1925 in Brooklyn) and Jean (1930, Detroit) and de Groot’s grandmother Shirley (1929, Winnipeg, though sadly she passed away in March 2020) all are heard on the album’s penultimate song, “Ostrich With Pearls,” an otherwise instrumental written by Hargreaves. (The title? “It came from a poster that a friend had sent me,” Hargreaves says, laughing. “It’s an ostrich wearing a pearl necklace.”)
Sylvia talks about the house in which she was raised and how her grandfather converted the basement into a giant bird cage. Jean, recorded by Hargreaves’ uncle and limited due to dementia, reminisces that her favorite bird is a cardinal. And Shirley tells of her childhood car rides with her grandparents around Lake Winnipeg, having to roll up the windows due to the dust and gravel kicked up by the tires.
And while de Groot’s other grandmother died some years ago, “Hurricane Clarice” starts with a recording de Groot’s cousin made of her great-aunt Tillie speaking in Ukrainian — a language she had not used in many years.
“I asked her to tell a story about my Nana, so that she would be represented on the album as well,” de Groot says. “And she sent me this tiny clip where she just said, I think it translates to, ‘Sophie was a very good sister.’ It’s really sweet.”
While that emotional core of the album took shape during the separations of recent times, the seeds for it were planted some years back. The two met briefly in the late 2000s as adolescents at a festival in Victoria, British Columbia, when Hargreaves and her brother Alex were playing with multi-instrumentalist and multiculturalist Bruce Molsky, a mentor to both her and de Groot.
They started playing together regularly in the mid-2010s in the Boston area, where de Groot was attending Berklee School of Music and Hargreaves was at Hampshire college in Amherst, studying ethnomusicology — her thesis was about fiddle camps. Today, Hargreaves lives in Durham, North Carolina, where she is a fiddle teacher and graduate student in library sciences at the University of North Carolina.
“We had a really strong musical connection,” says de Groot, who just moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, this year. “Pretty soon after we reconnected in Massachusetts, we ended up being at a festival together. And there were all these festivals and we were both with different projects, but we were always excited to find each other and play for hours and hours. And then we decided to record an album and started doing some live shows.”
The first album captured the excitement and spontaneity of the nascent partnership, but for this one they wanted to take that further — once they were able to get into a studio together. The sessions happened during the Portland’s historically brutal heat wave last summer. That put climate change very much on their minds as they created Hurricane Clarice. And that, in turn, further intensified and illuminated the connections running through the album.
“It’s the whole feeling of apocalypse, and I think highlighting family and community within the setting of climate apocalypse,” Hargreaves says. “We connected this album to different notions of family, like our grandmothers, and thinking about what we can learn from our ancestors and also being together. And this project really helped me through the pandemic, meeting [on Zoom] with Allison every week and feeling like our duo as a family. Adrian Maree Brown, who’s an activist and author, asks the question about what compels us to survive climate change. I don’t know if I have an answer for that, but I think about it a lot and definitely community and family is what it all comes down to in the end.”
Editor’s Note: Hargreaves and de Groot will be featured in the Bluegrass Situation Presents: A St. Patrick’s Day Festival at New York’s New Irish Arts Center, participating in an opening night jam session with fiddler-banjoist Jake Blount and traditional dancer Nic Gareiss on March 17 as well as headlining the event’s closing night March 19. Enter the giveaway to win a pair of tickets.
As a lifelong metalhead myself, upon entering the haunting annals of the old-time canon, I found an instant love for the dissonant minor key and modal sounds of the darker side of Appalachian music. Laugh you may, but the Mixtape that follows will have the most devout of Hessian headbanging and throwing up the horns like you’re at a Megadeth show in 1989.
There is something about heavy metal I just can’t shake. Even as I aged, developed a wider taste in (primarily) traditional music, and became decidedly less tolerant of 100-decibel live shows, I have never lost my love for the heaviest of heavy music. From the cannabis-fueled sludge of Sleep, the dive-bombing screech of Judas Priest, or the melodic and epic ride of an At the Gates record, some days just call for the auditory brutality of metal.
Alas, my eardrums aren’t what they used to be after more than a decade of touring as “the loudest country band on earth,” squealing feedback from half-busted honky-tonk sound systems notwithstanding. And so I turn to the Appalachian fiddle tunes and ballads that send the same, exhilarating chill down my spine as Slayer’s “Raining Blood,” quenching the carnal thirst for humankind’s more sinister sounds. Shred on, mighty metal warriors…just maybe without a wall of guitar amps… – JP Harris
Chance McCoy & the Appalachian Stringband – “Yew Piney Mountain”
Originating in West Virginia, in mountains full of eerie lore and tales of wandering devils, imagine yourself conjuring thunder from a mountaintop to destroy the enemy hordes.
Bruce Molsky – “Blackberry Blossom”
To my knowledge a tune from the Civil War, this one elicits battlefield visions of fear and carnage, its hectic and dissonant melody as disorienting as the Battle of Cheat Mountain.
The Macrae Sisters – “Highlander’s Farewell”
Most likely written by a Scottish warrior queen whilst galloping toward the Saxon invaders, whom she promptly whooped thoroughly.
Brad Leftwich – “Death’s Dark Train”
The bible, according to Appalachian song tradition, is pretty much all about death. Better get ready, Hezekiah.
EC and Orna Ball – “Trials, Troubles, Tribulations”
I rest my case. Beasts with horns?! One with seven, one with TEN?! If this isn’t Norwegian Black Metal content I don’t know what is.
Any Old Time Stringband – “Falls of Richmond / Camp Chase”
I like to think of this recording similarly to an Iron Maiden tune, near-operatic in its emotive acts, dark at first then rising to the epic victory. “Camp Chase” is like a finger-tapping twin guitar solo on repeat.
Rhys Jones & Christina Wheeler – “Hog-Eyed Man”
I don’t know what the hell a “hog-eyed man” is, but sounds like some backwoods pig-devil the Pentecostals keep in a gimp dungeon, brought out to devour the souls of non-believers. And the melody fits the bill. Sorry for the nightmares.
Dock Boggs – “Bright Sunny South”
As any brave metal warrior would, the 19th Century soldier narrating is prepared for bloodshed, provision, and strife. “As I shoulder my musket and billet my sword.”
Old Sledge – “Danville Girl”
Okay, okay…no demons, fantasy warriors, or biblical death here…but it’d make a good soundtrack to a fast crime scene escape.
Paul Brown – “Brushy Fork of John’s Creek”
Paul’s eerie banjo version could easily be the intro to a symphonic Scandinavian metal power ballad. Show me the lie.
Adam Hurt – “John Riley the Shepherd / Brushy Fork of John’s Creek”
If the dudes from Sleep ever took up droning, spaced-out desert rock on acoustic instruments, pretty sure this would be the first single.
Dirk Powell – “Raleigh and Spencer”
Uh, yeah…the Hessians have left the Metallica show in ’87, drunk and high on rock energy, and upon discovering the beer store closed, have burned the entire town down in wild abandon.
Bruce Greene and Loy McWhirter – “Doleful Warning”
Death by silver dagger seemed to be a popular modus operandi back in the day. Mutual suicide spawned from heartbreak and simple misunderstandings usually got the point across pretty clearly as well.
Gary Remal Malkin – “Napolean’s Retreat”
See: onward into battle. Run little man, run.
Foghorn Stringband – Fine Times at Our House
Another from the original spirit-conjurers The Hammons Family, this dizzying tune surely caused hillbilly hypnosis akin to a zombie curse.
Tatiana Hargreaves – Shaking Down the Acorns
Y’all remember the movie Willow? I think the title refers to those acorns he used to turn the evil Queen Bavmorda’s hand to stone. Leather armor would be a good look whilst jamming this one.
Nate Leath – “Greasy Coat”
For those who know the Björler Brothers (the Swedish death metal guitarists behind the sound of At the Gates and The Haunted), tell me you can’t hear them shredding this tune a new one.
Rayna Gellert – “Ways of the World”
Get your copper chest piece, battle axe, and blue face paint out for this one, and let the ram’s horn sound across the land (insert galloping hooves here)…
Tom, Brad & Alice – “Glory in the Meetinghouse”
I’m not sure what kind of “glory” they were invoking to this tune in the meetinghouse, but sounds like bloodletting and snake stuff to me.
Evie Ladin and Rhys Jones – “Paddy on the Handcar”
Journeying across the post-apocalyptic wasteland following the thermonuclear war, traveling by handcar in Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome fashion, this one helps to calm the mind as you ponder how the end of civilization could’ve possibly been avoided.
Photo Credit: Libby Danforth
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