Tag: the stanley brothers

The Lil Smokies’ Matthew “Rev” Reiger on Slowing Down for Their New Album, ‘Break Of The Tide’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

They may be called The Lil Smokies, but the bluegrass bangers birthed by the band originating from Big Sky country are anything but small.

Formed in the late 2000s when the group’s current sole remaining original member, Andy Dunnigan, began bringing his Dobro to picking parties during his college days in Missoula, Montana, the Smokies have gone on to become one of the West’s most captivating modern-day string bands, as they release their fourth studio album, Break Of The Tide.

Out April 4, the album is the Smokies’ first since 2021’s critically acclaimed Tornillo and features new band members, bassist Jean Luc Davis and banjoist Sam Armstrong-Zickefoose, for the first time. They’re joined by the core of Dunnigan, fiddler Jake Simpson, and guitarist “Rev” Matthew Reiger. According to Reiger, who joined the Smokies in 2015, his nickname stems from a life changing trip to California’s High Sierra Festival in 2007, where he earned the label for his love of the Stanley Brothers and gospel music. When he later joined the band, the name stuck, due to him sharing first names with their banjo player at the time, Matt Cornette.

“High Sierra changed the whole course of my life,” Reiger tells BGS. “It was at that festival that I made the decision to drop out of music school, grow out a band, get a band and most importantly, set out on a path to create a life where I really enjoyed the music I played instead of the academic pursuits. We made it back to the festival 10 years later to play it for the first time in 2017, so it’ll always have a special place in my heart.”

Ahead of the release of Break Of The Tide we caught up with Reiger to talk about the four-year process of bringing the album to life, recording in Texas, and the band’s separate lives while not together on the road.

What’s it been like for you, first joining an already well-established band and then welcoming two new members into the fold in recent years now with plenty of experience with the Smokies under your belt?

Matthew Reiger: It was a fast moving train when I jumped into the band. I had a decent place in Seattle at the time that I sublet to abandon everything I had and jump aboard. At the time we played and moved a lot faster. It was an incredible ride at the beginning and has been the whole way through, but what I love is the steady progression from runaway train to a rowboat on a gentle pond, which musically is more of where we’re at right now. This new record is as honest as anything we’ve ever recorded. Most of the songs were slowed down a bit, which is a good metaphor for how we are as people now.

Right now is about as introspective and pensive a time that I’ve ever experienced. A lot of people are making changes and finding a new path forward after COVID and the instability that ensued. For example, I recently started practicing with a metronome, not trying to play faster, but rather to see how slowly I could play a song. I want to see just how slow and deliberate I can play the song of my life. When you do that you find some challenging points where it’s not all bouncy, happy, and driving forward. The stillness is sometimes unnerving, but I’m happy we’re going through it on this record.

In that regard, [producer] Robert Ellis played a big role in slowing things down, especially on my songs. The way he heard the songs was perhaps even more honest than I heard them. It was quite a display of skill and artfulness on his behalf.

This was the second album in a row you’ve gone to Texas to record, following 2021’s Tornillo with Bill Reynolds at Sonic Ranch. What made y’all want to head back there to record with Robert at Niles City Sound this go around?

It was all for Robert. I’d fly anywhere in the world for the opportunity to work with him. He likes to produce the records he works on in Texas and I don’t blame him. We also recognized the impact of using a familiar place and equipment to a producer. On Break Of The Tide I probably played four guitars and there were a couple more involved beyond that. I think there’s a special alignment between instruments and the places where they live – they’re all there for a reason. It could be a big deal or seemingly innocuous, but there’s a reason they’re in that space and I think you can create some really cool things in those environments. That really came through on this record.

As we mentioned previously, Break Of The Tide is the Smokies’ first record since 2021. Was that four-year gap intentional and a byproduct of what you said earlier about slowing down, or is it due to something entirely different?

COVID, the resulting instabilities, and the band’s general desire to slow down were all factors, but if I had to pick a standout factor it’d be all the uncertainty within the touring music world. Just finding the time, money, and other resources necessary to continue doing that in the midst of a global shakeup was on our minds. It has taken every bit of determination and willpower I can muster – and I’m sure the rest of the guys would agree, too – to keep playing and stay together as a group. Adding an album to that was too much for us for several years and once you summon the courage to go do that you have the arduous process of working through the business side of things and everything that goes into making a record that’s non-musical.

You just touched on some of the struggles and the grind of being a touring musician, especially these last few years. Are those things y’all are singing about on songs like “Lately” and “Keep Me Down” from this new record?

You’re spot-on. I don’t think there’s any way to explain how challenging it is to juggle one’s personal life and touring. It is something I didn’t understand until I did it. The size and shape of the pieces you have to make the puzzle are always changing. It takes a radical toll on who you are at home, even when you’re not touring. You have this recovery period, you have this social adjustment, you have this relationship adjustment, and it’s sort of like you’re always jumping onto or off of a moving treadmill. Going on tour is like jumping on the moving treadmill since you often stumble because everything’s moving so fast, but then when you return home you have to slow down that uncomfortable pace and hop off the treadmill, which feels weird at first even though you’re hopping back onto stable ground since you’re so conditioned to running at full speed. Because of that there’s a lot of picking yourself up each time you go on tour and each time you come home, which is something both those songs touch on.

Similar to what we just talked about with “Lately” and “Keep Me Down,” it seems like “Break Of The Tide” and “Bad News Babe” are sister songs about being there for people you love while also knowing when to cut them off. Your thoughts?

I love the term “sister songs!” Like we talked earlier, touring takes a huge toll on personal relationships. I’ve said before that my first marriage isn’t to the Smokies or touring, but to music in general. It’s my first partner and has been for a long time. It takes a very special person to be in a relationship with someone who already has a partner, though it’s all very trendy in the coastal areas. [Laughs]

“Break Of The Tide” in particular is a song about feeling powerless, which is one of the biggest struggles we can face, and how it’s difficult to help those you love and even harder to walk away and recognize you can’t save them when those situations arise. Sometimes you just have to walk away to protect everyone involved, including yourself, which is oftentimes easier said than done.

We’ve been talking about the sacrifices of being a touring musician, but I’m also curious about your sacrifices within the band, particularly the miles between y’all being spread out in Seattle, Montana, Oklahoma, and Colorado. How has that affected how you operate together as a group?

It certainly makes it harder to get together and practice. [Laughs] I live just west of Seattle on Vashon Island, which is a 24-mile existence with a lot of retired folks. Everything’s a little slower than you expect and there’s a lot of hippie stuff going on – like I have a shower in my backyard. It’s super rural with a lot of farms, but it’s also just outside Seattle. Driving my car there is a little tricky, because I have to hop on a boat, but there’s ways to cross on a ferry and get to the city in 45 minutes to an hour. You have to put in some work to get there, which is what I love not only about this island, but the band as well.

It’s important for us all to feel like ourselves when we’re not on tour, because it’s a lot of costume-wearing when we are out on the road. Having that separation makes it easier to go back out on tour with more energy once it’s time to throw the costumes back on and jump in the van with a bunch of crazies for a while.

From the title of this record, Break Of The Tide, to songs like “Sycamore Dreams,” nature’s influence can be heard throughout the project. How would you say the outdoors informs The Smokies’ sound?

In some ways I think you could argue that nature is the only muse. There’s something so powerful about the ocean that I love. It’s the biggest thing in the world and connects nearly every point in it. In order to write in the way that I want to I have to be able to feel small and insignificant, and there’s nothing quite like an ocean to remind us just how small we all are and to be grateful for that. Because of that I’ve written very few songs that didn’t mention water.

What has music, specifically the process of bringing this new record to life, taught you about yourself?

I’ve spent most of my life trying to write music, but something that I’ve come to see – especially these past few years and what I hear on this record – is that the best art is not so much written, it is captured, and in order to do that you have to practice your listening. Writing and working on things is great, but in the end you have to turn off the metronome, stop thinking and just listen. That’s where you’ll find the beauty in every facet of life, not just in music.

Photo Credit: Glenn Ross

The Seldom Scene: a New Release, a New Member, and a Farewell to a Revered Singer

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

After 53 years and 23 albums, the release of the newest Seldom Scene recording is still something to celebrate. Remains to Be Scene is their first recording since the death of founding banjo player Ben Eldridge in 2024 and the last before Dudley Connell announced his retirement. In addition to Connell, the album features Fred Travers on Dobro, bassist Ronnie Simpkins, mandolinist Lou Reid, and Ron Stewart on fiddle and banjo.

Since its earliest days, the Seldom Scene has been known for busting open once-limiting bluegrass boundaries. The latest album continues this tradition, with songs pulled from sources like The Kinks, Woody Guthrie, and Jim Croce. Another tradition is incorporating new talent.

In 1995, three of five band members left to form another group. Looking to replace them, founding member John Duffey invited Simpkins, Connell, and Travers to a picking session. To those who didn’t know him, Duffey, with his huge stage personality, was intimidating.

Remembering that day, Simpkins said, “I did not want to be late, but I did not want to be early. So, I got there way ahead of time, and I kept an eye on John’s house to see who else got there.

“And I noticed this other car down the street. That person was just sitting there and would ease the car up closer to John’s as the time drew near. And I came to find out it was Dudley. So, we timed it until Ben got there, and we all went in together.”

Simpkins takes Connell’s retirement as a continuation of the band’s legacy: “The band has always transitioned.” Today he welcomes Clay Hess, a band leader and a former lead guitar player with Ricky Skaggs & Kentucky Thunder, who stepped in quickly when Connell, injured in a fall, was unable to play the last few shows of 2024.

As always, the Seldom Scene is committed to the same scalp-tingling vocals, remarkable song selection, and quirky, sometimes outrageous, stage shows that fill festival seats after five decades. Simpkins said, “I just feel blessed to be in this group … and to try to keep the same spirit the original guys had when they started out back in 1971.”

On the release of his last recording as a Seldom Scene member, Dudley Connell spoke to BGS about Remains to Be Scene, his musical career – starting in the 1970s – and his memories of some of the greatest characters in bluegrass.

The Seldom Scene has a tradition of pulling songs from everywhere and the latest recording is the same way. How do you decide on songs?

Dudley Connell: If you look back at the Scene’s recording career, all the way back to the original guys, it was unique. John Duffey had very eclectic taste. He brought “Rider” into the band from the Grateful Dead. He brought “Sweet Baby James” in from James Taylor. And continuing that tradition, I brought in “Boots of Spanish Leather” by Bob Dylan and “Nadine” from Chuck Berry.

It’s interesting having a band of five people, all with slightly different tastes, but with commonality at the same time. So, that’s the way we’ve continued the work all the way through our 30 years together. Everybody would show up with a basketful of songs. Sometimes, Lou might bring a song in that he really liked and say to me, “I could hear you singing this more than me.” Likewise, I could say to Fred, “I really like this song, but I don’t think I could sing it as well as you could sing it.” And it worked that way really well.

How does a band stay together so long?

We, of course, spent a lot of time together, but we also spent a lot of time doing our own thing. Now, with [a band leader] like Bill Monroe or Ralph Stanley, they take the fee and then they give you whatever they want to pay you per show. But with the Scene, John [Duffey’s] feeling was that if you’re out there on the road and you’re doing the work, you deserve equal cut. So, everything we made was split equally. You could fly, you could drive, you could stay at the Waldorf Astoria, or you could stay at the Super Eight. It was your money to spend and to travel as you wanted.

I think it created a certain sense of camaraderie that continues to this day. Everybody’s getting paid the same, so everybody’s expected to do equal work, and it gives you a sense of belonging. There’s no boss, everybody has an equal say, and that was true from the very first rehearsal.

Every group you’ve been with has been known for exceptional harmonies. Can you talk about harmony a bit?

I think a musician’s greatest asset and greatest tool is his or her ears. If you’re singing a trio, you want the blend to be there. You don’t even have to actually know who’s singing what part. There’s a certain buzz you get when the harmony is just right, and you hit a chord just right, and everybody’s phrasing together, and their mouths are in the same sort of position. When that happens, this is just like magic.

Let’s go back to the Johnson Mountain Boy days, when I first met Richard Underwood. Richard learned to sing with me. When we sang together and I switched from lead to tenor on a chorus, you could hardly hear the switch. It came natural to him, because I’m the only person he ever sang with. You know, he later went on to become a great singer on his own right, but he was the first singer that I really worked with a lot on blending and making a pleasing sound.

Now, my experience with David McLaughlin was more organic, as it was with Don Rigsby. Don and David and I all grew up as disciples of the Stanley Brothers. They had such a tight blend.

Now a more challenging partner for me was Hazel Dickens. Hazel and I toured quite a bit together in the ’70s and ’80s. But Hazel had a completely different sort of approach. Hazel was full bore, wide open all the time, and sometimes she could get just a little bit pitchy. I looked at it as my job to try to keep her close to the melody. It was great for me, because it taught me how to blend and also how to pull her to the proper pitch when necessary.

When I came to work with The Scene, it was completely different. They were all about the harmony.

What are your memories of The Scene before you joined them?

The Scene were a huge influence on everybody in D.C. The Scene was almost like a gateway drug to bluegrass music. They were largely playing for urban audiences in the early days, and a lot of young people really responded to it. In fact, The Seldom Scene record Live at the Cellar Door almost has cult-like status. When I was a teenager, we’d go to each other’s houses to listen to music. Right next to Led Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan would be The Seldom Scene Live at the Cellar Door.

I think what made that record so absolutely deserving of cult status is that it’s really freewheeling, it’s really the band live. It’s not just the music and the wonderful singing, the wonderful song selection. It’s also the playfulness with the audience.

As far as I was concerned, John Duffey was The Scene. It wasn’t just that he was a great singer and instrumentalist, but also he had this gift – presenting the music to all kinds of different audiences. You couldn’t not respond to John Duffey or his emcee work – or his pants, for that matter. An interesting thing about John that a lot of people don’t realize is that he was actually kind of shy, kind of insecure. This bigger-than-life character that emerged on stage – I’m not saying that it was phony. It really was John. But when he walked on stage, it was like a switch kicked on, and he became a great entertainer and a great communicator.

I think people who weren’t familiar with bluegrass, it put them at ease a little bit. It drew a lot of people in who maybe wouldn’t have paid attention to a banjo or a Dobro. All entertainers feed off audiences. If you’ve got a really lively, energetic audience, you pour a lot of that back. If the audience feels more relaxed, you slow down a little bit with your delivery and your introductions. And John was an absolute master of that. I learned a lot about presenting a show from my year with John.

And how did you come to play with The Scene?

The Johnson Mountain Boys were on their way out. I’d done a little bit of work with Longview by this time. Then I got this notice in the mail that T. Michael Coleman, Mike Auldridge, and Moondi Kline were leaving the Scene and forming a band called Chesapeake. And it was sort of assumed that the Scene were going to dissolve. I knew John well enough and I called him on the phone and said, “John, I’m really sorry to hear about this. It sounds like the end of an era.”

And he said in the off-the-cuff, John Duffey style of talk, “Well, we’re really not dissolving the band. We’re just looking for a lead singer, guitar player, tenor singer, bass player, baritone singer, Dobro player.” You know, basically replacing three-fifths of the band. I don’t know where it came from, because I really had not called John looking for a job, but after he told me what he was looking for, I said, “Well, John, let’s get together and sing sometime.” Complete silence.

After the initial silence, he said, “Well, do you know of any of our stuff?”

So, I went over to John’s, and Ronnie was there, and Fred. John had given me about half a dozen songs to learn and when I look back at it now, he was testing me. He wanted to see if I could sing harmony parts over and under him. By that time, I’d had the experience with Hazel and had sung with a lot of different people. I was ready.

So, we started these Wednesday rehearsals and we’d done this for about two or three months in preparation for our debut – New Year’s Eve at The Birchmere, 1995. By the time it actually came to play our first show. I was really, really into it. And it was one of the toughest shows I think I ever played, because all the original guys were there – John Starling, Mike Auldridge, Tom Gray. Lou Reid was there, too. And I’m thinking, “I don’t know, man. I don’t know if I belong in this – with these people that I’ve listened to for years.”

One of the things I remember was our opening song, “Our Last Goodbye,” which is this old Stanley Brothers song. I had worn these baggy chino kind of pants and I was so grateful that I didn’t wear tight pants because my legs were literally shaking, and I didn’t want anybody to see that.

So, it was a very exciting night, and after that we had a year with John.

You were quite young when you formed the Johnson Mountain Boys. Can you tell us about those years?

I came along at a very fortunate time in the Washington, D.C. area in the ’70s, and actually on through the ’80s as well. You could see bluegrass every night of the week between Washington and Baltimore.

Now, I’m not going to tell you that the places were swank and nice. They were kind of seedy bars. But when I look back on it now I think that was actually a very beneficial thing for us. We were young, we were very enthusiastic about the music, and we could go into these bars and play four or five sets ’til, you know, one or two in the morning … and then go play another one the next night. So, by the time that the ’80s rolled around and we started actually playing festivals for larger crowds, we were pretty well rehearsed.

I found that the musicians that we met, like Del McCoury and Bill Harrell and a lot of the acts around Washington, embraced us because we were doing something different – actually doing something [traditional bluegrass] that had been done before, but we were kids doing it.

Ben Eldridge– the first time I ever met him, we were playing this indoor bluegrass event. Ben came over and said, “I wish I was doing what you guys are doing.” I know that he was kidding me, but the point being that he really respected the traditional stuff. He said it because he was very sweet man and very kind man. But I think there was some truth in that, too.

How much time was there between you playing in the two bands?

We actually intertwined for just a little bit. When we got off the road full-time in 1988, we were kind of burned out. I went back to college. David [McLaughlin] started selling real estate. Eddie [Stubbs] went to work with his father and we just sort of drifted apart, personally and musically.

Now, we did get together and play some in the ’90s and we produced a record that was nominated for a GRAMMY, Blue Diamond. But that was not like the previous Johnson Mountain Boy records. So, The Seldom Scene coming along at that time in my life, when I was curious about experimenting with different kinds of music, was perfect.

They played a lot locally and I was working full-time for the Smithsonian and didn’t want to travel very much. And the Scene, to this day, has followed that model. We don’t get on the tour bus and go out for weeks at a time. It reminds me of the reason John Duffey left the Country Gentleman. He said he got tired of saving up to go on tour. I understand what he meant. They were just going out trying to get their name out there. The Johnson Mountain Boys did the same thing. I remember once we drove to Florida to play for 900 bucks for three days.

That’s another thing that John did, he just set the price to where it made it worth his while to go. Here’s a kind of famous John Duffey story: A promoter in California called John and said, “I really, really like what you’re doing, and I’d like to get you out here to California.” John said, “Great! Make me an offer.” The promoter said, “Will 500 bucks do it?”

John thought for a minute and said, “Which one of us do you want?”

I’d like to talk a bit about your career as an archivist. Did you go to school to learn that?

Actually, I didn’t. After the Johnson Mountain Boys got off the road, I went back to college. One of my classes was Career Development. There were a lot of people around my age who were looking for a change in their work and their livelihoods.

One of my assignments was to interview someone that I thought had a really interesting job. So, I chose to interview the curator and the director of Smithsonian Folkways records. His name was Tony Seeger, and yes, he is a part of the Mike and Pete Seeger world. The Smithsonian had just acquired Folkways Records. I went into the interview asking Tony how he got his job, what his educational background was, how he ended up at Smithsonian Folkways, what his life was like. About halfway through the interview, he started asking me about my background and what I’ve been doing.

Before I left his office, he basically hired me to come in and try to figure out how to how to keep Folkways alive.

And then you did archive work for another organization?

It’s called the National Council for the Traditional Arts. Since 1933 they have put on folk festivals with all kinds of ethnic and roots music. They started recording all the festivals in 1972. When I got there, they were just quite a thing of beauty – 5,000 hours of one-of-a-kind recordings in a non-climate-controlled room. So, I went to work there, preserving the recordings. And oddly enough, the very first that I put up to digitize was Alison Krauss. I thought, “I think I found the right place.” I worked there for 19 years.

Why retire now, and what’s next?

My wife, Sally, had retired from 40 years at the Smithsonian’s Natural History Museum. I had retired from the National Council for Traditional Arts. This would have been the end of 2023, so I was still traveling on the weekends.

During the pandemic, we got a dog named Woody. It’s almost like having a child in the house. He was adopted and he was afraid of everything, so we spent a lot of time with him. Before that, Sally used to travel with me everywhere and it got to be that she had to stay home and take care of the dog when I was out on the road. I wanted to have time to travel, to Europe and to different places that I’d not really been able to explore. I think it’s a misconception some people have about a traveling musician: “Wow, you got to go to all these great, cool places. You must have seen a lot.”

Well, I saw a lot of hotel rooms. I saw a lot of backstages, but I didn’t see some of the things these towns are known for. What Sally and I want to do now is, while we’re in reasonably good health and while we can still get around well on our feet, we want to do some traveling and not be restricted by a schedule.

Favorite memories?

Marrying Sally, definitely a favorite memory. In the ’80s, an organization called the United States Information Agency USA had a subgroup called Arts America. They created cultural exchanges with third world countries. I got to travel to Southern Africa and later Southeast Asia. You can’t buy that kind of education. It’s quite an eye opening event. I remember coming back from those trips and having a different way of looking at my lifestyle and where I live and how fortunate we are.

Another highlight was getting to meet my heroes and finding out that they were really nice people who didn’t want anything more than to see me and our bands, whether it be the Seldom Scene or the Johnson Mountain Boys, succeed. I never felt any jealousy or any animosity, you know, toward us, these young upstarts. In the ’70s and ’80s, everybody knew everybody, and everybody wanted everybody else to succeed.

But probably the biggest thing was having a year with John Duffey and many years with Ben Eldridge; hearing their stories, the hardships, and the fun stuff and the silliness that happens on the road. All those things are highlights for me.

Closing thoughts?

The music of the Scene is completely unique to anything else in the bluegrass world. I think the Scene could follow just about anybody. We followed Alison Krauss and we followed Ricky Skaggs, and I never really felt uptight about our performance following these major acts, because nobody else does what the Scene does. That’s true with Clay Hess taking my place, too. I’ve heard some of their performances on Facebook – sounds like the Seldom Scene to me.

I feel like I’ve lived a very full life. It’s like when Tony Trischka was asked, “Tony, have you been playing banjo all your life?” He answered, “Not yet.”

That’s the way I feel about music – I’m not done yet.

Photo Credit: Jeromie Stephens

Celebrating Black History Month: Mavis Staples, Chapel Hart, Charley Pride, and More

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

To celebrate Black History Month – and the vital contributions of Black, Afro-, and African American artists and musicians to American roots music – BGS, Good Country, and our friends at Real Roots Radio in Southwestern Ohio have partnered once again. This time, we’ve brought you weekly collections of a variety of Black roots musicians who have been featured on Real Roots Radio’s airwaves. You can listen to Real Roots Radio online 24/7 or via their FREE app for smartphones or tablets. If you’re based in Ohio, tune in via 100.3 (Xenia, Dayton, Springfield), 106.7 (Wilmington), or 105.5 (Eaton).

American roots music – in any of its many forms – wouldn’t exist today without the culture, stories, skills, and experiences of Black folks. Each week throughout February, we’ve been spotlighting this simple yet profound fact by diving into the catalogs and careers of some of the most important figures in our genres. For week four of our celebration, RRR host Daniel Mullins shares songs and stories of Charley Pride, Mavis Staples, Chapel Hart, Carolina Chocolate Drops, and Philip Paul. Be sure to check out week 1, week 2, and week 3 of the series, too.

Today is February 28, so sadly this will be the final installment of our Black History Month celebrations this year. But, as always, we’re committed to bringing you even more music celebrating Black History – and the songs and sounds we all hold dear – not just in February, but year-round.

Plus, you can find a full playlist with more than 100 songs below from dozens and dozens of seminal artists, performers, songwriters, and instrumentalists from every corner of folk, country, bluegrass, old-time, blues, and beyond.

Black history is American roots music history; the two are inseparable. As we celebrate Black History Month and its legacy throughout the year, we hope you’ll join us in holding up and appreciating the artists who make country, bluegrass, blues, folk, and Americana the incredible and impactful genres that they are today.

Chapel Hart (est. 2014)

If you haven’t heard of Chapel Hart yet, it’s time to change that! This powerhouse trio – Danica, Devynn, and Trea – are taking the country music world by storm with their soulful harmonies, fiery energy, and a whole lot of heart. Hailing from Poplarville, Mississippi, these ladies bring a fresh and fearless sound to country music with their family harmonies; Danica and Devynn are sisters, while Trea is their cousin.

The group first began their musical journey by busking on the streets of New Orleans. In 2021 they were among CMT’s Next Women of Country, before making their way to America’s Got Talent in 2022. Their unforgettable run on the hit music competition television show is where the nation first heard their breakout hit, “You Can Have Him, Jolene,” an answer song to the Dolly Parton classic.

Since their time on the competition, Chapel Hart have released “Welcome to Fist City” as well, in response to Loretta Lynn’s fiery “Fist City” per Loretta’s request. They have been frequent performers on the Grand Ole Opry, and have recorded collaborations with Darius Rucker, Vince Gill, The Isaacs and more. Chapel Hart are proving that country music is alive and well – and full of girl power!

Suggested Listening:
“American Pride”
“Welcome to Fist City”

Mavis Staples (b. 1939)

You know Mavis Staples as the gospel and soul legend, but did you know she’s got deep country connections as well? That’s right, her powerful voice and storytelling fit right into the heart of country music.

Mavis grew up singing gospel with the Staples Singers, even marching with Dr. Martin Luther King, before finding success in R&B and beyond. However, her musical influences also include listening to Hank Williams and the Grand Ole Opry. She once said, “Country music is just another way of telling the truth” – and if anyone knows about truth in music, it’s Mavis Staples.

Over the years, her stellar career has included forays into country that include collaborations with George Jones (“Will The Circle Be Unbroken”), Willie Nelson (“Grandma’s Hands”), and Dolly Parton (“Why”). Staples’ recording of “Touch My Heart” for the 2004 tribute to Johnny Paycheck is a masterpiece. She and Marty Stuart are dear friends and mutual admirers of one another’s music. Together, they have recorded wonderful renditions of “Uncloudy Day,” “Move Along Train,” and “The Weight.”

Staples and Stuart were part of a show-stopping performance on the CMA Awards a few years ago alongside Chris & Morgane Stapleton and Maren Morris, tackling Stapleton’s “Friendship” and the Staple Singers’ classic, “I’ll Take You There” in an awards show mash-up.

Mavis Staples is a member of the Gospel, Blues, and Rock & Roll Halls of Fame. Whether it’s gospel, soul, or country, her voice carries a message of love, hope, and resilience.

Suggested Listening:
“Uncloudy Day” with Marty Stuart
“Touch My Heart”
“Grandma’s Hands” with Willie Nelson

Carolina Chocolate Drops (active 2005-2016)

Let’s shine a spotlight on a group that revolutionized old-time string music – Carolina Chocolate Drops. Formed in 2005 by young twenty-somethings Rhiannon Giddens, Dom Flemons, and Justin Robinson after attending the first Black Banjo Gathering in Boone, North Carolina, they revived the nearly forgotten Black string band tradition.

Inspired by the legendary Black North Carolinian fiddler Joe Thompson, Carolina Chocolate Drops brought energy, authenticity, and a fresh perspective to Appalachian folk music and were a powerhouse on stage. The first African American string band to perform at the historic Grand Ole Opry, their GRAMMY-winning 2010 album Genuine Negro Jig fused tradition with innovation, blending deep-rooted folk with modern influences and proving that history and rhythm go hand in hand.

Carolina Chocolate Drops didn’t just perform, they educated, too, sparking a renewed appreciation for African American contributions to folk and traditional music. Over the years they would open for Taj Mahal and Bob Dylan, perform at events like MerleFest and ROMP, appear on Prairie Home Companion and BBC Radio, and even contributed to the soundtrack of The Hunger Games. Though they’ve since been on a hiatus for the last decade plus, their impact on American roots music is undeniable. Look for a reunion at Biscuits & Banjos festival in downtown Durham, North Carolina, in April.

Suggested Listening:
“Trouble In Your Mind”
“Pretty Bird”
“Day of Liberty”

Charley Pride (1934-2020)

He broke barriers and made history. Charley Pride, the son of sharecroppers, a Negro league baseball player, and the Pride of Sledge, Mississippi, became a country music legend.

In the 1960s, when country music was overwhelmingly white, Pride’s rich baritone and heartfelt songs won over audiences. At the urging of Red Sovine and Red Foley, Pride pursued a career as a country recording artist. Cowboy Jack Clement brought some of Charley’s demos to Chet Atkins and he was signed to RCA Records. His first big hit, “Just Between You and Me,” earned him a GRAMMY nomination and soon he was topping the charts with classics like “Kiss an Angel Good Mornin’.” His popularity was undeniable, outselling all of his RCA labelmates except Elvis Presley during his peak.

With over 50 Top-Ten hits and more than 30 Number Ones, Pride became country’s first Black superstar – earning the CMA’s Entertainer of the Year award in 1971. His nationwide popularity was such that in 1974 he became the first recording artist to perform the National Anthem at the Super Bowl.

“Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone,” “Mississippi Cotton Picking Delta Town,” “All I Have to Offer You (Is Me),” “Roll On Mississippi,” “You’re So Good When You’re Bad,” and dozens of others are essential country listening. Pride would be only the second African American made a member of the Grand Ole Opry and the first Black artist inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. His music broke racial barriers, his talent captivated millions, and his legacy? It still inspires artists today.

Charley Pride wasn’t just a country star – he was a pioneer.

Suggested Listening:
“The Snakes Crawl At Night”
“Roll On Mississippi”

Philip Paul (1925-2022)

Philip Paul was a legendary drummer who made history in Cincinnati for decades, making major contributions to classic recordings in rock, blues, country, jazz, bluegrass, and more. Born in Harlem in New York City, he moved to Cincinnati at the urging of jazz legend of Tiny Bradshaw, to join Tony’s band. Post-WWII, Cincinnati became a hub of various music – including bluegrass – thanks to an influx of people migrating to the area for factory work. While playing in jazz clubs in the Queen City, Paul met Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame member Syd Nathan. For a dozen years, Philip Paul was a member of the house band at Syd Nathan’s King Records, where he appeared on countless classic recordings by Cowboy Copas, Hank Ballard, Freddie King, The Stanley Brothers, and more – over 350 records.

Paul is playing on drums on such American classics recorded in Cincinnati as “Fever” (Little Willie John), “Soft” (Tiny Bradshaw), “Alabam’” (Cowboy Copas), “Please Come Home For Christmas” (Charles Brown), and so many more – including the bulk of Freddie King’s catalog. He is also responsible for laying down the rhythm on the original recording of “The Twist” for Hank Ballard & The Midnighters before it was covered by Chubby Checker. In addition he performed on Hank Ballard’s “Finger Poppin’ Time” and added percussion on the overdubbed version by King recording artists, The Stanley Brothers.

For the ensuing decades, Paul would consistently perform at various jazz nightclubs around the Cincinnati area. He received Ohio Heritage Fellowship honors in 2009, the same year he was recognized for his remarkable career during a special presentation at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. The museum’s president at the time, Terry Stewart, had this to say: “If someone were to try to isolate the single heartbeat of the early days of rock and roll, as it transitions from ‘race music’ to ‘rhythm & blues’ to whatever you want to call what early rock and roll is, that heartbeat is Philip. [He is] the thread that runs through so much of the important music of that period.”

Philip Paul even contributed to the 2021 IBMA Album of the Year, Industrial Strength Bluegrass: Southwestern Ohio’s Musical Legacy, playing drums on “Mountain Strings” (Sierra Hull), “Readin’ ‘Rightin’ Route 23” (Joe Mullins & The Radio Ramblers), and “Are You Missing Me” (Dailey & Vincent). These would be the final recordings of Philip Pauls’ remarkable career in American music. He passed away in January 2022 at the age of 96. Phil Paul played drums on some of the most famous recordings in American history, and he did it all at Cincinnati’s King Records!

Suggested Listening:
“Fever,” Little Willie John
“Hide Away,” Freddie King
“Mountain Strings,” Sierra Hull

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Photo Credit: Mavis Staples by Daniel Jackson for BGS; Chapel Hart courtesy of SRO PR; Charley Pride courtesy of CharleyPride.com.

Peter Rowan and Sam Grisman Project Will Bring Old & In the Way to the Ryman

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

On January 9, 2025, there will be a special performance – more so a once-in-a-lifetime celebration – of the groundbreaking music of Old & In the Way at Nashville’s famed Ryman Auditorium.

Led by the “Bluegrass Buddha” himself, Peter Rowan, the legendary singer-songwriter and founding member of the group will be backed by the Sam Grisman Project. The gathering will also feature a murderers’ row of talent: Sam Bush, Tim O’Brien, Lindsay Lou, Ronnie & Rob McCoury, and more.

“In bluegrass, you just do the beautiful grace of presenting the music, being good neighbors and all that stuff,” Rowan told BGS in an exclusive 2022 interview. “But you could hear us in the band going, ‘go, man, go.’ Go for it, that’s where we came from. That’s what Old & In the Way was – the ‘go for it’ signal to everybody.”

To preface, Old & In the Way started as impromptu pickin’-n-grinnin’ sessions in the early 1970s between Rowan, his longtime friend, mandolin guru David Grisman, and Jerry Garcia, iconic guitarist for the Grateful Dead, who reached for his trusty banjo during the gatherings at Garcia’s home in Stinson Beach, California.

“We started picking every night after supper [at Jerry’s],” Rowan remembers. “We went through old song books and learned a bunch of material.”

At the time, Garcia was searching for new avenues of creative exploration, seeing as the Dead were in the midst of taking a much-needed hiatus after years of relentless touring and recording. He was also, perhaps subconsciously, trying to tap back into his roots before the Dead, this landscape of the late 1950s/early 1960s where Garcia was heavily involved in the San Francisco Bay Area folk scene.

“And you realized that Jerry was an intergalactic traveler, just dropping in on the Earth scene for a little while, but he was totally at home,” Rowan says of Garcia’s restless penchant and lifelong thirst for acoustic music.

When Old & In the Way formed in 1973, the trio recruited bassist John Kahn, as well as a revolving cast of fiddlers (Richard Greene, John Hartford, Vassar Clements). Sporadic gigs were booked around the Bay Area, with the vibe of the whole affair casual in nature – the ethos one of camaraderie and collaboration, but without expectations or boundaries.

“I remember singing the ending of ‘Land of the Navajo’ at the first rehearsal and I looked over at Jerry,” Rowan recalls. “He kept nodding his head like, ‘go.’ It was like Jack Kerouac at Allen Ginsberg’s poetry reading at City Lights Bookstore – ‘go, man, go.’ Encouragement, encouragement.”

By 1974, Old & In the Way simply vanished into the cosmic ether, but not before capturing a handful of live performances that have become melodic sacred texts of a crucial crossroads for acoustic music. To note, Old & In the Way’s 1975 self-titled debut album went on to become the bestselling bluegrass album of all-time – until it was dethroned by the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack released in 2000.

As it stands today, Rowan, now 82 years old, is the only remaining member of Old & In the Way still actively performing. Garcia, Clements, Kahn, and Hartford have all sadly passed on, with the elder Grisman and Greene retired from touring. Grisman’s son, standup bassist Sam Grisman, is now carrying his father’s bright torch.

And although the tenure of the Old & In the Way was short-lived, the ripple effects of the band’s ongoing influence and enduring legacy remains as vibrant and vital as it was those many years ago, when a handful of shaggy music freaks kicked off a jam that will perpetuate for eternity.

In preparation for the upcoming Old & In the Way showcase at the Ryman on January 9, BGS recently spoke with Sam Grisman, who talked at-length not only about his continued work with Peter Rowan and the intricacies of Jerry Garcia, but also why a band Grisman’s father started over a half-century ago still captivates the hearts and minds of music lovers the world over.

You were five years old when Jerry Garcia passed away. You were really young, but do you remember anything that you hold onto?

Sam Grisman: Yeah, I have a very vivid memory of what our house felt like, smelled like, and just what the energy was like when Jerry was around. And I remember that sort of ease, just the way that he made people feel. It seemed like my parents were at ease when he was around.

And he probably felt at ease being around them. It was probably a safe haven at that house.

Definitely. And, you know, my parents smoked weed in the house. But, my mom was pretty strict about cigarettes. [She] wouldn’t let anybody smoke cigarettes in the house. But, when Jerry was around, he smoked cigarettes in the house. So, part of this smell in my blurry five-year-old memory is the smell of cigarettes. And Jerry would sometimes wear a leather jacket, maybe the smell of leather.

I remember the sound of his laugh. I remember all that music, and some of it I remember so vividly that I just know that part of that memory is reinforced by being there as a little toddler when they were working up [music]. Because they would often work on tunes upstairs in the living room and then take them down to the studio, put them on the mics and pull them.

You just wanted to be around it all and soak it all in.

I was a really curious kid.

With the Ryman show coming up, there’s been a lot of celebration of Old & In the Way as of late, especially with you touring with Peter Rowan and the current Jerry Garcia exhibit at the Bluegrass Hall of Fame & Museum. You’ve been around those songs your whole life. But, when you think about the context of Old & In the Way, and what you’re doing at the Ryman, what really sticks out with why that was such a special time in not only bluegrass, but in the lives of those people?

I mean, what a lightning-in-the-bottle chapter of all those people’s lives, you know? I think 1973, ’73/’74, was a particularly fertile time for Jerry. He was playing a full schedule with the Dead. He had Jerry Garcia Band stuff. He was playing in Old & In the Way. He was playing pedal steel with the New Riders of the Purple Sage. It seemed like he really had an itch to go back to where his roots were, especially when you look at [the Grateful Dead album] Workingman’s Dead [that was released a] couple years prior.

For all of us, who are looking back on it 50 years in the future, it seems like this momentous, heady time that was just meant to be. But, for those guys in the moment, it was just total serendipity. And the quintessence of just going with the flow – Stinson Beach, California, vibes. They just kind of stumbled into this reality.

“Y’all wanna play?” “Sure, why not.”

Yeah, where it would just be really fun to have this bluegrass band that they didn’t take super seriously, which I think really comes across in the recordings, you know? Because there’s all this joy in that music that might not necessarily have been there if those guys were taking it super seriously or if they needed it to pay their bills. It was a very interesting circumstance.

And for them to call their hero Vassar Clements into the mix, on a sort of whim because Peter found his number on a card in his wallet. It was sort of like a fantasy camp for these guys. Like a bunch of hippies sitting around on the beach, smoking a joint, thinking: “Wouldn’t it be great if we had the world’s greatest fiddle player just show up?” “I bet you we could book a gig.” “Hey Jerry, you got these legions of people following you around, you could probably get us a gig, right?”

And that’s kind of how it happened. Those gigs were so magical, because they happened mostly for all of these Deadheads in Marin [County, California], for like 16 months or something.

So, if you really had your finger on the pulse of it and you were going to the Keystone [music club in Berkeley, California], to see [the Jerry Garcia Band] and you loved what the Dead were doing, you knew that they were going to take this time off, but you just saw Jerry the week before and he never took his guitar off. He just finished the [Jerry Garcia Band] set and walked backstage with his guitar on and was smoking a cigarette, and then you saw him 30 minutes later talking to somebody off the side of stage, still had his guitar on — you’re thinking, “Gee, this guy’s not going to stop playing music this year, so I better keep my eyes peeled for what’s next.” And they played all these little gigs mostly around the Bay Area — they kind of captured some lightning in a bottle.

With playing these Old & In the Way melodies not only throughout your life, but also extensively nowadays with Peter Rowan, what’s been your biggest takeaway on what makes those songs and the ethos/history behind them so special to you? What about in terms of musicality, technique, and approach?

It’s hard to articulate how special it is to be exploring these beloved songs that mean so much to so many folks, myself included, with Peter and a cast of some of my best friends and favorite musicians. It’s a catalog that’s got a lot of depth.

Old & In the Way would play anything from songs by bluegrass heroes like Bill Monroe, The Stanley Brothers, Reno & Smiley, and Jim & Jesse to Vassar [Clements], Jerry [Garcia], and my pop’s instrumentals, to the tunes that Peter was writing at the time, which are some of my absolute favorite songs ever written.

Songs like “Midnight Moonlight,” “High Lonesome Sound,” and “Panama Red.” Playing these tunes with Uncle Peter makes me feel connected to the times he spent with David and Jerry in Stinson Beach in the early ’70s.

I grew up in Mill Valley and loved going to Stinson Beach with my friends, so I have a pretty vivid image in my mind’s eye. They played tunes, hung out, relaxed, took in the sea breeze, smoked a bunch of great weed, and developed a highly individuated “West Coast” approach to playing and singing this bluegrass music that they all loved and respected so much.

And then, they called one of my bass heroes, John Kahn, and their fiddle hero, the inimitable Vassar Clements and gave the world about one glorious year – I think around 50 shows – of a rare and lovable breed of bluegrass.

So much of everyone’s personality comes through in the music, and you can hear their camaraderie in the recordings. I guess my biggest take away from getting to play this music with Peter is how important it is to bring your own approach to these timeless songs that we love, while still honoring what it is that makes us love them in the first place.

You’ve known Peter Rowan since you were born. But, what has this latest endeavor together meant to you, to play the Old & In the Way catalog to not only lifelong fans, but also a whole new generation of acoustic music fans and bluegrass freaks?

It means the world to me to get to spend some time out on the road sharing space and time in service of this music with Uncle Peter. Getting to meet all of these folks who care so much about this music and feeling their appreciation and gratitude for Pete has been truly special.

There are so many people from so many different ages and different walks of life for whom this music has been the soundtrack to many fond memories, and I’m honored to be one of them. It’s also been a joy to see fresh faces in the audience and some folks taking in this music with a new perspective.

In your honest opinion, what is the legacy of Old & In the Way when you place it through the prism of the history of bluegrass and the road to the here and now, especially this current juncture where the torchbearers are selling out arenas and creating this high-water mark for acoustic, traditional and bluegrass music?

For many folks who know and love the music of Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead, Old & In the Way has been their first exposure to bluegrass. So many people over the years have told me how listening to Old & In the Way led them to further explore bluegrass music and its roots and branches. And others have told me how it inspired them to become pickers and start bands of their own.

I think Old & In the Way has been pivotal in bringing a wider audience with a more adventurous musical palette into the bluegrass universe. The legacy of Old & In the Way is one of exploration and preservation, and they certainly paved the way for many of us to walk a similar path — honoring the music that we love, while exploring its boundaries and finding our own voices and approaches.

It’s wonderful to see my friend Billy Strings out there playing for so many folks on such a big scale simply being himself, playing his own songs with a great group of friends, and also honoring the material that made him the musician that he is — maybe that’s a part of the legacy of Old & In the Way.

Photo Credit: Elliot Siff
Poster Credit: Taylor Rushing

WATCH: Steven Moore & Jed Clark, “New Camptown Races”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Steven Moore & Jed Clark
Hometown: Jed Clark lives in Nashville, Tennessee, originally from Searcy, Arkansas; Steven Moore lives in Saint Clairsville, Ohio, originally from Bethesda, Ohio.
Song: “New Camptown Races” (by Frank Wakefield)
Release Date: June 26, 2024 (video)

In Their Words: “We are very excited to share our music video of ‘New Camptown Races,’ a tune by the late Frank Wakefield (June 26, 1934 – April 26, 2024) that has become a bluegrass standard. The idea for this video began at SPBGMA 2023, when we jammed to ‘New Camptown Races’ with both of us playing it in B-flat without using capos. We laughed and agreed that we needed to record it and maybe do a video shoot of it someday. It wasn’t until a year later at SPBGMA 2024, when we met up again, that we really solidified plans to make the video happen. Our hopes were to record the video and put it out on June 26, 2024 in honor of Frank’s 90th birthday. Unfortunately, the world lost Frank two months before he turned 90, but we decided to still aim to put out the video on what would have been Frank’s 90th birthday, in his memory.

“Frank’s prowess on mandolin, evident by his years performing with bluegrass legends like Red Allen and The Kentuckians, Jimmy Martin, the Stanley Brothers, and Don Reno, is often not discussed nearly as much as his personality. Frank was known for having an off-kilter approach to everything, from how he talked to how he approached the mandolin. Stories about Frank spray painting his mandolin red (an irreplaceable 1923 Lloyd Loar signed Gibson F-5) as well as baking that very mandolin in an oven in an attempt to enhance its tone are just a couple examples of his unconventional character. Our attempt to play this tune in B-flat without capos on guitar and banjo is a bit unconventional as well, and we hope that Frank would have liked it. Thanks, Frank, for the music, the stories, and this great tune!” – Steven Moore

Video, Audio, and Video Still Credits: Daniel Kelley and Bethany Kelley of Octopus Garden Studios.

Jody Stecher – Toy Heart: A Podcast About Bluegrass

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

For the latest episode of Toy Heart, we embark on a journey through the primordial musical ooze that birthed bluegrass, old-time, and country music with the incredible Jody Stecher. A multi-instrumentalist adept in many styles and traditions – he even plays sarod, a Hindustani instrument – Stecher’s entire career is a fascinating case study in the interconnectedness of American folk music styles.

LISTEN: APPLE PODCASTS • SPOTIFY • MP3

Host Tom Power begins their engaging and philosophical conversation by asking Stecher about his childhood in New York City. A grandchild of Eastern European immigrants, he “discovered” country and bluegrass like many in his generation, listening to the Wheeling Jamboree radio program on WWVA and hearing first generation pickers like the Osborne Brothers and Jimmy Martin & the Sunny Mountain Boys, including “Baby Crowe,” a young, just-hired banjo player who went by “J.D.” Soon after, Stecher replaced mandolinist (and one-day industry power player) Ralph Rinzler in bluegrass band The Greenbriar Boys, before joining another group, the New York Ramblers.

From those early years, cutting his teeth in local, regional, and eventually national outfits to iconic albums like Going Up On The Mountain and his current status as a venerated expert and acclaimed elder in American roots music, Jody Stecher utilizes music and his expertise to demonstrate how blurry the lines really are between these folk genres. Power and Stecher discuss teaching, David Grisman – and collaborating with Jerry Garcia! – meditation and music, early sounds and recordings by folks like Bill Monroe and the Stanley Brothers, being a member of Peter Rowan’s band, his duo with Kate Brislin, Utah Phillips, and so much more.

Whether you’re a lifelong fan of roots music or new to these scenes, Tom Power and Jody Stecher’s Toy Heart episode will inspire, highlighting stories, traditions, and techniques that make bluegrass, old-time, and country music exactly what they are today.

Photo Credit: Eric Thompson

Today’s Bluegrass Gospel Is All About Good News

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

While playing music in a bar, Tammy Rogers of The SteelDrivers learned a lesson that would guide her life choices. After Rogers graduated from college, she was happily earning her living as a musician. But she wondered if it was enough.

“I felt like it was all about me, rather than what I could give back and put into the world.” She had considered teaching or studying music therapy, thinking that, “Maybe I needed to be actively doing something to help.”

Here’s where the bar band comes in.

“I remember this like it was yesterday. I sang a gospel song.” Rogers said. “And after the set, a couple came up to me and said, ‘Thank you so much for singing that song. It meant so much to us.’ And it was like a light bulb came on – answering the question, ‘What should I be doing with my life?’”

For Rogers, the interaction with that couple in the bar was God giving her the message that she was doing what she was meant to do.

“The music that you write, the music that you play can touch people and help them, whether it’s in happiness or sorrow.”

Bluegrass musicians often incorporate old and new gospel songs into their performances. Whether it’s the melodies, the spine-tingling harmonies, the familiarity, or the content, gospel music has an enduring appeal to the full spectrum of bluegrass fans, regardless of culture or religion.

Last year, The SteelDrivers, as well as the young band High Fidelity, produced gospel albums – Tougher Than Nails and Music In My Soul, respectively – and Chris Jones released a gospel track, “Step Out in the Sunshine.” For them, the music is personal. They all come from a place of faith and sincere connection to the good news of the gospel, as well as loving the music itself.

In the rural communities where bluegrass began, life often centered around church, as a place of prayer, music, and friendship. Eventually, Southern gospel music also took on a life independent of worship.

Wayne Erbsen wrote in his charming book, Rural Roots of Bluegrass, “By the 1850s, songwriters were composing new gospel songs to appeal to the thousands who flocked to the rapidly growing number of shape-note singing conventions throughout the south.”

These lucrative gatherings – possibly more entertainment than spiritual – continued well into the 20th century. Erbsen told BGS that people would bring the books they already owned, but when they arrived, “they had to buy more books” to learn the new songs. The publishers hired excellent performers to attend the conventions and inspire the singers.

Erbsen wrote, “The songs and styles that were part of this shape-note singing convention tradition eventually merged with bluegrass instrumental and vocal styles to create a new genre now known as bluegrass gospel.”

Bill Monroe, like others of his generation, was exposed to religious-themed music. While performing with brother Charlie, Monroe’s first hit record was “What Would You Give in Exchange for Your Soul?” And just as he learned the blues from Black fiddler Arnold Shultz, he was “fascinated by the music of the Black churches,” Chris Jones said. That’s where Monroe learned “Walking in Jerusalem,” popular today for its rich harmonies.

High Fidelity – Jeremy Stephens, Corrina Rose Logston Stephens, Kurt Stephenson, Daniel Amick, and Vickie Vaughn – is steeped in traditional bluegrass. Corrina’s parents got hooked on Reno & Smiley and the Stanley Brothers looking through department store record bins – and Corrina has stayed close to the traditional fold ever since. “It feels like it’s in my blood,” she said.

Jeremy learned to sing harmony from his grandfather. After he picked up the fiddle, a school bus driver made him a cassette tape of classic bluegrass. “And that tape was transformative to me,” he shared.

All of High Fidelity’s music is infused with the harmonies, instrumentation, and themes of early bluegrass performers. The friends who make up High Fidelity (the name comes from the words often on labels of early bluegrass records) came together as a band to compete in the SPBGMA band contest. They never imagined they would take first place. So, “It was this overwhelming gift that we won,” Corinna said. “It almost felt like divine intervention.”

“And everyone in High Fidelity is spiritual,” she continues. “We’re all Christian folks. We all identify with the songs that we’re singing.” So, from the earliest days, she said, they felt a gospel album was in their future, to “honor the Lord and thank him for giving us this gift.”

During a long period of illness that Corinna later learned was caused by toxic mold in their home (they since have moved out, and she feels a lot better), she received another gift from God, she said. She woke in the early hours of the morning with a song in her head that was so compelling, she had to get out of bed to record it. “And almost all of the verses just came out, bypassing my conscious brain.”

That song is “The Mighty Name of Jesus.” It is a centerpiece of, and the only original on, their recording, Music In My Soul. Corinna said, “We wanted [the project] to feel like a quintessential High Fidelity record, very bluegrassy.”

She wanted to emulate another early hero, Carl Story. When listening to Story, she said, “It wouldn’t even register that I was listening to a gospel record. It was just such good bluegrass… I wanted Carl Story’s vibes.”

Their recording successfully and joyously channels the spirit and musicality of the earliest bluegrass stars. High Fidelity worked hard to find little-known gospel songs from a variety of sources, performing them with the same enthusiastic vigor that they bring to their secular music. Listeners will recognize classic banjo introductions and harmony variations that have been passed through generations since bluegrass hit the radio.

And just as Music in the Soul is undoubtedly High Fidelity, nobody but The SteelDrivers could have created Tougher Than Nails. It is gritty, bluesy and achingly human.

Rogers said that for years, The SteelDrivers’ most requested song has been “Where Rainbows Never Die,” from the 2010 recording Reckless.

“We’ve gotten so many emails, messages, people come up to us at shows, telling us how they’ve played the song at their dad’s funeral or for grandpa or whomever and how much it’s meant to them.

“It doesn’t say the word God. It doesn’t say the word Jesus. It doesn’t even use the term heaven. But it is a gospel song, a spiritual song. It’s about passing on to the next life. To me, it is such a powerful, beautiful way of sharing,” Rogers said.

In the same way, she said, a SteelDrivers’ gospel collection wouldn’t be “preaching at people or using even the language they’re familiar with. But if the message is the same, why not?”

On Tougher Than Nails, expect the same gutsy, no-holds-barred, gorgeous vocals that we love from The SteelDrivers. Their original gospel songs are as much about the dangers, choices, and blessings of humanity as their songs about liquor, guns, guitars, and heartache.

They ask us to think about Mary Magdalene, and how she balanced love for the man with love for the divine. They wonder if Judas’ heart broke as he fulfilled his destiny of betrayal. And they celebrate the victory of love over the cruelty of crucifixion.

Even “Amazing Grace” is uniquely SteelDrivers – starting with a primitive drone that weaves into the blues-driven rhythms we associate with Black Baptist church choirs.

Chris Jones is one of the most enduring and admired singers in modern bluegrass. He also is a SiriusXM radio host and writer, and a respected commentator on all things bluegrass.

Jones recently recorded “Step Out In the Sunshine.” Jones learned the song from listening to Ralph Stanley on Jones’ “all-time favorite gospel album.” It’s a song of hope and joy.

“I think the feeling and sincerity of gospel music touches all different kinds of people. It has a broad appeal, whether you’re a believer or not,” Jones said.

He noted that many bluegrass fans relate to melodies and arrangements and often overlook the lyrics. He referred to a listener who loved the song, “Julie Ann,” because it was so happy. (It’s up-tempo, but sung by a man begging his wife not to leave him.)
But lyrics do matter to the musicians who sing them.

Jones echoed a sentiment reflected in the gospel choices of High Fidelity and The SteelDrivers. A religious commitment “makes you a little more selective of what you’re willing to sing. Is this a message I really want to send to people?” Jones chooses gospel songs that are welcoming and inclusive.

High Fidelity’s Jeremy Stephens said they avoided lyrics that sounded like condemnation, the ones that say, “You’re bad because you do this and you’re bad because you do that.” He said Music In My Soul “is our hearts talking to your hearts… the Lord said, ‘Come to me as you are.’ There’s so much peace and love and acceptance in him.”

Award-winning singer and guitar player Greg Blake currently performs with his own band as well as with Special Consensus. Blake had a ministry for 30 years before becoming a full-time musician. He said he has learned a lot over the years about judgement, love, and being open-hearted. And his insights inform his choice of spiritually-oriented songs.

“When I was younger, and probably more zealous and less informed, I felt like I needed to be ‘right.’ But as I got older and looked at the teachings of Jesus, I saw that his message was more about right relationships,” rather than proper dogma or theology.

So today, Blake says, “I like to bring into gospel even songs that may not have a strong Christian element, but are just good, positive songs… that leave one with a sense of hope and love and care for one another. I think that’s the message that people of the world need to hear today.”

Photo Credit: Photo of the SteelDrivers courtesy of the artist; photo of High Fidelity by Amy Richmond.

MIXTAPE: Brit Taylor’s ‘Kentucky Bluegrassed’ Inspirations

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

I grew up deep in the hills of the Appalachian Mountains in Eastern Kentucky where, I’m pretty sure, that on a quiet, cool, foggy morning after the rooster crows, you can hear the faint strumming of a mandolin or banjo echoing through the hollers. My home was near the famed Country Music Highway, Route 23, and that set the bar high for me, even at an early age. With local artists such as Patty Loveless, Loretta Lynn, Dwight Yoakum, The Judds, Ricky Skaggs and Keith Whitley and songwriters like Larry Cordle, later joined by artists like Chris Stapleton and Tyler Childers, there was always an incredible standard of music and songwriting to strive for. It also encouraged me, because if it could happen for their hillbilly asses, then why not mine?

Kentucky Bluegrassed is a sister record to my sophomore album produced by Sturgill Simpson and David Ferguson. My husband Adam Chaffins and I, along with an incredible crew of pickers (Rob Ikes, Stuart Duncan, Seth Taylor, Matt Menefee, Dominick Leslie) reimagined five songs from the Kentucky Blue album and added three new songs, to boot. Although Kentucky Blue and Kentucky Bluegrassed are kin, they have their own unique personalities and can stand separately as two distinct independent projects. Kentucky Bluegrassed is exactly what the title implies. It is “grassed” versions of some songs from the Kentucky Blue record.

I’ve never claimed to be a grasser, but I’ve always loved the genre. A lot of my favorite country acts growing up either started with bluegrass music and went to country or started in country music and went to bluegrass. My favorite country artists always drew from bluegrass inspiration and instrumentation and blurred the lines of country and bluegrass music. This Mixtape is comprised of songs that I grew up listening to and that inspired the sounds and writing on Kentucky Bluegrassed. – Brit Taylor

“Pretty Little Miss” –  Patty Loveless
(Songwriters: Traditional, additional lyrics by Emory Gordy Jr. and Patty Loveless)

It’s 2006 in Prestonsburg, Kentucky, and I’m standing side stage at the Mountain Arts Center waiting for my cue to prance out on stage in an old, ugly vintage dress, silly hat, and no shoes. I always picked Patty songs to sing, whether they were bluegrass or country. I loved them all. During this particular summer show season of the Kentucky Opry Junior Pros, I chose to sing Patty Loveless’ “Pretty Little Miss.” There’s something raw and painfully beautiful about the way that Patty Loveless sings. She feels every note and you feel it with her.

Patty is a wonderful songwriter and a hell of a song hound. She surely knew how to sniff good songs out, and Patty and Emory (husband/producer) knew exactly what to do with them when they found them. Whether she writes the song or finds a great song to sing, she knows how to empathize with the song’s character and you can hear it. Unlike some of her more heart-wrenching songs (like my personal favorite, “You Don’t Even Know Who I Am,” written by Gretchen Peters), “Pretty Little Miss” is funny and fun, plus she wrote it! And she sings the shit out of it. Patty Loveless, like Dolly Parton, knows how to get into character and have fun.

“Busted” – Patty Loveless (Songwriter: Harlan Howard)

Written in 1962 by one of my favorite songwriters of all time, Harlan Howard, this song has been recorded and re-recorded. From Johnny Cash and the Carter Family to Waylon Jennings to Ray Charles and more, this song has been done again and again for good reason. In 2009, my queen Patty Loveless comes along and grasses the hell out of it. Each interpretation of this song is different from the last in pretty drastic ways. That’s one of the things I love about music and production. Music is like water, it can literally fit into whatever mold you want to pour it into. You just have to have some imagination. It’s songs like this that inspired me to write and record my song, “Rich Little Girls.” And it is artists like Patty Loveless and producers like her husband Emory Gordy who inspire me to not be afraid to reimagine a song completely different from its original presentation.

“Truth No. 2” – The Chicks (Songwriter: Patty Griffin)

This entire album is an inspiration for Kentucky Bluegrassed. The songwriting is impeccable as are the production and the playing. The album is full of incredible songs by writers like Darrell Scott, Tim O’Brien, Marty Stuart, Patty Griffin, and others. The tracks could have easily been recorded on a Chicks traditional country record, but I love that they decided to do them this way. I love the melody of this particular song and the extended intro with the fiddle hook. I also love the space in this song. They didn’t fill every “hole” with a lick. They let the song breathe. These are definitely concepts we were mindful of when recording Kentucky Bluegrassed. Where can we let it breathe? What’s the signature lick here and who’s playing it? Heavy on the dobro and fiddle, please.

“I’m Gone” – Dolly Parton (Songwriter: Dolly Parton)

No one can tell a story quite like Dolly. This whole record – Halos & Horns – is a lesson in storytelling. Dolly is always an inspiration. Her ability to connect with her audience through her lyrics, honest stories, and light-heartedness will always be something I strive to do in my own music. This is one of those records that I remember begging my mom to take me to the Walmart in Prestonsburg to buy!

“Big Chance” – Patty Loveless (Songwriters: Emory Gordy Jr. and Patty Loveless)

Lyrics in Patty’s “Big Chance” such as, “Looka here mama, looka here daddy/ This is my true love, we’re gonna get married/ Ain’t a gonna hem-haw, ain’t a gonna tarry/ This is my big chance, we’re gonna get married/” are what inspired me to be confident in my own Appalachian dialect, enough so that I put words like “sworpin’” in my song “Saint Anthony,” regardless of if other people were going to understand it.

“Marry Me” – Dolly Parton (Songwriter: Dolly Parton)

I love the perspectives and simplicity in songwriting on both “Big Chance” by Patty and “Marry Me” by Dolly. The character in Dolly’s song sounds like she might be 13-years-old, hollering to her folks about how she’s gonna run off and marry this new feller! I love that the character sounds so young and also like she just met the boy yesterday. It just lends itself to sweetness and innocence with a light-hearted humor.

I wanted a song about getting married on my bluegrass record simply because my heroes had them on theirs. I love the personality and the very matter-of-fact, bossy lyrics of these songs – and that’s what Adam Wright and I were going for when we wrote my own song, “Married.”

“A Handful of Dust” – Patty Loveless (Songwriter: Tony Arata)

This is another one of those songs that has been recorded again and again by multiple artists and for good reason. It was first recorded by Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and Emmylou Harris in 1993 and then by Patty Loveless on her 1994 country album. Then she cut it again on Mountain Soul II where she grassed it! Charley Worsham and Lainey Wilson also just released their own version of the song. I honestly couldn’t pick a favorite version if I tried. It’s hard to mess up a song this great. I chose this version for the playlist because it’s grassed and very much an inspiration for grassing several of my own songs.

I realize I have a lot of Patty Loveless songs on this playlist, but that’s because she is honestly who inspired Kentucky Bluegrassed the most. I listened to her songs on repeat growing up and still find myself doing so today. If you have heard Kentucky Bluegrassed and are now listening to these Patty songs from the Mountain Soul records, you will definitely hear some similarities. Rob Ickes, who plays Dobro, and Stuart Duncan, who plays fiddle, who were on both Mountain Soul records also play on my Kentucky Bluegrassed album.

“Don’t Cheat In Our Home Town” – Keith Whitley, Ricky Skaggs
(Songwriters: Ray Pennington and Roy E. Marcum)

Both Ricky Skaggs and Keith Whitley are from near the Country Music Highway in East Kentucky, and you can hear the hillbilly twang in their voices, especially when they’d sing together. This song is wonderful. The harmonies just kill me. If you want a lesson in singing bluegrass harmonies – hell, any harmonies for that matter – this is the record to listen to and learn from. When people tell me they don’t like bluegrass, I always tell them they just haven’t listened to the right records yet. This is one of the first albums I send them to. The self-deprecating lyrics along with the simplicity of the music with its quirky upbeat instrumentation might seem to be a contradictory songwriting and production combo, but that’s just one of the unique and beautiful things about bluegrass music that I love so much.

“Rank Strangers” –The Stanley Brothers (Songwriter: Albert E. Brumley)

My Papaw Hillard Anderson introduced me to bluegrass music when I was just a kid. Truth be told, he liked to put on a Stanley Brothers 8-track tape, drink a little too much Crown Royal and have himself a good cry – or maybe just raise some hell. One of the two. Man, I miss him. When I turned 16 and got my driver’s license, I got us tickets to go see Ralph Stanley at the Mountain Arts Center in Prestonsburg. I picked him up over on Beaver Creek in my little red Mustang and off we went. I think my driving scared him to death. But it was all worth it when we got to see Ralph sing and play. I was able to charm my way backstage because the volunteer door people already knew me from my singing at the Kentucky Opry. I got my Papaw a picture signed by Ralph Stanley himself.

Papaw passed in 2009. I sang to him and strummed my guitar as he died. I wish he could have been here to hear this record more than any record I’ve ever made. But I know he’s got a front seat in Heaven. When I recorded Kentucky Bluegrassed, I took two of my Papaw’s old, scuffed-up Stanley Brothers 8-tracks tapes with me. I set up a little hillbilly altar with the two tapes, some tigers eye, Kentucky agate, clear quartz, and other crystals, a rabbit’s foot, some incense, and a glass of bourbon. I wanted to make sure he knew he was welcome there with us. He was there. I could feel it.

“You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive” – Patty Loveless (Songwriter: Darrell Scott)

I’ll probably spend the rest of my life trying to write a song this good. Nothing captures where I’m from as much as this one does. It just sounds like East Kentucky. It sounds like the coal mines. It feels like home. The first version of this song that I heard was by Patty Loveless on her first Mountain Soul record. I try to sing it sometimes, but it hits pretty close to home. By the last verse I’m normally in tears. My Papaw was a coal miner, and my husband’s father was a miner, too. Growing up, coal mining was about all there was to do for work around home. So hearing this song just always hits hard.

I hope you enjoy this playlist of tunes that inspired Kentucky Bluegrassed, from the songwriting down to the instrumentation. Songs like these will never grow old or sound dated because they’re too original. They don’t chase any trends of the times. They just are what they are.

Photo Credit: Natia Cinco

Bluegrass Memoirs: Visiting Rusty York (Part 2)

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Editor’s note: All inset photos by Carl Fleischhauer.)

In my previous memoir I described what I knew of Rusty York when Carl Fleischhauer and I arrived at his Jewel Recording Studios in Mt. Healthy, Ohio, on the afternoon of August 15, 1972.

We had walked into the midst of a recording session. In the studio was the Reverend Bobby Grove (née Musgrove), his wife Fayette, oldest son Bobby Junior (a drummer), some other friends, and five studio musicians – Eddie Drake, lead guitar; Junior Boyer, pedal steel; Bob Sanderson, bass; Jack Sanderson, rhythm guitar; and Denzil “Denny” Rice, piano.

L: Rusty York in the studio control room recording overdubs by Bobby Grove, seated. R: Bobby Grove during a recording session. At the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972.

Later I wrote in my notes:

Grove has made 35 LPs. Has a “club” – he mails out each record to a list of 10,000, with a request for a minimum contribution of $4.00.

Originally from Kentucky, the Groves now lived in Hamilton, Ohio, where Bobby had opened his own church about four years earlier. I noted:

Rusty makes up soundtracks for him from the LP masters which are minus the voice tracks – he uses these in personal appearances.

Bobby’s wife Fayette described this process to me. “Really cuts down on the expenses. He just takes the soundtrack along. It’s really marvelous,” she said.

The studio was probably about a fifty-foot square, with the master panel occupying a quarter, the studio space an “L” around it… In the recording room, where I set up my cassette (it looked ludicrous!), was an 8 track, a 16 track and a 2 track. The recording was being done on 8 tracks.

Recording session at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. At left, Bob Sanderson, bass guitar; right, singer Bobby Grove.
Recording session at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Performers shown here include Fayette Grove, Eddie Drake, Bobby Grove, Junior Boyer, and Bob Sanderson.

I ran the cassette intermittently trying to get snatches of conversation and brief interviews between phone calls, takes and visitors which never seemed to ruffle Rusty’s feathers. Obviously, he is a person of tremendous energy and talent, starting with his musical abilities (from rock to ‘grass) going to his present recording activities.

During this session Bobby had his bible tucked under his arm during every “take.”

After recording several songs, he asked Rusty: “Would it be all right, these next three songs, if I just sang the words — the country words — and then come in and do ‘em, like that? Then I’ll write ‘em. That way I’ll do something that we know real quick and we’ll just go through it and I’ll go home and write ‘em. And when I come in and mix it down just dub it in real quick?”

Rusty said, “Yeah that’s fine.”

During a break at a recording session at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Rusty York, recording engineer; Bob Sanderson; Jack Sanderson. In the background, Eddie Drake.
Tape box from the recording session for singer Bobby Grove at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972.

In the five years since I had seen him, York had expanded…to two studios (the other, bigger, in Hamilton) with loads of sophisticated equipment.

Rusty: “I bought a professional recorder in ’61, just in my garage. In fact, you know, you were out there.”

“So, you got into it kind of gradually,” I respond.

He nodded: “I didn’t just go and buy a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of equipment like a guy I knew here in town. He’s hurting; but I’m booked, you know, all the time.”

“Since you do this all the time,” I said, “you probably get rates from the pressing people, and so on?”

“I’m their biggest customer, yeah.”

What drew him into recording, I wondered.

He explained: “It just happened. It was really nice to make fifty extra dollars on Sunday, you know, by doing our own album, you know. Or some kind of session. Still, I still play music, I thought that’s what I want to do, you know. It got to be a, where I could make so much more money and not be the big hassle, like getting stoned every night that you played, chicks all over your body.” [Laughter]

Rusty York at the mixing board at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972.

Rusty appeared to be paying only scant attention to the recording session but every once in a while, would pinpoint out-of-tune instruments (…he can isolate mikes from the fairly well-baffled studio and hear exactly who’s doing what), suggest drum riffs, etc.

Rusty explained to us that his connections with Bobby Grove reached back to his earliest days in Kentucky:

“Yeah, we’ve all worked together at one time or another. Willard and I worked at Bobby’s father’s, he had a little barn dance and that, the Stanley Brothers –”

Grove’s son interjected: “Grandpa!”

Rusty said, “Huh?”

“You met my grandpa.”

“Yeah, probably before you was born.”

I asked: “What was his name?” “Jason Musgrove,” Rusty said.

Grove’s son recalled the venue well: “Did you know in that barn he had a sign, said no alcoholic beverages allowed in this area? He stayed drunk there all the time.”

“No!” Rusty replied in a mock serious whisper.

“That’s right”

“Well, we had a bottle or two out in the front of our car all the time.”

Grove: “I can picture him wrestling a bear.”

Rusty: “We saw a bear-wrestling match in there.”

Grove: “Was you there when that happened?”

Rusty: “Yeah. Were you around?”

Grove: “No, that was when I was born. ‘56” [Laughter]

Bobby Grove recording session at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Left to right: Eddie Drake, rhythm guitar; Junior Boyer, pedal steel guitar; Bob Sanderson, bass guitar; Bobby Grove, vocal.
Guitarist Jack Sanderson and singer Bobby Grove at a recording session at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972.

Rusty explained: “His grandpa ran a, what did he call it? Green Valley Barn Dance. And right now, that place is worth millions of dollars, and he lost it cause he couldn’t make the payments or something. Forty-two dollars a month payment.”

Grove: “Kent Valley Lake”

“Now it’s, you know, you could probably get twenty, thirty million dollars for the place. Got a big lake –”

“I started playing, I guess, when I first come to Cincinnati, about ’52. I just picked up an old guitar. My father bought me an old five-dollar guitar.”

“I went to see Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs first time up in Jackson theater in about ’53, I guess. And I just couldn’t believe man, anybody could play a banjo like that, I just… Boy! I stayed for both shows that night… I mean it was just like heaven then, ‘cause nobody, you couldn’t never see it. There’s so much of it now, you know. Everybody can play good now, you know. But then, it was only him. I had a tenor banjo, I put fifth key on it. It was a Mastertone too, Gibson. Four-string.”

Folklorist Neil V. Rosenberg and recording engineer Rusty York at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972.

The only five-string banjo style he’d known before Scruggs was that of his Grandma. He recalled that she’d made the head of her banjo from a groundhog skin.

“Willard Hale was from Somerset. Where I met Willard, I stopped into a little bar out in Cincinnati, and they had music. They set up a little amplifier and the mandolin with the guitar. Willard and this other fellow were singing duets and one guy played the mandolin. I set in with my banjo and then this one guy left and I – every weekend, I’d go out and play with them. Like Friday, Saturday night. Boy, free beer! I couldn’t believe it, you know, getting free beer and a, I found out later that this guy was getting paid for me all the time I wasn’t getting any bread.”

“Willard and I used to just stand on the stage, two of us, and play banjo and guitar and sing duets. Then Elvis came along and they started saying, ‘Hey you know “Hound Dog”’ and you know, man, ‘You from the country, you shouldn’t be asking for a song like that.’ And even country boys started liking Elvis, you know. And we had to switch over to electric guitar and a guitar and then switch over to bass, and we finally had to add drums, then turned into modern country. Although we were the highest paid ones in Cincinnati for a long time, just Willard and I. …Our salary was on ten-fifteen bucks apiece a night, but the kitty would be the kind of money, might be fifty bucks a night. And that was a lot then.”

“The highlight of our whole night was when we got the banjo and upright bass and Martin guitar out. And boy people really dug it, but we didn’t give ‘em too much of it, cause they still like to dance. [Otherwise] I played electric guitar and the other boy played bass. And we might play, sometimes an hour of bluegrass. Really it was a treat, you know, a change for the people.”

“I played banjo – ‘Down The Road’ and things like that. And every, the whole place would swarm the floor, you know. They’d do this soft-shoe backstep buck and wing hoedown. That’s what I call it. It’s almost like square dancing without any organization. Everybody just doing their own thing. But it, it’s that clog, what I call – the soft-shoe backstep buck and wing hoedown.”

I was curious about “Sugaree,” that jukebox single I’d bought in Oberlin back in 1960. Rusty explained:

“I was doing, you know, some bluegrass stuff and this guy came to me, said — that’s when the Chipmunks were popular [1959] — he said let’s go and record this ‘She’ll Be Coming Round The Mountain’ we’ll go ‘She’ll be dum da da, Do diol lu’ (etc. — imitates twangy guitar doing first line of that song) and the Chipmunks go ‘Cha Cha Cha’ (high pitch).”

“On the way out there [to the studio] he says, what are we gonna do on the other side? I says, I don’t know. He said, well do ‘Sugaree’ or ‘Long Tall Sally’ or something, I said I don’t even know that. That was just decided on the way out to the studios. It was a bad record – shoo! I, I can’t stand to hear it.”

Rusty York at the mixing board at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972.

“We recorded it at King records studio. Paid for the session ourself. Forty bucks it cost. We tried to peddle it to everybody – RCA and Mercury – and nobody wanted it. So, we put it out ourselves on my [own label], started Jewel. It got to be number two in Cincinnati, and they said something must be happening, you know we pressed the thousand, sold them, pressed a few more and this guy, Pat Nelson negotiated with Chess Records and we leased it to them.”

“I did another record and they never released it. I died, as far as — I did the Hollywood Bowl, and American Bandstand with Dick Clark.”

I was also curious about those “Bluegrass Special” EPs he’d done in the early ’60s. Did he still have copies?

“Ah, I’ve got ‘em on tape, but I don’t have the actual records. You know, those sold a lot of records. Like 200,000… Used to hear Jimmie Skinner and I on that fifteen-minute thing [Wayne Raney show on WCKY], selling the package.”

Rusty told me about the next chapter in his story, which was new to me at the time:

“I went with Bobby Bare; you know I was front man for his show. Played Reno, Las Vegas and just about every state in the Union and I went to Europe, about ten countries. … in ’64 and ‘5. It don’t seem that long ago.” …

I replied, “It doesn’t to me either.” I asked, “You’re not playing any, now, then, are you?”

“No, I started back playing about two months ago in one of the biggest nightclubs here. I just couldn’t take it, ‘cause I’d have to get early do a session and I make 90 buck an hour here, over there I might make – I was playing for the door. Sometimes we would make six hundred bucks a night for the band and sometimes a hundred, split five ways. So–”

“I enjoy just sitting around and playing, but I don’t know, as far as getting before a crowd and doing a thing, I’m not crazy about it. It’s really work, to me. … Most people, I’ve found, have an ego problem. I don’t know if it’s ego or insecurity, but they want to get up before a crowd and sing and–”

“Work it out, up there?” I interjected.

“Yeah. Most, most people that are in the business are very insecure and [play to/depend on] the crowd a lot. Bobby Bare was … he was a nice guy but he was kind of a, well was insecure. He’d like to sleep maybe eighteen hours a day, escape from reality.”

I was struck by York’s insightful comment about musicians having an ego problem. In later years I’ve characterized it in this way: the musician, selling himself or herself, is both product and salesperson. It’s a vision that has stuck with me, like “Don’t Do It.”

Since my research was focused on bluegrass, I was eager to hear what Rusty had to say about it. He began by talking about recording bluegrass.

“Here I don’t do a lot of bluegrass now. Most of them don’t have the money to afford to record. … I try to give ‘em a real good break. Something that’s gonna be around for a long time, I mean a bluegrass record is gonna be around forever, because there always will be somebody that likes bluegrass. I charge them a flat rate you know – sixteen hundred bucks or so for a thousand albums. In other words, they could not afford to pay studio time and do an album and pay for the tape and the mix so I just give them a flat break, price.”

I suggested, “You must know most of the good bluegrass musicians in this area.”

“Yeah, I do. They all want to record with me because they, I understand it a little bit better than some engineers.”

He told me that it’s the most difficult stuff to record, explaining:

“Well, most of ‘em play and sing at the same time. You got a mic for the banjo over here and voice up here — you got two mics, you’re gonna have phase cancellation between them. A mandolin player, you’re gonna have to do the same thing. The bass leaks into the voice mics, cause he’s got to sing too, and it’s really difficult. … And they want to get, this space is big and they all like to get right together.” Pointing to the spread-out, country sidemen working with Grove in the studio, he said: “See how far apart these guys are now? And they won’t overdub. It’s a real challenge, I’ll say that. To get a real group in here, that’s really got good harmonies, you know that’s really nice. I’d almost do it for nothing.”

I asked, “Do the country DJs around here play much bluegrass?” “The Osborne Brothers,” he said, adding “Paul Mullins plays a lot of bluegrass. He’s very well liked and a lot of people listen to him. He’s got little witty – you’ve heard him – little witty sayings and he’s about that… Yeah, I’ve got an album by him coming out by him. It should be out any day now, that he cut here.”

Rusty York at the mixing board at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972.

I closed my notes for that day summarizing the work at Jewel:

Rusty’s operation involves packages – he sells 1,000 finished LPs for $1600 (more or less, depending on studio time, number of tracks – the latter a function of tape since 16 tracks takes 2” tape, etc.) and he sees to recording, mixing, pressing, printing, art, etc. The musician who is buying the package pays for the sidemen though Rusty often (as in Grove’s case) sets up the session sidemen too. He assigns master numbers, keeps records of his operation, etc.

In Bartenstein and Ellison’s book, Industrial Strength Bluegrass (Illinois, 2021), Mac McDivitt devotes a section to Jewel, saying that by 2008, when Rusty retired, “Jewel had cemented a reputation as the ‘go to’ place to record in the Cincinnati area” (53-55). Selling the business, York moved to Florida. He died in 2014. Bear Family has released two CDs of Rusty’s rockabilly recordings.

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

Photo of Rosenberg by Terri Thomson Rosenberg. All other photos by Carl Fleischhauer.

Edited by Justin Hiltner.

Bluegrass Memoirs: Visiting Rusty York (Part 1)

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

On the afternoon of Tuesday August 15, 1972, the day after Carl Fleischhauer and I interviewed J.D. Crowe in Lexington, Kentucky, we dropped in on Rusty York at his Jewel Recording Studios in Mt. Healthy, Ohio, a small city just north of Cincinnati.

The Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Photo by Carl Fleischhauer.

I first heard York in the fall of 1959 when Tom Barton, a new friend from Bloomington, Indiana, visited me in Oberlin and brought as a house gift a new LP by a company I’d never heard of, Starday. Banjo In The Hills (“16 Great Mountain Songs by All Star Artists 16”) included excellent numbers by bands I (a bluegrass fan since ’57) knew and liked: The Stanley Brothers, Carl Story, Bill Clifton, Jim Eanes, Jim & Jesse. It also included two tracks by a group new to me, Rusty York and Willard Hale: an instrumental, “Banjo Breakdown,” and a great cheating song, “Don’t Do It.”

I really took to that song! Our band Crooked Stovepipe put it on our first CD in 1993. We still do it at almost every show.

Owner and recording engineer Rusty York in the office at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Photo by Carl Fleischhauer.

Keen to hear more of York and Hale, I added them to my mental checklist when shopping for recordings. At Oberlin, students couldn’t have cars, so we confined our shopping to a local shoe store’s sales bin of used jukebox 45s. Every once in a while, I’d snag recent singles by favorites like Monroe, Reno & Smiley, or Jimmy Reed. In 1960, not long after hearing “Don’t Do It,” I found “Sugaree,” a Chess Records single by Rusty York, in the bin. I hadn’t heard it, bought it on spec — the shoe store didn’t have a record player.

Chess Records’ 45rpm of “Sugaree,” a Marty Robbins track cut by Rusty York. Photo by Neil V. Rosenberg.

Man, was I disappointed when I got home and listened! It wasn’t bluegrass at all, it was a Marty Robbins rockabilly song, with York singing in a band fronted by sax and his electric guitar with piano, bass and drums behind:

The other side was “Red Rooster,” a rock version of “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain.” Not bad, some hot guitar licks, but pretty ho-hum, I thought. Must be a different Rusty York I figured; after all, Chess was a Chicago label, while Starday was from Nashville.

A couple years later in Bloomington, Indiana, I came across four EPs (45 rpm, big hole, six tracks each) by Rusty York and the Kentucky Mountain Boys on the Bluegrass Special label, distributed by Jimmie Skinner music in Cincinnati. What a contrast — bluegrass standards done up in proper style! The songs were all familiar bluegrass standards, like this version of the mountain folk song “Cindy”:

I didn’t hear of him again until the summer of 1967, when I was working in a southern Indiana band, the Stoney Lonesome Boys, led by fiddler Roger Smith. He was helping his friend George Brock, a Connersville-based gospel singer, put together an album and asked me if I would play banjo that fall on their recording at Rusty York’s studio in Ohio. Surprised to learn York had a studio, I accepted Roger’s invitation. We — Roger, Vernon McQueen, Vernon Bowling, Paul Hill, and I — rehearsed with Brock at Roger’s home in Columbus, Indiana, in September. On Sunday, October 1 we headed to the Cincinnati suburb of Mt. Healthy, Ohio. Accompanying us was bluegrass DJ Ervin Barrett.

Rusty’s Jewel Recording Studio was a converted two-car garage attached to his suburban home. It was a big open room. Along the back wall was a raised glassed-in platform on which the recorder and mixing board sat. The recorder was a series 300 Ampex deck, an open reel machine just like the two in the studio of Indiana University’s Archives of Traditional Music where I was then employed. This state-of-the-art monaural unit recorded everything onto a single track.

Lines from 10 microphones fed into York’s mixing board. From them, through the board, emerged a single track that was fed onto the tape. We had six instruments and four voices. Each of us stood before one or two microphones. We could see and talk to each other over low baffles. Rusty had recorded bluegrass before. He had selected specific locations in the room for instruments and voices.

George Brock had chosen 12 songs. We were to record them in the sequence on which they would appear on the LP — beginning with side one, band one, and finishing with side two, band six. We tuned up, took our places in front of the mics, and started on the first song.

While we played, Rusty was at the mixing board setting levels. By the end of several run-throughs, he knew when the vocal trio came in or the mandolin took a break, how the song kicked off and ended, and other sonic arrangement features. Where the focus of the song moved from instruments to voices, he made mental notes to adjust the microphones at the right time. Each song had its moves, like running a football play or driving a race car for a lap.

He would tape each trial run through and play it back through big speakers. It soon became clear to me that York was very adept at mixing on the fly. We were there about three hours. About a month later George sent me a copy of the album, George Brock and The Traveling Crusaders, Jewel LP 115.

George Brock and The Traveling Crusaders, ‘Sing Darkened Way’ LP cover.

York’s brief notes give George’s bio, describe the album as “some of the most authentic bluegrass music to be found on record today,” identify The Traveling Crusaders personnel (I was “Neal Rosenberger”), and close by saying: “These fellows accompany George on most of his personal appearances and they are very successful on all their engagements.” I suppose we were successful at this, our only engagement! It’s one of my favorite recordings, reminding me of both Roger Smith‘s coaching and York’s skill and vision as a producer.

When Carl and I began to plan our 1972 trip I pulled out that five-year old George Brock album and found Jewel’s PO Box and phone numbers. Before I left St. John’s, Newfoundland, I wrote Rusty at that address, told him I was planning research in Ohio and asked for an interview.

We hit the road that Tuesday in August 1972 after lunch in Louisville, and headed for Cincinnati, about 100 miles northeast along the Ohio River. My notes:

Arrived in Mt. Healthy about 3:30 as I remember. Parked across the street from a phone booth, went to call Rusty York and as it turned out the number I had was out of date.

Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Photo by Carl Fleischhauer.

I looked up Jewel in the phone book and found the address was just around the corner from us.

We walked over, went in. A number of people milling around, not looking surprised or impressed to see us — a secretary said Rusty was out to lunch and so I explained who we were and that I’d written, etc. She called him at home and then said he’d be back soon. When he returned, he was quite cordial, said he hadn’t had time to answer (I hadn’t expected him to), and he was booked solid with sessions and didn’t have time for an interview but if we wanted to stick around, we were welcome.

He immediately engaged Carl in conversation vis-à-vis cameras and such, pulled his cameras out of his safe, told of recording a gospel rock festival the previous weekend (a 4-track [recorder] along with other equipment, sat in a Dodge van outside the studio) at which there was a big movie outfit a la Woodstock — they used his sound. He takes all the cover photos, hence the interest in cameras.

Owner and recording engineer Rusty York in the office at the Jewel Recording Studios in the Mt. Healthy suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, August 15, 1972. Photo by Carl Fleischhauer.

Though I’d known some of the high points of Rusty’s career (the early bluegrass, the rockabilly hit, The Bluegrass Special EPs) and had worked in his studio, I really didn’t know much about him beyond that. Born in 1935, raised in Eastern Kentucky, he’d moved to Cincinnati when he was 17. By the 1972 he’d had a long career there as a performer and a worker in the music industry. His story is told online at Hillbilly-Music.com. A more detailed account was published by the late bluegrass and county historian Ivan Tribe’s July 1998 article in Bluegrass Unlimited.

By that August 1972 afternoon, Rusty had pretty much left behind the life of performing that developed during his 20 years in Cincinnati.

He moved into Cincinnati’s “Over The Rhine” Appalachian immigrant neighborhood in 1952. He was seventeen. He didn’t finish high school, going to work right away in a restaurant. He moved next to a job as an office boy in a stockbroker’s office. In the evenings he started going to the local music clubs. He was already playing guitar and banjo. Meeting other “briars” like Willard Hale, he played in local clubs and, as he would describe to us that afternoon, mixing rock and roll beside the bluegrass. He also began working in radio. He became a familiar figure in the regional country music business.

York soon became acquainted with another Kentuckian, the leading figure in the Cincinnati country scene, Jimmie Skinner, a hillbilly singer whose recording career began in the 1930s. By the mid-’50s his Jimmie Skinner Music Center was the leading mail-order country music business in the U.S. Rusty worked on Skinner’s weekly broadcasts from the Center as engineer, DJ, and musician; and he also played in Skinner’s band. Here’s what Rusty and Jimmie sounded like, later, in 1961, on Skinner’s most famous composition, “Doin’ My Time.”

York next ventured into recording. His first sides were covers of new rock and roll hits, including a Buddy Holly tune released in 1957 on Syd Nathan’s King records. His next recordings were made the following year accompanying Kentucky-born country singer, also a Skinner employee, Connie Hall, on Mercury-Starday, and it was at this time he cut his first bluegrass sides with Hale, including “Don’t Do It.”

By 1959 York was again recording rockabilly covers, and it was in this context that “Sugaree” came about. This was his only hit, and it led to a tour sponsored by Dick Clark that began at the Hollywood Bowl where Rusty opened for a show that included Annette Funicello, Duane Eddy, and Frankie Avalon.

Rusty made further rock singles and was later inducted into the Rockabilly Hall of Fame. Although he made a few appearances with this music in rockabilly nostalgia tours, his musical career after “Sugaree” moved in the direction of country and folk.

In 1961 he returned to bluegrass, producing the Bluegrass Special EP series mentioned earlier. At this point he started his own studio. Then, in 1964 and 1965, he began a stint as the opening act for Bobby Bare.

Bare – who grew up in Ironton, Ohio, southeast of Cincinnati, just across the river from Kentucky and West Virginia – began his career in Southern Ohio, but by the time Rusty joined his operation he was a national country star, a Grammy winner with hits like “Detroit City.” Here’s what Bare’s show looked like around time Rusty joined him:

Rusty made some country recordings during his tours with Bare, which included numerous stints in Las Vegas. By 1970 he’d scaled back his performing and focused more on the studio, and in fact now owned two studios.

To be continued. Next time, Hanging Out At Jewel…

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

Photo of Rosenberg by Terri Thomson Rosenberg. Black and white photos by Carl Fleischhauer. Record photos by Neil V. Rosenberg.

Edited by Justin Hiltner.