Clay Street Unit Chat Sin & Squalor and Excitement for the Future

Posted on February 9, 2026February 20, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

Since their inception in 2021, Clay Street Unit has quickly risen into the national spotlight. The rollicking Americana string band is garnering the frequent tag of “must-see” by their rapidly growing fanbase.

Formed in Denver, Colorado, the sextet is unique in sight and in sound. With a foundation soaked in bluegrass, the ensemble also includes a drummer and a pedal steel player – which often kicks the act into the realms of indie folk and honky-tonk. Ultimately, this lends them to a wildin’ out scene when placed in a packed room of fans and the curious alike, something that has become commonplace as of late.

It’s at this exact juncture – of deeply held dreams and aspirations coming to fruition – that Clay Street Unit will finally release their debut album, Sin & Squalor (out February 13 via Leo33). The 11-song LP is a perfect introduction to this band of melodic pirates as they currently navigate the high seas of the music industry. The record not only captures the essence of the outfit, it’s also impressive in nature, showcasing the vibrant energy of the group’s live show via the studio.

Produced by the Infamous Stringdusters’ Chris Pandolfi, Sin & Squalor is a sonic roadmap to the here and now of where jamgrass stands in the modern era. With members of Clay Street Unit hailing from a variety of places in the U.S. (Alabama, Virginia, Colorado, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Illinois), their multilayered influences lead to traditional acoustic aspects mirrored by modern sounds. Each texture a product of the unique environments from which these musicians proudly emerged.

Catching up with mandolinist Scottie Bolin and guitarist Sam Walker, the duo spoke at length with BGS about the group’s origin, how their sound came to be, and what’s in store for Clay Street Unit. The road seems to be wide open as this troupe has created quite a buzz, coast to coast, coming into 2026.

I was kind of curious about how 2025 wrapped up for y’all.

Sam Walker: I think 2025 was probably the most important year we’ve had yet. It was a huge year for us, as far as crossing off a bunch of big local goals and national goals. We got to play Red Rocks with some of our heroes and buddies, Leftover Salmon and Kitchen Dwellers. We got to play [our] biggest hometown show in Denver at the Ogden Theatre, and had the privilege of selling that place out and playing with our good buddies, Andy Hall and Chris Pandolfi from the Stringdusters. And then, we signed our record deal [with Leo33] and got to plan the rollout for this record and finally get it released.

I would surmise last year will really be setting the pace for 2026, justifying all the blood, sweat, and tears going into this.

Scottie Bolin: Yeah, absolutely. A ton of work went into making the album and getting the songs where you wanted them to be. And finally getting to tour a bunch last year has been really rewarding, getting to play these songs to live crowds and really hitting the road hard.

You guys have had a pretty fast trajectory for five years together. And I was wondering about the background of how the band formed and the timeline of how it all came together.

SW: Our former banjo player, Jack Klein, and I met one night at a brewery in Denver, a couple blocks from Clay Street and the house I was living in at the time. I played some guitar, picked tunes all night at my house, and ended up booking a gig over at that same brewery. It all happened really organically. We weren’t really trying to start a band. It just felt like the right people, right place, right time to try to get something going. We ended up meeting our former drummer and bass player, and then everything kind of picked up steam a little bit quicker than we thought.

We were playing The Patio [at Sloan’s], then [Cervantes’] Other Side, then the [Cervantes Masterpiece] Ballroom. People kept buying tickets, listening, and supporting the music. As things grew, some people weren’t really dedicated to being lifelong musicians in the band. I ended up going on tour and playing with Colorado [jamgrass] band Morsel that our bass player [Jack Kotarba] and Scottie had started. We all became really close buddies over that tour. And things kind of naturally shifted in a different direction for some members. We all kind of crossed paths at the right time.

SB: At the end of the day, we were all just kind of playing music with various groups and side projects in Denver, playing a lot of bluegrass. And things just clicked. Everyone got along really well. The band, at its core, is a group of good friends. And it just snowballed and grew from there.

SW: I moved out here to Colorado eight or nine years ago. And we had this big 4,000-square-foot party house. There were four or five guys living in it at any given time. It was just where everyone would kind of come through and hang, and we would play music all night. It felt like a revolving door of people in there. That house was kind of where everything started.

We got the band going and rehearsed. It felt like the origin of the band. We were listening to a ton of Tony Rice at the time. I kind of came into bluegrass the long way. I didn’t grow up being a huge disciple or anything like that. But, obviously, moving out to Colorado, I got a class in bluegrass culture pretty quick. We were just obsessed with that Tony Rice record, Manzanita.

Was playing in a band something you each wanted to do or is it just the way everything unfolded?

SB: I’m from Charlottesville, Virginia. I started [playing] in college [at the University of Colorado Boulder with] Morsel. We tried to make a go of it. We did a couple tours. [But], the touring lifestyle is hard and takes full dedication from the whole group. Some of the guys [in Morsel] didn’t wanna do that. So, I stepped away from that. Luckily, right around that time, I met Sam and all the Clay Street guys.

SW: I grew up down south in Montgomery, Alabama. I kind of came into it the opposite way. I played in a Widespread Panic/Grateful Dead cover band in college and just sang. Then, I moved out to Colorado and picked up the guitar. I’d always sang and written a few songs and loved live music. But, I really kind of fell into it. It wasn’t something necessarily in my early twenties I expected to be doing for a living.

All the dominoes fell in the right places and I was around the right people that gave me a lot of confidence to push the boundaries of what I was comfortable with. Playing in some side bluegrass bands around town really helped me feel more comfortable about being a part of the Denver music scene. Everything happened step by step. I wasn’t really trying to make it a career, but a few years later, it felt like something that made sense – to take the leap and try to push it as far as we can.

Your band is a huge melting pot of sound. Is that by design or just how it all just came together?

SW: I feel like it’s a little bit of both. We definitely didn’t set out or want to be a traditional bluegrass band. Obviously, when we added the drums and pedal steel and electric bass that decision was kind of made for us. It’s kind of a melting pot of everything we listen to and the music we like.

When Scottie and I go to write a song, we don’t think, “This is a bluegrass tune,” “This is a folk tune,” “This has an indie feel.” We let the music and everybody’s kind of flavor and influence on how the song’s going to sound. We don’t really try to have those guardrails of how it needs to sound or what vibe it needs to be.

When I was listening to the album, I kept thinking how I really want to see you guys live. And I think that’s a real testament to the band, to have that kind of sound radiating out of an album that encourages you to go to the live show, which I think is probably the endgame for you.

SW: Absolutely. At the core of our band, we’re a live band. It’s where we really shine through, and you can just feel the energy up there. We always try to say, “There are only so many Thursday, Friday, Saturday nights,” and we want to elevate that and bring the energy and the emotion and let [the audience] loose – life’s too short to not go out and enjoy live music. We want to make sure at every show we’re bringing that to the table, our full attention to the energy and making sure that everyone’s having as good a time as they can.

Is there any kind of ethos behind the title of the album?

SW: It’s our origin story. [When we started], we didn’t know how to do it or if we were doing it right, and we weren’t doing it with much, just trying to put it together piece by piece. It sounds a little heavy, but it’s more about the beauty of humanity, the nature of [life] we have all been through, and it’s a commonality of everybody. It’s the nature of our music and string instrument music – music that has a little more “down in the holler” feel. It all felt aligned with what we were trying to get out for the first record.

Why was Chris Pandolfi the guy you wanted to produce this?

SB: I had the opportunity to work with Chris before with Morsel, which was a little bit more of an electric rock jam with some bluegrass elements in there. He produced a few albums for [Morsel]. So, I knew what it was like to work with him. I knew that he was just a musical genius and the right guy for setting the vibe and making sure we were comfortable in the studio.

[Chris was] coming in with great arrangement ideas for our band, specifically, and being a great mentor all-around. [Clay Street Unit] actually had the pleasure of being his wedding band this last summer, which was awesome. I feel like the Infamous Stringdusters, Greensky Bluegrass, a lot of those Colorado bands, Leftover Salmon, have really kind of set the tone of what is “allowed” in that genre and for pushing the boundaries of what people want to hear. With the Stringdusters, I’ve seen them live for 10-15 years and they’ve really made a mark on the bluegrass scene, the Colorado music scene, and definitely a big impact on us.

You’re currently hitting the five-year mark together. What does that milestone mean to you right now?

SW: The last five years have been so much of a learning curve and going through so many different stages of figuring out who we are and how we want to operate. I feel like now we’re really starting to get a grasp of what we want to do and who we want to be as musicians, as a band, and as people. The last five years were such a blessing and such a great learning experience, but I think we’re just so excited for the next five years of just pushing this thing to the limit and, and trying to, to make the best music we can and, and really just enjoy every step of it together.

SB: It just takes a long time to get a group of people on a mission aligned and I think we’re finally there. Everyone’s on the same wavelength of what we want to get done and what we want to accomplish. We’ve got a really busy year ahead of us, and it’s kind of the culmination of the last five years of hard work that’s been coming to fruition – we’re pretty excited.

Photo Credit: Lead image by Robert Chavers. Alternate image by Tobin Voggesser.

You, Me, Everybody Grow True Roots in Borrowed Soil

Posted on January 19, 2026January 22, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

Aotearoa (New Zealand) doesn’t have a strong history of bluegrass bands – except one. If you mention bluegrass to New Zealanders, some will have at least heard of the Hamilton County Bluegrass Band. New Zealand has produced some great players, notably fiddle player George Jackson, banjo player BB Bowness, guitarist/singer Cy Winstanley, and bassist/singer Vanessa McGowan. (Now that we write this, these four would make a great NZ bluegrass band!) But while these names are well known in American bluegrass circles, it is fair to say they aren’t known (outside of folk circles) in Aotearoa.

Many of the songs on our new album, Midnight (out January 30, 2026), are situated within a day, or feature characters who are sitting at the cusp of who they have been before delving into something new. That sense of “in-between” also reflects our place within Aotearoa’s musical landscape, where bluegrass arrives without a long local history, but can be shaped in ways that feel natural to how we live and create here.

“Our Kiwi fans know bluegrass from traditional songs and contemporary artists such as Alison Krauss & Union Station, and Billy Strings. But they are more familiar with the other genres that bluegrass sits alongside. We’re also collectively members of the New Zealand folk, country, and jazz communities,” says our bassist, Rob Henderson.

Midnight starts with bluegrass at its core, but gently widens scope, bringing in different genres with their rhythms, broader chord progressions, and influences drawn from our own environment and lives lived in Aotearoa.

Here are the songs and tunes that anchor us in tradition and inspire us to find our own path as the clock strikes twelve. – You, Me, Everybody

“Ain’t No Grave” – Crooked Still

I love groove and the forward motion in all music, so when I heard this tune for the first time I was naturally inspired by the push of the cello part. This feel was a factor in my own bass playing across the album, especially for up-tempo tunes such as “Misdirection.” – Rob Henderson

“Dorrigo” – George Jackson

George Jackson’s tune “Dorrigo” feels friendly and familiar. It’s one of those tunes that will just keep going around and around the jam circle. When the Dorrigo Challenge did the rounds on the internet a couple years ago, it was a reminder of how a tune can bring people together. I had this in mind while writing “Sam’s Tune” on our album. – Sam Frangos-Rhodes

“Wildfire” – Watchhouse

I find when I sit down to write a song, I usually follow the same template or theme. Of course, there is variation in a lot of my songwriting, but I find rhythmically it’s always much of the same thing. A while back I wanted to break that cycle and try to write a more chilled out, slower tempo song, so I wrote “Heart of Stone,” which leads to “Wildfire” by Watchhouse. I enjoy this song because I think it has a very similar vibe to “Heart of Stone.” For me, it captures the same emotion and feeling I was looking for. I find it’s always nice to find what I was looking for in other people’s writing and relate that back to my own music. – Laurence Frangos-Rhodes

“Heart of Stone” – You, Me, Everybody

Laurence originally wrote this while we were producing our previous album, Southern Sky. I love the backbeat to it, but he also writes great chord progressions; they feel natural and authentic to the song and surprising at the same time. I’ve known Sam and Laurence since they were in their early teens and while our audience love our instrumentation, singing harmonies with them feels like home to me. “Heart of Stone” gives us an opportunity to showcase our vocal blend and milk those beautiful chords Laurence gifts to his songs. – Kim Bonnington

“Railroad” – Béla Fleck & Abigail Washburn

When I try to serve the song with three-finger banjo, I frequently look to Béla Fleck’s work with Abigail Washburn. He plays parts and the two of them fill out the texture of a song so well! Ironically, when we arranged “Silver Spoon,” I was hearing Abigail-like clawhammer behind it, so I did my best to provide that kind of sound with three fingers. – Nat Torkington

“A Hundred and Sixty Acres” – Marty Robbins

Our track, “The Ballad of Bubs and Beautiful,” started when I overheard a conversation between two women shearers in a camp ground in Waipukarau. I knew that I wanted to capture their relationship to each other and their working life, all framed within a day. My Dad’s vinyl collection is 50% Marty Robbins and I remembered the picture that “A Hundred and Sixty Acres” colored of a life well lived. That’s why the first line in “Bubs and Beautiful” is, “Up ‘fore dawn to greet the sun.” There’s a tendency for NZ songwriters to still write about American experiences and places due to an inability to describe ourselves that has been labelled “cultural cringe.” But I knew the description of the women was genuine when I heard someone go, “Oh” as we played the last line live for the first time. – KB

“Orphan Annie” – Tony Rice

As a guitarist, I’ve been heavily influenced by Tony Rice – who hasn’t!? Whenever I listen to the Church Street Blues album it leaves me feeling creative and inspired. I love the minimalism; stripped back to one guitar and vocals telling a story. A lot of the songs on Midnight started in this exact same way, guitar and vocals alone. So it only feels appropriate to give credit to Church Street Blues where credit is due. I cannot pick one track from the album as a favorite because they are all great, but here is “Orphan Annie.” – LFR

“Was It You” – Joy Kills Sorrow

“Was It You” is a song I love for how it drives. That rapid mando chop over a fast rolling banjo held down by a thumping bass is a sure way to make a foot stomper. I took a lot of inspiration from Jacob Jolliff’s mandolin playing in “Was It You” when I put together my part for our song, “Busy Without Me.” – SFR

“Busy Without Me” – You, Me, Everybody

Kim writes wonderful slice-of-life songs. The Midnight album has everything from the plight of an unwed mother to mother/daughter sheep-shearers. “Busy Without Me” is perhaps more #relatable, though: we have a short life with ample temptation for busyness, it says, but it’s important to take moments to “sit and breathe and let the breeze wash over me with nothing in my way.” I love the way the busy-ness of the music reflects the lyrics. – NT

“Caleb Meyer” – Gillian Welch

Country/folk/bluegrass songwriters have always done a great job of writing songs about things we won’t talk about, but make us happy to sing about them. Our song “Silver Spoon” was initially written to an Irish jig. But the joyfulness didn’t eclipse the bleakness of the lyrics. At different times when we were arranging it, different band members would say, “What would Caleb Meyer do?” and our producer Rachel Baiman asked exactly the same question when she arrived for our sessions before we recorded. It’s become the quintessential modern murder ballad. – KB

“Distant Sun” – Crowded House

I grew up in ’90s New Zealand with parents who would play in a country band at the local barn dance while my brother was DJing at the rugby club rooms. So while Marty and Merle would be in one ear, Crowded House was in the other. If you think of great bridges in songwriting, “Distant Sun” has one of them. It also has my favorite line ever in a song: “I don’t pretend to know what you want, but I offer love.” The melody lines in our own track, “The Rest of Us,” hark back to years of admiring Neil Finn as a songwriter. – KB

“The Rest of Us” – You, Me, Everybody

When Kim first brought the concept of “The Rest of Us” to the band I was immediately a fan, and thought it would a great fit on the album. Before we went into the studio we all spent some time together to arrange the new material. As a band I feel like we work uniquely well when it comes to putting a song together and it’s one of our biggest strengths. I think “The Rest of Us” is a great example of Kim’s songwriting and a great example of how we function as a band. – LFR

“Natchez Trace” – Béla Fleck

In my mind, this is the classic G minor banjo instrumental, from Béla Fleck’s landmark album, Drive. Recorded with his B string tuned down to B flat, Fleck often plays it live out without the re-tuning. That was the inspiration for me to write my own Gm instrumental for a banjo tuned to open G major. – NT

“What a Fool Believes” – The Doobie Brothers

I wrote “She’s Alright With Me” a few years ago before I joined You, Me, Everybody. At the time, I had been deep diving into a lot of Doobie Brothers music and the moving parts within their songs. When “She’s Alright With Me” was born, it was originally a heavy keyboard driving tune – having written it on an old 1960s Wurlitizer Piano and styled it on some of the Doobies’ keyboard parts. It’s safe to say it’s transitioned a lot as we don’t have a keyboard part, but you can hear the rhythm now being driven in the same way by Laurence’s guitar. – RH

“Old Train” – Tony Rice Unit

Laurence’s epic album-opening “Misdirection” is a straight-ahead driving bluegrass song, which nonetheless has a few surprise chords in it. For some reason that reminds me of this epic Tony Rice track. – NT

“Misdirection” – You, Me, Everybody

“Misdirection” fits nicely as the opener on our album. It’s a fun example of progressive bluegrass while still staying true to its roots. “Misdirection” is my favorite track on the album and I would like to think the amount of fun we had recording this song is reflected in the final result. – SFR

Photo Credit: Ebony Lamb

The Five Pillars of Doc Watson’s Legacy

Posted on December 15, 2025December 15, 2025 by Justin Hiltner

What a difference a Doc made.

Lots of people would like to think their lives have made a difference – whether through their family life, or work, or some sort of creative endeavor.

However, even to approach the enduring heritage of the great musician Arthel “Doc” Watson, a person would have to achieve lifetime landmarks as imposing as the North Carolina Appalachian mountains that were his home. During a lifespan from his birth in 1923 until his death in 2012, Watson created a legacy of music, folklore, and goodwill that no one has entirely equaled.

First a little background: Arthel Lane Watson was born March 3, 1923, near Deep Gap – he is not from Asheville – in Western North Carolina. An audience member suggested the nickname “Doc” when his given name was found less than compelling for an entertainer.

His life story before and after becoming an admired folk musician has been often told, notably in Doc Watson: A Life in Music, a 2025 biography by Eddie Huffman published by the University of North Carolina Press.

Blind since infancy, Watson started to develop life skills and musical ability from an early age. He learned both formal and popular styles when sent to the state’s school for the blind in Raleigh at about age 10.

The boy was consumed by music and persistent in getting better at it. Watson had learned both the rudiments of harmonica and a few banjo tunes from his father, General Watson, before he went off to Raleigh. While living within the strict environment of the school for the blind, Watson learned braille and grew familiar with classical and church styles of music taught there. Perhaps as strong an influence as that education was fellow student Paul Montgomery, the talented friend from whom he learned guitar chords. Young Watson and Montgomery, later a well-known Raleigh pianist and children’s show host, shared enthusiasm for the popular music of the day, including jazz and big-band sounds.

His parents, Annie and General Watson, taught the boy skills of growing crops and basic carpentry, and he contributed to the family despite his blindness.

After years of mostly local performances back in Western North Carolina, it wasn’t until the early 1960s, when East Coast musician and historian Ralph Rinzler tuned into and promoted his far-reaching ability as a singer and picker, that Watson’s name gained national, then international attention.

According to an account at the Blue Ridge Heritage Area website Watson recorded over 50 albums and was honored with “the National Medal of Arts, a National Heritage Fellowship, the North Carolina Folk Heritage Award, seven GRAMMY Awards, and a GRAMMY Lifetime Achievement Award.”

As fans know, Doc Watson contained multitudes of skills, a breadth of ability that inspired this list of the five pillars of his musical and artistic legacy.

The King Flatpicker

Watson largely created the challenging fiddle-inspired guitar style that led many followers along a flatpicking trail.

It was during the 1950s, when playing an electric Gibson Les Paul in the local Jack Williams Band, that Watson developed a style that would transform the way the guitar was played in folk and bluegrass music.

Generally, earlier acoustic guitarists in roots-derived styles used a flatpick to create basic “boom-chuck” back up, perhaps throwing in some fills and Jimmie-Rodgers-style bass runs.

But when dancers at Williams’s gigs wanted music for square-dancing, Watson worked up single-note versions of fast fiddle tunes such as “June Apple” and “Bill Cheatham” on his Les Paul. This approach enables lead guitar pickers to achieve the same flowing, rapid attack that fiddlers used for tunes, many of which had come over from the British Isles in past generations.

It’s not possible to say that Doc Watson was the first guitarist to flatpick fiddle tunes. After all, it wasn’t until Watson emerged as a folk artist in the 1960s that the broader music scene caught on to his musicianship. And high achievers such as Arthur Smith on “Guitar Boogie,” Don Reno on “Country Boy Rock ‘n’ Roll,” and Bill Napier on the Stanley Brothers’ “Mountain Dew” – along with some jazz and blues players – all recorded hot-licks acoustic soloing before Watson did. Joe Maphis was also cranking out ultra-fast flatpicking numbers in the 1950s.

But it was Watson’s 1960s performances that created a precedent for a wave of guitarists who had to muscle up to the speed and dexterity he displayed.

A long line of guitarists at the top of the field – from Clarence White to Tony Rice, from Bryan Sutton to Billy Strings – all show Watson’s clear influence not just in recreating fiddle tunes, but also in rapid-fire picking and clean sound on a broad range of material.

Player and educator Alan Barnosky wrote in “An Exploration of Doc Watson’s Innovative and Joyful Guitar Stylings” for Acoustic Guitar in 2023 about the spread of this kind of playing.

“Watson amazed folk fans in the early 1960s by taking tunes typically reserved for the fiddle and reworking them for the acoustic with speed, clarity, and flash,” he wrote. “He never claimed to be the first to play fiddle tunes on a guitar, but for the majority of listeners at the time it was an entirely novel and groundbreaking approach.”

Another world-class, tradition-based player, Earl Scruggs, praised Watson’s adaptation of fiddle tunes as the two were joined by Ricky Skaggs for the 2003 The Three Pickers performance and album.

“He was the first man I ever heard on the guitar that was fooling with tunes like that,” Scruggs said in a Three Pickers introduction. “You had all these good G-C-D pickers – that’s chord positions – but I had never heard anybody that actually took over a lead like a banjo or a fiddle or a mandolin and do those tunes. He could do it.

“And what amazed me about Doc Watson’s picking, and still does, is he’s got that – I call it ‘mountain sound’ to his picking, and he’s one of the best to keep it in that mode of sound.”

New generations of players have immersed themselves in Watson’s style. When I interviewed him for a Bluegrass Unlimited article, leading guitar picker and multi-instrumentalist Bryan Sutton talked about being captivated by Watson’s playing during Sutton’s youth on Western North Carolina.

“Doc and Dan Crary were the first great influences on me,” he said. “Doc Watson was one of the first professional musicians/guitar players that I ever saw. He doesn’t live too far from Asheville, so I saw him play some different festivals and at Maggie Valley. So, he was the first one to really catch my ear as far as what you could do with the flatpick.

“My right hand – it may not as much anymore – but I remember at one time it was kind of like Doc’s. It’s kind of like the way Sam Bush plays, using the whole forearm and wrist involved in the playing, whereas with jazz players or Tony Rice it’s more of a wrist thing. I think I’ve got a little bit of both now.”

Billy Strings, the artist who’s likely doing the most to promote Watson’s legacy in the 21st century, sounded almost evangelical during a September 2025 interview for NPR’s Fresh Air.

“He’s like the ground upon which I stand, you know?” Strings said. “My dad played his music all around the house growing up. And by the time I could play guitar, you know, 5, 6 years old, I was learning those tunes, too. I might’ve been able to play some of them before I knew how to tie my shoes or something, you know?

“It was like, I was learning how to speak and talk and walk, and I was learning all these Doc Watson tunes at the same time. And it was just, like, a religion in my house, you know? His music is just – it’s the best.”

To see some of the top pickers in the field paying tribute, check out this video shot at the Merle Watson Memorial Festival – what would become MerleFest – in Wilkesboro, North Carolina, in 1992.

A Model Fingerpicker

From his first albums on, Watson regularly also played guitar with a thumbpick and index finger. As he noted with his customary self-deprecating humor in the DVD “Doc’s Guitar: Fingerpicking & Flatpicking,” “See, I just play with one finger and a thumb. I don’t use the sensible three-finger method that you should use on finger-style guitar.” (Watch below.)

Watson sounded great with that approach, making finger-picked tunes such as “Deep River Blues,” “Nashville Blues,” “Omie Wise,” and “Doc’s Guitar” fan favorites and objects of long study. For every striving guitarist who practiced hard on his fiddle-tune adaptations, plenty of pickers also worked on showcases such as “Windy and Warm,” with its alternating bass, pull-offs, note bending, and a jazzy minor sixth chord at its conclusion.

Watson’s fingerpicking often showed off his acquaintance with diverse approaches, as in “Deep River Blues,” with an E diminished as its second chord. It also illustrates the way he put his touch on existing pieces such as 1933’s “Big River Blues” by the Delmore Brothers, who played with flatpicks.

“There were two guitars, a tenor – a little four-string, and the regular flattop, and I never could get my guitar to sound like both of theirs did,” Watson said. “Then I began to hear brother Merle Travis, the late Merle Travis, on the radio. And I thought, Now, wait a minute. If I can steal me a lick off brother Travis, maybe I can learn ‘Deep River Blues.’”

Multi-talented Kentuckian Merle Travis (1917-1983) popularized a style in which the thumb plays an alternating bass on the guitar’s lower strings while picking the melody on treble strings. Watson also studied the work of the great guitarist Chet Atkins. The picking buddies released the album Reflections in 1980.

The centuries-old, transatlantic ballad “Georgie” would have once been sung unaccompanied, leaving Watson and others free to craft a brand new style of guitar back up. With no clear precedent on guitar, he might employ the flowing, almost classical patterns that became popular among folk revivalists.

And fingerpicking became the tool Watson used to play the blues that he loved and drew on so deeply, music he followed from the time he heard Mississippi John Hurt on the family’s disc player in childhood.

In the end, there’s no easy way to pin down the many elements Watson brought to his picking, musical points of view that enriched his listeners along the way.

A Standout Singer

Doc Watson’s vocal abilities don’t generally get as much attention as his top-drawer chops as an instrumentalist. However, he was also a tuneful singer with a natural, angelic mountain baritone.

Watson came along during an era when rougher-voiced vocalists such as Hobart Smith, Dock Boggs, and his picking buddy Clarence Ashley represented mountain singing to a growing audience. And Watson’s less mannered style likely contributed to acceptance among listeners less familiar with the high lonesome sound. His direct vocal approach was often heard in performances with no instrumental backing.

It’s useful to remember that Watson also enjoyed the smooth country vocalist Eddy Arnold so much that his son Merle Eddy Arnold was named not just after fingerpicker Merle Travis, but also for Arnold.

Tunes from the Tennessee Plowboy’s repertoire such as “Tennessee Stud,” “I Couldn’t Believe It Was True,” and “Anytime” also showed up in Watson’s repertoire. These were only a few examples of the eclectic side of Watson’s vocal approach, with emphasis on great material over genre labels.

Given his broad taste, Watson at times put some extra grit into his singing on a number such as “Blue Suede Shoes” from his Jack Williams days of the 1950s, later a concert favorite. But more often he sang songs straight, even on one like “Nights in White Satin,” a 1967 pop hit by British rockers the Moody Blues. With waltz-time guitar and plain singing, Watson makes the song come across as relevant to himself and listeners as songs by the Delmore Brothers and Jimmie Rodgers.

Watson’s first memories of vocal music came in church, and he prized the straightforward, no-vibrato sounds that carved such songs in his memory.

“If you love music, you have to listen from the time you’re big enough to notice music,” he told me when recording his 1991 GRAMMY-winning CD On Praying Ground.

“If you’re looking for old-time material in songs, those old songs that you heard when you were young were the easiest to put down.”

From his first commercial recordings on, Watson featured gospel numbers such as the a cappella version of “Talk About Suffering” from 1964 and “Down in the Valley to Pray” from 1966. Both radiate belief and unornamented clarity.

More recent listeners may know the latter song as “Down in the River to Pray,” as it was opportunistically relabeled to match a scene in the 2000 hit film, O Brother, Where Art Thou?.

Always A Song Man

Doc Watson had an impressively broad range of musical interests, perhaps markedly so, given the period in which he came along.

Country or folk music didn’t start appearing on commercial records until Watson was about two years old. In childhood he listened to down-home picking as well as church and gospel songs. It wasn’t until the 1930s that the family owned a radio that let them hear music beyond their 78-rpm record collection.

Virtually every great musician is a song collector at heart. And like Bob Dylan, Watson took on songs from tradition and added new elements. Take the mournful ballad “Omie Wise,” based on a North Carolina murder from the early 19th century.

In the 1920s notable old-time artists G.B. Grayson and Clarence Ashley recorded it with modal accompaniment that was neither truly major nor minor. When Watson recorded in the 1960s, he ventured into folky, arpeggiated picking that put it squarely into minor-chord territory, opening up the song to young folkies who couldn’t play fiddle like Grayson or banjo like Ashley.

In fact, Watson’s playing on “Omie Wise” occupied the same guitar realm as folk star Joan Baez’s playing on “East Virginia” and other traditional songs.

He also tuned into compositions by folk musicians Bob Dylan (“Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right), Tom Paxton (“The Last Thing on My Mind,” “Leavin’ London,” and “Bottle of Wine”), and Townes Van Zandt (“If I Needed You”).

Watson isn’t chiefly known as a songwriter, but he enjoyed notable success with “Your Lone Journey,” which he wrote with wife Rosa Lee. The starry duo of Led Zeppelin frontman Robert Plant and bluegrass’s own Alison Krauss released it as “Your Long Journey,” leading to what biographer Huffman called significant royalties for the family.

Watson’s greatest legacy in songs may have come with the wealth of lasting favorites – just a few are “Deep River Blues,” “I Am a Pilgrim,” “Banks of the Ohio,” “House Carpenter,” and “Shady Grove” – that made their way into the folk, old-time and bluegrass repertoire and could otherwise have been forgotten.

Ambassador for the Old-Time Way

This role for Watson may be the hardest to pin down, as it overlaps with almost all the others. By cleaving to his Appalachian heritage while also making the most of decades of change, Doc Watson was able to introduce countless fans to a rich, living culture.

“I don’t live in the past,” Watson told me in 1991. “I still burn wood in a furnace at the house, but I have heat ducts and a blower on it just like an oil furnace.

“I love to burn wood and I love to split wood. There’s a few of the old-timey things I love to do. I like good dried-apple pie and I like ‘leather britches’ beans.

“And I like to be at home, dadburn it. I hate the road.”

Watson’s long career of traveling to take his music to listeners, often in the company of his beloved son, Merle, nourished their taste for music that he built upon sold timbers of musical tradition.

Wade Smith, a legendary Tar Heel lawyer, told me once about his first experience of hearing Watson, at a small coffeehouse in downtown Raleigh in 1965.

“What word would I choose to describe how I felt?” Smith said for a later Raleigh News & Observer story. “Electrified, stunned at the speed of his fingers and the way he played single strings, and the clarity of the sound. Each note was like a piece of gold, so amazing.

“We stayed to the last note. When we left, I remember thinking that I had never heard anything like it and that in some way I had been changed by it, that I was in an altered state of existence.”

Watson’s national and international impact becomes more impressive given that he wasn’t heard outside his North Carolina stomping grounds until his late 30s. That’s when he honed his broad range of expertise into a mountain-based style that captivated and often amazed listeners at first hearing.

When the Society for American Music, a distinguished non-profit scholarly and educational organization, made Watson an honorary member in 2012, musicologist and musician Greg Reish paid tribute to Watson’s broad impact.

“As I discovered more of America’s traditional musical styles through my teenage years, Doc Watson always seemed to be at the core, an entrée into both older and newer styles,” Reish wrote. “Through Doc’s music I found my way to the pre-war music of the Carter Family, Jimmie Rodgers, and the Skillet Lickers; to the first-generation bluegrass of Bill Monroe and Flatt & Scruggs; to the classic country of Merle Travis, Chet Atkins, and Eddy Arnold; to the country blues of John Hurt and Frank Hutchison; and to the contemporary and progressive flatpicking of Clarence White, Norman Blake, and Tony Rice.”

Huffman’s book quotes the great bluegrass musician Roland White as he talked about the way his guitarist brother Clarence was caught up in Watson’s flatpicking after hearing him at California’s Ash Grove club.

“After seeing Doc, his picking became an obsession, an everyday part of everyday life. To play music and practice every day. Whether we played gigs or not, he was always playing music.”

Sixty years after White’s epiphany, Doc Watson’s music continues to gain and inspire new followers, whether through the picking and testimony of contemporary players such as Sutton and Springs, or through his own dozens of albums and videos. His legacy of tradition and innovation still flows like one of the ancient streams that nourish his cherished mountainsides.

Thomas Goldsmith is an award-winning journalist based in Tennessee and North Carolina. In addition to producing many hundreds of articles for newspapers and magazines, he edited The Bluegrass Reader and authored Earl Scruggs and Foggy Mountain Breakdown: The Making of an American Classic, both for the University of Illinois Press.

Lead image courtesy of MerleFest.

Explore more of our Doc in December Artist of the Month series here.

BGS 5+5: Bryan McDowell

Posted on November 11, 2025November 11, 2025 by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Bryan McDowell
Hometown: Baltimore, Maryland
Latest Album: Bryan McDowell (out November 7, 2025)
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): Red

What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?

Literature, and particularly the novel form, is where I’ve gotten more and more inspiration. I appreciate lessons in a sort of general creative craft that I’ve found by understanding, for example, painters’ processes, but I think since I’ve worked increasingly with lyrics, I’ve turned more to some classic novels for inspo. Some of the newer unreleased songs are from that source, like this laid-back song I have that draws on Crime and Punishment, the first psychological thriller I think it is. The entirety of the book is the suspense and mental anguish of knowing a person who’s committed a terrible crime and is momentarily suspended from actual accountability for it. They’re just tortured to illness by their thoughts. As it turns out, that suspension of accountability is gripping. At least, I think so. What we do in those moments or what we think we would do or think is worth a bit more exploration.

Most songs aren’t quite so directly inspired by another particular work as this, but I know I’ve often taken songs I had that seem unfocused and I’ll back up and try to imagine a central character and maybe even plot out a bit of a storyline, thinking about the main conflict. When I do that, I think I’m always trying to conjure up some feeling of a subtle and human and well-developed character in a book. A novel does this thing of pulling you in close to a character by sustained familiarity and rich development. And a good song might do something similar, it’s just that maybe it’s presented as more of a puzzle box using all kinds of literary devices, meaning-laden language, and rhythm, etc. But if it’s like a puzzle box, then you as the writer still have to be intimate with the characters so that you can unfold them with precision. You have to have everything in its right place.

What’s your favorite memory of being on stage ?

The first year I started touring back in 2012, I was playing with the Claire Lynch Band at MerleFest. I think we had a mainstage afternoon set on Saturday, maybe. Russ Jordan was there and all the usual Wilkesboro crew and there was a decent crowd out in the old Lowe’s lawn chairs. So we finished our set and I walked off and was striking the stage for the next act, which was the Tony Rice Unit. Well at some point I start hearing rumblings that Tony didn’t have a fiddler with him. He had planned on getting king Stu [Stuart Duncan] over for the set, but MerleFest had booked the Nashville Bluegrass Band on like the Creekside Stage opposite Tony’s mainstage set. As it turned out, all the names of great fiddlers being thrown around were over there watching Stu, of course.

Anyway, I was there at the mainstage. Right place, right time. He didn’t know me from Adam, but Tony’s bass player was bending his ear giving me a good recommendation, because he was also the bass player for the Claire Lynch Band. Tony got up there and did the whole line check with the band and walked backstage as if they would play the set as a four-piece, but Mark Schatz must’ve been selling me hard, because five minutes before set time he pulls me back to their little green room and Tony walks up and sticks out his hand and says in his kind of broken-up voice, “How would you like to be a member of the Unit?” He seemed really frail even then and I remember consciously kind of being careful shaking his hand. I got up and did a quick mic check and the tech put a wash of the band in the monitors. Russ announced the Unit and I walked up and played the set with my stomach in my throat and looking fresh off the turnip truck.

I really hope Tony enjoyed it, or at least that he didn’t mind me much over there. He seemed to be having a good time, anyway. It’s the only time I ever got to play with or even speak with him, but his albums were probably the single biggest influence on my musicianship. I was going to Rice Unit concerts before I was born and had played his tapes until the pitch was all messed up and then switched to CDs and played them until they were all scratched to hell – and on and on. Sometime later I found out that Sierra Hull had decided to hire me based on that set with Tony (she was listening out in the VIP section) and then as a result I think I ended up getting a lot of good work with people down the road. I’ve had a lot of good memories on stage now and been able to sit in with many of my heroes, but that one still stands out.

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

I got really into section hiking during and before COVID, when I was back in Carolina and I ended up doing some of the Appalachian Trail up in Pennsylvania. At one point I could’ve walked out my front door and a mile up the road was a hundred miles of trails I could link up with that eventually led up to Mount Mitchell, the tallest peak east of the Mississippi. Such a great use of a week or weekend. Woods, mountains, and the quiet are my home. I hear the sweet decomposing forest floor smell is particularly good for mental health.

It doesn’t take long walking like that before everything I should be doing just falls into place. Musically, in life, with people. It all works itself out. I have an important line of a song come to me or a new crooked fiddle tune just falls out. There’s an old-timey tune I haven’t named yet that came to me like that. I think we all have much better versions of ourselves – our more authentic selves – that come back rising up once we get out from under the weight of these daily intrusions.

The sociologist Habermas called it a “colonization of the life world,” crept up slowly over the last 100 years with all the markets reaching their tendrils into our daily lives, encroaching on the time that we have to just be human and experience the world without dealing with being persuaded by something or someone. Going to the woods for me is just a remembering of yourself as a person and who you are in the world, which is the thing I think that modernity would like us most to forget.

What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?

I’m a big fan of Wayne Shorter’s Witch Hunt. I used to listen to that album incessantly back in the day. He’s one of my favorite musicians, generally, but there was some strange and good voodoo happening with the crew on that recording. Everyone was at their most tasteful. That music was greater than the sum of its parts, and the sum of its parts is no small sum if you look at the album personnel. Great writing, great playing.

If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?

If I didn’t work in music, I’d own a boutique cheese curds shop that’s word of mouth only and hard to find. I’d call it the Squeakeasy. Just need backers.

Photo Credit: Margarita Photography

Is Adam Wright the Poet Laureate of Music Row?

Posted on September 25, 2025October 17, 2025 by Justin Hiltner

Adam Wright is a songwriter’s songwriter. An artist’s songwriter. A poet whose medium is best set to music. And not just any music, but the absolute highest echelons of bluegrass and country – radio, real, outlaw, Americana, and everything in between and beside. He writes daily from an office nestled between Music Square East and Music Square West in Nashville – the fabled Music Row.

His songs have been cut by stars like Alan Jackson, Lee Ann Womack, Garth Brooks, Trisha Yearwood, Brandy Clark, and Robert Earl Keen. In bluegrass, bands like Balsam Range and Lonesome River Band have carried his originals high up the charts, and he’s co-written with many players in the genre, like Sierra Hull, for example. His songwriting and its distinct, intentional, and artistic voice has gained him award nominations from the GRAMMYs, the Americana Honors & Awards, and the IBMA Bluegrass Music Awards.

Since early February of this year, Wright has been leaving a trail of musical breadcrumbs online and on streaming platforms, teasing out his brand new album, Nature of Necessity, in four parts, which he calls “sides.” Along with singles peppering the release cycle throughout the following months, the prior three sides of the project finally convene with the fourth today, September 25, as a coalesced and cohesive project of 18 songs. The novel delivery mechanism for Nature of Necessity feels like an extension of the intentionality Wright brings to each of these literary, textural, and fantastic songs. They each stand alone, certainly, but together they sing.

These are not Music Row fodder, or craven attempts at radio hits, or tracks churned out day-in-and-day-out for volume and viral potential. These are passion projects. Ideas and stories that stuck in Wright’s creative craw and demanded much more deliberate treatments. It’s not as though songs written with the bottom line in mind can’t be this successful as works of art – they often are. It’s just that it’s immediately tangible to the listener that these works by Adam Wright aren’t just some of his best, they were clearly written and produced without a single thought towards saleability. Rather, Wright and his creative partners – especially producer Frank Liddell – gave each of these songs the artistic treatment they deserved on their own merits as stories and tableaus, vignettes and pantomimes.

If you remember when Bob Dylan was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2016, there was a whole lot of “discourse” on the internet as to the actual literary value of songs and lyrics. It’s a painfully on the nose, forest for the trees moment to even have to accept the premise of that debate in order to refute it. But with a writer like Adam Wright – ever so rare in country and roots music and becoming even more endangered still – it’s easy, direct, and demonstrable connecting the dots between literature and songwriting. Nature of Necessity being 18 compelling points on that trail. With this album, Wright should perhaps be offered a term as the poet laureate of Music Row. Let each of its four sides stand as a resumé.

I really love the sonics of the album, the production. I’m a bluegrass banjo player, so when I listen to records I want to hear the pick noise, I want to hear the room, I want to hear the distance between a singer’s lips and the microphone. I want it to sound like music and I want it to sound like a moment in time.

Granted, I listen to a lot of music that doesn’t check any of those boxes and I like it a lot for sure, but the first thing I noticed about this album was that it sounds not just live, but alive. Can you talk about that and can you talk about how you accomplished it? It feels like, having heard so much of Frank [Liddell’s] work as producer that he was probably a perfect partner to accomplish that production style, too.

Adam Wright: Yeah, he absolutely was. And we wanted the same thing. We wanted it to be live and to sound live. With all the flaws inherent in performance, like a full unedited, undoctored performance.

‘Cause I’m like you – I’m a pretty poor listener currently but I have, in my long life of listening, listened to an awful lot of music and studied a lot of it. I know when I’m listening to a song that was gridded and then a singer came in and sang very carefully and then they cut it up and got it right. Because I’ve made records like that, too.

You sound your best that way, you truly do. It is so flattering to have someone do that to you and then listen back and go, “Wow, I sound fantastic.” So what I’ve enjoyed, for some reason, [is] getting used to what I sound like, giving it my best effort on a play down all the way through, one whole take, and go, “That’s what I sound like.”

It’s like looking at yourself like in a hotel mirror. [They] are the worst mirrors in the world. Like you go in the bathroom in the hotel room and you look awful and can’t figure out why. Something about the lighting or the quality of the lighting or where they’re placed. Every time I’m in a hotel mirror, I’m just like, “What am I doing out in the world?”

It’s a little bit like that. You listen back to yourself, play this song, and you go, “Man… that is not perfect.” There are things I just really dislike about the way I sing certain things on this record, the way I played. I hear me failing the whole way through. ‘Cause we did track it live. Me and Matt Chamberlain and Glenn Worf tracked us a three-piece, me on acoustic and singing with bass and drums. The idea was just to keep all of that as it is, intact, which we did.

I told Glenn, I said, “You’re the lead instrument. No one’s coming to save us. If something has to happen, we just have to do it right now.” We recorded it with that philosophy. The meat of it is my playing and singing with Glenn and Matt and we didn’t fiddle with it. The caveat was, “Okay, we can add things, but this has to remain what it is.” Whatever we did has to be live as it happened.

We did it a bunch of times. We did every song like seven times. So if I didn’t get it, is it gonna get better? No. That’s how I sing that line, obviously. There was some freedom in that … I’ve just gotten to enjoy it.

These feel like songs for you and not songs to sell or to get cut or to pitch on Music Row. Like, they feel like songs that, as they came out of you, you may have been squirreling them away, caching them for yourself for the future. I wanted to see if that was true or if that resonated with you. To me, they’re poetic and they’re literary without being “pick me” or “try hard.” They’re really thoughtful. I love your lyricism because it’s not too esoteric. But, these traits aren’t exactly regarded as commercial. So how did this collection end up… collected?

That’s exactly how that went. And thank you for the kind words, too. I do write every day for a publisher. Usually that means co-writing. I co-write almost every day of the week. Whether I want to or not. I’m usually writing with younger artists that want a record deal or have a record deal and they have some ambitions about the commercial music industry – and for some reason they thought I could help them. [Laughs] As misguided as that is, that’s usually what our job is in that moment. I don’t think a lot about, “Hey kid, I got a hit for you.” My brain just doesn’t really work that way. I just try to write a really good song that I think is tailored towards that particular artist.

I do a lot of that, but I would never try to force one of these ideas like [that] are on this record on someone that is trying to do something like that. This is a different endeavor. I do categorize it differently. That co-writing with people for their records or for whatever they would like to do is almost like a day job. And these songs are my night job. So they are very different. It feels like a different writing brain altogether. The process of writing ’em is very different. It’s not two hours of looking at each other. Some took me weeks, just because I couldn’t unlock ’em, but I kept tinkering away. It’s a much different thing.

I want to find out the deepest realization of whatever the story was or the idea or the character that I decided the song was gonna be about. Just follow that rabbit through the woods as deep into it and as dark as it got, that’s what we were gonna do. It’s rewarding! It’s a lot of work and it takes a long time and I’m so busy at the moment. I don’t know if I could write some of those songs right now. If you told me to write a song that had a lot of Latin in it about watching the dawn, I’m not sure I could pull it off. [Laughs]

But you know how it is when you find these things. You get a hold of this little spark, you follow it, and then at some point it dims a little. Then you’re looking for another spark to light up. I’m currently between sparks – I’m writing every day, but I haven’t found a new thread that I just can’t wait to chase yet. But sometimes you get a little hint of it.

Let’s talk about some of the music. On “Dreamer and The Realist,” are you the dreamer? Are you the realist? Is it about you?

I never really decided if I contain enough pragmatism to be both a dreamer and a realist. Like in some ways I am. Like when my wife says, “Hey, we’re going to Disney World,” that’s what we’re doing. I would never decide to go to Disney World [on my own], because I don’t like fun. [Laughs] But once I know I’ve gotta go, then I can get pragmatic about it.

But aside from those types of things, I’m pie in the sky. If I could stare out a window 10 hours a day every day for the rest of my life and not starve to death, I would do it.

Thank you!

All I really want to do is walk around the world and roll around inside my own brain. That sounds fascinating to me forever, endlessly. And not because I have a fascinating brain, just because I think it’s fun to just go, “What if” and then, “What if” and then, “What if.”

I feel like this is a long way of trying to say, I feel like everyone is some combination of a dreamer and a realist. Or you couldn’t function. But certainly nobody’s all dreamer or all realist, I don’t think. I think we all compartmentalize our dreaming and our realism to certain areas of our life and hopefully we each find someone that compensates for, or augments, [ourselves] in ways. And that’s never perfect. There’s always like a dueling going on with all that stuff. But I love the push and pull of it; within myself and within a relationship. There’s music in all of that I’ll always find it very interesting. The song really is within the same person.

With “All the Texas,” which features Patty Griffin, one of the first things I thought when I heard it was of Lyle Lovett’s “That’s Right (You’re Not From Texas).” Plus, I was thinking about this moment in time with Texas and politics and the culture wars. Country music tends to feature this thinking like, “Everyone loves Texas and you should too!” “Don’t we all agree, Texas is great??” And then you look at what’s happening in Texas and you’re like, “Oh my gosh, Texas. What the hell?” I’ve had all the Texas…

Help us help you, please! Exactly.

Can you talk to me a little bit about that song? Because I have a feeling that there’s much more going on than just the way we’re all feeling about Texas these days.

It really was written before Texas got so Texas-y, recently. I don’t remember what year it was, but it was probably four or five years ago. Texas is always pretty Texas-y, but this was before it got super Texas-y. It was just about a night opening for Patty Griffin there at the Moody [Center] in Austin. It was just a whirlwind of a trip; flew in day of show, ran around Austin for half an afternoon, and then played a show.

She’s so supernatural. There’s just something like… sorcery around her. Anytime you’re around her, she doesn’t come off that way. She doesn’t walk around like talking wizard speak or anything; she’s just such a lovely, cute, normal, funny individual. But there’s still something that swirls around her that is just supernatural.

With all of that, I was like jotting things down, like the whole 24 hours that we were there. I just kept getting like little snatches of things and they all started to have this kind of mythical quality to ’em. Some of it’s literal, the Driskill and all of that stuff was true. But it turns into a sort of dream logic, mythical stuff – which is like watching [Patty] perform. It was an exercise in playing with almost like a journal entry of that experience and then distorting it with mythical language or symbolism.

I also love “Weeds” – and not just because Lee Ann [Womack] is on it. But also because I am obsessed with wildflowers, with native gardening, and habitat restoration. Something that struck me about that line, “Heaven is a meadow with no weeds” is perhaps heaven is a place where we finally understand that a “weed” is a social construct, right? A weed is a plant that we’ve decided is in a place where it shouldn’t be, but maybe we’re the ones where we shouldn’t be–

Yeah, that’s right.

Maybe we changed so much of the environment that we look out and we see a weed, but that plant has been here all along. And [the habitat is] probably supposed to be all weeds.

Exactly.

When I heard “Weeds” I also thought of Dolly’s song “Wildflowers” and the idea of, “What is the difference between a wildflower and a weed?” So, in my own mind, I heard that line as maybe you get to heaven and you realize all these weeds were wildflowers the whole time. Maybe I’m projecting. [Laughs]

I don’t know how the farmer’s perspective developed [on that song], I just don’t remember. And I’m not trying to put any sort of romanticism on it, it just didn’t come to me. I don’t remember what the jump was, but I remember why I started the song initially. I was at the library looking for something new to read and I came across this book, it was like a catalog of late-1800s farming equipment and the techniques and things. You could order out of these catalogs in like, 1870-whatever.

It also had articles about how to fix your wagon or what to do about this particular tractor part. How to deal with a stubborn mule or a pig that wouldn’t do what you wanted them to do. I thought it was fascinating, and the language of it – I love lingo so much. I love getting into some endeavor or line of work or character where there’s lots of language that I haven’t heard before. Like specialized language to a particular job or whatever. This book was full of it. I was just fascinated by all of it.

The whole thing about the last verse about the pig, all of that, it’s just outta the catalog. Those were all things [from the book]. Like, “Are you dealing with a hog who’s ill-formed? And unquiet in his mind? Here’s what you can do.” I found it all so interesting.

Then the middle verse about the tramp, to me he was dressed in soldiers’ clothes. I imagined he’d been shot and was laid over this farmer’s fence. It would have been just at the close of the Civil War era stuff. I wanted all of it to hang together, but with all of these strange things going on the overarching thing is this farmer going, “I can’t get rid of these weeds.” Why does he care? I don’t know. I just liked the guy [because] the thing that sort of kept him going was that his eternal reward might be a meadow without all of these weeds in it.

Your career has intersected with bluegrass and has been part of your career in so many ways. You’re a picker – which is one of the first things I noticed about this album, you guys tracking it live means we get to hear you pick the guitar. All these bluegrass folks have cut your songs, you’ve been nominated for an IBMA Award. What does the genre mean to you? And of course, the inseparable community that comes with it. How does that fit into the constellation of how you make music, songwrite, and be creative in general?

That’s interesting. I love the world of bluegrass. Maybe I’m just a little particular. Like, if you looked at all genres of music as slices of a pie, there’s really only a sliver that I really love. Out of any genre. Whether it be jazz or a big band or blues or bluegrass or classic country or rock, there’s really only a little bit of it that I really like and most of it, the rest of it I find I can leave alone. Not quite for me.

But I always said, good bluegrass might be the best music ever. Like, when it’s good and it’s right. I wish I had started trying to play that kind of music when I was younger. I got fascinated with it too late to physically do it at a level that I appreciate. I can distinguish the difference in the nuances of really great players, but I’m not able to do that. I don’t lose a lot of sleep over it, but I’ve probably got carpal tunnel trying to figure out Tony Rice licks a few times in my life. There’s so much of it that I really like and I love.

I’ve never really sat down to try to write bluegrass songs. I just write songs. Like you were talking about this interview going under the Good Country category, I’ve always sat somewhere in the mushy in-between of folk, singer-songwriter, bluegrass, and country. I’ve just always existed somewhere in the middle of all that stuff. Some of my favorite artists have done that, as well.

Some of my favorite bluegrass artists were folkier or bluesy-er. Del McCoury or Doc Watson. Tony Rice was such a genre evader. I always appreciated that about certain bluegrass artists. But writing-wise, I just always wrote songs. And because of the nature of what I’ve ingested, they lend themselves fairly well to more traditional bluegrass arrangements. They always play everything a lot faster than I think they’re going to. [Laughs]

Last night at the Bluebird [Cafe] I did my version of “Thunder and Lightning,” which is a moonshining song of mine that Lonesome River Band cut. I think I’m playing my version fast, like it feels fast to me. And then I hear them do it and it’s about twice as fast as I play mine. It sounds great when they do it, but if I try to play it that fast it sounds ridiculous.

I write some with Sierra Hull, she’s so much fun to write with. It’s funny, she hardly plays when we’re writing, which I had to get used to. ‘Cause the first time I wrote with her I was like, “Oh I can’t wait to just watch her play!” And I don’t even know if she touched the instrument a couple of times, just to check a chord. But I got to like her so much and enjoy writing with her that it didn’t matter. [Laughs] …

My dad was a piano player – and still is. His dad was a piano player, too. So I started on piano when I… I think I was like four. I was kinda tugging on their shirt going, “Hey, I wanna play piano!” And they’re like, “Yeah, okay. Sure.” But they did let me, I started, and I did like classical piano for years. Then I went to saxophone and then I heard a Chuck Berry record and I needed a guitar. Today. Right now. This afternoon.

I was talking to a friend of mine who is a bluegrasser, saying, “I just don’t know how you guys do it, the flatpicking. How are you doing this?” And he goes, “You remember when you were learning Rolling Stones songs on a Stratocaster when you were a teenager? Most of these guys were playing D28s with grown men at festivals then.” When they were that age, that’s what they were doing. Picking with grown men.

Who were having pissing contests with those children. [Laughs]

Yeah! Sorry kid, not today. [Laughs]

Photo Credit: Emily McMannis

Unspoken Tradition’s
Resilience Playlist

Posted on July 28, 2025 by Justin Hiltner

We find ourselves at a proverbial crossroads in Southern Appalachia. Our land battered by the devastation of a hurricane, scorched by scores of wildfires; ancient rivers, swelled by floodwaters, carving new courses through the landscape. Yet the land and its peoples persist. As artists, we are the guardians of the stories of the people in our communities – stories of hope and love, of loss and desperation, of a community rising above tragic circumstance. Stories of Resilience.

On our new album, we reflect in song about what it means to meet the moment with music that both binds our wounds and demonstrates our healing. In bearing witness to this time and place, we recognize that the path forward is not just survival – it is the conscious choice to innovate, to adapt in the face of adversity. It is in that choice that we find meaning, and renewal.

The songs on this playlist refer to the theme of resilience or have a connection to specific songs on our album of the same name. We wanted to share the work of some of the other artists that wrote the material and/or inspired the songs we recorded. Check out and follow these folks – especially if they are new names. Their catalogs are terrific discoveries and their work is excellent! – Unspoken Tradition

“Linemen” – Zoe & Cloyd

John Cloyd Miller is the author of the song “Weary Town” from our album. Zoe & Cloyd are longtime friends and Western North Carolina natives who experienced the ravages of hurricane Helene in their neighborhood. “Linemen” is a tribute to the heroes of the rescue and recovery effort as they were on the front lines of restoring power to the region. God bless these Linemen!

“Katie and Burl” – Acoustic Syndicate

We wanted to share the original version of this song that we re-recorded for our album Resilience. Acoustic Syndicate is a seminal North Carolina fusion-grass band and writer-guitarist Steve McMurray is a dear friend.

“Dust Bowl Children” – Alison Krauss & Union Station

One of our favorite songs and artists! A story of trials, tribulations, and resilience from another point in history.

“Papertown” – Balsam Range

Western North Carolina native Milan Miller wrote this song as well as one from our album called “Weeds Don’t Wither.” This is the true story of the North Carolina mountain town of Canton and its paper mill that was the heart of the town’s industry. The mill has since been closed, adding an extra layer of disparity to the story.

“Alleghenies” – Saravanan Sankaran

From our bass player’s solo album Back To Bassics. It’s one Sav wrote about his Western Pennsylvania mountain home! This is a mainstay of our live set.

“Weary Town” – Unspoken Tradition

This song’s theme is at the center of our new album. It holds new meaning for us in the wake of the great flood disaster that came to our Western North Carolina home. When we play it live, we dedicate it to the city of Asheville and the resilient people of WNC.

“Back in Yonder’s World” – Norman Blake & Tony Rice

This song! And the album it’s from, Norman Blake & Tony Rice 2, is a “desert island” album for us.

“Margie” – Danny Paisley & The Southern Grass

This artist is one of our biggest influences, especially for Sav. We were thrilled and honored to have Danny join us on “I’ll Break Out Again Tonight” as a featured vocalist!

“Moments” – Unspoken Tradition

One of the first singles we released from the new album. Written by the album’s producer, Jon Weisberger, it embodies the sincerity of appreciating the subtle moments in life.

“I’m In a Hurry (And Don’t Know Why)” – Alabama

This country-rock hit was a radio staple in its time. We thought it would make a great bluegrass song. To hear our version, listen to our Mixtape below or, better yet, check it out on the new album!

Photo Credit: Sandlin Gaither

Son of the San Lorenzo

Posted on July 8, 2025June 23, 2026 by Shelby Williamson

Jesse Daniel is carrying on a family tradition with his fifth studio album, Son of the San Lorenzo. As a kid growing up in Northern California, specifically in the San Lorenzo Valley, Daniel spent hours upon hours in his dad’s truck, listening to the songs that defined ‘70s rock and country radio. When the opportunity arose to create a new album inspired by those sounds, Daniel booked the Bomb Shelter studio in Nashville, recorded live with his band, and enlisted harmonica player (and Country Music Hall of Fame inductee) Charlie McCoy to add an unmistakable flourish to the new recordings.

Just as country fans have come to know their favorite singers as the Coal Miner’s Daughter, the Possum, or the Storyteller, Daniel’s hometown is enthusiastically embracing his alter ego: the Son of the San Lorenzo. Daniel dialed up Good Country to talk about how bluegrass music played a role in his musical development, the silver lining of his checkered past, and what he’s looking for in his fellow musicians when it’s time to hit the road.

For this album, you wanted to go back to the music you grew up on, which is ‘70s country and rock. How did you get introduced to that era of music?

Jesse Daniel: My dad was – and still is – a musician. Growing up, he was playing in bands and always just raised me with a guitar in my hand. Whenever we’d go on road trips, or we’d drive up to Oregon to go see family, we would be listening to Led Zeppelin or the Eagles, bands like that. There was a classic rhythm & blues influence on rock and roll, but a lot of that stuff had a very country influence, too, from Creedence Clearwater Revival to the Eagles. A lot of the bands were California bands, also.

I just heard that music growing up. That’s what was played by my dad’s band, and at birthday parties, events, and school gatherings. That was just good-time music, aside from what we were listening to as kids, when we were getting into metal and punk rock. But I guess that’s what all our dads were listening to, and the older people. So I went back to that, now that I’m in my 30s. That music has such a spot in my soul for that nostalgia, and it’s just so good.

Can you describe the experience of having Charlie McCoy on these sessions?

That was incredible. He showed up on his day to cut some harmonica and he was a very humble, unassuming dude. He told us the coolest stories about old Nashville, all the stuff he’s cut on, and all the people’s personalities back in the day that he used to know. I asked him all kinds of questions, soaking it all in. From the moment he blew on that harp and played some licks, Andrija [Tokic, the studio engineer] and I looked at each other like, “Yep! That’s the sound right there.” He just nailed it.

When I listened to “Child is Born,” the first track, I sensed you’re making a statement with this record. It’s a powerful way to open it. What was on your mind as that song was taking shape?

That song is about generational traumas or generational patterns within families and raising children. I pretty much wrote it from the perspective of trying to give some advice on how to raise a child, almost like a template. Throughout the verses, it talks about the pitfalls and what will happen if you focus on yourself and don’t raise your children right. That’s happened in my family and to so many other people. These fathers and mothers aren’t there for their kids, and when it ends up being their time to be taken care of, when they’re elderly, nobody’s there for them because they weren’t there in return. It becomes this vicious cycle that’s perpetuated. That’s where I was at with writing that one. It was an emotional one. It’s an emotional type of record in general, but I just wanted to start it off with that, for sure. A good, heavy starting place.

One of my favorites is “Son of the San Lorenzo.” I think you have had that title for a while.

Yeah, that one is a special one, too. I wrote that song in 2019 and I included it as the last song on my Rollin’ On record. I decided to re-cut it for this one and name the record after it, because since I wrote and released that song, it’s become a fan favorite all over the place, but especially where I grew up in the San Lorenzo Valley.

Whenever I would go back home for hometown shows, people would call me “the Son of the San Lorenzo” after that song. They would always sing that song. That became my nickname over the past five or so years. I thought, what better title for the record than that? With this record going back to my upbringing, to where I’m from, and identity and all that.

You’ve got references on this album to Highway 9, the Sierra pines, and the redwoods. You’re skilled at setting the scene in your songwriting. Why is it important to bring Northern California into these songs?

With my identity as a songwriter and an artist, it shaped a huge, huge amount of that. I always do things through the lens of being from Northern California. Going back to that sound, so much of the music I grew up on was from that exact area – bands like The Doobie Brothers, Larry Hosford, guys like that, who were making this country-rock and roll-blues stuff that really influenced me a lot.

Painting a picture of where you’re from, and of these things that are important to me and my music – I feel like that’s something that’s lost in music nowadays. People don’t do that as much, or if they do, it’s pretty well dominated by Appalachia or Texas. They have a lot of identity and pride in their musical heritage there and I just feel like it’s missing from California in general. And it shouldn’t be. It’s an amazing place, an amazing landscape, an amazing musical history. I see it as my cross to bear to try to carry on that legacy as best as I can.

Has bluegrass been an influence on you?

It definitely has. When I was in high school, I had a teacher for a short period of time who had a bunch of burned bluegrass mix CDs. She was the person that turned me on to bluegrass. I remember listening to that Tony Rice and Norman Blake song, “Eight More Miles to Louisville,” and I was like, “This is incredible!” The songwriting, the picking, the tempo. That made me fall in love with bluegrass. I’d been playing guitar for quite a while at that point, but that’s when I started learning the banjo rolls and trying to emulate some of those bluegrass things I’d heard and adding them into my chord progressions. Even though I don’t explicitly do bluegrass, I always have a bluegrass song on my records, or something that’s at least along those lines. For this record, it’s “Mountain Home” It’s got the banjo and fiddle and a little bit more bluegrass texturing. It’s a big part of my influence.

I was listening to “One’s Too Many (And a Thousand Ain’t Enough)” on Spotify and I couldn’t help but notice your mug shot from Santa Cruz County [as the Spotify Canvas] in the player. How did that come to be?

Yeah, that’s my mug shot from one of the times I went to jail. During that period of my life from 18 through my early twenties, I was a heroin addict, a methamphetamine addict. I was in a vicious cycle of addiction I had gotten into in high school. Once I was out of high school, it accelerated and I became a full-blown junkie, a full-blown drug addict. So that took me on frequent trips to jail for a week here, a week there. I never did any serious time, thank God. I should have, but I didn’t. I was constantly in and out of jail or rehab programs.

That mug shot is a reminder of that past and of that period of my life I wrote about in that song. That song is comprised of all the advice I had gotten from older people who had gotten their stuff together over the years, including some of my own family members who have been sober. They would tell me all these little bits of wisdom and try to help me, and I was just too deep in it to really see. But that song is basically the advice I’d give to somebody now, made up of all the advice I got back then when I was in that position.

Do people who know your story approach you for advice when you’re out on tour?

Quite a bit. There’s a cool, cathartic element to it for me, because I get to put my story and struggles into these songs and they help me. Then it becomes that for other people. I had a woman come up to me at a show, and she told me that my song “Gray” helped her mother get clean. She sent this song to her mother and it broke her down so much that her daughter was sending it to her, saying, “Hey, listen to the lyrics of this song. I care about you and I want you to get help.” And she did. She’s been clean for a couple years now and she says it’s because of that song.

I’ve had a lot of people reach out with similar stories, that they’ve gotten their stuff together after hearing my story or listening to my music. That’s the ultimate form of redemption for me, that I could take my destructive past and turn it into something constructive in helping people. That’s my whole mission. Aside from making the music I love, that’s my mission in my contribution to music.

That’s interesting to hear your mission statement, because you’re the head of your own organization now. I don’t know if you think of yourself that way, but you’re a businessman.

Yeah, more recently I’ve started to think of it that way. And it’s true, especially doing it independently like we have for so long. We’re just now starting to work with a bigger booking agency, a bigger management. We’re stepping things up. But my fiancée Jodi and I really built this together ourselves, brick by brick.

I’ve often heard you shouldn’t get in a relationship with someone until you know you travel well together. What do you remember about those early years with Jodi on the road?

In the early years, even before we started touring in a band together, I would play regionally and Jodi and I would go on road trips together, camping trips, whatever. We just wanted to keep going. That was always part of our relationship. We traveled really well together. We had similar interests. We’d just listen to music and talk and go pull off at roadside swimming holes up in the mountains. We loved that sense of adventure and going places. It was one of the main things that drew me to her when we first got together. She had just as big of a sense of adventure as I did.

So, in the music aspect of it, that’s really helped because we both have that wanderlust and we’re just down to be on the road and to go play new places. When one of us gets tired and burnt out, or maybe sick of being on the road, or something’s not going right, we have the other one to put it in perspective and help balance things out. You lean on that person, which not a lot of people have. A lot of times, your wife or your husband or whoever is at home and you’re out there, alone, missing them. So, I do have the luxury of being with my person out there.

What did Jodi think about the song “Jodi” when you played it for her?

She loves the song. Just like I say in that first line, “To write a love song for you was not an easy thing to do.” It really was a hard subject to tackle, because it’s so vulnerable and true. I had to sit with that one and try to make it as meaningful as possible, so it didn’t come off as a corny love song or too cryptic. I wanted it to be straightforward, but really meaningful.

What do you look for in musicians as you start to put together a band for a tour?

First off, they’ve got to be a great musician. That’s number one. They’ve got to understand the styles and the stylings that I like to go for with my music. I know it’s not for everybody. Sometimes the guitar style is a little bit outside of their bubble, so the playing has to be there.

On top of that, personality-wise, it helps to have people with good attitudes. That’s a huge one I’ve learned over the years. If somebody isn’t there for the right reason, or if they’re halfway in, halfway out, or maybe they’re partying a whole bunch on the road. I’m clean and sober on the road, I don’t do anything, but my guys will go out and have a beer or whatever. That’s totally fine. But if guys are going out and doing drugs or drinking and having it affect their performance or attitude… That is something that happened in the past, so I have a pretty strict policy with that. If you’re going to be in my band, you don’t have to be a teetotaler, but just try to keep it pretty mellow. It’s about the music. That’s what the focus is.

When you listen to Son of the San Lorenzo front to finish now, what goes through your mind?

I see a pretty complete body of work. Sometimes I’ll listen to some of my earlier records and I’ll look back and think, “Oh, I’d change this,” or “I’d do this a little different,” or “Maybe I would have put this song here…” I think that’s easy to do, to pick things apart, especially when you’ve grown as an artist and a songwriter. But when I listen to this record, I put so much time into the song arrangement and into each lyric and each part of the production. I wrote all the guitar licks. Well, ninety percent of the ones you hear on here are ones that I wrote, and then I showed them to the guitar player and he played them better than I was able to play them. [Laughs] All these little things, I put so much effort into this record that I listen back and I’m just really proud of it.

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Photos courtesy of Lightning Rod Records.

BGS 5+5: My Brother’s Keeper

Posted on June 24, 2025June 25, 2025 by Justin Hiltner

Artist: My Brother’s Keeper
Hometown: Cincinnati, Ohio
Latest Album: Wartime Cartoons
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): Most of the band goes by our given names. Titus, Joshua, Adam, and Benj(amin), but our bass player “Wyatt” has been holding strong to the nickname “Sawmill” and has a “Sawmill” vanity license plate on his Ford Focus to prove it.

Answers provided by Benj Luckhaupt.

Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?

I’m sure any artist would say “it’s hard to choose” and I’m going to say the same. Brian Wilson, Chris Thile, Alison Krauss, Tony Rice are all so formative to us, but as a songwriter I would say Bruce Springsteen has inspired me above all. His melodies are insanely catchy, his lyrics are gritty and literary. I appreciate his ability to be both subtle and straightforward, sometimes in the same sentence. He tells you the facts and then makes you think about the implications. Bruce also covers such a wide range of the human experience. His music is a great blueprint for the “song first” approach and I really try to incorporate that into my writing, even in the bluegrass medium. I want to write simple songs that make you think. There’s also such a variance in sound (think between Nebraska and Born in the USA) and yet it all works. I could nerd out about this forever.

What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?

Definitely film and literature. We look to film often to inspire our visuals. We have a music video that is very Wes Anderson-esque, and the visuals for the album cover of Wartime Cartoons were inspired by the starkness of show Severance. There are certainly a few songs inspired by movies. A song called “The Banshees” on our last album was inspired by the landscape and darkness of a movie called The Banshees of Inisherin.

Literature, song and poetry are all so closely related. Leonard Cohen was a great author outside of songs. Spending a lot of time in books has had major influence on my writing, directly and indirectly. I love to start my day with a book about religion or history and end my day with a book about music or musicians. Sometimes I try to do an audiobook in between. Just taking in all those beautiful words is such a wonderful way to increase your vocabulary and worldview.

Titus and Wyatt are both photographers, and I think that art form opens up creative pathways as well, and of course contributes to the visuals of the band.

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

This kid told me to think about what I’m thankful for and write about that. That was great advice. He was like 5 or 6 years old and I do think about thankfulness every time I write. Out of the mouth of babes.

What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?

Most people are pretty surprised when they find out that we love hip-hop and mainstream pop. They’re even more surprised when we tell them that our music is inspired by those genres. I’ve even had people say things to me like, “I like all music except for that rap crap” and I’m always like, “Oh, really? Because I love it!” Some people are even surprised when they hear how much we love The Beach Boys.

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

I’d like to sit down with Tony Rice and eat whatever fish he just caught and fried up. I’m sure we wouldn’t talk much, but we’d probably listen to Miles Davis and I’m sure I would learn a lot.

All Photos: Tasha Moehlman

50 Years of 0044: JD Crowe & The New South’s Landmark Album

Posted on June 23, 2025July 3, 2025 by Justin Hiltner

Writer Marty Godby called it “The convergence of 1975.”

The elements: a band that would only be together for 10 months, a benevolent venture capitalist who loved bluegrass, and an upstart record label from Boston. The resulting product was unprecedented and unforgettable: The New South, Rounder Records 0044. Bluegrass fans know it simply as “0044.”

The New South of this recording was J.D. Crowe on banjo; Tony Rice on guitar; Ricky Skaggs on mandolin; Bobby Slone on bass; and Jerry Douglas on Dobro. The impact of that configuration and the album were stunning. Yet, within a year of the recording, Rice would leave to become a founding member of the David Grisman Quintet. Skaggs and Douglas formed Boone Creek. Crowe and Slone continued performing together for years.

Rounder 0044 was influential enough to be preserved in the Library of Congress’ National Recording Registry in 2024 and was awarded induction into the GRAMMY Hall of Fame this year. This month, Real Gone Music will re-release the album on vinyl, as will Craft Recordings later this year on compact disc.

Both the origin story and legacy of 0044 have inspired great narratives, probably more than any other bluegrass album. Bill Nowlin, one of the three founders of Rounder Records, wrote three articles for BGS on the album’s 40th anniversary. They offer a step-by-step look at what happened in 1974 and 75, plus hilarious and poignant anecdotes and quotes.

David Menconi dedicated a chapter of his excellent book, Oh, Didn’t They Ramble: Rounder Records and the Transformation of American Roots Music, to 0044. In 2016, radio host Daniel Mullins focused his college history capstone project on the album. Of course, it was 44 pages.

THE SHORT VERSION

J.D. Crowe, already revered for his banjo playing and baritone singing, led a band called The Kentucky Mountain Boys. From 1968, they had a six-nights-a-week gig at the Red Slipper Lounge in a Lexington, Kentucky Holiday Inn. Crowe added non-traditional bluegrass instruments and songs to the Holiday Inn repertoire. This was as much to please a diverse audience as it was to keep the musicians from getting bored. In 1971, Crowe changed the band’s name to The New South.

Of the name change, Rounder’s Marian Leighton Levy said, “It was obvious that this was a new kind of bluegrass.” From a broader view, “It was an era when the South was, in a way, trying to self-consciously reinvent itself as a new, modern place. And they [The New South] were kind of the musical representation of that wider political context.”

It was the ’70s, and change was brewing – even in the tightly controlled world of country music, Levy noted. Around the same time, Willie Nelson and his Outlaw Country compatriots were reaching out to new songwriters and moving away, physically and musically, from “the factory system of Nashville publishing companies.”

In 1974, lead singer Larry Rice left the New South and brother Tony took over singing lead. Ricky Skaggs’ pure tenor mixed with Rice’s unmistakable mid-range voice, creating a new, dynamic tension for their duets and trios. In the summer of that year, Crowe and the band toured without any product to sell. At the annual Gettysburg Blue Grass Festival, Crowe, his friend and manager, venture capitalist Hugh Sturgill, and the young founders of Rounder Records initiated “The Great Convergence” – an agreement for a studio recording. An innovative contract led to the first New South album.

THE BLUEGRASS WORLD EXPLODED

As soon as they heard the test pressing, the Rounder founders knew they had something remarkable on their hands. “Jack Tottle [who, along with John Hartford, wrote liner notes for the album] was stunned, and he kept saying, ‘This is one of the most amazing records ever made.’ And he was not given to exaggerating,” Levy said.

“It was clear. It was crisp … and the more you played it, the more you wanted to hear it.”

0044 came out in the spring of 1975. Levy said by festival season, other bands were playing the tunes from the record “pretty much note for note.” One observer said that at one festival, almost every band on stage played “Old Home Place.”

So, what is it about that record? Let’s start with the musicians. Skip Heller, who initiated the 0044 Real Gone Music reissue, said everyone in that group of players “would talk about it like it was high school prom and their first love … they had all been in good bands before, but this was the first time they had been in a band that was as great as anything in bluegrass music had ever been.”

Levy said, “They absolutely knocked each other out. … And I think that long before anybody heard the record, they knew the band would stand the test of time – because of all of them, not just one person.”

The record’s title was The New South. Only after the first printing sold out, three band members had moved on, and it was time to redo the cover (read about the cover photo – a great story in itself), was it retitled J.D. Crowe & the New South. Crowe, born in 1937, was the venerated elder and a banjo icon. After entering Jimmy Martin’s boot-camp-of-a-band at age 18, he developed impeccable timing, his own take on Scruggs-style banjo, and excellence as a baritone singer. And he knew how to pick his band members.

The influences of Tony Rice (age 24 at the time) on bluegrass and related music are limitless – from cementing the role of guitar as a lead bluegrass instrument, to modeling impeccable rhythm playing and singing, to excelling in so many genres outside the bluegrass boundaries. At 21, Skaggs had the instrumental chops, a stunning voice and the instincts to become successful in both country and bluegrass. Rounder’s Ken Irwin attributes much of 0044’s innovation to Skaggs, including bringing a teenaged Douglas into the mix.

Douglas is to Dobro what Rice is to lead guitar. Fifty years later, after 14 GRAMMY awards and countless other honors, he continues to inspire and encourage musicality and creativity in Dobro playing. Touring with Alison Krauss since 1998, it’s likely that he has been heard live by more people than any other resophonic guitar player. Of the veteran, Bobby Slone, Mullins said, “Everyone in the band wanted to make sure that Bobby got a lot of credit. … He was such a rock solid force on that band, not just on bass, but as far as camaraderie was concerned.”

By the time The New South entered the studio, Crowe, Slone, and Rice, later joined by Skaggs, had spent hundreds of hours performing together at the Holiday Inn. Individually, they were superb musicians. Together, they were as tight as a band could be.

THE SONGS

Long before 0044, Crowe had blasted out from under bluegrass constraints, incorporating songs like Fats Domino’s “I’m Walkin,” and at Larry Rice’s suggestion, The Flying Burrito Brothers’ “Sin City.” The songs on 0044 were just a small set of a huge repertoire. While the unconventional musical choices sparked controversy among traditionalists, they also sparked a flame of excitement that spread quickly and widely.

In 1975, Mullins said, Ralph Stanley & the Clinch Mountain Boys, Jimmy Martin, and Bill Monroe were still “killing it” at festivals with their first generation bluegrass sound. “On the other end of the spectrum, Seldom Scene recorded Live at the Cellar Door,” an immensely popular recording, that year. Like the Country Gentlemen, the Scene had been recording songs totally out of the bluegrass box, using bluegrass instrumentation, but with an emphasis on rich melodies and harmonies, rather than just the drive of traditional bluegrass.

Mullins said, “You go to Crowe, who’s got the street cred from all his records with Martin, but he’s also looking ahead, and so he’s able to get it all in there. A lot of bands were playing to one side or the other … but to have one that hit right in the middle, right at that time, was unreal.”

“When they saw J.D. Crowe’s name up front, and they knew that he had played banjo with Jimmy Martin on all those records they had loved for 20 years, it probably made some of those hard-edged fans pay more attention,” he said.

Whatever the dynamics of the time, The New South became synonymous with great bluegrass. And 0044 made Ian Tyson’s songs forever acceptable in bluegrass jams.

ON AND ON

Kristin Scott Benson, six-time IBMA Banjo Player of the Year, was born the year after 0044 came out. Benson said she was about nine the first time she saw J.D. Crowe. He was playing with the Bluegrass Album Band, “and that was a formative experience. That band was so explosive, and the crowd had an air of chaos, because everybody was so excited to hear the band. Every time Tony Rice ended a solo, you couldn’t hear any music.” (Because of the crowd noise.)

It would be four years until she picked up the banjo, and two more years until she learned about The New South album – and what it meant to a banjo player.

On 0044, she says, “If you just talk quintessential banjo solos, you’ve got ‘I’m Walkin’ and ‘You Are What I Am.’ His tone is aggressive. It’s just such confident, groovy, greasy, pristine banjo. It’s impossible to overstate how good it is and how influential it is.”

“But I think you should listen to his contributions on the less banjo-friendly songs [‘Home Sweet Home Revisited,’ ’10 Degrees’], because Crowe was great at that. He was a magical backup player.”

Billy Failing, who currently plays banjo with Billy Strings, agrees. Failing started out his banjo life drawn to more progressive players like Béla Fleck. But, he said, “As time goes on, the more I circle back to J.D. Crowe. I think of how much of a gold standard he is for bluegrass banjo, and how interesting his playing is.”

“He’s considered a traditional player,” Failing continued, “but then I’m always hearing some lick that surprises me. It’s been a gradual thing, but it becomes more meaningful as time goes on. I was just listening to The New South album, and on ‘Cryin’ Holy’ – it’s just so slamming! He’s turned it up to 11 constantly on that one.” And, like Benson, he points out what he calls Crowe’s “intricate touch” on banjo.

“It’s such a cool kind of push and pull between whether he’s out front or whether he’s playing backup … it catches your attention in such a cool way.”

Benson said, “It’s easy just to be drawn to those obvious picks [like ‘Old Home Place’] but the album is so much deeper than that. This particular band presented a tightness and a level of execution that was new – I don’t think there had been a bluegrass record up until that point that was so well done.”

“The vocals, the arrangements are so well thought out. Everybody’s playing so well together. It was just a special moment and a special group of people, and I think it raised the bar for bluegrass albums,” she said, and made an imprint on so many contemporary musicians.

Benson poses the question, “Who’s the most influential modern bluegrass guy? It would have to be Tony Rice, because he affected the genre with his rhythm guitar playing, which is phenomenal. And that type of rhythm playing affects the entire groove of the band. It became the new standard, what most people go for.”

“Never discount the importance of his rhythm,” she continued, “and then obviously his lead playing, but also his singing and his material choice … so if someone pinned me down and I could only name one, he might be the guy.”

Failing, speaking of his bandmates, said, “Everybody’s inspired by The New South. I hear Billy [Strings] constantly talking about his inspiration by Tony Rice, and Jarrod [Walker] by Ricky Skaggs.” (Walker wrote liner notes for the Real Gone Music re-release.)

Mullins noted that the Rice/Skaggs blend – a lead singer with a baritone-range voice coupled with a high tenor – established a hair-tingling blend that continues to be emulated, from Ronnie Bowman and Don Rigsby in Lonesome River Band through Alison Krauss’ duets with Dan Tyminski and Russell Moore.

Benson said, “It’s an important record for the genre as a whole, and it’s also an important record to me, personally, and really, to any banjo player who is serious about learning. It’s one of those essential albums.”

UNANSWERED QUESTIONS

First, how did it come to be widely known as 0044? Well, nobody’s sure. Irwin and Levy remember being in the very early stages of their operations at the time – with both a new label and a new distribution company. All three Rounders had been totally immersed in music, but they were learning the business as they went, developing it on their own terms.

Levy speculated, “It is possible that it went back to when we were just calling records by their numbers,” when there just weren’t that many products. “So, it may have been something we started when we were talking, and other people picked up on it, not intentionally. And we thought it was sort of humorous.”

And how did members of Emmylou Harris’ Angel Band get left off the credits, as well as the fact that J.D. played guitar on it? John Lawless goes into depth in his fascinating Bluegrass Today article.

HAPPY 50TH BIRTHDAY

As the liner notes to the Real Gone Music re-release say, “Virtually no other album anywhere in history is known to its audience by its label number. Not Kind of Blue, nor Pet Sounds, Glenn Gould’s Goldberg Variations, none.”

That says quite a bit about the recording’s importance. So does the fact that two labels are issuing re-releases this year.

The Real Gone Music edition is pressed on gold-colored vinyl for its golden anniversary. Both re-releases contain two cuts not included on the original product: “Why Don’t You Tell Me So?” and a version of “Cryin Holy” with Emmylou’s voice in the mix.

Failing sums up what 0044, J.D. Crowe, and the musicians he surrounded himself with mean to him and to many of the pickers making the best music today.

“Every time I circle back to the Bluegrass Album Band, The New South, and J.D. Crowe, I’m reminded, ‘that’s how it’s done!’”

Photo Credit: Phil Zimmerman

Wear your love for 0044! Shop our exclusive RR 0044 tee on the BGS Mercantile here.

Zach Top’s TV Debut

Posted on May 14, 2025June 23, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

If it seems like Zach Top has been everywhere lately, it’s because he has. Not only because he and his band are staring down a packed summer full of tour dates all across the country, but he’s also coming off of his first Academy of Country Music Award win – snagging the New Male Artist of the Year trophy while also being nominated for Album of the Year – and then immediately turning around to perform on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon. The appearance was his late night television debut, after his stunner of a traditional country album, Cold Beer & Country Music, was released to widespread acclaim – from critics and audiences alike – just over a year ago in spring 2024. The project continues to build momentum and gain thousands and thousands of new listeners for the picker-songwriter-upstart.

Top and band performed “I Never Lie” on Fallon, certainly the viral hit sensation of Cold Beer & Country Music. Shortly after his television appearance, the track, which is already RIAA certified Platinum, topped the country charts, becoming the number one country single in the country (and Canada) according to Mediabase. It’s Top’s very first number one.

“I Never Lie” is a classic yet modern take on a well-known country songwriter trope, the “of course I’m not lying” or “opposite day” type of rhetorical device that’s been employed by country artists and songsmiths since the genre began. Top’s spin on this iconic sort of country song setup is almost divine in its execution, as evidenced by his audiences – from humble honky-tonks to packed rodeo arenas – shouting along with the song at the tops of their lungs each and every time it’s performed.

This will surely not be the last television appearance or country award for Top, who leverages his bluegrass family band upbringing and longtime idolization of heroes like Tony Rice and Keith Whitley to craft a style of Good Country that’s forward-looking and timeless at the same time. With a wink, a smile, a first-rate mustache-mullet combo, and a “Zach Top Hop,” this still-fresh country superstar is sure to continue making an impact all across roots music well into the future. From country to bluegrass and back again.

We hope you enjoy Zach Top’s performance of “I Never Lie” on The Tonight Show. Don’t forget to make your plans now to catch Top and his incredible band on their mighty summer tour, too.

Read our 2024 exclusive Good Country interview from with Zach Top here.

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