Tag: Tony Rice

John Jorgenson Revisits His Southern California Bluegrass Roots

Posted on by Editor

John Jorgenson is not only a man of many talents, he’s a musician with many interests. Perhaps you’ve heard his gypsy jazz, or remember when the Desert Rose Band — a neo-trad country group that included Jorgenson, Chris Hillman and other luminaries of the California country and country-rock scene — was riding high at radio, or perhaps you saw him playing an indispensable role in Elton John’s touring band. As Jim Reeves might have put it, he’s done a lot in his time.

Even so, you might not know that John Jorgenson is also a bluegrass guy — unless, that is, you saw him on the road with Earl Scruggs during the legend’s final touring years, or happened to buy his 2015 box set, Divertuoso, which included a disc of bluegrass alongside one of gypsy jazz and another of eclectic, electric music. Earlier this year, that disc was issued as a standalone album, From the Crow’s Nest. Featuring the regular (and equally eclectic) members of the John Jorgenson Bluegrass Band (J2B2) — Herb Pedersen, Mark Fain and Jon Randall — it’s a delicious collection that scatters well-known songs (Pedersen’s “Wait a Minute”; Randall’s “Whiskey Lullaby” co-write; and the Dillards’ “There Is a Time”) among a trove of newer material, much of it written or co-written by Jorgenson.

From the Crow’s Nest ought to go some distance in alerting wider audiences to a new standard-bearer for a style of bluegrass that, while its roots trace back to the early 1950s, hasn’t gotten the attention it deserves. Though Southern California is a long way from the Grand Ole Opry and other spawning grounds for the original bluegrass sound, it served in the post-World War II years as a magnet for job seekers from both sides of the Mississippi River, and that meant bluegrass pickers, too — and so, when we met up, that made for a good starting point for our conversation.

Listening to your album reminds me that you are a product of a Southern California roots music scene that included bluegrass from early on. How did you get exposed to it?

Probably the first time was when a band came to my high school and I thought they were from another planet, because I’d never heard anything so fast in my life. I played music already — I played classical music, and rock — but that was sort of an anomaly, and then I didn’t really see it again for a while.

I came to it sort of in a backwards way. I had a scholarship to the Aspen Music Festival. They brought me in as a jazz bass player; they wanted to start a jazz program. And I accepted the scholarship as long as I could also be in their classical program, playing the bassoon. Well, I had my tuition paid for, and my room paid for, but I didn’t have money for meals. So I needed to figure out how to make some money, and then I saw an ad that said: Wanted: strict jazz player for immediate gigs. So I checked out an upright bass from the school and went to this audition. And they weren’t playing jazz — what they were playing was David Grisman’s first album. This was the summer of 1978, so this album was new. I’d never heard it.

So they’re playing all instrumental stuff and I thought, OK, I really like the sound, especially of that mandolin. I liked the flatpicking guitar, too. I was already a guitar player, but I just loved the mandolin. When I got home that summer, my neighbors had a Gibson A model and I borrowed it. Not too long after that, I ran into a friend who had been instructed to put together a band that could play bluegrass and Dixieland to cover two different areas of Disneyland. And he asked, “Hey, do you know anybody that could play bluegrass fiddle and Dixieland cornet?” And needing a job at the time, I said, “I can play mandolin and clarinet.”

And then I kind of learned backwards, whatever I could. I learned from New Grass Revival, and then Bill Monroe, and Flatt & Scruggs, and the Stanley Brothers, and the Osborne Brothers. And all the others — Tony Rice, Sam Bush, the Bluegrass Cardinals, whoever was playing around at the time. Larry Stephenson was playing with the Cardinals at that time, and I remember I was — I don’t want to say shy, but I’m shy around people I don’t know. And to me at the time, they were real bluegrass musicians and I was a pretender. I sort of felt an attitude from some people, too, but he was not like that at all. He was really friendly.

Did playing bluegrass at Disneyland motivate you to build connections with the larger bluegrass scene, or was it a standalone kind of gig?

Actually, when we first started, we were terrible! We learned three songs and then we’d play those, move to a different place and play them again. But everyone was ambitious, so we all practiced; we learned songs, we got better. And then we started to play out around Los Angeles. I think the first time we played out as an act, we opened for Jim & Jesse at McCabe’s [Guitar Shop]. There was also a venue called the Banjo Cafe, with bluegrass every night, on Lincoln [Boulevard] in Santa Monica. So the Cardinals played there; Berline, Hickman & Crary would play there; and touring acts, too — Ralph Stanley would play there. And a young Alison Brown, a young Stuart Duncan.

I know that there are a lot fans of Desert Rose Band among bluegrassers, and some gypsy jazz fans, too, but for a lot of people, you came onto the radar when you were going places with Earl Scruggs — 15 years ago, maybe? How’d that come about?

Actually, it was because of Brad Davis. He was playing with Earl, and we were kind of guitar geek friends. We ended up sitting next to each other on a plane one time, and were chatting, and he said, “I’m playing with Earl Scruggs,” and I said, “I’d love to do that.” He said, “You know, they like to have an electric guitar, maybe there might be a spot.” He really set that up for me.

I said, “OK, I’m happy to play electric guitar, but I would really love to play the mandolin.” So I would bring both, and if I played too much mandolin, Louise [Scruggs] would say, “John, don’t forget that electric guitar.” Then they said, “Don’t you play saxophone? We used to have that on a song called ‘Step It Up and Go.’” So I said, “What about the clarinet? It’s not quite so loud.” And as it turns out, Earl said his favorite musician was Pete Fountain, and he loved the clarinet. So every time after that, Gary Scruggs would call me up: “Dad says don’t forget the moneymaker.”

The J2B2 record was originally part of a box set — a disc of gypsy jazz, one of bluegrass, one of electric stuff. So you have these different musical itches, and some musicians would choose to try to synthesize these things into something new and different and unique, but you seem to have an interest in keeping them each their own thing. Why is that?

It’s because, to me, the things that I love about bluegrass are what make it bluegrass. I love the trio harmony, I love these instruments, the way each instrument functions in the band. And I love gypsy jazz, and some folks might say they’re closely related — they’re string band music, they both have acoustic bass and fiddle and acoustic guitar, and each instrument has a role. There are a lot of similarities, but the things that I like about each one are what make them different. I think each music has an accent, and a history and a perspective, and I really want to be true to those, because those are the elements that touch my heart.

I feel like what I do and what this group does is quite traditional, compared to a lot of people. It’s not jamgrass. It’s not Americana. It’s bluegrass. There are folk elements, and all those other things, of course. But really, my touchstones for that style of music are all the classics: the trio harmonies of the Osborne Brothers, and the slightly softer Seldom Scene and Country Gentlemen sounds, the early Dillards, the Country Gazette, and the whole Southern California sound… you don’t think of Tony Rice’s roots as Southern California, but they are.

And probably at one point, if I could have sounded like I was from Kentucky, I wouldn’t have minded that. But at the end of the day, well, I love Bill Monroe as much as the next guy, and I’m going to take inspiration, but I feel like I’m part of a lineage of bluegrass that’s just as viable as any other, and why not have that sound be a part of me?

Photo credit: Mike Melnyk

WATCH: The Unseen Strangers, “Church Street Blues”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: The Unseen Strangers
Hometown: Toronto, Ontario
Song: “Church Street Blues”

In Their Words: “We are massive Norman Blake fans in the Unseen Strangers and are always working up different songs of his. I started listening to this one when I first got into bluegrass guitar and digging into the music of Tony Rice, so there’s quite a bit of his version in there. ‘Church Street Blues’ is certainly a flatpicking classic and we are excited to share our arrangement with this video. It was recorded live in the Back 40 forest at the Tottenham Bluegrass Festival in Ontario. When we can’t agree on what song to play next we always just play this one.” — Adam Shier

Photo credit: Emma-Lee

Punch Brothers’ Chris Eldridge: Influences and Integrity

Posted on by Editor

Chris Eldridge, the good-natured guitarist for Punch Brothers, comes by his bluegrass pedigree honestly. As a young man, he attended innumerable shows by Seldom Scene, a pioneering ensemble whose lineup included his father, banjo player Ben Eldridge. After studying at Oberlin Conservatory, he co-founded the Infamous Stringdusters, which won three IBMA Awards following their 2007 debut project, Fork in the Road. Indeed that album title proved auspicious, as Eldridge took a different path with the formation of Punch Brothers – a rewarding partnership that a decade later has yielded their newest project, All Ashore.

This interview is the third of five installments as the Bluegrass Situation salutes the Artist of the Month: Punch Brothers.

When I saw you guys at the Ryman, I noticed you were wearing a Hawaiian lei, so I take that as a sign that things are going well on the tour. What’s the vibe so far?

The vibe has been really fun and it’s great because the band’s back together, as they say. We’ve been connected, all of us in various ways, even in this time off from the band. I see Thile a bunch because I’m usually playing guitar on Live From Here. Paul lives really close to me, so I see him like every other day in Nashville. And Noam is close, and I see Gabe, but to have all of us in the same place out on the road for me is a really fun thing because one of the real privileges of my life is getting to play music in Punch Brothers, getting to be the guitar player in a band with those guys.

One of my favorite songs on this record is “The Gardener.” I feel like it sets a nice tone and tells a hopeful story. Tell me what the band was hoping to capture with that song.

Well, the music was started on that years and years ago, probably in 2012. We were in London doing a thing with T Bone Burnett for a movie and this simple melody kinda just sprung up. We were trying to brainstorm some stuff for this movie and it almost sounded like a Christmas carol. And so it was this thing that we always really liked, and we didn’t give it to that project that we were there working on. We wanted to hold it close to our chest and keep it ourselves. It was something that we had sitting around, even for The Phosphorescent Blues, but we just didn’t develop it into anything.

And then Thile had come up with that kind of weird, modulating, tonally ambiguous guitar that starts the song. He showed that to me and it was really cool. The way it works for us is, we always work on music before there’s any content, in terms of story. That’s pretty much how it tends to progress for the band. We’re definitely a music-first band. So it was a matter of making both of those ideas interesting. And the original idea from 2012, the Christmas carol idea, was really neat and we really liked it but it had a limited amount of development. A lot of Punch Brothers music, the song will have to have a certain amount of development. It’ll tend to go places. Usually we won’t just repeat a thing over and over.

And as we were trying to develop that, someone had the idea, “What happens if we do that crazy, weird, finger-picked guitar thing — the ambiguous tonal thing – and pop it together?” We had to change the key around a little bit but we found a key relationship that worked and it solved this problem.

So then it’s a matter of figuring out what the song is going to be about. Thile had this idea about a gardener, some guy kinda tending. You know, because the music is not lonely exactly but there’s like a forlorn imagination, like optimistic vibes, that are encoded into the sound of that melody. So it was trying to find a story to go along with it. And it dovetailed with a lot of the things that we’ve been thinking about and talking about as a band, in terms of society today. People who have things and people who don’t have things. People who feel protective of themselves and their tribe. It’s a meditation on a lot of those kinds of thoughts. I’m barely touching on them, but that’s kind of where it came from.

You guys would make a pretty cool Christmas record. Has that ever come up?

We’ve talked about it before. I don’t know if we’ll ever do it, but I think that would actually be really fun. There are so many cool, beautiful songs. Really timeless, gorgeous melodies. There is some solid music there in that canon of holiday music. It’s so hard to get everybody’s schedules to align now. People have three children in the band at this point, and three wives, and essentially all of us are in completely and deeply committed relationships … and we’re all older. The band can’t sit totally in first place anymore, which is necessitated by having families and that’s now the most important thing. So we really have to be deliberate about our time and it means that we don’t do as much stuff together – but when we do, we try to really make it count. That being said, I would love to make a Christmas record.

I thought with your connection to Seldom Scene, I’d ask if you knew John Duffey well.

I didn’t know him that well, but I certainly grew up around him. John didn’t really know how to relate to little kids. I have a lot of memories of being around John, just being around the band, but I didn’t really interact with him much until towards the very end of his life. We’re talking probably the last less-than-six months he was alive really. He started to acknowledge me because I was probably 13 or 14 years old. I was just getting to the age where he related to me as more than just a small child. I was starting to feel a little more like someone he could relate to.

I remember the last time I saw him alive. I was sitting backstage at the Birchmere. They have these big chairs and I was sitting in one of them. He came up behind me and just scruffed me by the hair and said, “Hey there, guy.” That’s kind of where the story ends but I was just so blown away, like, “Whoa! John Duffey just talked to me!” That was an amazing thing!

I have very clear memories of the sound of his voice. I probably went to hundreds of Seldom Scene shows and I heard those guys play hundreds of times when I was a kid and the sound of Duffey’s tenor, the sound of his mandolin playing, the sound of Mike Auldridge’s Dobro bouncing off the walls. That stuff is burned so deeply within me. I’m so thankful and grateful for that. It’s this crazy privilege that I was just born to have those experiences. As I get older, I appreciate more and more how cool it was. But I don’t think I ever really took it for granted. I loved the music, I loved the sound of that band from the time I was a boy.

I know that Tony Rice is one of your heroes too. How has his music shaped the music that you’re making now?

Oh man, profoundly. He provided such a great example of musical integrity. In terms of rhythm, not just rhythm guitar playing, but actual timing, his sense of time and elegance and grace and power and intelligence – all these things that I really try to emulate. The goal was never to be a clone of Tony. I mean, it’s easy to learn the note that he plays. It’s not that hard but I feel like once you do that, then the real learning begins. What’s he doing with those notes? Why is it so good when he plays them? What’s going on there? That to me is when the rubber hits the road and that has everything to do with his musicianship and his sensibility. And so those are the lessons that I studied so hard and it affected my outlook and approach to how I want to present music on acoustic guitar. And just music in general.

But I would argue that Tony had strong ideas about that and his enormous integrity to those kind of musical values was really influential to everybody in the acoustic music community. His high level of musicianship – and how he retains some of the essence of bluegrass, the rhythmic essence – sets the stage for a lot of the modern music that we like. And certainly Punch Brothers. Certainly all of us were deeply influenced by that example of musicianship.

Illustration: Zachary Johnson

MIXTAPE: Bobby Britt’s Songs of Hard-Won Joy

Posted on by Editor

The songs and artists on this playlist evoke a sense of hard-fought, hard-won, deep and rich joy. It is not a simple, one-dimensional joy. It has the sound of being churned about, tried and tested again. And now, just maybe, the joy being properly vetted, can be enjoyed. I look up to these artists, as they convey a message of calm and confident optimism.

We are all faced with the dualities of a temporal world…birth and death, gain and loss, pleasure and pain.

These songs speak to the strength of the human spirit amidst that world, and give me courage to carry on regardless of what’s happening, good or bad. They also provide a glimpse at an eternal reality of peace and balance (that has nothing to do with time, space or duality) that is hard to see or believe in when I am churning in the opposites…fear of loss, a craving for more and more solidity, and the dread that I will never have or be enough.

We need artists for this very reason; to go beyond our normal, conditioned ways of thinking about life, and to give us a new perspective with which to test our old and sometimes outdated paradigms.

My area of expertise is bluegrass and old-time fiddle. Though I am not a vocalist or pop artist, I gain inspiration from all styles. The feeling and sound of the above mentioned “hard-won joy” is what transcends specific genres for me. A goal of mine is to take this base emotional element, and with it, transfuse my fiddle playing and songwriting.

My hope is that you can find some joy and something to relate to in these songs as I did. Thank you for listening.

Photo Credit Louise Bichan

Guthrie Trapp, ‘Crossing the Bridge’

Posted on by Editor

If you live in Nashville, if you’ve ever been to Music City, and you have not yet had the pleasure of having your face peeled off by the fiery chicken pickin’ of Guthrie Trapp, you have not truly lived. Trapp’s telecaster — whether at bluegrass club the Station Inn, a lower Broadway honky tonk, a ritzy theater, or the Ryman Auditorium — gives any/all listeners a visceral reminder of how electric country guitar playing ought to sound: immediate, raw, and wild. While his picking carries the Nashville-signature heavy dose of machismo, it’s never without finesse and above all, taste.

On his second solo album, Life After Dark, there’s plenty of this style of playing, but it’s certainly not the only motif on the menu. Ripping tele is juxtaposed with more vibey, trance-adjacent compositions, whining blues, and refreshing, acoustic, bluegrass-inflected tunes. On “Crossing the Bridge,” which features bluegrass virtuosos and powerhouses Stuart Duncan and Sam Bush, Trapp brings his telecaster attack to the flattop with bluegrass locomotion; a veteran Nashville audience member will recognize this as a more rare iteration of his creativity and talents. Hearing flat-picking that references bluegrass six-string deities like Tony Rice and Clarence White without straying into unoriginality or mimicry reminds that Trapp has a truly original voice on his instrument, no matter the genre or musical phenotype. What’s more, the artistry of the tune and the players is what shines through first and foremost, shredding sans ego … but not without self-confidence.

Give Me the Wintertime: 10 Bluegrass Songs for the Cold

Posted on by Editor

If we really have no choice but to endure winter (other than high-tailin’ it toward the equator), we might as well give in, cozy up, and spin some wintry bluegrass songs. Cold rain, cold snow, cold wind, cold hearts … some folks like the summertime when they can walk about, but wintertime … well, it’s a season that happens, too.

Tony Rice — “Girl From the North Country”

The north country = where the wind blows cold on the borderline. It feels like Tony sings about winter and its themes quite a lot. It just fits.

Emmylou Harris — “Roses in the Snow”

Not to throw around the term “iconic,” but this one is iconic. We’re familiar with the idea that love is like the seasons, but this time, love is like a greenhouse. It can grow roses in the snow! It’s a refreshing twist on a concept that usually ends up with the flower of love frozen over and wilted in the cold.

Larry Sparks — “Snow Covered Mound”

The only conscionable reason to highlight any recording of this song besides Ralph Stanley’s is … Larry Sparks. His voice captures winter and its grief perfectly. It will send a shiver up your spine.

The Osborne Brothers — “Listening to the Rain”

Some places aren’t lucky enough to enjoy the austere beauty of snow in the winter months, getting rain, and gray, and mud, and gloom instead. Of course, cold rain with a heapin’ helpin’ of lost love sounds about right.

Ronnie Bowman — “Cold Virginia Night”

IBMA’s 1995 Song of the Year leans into the cold heart metaphor. It is beautiful. And catchy. And still reverberating off the walls and in the halls of every former IBMA convention host hotel.

Jim Mills — “Sledd Ridin’”

If you gloss over the strange spelling of “sledd,” you’ll find this rollicking banjo tune feels like a day spent on the snowy neighborhood hill. Time for hot cocoa.

Reno & Smiley — “Love Oh Love Oh Please Come Home”

In a dynamic twist, the woman has left the man alone, at home, with their baby, while the snow has covered up the ground.

Del McCoury — “Rain And Snow”

It’s a murder ballad. It’s a lover’s lament. It’s sung in an astronomically high register. And it’s pretty sexist. It’s bluegrass to a T. It also happens to be a goddamn classic. Del McCoury does it right.

J.D. Crowe & the New South — “Ten Degrees and Getting Colder”

Somehow the saddest part of this song isn’t that he’s traded off his Martin. This song is a masterpiece and distillate of the troubles of a working musician: The coldest months are always the hardest months.

Bill Monroe — “Footprints in the Snow”

Once again, we are reminded that the father of bluegrass not only originated the genre, he’s responsible for a good many of its themes, too. In this case, winter isn’t an analog for heartbreak; it’s a silver lining, guiding the song’s speaker to his love via her footprints. You can’t trace footprints in the summer!

Photo by The Knowles Gallery on Foter.com / CC BY

Cary Morin Picks His Piece

Posted on by Editor

“Let there be no question of who’s wrong and who’s right. There should be no compromise. We all stand up and fight in the dawn’s early light,” Cary Morin sings on “Dawn’s Early Light,” written in support of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe during last year’s protest of the Dakota Access Pipeline.

“A friend of mine was doing a show [at Standing Rock with the Indigo Girls] and she had asked me, just in passing, if I would write a song for the Standing Rock movement,” Morin explains. “I felt like there were a lot of people writing songs about that, at that time, and I wanted this one to be a little different and stand out a little bit, so it was really more concentrated on the activism, in general, and not so much Standing Rock, but just the whole idea of people coming together to promote clean water.”

“Dawn’s Early Light” is one of the poignant original songs featured on Morin’s latest album, Cradle to the Grave. In order to lend his perspective, Morin tapped into his experience growing up as a Crow tribal member near the Missouri River in Montana.

“When you think about roots music in America, it’s a culmination of so many things. It’s all the stuff blended together, much like the culture in this country is people from all over the world that end up here and create a unique situation,” Morin explains. “With my Native heritage, I could say that I’m really the only finger-style Crow guy on the entire planet. That’s unique. But we all can say that, to some degree. We all have unique things that make us who we are, and I’m really thankful to have grown up in the area that I did, surrounded by the people that I did.”

Morin came to the guitar by way of the piano, which he first began playing around the age of 10. When he picked up a guitar a couple years later, he was enamored. He played by ear, emulating the sounds he loved from his parents’ and brother’s record collection: Chet Atkins, James Taylor, Cat Stevens and Neil Young.

“I grew up in the ‘70s so, at that time, [there was] no Internet, there was very little TV, mostly radio. And the local music scene was really pretty folky and a lot of bluegrass, so I really grew up in the pursuit of flat-picking and [was influenced by] popular bluegrass bands at the time — David Bromberg, Norman Blake, Tony Rice,” says Morin. “I had really fantastic examples of what the music should be, but then I kind of mashed everything up into a combination of bluegrass and finger-style stuff, mostly from Leo Kottke, which turned into this thing that I do now.”

Morin moved to Colorado just out of high school and formed the Atoll, a world-beat band that he toured with for more than 20 years. “I played electric guitar [in the band], but I continued to mess around with the acoustic guitar,” he says. “Once I stopped doing [the band], my focus was really just acoustic guitar and a lot of practicing — just hours and hours of sitting around and playing. To this day, I try to play quite a lot. I’ve been introduced to open-D tuning by a friend of mine, and it took me about a year to get it going and figure out just the basics of it. But then, once I got it going, I just found it to be really fascinating, and I continue to learn new stuff all the time with that tuning. I just love the way it sounds. There’s a fullness and richness to it that I can’t seem to get out of standard tuning.”

Morin’s reconnection with the acoustic guitar led to the release of his most recent string of solo acoustic albums. Cradle to the Grave is the fourth in the series showcasing his adept fingerpicking style and warm, inviting vocals. An amalgamation of bluegrass, country, rock ’n’ roll, and blues, the album features eight original tunes and three cover songs: Willie Brown’s “Mississippi Blues” and, perhaps more surprisingly, Prince’s “Nothing Compares 2 U” and Phish’s “Back on the Train.”

“Phish is one of my favorite bands … I think that Trey’s playing has just really been inspiring and just the whole feel of the band and the approach they take. There’s so much freedom in what they do, and I used that as an example with my band, when I was rolling around playing clubs and festivals,” Morin explains. “A lot of times we’d play five songs without stopping. We’d just roll from tune to tune, and the whole point of that band was really dance music, just to provide an outlet for people to go out and have fun and dance.”

Morin uses the same ethos in his current performances touring behind his solo efforts.

“As a solo player, I can do whatever I want. I can play in whatever key. I can speed things up or slow it down, or just kind of make things up as I go along. And I really dig that freedom to just do whatever I want on stage,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll try stuff and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But when it does, it’s a great feeling, and then it’s gone forever.”

While solo spontaneity on stage leads to such ephemeral moments, Morin has a solidified team off-stage that serves as his backbone — and they’re not going anywhere. From recording to promotion, it’s an organic, family affair.

“What I like about these four records [is that] the recordings are all done live in the studio with no headphones. I’ll sit and play these songs, and just play and play and play them, and a friend of mine has recorded all these albums,” Morin explains. “We’ve gotten together, I think, a pretty successful team with Maple Street Music and [my wife] promoting the live shows and the recordings, and Rich [Werdes] recording them, and we have the same person that’s been mastering and mixing the CDs, too. It’s just like the perfect combination of people and I like to think that I promote one guy, one guitar. People still are interested in such a thing … I just really enjoy being able to stand on stage by myself being able to do what I do.”

Photo credit: Timothy Duffy

MIXTAPE: Mike Barnett’s Favorite Fiddlers

Posted on by Editor

If you want to know who the best fiddlers in bluegrass and old-time are, ask one of the best fiddlers in bluegrass and old-time … right? Here, Mike Barnett rattles off not just a list of songs by great players, but the reasons they are so great. Enjoy his insider’s view.

“Flannery’s Dream” – John Hartford

Records from John Hartford like Wild Hog in the Red Brush and Speed of the Old Long Bow got me really excited about the energy in old-time music. I never got to meet Hartford, but feel a connection to him through his music. He brings a special vibe that I’ve often tried to channel. I’ve heard stories that he used to have a guideline that nobody in his band could repeat their accompaniment/part for more than one section of a song, everyone had to mix up their playing often, which gives his music a certain drive and breath.

“Black and White Rag” – Johnny Gimble

When I heard Johnny Gimble play at Mark O’Connor’s camp maybe 14 years ago, it was so strikingly Texas, so rooted in that tradition. I particularly remember his feel when playing Texas rags captivating me, like here in the “Black and White Rag.” Johnny helped me understand more deeply the true spirit and community of Texas-style music.

“Bound to Ride” – John Hartford, Tony Rice, and Vassar Clements

Vassar Clements invented his own, incredibly unique style of fiddling. The vibrato, silky tone, double stops and slides … it’s like magic whenever he touches the fiddle, and I can tell within two notes if it’s him. This recording of “Bound to Ride” is a great snapshot into Vassar’s unique way of playing around a melody, backing up the vocal, and lifting the energy of a song.

“Dill Pickle Rag” – Buddy Spicher and Vassar Clements

Buddy Spicher is one of the legends, and one of those fiddlers you’ve probably heard but maybe didn’t know it was him. It was Buddy who got me wanting to play second fiddle — the harmony. This recording of Buddy with Vassar on “Dill Pickle Rag” shows some of Buddy’s genius and virtuosity (and Vassar’s!).

“Lonesome Moonlight Waltz” – Kenny Baker

Hard not to mention Kenny Baker here. I listened to his album Kenny Baker Plays Bill Monroe frequently growing up, and I’m still trying to understand those bowings! His playing is so clean, clear, good tone and time, and great melody player.

“Sally Goodin'” – Paul Warren

“Sally Goodin'” was actually the first COUNTRY hit! #funfact It was Tony Trischka who got me listening to Paul Warren when I was about 17. Another one of the legends in bluegrass fiddle, Paul brings a grit and edge that is often lost in modern bluegrass fiddling.

“Estrellita” – Bobby Hicks

Once Bill Monroe was asked if he had a favorite fiddler of those who’d played in his band. Bill said, “I’ve had a lot of fiddlers come through my band, but I believe Bobby Hicks was the truest fiddler I ever had.” Bobby is the double-stop king, and took a lot from what Tommy Jackson did with his single note playing around a vocal and made it his own.

“Back Up and Push” – “Benny Martin

Benny Martin’s double stops, attack, and full-throttle style really resonate with me. The tone he gets in this version of “Back Up and Push” makes it seem as if he’s got a brick tied to the end of his bow. And when he gets to the shuffle, it’s clear that so many contemporary fiddlers have been heavily influenced by how he did it.

“Raggedy Ann” – Curly Ray Cline

If you’re wondering who ever had the most fun playing the fiddle, all you need to do is search “Curly Ray Cline Orange Blossom Special” on YouTube, and you’ll find that it was in fact Curly Ray Cline! He’s most known for his work with the Lonesome Pine Fiddlers and Ralph Stanley and is as much a treat to watch as to listen to. I love his note choice and where he plays in the beat — what he does with the time.

“Fire in the Mountain” – Scotty Stoneman and Bill Emerson

Scotty Stoneman was a wild man of a fiddler. His double stops and slides, and aggressive approach to the fiddle, are some things I’ve always gone and checked back in with in my listening. You can hear some of what I’m talking about with Scotty’s sound in the recording of him playing “Fire in the Mountain.”

“Learnin’ the Blues” – The Del McCoury Band

The Del McCoury Band is one of the finest — if not THE finest — bluegrass bands still in the business. One G run from Del will set you straight for the whole year. Jason Carter has got the old bluegrass sound, and I love how much he digs in and goes for stuff, and pulls so much sound and soul out of the fiddle.

“Pickin’ the Devil’s Eye” – Bruce Molsky

I’ve always loved this recording Bruce Molsky made with Rushad Eggleston, Darol Anger, and Michael Ducé of “Pickin the Devil’s Eye.” The groove masters! Or maestros! Bruce’s propulsive bowing, groove, and reverence for tradition is really remarkable. He’s basically a one man band, and hearing him here is transcendent.

“Buffalo Nickel” – Béla Fleck and the Flecktones

Stuart Duncan has played on countless recordings so it was hard to choose just one, but Béla Fleck’s Bluegrass Sessions was one of the most influential for me, and a major landmark in acoustic music. “Buffalo Nickel” is gorgeous, and Stuart plays the melody with so much taste, tone, feel, soul, intonation … all the good things. To me, Stuart has always been sort of a perfect combination of all the things I love about fiddling.

“Future Man” – Strength in Numbers

Mark O’Connor is one of the most versatile players on the planet, combining so many styles and influences so flawlessly to create his own incredible voice. Telluride Sessions by Strength in Numbers is another must-have album. The way everyone plays together, and Mark’s precision and virtuosity … amazing. His solo here on “Future Man” is a highlight — a glimpse of what Mark is capable of.

“Ducks in the Millpond” – Aubrey Haynie

Aubrey Haynie is the initial reason why I got into bluegrass. His sound made me want to learn how to do that. One of my favorite fiddle albums out there is Aubrey’s The Bluegrass Fiddle Album. I like this cut of “Ducks on the Millpond” — a really cool instrumental that weaves between three sections. Aubrey mostly plays the melody with so much tone and taste, and varies it slightly toward the end.

“Sweet Georgia Brown” – Billy Contreras

Not everyone is familiar with the fiddle stylings of Billy Contreras, as his genius is less substantially documented. I think he is the greatest improviser on the violin to ever live, and a master when it comes to bluegrass, swing, modern jazz… he can do it all. His brilliant, almost mathematical mind for music, combined with his deep heart for it all, is endlessly inspiring.

“Lee Highway Blues” – Darol Anger and Stuart Duncan

Growing up, I listened to so much music that Darol Anger is responsible for: Republic of Strings, duo with Mike Marshall, his own projects, his work with the David Grisman Quintet, etc. Besides his amazing lead playing, he is known for paving new roads for the violin as a rhythm instrument with his infectious groove and development of the fiddle chop. His album, Diary of a Fiddler, has so many thoughtful duets with great fiddlers of different styles.

“It Don’t Mean a Thing” – Stuff Smith

Matt Glaser, who turned me onto so much priceless music during my time at Berklee College of Music, introduced me to Stuff Smith. I love Stuff’s emphasis on groove and blues, and the grit and directness in his sound.

Photo credit: Justin Canerer

Tony Rice on the Legacy and Impact of Clarence White

Posted on by Editor

Flatpick guitarist Tony Rice is a legendary figure in the world of bluegrass — one whose story is defined in mythic proportions, with language typically reserved for the hero of a literary epic. His D-28 Martin guitar, which once belonged to Clarence White, has been anointed “The Holy Grail,” and his acceptance speech during his Hall of Fame induction at the 2013 IBMA Awards has come to be known as “The Moment.” For nearly 20 years, Rice had been silenced by a vocal cord condition known as muscle tension dysphonia. Holding his right hand to his chest, he announced, “I am speaking in my real voice,” to a crowd filled with applause and tears.

Now, Rice has lent his voice to another poignant IBMA Awards moment — this time on behalf of his dear friend and personal hero, guitar pioneer Clarence White. White will be inducted into the Bluegrass Hall of Fame at this year’s IBMA Awards in Raleigh.

To kick things off, let's just start at the beginning. Can you tell me about the time that you first met Clarence?

There used to be a radio show in Southern California in Los Angeles where I grew up — it was called Town Hall Party. It would come on every Sunday afternoon; it was a live radio broadcast. Multi-talented, mostly country music, but there was a bluegrass band there, a band called the Country Boys, and my father used to listen to them religiously every Sunday. So one day, it was in 1960, my father got ahold of somebody over there and asked them if they could put me on the air singing a song. And so they agreed to do it and we went out back of the building where the bands could rehearse or do whatever they wanted to do.

But, anyway, my father and I went back there. There was this bluegrass band, the Country Boys — you know Clarence and Roland and Clarence's brother Eric on bass and Billy Ray Latham on banjo and LeRoy Mac was on dobro — and boy, what a sound! But it's like, just to see this 16-year-old guy — and I was nine years old at the time when Clarence was 16 — and he had this old guitar, this old ragged-out guitar … didn't have a name on it. I asked him … it looked to me a little bit like a Martin. And the only Martin I knew anything about, at the time, was a D-18 because my father had given me one. And I remember asking Clarence, "Is that a D-18?" and he said, "No, this is a D-28."

And from that moment on, everything was just fascinating. It was beyond description to see this guy sitting there that young and playing rhythm — that's the only thing he played at the time. He wasn't even playing lead. But to see this guy playing rhythm that precise with that much dedication, it was beyond description. And the rest is history.

We became friends because, at the time, there was only two bands — bluegrass bands — in the whole Los Angeles area, and they were the Country Boys and my father had just started a band called the Golden State Boys. Don Parmley would later on become a full-time member of the band and different people would come and go over the years: Vern Gosdin and Rex Gosdin were part of the band and what not. But there was only two bands there and then, I don't know, it seemed like bluegrass in general started to take off around that time and sort of run a parallel with the revival of the folk boom that was happening — the folk music boom.

And, well, the rest is sort of history. It seemed like everything started to grow and the White family and my own family became friends and, whenever we could see each other or visit or do whatever, we would get together any way we could. Well, then, we always did that.

What was it about Clarence's playing, specifically, that really resonated with you? Why was he such an inspirational figure for you, as a musician and even as a person?

Because he was different from anybody else that I had ever heard in a way that's very hard to describe. I mean, he didn't play rhythm like Jimmy Martin; he didn't play rhythm like Lester Flatt. He just sort of had his own style in a way that he … his own technique. And I don't even think it was something that he practiced. I think it was just Clarence White's musicianship. I tell people I think it was just in his DNA. He just played without guard to thinking about it so much, consciously thinking about it so much as to just be an integrated part of a band and enjoy himself and play rhythm guitar the only way that he knew how to do it.

Right. So obviously he had this profound impact on you. So, as your career developed, what aspect of his playing was always present with you? Was there anything that he did — like you were saying, sort of the way he played without guard — was there ever a part of you that tried to emulate that or sort of any approach that he took that you said, "I wanna incorporate this into my playing"?

Well, from that moment on, to somebody like myself, it's like, and being that young — as young as I was — it just automatically became a situation whereby I saw him and that old ragged-out guitar and I thought, "Okay, well, this is the way it's supposed to be done," because it sounds to me more pleasant than anybody else playing rhythm than I had ever heard.

Is there a particular piece of music that Clarence played that maybe moved you the most?

No, there really wasn't because, like I said, at the time, he wasn't playing lead guitar.

Mmhmm.

I remember this vaguely. It might have been a year or two after — or maybe even three years went by — and Roland got drafted into the Army and that left a void there of another instrumentalist that took solos as an integrated part of the band. And, you know, there were periods of time when they didn't have a mandolin player. Well, Clarence very quickly learned to take up the slack where his brother had left off and it seemed like it happened overnight. It happened so fast that this guy that, you know, I had no idea played any lead at all, it just seemed like, in a matter of weeks, he went from being somebody who didn't play any lead at all to being one of the most incredible, unique guitar players, in terms of his ability to play lead and still have it sound like it was a natural, integrated part of bluegrass music.

And geez, you know, when I think back at the years that went by before anybody else was even known about — and not that many people even knew about Clarence, in terms of his ability to play lead — and then, next, I think around 1963, Doc Watson would come along and a couple of other people people would come and become more familiar with Norman Blake. A lot of this stuff is hard to answer.

I know, it's hard to summarize what someone means to you when they mean so much. Well, we can't talk about Clarence without talking about the guitar a little more. I'm sure it's a story you're always asked to tell. Can you just sort of recap for me the story of how you came to be reunited with his D-28.

How I came to acquire it?

There you go.

Yeah, I can, although it's on the Internet about 500 times.

Clarence White and Roger McGuinn in the Byrds, September 1972. Photo credit: Dan Volonnino

Well, how about we do it this way: Why was it so important to you to acquire this guitar? How about we do it that way?

Because from the time I heard that guitar, there was something about every other guitar — and this exists to this day — that one particular guitar has a sound that's so unique that there's nothing else out there that can compare to it. It was dormant for about nine years, and the subject came up when I was with J.D. Crowe in the early '70s. Well, one of the members of J.D. Crowe's band was Bobby Slone. And Bobby was a fiddle player for a while with the Country Boys, who were then called the Kentucky Colonels. But the subject came up one night and Bobby says, "You know, I think I know where that guitar is." And, as it turned out, Clarence had either sold or pawned the guitar — one or the other, I'm not sure; nobody's sure.

Probably the best story I ever heard about it was from Roland White, that Clarence, around 1965 or '66, had started to take an interest in electric guitar playing. And it was actually discovered how good he was by a very renowned country electric guitar player named James Burton. And James Burton sort of took him under his wing and helped Clarence develop a unique style of electric guitar playing and Clarence went on to play with Ricky Nelson and various, different country bands out in the L.A. and Bakersfield areas. So Clarence didn't have any need for the guitar. And him and his wife, Susie, had not been together for a long time, but they decided that to get married. And there was a very renowned guitar player that played with Buck Owens that had a Fender Telecaster guitar that Clarence wanted. So Clarence sold the guitar so that he would have enough money to buy this guitar from Don Rich, who played with Buck Owens — so he'd have enough money to buy the guitar and an amp from Don Rich and also take him and his wife on a honeymoon.

And then what happened later on … like a sort of conflict happened or I have no idea, even Owens was vague about it to some degree. But nonetheless, it's like not knowing what happened, there's a reason why Clarence never was allowed to get that guitar back from Joe Miller. That's still open for speculation to some degree. But even after Clarence had joined the Byrds and acquired an enormous amount of money, he offered the guy that he sold it to — a guy named Joe Miller — who, Joe Miller was a guy, I think that used to play football for UCLA or something, but his family's very rich. Joe Miller's family owned a chain of liquor stores in Pasadena, California, and were very successful and very wealthy. But this guy Joe Miller was such a fan of the Kentucky Colonels that he followed them around everywhere. So Clarence ended up selling the guitar to Joe Miller and Joe Miller was the one who had it in his possession. In fact, the guitar was not played for about nine years when the subject came up, you know, as to who had the guitar, where it was, because the whole world thought the guitar was just inaccessible to anybody.

But where this story gets real interesting is, I played a very, very, very long shot. The next day after Bobby Slone told me who had the guitar was a guy named Joe Miller and he told me about his family and Joe Miller's family owned a liquor store, you know, called Miller's Liquor. Well, the next day at home, just to play a long shot, I got on the phone. I was living in Kentucky, at the time. So I got on the phone and I called information and asked them do they have a number for Miller's Liquor, and the operator said, "Yeah, we have nine of 'em. Which one you want?" So I said, "Well, give me the first one you got." Well, she give me a number and the first one I got, I called and I said, "Is Joe Miller there?" And the person that answered the phone said, "No, Joe is not here, but he'll be back probably in about an hour."

So I waited and called back: Lo and behold, Joe Miller was there. And I said, "Joe Miller," I said, "I'm in Kentucky. My name is Tony Rice and I play with a guy named J.D. Crowe." And Joe Miller knew all about the J.D. Crowe Band and knew who I was and everything. And I said, "Mr. Miller, I understand that you have the guitar — the old D-28 — that Clarence White used to have." He said, "Yeah, I do." And I said, "Well, would you consider selling it?" And, as best I remember, he said, "I wouldn't sell it to anybody else, but I would sell it to you," or that he would consider it. He said, "Before I do," he said, "I think it's only fair that I have it appraised to see what the value of it might be." And I thought, "Uh-oh. He's gonna come back with some figure that's gonna be off the scale that there's gonna be no way in the world that I could afford it."

But he came back, he called me back and he said he took it to the last place that Clarence had had the guitar worked on. And I can't remember that guy's name, where Clarence had took it. But the guy told Joe Miller, he said, "Well, this guitar is in pretty ragged-out condition," he said, "even though it is a Martin D-28," he said, "I'd say if it was in real good shape, it might be worth around $600, but in the shape that it's in," he said, "I would put it in the $450 to $500 range." And so I told Joe Miller, I said, "Well, Joe, would you be willing to split the difference?" He said, "Yeah," he said, "I think I could do that." I said, "Well how about $550?" And so we agreed on $550. Well, the next day I was on a plane from Kentucky out to meet Joe Miller with a guitar at a Sheraton Hotel at the airport in Los Angeles. And he brought it there and I brought the cash there and give him the cash, you know, got the receipt, walked out of there with that instrument for $550.

Wow, that's an incredible story. Thank you for re-telling that for me. Well, Tony, this has been great. I mean, we covered a lot of ground. I wanna thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me. It's really an honor and a pleasure.

Well, I hope I haven't overtalked myself here.

No, this was great. I don't wanna keep you too long. I could talk to you forever. But to wrap, if we wanted to get one cool, one great sound bite to summarize what Clarence meant to you, what would you say?

You know, I don't know. It's very multi-faceted. It's like if I were to ask you, "Desiré, do you know what a rose smells like?" And you'd say, "Well, of course." And then I would say, "Okay, tell me about it. Tell me what a rose smells like." Well, you wouldn't be able to do it, right?

Exactly.

There's no words, you know, in the English language, or in any other language for that matter where you could describe to me what a rose smells like. And I run into that situation a lot. You know, people ask me, "Well, what did Clarence mean to you?" and, you know, "How did you learn to play rhythm like him?" etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. There's some of those things that are just like the scenario with the rose. And one of my fellow heroes in music is a jazz horn player named Wynton Marsalis. And I seen him doing a lecture one night on a TV program and I never will forget this: Wynton Marsalis was the guy that said, "Well," he said, "Let me simplify this." He said, "There are so many things in all music forms that there is only one word you can use to describe some of the different facets involved in any music forms," and he said, "That word is mysterious." And such as the case, you know, as it is here. It's the same thing with my relationship with Clarence. We became friends and I never took a guitar lesson from Clarence White or anything like that. You know, we would sit down with a guitar whenever we could.

I do remember this very well: Whenever Clarence and the White Brothers and myself and my brothers ended up playing a lot of those places in L.A. — Ash Grove, the Troubadour, you know, so many places that were out there at the time. Whenever I was together with Clarence White and whenever we were at the same show together, I would always ask Clarence, "Clarence, when I do my show, can I play that old D-28?" and he never refused. I think it finally got to the point where, if he saw me coming, he just took it off and handed it to me.

But other than that, I really don't know. So many things that you know them in your conscious mind, but you can't put 'em in words. And you know, I wish there were more definitive ways of being able to answer a lot of the questions that a lot of people wanna know about my own relationship with Clarence White and what he meant and what he means today and you know, etcetera, etcetera. And I did go through a period where I wanted to play like him and would practice that and practice that and practice that and I think I was even into my mid-teens before I figured out I ain't gonna be able to do this.

And, as a result of my inability to play like Clarence White, out of that came my own identity as a separate musician from Clarence White altogether, with the exception of, you know, a few things like rhythm style and some of the techniques he used. The fact that Clarence had no fear of the guitar when it came to playing rhythm and throwing in different board substitutions and syncopations that had never been done in bluegrass before. I mean, he had no fear about throwing those things into a band. And, of course, later on, that's one of the things that I developed, too, is that lack of fear of the instrument. And, you know, the confidence to, whenever you have that confidence to play rhythm guitar as an integrated part of a band and do so in such a different way as to not step on anybody else's toes that are a part of the band, if I'm making any sense here.

Absolutely, you are.

And other than that, I don't know what to say.

Lede image: Tony Rice, 2005 RockyGrass. Photo by Jordan Klein.

The Story of 0044: Part 1

Posted on by Editor

The most influential band in bluegrass music’s second generation only lasted 10 months, but it may have worked harder — and become tighter — that many bands do in five years or more.

J.D. Crowe and the New South’s path-breaking January 1975 studio recording was the only one ever released in the U.S. and yet had an immediate and enduring impact on the music that is still strongly felt even today, 40 years later.

The untitled album, widely known by the number that Rounder Records assigned it — “0044” — remains revered by artists like Alison Krauss, who grew up listening to it. For years, she kept a framed copy of the album cover on a wall in her home in Tennessee.

Barry Bales, who’s played bass for Alison Krauss and Union Station for 25 years, says of that New South incarnation, “That was the first generation of bluegrass, to us.”

Contemporary radio host and show promoter Fred Bartenstein says that, at the time of the album’s release (in August 1975), “The bluegrass world thought of the Crowe-Rice-Skaggs-Douglas-Slone band as the second coming — the best performing ensemble to arrive since Flatt-Scruggs-Seckler-Benny Martin 22 years earlier.”

A Working Band

The now-classic New South sound was honed as a working band — a hard-working band — with a steady six-nights-a-week gig in Lexington, Kentucky, at the Holiday Inn North’s Red Slipper Lounge. The Holiday Inn gig began in August 1968 and lasted for years. A typical evening saw the band play four sets. That’s a pace of a thousand sets a year. Presenting a good show, when one has to perform that often, is a challenge. Band members don’t want to get stale; any whiff of that conveys itself to an audience right away.

The band combined veterans Bobby Slone and J.D. (born in 1936 and 1937, respectively) with Tony Rice (1951), Ricky Skaggs (1954), and by the time of the studio session, Jerry Douglas (1956). J.D. and Bobby already had many years under their belts and — despite their ages — so did the younger players, all of whom started performing at very young ages.

There were connections, though, that one might not expect. At one point in his past, Bobby had lived in California and played in the Golden State Boys, a band in which Tony’s father played mandolin and Tony’s uncle played guitar. And J.D. had seen Jerry playing with John Douglas, Jerry’s father, in the West Virginia Travelers, a group made up of steelworkers from West Virginia who had found work in the steel mills in Ohio.

All of them were open to newer music. J.D. had a working band, and had had one for years before Tony joined. He’d always liked different kinds of music. He always welcomed something different. He encouraged experimentation. He knew that you can’t play as many as 24 sets a week, 52 weeks a year, without keeping mentally awake.

J.D. was the elder statesman of the group, and he appreciated that having the young cohort helped bring a lot of extra energy. “Tony … we’d play all night at the Holiday Inn, and we would go over to Tony’s apartment and sometimes pick until daylight, wouldn’t we, Bobby? We’ve done that I don’t know how many times. And Tony would do it all the time.”

J.D. started professionally at age 16 and, when he was still 18, became the banjo player for Jimmy Martin and the Sunny Mountain Boys — Jimmy being the self-proclaimed “King of Bluegrass Music.” His banjo work with Jimmy Martin remains highly revered today, but J.D. always had his ears open and had always enjoyed presenting other kinds of music bluegrass-style.

He was pre-Elvis, after all. There was so much change during the 1950s. The war was over, prosperity was in, people were more mobile, and diverse cultural influences were in the air. Literally. Radio was everywhere. J.D. was in his formative years and was hearing music of all sorts. One of the tracks on Oh Oh Four Four was Fats Domino’s “I’m Walking” (1957). It was J.D. who introduced it. “I brought that in,” he says. “I was always wanting to do something of that type of music. Nobody was doing that in bluegrass. Doyle and I got together — that’s when Doyle was with me — and we started doing that thing. Then we started doing ‘You Can Have Her’ — that’s an old rock tune [Roy Hamilton, 1961]. Different things like that, that make great bluegrass conversions, that adapt over to bluegrass easily.”

Working up music from other genres to bluegrass had been done, but it was much more the exception than the rule. Another song on the 0044 album was Bruce Phillips’ “Rock Salt and Nails.” J.D. had heard Flatt and Scruggs do that on an album which they released in 1965. He says, “I always wanted to do that song when I first heard it, and I said, ‘Man.’ But at the time, I never had the personnel that could do that. When Tony joined the band, I said, ‘Man, it would be right down his alley to sing that.’” Flatt and Scruggs recorded Chuck Berry’s “Memphis, Tennessee” that same year. The Country Gentlemen had, even earlier, worked with songs from the folk revival. And Jim and Jesse and the Virginia Boys recorded a whole album of Chuck:Berry Pickin’ in the Country, also in ’65. The Charles River Valley Boys — from the Boston area — had released their album Beatle Country the following year.

So the idea of recording music from other genres in a bluegrass style was far from new. (It worked the other way ‘round, too: Elvis himself recorded Bill Monroe’s “Blue Moon of Kentucky” in 1954.)

Marty Godbey notes Doug Benson’s Bluegrass Unlimited review of a J.D. Crowe and the Kentucky Mountain Boys show at Reidsville in the summer of 1970, when Larry was in the band, a year before Tony joined. The review was titled “Breakthrough in Bluegrass Repertoire” and noted some of the Flying Burrito Brothers material that Larry had brought to the band.

Tony Rice joined the New South on Labor Day weekend, 1971. He’d just turned 20 that June and helped expand the repertoire, too. J.D. says, “Tony brought some stuff into the band. That’s what I liked all the pickers to do. I’d just gotten familiar with Gordon Lightfoot. I liked him. Really enjoyed him. When Tony brought it up, I said, ‘Man, we could do those.’ We started kind of running over them and I said, ‘We need to record some of this, because it’s different. Nobody else was doing this.’ That was before anybody was doing that at the time. So we started doing that and he started looking for more of the Lightfoots and just different people.”

Ian Tyson was another such songwriter. “Right,” says J.D. “I knew who he was, but I never had listened to him that much. Tony heard this particular song and he brought it to me, and said, ‘What do you think?’ I said, ‘Man, this is a great song. Do you like it?’ He said, ‘Man, I love it. We can do that.’”

J.D. was always ready to try something different. One thing he did was change the name of the band to the New South, not long after Tony joined. “To me, the Kentucky Mountain Boys kind of labels you to one style of music, and I wanted to change it to something that wouldn’t label you — to a name that you could play whatever kind of music you wanted, and the name would still fit.” Along with the name change came the introduction of drums and electric pick-ups. The New South wasn’t the only bluegrass band introducing newer material, nor were they the first; it’s the treatment they gave the music that made the difference.

What was new about the New South with Tony in the band (and Tony’s brother Larry) was how it all came together. Tony was thrilled to join the group. “I’d wanted into Crowe’s band since right after my brother Larry joined in ‘69. My uncle, Frank Poindexter, and I made a trip to Kentucky to see them. You remember how good that band was back then. That band had so much drive and precision and tight harmonies that there was no band out there in existence that could even touch them. As in one pill of generic Cialis. The moment we saw them at the Holiday Inn, it was a dream of mine to be a guitar player and singer in the Kentucky Mountain Boys.”

Jerry Douglas, Ricky Skaggs, J.D. Crowe, and Tony Rice at the Bicentennial Folk Music Festival and Revival, Escoheag, Rhode Island, 1975. Photo credit: Phil Zimmerman

They experimented with repertoire, and the band’s members — young and older — were all firmly rooted in bluegrass. They had a determined bandleader in J.D. Crowe and they all had professional pride as they plied their craft six nights a week in front of a live audience. The frequency and steadiness of their long-standing gig led to their ongoing interest in new material.

J.D. “liked playing stuff from the Jimmy Martin days — Flatt and Scruggs, Osbornes, and whatever — but he was constantly on the lookout for something new that we could add to the regular repertoire. Think back on this: When you’re playing four and sometimes five sets, six nights a week, you’re going to get bored if you keep playing the same stuff over and over again. You could lose your mind.”

The Holiday Inn

The audience was a very receptive one. It wasn’t just overnight guests at the Holiday Inn. There were rather few of those. The audience drew a lot from the University of Kentucky, and weekends drew standing room-only crowds. Tony told Tim Stafford that about 60 percent of the people were college students and the other 40 percent were locals, but it was — by and large — an attentive audience. “These were college student that had an ear … We’d have a rowdy crowd occasionally, but not that often. It was more or less a sophisticated audience. Looking back, I’m sure we were probably the only band in the history of bluegrass up to that time that had anything like that — a club gig where they served lots of liquor and beer, and a listening crowd. That was almost unheard of.”

Ricky Skaggs painted a good picture of the Red Slipper Lounge in his book Kentucky Traveler: “Décor-wise, the Red Slipper was a fancy place for bluegrass, especially considering the era we’re talking about. It had chandeliers and mirrors and thick shag carpet and real waiters … the works. But, true to the music, it was rowdy and noisy as could be. It wasn’t really a place to get food unless you consider booze and bluegrass to be food groups, and I reckon a lot of the regulars did. They loved to drink and holler, and they loved their bluegrass and they let you know it.

“The Red Slipper was loud and smoky and, when I say smoky, I mean every fiber of your clothes would be saturated with stale cigarette smoke, right down to your socks. I’d come home at night after four hours of playing and try to pull my shirt off, and I got to where I’d flinch. I’d just about upchuck my dinner by the time the shirt got around my nose.”

It was a steady gig, too, with a weekly paycheck — and a decent-sized one, a rarity for a bluegrass band.

But there were, inevitably, down times, too. Bobby Slone said, “We worked [at the Holiday Inn] five years …You get so you can’t impress yourself a bit; you can’t feel the music good. People say you can get really tight playing in bars — and you can, if you’re playing three or four nights — but six nights is just too much. You play to the same audiences over and over, and you play so much you’re tired … It’s not good for the music, but it’s good for other things — it pays your bills.”

This is part one of a three-part series about the iconic bluegrass album that will be re-released by Rounder Records in an expanded vinyl edition for Record Store Day 2016. Read part two here.