Tag: Tunesday Tuesday

Maeve Gilchrist, “The Storm” and “The Calm”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

If you aren’t already aware, you should know that the harp is having something of “a moment.” Between pop- and mainstream-adjacent singer-songwriters like Joanna Newsom and Lizzie No who write on harp to traditionalist, Irish and old-time pickers like Alannah Thornburgh, there’s no shortage of non-classical entry points to this often esoteric instrument. Viral TikTok sensations @hannah_harpist and @olivia_harpist (Hannah Stater and Olivia Ter Berg, respectively), whose harp-centered “sounds” have been liked, shared, and reshared by hundreds of thousands of users, are true harp influencers, capitalizing on the growing visibility of the instrument.

Lifelong harpist, singer, composer, and virtuoso Maeve Gilchrist — whose own journey on the instrument began as a child at the feet of her two harpist aunts — knows that this global harp moment is no flash in the pan. She’s performed around the world with DuoDuo, the Silkroad Ensemble, notable instrumentalists such as Yo-Yo Ma, Darol Anger, and Esperanza Spalding, and she was even a featured soloist on the How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World soundtrack.  

Gilchrist’s just-released album of harp compositions, The Harpweaver — named for and inspired by the eponymous work by poet Edna St. Vincent Millay — includes two compositions written for a community school of 107 young harp students in County Laois, Ireland. “The Storm” and “The Calm” were written as part of a suite entitled “White Horses,” which Gilchrist wrote for a harp orchestra of young County Laois girls ages 5 to 18. A native of Scotland and now based in Brooklyn, New York, Gilchrist teaches often in Ireland and the British Isles, building upon the instrument’s deep roots in the folk and Celtic musics of the region. 

“Back in the days,” Gilchrist explains via email, “when a lot of Irish music and culture was being oppressed, the harp was outlawed because of its ability to so powerfully stir the spirit.” In teaching these young girls the harp, Gilchrist is handing down the legacy of its evocative ability to subvert these sorts of moral expectations – especially those projected upon women. “I loved the image of white horses (the waves of the sea) as a metaphor for these girls,” she continues. “So strong and elegant, wielding their harps as modern day peaceful warriors!”

On The Harpweaver, “The Calm” comes after the storm, turning the age-old cliché on its head, further subverting our expectations for an instrument and a genre aesthetic that has too long been relegated to quiet background music in elevators and office spaces. The harp is a tool for so much more, and on The Harpweaver, Gilchrist’s compositions, as well as her efforts to spread the harp to new pupils, acolytes, and fans, demonstrate this clearly, stunningly, and captivatingly. 

Photo credit: J. Goodman

Jordan Tice, “Stratford Waltz”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Do you remember the soundtrack to your earliest childhood memories? Do you remember the songs that wafted from the car radio to the backseat as you rode along the highway, en route to a family reunion or summer vacation? My earliest memories of seemingly interminable, minivan-filled-to-bursting road trips are often scored by solo acoustic guitar. My older brother, a fingerstyle enthusiast and acolyte, had an equally interminable collection of Phil Keaggy albums. At one point, I could tell you the exact title of the tune that was my favorite to fall asleep to on the road — though by now I’ve long forgotten which one. 

Guitarist and Nashville transplant Jordan Tice counts many a virtuosic, acoustic guitar aesthetician (cutaway or not) among his influences, from Norman Blake to Mississippi John Hurt — two pickers Tice references as direct inspirators of his upcoming solo album, Motivational Speakeasy. The record was written pre-pandemic and, despite its “stripped down” nature, feels impetuous, mischievous, and adventure-ready, even in a song as languid and buttery as “Stratford Waltz.” Named for Stratford Avenue in Nashville’s Inglewood neighborhood, the tune immediately recalled to mind the family road trips of my childhood, my brother’s CD carrying case, and my sleepy head bonking against the back window in our circa 2004 Chevrolet Astro Van.

The intimate setting of the album — it’s just Tice and his “beloved and well-worn Collings guitar,” as a press release puts it — and the subtly lush reverb magnify the gentle, magnetic momentum of “Stratford Waltz.” With that motion and the sly adventuresome spirit we know from Tice’s writing, both lyrical and instrumental, it’s no wonder a mind might leap immediately to the open road, with hundreds of miles ahead. And personally, it’s certainly fitting because, nowadays, when I turn off the highway and head south on Gallatin Pike in Nashville towards my current home, my most direct route is down — did you guess it? — Stratford Avenue

Photo credit: Jacqueline Justice

Alex Sturbaum, “Radish in Spring”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

There’s an immediately whimsical, transatlantic quality to Alex Sturbaum’s original tune, “Radish in Spring” that feels intuitive, like a long-forgotten melody on a medieval video game’s pause menu or the perfect backing track to a montage scene in a sepia-toned, independent film. The cheerily wonky descending chromaticism feels like a wry, knowing smile, teasing listeners’ ears for expecting the predictable.

A genderfluid musician, educator, composer, and multi-instrumentalist, Sturbaum is full of delightful turns such as this on their new release, Loomings, purposefully and pointedly queering a musical aesthetic that hearkens far back, beyond Appalachia, American shores, and across the sea. The title, a serendipitous reference in a pandemic that has forced many a backyard gardener to embrace homegrown brassicas of all varieties, is a reference to Sturbaum’s partner, Rae, whose pet name is “Radish.” 

“I had to include ‘Radish in Spring’ [on Loomings];” Sturbaum explains via email, “Not just because I love playing the tune, but to honor the person whose love and support has been integral to my journey as a musician and as a person.”

Knowing, sensing this tender tribute allows listeners to untangle even more of the song’s subtly captivating themes — including that prerequisite spiciness we all know, love, and expect from a crisp, icy cold, earthy radish. Sturbaum’s Irish-style button accordion combined with fiddle supplied by Brian Lindsay and bass by Loomings producer Alicia Healey are together a textbook less-is-more approach to instrumental tune-crafting. And, whether metaphorically or literally, they’re a reminder of the beautiful simplicity of a just-after frost, freshly-tended garden bed full of bright, new, homegrown radishes in spring.

Photo credit: Brian Lindsay

Bronwyn Keith-Hynes, “Fiddler’s Pastime”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

A handful of pages into her book, How To Do Nothing, artist, scientist, and researcher Jenny Odell makes the point that, under capitalism and the Protestant work ethic somewhere along the way modern human understanding of time transformed from being something that “passes” to being something that’s “spent.” Time is money. Where, in the not too distant rearview, time was not always considered a scarce resource or commodity. Instead of passing the time, we now spend it. 

Mid-pandemic, the distinction between these two perspectives feels even more important. To musicians — especially the working, middle-class set whose income hinges almost entirely on performing and creating constantly — the enforced global pausing of COVID-19 has allowed many the ability to refocus their priorities, retooling creativity to be something by which we all pass time, once again, instead of ravenously spending it. 

Any listener familiar with the bowstrokes of fiddler Bronwyn Keith-Hynes (Mile Twelve) will know this particular fiddler’s favorite pastime is… well, fiddle. The most tangible hallmark of her playing style may be her practice regimen, a preponderance of thought and intention evident in every last note. On her debut solo album, Fiddler’s Pastime, and especially its titular number, the oft-trod licks and turns of phrase she pulls on from those hours of study and rehearsal don’t feel canned or stilted, shoehorned into contexts to impress or beguile. They feel like simple outgrowths of Keith-Hynes’ tender-while-precise playing (and practice).

The musical backdrop of “Fiddler’s Pastime,” provided by Harry Clark (mandolin), Jeff Picker (bass), Jake Stargel (guitar), and producer Wes Corbett (banjo), acts as a cozy base layer of security and support for Keith-Hynes’ sometimes languid or teasingly lazy melodic interplay. But the cherry-on-top of this exquisite Bill Monroe via Kenny Baker cover is Laura Orshaw’s immaculate, identical-level twin fiddle. Awarded Fiddle Performer of the Year from the trad-facing Society for the Preservation of Bluegrass Music of America (SPGBMA) in 2019, Orshaw’s fiddling remains dismally underrated on the national and international scenes. She shines here with her longtime friend and collaborator. 

The dots are seamlessly connected; between Keith-Hynes, Orshaw, and this superlative crackerjack band, Fiddler’s Pastime is one album well-suited for inclusion in our quiver of pastimes to take us through this pandemic isolation.

Photo credit: Scott Simontacchi

Ross Holmes, “Overture”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

An instrument as agèd, storied, and established as the violin — henceforth in this piece obstinately referred to as “fiddle” — carries with it vestiges and artifacts of its own history into any/all of its new musical forays. It’s one of the most charming qualities of the instrument, that whether a rosin-laden bow grinds and saws against the strings or whether it floats, gently ringing an intransigent harmonic, a fiddle is still a fiddle. It is the sum of its disparate parts. 

Many virtuosos, hobbyists, and career musicians have staked their entire artistic worldviews on the paradoxes contained within the instrument. We in roots music quite often enjoy the musical aftereffects, songs and compositions that gleefully train magnifying glasses on paradigms such as classical versus jazz, old-time tunes versus minuets and cadenzas, or perhaps a chamber orchestra versus a square dance band. Ross Holmes, a session player, composer, and fiddler (Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Mumford & Sons), counts himself among the violinist vanguard tinkering with the existential building blocks of the violin fiddle – a tradition and subculture he grew up with. “Overture,” an original, grandiloquent composition from Holmes, is something of a manifesto on the concept. (Listen below.)

The nearly fifteen-minute-long piece is performed entirely solo, beginning with a meditative, droning theme that Holmes describes as a “secular prayer.” As he carefully, intricately unspools each melodic turn, infusions from across the map — geographical and genre — are delivered directly from Holmes’ brain-as-musical-sponge to the listener’s ear. Each fluttering bow stroke, aggressive shuffle, and stunning double-stop speaks to the contributions of the fiddle in nearly every culture on earth. Throughout “Overture,” these global influences reflect the United States’ “melting pot” status — the greater piece for which this is the overture, after all, is titled: American Fiddle Suite. (Its remaining movements are a work-in-progress.)

Fiddling, by its nature, will be an outgrowth of all of the history, culture, and art that has flowed through it over the course of its centuries-long existence. What distinguishes Holmes and “Overture,” however, is the intention with which he connects all of these widespread dots. It makes sense, it’s tangible, and at its essence, it’s beautiful. It’s all the more impressive then, that though “Overture” is an entirely composed, ostensibly “classical” piece, not a note is yet written down. Holmes plays it all by memory — his memory, and the fiddle’s, too.

Photo credit: Micah Mathewson

Not Our First Goat Rodeo, “Voila!”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Reader, I’ve been a musician my entire life, but I must admit I am decidedly green for a music writer. This fact is due in no small part to my young age and by a proper count, my years spent as “journalist” are fewer than a decade. At the end of 2019, as my colleagues were considering the past ten years’ worth of music in hindsight, I realized for me that period of time’s soundtrack was far foggier. To my present self, my memory seemed shockingly barren. The crux being, I suppose, that I hadn’t consumed much music then, and I wrestled with the intention of recalling albums that were significant — culturally or otherwise. 

Except one album, 2011’s The Goat Rodeo Sessions by Yo-Yo Ma, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer, and Chris Thile (and guest Aoife O’Donovan). I had just moved to Nashville, and I remember making a special trip to the FYE in Midtown to buy the album on release day. Out of a decade’s worth of music, that record has rightly been considered among the best — even in my own pothole-filled memories. “Here and Heaven” remains one of Chris Thile and Aoife O’Donovan’s greatest creative feats, but alas, this is Tunesday Tuesday. And this is not 2011. 

Sorry to bring you back to our appalling present, but it’s 2020. And, as if this virtuosic quartet (plus O’Donovan) read all of our collective minds, remembering their album-of-the-decade… Voila! They’ve given us Not Our First Goat Rodeo. And on it, this gorgeous, lilting, Dickensian-folk string quartet, “Voila!” Yes, a string quartet, with Thile setting down the mandolin to play “twin” to Duncan.

For a sophomore album, of course this ensemble feels veteran. This is not their first time riding these goats in this arena. This outing feels more ornery, more confident, brash, and joyously off-kilter. Where these world-class musicians and improvisers have aged since 2011, like this writer, those years have clearly manifested themselves here through a musical wink and a smirk, rather than a frown. Which is reason enough Not Our First Goat Rodeo will probably still be with us ten years on, too.

Photo credit: Josh Goleman

Hear Six of Our Favorite Instrumentals on IBMA’s Second-Round Ballot

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

We debuted Tunesday Tuesday in January 2018 for a pretty simple reason. Roots music has a world-class stable of talented pickers, and unlike other more commercial genres, that talent is something of a prerequisite. Whether blues or bluegrass or country or folk, there’s something about American roots music that goes hand in hand with virtuosic playing ability. It’s one of the main reasons BGS loves string band music. 

The 20 tunes that advanced to this year’s second-round IBMA ballot in the Instrumental Recording of the Year category showcase a wide range of the talent that draws us to instrumentals, so why not go through a half-dozen of our favorites? Some of these folks have been featured in their own Tunesday Tuesday before, some are newcomers, but two things unite all of them: You’ll be tapping a toe and looking up whether your IBMA membership has lapsed or not after listening to any of the following instrumentals. 

“Bish Bash Bosh” – David Benedict

An outlier in this category for more than one reason, mandolinist David Benedict’s “Bish Bash Bosh” is a breath of fresh air thanks to its tender intro, its languid tempo, and the musical wiggle room afforded to the track by each. Fiddler Mike Barnett and IBMA Award-winning veterans Missy Raines (bass) and David Grier (guitar) are each sensitive, empathetic sounding boards for Benedict’s themes, unspooling and embellishing them expertly. More tender-yet-gritty instrumentals in this category going forward, please!

“Big Country” – Gena Britt

Can’t get much more bluegrass than a tune like “Big Country” and Gena Britt’s right hand! The Sister Sadie banjo player’s solo album, Chronicle: Friends and Music, showcases not only her spotlessly crisp, bread-and-butter approach to Scruggs-style banjo, but her singing voice and her sparkly group of musical friends, too. It’s refreshing to hear banjo playing that’s truly unconcerned with ego, while remaining happily in a pretty much traditional lane. If it ain’t broke, after all… 

“Princess and the Pea” – The Gina Furtado Project

Two incredible, banjo-playing Ginas/Genas back to back! Gina Furtado’s debut record with her band, the Gina Furtado Project, features this delightfully medieval, fairy tale tune with a more-joyful-than-most minor-key motif. Furtado reminds all of us that her playing contains many more influences than we often assume, with subtle call backs to Tony Rice and John Carlini-tinged eras in bluegrass’s new acoustic circles. Even the tune’s production guides listeners’ ears in this direction. It’s another excellent sonic “ear break” on the ballot.

“Soldier’s Joy” – Jesse McReynolds (Feat. Michael Cleveland)

A Bluegrass Hall of Fame inductee and the oldest living member of the Grand Ole Opry, Jesse McReynolds epitomizes what it means to be a bluegrass legend and forebear — and he’s still picking. On a recording with umpteen-time IBMA Award-winning fiddler Michael Cleveland, McReynolds shows his audience exactly why he deserves every accolade he’s received and more. Given his age (McReynolds will turn 91 this year) and inevitable decline in mobility and dexterity, you’d expect a gracious caveat herein to allow for the recordings “warts” and “raw moments,” but damn if his playing isn’t as clean as ever! An award-winning, award-deserving mandolinist, no doubt.

“Chickens in the House” – Deanie Richardson

That fiddler, educator, and multi-instrumentalist Deanie Richardson does not have an IBMA Award unto herself yet is a true injustice. Also a member of Sister Sadie with Gena Britt, Richardson has been a lifelong presence in bluegrass and fiddle contest scenes around the US, and has toured with Vince Gill, Patty Loveless, Bob Seger, and been house fiddler on the Grand Ole Opry. “Chickens in the House” features some timeless fiddling chicken imitations, as well as a languid backstep feel that clicks up a few BPM as the band goes, so watch your feet should they get to shufflin’ without your say-so.

“Guitar Peace” – Billy Strings

Until snagging his first proper IBMA Awards just last year for Best New Artist and Guitar Player of the Year, flatpicking phenomenon Billy Strings has gone generally underappreciated by voting members. His crowds, his shows, and his fans are extraordinary in bluegrass, jamgrass, and similar communities – the roots music sphere continues to watch his ascent with something like a slack jaw. Though it’s unlikely he’ll dominate this year’s IBMA Awards, this trance, solo acoustic guitar track, “Guitar Peace,” which features a calming, buzzing drone and plenty of Strings’ trademark six-string acrobatics, deserves the nod. 

Photo credits: David Benedict by Louise Bichan; Gena Britt courtesy of the artist; Gina Furtado Project by Sandlin Gaither; Jesse McReynolds still; Deanie Richardson by Kerrie Richardson; Billy Strings by Shane Timm. 

Christian Sedelmyer, “Brain Scan”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

If you have happened to spend any amount of time inside an MRI machine (as this writer has), you’ll know it’s not a particularly comfortable experience. Claustrophobia is almost guaranteed, as your body is ushered into a tiny, cramped tube where patients are instructed to lay impossibly still for as long as the gigantic magnet and coils rotate, whine, and grind around your body. If you’re lucky, and your particular imaging orders don’t require otherwise, some MRI machines are equipped with music through magnet-safe earbuds (“What Pandora station would you like to listen to today?”) or, in one rare case for this writer, Netflix was projected through a series of relayed mirrors to allow Parks & Recreation to appear within the machine.

MRI machines are loud, and the noise is not particularly pleasant. Bumping and squealing and repetitive clunks and bangs become like a sound bath, as your brain attempts to make sense of the cavalcade of random noises. Some patients pick out sounds and gibberish syllables from the noise (I often hear “DAD! DAD! DAD! DAD! DAAAAD!”), while others simply let the cacophony wash over them hypnotically. Others cannot help but be swept away by the adrenaline-boosting, horror film-esque atonal soundtrack.

On his brand new solo album, Ravine Palace, Grammy-nominated fiddler Christian Sedelmyer (Jerry Douglas Band, 10 String Symphony) proffers a gorgeous alternative to that soundtrack. “Brain Scan” is a tune that certainly calls to mind the prerequisite din of an MRI machine, but with slippery bowed chromaticisms and Sedelmyer’s signature musical wit — plus a healthy dose of joy, something often suspiciously absent from radiology departments. Andrew Marlin (Mandolin Orange) on mandolin, Eli West (Cahalen Morrison & Eli West) on guitar and clawhammer banjo, and Clint Mullican (also Mandolin Orange) on bass follow along with rapt attention, combining the detail-affixed listening of chamber music with the sly lilt and energy of old-time.

Even while the foursome toys with the dissonant themes of the melody throughout the tune the aesthetics here will always be more palatable, enjoyable, and irresistible than a gigantic piece of magnetic medical equipment — no one is surprised, here — but “Brain Scan” still captures the anxieties, uncertainties, and inevitabilities of such a procedure uncannily. In a package any listener would be happy to encounter, whether through scan-safe earphones or not.

Laurie Lewis & Friends, “Dear Old Dixie (Live)”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner
This edition of Tunesday turned out to be an oddly circuitous task. We often take this space to highlight our Artists of the Month, pointing out instrumentals from throughout their catalogs and across their careers, but for singer, songwriter, guitarist, poet, frontwoman, and long-distance hiker Laurie Lewis, the tunes are simply in too-short supply. Not because they don’t exist, but because Lewis’ cosmic level lyricism tends to eclipse her virtuosic command of the majority of bluegrass’s titular instruments. You may most often see her with a dreadnought strapped around her shoulders, but rest a fiddle there instead and you’re bound to enjoy some of the best bluegrass fiddling — with an even sprinkling of contest style, West Coast country, and the melody-driven old-time of the Pacific Northwest throughout.
In this clip from a live performance on The Texas Connection in 1992, Lewis is joined by longtime musical partner and bandmate Tom Rozum as well as Sally Van Meter, Alan Munde, Peter Rowan, Peter McLaughlin, and Cary Black on a sleek and stupefying rendition of “Dear Old Dixie.” It’s a banjo number, naturally, so Munde kicks it off with an uncharacteristically normative, Scruggs-like play through the melody. The remaining bandmates each take a turn, but the fire’s really lit when Lewis saws out her own solo, reminding all of us that she only ends up placing herself behind the guitar more often than not because she chooses to. With slippery, deliciously dissonant double stops she capitalizes upon the signature energy and showmanship concentrated within every note, every bow stroke, and every string pluck she issues.
While a quick stroll through her catalog, especially on streaming platforms, may not immediately land you in a pile of recordings of burning Bill Monroe tunes, or contemplative waltzes, or danceable hornpipes, you’ll probably find yourself confounded by the natural imagery, tender emotion, and raw spiritual power of her lyrics instead. That’s understandable. With a little digging, though, that picture of a legendary artist’s work can be expanded to include lifelong rations of indomitable pickin’ like this, too. And it ought to.

Photo courtesy of the artist.

Watkins Family Hour, “Bella and Ivan”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

“Bella and Ivan,” one of two instrumentals on our Artist of the Month Watkins Family Hour’s brand new LP, brother sister, begins with a folky, whirring Vitamix of notes. It’s a frenzied melody, one that allows the siblings’ bluegrass virtuosity to glint like a bright reflection off a sly smile. Sean’s aggressive, Tony Rice attack and the slight Celtic bounce of Sara’s bow are demonstrating that they, too, can accomplish the unlikely complicated ease of the duo’s tight, familial harmonies.

And they do. Ever since the first notes of Nickel Creek’s “Ode to a Butterfly” transformed an entire generation of listeners into bluegrass fans, Sean and Sara Watkins have been giving us these effortless-while-acrobatic instrumentals. Each one reminds us in its own way that no matter how far afield the pair may travel from their genre of origin, they carry it with them still — and can execute any of its aesthetics with immediacy and delightful, mocking aplomb. 

Named for a friend’s two dogs who love to wrestle, “Bella and Ivan” isn’t so much rough housing as it is a scripted, choreographed, pro fight. Their interplay is just as exciting to those of us who suspend disbelief as it is to those who don’t; the musical dialogue precariously and joyfully unfolds in a way that refuses to either feel rehearsed or totally off-the-cuff. 

In whatever iteration one encounters the music of Sean, Sara, and/or Watkins Family Hour, they’re giving listeners every last ounce of that ethereal “something” that sparked our love for them in the first place. While they constantly reinvent themselves and explore new sonic territories, somehow that “something” remains indelible. It’s just Sean and Sara Watkins.