Jake Blount, “Goodbye, Honey, You Call That Gone”

The title of banjoist, fiddler, and ethnomusicologist Jake Blount’s upcoming album, Spider Tales, is a reference to Anansi the Spider, a folklore character of the Akan people of West Africa. Says Blount, “The Anansi were tales that celebrated unseating the oppressor, and finding ways to undermine those in power even if you’re not in a position to initiate a direct conflict.” 

With such a deft, succinct mission, Blount takes a vibrant and dense, harlequin cultural tradition — which has lived on across the African diaspora, brought to the United States and colonies in this hemisphere by enslaved Africans — and applies it to a collection of old-time tunes in a way that’s intuitive and digestible. Without oversimplification or homogenization to achieve broader “appeal,” these songs and these instruments speak to much more important lessons and narratives than the average old-time record.

Take for instance “Goodbye, Honey, You Call That Gone.” A tastefully unadorned tune, performed by Blount on banjo and percussive dancer and scholar Nic Gareiss, it comes from Lucius Smith, a Black Mississippi banjoist recorded by Alan Lomax first in the ‘40s. “Smith played a steel-string banjo rather than a nylon-string one like mine,” Blount explains. “But tuned all the way down to the same pitch. The looseness of [his] strings causes the pitch of each note to waver as he plays it, imparting a ‘wandering’ quality to the melody.”

Wandering, a condition not uncommon among diasporic communities, or Appalachian musical traditions, or queer folks, or movers and dancers, is not only communicated here in the tune’s title, and its delightful, lazy half-tones and breaths of quarter-tones, but also in the syncopation, virtuosity and musicality of Gareiss’ feet playing off Blount’s clawhammer. 

Above all of these, the epitome of Blount’s Spider Tales may be the intention with which Blount and Gareiss approach creating and music-making together, providing an indelible benchmark by which we can better learn to queer old-time and string band music while telling its true, unabridged history, and centering Black, Indigenous, and non-white stories — all with the same treepling toes and fretting fingers.


Editor’s Note: Blount and Gareiss will be featured in the Bluegrass Situation Presents: A St. Patrick’s Day Festival at New York’s New Irish Arts Center, participating in an opening night jam session with clawhammer banjoist Allison de Groot and fiddler Tatiana Hargreaves on March 17 as well as a headlining performance on March 18.

Alison Brown, “Poe’s Pickin’ Party”

Watching the movement for equity and inclusion in roots music grow and expand over the last decade or so, especially in the last few years, has been particularly gratifying in bluegrass. As a community, bluegrass is often stereotyped as backwards, hillbilly, conservative, evangelical, and so on. As the genre becomes more representative, and as musicians, artists, and scholars unpack the factors that have led to this cause gaming steam, it’s essential that we give credit where it’s due. Namely, to women.

Pickers like Alison Brown, truly one of the most adept and creative banjo players alive today — and holder of an MBA from Harvard — and women who went before her carved the paths by which so many other underrepresented or categorically excluded folks have found places for themselves in this music. Women, having much less to lose in bluegrass (by having much less access to gains in bluegrass), could actively advocate for inclusion in ways many men in the same spaces had never considered. Infrastructure and communities fashioned by these women exist still today, providing a point of coalescence around which these more broader, zoomed out missions can gather.

“Poe’s Pickin’ Party,” an instrumental penned by Brown, seems the perfect tune by which to tie together this legacy with Women’s History Month and Tunesday Tuesday. The bouncy, hornpipe-y number is a playful jab at an actual pickin’ party of the same name, which Brown stumbled upon advertised in a now vintage volume of Bluegrass Unlimited. In the ad, women were welcomed to attend Poe’s party, but not participate. It’s a humorous story, when told on stage to introduce the piece, but also a pointed reminder that active, overt exclusion of women in bluegrass happened so very recently (and persists today) and we have plenty of work to do in order to include so many others in this life-altering, enriching genre.

Aaron Jonah Lewis, “A Banjo Frolic”

Ask ten banjo players this question: “Who is the Mozart of the banjo?”

You’ll probably get ten different answers. If any were to double up, perhaps one would be Béla Fleck (a banjo player more than most will remember has conquered many a classical composition on the instrument) and perhaps another would be Earl Scruggs (given that “Mozart of” could easily morph into “a style-originator of” to others.) Fiddle champion and banjo virtuoso Aaron Jonah Lewis posits a much more pragmatic — and almost actually analogous — candidate on his new album, Mozart of the Banjo, tributing a banjo player a step closer to Mozart in more than a few ways, but chiefly in that he did not perform bluegrass.

Joe Morley was a “classic fingerstyle” banjo player, composer, performer, and instruction book author who lived and made music at the turn of the 19th to 20th centuries, at which time banjos were central to popular music in Britain and the United States. “A Banjo Frolic,” one of twelve Morley pieces performed by Lewis on the album, demonstrates this “golden age” sound, oozing ragtime and musical theatre and Vaudeville and minstrelsy. While Morley’s compositions weren’t technically “classical” music, Lewis explains in the project’s in-depth liner notes, “…[It] did occupy an interesting space in that it appealed to royalty, the upper and middle classes and the lower classes of society as well.” A truly banjo notion. Morley also paralleled Mozart in that they were both child prodigies, both left enormous bodies of work, and both died poor and were buried in unmarked graves.

We may be enjoying a current renaissance of the banjo, where more and more players, fans, and even casual passers-by of the instrument understand its important role in American history and its folkways and art forms. Still, it’s fascinating that so many forgotten or overlooked facets of the instrument’s past and its legacy remain excluded from that greater, better-understood narrative. Mozart of the Banjo: The Joe Morley Project and Aaron Jonah Lewis are attempting to tell more of the banjo’s full history, and purposefully connect it to its Black and African inputs, as well as its extant forms in the U.S. and around the world, reminding all of us banjo fans — and at such an apropos time, as well — that none of our favorite forms of music, banjo-y or otherwise, exist in a vacuum.

Sam Reider, “Trio Sonata”

All disbelief suspended, composer and accordionist Sam Reider’s work is essentially string band music. Yes, he’s an accordionist (which shouldn’t really be remarkable, because… Sally Ann Forrester), and yes, Eddie Barbash plays saxophone on the most recent album, The Human Hands EP, but we’ve suspended disbelief here for a reason. Whether the rest of the band were rounded out by Dominick Leslie, Duncan Wickel, Alex Hargreaves, Dave Speranza, and Roy Williams or not, these tunes would feel fiddle-y. They’re folky and down-to-earth and approachable and danceable and they cheekily, defiantly traipse across the borders of bluegrass. 

The truly remarkable thing about this music is not this feat in the face of (gasp) an accordion and a saxophone!? It’s that these folky-feeling tunes are… composed. These melodies and ideas are directly tied to a musical history and tradition often regarded as devoid of any idea rootsy or vernacular. “Trio Sonata,” a two-part composition on the new The Human Hands video EP, draws from the Baroque trio sonata, a 400-year-old musical form that derived from popular dances of the day. The three parts of Reider’s “Trio Sonata” are I. Reel, II. Jig, and III. Breakdown, amounting to an unlikely, four-century-old parallel to modern fiddle contest song selections. 

In this way, there’s a satisfying sense of symmetry to Reider’s idiosyncratic approach to fiddle-oriented instrumental music. It defies any so-called logic we might try to use to justify certain genre designations, it mocks the idea that we ought try to delineate between “classical” versus “folky” approaches to writing and creating music, and perhaps above all else, the music centers dance. Movement is certainly a unifier, and in this case, it unifies all of these musical eccentricities — from squeezebox to Bill Monroe to Baroque compositions to sax — in a perfectly digestible package.

Della Mae, “Peg Monster”

Time and again Della Mae demonstrates that of their indisputable strengths as a dynamic, powerhouse string band, a conglomeration of some of the most talented musicians and writers in bluegrass and roots music, their most impressive trait must surely be their unrelenting taunting of every convention handed down to them by those genres. Even now, as they make what some would call “the pivot to Americana,” they laugh off that very idea on Headlight, the record tasked with the brunt of that rebrand. The subtle, crooked smile of self awareness makes appearances throughout this collection of songs, but is flaunted outright on “Peg Monster,” the record’s sole instrumental. 

Written by fiddler Kimber Ludiker, “Peg Monster” is an impressively ancient-sounding tune, drawing on Ludiker’s deep fiddling pedigree and the expansive musical vocabularies that have won her two Grand Master Fiddle Championships. The melody strikes listeners as haunting, as if emanating from a shady holler or a decades-old campsite at a fiddle convention. It builds like a campsite jam, too, with a dash of Jenni Lyn on mandolin and a ripple of Avril Smith’s flatpicking. Then, as seamless as the rest, through the crack left in tradition’s door by that haunting vibe — and beckoned through by the Dellas’ virtuosic irreverence — organic, campfire percussion and low rumbling organ pads fill in the spaces artfully left by each instrumentalist. 

Pigeonholing and “recommended if you like” habits will always attempt to relegate Della Mae to countless ones versus others, but, as they consistently and artfully remind us, this band refuses to give up their autonomy and self-expression for the sake of tidiness and clean labels. “Peg Monster” shows it — hell, their entire catalog does; Della Mae loves living in the spaces in the middle, and with Headlight that’s exactly where they’ve made their home.

Hawktail, “Padiddle”

Impossible combinations. Hawktail makes them seamlessly, time and again, with their effortless-while-labyrinthine brand of instrumental string band music. Their brand new album, Formations, is their first conceived and executed wholly as a four-piece. Mandolinist Dominick Leslie joined the lineup of Paul Kowert on bass, Brittany Haas on fiddle, and Jordan Tice on guitar after Hawktail developed most of Unless, their debut, as a trio. Confidence and ease permeate the new record, along with a palpable sense of intense listening and a feeling of space, openness, and synchronization. With virtuosos such as these it’s hard to imagine that they could possibly grow closer, become tighter, more enmeshed — but it would seem after little more than a year these four certainly have.

 Tice introduces “Padiddle,” Formations’ penultimate track, combining a bouncy, folk-rock inflected melodic hook with a smoldering, bluegrass-born conviction. An all too rare pairing in string band music, these modern, impetuous musical ideas don’t always emulsify with age-old, dyed-in-the-wool techniques. With each of the six originals on the record (and, of course, the Väsen cover, too) Hawktail are, as always, daringly inventive. But on Formations they’re distinctly proud to be catchy as well, flirting playfully with pop while still constantly reinforcing the deep roots of their collective pedigrees in fiddle music, old-time, bluegrass, and plain ol’ pickin’. An overarching impossible combination coloring the entire collection of tunes must be this: That something so timeless is also remarkably contemporary.

Bobby Hicks, “Snowflake Breakdown”

In our plaintive annual quest to unearth some semblance of a holiday-themed canon from the bluegrass songbook writ large, a few concessions must immediately be made. As argued in a past wintry edition of Tunesday Tuesday, titles of otherwise wordless and themeless songs are more than enough to justify a tune’s place in holiday and Christmas party playlists — or at least, this writer vehemently believes that they should be. 

That particular context might just be unnecessary, though, because anyone ought to welcome absolutely any excuse or justification to marvel at the sheer magic (holiday and/or otherwise) of Bobby Hick’s fiddling. Yes, this is no more than a contrived set up to allow some unbridled gushing about “Snowflake Breakdown.” The hoedown-style fiddle tune was a cut on Hicks’ 1978 album, Texas Crapshooter, which boasted an A side of all Texas and western swing tunes, featuring Buddy Emmons on pedal steel and Buck White on piano among others, and a B side of his signature bluegrass fiddling style, staffed by Sam Bush, Roy Huskey Jr., Alan Munde, and fellow Bluegrass Hall of Famer Roland White. The “wow, these pickers on this tune are each so unique and genius in their own rights, they’re like snowflakes” metaphor is just a little too irresistible here, so just go with it. 

For us fans of a bluegrass fiddler who plays with a heavy dose of North Carolina by way of Texas and a dash of the best parts of fiddle contests, has an unparalleled pedigree as a Blue Grass Boy with Bill Monroe, and a reputation as one of the most confounding double-stop talents in the universe, all we want for Christmas is (really, truly, honestly) more Bobby Hicks.

Nick Hornbuckle, “Cleo Belle”

There’s a sort of primitive beauty within the patchwork techniques that have informed and filtered into each individual instrumentalist’s approach to the five-string banjo. Styles rapidly morph and change, aided by the instrument’s relative youth (when compared, in roots music, to all but perhaps the resonator guitar) and its absolute refusal to nestle into any one distinct vein of pedagogy. Scruggs-style, clawhammer and broader frailing, ragtime, picking (i.e. with plectrum), strumming, and even more avant garde approaches such as Greg Liszt’s four-finger banjo all lend themselves to the machine in their own alluring ways. 

Enter Nick Hornbuckle, banjoist at large and member of John Reischman’s Jaybirds, who’s just released his second solo album, 13 or So. Hornbuckle’s right hand method defies categorization even by the rule-eschewing standards mentioned above. His two-finger style is decidedly distinct from the eponymous Appalachian, old-time frailing approach, combining aspects of clawhammer, Scruggs-style, and the ethereal, impossible-to-replicate quirkiness of just making your hands do what the music requires without being exactly sure how that works. I.e., playing the banjo. 

The resulting aesthetic, which anchors each of the twelve original tunes on 13 or So, falls somewhere within an equilateral triangle whose vertices would be Mark Johnson (of clawgrass fame), Steve Martin, and Noam Pikelny (if he had one finger tied behind his back). “Cleo Belle,” as all of Hornbuckle’s compositions, confounds with its combination of sheer musical athleticism and acrobatics — while remaining absolutely intuitive and organic. With his crew — on “Cleo Belle” that would be Trent Freeman (fiddle), John Reischman (mandolin), Darryl Poulsen (guitar), and Patrick Metzger (bass) — Hornbuckle wholly incorporates vernacular musical vocabularies while still pushing string band boundaries into more art music or chamber music spaces. The arrangement reminds that the western-most communities of bluegrass and old-time acolytes in this country have truly, effortlessly combined the best parts of each, while retaining that rustic, back-porch timelessness that makes the banjo beguiling to all of us.

Laurel Premo, “Polly Put The Kettle On”

If you haven’t been paying close enough attention you may have missed the fact that the absolute cutting edge of American roots music these days — some of the most exciting art to be born out of this latest renaissance in Americana, bluegrass, and folk — is old-time. Artists like Rhiannon Giddens, Allison de Groot & Tatiana Hargreaves, Victor Furtado, Amythyst Kiah, Jontavious Willis, Dom Flemons, and so many more are utilizing this moment to demonstrate that old-time music is expansive. It has relatively low barriers to entry, it’s representative, it’s queer, it’s Black, it’s Indigenous, it demands egalitarianism, it’s woven into the fabric of all genres downstream of it, and most importantly, it’s ceaselessly relevant. In our attention economy, which requires all of this and more from any pastime worth its merit, old-time delivers. 

A new album from fiddler, composer, and multi-instrumentalist Laurel Premo perfectly reinforces these points, in content, intention, and certainly execution. The Iron Trios is a collection of nine more or less traditional old-time fiddle tunes and two Premo originals, the majority of which are played by a trio: fiddle, upright bass, and electric guitar. For an album demonstrably unconcerned with even the basic premise of the construct of “authenticity,” it accomplishes that squishy term impeccably and effortlessly. 

Yes, with electric guitar. Tunes such as “Old Time Sally Goodin” and “The Original Grey Eagle” nod to string band settings that beg us to play these games surrounding legitimacy and “authenticity” while turning them all on their ears. With bassist Evan Premo, guitarists Owen Marshall and Joshua Davis, and an appearance here and there by fiddler Aaron Jonah Lewis, Premo takes old-time fiddle, melodies, and rhythms into spaces usually dominated by electronics. 

It’s trance, it’s dreamscape, it’s meditative, it code switches with ease, sometimes sounding like a film score, or a square dance, or public radio at one in the morning (“Echoes” with John Diliberto, anyone?), or modern chamber strings, or the soundbed for an abandoned-warehouse-turned-cooperative-art-space. At the same time, it refuses to be any more complicated than good, old-time fiddle music. And that simple fact is another compelling reason why old-time is truly the most exciting space in the Americana, folk, and bluegrass realms today.

Matthew Davis, “Ektorp”

Bluegrass has an undeniable fascination with prodigies. Raise your hand if you’ve ever heard an excited story about a pre-pubescent Chris Thile at a run-of-the-mill bluegrass festival campsite jam session or a story about receiving a pre-fame autograph from a young, curly-headed fiddler named Alison Krauss.

All hands raised? Yes. It’s a thing. Bluegrass loves its pickin’ kids, especially the ones with otherworldly, unfettered talent. But an even more remarkable phenomenon relating to these prodigious youths, especially since the advent of kids in/on bluegrass programs across the U.S., is the ever more frequent occurrence of young people, veritable prodigies, who are effortlessly and distinctly musical. They don’t just shred, they have taste, they have singular musical voices, they have all of the trappings of their elder counterparts. 

An example of one such not-just-a-prodigy is banjo player Matthew Davis, whose 20 years of age superficially belie the fact that he’s not only a former National Banjo Champion, he’s also a graduate of the prestigious Acoustic Music Seminar at the Savannah Music Festival, and he’s released four albums. The most recent, Outlander, dropped early August of this year. 

Even a handful of projects into a recording career, albums made at age 20 aren’t supposed to sound like this. “Ektorp,” the final cut on the record — with Ethan Setiawan on mandolin, Grant Flick on fiddle, Jed Clark on guitar, and Jacob Warren on bass — demonstrates the astonishing maturity with which Davis composes, thinks about, and executes his art. Furthermore, for art music, and heady, technically rich new acoustic music at that, it’s impressively accessible, while remaining rooted in bluegrass. If the “kids” are sounding this good this early in their lifetimes the future of “the music” isn’t just in good hands, it’s destined to be innovated and reinvigorated time and time again, with folks like Matthew Davis leading the charge.