Tag: Tunesday Tuesday

Richard Thompson, “Banish Misfortune”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Our artist of the month, iconic English folk rock singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist Richard Thompson, is well known for his literary, poetic, and evocative songsmithery. His decades-long career and international recognition were built not only on the deft timelessness of his pen, but on his instrumental chops as well, his ease and aplomb on the guitar paving a clear, direct path of delivery for his lyrics with a strong sense of personality and melodic identity.

We would be remiss, in our month-long celebration of the man and his brand new album, 13 Rivers, if we didn’t dive deep into his discography to showcase his six-string prowess. On his 1981 release, Strict Tempo!, Thompson tracked 12 traditional songs and tune sets and one original number, playing every single instrument on every single tune himself (except the drums). In a modern context, and juxtaposed against 13 Rivers, the record is a beautiful retrospective that showcases the fundamental building blocks of Thompson’s musical worldview: traditional Irish, Scottish, and English tunes played by folk instruments, in live-sounding, raw contexts that let the tunes themselves — and Thompson’s fleet fingers — shine. “Banish Misfortune,” a traditional Irish tune also known as “The Stoat That Ate Me Sandals” and myriad other names, stands out. Thompson allows the jig’s lazy lilt to gently pull his fingerstyle rendition of the late 1800s melody forward, while he embellishes with that classic Irish guitar flair, a dash of Thompson whimsy in every note.

There’s a compelling argument to be made here, that having this sort of “institutional knowledge,” an understanding, appreciation, and working vocabulary of the folk art forms that gave rise to our current genres and formats, is directly correlated to an artist’s longevity and their ability to connect, musically, on a much deeper level — of course, that could just be the magic of Richard Thompson himself.

Kenny Baker, “Frost on the Pumpkin”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Look, it’s October. We’re well into it, really. It’s the season of leaf-peeping, big and cozy sweaters, apple-flavored everything, and complaining about those who do or don’t enjoy a pumpkin spice coffee drink. But somehow, here at BGS South in Nashville and across the country from Oakland to Chicago to Miami the oppressive heat and generally obstinate weather of summer refuses to cede its ground to bonfires, apple pies, and hayrides.

So, while we wait for the ever-warming climate to give in, allowing us perhaps one or two enjoyable weeks of late-harvest vegetables, dazzling colors, warm waning light, and a slight nip in the air (before a brown, muddy winter), Kenny Baker’s “Frost on the Pumpkin” will have to get us in the mood. It’s like an immersive auditory candle, bringing our favorite time of year wafting on the swampy, 90 degree breeze. It reminds of a barn dance, insulated with bales of straw and heated with warm, dancing bodies — and maybe some whiskey in the cider and nog.

After all, what’s more autumnal than a resonant, warm, ruddy-sounding fiddle, played at the perfect happy-medium dancing speed by one of the most down home, soulful pickers to ever pick up a bow? Well, actual autumn might be. But for now, “Frost on the Pumpkin” will have to suffice. And if, wherever you are, this tune isn’t just a harbinger of our favorite season, but a soundtrack, will you send some of that crisp air our way? We could use a little frost on our pumpkins…

Punch Brothers, “Three Dots and a Dash”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The Punch Brothers begin “Three Dots and a Dash” with their best impression of the blips of a telegraph wire — or perhaps the bouncy, cyclical polyrhythms that we most associate with the soundtracks of news programs on TV and the radio — but this low-hanging, tangible thread of metaphor and text painting quickly falls away, enshrouded and enveloped by much more complicated beauty. The Punch Brothers embrace the befuddling, confounding, sometimes overwrought detail and musical acrobatics in their composing and arranging like a magician would, painstakingly poring over every last detail of their magnum opus illusion, leaning into the unwieldy and counterintuitive, knowing that these are the most compelling and awe-inspiring moments.

“Three Dots and a Dash” anchors these more lofty components with the pulsing, beating, metronomic undercurrent. That approach keeps the entire song bound together while myriad melodic narratives may pull listeners down one of so many theatrical, cinematic rabbit holes. So, when it dawns on a listener that “Three Dots and a Dash” also references a traditional, Tiki-style cocktail — a nod to the album’s title, All Ashore, as well as an homage to the band’s love of beach-ready libations and leis being a fundamental accessory in their current stage wear — that syncopated urgency brings their ears back to the core. And then, when it’s realized that in Morse code, three dots and a dash designate the letter V, which often stands as an abbreviation for “victory,” we realize two things: first, that once again, there is never just one take away from the beautiful, complicated, string band-centered art that the Punch Brothers execute on a higher level than almost anyone else operating within similar aesthetics, today; and secondly, that complex music is not inextricably bogged down by its own intricacies, when victorious, it can be intensified, deepened, and enriched by them.

Kittel & Co., ‘Chrysalis’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It’s hard to say if humankind will ever know exactly how a caterpillar goes about shedding its skin, digesting itself, turning into a primordial soup, and then transforming its own goo into a resplendent butterfly or moth, but the entirety of this process happens in one of two places: inside a cocoon or a chrysalis.

Whorls, an eleven-tune elemental soup of its own, invites listeners to envelop themselves in the cozy, metamorphic trappings that Kittel & Co. explored as they fashioned a new identity from their harlequin musical backgrounds and experiences. Led by fiddler, composer, and virtuoso Jeremy Kittel, the outfit has accomplished a feat of new acoustic, string band-rooted chamber music that isn’t simply as mind-boggling and intangible as the inner workings of a butterfly’s transfiguration; it’s as whimsical, alluring, and magnificent, too. “Chrysalis” begins with Simon Chrisman’s bounding hammered dulcimer, contemplative and exciting, while the ensemble chimes in one by one, in dialogue, building and deconstructing the silky hook together, ever dipping back into the melodic soup to transform the song into newer, grander, wilder, softer, shimmering versions of itself.

It becomes abundantly clear, as “Chrysalis” ebbs and flows, wriggling to life, that from top to bottom, Whorls is as if innumerable chrysalises were arranged like nesting dolls, with each subsequent transformation revealing a more surprising, captivating conversion building up to and succeeding each magical metamorphosis it contains.

Pappy, “Susquehanna Breakdown”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

If it ain’t broke, well, you ought not fix it. Pappy (AKA Patrick Biondo), being a bluegrass-centered musician and songwriter, understands this timeless adage. On his most recent release, Back to Basics, he reinforces the wisdom intrinsic to this clichéd phrase through five tracks that each remind that it’s difficult to go wrong if your focus is on the primal, bare bones elements that make up an art form — in this case, jammy, high-flying, swift-going bluegrass.

“Susquehanna Breakdown,” one of two instrumentals on the project, may not return to the elemental origin point of breakdowns — it hardly conjures “Foggy Mountain” or “Earl’s” or “Shenandoah” — but instead focuses on the nuance and detail of this breakneck format by letting the instruments and their handlers shine. The entire EP was cut straight to tape, without the requisite over-analyzing or rehashing that comes hand-in-hand with modern multi-tracking and overdubbing. As a result, the tune crackles with live energy, rushing ahead with its listeners on the edges of their seats, as if careening down roiling, adventurous rapids on the Susquehanna River itself.

Pappy’s jam-grass background, informed by his time with popular Scranton-based string band, Cabinet, informs his banjo playing in so many unexpected and exciting ways, bringing the free, unencumbered, exploratory tendencies of more jammy acts into what already feels familiar: The breakdown’s foundational bluegrass sensibilities, its solid picking, and Pappy’s hard-driving (though deliciously oddball) banjo.

The Hit Points, ‘Guile’s Theme’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Bluegrass, as a genre, is built upon nostalgia. Especially in its contemporary iterations. Modern bluegrass plays like a primer of the form itself, referencing the genre’s founders, its historical moments, its popular songs, and all of its favorite themes and buzzwords, no matter how trope-ish — because nostalgia is a commodity.

But, what’s that sound? It’s not pining for the hills and home, it’s nostalgia for an entirely different time, place, and feeling. The feeling being a creeping dread at the inevitability of your loss at the hands of Ryu, E. Honda, or Chun-Li. The decadent, joyful nostalgia that The Hit Points — fiddler guru Eli Bishop (Lee Ann Womack, the Deadly Gentlemen) and banjo wizard Matt Menefee (Cadillac Sky, ChessBoxer) — conjure on their blazing cover of “Guile’s Theme,” from Nintendo’s iconic video game, Street Fighter, will send you careening back in time. You’ll land on a couch, or high pile carpet, or flimsy futon in front of a TV, where as youths (or as youthfuls), you consumed hours and hours of video game entertainment. And with it, you also consumed hours and hours of incredible music, without ever realizing that the otherworldly, impossibly complicated tunes could actually be performed by human beings. Let alone by bluegrass musicians, on bluegrass instruments, with such ease and aplomb that it would nearly strike listeners as just another new acoustic, Dawg-grass tune.

The Hit Points’ debut, self-titled project is chock-full of nearly note-for-note covers of 8-bit music, crafted with loving care and aggressive creativity — and surrounded by a talented cast that includes Jake Stargel (Mountain Heart), Sierra Hull, Royal Masat (Billy Strings), and Paul Kowert (Punch Brothers), it shouldn’t be a surprise. This is instrumental acoustic music and bluegrass pickin’ at its best.

Mike Block, ‘Final Night at Camp’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Summertime = summer camp, doesn’t it? To musicians, though, camps of summer are only marginally related to The Parent Trap or Wet Hot American Summer motifs. Music camps borrow the familiar grounds, dormitories, and wood panel-clad mess halls and classrooms for a week or two here and there, when they would otherwise be left vacant, and then fill them with pickers and tunes. It’s an entirely different summer camp category, but they’re never less nostalgic, or memorable, or convivial, or sweltering than their more mainstream counterparts, even if they are a special breed of their own.

Mike Block, an acclaimed and traveled cellist, is a founder, proprietor, and curator of just such a music camp, and an experienced instructor at many others as well. His latest album, Final Night at Camp: Deluxe Edition, plays exactly like an end-of-week faculty concert, drawing on musicians and pickers who are just as familiar with the wonders and woes of folk music camps as he is. The title track seemingly mirrors a week a camp, for just as you begin to become comfortable and familiar with your surroundings, the craziness (sleep deprivation? One crazy, all-night jam? That one student who refuses to ask an actual question, opting for, “This is more of a comment, really…” instead?) sets in! On the cello-centered, original instrumental, that “craziness” is a wildly dissonant, dynamic breakdown, that reharmonizes the tune’s melodic hook fantastically and frenetically mid-song. But, just like camp, when everything settles, everything is finally sorted out and the time has elapsed, we’ve learned something — and we wish that the “Final Night at Camp” hadn’t come to a close so soon.

Nefesh Mountain, “Eretz’s Reel”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

For forty years now the Station Inn has lurked in Nashville’s Gulch, carrying the bluegrass banner in a town with pop country and cover bands to spare, while condo high-rises, wine bars, rooftop lounges, and organic groceries have sprouted up around the small, unassuming stone club. On any given night of those forty long years a bluegrass fan or a nonchalant passerby could step through the door and expect the best in bluegrass and old, real country. Luckily for every roots music fan in the universe, that fact is still true — and will be for the foreseeable future.

What one would not, perhaps, expect upon entering the Station Inn is vocals sung in Hebrew, or bluegrass songs based on Jewish traditions and turns of phrase. But on a recent evening, these were the sounds wafting from that fabled stage, as Nefesh Mountain performed songs from their new album, Beneath the Open Sky. It’s not as though bluegrass as a genre isn’t already predicated upon subverting expectations — it’s arguably a core precept of the form — but an average Station Inn patron might still be surprised by the Jewish-infused, modern ‘grass of Eric Lindberg, Doni Zasloff, et. al. “Eretz’s Reel,” an instrumental off the new record, is a less overt example of their Jewish perspective, but brings in a transatlantic flair, Tony Trischka-esque melodic turns, and a potent dose of originality and imagination. On the record, bluegrass phenoms Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas, and David Grier lend their talents to the track, but live at the Station, Lindberg stands apart as the imagineer and linchpin of this stripped-down version of the tune.

David Benedict, ‘The Golden Angle’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

How does that old adage go? The one about “the company we keep” and all that? Based on the roster for his tune, “The Golden Angle,” it would seem mandolinist David Benedict had grown up with this principle as his cardinal rule. The title track of his upcoming album features bassist Missy Raines, the winningest bass player in the history of the International Bluegrass Music Association; Stuart Duncan, perhaps the most prolific fiddler and session player in Nashville and every bluegrass musician’s favorite musician; Wes Corbett, a former Berklee banjo instructor and one of the contemporary five-string’s most clever pickers; and Ross Martin, a flatpicker who impeccably combines the workhorse qualities of bluegrass with a more deft, subtle, jazz-flavored approach.

At the helm in the producer’s chair was another mandolin seer, Matt Flinner, whose fingerprints are found aplenty on the whimsical, Fibonacci-inspired tune. Like Flinner’s compositions, Benedict’s “Angle” is centered on a strong, cyclical melodic idea while it plays out linearly, each of the players listening intently to and building on what’s come before. It simultaneously registers as a danceable breakdown or a new acoustic chamber piece; it’s not better taken as one or the other, rather, its pliancy offers more varied perspectives on the song and its interpreters. Benedict’s voice as a composer and musician is remarkably mature and individualistic, without flirting with becoming too gratuitous — something that cannot be said for many pickers his age. It might be a safe bet to guess that these qualities are also thanks in part to the wildly phenomenal company he keeps, but either way, he should keep doing what he’s doing.

Steve Dawson, ‘Hale Road Revelation’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Solo acoustic guitar is classic and captivating. There’s a balance to be struck by the guitarist, a wisdom that informs a picker that to make instrumental acoustic guitar as engaging as it can be, a less-is-more approach is often the best strategy. For audiences that aren’t entirely comprised of six-string aficionados, a tune written for the guitarist’s own enjoyment might swiftly sail over the heads of all but the most learned listeners. It follows, then, that the most masterful artisans of solo, unencumbered flat-top box reel in their audiences with the down-to-earth, simple beauty of the instrument.

Juno Award-winning musician and producer Steve Dawson demonstrates his familiarity with this balancing act on “Hale Road Revelation,” a tune that simultaneously conjures Chet Atkins and the Delta on his forthcoming album, Lucky Hand. Like most virtuosic instrumental music — especially of contemporary, vernacular-adjacent, folky varieties — “Hale Road Revelation” has a linear trajectory, not worrying itself with circling back to cover ground it’s already explored. This is no A part/B part tune, but rather, when Dawson does reference a melodic hook or theme that you’ve already heard go by, he teases listeners’ ears with slight deviations and derivations. His playfulness, and deft combination of finger picking with bottleneck, never toes or even attempts to cross the line into esotericism or self-absorption. “Hale Road Revelation” itself is its own driving force, another indicator that not only could Dawson balance interesting ideas and accessibility, but he’s also motivated chiefly by giving the tune the effort, energy, and care it deserves — without an inkling of heavy-handedness.