ear•tyme

Exploring The Spirit Of Bluegrass - The Porchlight Sessions

2012-04-12T10:45:00.002-05:00

Abigail Washburn in The Porchlight Sessions

Roots and folk music seem to have gone through a few different cycles of cultural relevance over the years. The first major boom, of course, was the folk revival of the 1950s and 60s, which helped to establish or reinforce the careers of bluegrass legends like Bill Monroe, Ralph Stanley, Doc Watson, Flatt & Scruggs, and others. Many years later, in 2000, the Coen Brothers’ masterpiece, O Brother Where Art Thou? helped to rekindle the dying embers of folk, roots, and bluegrass music in the larger cultural furnace. Now, ten years after O Brother, it seems we are in the midst of another resurgence of interest in folk, roots, and bluegrass music. This resurgence is evident in the careers of a number of younger musicians who wear these influences on their sleeves while playing sold out arenas. I’m thinking of artists such as The Avett Brothers, Mumford & Sons, and the Civil Wars to name but a few. Recently we have seen high profile film and video projects including Give Me The Banjo on PBS, and now there is even a big Hollywood biopic of Bill Monroe currently in the works. We can add to that list another film project that seems to be incredibly ambitious but also deeply heartfelt. It is called The Porchlight Sessions and is currently in process of being completed. The film is a documentary that explores the history, evolution, and beauty of bluegrass music and the culture that surrounds it.

While Give Me the Banjo was a heady, academic approach to roots music and the Bill Monroe biopic (Blue Moon of Kentucky) looks to be a satisfyingly glossy tinseltown production, The Porchlight Sessions seems to strike a tone perfectly in the middle of the two. The film appears to be a passion project that digs into the emotional and spiritual core of bluegrass music but accomplishes this by unearthing the music’s historical roots and cultural traditions. The project is currently in post-production and is raising finishing funds through the popular crowdsourcing site, Kickstarter.

The Porchlight Sessions is the brainchild of director/producer Anna Schwaber, who grew up in Nashville surrounded by bluegrass and country music. Despite her roots in Music City, Schwaber was not especially moved by the culture she grew up around during her youth. Like many a young Nashville native (this author included), it seems Schwaber took for granted the rich musical traditions so prevalent in her home city until getting some distance from them. In her case, Schwaber had to travel all the way to Australia to rediscover her love for her native culture and bluegrass music. It was while studying filmmaking down under that Schwaber met a banjo player who loved the musical traditions of Nashville. This fortunate relationship is ultimately where the seed was planted for The Porchlight Sessions. With her passions for home rekindled, Schwaber eventually set out to make a film about her region of the country with an emphasis on its native music and the loyal community that supports it.

Peter Rowan in The Porchlight Sessions

Since 2009, the young producer/director has been traveling across the southeast to gather footage and interview artists. She has also trekked across the country as a whole to attend bluegrass festivals and other gatherings. The list of musicians she has interviewed and spent time with is a virtual who’s who of the bluegrass and roots music scene. Artists involved with the project range from living legends like Dr. Ralph Stanley and Doc Watson to bluegrass-influenced newcomers like Trampled By Turtles and Mumford & Sons to venerable grand experimenters like Bela Fleck, Jerry Douglas, and Sam Bush. Schwaber also seems compelled to explore the close-knit community that keeps bluegrass music vital by interviewing and spending time with festivalgoers and parking lot pickers. In fact, this communal spirit is exemplified by the willingness of many in the bluegrass community to lend their support to the project.

Through their Kickstarter campaign, the filmmakers have managed to wrangle a number of pretty impressive prizes and awards to donors at certain levels. This includes professional level instruments from Deering Banjo, VIP passes from the International Bluegrass Music Association during their annual conference and awards show, signed merchandise from recognized artists like Trampled By Turtles, and more. Compass Records is listed as a partner to the filmmakers on their website as well. While community is deeply interwoven into the fabric of bluegrass music, I suspect there is an additional reason the filmmakers are finding such broad support. That is because the project looks to be beautifully executed and inspired from a place of genuine love and respect for the culture.

One of the reasons Schwaber wanted to create The Porchlight Sessions is because she felt there was a dearth of film or video that accurately portrayed her region of the country. The nagging stereotypes of uneducated hayseeds sometimes associated with bluegrass music still persist today. Schwaber wanted to create a film that captured the beauty of the culture and the depth of the traditions behind it. That said, this film does not simply look to the past. It seems from the film’s trailer that this is a very inclusive project that pays homage to tradition while also acknowledging the innovators and trailblazers of today that are re-imagining the traditions of old.

Most importantly, the film appears to aim for very high aesthetic and artistic goals. From the clips and trailers available, an understated but undeniable artistry seems to permeate the film giving it a lush density not always found in documentary. Breathtaking mountain vistas offer backdrops throughout the clips; moody, intimate portraits are rendered during interviews with musicians who are bona fide folk heroes; and an overall reverence for the culture of bluegrass music as a whole seems to envelope the entire project. I suspect The Porchlight Sessions could be a film that holds up for generations given we are in a special moment where the originators of bluegrass music are gradually leaving us (witness the sad passing of Earl Scruggs last week) at the very same time that younger musicians are carrying the torch forward, building upon the traditions of their forebearers, and gaining more and more exposure in the larger cultural landscape. The Porchlight Sessions appears to give equal voice to both, with a fascinating dialogue developing between the generations.

I personally think this is a project worth supporting and hope that some readers will head over to their Kickstarter page and consider donating. As someone with (admittedly limited) experience in documentary film, I know firsthand how difficult, painstaking, and necessary fundraising is to the filmmaking process, especially for documentaries. It is an expensive endeavor and takes a profound level of dedication. It seems that Schwaber and her editor/collaborator, Chris Cloyd, have more than enough dedication and motivation to see this project through. But, like all documentary filmmakers, they need help and support. Given the dedication and warmth of the bluegrass community, which they so lovingly seek to portray in The Porchlight Sessons, I suspect they’ll receive that support and meet their fundraising goals. However, anyone excited to see this project completed should consider chipping in a little to make sure that happens.

For more information, you can click here to see their Kickstarter page and you can also visit the project’s website at www.porchlightsessions.com.

Matt Flinner Trio - Handmade Virtuosity (Show Review)

2012-02-20T13:55:00.003-06:00

The term “roots musician” tends to make me think of a stripped down artist, taking inspiration from American folk and traditional forms to make personal music of a rough-hewn nature. The visual equivalent would be an old-school letterpress print or maybe the canvas of an inspired folk painter. Matt Flinner is a roots musician, but one cut from a different cloth. Flinner is more like a master draftsman creating exquisite etchings full of rich detail with hidden vignettes of cross-hatched abstraction that come together to form a beautiful image of compelling complexity. Despite his erudite virtuosity, you can still see the artist’s hand in his work. While “rough-hewn” would not be the proper expression to describe his artistry, “hand made,” with all of the charm and earthiness that implies, is an undeniable characteristic of the music. It is elegant but raw, complex but accessible. I had the pleasure of seeing him at Nashville’s historic Station Inn several days ago in support of his trio’s newest album, Winter Harvest (Compass Records.) The performance was a tour de force of inspired acoustic roots music.

The band took the stage and immediately ripped into “Raji’s Romp,” the first track from Winter Harvest, without any introduction. The music spoke for itself as the tune builds tension with competing and interwoven runs between Flinner’s mandolin and the guitar of Ross Martin. Soon enough, the tune settles into a more melodic space with room for all of the instrumentalists to execute improvised breaks less about showcasing their individual virtuosity than serving the mood of the song. It is understandable that the track would introduce both this show and the album. It serves as a somewhat understated starting point that eases the listener into a world of thoughtful experimentation based equally on structural discipline and liberated instrumental lyricism. In short, the music of Flinner’s trio undoubtedly results from some serious studied acoustic music nerdery but also expresses a profound depth of emotional expression. It incorporates the best of both worlds as the rest of the show only reinforced.

The next tune offered by the trio was “Thursday Night at the Sip n’ Dip” which has a jazz-inflected staccato introduction that is repeated throughout the song. Like much of Flinner’s work, it finds a very natural meeting point between elements of jazz, bluegrass, and folk often veering in and out of those genres seamlessly and organically. Despite this heady mix of traditional American genres, the trio can simply get down and get raw with traditional tunes. The group next ripped into a traditional fiddle tune with runs and solos traded between Flinner and Martin, often overlapping with counterpoint melodies underpinning one another. It was one of the best moments of the evening.

In keeping with the traditional song choices, the band next showcased one of the most creative interpretations of a traditional bluegrass song I’ve yet to hear. Somehow, they managed to turn Bill Monroe’s “Blue Grass Special” into a jazz-inflected romp full of shifting rhythms and unexpected twists and turns. The tune sounded both timeless and very much of the moment.

The first set was rounded out primarily with original compositions from the band. A highlight of the set was the somewhat dissonant and very evocative “Wheels” from the new album. If memory serves, the composition was written by bassist Eric Thorin, who is as creative and soulful a bassist as one might ever encounter. While Flinner and Martin tend to get the lion’s share of the spotlight, it is Thorin’s inventive low-end work that keeps the music moving in pleasantly unexpected directions with subtle rhythmic shifts. An element of the trio I find most interesting is this fluctuating rhythmic “pulse” imbued in the band’s compositions, as opposed to a regimented sense of metronomic timing. Much of this quality seems indebted to Thorin and gives the tunes a feeling of being alive, conscious, and breathing.

Thorin was also given the opportunity to shine in the band’s most “chamber music” sounding composition, “Arco.” Parts of the compositon feature Thorin’s bowed bass weaving slow, melancholy melodies as Flinner and Martin provide churning, ostinato riffs atop the low end. It is as if the instruments’ traditional roles are reversed. The set ended on this note as the musicians took a break to “rehearse” some new tunes for the second set.

A concept the trio came up with in years past was the idea of Music du Jour, whereby the players would individually write a new tune each day and perform them each evening when they are on tour. The second set began with each member debuting their newly-penned tune from that day, all of which were performed as a group. The band had sheet music in front of them (or perhaps chord progressions or other relevant notes) and seemed genuinely full of anxiety to unveil these hours-old compositions in front of a live audience. Their obvious nervousness gave the performance a heightened sense of excitement, and it was fun to watch the players communicate through glances and gestures, clearly figuring out the nuances of the arrangements on the fly. My favorite of the newly unveiled tunes was titled “Through the Ringer.” Parts of the song had a relaxed, lullaby feel to them with Martin’s guitar and Thorin’s bass playing a repeated melody in unison while Flinner’s mandolin danced and darted freely atop. There was a serious playfulness to the composition like much of the trio’s work as a whole.

It is this very sense of adventure and fearlessness that makes the music of the Flinner Trio so compelling. What separates them from other grand experimenters, however, is a reverence for the music’s reception. One gets the sense that the players could probably have a great time getting really out with their work to the point of losing touch with the emotional connection needed from an audience. Their strength is that they push their music just to the edge of that line without ever crossing it. Never does one get the sense that the band is indulging itself to the point of sacrificing the integrity of the relationship between listener and performer. This is a difficult tightrope to walk, but the Trio manages to do so without so much as a stumble.

Q&A with Noam Pikelny, Part II

2011-10-27T06:34:00.001-05:00

This is the second installment of a two-part interview I conducted with Noam Pikelny. Pikelny, most famous for his work with acoustic supergroup, Punch Brothers, has just released his second solo album, Beat The Devil and Carry a Rail. He is also the first recipient of the Steve Martin Prize for Excellence in Banjo and Bluegrass.

You can read the first installment of the interview by clicking here.

Ok, since this Q&A will also be posted on the Banjo Hangout, let’s get into some banjo nerdery for a few questions. Tell me a little bit about your main ‘jo, the pre-war top tension Gibson PB-7 with a custom Robin Smith neck that extends beyond the head to offer 24 frets and two full octaves. What drew you to this particular instrument and have its acoustic characteristics informed or altered your playing in any way?

Noam Pikelny: I got that banjo about four years ago now. I was living in Nashville at the time and was exposed to great old Gibson banjos all the time but rarely were they ever for sale, and rarely did I ever consider buying one just because I couldn’t fathom I would be able to pay for it. It's really expensive, actually more expensive a couple years ago than they are now. I walked into Gruhn Guitars one day and there were several top tensions there, and the one that I ended up buying was a 1941 PB-7 with a Robin Smith neck. I played it, and I loved it, and I immediately put it down because I knew it would become heartbreaking because I know that this is available. I like it that much, and it is just not feasible. And the lucky thing was that they had two other top tensions that were in better condition aesthetically and those sold, and a couple months later this banjo that I really loved was still there.

By that time Charlie Cushman had started working there and was doing banjo setups, and I came in and played that banjo again. Charlie heard me play it and came up to me and said, “You gotta get this banjo. This is your banjo.” And nobody at Gruhn worked on commission, so this wasn’t Charlie trying to make a sale. He said, “It is your instrument; all your detail and your style are really served by this instrument, and as someone who has been through this many times, I’ll tell you, Noam, that if you don’t buy this banjo you’ll be searching for it the rest of your life until you find this one or one just like it.” I really took it to heart, and Charlie said do whatever you need to do. You need to ask for any money in the world to try and put the money together for this because you’ll never regret it. And so I borrowed money and got a banjo loan to pay for this banjo, and I’ll be making monthly payments on this for a long time. It’s a lifetime instrument.

There’s a real wide range of banjos and how they’re set up, and the thing is that some of them respond better to us than others. I had always been drawn to a warmer and darker sound and less harsh attack with more sustain. You can take any banjo and try to set it up with that goal, and some of them will do that well, and some of them won’t do that very well, and this top tension was my favorite. You know, when I came in to Gruhn and played it with that initial set up, which has changed a little bit, it really seemed like it was working for how I play the instrument and the sound I’m getting out of it. I think it’s affected my playing. It has much wider dynamic range than any other instrument I’ve played before. It’s not hard to find a good banjo, a great banjo, that sounds excellent in a certain dynamic. But, for instance, you can tell the older instruments from newer instruments in that they kind of work beautifully in a very wide range. This banjo, for me, it has a lot more dynamic range than any other instrument I’ve ever owned. All the other instruments that I’ve played in the past I always felt that they had a wonderful tone to them but you had to cap how hard you hit it, it wouldn’t give back the way you wanted it to give back. This banjo felt like it had an infinite range of percussion compared to what I was coming from, and I haven’t been disappointed with it at any point, and to me it’s a lifetime instrument. I just wish it wasn’t so heavy.

Are all your other banjos just collecting dust? I know you played a Nechville in the past as your main banjo. Do you still play it or other banjos to achieve different tones, or has the Gibson become your sole instrument to gig, record, and compose?

NP: I don’t’ really have that many. Up until a couple months ago I only had three. I still have my Nechville that I love and will never get rid of. That was my main banjo for the first six or seven years of my professional career. And I have a banjo that’s kind of a copy of my main top tension that’s made out of all pre-war Gibson parts except for the tone ring. It has a Huber tone ring. I use that if I’m flying and there’s just no option of bringing the banjo on board. So when I’m going to Europe I’ve taken that banjo because I’ve had to check it, but usually I’d always have my top tension with me. There were maybe only three gigs over the last three years that I didn’t bring it just because it was impossible to bring it on the plane.

Does the copy also have a Robin Smith neck with 24 frets?

NP: Yeah, its almost identical with the top tension. A couple months ago I bought a Deering John Hartford model, and I borrowed one from Bela Fleck that was one of Hartford’s personal banjos to play on “Fish and Bird,” the song that Aoife O’Donovan [of Crooked Still] sang on the record, and I just really fell in love with that sound and found myself wanting something like that to use with Punch Brothers. Also, I’m getting an album relase tour in December, and Aofie is coming on board and doing things like “Fish.” I think it’s a really cool combination that when you have a low tenor banjo with a third string that’s sounding an E-flat or E instead of a G but will still set up bright if I played with normal strings. If I tuned my Hartford banjo to G it would be a really bright, bluegrass sound. It would be way too bright for me to use on any material we played. When you tune a banjo set up like that all the way down and put on heavy strings you get a really cool juxtaposition of this low richness. I’ve fallen in love with that sound a lot recently, and a lot of it is instrumental to John Hartford’s music.

Do you use a heavy wound third string like John did?

NP: Yeah, I think it’s a .20.

I posted on the Banjo Hangout that I would be interviewing you and asked if any of the forum members had questions they’d like to have you answer. Several people were curious about your practice routine which is no surprise given your virtuosity as a banjo player. Can you talk a bit about that?

NP: My practice routine is always evolving and is really to serve whatever is coming up on my plate as far as musical opportunities, whether it’s going into the studio with Punch Brothers or on my record or tour. That will usually be the main guiding force in what I’m working on in the idle moments when I’m home or on tour. I lament the fact that I don’t have time like I did five or six years ago where I had three weeks on the calendar and nothing whatever was on the horizon as far as gigs. I really welcome the fact that things aren’t stagnant, but it was under those types of schedule opportunities where I could really feel like I could immerse myself in the instrument and be working on things that possibly didn’t have a deadline on them. Things have been so busy with the band and my own schedule as of late that most of the routine has been trying to get things into working order. Every time I get some time to myself where I feel like I could jump in and really start investigating something deeply, that’s when I’ll return to working on technique or trying to understand the neck better.

As far as what I practice these days when I have that type of time, it can really vary. I feel like I don’t wake up and get out the banjo and run scales. I’m much more interested in playing actual musical excerpts or creating the music, and lately I’ve been on a real kick of trying to transcribe pedal steel music, especially this guy Vance Terry, on the banjo. He really expands one’s playing ideas that seem impossible on your instrument, and you find a way to make them work on your instrument.

Banjo, the way it’s tuned and the number of strings it has, you’re really limited in one position like in one part of the neck as far as the range of the musical idea that you have. Playing a one-octave G scale at the 10th fret of the banjo, that’s specific for banjo players. You can’t afford to practice technique, and if you’re playing scales then you need to start somewhere. It’s one way of teaching yourself how scales are built and to refine the right hand. To play actual musical ideas you have to be able to have access to more than just one scale position, and I think that’s the danger of running technical exercises and just memorizing different positions, left hand positions. You might be able to play for scales, but when it comes to actually playing music you need to be able to break out of those positions and set up and create an idea that has more of a range than you could necessarily find in scales. What I find is that for the banjo, I’m having to cover a lot more ground left-hand wise. To play a musical idea that on a guitar or mandolin would only require moving your left hand three or four frets, on the banjo you’re having to go up the entire scope of the neck, and those are things to overcome. A line I would play in a solo or a melody of a song shouldn’t be dictated by how closely tuned the intervals are on a banjo. And you overcome these natural setbacks, these things that seem like inherent limitations on the instrument. You tend to get comfortable in thinking this is what you do on the instrument because it's tuned this way. And I’m not interested in changing the tuning, I’m interested in overcoming some of the hurdles of navigating the neck in order to improvise or play melodies in the same way a different instrument or musician could.

I did have one quick question about the new Punch Brothers album you just finished recording. I recently spoke with Jaquire King, the album’s producer, and he said the record would have a different sound in its production. He mentioned the plan was to record everything acoustically but possibly add different sonic touches in post-production. Is this something you’re comfortable talking about so far out from the release date?

NP: Yeah, we just finished tracking it. We kept an extremely open mind to how we were actually capturing the sound of the instruments in the studio and how we were getting the sound of the instruments down on tape. When we’re writing music we have no constraints or rules of how the music gets assembled. It’s really a wide open canvas as far as our approach to writing music and arranging it, and we’ve been in environments where our recording approach in fact was much more strict than our actual approach to the music in that we would sit down and set up and try to capture the sound of us playing acoustically in a room. Typically, you get your sounds after a couple days, and you record an entire record in that setting, whereas this recording with Jacquire, which was an amazing experience that I’m still kind of reeling from at the moment, we experimented with sounds based on each different song and the part that each instrument played, how it could be, how you could serve the song better and make the music more compelling by doing a little bit of a extra magic to each instrument to serve the individual song. That’s the first time that we experimented with that. Maybe instead of having a banjo go through a mic into the control room, we have the mic into an amp and a microphone out of the amp. These effects can be subtle at times, and at times they can be very kind of moving. If you have a banjo all of a sudden in a reverb chamber or something on the bass, there’s an endless palette of what you can do in the studio with this direction.

And for us, our endeavor in the studio is trying to make something that could possibly be as exciting as a live show. There are so many non-musicial stimuli in a live show. You’re watching the musicians, there’s also the sound of the room that you’re playing in or the way the crowd responds, all these things have extra gravity that make something really special when you play live. The question is how can you really translate that into a recording when it’s just coming out of someone’s studio. And I feel like, on this record, we didn’t’ limit ourselves in our options or our tonal palette while we were recording. I think that could provide some of those extra musical or non-musical stimuli to the sound that could possibly give people the same, or get the impact closer, to what would happen at a live show, if that makes any sense.
_________________________

I'd like to thank Noam for taking the time to conduct this interview.

You can visit Pikelny's website to get information about purchasing his album as well as upcoming tour dates by clicking here.

_________________________

Q&A with Noam Pikelny, Part I

2011-10-25T19:52:00.000-05:00

I recently had the opportunity to speak with Noam Pikelny, one of today’s most prolific and innovative banjo players. Pikelny is best known for his work with acoustic supergroup, Punch Brothers, but he is now releasing his second solo album, Beat The Devil and Carry A Rail, which is certainly worthy of wide attention on its own. Pikelny is also the first recipient of the Steve Martin Prize for Excellence in Banjo and Bluegrass (which came with a generous $50,000 cash award.)

It’s been a very busy time for Pikelny. In addition to releasing Beat the Devil this week, he just finished recording the newest Punch Brothers album, and a hilarious video promoting his solo album just premiered on Funny Or Die. The video features Steve Martin, Ed Helms, Bela Fleck, Chris Thile, and Earl Scruggs among others (see the video embedded below.)

Bluegrass Diva with Steve Martin, Ed Helms and Noam Pikelny from Steve Martin

I spoke with Noam on the telephone just as he was about to catch a flight leaving Nashville after the Punch Brothers recording. I expected the conversation to be a quick fifteen or twenty minutes, but we spoke for almost forty-five minutes. Because Pikelny’s responses were so thoughtful and thorough, I was only able to ask about half of the questions I had hoped, even with a longer conversation than expected. We spoke about the new album, some of the musicians he’s the opportunity to work with, and, of course, got into a little bit of banjo geekery. I appreciate Noam taking the time out of a very busy schedule to chat. Here’s Part I:

First of all, your new album is titled Beat The Devil and Carry A Rail. Does the title have any broad significance?

Its an old saying from Appalachia that is fairly obsolete at this point but I’ve always been kind of fascinated by sayings and phrases from the old days and made a habit of sifting through books, especially things from the south and beat the devil and carry a rail was something I came across and it stems from this strange unbelievable tradition of taking whoever is favorite in a race and handicapping them by making them carry a rail. Seems a little harsh…

So, just to handicap them?

Yeah, if they’re gonna be the clear victor then you need to level the playing field by making them carry a rail. That’s what I found through my research, where that came from. So the combination of carrying a rail while beating the devil has a couple different meanings as a saying. It can mean just a clear victory that despite handicaps someone still triumphs, and the other side of it is the victory or triumph against all odds when everything is stacked against you yet you still emerge victorious. I love the imagery of those words and the sound of it all. It’s a good title for this record.

It’s been quite some time since your first solo record, In The Maze, was released in 2004. This was prior to your joining Punch Brothers, right?

Yeah. In The Maze was just prior to the forming of Punch Brothers. I think it came out in June of 2004 and later that same summer was when I first got to play with Chris Thile at the Telluride bluegrass festival and we ended up at this late night show hosted by Yonder Mountain String Band. We both found ourselves on the stage until the end of the night and hit it off musically. Soon, Chris was calling all of us up to put this project together.

In the Maze showed some amazing musicianship. I’m sure you’ve grown even further as a musician since then especially hanging with Punch Brothers and so forth. Can you describe how your playing in Beat The Devil and composing differs in approach from what you were doing back with Maze?

I feel more confident as a player and a writer, and I think some of it is just because I have more experience. The experience of being around Punch Brothers was very profound as far as the impact it has made on me as a musician. One, it’s an incredibly rich assortment of musical characters and everybody challenges each other in the band. Early on in the band when we were working on Blind Leaving the Blind, it was something Chris Thile formed as a result of a marriage of more formal music. The string quartet of his required approaching the banjo in a way I hadn’t imagined before. Because he was writing music that his only real ambitions were that it was in the range of the banjo, and it was forcing me to move around the neck in a way I wouldn’t have stumbled upon on my own because it would have felt maybe too ambitious, or I wouldn’t’ have had the kind of initial inspiration that you can try something like that. So, all of a sudden I had this piece in front of me that as a band we were learning and playing and eventually going to record. And, it was like all of a sudden I felt like I was in a master class. I was putting myself through a whole new education on the banjo, and it’s really forced me to expand my toolbox in terms of technique. The really interesting thing for me playing this music is when I came back to playing bluegrass and playing fiddle tunes it was evident that my playing had gone through a shift because of the work I was doing.

My playing these new techniques that we’re forcing ourselves to establish and integrate on The Blind Leaving the Blind, it was such a departure from bluegrass and traditional music. So, I didn’t expect it to make that much of an impact on my traditional playing. Like, I kinda thought maybe this would be compartmentalized, and I’ll just gain the skill set, but it was very surprising to go back to playing more traditional music, whether it was in a jam session or in a different context with another band, and feel like these new techniques, these kind of skills I had established in playing in Punch Brothers music had integrated itself into my playing regardless of what the genre of the piece was.

So, this has continued over the last 5 or 6 six years, it will be 6 years this Thanksgiving that Punch Brothers first met on the circuit playing music together. We still play some bluegrass related music in our live shows and we still play quite a bit of bluegrass as we interpret it in our live shows. On records as of late that hasn’t been our main focus; we’ve been writing much more original music, but we played traditional bluegrass and old standards in our live shows so this record really kind of felt like it was a little closer to my roots because it has a more bluegrass background, and I felt like my playing had really transformed for better or worse because of the Punch Brothers experience. And so, I kind of set the task for myself putting together a collection of tunes writing some original music that was still kind of in the bluegrass and roots format and not necessarily, it wasn’t a conscious decision that I’m going to write a bluegrass tune and, “what is that format?” Instead, the songs started materializing out of the sense that I wanted to do a record. And so, too many different styles and musical itches are currently fulfilled and had been fulfilled by Punch Brothers that I was yearning to play something more like what I could come up with.

These tunes came together over the last year or so. Some of them have been in waiting for a long time; some of them have been ideas that Punch Brothers had shot down or that they didn’t use. In other cases, certain sections of songs that maybe I had brought in the Punch Brothers they would only use the B section of it, so I had an A section lying around. So the tunes started amassing and I made it a point to do some covers on this record. I wanted to play some banjo fiddle music as we did on "Pineywoods." It was really kind of a fantasy of mine to do a banjo-fiddle duet with Stuart Duncan in that style. It was a bit of selfish endeavor in that I really wanted to play to get into the studio with Tim O’Brien and Jerry Douglas. These are all guys that have formative experience on me as a musician, and most of my interactions with them, playing with them fairly informal would have been a jam session or encore at a festival. I wanted to make a record with my heroes in acoustic music which is one of the reasons this record ended up coming into focus as what I would consider a bluegrass banjo record for me. Some people are not gonna consider this as a bluegrass record, but bluegrass as I understand it, kind of this is how I would do it.

So, speaking of working with your heroes like O’Brien, Duncan, and Douglas, does it make you more relaxed or more nervous to enlist people of that stature with your playing?

I think in anticipation of the whole thing I was a little spooked as the day of the recording drew near. I was just so excited and wanted to get into the studio and concerned about nailing my parts in front of my heroes and then not slowing the process down. Once we got into the studio it was kind of a silly fear to have, because it was my music that I prepared and had been playing for months. In January when I was scheduling this record I was trying to figure out who I could get to play on the record, and I asked Bela Fleck, did he have any advice as to who I should put on the record. His main advice was to get people in the room who are going to inspire you and force you to play something that you wouldn’t typically play, like some extra boost of energy in that situation that’s going to bring something out of you that wouldn’t happen under normal circumstances. For me, guys like Stuart Duncan were an obvious choice. I mean, I can barely sit in my chair when I go see him play, and I wanted the kind of back and forth and challenge of having him on the other side of one of the rooms in the studio and having to take a solo after him or back him up. All those things were buzzing behind I felt like those things would force me to rise to the occasion.

Eight of the twelve songs on this album are originals either written or co-written by you. Also, Are there any originals on here that you feel express more than others your unique musical sensibilities and influences?

A lot of these songs emerge out of the ether. I’ll sit down playing the banjo, and we’ll come up with an idea or a phrase and we’ll start expanding on it. I’ll try to see where it can end up, and there were days that I sat down to write something that had been a straight ahead banjo tune where it turned into something completely different because I maybe stumbled upon some phrase or harmonic change that I was really interested in, and I’d start chasing that. And there were certain things that I started working on that didn’t make it onto this record.

It’s interesting to me… I sat down thinking, like, I’m gonna try to write a jig like an Irish jig ,an original piece, and we were playing around in the keys of E and B trying to write something in that feel and what emerged from that was “My Mother Thinks I’m A Lawyer,” which is not an Irish jig whatsoever. Its more of a bizarre ragtime thing, so I will just follow whatever is pleasing me as I’m working on it. These songs are a cohesive set of material that could work with this set of musicians.

(Click here for Part II of this interview.)
________________________________

On Thursday, I'll post Part II of this interview where Noam discusses how he acquired his exquisite pre-war Gibson banjo (valued somewhere around $60,000), his technique, and a little preview of what we might expect on the next Punch Brothers album.

You can visit Pikelny's website to get information about purchasing his album as well as upcoming tour dates by clicking here.
_________________________________

The Kids are Alright: Trampled By Turtles at Nashville's Exit/In (10/18/11)

2011-10-24T18:35:00.000-05:00

I arrived at Nashville’s historic Exit/In about 20 minutes before Trampled By Turtles embarked on an inspired set last week. The crowd was decidedly young (at least in the eyes of this blogger rapidly approaching middle age.) Comprised of fleece-wearing frat boys, scruffy pot devotees, and hipsters working overtime to groom an heir of shaggy bohemian intellectualism, the audience was out in force and ready for a good time. I had forgotten how much outward social performance is a part of being young, and that quality inspired feelings of nostalgia, charm, and a bit of melancholy as I watched folks mingle, posture, shout, and squeal. Despite being a talented, thoughtful band with a strong sense of songcraft, TBT strike me as a roots band tailor made for young adults given their energy and vitality. And that’s a damn good thing for the longevity of meaningful roots music.

I’m inspired to see a younger generation of acoustic musicians like TBT, the Avetts, Mumford and Sons, and others cultivate a far-reaching audience among the college set. I recently sold a banjo to the mother of a 17 yr. old girl whose daughter was inspired to pick up the instrument due to the Avett Brothers. In another era, she might have been buying a Casio keyboard or a pink rhinestone microphone. By no means am I trying to patronize TBT, the Avetts, or others as musicians pandering to the young or lacking the sophistication to appeal to an older audience. That’s not my opinion at all. I’m a fan wholeheartedly, even at the ripe old age of thirty-nine. I’m just re-iterating what others before me have said better than I could hope to, Americana/Roots/Whatever-you-care-to-call-it is healthier than ever, with a broad audience. TBT exemplify the resurgence of meaningful, accessible music as their young, raucous audience proved last week.

As the band took the stage, lead singer Dave Simonett enthusiastically informed the crowd that this was their first Nashville gig. Almost immediately, they launched into the up-tempo “Help You” from their most recent release Palomino. Like many of their faster tunes, the song is driven by churning fiddling and an insistent mandolin chop below unvarnished Midwestern harmonies. Before the crowd could catch their breath, the quintet shifted into “Sounds Like a Movie,” an instrumental played at breakneck speed with pulsing riffs traded between banjo, mandolin, and fiddle. Admittedly, the band’s timing seemed a bit unintentionally elastic, but this is a song born of punk rock energy more than calculating precision. It also inspired the first mosh pit I’ve ever seen at a roots music show. While the thought of a mosh pit occurring even at punk gig in 2011 is depressing, I don’t hold TBT responsible for such a hackneyed display of an outmoded ritual. If anything, I’m impressed that an acoustic band can even inspire an act of collective aroused aggression (but, please, let’s not make this a habit roots music fans; it’s a little embarrassing.)

Despite the high energy of the band, which is what has put them on the map, I find myself drawn to their slower and mid-tempo songs and was glad to hear some of my favorites at the show. Their rendition of “Bloodshot Eyes” with its plainspoken, earnest lyrics and subtle harmonies is where I find TBT at their best. “Again,” with its harmonized chorus punctuated by Ryan Young’s lilting fiddle lines and Erik Berry’s mandolin tremolos offers the listener space to fully enter the song and sit with the music a while.

Having said all of that, if one wants to hear inspired acoustic music with a bit of a punk ethos, TBT perform that concoction in an irrestible, compelling manner. Along with the rest of the crowd, I found myself excited to hear the opening riffs of “Wait So Long,” the hard driving track which opens Palominoand, to my mind, is kind of the “thesis tune” for an album that often embraces a more aggressive approach to acoustic music.

After the set ended to a raucous ovation, banjo player Dave Carrol came on stage to photograph the Nashville crowd clamoring for an encore. As a Music City native with a strong sense of civic pride, I was wholeheartedly charmed to see the band excited to have received such a warm reception in the seat of country music. As they played their cover of The Pixies “Where Is My Mind,” I realized this is a band with exactly the right attitude. They have a healthy respect for the traditions of old without relying on clichéd appropriations of those traditions. Theirs is a music born of a living, breathing music full of vitality, growth, and experimentation. No wonder the kids like them so much.

Review: Bela Fleck's Concerto for Banjo and Orchestra

2011-09-28T10:19:00.001-05:00

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of seeing Bela Fleck’s Concerto for Banjo and Orchestra with the Nashville Symphony. Overall, the largest impression I was left with is that Bela Fleck is a raging, benevolent maniac. His virtuosity as a banjo player is unrivaled, and the concerto allowed an opportunity to showcase his abilities within a symphonic world of his own creation. The piece was a tour de force of musical intelligence, wit, and restless creativity. Of course, these are the impressions of a roots music blogger with a limited knowledge of traditional classical music. However, this piece of music was penned by an artist whose background includes an obsessive emersion in roots music from across the globe (not to mention his study of more formal music genres.) The diversity of Fleck’s career was on full display within the concerto, which swung wildly but gracefully between his vast influences. The composer says the piece was intended to “explore the new possibilities of the banjo as a member of the orchestra, while respecting its roots in bluegrass and jazz.”

The concerto was groundbreaking in many respects. First and foremost, this is the first major piece of orchestral music composed solely by and for a banjoist. In the past, Fleck has co-written classical pieces in tandem with the venerable double bassist, Edgar Meyer. However, the multiple Grammy winner admits that he relied heavily on Meyer to flesh out the orchestral arrangements of those pieces and wanted to challenge himself to write an orchestral work as the sole composer. The concerto was commissioned by the Nashville Symphony, and Fleck spent the better part of a year composing the piece. He dedicates the concerto to banjo icon and bluegrass legend Earl Scruggs whose “Ballad Of Jed Clampett” from The Beverly Hillbillies mesmerized him as a child and inspired him to take up the instrument.

A concerto is typically made up of three distinct movements or suites, and Concerto for Banjo and Orchestra follows that traditional template. The concerto itself, however, struck me as far from traditional in any other sense. Whenever the piece seemed to settle into familiar territory with respect to melody or harmonic structure, it would veer sharply into unexpected places of thoughtful dissonance or burst forth with surprising rhythmic shifts. I found myself in a constant state of heightened expectation throughout the piece, realizing I had no idea what might happen next.

The first movement, like the others to follow, began with the orchestra setting a foundation and stating a theme. Soon after, Fleck would introduce jaw-dropping solo banjo runs before the orchestra would come back in to accompany him. The piece began dark, brooding, and dramatic. Often the banjo would be flying through rapid fire, breathless melodies while the entire orchestra offered shifting counterpoint melodies as a whole. I found it sublime to watch a sea of arms and bows flowing from the string section in unison, percussively churning out musical waves atop which Fleck’s banjo would glide, dash, and dart. The movement settled into more gentle, lyrical passages at times, but a dark edge remained throughout.

The second movement began with a softer tone of longer, sustained notes from the orchestra and a more legato feel. However, stark shifts occurred with a dramatic percussion break reminding me that a banjo player’s mentality is equal parts percussion and melody. This movement in particular seemed to highlight the diversity of Fleck’s musical universe with its roving passages and terse transitions in tone.

The final movement, however, was by far my favorite of the evening. There was a time when the entire string section was laying down plucked, pizzicato punches underneath the composer’s banjo flights. I found this to be the most moving passage of the entire piece, and best suited to the inherent percussive nature of the banjo. This last movement also seemed most imbued with the spirit of American roots music, at times swinging with a strong jazz feel and offering a long solo clarinet run more indicative of early twentieth century New Orleans than eighteenth century Europe. Most impressive were two of Fleck’s solo cadenzas, one of which involved such a wild barrage of notes that it seemed like pulsing tones of music and sound rather than individual notes plucked from a single instrument. The economy of motion employed by the artist was also amazing. To hear an almost unfathomable number of sounds come from a soloist who appeared so relaxed with fingers moving so fast they almost looked still was nothing short of amazing. It is like experiencing a rushing river, somehow serene despite being composed of thousands of urgent, endless currents. Another of his solos towards the end of the movement seemed to be a decidedly explicit homage to Earl Scruggs, overtly reminiscent of Fleck’s childhood hero. I wonder if Mr. Scruggs ever dreamed as a young banjo picker in the hills of North Carolina that his revolutionary contributions to a traditional rural instrument would inspire other world class musicians to bring his influence to symphony halls full of tuxedos, evening gowns, and polished marble floors. Certainly, the audience of sophisticates expressed unabashed delight with Fleck’s transcendent Scruggs picking, as he received two standing ovations after the performance.

The first ovation came after the end of the last movement. Fleck returned to the stage to play a solo piece as an encore. He sat down with his 1937 mahogany Gibson and began playing a highly baroque piece of music full of ecstatic melodic runs. There was a vague familiarity to the piece despite its bizarre, idiosyncratic tendencies. Soon enough, it became clear as Fleck emphasized certain notes that he was playing an improvised version of "The Ballad of Jed Clamplett." The audience laughed in appreciation and his second standing ovation after the rendition was just as raucous and appreciative as the first. I don’t know if Mr. Scruggs was able to attend the concerto composed in his honor, but, if not, his spirit was certainly present throughout the night.

(Note: the performance of Concerto for Banjo and Orchestra was recorded throughout the night and will later be available on CD and DVD. I highly recommend giving it a watch or listen when it becomes available.)

Album Review: Tune-Yards, "WHOKILL"

2011-07-19T22:52:00.008-05:00

Ok, I'm pretty damn late to the Tune-Yards party (and, sorry, I refuse to use the tUnE-yArDs typography preferred by Merrill Garbus, the creative force behind the project.) As a somewhat insular roots music fan, I don't spend a lot of time searching out indie rock, experimental bands, etc. In fact, my first very brief listen to Tune-Yards when their most recent album, WHOKILL, dropped this past April was a very cursory, quickly dismissive listen. Lucky for me, I happened to catch an interview and in-studio performance with Garbus on WBEZ's Sound Opinions this past weekend. I was immediately charmed by Garbus and loved hearing her approach to music; her reverence for African music, passion about its influence on the music of Appalachia, and her down to earth modesty. I was also charmed by the very DIY approach Garbus takes with respect to her music and live performances; an approach that embraces chance and mistake. Despite the fact that Tune-Yards is a band casually dependent on technology, influenced by hip-hop, electronica, and other dance musics (among many others), at its heart this is folk music, albeit a 21st century version thereof.

Admittedly, most folk musics are highly infused by place, location, and cultural heritage whereby Tune-Yards is most notable for a wild diversity of cultural influences spanning multiple continents. Of course, most folk musics are examples of cultures clashing together to create new aesthetic forms, but the cross-pollination has traditionally been slow and contained. In the internet age, when one can explore centuries of music the world over with the click of a mouse, such slowly evolving organic hybrids are less likely. Instead, Tune-Yards reminds me of a raucous international marketplace listened to from a distance, where African horns, hip-hop boomboxes, strummed ukuleles, and sparse punk rock drum beats all converge simultaneously. The sound is exhilarating, slightly disorienting, and always pleasantly surprising. What I most appreciate is the fearlessness inherent in the music. One gets the idea that Garbus has a liberated internal editor, impervious to self-criticism when creating music. Instead of second-guessing her instincts, I like to imagine her bullying the hell out of her every idea, forcing it to conform to her larger vision come hell or hi-fidelity. Given Garbus' grass-roots, lo-fi approach, I wonder if she might not find the two synonymous anyway.

tUnE-yArDs perform 'Powa' on Sound Opinions from WBEZ on Vimeo.

You can watch the first video above to see Garbus illustrate how she constructs her songs using only a couple of drums, a ukulele, and her voice run through a looping sample pedal. The song, "Powa," starts off with a softly delivered whispery vocal style before giving way to a much more powerful R&B delivery full of confident posturing and sliding vocal inflections reminiscent of African song. With only her samples, a ukulele riff and the syncopated bass lines of band member Nate Brenner, the song creates a full, rich sound infused with improvisation and soulful confidence. It's like highly inspired performance art slyly dressed up in the clothes of experimental world indie pop.

tUnE-yArDs perform 'Gangsta' for Sound Opinions from WBEZ on Vimeo.

Another stand-out track from the album, "Gangsta," (video above) begins with sustained alto and baritone sax lines as Garbus lays down a looped drum track and layered African-inspired vocal chants. The song then playfully weaves between stacatto hip-hop infused vocal riffs and flute-like whispers. Somewhere along the way, the music stops to introduce some avant-garde jazz lines from the sax players before they offer a sort of mimicked response to the earlier call of vocal chants. The song closes with a chorus of squeaking, squawking horns seemingly indebted to the later work of John Coltrane and his collaborations with the master of sublime "squawk jazz", Eric Dolphy. To be honest, it's just kind of a fucking crazy song, wholly self-indulgent but clever enough to pull it all off.

The entire album is filled with this same sort of kitchen sink, almost dada approach to composition. It won't be everyone's cup of tea, for certain, and I suspect fans of traditional roots music might find little to hold onto when listening. I must say, however, for me the album has been a revelation, and I hear an amalgam of roots music the world over filtered through a wholly unique, postmodern sensibility.

From the Vaults - Bobby Charles; Self-Titled (1972)

2011-07-04T14:00:00.001-05:00

I'm not sure how I came across Bobby Charles' self-titled album from 1972. I think it was a random discovery through an Amazon search about a year ago. Since then, this album has burrowed itself into my brain with its lazy, patient melodies, earthy love songs, and political anthems infused more with exhausted compassion than anger and indignation. It seems somehow appropriate to write this review on the 4th of July as Charles' music offers a hazy view of America as rich and deep as the Louisiana soil from which he came.

Bobby Charles, "Street People"

Known best for writing classic tunes such as "See You Later Alligator," and "Walking to New Orleans," Charles was a reclusive songwriter who rarely made public appearances (he passed away in 2010 at the age of 71). His songs have been recorded by artists ranging from Kris Kristofferson to Ray Charles to Muddy Waters. He was friends with Bob Dylan, Dr. John, and The Band. In fact, one of his last public performances was at The Band's Last Waltz concert in 1976. Bobby Charles even sounds a bit like The Band, though a mellower 4 AM version as a party winds down from heavy drinking. The affinity to The Band should be no surprise given it was produced by Rick Danko, features Garth Hudson on organ, and Levon Helm on a few drum tracks. Dr. John also contributes some keys and guitar. Bobby Charles is imbued with the smoky fog of the 70s, and one can almost feel the sweaty humidity of the south in an era when regional cultures were more distinct, before cable television, chain restaurants, and a relentless saturation of information began conspiring to make a bland monoculture of a once diverse nation.

Bobby Charles, "Save Me, Jesus"

From the opening high hat shuffle and drowsy slide guitar on the album's first track, "Street People," I'm transported back to my early childhood, riding along the dusty roads of east Tennessee, looking out the window of my parents' station wagon at the orange dirt hills, pickup truck watermelon stands, and shirtless hitchhikers meandering about. The song is an ode to unemployed drifters and sets the tone for the album's celebration of relaxed introspection while questioning a nation just realizing its destiny of devout consumerism and hyper-militarism. "Save Me Jesus," is a funky, mid-tempo jaunt full of bluesy New Orleans piano fills and guitar riffs that is an irresistible foot-stomping lament with a home-spun simplicity that masks the depth of Charles' world-weary cultural critique.

They got satallites and spaceships flying 'cross the universe
They killed before and they'll kill again, just so they can say they first
They build monuments and churches and things I ain't seen yet
And they've signed them all with their autograph in case you might forget

Save me, Jesus, save me Jesus
Save me Jesus, Jesus save me
From this God-forsaken place

And, Lord, when it's all over, they'll think you should be proud
And they'll be a few who'll offer you anything for your job
So when you take me, Jesus, please put me among friends
Don't put me back with these power-crazy money-lovers again

Charles' swampy political rants continue with the slow burning, almost drone-like, "All The Money" which distills his cultural distress down to skeletal, repetitive one-liners like "He got all the whiskey, and he won't give me none; He got all the power and he won't give me none." It's a rollicking song that builds in intensity as riff upon riff is stacked before a frenzied chorus of horns plays the song out. Bobby Charles doesn't just explore social angst, but is also rounded out with mellow songs of gratitude and wonder. "In A Good Place Now" betrays the overly earnest ethos of the flower generation with lines like "I saw a butterfly and named it after you; your name has such a pleasant sound." In the throat of another singer, such lines might be cringe-worthy, but Charles manages to get away with it given his raspy southern drawl and the sleepy, behind-the-beat piano that conjures the drowsy euphoria of a Sunday nap in August.

The album closes with "Homemade Songs," another slow tempo track that celebrates a love of place and bemoans a lover lost by "staying stoned and singing homemade songs." If the recipe for crafting songs as humbly soulful as those of Charles were so easy, a quarter bag of weed should come packaged with every guitar sold. Of course, such sensitivity can't be stuffed in a pipe or rolled up in papers, but Bobby Charles is its own naturally mellowing intoxicant. Whether you choose to amplify that buzz further is up to you, but I suggest giving this album a listen whatever your preferred state of mind.

Best Roots Albums of 2011 (so far...)

2011-06-29T13:25:00.002-05:00

I've recently been thinking about the sheer volume of albums released per year, even within the genre of roots music, and the relative small number that speak deeply to individual listeners. For me, I'd guess that only about 5-7 albums per year, at most, become integral, important parts of my library with extended listens for years to come. Others get dumped in my collection and pop up occasionally in shuffle mode met with varying degrees of interest and excitement as the Darwinian struggle within an ever growing iTunes library plays out. Of course, some albums grow on a person over time while others grab one's attention quickly only to fade way into the oblivion of neglected files. Thus far, I'd say 2011 has been a pretty damn good year in my eyes, given at least six albums are already strong contenders for that hallowed place of sustained influence. Here are my picks:

Cahalen Morrison & Eli West - The Holy Coming of the Storm

What a treat it was to stumble upon this young duo from the great Northwest almost by accident. Since getting this album earlier in the year, it has been in heavy rotation on my iPod. From my full review earlier this year:

Morrison & West’s debut album, The Holy Coming of the Storm, takes elements of old-time, bluegrass, and folk to craft a sound that relies on tradition but stakes out its own territory. I’m tempted to describe the songs as pensive and austere, but that implies this is music for the head more than the heart. That is definitely not the case. It is both, as witnessed by my unconsciously tapping toes when listening to “Won’t Be Long,” an up tempo tune full of fiddle riffs, bluesy mandolin runs, and some head-shaking high-lonesome harmonies. Perhaps “elegant” is the word I’m looking for? No, that makes the music sound a little too precious, leaving a wholly inaccurate impression. This music has a rugged, earthy quality but also an organic polish. It reminds me of a rough stone turned smooth from years of exposure to the bustling currents of a mountain stream. Similarly, the melodic notes spilling from Morrison’s clawhammer banjo have the effect of sporadic water drops splashing amidst the steady rush of West’s guitar rhythms and runs in “My Lover Adorned.” The song’s wistful narrative sounds as ageless as any English folk ballad passed down through generations. I suppose I should resign myself to the fact that most adjectives are too limiting to attach to this music, in part because the duo does so many different things well.
___________________________

Carolina Chocolate Drops & Luminescent Orchestrii (EP)

This four song EP leaves me feeling a little cheated in that I'm craving more than four songs from this wonderful hybrid of backwoods old-time Gypsy fiddle hip-hop. From my full review earlier this year:

The final track, “Knockin’” is a sultry tune that teases its melodies forward with the patience of a knowing seductress. The gloriously indulgent vocal glissandos somehow manage to make refrigerated chicken and leftover wine sound erotic as all hell. The bridge provides a delicious release of urgent fiddle riffs, much like an overheated bystander swiping a handkerchief at his brow during an arousing burlesque performance. The song proves that double entendres and subtler expressions of carnal desire are infinitely sexier than the boringly explicit booty tunes so prevalent in contemporary pop music. This is certainly no pop album, despite the fact it deserves widespread acclaim.

More than anything, this collaboration is a tribute to the power of music to bring people together. This is social music, made for backyard barbecues in the country, rooftop romps in the city, and block parties the world over. No matter the locale, put on this disc and folk will be dancing, laughing, and, if they're lucky, maybe even sharing some chicken and wine later in the night.
___________________________

Chris Thile & Michael Daves - Sleep With One Eye Open

From the first few seconds of the opening track, "Rabbit In A Log," it's obvious that the collaboration between virtuosic pickers Chris Thile and Michael Daves is a musical partnership born of emotional intensity and joyful expression. Oh my, how nice it is to hear this less restrained side of Thile. As much respect as I have for Thile's main band, The Punch Brothers, and their experimental flights of technical fancy, I do wish a little of this raw intensity could surface in their compositions. I credit Michael Daves with bringing this more intuitive side to the fore. The more I learn about Daves and his grounded philosophy of music as a professional pursuit, the more I respect him. I also find his unbridled, stylized tenor full of breaks, dips, and glides a perfect compliment to the rapid-fire picking on Sleep With One Eye Open. An album full of well-curated standards, recorded here in Nashville at Jack White's Third Man Studios around a single mic, this collaboration is the pure, distilled essence of bluegrass music as explored by two of today's most talented musicians. If you don't love this album, I'm not sure I like you anymore.
___________________________

Gillian Welch - The Harrow & The Harvest

After eight years of creative frustration and an excellent side project in The Dave Rawlings Machine, Gil & Dave are back under the Gillian Welch banner. I joked on twitter that June 28th should be declared Gillian Welch Day given the explosion of Welch related tweets, facebook posts, blog reviews and pant-wetting anticipation from the roots music community prior to the release date. I'm still digging into the album and find it undeniably good. However, I need to spend more time with it to fine tune my analysis. The cherished sweet spot for these musical partners seems to be slower tempo, melancholy tunes that often weave the lyrical ethos of American folk traditions within more personal narratives. These are the songs that dominate the Harrow and the Harvest. What they do, they do exceptionally well. I can't help but feel, however, that there is a Welch template that, no matter how worthy of repetition, could use a little more shaking up as found in the Rawlings Machine. Perhaps I should respect a distinctive artistic voice and its constant honing above experimental risks. The album is great and will likely satisfy malnourished Welch fans, but I'm not sure it isn't yet another variation on the same theme, albeit one executed beautifully.
___________________________

Hayes Carll - KMAG YOYO

I can't decide whether or not Hayes Carll or Todd Snider is my favorite songwriter working today. Lucky for me, the two team up on one of KMAG YOYO's tracks, "Bottle In My Hand," along with Canadian troubadour Corb Lund. It's an embarrassment of riches like much of Carll's fourth album. From my full review earlier this year:

In the opening track of KMAG YOYO (& other American stories), Hayes Carll croons, “I’m like James Brown, only white and taller.” While Carll may not be the Godfather of country soul, his fourth album certainly solidifies that he’s a made man in the honky-tonk cabal. For someone whose songs infer the persona of an erratic slacker, the Austin-based singer-songwriter’s output has been awfully damn consistent. He has not released a throwaway tune yet, and, at his best, has penned some outright sublime songs. Carll is not blessed with a golden voice, but he knows how to make the most of his scratchy drawl as he swerves between Texas-sized swagger, self-mocking one-liners, and heartfelt vulnerability. More than anything, KMAG YOYO is a reminder that country music is not dead yet, despite Nashville’s best efforts to smother it in hair gel and software plug-ins.

Carll is a sort of Charles Bukowski in the age of anti-depressants. He’s a poet for thoughtful roughnecks and ne’er-do-wells, but the seething rage and contempt of earlier generations is replaced by a world-weary shrug of the shoulders at life’s absurdities. That’s not to say that Carll is wholly apathetic, because his songs have often flirted with politics, albeit through some hazy, last-call beer goggles. That drunken haze is sharpened with a bump of speed in the album’s rollicking title track. “KMAG YOYO” (a military acronym for “Kiss My Ass Guys, You’re On Your Own”) tells the story of a young soldier in Afghanistan who finds himself manipulated by Pentagon suits and disillusioned with the war. Carll’s civic sensibilities tread more familiar ground later in the album as his Dude-like Zen recognizes a drunken fling can be as politically enlightening as a C-Span symposium. In the duet, “Another Like You,” Carll’s barfly liberalism leaves the raspy spitfire Cary Ann Hearst unimpressed as she calls him “Taliban” before admitting “I gotta hand it to you, there’s a chance I’m gonna screw you.” Hearst’s sassy, gravelly delivery is a song-stealing performance, and Carll seems to be comfortable sharing the spotlight as KMAG YOYO invites some songwriting friends to the party.
___________________________

Preservation Hall Jazz Band & Del McCoury Band - American Legacies

I am still disappointed that I missed the Del & Pres. Hall set at Bonnaroo this year due to a work conflict. I did take some small consolation in tagging along with the Pres. Hall second line parade late in the wee hours of the Sunday morning. I can't say enough good things about this collaboration both as damn fine music and a fascinating cultural dialogue. From my full review earlier this year:

The album is book-ended by tunes which allow some rollicking playing amidst self-referential celebrations. The album's first track, "The Band's in Town," is a recurring set of down-home, earthy riffs allowing most of the collaborators an opportunity to solo a few bars while being name-dropped by their co-conspirators. The closing track "One More 'Fore I Die" has a similar ethos as it, too, cleverly name-drops each soloist. In both of these tracks, it is an absolute treat to hear competing breaks traded between unlikely partners such as trumpet, banjo, clarinet, mandolin, and piano. This is not just the essence of American music but the essence of what the larger American experiment has become, a collision of disparate cultures rubbing shoulders and mixing ingredients to develop a character that is somehow uniquely recognizable even though its most fundamental element is its wild variety.

This is a paradox of sorts - the unifying characteristic of American art is the diversity of its influences, especially with respect to cultural and ethnic traditions. It is no surprise that the pairing of these forms, jazz and bluegrass, would lead to such a successful project. Each are uniquely American art forms imbued with the character of their national identity. Both art forms share the spirit of American individualism as found in the emphasis of solo breaks and the pioneering spirit as found in the reliance on improvisation. Each art form is heavily influenced by worship music and they both include old church spirituals in large chunks of their respective canons (as illustrated by the aforementioned "I'll Fly Away.") Each form also has at its core the ideas, concerns, and philosophies of impoverished and disenfranchised populations, struggling to carve out a cultural legacy on their own terms with what they happen to have at hand. Lastly, each is a hybrid of European and African musical forms, both providing a living anthropology of this country's history. Regardless of all this socio-cultural navel-gazing, the bottom line is that both of these bands are smoking-hot, and when the two join forces, the result is one hell of a barnburning good time. When all is said is done, that will probably be the most important legacy of American Legacies, as it should be.

Album Review: Farewell Drifters - Echo Boom

2011-06-20T21:29:00.007-05:00

The Farewell Drifters wear their 60s influences on the sleeves of their Members Only jackets. The title of their newest album, Echo Boom, is a reference to the extended resonance of the Baby Boom generation's hopes, failures, idealism, and projections as processed and perceived by their offspring. Many boomer-era musical legends also echo throughout the new album which initially made me wary, to be honest. Through press releases and reviews, I'd read about an album of progressive folk music decidedly influenced by 60s pop supergroups Simon and Garfunkel, the Beach Boys, and others. This sounded to me like exactly what I didn't want to hear in contemporary roots music. I feared a modern day version of the Country Gentlemen or even something like the Kingston Trio with more compositional savvy. I can appreciate some Simon and Garfunkel. And I can appreciate the production and harmonic genius of Brian Wilson. However, extended listens to each don't make me want to write forlorn poetry or drive to the shore for sun and fun; they make me want to eat a mouthful of gritty dirt to rid the cloying taste of saccharine from my mouth. I was pleasantly surprised that my reaction to Echo Boom was quite the opposite. Somehow this group of young, earnest musicians manage to take the best elements from those influences and transform all that saccharine into an earthy, organic honey that is not just palatable, but downright savory. Echo Boom accomplishes a form of alchemical magic that deserves a wide audience.

I caught the final set of one of their concerts last week at Nashville's legendary Station Inn. As much as I've enjoyed Echo Boom since giving it a fair shake, I was even more impressed seeing these guys play live. Not only do they exude an irresistible charm of good-natured humility, but they can play. Really play. Despite the harmonic density and musicianship the album documents, it's clear that Echo Boom exercises some serious restraint, preferring to spotlight the subtlety of songcraft above the virtuosic ability that lies just barely beneath the surface.

In addition to their precociously mature musicianship, this is a band of thoughtful, introspective lyricists, unapologetically exploring the preoccupations of youth in a cerebral dreamscape of analog hand-claps, clever doo-wop harmonies, and vibrant string arrangements. For my money, the album's standout track is "Heart Of A Slave," whose verses construct layered counterpoint melodies including delicious pizzicato fiddle riffs from Christian Sedelmeyer. Dean Marold's perfectly sparse bass line, worthy of Reggie Workman on the deepest of Coltrane albums, adds the song's groove before a deep-swinging southern chorus springs forth propelled by Sedelmeyer's bowed fiddle and Zack Bevill's sliding vocals. Another favorite track is "Tip Of The Iceberg" which is an unlikely marriage of an AM Gold summer hit from decades past as courted by a suitor further down the dial on WSM.

Perhaps I'm perceiving the band's breezy vocal harmonies a little too literally, but Echo Boom evokes a spirit of shared joy among friends excited to explore multiple influences and inspirations with mutual enthusiasm. Or maybe I'm picking up on those intangible familial bonds between lead guitarist Clayton Britt and his mandolin playing brother, Joshua. Whatever the reason, Echo Boom is an album of exuberant musical intelligence slyly filtered through the hazy sunshine of 60s idealism, even as it politely investigates the reliability of that distorted view. It is not, as I feared it might be, baby boom nostalgia dressed up in stringband arrangements; instead the album is a successful transcendence of that ethos by way of earnest, witty musical invention.
___________________
Check out the Farewell Drifters' website for more information including current tour dates.

Bonnaroo Recap, Part 2: Gypsy Strings, New Orleans, and Distant Keys

2011-06-14T23:06:00.004-05:00

Black Keys (Photo courtesy of Bonnaroo.com)

In my prior post, I left off having just finished an inspiring set by Loretta Lynn. As the set concluded, my cohort and I decided to grab a bag of ice and head back to camp for an evening cocktail and a bit of rest in the cooler night air. We opted to take the dusty trails around the perimeter of Centeroo to avoid the swarming crowds for the Black Keys on the largest What Stage. We could still hear the dirty blues licks and cacophonous drumming of the Keys in its full glory as we made our way around. We stopped for awhile to listen as we watched the big screen from outside of the chain link barricades. It seemed like a backwoods drive-in movie with an overgrown sound system.

As we unwound from a long, hot day and tried to recover from the lack of sleep the prior night, I was still a little bit giddy to see the big New Orleans set later in the evening despite my exhaustion. After some chatting and campsite banjo picking, I threw my mat on the ground for what I hoped would be a short nap. Soon thereafter, a mild thunderstorm lit up the sky and rain trickled down. I was in heaven. I just lay there enjoying the cool rain, listening to the music echo around the claps of thunder. Eventually, I drifted off only to be awoken by fireworks so loud they were setting off car alarms along the campsite. Uh oh. It was the Bonnaroo alarm clock reminding me that I was about to miss Dr. John.

Dr. John (photo from Bonnaroo.com)

We woke up, wiped the sleep from our eyes ready to dash over to That Tent for a great big stew of New Orleans funk and soul. Or so we thought. The crowds were so intense due to the late night sets of Eminem, Buffalo Springfield, and String Cheese Incident, that we found ourselves stuck in a cattle herd. Eventually, we made our way to the stage to catch a few of the Meters final tunes. After a long set break, Dr. John took the stage with the venerable Allen Toussaint. The crowd was larger than expected, but we eventually made our way to a fairly close spot, and despite my aching feet, I found the energy to dance, clap, and sing along to the lowlands rhythms and Dr. John's inimitable N'orleans drawl. Toussaint was as elegant as he could be, dressed in a blue silk suit behind his grand piano. Both of these men are institutions unto themselves, and I hated to hear the boogie-woogie blues and swampy beats come to an end.

We moved to the side of the stage with huge smiles on our faces, letting all of those good feelings simmer in the 2 AM air. Just a moment later, a man with dreadlocks down to his knees began jumping around excitedly. He was pointing behind the barricade next to the stage. Talking on a cellphone, he was screaming, "Baby, you have GOT to come over here now! Oh shit! Get over here!" I looked in the direction of his pointing and saw the top of a tuba with the famous hand painted lettering "Preservation Band." I heard a few notes from the tuba and a trombone running through scales as some percussion began to kick in. "Oh shit," is right. I was about to be part of a second line parade through Bonnaroo! I had no idea this was going to happen and actually got a little emotional as the barricades were moved, and the band began marching into a jubilant, joyful crowd.

Pres. Hall Jazz Band (photo from Bonnaroo.com)

We followed the parade dancing, laughing, and just shaking our heads at our good fortune. As the parade snaked though the complex, it was magical to watch the people in crowds ahead of us turn around, rub their eyes, and do a double take as they realized that one of America's most unique cultural traditions was headed right for them. No doubt, this was the highlight of my weekend.

Gogol Bordello (photo from Bonnaroo.com)

After about a half hour of following and dancing, we decided to make our way over the Other Tent to catch the Gogol Bordello set. Gogol is a band I've long been aware of, but never made the effort to explore. As we approached a packed tent and a huge crowd spilling into the outer field, I realized quickly what I had been missing. The manic energy of the band is otherworldly. Or multi-worldly, as the hybrid riffs from Eastern European gypsy music collided with dub beats, punk rock, polkas, funk, and about anything else you could imagine. The band is like taking a well-curated independent record store and throwing every CD from every genre into a blender before topping the gritty frappe with a large dose of militant leftist anthems to tie the dish together. They must be superhuman as well, because the kinetic electricity of their set never faded even into the wee hours of the morning. At least three very extended encores were played as the crowd simply would not quit demanding the party continue. Finally, a little after 4 AM, the band presumably collapsed backstage and were immediately given IV drips and other medical attention. At least they should have.

As we slowly made our way back to camp, we passed That Tent where the improvisational electronica band STS9 were still going strong, playing a tune that reminded me of Phish filtered through arty German dance music. At least that's what it sounded like to me at 4:30 AM going on only a couple of hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours.

Back at camp, we watched the sky gradually brighten into a peaceful Sunday morning. I was almost too exhausted to sleep, my head crammed full of resonating rhythms, riffs, and melodies the world over. We sat in portable chairs eating apples, barely speaking except to smile and whisper what a great day it had been. Finally, I laid back down on the ground with my camping mat and eventually caught a tiny bit of sleep before the morning activity and warm sun wouldn't let me lay around any longer. I felt almost hallucinatory as my body tried to process the incompatibility of a peaceful sense of interior nourishment with that of external pain and abuse. It was Sunday morning, and I had hardly slept since Thursday night. As much as I wanted to push through for the gospel service of Mavis Staples in about four hours, I knew it was a futile pursuit. It was already too hot to sleep at 9 AM, and the idea of toiling in the sun for hours still just seemed like a physical impossibility. We decided to head for home.

After packing our bags and indulging bourgeois dreams of couches in air-conditioned homes, we hopped in the car, turned the key, and were ready to leave this wonderfully bizarre oasis. Click. Click. Click, click, click. Dead battery. Several tries at jumping the car didn't work. We were stuck. We contemplated staying, until our extremely kind camping neighbors offered to run us into town to replace the toasted battery. We gratefully accepted, and found ourselves on our way home a little after noon. I somehow managed to drive my cohort's van back home to Nashville without any traffic violations or car wrecks. The only bodily harm we suffered was extreme sunburn, dehydration, and minor hallucinations from sleep deprivation. I salute the brave souls who endured the festival from beginning to end. I am not worthy, but I might just be back next year anyway.

Bonnaroo Recap, Part 1: Teenage Narcs, Sleepless Nights, & Loretta Lynn

2011-06-13T23:21:00.008-05:00

Even as Bonnaroo quickly began growing in stature over the past ten years, I had long thought it was a festival not for me. The idea of toiling in the sun for days amidst beautiful but dirty, intoxicated young people, sweating gallons, and trudging across dusty or muddy fields sounded more like work than recreation. You could accuse me of having a weak constitution or a low threshold for discomfort and you'd be right. My time as a kid practicing football twice a day each year in the summer heat as well as a few stints roofing houses and working menial construction jobs turned me into an avid indoorsman June through August. Sure, I like the occasional camping trip or scenic hike, and I spent years as a fairly avid mountain biker, but, for the most part, I prefer my leisure indoors or on a patio/beer garden during Tennessee's increasingly brutal summer months. Last year, however, I was offered a last minute video gig shooting a brief interview with the Black Keys at Bonnaroo. I almost took a pass on the well-paying job because I had visions of multi-hour traffic jams, hiking through fields with heavy film equipment, and saucer-pupiled twentysomethings offering me free hugs. I was wrong (mostly.) The insane traffic jams of prior years had been overcome, entering and exiting the complex was a breeze, and no one bombarded me with naive affectations of universal love (though the site of a big dude covered in sweat and anguish is probably not their first target. Even hippies have their limits.) So, I decided to give it a go this year and actually do some camping and extended hanging out.

Arrival

Due to some unexpected work obligations, my plan to arrive Friday morning was pushed until Saturday. However, an unyielding manic swing had taken hold of me Bonnaroo week, peaking on Friday, and I decided to arrive very late Friday night after already having traveled seven hours for my day job. My unfortunate travel companion graciously agreed to this last minute change of plans. This change of plans was a mistake, at least in my execution. After scrambling to pack, forgetting many important items, and charging out of Nashville about midnight, we arrived to pick up our passes around 1 AM in Manchester. While Bonnaroo is incredibly well-organized, and most of the pertinent information had been emailed to me, the skeleton crew on the night I arrived could literally answer none of my questions (including "Now, what is the date today?" as I signed a form; their response "Just make one up.") As a result, I had no idea how to find the media camping area and was forced to enter the main admission gate. Huge, huge mistake.

The main gate crew verified our passes and then searched our car. Extensively. A swarm of teenage-ish volunteers began digging though every backpack, camera case, grocery bag, and sleeping bag. Their vigor was impressive. I shall not confirm or deny whether my cohort had a tiny amount of herbal relaxant confiscated, but I can say that being lectured by teenagers about honesty and integrity at 1 AM is awkward at best, if not a little comical.

Once safely inside, we asked for directions to the media camping area. We were told to keep driving until we could find someone else to direct us to our destination. Well, after two hours of driving through a mixture of dust clouds and barely clothed, often intoxicated hordes of festival attendees swarming the gravel roads (at approximately five miles per hour when we could navigate through them), we finally found the proper gate, only by happenstance (no one directing traffic could even venture a guess for us.) I almost didn't believe the staff person when she said we were in the right place. I must have asked her to confirm four times, afraid to let myself feel relief unless I knew for certain we had conquered the hazy, moonlit maze.

So, we settled in, set up camp, and poured ourselves a cocktail. We were still keyed up from the anxiety of playing hippie Frogger through the makeshift roads but too exhausted to venture into the complex to catch the remainders of the late night sets. Instead, we broke out our instruments and quietly swapped songs we'd written for a couple of hours until the sun rose above the bass beats steadily pounding from the stages not too far away. It ended up being a beautiful night, and we were both excited to get to the music the next day now that our ill-fated arrival was behind us.

Saturday Music

Old Crow Medicine Show on the Which Stage

After lying around for about three hours, only one of which accounted for sleep in ten to fifteen minute bursts, I was ready to figure out my game plan on Saturday. The first act I saw in earnest was Old Crow Medicine Show on the Which Stage. The set opened with one of my favorite covers, "Down Home Girl", an appropriate enough song for Bonnaroo referencing southern women, second line parades (more on that next post), and muddy water. The crowd was large, enthusiastic, and obviously knowledgeable of the Old Crow canon; a confirmation that the band isn't too far from cultivating an arena-worthy audience. Not bad for a string band playing small clubs not too terribly long ago. As with most acts, the band wove references to Bonnaroo into many of their songs, most successfully into the backwoods anthem of "Humdinger."

Deer Tick under That Tent

Next on the agenda was Deer Tick under That Tent. I have to admit, the band has long been one I've respected but never found myself fully drawn to. I was hoping that catching their live set would sway me fully one direction or the next. Frankly, there is an air of rock star hipsterism to them that keeps me at a distance. Or maybe I'm unfairly creating that perception as the result of too much earnest acoustic folkie bluegrass in my library. Whatever my bias, I hoped to give them a fair shake. I liked their set. I can't easily name song titles, but I liked their ethos of a little R&B filtered through a stripped down garage band aesthetic.

Kareem Abdul Jabbar

After Deer Tick, I made my way over to a press conference that included Daniel Lanois, Stephen Stills, and Kareem Abdul Jabbar. I have to cop to the fact that I showed up in large part to see if Kareem Abdul Jabbar was the Kareem or some indie rock band from Brooklyn I'd never heard of. I was glad to see it was the master of the sky hook, and the twelve-year old Lakers fan in me started geeking out a little. I still remember passages in fairly vivid detail from reading Kareem's autobiography as kid where he discussed in eloquence his thoughts on race, politics, sex, and religion. He was at Bonnaroo promoting his film, On The Shoulders Of Giants, the story of an all-black basketball team, The Harlem Rens, in the days of segregated America. What an unexpected treat to see this legend.

Loretta Lynn under That Tent

Speaking of legends, the next show I saw in full was none other than the Queen of Country Music, Loretta Lynn, under That Tent. There is something radiant about that woman, a perfect embodiment of humble charisma. I was moved seeing so many very young woman losing their minds and shouting along as the raven-haired vixen sang many of her classics, as well as other standards from the great American country music songbook. Lynn is a reminder that honesty and authenticity will always have more allure than crass pandering to base desires. She has more genuine sex appeal today in her little finger than Lady GaGa, Christina Aguilera, and Katy Perry combined. And it's because she leads from her soul, with all of its wit, tenderness, confidence, and vulnerability. She also seems so extremely comfortable in her own skin, made only more beautiful by the wisdom manifested in a few wrinkles here and there. She was a master of working the crowd, occasionally flubbing a line but smiling through it with all the confidence in the world. She joked about Jack White coming to join her on stage, eliciting a gasp of anticipation from the audience, only to let them know he wasn't there and laugh off the collective exhale of disappointment. Without saying so or even meaning to, she reminded us that no matter how talented White may be, he's still a neophyte artist when compared to her legacy and career. She closed the set with "Coal Miner's Daughter" to raucous applause as the sun went down. It was the perfect ending to a long, hot day.

Reveling in the magic of her set and feeling full of good vibes due to the love she was rightfully shown by a young crowd, it was time to head back to camp for a rest to get ready for the night's later festivities. I didn't think her set could be topped, but there were some strong contenders late into the AM hours. My next post will provide the details of an all-nighter full of New Orleans funk and manic Eastern European rhythms, rants, and rages.

Bonnaroo By The Numbers

2011-06-12T19:58:00.016-05:00

Due to circumstances mostly beyond my control, my trip to Bonnaroo was unexpectedly short-lived. I arrived very late Friday night and left midday Sunday. Despite some personal mishaps and gallons of perspiration exuded, the short trip was wholly soul-affirming and an incredibly good time. I should also note how pleasantly dumbfounded I am that the fine organizers of Bonnaroo manage to pull off an enormous, world-class festival of art, cinema, and music so beautifully, safely, and peaceably. HUGE kudos to the Bonnaroo team! I look forward to some extensive blog posts re-capping my short visit, but in the meantime, here are some quick numbers/statistics/factoids/anecdotes from the show

NOTE: All figures are guesses, estimations, or hearsay; others are taken from my personal experience:

• Number of improvised 2 AM Preservation Hall Jazz Band second line parades through Centeroo complex: 1

• Number of very extended encores at Saturday night Gogol Bordello set: At least 3

• Number of times Loretta Lynn forgot lyrics, messed up songs: At least 3

• Number of people who cared because the set was still stellar: 0

• Number of hours spent, upon arrival, looking for media camping after entering through wrong gate (driving through hordes of barefoot, intoxicated attendees along dust-covered roads): 2

• Number, on scale of 1-10, of my joy at finally finding media camping (at 3 AM): 11

• Approximate attendance of Bonnaroo: 80,000 attendees + 15,000 in staff, vedors, etc.*

• Approximate revenue of festival: $28 to $29 Million*

• Approximate percentage of Bonnombies (passed out attendees scattered around performances) per stage: 4%

• Percentage of frat boys on serious hallucinogens who were unnerving and/or dangerous: 100

• Total number of hours of sleep in my 2 nights at Bonnaroo: apprx. 3

• Number of sweat-drenched shirts futilely replaced on Saturday alone: 3

• Approximate number of gallons of water personally consumed per day: 3-4 gallons

• Number of times gag reflex involuntarily manifested in Porta-Johns: 2

• Percentage effectiveness of closing eyes and thinking of fresh cut lemons on white plate to subdue gag reflex: 100% (thanks for that tip years ago, mom.)

• Number of creepy old dudes I witnessed openly, aggressively leering at young, scantily dressed women: In the dozens

• Amount of power left in the battery of my cohort's van upon attempt to exit: 0%

• Percentage of gratitude towards kind camping neighbors who gave us ride to replace battery: 100 (THANK YOU, Jeremy & Jamie of Asheville, NC!)

* Figures regarding attendance and revenue were told to me by a Bonnaroo attendee who, apparently, helped consult with logistical concerns. These facts have not been independently confirmed.

WTF?! - Sarah Jarosz @ 3rd & Lindsley, Nashville - 6/5/11

2011-06-07T23:44:00.005-05:00

NOTE: See the end of this post for a description of the image above in its "unedited" state.

Excuse me, but I've had a bit to drink this evening as I write this. Having sent some awkward drunken texts in my life (not to mention all those phone calls back in the stone ages), I should no better (ooooops, "know" better) than to write a blog post with more than a few bourbon and sodas in my system. but this just needs to be said; I need to get something off my chest. I'm probably about to burn a bridge with the genuinely good folks at Sugar Hill Records, but so be it. Sarah jarosz pissssses me off. Despite her apparent charm and sweetness, I find something wholly reprehensible about her artistic output. Frankly, it's bullshit. It's unnerving, unfair, and ridiculous. I'm sure you've noticed it, too, if you've allowed yourself an honest appraisal of her work rather than relying on the gushing praise, positive reviews, or the artful photographs that are all part of the modern manufactured publicity machine. Here's the deal... There is absolutely no reason in hell that this single person, this young upstart artist, should have been bestowed with so much damn talent at such a tender age. It's infuriating.

How does this happen? What, is she the next incarnation of the Dali Lama? Why does she get all the damn talent? As painful and tragic as they are, I can get my head around natural disasters, famines, wars, and poverty. But, this is the straw that broke the camel's back. Obviously, if there is a God, He/She is not just. Favorites are chosen, others are neglected. I suppose the bright side, however, is that He/She must love roots music to have plucked young Sarah Jarosz from small town Texas and infused her not just with remarkable ability, but also the artistic maturity to harness it in sublime ways. It's not right, and someone needs to say it.

Ok, I was kidding about the bourbon (I've only just now had a single sip from my first and only gin and tonic.) And, for once, the typos above were intended. Us mere mortals sometimes have to rely on artful gimmicks to get attention, a trick obviously not needed for the likes of Jarosz, as proven by her stellar set at Nashville's 3rd & Lindsley last weekend. She really does kind of piss me off, though. It is pure envy, plain and simple. She's got it. In spades. I'm too lazy to google whether she's 19 or 20 right now, because what the hell does it matter? Either way, she's just released her second album and proven that as a multi-instrumentalist, songwriter, and, especially, singer, her artistry is wise way beyond not just her years, but those of a jealous (almost?) middle-aged writer like myself.

It's a pure delight to hear her sing. Despite her ability as a player and writer, it's her voice that knocks me out the most. What sets Jarosz apart from so many other contemporary artists is the effortless power and tonal range in her singing. She can sing in a soft, elegant manner, but also with a deep, guttural earthiness while still maintaining a controlled grace. That is a quality that cannot be learned, but a gift bestowed by that damn favorite-playing Creator mentioned above.

Playing to an enthusiastic sold out room, broadcast live on local radio, Jarosz began the set with "Run Away," the opening track from her new album, Follow Me Down. The majority of her set continued to showcase her newest material. I have to admit, I enjoyed hearing these songs in a more stripped down setting, accompanied only by cellist Nathaniel Smith and Alex Hargreaves on fiddle and mandolin (and, of course, Jarosz on mandolin, guitar, octave mandolin, and clawhammer banjo.) While the new album is rapidly growing on me (and getting exceptional praise and attention), I much prefer hearing Jarosz without any studio effects. While this is, perhaps, my own unreasonable bias, I can't help but feel like "sweetening" her voice in the studio is similar to slapping a coat of glossy polyurethane on an antique Shaker dresser. As the show continued, the trio confirmed that only a few pieces of well-crafted wood, some strings, and a powerful voice can rival the depth and intensity of any sixteen or thirty-two track recording with all the bells and whistles imaginable. (That said, I'll enjoy Follow Me Down during parts of the 99.99% of my lifetime when I'm not listening to Jarosz live.)

While Jarosz's voice is what I find most compelling, her songwriting and lyricism are also remarkably developed. Whether the tender "My Muse" performed early in the set on octave mandolin, or the jaunty Edgar Allen Poe adaptation of "Annabelle Lee" closing the broadcast set with clawhammer banjo, Jarosz has crafted a writing style that draws upon tradition while expressing a contemporary and personal sensibility. Her choice of covers also expresses exceptional taste. There are not too many teenagers who can tackle the likes of Bob Dylan ("Ring Them Bells") or Tom Waits, and compete with them toe to toe in terms of performance. The Waits tune covered by Jarosz on her first album, "Come On Up To The House," was part of a short encore closing the show.

I find it hard to express how emotionally moving I find that song as performed by Jarosz. The simplicity of its bluesy structure gives her plenty of room to explore all of her vocal ability and always strikes me as an example of all the joy capable of being expressed though music. Forgive my sappiness, but I often am overcome by a welling of emotion when I listen to the song. Rarely is it played only once when it pops up in my iPod. Seeing it live elicited the same response, even as I tried to pretend that it was sweat blurring my eyes in the crowded club rather than the mistiness of an overly sentimental blogger. Come to think of it, if there is a God, perhaps He/She knows what they're doing after all. Even if we can't all have the outsized talent of an absurdly young singer/songwriter, at least we're given the chance to experience its resonance as I did last Sunday. I guess I'll finish my gin and pen an apology to both the Creator and Ms. Jarosz, but it's only going to be half sincere.

NOTE: The "edited" image above was a publicity photo of Sarah Jarosz. The author (me) photoshopped some graffiti over the image - specifically I had quickly scribbled devil horns, fangs, dotted eyes, and the letters "WTF?!" below. The intent was to lead the reader to believe I had a genuine beef with Jarosz before quickly indicating in the post my only beef is envy at Jarosz's outsized, exceptional talent. See, isn't humor SO MUCH funnier when explained? (And even more so when explained in the abstract.)

HBO's Treme - The Character of Music

2011-06-05T13:12:00.005-05:00

Finally, the first season of HBO's Treme is now out on DVD. I say "finally" because I feel like I've been waiting forever to discuss the show with friends and others who don't have HBO (I don't either, but I've relied on the generosity of friends and family to stay on top of the series.) Set in post-Katrina New Orleans, Treme is a far-reaching cultural survey of the Crescent City - it's culture, politics, and history. Of course, music plays a central role in any exploration of New Orleans, and that is exactly the right way to describe how music is intertwined within Treme. It almost literally "plays a central role." Music serves not just as a backdrop but comes awfully close to being a full-blown main character within the narrative. This is especially true as the series has hit its stride and has gotten all of its narrative exposition out of the way. Fans of politics or cuisine will find much to like in Treme. Those with a passion for music are likely to be most satisfied, and those who love all of the above (politics, cuisine, and music) will likely find the series addicting. As one of my friends said to me before the series started, "It's like they created a show just for you." I agree. Thankfully for the creators, I think there are a lot of people like myself out there who probably feel the same way.

David Simon is the creator of Treme. I should say right off the bat that I am an unabashed David Simon fanboy. His prior project, HBO's The Wire, is not just the greatest television show ever made, in my opinion, but one of the best works of American art of the last century. I even wrote a blog post once stating that the MacArthur genius grant winner should be named America's Secretary of Culture, an office that doesn't even exist, of course.

David Simon has an axe to grind, no doubt, as an angry critic of American culture. The brilliance of his work is that he grinds the axe so methodically, to such a razor sharp edge, that he can delicately slice his targets to pieces while reserving the irresistible right to strike a full decapitating blow on occasion. The latter method seemed to be on display a little too frequently in the earliest episodes of Treme, as one felt Simon was slamming his audience over the head with his ideas about the political frustrations manifested in response to Katrina or the abundance of civic pride in some of the New Orleanean characters. However, once he got that off his chest and stated his thesis, Treme has settled down to explore the subtle nuances of its main themes. These early missteps are kind of like the shrillness of a singer's voice nervously taking the stage for the first time before gaining a little more confidence, settling down, and finding that comfortable place that allows them to express who they are more naturally. Speaking of, let's get to the music.

New Orleans is the heart of America's musical heritage - literally pumping music and culture up the large artery of the Mississippi River through the delta region to cities in the south and midwest, which then find their way through tributaries as far ranging as the cosmopolitan northeast and the Appalachian mountains. The co-mingling of musical traditions from Africa, the Caribbean Islands, and Europe began in Congo Square during the era of American slavery, in the Treme neighborhood. Were it not for Treme and Congo Square, we would certainly not have jazz music and possibly not the blues, which, of course were the predecessors and influencers of rock and roll, R&B, funk, bluegrass, and countless derivations of all. To this day, Treme has remained a hotbed of musical exploration, which the series has exploited beautifully by including contemporary musicians from the area. Trombone Shorty and Kermit Ruffins were regulars during the first season, as was John Boutte, the creator of the series' wonderfully funky theme song. The list of other musicians involved is long.

Just off the top of my head, those artists making appearances on Treme as themselves include Dr. John, Allen Toussaint, Galatic, Rebirth Brass Band, and Elvis Costello. Steve Earle is a regular on the show playing a street musician. Probably half of the shows many characters are musicians as well. What makes Treme's exploration of music and musicians so compelling is that the series is not bound by the constraints of the narrative bio-pic or the documentary. Music is simply one (very important) part of a larger fictional story. As a result, music is intertwined into the story organically and lovingly. Great effort is taken to record the music in a natural fashion, almost like field recordings when applicable. For instance, second line parades were filmed live in the streets rather than filmed on video with studio music piped in later. After all, the goal is to capture the cultural importance of music and tradition in one of America's greatest cities, not to provide a sterile survey of "Important New Orleans Musicians."

The many cultural roles embodied by music are explored in Treme as well. Whether the Bourbon Street tourist-oriented heritage gently poked fun at, the jubilation of Mardi Gras parades, the transcendent mourning of second line funeral marches, the political anger expressed through hip-hop, or simply the joy of a crowded club coalescing together amid the performance of world class musicians, music's many functions are represented. The show's rhythms are also wonderfully off-beat, sometimes lingering on a musical performance much longer than one would ever see in a traditional television drama or Hollywood film. Most importantly, however, the music always serves the larger story being told and is never just patronizingly presented for the purpose of relief or as a pandering showcase. Again, music is a central character, as fully formed and three-dimensionally realized as any others on the show.

Don't get me wrong, Treme is not a feel-good story about a group of joyful southern musicians. It is an angry socio-political critique that also happens to have a large reserve of joy and celebration amidst the tragedy of America's failing empire. Like the best of this country's folk and popular traditions (certainly embodied by the traditional music of New Orleans) Treme manages to create compelling, enduring, honest, and uplifting art from the most difficult and painful of circumstances.

Americana Music Association Announces 2011 Award Nominees (+My Picks)

2011-05-23T17:22:00.002-05:00

Today, the Americana Music Association announced their nominees for the 2011 Americana Music Association Honors and Awards. The nominees were announced live in New York today and included a small concert streamed live online including Levon Helm, Larry Campbell, Jim Lauderdale, Roseanne Cash, and others. Well done, AMA!

Here are the nominees and my own personal picks for each category:

ALBUM OF THE YEAR

Band of Joy - Robert Plant
Welder - Elizabeth Cook
Harlem River Blues - Justin Townes Earle
Blessed - Lucinda Williams

MY PICK: Harlem River Blues. This is the album where Justin Townes Earle turned a corner and lived fully up to his potential. His recontexualizing of traditional folk themes within a New York City landscape seems both timeless and of the moment.

ARTIST OF THE YEAR

Buddy Miller
Elizabeth Cook
Hayes Carll
Robert Plant

MY PICK: Hayes Carll. Not only has the Texas singer-songwriter continued to churn out one solid album after another, but he's never recorded a bad song. KMAG-YOYO should be his break out album accessible to fans of traditional country, folk, and root rock and roll.

NEW/EMERGING ARTIST OF THE YEAR

The Civil Wars
Mumford & Sons
Secret Sisters
Jessica Lea Mayfield

MY PICK: Mumford & Sons. As strong and deserving as the competition is in this category, it's hard to think Mumford & Sons doesn't have this wrapped up after a stellar year of constant touring.

SONG OF THE YEAR

"Down by the Water" - The Decemberists
"El Camino" - Elizabeth Cook
"KMAG YOYO" - Hayes Carll
"Harlem River Blues" - Justin Townes Earle

MY PICK: "KMAG-YOYO" I have to give this one to Carll because where else are you going to find a surreal tale of political discontent that doesn't kowtow to any pat ideology and also makes for an ass-shaking good time?

INSTRUMENTALIST OF THE YEAR

Buddy Miller
Gurf Morlix
Kenny Vaughan
Sarah Jarosz
Will Kimbrough

MY PICK: Kenny Vaugh. This was a tough call between Vaughn and Sarah Jarosz, but Vaughn's work on Mike Farris' The Night The Cumberland Came Alive tipped the scales in his favor. Though better known for his work with Marty Stewart, it was this raucous gospel EP, and Vaughan's earthy guitar contributions on it, that kept my iPod humming and even made me consider turning my soul over to Jesus. (Well... almost, anyway.)

DUO/GROUP OF THE YEAR

The Avett Brothers
The Civil Wars
Mumford & Sons
Robert Plant & the Band of Joy

MY PICK: The Avett Brothers. It's easy to jump on the Avett bandwagon given their steadily rising success over the past few years. However, they have earned it by crafting a sound that manages to be unique, heartfelt, and accessible to the masses.

I would love to hear others' opinions about which nominees they find deserving, those they don't, and even those that some might feel were overlooked altogether.

Punch Brothers: How to Grow a Band (Film Review)

2011-05-19T02:25:00.005-05:00

How To Grow A Band explores the genesis of progressive acoustic supergroup, Punch Brothers. While music provides the film's backdrop, the larger theme examined in the film is ambition and its effect on relationships. Director Mark Meatto offers an intimate portrait of the struggle, sacrifice, and drive necessary to cultivate a genuine artistic advancement. And, make no mistake, the explicit intent of the Punch Brothers from their very inception was exactly that; to create a new musical development, or at least a new expression within a combination of existing forms. Such raw ambition makes for compelling music, especially in the hands of such talented artists. Getting a glimpse into the personal dynamics of this exploration makes for interesting viewing, as well, despite the subjects' sometimes aloof dispositions (in front of the camera, anyway.) HTGAB strikes a fine balance between music and narrative, though it wisely tips the scale towards the latter.

At the end of the day, the film left me pondering the artists' personal motivations as opposed to simply enjoying their musicianship which is a credit to director Mark Meatto. HTGAB is not just a film of concert footage or a "behind the scenes" clip collection; it is a portrait of the creative process, albeit one from a bit of a distance.

Of course, the initial creative force and genesis behind Punch Brothers is mandolin virtuoso, Chris Thile, most famous for his work with the award-winning and commercially successful acoustic trio Nickel Creek. Thile speaks at length in the film about how Nickel Creek became its own entity of sorts, like a self-propelled machine no longer fully controlled by the artists in the band. That apparent loss of creative control combined with a painful divorce led Thile on a quest for something new, and, presumably, something more personal in nature. The result was a four movement suite of classically-influenced stringband music titled "The Blind Leading The Blind." Thile's collaborators on the suite eventually became the Punch Brothers, including Gabe Witcher on fiddle, Noam Pikelny on banjo, Chris Eldridge on guitar, and Greg Garrison on bass.

In theory, Punch Brothers was to be a democratic band, but the film makes obvious that a tension exists between those ideals and the reality that Thile was the original creative author as well as the marquee name in the band. While all members seem equally driven and committed to the project, there is an uneasy deference to Thile and a collective acknowledgment of his obsessive aspirations. That is not to say that the band does not exude a heartfelt comraderie, because the film portrays what seems like a genuine brotherly bond among the young musicians. Even still, Thile's collaborators mused on camera what might happen if the mandolin prodigy were to decide that he's suddenly lost interest in this project only to move in a new direction. They also seem to take mild delight in ribbing Thile about a certain, um, "confidence" he exudes which, to Thile's credit, he mostly takes in stride.

Beyond the mild strains resulting from these power dynamics, the main conflict addressed within the film's narrative is how a folk and bluegrass audience might receive this "art music." The earliest scenes in the film revolve around a show in Scotland where "The Blind Leaving The Blind" makes its international debut. The tension surrounding the show is made palpable on the screen as the musicians prepare for the show, each fearing a poor reception. It is during this European tour that the film lingers on differences of opinion among the band regarding how to unveil their music and engage their audience. The most aggressive differences on this matter seem to occur between bassist Greg Garrison and Thile.

Fans of the Punch Brothers know that Garrison was eventually replaced by Paul Kowert, and the film only offers hints as to exactly whether Garrison was ousted from the band or voluntarily chose to leave. Again, this is primarily a story of ambition and one is left wondering if Garrison was seen to be lacking enough of that trait in the eyes of Thile, or whether perhaps personal differences were a distraction to Thile's abundance of it. The discomfort of watching this conflict, and particularly the ambiguity involved, is somewhat neutralized seeing Kowert's enthusiastic welcome to the band. Kowert's initiation occurred shortly after the band members decided to move to New York having previously lived scattered in differing regions of the nation.

This geographic union has a certain familial sweetness. It illustrates a commitment to one another and a collective commitment to continue pursuing a creative endeavor born of artistic restlessness above commercial pandering. No doubt, Thile could have continued to pad his bank account churning out Nickel Creek albums, and he deserves enormous credit for leaving that behind in pursuit of something more personally fulfilling. How long the project continues is anyone's guess, a sentiment best expressed by the members themselves.

As the credits rolled, I found myself curious to see how the individual band members might progress as they mature both as artists and people. It is this dichotomy, the tension between personal motivations and artistic aspirations, that make for the most compelling aspects of How To Grow A Band. One can only hope that the project is just becoming ripe and that the Brothers don't suffer the wilting poison of a sibling rivalry any time soon.
_________________________________

The screening of How To Grow At Band was viewed at The Nashville Film Festival in April. To learn more about the film and sign up for a mailing list with potential release dates, visit the film's official website:
http://punchbrothersmovie.com/
________________________________

Banjo Project Gets PBS Broadcast, Fall 2011

2011-05-10T09:48:00.004-05:00

After almost a decade of research and filming, director Marc Fields is busy editing countless hours of footage into a final 82-minute film. What Mr. Fields originally called The Banjo Project will be unveiled as Give Me The Banjo and broadcast on PBS this fall. Readers might remember a prior piece written about Mr. Fields and The Banjo Project during his Kickstarter fundraising campaign back in January. The Kickstarter campaign was a huge success, almost doubling the $25,000 Fields was trying to raise to complete the film (the final tally was $46, 098.) At that time, only a few months ago, Fields did not know where he might distribute or broadcast the film. Prior discussions with broadcasters had not led to any commitments, which is one reason Fields turned to Kickstarter. The goal of the Kickstarter campaign was not simply to raise needed funds, but also to raise awareness and show support for his project, Fields told me back in January. His plan certainly worked, and perhaps much faster than he could have ever anticipated.

PBS is set to launch a new series this fall called "PBS Fall Arts Review", which will consist of eight self-contained 90-minute feature films. Give Me The Banjo was one of the eight films chosen for the inaugural season. Email correspondence with Fields gives me the impression that this was a rapid development. The director is currently working hard to meet a September 1st delivery date. Fields told me that he is "deep into the painful process of deciding what to leave out from the narrative in order to meet an 82-minute running time." In our last correspondence, he was working on a section featuring blues and jug-band great, Gus Cannon, and enthusiastically describing some footage he had just reviewed. It is this very enthusiasm that leads me to think Give Me the Banjo will be a huge hit on PBS and a film destined for the canon of roots-music film history.

The Banjo Project Trailer from The Banjo Project on Vimeo.

For those not yet familiar with The Banjo Project's history, the film was conceived when Fields realized that the Banjo offered him the perfect vehicle to discuss his thoughts about American popular music history and the social issues embedded within it. Banjo virtuoso Tony Trischka is the film's co-producer and musical director while actor, author, and musician Steve Martin is the film's narrator. Some of the most revered and respected banjo players in the world are also in the film, including Earl Scruggs, Ralph Stanley, Bela Fleck, Abigail Washburn, Pete Seeger, Taj Mahal, The Carolina Chocolate Drops, and others. For a more detailed idea of the film's vision, you can read my prior article, visit the Banjo Project website, or simply wait until this fall where Give Me the Banjo will make its much deserved national broadcast deput on PBS affiliates across the nation.

Levon Helm: Ain't In It For My Health (Film Review)

2011-04-30T15:38:00.002-05:00

Last week at the Nashville Film Festival, I finally got a chance to check out Ain't In It For My Health: A Film About Levon Helm. I'd been excited to see this since I saw a short teaser-trailer for the film about a year ago. I had the opportunity to see Helm last spring when he brought his Midnight Ramble to the Ryman Auditorium, and it goes up there with one of the best dozen or so evenings of music I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing. I came to Helm more through his recent solo recordings on Vanguard Records than through his legendary work with The Band. Truth be told, my experience with The Band was more through classic rock radio than as a dedicated, knowledgeable fan, so I was especially interested to learn a little more about Helm's history. A traditional bio doc was not the film director Jacob Hartley set out to make, however. In the post-screening discussion he described AIIFMH as a "hang-out film" or a "character study" of Helm which I think is a pretty accurate description. While the film does spend a little bit of time discussing Helm's past and legacy though interviews with friends and journalists, the vast majority of AIIFMH is an old school cinema verite approach, watching Helm's day to day life in Woodstock, NY with friends, family, musicians, and lots of pot smoke.

At some point I lost count of the shots with Helm in his bathrobe rolling, smoking, or doctoring a joint with scissors at his kitchen table (seriously, those weed scissors were more pervasive in the film than Helm's drum sticks.) I can't recall that Helm was ever actually interviewed in the film; mostly we just see his day to day interactions at his Woodstock home. As a result, the film had a very intimate quality, though I found myself wanting to know more about Helm's feelings towards his past. His longtime feud with Robbie Robertson and his obviously bitter feelings about The Band's history are only alluded to and never fully explored. In short, I think one leaves the film getting a strong sense of Helm's outward personality, but his emotions and motivations are rarely revealed.

Like any compelling personality, Helm seems to be a man full of paradoxes. There is boyish sense of play within Helm, but also the quiet stillness of a wise elder. Given his health problems (he battled throat cancer in the late 90's) and his age (he will be 71 next month), an undeniable vulnerability resides within him. However, one is also impressed with a resolute will and a quiet stubbornness that exude an inner strength and sense of purpose. The interviews with family and friends indicate a deep love and sense of protection, but also imply that Helm is not a man who can be easily persuaded or cajoled. For instance, Helm's friend and musical collaborator, Larry Campbell, cautiously hints at his own frustration at Helm's indifference (or bitterness) regarding the legacy of The Band. Campbell is also deliberate in taking a wide berth around Helm's position, not wanting to push too hard if at all. Regardless of his history with The Band, though, Helm is making some of the best music of his life today which is the film's primary focus.

AIIFMH offers footage from the legendary Ramble concerts held each month at his Woodstock studio, giving the audience an opportunity to see Helm's musical vitality within a fragile voice and body. The film also shows Helm and Campbell working on a series of recently found unfinished Hank Williams tunes whose lyrics they are completing (an almost sadistic teaser for future recordings, hopefully.) Watching Helm collaborate in this process is perhaps the most quietly revealing part of the film.

We see a man who appears almost exhausted by the project, but one who also understands the importance of America's musical legacy. Helm only offers enough energy or input to make certain the songwriting meets his approval, and only offers a fatigued sense of enthusiasm when his stoic instruction leads to the right lyrics. These scenes, like much of the whole film, show a man tired, world-weary, and well beyond any sense of pretension or need to impress anyone, but also one who doesn't know how to stop doing what he's always done - make enduring art born of integrity and deep emotion. Such accomplishments, and the lifestyle that often accompanies them, can certainly take a toll on one's physical well-being. Lucky for us, such corporeal concerns were never Helm's motivation.

Preservation Hall Jazz Band & Del McCoury Band - American Legacies (Album Review)

2011-04-18T21:29:00.000-05:00

From the first moment I heard that the Preservation Hall Jazz Band and the Del McCoury Band would be releasing a collaborative album, all of my music nerd tendencies kicked into overdrive. My enthusiasm stemmed from a few places. First, I am a fan of both bands, and expected an album of compelling music. Second, I am always anxious to see accomplished bluegrass musicians experiment outside their comfort zones. Third, I was excited to see an integrated band playing traditional American music from genres that, frankly, don't always have a lot of racial diversity. This is especially true of bluegrass music, which has traditionally been played by and for a largely white audience. I think this lack of diversity in bluegrass is more the result of historical and geographic phenomenon than it is any exclusionary attitudes, certainly with respect to contemporary bluegrass artists and audiences. However, this is precisely why collaborative efforts like this are so important, to illustrate the deep connections between the music and culture of artists from differing traditions. That said, I assume this album was not conceived of as a sociological experiment or novelty of ethnomusicology. American Legacies is the result of two hugely talented bands coming together in the hopes of making some damn fine music, a goal they certainly met.

My first listen to American Legacies led me to feel that the music was driven more by PHJB than Del and his band. I thought this might be appropriate, given that jazz preceded bluegrass and was one of the building blocks of Bill Monroe's music. In a sense, jazz is an "elder" of bluegrass and, as such, deserved deference. Also, drums and, especially, horns, have little precedence in the history of bluegrass music, so their inclusion leads one to think "jazz" more than bluegrass upon hearing them. After further listens, however, I began to hear a more balanced collaboration between the two band's core formal elements. Perhaps the most interesting intersections come in negotiating the rhythmic fundamentals of each band. Bluegrass is known for a forward leaning drive, constantly propelling the music onward whereas jazz has a syncopation that is often creating a push-pull tension, frequently playing behind the beat, creating a "waiting" anticipation. These are diametrically opposed approaches in some respects, and hearing this negotiation leads to some of the most interesting moments in American Legacies.

Case in point is the spiritual, "I'll Fly Away," which becomes a sort of cultural "call and response" illustrating these differences. The song begins with PHJB playing a very traditional New Orleans version of the song. A bluesy introduction opens the spiritual with sliding vocal glissandi atop piano accompaniment before the full band kicks in with a raucous flurry of competing and diverging horn lines. After a couple of verses, PHJB steps back so that Del and his band can offer their response in the form of three-part harmonies backed by a rhythmic mandolin chop and fiddle runs. Rob McCoury's banjo gets the break after this only to be answered by a clarinet solo which builds to a rendition with all the musicians from both bands playing through several verses together. In my mind, this is the album's "thesis statement" allowing the shared spiritual underpinnings of these genres to coalesce while maintaining each of their individual characteristics. The song seems to celebrate the beauty of difference while also encouraging unity and interconnection.

Perhaps the most unexpected song in the collection is "Banjo Frisco" which feels more like it came from the streets of swinging London in the 1960's than the swamps of New Orleans or the hills of Virginia in any decade. Well, perhaps there is a waft of andouille sausage or fried possum in the air, but the horn arrangements played in unison combined with the driving drum beat and hard-charging banjo seem more appropriate for mini-skirt martinis than backyard barbecues. These wonderfully bizarre compositions are exactly what make experiments like this so worthwhile. That's not to say, however, that some of the more traditional songs aren't equally satisfying.

The album is book-ended by tunes which allow some rollicking playing amidst self-referential celebrations. The album's first track, "The Band's in Town," is a recurring set of down-home, earthy riffs allowing most of the collaborators an opportunity to solo a few bars while being name-dropped by their co-conspirators. The closing track "One More 'Fore I Die" has a similar ethos as it, too, cleverly name-drops each soloist. In both of these tracks, it is an absolute treat to hear competing breaks traded between unlikely partners such as trumpet, banjo, clarinet, mandolin, and piano. This is not just the essence of American music but the essence of what the larger American experiment has become, a collision of disparate cultures rubbing shoulders and mixing ingredients to develop a character that is somehow uniquely recognizable even though its most fundamental element is its wild variety.

This is a paradox of sorts - the unifying characteristic of American art is the diversity of its influences, especially with respect to cultural and ethnic traditions. It is no surprise that the pairing of these forms, jazz and bluegrass, would lead to such a successful project. Each are uniquely American art forms imbued with the character of their national identity. Both art forms share the spirit of American individualism as found in the emphasis of solo breaks and the pioneering spirit as found in the reliance on improvisation. Each art form is heavily influenced by worship music and they both include old church spirituals in large chunks of their respective canons (as illustrated by the aforementioned "I'll Fly Away.") Each form also has at its core the ideas, concerns, and philosophies of impoverished and disenfranchised populations, struggling to carve out a cultural legacy on their own terms with what they happen to have at hand. Lastly, each is a hybrid of European and African musical forms, both providing a living anthropology of this country's history. Regardless of all this socio-cultural navel-gazing, the bottom line is that both of these bands are smoking-hot, and when the two join forces, the result is one hell of a barnburning good time. When all is said is done, that will probably be the most important legacy of American Legacies, as it should be.

Tim Posgate Discusses Banjo Hockey & Sorry Cousins

2011-04-11T18:42:00.009-05:00

One of the best aspects of being a music blogger is having the opportunity to easily interact with readers and other writers. Having access to the knowledge and expertise of an entire community is always appreciated, but I was especially grateful for this digitized world when a reader recently turned me on to an artist that is quickly becoming a mild obsession. The artist is Tim Posgate, and I've listened to his most recent album, Banjo Hockey, at least once a day since getting a copy (and sometimes several times a day.) Banjo Hockey is a devoutly soulful amalgam of styles ranging from jazz to bluegrass to klezmer to folk, and it is quickly earning its way to the top of my daily playlist. (You can click this link to download two free songs from the album.)

Banjo Hockey was put out in 2009 by the Tim Posgate Hornband, which includes Posgate on banjo and guitar (mostly banjo) alongside differing combinations of trumpet, clarinet, tenor sax, tuba, baritone sax, and drums. The legendary Howard Johnson provides a deep low-end groove on tuba and baritone sax, bringing to the band his experience with jazz icons such as Charles Mingus, Gil Evans, Roland Kirk, Hank Mobley, and others. The other horn players, Quinsin Nachoff on clarinet and tenor sax and Lina Allemano on trumpet, also add myriad textures, riffs, and lead lines giving the album a wild diversity of influences within a cohesive structure. The album brings the best earthy elements from hard bop and 60s/70s "soul jazz," but pushes them up against disparate influences in string band, bluegrass, klezmer, and maybe even a sprinkling of Celtic. Moments of disciplined restraint give way beautifully to loose improvisations, infusing the album with a compelling tension between dogged tenacity and dog-eared audacity. Banjo Hockey never feels gratuitous or self-indulgent, even as it maintains a free-wheeling quality seemingly open to any musical ideas that might fight their way into the mix.

Photo by Anne Zbitnew.

What I find most exciting about the album is the banjo playing of Posgate . For most of his career, the Canadian composer and bandleader has been a guitarist, touring internationally and garnering much critical praise. In recent years, however, he began to incorporate the five-string banjo into his playing, and, as the title suggests, his most recent album thrusts the instrument into the spotlight. The most interesting aspect to Posgate's banjo is that he obviously doesn't come to the instrument by way of a formal bluegrass background, making him unique among celebrated five-string players today (including some of the most experimental, genre-bending banjoists.)

While Posgate shows that he has the technique to fly beautifully through a tune with a cascade of rushing notes and roll patterns, he also demonstrates a willingness to let a phrase breath with plenty of space surrounding it. Most banjo players are constantly filling their musical space, emphasizing melody notes, but playing "fill" notes all around them so that their solos and themes become a "wall of sound" or a "waterfall" of notes. This can be sublime, of course, but I've often wondered why so many players are hesitant to use space more freely in their playing. It sometimes seems that all five-string banjo players are imbued with the spirit of Charlie Parker's breakneck be-bop while the cool restraint of Miles Davis is nowhere to be found (perhaps Earl Scruggs vs. Chet Atkins is a more appropriate comparison.) Posgate seems to understand the value of restraint. One gets the sense that his banjo phrasing is just as informed by the sparse guitar playing of John McLaughlin or Bill Frisell as it is by Earl Scruggs or Bela Fleck. Or maybe the biggest influence on Tim Posgate the banjo player is Tim Posgate the guitarist. Regardless of where it comes from, it is a refreshing approach to hear, and, when combined with his Hornband collaborators on Banjo Hockey, the result is at once intense and intricate, but also accessible and approachable. It is music that is constantly competing for attention between the head, the heart, and the feet while satisfying all equally by the time the album is done.

Currently, Posgate is working on a stringband project he calls Sorry Cousins. That band will incorporate mandolin, fiddle, guitar, and double bass. Posgate was kind enough to answer some questions about his Hornband, upcoming stringband, and other projects in the works. Below is the interview:

Photo by Anne Zbitnew

Can you talk a little bit about the jazz scene in Canada? How does it compare to the US or Europe?

Tim Posgate: Parts of the jazz scene are thriving in Canada. It seems like most provinces now have colleges and universities that offer music programs in the bigger cities. Toronto is certainly the centre of all that. For example there are many universities and colleges here training musicians. However, I wonder how all these young musicians will find a venue for their music. Toronto’s jazz festival is celebrating it’s 25th anniversary and Guelph, Halifax, Montreal and Vancouver are also vital and inspiring in their programming. Unfortunately the prairies seem to have a tougher time.

The strength of the free improvisation scene in Canada is one of the things that crosses over into the jazz world and keeps it somewhat vibrant. You get people with very different backgrounds playing together and this can only be good. I am not really in touch with the current American or European jazz scenes.

Where did the title Banjo Hockey come from on your most recent album? I’ve read that you’re a big hockey fan. Was the idea just to name the album for two of your favorite pursuits (using that template, my album would probably be Pizza Couch, unfortunately)?

TP: You are correct in your Pizza Couch template. You should use that! Also there is an old expression from the American south that has many variations. The tuba player in our band, the legendary Howard Johnson; told me his mother used to say “Horse Hockey!” when she thought something was a lie. I don’t think it was spelled quite like my kind of hockey but I loved that expression.

When did you begin to incorporate the 5-string banjo into your playing and how did you come to the instrument?

TP: In the early repertoire of the Hornband I was trying to use multiple stringed instruments including banjo, lap steel, acoustic and electric guitar during our concerts to increase the number of textures available to me as a composer and bandleader. Sometime shortly after that the banjo hit me hard and I was obsessed. So much so that it affected my wife and kids, as they were over-dosing on my banjo playing and listening.

My pal, bassist Rob Clutton has always listened to bluegrass so I was hearing it peripherally since I was a kid and Rob and I had a band for a minute with banjoist Jayme Stone in which I played electric guitar. Then, about five years ago I was watching the DVD of Bela Fleck and Edgar Myer and something went click. I literally rushed up to the local music store and bought my first pair of picks and I really haven’t stopped playing since. I already owned the banjo that my wife Julie gave me for my 30th birthday so I paid my dues on that banjo for a year or so before I got my current Gold Tone banjo.

I find it really interesting and exciting to hear someone playing jazz (or jazz-influenced music) on the banjo who presumably didn’t come out of a heavy bluegrass background. The element I notice first and foremost is your comfort level in leaving more space around notes and phrases in some songs, anyway. I find this approach really refreshing. I guess I hear a guitarist’s phrasing in much of your banjo playing. Can you describe your approach to the banjo and how the two instruments (guitar and banjo) have influenced one another in your playing?

TP: It is funny because I used to take a comment like “hearing a guitarists phrasing” as an insult. Now, I have come to realize that I play the banjo a little bit different than most banjoists and how could that be a bad thing?

When I watch and listen to the great banjo players in the history of bluegrass or the more current ones I am very inspired. The technique of people like Bela Fleck or Ryan Cavanaugh is something to work on for a lifetime. I feel fortunate that my musical experiences are so different than theirs that no matter how much I try to learn from them I will never sound like them.

Certainly my comping as a jazz guitarist has affected the way that I approach the banjo. Having spent years trying to play something half as beautiful as someone like Ed Bickert and then purposely or accidentally applying that to the banjo is pretty fun. Also, single string improvising on the banjo is a staple in my “banjo kitchen.” A couple decades of playing bebop lines with a flat pick on my Gibson ES-175 have provided me with that.

Overall, I think I approach both instruments the same way in that I try to do whatever is best for the music in the moment. People have often said my records don’t have enough guitar playing on them. I am not really trying to prove anything, just make good music.

Also, playing the banjo so much has given me a new love and perspective for the guitar. I think that I am more aware of the guitar’s sustain and I no longer take that for granted.

Has the banjo influenced your writing and arranging, or is the approach basically the same as you would use with the guitar? Also, do you typically write alone or do you often collaborate with your band when writing?

TP: I really like your questions! The banjo has certainly influenced my writing and arranging. Sometimes I have to be careful and do some serious editing. It is too easy to come up with a cute banjo lick and give it a song title. I write alone, and try to get to other instruments too. This helps with the editing that I was referring to. My bands are really helpful with the arrangements. After I bring them to them they will make suggestions, sometimes ones specific to their instruments and sometimes just good solid musical suggestions.

With my latest project [Sorry Cousins], I can play all the instruments that I am writing for so I try to work out the parts or even compose on all the instruments. However, I have yet to write a tune on the string bass. Ha!

Banjo Hockey showcases a pretty amazing diversity of influences and genres, including klezmer, folk, bluegrass, jazz, and more. The confluence of these styles feels very natural on the album. How organic was this co-mingling of styles? In other words, did you say to yourself, “I’m going to make an album with these ideas in mind” or was this just the music that came forth when you sat down to write and arrange?

TP: I listen to more music than almost anyone I know. If I am not practicing or composing I will have records or CDs playing and I may be listening and studying them or casually enjoying them but there is always music on in our house. The only time I am really concious of styles etc. is when I am producing the record. I want to make sure it all fits together well and is an enjoyable listen from beginning to end. So, I guess it is pretty organic.

Banjo Hockey came out in 2009. What are you focusing on currently? Is there a new album on the horizon?

TP: Yes, I am very excited about my new band that I am writing for. We are called Sorry Cousins. The lineup is Adrian Gross on mandolin, Jaron Freeman-Fox on fiddle, Darryl Poulsen on acoustic guitar and Michael Herring on string bass. I am playing five-string banjo and writing all the music at this point. I see it as an extension of the Hornband but with strings. I am also writing and singing a few songs with these guys. Hopefully recording the new record before the end of the year.

I am also working on playing the fiddle and writing music for a large ensemble.

Have you lobbied the National Hockey League for an endorsement deal yet? If nothing else, have you had the opportunity to play banjo at a Maple Leafs game?

TP: Ha! It is a funny question coming from you in Nashville because I visited your amazing musical city about a year ago. I went to a Predators game I have become a bit of a Preds fan and have tried to get in touch with them about playing the National anthem at a game but no luck so far.
__________________

Thanks to Tim for taking the time to answer some questions. Below is a video of Tim and his Sorry Cousins rehearsing and working out some of their new material. You can click here to go to Tim's website and record label.

The Holy Trinity of John Hartford

2011-03-30T07:19:00.008-06:00

John Hartford is one of the most unique and creative artists in American music history. Frankly, I consider a distaste for John Hartford bordering on a character flaw. Among other things, I look at the venerable fiddler, banjoist, and songwriter as a unifying force for traditional music fans of differing generations. In a recent post, I wondered if bluegrass music might be defined too narrowly, possibly in danger of limiting its audience and longevity. I certainly heard some strong opinions (and even some personal insults) from those who feel traditional bluegrass is sacred ground whose strength lies precisely in its preservation of tradition. I've found, however, that even the most staunch traditionalists typically revere and respect Hartford, even if they would never call his music bluegrass. This is because even though Hartford was a pioneer in Newgrass and experiments that veered even further than that, he was a true historian, advocate, and torchbearer for traditional American music.

Throughout his life, Hartford would travel, research, and dig deep to discover and preserve long-lost fiddle tunes, banjo jigs, and lesser known rags of all sorts. From all accounts, the man seemed to live and breath music during his every waking hour. So, even though he might have included pedal steel, electric bass, and drums in his music; and even though he might have been a long-haired hippie in his younger days singing about smoking weed as much as drinking corn liquor, Hartford's music is often accepted with open arms by crew cut Republicans and dread-locked anarchists alike. The fact that his music was frequently an uninhibited expression of joy and humor probably didn't hurt, either. Who can resist someone having as much fun as Hartford, especially when his talent was as great as it was?

For this post, I'd like to focus on what I'll call Hartford's "Baroque" period, a suite of three albums from the early 1970's when Hartford seemed fully open to incorporating a wide range of genres and influences. Given Hartford's prolific output of music ranging from radio-friendly Nashville country to experimental newgrass to stripped down fiddle and banjo tunes, you could probably ask ten Hartford fans to name their favorite albums and get ten different answers. For my tastes, however, his three releases between 1971 and 1976 comprise the Holy Trinity of John Hartford.

Aereo-plain

After his huge success with the classic country-folk tune, "Gentle On My Mind" (most popular as recorded by Glen Campbell), Hartford used the financial and professional clout the song afforded him to pursue more personal projects. Most famous among them is the much-revered album Aereo-plain, a collaboration between Hartford, Norman Blake, Tut Taylor, Vassar Clements, and Randy Scruggs. Sam Bush has said of the album, "Without Aereo-plain, there would be no 'newgrass' music." Aereo-plain is possibly the first time accomplished traditional roots music found themselves free to express the ideas, opinions, and ethos of the counter-culture within a framework of love and reverence for the music that came before them (I say that with apologies to the Holy Modal Rounders and others whose earlier experiments seemed to be a little more self-conscious, winking, and less organic expressions of a personal nature.) Even while blazing new trails for traditional American music, Aereo-plain is a beautifully diverse album comprised of heartfelt love songs, uptempo instrumentals, and quirky tales told from a perspective clouded equally by exhaled bong hits and the dust of rural back roads. I will refrain from discussing the individual songs, because even though Aereo-plain is not exactly a linear, narrative concept album, I still tend to think of it as an unified whole - a manifesto for those long-hairs I imagine hanging around bluegrass festivals in the late 60's, waiting their turn to interpret the music of Bill Monroe or Charlie Poole. I'm not sure whether Mr. Monroe thought it to be "no part of nuthin'" or not, but the album's enduring legacy will no doubt last for years to come within bluegrass and roots music circles. Shockingly, this album has been out of print for many years, but thanks to a grass roots campaign, will be re-released sometime later this year (check out the facebook page devoted to the album's re-release here.)

_________

Morning Bugle

If Aereo-plain was the album where pot smoke began drifting into bluegrass and traditional roots music, Morning Bugle is where the buzz fully settled in. With Hartford manning his banjo and fiddle (and guitar), Norman Blake returning on guitar and mandolin, and the addition of masterful jazz bassist Dave Holland (famous for his groundbreaking work with ~~Ornette Coleman~~ Miles Davis and others), Morning Bugle is busting at the seams with creativity. Having lost a copy of the album (it, too, is out of print but set to be re-leased with Aereo-plain), it had been years since I heard the album before getting a digital copy a while back. I was shocked upon hearing the album anew that it is fully acoustic. Because the album has such an electric energy, my memory was that the album was full of amplified instruments. I think much of this kinetic quality has to do with Holland's exquisite, energetic double bass playing which is a glorious departure from the standard I, IV, I, V bass line bounce so prevalent in bluegrass and traditional country music. Hartford's distinctive banjo (often tuned way down to E-flat and fitted with unusually thick strings) also envelopes the recording with a rich, round fullness rarely heard from an acoustic stringband trio. One of my favorite tunes on the album is "My Rag," which is indicative of a theme often found in Hartford's compositions - where music itself is his songwriting muse. Midway through the song, Hartford's lyrics discuss the guitar riffs he's playing in the song:

Now about this lick I'm a pickin' on the guitar, really feels down home
Gives me a little jazz and a little blues
Maybe I need me a buncha more notes and a mess of them fancy chords
Those weird ones like Arthur Fiedler uses

Hartford later begins to sing the chord progression he's playing, "First it's D and then it's G, then A, then back to D; G a little more and then back to A..." This self-referencing of craft and form within a work of art is a hallmark of Postmodern aesthetics and is just one illustration of how Hartford was as instrumental in bringing about a paradigm shift in roots music as Andy Warhol was in the realm of the visual arts (though with a lot more soul in Hartford's case). No doubt, Hartford was the first Postmodern roots musician, joyfully bringing traditional music into a new age while still respecting its origins. Morning Bugle, as the tile implies, was a confident call to awakening for a new day in roots music.

__________

Nobody Knows What You Do

Another hallmark of a Postmodern sensibility is the collision of disparate styles, genres, and forms within a single work of art. That is an apt description of Nobody Knows What You Do, Hartford's second album on the Flying Fish label after Warner Brothers' disappointing lack of support for Aereo-plain and, especially, Morning Bugle. The album is an absolute dervish of musical intelligence, fearless compositions, and the manifestation of influences ranging from electric guitar great and Miles Davis collaborator John McLaughlin (who has a song on the album penned after him) to old-time fiddle breakdowns. While Aereo-plain and Bugle seem to get more attention, I personally think Nobody Knows What You Do is Hartford's greatest masterpiece and showcases all sides of his personality, both as a musician and human being. Hartford's sensitivity as a songwriter is in full, heartbreaking bloom on "Tall Buildings," a lament about one's joy and purpose being stifled upon entering the corporate workforce:

Well, someday, my baby, when I am a man
And others have taught me the best that they can
They'll sell me a suit, and cut off my hair
And send me to work in tall buildings

So, it's goodbye to the sunshine, goodbye to the dew
Goodbye to the flowers, and goodbye to you
I'm off to the subway, I must not be late
I'm going to work in tall buildings

However, Hartford's greatest gift as a songwriter and musician is his playful, good-natured sense of humor. Whether it's the dadaist absurdity of "Granny Wonthcha Smoke Some Marijuana" or the slapstick "False-Hearted Tenor Walz" where Hartford bemoans in a strained, cartoonish falsetto his inability to sing in the high registers of Bill Monroe, the sense of play and inventiveness in his songwriting is only rivaled by those same qualities in his musicianship (and that of his collaborators.) Case in point is the aforementioned "John McLaughlin" as well as "Sly Feel," both of which combine elements of a jazz-infused funkiness that no one had ever dreamed of introducing into a band of traditional acoustic musicians. Listening to those songs must have been like listening to a few moments of the future for people hip to Hartford's music in the early 70's. The whole of Nobody Knows What You Do still sounds just as fresh and new today, even as forty years have passed.

Thankfully, this album is available as both a digital download and CD. However, one of the tunes, "Joseph's Dream," has been replaced by "Get No Better" in the current version of the album (though the change is not reflected in the album's song listings by mistake.) I can't complain, however, because "Get No Better" is one of my favorite songs of all time, an upbeat ode to young love infused with a funky organ (or perhaps it's a heavily effects-laden guitar) and wonderful layers of fiddle runs, guitar riffs, dobro slides, and mandolin arpeggios. The song is a fitting addition to a album that don't get no better.

(NOTE: Unfortunately, any YouTube videos from this album have recently been removed. If any readers know of any available please let me know so I can embed.)
________

John Hartford, especially within these three albums, sometimes reminds me of another musical hero of mine, Frank Zappa. However, I guess Hartford would be more like the rural cousin of Zappa's, hanging out on the riverbanks of Missouri and Tennessee while Zappa was stalking the urban landscapes of New York and Los Angeles. What unites the artists is a gleeful sense of play and humor combined with an obsessive dedication to music and a desire to build new structures atop the revered foundations of the musicians and composers who came before them. Of course, Zappa's irreverent sense of humor was more like a sarcastic slap in the face to a culture he found exhausting while Hartford's gentle cultural ribbing was more like an older brother lovingly messing up society's hair before a big date. His joy was infectious, and I've yet to read an interview or hear an anecdote from a musician or anyone else that was anything but loving and grateful.

I went to visit Hartford's gravesite a couple of weeks ago, which is only a few miles from my house, tucked away in the back of a Nashville cemetery not far from the Cumberland River. Also in the cemetery are the graves of Roy Acuff, Jimmy Martin, Hank Snow, and others. I have no idea if this was by design or coincidence, but directly centered only a few feet from his place of rest is a wooden gazebo, placed so that one could sit quietly and peacefully in front of his gravestone. The stone has a chiseled banjo head and fiddle body with the words "Ever Gentle On Our Minds" inscribed. One of these days, I'm going to take my banjo over there, sit in that gazebo, and play him a few tunes. Even though my playing won't sound one tenth as good as his ever did, I'd like to think he'll just laugh it off, tell me not to quit my day job, and sing the chord changes aloud as I fumble my way through a few more songs.

Jayme Stone: Room of Wonders (Album Review)

2011-03-21T22:20:00.002-06:00

Anyone who has read my blog even occasionally has probably noticed that I write about banjos a lot. In addition to many other pieces, I've discussed the forthcoming Banjo Project documentary, listed the instrument as one of the most important elements of American roots music, and just last week, I wrote a piece about Bela Fleck's wildly ambitious pursuits pushing the once provincial instrument in countless new directions. I think we're living in a sort of Renaissance period for the banjo, and Jayme Stone is certainly one of those artists helping to redefine and re-imagine the landscape of banjo music. His newest album, Room of Wonders, is an inspired romp of varied tunes from the world over.

Mr. Stone is a Canadian, but his musical interests are not bound by any geographic or national boundaries. Room of Wonders includes tunes arranged from or inspired by songs from Bulgaria, southern Italy, Ireland, Brazil, and the Appalachian mountains of America. It includes Polkas, one bluegrass breakdown, and a Bach piece for good measure. Make no mistake, though, this is roots music. However, the roots explored by Stone are very deep and spread across the globe. At a time of national revolutions, natural catastrophes, and political turmoil, projects like this remind us just how much all humans have in common. One quickly notices unexpected similarities in the traditional music of cultures thousands of miles and continents apart. Room of Wonders is a testament to the power of art to forge connections and dissolve boundaries between humans of all races and nationalities.

The album was inspired when Stone was preparing dinner one evening, listening to classical music. “I was listening to Bach’s French Suites while cooking. The performance had such a lilt to it that I literally wanted to dance,” Stone recalls. “It was an epiphany moment. Bach used European folk dance forms to inform his own music. I realized I could explore folk dances in my own way, but with a worldwide scope.” He explained that "dance was an umbrella" under which he could combine diverse musical interests. Room of Wonders is the manifestation of that idea.

The album begins with an uptempo Bulgarian folk dance full of percussive flourishes combined with intricate melodies and counter-melodies. Fiddle master Casey Driessen was one of the musicians tapped for the project, and from this first track, one realizes that the collaboration between these two provides Room of Wonders with an electric, kinetic energy and deep groove. Stone calls Driessen, known for his wildly percussive bow style, "a drummer living in a fiddler's body." Driessen's rhythmic bowing is exemplified throughout the album, but no more so than in the lively fiddle work found in "Planinsko Horo," another Bulgarian dance tune. Driessen plays a five-string fiddle with an extra low string, and given the song's wild compositional shifts and key changes, I'm sure the extra range was welcome.

While the album certainly has a heavy dose of foot-stomping rhythmic grooves, there is also a sweeping lyrical quality found throughout. In addition to Driessen, Stone enlisted guitarist Grant Gordy of David Grisman Quartet fame and Greg Garrison, the former bassist for the Punch Brothers. With Stone's banjo at the helm, this is a super group of some of the most accomplished musicians in today's progressive acoustic music. All are master improvisers and supremely well trained. Stone's arrangements, however, sometimes kept them on a tight leash, at least with respect to extended solos and breaks. The banjo player says, “I wanted to find out what would happen to that energy, if you brought together jazz artists but didn’t give them solos." The experiment certainly worked, because the album often exudes a free-wheeling energy, but remains exquisitely controlled and balanced. The tension between technical command and expressive groove is spot on. The occasional addition of horns, percussion, and even accordion to the string band foundation also allows the music to move in unexpected directions.

Case in point is "Vinicius," a jazz-inflected song at times reminiscent of some of my favorite jazz experiments from the late 60's and early 70's (Harold Land & Bobby Hutcherson's San Francisco immediately comes to mind.) The tune begins with lyrical horn lines atop energetic Brazilian rhythms before giving way to a more pensive and melancholy tone sparsely punctuated with banjo riffs, guitar runs, and fiddle chops. Soon enough, however, the song shift its way into another upbeat Samba groove. The players carry off these musical hybrids so effortlessly that one almost forgets the dense complexity underpinning the entire affair.

At its heart, however, this is still a banjo player's project, and having at least one Appalachian tune borders on mandatory for an album of global folk forms. The traditional fiddle tune, "Ways of the World," begins with Driessen's fiddle stating the song's theme at breakneck speed. Shortly thereafter, Stone joins in, and before too long, his banjo rolls through the song showing that he can hold his own in any bluegrass breakdown despite spending evenings working on Bach suites. The diversity and fearlessness in Stone's playing and arranging are evident throughout. Whether displaying rapid fire triplets used to enliven an open bit of musical space, leading classical arrangements with single string virtuosity, or bringing the glorious backwoods psychedelia of syncopated bluegrass rhythms, Stone's banjo playing is a source of limitless creative expression. The fact that he gives his musical compatriots equal room to shine is evidence both of Stone's generosity and his dedication to the music as opposed to his ego.

As mentioned above, Room of Wonders is a musical journey through differing continents, musical genres, and folk cultures. The music simultaneously pays homage to varying folk and musical traditions while building upon them and forging new ones. This is one of the most important functions of great art - to immortalize the past by transforming it for future generations. To that end, I couldn't help but notice in the liner notes that the album was funded in part by the Canada Council for the Arts. I found this heartening and was glad to see that more enlightened governments realize the civic value inherent in art, especially those works of cross-cultural exchange. Perhaps U.S. policy-makers will take note, considering our art and cultural agencies are currently on the chopping block, even despite having been consistently underfunded, neutered, and slowly starved over the years to the point that they exist mainly as malnourished arts appreciation agencies rather than facilitators of engaging contemporary artists. I won't hold my breath for enlightened policies here at home, but I'm glad that in the meantime I can enjoy the wonders of Jayme Stone and his globe-trotting explorations.

Bela Fleck: A Force of Nature in Five Strings

2011-03-16T08:08:00.008-06:00

Bela Fleck at MTSU's Tucker Theater, photo by David Shields

Earlier this evening, I attended a performance and speaking engagement with renowned banjo virtuoso Bela Fleck at Middle Tennessee State University, just outside of Nashville. As the evening began, Fleck walked on stage in blue jeans and sneakers, carrying his banjo case. He sat down in the lone chair on stage, opened the case and began playing unaccompanied after a brief introduction. As the evening progressed, he casually answered questions from the emcee before playing another tune. This same format continued, with Fleck answering questions from the audience and then playing again; sometimes bluegrass, sometimes African melodies, at least one Bach piece, and other works that can only be described as "Fleckian." Despite being well spoken, generous, and affable, (after the performance, Fleck sat on the edge of the stage signing autographs and speaking with every last person who came over to talk to him) one got the sense that he was much more comfortable playing than talking and preferred to communicate more through his music than verbally. Almost every question was answered with brief punctuations, demonstrations, and explanations through banjo riffs and snippets of songs. I know this sounds corny, but it was as if music was so integral to his person that he might seem incomplete without his instrument, his banjo an appendage as necessary as any of his four limbs. This intensity of purpose and dedication to craft is essential to Fleck's person, something I feel I misunderstood in his music for a long time.

Video courtesy of David Shields

To be honest, Fleck had always been one of those musicians I greatly respected but never fully embraced. The nice way to describe my resistance to his music is that he was just too good. The less charitable way to describe my prior aversion would be to say he's too technical, too fast, too overwhelming. In short, his playing was just too much. I also have to admit that his fusion group, The Flecktones, never did much more for me, either. In part, the early days of their Michael Jackson meets Star Trek meets Pirates of the Caribbean stage and costuming persona was all too indicative of their music: a little too synthesized for my tastes. Having said all that, over the past year or so I've been listening more closely to Fleck's acoustic material and realize that within all those notes and all that technical virtuosity there is a ton of soul. Seeing him speak and play tonight only confirmed the foolishness of my prior mistaken judgement.

I've come to realize that Fleck's virtuosity and technical prowess is simply an organic expression of a raving-mad, benevolent lunatic. It's who he is. The guy is a maniac cleverly disguised within a reserved and mild-mannered outward personality. Though Fleck was often self-effacing, humble, and reserved as he spoke, he also dropped hints that reflected an unyielding ambition, drive for perfection, and an insatiable appetite for artistic exploration. Fleck described how his first instrument as a kid growing up in New York City was guitar where he played folk music without a great deal of interest or dedication. One day, however, he heard Earl Scrugg's banjo on television playing "The Ballad of Jed Clampett." He said he was genuinely stunned and transfixed by the sound. Shortly thereafter, he received his first banjo and said that almost out of the blue a Type A personality emerged. All he wanted to do was practice and play, obsessively and compulsively.

With no arrogance and mentioned almost in passing, Fleck described how within three years he had gone through several teachers, each one sending him to another because he had absorbed everything they could teach him. Amazingly, his final teacher at the end of those three short years was renowned banjo virtuoso Tony Trischka who Bela had come to literally imitate. Fleck said that people could not distinguish between the two of them if they closed their eyes. To put that in context, there are probably dozens of highly revered professional banjo players who will never approach the technical prowess of Trischka, even after a lifetime of playing. Fleck reached this elite level within three years and was forced to develop his own style because there was literally nothing left to learn about banjo styles and prior precedent on the instrument. That's not to say that he was the "best" player (he still calls Earl Scruggs the best three-finger style player ever), it's just to say that he absorbed and mastered every major technique of three-finger banjo playing in a very short time. Such a feat borders on Robert Johnson mythology, even considering Fleck's obsessive hours of practicing. If Johnson went to the crossroads to make a deal with the devil in exchange for his guitar mastery, perhaps Fleck went to an Appalachian mountaintop to acquire his banjo chops. On second thought, maybe it was a crossroads given Fleck's unrivaled ability to forge fascinating intersections between musical genres. The fact that his wildly diverse career has been crafted with an instrument that had often been perceived as a musically limited, provincial folk curiosity makes his accomplishments all the more astonishing.

Fleck has received fourteen Grammys and has been nominated in more categories than any other musician in history. Allow me to list but a few highlights. He helped redefine bluegrass with progressive supergroup New Grass Revival. He has played and recorded with jazz greats Chick Corea, Branford Marsalis, Jean-Luc Ponty, and Stanley Clarke. He has played and composed classical works with master bassist and composer Edgar Meyer. He has recorded with classical Indian tabla master, Zakir Hussein. Along with his wife, Abigail Washburn, fiddler Casey Driessen, and cellist Ben Sollee, he formed the Sparrow Quartet, resulting in a sublime album combining elements of bluegrass, old-time, classical, and Chinese folk music. His recent journey to Africa resulted in three separate Grammy awards and was comprised of experiments and compositions of African music from three different countries (documented in the film, Throw Down Your Heart.) His work with the Flecktones defies categorization, an electro-funk, jazz-infused stew. As if that isn't enough, he is currently working on the first ever concerto written by and for a banjoist with full orchestra, a piece commissioned by the Nashville Symphony. Despite the fact that he doesn't read music fluently (most banjo players play and compose via tablature, a method of transcribing music that focuses on instrument fingering rather than musical pitches), Fleck is writing every note for the entire orchestra himself.

Let's just review this resume - here is a musician who has composed, written, and performed award-winning music at the highest levels within the genres of bluegrass, jazz, classical Western forms, classical Indian forms, multiple traditional African forms, and countless hybrids of all of the above. I'm not sure another musician on the planet has a resume both as diverse and critically praised. Again, the man is simply a maniac who devours music and fully indulges his varied obsessions with a drive and compulsion made palpable by the shower of notes, phrases, and tones that seem to flow effortlessly and infinitely from his banjo. As I said earlier, the intensity of his playing is almost too much until one settles into his musical universe, which is a genuine and passionate expression of an obsessive artist. Foolishly, my cursory and superficial early listens had often led to the false, reductive conclusion that Fleck's dense playing was a sterile display of dispassionate technique. I could not have been more wrong and obviously never took the time to truly listen. Bela Fleck's virtuosity is more primal than pedantic. His playing is as naturally and beautifully complex as a rushing river's varied currents flowing infinitely and wildly in and around earth and stones to create a unified whole. I get it now.

In the past, it's as if I was focusing on a single current at time. A jaw-dropping, rapid fire banjo lick was like one current wildly splashing and foaming around a single rock. Another explosion of notes was similar to a gush of water rushing headlong into the river bank before splashing back into the greater stream. I didn't bother to widen the lens and take in the river as a whole. I was too busy listening to Fleck's banjo rather than Fleck's music. I never grasped how the intensity of all those currents, all those notes and phrases, work together to form a cohesive, organic phenomenon that is paradoxically serene in its driving insistence. I hadn't noticed how the whole of the river, the whole of Fleck's compositions, integrate into the larger landscape of their surroundings, making everything around them more majestic and distinct, be it a mandolin, a tabla, a violin, or a double bass. Now I'm listening to the music rather than the banjo and discovering Fleck's larger landscapes anew. Maybe one day I'll even understand those Star Trek-like costumes, but for now I'm content hanging by the earthbound river bed before trying to venture into the sonic stretches of outer space.

Guest Blogger: Ted Lehmann on Al Hawkes

2011-03-09T06:00:00.003-06:00

Today marks the one year anniversary of Ear Tyme Music. What better way celebrate a birthday than by having my very first guest blogger? Ted Lehmann has been blogging much longer than myself at Ted Lehmann's Bluegrass, Books, and Brainstorms, and it's a privilege to have his work re-posted here. Ted is an excellent, thoughtful writer as you'll see below, and likely knows more about bluegrass music than I ever will. He was kind enough to re-post my last piece on his site, and I told him I'd love to return the favor sometime. Little did I know his very next post would be of such profound interest to me. His profile of bluegrass, country, and pre-bluegrass artist, Al Hawkes is a great read. I'd never heard of Hawkes and certainly didn't realize he was one half of bluegrass and country's first racially integrated duo in the 1940's and 50's. I was amazed and heartened to learn about Allerton and Alton, a black and white bluegrass duo playing music as co-equal peers during the era of segregation. I hope you enjoy Ted's piece as much as I did.

Al Hawkes - An Eventful Life - Artist Profile

Al Hawkes is eighty years old. He has been recognized by the International Bluegrass Music Museum as one of the pioneers of bluegrass at a ceremony in Owensboro, KY and interviewed for the Museum's Video-Oral history project, designed to create a priceless archive detailing the contributions of the first generation of bluegrass pioneers. A film celebrating his life and career has been made and shown on public television in his home region of New England. Al Hawkes recorded and toured with Alton Myers as the first black and white duo in country and bluegrass music. They remain so today, more than fifty years after they made their last recording. Despite having enormous influence in broadcasting, recording, and performing country, pre-bluegrass, and bluegrass music throughout New England, Al Hawkes is too little known in parts of the country where people still ask us, “Do ya'll like bluegrass music up north?”

Allerton Hawkes was born on Christmas Day of 1930 in Providence, Rhode Island. His family moved to Westbrook, Maine, returning to the old family farm, when Al was ten years old. He soon showed an aptitude for tinkering as well as an interest in the mandolin, both traits which have lasted him his entire life. He was soon collecting cowboy and hillbilly recordings and playing in local country music bands around the area, forming his first band in the late 1940's. He soon built a pirate radio station broadcasting to the surrounding area at 1210KC on the AM dial, shutting it down when he heard the FCC was interested in shutting him down. Soon he was broadcasting five days a week from WLAM radio in Lewiston, ME as Allerton & Alton, The Cumberland Ridge Runners.

Allerton Hawkes and Alton Myers were a hit on radio, but had difficulty getting work as a hillbilly duo when promoters discovered that Myers was black. They were, and remain to this day, the only black and white duo to ever have recorded country and what should probably be called pre-bluegrass music. Thanks to Bear Family Records performances of this duo have been preserved and released in a CD called “Black, White and Bluegrass: Allerton & Alton containing twenty-seven songs from three radio programs recorded by Al Hawkes with his partner Alton Myers as the Cumberland Ridge Runners broadcasting from Lewiston, Maine in the late 1940's and into the early fifties. The CD is accompanied by a beautifully produced booklet telling the story of this remarkable duo. (Bear Family Records, BCD 165559 AH available from Amazon $25.92)

Allerton & Alton

The wonderful liner notes for this album, written by Hank Davis, provide much of the material for the next couple of paragraphs. A February 9, 2010 article in The Tennessean says, "“This is a fascinating piece of American musical history,” said John Rumble, senior historian at the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum. “These guys were standing up there as co-equals, in a duet. Considering the racial climate of the nation then, it really was unusual to have a black man and a white man making music together. It’s something far out of the ordinary.” Rumble says he can find no other evidence of another inter-racial duo performing. While Al Hawkes recorded many of the programs and a good many singles, they were thought to be lost until they were discovered in Al's vast collection of recordings and other memorabilia. Many listeners to Allerton & Alton on the radio had no idea they were a racially integrated duo until they saw the 8x10 publicity photo the two would send out. One listener sent back a picture because of Alton's color. (This incident reminded me of hearing about fans of Jimmy Rogers who had thought he was black when they heard his blues on the radio, only realizing he was white when they saw him or his picture.) When the Korean War broke out, both men were drafted, effectively ending their period of performing together. The Bear Family recording contains three complete fifteen minute radio programs and fourteen singles, a marvelous addition to the recorded history of the time.

Allerton Hawkes & Alton Myers

Photo from The Tennessean

When Al Hawkes was in the Air Force, serving primarily in North Africa, his commanding officer learned he had a first class radio operators license and assigned him to doing radio programs for Armed Forces Radio as well as to performing for the troops. He also had the opportunity to learn how to use up-to-date recording equipment of the time. On his return to civilian life, he soon started, with partner Richard Greeley, a recording studio called Event Records, which continued to to operate through the fifties and sixties, while Al continued to build his collection. During this time they recorded Dick Curless, Hall Lone Pine, Charlie Bailey (of the Bailey Brothers), The Lilly Brothers & Don Stover, guitarist Lenny Breau, Curtis Johnson, and others.

Hal Lonepine & Betty Cody

Event Records continued into the sixties, but after a fire at their Boston warehouse destroyed 95% of their stock without insurance they went out of business. In the film "The Eventful Life of Al Hawkes: How Country Music Came Home to Maine," Al discusses the difficulty of record distribution from rural Maine to the rest of the country. He also comments they hadn't the expertise necessary as Nashville increasingly became the center of country music. The film has been shown on public television in New England, but is not currently available, as the use of a clip included in the film is in dispute with the National Film Board of Canada. Keep an eye out for this excellent film to be re-released once it has been appropriately edited.

Cover Photo for The Eventful Life of Al Hawkes DVD

While continuing to perform bluegrass music throughout New England with occasional swings further from home, Al Hawkes and his wife Barbara built a Radio and Television sales and service business serving his region of Maine. People were surprised to learn that the man they heard on the radio was the one on the animated sign advertising the "walking repair man."

The Lilly Brothers & Don Stover

In his eighty-first year, Al Hawkes remains a vital and energetic man, a bright twinkle in his eye and a wealth of stories to tell. Over the years his collection of recordings has grown to somewhere in the neighborhood of 50,000 items, a priceless vision of the progress of hillbilly, country, and bluegrass music from the 1920's to the present. He can frequently be seen at bluegrass festivals throughout New England. He was recently at Joe Val, where last year he was awarded the Heritage Award for his contributions to New England Bluegrass.

Al Hawkes Receives Heritage Award

Photo by Darwin Davidson

Al Hawkes - Crazy Fingers Rag

Al Hawkes