Fellow band mates have described Henderson as something of a father figure for the group. It was Henderson who recruited the other founding members of the band. Viewed from the cheap seats, however, this central role might strike some as odd.  After all, Henderson’s presence on stage and in recordings is so low-key as to be ephemeral. In fact, on hearing that The Steeldrivers’ mandolin player was leaving, one friend replied (without irony, I believe), “That band has a mandolin player?”

Actually, my pal was on to something, for despite the group’s wide acclaim, The Steeldrivers may have felt like something of a digression for Henderson. Though a gifted and seasoned musician, he seems more of a bluesman than a bluegrasser— a fact that’s hinted at by his slide steel work in the clip above.

This marks the second departure from The Steeldrivers in a year’s time. Chris Stapleton, the group’s lead singer, signed off last winter. Stapleton’s growling vocals and brooding lyrics largely defined the band’s style, and there were those who felt that the jig was up as soon as he packed up his guitar and split.

I wasn’t in that camp. While Stapleton is a unique talent, he always looked vaguely freaked out to find himself on stage. In contrast, his replacement, Gary Nichols, seems to bask in the spotlight. As the “No Mississippi” video demonstrates, when it comes to live shows at any rate, that counts for something.

That tune isn’t a Steeldriver original, by the way. “No Mississippi” was recorded about a decade ago by country crooner Andy Griggs. Based on The Steeldrivers’ performance, I’d say it’s a keeper. I particularly like the way Tammy Roger’s harmonies and fiddling match Nichols’ scorching delivery, note for note.

For my money, I’d say there’s more chemistry and energy on display in this performance than could generally be found at shows in the band’s early days. So, while there’s certainly a risk that Stapleton and Henderson’s departures will cause The Steeldrivers to sputter out, there’s also a chance that the upheaval will permit the group to evolve into a more vital performing unit. While we await their fate, I’ll be serving up some more tasty samples of their work in the near future. Stay tuned.

Yer Pal— Curly

Exihibit A: The New Yorker is running banjo cartoons:

"I'm trapped in an elevator— wait, it gets worse."

Exhibit B: PBS airs Give Me The Banjo, a feature-length documentary about the banjo in prime time. If you missed the initial airing of Marc Field’s fine production last fall, you can watch the whole thing online by clicking here.

Exhibit C: Banjo players are becoming celebrities and vice-versa. Yep, it’s a big deal that Steve Martin is preaching the five-string gospel far and wide, but people would pay attention had he suddenly taken to promoting, say, tiddlywinks. What’s more notable is that he’s not alone. Ed Helms, star of The Office and The Hangover, has also come out of the banjo closet. It’s not just that the banjo has become the accoutrement du jour in Hollywood; it’s more accurate to say that banjo culture itself has become (gulp) cool. Admittedly, this is one of those phenomena that makes you think that yer new snuff is treating you wrong, but for evidence of its validity we need look no further than that fount of online mirth, Funny or Die:

That’s right, friends. We now live in a world in which movie stars line up to perform in a promotional short for a young banjo wiz’s latest album, a world in which said banjo wiz appears on Late Night with David Letterman, a world in which a hot banjo picker can dream of winning a $50,000 prize. In some ways, that New Yorker cartoon encapsulates the weird intersection of banjo culture and celebrity, for it’s obvious that the guy in the drawing isn’t some anonymous Deliverance-era hillbilly; he’s very distinctly and recognizably Noam Pikelny, the aforementioned banjo wiz and winner of the inaugural $50,000 Steve Martin Prize for Banjo and Bluegrass.

Noam Pikelny: celebrity banjo ace or ace banjo celebrity?           (Photo: Compass Records)

Not to take anything away from the majesty of the banjo, but it’s always possible that The Great Banjo Awakening will have all the permanence of a collagen injection. If that’s the case, it’s fair to ask: what’s next? The Age of the Dobro? I can see it now: Angelina “The Baker” Jolie stars in and directs It Don’t Mean a Thang If It Ain’t Got That Twang: The Cindy Cashdollar Story.

Yer Pal— Curly

For those keeping track of such things, the tune here, “Theme Time,” is most closely associated with Bill Emerson and goes back to that banjo virtuoso’s days playing with Jimmy Martin.

We’re looking ahead to a boisterous New Year, with profiles and performances from a diverse range of artists— from the Seldom Scene to Joy Kills Sorrow. Here’s hoping our paths cross often, whether here in cyberspace, or at potluck pickin’ sessions and festival campsites.

Yer Pal— Curly

Not playing the banjo myself, the next best thing I can do to address the banjo shortage is to use this platform to champion five-string masters. I have done this over the past months with posts celebrating the work of Jens Kruger and Tony Trischka. Even so, judging by recent jams I’ve sampled, my efforts have done little to forestall the advance of VBS. Clearly, it’s time to up the ante. Suppose we lived in an alternate universe, one in which all bluegrass bands were required to be composed of no less than fifty percent banjos. What would that sound like? Have a listen…

That is Hot Mustard, the New England bluegrass outfit whose motto is “Two banjos, no waiting!” As I recounted in my previous showcase entry on the group, I heard Hot Mustard before I set eyes on them, and so natural and integrated was their sound that it was only after watching them perform for a while that I noticed the unusual line-up: two banjos, guitar and bass. As they ably demonstrate, given the right degree of taste and control, you can’t have too much of a good thing. And for those of you concerned about VFS, Bill Jubett occasionally puts down his banjo and plays some fiddle, too.

This video features one of the greatest banjo tunes, “Clinch Mountain Backstep.” The quirk that sets it apart from a gazillion other instrumental numbers is the extra beat that gets thrown in halfway through the B part, a feature that makes it what is sometimes called a “crooked” tune. The song was recorded as an instrumental by the Stanley Brothers way back in 1959, but as with much of the Stanley Brothers’ material, the melody sounds much older than that. Alan Jabbour, in his notes on the magisterial collection of fiddle tunes he collected from old time master Henry Reed, posits that “Clinch Mountain Backstep” is an adaptation of a nameless breakdown that Reed said was “old as the mountains.”

You can listen to Reed’s breakdown here and decide if you agree that it’s an antecedent to the Stanley Brothers’ tune. Whatever your verdict, I suspect you’ll agree that it’s the Stanleys’ version that has entered the bluegrass canon. Interestingly, Hot Mustard’s take on “Clinch Mountain Backstep” owes at least as much to Earl Scruggs banjo style as it does to that of Ralph Stanley. There was a time when Scruggs and Stanley defined two distinct approaches to the banjo, the former pioneering a hard-driving three-fingered technique while the latter held onto a sound anchored in the clawhammer tradition. In bringing a style derived more from Scruggs to “Clinch Mountain Backstep,” Hot Mustard’s dual banjoists, Bruce Stockwell and Bill Jubett, emphasize how much common ground there is in these various techniques.

For anyone familiar with the dozens of recorded versions of “Clinch Mountain,” the slow and spare vocal intro, written and sung by April Jubett, will come as a surprise. Those moody a cappella verses at the outset make the first salvo from Bill’s banjo sound like a clarion call. The tune gets even more of an adrenaline charge when Bill passes off to his mentor Bruce.

It all sounds great, which leads us back to the problem I raised at the outset: whither the banjers? Did somebody finally tell one too many banjo jokes? Folks, we didn’t mean it— come on back!

Yer Pal— Curly

P.S.— My favorite contribution to the VFS conversation in Bluegrass Unlimited so far was from John Mahoney of Strasburg, VA. In the September issue, Mahoney— who himself laments the disappearance of fiddlers from the scene— says that one explanation for the phenomenon given to him by bandleaders was that “fiddle players are idiots and hard to get along with.” I would beseech any of my fiddling brethren with anger management issues to keep in mind that these are not the views of Mr. Mahoney or Yers Truly.

P.P.S.— The traditional music site Mudcat Café has an old thread regarding the meaning of “backstep” as it applies to music or dance. The many clever thread participants are unable to verify that any maneuver from square dancing or other American folk dance idioms has an explicit connection to the Stanley Brothers’ famously “crooked” tune. I have also been unable to dig up any evidence that “backstep” applies to a particular type of tune, à la jig or reel. If anybody knows different, let us know!

The compositions that Monroe called “true songs” are among my favorites. They manage to sound as old as the hills, even as they tell tales drawn directly from Big Mon’s outsized biography. The number featured here, “My Little Georgia Rose,” is said to be one of these “true songs,” and now is perhaps not the occasion to spell out its presumed meaning in full. Let’s just say that a painful revelation may lie beneath its cheerful veneer. By most accounts, Monroe was complex and often difficult, yet however we may judge him as a man, surely a large part of his genius as an artist was his fearlessness in putting the whole sprawling mess of his life out there in his music.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to work my way through all the Monroe tunes I have in my collection. I’ve been struck both by how many of the tunes that he wrote or popularized have become standards, and how many more are still lying fallow, waiting to be rediscovered by another generation of pickers. Finally, I’ve been amazed all over again at how he used the vehicle of bluegrass to synthesize, adapt and reinvent the sounds of everything from the delta blues to the traditional music of the British Isles. He was a geyser of musical ideas, and we continue to be washed in that fountain a hundred years after his birth.

Yer Pal— Curly

P.S. A quick note on the Bluegrass Boys featured in the clip above: The banjo player is a very young Bobby Hicks, who is taking a break from his usual fiddling duties and playing Monroe’s own Vega banjo. Jackie Phelps— normally the banjo player at the time— is on guitar, and Ernie Newton is playing bass with a “brush bass” attachment that he invented. For the truly obsessive viewers who are dying to know, the announcer at the beginning is Faron Young.

Flash forward a couple of years, and Hot Mustard are going stronger than ever. This summer, they played a number of dates around New England. It’s time that the wider world got to know them, so I’m wrasslin’ up a new series of Ye Olde Performers Showcase featuring this fine quartet. Here’s a quick getting-to-know-you installment that features a performance from last winter’s Joe Val Bluegrass Festival.

If I close my eyes and open my ears, Hot Mustard’s sound is just as natural as a mountain stream or a Stanley Brothers hymn. But when I take a look— dang! Double banjos, rhythm guitar and bass is their default set-up, with Bill Jubett only occasionally trading his banjo for a fiddle. I need hardly point out that this is not your standard bluegrass line-up. Then there is the gender distribution. While a number of the top bluegrass acts are fronted by women, there remains a substantial testosterone imbalance in the genre as a whole. Not so with Hot Mustard, however, which maintains a perfect male/female equilibrium.

The group is, in fact, comprised of two couples. The Stockwells— that would be bassist Kelly and banjoist Bruce Stockwell— have been married for some time, but the Jubetts— lead vocalist April and banjoist/fiddler Bill Jubett— just tied the knot within the last month.

I had the Jubett nuptials in mind when I chose the band’s performance of “Elkhorn Ridge” as the tune to accompany this first showcase installment. April mentions that she listened to a lot of Kate Brislin and Jody Stecher growing up, and I assume she learned “Elkhorn Ridge” from Brislin and Stecher’s fine recording from twenty years ago. As rendered by that duo, this traditional number is an unalloyed paean to flat-out, head-over-heels love. To wit, it contains a verse that consists of just this:

Crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy

Darlin’, I’m crazy about you

The rest of the stanza is AWOL, as if the singer has indeed plum lost his or her mind. Who can argue with that sentiment?

Here’s wishing the newlyweds all the crazy love they can stand. As for the rest of you, check back for more Hot Mustard in the coming weeks.

Yer Pal— Curly

Addendum for the Late Edition: This just in from Richard Hamilton: “Elkhorn Ridge is generally attributed to Oscar Wright, a fiddler/banjo player from Princeton, WV. There are some recordings of his playing available. His version of Elkhorn on banjo looks like it is on Clawhammer Banjo Vol 2. from County.” Thanks, Rich!

Since the Grey Fox program was already in place long before Baker passed, there wasn’t a block of time available for a full-blown tribute. Glaser and company therefore had to make the most of a brief interlude on Friday afternoon between sets by Michael Cleveland and Tim O’Brien.

The assembled multitude managed to pack four tunes into ten minutes. In my view, the heart of the medley was the second tune, “Cross-eyed Fiddler,” a Baker original, appropriately enough. Have a look and a listen…

Now, without clicking “replay,” how many of the performers can you name? If you’re from New England, chances are you recognize a face or two, as many are based in the region. With the likes of Baker and Hazel Dickens leaving the stage, and with players like O’Brien, Cleveland and Glaser well established in their careers, it’s time for a new generation of players to make their marks. Most of the performers in the “orchestra” are in their twenties; many are in highly regarded bands such as The Deadly Gentlemen, Della Mae or the Red Stick Ramblers. For those of you who haven’t updated your Who’s Who in Bluegrass lately, I’m providing, free of charge, the following video guide. This clip shows the entire Baker tribute medley, with the bonus feature that all players are identified. See how many pickers you can I.D. before their names show up on screen. Extra points if you can pick out the musician who is also an MD specializing in Emergency Medicine.

Only a stone could resist being moved by that last image of the players filing out to “The Dead March,” finally leaving just Cleveland on stage, like a solitary candle. Wish I could tell you more about “The Dead March.” It’s a late Monroe composition, a tune Glaser said that the Father of Bluegrass “remembered,” but I haven’t been able to dig up much beyond that. I suspect that as many people know the tune from a celebrated television performance by the meteoric supergroup Muleskinner as from any of Monroe’s recordings.

“The Dead March” is a keeper, but in the end, it’s “Cross-Eyed Fiddler” that really sticks with me. This seems a hugely underappreciated fiddle tune. It’s not an old composition and it’s under copyright, but those conditions haven’t kept other tunes (“Rebecca,” “Ashokan Farewell,” “Josephine’s Waltz”) from entering the fiddling canon. Perhaps it’s the title that holds it back— “Cross-Eyed Fiddler” doesn’t seem to fit its jaunty tone.

In any event, I love how the players at Grey Fox really get into the swing of the tune. You can see them all, little by little, put their bodies into it, swaying and bouncing to the melody. One of the things that made Baker a great musician— perhaps the thing— was that there was at once a looseness and formality to both his playing and his compositions. If you’ve ever seen a photograph or a video of Baker, there’s a kind of severity to the way he carried himself. He had this ramrod-straight posture, and no one— not even Bill Monroe— looked meaner in a perfectly blocked cowboy hat. His playing had a definite precision, too, but look closer and you can see how relaxed his technique remained, even when playing at speed. Like so many master musicians, he made it look easy.

Many people feel that to say that he “co-wrote” the classic tune “Jerusalem Ridge” with Monroe is to give Baker too little credit. Whatever the case, if you compare how he plays the tune to the whole host of subsequent renditions, what stands out is how spare and clean his version is. Every motion of the bow is like a punctuation mark. At the same time, however, was there ever a more baroque and passionate fiddle tune than this? There it is: the marriage of contradictions so often found in great art. For the philosophers following along at home, you could say that while there was much that was Apollonian in Baker’s demeanor and bearing, a Dionysian side always came out in his music. Whatever wonders future generations of musicians have to offer us, we will miss Kenny Baker.

A Word or Two More On Grey Fox

The biggest no-show at Grey Fox this year was not Peter Rowan, who managed to make it, albeit a little later than expected. No, the big no-show was the colossal, end-of-time rain storm that shows up like clockwork— except when it doesn’t. Even the storm’s usual sidekick, Insufferable Heat, barely stopped by. This, combined with the usual strong line-up and the off-the-hook campsite jams, made for a glorious festival. But don’t take my word for it: in a bid to put me out of business, Grey Fox has really ramped up its online media. Check out the festival blog for boatloads of videos. I’m particularly impressed by— and partial to— the several videos that capture the campsite jams. As we all know, some of the best playing goes on in these informal gatherings, and the experience is even more ephemeral than a live concert. After all, Del McCoury and his boys will play together another day, but most jams are fleeting hook-ups, so to speak. Those of us who care about this stuff need to do a better job of documenting these magical moments. Hats off to the media crew at Grey Fox for its progress on that front.

Yer Pal— Curly

P.S. The Emergency Medicine specialist is Kalev Freeman, one of the fiddlers lurking in the rear on the right side of the stage.

P.P.S. Thanks to Nick DiSebastian, Ben Pearce, Fred Robbins, Mary Burdette and Matt Glaser for their scholarly assistance.

The point is, just as Grey Fox is a locus for the more progressive (sorry to employ that vapid term, but I’m in a rush) edge of the New England bluegrass scene, so has Crooked Still stood, for the past decade, as the lynchpin for a still youthful generation of Boston musicians. For the third year in a row, the band will be back at Grey Fox. It’s therefore fitting to take this opportunity to post a final segment (for now at least) of Ye Olde Performer Showcase featuring the band. In this installment, we circle back to the beginning, in a sense, by getting the band to talk about its roots in— and its ongoing connection to— Boston.

The song featured in this clip is “Lonesome Road.” As Matt Schofield notes in his super-helpful Grateful Dead Family Discography, some versions of the song overlap another popular ballad, “In the Pines.”

“Lonesome Road” goes all the way back to Crooked Still’s debut album, Hop High. This means that an eleven year-old kid who happened to stumble upon the band’s first commercial recording might be an entering freshman this fall at Berklee College of Music, New England Conservatory, or any of the other Boston institutions where the practice and performance of American roots music are being taught. Will that fresh-faced arrival on the Boston scene carry on the meshing of old and new that has marked Crooked Still’s work, or will they veer off in some new direction? In other words, where is the Boston music scene headed? I’ll be keeping my ears open as I tromp the fields of Grey Fox, and of course I’ll report if I sight any new genus or species of note. In the meantime, as always, let us know yer thoughts.

Yer Pal— Curly

P.S.— RIP Kenny Baker. For anyone attending Grey Fox, be sure to catch the brief tribute to this fiddler extraordinaire, scheduled to happen around 3:30 on Friday. A stellar line-up will be paying homage to the man who for many still defines the bluegrass fiddle.

Those of you following this space closely know that I’m a great fan of The Cantab Lounge, New England’s Mecca for Bluegrass and other roots music. When I posted my paean to that venerable institution, I called it “Let Us Now Praise Famous Dives, Part 1,” knowing that I had a “Part 2” lined up.

That was in May of last year. Nothing like just-in-time delivery, is there?

Anyhow, the long wait is over. Popcorn is optional…

Not all the music at the Station Inn is bluegrass, but much of it “demonstrates bluegrassish tendencies,” as the doctors like to say. In addition to the famous names mentioned in the video, here’s a sample of the performers who have appeared at the Inn over the past few years: The Red Stick Ramblers, Kimberly Williams, Blue Highway, Dierks Bentley, Roland White and Shawn Camp. Special mention should be made of The Cluster Pluckers and The Mashville Brigade, a couple of “supergroups” of Nashville musicians who are or were fixtures on the scene.

Going a bit farther back, no less a figure than Bill Monroe himself trod the Inn’s humble stage. You could make a movie about this place’s many brushes with fame, and it appears that one Patrick Isbey has done just that. Click here to see a clip from his documentary, The Station Inn: True Life Bluegrass.

Although our beloved Cantab can’t claim the international recognition afforded the Station Inn, otherwise these two joints feel like twins separated by nothing more than distance. They share a complete lack of pretense that can’t be imitated or approximated. Their very ordinariness makes them special.

Yer Pal— Curly

The title of this segment— “It’s Not the Tune’s Fault”— comes from an expression bassist Corey DiMario attributes to one of his teachers at New England Conservatory, the noted bassist John Lockwood.

The song featured in this clip is of course the well-known murder ballad “Little Sadie,” and I don’t mean to cast aspersions on the tune by including it in this segment. I had the good fortune to hear Doc & Merle Watson play a concert at Memorial Hall at UNC-Chapel Hill back in the 70’s, and that’s probably the first time I heard “Little Sadie.” I’ve heard a lot of renditions of the song in intervening years, but as with many people, I suspect, Doc’s version remains the archetype. Even after all these years, I’m still not sick of it.

Crooked Still seems to make a point of keeping their back catalog in play, as it were. In concert, they are as likely to play a tune from their first album as they are to play one from their most recent release. “Little Sadie” is featured on their excellent sophomore outing, Shaken By a Low Sound, an album that is now almost five years old. If anyone in the band is growing tired of recounting the tale of Little Sadie’s demise, they aren’t showing it.

I wish I had time to do some research on “Little Sadie,” but perhaps my faithful readers can help me out. To be honest, apart from the chilling randomness of the murder, the confusion as to the narrator’s name (perhaps it’s Lee Brown?) and the simple, all-verses-no-chorus structure, the song doesn’t sound that old. To my ears at least, the rhymes are too neat and the story progresses too logically to be a folk song with ancient roots. Or did the ditty just get a major overhaul in the hands of Mr. Watson or some other mid-century master? If you know, let me know.

Above all, I’d love to hear folks’ thoughts on tunes that wear out their welcome. Do you find that it’s “hate at first listen,” or do songs just get old? Do you fall in and out of love with tunes? Do you agree with DiMario and Lockwood’s assertion that it’s not the tune’s fault? Whatever the case, is it possible to rekindle a love that’s lost? Enquiring pickers want to know!

Yer Pal— Curly