Michael Hill: Bluegrass: The Music of the Mountain South
My paternal grandfather and I would listen to the Grand Ole Opry on Saturday nights on WSM-AM radio out of Nashville in the late 1950s and into the 1960s. Besides standard country & western, we particularly liked Bluegrass. My grandfather said it was music our ancestors brought with them from the old country—Scotland, Ireland, and England. Being a normal energetic young boy, I was fascinated by the drive and rawness of the music, and I couldn’t keep still.
Bill Monroe (1911-1996) of Jerusalem Ridge (later a song title) Farm in Rosine, Kentucky, is hailed as the Father of Bluegrass. He was naturally one of our favorites. He was in turn influenced by his close relation, Uncle Pen Vandiver, a fiddle player after whom one of my favorite Monroe tunes was named. Simply “Uncle Pen.” Monroe gave us that distinctive vocal sound, the hallmark of early Bluegrass, called “high lonesome.” Once you listen, you’ll understand why it was given that name.
Over the decades since Monroe gave the genre’ its name in the 1930s, there have been names and styles that carried the music forward and introduced it to new generations of listeners. From the early rawness of Jimmy Martin (called the King of Bluegrass), to the sweetness (and sexiness) of the Queen, Rhonda Vincent, to Ralph Stanley, Doc Watson, and more recently the multi-talented Ricky Scaggs and the angel-voiced Alison Krauss, Bluegrass (and even some Newgrass) has thrilled the ears and moved the feet of our people all over the English-speaking world and even beyond.
Though Bill Monroe was the acknowledged Father of Bluegrass, and deservedly so, Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs and the Foggy Mountain Boys popularized the art form in the 1960s and 1970s with songs like the famous “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” and even the theme song from the popular TV sitcom, The Beverly Hillbillies. And from that day to this, Bluegrass has never looked back. It’s moved beyond nationwide to worldwide status.
Today, 1 October, is World Bluegrass Day. I will be listening today, in celebration of a musical style that is real. It tells us of the joys and happiness of life and love, as well as the sadness and despair when life and love go astray. It tells us of hard times and good times. Of rank strangers and old friends and enemies. Of Heaven and hell. There is nothing artificial or programmed about the genuine article that is Bluegrass music. In an age of Auto-Tune and manufactured stardom, Bill Monroe’s genre’ stands unchallenged for its authenticity and its gut-wrenching and soul-soothing emotion that comes from the deepest circle of a people’s collective memory.
As my grandfather might say, “Son, that’s our music from our people.” I’m listening, and I hope you are too.
Michael Hill
Killen, Alabama
Mike, sorry to be late in posting this. It arrived while we were wasting a day in Chicago, getting vetted for our Global Entry permits, which we want to use when we return from Greece in November.
I heard Flatt and Scruggs first at County Hall in Charleston and Mr. Monroe, as musicians referred to him, at the Opry. I had always liked Bluegrass but no as much as other forms of C&W. I preferred Monroe to Lester and Earle, I think, because he had a less mechanical approach to the songs. It was you who really pushed me in the right direction. It was at a League Summer School at Camp St Christopher, Seabrook Island. Gail and I wanted to take you for some real seafood at Bowen’s Island, a dump I frequented in college and when we lived in McClellanville. Just where the road goes off toward Folly Beach, you pulled your monster truck into a parking lot, went into a store, and came out with a fifth of I believe Wild Turkey 101, though it could have been something else. You cranked up the engine, hit a button, and as you downed about half cup of whiskey, I heard, “Country rocks but bluegrass rules!” which introduces Ricky Scaggs’ return to the music of his youth–he played mandolin, I believe, for Mr. Monroe.
To quote a line from a pop version of a Russian song, “Those were the days, my friend.”
I saw Mr. Monroe at the Opry. I never saw Earl Scruggs, but I saw Lester Flatt in Bella Vista, Arkansas, in 1973 or 1974. He had a teenage mandolin player named Marty Stuart.
A jacked-up truck, a fifth of whiskey, Ricky Scaggs playing, and Michael Hill driving down the highway. I’d just have to climb aboard. It’s good I’m no longer young.
Ah, bluegrass! I suppose the first time I heard bluegrass, it was played by Flatt and Scruggs’ band, and I still prefer Lester Flatt’s singing to his former boss’s, though not to Ralph Stanley’s bone-chilling keening. The first bluegrass outfit I went whole-hog for was the Dillards, a second-generation band that became more generally famous through appearing on Andy Griffith’s TV show, though I can’t say I saw them on it because I was already weaning myself from the tube. Rodney Dillard wrote several very fine songs, bassist and front man Mitch Jayne was a considerable latter-day local-color humorist, and Douglas Dillard was considered one of the best banjoists of his age cohort. Later I picked up on Jimmy Martin, Reno and Smiley, Jim and Jesse, and the Osborne Brothers among the pioneers as well as the Seldom Scene, the Country Gentlemen, the Del McCoury Band, Muleskinner, and on down to the Johnson Mountain Boys. I recommend all of those combos without reservation; many of them were formed by alumni of Bill Monroe, by the way–he genuinely is the father of bluegrass. A non-mainstream band I dearly love is that–or those–fronted by Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard, whose labor-union and left-political convictions never made them perform bluegrass as pure as a mountain stream.
I blame bluegrass for starting my country-music habit, though I guess maybe Tennessee Ernie Ford started me out on it. (I didn’t know that another of this kid’s favorite TV stars, George Gobel, had been a country singer since age 4 or thereabouts, though he didn’t sing much when I saw him.) Bluegrass, especially via Monroe and the Stanleys, turned me toward pre-bluegrass country, for they still played and recorded it. To this day, I prefer Uncle Dave Macon and Charley Poole to their rockabilly inheritors. Only later did I discover Jimmie Rodgers and the Texans–pretty much the lineage of Western swing and honkytonk. Heck, I even became a fan of Eddy Arnold and Jim Reeves.
The last sentence in the first paragraph of my previous post, “A non-mainstream band I dearly love is that–or those–fronted by Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard, whose labor-union and left-political convictions never made them perform bluegrass as pure as a mountain stream”, should conclude, “never made them perform bluegrass any other way than as pure as a mountain stream”.
Mr. Olson, you would probably also enjoy Pop Stoneman. (His daughter, Roni, was a long-time Hee Haw cast member. The Delmore Brothers are also worth a try. I have a couple of old Monroe Brothers LPs. Charlie went on as a solo act after he and Bill split.
I believe that the Stanley Brother’s “Stonewalls and Steel Bars” was the first bluegrass song I heard. Either that or Rocky Top. From there I discovered the Louvin Brothers, and their original composition “Cash on the Barrelhead” is one of my favorites. I’m not sure that they would be categorized as pure bluegrass, possibly a mix of bluegrass and country. One of the newer bands I really enjoy is Town Mountain. Originally, they played more straight ahead bluegrass, but they have more recently mixed in country and rock elements. This is a good one:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYdb-0AGOuw&list=RDxYdb-0AGOuw&start_radio=1
The latest bluegrass prodigy is Billy Strings:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BafPcRqhGnI&list=RDBafPcRqhGnI&start_radio=1
I think my other response was flagged due to containing links to a couple songs.
I believe that the Stanley Brother’s “Stonewalls and Steel Bars” was the first bluegrass song I heard. Either that or Rocky Top. From there I discovered the Louvin Brothers, and their original composition “Cash on the Barrelhead” is one of my favorites. I’m not sure that they would be categorized as pure bluegrass, possibly a mix of bluegrass and country. One of the newer bands I really enjoy is Town Mountain. Originally, they played more straight ahead bluegrass, but they have more recently mixed in country and rock elements. The latest bluegrass prodigy is Billy Strings.
Years ago, sitting in my car at a lunch break and listening to NPR, I heard an interview with David Harvey about his Moody Bluegrass project, the rearrangement of Moody Blues songs for bluegrass renderings. I know, I know, the reaction that you are having is probably the same one that I initially had as did most of David Harvey’s fellow bluegrass musicians whom he approached. But I always liked bluegrass and I liked the Moody Blues as a kid so I bit. I was very pleasantly surprised. Alison Krauss and Ricky Scaggs both perform on the albums, of which there are two. There is plenty of it on Youtube.
Mr. Strenk’s comment reminds me of a rather humorous album by a novelty group called Run C&W that consisted of old Motown songs performed in bluegrass style.
JamesD, I’ll check on your earlier post. Alas, the system is set up that way to eliminate problems.
Mr. Fogg, in high school, the Stonemans’ syndicated TV show played weekly. I was strangely attracted to the music and to young Ronnie, before she played the hag wife on Hee Haw. For all its obvious faults, Hee Haw was wonderful, if only for featuring Roy Clark and the undisputed king of the Bakersfield sound, Buck Owens. What Buck did to get sent to Coventry, I do not know. Merle imitated his music, stole his wife, and came out in the end as a country music saint. I am not Dwight Yokum’s biggest fan, but he was loyal to his master, and their recording/video of Buck’s “Streets of Bakersfield” is one of my favorites.
I used to go to a doubly illegal joint on Market St in Charleston–all bars serving liquor by the drink were illegal, but Andy’s Lounge served late on Saturday and Sunday night, featured gambling and the unfortunate women known as B-girls. I would buy drinks out of pity for whatever girl was set to hound me. One night I was trying to persuade one of them I had met a number of times to listen to Buck Owens. She told me she preferred Patsy Cline–dead by then–and I understood. Patsy sang to life’s losers. I made the mistake of asking what the girl would do if she somehow got money. “I’d fix my teeth,” she said opening her mouth to show about eight broken teeth in front, explaining, without my asking, “my boyfriend punched me.” I never went back to Andy’s. Years later, the site was occupied by what for a time was Charleston’s top restaurant: Chef Bob Carter’s Peninsula Grill where son Garret did a “stage” and later worked for a time. He and Chef Bob had a love-hate relationship that eventually matured into a solid professional friendship when Chef Garret went onto success in DC and Chapel Hill.
The best country concert I’ve ever attended (and I’ve been to some really good ones) was a Buck Owens show at the old Felt Forum at Madison Square Garden in February 1973. His opening act was the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. They were mostly playing bluegrass off their recent Circle Be Unbroken album and had Vassar Clements playing fiddle. They were very good but Buck stole the show. Susan Ray was his “girl singer” (a lot of country acts still had those back then) and Don Rich was still alive, playing lead guitar and singing harmony. It ws a wonderful show. Beforehand, I had mistakenly gone to the main arena at the Garden, where the Ice Capades were occurring. The tuxedo-clad attendees did not appreciate my lizard skin Justins, black Stetson or fleece-collared jacket.
Buck Owens was great. His sound was so dependent on Don Rich, though. After Rich died, his music was never the same. Merle was a surly character. He was disliked by many of the other stars of the day, including Waylon Jennings. There is a story that when Waylon was down on his luck and deep into drugs, he lost a card game to Merle, and Merle hounded him for the money. Waylon had forgiven many debts to his friends in the past and he never forgave Merle for making him pay up. I think this is why, when The Highwaymen were formed, Merle wasn’t invited. Kris Kristofferson never belonged in that group, and Merle would have been the natural fourth member, but no one liked him, so he was left out. Merle’s songwriting is undeniable, though. I think it exceeds all others from that era, perhaps for David Allan Coe, Guy Clark, and Billy Joe Shaver.
Dwight Yoakam came from the west coast “cowpunk” scene, where punk “musicians,” whose parents and grandparents had moved to California from Oklahoma, Arkansas, Texas, etc., fleeing the dust bowl, went back to the music of their parents and grandparents and started playing country and rockabilly. Yoakam is a pretty funny actor, as well.
Yokum was born in Kentucky and moved to Columbus, Ohio ( Readin’, ‘Ritin’, Route 23 ) before relocating to California.
That is true, but the larger west coast “cowpunk” scene was primarily comprised of descendants of the dust bowl.
I’m not really conversant in that particular genre.