Hillbilly Music

See how they are

Having heroes opens a body up for disappointment.  Those folks we look up to will invariably fall short of our expectations or worse we will fall short of theirs.  I have been disappointed by my heroes in the past and I know I probably will be again but this night was not one of those times.

 

For the second time in as many weeks I actually ventured into downtown Richmond for some live music.  These outings are touched with a melancholy which I assume is common for anyone who used to be in a band or at least my conversations with my old band mates lead me to believe this.  I am usually on my own in a strange town which compounds these feelings. And this night I was going to see one of my heroes who has paved my way.  And I don't drink anymore.  Hells bells, I could have ended up on the floor in the fetal position.  But not this night.

 

The Capital Ale House Music Hall has only been open for six weeks or so.  The venue is an expansion of the current downtown location.  The space is open and clean with just a few tables along the right wall and a built in bench along the left. I assume that the capacity is no more than 400 persons. 

 

The set up of this hall tells one that music is the top priority for this expansion.  The floor is not cluttered with tables which usually indicates that the entertainment is an after thought or a loss leader and the establishment is only interested in packing folks in and selling them alcohol and foods. The lack of tables and large double doors added to my feeling of security.  If God forbid a fire were to break out all of the patron and the band would be out on the sidewalk in seconds.  In addition to the doors a huge window on the front wall next to the doors has the unique feature of accordion shutters.  On this summer night the window was wide open which gave the pedestrians a taste of what was inside.

 

I ordered a Kaliber and was disappointed that they did not have any in stock.  I have had Kaliber at the CAH Innsbrook location and was hoping that the downtown location had the same.  To my surprise Beck's non-alcoholic was the only no alcohol beer they had.  I hope they add a couple more.  I think it is a good idea for an establishment to offer a wide selection of non-alcoholic beverages especially when most all of the patrons have to arrive by car.

 

Even though I may have been disappointed with the selection, I was very pleased with the service. One of the bartenders asked me about the band.  It pains me to admit it but the young man could have been my son and was obviously too young to remember the early days of punk.  He was all the same very interested in learning about new music or music new to him.  He also made it clear he appreciated the tips. Gratitude cannot be overrated. 

 

While waiting I offered my seat to a lady who had come in with her husband and we started to chat.  I learned that they were self employed and customers of my wife's company.  A discussion of health insurance lead to the our discovery that the lady's mother and my mother are both Polio survivors. I liked these folks because they offered information about themselves.  Too often anymore I find that a casual conversation ends up being an inquisition where I am asked a bunch of questions but the other party offers little.  Nice bartender and nice fellow patrons so the night was off to a good start.

 

With the sound checks finally complete the staff opened the doors and I paid my $15 and strolled on into the hall from the restaurant side of the CAH. I have to yet again admit to being a total jackass for not getting the name of the warm up act.  He was singer-song writer with an acoustic and an easy going manner.  He only did five or so songs to warm up but did the job well.  After his set was done, he dutifully headed back to the merchandise table where a number of women were waiting to talk to him.  Longish hair, beard and a guitar equals women. 

 

Dead Rock West was the opening act.

 

With nothing but respect for both bands, Dead Rock West can best be described as X after a shower. The same feel with most of the road grit washed away and a hint of soap hanging in the air.  Others will invoke all other manner of alt.country acts to describe DRW and well they should but honestly nothing will be dead on the money.  And if you can't make it to a show then you'll have to buy their new CD, Honey & Salt and give it a listen to understand.

 

Obviously if a band is compared to X there has to be interplay between male and female lead vocals and this comes to us from the throats of Cindy Wasserman and Frankie Lee Drennen who also plays Telecaster.  The rhythm section consists of Bryan Head on drums and David J. Carpenter who also helps with backing vocals.

 

I think I have mentioned that I hate jazz so please believe me when I say that the greatest complement I can pay an artists is to say that his or her music is accessible. DRW does not make you work for it.  The music is kind and honest. You can follow a DRW tune from the get go without having to become familiar before you become comfortable.  Desert Rose which I would assume is their A side on Honey & Salt is the type of song that is instantly familiar when you hear it the first time. 

 

Frankie Lee and Cindy's vocals are lush but the sound is not tapioca.  There is a hard twang and an inescapable sadness.  It is hard to put my finger on it but it is like this sound is the grand daughter of that High Lonesome sound that drifts over the holler of Appalachia.  This sound lives in L.A., but she is still a lonesome hillbilly at heart.  I am pretty certain my wife and I will soon have a new favorite CD.

 

But of course I came to see John Doe. And talk about conservation.  Three quarters of Dead Rock West acts as the back up band for John Doe with the addition of Nick Luca on keys and guitar.

Photo by Autumn De Wilde
publicity photo

I have read a number of interviews with John Doe but I have never had the pleasure of seeing him live solo or with X.  Some folks may not care, but I have a hard time enjoying an artist if I think he is an ass.  No worries here.  John Doe is definitely of the DIY brand of Punk more than the snarling, anti-social brand.  Out of the box John thanks the crowd for coming out on a Thursday night, but noted that even though it was a school night you only had to get through one day tomorrow and if people got on you for being tired, “just tell them, F#*$ you”.  He demonstrated the double birded gesture that should accompany this statement.  The crowd was his from there on out as if there was any question.

 

The first half of the set John seemed to concentrate on cuts from his new album, A Year in the Wilderness. This made me very happy that I had purchased the CD last week and had had some time to get familiar with the songs.  Like DRW, these tunes are accessible on the first listening but having a few days to live with the songs made them that much more enjoyable live.  I respect John for this and as a song writer I know what it is like to have new songs you want to share even though you know that the audience came for the old stuff.  The audience of a few hundred who looked to be long time fans, were for their part were accepting of the new material.  John knows these folks are his friends and they want to hear his new stuff too even if the are waiting for the oldies.

 

Of the cuts from the new album, I think that The Golden State is the A side but given that the sound of the record is pretty diverse, I doubt that any group of fans of more than five would come to a consensus.  To my ear Unforgiven has a Beatles quality and There's a Hole has a Jeff Lynne/ ELO vibe. 

 

As I looked out at the crowd in front of me I was taken with the diversity of ages.  At 44 I was not the oldest person in the hall.  Yet among the gray and the thinning hair were folks who were the same age as we were when we first heard X in the 80s.  There weren't many punks.  Check that, there was only one committed punk who couldn't change her status with a change of clothes.  Oh I don't blame them.  Being a punk is a full time job and I haven't been up to it since God took my hair to punish me for my vanity.

 

And we were rewarded with White Girl.

 

John exchanges his electric for an acoustic.  The whole night he talks personally to the audience and introduces and jokes with the band.  He introduces this next song by saying. “that song was a sad song but this one is sadder.”  He reassures the audience that they will get back to rocking and that they can stage dive, or even stage dive now, “you people on this side be ready,” he teases.  They then launch into 4^th of July.  Yes it is a sadder song.  It may be the saddest song in the world and it may just be my favorite.  It is one of the more commercial songs that X has ever done and the folks in the audience respond.  But so does Frankie Lee and the nameless tour manager with the Exene Cervenka t-shirt.  They are standing next to me rocking like any other fans.  They have no idea how many times I have banged this song out on my cheap Ibenz acoustic alone and what it means to me, but I guess it means something to all of us separately together.

 

John finishes the song and acknowledges the crowds response with, “I will tell Dave Alvin you all said hi.” Life if full of irony.

 

Acoustic or electric, John and the band is rocking.  John is pouring everything he has into the show as the sweat pours off him soaking his blue-collar shirt.  Given that he is nine years older than I am, I watch with renewed hope that someday again  .  .  .  I am standing and bopping and I can't really recall the order of the set.  But at some point between songs John implores the audience to vote whenever possible.   An enthusiastic fan offers something about impeachment.  John reminds the would be Newt Gingrich that we don't have the power to impeach but we can vote and that is a start.  Sometime soon after we were treated to a great version of The New World with Cindy doing a terrific job and a rousing but perfectly imitated version of The Beatles' Revolution. 

 

The encore featuring a cover of Gimme Shelter with Frankie Lee joining them back on stage for a harp solo should have drained them all but they came back for a beautiful rendition of See How We Are.  And the show was over.

 

I slid over and asked Frankie Lee who was back by the merchandise table if DRW had a website.  He handed me a sticker and said that the name of the band plus a dot com was the url.  He introduced himself after and we made some small talk about the tour and how much work went into playing music.  He said it was a two month tour or 15k miles by van. That is hard work folks I don't care who you are or what you're doing.  I am never sure if the former local musician thing is a good ice breaker.  I imagine that they get so many folks who are looking for a favor but I figure I go with something we have in common.  So I talk about playing in Columbus, Ohio and Charleston, West by God. 

 

I explained that I ran an Appalachian issues website and that it had a music section where I did intermittent reviews.  I said, “I am not a real journalist or anything.”  Frankie Lee replied, “who is now-a-days.”  Damn he has that right.  I gave him an oval APL sticker which he said would put on his guitar case.

 

Cindy made it back and took her turn at moving the CDs and t-shirts.  Cindy kind of reminds you of a kindergarten teacher or one of the pretty and smart girls you went to high school with.  The black satin dress and cowboy boots not withstanding, I would never have pegged her as the lead singer of an Americana/cowpunk band.  I asked for one of the limited edition posters.  Frankie Lee was keen to point out that the poster which is of heavy card stock was hand drawn and hand screen printed.  It is a beautiful work that is numbered and signed.  163 out of 200 for only $15.  Cindy acted flattered when I asked her to autograph the poster and Frankie Lee asked me if I spelled my name with one “d” or two.  I made my usual joke that I spelled it with one “d” because my parents were too poor to afford the extra “d.”  That is not too far from the truth actually.  I however was flattered that Frankie Lee had remembered my name after only being told once.

 

With my poster in hand I stood and waited for my hero.  John Doe was true to his word on stage.  He said he would meet folks over at the bar or by the merchandise table.  He must have signed fifty or so CD covers from his new release and ones that folks had brought with them.  He didn't seem to mind.  He talked to everyone like he had known them for years. He was having an animated conversation with one couple when he noticed that I was waiting patiently.  He politely asked the folks if he could sign my poster.  The folks started to say their good byes and John said, “no just let me sign this, hang on.”  John asked if I wanted it made out to someone.  I told him my name and and that it was with a single “d”.  As he was autographing the poster he encouraged me to have Frankie Lee and Cindy sign it as well.  I assured him that I had and thanked him.  My old friend the irresistible thrift queen, Beth Weaver who has the X tattooed on her shoulder would be so envious. 

 

 

I had had a couple of canned questions about him being an alternative hillbilly icon and if  he had an affinity for this culture or if it just happened.  But I didn't want to be that guy who was given an inch but then asked for a mile.  John went back to talking to the folks he had interrupted to sign my poster.  And to be fair they looked to be a few years older than me and perhaps I will get to ask my questions someday. The most important question I had, had already been answered.  Is John Doe a nice guy?  Yep.  Like I said, it may not matter to some folks, but music affects me and I would rather not allow myself to be so influenced by something that is coming from someone who isn't good hearted.

 

John Doe said and did all the right things.  He acknowledged my long held belief that 4^th of July is a very sad song and he was quick to give his buddy Dave Alvin credit for it.  He asked folks to vote.  He doesn't seem to be cynical and he seems to believe in the common sense of his fellow man.  John also acted genuinely interested in the regular person and cares about the feeling of others and seems to do a masterful job of juggling those competing needs.  He may be an asshole back stage but as far as I can tell he is a good guy.

 

Before I headed to the truck I asked Bill one of the CAH staff about the new venue.  We chatted about the space and the acoustics and the plans for the music hall.  The staff seems to be excited about the future of the hall and they should be; it is nice.  The size is my main attraction.  This size venue draws acts like John Doe and Dead Rock West which is the type of acts that I most enjoy.  Cozy venues draw friendly musical legends.

 

I headed out to the parking garage with the friendly attendant who had informed me that CAH parking was free and put my new treasure in my truck.  I then remembered that I had a couple more stickers and some buttons in my glove box so I ran back to the bar real quick and handed them to Cindy and thanked her again for the autographs.  I pointed out that our url was on one style of the stickers and that I would be reviewing the show.  I asked her if she had a quote for me.  She playful said, “John Doe rocks!”

Yes he does.

 

 

 

Fade to Black

 

I don't get out much now, but when I followed a link on Hillbilly Savants to the website of Black Cash and the Bad Trips, I knew that I would have to make a rare trip into downtown Richmond.  In the five or six years that I have lived in the central Virginia area I can count on one hand how many times I have been downtown.   
I don't know what it is about the greater Richmond area but there is this insular vibe and indeed a lack of a true outer belt which makes it difficult for the less adventurous transplants to get from one area to the other.  That is a shame because there is a bunch of cool things to do and see scattered all about this historic hamlet.   But my own difficulties be damned this time, I was going out to see me some live music.

 

I had heard of Black Cash before from another post on Hillbilly Savants and the post had informed me that they were based out of Richmond.  I don't really have to tell you all that they are a Johnny Cash tribute act, do I?  On Black Cash's website (which looks very similar to Rednecromancer) I found the schedule and was very pleased to see that the boys in black had an up-coming date at the Tobacco Company on Cary St.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Confederate Capital, Cary Street is one of the happening if not the most happening pieces of pavement in town.

 

With some help from Google Maps and Xstine (I take her directions with a gain of salt since the girl is dyslexic as all hell), I got a good idea of how to get down to that section of Cary St.  I actually took the first exit to W. Cary even though the Tobacco Company is on E. Cary and took it all across the city.  That did two things for me.  It made sure that I got on the target street as soon as possible and kept me from having to pay any damned tolls.  I don't care to pay them but I don't have the transponder in my new truck and I live in fear of getting stuck at a toll booth without any change and no attendant.

 

So I finally pass by the Tobacco Company and down the hill a few blocks until I am able to take the next to last parking space in a public parking lot.  No, I ain't parking my new truck on the street to have some drunk idiot scrape it while trying to parallel park.  I paid the parking lot attendant the Mr. Lincoln (you hear that Jeff Davis!) and climbed back up the hill to the restaurant. 

 

The Tobacco Company is neat.  It is one of the first properties in the Shockoe Slip to be refurbished in the revitalized tobacco and cotton district.  Having tobacco encoded into my DNA as a scion of a 200 year old tobacco dynasty, I felt at home in this former tobacco warehouse.  The décor is Victorian with great hewed beams supporting  two dinning balconies overlooking the open, nightclub atrium.

The doorman was friendly and thin.  I hate to be a bigot but I hate doormen who look like bouncers.  If an establishment looks like they are expecting trouble, they will get trouble.  Having some barrel chested ape at the door is a turn off.  He feller asked if I was dinning and I replied that I was there for the band.  He pointed out the tables in front of the stage and the bar areas to the immediate left and explained that the the music would start in an hour or so.  There is never a cover.  This is nice in a way and very necessary for an establishment that is primarily a restaurant, but I have learned from experience as a musician and a patron, that people value what they have to pay for.

I opted for the bar area and climbed up the couple of wide steps to the bar.  The nightclub area was not yet very crowded but I spied a man in black at the far end of the bar and made my way to the empty stool next to him.  I figured by his kit that he was in the band or a serious fan. Either way I would get the information I wanted.  I sat down and ordered an non alcoholic beer and asked of the space around me “when is this band supposed to start up?”  Now I knew damn well from the the Tobacco Company site stated that the Friday and Saturday music started at 9:30, but I need an ice breaker.  The gaunt feller beside me with a glass of what looked to be water and a cigarette said, “we will probably start after 10 since we have an opening act and they don't want us to start before most people are done eating.”

“So you are in the band?” I stated more than asked.  “Yeah, I am the lead singer” came his reply that was slightly flavored with that typical bit of lead singer ego that all of us lead singers have to have.  I then said more assured, “you are Matte Black and the reason I came here tonight.”  He offered his hand and thanked me for coming out.

I told him about the mention on the Appalachian website and we talked about gigging and how hard it is.  We talked about finding others who share your music tastes which led to a discussion of New Model Army and the first Gulf War of which Matte is a veteran.  He was a sailor if I remember right.  I didn't mention that I had a high school friend killed in the first Gulf. 

I told him a bit about the website and said that I would like to have a few quotes from him.  He agreed that that sounded good and that we should exchange business cards but had to head off to prepare with the band. I like him.

Slowly the bar started to fill up and get progressively less comfortable.  By the time that Black Cash's sound man, Cristo had finished his totally adequate coffee shop set and traded his guitar for a sound board, my knees were getting battered by the constant movement of pedestrians trying to find a comfortable spot to stand and the cocktail waitresses who were not as friendly as the bartenders and seemed to view the patrons as obstacles instead of customers.  And so as not to be accused of sexism the bartenders were both male and female and much less bitchy than the little black dresses.

Soon six figures in ill fitting black suits made their way to the stage.  I didn't take notes and I can't remember the first song in the first set, but through out the night they earned their journeyman's credentials. They were tight enough without being mechanical.  No doubt they have the technical skill to give that type of performance but it would be totally inappropriate for a Johnny Cash tribute act.  The dual leads were able to provide most all of the instrumentation and accent to support all of Johnny's phases.  One feller played a Telecaster and the other leader player some type of Fender body with more knobs and switches than the space shuttle.  The old stuff is obviously easier to play with limited pieces as Johnny did it with just two other musicians on electric guitar and upright bass with Johnny on the six string acoustic.  But the dual lead set up seemed to allow Black Cash to imitate a wider range of instruments that have been present in the many periods  of Johnny's career.

Along with Matte who played no instrument and the dual leads was a six string acoustic, a bass and a drummer who had just enough of an extra drum kit to make Rusty Cage rock without giving him the temptation to over play on the other songs.  I love a rhythm section that knows when not to play.  I don't like jazz.  You see my bias here.

Matte doesn't look much like Johnny Cash aside from the greased, wavy black hair.  His wiry frame and cigarette tanned face would remind you much more of Hank senior.  Matte is a punker make no doubt about it.  This is just fine because Johnny was a punker.  Johnny Cash was the original DIY artist.  But Matte's self deprecating jibes about being a professional jackass not withstanding, he was most gracious to everyone in the establishment.  Sure the man is sucking up to would be fans, but he spent just as much time on thanking his fans of four years.  The thanked the management, the bartenders, the cigarette girl, his sound man and even the surly waitresses. 

The Man in Black was all about the man with the blue-collar and the most touching moment of the night came when Matte asked the crowd to give warm round of applause for a soldier who was shipping out to Iraq the next day.  By and large rich kids aren't headed to Iraq and Matte knows it.  As a vet from the first Gulf he knows it better than the rest of us.  As he said to the crowd, “it doesn't matter your politics”  we are all in debt  to these Americans.  Matte was very typically Johnny Cash; a cigarette smoking, personal Jesus who knows that showing love and charity to the least among us it the surest way to happiness for all.

But can he sing? Well really I don't care all that much about if a person can sing after years of American Idol, but yeah he can sing.  On a good portion of Johnny's tunes, Matte is almost a perfect mimic.  On other some of the other songs especially Rusty Cage and Hank and Waylon's tunes Matte shows his power as a vocalist.  But honestly that is secondary to his role as a performer and teacher.  For many folks, a Black Cash show is going to be more education about Johnny Cash than they are liable to get outside of the movie.  One will learn a great deal about the history of the songs and Johnny's collaborations with other artists.

There were reasons for the clothes that Johnny had on his back or so he said in the song, Man in Black.  And they were much the same reasons that Johnny wrote and played the songs he did.  Black Cash and the Bad Trips seems to be acutely aware of this fact and are  not only here to entertain folks with Johnny's music but to carry on Johnny's message.

No guitar tabs in Heaven

It would seem that the National Music Publishers' Association (NMPA) and the Music Publishers Association (MPA) have finally dropped the hammer on the various guitar tab sites.  This has become obvious in the last few months as I see more and more folks who come to Hillbilly Music looking for hillbilly music guitar tabs.  In general I feel badly for the folks who have depended upon this wonderful if illegal resource.  There are all kinds of anarchists out there however, who would have you believe that these sites are legal or should be legal but according to the laws of the United States and other nations these guitar tab sites are indeed illegal.

As an unpublished songwriter I must say that I had very little sympathy for outfits like the original Napster and the criminals who pirated recorded music.  Certainly I hate the big business music industry but that doesn't make the file sharing punks any better.  Metallica may not have been the best posterboys for the issue but ethics and the law were on their side. 

The issue of guitar tabs on the Internet is a bit less clear.  For one thing we are not dealing with just one bit of information with these guitar tab sites but three separate items: lyrics, melody and chord progression.  As far as I understand as a musician and a former government adviser to artists, chord progressions and titles (song, book or movie) cannot be copyrighted.  Any melody ( eight notes or more rule of thumb ) is subject to copyrights and certainly as written words, lyrics probably are the most easily protected of the three.  The interpretation argument also doesn't hold water since you wouldn't think that a person who read Hemingway and then rewrote the novel from memory should be able to publish the resulting work even for free.

So guitar tabs and lyrics are out but simple chord progressions listed with a title should be legal.  The problem here is that most folks seem to need help with playing the guitar melodies and working out playing the chord progression is difficult without the lyrics as a guide.  The good news for you hillbilly music fans is that you don't need guitar tabs.  The only proper way to play hillbilly music is by feel.  If you need notations to play a hillbilly song there is something wrong ( relatively speaking ) with you.  For one it is in bad taste to copy the leads of another Appalachian musician.  There is a difference between being influenced by another artist and copying them note for note. Appalachian music is almost impossible to notate.  It is often “technically” wrong and the vast array of pseudo chords and other nuances adds to this difficulty.  It is these elements that gives the complexity to this otherwise very simple folk music.

I have to admit that I often look up chord progressions and lyrics on guitar tab websites and I saddened by their current demise. Guitar Tab Universe is a favorite.  Most of the time though I am not looking up hillbilly music but other forms like Pop and Rock since I know in my heart that guitar tabs are an anathema to hillbilly music. 

One tool that can help those interested in hillbilly and Appalachian music is the Nashville Number System. Now there ain't much I like about Nashville and the Nashville Number System probably had a lot to do with the distortion of traditional Appalachian music into the “Pop with a cowboy hat” you hear today, but it is useful.

The NNS is a simple scheme that uses numbers instead of letters to chart out a chord progression.  What this does is create a universal chord progression that can be played in any key.  Here is an example of an NNS chart with three of the seven keys filled in.

For an example, the progression I use for  No Depression in Heaven is 1 4 1 5 1.  Can't get more simple. In the key of G it is G C G D and back to G.   In the key of A it is A D A E and back to A.  Now before you say, “hey moron everyone knows that simple bit of music theory” think a bit.  Not everyone does know music theory and as far as I am concerned much more knowledge than this will KILL that undefinable element that makes pure Appalachian music so special.  The NNS has gotten more complex and I would bet that the complexity can be linked to the bastardization of country music by the Nashville record industry.

Another benefit to the NNS is that it puts up some parameters that keeps hillbilly music from  getting too complex and thus mutating into something else.  Don't get me wrong I am all for the mixing of musical genres but I want to be able to know when I have moved from one style into something different.  In other words if you can't figure out a song with the simple NNS then it is probably too complex to be called hillbilly music.

From out of Townes

During my life as a barfly and local performer I have had a number of “brushes with greatness” but none is so worthy of a story as meeting Townes Van Zandt. 

 

It was in the early '90s and I was straddling worlds.  I had of late been an aide in the Ohio House of Representatives and was still moving in that circle of friends and acquaintances but I had also been writing songs with my new friend Ken for the past couple of years and was about to go back to grad school.  I had expanded or more accurately changed my listening tastes to include Celtic, post modern and what would become labeled as alternative country.  The Cowboy Junkies were part of that “expansion.” 

 

It must have been during the second leg of the Junkies' tour to promote their album Caution Horses that we drove down from Columbus to catch their show at Bogart's in Cincinnati.  At that time my wife Xtine and I were avid concert goers.  We took in all the live music we could   locally and in her hometown of Cleveland and even this trip to Cincy.  My old college roommate and fellow Portsmouth, Ohio native Mike, was often with us. I should say we were with Mike.  He is one of those bigger than life personalities who always seems to be the center of the party wherever he goes.  He is also one of those Appalachian natives who is from Appalachia but not really an Appalachian. 

 

I cannot even be sure of the year, let alone the month but soon after work we piled into my SAAB 900 and headed southwest from Columbus to Cincinnati.  Mike had a date.  He always had at least one date but I cannot remember who she was. Given that he was going through a “Sue” phase about that time it is probably safe to assume that whoever she was her name was Sue. Mike hadn't had a chance to drive my “so ugly it is cool” Viking-wagon so just outside of Cincy I pulled over to let him take the wheel.  He fancied himself the worlds greatest driver and given that he delivered cars all over the southeast for his dad's auto leasing firm, he had some justification.  I was more than happy to let him find parking in the University of Cincinnati area.  As un-redneck as it may be, I don't really like to drive.

 

We hadn't gone a mile and Mike glanced in the rear view and said, “Oh Shit.”  I didn't like to hear Mike say, “Oh Shit.”  “Oh Shit,” from Mike always meant that I was about to be in a bar fight or we were about to hit a deer.  Or that a local township officer was about to pull us over.  We had been drinking.  Of course we had been drinking.  I had been drinking.  It as past 1978 and before 1997 and I was awake so I had been drinking. I hadn't yet been drinking so much that I couldn't quickly run through my mental list of reasons why Johnny Law would be stopping us.  Mike didn't speed and he certainly didn't speed when he had had two or three beers and was driving a car that wasn't his.  Plate Stickers!  I had forgotten to put the freaking renewal stickers on my car's license plates.  No sooner than Mike had rolled down the window I blurted out to the officer standing on the other side that I knew why he had stopped us.  The man in blue confirmed my suspicions in a most reassuringly friendly tone.  I informed the officer that I had the stickers in my briefcase in the trunk and I would put them on immediately. 

 

Much to my discomfort but to he officer's credit he kept his cruiser in place to shield me from traffic and made small talk while I recovered the stickers from my beat-up, brown case and placed them in the corners of the plate.  He asked if we were coming down to see a game or go to dinner.  When I explained that we were headed to The Cowboy Junkies' show he expressed some good natured envy and wished us a fun night.  I have found that this attitude is the rule with all Ohio patrolmen.  It really gives one conflicted feelings when a State of Ohio trooper is giving you a $300 ticket while merrily chatting about the Buckeyes' chances against Michigan.

 

I got back in the car and the color returned to Mike's face and off we went.  We got to the club early enough to get a table right in front of the stage. 

 

The opening act was some grizzled, middle-aged guy with an acoustic and whiskey rusted vocal chords.  He struck me as the saddest guy in the world but with no trace of the bitterness that often accompanies that emotion.  I recognized “The Ballad of Ira Hayes” and “Dead Flowers” but not being familiar with Mr. Van Zandt's own works I can only remember “feeling” what I assumed was his original songs but not hearing them.  I was familiar with his delivery.  Almost every song was set-up with a story.  Some were humorous, some were melancholy and some were both.  His story about the leprechaun and the magic bottle of Guinness is a favorite.  I had been following Celtic bands for the last few years and this format is a standard in that genre.  I used to think that it was to cover while they tuned and re-tuned into all of their unusual instrument tunings but I think it is more fundamental than that. Just as with Celtic folk, in American folk and Country the story is primary.  The message is primary.  The music is just there as back up.  “Gather round people there's a story I would tell.”  Too bad today's TV generation is not tolerant of this form.  To them it is effect over story. Shock either of your morals or your senses. 

 

 

Then the act I had come to see.

 

In what at the time seemed cool but now seems kind of stalkeresque, I had a dozen roses for Margo the lead singer who had recently been named one of Peoples' 50 Most Beautiful. To be honest the stunt was prompted by an news article I had read about Margo and the band.  According to Margo a fan had given her flowers on stage but later backstage had admitted that he had stolen the flowers.  At the next show she dedicated their new hit, “'Cause Cheap is How I Feel” to this fan.  So to bring the story full circle I scribed on the card in my roses, “these flowers weren't cheap and neither are you.  MTR.”  I really should have bought a lottery ticket that night because everything seemed to be going my way.  Out of all of the songs in both sets I just happened to slide the box of roses up at Margo's feet just before they launched into 'Cause Cheap is How I Feel.  Margo picked up the box and you could see a wry grin come over here face as she read the card.  Mike asked me how in the hell I knew that THAT song was coming up.  Like everything else, it's just dumb luck.

 

Toward the end of the show I was standing near the bar after grabbing one before the road when I became aware of someone standing at my elbow.  I didn't turn when he said, “good show.”  I told the voice that I had driven down from Columbus to see it.  He said that he played up there.  At this I turned and realized that I was talking to the opening act.  He was shorter than he had appeared on stage and was wearing glasses or so I remember.  I was polite and said that I had really enjoyed his set and I had.  I may have been unaware of Townes but I think he understood that I was a sincere listener.  I asked him about his unusual moniker.  He said that it was short for “Two Townes” as in Dallas and Fort Worth.  Obviously if I knew him and was a fan I would have known this.  But I hadn't pretended to know of him so I didn't come off as a phony and talk turned to Columbus.  He mentioned a club that he had recently played and asked me if I would do him a favor.  He had some mailing list post cards that he was hoping I could leave by the bar at the said establishment.  The large index cards were highlighted by hand and looking altogether like the very item that I would hand out at my own local gigs.  I told him I would and took the cards.  He thanked me and wished me well and we parted as I made my way to  Xstine, future heartache and current memories and Townes headed to music immortality. 

 

I really didn't understand Townes' legendary status until I mentioned the encounter to my grad adviser, Prof. Patrick B. Mullen.  He explained that Townes was a well known figure in folk music and that meeting him should be considered a highlight.  Pat should know since he is a famed folklorist and himself a native of Texas. 

 

I could say that Townes was a direct influence but that would kind of be bullshit.   I  can draw parallels between Townes and myself but what tortured singer-songwriters couldn't?  I prowled the music scene of two towns, wrestled with similar demons and tried to drowned them in the water of life.   We both come from political families with ties to Appalachia.  It is more like we were on the same road and just happened to meet one night.  Steve Earle who is a true student of Townes has said, "Townes Van Zandt is the best songwriter in the whole world and I'll stand on Bob Dylan's coffee table in my cowboy boots and say that." 

 

I don't know what I did with the cards. The club he spoke of had changed hands and I had either dropped them at a local record story or tossed them out.  What I wouldn't do to have them now since Townes has passed away.  They would be a hell of a souvenir.  But they are just paper and Townes gave me what he valued most: a story. 

 

 

What do you seek?

I have noticed that a plurality if not a majority of the visitors to this section of Rednecromancer are coming to us from outside the United States.  It would seem that most are English speaking cousins from the United Kingdom, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and even South Africa and India.  Ireland doesn't seem to show up on the tracking  so I can't help but think that the “unknown” category is made up of at least a few visitors from the Republic of Ireland.  We are also thrilled to have readers from traditionally non-English speaking countries but those visits are as you might guess, fewer in number.

Most of these visitors seem to come by way of search engines using “hillbilly music” as their search words.  Logical isn't it?  But what do you seek?

Do you seek illegal MP3s of marginally famous Appalachian musicians?  To be sure most of the pioneers of recorded hillbilly music are dead and they probably didn't get much remuneration for their work in the first place, but lets not make it even less for the folks who are still alive or the families of those artists who have passed.  Are you looking for guitar tabs for hillbilly music?  As the Wikipedia states, old-time (hillbilly music) can't really be notated.  Some would say that it is a play-by-ear style.  I would say it is a play-by-heart style.  I have non-Appalachian friends who claim it is a play-by-genes style and that only hillbillies can play like hillbillies even though the music is so simple.

Do you come seeking an understanding of the history of hillbilly music and the culture that spawned it?  I truly hope that this is the reason you find yourself here reading this post.  Indeed this hillbilly music site is only an adjunct to our main Appalachian advocacy site.  The goal of the Rednecromancer blogs is to give the United States and the world a better understanding of the people and the culture of Appalachia.  I believe I speak for most of my fellow hillbillies who think about our position in the world when I say we feel doubly anxious.  We know that the knowledge of Appalachia is obscure in the United States and in the rest of the world.  More likely than not our reputation inside and outside the country is not flattering. We all know the stereotypes.  Since our nation as a whole does not enjoy a very favorable reputation with the global community currently, public relations for  Appalachians has become more complex.  We are looked upon with derision by our fellow countrymen from both the left and the right of the political spectrum, yet that buys us little sympathy from those abroad.   We are indeed an internal colony but no one seems to care. 

The one export we have that is almost universally enjoyed is our music.  Appalachian folk, mountain folk, old-time, hillbilly, country or country-western. Regardless of the label you place on it, it is ours and our gift to the world.  Our music is the only thing we have to offer and it is the single best conduit we have for helping others understand our culture.  But I fear that listening to the music is as close as most folks will ever get to us.

I have spent two months spread over four separate trips to Britain and Europe beginning in 1989.  I have met many wonderful people who were all very excited to tell me that they had been or were going to visit the United States.  It didn't take me long to realize that the United States consisted of New York City, Los Angles and Miami.  Those three cities taken together probably constitute the Anti-Appalachia.  I couldn't think of any three places on Earth that are more unlike Appalachia.

Twenty-six of my 43 years have been spent living in Appalachia.  Of that time I cannot recall meeting a single person from abroad who was on holiday to Appalachia.  They may have been there for their work or at university but never as a tourist.  I find that fact odd given that Appalachia is fairly popular with Americans.  They still want to spit on us but they love our beautiful scenery. 

If you are a foreign visitor who has suffered through this post to this point you are no doubt a good global citizen and not one of the hypocrites.  So I would like to appeal to your sense of interest and curiosity and make a few suggestions on resources that could provide a better understanding of Appalachia and her music and places to visit on your next trip to America.

  Surprisingly the Wikipedia contains some very good information on Appalachian culture and music.  I find this surprising since academic study of Appalachia is often revisionist and distorted and the population at large is generally hostile to hillbillies.

Old-Time Music (Appalachian folk music will also be redirected to this entry)

Country Music

Redneck

Hillbilly (the definition here is incomplete as the term is probably derived from the Scot's  “billie” meaning fellow.)

Appalachia

You have probably already looked at the Hillbilly music site but I will list it and a few more.

Hillbilly-Music.com

Carter Family Fold

Musical Traditions article on Appalachian Music

Augusta Heritage Center

Vandalia Gathering

The Crooked Road

Outdoor theater is a popular entertainment in the summer months in Appalachia.  Here are a number of historic outdoor dramas.

Theatre West Virginia

Tecumseh

Little Shepherd

The Wataugans

Lonesome Pine

Horn in the West

Is Blackpool your thing?  Well, Appalachia can give you gaudy entertainment.

Dollywood (the most beautiful woman I have ever met)

Gatlinburg

Myrtle Beach (not in Appalachia but where all the Appalachians go on holiday aka the Redneck Rivera)

Sports and physical activity

Bridge Day (international festival of idiots)

White Water

If you have any questions about Appalachian music and Appalachian culture or would like to correspond with an actual hillbilly please send me an email.

The Oi! in Ohio Valley

All the bands at Jesco Fest '06 deserve some credit for helping out a feller in need, but I was taken with a young trio of punkers from the land of the Mothman.  Maybe it is that this little group combines three of my favorite things: People from southern Ohio, people from West Virginia and Punk Rock.

The Frontier Bastards are classic punk rock in the old Clash, Toy Dolls and non-racist “Oi!” vein.   I will be honest and admit that I hate hardcore metal and most thrash mainly because I find both the music and the vocals harsh and incomprehensible.  While I find it often difficult to understand the live vocals in classic punk acts and the guitar is a buzz, the simplicity of the cord changes and the accessible rhythms make live punk shows thoroughly enjoyable for me even when I don't know the songs.  I didn't catch most of the lyrics but that is nothing that a few listens to a CD could sort out or a few live shows.

The Frontier Bastards' original tunes didn't try to reinvent the wheel or put their own mark on the music world.  It was good old punk.  Meat, potato, two veg and no bullshit. The boys' choice of a cover also endeared them to me.  The Clash's Career Opportunities was the first song that my old band Glasgow Handshake learned as a practice exercise.  I don't think there is another song that would have been able to elicit such a feeling of nostalgia from me. 

Beyond being able to play solid punk originals and covers with an accent that would be at home on the docks of London, the guys have a good stage presences. I am not talking '80s hair band stage presence which is basically synonymous with oblivious ASSHOLE.  These guys had mastered the art of self deprecation- under promise and over deliver.  Yet they still maintained the punk aloofness with the “you may know this song and you may not, we don't care.”

As regular blokes they were pleasant to talk to as I find to be true of most punkers who don't have a needle in their arm.  Hats the bass player and Carney the guitarist/ singer are from West Virginia while Earl the drummer is from over in the aforementioned Gallipolis, Ohio.  Carney was sporting such a bitching pair of sideburns that I must suggest he change his nom de guerra to Chops.  Even if he takes a razor to his face (a very punk thing to do) Chops would still be very descriptive of his guitar licks.

My only other criticism of the band is that their gear was too nice.  No self disrespecting punk band has such nice looking rigs.  Get some shitty stuff.  I always think a guitar looks better with a Ken “The Squeeg” Gilbert antique bottle opener mounted to the bridge.  Nothing like seeing a guy trying to play with drunk fools opening beer bottles on his guitar.

My advice to any big club owner in the tri-state area is to get theses guys on speed dial.  They are solid and fun with a very small footprint. Indeed they are the perfect opening act for almost any Alternative/Punk national act as they come with minimal setup hassles and maximum fun. 

Oi! See you Jimmy!

Jescofest

Speaking of Clogging how did I miss this one?

It would seem that August 26-27 is the first Jescofest to be held in Hinton, West Virginia.  This event is to benefit Jesco White, the Dancing Outlaw as well as celebrate his 50^th birthday.

For those of you who know about Jesco you need no introduction and for those who don't I will only send you to his entry on the Wikipedia.

Jesco is pretty typical of the way Appalachians have been exploited and this event seems to be a heartfelt attempt to not only help Jesco but to shine a light on poverty in Appalachia and how those who aim to exploit us make the problem worse.

The Jescofest site says  that the event is “To provide awareness of the circumstances of poverty in rural West Virginia & the Appalachian region.” But I dare say that the circumstances of poverty will still be acute come next year and I hope that this is not a one time event.

Next stop Roseanne?

It is hard for me to admit that I actually watched a couple of episodes of America's Got Talent. Normally I stay far away from reality and talent search television but when I saw some guys clogging as I surfed through I stopped to find out what was going on.  While the show is still obnoxious it is at least a wide search of talent and not the usual bunch of folks with golden, God-given voices but no apparent ability to write the songs they sing.  I don't know what happened after the cloggers were eliminated as I couldn't stomach another night of that show but it doesn't really matters since I was only interested in the clogging to begin with.

No, I don't care that they didn't win and as far as I could tell their skill and talent was beyond compare. It did bother me that they distorted the art by setting it to Hip-hop/Pop.  I don't mind the mixing of genres of art at all.  Look at how we got Rock-n-Roll.  So,  before you all start yelling hypocrite at me for posting links to Punk-a-billy or Psychobilly music, consider that clogging is still a relatively unknown American dance form. Clogging does not enjoy the national reputation that Country or Bluegrass or even square dancing enjoys. 

I would bet that a good number of the folks watching America's Got Talent had never seen clogging before. The celebrity judge, Brandy had obviously never seen clogging before since she thought they were tap dancers.  In a way she was right. Out of the traditional context and without the appropriate music clogging becomes something else.  Appalachian music had a few years between the Jimmy Rogers' and Carter Family recordings in Bristol before the Nashville sound.  Even though Appalachian music had been in the mountains since the get go, it wasn't until those recordings were made that most of the nation got to hear it.  This clogging is kind of in the same situation.  Folks may know about it vaguely but it is just now getting widespread attention.  Let folks see it in its traditional form before you start to change it.

The traditionalist criticisms aside, the music and the dancing just didn't seem to be a perfect rhythmic match.  This may be because clogging developed to the beat of Appalachian music.  If the boys had wanted to modernize or do something different, I am sure there are other choices that would have been more appropriate.  Hank III and the Traveling Black Hillbillies are both acts that twist traditional Country music in a new way.  I can't imagine that these boys even know about New Model Army, but that British Folk-Punk band would have been the perfect music.You see instead of wearing the traditional Doc Marten's, fans of NMA wear miner's clogs since the band hails from the coalfields of Yorkshire.

The name this dance troop is also a problem.  “All That”  All that and a bag of sweat socks.  All that glitters isn't bling?  Naming yourself after a soon to be dated bit of slang that is also a boast and a common part of speech ain't a good idea.  They may as well have called themselves “The L337 Chuck Norris Dancers”or “All that Jazz Discharge Party Hats.”  Maybe they can do a movie, “Hey Dude, wheres my Clogs?”

They are just kids and four of the five from just down the river from my home.  But finding that out took me about 20 minutes longer than it should have because they have a  name which will cause a search engine to return a page about almost anything and they don't seem to have a website of their own.  I could be wrong but I couldn't find one.  Who  gets themselves on national television without setting up an easy to find website to satisfy all them new fans?

I am mostly teasing and while my criticisms are real, I truly hope nothing but the best for these young men and I hope that they will rethink the youth-culture thing in favor of a more traditional one.  And for those who don't know their names, they are Kenny Fithen, of Aberdeen, OH,  Delohn Collins, of Middletown, OH, Mike Curtis, of Paris, KY Mark Clifford, of Charleston, S.C. and Brian Staggs, of Cincinnati, OH

Good luck guys.

The Past Laid Bare

A few weeks ago while listening to Pandora, a singer I hadn't thought about in awhile came up on the rotation.  One of the reasons this artist had been off my radar could be that Bobby Bare has not released an album in 22 years.  But given that Bare is from next door Lawrence County, Ohio and I dated a daughter of his cousin you would think that I would have at least Googled him in the past couple of years.

 

The track from the new album The Moon Was Blue on Pandora was a cover of Shel Silverstein's The Ballad of Lucy Jordan.  Marrianne Faithful had recorded the song in 1979 and it was featured in Thelma and Louise yet I can't say I had heard the song before but something about it was familiar.

 

With my interest in Bare's career rekindled I headed to the local (30 miles away) mega books and music store to see what they had in the bin for old Bobby.  The Moon Was Blue was the only CD of Bare's work in stock.  I picked it up and made my way to the register where an early twentysomething clerk informed me that it was a “great CD.”  I was thrilled on many levels.  I kind of miss the old days when store clerks assumed that reviewing products was a part of their job, but to have a kid who was born in the 1980s show interest in a 1960-70s Country singer-songwriter was a bonus.  I explained that Bare and I were both from southern Ohio and that I had been friends with some of his relatives.  I also gave the guy a rednecromancer.org business card since I never pass up an opportunity for promotion.

 

Once in the car I replaced Johnny with Bobby and started the drive back home.  But somewhere between Short Pump and Gum Spring on SR250 my mini-van became a Buick Electra 225 and I went all the way home to 1973.

 

The Moon Was Blue is classic Nashville or “Countrypolitan” of the 1970s with some strange effects layered in by Bare's son, Bobby Bare Jr.  I don't think young Bare's additions are any more bizarre than the strings of the original Nashville sound nor are they quite as subversive as Bobby Bare Jr. would like to think.  Indeed nothing in this recording distracts from his dad's warm and still powerful vocals.  Warm, powerful and imperfect just the way I like it. 

 

I think one of the reasons that Bare's new album has such an ability to transport me back  30 plus years is his natural and unaffected Appalachian Ohio accent.  This isn't someone trying to sound authentic.  This is authentic and in that way I hear the voices of my older male relatives in each of these tracks. That is the only way I can hear some of them now.

 

The tracks are all covers of standards that were typical of that era when so many Country artists were finding success with crossover hits.  This is kind of odd seeing how Bobby Bare is on the short list of singer-songwriters like Billy Joe Shaver, John Prine, Townes Van Zandt and Kris Kristofferson.  Among Bare's most famous songs are Detroit City, 500 Miles Away From Home along with the more controversial Drop Kick me Jesus and Redneck Hippie Romance. 

 

I must say that I respect singer-songwriters for the covers they choose almost as much as for the songs they write. Townes Van Zandt's cover of The Stone's Dead Flowers is among my favorites.   Joining The Ballad of Lucy Jordan on Bare's new album is Everybody's Talkin' and Yesterday When I was Young.  Many of those hits on this album and from the 1970s in general were penned by songwriters who had never stepped foot in Appalachia.  Somehow that doesn't bother me.  It may just be the nostalgia talking.

 

In the early 1970s my mom and dad were likely to have been listening to Neil Diamond or Charlie Rich at any given moment.  I guess I associate those Countrypolitan crossovers with my parents. 

 

And yesterday when they were young.

Babbling Drunk

The Other America   MP3

 

We live on unwanted real estate

No ships, no sea of fish or corn

We grow young soldiers for your wars

Fuel for your factories and your scorn

 

Chorus

We are the other America

Our rednecks have been beat

Black and blue

We are the other America

Too tired to hate the likes of you

 

Hardtimes brought us to these hills

Guilty for the natives that we've killed

Pawns in a colonial game

And still today we bear that (your) shame

 

Mr. Penn sent us to protect your ass (backs)

And yet you call us poor white trash

If mountain folks are such a savage lot

Explain your slavery auctions blocks

 

In 1994 when I moved back to the hills from 14 years in Columbus, I was quite ready to start healing the damage that flatland living had done to my soul.  My marriage was in shreds and I was wrestling with and would continue to wrestle with the whiskey bottle for another two years.  But living among the sheltering hills was a first step.  Because I had been studying Appalachian culture and history for the past three years my homesickness was like an open wound that I kept picking at.  I certainly couldn't go back to my former life where I just pretended that I didn't have a past.  I don't think I could have survived had I not been back home in the hills.

 

The first song I wrote on getting back and only the second song I had written without my buddy Ken was The Other America.  During my studies I had come to the realization that both the North (Blue) and the South (Red) had ill used us mountain folks and now their regional offspring had the nerve to look on us as savages.  We have done and continue to do their dirty work and our thanks is to be a living punchline.

 

This recording was made sometime between 1995 and 1996 live at the Empty Glass in Charleston, West Virginia with the band Bletherskate.  To my knowledge Pat Arnold was the sound man that night and I thank him for making my tortured vocals much less tortured.

The band at that time was:

 

Stan Bumgardner:  Fiddle (Stan is also a writer of history books)

Don Williams:  Bass  (Don is the grandson of legendary Appalachian advocate Don West)

Tom Kirk:  Drums

Kevin Duffer:  Guitar, backing vocals

MTR:  Lead Vocals