Ricochet is the best place on the internet to discuss the issues of the day, either through commenting on posts or writing your own for our active and dynamic community in a fully moderated environment. In addition, the Ricochet Audio Network offers over 50 original podcasts with new episodes released every day.
Surprises, Start to Finish
It may come as a surprise to some of you (but perhaps not to others), that I — a high-toned Brit raised in West Africa — have a serious weakness for American music of the sort that used to be known as country and western. (My affection doesn’t extend much beyond that, and certainly not to the over-amped, multitrack, increasingly woke pap and purveyors of such that have infected the modern oeuvre.)
No: I’ll take Patsy. The Carters. Hank. Loretta. Johnny. Tammy. Willie. Kitty. Dolly. Randy. June. Tom T. Cal. And so on. I suggest you don’t test me. I can prose on for hours. I also realize that some of my heroes cross musical boundaries. And that’s fine. I’m not a purist, other than in my search for some sort of authenticity in the sound and the sentiment.
By extension, I ♥ Bluegrass. The rawer, the better. One of my favorite tapes (and it is a tape; I should probably digitize it in case it breaks one day) is one that a friend of Mr. She gave us many years ago, a montage of his favorite performances from some local bluegrass festivals he and his wife had attended over the years. I have no idea who many of these lads and lasses (some in their dotage, and many of them, I’m sure, dead by now) are, but they’re awesome!
I justify (and give some intellectual heft to) my fondness for the genre via a much earlier in my life developed affection for the folk songs and ballads of England and — particularly — Scotland, and my discovery of the musical traditions of maritime Canada, again heavily influenced by the Scots but also clearly showing a strong French Canadian/Acadian impact, as well as from my acquaintance with the Child Ballads, a collection of a few hundred songs from the English tradition (13th century onward), including some of the American variants that sprang from the people of the Smoky Mountains and the Ozarks, as the settlers brought their traditions with them and adapted them to new climes.*
(An aside: A few decades ago, when the Internet was young and still largely text-based, and when Ancestry.com was not even a gleam in its creator’s eye, I did some research via the online phone directories and address books to try to discover if any relations had travelled across the pond and settled here. Those sporting my maiden name (Muffett) showed themselves to be located primarily in the Smoky Mountains periphery around Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and extending westward into the Ozarks — Missouri, Arkansas, Kansas, and Oklahoma. Good folks, all. I wrote to them [snail-mail postcards; I think there were about 80 of them], received responses from a few dozen, and kept up a correspondence with some of them for several years. We figured out that a couple of them may have had family connections, and in light of advances in genealogy research, perhaps I’ll revisit the project one of these days. I think most of my correspondents at the time were elderly though, and I expect they’ve gone on to their greater reward.)
Still. Country music.
Way back in the early 1990s (I think it was actually 1992 or thereabouts), my sister and brother-in-law came a-visiting from the United Kingdom. She’s also a traditional music fan. (One of her most cherished memories is that of attending a Willie Nelson concert in England, decades ago, when his hat fell off and into the audience. She caught it and handed it back to him, whereupon he blew her a kiss). So before they got here, I arranged a night out at the live show of the Wheeling Jamboree, which originated in 1933 in Wheeling, West Virginia (only about 20 miles down the road from me), and which is the second-oldest country music radio show in the United States (it’s been on national hiatus since about 2008). And I bought tickets for us all to see George Jones.
As luck would have it, and as it often did with some of the, umm, hard-living stars of the circuit, George was unable to perform that night, and someone called Doug Stone filled in. Not such a household name (at least, in our households), but not bad, and it was a very pleasant evening.
We arrived to pick up our tickets, and the concierge was thrilled to meet my sister, thrilled to learn that she and her husband were visiting from far away, thrilled to learn that they were planning to go to Nashville and visit Dollywood. Just, overall, thrilled. And she couldn’t wait to give us a personal invitation to come upstairs to the musician’s lounge after the show and meet the performers.
The show was enjoyable. Doug Stone was just fine, but the highlight for us was the house musicians, the 1170 Band (named for WWVA 1170, the sponsoring AM radio station), which performed before the main event and during the intermission. The lead singer, who looked about 12 but was actually a few years older, having — not all that long ago — graduated from high school, was marvelous. And his backup, which included — among others — fiddle player John Parrendo, was just incredible. (Only decades later was I surprised to learn that John’s father, Nicholas Parrendo, was a phenomenal stained-glass artist and beloved mentor to one of my best friends who is, herself, extraordinarily talented in the stained-glass field. Small world, and one which is full of amazing people, whichever direction you look.)
So.
After the concert, Mr. She and I, and my sister and her husband, wended our way upstairs where — somehow — we became the focus and the entertainment for the gang. The 1170 Band was all there, and we had a delightful chat with the lead singer, who was seriously impressed by his international fans, and who we discovered had been born just down the road in Glen Dale, West Virginia, in 1972. We also learned that he harbored ambitions for C&W stardom, that he hoped that his talent was sufficient to enable that, and that he longed, one day, to break into the big time. He gave both my sister and me a lovely, large, personally autographed photo of himself, wearing his hat and strumming his guitar.
(PSA: If you’re ever passing through Glen Dale — something Mr. She and I used to do fairly regularly on the way to Moundsville to buy goat feed — it’s a well-known speed trap, and the local cops are lurking everywhere. Watch your step.)
That talented, bright, and personable young man who was so friendly, so nice, and so honest?
Surprise!
He grew up to be Brad Paisley, seemingly all-around good guy — and to judge by some of his music, quite self-aware, although very humble in discussing his abilities — who’s sold over 11 million albums and who has been the recipient of three Grammy Awards, 15 Academy of Country Music Awards, 14 Country Music Association Awards, and numerous other accolades over the years.
On Oct. 28, 2021, he celebrated his 49th birthday. He was born the same year I graduated from high school.
Lord. I’m old:
And John Parrendo:
I love this music.
*If you find yourself interested in the subject, the little movie “Songcatcher” (2000) can be a pleasant introduction to it.
My granny gave it to me.
Story of my life. I’d like it to be the story of every woman’s life. Especially my granddaughter’s.
Published in Group Writing
Wonderful harmony!
The Hillbilly Thomists
Preach it, sister!
The story I heard was that Lester Flatt was miffed when he heard that Bill Monroe, whose band he played in, was planning on having a banjo player join. Banjo players had a tendency to “muddy up” the sound. They couldn’t keep up.
Then he heard Earl Scruggs play.
I’m a fan (see reference in OP to Canadian Maritime music) of a Newfie group called “The Masterless Men.” I love their rendition of “The House of the Rising Sun.” I can’t find it online anywhere, but it’s from their album Back on Track. Think of it as “The Animals meet (and are overtaken by) energetic Bluegrass banjo.”
I have been interested in this phenomenon.
You aren’t the only one from the British Isles who loves this music. I know from visiting Ireland and playing fiddle (as a beginner at the time) and talking to many people and musicians there. They love American country music. They go ga ga for American country.
And as you know, American country music is directly descended from English and Celtic folk songs. I know Child ballads not so much as a scholar but I’ve done deep research into the Child ballads my band performs. There are fascinating, mythical, magical, morality stories. Dark and raw, like pre-Shakespeare.
It implies that somewhere the musical culture atrophied. It didn’t morph or change. People get tired of the same old stuff. This is precisely why music is the audio version of fashion. People get tired of seeing or hearing the same or similar things.
But in a new environment with new influences it can be profoundly refreshed. So now, in effect you are hearing the music your DNA – as it were – longed for, but now with a fresh new sound.
From another direction let’s look at the 60’s British Invasion in rock music.
In working class Britain the youngsters discovered American blues music, and rhythm and blues. Many of the British mods and rockers were singing with American accents. The Beatles covered several Motown songs in their first albums, The Rolling Stones worshipped the American blues greats. Keith Richard and company went to every shanty bar in some backwoods blues venue to learn and jam in 1965.
Eric Clapton Jimmy Page … they really appreciated American blues. And they loved it so much they came to excel in the genre. But it carried something extra.
It’s possible to appreciate something so much you can contribute to it.
The British Invasion was a real phenomenon. In effect, these guys were playing ‘our’ music but very differently and quirkily and creatively.
So this leads me to believe that music goes through all kinds of changes cross-culturally.
For a time worked to preserve, but reinvigorate by providing more musical interest to the modern listener, while preserving the lyrics and feel of these amazing ballads. Twa Corbies, John Barleycorn, The Ballad of William Kidd
Led Zeppelin was influenced by English folk music, Hangman is a Child ballad.
Yep. We may disagree (and we have), @franco, about the Beatles, but you are spot on about most of this.
There have been many who’ve transcribed, recorded, and catalogued, some of the beautiful and traditional folk songs (and I don’t mean of the Puff, the Magic Dragon sort) over the years.
One of my favorites is the Eriskay Love Lilt, saved from oblivion by Marjory Kennedy-Fraser. I remember reading, although I can’t remember where, that it’s one of the purest melodies in song:
Here it is, performed by Judith Durham (one of the purest voices, and–for a time–part of a group that was bigger than The Beatles) and The Seekers:
And here, by Paul Robeson. Loathe his politics. And yet, a beautiful voice:
There are many others, some equally lovely.
Ah, bluegrass!
Or perhaps something a bit different:
Bluegrass has such range within it.
I like both kinds of music, Country and Western. This post is part of our October Theme: October Surprise.
Our November theme is “Feast, Famine, Fast.” Stop by today to reserve a day. Interested in Group Writing topics that came before? See the handy compendium of monthly themes. Check out links in the Group Writing Group. You can also join the group to get a notification when a new monthly theme is posted.
OK. I didn’t actually intend this as a setup, but WRT John Parrendo’s Orange Blossom Special which veers on occasion into Jingle Bells (it was a Christmas program, after all), I’ll also confess to a singular fondness for Bela Fleck. Not so much from general principles, but because of his Christmas album, made in conjunction with the Tuvan Throat Singers. It’s monumentally weird.
And here is their Jingle Bells. Even I can only stand so much:
I grew up in NW Pennsylvania; our house was on top of a high plateau and far from any big cities. So the AM radio dial after sunset was full of signals from far away. I had a good radio in my bedroom and as a teenager I listened to all the big clear channel rock stations, from Boston (Arnie Woo-woo Ginsburg) to NYC (Cousin Brucie) to Chicago (Dick Biondi) and a number of other similar deejays. Biondi was a big promoter of the Four Seasons, and played their records all the time.
I also listened to the ramblings of Gene Shepherd (Christmas Story) out of NYC. There has never been anybody like him on the radio. One throwaway line that still sticks in my memory is “My old man would never have understood why anybody would get a custom license plate. What he wanted was a plate number that would be hard to remember.”
So to make this relevant to the original post: I also listened to the Wheeling Jamboree and Grand Ole Opry broadcasts. Many times, and grew to love the music on those shows.
It was later that I realized I had been listening to some of the most famous radio voices and programs of the mid 20th century.
Atmospherics made catching any distant station a crapshoot on any given night (winter was best because no lightning), but I could almost always find something far away to listen to. It gave me a real appreciation for popular music of all kinds, which I still have.
Another lovely movie: Genghis Blues. There are disturbing parts to it (if you’re me), but it’s a fascinating glimpse into another culture.
I remember hearing an especially nice blue grass band once, called iirc Swing Central, or maybe that was the previous name and it was then called Swing Pickens. Anyway, I asked them how they all met, and one guy muttered, Aw we just met at school. I asked, Really? What school? And he muttered, Peabody.
AM radio had remarkable range. During our summer sojourns in Prince Edward Island (maritime Canada), my mother discovered that she could listen to KDKA in Pittsburgh in the middle of the night
Barbry Allen! I sort of grew up on that: My mother had been a theater major for a while, and apparently had sung in a musical stage play with Barbra Allen as a featured number. So that was part of the sound track of my childhood as she sang it around the house. (Does anyone here know what stage play of the mid-40s or earlier would have included it?) Years later I tracked down many of her frequent tunes, which turned out to range from traditionals like BA, to obscure Yale sorority songs, to popular tunes now mostly forgotten, such as: