Old & in the Gray

Old & in the Gray
Old & in the Gray
Acoustic Disc

When Old & in the Way was released in 1975, it caused some rock fans to peer over the wall and investigate “old timey” music. This was largely due to the presence of Jerry Garcia on banjo. Deadheads discovered bluegrass in a big way, and have been supporting various incarnations of this combo ever since. Now it’s 27 years later, Garcia is gone, but the spirit continues. Old & in the Gray reunites the basis of the original group — Peter Rowan on guitar, David “Dawg” Grisman on mandolin and Vassar Clements on fiddle. Herb Pedersen takes the spot on banjo that Jerry filled, and Bryn Bright replaces the late John Kahn on bass. The result is a fully enjoyable follow-up to a legendary bluegrass unit. If anything their playing sounds smoother, the voices fuller than all those years ago. Bluegrass is uniquely timeless music, so there is no fear of sounding dated, no matter when a record was recorded. Bill Monroe’s “On the Old Kentucky Shore,” John Hartford’s “Good Old Boys” and The Stanley Brothers’ “The Flood” all get loving workouts, and the group tosses a few surprises in the mix, one being a nifty version of The Rolling Stones’ “Honky Tonk Women,” and even better, a haunting version of the Townes Van Zandt standard, “Pancho & Lefty.” They might be older and grayer, but these guys still bring it home.

Originally published Ink 19, 2002

The Meat Purveyors: All Relationships Are Doomed to Fail

All Relationships Are Doomed to Fail
The Meat Purveyors
Bloodshot

When they broke up after two releases, Austin’s randy bluegrass band The Meat Purveyors left a hole in the music scene that no one else rushed to fill. Too country for rockers, and not traditional enough for the festival bluegrass crowd, TMP existed in their own little niche, singing their songs of devilment and heartbreak, and rethinking such material as “Burning Love” or Lou Reed. Then a few of the band members started bumpin’ uglies, and the whole enterprise went down the tubes.

Well, grabbing whatever lemons the blighted romance left ’em, and adding a generous slug of rotgut, the band has reformed and with the aptly titled All Relationships Are Doomed to Fail, they return, sassy as ever, and prove you can’t keep a good band down. All the hallmarks of the TMP sound are here. Bill Anderson stills thrashes his six-string as if he was in a Bay Area punk band, Jo Walston croons so seductively ya wanna hug her, and along with bassist Cherilyn Dimond and ace mando picker Pete Stiles, the band sounds as good as they ever have. The covers they set their sights on this time around include a winning “Without Love” from Nick Lowe, a faithful Ralph Stanley number, and just for grins, a pretty “SOS” from ABBA and a version of “Round And Round” by Ratt that is almost as stupid as the original. As fun as these moments may well be, they don’t equal the prowess of some of the original material such as the spirited opener “Hey Little Sister,” the cry in the beerness of “Circus Clown” or the dark night evil of “I Have a Devil in Me”. With help from fiddler Darcie Deaville, this is some damn fine music. Welcome back, TMP. Keep your paws to yourself this time, OK?

Originally published Ink 19, 2002

Norman Blake

Old Ties
Norman Blake
Rounder Heritage

Born in 1938, Norman Blake has been playing music since he was 16, has played with everyone from Flatt and Scruggs to Doc Watson and Tony Rice, and provided the musical icing on the O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack. He’s about as good a guitarist as you’ll ever hear, for one simple reason: While others such as Rice or Dan Crary might be faster, none are as musical as Blake. His songs resonate with melody and story telling, instead of existing solely as finger speed exercises. This collection of guitar works from his various releases was created most likely to tap into the renewed (or new) interest in Norman Blake and all things old that the surprise success of O Brother caused, and there is nothing wrong with that. No matter how you come to discover Norman Blake, a listen to his take on “Spanish Fandango” or the sheer joy of “Down Home Summertime Blues” will make you glad you and Norman have finally met up. This record features Blake with Tony Rice and Doc Watson (“Lost Indian”) and his longtime collaborator, wife Nancy, on cello. It’s all excellent.

Originally published Ink 19, 2002

Jerry Garcia/David Grisman

Grateful Dawg — The Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
Jerry Garcia/David Grisman
Acoustic Disc

It can certainly be argued that Jerry Garcia and The Grateful Dead did as much to introduce bluegrass to the masses as anyone in the last 30 years. The crowd at a recent Sam Bush concert looked (and acted) like one you would see at a Dead show — tapers abounded, hacky sacks got kicked. Garcia’s “Friend of the Devil” has become a bluegrass jam standard, and some of The Dead’s finer moments came from their treatment of bluegrass classics.

Garcia wanted as a youth to become a Bluegrass Boy — that is, a member of Bill Monroe’s band. Lacking the nerve to ever introduce himself to Big Mon, he instead found like-minded individuals and began to jam. The most fruitful meeting might have been his encounter with mandolinist David Grisman in 1964. The two formed a life-long friendship and working relationship, forming the legendary “Old and In the Way” band — Garcia on banjo, Grisman on mandolin, Peter Rowan (a former Bluegrass Boy) on guitar, Vassar Clements on fiddle, and Jerry Kahn on bass. As the years went on, Garcia devoted his energies to The Dead, and Grisman developed his own style of music, known as “Dawg” music, a blend of bluegrass, jazz, and rock that revolutionized acoustic music.

Alison Krauss and Union Station

Alison Krauss and Union Station
with Tim Easton
The Fox Theatre, Atlanta, GA October 13, 2001

I made a startling conclusion a while back. I like hillbilly music. Sitting in a theatre watching O Brother Where Art Thou with my son, he noted the fact that I was singing along (poorly, he had to add) to most of the songs. “Big Rock Candy Mountain,” “Man of Constant Sorrow,” “You Are My Sunshine” — hell, I knew them all. In this age of cynical pop and gang recruitment rap, I rediscovered my love of what has come to be known as “roots music.” Still can’t sing it a lick, but I find myself listening to more and more of it.

One person who can sing it is Alison Krauss. Graced with an angel’s voice and none-too-shabby fiddling skills, Krauss has become a star in a form of music that most people — at least, the people who read and write for magazines like this one — have long overlooked. She became the youngest member of the Grand Old Opry ever when she joined at age 22, and since then has released several good selling albums featuring her crack band, anchored by Dan Tyminski, former member of The Lonesome River Band, and more notably, the singing voice of George Clooney in O Brother. So when Krauss played the Fox, I went. So did a lot of other people — the show was a near sellout.

Muleskinner

A Potpourri of a Bluegrass Jam
Muleskinner
DBK Works

Muleskinner, which is as close as modern bluegrass has gotten to a super group, featured in its ranks mandolinist David Grisman, banjo picker Bill Keith, vocalist and guitarist Peter Rowan, fiddler Richard Greene and bassist John Kahn, along with the Paganini of country guitar, Clarence White. Although this group was around for only a brief time, they, much like the Grisman/Jerry Garcia-led “Old And In The Way,” converted many a listener (such as a young Alison Krauss) into bluegrass fanatics. And it’s easy to see why. Rowan, who had served for a time as a member of Bill Monroe’s Bluegrass Boys (the bluegrass equivalent of Marine Corps basic training), brought his high lonesome voice, Grisman his free-wheeling eight string style that would grow, over time, into “Dawg Music” and Clarence, well, Clarence did what he always did — redefined the limits of guitar every time he played. Running through a selection of standards — Monroe’s “Roanoke” and “Footprints in the Snow,” “Dark Hollow” and the chestnut “Whitehouse Blues” (updated to include references to Nixon and LBJ, instead of McKinley; this was the late ’60s, after all) — the interplay between musical souls is a wonder to behold. And on “Muleskinner Blues,” with White’s frantic yet assured Telecaster leading the way, they elevate folk music to near virtuosity.

Although all of the players went on to further musical adventures (sadly, not much more was heard from Clarence White, who was killed by a drunk driver not long after Muleskinner), the music captured here shows stellar players creating bluegrass magic, long before O Brother made such a thing cool. These guys were so cool, they smoked.

Originally published Ink 19, 2004