Decorated Veterans

What did it take to sing tenor to Jimmy Martin?

When he left Bill Monroe for a solo career, Jimmy Martin had to answer that question with a tenor whose power equalled Monroe’s. Martin found the perfect foil in Paul Williams.

A few years ago, Williams got together with two other Martin alumni – Doyle Lawson (who plays guitar here), and banjo man, J.D Crowe. They’ve made a couple of well-received albums, but when they hit the stage, they blow the roof off the dump.

In this clip, they’re joined by Jason Barie on fiddle and Dale Perry on bass – both of whom were members of Lawson’s band, Quicksilver, at the time. And though everyone is in top form, it’s hard not to single out Crowe’s return to a more traditional, blues-based style (He has said he learned a lot from Fats Domino’s piano playing) for his work with this group. This is his best picking in years!

Here they are with Williams out in front, singing one of his signature numbers, “The Hills Of Roane County”.

Bluegrass vs. Mainstream Country

 It doesn't matter whether you're talking traditional or progressive. If you don't hear this high lonesome sound, this tension of emotional opposites, you're not hearing bluegrass music. These are the earmarks, the sounds and techniques that set true bluegrass music apart from even classic country, to say nothing of mainstream country.

Many people will tell you that bluegrass music was first heard in 1946, when Earl Scruggs introduced the sound and speed of the three-finger banjo roll to a national audience. That is true, as far as it goes.

But the sound of bluegrass was not complete until Jimmy Martin joined Bill Monroe, and Monroe moved everything up a whole step or so to make the most of his new lead vocalist and his unusual tenor range.

This. This is bluegrass.

Bill Monroe and Jimmy Martin with "In the Pines".

For much more about their relationship, read Richard D. Smith's exhaustive and earth-shattering Bill Monroe biography, Can't You Hear Me Callin'.

Pure Bluegrass, Poisonous Times

How can you make a case for the exceptional quality of one recording when every recording made by this lineup was exceptional?

There was nothing good about Monroe’s life in this period: woman trouble; the bluegrass depression; the bookings in smaller, dreary venues; the hastening obscurity and increasing combativeness of the man that nobody had yet acknowledged as the father of bluegrass music – all of it was garbage.

Except the music.

During this period, Monroe made the most painful, incandescent, and enduring music of his life. It helped that he had an equally-troubled duet partner in Jimmy Martin (No, that’s not Martin in the video still, but Bill’s older brother, Charlie – speaking of problematic relationships).

This is “Poison Love”.

Bluegrass From Another World

“Otherworldly” is not an adjective I’ve ever applied to a bluegrass record, but if ever a bluegrass record deserved to be called otherworldly, it’s this one. Stranger still is that it’s sung by two of the least otherworldly singers you could name – Bill Monroe and Jimmy Martin, along with banjoist Rudy Lyle. In fact, that’s young Jimmy Martin playing the guitar in the video still.

A few people have tried to cover this number, with no success whatsoever. They only succeed in pulling it down to earth when it needs to float up and away, as it does in the opening credits of the bluegrass documentary, “High Lonesome”. That opening sequence sends chills up my spine every time I hear it.

This is “A Voice From On High”.

How Bluegrass Does Vitriol

So, this is bluegrass: sad, lonesome, even vitriolic lyrics (like this one) delivered with a joy that’s contagious and a driving rhythm (on top of the beat, please) that’s irresistible. Listen to the way the crowd responds to Del McCoury and David Grisman, and their version of Jimmy Martin’s “Dog Bite Your Hide”.

Don’t know who the fiddler is, since they're off camera, but that’s one tasty break.

BONUS: Bluegrass clapping school, done to perfection on the off beats.

Jimmy Martin Sneaks Past the Censors

A good ole goodun from Jimmy Martin. Pretty sure the quaint lyrics got him past the censors, but Martin is laughing all the way to the bank.

Everyone is in top form here. This was banjo picker J.D. Crowe’s first Decca session, and he hit the ground running with this track. Earl Taylor, who was far more effective as a sideman than he ever was as a frontman, gets that high, stinging tenor part just right.

This is “Dog Bite Your Hide”.

Ten Records That Changed My Life

Why does this feel so ... soul-shriving?

Anyway, the list is chronological to the best of my recollection. It begins when I'm 15. It ends in August of 2018. I'm probably forgetting some things. It's been a long time.

Copland: Rodeo/Billy The Kid; New York Philharmonic; Leonard Bernstein, conducting: We were rehearsing selections from Copland's Rodeo in youth symphony. This marked the first time I ever heard a recording of a piece I was rehearsing (God bless my hometown library). The very idea that I was playing music that Leonard Bernstein had conducted was unimaginably powerful. Suddenly, music, which had always been exhilarating was serious business, too.

Thank You, Music Lovers; Spike Jones: I have my dad and, once again, the La Habra Library to thank for this one. A record that, in effect, was the obverse of the Copland, with serious musicians doing unabashedly-silly stuff without ever abandoning classical rigor.

Roses In the Snow; Emmylou Harris: My dad was country. My mother was not. After a 16-year middlebrow reign of terror, during which country music was banned on our stereo and tolerated on the great god, television, this is the record that reminded me I like things twangy af.

Clannad; Self-titled: 1983. On a drive through Mendocino, a friend popped this cassette into the player, and I was instantly smitten. As the reviewer says, I've grown out of this record in favor of stuff that's at once more traditional and more experimental, but this is where my love of Irish folk music began.

Without Clannad, I wouldn't have seen The Chieftains in concert twice, wouldn't have tuned in to Thistle and Shamrock every Saturday night for years. And I wouldn't have understood nearly as much about bluegrass going in.

Sun City; Artists United Against Apartheid: Despite being born into a conservative family, I've been a liberal for as long as I can remember.

My particular brand of liberalism never extended to corrupt charitable efforts, however; the rampant misuse of the monies collected for the No Nukes campaign left me wary of vanity charities. Did they know what they were talking about? Did they care?

A few years later, conservative acquaintances tried to get me to abandon my commitment to Live Aid by sharing stories of foodstuffs left rotting on the docks at Addis Ababa, thanks to self-satisfied rock star incompetence.

It wasn't until years later that those stories were not only proven false, but politically motivated, as well.

When the Sun City record premiered, I hung on to my money, went once again to my local library, and read everything about South Africa I could get my hands on. I satisfied myself that I had a reasonable grasp of the issues, albeit primarily from the perspective of literary and liberal South African whites. You see, apartheid extended to the arts, too.

Armed with this knowledge, I began cautiously to listen to what Artists United Against Apartheid had to say. I devoured every excerpt of this documentary that MTV cared to televise. At last, I satisfied myself that they knew what they were doing, and were fully committed to getting it done. I bought the vinyl and the VHS. I believe my money was well spent.

Whenever some rebel with a cause comes calling, this is, now and forever, how I handle it.

The Peace Album; Paul Horn: I was burned out on music. I would see local bands on stage and go home just-below-boiling jealous. Thank God I had the maturity to ask myself just what I would do up there if I had the chance.

I had no idea.

Then, I heard this record, and got excited about music -- about performing -- again. This kind of choral singing with flutes was what I wanted to do.

So, I tracked down a Conn Multivider just like Paul Horn used -- only to discover that I'd have to drill holes in my flute to connect the thing.

Yeah, no.

i conferred with fellow musicians who were infinitely more tech-savvy than I. Did I really have to risk ruining the flute I'd had since fifth grade to get this sound? They concurred that I did.

Yeah.

No.

I had a funeral in my mind. I'm still not over it.

Roll In My Sweet Baby's Arms; Jimmy Martin: This and the next two records hit me like a ton of bricks. They brought me not only to bluegrass, but back to my musical self. This one had the high lonesome sound, and the punishing bluegrass technique, but it had something more: rock 'n' roll energy. You could do that?

Turns out you could. Music that came up in around the same time frame as my dad did, could be dangerous.

Wait A Minute; The Seldom Scene: This bluegrass wasn't dangerous -- unless you were the kind who stole lunch money and beat up younger kids.

Written by banjoist and L.A. session stalwart, Herb Pedersen. "Wait A Minute" was 70s-sensitive and classically precise (Tenor vocalist, John Duffey, had picked up a few vocal tricks from his dad, who sang in the chorus of the Metropolitan Opera). Just what I, a die-hard fan of 19th century Russian classical music, needed in order to remember myself in the midst of the vernacular.

Tiny Broken Heart; Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerard: In spite of everything, I felt something was missing from bluegrass. I had no idea what it was until I heard this song. Then and now, bluegrass is at its best when it is sharing the stories of forgotten and downtrodden folks.

All Or Nothing; The Small Faces: A record that simultaneously brought me back to rock 'n' roll, and reminded me of the energy and emotional truth I first heard in bluegrass. Just what I needed after 12 years of forsaking all others for the love of Bill, Ralph, Jimmy, and The Scene.

My standards are exacting, but I do best when my palette is big and varied. Since the Small Faces were virtually unheard of in the States, their music satisfied my urge for discovery. And soul.

I should end things here with some kind of summarizing paragraph. Trouble is, it's not over yet. #Sagittarius

A Chilling Bluegrass Breakup Song Out of Un-Bluegrass Elements

Some songs, some performances, are so good you don’t know what to talk about first.

What strikes me about this record from the classic lineup of The Seldom Scene is how the band makes an absolutely-chilling bluegrass breakup song out of such un-bluegrassy elements.

Where Ralph Stanley would howl, the Scene gets deathly quiet. Where Jimmy Martin would go full-out, the Scene makes precise and careful use of dynamics. Where Monroe would wear his heart on his sleeve, this band tells this story from a distance.

The impact of a life no longer lived together is palpable in Starling's conscious decision to use near-whispers the way a drummer might use cymbal hits. If he lets go, God only knows what might come forth, who might hear, who might know that his callous, careless treatment of the woman he loved was nothing more than an act.

This is The Seldom Scene, and a progressive bluegrass masterpiece called “Another Lonesome Day”.

What the Founders Knew and the Young Punks Don't

Is it any wonder that Jimmy Martin – and Bill Monroe, too, to some extent – forbade his sidemen from jamming with other bands at festivals, preferring instead that they stick with him and improve their grasp of his music?

Former Sunny Mountain Boy, Bill Emerson, quotes Martin in the documentary, King of Bluegrass: “You ought to be back in the dressing room … practicing my stuff, ‘cause if you think you’ve got it right, you don’t.”

Jimmy Martin was right.

The vocal jump from m3 to M2 is wickedly hard to hear over those major chords, but emblematic of bluegrass singing as Bill Monroe designed it. The microtonal slide that is often used to make the jump has inspired some to compare bluegrass to the classical music of India. It may sound out of tune, but it is a by-product of precise and painstaking technique.

Here are Bill Monroe and Jimmy Martin, proving that precision + soul = bluegrass. The song is “Letter From My Darling”.

30-Day Music Challenge: Day 24

24. A song by a band/group you wish were still together.

This record was made in the waning years of the first wave of bluegrass -- 1952, to be exact. Four years later, Elvis Presley would come along, ushering in the period known as the Bluegrass Depression.

During the remaining years of the 50s, the bluegrass faithful deserted the Monroes, the Stanleys, and their second-tier imitators. Audiences that once travelled for miles to see first-generation bluegrass acts flocked to shows by Presley and other early rock figures. Simultaneously, country music moved uptown to Nashville. It got slicker, and less embarrassing to the middle class, in the process.

In the late 50s, college kids like Mike Seeger and Ralph Rinzler discovered bluegrass as a dying art form. They recognized its genius, but they processed it as just another form of folk music, never quite understanding its roots in the blues.

They took bluegrass to American colleges and universities, where it metamorphosed into a musical movement that bluegrass musicians refer to as the Folk Scare, only half in jest.

In the process, bluegrass was saved, but it was lost, too. Today, it sounds like the whitest, safest music you could imagine. I wish this iteration of Bill Monroe his Blue Grass Boys were still together to make bluegrass real and true and dangerous again.

This is Bill Monroe, Jimmy Martin, and all the rest of the Blue Grass Boys with "In the Pines".

Bluegrass Stagecraft

Oh, nothing; just me swooning over the musical perfection that is The Seldom Scene – me and a few thousand other folks. I’ve never seen an audience have this much fun at a bluegrass show.

And what are we all screaming about?

Chuck Berry for one, who, despite his calcified creepiness, is a certified musical genius, and one who was influenced by Bill Monroe at that. The Scene takes this classic Chuck Berry tune, and infuses it with all the good humor the lyrics deserve.

And the harmonies! Dudley Connell and Lou Reid have been together so long that they’re wailing like a brother duet now. This isn’t just another gig; it’s a performance, and in a genre that’s notoriously lacking in stagecraft.

Go ahead – get up and dance to “Nadine”.

Every Fourth of July

Every year I have to post this. Not because I'm sentimental, which depends on the object of the sentiment. Not because I love Jimmy Martin, which I do. But because ... people. Ugh!

Obviously, the lyrics refer to the nuclear arms race and the Cold War, but tell me how we're any less endangered when some crazy can walk into a nightclub in Orlando, Florida; or an MP's advice surgery in Birstall, UK, and start shooting. Death is death; no "mighty destructive weapons" necessary.

The worst of the worst feel emboldened to attack because some leader somewhere says their victims deserve it. If God is guiding your leader's hand when that same leader calls for death and destruction, you need to find a new God.

Is it ironic to mention Independence Day in this context, since, "One person's terrorist is another person's freedom fighter" blah, blah, blah? I know I wanted to vomit when UKIP leader Nigel Farage proposed, in ringing tones, making the date of the Brexit vote Britain's "Independence Day". I daresay the fallout from Brexit and the fallout from the struggle for American independence look very different indeed. You can tell someone's a terrorist when people are, well, terrorized. It seems almost quaint to post a song that calls for reason and expresses a certain vulnerability.

Nevertheless, here are Jimmy Martin and The Sunny Mountain Boys with "God Guide Our Leader's Hand".

Happy Fourth of July, folks; we could surely use some happiness right about now.

Bluegrass Enough

Purists may blanch at the drums and piano-that-should-have-been-a-banjo (Mr. Martin was notoriously, um, exacting with his banjo players), to say nothing of the fiddle-driven Cajun rhythm. But this record is fun from beginning to end.

Martin's voice may be weathered, but it's every bit as expressive here as on his classic recordings. It may not be pure bluegrass, but "Made In the Shade" has enough soul, humor, and drive to hold its own in any bluegrass playlist.

Rock-Solid Bluegrass Gospel From Jimmy Martin Vets

J.D. Crowe, Doyle Lawson, and Paul Williams had all worked for bluegrass legend Jimmy Martin. That shared history gave them a great idea for a bluegrass gospel CD: Why not get together to record a CD of gospel tunes that each had performed with Martin?

Old Friends Get Together, released in June of 2010, is the happy result, and even with all that star power, everyone has some great moments in the spotlight.

"This World is Not My Home" is a tasty duet between Doyle Lawson on lead and Paul Williams on tenor, while Williams turns in a soulful lead vocal on "When the Savior Reached Down for Me."

Two of the CD's best tracks are "Lord, I'm Coming Home" and "Shake Hands With Mother Again". "Shake Hands" is especially tight with gutsy, high lonesome harmonies, and a lead vocal by Doyle Lawson that's pure soul.

Jimmy Martin fans will love the vocal arrangements, which stick closely to those of the original recordings, which often featured women on tenor vocals (Both Penny Jay and Gloria Belle, who also played bass for Martin, filled this vocal spot). Sonya Isaacs and Cia Cherryholmes contribute distinctive high harmonies.

Although the emphasis is on the vocals, J.D. Crowe's picking shines, especially on "Voice of My Savior" and "The Little White Church".

The combination of mountain soul with high lonesome vocals and polished Nashville-style arrangements is pure Jimmy Martin, but the record never sounds like a museum piece. Clearly, this CD was made by a top-notch group of musicians who gave their all and had a great time doing it.

A Certified Classic ... What There Is Of It

The absolute euphoria I felt when I was bitten by the bluegrass bug was tempered with sadness. As I learned more about the music, I discovered that many of my new heroes -- Bill Monroe, John Duffey, Jimmy Martin, Chubby Wise, and Jim McReynolds, to name a few -- had recently passed on. Sonny Osborne had retired fron the stage, and Ralph Stanley had quit playing the banjo.

Thank God for "High Lonesome", which immortalizes selected performances of these bluegrass titans on film, while providing heartfelt personal reflections, unflinching historical context, and exceptionally apt musical examples. The historical sweep is epic, the music prodigious (There must be between 50 and 75 songs, divided between live performances and soundtrack music here).

There are dozens of little moments to break your heart -- Jimmy Martin's consummate showmanship, even playing for a camera crew in his den; the rapturous looks on the faces of Sam Bush and David Grisman in the presence of their hero, Bill Monroe; the Osborne Brothers' infectious humor, offset by their sober recollections of the Bluegrass Depression; the Seldom Scene's easy camaraderie and brilliant musicianship.

The only problem with "High Lonesome" is that it's far too short to fully explore this greatest of American art forms. Director Rachel Liebling poured her heart into this project, and had to scramble for funding. If she'd been a big-name Hollywood director, then "High Lonesome" would have been the multi-part mini-series that bluegrass music truly deserves -- the huge, cinematic celebration I'm still waiting for.

Vassar Clements on fiddle, Mark O'Connor on mandolin, Béla Fleck on banjo, Jerry Douglas on dobro, Junior Huskey on bass. Who’d they get together for?

Jimmy Martin and The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, that’s who. As you might expect, everybody has a blast and brings it, too. It’s hard to pick a favorite when they’re all “"Sittin’ On Top Of the World”.

Another great breakup song from Jimmy Martin.

I contrast the confident, almost lighthearted tone of this performance with the vitriol Martin brought to “Dog Bite Your Hide”, and I wonder if, whatever he was thinking about, he had just stopped hurting. That feeling of just being done with someone or something takes the weight off your chest, and puts it on someone else — at long last.

This is “Rock Hearts”.

A 1972 reunion set featuring Jimmy Martin and The Osborne Brothers?

I can’t even.

Befitting the 70s, this is a wild set: Drums and bass are mixed way too hot. Martin, ever the loose cannon, takes some time collecting himself. Martin and Bobby Osborne debate the efficacy of a new addition to the traditional bluegrass lineup, trying it out on a much-beloved sacred song.

Head festival honcho, Carlton Haney, requests a number from the stage. Though the trio clearly hasn’t rehearsed it, “Hit Parade Of Love” turns out to be the highlight of the set – proving that you can put great musicians on the spot, and they’ll perform like the virtuosos they are.

Sonny Osborne’s banjo picking is as fiery as it gets and, oh, those famed trio harmonies.

Guess these three didn’t hate each other quite as much as some folks imply.

Jimmy Martin and The Osborne Brothers, when they were just babies in the business. Even then, they had a top-notch vocal blend.

They would all go on to better things, but tremendous talent was evident in this very early recording, entitled, “You’ll Never Be the Same”.

Speaking of empathy, Jimmy Martin was no slouch; just wildly inconsistent with it. Here he is in one of is finer moments, with a tender barroom ballad born of the pain of someone who’s been there.

When you’ve been in this position, you can shut down and give in to bitterness, or open up and give birth to brilliance, as Martin does here.

This is, “It Takes One To Know One”.