Read no. 11

Greetings!

And apologies for the lateness of this issue. I can onlyplead Maryland Banjo Academy and a 30-page term paper onwomen in country music who have written

autobiographies.It was fun but WHEW!

On the exciting side: This year at the IBMA FanFest,Women in Bluegrass will again be a part of the program! Wewill have a regular 45-minute slot, probably on Saturday,October 18. Although we do plan to have a jam as our lastnumber (or two), we are looking for professional and semi-professional women players to be spotlighted in variousconfigurations as part of our presentation. Sorry, but wewon’t be able to include closet players or students this timearound. We would particularly like to include young women,family configurations (sisters, mother-daughters, aunts-nieces, etc.), and, dare I say it, older professional womenplayers. There is a possibility that we could do some groupings by region. Please let me know if you would like toparticipate. FanFest this year is October 17, 18, and 19, inLouisville, Ky. Gloria Belle has already agreed to perform.And I’m sure we will desperately need mandolin players,Dobro players, and lead guitarists. Spread the word!

I am sorry WIB did not get out in time to publicize theentire West Coast tour that Hazel and Alice did. Theirremaining dates are on the back page. Lynn Morris, LaurieLewis, Sally Van Meter, Kathy Kallick, and MarkieSanders are heading for Japan the first part of May for a 10-day tour. We hope to get a report from Lynn for our next issue. That’s all I’ve got to say, but there’s plenty more to comefrom a number of contributors! Thanks to all of them formaking WIB #11 our most diverse issue yet!

—Murphy Henry

Bluegrass Girl

I spent the summers of my childhood in dusty fields,closely planted with pup tents, pop-ups, and Winnebagos, allripe for the picking. No freedom can equal the freedom Ienjoyed as a ten-year-old girl, wandering from jam session tojam session with my cousin Patty, a Barbie Doll in one grubbyhand and a warm can of Pepsi-Cola in the other.

Getting there was half the fun. In the crowded back seatof a 1969 Plymouth Road Runner, with a 16-foot Starcraftpop-up camper trailing behind, my brothers and Patty and Iwould argue incessantly and then, when Mom and Dadcouldn’t listen to us anymore, Dad would bark, “Knock it off,alla you!” There’d be silence for a little while, and then we’dstart to sing: “Fox on The Run,” “I’ll Fly Away,” “RockyTop,” and “Bringing Mary Home,” the songs we listened to,over and over again, on the hi-fi stereo back home. Our reedylittle voices strained to find the notes.

When Patty and I were very young, there weren’t manywomen in bluegrass, but we idolized the few that we knew.As little girls, we followed them like puppies at every majorfestival we attended—as much in awe of their style, whetherbumpkin or ballroom, as of their talent. How we coveted theirstardom! We adored Cheryl and Sharon White, young andbeautiful in patchwork denim skirts, their voices mixing inthe purest harmonies we’d ever heard. And we fell in lovewith cute little Ruthie McClain and her ponytails, singing“Bubble Gum Baby” and slapping the bass with all hermight. But the ultimate goddess of bluegrass was the IIndGeneration’s Wendy Thatcher, with her single long darkbraid, smoky gravel voice, and those incredible songs, straightfrom the heart of the woman we wanted, more than anything,to become. “Wendy” became our favorite name, bestowed onBarbies and pets and, somewhere far off in the distant future,our firstborn daughters.

No, we didn’t ignore the boys. Eventually they sufferedour attention even more acutely than the women. I idolizedSam Bush, had a crush on Charlie Waller, and wanted tomarry Chris Stiefel from Country Store. My mother has aphoto of me with Chris that makes me cringe with embarrassment everytime I think about it. It’s me sitting on a sofa withhim, my cheek on his arm, looking tragic and lovestruck andpitiful. She also has a photo of me as an obnoxious little five-year-old, wrapped around Charlie Waller’s leg like somebenign growth.

This was our mythology and these were our deities.Minor deities, perhaps, but we worshiped at the altar witha hot, fervent passion found only in adolescent girls and truebelievers.

I live in Hawaii now, a place that a lot of people considerparadise. And in many ways, it is. I live five minutes awayfrom the most beautiful beach I’ve ever seen. The mountainshere are incredible, and when I look at them I am comfortedto know that they will never be covered in snow. I do not likesnow.

But, to my ears, the flat sound of a ukulele is a paleimitation of the round, deeper chords produced by a banjo.My boyfriend is certain that hell spawned the banjo, and heused to run from the room, screaming in mock horror, whenI listened to bluegrass in our home. Now I am a closet banjoaddict. I get my fix as I drive to work, through the sleepymorning streets of Kailua, over the Pali Highway through theKoolau Mountains, with the windows of my Jeep wide open.

And I’m still a believer.

—by Caroline Wright

More Blue Grass Girls

I've always found it interesting that when we talk aboutthe "Blue Grass Girls, ” that is the women who played withBill Monroe, only two names come up: Bessie Lee Mauldinand Wilene “Sally Ann” Forrester. Yet, as we are finding out,there were other women who, from time to time, played inBill’s band. In the last issue of WIB, we looked at VivianWilliams. In this issue, we are honored to have Neil Rosenberg,author of Bluegrass: A History, talk about Juanita Sheehan.

Juanita & Bill

By Neil V Rosenberg

The subject of Juanita Sheehan playing with Bill Monroecame up at the 1996 IBMA Trade Show on the evening beforethe annual bluegrass music awards show. One of the producers approached me for advice: former Blue Grass Boys wereneeded to fill out a band doing a tribute to Monroe on theshow. Did I know who was in Owensboro this week that fittedthat category? I asked Murphy Henry for help, and as we triedto think of names, the topic of women who’d played with Billarose. Earlier, we'd heard Gloria Belle tell about how she andBill Keith had filled in for Monroe when he was late for ashow. We agreed Gloria Belle would certainly make a goodsymbolic stand-in for the late Bessie Lee Mauldin, who’dplayed bass on hundreds of Bill’s shows and on a significantnumber of his recordings. I broached the idea with theproducer, but other arrangements had been made. However,this reminded me of the time Juanita Sheehan played withBill. I played banjo with Juanita and her husband Shorty as partof the house band on many Sunday shows at Bill’s BrownCounty Jamboree in Bean Blossom, Indiana, during thesixties. Juanita Doyle Sheehan was born in Johnson County,Indiana. She learned to sing from her parents, who were fromKentucky. Shorty Sheehan was from Erwin, Tennessee, asmall town near Johnson City. He’d grown up singing andplaying old-time music and had performed on the RenfroValley show before joining the army during World War II.While he was stationed in Indiana for training, he met Juanitaat the Brown

County Jamboree. After the war, Shorty returned to Indiana and he and Juanita married. Together forover thirty years, they played a variety of musics: bluegrass,western swing. Dixieland, mainstream country. During thefifties, they had a popular country music program on anIndianapolis television station. Shorty also worked as a BlueGrass Boy on several occasions, playing fiddle and bass.

Juanita was a very good rhythm guitarist. She had a greatsounding Martin D-18 built in 1937. She never used a capo.Instead she played lots of barre and other closed-string chordsin what we called “sock rhythm,” meaning that she relaxedher left hand after every beat, damping the strings, the sameway bluegrass mandolin players do when playing a choprhythm. This was basically a percussive jazz rhythm style,one that many country-western musicians used in the fifties.To someone raised on folk and bluegrass rhythm guitar,Juanita’s style had amazing harmonic complexity. Shechanged chords on every beat, and each new chord seemed tobe an augmented sixth or a ninth or a major seventh or arelative minor or some other fancy thing like that. The firsttime I played “Cumberland Gap” as my solo with Shorty andJuanita, I was surprised by the number of passing chords shethrew in behind that tune which I thought of when I playedguitar as one of those where you mainly grab an open G chordand hang on. Although it was novel to me, I later heardsimilar guitar work when I went to a big fiddle contest inTexas. And Juanita was as good as the best of those Texasguitarists I heard. She knew all the old-time fiddle tunes thatShorty played, and together they made fine music. They alsosang duets together. One of these was, as far as I know, theonly commercial recording they made: “The Soldier and The Lady,” anold ballad of English origins Shorty had learnedfrom his mother. It was afavorite of theirs becauseit was about a soldier whocourted a lady with hisfiddle: “Hark, hark,” saidthe lady, “hear the nightingale sing.” They recorded it onFine Times at Our House (Folkways FS 3809, 1964), analbum of Indiana folk music produced by Art Rosenbaum andPat Dunford.

As the house band at Bean Blossom, our job was go on firstand warm up the crowd for the headliner act, the singer orband that was advertised on the posters for the show. So ourrepertoire was a combination of familiar standards and coversof the latest country hits. Bill played the Jamboree as headliner at least three or four times a year, and sometimes,particularly in 1961-62, he’d come up from Nashville withonly one or two band members and have the house band, orother local musicians familiar with his music, fill out theband. On one occasion during the late fall of 1961, he cameby himself. I don’t remember now if he was the headliner thatSunday. It’s possible he came up to see a show by some otherheadliner and just came on stage to play a few numbers as aguest with the house band, for he did that too from time totime. Another possibility is that someone else was supposedto appear at the Jamboree that Sunday, the booking fellthrough, and Bill came up at the last minute to fill in, whichalso happened from time

to time in those lean years. What Irecall most vividly from that show was that there was arequest for “Uncle Pen,” and Juanita came over to me andsaid, “I can’t play that run at the end of the chorus—you’llhave to play it on the banjo.” That took me by surprise because I’d never tried a G-run like that on the banjo. Somehow itworked out, and that became a kind of a joke between us.

I’m pretty sure that she and Shorty and Bill did thatnumber as a trio. I don’t recall if we did it in a higher key toaccommodate her, but I doubt we did—she had a relativelylow voice. I can’t remember what else we played that afternoon. At the time we did not talk a lot about the significanceof Juanita’s playing with Bill beyond the joking about that Grun. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she played withhim on other similar occasions. It was. I’m sure, all in a day’swork for her.

The same was true for another notable show we did in July1966 at Bean Blossom with Clayton McMichen. McMichen,who as young man had fiddled and recorded with Gid Tannerand the Skillet Lickers for Columbia Records in the 1920s,had lived in Louisville since the thirties and had performedaround that region and broadcast up into the fifties. BillMonroe thought very highly of his music and, on thisoccasion, had booked McMichen into the Jamboree when heand the Blue Grass Boys (at that time consisting of JamesMonroe, Peter Rowan, Lamar Grier, and Richard Greene)were appearing. Bill asked Shorty, Juanita, and me to back upClayton, with Shorty playing bass. Among the things I recall about this show was that Bill satright down in a front row the whole time to listen toMcMichen. And McMichen was very pleased with

Juanita’splaying—not only did she know his tunes, she played the kindof backup he appreciated. Although perhaps best known forhis Skillet Licker recordings, he couldn’t stand that rough-sounding old-time stuff; he’d played in a swing style since theearly thirties, and at one time had a Dixieland band, too. Soshe gave him just what he wanted. I, on the other hand, waslost a lot of the time what with the fancy chords and also withClayton’s rhythm. After the afternoon show, Bill took measide and said in a gentle way: “He was too much for you,wasn’t he?” I agreed that he was, and that evening I took inthe next show from the audience where I could really enjoyJuanita’s guitar work. As always, she not only played thechanges and laid down the rhythm, she played with animation and a big smile, and, like other old-timers I heard thosedays at Bean Blossom, she’d let you know when she likedsomething by shouting out her encouragement.

The last time I spoke with Juanita was in the fall of 1985when she called to thank me for dedicating my book on thehistory of bluegrass to the memory of Shorty, who’d diedseveral years earlier. She’d remarried, and her new husbandwas a classical

violinist. She told me she was teaching himsome old-time fiddle tunes. The last time I was at BeanBlossom, in 1994,I asked Jim Peva, an old friend from thosedays, what had become of Juanita, and he said she’d died in1992. I have many fond memories of Juanita, more thanthere’s space for here, but that will give you some idea of whatit was like when we shared the stage with Bill Monroe.

Booking Blues

By Nancy Pate

Is there any woman out there who enjoys doing her ownbooking? I would play so much more if I weren’t constantlyhaving to ask people to hire me! I hate talking on the phoneto strangers, especially to strangers who sound like they’redoing you a big favor by asking you to play music.

Of course, having toddlers in the house has taken thegame of phone tag to a new level of difficulty. Last spring Iexchanged many phone messages with the music director fora local attraction where l hoped to book the band. This womanwas never in her office; I always had to page her beeper andwait for her to call back. She finally reached me one afternoonto go over the details of a complicated contract, and during theconversation my two year old went ballistic. Both of my girlsalways demand my attention as soon as I pick up the phone,but this particular afternoon my youngest simply startedscreaming. I chose to ignore it, rather than stop and deal withit and lose the elusive caller on my line. Big mistake! Finally,when I’m practically shouting into the receiver, the ladyasked, “Should I call back at a better time?” “No!” I yelled,“It’s always like this!” This year should see some improvement—with the portable phone I can at least walk outside andleave the children screaming in the house.

Over the winter my new personal hell has been makingcallbacks for solo gigs for preschool groups. The morninghours, the blessing of no practices to schedule, and even theage and enthusiasm of the audience fit much better with mycurrent lifestyle. So I blanketed the local preschool anddaycare centers with introductory letters, then followed upthe letters with phone calls. It took a major effort inassertiveness on my part to introduce and sell myself over thephone. Ears humming with an anxious rush of blood. I wouldstutter just saying my name. Responses varied: “Not interested,” “Call back this summer,” “Call back next fall,”“Call back next year.” One lady requested a demo tape. Ihand-delivered it, and when I called back two weeks later shesaid, “Wow, I’m drawing a complete blank.” Gee, glad themusic made such a strong impression. She later hired me,however, so I got over it.

I wish middle age had brought me a thicker skin. Unfortunately, it still takes a couple of days for the sting of a curtrejection to fade away. And I still get worked up in a mucksweat when my phone calls aren’t returned. If these peoplejust understood how much nerve it took for me to dial thenumber and leave the message in the first place! Have a littlecompassion! There is genuine satisfaction, though, in convincing someone who has never heard of you to hire you sightunseen. So, with apologies to Bill Monroe and his angel band:

Blue days! Booking on my own,

Booking blues on the telephone;

Sometimes I call, and you make me glad,

When you don’t call back you make me mad,

Blue days! Booking on my own.

Close Encounters With Roni Stoneman

By Casey Henry

When someone mentions Roni Stoneman what imagescome to your mind? A girl with brown pigtails, dressed incalico, bouncing around Hee Haw playing a banjo? That’swhat I thought. But one amazing weekend changed her in mymind forever. The event was the Maryland Banjo Academy(MBA), held April 18-20. Several hundred banjo

players,bluegrass and old-time, gathered to discuss all things banjonic.Murphy and I were on the staff, teaching workshops. RoniStoneman and Bela Fleck were the pièces de résistance of thefaculty. I could talk about Bela forever, but this article isabout Roni, so I’ll save him for another time.

The MBA was originally designed by Nancy Nitchie ofBanjo Newsletter to honor pioneering musicians from theMaryland area for their contributions to music. Roni wasthere representing the Stoneman Family. I really did notknow much about Roni or the Stonemans. I knew of thelegendary Scotty Stoneman, fiddle genius, but little else. Butyou can’t be around Roni for any period of time withoutlearning a lot about her. My first big dose of Roni was Saturday morning.Thesleeping arrangements had placed us in the same room, alongwith two other women. We woke up about seven—too early.We couldn’t fall back asleep, so Roni started talking. I can'treally call it a conversation because it was almost entirelyone-sided, but I was interested in anything she had to say. Shetalked for forty-five minutes on a variety of subjects: herpsychic gift and the history of the building; religion and theAmish; her brother Scott, who was very troubled; and herdaughter, whom she forcefully discouraged from pursuingmusic. She ended this long talk-fest by saying that if I wasever in Nashville, she would love to show

me around. I wasso tickled that she would offer something like that afterknowing me for less than twelve hours. She’s so sweet.

Later Saturday morning, Murphy and I were scheduled todo a Women in Bluegrass workshop along with Roni. At thesame time, there was a workshop by Bela. Murphy knew howmuch I wanted to go to that one, so she told me to go. Shedidn’t need to twist my arm. As much as I like to listen toRoni talk, I knew that Murphy was taping it for posterity.And, after all, how often do you get to see Bela Fleck?

After lunch, while I was playing a sweet Stelling Mockingbird, Roni came up and wanted to pick. So we picked. Twobanjos and Murphy on guitar. That little jam session was oneof the most intense experiences in my young life. Roni playsfast and loud and has complete control over the jam. Sheexplained she never gets recognized for her banjo playing,just the clowning around that she does. She is indeed a greatbanjo picker—the first woman to play Scruggs style. Weplayed “John Henry,” “Old Spinning Wheel,” “CrippleCreek, ” with the slow vocals at the beginning by Roni, “NewRiver Train,” “Foggy Mountain Top,” and more. Roni’s agood singer, too. Very powerful. She was excited to get toplay real bluegrass after having to play country to earn aliving. She seemed to take a real shine to me, proud to see ayoung girl like myself playing the banjo. I wasn’t aware of how much of a shine until that night. Theprogram included the presentation of awards to the honoreesof the weekend: Andy Boarman, Don Reno, Don Stover, OlaBell Reed, Lamar Grier, Ted Lundy, and the StonemanFamily. Roni was there to accept the Stoneman's certificate,presented to her by long-time friend Bill Emerson. What shedidn’t know was that there was a separate one for her. Shewas deeply honored and made quite an elegant little speech.

When it came time for her to play, she said she wanted meto play with her because it tickled her to see me playing thebanjo. I was so shocked. I was like, “Right now?” Yes, rightnow, duh. So up I went, banjo in hand, brain spinning, noidea what was about to happen. I was standing up there infront of everybody in the banjo world: Tony Trischka andLamar Grier right in front of me, Eddie Adcock, BillEmerson, Bill Keith, Pete Kuykendall. Pete Seeger, MikeSeeger, and all therest of the staff andattendees. Pressure? What pressure?

What to play?"Foggy MountainBreakdown?” No,too boring. Let’splay it anyway!She kicked off thatsucker so fast. Icould look downthe road to the end of the song and see my fingers falling off.She played and played, and then I did my pitiful little break.What I played was so instinctive. I didn’t do anythinginteresting. I played practically the first version of that songthat I’d ever learned. We traded breaks, and every time Ihanded it

back to her she speeded it up. I was a little preparedfor this because I’d played with her that afternoon, but it isvery different when you are up there by yourself, two banjosand no supporting instruments. Miraculously, I got throughthe whole thing and my picks didn’t fall off or get caught inthe strings. I was shaking worse afterwards than I was before.All that adrenalin pumping in my veins, I guess. Roni wasshaking, too. She was quite moved by being honored. As shepointed out, the Stoneman Family does not get honored veryoften, not nearly as much as they should.

That weekend is one I’ll not soon forget. It was good to seeRoni having such a good time. She repeatedly said it wasgood to be playing for somebody other than a “bunch ofdrunks.” Now that I’ve heard so much about the StonemanFamily, I’ll have to go back and listen to some of their musicand watch Hee Haw to see more of Roni. Who knows if she’lleven remember me the next time I see her, but for oneweekend it was great to interact with and learn so much aboutthe whirlwind named Roni Stoneman.

WIBLETS

Comments on Awards ShowLetters

Just getting around to reading the latest issue of WIB, andwanted to comment on one of the letters to the editor.

Is it me or was there just a bit of a condescending tone tothe missive?

I am referring specifically to the line in responseto your request for more gender representation as part of themission of the Awards Show: “There is already anestablished...path for more females to be on the show.”

As long as women are still struggling for even the spacein the parking lot jam or recognition from the “good ole boynetwork,” the “established path” might just be a little morerough and rocky, possibly even inaccessible, for the womenthan for the men. Perhaps more revealing is this line, which you wiselychose to place in italics: “I don’t think most men in bluegrassrealize that there is even a problem.” Possibly this is the heartof the problem with the awards show.

I have been fortunate to meet, early on in my bluegrasscareer, men who were not only sensitive to the undercurrentof male (dare I say it) chauvinism in bluegrass, but whoactively sought to promote women and include them. Thishas had far-reaching effects in our own small bluegrasscommunity here in Tucson. Because of this

inclusivenessand encouragement I felt, I am proud to be the first presidentof the two-year-old Desert Bluegrass Association!

—Bonnie Lohman

Tucson, AZ

Talent Leads To Recognition?

I feel compelled to add my two cents to the ongoingdiscussions about including more women in the IBMAawards show. I was impressed that several male

IBMArepresentatives responded to your editorial. One contributorwrites that “females themselves ... get inspired to be good,and they work at it, and they get good. Talent leads torecognition...” So is the implication that since there are sofew women recognized, most women must not work at it, getgood, or have talent? In an ideal world, “talent leads torecognition.” Unfortunately, in the real world, not everyonewith talent who works hard and “gets good” gains recognition. Success is more complicated than this. So what other factors might be at work here? At the locallevel, I know musicians who are recognized as “good” duemostly to their aggressive behavior in jams or because theyare “in the loop” of local bluegrass activity. And I think thereare local “good old boy” networks which present somehurdles for women—hurdles we would not have to jump if wewere guys. These are inherent realities of our male-dominated society today. In the men’s defense, a typical male inbluegrass has probably not experienced discrimination basedon his gender. As a woman, I often experience subtle or notso subtle sexism throughout the day. As a result, I amnaturally more aware of sexism in bluegrass. Although discrimination can be subtle, its consequencesare quite real. The hurdles that women face in the bluegrasscommunity do exist. For example, all the males in a jamdispersing when a female jammer joins in; or females in jamswho aren’t given the opportunity to take breaks or sing. Thesehurdles cannot be eradicated by simple solutions based onsimple explanations. We cannot expect to change attitudesovernight. Nor can we simply erase years of socialized beliefsabout women and their roles in society.

So what’s the answer? I don’t know. But I do know thatmen and women concerned with sexism in bluegrass can becatalysts of change. We can provide vision by sharing ourideas about the issue, and by participating in efforts to grapplewith the problem. We can support women in bluegrass byincluding them in decision making related to the bluegrasscommunity and by legitimizing female pursuit of the musicboth on and off stage. Finally, we can educate those whoseperspectives may be traditional through example and discussion. Guys, be a good role model to each other. If you

witnessdiscrimination against a woman in a jam, for example, makethe extra effort to include her even if no one else does.

I agree that it is important for everyone to work hard,improve, and demonstrate talent if they expect to gainrecognition. But, there are many factors that influence recognition in addition to hard work and talent. These factors arepowerful and their consequences are real.

—Toni Murphy

Sunnyvale, CA

Why Do Women Drop Out?

When I first met Craig Smith; he mentioned somethingabout how many of his best beginning students were girls andwomen, but they didn’t tend to keep it up very long. My thought is that for many women, playing music is asocial thing, and that it’s not easy to get social gratificationat a jam session (traditional male-dominated jam session,that is). There are a whole bunch of thoughts mixed up here,something like this: if you never get to go out and play withpeople, it’s harder to stay interested; and if you’re a beginner,it’s hard to join a jam, but if you’re a female beginner it’sreally hard to join a jam; and at the same time it’s probablymore important for women to get some kind of positivefeedback to keep them going.

Which leads me to an interesting conversation I had withmy friend John. When I was expressing my feelings aboutbeing shut out at jams, John said, “It’s not that guys aren’tfriendly toward women in jams, it’s that they’re not friendlyto anybody, including each other.”

Which was a huge revelation to me.

—Claire Levine

Portland, OR

"It Just Came Natural To Me”

Trina Emig

This past year, at the IBMA Trade Show in Owensboro,there were more women than ever playing in the late nightjams. One who caught my eye and ear was banjo player, TrinaEmig. Every time I walked out of my room, early in themorning or late at night, there was Trina, still jamming. Iloved her solid, tasteful banjo playing. I never saw her turndown a break. Casey (banjo) and I (guitar) hooked up with herfor a jam one night in the hallway of the Executive Inn. Whilewe had the usual problems that many

“all-women” impromptu jams have (who knows the words to the standards,and how can we get a trio going), it was a treat for me to hearand watch Trina play. She’s just 25 and has been playing thebanjo for over 8 years. She is an only child, born and raisedin that bluegrass mecca, Cincinnati, Ohio. But, unlike manyOhio families, Trina's people did not emigrate up fromKentucky. As Trina said, “We're right over from Germany—all the generations landed right in Cincinnati. ” Until shestarted playing banjo at the age of 17, Trina did not knowthere was any bluegrass in Cincinnati! Now, she herself ispart of the Cincinnati bluegrass heritage that gave us KingRecords, Vetco, and the Jimmy Skinner Music Center.

—Murphy Henry

I 'd like to focus this interview on your jamming, becauseit was very unusual for me to see a woman jam all night anddo so well. What got you interested in playing banjo? Actually, I liked country music from The Dukes of Hazzard—that’s what got me. In country, you know, once in a whileyou’d hear a banjo, not very often. And I just loved it. ThenI finally realized that bluegrass is where banjo is. I didn’t evenlike bluegrass when I first heard it. I thought it was stupid. ButI wanted to play the banjo, so I kept listening to bluegrass, andI just started loving it.

So, how did you get a banjo?

Well, I was thinking about getting one, and right when Iwas thinking about getting one, I got this little ad from amusic store that said banjo for eighty-five dollars. And I said,“Dad, I’m gonna buy this,” and he's like, “Don’t waste yourmoney on that thing.” [Laughs ] So I bought it. I just lovedit.

Did you start taking lessons or did you teach yourself?

I was trying to teach myself, and it didn’t work. I learnedsome of the rolls out of a book, but I wasn’t getting anywhere.So I started taking lessons.

Who did you take from?

Vernon McIntyre.

How did you find Vernon?

I think I started listening to the radio. And Iguess May is supposed to be bluegrass music month.So Vernon was going to be playing somewhere with his bandin a little park for free. That’s the only way I could get myparents to go listen to bluegrass, if it was

free. So we went overthere. And we saw him and he said he’s got a music store andhe gives lessons. So I just went over there and started taking.

And what was his teaching technique?

Well, he does a lot by ear. He told me the basic rolls andhe knows all the details of how to put your hand and he wasalways working with me on my hands—exactly the positionand how to keep these fingers and the angle of the hand. Thatinterests me. I like that kind of stuff. So he knows all that.

And you have absorbed it so well. You have great, great,great technique. It’s fun. I like practicing.

So you must have really progressed really fast?

I was in college at the time. I didn’t have time to practiceas much as I would like to. You went to college in Cincinnati, too?

Yeah, University of Cincinnati.

Did you get all the way through?

Yeah. Engineering. Electrical Engineering.

You have a day job in electrical engineering?

Yeah, I work in a chemical plant in town.

So you're used to being the only woman in whatever youdo?

Yeah, that’s true. All college and everywhere. At work...

That is amazing.

You know, I always liked math. And math is real technicaland I think I play the banjo more technical than I do creative,artistic. I can slow things down—I know every single note,you know. I enjoy that. Instead of not knowing what I’mdoing.

Did you do any learning by slowing records down? That'sthe way I learned. One time I think I did. And that’s about it. Vernon puteverything on tape. It was real slow at first, and then it gotfaster and then pretty soon I was just getting used to that andI could just hear it off the record.

Was Vernon's the first band you played in?

Yeah, that was definitely the first one. You know, I playedwith others that lasted about three weeks.

And by that time he had his wife on the fiddle and himselfon guitar.

Yeah. The whole band had just split up. All the guys hadleft, and so then he called me to play banjo. Of course, his wife[Kitty] was still there. We had to get a new bass player. Justsome kid in town he asked. And then this lady walked into hisstore wanting to take guitar lessons, so he said, "Hey, play thismandolin.” So he had a whole new band to get together in acouple of months.

How long had you been playing banjo at the time?

Four years probably.

Were you still taking lessons from him, too?

Oh, yeah, yeah.

So how long did you play in Vernon's band?

Three and a half years.

I guess Vernon was sticking to the traditional bluegrass?

Yeah. I liked playing with Vernon. He could really play theguitar, and I can play fast, you know. But there was no feeling,and there were no dynamics. This other band I’m in now’s gota lot more dynamics.

Yeah, Vernon's band is always full speed ahead.

Yeah. Which is fine on the banjo. But I don’t always wantto play like that.

It’s unusual in my experience to see a young woman justout there slugging it out with the guys in a jam session. Doesthat seem unusual to you?

No.

Okay, so it doesn’t.

I mean, I know what you’re talking about. It probablyshould.

But it doesn’t.

I really don’t think about it too much. I don’t like it whenthey all get in a big circle, you know. And then I’m glad I playthe banjo because I go can bang, bang, bang! If I was playingsomething else, you wouldn’t even be able to hear me. Youcan force them to pay attention to you, if you want to.

Do you think you don't think about it very much becauseyour first experience in a band was with other womenplayers?

Well, when I first started jamming, I was jamming all thewhile before I was in the band, and it was all guys. Thereweren’t any women. Well, Vernon’s wife Kitty would jamonce in a while. But, I’d go to other jam sessions, all men. Butyou know, I’m just used to older people. It was mostly oldermen. Grandpas. And they all liked me, you know, like a littlekid. So, it wasn’t too bad. ’Cause I was sort of young. I wasseventeen. So they would let you in and were supportive and let youpick?

Yeah. Well, I actually learned how to play on a mike at aplace down in Northern Kentucky. This guy really liked myplaying. And they were old men. He was really helpful. Hewas always telling me, “Aw, take the next break.” And hewould always get me up to the mike, and I was scared to death,but he was always pushing me. So you were used to playing in jam sessions with all men.So it’s not intimidating to you to be at the Executive Inn andjust walk up to a jam session and become part of it? Oh, no. I don’t like it when there is a big loud banjo there.I like to be the only banjo player. No, it doesn’t bother me abit.

That is so interesting. I wonder if that is just something inyour personality. Because I think that really holds a lot ofwomen back. You know, they don’t have the courage to do it.

Yeah, well. I’ve never had a lot of friends, or a lot ofwomen friends either, you know. I’ve kinda been staying tomyself. And even all through college, it was all guys. But Ijust did what I had to do. You know what I mean? And I didn’tworry about what they were thinking. And that is kinda whatI do now.

Some of the women I’ve asked about jamming have hadthe experience of being squeezed out of the circle. Does thatnot happen to you much?

Well, if there is a band there and they’ve all playedtogether, a bunch of older guys and they’re all standingaround.. yeah, it’s happened a couple of times. I like jamming in places like this ’cause there are a lot of jam sessionsgoing on. If you get disgusted—I have gotten disgusted, youknow—I just take my banjo and go somewhere else. But youcan do that. Just go to the next one. But I do get disgusted. Idon’t much like jamming, to be honest.

Trina, that's hard to believe.

No, I like it here ’cause it’s fun. When I first started in theband with Vernon, I couldn’t wait to get to the jam sessions.I was jamming all the time. But then you get used to being ina band and getting tight. I like that. Getting stuff worked out.But, I’m starting to get to where I like jamming again. Iwouldn’t jam for maybe two years. I just couldn’t stand it.

Why was that?

Well, I think Vernon kinda told me not to jam. It’s not agood idea. You know, you’re supposed to think of yourself asa big star.

Yeah, well, that’s a Jimmy Martin school of thought. [Yeah.] He didn’t want his band members out playing withanybody else.

And I started thinking that. I wouldn’t listen to any bands.I never went to festivals to listen to any bands. I stoppedjamming. Vernon told us not to jam down at his store. Me andKitty used to jam all the time. [He didn't like that?] No, uh-uh. He said, “If those people hear you in those jam sessions,they’re not gonna come to watch you play.’’ And I understandthat. Kind of. [I don’t.] But, it’s not fun.

I happen to think he's wrong. I think they would be moreintrigued and would want to hear you play more.

Well, I learned you can learn stuff more in a jam session.You know, when you're in a band you have to alwaysconcentrate on making the whole band sound good. Youdon’t try anything new because you might screw it up. In ajam, you can stand back and say, “I’m gonna tn this weirdthing and maybe I’ll mess it up. Who cares?”

So what finally made you break out of not jamming? Ithought you were a jamming fool, maybe from the time youhad started playing.

Oh, no. Well, I was until I got with Vernon. But then, well,I quit Vernon’s band, and I’m starting to get back into itagain. I’m kinda glad I’m out of there. And now I’m startingto listen to bands again. I didn’t like anybody [before], ’causethat’s the way he was, you know—everybody’s terrible exceptfor Flatt and Scruggs and Bill Monroe. Well, you know.

Right. And your guitar player, what is her name again?

Terry Boswell

So how did y'all hook up together?

Well, me and the bass player that was in Vernon’s band[Natalie McClellen], we decided to quit. So we just kind oftook off. And we came back to Cincinnati after a show, andthen we said, “Let’s get a band together”—me and her. SoI took a flyer over to one of these festivals a couple of weeksafter that. It just said “Bass player and banjo player lookingfor musicians.” And Terry called us. She was the only onewho called. She’s great. She was with the Wildwood Girls fora couple years. She was living right across the river from us.And then we hooked up with this mandolin player who’s agreat musician and talent, Ed Cunningham. So there werethree women and one guy. And we beat on this poor guy, youknow. We wouldn’t let him do any of those

women-killingsongs.

You're serious.

Yeah. ’Cause he wanted us to do “Pretty Polly.” Oh, no,we’re not doing that song. So you had the experience of being around more womenplayers than perhaps a lot of other people.

Yeah, you know, I’ve never been in a band where there hadbeen all men. That’s true. I’ve never thought of that. I was inthis other band when I first quit Vernon’s band. Just for awhile, when we were trying to get this other band together.It was really good. But there was one woman, besides me. Andshe sang a bunch of Alison Krauss stuff. But there’s alwaysbeen another woman, now that I think about it.

I think it's great, 'cause there are obviously more womenin the business now. Let's see, I'm just about twenty yearsolder than you, and when I started I was always the onlywoman [playing a lead instrument. Except for Betty Fisher, who played old-fashionedcountry lead guitar.]There were just not anyother women.

I didn’t really knowthat. I never even thoughtabout that. It would kindabe draggy if it were allguys, I guess. That’s funny.

Well, I was encouraged, at the Executive Inn, to see thenumber of women jamming. [Yeah] There were a lot ofwomen out there.

I never really think about it much, I guess. As long as theycan pick and sing, I don’t really pay attention.

Sure. And I understand that, too. Well, you know, you 'rejust such a great banjo player, but you don't seem to have thatmacho attitude that says “I've got to play everything at tenthousand miles an hour and put in every note that I know. "[Oh. yeah. I don’t like that.] How did you manage to get towhere you are without having that attitude? Well, I guess I’m more concerned with the tone I’mgetting. I like melody stuff. I don't like all that, you know,diga-diga-diga-diga-diga.

Have you ever been in those jam sessions where there aretwo banjo players and you are one of them and it is kind ofa contest to see how fast you can play? Yeah. I hate that. You know, I hate to say this but a lot oftimes I know I can play as well or better than a lot of the guysat these jam sessions. And I like to go up there and kinda shove’em out. I hate to say that, but it is fun. Some of them will go,you know, what’s going on here? And they’ll put their banjoaway, and I’m the only banjo player! But if there’s someonewho is really really loud and strong, then I won’t be able todo that. But if there’s a real wimpy banjo player, then I knowI can go up there, and I can get rid of that guy.

I love it. Have you encountered many other women whoplay the banjo? [No, not too many.] How about this week atthe hotel?

Just your daughter, I think. I haven’t seen any. Well, theresure aren’t many, I know that. I wish we could get more peopleinterested in bluegrass. Women and men. Women, you know,you can’t get women who want to play it. Anything, any kindof bluegrass music, I don’t think.

Do you think part of that has to do with the image ofbluegrass, and part of the reality, that there are so many menin it and so few women ? If other women don't see other womenplaying, they’re reluctant to get in.

It could be. You see, that sorta bothered me, but I guess itdoes a lot of women. I guess it would. But, yeah, you’re right,I’m sure. That’s the image, that it’s a man’s world. Bluegrassis, anyway.

[We took a break from taping, but kept talking.]

Say that again. You said you’ve just been learning tolisten.

Listen to the band and the other instruments. Even in a jamsession. ’Cause I used to just listen to what I was doing. Andnow, even if there is another banjo player, I know if he’splaying up on the neck, I shouldn’t be playing up on the neck.I should be playing open stuff. And then if he is playing openstuff, then I should play up the neck. If he’s taking a break,I shouldn't be playing anything, I should be chopping.

I couldn't agree more.

And then there’s some guys that just play blablablablablablaall the whole time, and you can’t do anything. Then I getdisgusted and I say, “Well, I’m going to play the whole time,too.” Then it sounds terrible.

Yeah, and don't you hate it when you're in a jam sessionwith a banjo player that plays through everything? That playsthrough the vocals you can't hear them. Plays throughyour banjo break. Even if he's not playing lead, he's doingfancy backup stuff. Yeah. Well, I’m just learning that. ’Cause with Vernon, hetold me, “Don't ever let up. No matter what, just play.” Youknow, he’d be happy if I played right over him, so peoplecouldn’t even hear him singing. He would never let me quietdown. Even in a rehearsal. He said. “You gotta play loud.”

That's amazing. I see what meant when you said “nodynamics.”

Yeah. It was constant like that. Well, he wanted me to backout of the mike a little bit. But, I don’t know. He loves banjo,you know, he wanted to hear it the whole time. So, even when he was doing his lead singing was it okayto play in the first position or did he want you to do up-the-neck stuff? Or did it matter?

Well, he’d decide each song. He would kind of tell mewhich way to do. [No joke?] And he’d tell me every note toplay. [Jimmy Martin all over again!] Yeah. I couldn’t becreative AT ALL. And then, if I came up with a break, he’dsay “Oh, no. No, no.” Then he’d show me how to do it, whichwas good for a while. But, man! When I first started with thisband, they’d say, “Play a break to that,” and I’d say, “I don’tknow a break to that!” [Laughs.] I had to learn all that. Butthey were real helpful and encouraging. And I’d play andthey’d say, “That sounds good!” And I’d say, “Oh, it does?Well, Vernon didn’t show me that.” That's amazing. I can easily see why you had to break outof that rut.

Oh, yeah. But it was good experience. I learned a lot.

It was great training. You’re so solid. I guess then when wewere doing some of those things in odd chords last night, youwere having to make up breaks on the spot. Thank goodnessyou had gotten out of Vernon's band and gone through thatstage…

Yeah. I’m just learning that now. It’s amazing. It’s fun! Iused to hate it. You know [I’d think], “I don’t know the breakto that.” But now I’m kinda starting to hear things a littlebetter. It’s taken a long time. And I couldn’t even tuneanything when I first started. It took me about three years tobe able to tune the thing. And I’ve taught a bunch too. Aboutfive years. I had a bunch of students. I always thought, whenI first started, that I could teach anybody. I always thought,“I’m going to be a good teacher and I’m going to teachanybody.” Well, it’s not going to work. I don’t understand it.I never thought it would be like that. And I never realized itwas that hard for people. You know, it just came natural to me.

Did you think the same thing about math? Did that comeeasy to you?

Oh, yeah. My dad always helped me with that. You know,I didn’t have any friends, I didn’t have any hobbies. Nothing.I had nothing. Then I kind of got a little bit good at math. Thiswas like in grade school. And then people started saying,“Well, how come you get all these A’s?” And people wouldstart talking to you. So I started studying a little

bit more. AndI started getting A’s all the time in math. And the same waywith clogging. I clogged for a long time. I was pretty good atthat. Well, some people started coming up to me and saying,“Hey, you’re a good clogger!” I was real shy. I couldn’t talkto anybody. And these people were coming up to me all of asudden and talking! I think that’s why I play the banjo, youknow. I guess I’m good at it.

She's very good at it! And here we turned off the tape forgood. Trina now plays in a group called The Boswells. TerryBoswell plays guitar, her husband Jeff plays mandolin, ChrisCusenpino plays bass, and Jim Huey plays dobro.

Hazel and Alice Tour

I don’t know how long it has been since Hazel and Alicehave toured, but you lucky folks on the West Coast will get tosee them in May! Here are the dates that I know: May 9—The Ash Grove in Santa Monica, CA

May 10—San Diego Folk Heritage Festival

May 11—U.C. Riverside—The Barns Folk Series

May 14—Something in the Bay Area

May 16—The Aladdin Theatre, Portland, OR

May 18—The Backstage, Seattle, WA

May 19—Granville Island, Victoria, B.C.

May 24-25—The Strawberry Festival, Camp Mather,outside of Yosemite.

I heard Hazel and Alice start their tour on Prairie HomeCompanion on May 3, and they were great! They sang“Mama’s Hand,” “You Gave Me A Song,” and one other.Garrison Keillor mentioned a song Hazel had written, sang aline “West Virginia, my home...”, and then asked Hazel, “Isthat it?” Hazel replied drily, “Just about.” I cracked up. Hazelpulls no punches. Alice dedicated “You Gave Me A Song” toher grandchildren and all the folks who work on the Old TimeHerald. I thought that was cool. Although he’s not a woman(sorry, Jody!), I must applaud the unmistakable sounds of JodyStecher on guitar (for sure) and harmony (I think). He’s oneof my favorites.