Read no. 14

Greetings!

We are deep in the middle of winter here in the ShenandoahValley. Last week, I had to drive back from my class (Womenand the Law) at George Mason University in Fairfax, Va., inthe middle of a blinding snowstorm. Luckily, I was alreadyhalfway home when the snow started, so I only had forty milesto go. At twenty miles an hour, it only took two hours to arrivesafe at home.

Remembering Anita Mathis

Anita E. Mathis died January 18, 1998, at the age of 92.You’ve probably never heard of Anita. I had only read of herin Wayne W. Daniel’s fine book Pickin’ On Peachtree: AHistory of Country Music in Atlanta. But she was the firstwoman to win the Georgia Old-Time Fiddlers’ Convention,and that’s worth remembering. Thanks to Wayne for permission to retell Anita’s story based on his hard work. Except forwhere noted, the direct quotes are from his book.

The Georgia Old-Time Fiddlers’ Convention started in1913. As one might expect, most of the performers weremale. Fifteen-year-old Anita Sorrells made what was probably her first appearance in 1920, winning second place. In1930, she surfaced again as Anita Wheeler. Now marriedwith two children, she again took second place. But in 1931,she walked off with first prize, beating none other thanFiddlin’ John Carson himself. Thus she became “Georgia’sfirst and only woman fiddle champion.” She also entered theInterstate Fiddlers’ Convention in Atlanta that same year andwon that. In 1934, she won it again. Fiddlin’ John was notpleased. His grandson, Johnny Carson, said that “all the menwere complaining about her, and my grandfather was hollerin’the loudest” [Atlanta Journal/Constitution, Jan. 19, 1998].

Anita began playing fiddle when she was eight and“played for her first square dance two years later.” The nightshe got married, she was playing for a dance at a hotel.According to her, “during the break we slipped away fromthe hotel and got married, and then came back and I finishedplaying the dance.” Anita also played with a number ofgroups including the Dixie String Band, an all-girl groupcalled the Oklahoma Cowgirls, and the Tennessee Firecrackers. Her first husband died in 1933. She married Bob Mathisin 1937 and moved to Houston, Texas, where she continuedto play at local square dances. In 1974, after Bob’s death, shereturned to Atlanta.

In 1995, the Atlanta paper ran an article on Anita. Shewas eighty-nine and living in a nursing home. She wishedaloud that she could have somebody to play with. Somebodymust have been listening. After reading that article, fiddleplayer Barbara Banter started visiting Anita. “She was dyingto play,” Banter said. “She had a list of fiddle tunes, and weplayed every song on the list. The more I went, the more shegot back into the swing of things. Sometimes her fingers werejust flying, and I could hardly keep up with her. Her timingwas perfect. You could tell she played all her life” [AtlantaJournal/Constitution, Jan. 19, 1998].

Anita Mathis was inducted into the Atlanta CountryMusic Hall of Fame in 1982. Johnny Carson was co-founderof the Hall. I find it fitting that it was Fiddlin’ John Carson’sgrandson who helped establish a place where Anita and hisgrandfather could be honored side by side.

This article is especially for all you women who have woncontests and have had the men complain. It’s also for thoseof you who have lost contests only to find out later that thejudges really thought you were the best, but didn't want togive first prize to a woman. I’m sure Anita would haveunderstood.

Inside You’ll Find…

Also inside we welcome a new writer, Fran Larkin, whois an aspiring banjo player and registered nurse. Fran did awonderful interview with long-time New England wibberHazel McGee. Chris Stuart is on board with a fine story whichfirst surfaced on bgrass-L Granted, the theme is a bitunseasonal, but it was just too good to hold till next Christmas. (Besides, I probably would have lost it by then!) In spiteof the androgynous name, Chris is of the male persuasion. Heplays banjo for Cornerstone and is also a songwriter.Thibodeaux, which has been recorded by Claire Lynch andthe Schankman Twins, is one of his compositions. As youwill see, he is equally good at prose. Regular columnistNancy Fate shares her thoughts on songwriting, and wealso have our usual assortment of thought-provokingletters. Your comments are always welcome. —Murphy Henry

Spotlight on…Hazel McGee

“The women never had the time... the men had all the time in the world.” One of the things we try to do here at Women in Bluegrassis spotlight women who are not as well known as some of ourbluegrass “stars.” So, unless you have lived or played in theNew England area, chances are that you have not heard ofHazel McGee. Yet Hazel has been singing country and bluegrass music a good portion of her life. Born in

Tennessee, shemoved to New York with her family when she was young. Shemarried Mac McGee in 1957, and the first of their three sonswas born in 1958 in Portsmouth, N.H., which became theirhome.

A February 1985 Bluegrass Unlimited article quotesDoyle Lawson as saying, “Mac and Hazel McGee are alegend in their time in the Northeast for the sincere approachthey take toward their music and their relentless benevolencefor others.” The article is also very complimentary aboutHazel’s singing, saying that “Hazel is one of the few womensingers who can truly sing a strong bluegrass tenor.” It goeson to say, “With Mac six inches from the vocal microphone,and Hazel three feet back, their blend is usually perfect.” Ilove it! The article also points out that there is “no doubt inthe mind of anyone” about who runs the show. Hazel. Shehandles everything from sound set-up to booking. Still does.But let her tell you about it. WIB

They call Her “The Boss”

by Fran Larkin

This interview was conducted in Hazel and Mac McGee’sconverted bus at the Thomas Point Beach Bluegrass Festival,Brunswick, Maine, on August 30, 1997. Hazel is a delightful combination of all that is traditional about American life andcontemporary women. She speaks to you with a clear, self-confident voice couched in the gentle Southern burr remaining from her youth. She doesn’t jump from the role ofmusician to wife to “The Boss” as much as she envelops themas different aspects of who she is. White Mountain Bluegrass had just completed their nineo’clock set on Saturday morning, with Hazel in her accustomed spot—front and center—playing the upright bass,singing tenor on most songs, sharing lead singing on two ofthe numbers, and doing a major part of the emcee work. Thebus and two adjacent campers buzzed like a beehive with atleast twenty family members, band members, and overseasguests talking, laughing, eating, and admiring babies. Aftera quick change into shorts and T-shirt, Hazel needed a fewminutes to finish cooking up some breakfast for Mac, then wetalked. At the word from Hazel, we were undisturbed for morethan an hour. I was impressed last year at the Oxford County festival,when you got your mom up on stage to sing, and I wanted tostart with that. You said she was a fantastic singer HAZEL: Yes, she was.

When you were growing up, was she singing professionally?

HAZEL: Not professionally. They just did it on theweekends. Basically like we do. She was in a band. They didcountry [music] out in New York State. She worked allthrough my life. My father died when I was young, and wewent to New York. My aunt and my grandparents sang in aquartet in church. My grandfather had the old round pitchpipe.He’d blow a note, and each one of them’d hum that note, andthey’d start singing. They’d sing a cappella. That’s the firstthing I remember, them singing in church. And then they hadthe band, and they sang everywhere. My sister and I used tosing in church. We just grew up with it.

So you had women as an influence on your music from thevery beginning.

HAZEL: Actually, my great-grandmother is a Carter—we’re related to the Carters through my mother. I thinkthey’re second cousins, something like that. But my motherremembers seeing Maybelle Carter years ago, because theyused to live in Tennessee. I was born in Tennessee. She saidshe even remembers seeing her sitting on an old porch of thehouse one time, playing music.

That's a wonderful legacy. Any women besides your momthat were a major influence on your singing?

HAZEL: No, the only one that I ever really listened tothat much was my mother. She was a terrific singer. Even nowshe’s good. Her voice isn’t strong like it used to be. She usedto be just about as strong as I am, because naturally the moreyou sing, the stronger you get. I used to sing songs with her.I’d either harmonize with her or she’d harmonize with me.But of the girls, I’m the only one that continued in music. When you and Mac met, did he already play music?

HAZEL: [Chuckles.] He played guitar and sang, andactually he came to our house in New York State to get mymother to tune his guitar. You know how musicians seek outmusicians, and I was still quite young at the time. He’s justbeen coming around ever since! But it was through music thatwe met. At that time, I didn’t play anything. When did you begin playing the bass?

HAZEL: Maybe fifteen years ago. We’d had differentbass players [in White Mountain Bluegrass]. One bass playerwas working with us as well as with Don Stover, and Don Stover was a little bit busier, so if he went to play with DonStover, I had to do the bass. And I couldn’t play the bass andsing at the same time—it was the hardest thing in the

worldfor me to do. So I eventually told him, I said, “You’ve eithergot to play full-time with us, or else I’ve got to go full-time.”And naturally, Don was a bigger name, and we didn’t blamehim, either! But that’s the reason that I took up the bass. Iplayed a little guitar when we were doing country music—oldcountry—and I’d just keep a little bit of rhythm. I noticed the bandages on your fingers at Oxford Countythis year [Hazel laughs.] and I figured that’s because youwere playing three sets a day, or four! [In addition to two setseach day with White Mountain Bluegrass, Hazel backed upBill Grant and DeliaBell in their four setsover two days.]

HAZEL: Yeah! Iwas getting a blister.

This is your twentieth year here at Thomas Point, and you'vebeen together as aband a lot longer thanthat.

HAZEL: Abouttwenty-seven years. Ican pinpoint it to latein 1970 or early in1971. We used to docountry, then we gotinvolved with a lot ofthe bluegrass musicians. Somewhere inthere, well, we gottired of the country,because there’s a lot of jealousy. We didn’t find that inbluegrass. Bluegrass is a big family. Definitely a difference.And of course, there’s more bluegrass bands now. When wegot into it, I mean everybody opened their arms. Basically, tome, bluegrass is old-time country, the older style, from backin the mountains when they didn’t have electricity. We do alot more old country, depending on where we’re at. We playa lot of the parks in towns, and they’re just not a bluegrasscrowd. So you’ve got to throw something at them that theyrecognize. You throw a Hank Williams tune at them, andthey’ve heard it somewhere along the line. It all blendssomewhere. It basically comes from one root, and branchesout from there. Even the bands that we’ve always known haveventured into what we call modern or uptown bluegrass. It’sgood, but it’s not what we like to do. So we stick to the oldstandards. I knew you had been to Europe, but Mac said, what, fivetimes? That’s a lot of work! How did you get started doingthat?

HAZEL: Through Joe Val. This fellow from Holland[Rienk Janssen] came over here to the States. He approachedJoe Val and asked him if he would be willing to go to Europeand do a series of concerts, and Joe said, “Sure.” He was thefirst American that we know of that was over there in this kindof music. Joe went back several times, but this same guy thathired Joe asked Joe for references for other bands, and herecommended us. We’ve been five times, and we’re invitedback. We try to make it every three years. You know, ourwhole life is basically around music. We’ve gotten to do

a lotof things we wouldn’t have ever done if it hadn’t been for themusic. We feel very fortunate.

Let me ask you a little about running the band, and bandmanagement, because secretly my husband and I refer to youas “Mama Hazel."

HAZEL: You want to know how I...? [Laughs.] Well!Everybody just calls me “The Boss.” You're very much in charge. I don’t see you comingacross as a bossy person, but we very much get the impressionthat if there’s a question to be answered, you're the personwho's going to answer it.

HAZEL: Well, I do all the booking of the band. And Istarted doing most of the talking on stage because Mac hadto put his capo on, and I had the set list on my bass so I’d cheat,you know! [Chuckles.] I’d just look down and say, “Well, Iknow which song is coming up, but they don’t know.” So I’dhave to lean over and mention to him which song, and thenI’d talk to give them time enough to get the capos on andrecheck their tuning.

But someone has to be the person to do all the answering,you can’t have three or four. I know what each one in the bandwould be willing to do. And actually, you can’t be a boss. Youcan be in charge of things, but if you’re a boss, nobody likesto work for a boss. That’s what we’ve found. We work as agroup. There’s not one person on the stage that’s moreimportant than the others. We’re all the same. Whoever hasthe lead part—at that time that’s the most important—youback that one up. We work together as a unit rather thanthere’s one person up there.

The thing that would turn me off quicker on any band orany person on the stage is if they give off this air of they’rebetter than everybody else—I can’t stand it! And I don’t careif they’re the best musician in the world. It just turns me off,and I walk away! I don’t like that myself, and we try not to bethat way, because everyone’s good in their own way. Sometimes we do a show and we feel like, “That was a bad show.”I mean, everyone has bad nights once in a while. And everytime that you have a bad show, or you feel it’s a bad show,someone will walk up and say, “That’s the best job I’ve everheard you guys do!” They’re not listening to the mistakes youmake, they’re just listening to the overall effect. But we aren’tperfectionists—we do what we do, and just do it the best wecan. We try to be the same on stage as we are off, ’cause we’rejust individuals, just like anybody else.

I think that all comes across in the way the band presentsitself. You're up there to convey an emotion.

HAZEL: I think so. It’s your interpretation of what youfeel. And every band does different songs. You know there arecertain times I don’t sing a song because it just does not fit myvoice. Every time, someone will come up and ask me to singa Tammy Wynette song, Stand By Your Man, but it doesn’tfit me. But you get one by Loretta Lynn, that type of song, orKitty Wells, I can do their style because it’s more a traditionalsound. Someone did a neat record review on us one time, andthey said my voice was “raw-boned.” It was funny the waythey said it. It was like it was a rough female voice, you know,but it was strong. It wasn’t meaning that they didn’t like it.

I think it’s got a good edge to it. In fact, I was thinking aboutthat this morning during your set. Listening to the harmonieswhen you sing with Mac, then the harmonies when you’resinging with Jackie [Greenwood], I like both sounds, butthey're very different. I really like the sound of the two womensinging together.

HAZEL: Thank you. She does a great job. I do a coupleof songs where she’ll do the high harmony with me. This isgoing on her fourth year with us. She’s just blossomed out!

Is Jackie the only other woman who's ever been with theband?

HAZEL: Yes, to actually be part of the band. I was theonly female in the band for years and years! [Chuckles.] Ithink she works very well with us. We debated on who to getwhen Roger [Williams] quit and went with another band. Wefelt that if we were to get another Dobro player that they wouldalways be comparing Roger to them. We didn’t want that. Sowe approached her, and she said she’d like to go with us. Andwhen she gets in to play the mandolin, she attacks it, youknow! She doesn’t hold back at all. And she’s got a nice voice,but she was kind of shy about it. I think maybe I might havehelped her in that way. I said, “You just have to let it go.” Isaid, “Even if it’s a wrong note, even if you hit a sour note,you know, you’re not going to hit it if you don’t let it go.” Ithink she feels very free with us to learn new songs and tellus that she’s got a new one that she wants to do. We try tofeature everyone on stage. That’s always been our policy.Sometimes you can’t feature everybody, if you have a shortperiod of time. Like on this first set, I didn’t even sing one bymyself, which I usually do.

There was one that you did with Mac, Stranger In MyHome... You’re laughing!

HAZEL: Yes! Well, it’s Kitty Wells! That was a songthat she and Red Foley did, and it’s funny because we’vealways known that song. And one time, it was up in Canada,we were just fooling around in the bus, and Mac just happenedto remember that song, and he started singing it. Well, Icouldn’t sing it in the same key with him, because our voicesare too far apart. And I said, “It’s got to be a different key forme to get the answer to it.” So we worked this out, just in thebus! And he said, “You know, let’s try this on stage tonight.”Well, we tried it! And it was the biggest hit! Well, believe itor not, it’s the most requested singing song that we do. I thinkit’s because of the recitation that’s in it, and the changing ofthe keys. [Mac sings his part in one key, and they switch toa different key for Hazel’s part.]

You talked about the years when you started, and fromwhat I understand, you and Grace French were the only twowomen that were performing at that time [in the Northeast],

HAZEL: There were a few others. But probably Graceand I were performing more than the others. But there’sgetting to be more women all the time!

Did you encounter any negative feelings at that timeabout women performing? HAZEL: No. Not myself personally. No.

You felt that there was acceptance? You never had anyproblems?

HAZEL: No. Never. If anything, [the men] were encouraging. To me. There’s something about the New Englandarea, and New York State, and Pennsylvania. I think it is moreopen. I can’t say the way I feel about it! The woman hadalways been kind of in the background. Kind of like when youcame in this morning—I was fixing eggs! [Laughs.] I thinkthat’s been the way for the women, that they were basicallythe babysitters, the housekeeper, and cook, that type of thing.So they never had time, usually. The men were out there, theyhad all the time in the world, you know. And I think that’s whywomen weren’t getting involved as much as they are now.That’s my own personal thought on it. Well, I was thinking about that as I was watching you upon stage. You’re not a woman on the bass who’s hiding in thebackground somewhere. You’re right up front. And then Icome back here, and you’ve changed your clothes, and it's,“Wait ten minutes. I have to finish cooking this for Mac.”[Laughter.] That’s great! Have you ever had a problem withthat, with the transition?

HAZEL: You mean, being both sides, like? No. I thinkit’s just been that way.

You do it all.

HAZEL: Yeah! I do everything! [Laughter.] They do callme the boss. Everyone will want to tell you that I’m the boss.It’s just a little nickname that they have all given me. But itis true because someone has to be the final person, and I’m theone with the easiest...You know, with the men, if one were tosay to the other guys, “Well, we’re going to do this song,” andif he really came on strong they might say, “Well, he’s beingbossy!” But, see, I can do it and get away with it!

That's an interesting perspective, really, because youhear a lot of people say that men will never take directionfrom a woman.

HAZEL: Butthere again, see, Ihave a way aboutme, but none ofthem ever take offense with anything that I say.It’s because I havethis relationshipwith all of them.But if anythingneeds to be said,or taken care of,they know that I’mgoing to do it. Andthey don’t worryabout it.

Do you thinkyou’ve worked consciously at developing this sort of relationship with theband members?

HAZEL: No, I don’t think I’ve ever had to work at it. It’sjust been there. Then there’s White Mountain Sound. I've seen you settingup, tearing down, running the board.

HAZEL: That. I don’t know how that came in. Thewoman who started the Oxford festival, when it was at theFairgrounds, knew we had a sound system, so she asked us ifwe’d do the sound for a festival. And I said, “Well, we’ll try.”Herman, our oldest son, there, he’s very technically minded.He made all that stuff, and he hears things that I don’t hear.So he was pretty good at running the sound. Then, eventually,there was one show that we were doing the sound for, and hecouldn’t make it. So that left it to me. Well, I could do a fairlydecent job, but it wasn’t a real bright sound. So I askedHerman, “How in the world do you distinguish? It sounds likeit’s all one thing to me. I can’t distinguish the banjo from thefiddle, to pick it out and clear it up.” He said, “Just listen forit.” And it was a hard thing for me to do, but I have finallylearned how to do it. I can sit there, and I can actually tuneout every instrument except the one that I’m working on. I’vegot to where I can do a pretty decent sound. I’ll set it up, andI’ll run it, a lot.

And you know, I get a lot of compliments on it. They seea woman sitting at the board, and the first impression is, “Mygoodness! What’s going on here?” Because the normal ruleis that the men run the sound. I do most of it, now, if we’rerunning the sound. It irritates me when I hear a band up therethat’s not heard. We think that every band should be heard,every instrument should be heard, every singer. We like thevoices just a notch higher than the instruments. We like it tobe good and clear, and we like the instruments to be clear butnot overriding.

Now, at Oxford, both the Case Brothers and the DelMcCoury Band were using a single mike. With two guys, it’sone thing. But when you have five instruments and vocalistsdancing around that one mike, is it harder, or is it easier?

HAZEL: No. Believe it or not, that’s the first time we’veever done that. That wasn’t our mike, that was the CaseBrothers’—that was Dickie Bowden’s mike. Actually, it’seasier with just one mike. You set them up to the volume theywant, then the rest is up to them! Do you think of yourself as a rule breaker?

HAZEL: In some ways probably. In bluegrass I wasprobably one of the few [women] that was really out performing most of the time, and people would look at me a littlestrange, because they were used to seeing men, and maybe inthat sense, maybe so. But I’ve always seen women in music,so in a sense I was, but in a sense, I wasn’t. It’s hard to explainthat! But it was mostly just men that were out performing. When you’re singing, for the most part, there are onlytwo of you, so would you say it's closer to the traditionalbrothers' harmony?

HAZEL: My harmony is not what they call a bluegrassharmony—they call mine like a country style. I learnedharmony from my mother—it’s just a natural instinct. Andthe guys now, when we do a trio or a quartet-type thing, theyhave to get what part I don’t sing. This is really true. I can’ttake a part that’s not natural for me. I’m just going to hit it,and if I go on their note, they’re going to have to go above meor below me! But they all know that. Sometimes we’ll beworking on a song’s harmony, and they’ll say, “This is yourpart, right here.” And they will hum the note that they wantme to sing. Well, I’m going to hum a harmony note with them.They can’t hum it and have me get the same note. I’m goingto harmonize with that note! You know, it’s the hardest thingin the world for me to do that. I told them, I said, “Well, I’molder than you guys.” But I’ve never been, never felt intimidated by the men.

Editor’s note: WIB did an article in our seventh issue(Spring 1996) about another woman, Onie Baxter, from Georgia, who also plays bluegrass with her husband and is aboutHazel’s age. I find it fascinating that the members of Onie’sband also refer to her as “Boss Lady." The picture that so manyof us have in our minds of the demure little lady standing in theback of the band and constantly deferring to the men is slowlybut surely being shattered. Long may it rest in pieces on thefloor.

Bluegrass Yules

By Chris Stuart

(A Christmas story in which the meaning—not definition—of bluegrass is discovered) Jake Marley was dead. Well, almost. If you call playingkeyboard in a disco revival band at the Monteagle Drift Innfor the past six months death, then yes, Jake Marley was dead.It was during the eighth encore of Do Ya Think I’m Sexy thathe himself came to this conclusion.

Later that evening, as the band packed up, Jake approached the owner of the Drift Inn, Benny Scrooge, who wasat that moment behind the cash register of the bar, makingsure all the presidents faced the same direction.

“Benny.”

“Two thousand three, two thousand four...what?!”

“Do you remember when we used to play bluegrass inhere?”

“Bluegrass! Bah! Humbug!”

“Do you still have your fiddle?”

“Sold it. Two thousand six, two thousand seven...”

“Benny, tonight you will be visited by three ghosts...”

“Jake, I just spent the last five hours looking at sixty-somethings do the hustle. I don’t scare easy.”

“You have been warned...”

“Two thousand nine, two thousand ten...”

So, it was on that night as Benny Scrooge cursed his VCRfor not recording A Brady Bunch Christmas that a strangespecter appeared in his living room.

“I am the ghost of bluegrass past...” it said in a lonesomevoice.

“And I’m Oprah. Look, if you’re a friend of Jake’s...”

“I am the ghost of bluegrass past, and I have come to showyou the true image of your childhood dreams. You oncewanted to be the best bluegrass fiddler in the world. You evenchanged your name to Benny after Benny Martin, and youfollowed Kenny Baker around until he taught you how to playRoad to Columbus."

“Yes, but that was years ago. I quickly learned that there’sno money in it.” “Silence! Look into the finish of this 1935 Martin D-28,and tell me what you see.” “I...I see a young boy on fiddle. And there’s Earl on banjo!And goodness, there’s Lester. He was so kind to hire me forthat summer. No, I can’t look anymore.” The ghost disappeared, leaving Benny Scrooge breathless. He went into the kitchen and poured the last bit of eggnogdown the drain. An hour later, as Benny finally adjusted thepicture for Holiday Wrestling Featuring Snowden and Barney,he turned in time to be greeted by a second apparition.

“I am the ghost of bluegrass present.”

“But you’re a girl!”

Two. Three. Four.

“That’s usually what the banjo player says.”

“Sorry, but you’re a bit young, too.”

“It’s the present! Get it?”

“Ah.”

“Let’s move this along, shall we? Look into the televisionand what do you see?” “The Joey Bishop Channel?”

“Sorry, let’s see, channel 615...there.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know those people.”

“Of course, you don’t. You see that kid playing Nintendo?He’s not playing a fiddle. And do you know why? Because hedidn’t go to the Drift Inn tonight to see bluegrass and getexcited about it, because there is no bluegrass at the Drift Innand no Benny Scrooge on fiddle for him to see.”

“So what will happen to him?”

“He’ll become a successful Windows consultant.”

“No! No! Anything but that!”

“Not much we can do. That’s the present.”

The ghost lifted her hands and vanished in a haze, butbefore the dark smoke could completely dissipate, the cloudsswirled together to form a sinister black-hooded figure. Benny said, “Let me guess, the ghost of bluegrass...FUTURE, right?” The shade drummed his bony hand on top of the televi-sion.

“Is this your entrance or mine?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“I am the ghost of bluegrass future. Come with me.”

They were both flying up and out of the house, far abovethe lights of the city. “This is a hundred years from now. Look below andlisten. What do you hear?” A great cacophony rose toward them, but slowly Bennycould discern all manner of music. For minutes they stayedthere hovering above the rhythm of life below. Finally Bennylooked over at the ghost.

“I don’t hear any bluegrass.”

The shade stared off into the distance.

“No, and no one mourns it because they cannot hear itsabsence in all the noise.” “Wait, I do hear something. Someone arguing about whatis or isn’t bluegrass.” “Yes, that remains,” said the ghost.

“Please, are these things that will be or might be a hundredyears from now?” “This is the future, as you make it. But not as it has to be.”

“Take me back, please. Take me back to the place whereI first saw the light...” Suddenly the noise stopped, and Benny Scrooge sat alonein his easy chair. He glanced up at the high shelves stackedwith old LPs.

And so, on Christmas Day, as Jake Marley drove by theDrift Inn, he noticed a new sign in front of the bar, BluegrassTonight. Benny Scrooge and the Humbugs. Jake did a U-turnand drove off quickly to get his banjo.

One Good Arrow

By Nancy Pate

Signs of spring are already appearing in the mailbox:catalogs for spring clothing, the community school springcourse list, flyers urging us to sign up our kids for baseball!soccer! tennis!—and the brochure for the Chris AustinSongwriting Contest. This contest is run as part of thefabulous Merlefest held every April in Wilkesboro, N.C. Thenotice of a songwriting contest is the stuff of dreams to me.I’m bound to have just written a song that makes me think, “Ifonly someone (the right someone) heard this one.” A contestis such a painless way to publicize yourself. No moving toNashville and living out of your car. No banging on the doorof every music publisher in the business. No handshakes, nolooking people in the eye, no selling of yourself. You send offa little cassette tape and $25, and glory awaits. No hard work,just instant reward. Alas, it has been many years since Ientered my first songwriting contest, and I’m still sitting here,waiting for glory to strike.

The Chris Austin Songwriting Contest is one of the fewcontests that actually has a bluegrass category for submittedsongs. Gillian Welsh won the first contest in 1993. She is agreat songwriter. Gillian is getting some well-deserved namerecognition. I was delighted this year to sit in a dark movietheatre watching Ulee's Gold and hear Gillian’s voice on thesoundtrack singing Tear My Stillhouse Down. That’s probably the reason her picture still adorns the contest brochure,rather than a picture of the most recent winner.

There’s a world of good songs out there waiting to bediscovered. It’s a thrill to hear the work of another songwriterand think, “This is great stuff! Why isn’t everybody hearingthis?” That was often my feeling when listening to my oldpicking partner, Louisa Branscomb, she of Steel Rails fame.If I arrived early to practice, she would be sure to say, “I havea few other original songs that I want us to work on.” Afterhearing the first one, I would reassure myself with thethought, “But I have a song as good as that.” And on hearingher next song, I was still confident, “Yeah, I have a song asgood as that one, too.” By the third original, it was, “Well,that song I wrote four years ago is almost as strong as thatone.” After the fourth or fifth great song, I was thinking,“Wow, this woman has been a songwriting powerhouse foryears.” When we took a breather, I would offer my kudos, andshe would say something like, “Thanks, those are the onlygood times out of all the songs I wrote last month.” Then Iwould realize that I’m a songwriting dilettante. I’m happy ifI finish one or two good songs in a year.

But it’s that one good arrow in my quiver that makes metake aim at the next songwriting contest. Surely my very beststands a chance of winning against the very best of even amore prolific amateur songwriter. Spring, hope...there’s acliché there somewhere, but I’ll leave it for my next song. Ascountry radio so often proves, every overworked clichécontains a hook for another country song.

Many, many years ago I received an Honorable Mentionin a local songwriting contest. The certificate read, “DearBlank, We are pleased to award you an Honorable Mentionin the Blank Songwriting Contest for your song Blank.” Allthe blanks were filled in, of course, with my name, the year,and the name of one of my songs, but the handwriting wasslapdash enough to give me more than a sneaking suspicionthat bulk mailing had been practiced on every entrant. Howbetter to keep those entry checks coming in every year? “Thisyear I almost made it,” the ever-hopeful Honorable will sayto herself. “Next year will be my year.”

For all you other Honorable Mentions out there, thisyear’s deadline for the Chris Austin Songwriting Contest isMarch 18. The contest hotline is 1-800-799-3838, if you wishto

receive the official rules and an entry blank. But why amI telling you? After all, you might have a better arrow.

Casey Henry—Ratifications

TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT!

For this column I was instructed by the editor and HWICCof this establishment to write about playing with the Sidemen.Fortunately that was what I was going to write about anyway,so I shall comply.

Murphy and I went to Nashville for New Year’s this year.We had gone last year, and I had had such a good time thatI decided we had to go again. We drove over from Murphy’sparents’ house in North Georgia where we had spent Christmas. Murphy generally lets me direct trips like that, so whenshe asked me when we were driving to Nashville I said“Tuesday.” She was game, so we made the five-hour tripeasily until we ran into some snow about an hour out ofNashville. This worried me a little because when it snows andices, it makes it very hard to do things like drive to the StationInn. But it stopped snowing and started to melt, so I wasrelieved. I said to Murphy, “We won’t have to drive to theStation Inn in the ice.” She responded with, “Oh, who’splaying?” “The Sidemen.” “Oh! That’s why we drove toNashville on a Tuesday.” I guess I really never told her, butI figured everyone already knew that the Sidemen played atthe Station Inn every Tuesday. Maybe they just don’t thinkabout it all the time, like I do. We went over to the Station early, about 6:30, becausemy aunt, Lynn, who works there, had to open up. She’s notreally my aunt, she’s my great-aunt, my father’s uncle’s wife,but you don’t need to know that. My grandmother Renee waswith us, too. You gotta admire a grandmother who will go intoa dirty, smoky bar, listen to bluegrass, and even drink beer.So we helped Lynn open. There wasn’t really much to doexcept put ashtrays on the tables, but that is a very importantjob for a crowd like that.

Now, I didn’t want to go to the Station just to listen to theSidemen. I’ve heard the Sidemen. I wanted to play with theSidemen. I’ve been playing banjo for five years now, and thatwhole time I have been working up to playing with people likethem. From time to time I actually practice Sidemen material,like Alabama Jubilee, Those Two Blue Eyes, or Lost John,anticipating the day when I would actually be able to playthose particular songs with those particular people. As ithappened, this was that day, or, rather, that night.

I was reasonably sure that they would ask me to get up andpick, as they have extended similar invitations in the past, onnights which I was instrumentless. I was confident

enough tobe able to carry my banjo right in the front door and set it downin the back room. The fact that nobody was in the building atthe time made this easier. But there was nothing subtle aboutit either, as my banjo case is fire-engine red and a little hardto miss. I just left it there and went out front to read and talkfor the three hours until show time. I was at my customarytable (the one I occupy the two or three times a year that I amthere), right in front, as close as one can possibly get to theband. The stage makes a nice footrest.

The Sidemen are pretty relaxed about show times. Theystarted up about 9:45 and played a nice long set. Jason Carterstarted the set on fiddle as Jimmy Campbell was, Runnin’ Late, in keeping with his instrumental of the same name. Allthe other usual pickers were there except for Mike Comptonwho was replaced by former Sideman Ronnie McCoury. Nocomplaints from this department. They played for an hour ormore and then took an extended break to visit and consumerefreshment.

I headed to the back room because the most interestingthings generally happen there. It was interesting all right.Casey Campbell, Jimmy’s five-year-old son, was all riled upand in a kicking battle with a man called Fergie, who actuallysustained a minor flesh wound. I did have a legitimate reasonto be back there; I always like to have one just in case anyoneasks. I got an old Del McCoury album for Christmas which,as is the case with many old albums, didn’t list the personnel.I asked Ronnie who was on it because he knows everythingabout his dad’s band. I even remembered two-thirds of whathe said, which I thought was pretty good. When show timerolled around, Terry Eldredge threw out the question I hadbeen waiting for: “You want to pick? We can have twinbanjos.” OF COURSE I wanted to pick. I whipped out mybanjo, tuned her up, and was ready to go. I might also mentionthat I was wearing appropriate Sidemen stage attire—biboveralls. Jimmy Campbell and I matched.

I followed them out on stage and stood next to RobMcCoury, and Jimmy kicked off with Lost John. I hadlistened to their arrangement many times, so I felt pretty ontop of things. Rob backed up the first fiddle break and let meback up the second. It was no big special deal to them that Iwas up there, although they did sing Happy Birthday to mesince my birthday was coming up on Saturday. I was justanother picker, and I appreciated that. I don’t rememberexactly all the songs we did, but some did stick in my mind.After three or four songs, Rob left the stage, apparentlydeciding that he wasn’t needed, or probably just wanting anextended break. So it was Casey: banjo player for the Sidemen.No problem.

I picked Groundspeed for my tune. I play it pretty well,and they seemed to like it. Terry sang We Could, which is onhis latest CD, a slow song which requires only back-up

fromthe banjo. No problem. Gene Wooten played a Dobro tunecalled Dobro Rumba. It had sort of a cha-cha beat, but turnedout to only have two chords, G and D. I took a break, noproblem. Rob rejoined the band after quite a while. Hedecided to pick Pike County Breakdown. He kicked it off.Problem. I had never in my life played the song that fast. Mygosh, I could hardly keep up. It was obviously no strain forthem because they play together that fast all the time. I madeit through, although my tone, and probably my timing, too,went out the door. That left me with only one “T” and thatis not a good thing. At some point, Terry asked me if I sang. I said, “Sure, whynot?” and sang East Virginia Blues in B-flat. Ronnie andErnie Sykes, who was playing bass at the time, joined in onmost of the verses, the ones that they knew anyway. I neverthought I would be singing with Ronnie McCoury. I savoredthe moment. We picked for a long time. I only rememberlooking up at the clock when it read 12:45. They ended the setwith Shady Grove in C, again faster than I’d ever played anysong in my life. I managed to pound out a break, but justbarely, and not without royally screwing up. Then we weredone, and I had played an entire set with the Sidemen. Whatan experience. Hopefully they will only remember the songson which I didn’t make mistakes. And have I mentioned I amplanning on moving to Nashville?

Wiblets

Cavemen Becoming Extinct?

I read the article All Female Bands: A Thing of the Pastin your fall issue. The point of interest is that my friendBarbara Smith, a wonderful fiddler, and myself, banjoist,were approached by the Florida Strings, of De Land, Fla.,with three men on bass, mandolin, and guitar. They weren’tsatisfied with the banjo players they had had, and they alsoneeded a fiddler. I had been referred by a member of the NorthFlorida Bluegrass League. I, in turn, brought Barbara tothem. Voilà!

What Barbara and I find exciting is that the two leadinstruments are being played by women! We’ve blendedperfectly with these fellows, and we are thrilled to be a partof the band.

I do believe there are a few diehards out there who areprejudiced against women doing anything creative, but thereare so many talented women musicians out there and so manyjams that are mixed, that that breed of cavemen is becomingextinct!

—Barbara Mulford

Zephyrhills, Florida

...Or Maybe Not

I received your book for Christmas and loved every wordof it...I’ve had about six banjo lessons over the past seven oreight years, so you can imagine about where I am in myplaying. I picked up the banjo because I loved the sound—even one plucked string gives me great pleasure. For severalyears I played rhythm guitar for song leading at the elementary school where I teach, so at least I knew some chords… Overthe past few years, I began to pick out Do Lord, What AFriend, and Jesus Loves Me. I was surprised that I could makethe song kind of sound like it was supposed to. Even my familycould tell what song I was playing. I would like to order yourfirst video. My forty-ninth birthday is February 14, and Ifigure I deserve a treat for making it this far.

A couple of observations... Playing at jams is very scary forbeginners. I have tried a couple of times and have not felt verywelcome. Sometimes the folks seem glad you’ve come, but Ithink I have, at times, not followed the rules because I didn’tknow what they were. The last time I braved up and tried, theleader stopped the whole jam right in the middle of a song andpointed his finger across the room at me and said, “YOU!KEEP UP!” Well, you can guess that I wanted to crawl intoa hole and pull the dirt in over me...I should have morecourage and keep going back, but so far I haven’t. Maybe I’lltry again sometime. Now I realize that I was playing tooloudly. I’m used to playing for 120 kids to belt out This LittleLight Of Mine. That volume just is too much for a little roomat a pizza parlor. If I ever go again, I’ll sit in the back meeklyand plunk away to myself. Thanks for the chapters on women in bluegrass. I guessI am really dense because until I read your articles, I keptthinking that the women pickers probably just couldn’t makeit out that particular evening. I would look around at the circleof players, and they would all be men. I play in a group forchurch—two guitars, me on banjo, and my husband on themandolin—and I’m the only woman. I kind of felt weirdabout that, and I remember wishing there was another womanin the group.

One evening we were practicing, and the men were alltrying to figure out how many counts one word in the songneeded. The men were saying, “I think ‘breast’ gets twocounts.” “No, I think ‘breast’ gets three counts.” “Well, Ithink ‘breast’ gets only one count.” I can’t remember whatthe song was, but the word ‘breast’ was in it, and how manycounts it got was hotly debated. Meanwhile, I sat in betweenthe debaters with the word ‘breast’ flying past my own two,first one way and then the other. It was really weird to havethese two church-going men arguing over such a word witha woman in between them. They were so consumed with thecounting and who was right that they didn’t even realize thatit might be a little weird being a woman in those circumstances.

To make things worse, I have been on medication that hasmade me gain thirty pounds over the last couple of years, andmy breasts have blown up to a size 40 DD. I am foreverbumping into things with them—can hardly lie on mystomach—not a single shirt or blouse fits me anymore—andI am as self-conscious as a cat in the dog side of the pound.So, I really enjoyed your section on women in bluegrass. Iwould really like to see you write a book of short biographiesof some of the women in your file. I would love to hear theirstories.

—Mary Owens

Salem, Oregon

Hard To Play Bluegrass?

Years ago, when I was a member of the HotmudFamily, we played a private party for Phil Donahue(whose show was then based in Dayton, Ohio). Somegentlemen were standing to the side watching us play, andone said to the other, “D’ya think that’s hard to do?” Towhich his friend replied, “I dunno—how hard can it be?She can do it.” —Suzanne Thomas

Hillsboro, Ohiovia email on bgrass-l

Correction: In WIB #13, we incorrectly named one of thewomen in the picture on page 8. The lady with the bass is, ofcourse, Jill Snider (not Harvey), who is the sister of JanHarvey, hence the confusion. We also got her name wrong onpage 3. Sorry about that, Jill! Wow! Our first mistake. <Grin>

Ingrid Herman (Fowler) Reese is battling cancer. Shehas recently spent much time in the hospital, but is nowhome! Ingrid has had a tremendous influence on bluegrassin California and in Nashville. Back in the ’70s, she was oneof the few women I saw playing a lead instrument—fiddle.Please write to her and let her know you care. Ingrid Reese209 Walcott Dr. Nashville, TN 37214.