Sticks That Made Thunder

The SteelDrivers are a reasonably tradition-embracing bluegrass band composed of session musicians from Nashville. "Reasonably tradition-embracing" means that they still use all the instruments you would expect, and they don't go off into Happy Jazz Land much (or at all, really), but that they are definitely pushing the boundaries of what Bill Monroe himself would find tolerable. Also they write all their own stuff. Their eponymous debut album was released this January on Rounder, and it has already become real good friends with my CD player.

The main attraction is Chris Stapleton, guitarist, lead singer, and songwriter (all the songs are written by him and one other person; the person in the second slot varies from tune to tune). Actually, that's not quite true. Stapleton is a damn solid rhythm guitar player (a species which is a dime a dozen in Nashville) and a damn fine songwriter (not as common a species, though not always a guarantee of well-arranged and well-performed music), but the main attraction of the SteelDrivers is Chris Stapleton's voice. I mean holy Odetta this man can friggin' sing. And the mental image I had of him after listening to this record a few times is nothing like the picture you see at right.

The best way to understand the force and quality of his voice is, well, to listen to it and make your own judgment, but if you put Travis Tritt's voice, a box of cigars, a couple bottles of Jack Daniels, a few feet of your driveway, and some okra in a blender and put it on "Chunky," you might get something like Stapleton's voice. This intricate metaphor, however, fails to give you an idea of his versatility: he can warble and moan on the languorous Civil War song "Sticks That Made Thunder" (an apt image for instruments as well as muskets); he can rasp and cackle on "If it Hadn't Been for Love," a murderer's lament-type song that's one of my favorites from the album; and he can howl in a clear and shatteringly powerful (but still chunky as hell) Howitzer of a tenor on tunes like the boppin' bluegrassy opener, "Blue Side of the Mountain." And he can do a tasteful amount of that Mariah Carey melisma crap when he feels like it, too. Nor is he afraid to make his voice sound flat and brash when it fits the line or the syllable. I could go on, but the point is that Chris Stapleton's vocal chords are one of the finest artifacts of modern bluegrass.

His songs ain't bad either. My chief gripe about modern bluegrass bands, as I believe I've griped before, is weak songwriting in the midst of tight instrumentation and phenomenal chops, and so by comparison with some of the dreck I've heard passed off as bluegrass, the SteelDrivers' songs are fantastic. In the grand scheme of things this makes them better than average but not instant classics (except maybe "If it Hadn't Been for Love," which deserves to be covered well and frequently). The songs nod to and flirt with bluegrass cliches while occasionally inverting or altogether rejecting them. There's a war song, a drinking song, a murder song, a homesick song, a few lovesick songs, you know, but they're well-done expressions of their various archetypes.

The instrumentalists are chosen from Nashville's finest session musicians, and it shows. Together they achieve a remarkably tight and crisp sound, while managing to sound raw and unpolished. How does that work? I'm terribly jealous of this effect. Individually, they vary. Stapleton has great rhythm with his guitar but eschews lead lines. Bassist Mike Fleming is like a pet rock: groovy and steadfast. Banjoist Richard Bailey is my favorite instrumentalist in the band, with wonderful bounce, sparkling tone, and eternal creativity. Mandolinist Mike Henderson (who co-writes many of the songs) remained an enigma for a while because, whether it's the poor mix of the album (hard to believe on such a slick product) or the poor quality of the Amazon download or the cheapness of my equipment, I couldn't hear the mandolin breaks on any of the songs worth jack when listening on my CD player. With headphones, on my computer, I found his breaks to be competent, clean, simple, and firmly within what Bill Monroe would find tolerable. Fiddler Tammy Rogers... well, now, let's be fair, I'm a fiddle player, and thus am terribly critical of other fiddle players. She's quite good, and plays with a lot more soul than many Nashville fiddle robots I know of, but sometimes she tends to sound a bit frenetic and sometimes her breaks tend to sound kind of the same. Also there is one lick that she plays over and over and over again in various songs, no matter the key or time signature, which gets to be aggravating. (Listen for it... it starts on the flat 7th of the chord and has a big slide in the middle.) She does sing some fine harmonies upon occasion as well.

Altogether, this is one of my most highly recommended bluegrass albums of the past year or so. It may get knocked down a few slots after I spend all my Amazon money on new stuff, but it's a very enjoyable, slightly edgy, jazz-free traditional piece of tightly orchestrated yet foot-tapping bluegrass, essentially demonstrating the many sides of a marvelously gifted singer and some friends he gathered into a band, from honky-tonkish romping to a level of precision after Flatt & Scruggs' own hearts to limit-pushing, genre-pulling, rocked-up, twangy singer-songwriter material. Check it out.

Sleep With Your Glasses On

Half-watching an episode of "Classical Destinations" the other night (a show on PBS hosted by Simon Callow and featuring various locations around Europe that presumably served as inspirations to the great Western composers), I was struck by a couple of things about Franz Schubert. He was an astonishingly prolific composer, writing nine symphonies (a la Beethoven), several operas, a bunch of piano concerti, and over 600 songs. According to legend, he slept with his glasses on, so that he could begin composing again as soon as he woke up in the morning. Apocryphal to be sure, but probably not without reason: he worked hard all his life, yet still remained basically penniless.

Schubert also died at the revoltingly young age of 31, which is less than twice my age. Mozart, by contrast, was 35.

Here's Hilary Hahn doing a rockin' solo version of Schubert's song "Der Erlkönig" (The Elf-king). It's even cooler if you've heard the original piano/voice version, which I recommend you do.



(More posts will come bit by bit as I try to get back in the swing of blogging. It's been a ridiculously busy summer.)

It All Has To Do With It

On my birthday I bought myself a new CD (with my parents' money, it should be admitted) of tenor saxophonist John Coltrane's suite A Love Supreme. I have heard from numerous sources that this is one of the best jazz albums there is, and I figured it would be a good place to jump into Coltrane's oeuvre (as it is considered his masterpiece) and into the area of modern jazz in general (a field which I am not terribly well acquainted with). The album is in four parts, features four musicians, and is a little over half an hour long. In the first 24 hours after I purchased it, I listened to it three times. Now I try to keep my music reviews objective, to be informative about the qualities of the music rather than just give a "thumbs up" or "thumbs down," because other people with different musical sensibilities than mine may like music that I dislike and vice versa. In the case of A Love Supreme, however, I am pretty much inclined to say that anyone who dislikes this music is a complete philistine. I'm not even sure how or where to begin to talk about something this phenomenal.

According to Coltrane's own liner notes, he had a profound religious experience in 1957 which finally manifested itself seven years later in the highly spiritual and swiftly written music for A Love Supreme (the album was in fact dedicated to God). In 1965, with McCoy Tyner on piano, Jimmy Garrison on bass, and Elvin Jones on drums, at one of the definitive sessions in jazz history, the suite was put on record. It is a work of undeniable genius and the session was intangibly magical. Brilliant improvisation from all four participants becomes practically an expectation as you listen.

At various points, A Love Supreme is deceptively accessible or stupefyingly complex, so powerfully swung that you want to dance or so multirhythmic that the room spins, based on straightforward scales or on bizarrely uprooted chromatic scales. An incredible variety of textures is present throughout: solo bass, solo drums, lilting accompaniment supporting a careening Coltrane solo, all-out no-holds-barred polyphonic chaos from all musicians, delicate interweaving between two or more musicians, even a brief multi-tracked septet at the very climax.

It is the most thematic piece of non-classical music I have ever heard--so thematic, in fact, that I question labeling it as non-classical. Part 1, "Acknowledgment," opens with a forceful and distinctive bass line (covered by disjointed, atonal piano chords) that is utilized everywhere: first intermingled to brilliant effect in Coltrane's opening solo, then sequenced obviously and almost randomly on the sax through what seems like every key, then appearing in Coltrane's brief, weird chant of "a love su-preme, a love su-preme." This theme and others from the acidic Part 1 reappear in the more frenetic and thrashing Part 3, "Pursuance" (aptly titled for what amounts to a musical chase), which appears after the well-juxtaposed, more relaxed, and more "traditional" (if that's possible) Part 2, "Resolution," which sounds more like a jam tune but is also incredibly thematic, featuring a "head" which falls through various strange chords but resolves logically. After the agony of Part 3 comes the gentle, seemingly pulseless, minor pentatonic Part 4, "Psalm," in which Coltrane "reads" a religious poem he wrote (included in the liner notes) by playing its ebb and flow on his saxophone, with its recurring, plangent "Thank you God" theme.

This album is fabulous and deserves many repeated listenings. I am chomping at the bit to hear more Coltrane as well as the Turtle Island String Quartet's recent Grammy-winning cover of this album.

Safe is Not a Compliment

Last night on PBS there was a show about Russian conductor Valery Gergiev, head of the Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg (formerly the legendary Kirov) as well as principal conductor for the London Symphony Orchestra and others. I was pleasantly surprised to realize that he also conducted the orchestra for the Metropolitan Opera's staging of Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin, featuring the stellar Renée Fleming, which my dad and I saw in the spring of last year. Now I wish I'd been paying more attention to the orchestration.

Gergiev is a perpetually grizzled and sweaty conductor of fifty-five and a virtual rock-star of the modern classical music world. His schedule is insane: he conducts nearly a gig a day (though I suspect that the intelligentsia do not refer to classical music concerts as "gigs"), indicating that he is constantly in high demand, and he dedicates fantastic amounts of energy to each. The stereotype of the wild-haired maestro who looks like he's about to give himself an aneurysm from his furious baton-waving is fully expressed in the person of Valery Gergiev. He grits his teeth and swings his huge hands to and fro, with his distinctive bangs quivering below his bald scalp, then squints and forms his mouth into a cooing shape as he delicately guides the orchestra into a more placid section, as if in rapture at the divine beauty of the sounds he is indirectly creating.



I know too little about twentieth-century classical music, or even about the idiosyncrasies of individual conductors, to say "Oh, well, he's better than Salonen but inferior to Bernstein" with any kind of authority, but even I could tell that Gergiev's music was fantastic--and I'm not just going off of the fact that he was considered enough of a legend to be featured on "Great Performances." This was some great classical music. His performers raved about his ability to hear anything, to labor patiently at minutiae, to connect with the orchestra and the audience. Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, a piece with which I have (surprisingly) a passing familiarity, was shown at various stages of development under Gergiev's Fearless Leadership, from first rehearsal to performance, and it was apparent that the work had gelled marvelously in his hands. Even with my old TV's decidedly sub-perfect sound quality, I felt my spine tingling as they moved through the famous, dramatic, explosively arrhythmic sections.

Perhaps most interesting to me, being as I am a non-classical musician and a member of the Great Unwashed, were Gergiev's more generally applicable comments about music. "Modern orchestras are generally very good," he said, and I am paraphrasing, "but that is not the same as interesting." (An analysis which could easily be applied to many bluegrass or rock bands.) "They can play well enough that everyone agrees they are very good--but that is playing safely, and safe is not always a compliment."

Newgrass, part 1

Here are a few old reviews of newgrass albums, updated slightly to reflect more current opinions and experiences (i.e. I have seen all of these people perform live since writing the original reviews). Newgrass, in case the term confuses you, is basically modernized bluegrass, characterized by extreme instrumental virtuosity, twisting of old bluegrass forms and licks, and jazz-influenced scales, time signatures, and so forth. It is one of my favorite styles of music and one of the ones that I spend the most time listening to and trying to play. The three albums I will take a look at in this post are Fork in the Road by the Infamous Stringdusters, Blind Man Walking by Cadillac Sky, and 3D by Casey Driessen.

The Infamous Stringdusters are composed of six incredibly skilled bluegrass musicians who have been playing with each other in various lineups for a long time and have been touring in this format for almost two years. Dobro player Andy Hall and fiddle player Jeremy Garrett, son of Glenn Garrett (former member of the Grasshoppers turned Christian musician), provide most of the songwriting and somewhat nasal but tightly harmonized vocals. Hall strikes me as the best all-around musician in the band, composing several of the band's better songs, such as the instrumental "No Destination," and contributing some stellar dobro work. The best instrumentalist is probably mandolinist Jesse Cobb, whose insane solos were somewhat toned down for Fork in the Road compared with those when I saw them live. As a fiddler myself, I listen with a far more critical ear to Garrett's playing, and though he is inarguably very good, and very well-versed in the idiom of bluegrass and jazz, he seems to keep coming back to a few of the same ideas until they seem gimmicky, such as off-rhythm triplets, syncopation a half-beat shy of the measure's beginning, and a lot of parallel fifth action. Not that there are any weak members in the band: all the members have excellent bluegrass credentials and several have excellent bluegrass DNA.

The thing that I fear cripples otherwise brilliant progressive bluegrass bands such as Nickel Creek or the Yonder Mountain String Band is the dearth of songwriting ability, except to write cerebral and inaccessible songs which have little in common with a simple, solid bluegrass song. The Stringdusters' songs hold their own quite well in the bluegrass canon, balancing catchiness with musical integrity. Sometimes they can't quite restrain themselves and go off into Happy Jazz Land on tunes such as John Mayer's chord-change-laden "3x5" (who'da thunk it?) or the seven-and-a-third-minute jam aptly titled "Moon Man," but usually they can find ways to express their musical musings within the constraints of a more straightforward tune such as "Letter from Prison" or the jumping opener, "No More to Leave You Behind." All in all, this is a really good record, sitting in a comfy place between the traditionalism of Open Road and the decadence of the Grateful Dead.

Cadillac Sky is a five-piece bluegrass band out of Forth Worth, Texas, considered by many respectable musicians I know to be the hottest thing in bluegrass today. Their mandolin player, Bryan Simpson, is also their lead vocalist and writes most of their songs. (Perhaps I only noticed after learning this, but it sure seems like there are a lot of mandolin breaks.) They are a very tight unit, though the places they choose to take their tightness are not necessarily the same places I would take it if I ran the world. The majority of the songs on this record have occasional religious tones, and several are definitely gospel songs, which may be explained in part by the fact that they are signed to Skaggs Family Records, which is also the label for Cherryholmes, Mountain Heart, and, well, Ricky Skaggs, and which is not exactly renowned as a Mecca of pantheism. I love gospel, but except for "Sinners Welcome," which is really freakin' cool, the in-your-face religiosity of the lyrics, almost on the level of Christian rock, interferes somewhat with my enjoyment of the music. Even the straighter bluegrassy tunes seem to be leaning a bit towards the kneeslapping, single-idea, grotesquely unpoetic lyrics of modern country (cf. "Mountain Man" or "Can't Trust the Weatherman"). The words are probably the one place I take issue with this band.

Instrumentally, they're on a par with the Stringdusters, though they delve much more rarely into the sideways scales and counterintuitive chord progressions of jazz. That's not to say, however, that they don't make use of opportunities to show their dexterity and ability. Their fiddler, Ross Holmes, is not only extremely skillful but wonderfully tasteful, and his breaks and fills are very enjoyable to listen for. (When I saw these guys live he went a bit crazier.) The singing is good, though the harmonies revolve primarily around Simpson, or sometimes guitarist Mike Jump, as the leader of the homophony. As I said, they are very tight, and their arrangements make a terrific use of rhythm to syncopate things unexpectedly and continually draw the listeners in. Their melodies are good, especially on the opener, "Born Lonesome" (which is the best tune on the record IMO), or the amusingly-titled instrumental "Neighborhood Bully's Long Look in the Mirror" (which is based off of a lick I swear I made up independently six months before hearing this record), but do not lend themselves to casual listening--you need to work to listen to Cadillac Sky, and you will probably find it rewarding.

Casey Driessen is a fiddle player who graduated from Berklee School of Music in Boston, toured off and on with Tim O'Brien, which is who I heard him with briefly about a year and a half ago, and then started doing his own thing. His cover of Bill Monroe's classic, dark, grinding bluegrass tune "Jerusalem Ridge," with at least four and possibly five fiddle tracks laid over each other, appears on this CD and was nominated for a Grammy for Best Country Instrumental Performance. Now I have heard a lot of cool things in my 16 illustrious years, and it would be hyperbole to say that Casey Driessen's "Jerusalem Ridge" is the coolest thing I've ever heard, but it isn't very much hyperbole. It is five minutes and forty seconds of complete and utter dark, grinding, jazzy, grassy, grooving, chopping, chocolatey goodness. Not to detract from the rest of the album, cause it's a great album, but "Jerusalem Ridge" is definitely the standout. Driessen plays 5-string fiddles and uses a lot of different mutes to get his desired sound. It's often electrified and usually has a drum kit of some sort, giving him a very modern and original sound which combines howling Appalachian fiddle tunes with sort of African and Latin influences. But electrified.

Driessen appears on Homespun Tapes' Chops and Grooves DVD with Darol Anger (of the Turtle Island String Quartet, among other endeavors) and Rushad Eggleston (of Crooked Still), and his chopping and grooving is often in evidence on 3D, especially on "Jerusalem Ridge" and "Footsteps So Near." He is extemely progressive, but his sound is easier to listen to (for me) than Cadillac Sky or even the Infamous Stringdusters. The caliber of musicians he gets for this record is amazing: Jerry Douglas, Bela Fleck, Darrell Scott, Tim O'Brien, and Victor Krauss. Sometimes he goes off, understandably, into Happy Jazz Land, but more often than not he has a terrifically dark and distinctive "Afro-Celt" sound going on. The quality and difficulty of his fiddle playing is almost secondary to the manner in which he composes and arranges things. Knowing the way "Jerusalem Ridge" is "supposed" to sound gives one an even greater appreciation for his incredible achievement with it; I am also partial to the fiddle-and-voice (Driessen's voice won't land him the position of rock-band frontman, but it's on the notes, well-phrased, and has a nice gravelly timbre) solo "Footsteps So Near," adapted, stunningly, from a waltz of the same name. "Sugarfoot Rag/Freedom Jazz Dance" is also very cool. So is "Sally in the Garden." Actually, it's all very cool. Basically you should just stop reading this blog and go buy this record.

This is just the beginning. Some other newgrass albums which I hope to review at a later date are Crooked Still's Shaken By a Low Sound, Yonder Mountain String Band's Town by Town, and Tim O'Brien and Darrell Scott's Real Time. Also, if I ever have any money to buy more music, I will probably purchase and end up reviewing Punch by Punch Brothers, The Road That Never Ends by Mountain Heart, and the Sparrow Quartet's first album--which apparently came out yesterday. Wow.

And, for the sake of objectivity, not to mention humor:

Bill Monroe: What do you boys call that music you play?
Courtney Johnson (original banjo player for NGR): Newgrass.
Bill Monroe: Yeah, I hate that.

Everybody Likes Free Stuff

Now that the Semester from Hell has come to a close, culminating in a successful-feeling AP Music Theory exam this morning, I hope to be able to get back to blogging more regularly. For starters, here are some things I found on the Internet in my quest for free music, all downloadable from the artists themselves.

Gangstagrass (Various Artists): More or less what it sounds like. The brainchild of New York producer Rench, Gangstagrass is a hip-hop album using old (read "free") bluegrass tracks as its background samples. It appeals to a decidedly niche market, the strange people such as myself who profess admiration for both 1920's stringband music and underground rap. I was hooked from the intro, which samples the gorgeous and ghostly "Dark Was the Night" from 20's streetcorner evangelist and slide guitarist (and, in my opinion, co-founder of American music) Blind Willie Johnson. The two styles blend more fluidly than you might expect, though they do occasionally clash or sound strained. Highlights include "Who Ridin" (sampling a slowed-down version of Jerry Douglas' "Choctaw Hayride"!!), "Steels Gonna Be the Death of Me," and "On the Run." The track "Showin Me Love" should give you an idea of what the album sounds like.

Golden Opportunities Mixtape (Okkervil River): I've heard the name of Austin indie rock outfit Okkervil River tossed around for a while, but never taken the time to hear any of their music. Luckily, they put a freely downloadable album on their website a few months ago, consisting mostly of covers but nonetheless allowing me to get a flavor for the band. The first couple of songs I listened to were not inspiring, but after listening a bit more I have come around to liking these guys a bit more. Their instrumentation is mellow and acoustic, their lead singer's voice is very distinctive--which can be very good or very bad depending on whether or not you like his voice, with its sort of plaintive, wobbling yelp--and their songs are of the variegated and tuneful singer-songwriter type. This is a very unpolished (intentionally, let it be noted) and unusual band which will require a few more listenings to adjudge.

The Slip (Nine Inch Nails): I know little about this band other than Johnny Cash's cover of their fantastic song "Hurt" (a brilliant video which you need to watch RIGHT NOW if you haven't already) which is why I decided to look for some of their music. Imagine my amazement to discover yet more free stuff: their new downloadable album The Slip. Being by no means a connoisseur of industrial rock--in fact generally disliking the little industrial rock I have heard, considering it to be the ultimate case of noise masquerading as music--I have little to which I can compare this album. It is an odd combination of good, solid, straight-up (yet exceptionally dissonant) rock with severe distortion and deep, growling electronica. My chief complaint against much modern rock, including most industrial rock, is that it sounds too square and Wagnerian, but this album has drive and groove and rhythmic interest. NIN is worth another listen as well.

I also just got back from a road trip to my sister's graduation, during which I listened to lots and lots of music. Some fresh album reviews should be up soon.

Resonations

(Note: This is an old music review I wrote. I saw Douglas perform approximately a year ago.)

Jerry Douglas is almost inarguably the greatest dobro player who ever lived, with the possible exception of Josh Graves (who was, interestingly enough, Douglas' dobro mentor), though "ever lived" is not quite so grand of an accolade when you consider that the dobro has been around for less than a century. Last night he rocked a full house at the Emerson Cultural Center with his maniacal dobro skills and impeccable band, bringing a caliber of musicianship that is rarely seen in Bozeman.

The opening act, a local group called ThermalGrass, was driven out of the audience's mind by the main show, but they were certainly competent musicians in their own right. Their 19-year-old guitar player, named Ian Fleming, is incredibly good. Not only does he have the skill to play blinding flurries of notes up and down the neck of the guitar, but he has the musical taste to mix in bends, pauses, bluesy riffs, and double stops. I predict that he will go on to great things. The other musicians were very good as well, including Tom Murphy, bluegrass aficionado and owner of Norris Hot Springs, where various bluegrass acts are brought in to entertain the soakers. The bass was up way too loud at the beginning, and they turned it down slightly, though not enough. The songs they selected were interesting, either bluegrass standards (Red Haired Boy, Cherokee Shuffle) which were tweaked somehow, or unfamiliar tunes brought into the bluegrass enclave. Then we got to the main attraction.

The Jerry Douglas band, consisting of dobro, fiddle, guitar, upright electric bass, and drums, played about an hour and a half to two hours of entirely instrumental tunes of various genres, generally running six or eight minutes each. Because of Douglas' musical ability to do anything he wants, he also reserves the right to play whatever he wants, be it bluegrass, rock, jazz, Cajun, blues, honky-tonk, or anything else. Though his foundations are in bluegrass, he has stretched and broken the barriers of bluegrass and spilled over into other genres, most notably jazz. He sampled these genres throughout the night, and none of the tunes had quite the same feel to them, which is a good thing considering the monotony of the dobro as a lead instrument and the lack of vocals.

All of the tunes had complex arrangements, with various instruments moving in and out of each other in a precisely orchestrated fashion, a Tool-like fondness for changing time signatures, a total dearth of conventional chord progressions, and frequent changes in speed or groove during one song. The musicians accomplished this without a trace of effort, and in fact the whole concert had a mood of "another night, another show" until maybe halfway through: the musicians seemed, well, not exactly bored, but casual in their playing. Nobody jumped around very much or felt obliged to headbang or rock out (except the drummer, of course, and even he was rather restrained); the musicians stayed fairly static, with Douglas occasionally moseying around during somebody else's break. For himself, he never got too worked up even when playing the most difficult-looking material, preferring to let his hands speak for themselves.

On their first number, I thought the rhythm section was too intrusive and even drowned out the lead instruments to some degree, but either they fixed the levels (which they were tweaking slightly all night) or I got used to it, because as time went on they seemed to settle into it more. Also as the night went on, they progressed from the more thoughtful, jazzy numbers to the more straightforward, though still trippy, bluegrass numbers, which was a good idea since starting with the faster stuff and moving to the more melodically complex stuff could easily have made the audience restless. The bass player had a few solos, the drummer had one, and the fiddler and guitarist had one in almost every song. The whole sound, too, seemed to change as the night went on: initially the backup emitted a sort of constant hum, probably from the lingering bass, and the rhythm seemed not so much to pulsate or rollick as to sort of ooze, though this straightened out eventually. Or, again, maybe I just got used to it. The band's sound struck me as one great resonation, like everyone was imitating the resonator guitar: the fiddle's agonizingly pure tone that sometimes provided a little too much resonance for the mikes to handle, the bass's lingering hum, even the blasting cymbals- and of course the warbling, bulbous sound of the dobro.

The rhythm was so precise as to provide practically metronomic consistency, and all of the instrumental breaks were delivered with the same spirit of total clarity and precision. Visualizing this precise sound does not give me an image of many single precise points, however- more one of rolling hills, perhaps because the points were played with such dizzying clarity that they all meshed together into one great resonation.

Many things about the Jerry Douglas Band reminded me of another highly recommended bluegrass/jazz act: Béla Fleck and the Flecktones. Aside from the fact that Douglas has recorded many times with Fleck and also claims to be responsible for giving the Flecktones' drummer ("Future Man") his moniker, they have many musical similarities: no vocals, instead having the bandleader fill the part of vocalist with his banjo or dobro; stylistic affinities, such as the vast range of genres which both bands encompass and the contempt of static time signatures; analogous instrumentation, like banjo=dobro, bass guitar player who plays a lot of solos=upright electric bass player who plays a lot of solos, drum guitar dude=drummer, and especially fiddler=saxophonist, because many of the chillingly clear, 6th and 9th based, higher-string adventures which Douglas' fiddle player (Luke Bulla, who has previously ranked 2nd at Grand Masters') embarked on reminded me a lot of Jeff Coffin's sax wizardry; and the same sort of background hum which I mentioned before. Fleck and Douglas also write a lot of their own stuff, much of which has no hummable melody and seems purely experimental.

Having the authority to play and write whatever sort of music he wanted, Douglas didn't seem particularly concerned with showboating, but was more interested in pushing the limits of what could still be conceivably called "bluegrass" and the tonal limits of his chosen instrument. The dobro is pretty basic in terms of what tones it can produce, but Douglas is determined to coerce the instrument to produce every different tone it is capable of. Some of the tunes were laidback and mellow, some punchy and sparkling, some tense and pulsating. Then, about halfway through, the rest of the band departed the stage, and Douglas and his dobro went to work in a long, powerful, variegated, heavily-fermataed medley of particularly bluesy bluegrass tunes. It was the awesomest thing I've heard in a while, as if he was forcefully reminding the doubters that "Yeah, I really am the best ever."

Unconscious Arithmetic

Over the course of my illustrious blogging career, I have started and failed many blogs, each promising to be better than the last. Therefore I can provide no convincing reason why this blog should be better or last longer than any of my other ones, except for this: I have focused my attention to the single subject of music. My blogs in the past have covered everything from film to language to college admissions to bizarre sites I've found on the Internet. Other people's blogs are limited to admittedly small areas of interest such as cupcakes or amazing French instructional videotapes. In this blog I will attempt to restrain my enthusiasm to the still absurdly vast field of "sound in time." (And bizarre sites that I find on the Internet.)

By way of introduction, I'm a 16-year-old musician living in the state of Montana, USA. I play the fiddle, mandolin, and guitar in a variety of styles, including old-time, bluegrass, Celtic, Texas breakdown, Cape Breton, and swing. I enjoy listening to all these as well as classical, jazz, rock, hard rock, showtunes, etc.


This blog's name is derived from the famous Duke Ellington quote, so by way of introduction here are a couple more music quotes, shamelessly ripped off from this page:

There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.
~Lord Byron

Alas for those that never sing,
But die with all their music in them!
~Oliver Wendell Holmes

Some old music reviews etc. will be provided shortly. Meanwhile, here's an interesting list of things to remember while in the studio.