“Great Big World” by Tony Trischka

Tony Trischka
Great Big World
Rounder Records
5 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

If you’re not sure of Tony Trischka’s banjo cred, take it from Bela Fleck:

Tony was the right guy at the right time to take advantage of all the new lessons that were being taught right and left by Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles, the Beach Boys, Miles Davis and so many more…and apply them to banjo music. This enabled him to propel the fine art of banjo playing three giant steps forward.

That’s from Fleck’s liner notes to Great Big World, aptly titled when one considers that the diverse and beautiful sounds Trischka makes on this 13-track disc are possible only in the musical world that he did so much to create.

A core unit of guitarist/vocalist Michael Daves, mando picker Mike Compton, fiddler Mike Barnett, and bassist Skip Ward join Trischka for trad-grass arrangements of Woody Guthrie’s “Do Re Mi,” “I Wonder Where You Are Tonight,” and—with Chris Eldridge on guitar and lead vocals—”Say Goodbye.” Daves and Aoife O’Donovan trade vocals on the latter part of “Belated Wedding Hoedown/Angelina Baker,” with the Trischka-penned instrumental first half setting up Stephen Foster’s familiar melody perfectly.

Trischka’s instrumental compositions have always been both intricate and tuneful, and that’s what he delivers with “The Danny Thomas,” “Promontory Point” (with Steve Martin on banjo), the solo front parlor picking of “Swag Bag Rag,” and the seven-minute “Single String Medley,” which features a unique tune for each of the banjo’s five strings.

“Great Big World/Purple Trees of Colorado” is another seven-minute frolic, with Noam Pikelny picking second banjo and longtime Trischka pal Andy Statman pitching in with both mandolin and clarinet.

Trischka is also a gifted lyricist whose melodies work just as well sung as played, and it doesn’t hurt to have voices like harpist Maeve Gilchrist (who also adds her harp to “Ocracoke Lullaby,” which indeed does sound like a gentle night on the coast of its eponymous island), the ethereal Abigail Washburn (“Lost,” arranged with violin, viola, cello, flute and clarinet), and Catherine Russell, who’s backed by Dylan sideman Larry Campbell on pedal steel and latter-day Allman Brothers Band bassist Oteil Burbidge for the ecumenical gospel rave-up “Joy.”

All that’s enough to make this one of the finest records released this year—and to serve as proof that Trischka can do well whatever he sets his hand to—but the coup de maître is “Wild Bill Hickok,” a miniature Western with laconic vocals from Ramblin’ Jack Elliot and narration by John Goodman.

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“Somewhere Far Away” by Bradford Lee Folk and the Bluegrass Playboys

Bradford Lee Folk and the Bluegrass Playboys
Somewhere Far Away
Five Of Diamonds Records
4 stars (out of 5)

By Donald Teplyske

The early 2000s were an exciting time in bluegrass music’s still-brief history.

In some ways a changing of the guard was underway, as the next generation of players and singers were emerging while first and second generation legends were feeling—in various ways—the hands of time.

In other places, the music was stretching as jazz, pop, mainstream, classical, and other influences were not only colouring the contemporary bluegrass sound, but in some cases were being wholeheartedly incorporated into the music.

While all this was occurring, there were—as there has always been—others who were taking the music back to its roots, defining bluegrass by building upon its very stable foundation.

Bands as diverse as the Infamous Stringdusters and the Grasshoppers hit the ground running. Pine Mountain Railroad and Nickel Creek could be heard alongside the Wilders and the Karl Shiflett and Big Country Show.

Youngsters straight out of college—and others still in high school—formed bands who performed largely original songs while ably demonstrating their mastery of the deep catalogue established by the Monroes, Osbornes, Stanleys, McReynoldses, and the west coast pioneers like Vern & Ray, bands like the Steep Canyon Rangers, King Wilkie, Barefoot Bluegrass, and more.

Super groups like Rock County, the Grascals, BlueRidge, and Wildfire reinvigorated sidemen and veterans of the business. We were riding the O Brother bubble. Stringbands were everywhere, jam bands started to be welcomed into our world, and thanks to the increasing capabilities of the Internet, regional bands could connect with the wider bluegrass audience as never before.

Some of the groups are still going today, while more flamed out after a couple albums, and others faded away almost as quickly as they appeared: why didn’t the Circuit Riders ever achieve the level of prominence their debut album promised?

Of all the bluegrass bands that made a splash after the turn of the century, few held the potential of Open Road. Before their self-titled, Sally Van Meter-produced debut appeared, their name was beginning to be passed around by those who had caught a performance of the Colorado-based group. When that independent album—the one with BLUEGRASS prominently above the band’s name, and with the bold pronouncement/disclaimer “featuring 5-string banjo”—hit the player, converts were instantly made.

Their music had drive and fire. They were fronted by two young guys who seemed to have been born to play the bluegrass music, mandolinist Caleb Roberts and guitar picker and lead singer Bradford Lee Folk. Not only did they look the part—from their publicity photos, both could have been in the Clinch Mountain Boys around the time Skaggs and Whitley left—they recreated the classic sound of bluegrass wonderfully, as the cliché goes ‘making old songs sound new, making new songs sound old.’

Open Road toured relentlessly, signed on with Rounder Records and released two additional albums to great acclaim, Cold Wind and …in the life. They acknowledged their influences, some like Del Williams, Buzz Matheson & Mac Martin, and Vern & Ray, under-heralded within much of the broader bluegrass world. Their concert appearances were exciting and fresh, their albums ideal.

Around the time their third Rounder album appeared, the band broke up. The band had experienced personnel changes over time—fiddlers seemed to come and go with each new release—but shortly after Lucky Drive was released in 2005, Open Road was “flaming out from the pressures and temptations of being thrown into the touring musician life too young,” according to Folk’s current one-sheet.

I seem to recall hearing that Roberts was going to attempt to keep working the bluegrass road, but the last I heard he was in Colorado working for a living, but still picking. Folk sought stability, bought a Colorado honkytonk, booking bands in and working the other side of the music business table. From what I understand, he eventually relocated to Nashville, started gigging, and this past spring released his first recording in almost ten years, Somewhere Far Away.

The first thing one may notice when listening to the brief, eight-song collection is that things seem to be a bit mellower, less frenetic. There is no shortage of energy on this set of modern-Americana infused bluegrass. It is just that Folk isn’t in any great hurry to get to wherever it is he is taking us. The approach is perhaps a bit more mature, with a greater emphasis placed on mood and atmosphere.

The album’s lead track, like all but two of the songs a Folk original, is likely the one most reminiscent of the familiar Open Road approach. “Foolish Game of Love” features Matt Flinner’s mando at the fore, providing that audible connection to the music Folk previously made with Roberts. Folk pushes the music, his voice dipping into a purposeful near-mumble at some points, while at other moments in the song he is clear in his articulation. This expressive, mournful drawl works in counterpoint to the artful and lonesome clarity of his tenor, loading the song with restrained emotion.

Folk remains a great singer, but now is even more expressive in his communication than he was when he was younger. The fire has been tempered, but it continues to burn.

In some ways, and not only in its brevity, Somewhere Far Away recalls Jimmy Martin’s ‘good and country’ bluegrass albums. This recording is every bit as spirited as Martin’s finest recordings, but like them there is also a bit of an edge to the songs, a touch of bitterness and regret. “Trains Don’t Lie” is rich in atmosphere while conveying a narrative that is complete and compelling. “Denver” is a song that (I think) contrasts the longing for an open road with the comfort and familiarity of home.

Undoubtedly a bluegrass recording, Folk incorporates a very strong band to solidify his sound. Robert Trapp, the only member of Folk’s current Bluegrass Playboys appearing on the album, is a very strong 5-string player; his break and fills on “Never Looking Back”—a John Stewart-meets-Sam Bush epic in miniature—are impressive without detracting from the musicians working with him. With Flinner, Matt Combs (I’m guessing fiddle) and Mike Bub (bass, I’m hoping it is safe to suggest—the album doesn’t contain specific credits) round out the core group.

As an aside, “Never Looking Back,” by Jim Kelly, previously appeared (with a very different arrangement) on David Davis & the Warrior River Boys outstanding 2009 album, Two Dimes & A Nickel; Folk learned the song while he was playing with Davis—I’m guessing around the time that album was released—something I didn’t know he had done.

While there are only eight songs on the album, there is no shortage of memorable songs. A standout is the closing track, “Soil and Clay;” written by Folk, this earthy ballad is as dark as it is honest, much like a Fred Eaglesmith song. The album’s other non-original comes from Folk’s friend Nick Woods; “The Wood Swan” is another good one, and really showcases the various musicians’ abilities.

Bradford Lee Folk and the Bluegrass Playboys may not receive the unbridled heralding that greeted Open Road. Somewhere Far Away is a bluegrass album, without doubt. But it is a different sort of bluegrass than that produced by Open Road. There are more shades to this music, more exploration of the gravel bits on the road’s shoulder rather than heading straight down the white lines in the middle of the highway.

“The Game” by Blue Highway

Blue Highway
The Game
Rounder Records
4 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

It’s hard to write a review of an album you know is going to be good. Blue Highway started with a five-man lineup 20 years and 10 albums ago, and it’s still the same five guys making great music (Tom Adams replaced Jason Burleson on banjo for the group 1999’s self-titled fourth album.)

All the elements of this versatile and durable combo are in place for the 12 tracks and 40 minutes of The Game: Burleson’s firm right hand, three singer-songwriters—Shawn Lane (mandolin and fiddle), Tim Stafford (guitar), and Wayne Taylor (bass)—who could easily front their own bands, and the second greatest Dobro player to ever put steel on steel in Rob Ickes.

“The Game,” “Where Jasmine Grows,” and, especially, “Talk is Cheap” are the kind of groove-heavy tracks that Blue Highway does better than anyone else.

“Just to Have a Job,” “All the Things You Do,” and “Remind Me of You” are the kind of irrepressible, perfectly crafted and sung tunes that outclass just about every other bluegrass songwriter.

Burleson’s celtic hop “Dogtown” and Ickes’ breezy “Funny Farm” are inventive instrumentals that aren’t merely excuses for showing off.

All of that is—please forgive me—just a little bit of a letdown. The Game is a great album, but it’s great in essentially the same way that their last two or three albums have been. I suppose that’s a little bit like complaining that Sandy Koufax just pitched another no-hitter, but I can’t help but think that tinkering with the mix a little—perhaps by collaborating with a producer (instead of self-producing) or by adding another musician (as the Del McCoury Band did with Jerry Douglas on The Cold Hard Facts)—would be a catalyst for something even more creative.

The traditional “Hicks’s Farewell” is the one track on The Game that a band member didn’t have a share in writing, and it’s the most striking—master musicians calling down the ancient tones that resonate deeper than even the best of modern craftsmanship.

“A Dotted Line” by Nickel Creek

Nickel Creek
A Dotted Line
Nonesuch Records
2 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

It’s been a decade and a half since Nickel Creek released their self-titled third album, the one that introduced them to music fans outside the bluegrass festival circuit that Chris Thile, Sara Watkins, and her brother Sean Watkins had been popular on since they were kids.

Now in their thirties, each is rightly considered among the very best musicians on their instruments—especially Thile, who is nothing less than the Babe Ruth of the mandolin. But their sum here on A Dotted Line is considerably less substantive than their parts.

Twee is the word that kept coming to mind as I listened to this one several times. Rather than trusting their talent to just play, the trio can’t get out of their own way when it comes to writing, choosing and arranging material.

Even on what could have been a simple and beautiful instrumental track like “Elephant in the Corn,” they have to throw in a couple of bits that are—to copy and paste from my dictionary app—”affectedly quaint.”

I suppose Thile thinks he’s being Byronic on “Rest of My Life,” “Love of Mine,” and “You Don’t Know What’s Going On,” but he’s really still just doing John Mayer’s tired act. What’s worse is that Sean tries the same thing on “Christmas Eve.” You’d think a couple of grown men would know how to talk to women more effectively, but I guess when you’re in a band, you can let that part of your game slide.

Sara comes through with lead vocals on the disc’s only two listenable tracks, the self-penned perfect pop of “Destination” and a gorgeous take on Sam Phillips’ “Where is Love Now.” Her voice is as sweet as it was on “The Hand Song,” but she’s got the maturity that her bandmates don’t.

The most important track here is the cover of “Hayloft,” by Canadian indie rockers Mother Mother. It took great skill to play and produce a track so awful, which makes it so disappointing that these three seem so intent on proving their hipster bona fides when they should just relax and play (see the Infamous Stringdusters).

“Taproot” by Three Tall Pines

Taproot
Three Tall Pines
self-released
3½ stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

Taproot is a six-song, 23-minute EP, the third studio effort from New England bluegrass/Americana quartet Three Tall Pines.

Dan Bourdeau (guitar, vocals), Nick DiSebastian (bass, guitar, vocals), Joe Lurgio (mandolin, vocals), and Conor Smith (fiddle, vocals) are joined by guest banjo picker and producer Ron Cody on five bluegrass standards and one fine Bourdeau original—the decidedly Welchian “Stonewalls.”

TTP won’t be mistaken—especially vocally—for most of the bluegrass bands that include “Walls of Time,” “Crying Holy,” and “Angel Band” in their repetoire, and that’s a good thing. Their arrangments have a hint of the rock/jam band sound to them, getting the right mix of reverent and refreshing.

Smith’s playing throughout is especially good, and he’s joined on two tracks by a couple of fellow fiddlers to great effect: Britanny Haas on a soaring “Raleigh & Spencer” and by Haas and Lauren Rioux on “With Body & Soul.”

This was my first notice of TTP, and I’ll be looking forward to more material, especially original compostions as good as the lone example here.

“Let it Go” by the Infamous Stringdusters

The Infamous Stringdusters
Let it Go
High Country Recordings
5 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

The bass player usually is mentioned last, but Travis Book’s work is what makes this fifth studio album by the Infamous Stringdusters one of the very best acoustic albums that I’ve heard in a while.

So many bands attempting to transcend their nominal bluegrass origins go bashing away as hard and fast as they can, leaving drive and direction out of it altogether. The most readily apparent sign of this is usually bassist who can’t quite keep up. Then you have players like Book (as well as the great Mike Bub) who are the lead dogs, giving those closer to the sled more room to work.

The 11-track, 40-minute Let it Go is the work of a band that seems to play, sing, and even think, as one. So much so that the CD packaging doesn’t identify the band members, much less give a track by track accounting of who’s playing and singing what, as is customary on many bluegrass releases, especially the ones with hired studio aces.

The complete sound is what the Stringdusters are concerned with and the sound they make here has the drive of a band like Blue Highway—with brighter, more melodic textures—backed by musicianship about as good as the Punch Brothers without the pretentious wankery.

The instrumental breaks are short and collaborative, with the Dobro or fiddle often running in one channel the same quick zigs and zags as the banjo in the opposite. The guitar adds depth to Book’s bass, and occasionally steps out for some crisp and rich flatpicked solos.

And all of this is done in support of some great singing and songwriting—I’ve been listening constantly to “I’ll Get Away,” “Where the River Runs Cold,” and “Summercamp” the last couple of weeks, whether through speakers, headphones, or just my mind.

“Summercamp” is a three-and-a-half-minute masterpiece that sounds like what you would get if you locked Ron Sexsmith and the mid-1970s Seldom Scene in the studio and told them they couldn’t come out until they had a radio hit.

As we’re beginning summer in our hemisphere, I couldn’t recommend more highly a new album to add to your musical rotation for the sunny days ahead.

“Silver Ladder” by Peter Mulvey

Peter Mulvey
Silver Ladder
Signature Sounds
4 stars (out of 5)

By Donald Teplyske

Admittedly, I’ve not been as familiar or as enamoured with Peter Mulvey as I am others of his lonely-folk ilk.

I find that what appeals to any individual listener is the personal connection one has made with an artist. For every John Wort Hannam, Dar Willians, Martyn Joseph, or Mark Erelli that I’ve related to, there are a hundred others with whom—usually through no fault of their own—I’ve failed to align.

To my ears, there has been little to distinguish Mulvey from the hordes of ‘sages on stages’ making their living performing songs in coffee shops and folk clubs across North America.

Although I’ve purchased one of his albums—2007’s acoustic envisioning of his catalogue, Notes from Elsewhereand heard a couple others—including the very impressive Boston subway covers album Ten Thousand MorningsI’ve never connected with his music on an ongoing basis.

I’ve enjoyed his albums while they were playing, but I don’t recall ever going to the shelf and thinking, “I need me some Mulvey.” Maybe it would be different had I experienced a concert, but I haven’t, or if I spent time in Milwaukee, which I don’t.

All that changes now with Silver Ladder. Maybe it was the whimsical cover art. It could have been seeing Chuck Prophet listed as producer. Perhaps it was that the album was assigned to me for review and so I was forced to listen to it a bit more judiciously than I might have otherwise.

But, I think this is what it was that pulled me in: I never realized how much Mulvey shared—in cadence, outlook, and themes—with Phil Lynott’s spoken blues, rock poet stylings and on a pair of tracks here (“What Else Was It?” and “Copenhagen Airport”), Mulvey could be giving voice to long-forgotten demos from Solo in Soho or an unreleased Thin Lizzy album. Continuing the classic rock allusion, I could hear Ian Hunter singing “Sympathies” and “Remember the Milkman?”

Maybe I’m the only one who hears it. That’s okay.

Whatever it was that got me here, I’m glad it did. Turns out Silver Linings—released in a year of amazing Americana recordings from the likes of Rosanne Cash, Eliza Gilkyson, Jeff Black, and Laurie Lewis—stands with the best of them.

“And I’ll greet all the good people

With my head held high and my wide open hand

And I’ll wait for you down by the willow

But just once a year”

is just one of the discordant sets of lyrics populating these songs, those from “Josephine,” one of the album’s most striking moments.

“You Don’t Have To Tell Me” and “Back to the Wind” are free-wheeling rockers buoyed by considerable wordsmithery:

“In the middle of a lifetime the road gets a little squirrelly

You might lost your sense of humor for a year or two.”

Like the best songwriters, Mulvey doesn’t allow smugness to weed his garden of words. While clearly betrayed by “Lies You Forgot You Told,” his anger is tempered by a realization that he is not without fault. Still, “with any kind of luck by now, it will be falling on your head tenfold” allows hope for the cynic.

Silver Ladder is a deep, unified album. While the songs certainly stand up to isolated listening, it feels as if it should be experienced as a whole. The songs aren’t so much thematically linked as they are elements of a common fabric. The verbosity of “If You Shoot at a King You Must Kill Him” is balanced by the lyrical brevity of “Copenhagen Airport” and “Landfall.” The opening “Lies You Forgot You Told” naturally and ideally flows into “You Don’t Have To Tell Me.”

The core band—Mulvey (guitar), Prophet (guitar, drums), Aiden Hawken (keys, guitar), James DePrato (guitars), David Kemper (drums) and Tom Freund (bass)—is augmented by others including the wondrous vocals of Anita Suhanin (“Where Did You Go?” and heard on previous Mulvey recordings), and the equally impressive Sara Watkins (vocally on “Remember the Milkman?”, violin on “Landfall.”)

In my opinion, Peter Mulvey’s Silver Ladder is a roots rock album of the highest order.

“Ancient Dreams” by Red June

Red June
Ancient Dreams
Organic Records
4 stars (out of 5)

By Donald Teplyske

Since 2010, the North Carolina trio Red June has become increasingly well-regarded within acoustic Americana and folk music circles for their warm three-part harmonies, insightful writing, and compelling musicianship.

Ancient Dreams is their third album, and first with outside label support. While their previous albums were in many ways spectacular (consider, as example, Remember Me Well‘s “Biscuits and Honey” and “McKinney Blues” or Beauty Will Come‘s “Cloud of Dust” and “Soul’s Repair”), Ancient Dreams sees the band taking steps forward to further define their space within an increasingly crowded artistic marketplace.

Red June—Will Straughan, Natalya Weinstein, and John Cloyd Miller—combine traditions of southern roots music—country, old-time, and bluegrass—with influences from Weinstein’s classical music background and the vocal precision of the folk-pop world.

Working with producer Tim Surrett (who doubles on upright bass), the trio have maintained their penchant for creating original songs that could emanate from no other roots outfit. Red June, in the course of three albums over five years, have defined their sound. And it is a wonderful one.

Straughan’s “Black Mountain Night” has evocative lyrics (“I swear as I look down, from this mountain on that town, For a moment, everything’s alright”) from which genuine emotion is wrung.

Miller’s “Where We Started” examines the cyclical nature of relationships, and his “I Still Wait”—sung with Weinstein—is an acceptance of the fleeting connections made when one is firmly committed to a personal existence.

Their vocal mastery is ably demonstrated throughout the album’s eleven songs, perhaps never more so than within “I Am Free,” the album’s a cappella centerpiece. Straughan’s resonator contributions never overwhelm the blend of natural vocal harmony the three share; rather, the guitar’s mournful notes accentuate the intensity of this seemingly organic connection. Similarly, Weinstein’s fiddle complements the sparse instrumental canvas the band utilizes.

A pair of instrumentals—“31″ and “Gabriel’s Storm”—provide ample evidence that Red June is a multi-dimensional band worth a listen for many reasons.

Red June’s Ancient Dreams serves as more than a calling card from an emerging artistic collaboration. It is a formidable achievement, attuned to modern approaches in the creation of timeless sounds.

“Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers featuring Edie Brickell” by Steve Martin

Steve Martin
Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers featuring Edie Brickell
Rounder Records

4 stars (out of 5)

By Larry Stephens

The Steep Canyon Rangers play good music. “Knob Creek” is as pretty a bluegrass tune as I’ve ever heard. Their album Nobody Knows You won the 2013 Grammy for Best Bluegrass Album and 2012’s Rare Bird Alert was nominated for the same award. In 2011 the Rangers and Steve Martin won Entertainers of the year at IBMA. Pretty heady stuff.

I saw the Rangers in Georgia a few years ago. I liked the show. I like Steve Martin. I haven’t heard much of them together because I don’t often listen to radio. My go-to-work car doesn’t have satellite radio and my wife likes the ’60’s channel in her car. I wasn’t sure what to expect as I started the CD and that’s why you’re reading these reviews, trying to decide if a CD is worth your money.

This package includes a DVD (the show was taped live) and the DVD tells a better story than the CD. The DVD has two additional tracks and includes the stage banter, audience shots, and gives you better context than the CD. From the start it’s clear that this is the Steve Martin show. He’s the front man, he tells the jokes and plays or trades lead on the banjo. When you visit SCR’s website it becomes clear this is a collaboration but they are in a supporting role with Martin (50 shows a year) while keeping their identity as they perform separate from him. Other clues about what to expect are subtle: the website listing shows SCR last after Martin and Edie Brickell and SCR’s members aren’t named in the package.

The SCR aren’t just window dressing, though. The first number is “Katie Mae,” a hot one that whets your bluegrass appetite. Despite not being familiar with it I figured it was adapted from Flatt & Scruggs or someone like them, but the only other number with that name I can find is a Grateful Dead piece adapted from the blues and they aren’t even cousins. It turns out it was composed by Brickell. Other than the music on “Atheists Don’t Have No Songs” (by SCR members) the songs all list Martin or Brickell as composer or co-composer and SCR isn’t involved. “Katie Mae” on the DVD shows Martin playing lead banjo, trading off in spots with Graham Sharp. Martin’s a good banjo player and enjoys carrying the bluegrass message in his TV appearances.

One of Martin’s funny lines is at 11:00 on the DVD: “I know what you’re thinking: There’s Steve Martin, just another Hollywood dilettante hitching a ride on the bluegrass gravy train.” It’s hard to tell from shots of the audience how many of them follow bluegrass—I suspect a substantial number were there for the Steve Martin show—but they liked that line while veteran bluegrassers really understand the punch line. “Jubilation Day” is one of his comedy song routines (a breaking up story from a “whew, it’s over perspective”) and the bass player takes an impressive break on the number. “The Crow” is a good instrumental bluegrass number and is the title track of Martin’s 2009 album that won the Grammy Award for Best Bluegrass Album at the 52nd Grammy Awards.

Edie Brickell is associated with the New Bohemians and the Gaddabouts, and is now closely allied with Martin and his bluegrass shows. She comes in at 26:40 (DVD) to sing “Get Along Stray Dog.” This is more old-timey than anything else. The music takes a turn at this point to some sort of fusion between old-time, folk, and Irish jig with her singing somewhere in Dylan’s camp, breathy with a rising and falling inflection. There’s an electric guitar and drums and a keyboard have been added. The audience liked it. Bill Monroe fans probably not so much. It’s unclear if she has a genre in mind. I suspect she’s following her own muse: infused with acoustic music but still very influenced by rock/pop. If you listen to “Love Like We Do” (New Bohemians) you’ll find a lot of similarities with her work on this CD.

“Stand and Deliver” is the SCR (Martin and Brickell are off stage) plus some percussion doing bluegrass on the progressive side. They follow that with “Hunger,” a blues number with an electric guitar. Not bluegrass but I liked the song and the arrangement.

There’s far too much material to cover it all, especially on the DVD. Some other highlights are “Pretty Little One,” close to a bluegrass story song but it also has an old-time sound. The verses tend to have a repetitious melody and go on and on with both murder and comedy woven into the lyrics. Martin sings lead with Brickell joining in now and then. Next “Auden’s Train” kicks off, credited to Martin and Nicky Sanders. That may confuse you because it’s the “Orange Blossom Special” with lyrics borrowed from W H Auden’s Calypso.

Woody Platt (guitar) sings lead on “Daddy Played The Banjo,” a Martin number that makes good bluegrass. “Atheists Don’t Have No Songs” isn’t politically correct, but it’s funny. Maybe we worry too much about being politically correct.

Bluegrass fans attend a performance or buy a CD expecting the music to be the show. Some of the best bluegrass bands out there don’t try too hard at showmanship. When you buy this package expect the Steve Martin show with music added. You’ll enjoy the DVD if you’re a Steve Martin fan because he puts on a good show. If you’re considering the CD expecting more “Knob Creek” bluegrass, you’ll be a little disappointed.

“Carter Girl” by Carlene Carter

Carlene Carter

Carter Girl

Rounder Records

5 stars (out of 5)

By Donald Teplyske

Lives are filled with regret.

Carlene Carter’s story is well documented. In brief, she is the child of June Carter and Carl Smith, ex-wife of Nick Lowe, star of the “Cruel To Be Kind” video, a recording artist with several memorable performances before becoming an overnight success in 1990 with “I Fell in Love” and a series of hit and near-hit singles.

Then came the darkness, the lost and non-recording years, the substance abuse and career implosion. I’m guessing Carter has her share of misgivings about her life, the opportunities squandered, the negative impacts she may have had on herself and others.

I’m confident she has no uncertainties surrounding the recording of Carter Girl, the album many of us have been waiting for her to create since we first heard her sing. Beneath the spunk, rockin’ country, and the irreverence, and long before “I Fell in Love,” many knew that she would one day release an album that truly spoke to and explored her familial and musical roots. Performances from her TNN series Carlene Carter: Circle of Song—clips of which are on YouTube—reveal the appreciation she had for the music of the original Carter Family, of Mother Maybelle, and that of the Carter Sisters.

For the last decade—as she cleaned up her life and fully embraced the legacy afforded to her—Carter has grown stronger and fully blossomed. She was well-received in the theatrical performance Wildwood Flowers, and her album Stronger made numerous year-end ‘best of’ lists in 2008.

While she has consistently kept her family close on her albums—A.P.’s “The Winding Stream” was featured on Little Acts of Treason, which also featured Carl Smith on a reprise of his chart topping “Loose Talk,” Stronger‘s title track and “The Bitter End” contain more than a little autobiography, she’s recorded “Foggy Mountain Top,” “Ring of Fire,” and “My Dixie Darlin'” on various albums, and as liner writer Jim Bessman notes, going back to 1978’s “Never Together (But Close Sometimes),” Carter was using the Carter scratch method of picking—never has she dedicated an album highlighting her family’s importance on her music.

Now in her late-fifties, and completely comfortable with herself and her place as a bridge to country music’s past, Carter has, with producer Don Was, brought together an all-star band and several guests to celebrate and honor the legacy of her family. She has frequently spoken of having felt an obligation to carry the music of the Carters to subsequent generations, and with Carter Girl she has certainly done Maybelle, A.P., Sara, June, Anita, and Helen proud.

The album includes ten songs selected from the immense Carter catalogue. To her credit, Carter hasn’t selected only the most familiar songs—no “Wildwood Flower,” for example, nor then “Will The Cirlce Be Unbroken,” “No Depression in Heaven,” or “Keep On the Sunny Side.” She’s dug deep, searching out, connecting with and revitalizing timeless songs.

The formidable “Little Black Train” kicks off the album, as astute a choice as any made with the disc. This song with a clear message of getting right with the Lord pulses with conviction and forewarning, and the vocal harmonies of the amazing Elizabeth Cook and Joe Breen (Mr. Carlene Carter) on the chorus make things that much more intense. As expected, the song is livelier in Carlene Carter’s hands than when recorded by her forbears in 1935, with the rhythm section of Was and Jim Keltner propelling the song.
Cook shows up throughout the album, never more impressively than on the full-blown duet “Blackie’s Gunman.” Carter no longer attempts to hit the highest notes she once did, and leaves these to Cook who nails the harmony parts. Carter’s voice is huskier, more robust than in her video play days, but this works wonderfully with this material. She still sings like a dream. Sam Bush contributes mandolin to this track, making the instrument’s sound to slightly resemble an autoharp.

Aunt Helen’s venerable “Poor Old Heartsick Me,” a hit for Margie Bowes, is the type of song that almost anyone can sing-along with, while “Troublesome Waters” proves once again how difficult it is to listen to others sing with Willie Nelson. For me, this is the album’s only stumble. Willie is Willie, of course, and while it isn’t musical malpractice, it does interrupt the flow of the album.  I’ve long wondered why female singers attempt to harmonize with Nelson on slow-tempo numbers. Both Nelson and Carter’s vocal parts sound good in isolation, but to my ears their blend doesn’t. The performance is forced. Would it have worked better had they been eye-to-eye in the same studio when recording? Possibly.  I just know I would rather have heard Carter sing the song without Nelson.

More successful is when Kris Kristofferson drops by to join in on “Black Jack David.” The song, one of many that A.P. Carter borrowed from the folk tradition, works largely because the two singers match each other’s phrasing more comfortably than Nelson and Carter do. Carter also provides guitar accompaniment in the style of Mother Maybelle, a very noticeable contribution.
Utilizing modern technologies, Carter closes out the album singing with her mother, aunts, and Johnny Cash on “I Ain’t Gonna Work Tomorrow,” an emotionally abusive song of codependency disguised as a working man’s protest if ever there was one, while Carter sings June’s “Tall Lover Man” like the country classic it should be.

Within an artistic creation with no end of highlights, two of the most dramatic come directly from Carter’s imagination. “Lonesome Valley 2003″ is built around the classic spiritual, but is made more intense through the inclusion of Carter’s lyrics sharing the heartbreak of her family’s losses of that year.

The instrumentation of this track is beautiful—Carter’s piano, Rami Jaffee on Hammond, and guitars from Greg Leisz and Blake Mills—while Carlene sings as if she is in a country church, paying tribute to her loved ones. The emotion in her voice is palatable, and she says she genuinely choked up on the final verse. With lesser singers, this would be an affectation; for Carter, it’s the truth: she’s lived this song. Vince Gill’s vocal support may go unnoticed upon first listen, but it’s there on the chorus giving the arrangement additional depth.

The greatest song Carlene Carter may have ever written is re-recorded for this collection. “Me and the Wildwood Rose” originally appeared on the breakthrough I Fell in Love album, and at the time was a dramatic statement that—notwithstanding the country-rock beats of the title track and the video and stage prancin’ that accompanied it—she was a still a Carter girl.

A tribute to her grandmother and her aunts, the song wistfully reminisces about the days and nights on the road in the car with “grandma and her girls.” Now that all those mentioned in the song are gone, including the Wildwood Rose herself, Carter’s sister Rosey, the song assumes additional dimension. It was a stunning performance then, and it is even more so now, and it is on this track that Carter sounds most at ease—reinterpreting herself for a new generation, if they’re listening.

No regrets then with Carter Girl. At 47 minutes, it is a substantial project. The reservations I have with Willie Nelson’s performance are likely a product of my own prejudice; Was and Carter obviously appreciated what he brought to the studio.

The album is more than a tribute album to the various branches of the Carter family. It is the testament of a granddaughter, daughter, and niece committing herself fully to the legacy she has always embraced, a promise long ago made that the circle would remain unbroken.