Category Archives: Banjo

Exploring the Discography of Life

“…there is a playful randomness about what we find and read.  Or rather, what finds us”

When I first rekindled my interest in songwriting and music again, sixteen or seventeen years ago, I began hanging out in music stores, playing the guitar again and digging out songs from my memory and on faded notebook paper from years ago.  One day, a worker in the store I frequent most, Fretted Instruments of Birminghm, said, “Are you just starting to explore the discography?”  I had just said that “I was getting into bluegrass music” and that was his reply.

I began to delve into just that—listening, going to shows, scooting to Nashville now and then.  I bought a collection of Bill Monroe’s music.  Over the coming years, I heard a lot of music live—Bruce Hornsby, Ricky Skaggs, Nickel Creek, J. D. Crowe, Earl Scruggs, Vince Gill, as well as a lot of lesser-known but excellent players and singers coming through the Station Inn in Nashville or here in Birmingham, Read the rest of this entry

Mapping the Bluegrass Genome

“The genetic code of bluegrass and old time music is more sophisticated than that.  It carries stories of birth, life and death in the old days.  It tells of children dying young, tragic love, shame, murder, alcoholism and faith.  To learn the code, no stereotype will do.  You have to descend into the music and listen.”

 

In 2005 I took a three month sabbatical to study, pray, and feed the senses.  I went to art museums, read books, went to Nashville to learn about the music industry and played at open mic at the Bluebird Café, reaching one

Shuffler and Boosinger

Shuffler and Boosinger

of my bucket list items (the ultimate would be a gig on the “Prairie Home Companion Show” while Garrison Keillor is still on earth!).  But a lot of that time was “exploring my roots,” musical, theological and spiritual—which led to a week at Steve Kaufman’s Acoustic Kamp.

I’d been to the Kamp before, in Maryville, Tennessee.  Unless you are a devotee of the guitar and acoustic cousins like the mandolin, the “fiddle” (violin played a certain way), bass, banjo or dobro, you don’t realize that hundreds of camps happen every year across the world where musicians gather and play and learn the heritage of “roots” music—folk, jazz, country, celtic, and so on. In these places, campers rub shoulders with the legends of bluegrass, swing, fingerpicking and new acoustic music.  I met legends like Bill Keith, Clarence White, Read the rest of this entry

ALABAMA FOLK SCHOOL offers Songwriting Class With Kate Campbell

Kate Campbell has created an impressive body of original work in the past eighteen years.

Folksinger and songwriter KATE CAMPBELL is coming to Alabama to lead a class on Songwriting during March (21-23) as part of a weekend school on writing.  If you write lyrics, always wanted to, are a performer who tours or just somebody whose been writing songs in the basement for twenty yearsa and never had the courage to sing one in front of anyone, you might enjoy coming to the Alabama Folk School’s latest offering, “WORDS, WORDS, WORDS.”  The Alabama Folk School is a lovely new place to go and learn about crafts and arts of all kinds—playing the mandolin or quilting.  And now, songwriting and the written and spoken word.

OK, the Grammys are over.  And I didn’t watch.  I am not a sourpuss who needs to pour water on people who want to make millions of dollars dressed as French mimes from Venus.  Free world, have at it.  I like most music, but not all.  Again, your right.  But me?  I like making music more than buying it.  I like crafting, thinking about it, playing with friends, encouraging others.  I like singing with my Dad whenever we’re together.  Singing in church.  Singing with our band, but I like practicing even more.  I love writing songs.  I love learning about it, crafting, exploring something until it is “finished” (which is the hardest part—letting baby leave home!).  And the best way to grow in your craft is to be around others.

MORE INFO CLICK HERE:

The weekend event will offer a class on writing and one on songwriting.  No prior knowledge or expertise is necessary, just interest.  I’m sure the place will be full of people with guitars and notebooks, jamming, telling stories and swapping ideas.  Maybe you have words and want to meet people with a head full of tunes.  Or vice versa.

The weekend is NOT a competition for “greatest songwriter on earth.”  It is a community to encourage everyone to

deux deux idiots ou des génies?

find their voice and grow in their skill.

There will also be a sonn-to-be announced instructor for a writing class the same weekend.

“Live at Moonlight On the Mountain”

Our band has produced two CDs in the past, in 2000 (Shades Mountain Air) and in 2004 (Sky’s a Clearing).  For the last nine years, we’ve been promising a “new” CD while going about busy lives.  I have had four individual collections of songs in the meantime, and the band has done a CD related to Greg’s short film, titled Christmas At Virgin Pines.

DSC_1789 (1024x678)Sometime last year, we said, “Why don’t we try a live CD?  It can capture the energy and experience of a performance, the joy of sharing with an audience, in a venue we love?”  So, the result was a June 1 concert at Moonlight on the Mountain in Hoover, Alabama, one of our very favorite places to play.  Engineer Fred Miller of Knoddingoffmusic came and meticulously recorded the night and mastered the CD for us.  After many months, Live At Moonlight On the Mountain  is finally here and available for purchase.  It’s a great CD, maybe the best ever.  It shows our fifteen years together, the long experience of performing our songs until the arrangement is just right, and the love and energy of playing together.  I think our fans will love it!

So, I encourage you to visit our store on our website.  Eventually it will be available on Amazon and iTunes, but for now, you can purchase directly here by credit card.  Just click the link! LIVE AT MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAIN

Thou Shalt Love Thy Bandmates

Anyway, riding in a van for a week turned us from “Friends

and Brothers” to angry inmates who couldn’t wait to bust out.

Fifteen Years.  That’s how long Shades Mountain Air has been together, at least the core of Greg and Nancy Womble, Gary Furr, and Don Wendorf.  We have spent a couple hours a week most of that fifteen years weekly at Greg and Nancy’s house, practicing, horsing around, composing, arranging, learning and growing from one another.  We’ve only had one personnel change in all that time–Don’s son, Paul, our outstanding fiddle player, left us to move on with wife, kids, career, to Texas, and so, we were four again for a while, then found Melanie Rodgers.  Mel has added dynamic new joy to our sound, and is now a part of our 15th Anniversary Live Album that is now available.     (Go to the website store for our new CD click here!)

Image

Shades Mountain Air at Moonlight, 2013

The album sounds great!  We hired Fred Miller of Knodding Off Music to record and engineer our live concert.  Fred did a fantastic job and we are so happy with the result.  He captured our live sound and energy.  It sounds like us!  There is NOTHING like live music, and though it’s fun to be in a studio and monkey around with something until you get it “perfect”, there is a corresponding loss of that spark that performers-audience and a venue provide.  We did it at our favorite gig–Moonlight On the Mountain in Bluff Park in Hoover, Alabama, with Keith Harrelson, as always, handling lights and sound.

I say all this because Shades Mountain Air is more than a band.  We have become family together.  We love playing together, singing, creating, whether anyone is listening or not.  Greg and Nancy’s kids grew up having to hear us every week in their house. We have been through life crises, griefs, and changes Read the rest of this entry

Fiddle Tunes, Old Time, and “Jamming”

When you jam, you shoot for fun and participation, not showing off

Well, the other day Nancy called me and said, “Hey, we’re going to have a jam over at the house.”  Jim Brown and his daughter are coming to play fiddle, and a couple of neighbors are coming, one plays the guitar.”  So I went.  We had a grand time.

IMG_7462 (2)

Taking turns ain’t so bad.

Jam sessions used to terrify my when I was still learning the “discography,” as they say.  The bluegrass, celtic, Irish, old-time and folk worlds are an oral tradition of literally thousands of songs.  Just the familiar American fiddle tunes common in jams, like “Blackberry Blossom,” “Bill Cheatham,” “Whisky Before Breakfast,” “Salt Creek” and so on, number in the hundreds.  And there are different ways they are played.  Anyone wanting to learn guitar, and especially folk and bluegrass music, does well to practice these tunes until the most common 30-50 of them are familiar to you.

The most powerful truth about “fiddle tunes” is that they were originally not for performing but playing together and dancing.  In other words, they were communal.  It was something people did before blood-spurting video games, cruising the next and texting, all solitary expressions that tell who we are.  Modern Airports are museums of eccentric anonymity—looking at their screens and ears plugged with those ubiquitous white Apple ear deafeners.  Lots of people carrying instruments somewhere, but not a dern one of us pulls it out of the case and gathers new friends to pick.  Shame.  It would sure help us forget how much we hate the airlines.

When you jam, you shoot for fun and participation, not showing off.  Off course, plenty of the latter happens, but it’s better if you don’t go for it.  Showing everybody else up is, well, obnoxious, same as in regular life.  It’s like beating your two year old in basketball.  And it proves what?

Anyway, the world of this music is a world of sharing, courtesy, respect and encouragement.  Not mostly about showy breaks, but all things decently, in order, and as widely involving as possible.  I’m reading Blue Ridge Music Trails of North Carolina, and in it, the author cites the “Ten Commandments of Jamming” by Laura Pharis.[i]  Here they are, in case you decide to gather a quick jam at the airport next time so it can have a smidge of humanity amid the sterility of moving masses on the flying tubes.

1. Thou shalt not forsake the beat.

2. Thou shalt always play in tune.

3. Thou shalt arrange thyselves in a circle so thou mayest hear and see the other musicians and thou shalt play in accord with the group.

4. Thou shalt commence and cease playing in unison.

5. Thou shalt stick out thine own foot or lift up thine own voice and cry, “This is it!” if thou hast been the one to begin the song, this in order to endeth the tune, which otherwise wilt go on and on forever and forevermore.

6. Thou shalt concentrate and not confound the music by mixing up the A part and the B part. If thou should sinneth in this, or make any mistake that is unclean, thou mayest atone for thy transgression by reentering the tune in the proper place and playing thereafter in time.

7. Thou shalt be mindful of the key of the banjo, and play many tunes in that key, for the banjo is but a lowly instrument which must be retuned each time there is a key change.

8. Thou shalt not speed up nor slow down when playing a tune, for such is an abomination.

9. Thou shalt not noodle by thine ownself on a tune which the other musicians know not, unless thou art asked or unless thou art teaching that tune, for it is an abomination and the other musicians will not hold thee guiltless, and shall take thee off their computer lists, yea, even unto the third and fourth generations. Thou shalt not come to impress others with thine own amazing talents, but will adhere to the song, which shall be the center around which all musicians play.

10. Thou shalt play well and have fun.

 Far as I’m concerned, ought to send it to the United Nations, Congress, and the G8.  Some good jamming would resolve many of the biggest diplomatic crises of our time.  Look at the dictators and  tyrants of history.  You wouldn’t find a banjo or mandolin within a mile of ‘em.  That’s where the problems started.  As the late Briscoe Darlin once said on Andy Griffith, “You got time to breathe, you got time for music.”  Or, a man that ain’t got time to pick a tune, well, he’s trouble waitin’ to happen.”  Stay back so the explosion doesn’t get you.

 


[i] Pp. 161-162, Hannah Allen is a contributing writer for the North Carolina Arts Council blog, NCArtsEveryday,

 

Visitor to Virgin Pines

Scene from the movie

I have dipped my first toe into soundtrack creation for a movie.  My bandmate, Greg Womble, has written and produced a beautiful short Christmas film and is in the final edit stage of his short Christmas film, “Visitor to Virgin Pines.”

Our band was invited to do music for it, and I have to say, it is one of the most interesting undertakings I have ever done.  Mostly late at night, I sat with a banjo, guitar, mandolin, even percussion, and tried to create “moods” for scenes.  I have enormous appreciation for what people who do this face.  And yet, it is joy to do it.  I came up with some really nice instrumental stuff, not all of it chosen for the musical, but which may land in a Christmas CD.  Here’s a piece I did on the banjo called “Sugarplum Ferries” (yes, I know.  I spelled it the way I wanted to–I had the image of little boats going back and forth loaded with goodies).   “Sugarplum Ferries” Read the rest of this entry

Banjo Harmonies

The truth is, the banjo, like all the indigenous music of the South,

is another of those curious shadowy meeting places of black and white people.

Surely by now you’ve seen that bumper sticker that says, PADDLE FASTER—I HEAR BANJOS PLAYING.  It’s an allusion to the worst movie for the banjo’s image since the minstrel era—“Deliverance.”  Despite the wonderful “Dueling Banjos” song, which was written by the talented Arthur Smith, whom I used to watch on TV from Charlotte, NC as a boy (and who also wrote the “Guitar Boogie.”), it was an image I’d as soon forget.

The banjo is associated with rednecks, hillbillies, and racism in the American mind.  We think of it as an instrument of uneducated mountaineers in the rural South.  We remember white people in blackface mimicking the music of the plantations that makes us wince in pain now.   And that’s too bad.  The banjo is an instrument that contains a shared history in black and white.  It is an African instrument that white people—especially the poor–came to love.

Unfortunately, the searing history of the plantation, slavery, with all of its terrible damage to the people brought here against their wills, left us with a bizarre and tragic legacy of contradictions that perhaps reflect in our music.  The notion that an African instrument, the banjo, would embody racism is odd indeed.  The truth is, the banjo, like all the indigenous music of the South, is another of those curious shadowy meeting places of black and white people.  From the painful memories of the minstrels to the accusations against Elvis as “race music,”  the musical inventions of southern culture—jazz, gospel, rock, soul, R&B, blues, country, folk and bluegrass—all formed bridges across a divide that was stupidly attempted by law and cultural taboo.

A couple of video explorations that will open up that world for you differently.  One is “Give Me the Banjo” NARRATED

Steve Martin is a lifelong devotee to the banjo

BY Steve Martin on PBS.  You can watch it online here CLICK  It is a wonderfully told narrative of the instrument through its  complex history and cultural settings.  It will introduce you to a lot of players you’ve never heard of, black and white, blues, old-time, folk, bluegrass and other styles.

Like so many cultural artistic expressions, you will find yourself realizing that all your surface shorthand stereotypes are nearly worthless.  Finding the worlds under the music is like the difference between taking a tour of a country and living there.

Picture http://www.jamati.com/online/wp-content/uploads/2008/03/bela-africa.jpg

Finally, I recently found Bela Fleck’s wonderful documentary, “Throw Down Your Heart.”  A camera crew follows the master banjo player and his sound man as they traipse through Africa to reintroduce the instrument to its home and play along with native folk musicians across the continent.  Movie reviewer Lou Novacheck wrote of it in 2009:

The main story covers their trip, beginning with Uganda in East Africa, and ending up in Mali in West Central Africa, and includes hundreds of African musicians from the countries they spent time in, Uganda, Tanzania, Senegal, Gambia and Mali, from the famous to unknown. I’m sure neither Fleck nor Paladino saw the complexities and immensity of the project ahead of time, and I’m equally certain that there will be at least one additional similar

Bela Fleck with new friends

trip in the future. The origin of the banjo and its concomitant history are subjects that music scholars have been chewing on for years.

Early in the ninety minute film there is an astounding clip of a group of men playing what is a gigantic “xylophone” made of small logs calibrated to different notes.  Fleck, the great jam musician he is, finds a place to play along.  The music is haunting, joyful, and you see as many smiles as any film ever has, genuine and pure.

Truth is, most music through time was not primarily entertainment as we have created it in the last century but participative.  Music was a way that common people found relief from the dreariness of life and connected in their sorrows, joys and hopes my sharing the gift of music.  The image for the banjo to me is not the “minstrel” or the sinister condescension of “Deliverance” at all.  Those terrible truths existed and still do.  But the image of the banjo is the jam, where people sit together and make music.  There is an etiquette to old-time and bluegrass jams about taking turns, learning a canon of tunes, being invited in, and initiating the newcomer.

This year I finally broke down an bought a banjo (to go with my guitars, acoustic and electric, mandolin, harmonicas, keyboard, violin, dobro, bass, two ukuleles and penny whistle, among other things.  I just love sounds—any and every.  I have a Gold Tone BG-250, a gorgeous instrument that prices at the beginning of the high end banjos.  I bought it from my good friend and banjo wizard, Herb Trotman, at Fretted Instruments of Homewood Alabama.

And playing it is not a political event to me at all.  It is simply soothing, a connection to ancestors and the mystery of all life.  When I sit alone and play, I am not alone.  I connect to the ages and to all things.  While I’m not very good yet, here is an MP3 I came up with as a first composition, called, “Dynamite Hill” with banjo and keyboard on my recording.    LISTEN TO GARY PLAY “DYNAMITE HILL”

In a time when people sit, docile, in front of Blueray screens and passively watch other people live life, the jam seems pretty healthy by comparison.  So I offer, in closing, a wonderful group from North Carolina, “The Carolina Chocolate Drops,” play “Cornbread and Butter Beans,” who keep alive that this music belongs to all of us.  In the weary, tiresome deadness of current politics and economics, we desperately need the arts to help us find our souls again.  A good jam is a great start.

Doc, Doug and Earl…Bluegrass Goodbyes

A few days ago, I wrote about the too-soon loss of Doug Dillard, an extraordinary banjo player who was a bridge figure between Bill Monroe and the “pure bluegrass” (which is itself an irony, since Monroe was actually an innovator himself.  He took a hodgepodge of what is ssometimes called “old time music,” consisting of fiddle tunes for

Old Doc Watson. Nobody quite like him. He called himself, “just one of the people.”

dancing, old folk tunes, blues and other music that flowed from Appalachia and the south and forged a unique sound dominated by the mandolin and banjo and fiddle.  He was not beyond experimenting himself, even bringing an accordion in a time or two.  (Old banjo joke:  “Perfect pitch—throw the banjo into the dumpster without hitting the sides and landing on the accordion).

What became the new “bluegrass,” newgrass, new acoustic and everything else flowed from the sources in Scotch-Irish music from the mountains and all of those streams, and several powerful innovators, like Monroe, Scruggs, the Stanley Brothers, and the Carter family.  They influenced pop, rock, country and Elvis, all of whom (including the Beatles) declared their love for Monroe.  This melting pot of music was, I sometimes think, an artistic shadow world where segregation couldn’t reach.  The great traditions of music inevitably touched, borrowed and intertwined in ways that Jim Crow could not control.

The musicians themselves might simply say, “Music is music.”  Can’t pen it up or lock it down.  It flows out of a life, a tradition, a stream, and then when it meets another one, something new and wonderful is the result.  In music, uniqueness and blending and mixing can’t help it.  If our politics and culture are corrupted by control, domination and resistance to the new, art is the great underminer.  It remembers tradition and changes it at the same time.

Which brings me to Arthel Lane Watson, known affectionately as “Doc.”  Doc Watson is like Woodstock.  Seems like everybody met, heard or saw Doc at  sometime or other.

Doc and Merle in happy times.

I am an exception.  I have only known Doc on YouTube and CDs and guitar tablature and stories and books.  That’s an extraordinary fact, given that I’ve been going to hear acoustic music at festivals, clubs, and concerts pretty seriously over the past fifteen years.  I’ve gone to guitar camp three times at Steve Kaufman’s acoustic “kamp”, where Doc is revered and talked about like a medieval monk would think about St. Anthony.  I just never got there.  Preachers don’t get weekends off in May, generally, to go to “Merlefest,” the acclaimed festival that Doc started as a perpetual memorial to his son, Merle.  Merle and Doc performed together for many years, but after he died in a tractor accident, Merlefest became Doc’s homage to his son.  It is one of the largest music festivals around and you will hear the top acoustic players and performers there.

So I may be the only person in the world who never met Doc Watson AND missed Woodstock.  Some lives, however, manage to go way beyond themselves.  Every guitar player worth anything has favorite “licks,” a little four or eight or sixteen note chop that you can pop in now and then in an open space, something that says, “that’s me in there.”  I have the famous “G-run” that every bluegrass guitar player knows, of course, but I have a dozen others that, when I don’t know what else to do, I call on it.  I have one I got years ago when I learned “Beaumont Rag,” one of Doc’s most famous pieces, and one that nearly every picker learns eventually.  Glenn Tolbert taught the lick to me in another song, but then I began to hear that little eight note signature in a lot of places.  “That’s a lick from old Doc Watson,” Glenn told me solemnly.  So I kept it and since it was one of the first licks I learned for songs in the key of C, I found it coming along pretty often.   So I expect Ol’ Doc will be with me right on to my end.

So Doc has immortality.  There isn’t a guitar picker in rock, country, blues, bluegrass or jazz that doesn’t know Doc.  Pretty good for a blind old country boy.  When Arthel Lane Watson came along, sixth of nine kids, and lost his eyesight before age two, the prospects didn’t look bright.  When he died recently, every major newspaper in the country from the New York Times to LA ran a story about him.  They refered to him as a legend, a “guitar wizard,” and other superlatives.

Arthel dropped out of school in the seventh grade and began working for his Dad.  He could fix a car by sound and rewired his own house.  How a blind man did that and passed inspection I’ll never know.  Doc Watson was a wonder.  But it’s the picking you need to hear.  You can read about him in one of the stories online—Just type in “Doc Watson” and read.  I’d rather you listen and hear.  Yes, since he came along there are faster pickers, but nobody was doing what he did until he did it.

The very last one below is a haunting rendition of “Amazing Grace.”  Yes, indeed.  “I once was blind, but now I see.”  Sing it, brother.  I like to think about you laying those new eyes you get from God on Merle for the very first time.

LISTEN TO DOC

CLICK TO LISTEN  With Earl Scruggs on “Cripple Creek” at Doc’s House

CLICK TO LISTEN to Doc sing and play “Sittin’ On Top of the World”  He tells about his blindness.

CLICK TO LISTEN  to Doc play “East Tennessee Rag/Beaumont Rag” medley

CLICK TO LISTEN  to “Amazing Grace”

Doug, Doc and Earl…Bluegrass Breakdown and Cry

The Darling Boys are no more

This has been one of the unkindest of years in acoustic music.  First, Earl Scruggs, the Founding Father of bluegrass banjo, passed away (read my post on Earl’s death here CLICK)  back in March.  Then a few weeks ago, Doug Dillard, a rollicking banjo player who blazed a trail with the banjo across genres in the 1970s when he left the Dillards to join Gene Clark of the Byrds to form Dillard and Clark.

Of course, you’d know old Doug for another reason, if you ever watched the Andy Griffith Show.  He was the poker-faced Darlin’ Brother in the family band that descended like an affectionate blight on Andy and Mayberry every

The Darling Family, “that one makes me cry, Paw”

now and then, always intermixing their superstition and hijinx drama with some red-hot bluegrass while Paw (Denver Pyle) came along on the jug.

In fact, the Darlin’ Family were a rising bluegrass band discovered by Andy Griffith’s producer  in a nightclub in Los Angeles.  At the core were two brothers, Rodney and Doug Dillard, on guitar and banjo, and joined by Mitch Jayne and Dean Webb on bass and mandolin.  They hailed from Missouri and had been performing on the folk revival scene when Andy found them.  They moved to LA to have greater freedom to experiment with their music and its traditions.

The first bluegrass song I played was probably “Orange Blossom Special” with my Dad and Uncle Paul Furr on the fiddle on Uncle Paul’s porch.  Uncle Paul exposed me to my first outhouse, although it was a little upscale, known as a “two-holer.”  The second song I met growing up was “Bowed My Head and Cried Holy,” brought to me by my friend Paul in high school, while we were playing together.  I loved it right away and got the vinyl album.  In our current band, we learned Dillard’s version of this very old tune early on and still do it.  “Bowed My Head” was an old time tune that Bill Monroe and others did in an old time style, but Dillard and Clark did it with drums, pedal steel and Byron Berline on the fiddle.  It had an energy that would influence many others.  The New York Times says,

Known simply as Dillard and Clark, their group, with Mr. Dillard playing guitar and fiddle as well as banjo, recorded two albums for A&M before disbanding. The albums did not sell well but have come to be regarded as among the earliest stirrings of the West Coast country-rock movement and an important influence on the Eagles and other bands. (Bernie Leadon, a charter member of the Eagles, had also worked with Dillard and Clark.)

Doug Dillard’s playing has shown up in all our lives somewhere.  According to Billboard magazine’s tribute article,  “the brothers still worked together in front of the camera from time to time, being part of Harry Dean Stanton’s band in the Bette Midler film The Rose.”  The Dillards toured with many performers over the years– Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Carl Perkins, even Elton John.  They left a huge influence on what would become “newgrass” and crossover music in groups like the Eagles and many others.

Doug could make a banjo sing.  I read that when he first got his banjo he got his Dad to drive him to Nashville to Earl Scruggs’ house

Bluegrass banjo pioneer Earl Scruggs answered a knock at the door of his Nashville home in 1953 to find an eager-

Dillard and Clark, whose songs “Polly” and “Through the Morning, Through the Night” were covered by Alison Krauss and Robert Plant on their hit CD a few years back, “Raising Sand”

looking banjo enthusiast on the porch asking Scruggs to put a set of his special tuner keys on the young man’s instrument. “He was so gracious,” Rodney Dillard said of the reception his older brother, banjo player Doug Dillard, received that day from the father of the bluegrass banjo. “He sold him the tuners, then sat down at his kitchen table and installed them on the spot.”  (LA Times—read the story)

The fine compilation of their hits is on a single CD called THERE IS A TIME: 1963-1970.  It contains all the great Darling Family songs from the show, but also a lot of the songs the Dillards did, from folk to country, old time and blended styles.  You can hear Doug Dillard’s melodic licks leap from the strings.

Anyway, I especially remember another song the Dillards did that is one of our mainstays, “There is a Time.”  (Listen)  It is a sad, mournful, truth-telling tune about how love is weathered down and dies in time.  Charlene sang it on the Griffith show and it was one of the most haunting tunes I ever heard.  Andy says at the end, “Well, that’s about the purtiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Doug Dillard, Banjo player, also graduated with a degree in accounting.

One thing is different about Doug from his Andy Griffith character, who was always poker-faccd.  If you ever watch a video of Doug Dillard, he’s always smiling onstage.

Some years ago, Rodney was invited to do the song with the Dillards on the next generation of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s “Will the Circle Be Unbroken Volume III.”  Rodney wrote a fourth verse to add to the original three that seems somehow fitting.  Originally written with Mitch Jayne, who has since passed away, he sang it in a video that I leave with you as he mentions the loss of Jayne and, perhaps, fitting to hear as we think about his brother’s passing.  The new lyric says, hopefully

   Time is like a river flowing

            with no regrets as it moves on

            Around each bend a shining morning

            and all the friends we thought were gone

Rest in peace, I say once more, to another banjo legend.  Thank you, Doug Dillard.  The Darling Boys are no more.

Tomorrow, I’ll remember Doc Watson.  Two legends deserve their own mentions.