Your independent source of bluegrass news.
These were contributions from prominent bluegrass artists and personalities – some poignant and thoughtful, and others clever and amusing.
We have everything from Larry Stephenson’s Christmas Surprise to Ron Block’s The Holy Baby. Along the way are pieces from Rhonda Vincent, The Grascals, Curly Seckler, Missy Raines and many others.
You can find them all by following this link.
Wichita Rutherford remembers things most of us were unaware ever happened. When I asked him about his favorite Christmas memories the other day, he poured his heart out, and asked that we share it all with you.
Your Pal,
Wichita
This Christmas dialog comes from Brandi Hart and Buddy Woodward of The Dixie Bee-Liners. ‘Nuff said…
BRANDI: We tore out each other’s hair…
BUDDY: And knitted it into a sweater. We weren’t sure how our music was going to be received, or how to procede… but we felt cautiously contented.
BRANDI: And relieved! That CD was over a year in the making.
BUDDY: So we were trying to figure out our next move, and then our beloved cat Nipper got really sick and died. I remember it was the first weekend in December — and the first snow of the year.
BRANDI: Nipper was the “Music City Kitty.” He was a brave little guy, and believe it or not, he loved country and bluegrass music.
BUDDY: He sure did. He was my pal for 15 years. He used to try to stick his head in the soundhole of my guitar when I was playing.
BRANDI: Did he ever go for the banjo?
BUDDY: Only to sharpen his claws.
BRANDI: Smart kitty! Anyway, losing Nipper was really tough on both of us, but Buddy took it especially hard. He bottles everything up…he’s the strong, silent type, don’t you know.
BUDDY: Strong like bull…
BRANDI: Dumb like chicken!
BUDDY: OUCH! Anyway, a week or so later, I started to feel feverish and had shooting pains in my side. When it didn’t go away — and in fact got worse — we went to a local clinic, where I was diagnosed with shingles. Shingles is caused by the chicken pox virus: basically, your nerve endings erupt in blisters.
BRANDI: That was all kinds of fun, right Buddy?
BUDDY: The fun was only beginning. I still had a couple weeks of rolling around in bed, clutching my side in agony, to look forward to.
BRANDI: Keep in mind, we were starving artists.
BUDDY: No health insurance.
BRANDI: Don’t you know.
BUDDY: After the vet bills, the doctor bills, the pharmacy bills….
BRANDI: Not to mention CD manufacturing and production costs….
BUDDY: Well, let’s just say we weren’t exactly decorating the Christmas tree with dollar bills.
BRANDI: No, we weren’t. In fact, we didn’t even have a Christmas tree.
BUDDY: Remember what we did?
BRANDI: Yeah, we got a wreath from the mini market and hung it on one of our mic stands, using 1/4 jacks for ornaments.
BUDDY: And an old bedsheet for a tree skirt.
BRANDI: Kind of cool and kind of pathetic at the same time.
BUDDY: As Nigel Tufnel says, “there’s a thin line between ‘clever’ and ‘stupid’.”
BRANDI: So anyway, we get Buddy home and back in bed, a bottle of Percodan clutched in his feverish paw…and the first thing our other cat, Fang, does is jump right up on Buddy and start kneading on his skin.
BUDDY: Like the Dr. Seuss book, “Hop On Pop.”
BRANDI: OUCH. I think you hit high C.
BUDDY: I was definitely in the Bobby Osborne range.
BRANDI: In his own cat way, I think Fang was trying to help.
BUDDY: So, like, is there a point to this story?
BRANDI: Well yeah, it was our last Christmas in New York — right before all kinds of wonderful and exciting things started to happen to us as a result of putting out that first CD….
BUDDY: So this is sort of a “mighty oaks from small acorns grow” kind of a story?
BRANDI: Hmm, too trite.
BUDDY: “The darkest hour is just before dawn”?
BRANDI: How about “Shingle Bells”?
BUDDY: OUCH!
Banjo picker Bill Evans, author of the popular Banjo For Dummies book, recalls his Christmas of the banjo…
There was a music store at Ward’s Corner, about a mile away from our house, and an Aria banjo had been placed front and center in the store’s Christmas window arrangement since early November. Priced at over $200, this was way too much of an extravagance for my mother, who supported the two of us on a meager Social Security disability income. She almost never called upon my dad to help out with anything extra — just getting the monthly child support was miracle enough — but somehow an agreement had been worked out to buy that banjo.
We brought the banjo home two weeks before Christmas and it was stored underneath the spare bed in my mother’s bedroom with the promise that I would not open the case until Christmas morning. Well, you know how that worked out. As soon as Mother had left the house on an errand, I pulled the case from underneath the bed and opened it up to take a look.
You can imagine my shock when I found a banjo with a broken resonator. The back of the instrument was a landscape of cracked wood with the resonator’s binding splayed out from the sides at various angles that obviously were not intended by the banjo’s Japanese manufacturer. My heart sank. Did this happen in transport from the music store? Had I done this myself in carrying it into the house? I had held the banjo in my own hands before we bought it and it was fine. Was this some kind of Christmas curse — God’s retribution to me for opening the case before Christmas? Could I not get away with anything?
I then remembered that there were two banjo cases in the back room of the music store. Perhaps, just perhaps, the store owner had switched banjos and had given us the one with broken resonator. I immediately felt guilty even thinking this thought but then another much larger issue loomed in front of me, like a ghost of Christmas present: how could I tell my mother about this? If I confided that I had discovered that the banjo was broken, I would also be admitting that I broke my promise not to look inside the case before Christmas. This was a tough existentialist dilemma for a fourteen-year old suburban teenager.
Full disclosure won out, along with the overriding desire to get a banjo with a good-looking resonator. My mom’s anger mingled with my own somewhat twisted Christmas joy as I watched her chew out the store owner, who promptly traded banjos with apology. When the new new banjo arrived home, it went under the bed once again and was not to be opened before Christmas morning.
This time, I kept my promise.
Mandolin prodigy Sierra Hull shares her fondest Christmas memory.
So… when my Granny Delk found out that I wanted to learn to play the fiddle, that’s what she and a few of my other family members chipped in together to buy me for Christmas. The fiddle they ended up getting, unfortunately, at that time was a full sized, and I was a small eight year old. I started learning to play the mandolin because of that – thinking it would help when I finally got a smaller fiddle, but I kinda stuck to mandolin after that. haha
That Christmas is a sweet thought to me because it reminds me of when I first started to play music, and it’s been such a special part of my life ever since. This time of year always makes me so thankful to God for everything he’s done for me, and to celebrate his birth is something we should all be excited to do.
I hope everyone out there has a very Merry Christmas filled with lots of love and cheer, and may God Bless you all!
Here are two more Christmas memories from The Grascals. First up is fiddler Jimmy Mattingly.
Well, this year at Christmas I am recording my third CD on Rounder Records with The Grascals and that buddy, Danny Roberts. How cool is that!
Next, we hear from mandolinist, Danny Roberts.
Papaw would be outside gathering wood or messing around with something in the barn and I really loved to be with him out on the farm. After we had eaten what was to me the best meal in the world, the excitement would build while we waited for Mom and Grandma to finish up the dishes and then we all would all get to open our presents. What a great time and what a mess!!
After everything was opened it looked like a wrapping paper bomb had gone off, and then Dad and Papaw would gather all the paper and boxes up and I would get to go out back of the house with them and burn all of it. I really loved doing that…stirring the fire with a tree limb… how could a kid ask for anything more fun that that?
Well, Grandma has gone on to Heaven now and things definitely are not the like the used to be. But now as I watch my 6 year old daughter, Jaelee, experience Christmas and see her excitement with everything that goes on, it helps me re-live my old memories as I see her making new ones. Now when she is grown she will be able to look back and enjoy her Christmas memories like I do. I really miss the times I had at Christmas as a kid but I will always have my memories and some times a memory is even better than what actually happened.
James Allen Shelton, guitarist with Ralph Stanley & The Clinch Mountain Boys, shares memories of getting music for Christmas.
My grandaddy on Mom’s side of the family was named Bordie Porter and he was the one who first taught me to play the guitar. He lived just long enough to see the release of the first record album that I ever played on by a local group called The Bluegrass Travelers. He died just before Christmas in 1976 and I remember that as being such a sad Christmas for us all.
Then there was the time my wife totally surprised me by getting me the first two Bear Family Flatt & Scruggs boxed sets for Christmas. She put them in this huge box that a vacuum cleaner came in so I wouldn’t know what they were. I had no idea I was getting those and it was a wonderful surprise!
Here is a Christmas memory from master mandolinist Alan Bibey, who performs with Grasstowne.
Every Christmas as a kid was spent at my Grandparent’s. My Dad, my cousins and I would sit around jamming until time to eat, which ended up being hours if we got there early enough. I always pushed to get there as early as possible because we’d get previews of dinner while we played if we were real cool about it. Which I doubt I ever was BUT‚Ķ
Occasionally Papa or Granny would come in and ask us to play a particular tune but mainly we were playing because it was just so much fun!
Christmas always brings back memories of why I play to start with, and reminds me of what a great time we had back then, as well as what a great family I’ve been blessed with.
This Christmas memory comes from Larry Stephenson.
My dad and I played a lot of music around the Fredericksburg, Virginia area through the 60’s and into the 70’s. My mom and dad always told me if I ever learned how to play the Bill Monroe instrumental Rawhide they would buy me a Gibson F-5 model mandolin.
Well of course I worked hard to learn that song…everyday after school in front of that old record player. Well they kept their word and what a surprise it was. Christmas of 1974 with the help of our neighbor, they wrote little poems and wrapped them and had me running all over the neighborhood looking for clues and more wrapped boxes.
When I finally returned to our house there it was…a brand new Gibson F-5 mandolin. We always had great Christmases but that was one I’ll never forget. I’m sorry to say I don’t have that mandolin anymore, but I sure wish I did. What a great Christmas.
Let me also take this opportunity to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Thank you so much for allowing me to do what I love and that’s to play the best music in the world….Bluegrass Music.
Here are two Christmas memories from The Grascals, starting with banjo man, Aaron McDaris.
After he finished reading, he would pass around all of our presents so we could open them and my Grandmother would play the harmonica for us. Later on, when I discovered that I could play music, I would pick banjo with her and my Dad would play the guitar, and we would all sing and play Christmas music for the whole family.
Next, we hear from guitarist/vocalist, Jamie Johnson.
He left this world in 1991 and I’d sure love to have another Christmas day with him! So please, take time to look around you and all of your loved ones this Christmas and be grateful for them, and tell them that you love them and cherish them.
