I hear a voice out in the darkness
It mourns and whispers through the pines
I know it’s my sweetheart a-calling
I hear her through the walls of time.
Bill Monroe (quoted in Bluegrass Odyssey)
I’m writing this in the aftermath of the World Trade Center bombings, at a time when Americans are feeling angry, proud and apprehensive, conflicting feelings that will no doubt lead to a revival of interest in Americana. Ironically, as an American living abroad, I don’t have the direct experience, but rather view the reactions to this tragedy through media-tinted glasses. Perhaps it’s sentimentality, but now seemed like a great time to write about these three books that both preserve and mythologize the Appalachian experience. And I can’t help but revel in the kitsch that is my country — a place where people and things become icons to be mangled and appropriated by the collective imagination almost before they have a chance to be themselves. It can happen to an old shack, to a man, and to a style of music; if you don’t stay out of the limelight, it could happen to you.
Log Cabin Pioneers is a wonderful collection of Stories, Songs & Sayings, as the subtitle says. Erbsen himself owns an old log cabin, and his love for this rustic, uncomfortable, and inconvenient form of building led to this book. Log cabins came about when German and Dutch settlers arrived in North America, made use of the abundant timber, and taught their construction techniques to the English settlers, who still used half timber construction. Their main virtue was that they were quick to build in primitive conditions — settlers that chose to build by an unreliable spring that dried up by midsummer could still erect a new log cabin before fall. Think of them as the pre-fab homes of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Later made into a national icon when rough frontier types like Lincoln or Jackson managed to be elected to the presidency, the myth of the log cabin was firmly lodged in the American psyche by the mid-nineteenth century, and more civilized, well-to-do types from the eastern seaboard felt it necessary to invent or acquire a log cabin past.
Erbsen tells a great story here, and he has collected lots of pithy sayings, folk songs, illustrations, and photos in this book. I have to say I quickly tired of reading the little sayings. I guess you had to be there to really enjoy some of these jokes or insults, like “Her tongue is tied in the middle and loose at both ends,” or “you have to curse to raise gourds.” Even though they got old fast, they do convey some sense of what cabin dwellers were talking about. He also details the inconveniences of living in buildings where the caulking between logs often fell off as the wood expanded and contracted with changes in the weather, the food, and the music of the times. The book has a companion disc that is surprisingly well done, complete with banjo, fiddle and two good singers. The music is mostly in an old time and bluegrass style that reflects the log cabin’s roots in what is now the east and midwestern U.S. This book is worth the price for the songs alone, as well as the engaging history of the little shacks that became emblems of the virtues of the people who “civilized” the frontiers and gave birth to the U.S. as we know it.
I get the impression that Bill Monroe, the father of bluegrass, resisted attempts of the press and fans to graft an iconic public figure onto his life. He rarely gave interviews, and seemed to enjoy having a very private life for a musical legend. His “high lonesome” sound became something that others could hold on to, from the put-on shit-kicker outfits of the 1950s, to the New Grass revival, to the occasional foray made by “new country” into something with a little soul. The Bill Monroe Reader brings almost everything written about Monroe over his life into one place, and allows the reader to form their impressions of Monroe from contemporary sources. From the early hazy details of his appearances and memberships in family ensembles, to late acclaim by a new generation, Ewing tells it like it was told at the time — literally — through this collection of press clippings brought together in one book. He also includes editors’ comments that put these differing views into perspective.
So what sent Monroe off in the direction of bluegrass, a conservative yet exciting musical form that was at odds with the love of all things modern and shiny during the middle part of the 20th century? His older siblings shunned him during their early musical pursuits, and he himself shunned strangers and was kept from sports by poor eyesight and crossed eyes as a child, a time eloquently documented by John Hartford in “Cross Eyed Child,” included in this collection. Taking solace in the woods, perhaps he heard the high lonesome sound on his own, or perhaps the North American equivalent of the fairies tutored him, just as so many blind Irish harpers were given music by the Good People. Whatever the source of his inspiration, his difficult early years let him to a unique style that soon eclipsed his family members, and inspired several generations of North American performers with its unique but firmly American style.
I genuinely enjoyed Ewing’s treatment of Monroe, his life, and the people who wrote about him. The book has lots of details and tributes, but manages to avoid gushing over Monroe. Instead, it is balanced and creates a rich texture by commenting on the sources, while allowing them to convey something of Monroe’s life and his work. I highly recommend this book for bluegrass aficionados: you may not always agree with Ewing’s commentary, but at least he gets the conversation started, and provides a lot of detail with this exhaustive collection of clippings.
What Ewing does through print media, Fleischhauer and Rosenberg do in pictures, creating a coffee table book of pictures and commentary that spans twenty years, from 1966 to 1986. I’m at a loss to explain why they stopped in 1986, and why the book was not published earlier. It would have been great to see the next generation of bluegrass performers and fans. I suspect it took awhile to find an interested publisher, which is a damn shame, as this book has some real gems. Rosenberg’s narrative is well written and interesting: like Ewing, he doesn’t fawn on his subjects, but clearly admires them. Fleishhaue’s black and white photos are well done, and take the viewer behind the stage, and into the audience. Both authors came to love bluegrass for its sound, and for the audiences that also played the music, made the instruments, and enjoyed their icons, most notably Bill Monroe, who gets an entire chapter devoted to his legacy.
This is one for the hardcore aficionado, as it creates a feeling and an intimacy with the bluegrass world that seems meant for the serious convert. There is less detail here than in Ewing’s book, partly because of the format, and partly because of the limited time frame. But the books are great companions, with Odyssey setting stage and the Reader providing the focus and the detail. If you love bluegrass, perhaps through festivals, or playing the music, this book provides a wonderful look at the formative years of the time when bluegrass became a national music, spilling out of the South and capturing the imagination of many people who have never seen a foggy bottom or an old log cabin..
(Native Ground, 2001)
(University of Illinois Press, 2000)
(University of Illinois Press, 2001)
