Punch Brothers

My piece on the Punch Brothers is in this week's Charleston City Paper.

The Punch Brothers' Noam Pikelny discusses Earl Scruggs 

Remembering Scruggs and more
by Andrea Warner
 
Progressive bluegrass or alt-folk? Indie rock or barn-door classical? For years, people have been attempting to properly classify the Punch Brothers. In part, it's a composition issue: In addition to the usual guitar and bass, the Punch Brothers' instrumentation also features a mandolin, a banjo, and a fiddle. They also make foot-stomping, complex music informed by everything from mountain songs to avant-garde instrumentals.

The band's newest album, Who's Feeling Young Now?, could find a home wedged between Bon Iver and the Decemberists. Arguably, guitarist Chris Eldridge, bassist Paul Kowert, mandolinist Chris Thile, banjo player Noam Pikelny, and fiddler Gabe Witcher deliver straight up indie rock, and they've further expanded their audience, thanks to a starring spot on the Hunger Games soundtrack. Despite all that's going on for the band right now, Pikelny has other things on his mind — chiefly, the recent death of banjo legend Earl Scruggs and his Nashville funeral.

Steve Martin

My feature on Steve Martin is in this week's WE.

Steve Martin & the Steep Canyon Rangers

Credit: Supplied

Steve Martin is on ‘Alert’

Posted By: Andrea Warner

Steve Martin understands if you hate him. After all, he’s got money, wit and intelligence on his side. His talents are innumerable. And his resume probably gives hives to over-achievers: Comedian, actor, author, playwright, painter, musician... and master banjo player? Yep. That’s right. He’s just finished putting the finishing touches on Rare Bird Alert, his bluegrass, banjo-heavy followup to 2009’s The Crow, recorded with the Steep Canyon Rangers. And even Martin’s not quite sure how he bcame this rennaissance man.

“I don’t know how this happened,” he says, on a conference call with WE and media from across North America. “I really don’t. I think I only do three things and one is comedy, and that includes, to me, acting and music and writing. They’re all kind of just all part of one big creative umbrella. You become a creator, you write a joke, and then you become a fixer, meaning an editor. And that’s — that is involved in everything I do, whether it’s comic acting or performing on stage, writing a novel, or writing music. You are creating it and then you are fixing it. So, I look at it all as just one big conglomeration that has several tentacles.”

Rare Bird Alert exemplifies this perfectly. The album is steeped in serious bluegrass traditions and musicianship, but packs plenty of Martin’s trademark humour throughout. “Jubilation Day” is catchy bit of Americana about the joyous end of a romantic relationship, while “Atheists Don’t Have No Songs” is a nifty gospel parody. Longtime fans are also  rewarded with a bluegrass version of Martin’s famed “King Tut.” Even though the banjo was a staple of Martin’s earlier comedy routines, he admits he was hesitant to combine his two loves at first.

“Once The Crow came out and was received well, I felt a little more relaxed,” Martin says. “And I guess it’s true that when you’re a little more relaxed maybe what’s more natural to you comes out easier... I have a friend, Pete Wernick, who plays the banjo and he said, ‘People would be disappointed if you’re not funny.’ So I just relaxed a little bit on this and decided whatever comes out comes out, you know?... There’s humor and it’s fun, and we also are serious musicians, or at least I am. The group is definitely serious musicians, and so I wanted to put that on.”

Martin’s admiration of the banjo dates back to his teenage years. Now, at 65, he’s still as awed as he was back when it was love at first sound.

“It was about the 1960s, there was a folk music craze led by the Kingston Trio that was sweeping America and the banjo was a part of that craze, and I heard it and I just loved it,” Martin recalls.“And there are a lot folk music groups that eventually led me to bluegrass music to hear Earl Scruggs play and other great three-finger banjo players, and I started buying any banjo record I could get my hands on.”

Martin has continued to find inspiration in sources both obvious (he’s a huge admirer of Grammy Award-winning banjo virtuoso Bela Fleck) and unlikely. After seeing Chris Rock’s new play, The Motherfucker with the Hat, he’s considering writing a musical using his songs as a foundation.

“There are a million ways to be inspired,” Martin says. “Sometimes it’s somebody sitting around by accident, for example, playing the banjo and making a mistake, hitting the wrong chord and going, ‘That sounded good, what was that? I’ve never heard that before.’ Sometimes you’re inspired by a deadline. Mostly just letting your mind wander and finding something fresh that you never thought of before.”

So much inspiration, not quite enough time, particularly with a full agenda the rest of the year, including a starring role in the Vancouver-filmed, competitive bird watching comedy The Big Year. Martin doesn’t know how banjo factors into his future, but he’s hopeful it’ll be prominent.

“This banjo playing moment, whatever it is, I don’t know how long it’ll last,” Martin says. “I hope it lasts a long time because I love it.”

Steve Martin & the Steep Canyon Rangers play July 26 at Centre for Performing Arts, 6:30pm. $49.50-$89.50 from Ticketmaster.

Bela Fleck and the Flecktones

My feature on Béla Fleck appears in this week's Charleston City Paper.

Béla Fleck is a banjo virtuoso

The Flecktones leader: no hillbilly picker

by Andrea Warner

Béla Fleck (center) brings a 'holiday repertoire' to the PAC this Saturday with The Flecktones (L to R): Jeff Coffin, Future Man, and Victor Wooten

Béla Fleck & The Flecktones

When a boy is given a name like Béla, he has one of two options: change his name or grow a thick skin and get used to being different. Couple that with being a New York City teenager with a predilection for banjo instead of guitar in the rock-heavy 1970s, and Béla Fleck got used to operating on society's fringes at an early age.

Now, at 51, Fleck has turned his quirky obsession into an award-winning career spanning 30 years. Blending bluegrass, folk, jazz, and other genres, he is currently considered the world's foremost banjo virtuoso.

"I was certainly a different kid," Fleck says. "No one was into folk or bluegrass in my age group. It's actually surprising to me now how few there were, since this was only a few years after the folk boom. I would think everyone would be emulating the folkies in 1973 ... but nope."

Fleck's first moment of banjo infatuation actually came when he was watching a Beverly Hillbillies rerun. "The sound shocked me, and I always remember that moment, hearing the great Earl Scruggs for the first time," Fleck says. "Then, several years later, when I was 15, 'Dueling Banjos' became a worldwide hit, and my grandfather bought me a banjo."

Fleck's first album, 1979's Crossing the Tracks, was rooted in the progressive bluegrass sound that became his trademark. But Fleck's insatiable desire to push boundaries led him to explore traditional jazz — with his banjo.

"Early on, I got excited about the progressive element in bluegrass," he says. "So it wasn't that big a leap into the big world of jazz. I wanted to actually play jazz, not just be a jazz/bluegrasser. I felt that there was no reason the banjo couldn't work; it was all about whether I'd be a good enough musician to pull it off."

Fleck's extensive catalog boasts over 40 solo or collaborative albums, 14 of which were recorded with the Flecktones, his back-up group consisting of saxophonist Jeff Coffin, who recently returned from a stint with the Dave Matthews Band, and two brothers — pop-and-slap electric bassist Victor Wooten and experimental percussionist Future Man. (Harmonica player and keyboardist Howard Levy is on board for the fall and winter tour dates as well).

The Grammy's have rewarded Fleck's industry: he's been nominated in more categories than any other musician, and as of 2008, has taken home nine of those golden trophies.

Industry awards or not, the banjo itself has long been regarded by some as the proverbial ugly, red-headed stepchild of stringed instruments. But, in the last several years, its popularity has surged. Comedians have proven particularly prolific in the community (Fleck counts Steve Martin, Kevin Nealon, Billy Connelly, and the Spinal Tap guys among his banjo-playing friends), and it's the hipster instrument of choice for indie-folk bands like Bright Eyes, Rilo Kiley, and Sufjan Stevens, to name just a few.

"I think the hillbilly stigma of the banjo has worn off, these days," Fleck says. "It used to be quite depressing to be a banjo player, with everybody flapping their arms at you and shouting, 'Yee-Haw!' at the top of their lungs when you wandered by. Now people seem to see it as a hip part of America's heritage."

Rachel Goodrich

My article on Rachel Goodrich appears in this week's Charleston City Paper!

Rachel Goodrich, like, plays a ukulele and sings

Miami Nice

by Andrea Warner

For most people, Miami Beach likely calls to mind images of leathery, tanned retired folks shuffling between beach chairs and 5 p.m. dinner reservations, with the occasional dotting of late-night young clubbers melting in the heat as they grind to hip-hop and electronica dance anthems. You're forgiven if, when you heard "Miami Beach," you didn't think of a burgeoning underground indie scene, home to 25-year-old Rachel Goodrich, a thoroughly modern singer-songwriter with a 1930s vocal style, who also happens to be at the forefront of the global ukulele renaissance.

Goodrich cites an amalgamation of influences that have contributed to her self-described "shake-a-billy" sound, Neil Young and Patsy Cline included, but she credits a teenage boyfriend with pointing her in the direction of her first big influence.

"He was really into Joni Mitchell, and I didn't know much about her, but I soon got into her, and that's when I realized that maybe there's a chance, you know," Goodrich says. "I was never really too familiar with successful women in the industry."

Her second big influence came just a few years ago, when Goodrich visited her father and spotted the tiny stringed instrument that would become her signature. It was love at first sight.

"This ukulele was lying on his couch, and I was like, 'Wow, that's really cute. I really wanna play it,'" she recalls. "I took it home and wrote a couple songs in a couple days. I was so excited to have a new instrument in my hands, and yeah, it really took me elsewhere. It made me create, you know. It made me want to write and inspired me. It made me want to take things a little more seriously. Is that weird?" She laughs at herself as she ponders the concept.

Somewhat weirder is Goodrich's declaration that she recorded her debut album, Tinker Toys, released this spring, by accident.

"I actually kind of just walked into it," Goodrich admits cheerfully. "I didn't mean to record a record. A friend of mine, George Martinez, was like, 'Hey, come over to my place and we'll record a song.' His entire studio is in this bedroom, and I'm pretty much recording in his closet, you know, and the first song we recorded was 'Ukulele Water.' It kind of blew my mind. I was like, wow, this can really happen? It was exciting, so I was like, 'Let's do another one tomorrow.' Then we recorded 'Black Hole,' and we kept going. I walked in with no expectations, and it was all a surprise."

Less of a surprise at this point is Goodrich's decision to focus entirely on her music, embarking on her first major tour throughout North America last week. As she winds her way across the continent, ukulele at the ready, she has no desire to shake off the sun and fun of her hometown.

"Miami kinda lifts my spirits in a way," Goodrich says. "I feel like I can talk about demons and crazy things, but if you put it over a G chord, you know, everything'll be all right."

If anything, Goodrich's songs will just continue to prove to hipster indie enclaves like Brooklyn, Seattle, and L.A., that Miami Beach has plenty of treasures hidden in the hems of its flowered muumuu.