For the better part of the last 45 years, David Holt has ventured down a rabbit hole.

Born in Texas, raised and schooled in California, Holt took off after college for the ancient, mystical mountains of Western North Carolina. Fascinated with the traditional old-time folk and string music echoing from Southern Appalachia, he began an endless journey to find, learn and perpetuate the eternal voices and sounds radiating from back hollers and front porches.

Tracy O’Neil has a lot less weight on his shoulders these days.

“We never accepted that we could lose the camp,” he said. “If we had lost the camp, we would have lost a cornerstone of the history of our community.”

Sipping a cup of coffee at Panacea Coffeehouse in Waynesville one recent morning, O’Neil relaxes into his seat, only to lean forward enthusiastically each time he speaks of the past, present and future of Camp Hope — a longtime community gathering spot for Haywood County and beyond. 

They were stuck. Sitting around the bar at No Name Sports Pub in Sylva, the members of rockabilly band Rumble Seat Riot were wondering if they’d make their upcoming show in St. Louis, if their broken down van in Greenville was salvageable, or if they’d even be able to make it back home to Des Moines. 

French Kirkpatrick can sum up Carroll Best.

“What he did with the banjo was above and beyond,” Kirkpatrick said. “He was the most, probably without a doubt, the most creative banjo player I was ever in a room with.”

Recently at his home in Ironduff, a mountain community a few miles outside of downtown Waynesville, Kirkpatrick, an acclaimed musician in his own right, relaxed further back into his couch and reminisced with a smile about his late friend.

He was beloved by all who knew him. Richard Coker embodied the spirit of Appalachia. As a co-owner of the Cataloochee Ranch in Maggie Valley, his warmth and hospitality radiated from the top of the mountain and shined brightly to anyone lucky enough to see his light.

Who the hell are those guys?

It’s a question constantly asked about Porch 40, a Sylva-based funk/rock outfit barreling out of the Southern Appalachian woods like a black bear on speed.

“We’re like a ’69 Corvette, fire engine red, revving the V8 at the starting line, gripping the wheel and the stick, knuckles shinin’ white,” said Drew Duncan. “The light turns green and we gun the sucker, skin gathering at the back of your head.”

For all the naysayers, rock-n-roll is alive and kicking — especially in the hands of Rich Robinson.

Guitarist and founding member of The Black Crowes, he has circled the globe for the last 25 years, spreading the mighty word of six-strings gone electric. With the Crowes representing the musical crossroads of Led Zeppelin, The Allman Brothers and The Band, Robinson is a beacon of light in a modern music industry, where real musicians seem to fall by the wayside in favor of pop idols and instant gratification from a guy onstage hitting buttons on a laptop.

There’s no place like home. Amid my first few weeks living in Western North Carolina, there were times I got homesick. Though I have bounced around the country for many years now, I, too, have moments where I start to miss things familiar to me.

It’s the soundtrack of my life. Growing up in the Champlain Valley (Upstate New York/Vermont), the music of my native land echoed through the albums of moe. They are North Country boys, whose central blend of rock, jam, funk and jazz coagulated into a unique tone. It’s a seed planted in your head that grows and blossoms with you, becoming a beautiful vine of melodies wrapping around your flourishing soul.

Screw it all.

There have been days, many days, where I’ve found myself sitting in traffic, standing in line, waiting on the phone, ordering something I really don’t want (or need), drinking and eating something that probably isn’t good for me, and think to myself, “Screw it all, I don’t want any part of this — no more.”