Garret K. Woodward
I was thrown into the deep end.
When I was 20 years old, I became a substitute teacher. I was still in college, but I was also looking to make some extra money when I was home for Thanksgiving, Christmas and the subsequent spring and summer breaks. The pay was OK, but the schedule was very flexible. The administrator would call me up the night before and ask if I was free to take over whatever was in need of adult supervision: social studies, science, physical education, English, etc.
Hot off the heels of winning the Grammy for “Best Bluegrass Album” this past winter, Rhonda Vincent & The Rage stand atop the genre as a marquee act, one whose determination is deeply rooted in keeping the traditions of the “high, lonesome sound” alive and flourishing.
At the center of this whirlwind of string instruments is Vincent, an eight-time International Bluegrass Music Association (IBMA) “Female Vocalist of the Year.” The singer/mandolinist remains a vital, vibrant bridge between the originators and pioneers of the music created by Bill Monroe and where we stand today in the modern era — a crossroads of the neo-traditional and progressive bluegrass camps, come hell or high water.
It’s the only way to eat breakfast.
Two eggs, two slices of toast (cut into four triangular pieces), a side of meat, a side of hashbrowns or homefries, a cup of coffee and the day’s newspaper alongside. It is, quite literally, the American Dream in a meal.
When two-thirds of your full name encompasses two-thirds of arguably America’s greatest songwriters, it’s pretty apparent you’ll follow suit — in life, and in art.
Right around the point of the song “Beginnings” when Chicago singer/keyboardist Robert Lamm belted out the lyrics, “Time passes much too quickly/When we're together laughing/I wish I could sing it to you,” I could see and feel the goosebumps rising on my arms.
It’s one thing to play bluegrass, mountain and old-time music. It’s another thing to dig deep into the rich, intricate heritage and history behind the sounds of Southern Appalachia — tones that have echoed from these high peaks since pioneers and settlers first arrived here centuries ago.
Standing in the midst of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, one can’t help but feel refreshed, a return to the core of your inner being amid the cosmos. And that sentiment is something felt in any of the innumerable national parks dotting our nation.
You’ve probably driven by the Red Barn Greenhouse & Garden Center on Dellwood Road between Maggie Valley and Waynesville a thousand times. But, have you ever stopped in?
Tucked between rows of beautiful flowers on one end and the Mountain Museum filled with Appalachian artifacts on the other are several shelves of corn shuck dolls. The intricate doll designs and scenes they’re set in come straight out of the creative mind and nimble fingers of Karen Collis, a highly-sought after artist in this centuries-old craft medium.
It seems like a race against time.
As a longtime arts and entertainment editor, I find myself in the backwoods and along the backroads of Western North Carolina, always in search of a story. Sometimes the subjects are folks I come across over a cold beer at a local watering hole. Sometimes they’re a random name and address with a short description of what they do sent to me via physical or electronic mail. On many occasions, I’ll be simply driving and something or someone catches my eye in the distance.
The charm and allure of bluegrass music resides in its seamless ability to have one foot in the sacred, traditional “high, lonesome sound” and the other in whatever progressive endeavors its musicians find themselves in — by chance or on purpose.
Standing atop an Outer Banks fishing trawler, I gazed across the high desert of northwestern Nevada.
“How did you get into all this?”
The proud communities that make up Western North Carolina were once mountain towns that played host to several successful blue-collar industries. We’re talking about logging, furniture, paper products, auto parts, beverages, textiles, and so on. The country needed things, and needed them fast, and folks here made those products with their bare hands.
These companies found a crucial, much-needed balance alongside the serene beauty and endless natural resources of our forests, rivers and wildlife.
Hopping up on my truck tailgate one recent afternoon, fiddler/singer Jeremy Garrett gazed around the Spirit of the Suwannee Music Park in the rural countryside of Live Oak, Florida. His band — The Infamous Stringdusters — was headlining the Suwannee Spring Reunion that weekend, another feather in the cap of a celebrated acoustic act who this past January was awarded a Grammy Award for “Best Bluegrass Album.”
A slight breeze awoke me from my slumber this past Saturday morning. Swaying in the hammock, I looked upward while the first sunshine of the day sprinkled through the branches all tangled high above.
What started out simply as a creative outlet has now taken on a life of its own.
Based out of Jackson County, Ol’ Dirty Bathtub is a rollicking musical act, one where the lines between bluegrass, folk and Americana are blurred. Part mountain heritage, part blue-collar work ethic, part cosmic wanderlust, the quintet is currently in the process of releasing their debut album, “Pack Mule” (Bee Hive Records).
You can’t help but smile.
Watching old clips of “On The Road” with Charles Kuralt, you find yourself in a headspace of familiarity. Not so much nostalgia as it is a trip down memory lane, when folks actually looked forward to watching the news, or at least those “CBS News Sunday Morning” episodes where Kuralt was as much a part of an enjoyable breakfast as bacon, eggs and a strong cup of coffee.
In conversation, Art Garfunkel is as poignant and whimsical as his music. The strong, heartfelt emotion behind his thoughts and words swirl around both sides of the conversation. At 76, he’s still that kid wanting you to play in the sandbox with him.
Sure, he was one half of Simon & Garfunkel, a cornerstone of American music, whose folk melodies will forever be played so long as raindrops fall outside your window or you’re in need of a backroad cruise on a lazy afternoon to clear your mind, ready to open yourself up to the possibilities of a new tomorrow. But, like his timeless music, the depths of Garfunkel have no accurate measure.
Somewhere around central South Carolina my mind began to drift.
Smoky Mountain News: When you look at American society today, what do you see?
Tony Kushner: Oh, my god. [Laughs]. Well, I’m not sure what you mean by “American society.” The news in the last 24 hours is so horrifying, it’s hard to talk about anything but that.
Literally and figuratively, the idea of “listening” is somewhat of a lost art in our digital world. When a voice begins to share a point-of-view, usually a louder voice interrupts with a “more important” counterpoint or immediate distain for the sentiment before the initial thought can place a period at the end of a full sentence.
That, and many-a-time folks simply have forgotten what it means to listen with intent and purpose. It’s that fleeting moment where you’re soaking in the words, emotions and mannerisms of another human being, in a sincere effort to make sense of the world within your head and outside your front door.
Sitting in a chair on a front lawn late Sunday afternoon, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, a crisp air settling into the impending night. Just about a block down the hill from Main Street in Waynesville, a handful of folks gathered in front of the Twin Maples Farmhouse for an impromptu live performance.
The further you meander down the road of life, the more you come to realize just how haphazardly bumpy and ever-rolling the trek actually is — and remains so — when push comes to shove.
For the last 35 years, the Flaming Lips have gone from a fringe rock act in Oklahoma to a highly-sought-after entity in mainstream musical circles. The live performances are utterly mesmerizing, encompassing a euphoric sense of vaudeville theatre and a rekindling of one’s childlike wonder.
When you’re young — full of confusion about the ways and means of a “stable adulthood,” amid a hazy sense of what and who you are (or hope to become) — the idea of clarity is something you desperately want to find and obtain.
When you simply mention the name Graham Nash, a multitude of sounds, images, movements and ideas flood your field-of-vision. You don’t have to say much because his captivating music and whirlwind life is known the world over.
But, in conversation with Nash, what we know as fans and admirers just scratches the surface of this melodic giant that has stood tall amid British and American culture for the better part of the last half-century.
Now, let’s get this out of the way.
What happened to U.S. figure skater Nancy Kerrigan from within the social circle of her rival, Tonya Harding, was a tragic crime. Folks went to jail for assault and conspiracy, and lives were forever tarnished on both sides of the vicious attack on Kerrigan just before the 1994 Winter Olympics.
Though the culinary and agricultural history of Southern Appalachia is as vast and robust as the tall and rigorous mountains that make up this region, the intense worldwide focus and adoration for the ingredients, recipes and folks who stir it all together is more of a 21st century phenomenon.
Cape Cod.
Well, to be more specific, the small seaside town of Chatham, Massachusetts, on the southeastern coast of Cape Cod. April 20, 1999. My family and I emerged from our old Nissan Quest minivan to check into our bed and breakfast for spring break.
You find yourself frozen.
Watching and listening to The Marcus King Band onstage, your feet are stuck to the floor, your eyes entranced and fixated on the whirlwind jam conspiring before you. Razor-sharp guitar licks, thundering drum-n-bass hooks, twinkle-toed keyboards and a ferocious horn section — a seamless blend of as many musical genres as there are possibilities.
The solidarity was evident.
Sitting onstage this past Monday at Nantahala Brewing in Bryson City, I conducted another episode of “Smoky Mountain Voices,” where local characters and officials are interviewed during an extended face-to-face conversation. It’s in an effort to learn more about the people and places that make Western North Carolina such a unique and cherished region.
For the better part of the last four years, Nick Dittmeier & The Sawdusters have zigzagged to and fro every nook and cranny of the Southeast and Midwest.
Hola.
I’ve been saying that an awful lot while currently down here in Cancun, Mexico. Ten days of feet-in-the-sand with a cold-drink-in-my-hand. Isn’t that the words to a county song or something? If not, should be, eh?
It’s like pulling teeth.
As your arts and entertainment editor for Western North Carolina, I find it difficult sometimes to not only “rally the troops” to attend local art events, but also get folks to support and share these ongoing gatherings and vital interactions in our mountain communities.
The territory, and what comes with it.
Being a traveling musician has always been a haphazard and often difficult position to hold down, let alone make a financial and professional go at it. The long nights far away from home. Sometimes empty rooms where there may be more folks onstage than off. Vehicles breaking down to and from shows. Those situations when you stand there, looking up at the sky, wondering if this is the exact spot you’re meant to be at — in that moment, in that time, and in that place, either known and unknown.
When asked why he loves Western North Carolina, Travis Smith had to pause for a moment. “Well, that’s a good question,” he chuckled. “It’s special to me because I’ve been here most of my life. I love the mountains, the people. You’re away from the cities, from all the traffic and noise.”
Taking a left off U.S. 64 onto Settawig Road in rural Clay County, the busy commercial thoroughfare transforms into lush farmland. The mountain air gets sweeter, soothing late spring sunshine spilling into the open windows of your vehicle.
Just mere feet from a bustling South Main Street in Waynesville resides a cocoon of creativity. With a steady stream of vehicles rushing by, one enters Jenny Bucker’s studio as if to step into a portal of a calmer ambiance. Vibrant, intricate paintings hang from any available wall space, while the sounds of Simon & Garfunkel’s “Scarborough Fair” echo throughout the cozy abode.
Amid the numerous businesses in Dillsboro, its cultural and economic heart lies in the plentiful art galleries and studios. From decades old locations to brand new operations, the town is an ever-evolving community, one with the drive and commitment to bring a beloved art haven into the 21st century.
What started as a job while in high school turned itself into a lifelong career and passion for Josh Monroe.
“It’s about using the best possible ingredients you can find and being able to let those ingredients shine in every dish,” he said.
Watching the 1960 Olympics on television, a young Keith Calhoun saw something that would forever change the course of his life.
“I was in elementary school, and I remember seeing these Olympians skiing,” he said. “And I was just fascinated — I had never seen something like that.”
Heading west out of Bryson City, just before the highway narrows into a twisting two-lane road, a small, ramshackle hut watches over the crossroads of Southern Appalachia — a last stop before descending into the remote Nantahala Gorge ahead, or the desolate beauty of Fontana Lake to the right.
The shack, wedged between junk cars and a rundown trailer, has seen better days, on a property that has seen better years. But, upon closer inspection, a friendly face sits behind a counter filled with knickknacks and the wafting smell of boiled peanuts.
Eating with integrity, living with gratitude. When family, friends and the curious alike wander into the Cork & Bean in downtown Bryson City, co-owner Scott Mastej aims to put forward that exact message and philosophy.
“Our food is nourishing them. You are what you eat, and it’s really important to use to provide them with the freshest, most local and organic dishes possible,” he said. “We see those happy faces here, people enjoying our food and company, and it’s just so gratifying that they like what we do.”
It never ceases to amaze Lorraine Conard.
“It’s a little bit magical,” she said. “You walk in and there’s this energy and excitement, a heartbeat within the community — I’m always so grateful and thankful for the people who come in.”
Who the heck 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.
Monday is the new Saturday.
Heading down Frazier Street in Waynesville to BearWaters Brewing Company, one can barely find a place to park on a typical Monday evening. For the last couple of months, the location has played host to a semi-weekly open mic event called the “Spontaneous CombustJam.” Bringing together local talents and acclaimed regional players, the sessions have gained a buzz around Western North Carolina in just a short time.
Dale Heinlein never thought he’d set roots down in his hometown of Highlands.
“Living in Atlanta, in suburbia, with the summer heat and traffic, I had to get back to the mountains, back to nature, back to the earth, back to the rivers to cool off,” the 34-year-old said. “I’ve spent most of my life in Highlands and when I came back, I just started to notice so many things about my surroundings I either didn’t know about or had forgotten — there is so much to learn and discover everyday here.”
Joe Frank McKee knows what Dillsboro is capable of. “It’s a fighting town,” he said. “There are more craftsmen involved here these days, which means if you’re making your product and selling your product, you have more of a reason to fight.”
Co-owner of Tree House Pottery on Front Street in downtown Dillsboro, McKee and his business partner, Travis Berning, have spent the last 11 years setting down roots and investing in what has become one of the premier pottery establishments in Southern Appalachia. And as the town itself celebrates its 125th birthday, many businesses within the community are reflecting on a storied past, an uncertain present, and a hopeful future.
What started as an unsure adventure turned into a passion-filled career for Jim Rowell.
What looked like a risk to some was a dream for Diane Cutler and Andy Zivinsky.
