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. 

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. 

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.

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.

On the Appalachian Trail, everybody’s story is the same, in a sense — the chill of the cold, the heat of the sun, the constant challenge of placing one foot in front of the other toward the trail’s end in Maine. 

But the stories are just as different as they are similar. Thru-hikers are retirees, recent college grads, folks in the middle of a career change. They’re Appalachian natives, West Coast wanderers, foreign travelers. They’re silly, serious, talkative and silent. 

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.” 

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).

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. 

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.

As I awoke in my hammock, I could see the branches and leaves swaying above, sprinkling small bits of the early morning light down upon me. For a moment, I didn’t know if I was still dreaming. Heck, for two moments, I didn’t remember where I was. But, it soon dawned on me, I was back at Suwannee, this time for the “Spring Reunion.”