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. 

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. 

A southern gothic love triangle set in the age of Trump? Or maybe J.D. Vance’s bestseller Hillbilly Elegy as a postpunk concept album? How about a singer/songwriter coming off a ten-year hiatus, provoked from a peaceful period of dadhood into sounding his barbaric yawp over the roofs of rural Appalachia and the rest of “the solid south”?

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.

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.

If there’s one singular force truly keeping the flame of Bill Monroe alive and kicking well into the 21st century, it would be Del McCoury.

Since 1958, McCoury has traversed the world over, hitting the stage each and every time with the same zest and passion at age 78 that he did as a teenager in search of his big break some 60 years ago.

They said it happens.

When I was younger, and very much so in conversation nowadays, it was always said that as you get older, you tend to circle back to the music of your youth.

The sound echoes a tone of inclusion and timelessness.

When you listen to Langhorne Slim, you’re hearing something oddly familiar, but also new and innovative at the same time. You let the songs soak into your skin, pushing ever so deeper into your carefully guarded soul. The words remind you of your past, faces you haven’t seen in years, but miss dearly. Each melody conjures memories, perhaps cherished moments, of loved ones either six feet under and long gone or six feet away where the emotional distance could still be bridged with a simple interaction.

A Jackson County landmark has changed hands.

The Great Smoky Mountains Association’s newest musical release, “Big Bend Killing: The Appalachian Ballad Tradition,” earned a Grammy nomination recently for “Best Album Notes” as written by Ted Olson, professor of Appalachian Studies and Bluegrass, Old-Time, and Country Music Studies at East Tennessee State University in Johnson City, Tennessee.