High on a Mountain
by Linda Morris
El Niño may have wreaked havoc across the United States this year, but in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, its aftermath didn't dampen the spirits at the 37th Semi-Annual Bluegrass Festival. In spite of the spring sunshine, which arrived just in time for the mid-May event, the field in front of the main stage was a waterlogged reminder of the more than two weeks of steady downpour. Campers and day guests improvised as they attempted to stake their claim to the drenched turf.
Still, on Friday night, by 10 o'clock, the empty spots in the lawn-chair flotilla filled as the near-capacity audience, wrapped in sweatshirts and blankets, hunkered down for the late show. The sight on stage was enough to warm the heart, if not the toes. The Del McCoury Band got the adrenalin flowing with "Quickening Rendezvous," written by McCoury's son Ronnie. And soon all thoughts of the soggy ground were past tense.
In this part of the world, the arrival of McCoury is not just a concert; it's a family reunion. McCoury, who lives in Nashville now, spent more than 50 years in nearby York County. And family and friends were out in force to welcome home their "local boy who done good" – in a region where bluegrass fans are more abundant than Civil War re-enactors.
At age 59, McCoury is at the top of his form. The years have left their tracks on the still handsome face, accentuating the character earned by decades of hard work and simple, honest values. Likewise, his voice, considered the ultimate in "high and lonesome," is the classic bluegrass tenor. McCoury's remarkable range can scale the Appalachians, but in his vocal quality is a depth and richness enhanced by impeccable judgement and timing.
As he greeted the audience, McCoury's country gentleman persona only hinted at the years of dedication and hard-won expertise. "Tell us the story of your guitar," one young man yelled.
"Just look at my guitar. It tells its own story," McCoury said of the well-worn Martin D-18, which predates him by three years.
The term "laid back" sounds almost hyperactive for the soft-spoken McCoury, who teased the audience as they called out their requests. Listening patiently to the onslaught of titles, he commented casually, "I don't believe we know any of those."
The fans knew better, and McCoury didn't mind letting them dictate some of the evening's repertoire. He knows, for example, that if he ever tried to leave a stage without singing "High on a Mountain," well, things could get ugly. The Olabelle Reed song has become a signature for McCoury. Its soulful melody and lyrics about a man "wondering where the days of [his] life has flown" suit him more with each passing year. Here is a man who has known life's joys, like falling in love and raising a family; as well as some of its sorrow, like that of losing a friend. And the impact of his own true life experiences has not escaped critics. As many have noted, Del McCoury is one musician who truly understands the blues in bluegrass.
It is no wonder, then, that McCoury and his musicians now find themselves in the midst of what could be termed their golden decade of awards. Since 1991, the troupe has been nominated for awards, both collectively and individually, 20 times by the International Bluegrass Music Association. The band is the reigning Entertainer of the Year, as well as Instrumental Group of the Year. In both 1996 and 1997, each member of the band was nominated as musician of the year for their respective instruments, the first time that has happened in IBMA history.
In 1995, the Del McCoury Band's A Deeper Shade of Blue [Rounder] was nominated for a Grammy. Two years later, The Cold Hard Facts [Rounder] received the same honor. In a way, McCoury beat himself that year. The Grammy went to True Life Blues, the Songs of Bill Monroe [Sugar Hill], on which McCoury is featured prominently. That project was a labor of love, McCoury said. On it, he collaborates with more than two dozen "all-stars," including Vassar Clements, John Hartford, and David Grisman, to honor the patriarch of bluegrass. "Todd Phillips was the producer," McCoury said. "He got us all to do that. He was doin' it for Bill Monroe, and he was planning to let Bill hear it first before anybody else," he said, "But in the meantime, Bill died."
Monroe's death, September 9, 1996, left a vacancy in the lives of those who knew him, especially McCoury, an admirer since childhood. "It's the funniest thing, but the first song I remember singin' was 'I Traced Your Little Footprints in the Snow.' That was Bill Monroe, which I didn't even realize at the time," he said.
Born in 1939, the year Monroe made his national debut on the Grand Ole Opry, McCoury was born the fourth of Grover C. and Hazel McCoury's six children. In 1941, the family moved from Bakersfield, North Carolina, to York County, Pennsylvania. It was there that McCoury learned not only music, but a work ethic that would serve him well throughout his life. "My dad farmed about 100 acres," he recalled, "and delivered milk. Growing up, I could work every piece of equipment on the farm. I knew everything there was to know." To this day, he occasionally trades his guitar for a grease gun and performs maintenance on his touring bus.
Though his parents were both musical, some of his earliest memories are of his brother G.C. almost forcing him to stay up late Saturday nights listening to the radio. But once he heard the three-fingered banjo style of Earl Scruggs, he was hooked. His dad borrowed a banjo for him to play, and it wasn't long before it was his turn to keep his younger brother, Jerry, up Saturday nights. "I listened to [Monroe] on the Grand Ole Opry in the late 40s, from about '44 to '48," McCoury said. "It was kind of a once-in-a-lifetime combination, and he set the standard then." That ensemble, it turned out, included Lester Flatt, Earl Scruggs, and Chubby Wise.
"In 1950, my brother bought a record of Flatt and Scruggs; it was 'Rollin' in My Sweet Baby's Arms.' And the banjo playin' — that's what really struck me. I had heard banjo playing, but nobody ever played one like he did. It was the Earl Scruggs sound. That's what really got me to play this music." Only later did he realize that Scruggs had worked for Monroe.
Along with the Opry broadcast, local radio programs helped fuel his interest. "When I was growing up, they had the country, or hillbilly, stations. All day long they played country and bluegrass. They played Flatt and Scruggs, they played Roy Acuff, they played Hank Williams, and when Elvis come along, they played him. It was all in the same station."
McCoury first played professionally in the late 50s with the Stephens Brothers, and later with groups like the Blue Ridge Ramblers and the Virginia Mountain Boys. Then, in early 1963, Monroe was passing through the area and heard McCoury play at a Baltimore night spot. The end result was an invitation to join the Blue Grass Boys as a banjo picker. McCoury, however, wasn't ready to make the move. A month later, when he finally decided to take Monroe up on the offer, the banjo spot was filled. But Monroe's band did have another vacancy. "When I went with Bill, he said, 'I need a lead singer and guitar player in the worst way.' So he put me doin' that, and I never did quit that. I didn't think I would like it, but I found that I did," he said, but he remembers when he was a reluctant singer.
"When I started playing banjo, every band I played in wanted me to sing, and I would say, 'No, I don't want to sing,' and they'd say, 'You got to sing 'cause we need a guy to sing this part.' So I sang every part there was." McCoury never saw a need to learn to read music. "Most people just do it by ear. I guess it's a gift. If I heard three people singing, I knew exactly what part each had — I could find it on my own. I must have really been interested in it. That's the one thing — you have to take an interest first." It was Monroe, however, who helped him realize his vocal potential. "I learned a lot of singin' 'cause I had to sing with him. He was 52 and a really powerful singer. I knew that to sing with him, I really had to put out, and that's what I did."
Monroe, he said, "was a great singer, a great mandolin player, a great writer, and he was just so many things – a band leader."
McCoury played with the Blue Grass Boys from February 1963 to February 1964. "Then I quit, and I came back to Pennsylvania and married Jean (the former Jean Campbell) and that same week moved to California because I had a job offer. I went out to take this job with a band called the Golden State Boys. They had this television show." That deal didn't work out, so McCoury started a new band, but he returned to Pennsylvania after only six months.
Taking jobs cutting and hauling lumber, he played bluegrass on the weekends. After working with several groups, including the Shady Valley Boys, through the 60s, McCoury formed the Dixie Pals in 1969. With McCoury as the leader, the troupe saw many talented musicians; among them was his brother Jerry McCoury on bass. They also began what would be a nearly 30-year association with Rounder Records.
In the 80s, with the addition of McCoury's sons, Ronnie on mandolin and Rob on banjo, the group's name was changed to the Del McCoury Band. McCoury feels that the current lineup, which also includes fiddler Jason Carter and bass player Mike Bub, is the most talented yet. No weak links here. Superb instrumentalists, the men have also perfected their air-tight vocals and a sense of drama, as they demonstrated in the Monroe classic "Get Down On Your Knees and Pray." In a stunning, almost a capella treatment, with only sparse accompaniment on mandolin and guitar, the song delivers its cryptic title message to the "sinner." Soaring above the harmonic chords, lead by Carter's baritone, the elder McCoury's tenor reaches unprecedented heights, sending chills down the spine.
McCoury downplays his influence on his sons as they were growing up. Ronnie, he said, didn't seem to take an interest in playing music until McCoury took him to Lincoln Center, where he was appearing with Bill Monroe. "Bill took an interest in Ronnie. He gave him his mandolin and said, 'Here, play this,' and that's what got him interested in the mandolin." Ronnie, 31, joined the band on Memorial Day weekend, 1981. He began singing with the band after his uncle Jerry quit. "He'd been in the band long enough to realize that all these guys were singin' – except for him," McCoury recalls. Today, Ronnie produces and composes his own material. At Gettysburg, he captivated the listeners with his touching, true-life "Farewell to an Angel."
"Robby for some reason was interested in banjo right from the start," McCoury said. Rob, 27, first played in public at the 1983 Tracy's (Schwarz) Family Folk Festival in Glenville, Pennsylvania, but didn't join the group full time until 1987. The two brothers have collaborated on their own CD, Ronnie & Rob McCoury [Rounder], and have enjoyed steady work as studio musicians.
Fiddle player Jason Carter, 25, is "living out his dream," Ronnie said. He met the McCoury family at a festival in Kentucky, having seen them on TNN's "Fire on the Mountain," and was determined to be part of the band. A 17-year-old guitar and mandolin player, he realized that those positions were filled, so he took up the fiddle. By age 19, he was ready to audition. He has been with the band since 1992 and now also has made his own recording.
Bass player Mike Bub began playing bluegrass after seeing the movie Deliverance. A graduate of the bluegrass degree program at South Plains College at Levelland, Texas, he joined the band in 1992. "He's also good at finding songs for us," Ronnie said. Among his finds are "Buildin' a House" and "Blackjack County Line."
Jacob VanBuer joined the band at about 11 o'clock Friday night at the Gettysburg festival. McCoury's 4-year-old grandson surprised the crowd, who cheered and shouted "Go Jacob!" With all the power of his convictions, Jacob stomped to the beat as the men tore into "Loggin' Man," a McCoury original. Looking up, way up, into his granddad's face, he enunciated, "He's a chain-sawin', log-skiddin', tree-climbin', limb-dodgin', truck-drivin', rough old loggin' man!" The elder McCoury returned the attention with a warmth and pride that transcends words and speaks to the heart of anyone who has ever loved a child.
It has been McCoury's own set of principles that have kept the band's sound alive and original, yet grounded firmly in Monroe's bluegrass tradition. He can't exactly identify what draws him to a song, but cuts like "Smokin' Gun" and "The First Time She Left" are evidence of his tendency to favor the more somber side of bluegrass. "I hear a song and think, 'I like that song,' but I don't know why. You can't predict what you're goin' to like until you hear it," he said.
Like Monroe, McCoury has developed into a dynamic leader. "It's hard," he said. "Anybody that takes on the responsibility of a band on the road, transportation and deadlines and all that kind of thing – you have to be well disciplined to do all that. The easiest part of it all is the 45 minutes or hour and a half you're going to spend up there on the show."
McCoury has adhered to strict professional standards for his musicians, as well, even when it proved difficult. In 1988, the late folklorist Ralph Rinzler hired the band to tour the former Soviet Union with a group of American artists. They would have been the first American bluegrass group to play behind the iron curtain. Just before the trip, however, Rinzler changed the agreement and asked McCoury's band to play backup for another musician. Standing on the Washington Mall during that year's Smithsonian Festival of American Folklife, McCoury expressed his regrets, but stated firmly, "We don't play backup for anyone." Rinzler apparently forgave him for that decision. Years later, at Doc Watson's MerleFest in North Carolina, Rinzler gave him an unrecorded verse of Monroe's "True Life Blues," omitted when the initial recording was cut in the 40s. "So Ralph gave me that verse," McCoury said, "and it's still in my guitar case. I never sang it."
The Del McCoury Band has enjoyed playing to enthusiastic audiences all over the world. But in Japan, where the band's recordings sell especially well, the fans exhibit some curious behavior. They come to the concerts dressed in cowboy outfits and American Indian regalia, McCoury said. "Of course, I never dress that way." The group first went to Japan in 1979. Shortly after, McCoury appeared on the cover of Japan's June Apple magazine with the title "Mr. Bluegrass." The musicians have fond memories of their last trip there in 1993. "That was the best tour I had," McCoury said. They played major cities throughout the country, including Tokyo, and even made a live performance video. "There's a lot of country music fans and bluegrass fans there. They know everything you do there; it's amazing."
Of course, McCoury treasures the good times he shared with Monroe, like one steamy summer night in 1988 when they appeared together at a fireman's carnival in the tiny town of Jefferson, Pennsylvania. Hundreds of fans stood in the rain as the Blue Grass Boys, in their white Stetson hats, mounted the stage. And when Monroe favored the crowd with "Uncle Pen," time stood still, hearts skipped a beat.
"I still feel that way," McCoury said. To this day, he seldom performs "Blue Moon of Kentucky." That was Monroe's song, he said. "It's kind of like his standard... and you couldn't duplicate that. You couldn't sing 'Blue Moon of Kentucky' and think in your mind, 'Well, this is as good as Bill Monroe would sing it.' It never will be."
After nearly 40 years in the business, McCoury is enjoying the current recognition, but, he said, "I don't really feel all that different now. I feel I'm doing the same things I always did. I'm probably more confident now. I know I'm more successful." However, he doesn't write as much as he once did, he said. "I think it's because I'm so busy," especially since his move to Nashville in 1992. The move has benefitted everyone in the group, his sons in particular. "I'm happy for them. They get to do all kind of things there. When I come in off the road, they have things set up to do like recording sessions – they get plenty of work."
Lately, Rob and Ronnie have become involved in what they call the GrooveGrass movement, a recent example of which is the single "Bluegrass Macarena." Although their dad's voice is featured, the elder McCoury wasn't sure what he was getting himself into.
Producer Scott Rouse had been listening to bluegrass his whole life. "He got this kind of idea to bridge the gap between the old people and the young people," McCoury said. "In the beginning, he called me and said, 'I want you to come down here and sing something,' and that's all I knew. The other members in the band (Ronnie, Rob, Jason, Mike, as well as Mac Wiseman, Doc Watson, Jack Lawrence, Gene Wooten) knew more about the project. I was really surprised when I heard it 'cause it was really hard-core bluegrass — with this other stuff in it."
The single rose to number four on Billboard's country chart, and several major labels are now vying for rights to re-release it, Ronnie said.
This summer, the McCoury band made a potentially life-altering move: to terminate their long-standing relationship with Rounder in favor of Ricky Skaggs' Cieli label. It's a change McCoury said he is ready for, and the younger musicians agree.
"Ricky has gone totally bluegrass now, but he knows of all these other places to play," Ronnie said. However, his past success as a mainstream country artist might expose bluegrass music to a wider range of markets. "All you can do is cross your fingers."
The McCoury Band has been booked pretty solid this year. On April 15th, they appeared on the CBS special, "To Live, America Celebrates Israel's 50th." Representing American traditional music, they performed a sort of duel of the bands with the Klezmer Conservatory Band. "It was a real shot in the arm," Ronnie said. "The audience was really with us — you could see it, and you could feel it."
In addition to concert dates, Del McCoury was completing an album with Mac Wiseman and Doc Watson and recording music from the movie Rosewood with Wynton Marsalis. Both Rob and Ronnie are also working on recording projects. Rob's will be a sort of "bluegrass banjo 101," according to his brother.
But for the moment, on a damp spring night in Gettysburg, it was just good to have them home. As the band chatted with friends and family, fans lined up for autographs, including some pre-kindergarten hieroglyphics from the artist formerly known as Jacob.
The ensemble has been stable for the last six years, but if the boys should ever decide to leave, McCoury said, "I'd have to say, 'Go because you know what you want to do.' " And if they should decide to do, say, rap? "I'd tell them all, 'Well, be my guest.' It's funny, though, they like all types of music... but when it comes to playing seriously, the thing they want to do is bluegrass."
"We're not going anywhere," Ronnie said. "We know we're playing some of the best music we'll ever play."
As for the elder McCoury, "I just can't imagine myself singin' anything else."
© 1998 Dirty Linen, Ltd., Baltimore MD
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