Growing up in Louisa – Old Time Music!
Weekly feature . . . by Mike Coburn
I have to start off explaining that I’m more of a convert than an original lover of old time country music.
Oh, I listened to the Carter family, Hank Williams, and Flat and Scruggs on the radio when I was a little kid. Later I’d hear them and other country stars on TV, but my love was more about popular music with the likes of Patty Page, Doris Day, or Frankie Lane. Cowboy music was also a big thing in those days, like the Sons of the Pioneers, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, and others. I listened to Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, and the Everly Brothers. I didn’t tune in the Grand Old Opry or others, but did hear them from time to time. I attended presentations in a couple of small churches where Bill Monroe was playing. He drew large crowds, but wasn’t above playing for 
smaller audiences. Later in life I took my family to see the Opry while we were in Nashville. We saw Little Jimmy Dickens and Porter Wagner, and a program full of other stars.
I was mistaken when growing up about what I thought was ‘real’ music, or sophisticated songs. In those ways I was a bit of a snob, thinking that popular stars had it all over on the ones I came across at the courthouse bandstand, or on street corners and porches around the valley. Back then, I even had friends that played the old songs and hymns of earlier times. I honestly enjoyed the sound, but had trouble admitting it. When I stopped and listened, I knew I liked it and would pat my foot and even sing along. Who wouldn’t? I mean it was great stuff, even if not very sophisticated, thought I. I was the loser by ignoring the wonderful heritage of our people.
I was wrong, oh, so wrong. My conversion came as if a great light flooded my being and for the first time, I understood. Country music is at the very roots of who I am, and really should have been near and dear to me. Wow! It happened like this: after I left town I was sitting in a college class listening to a professor talking about the ‘old days.’ The course, a junior level ecology class entitled, “Pioneer Biology,” looked at the traditions of the Appalachian settler and the practices that made life bearable, if not fun. We studied cabins, wells, orchards, cattle, horses, hunting, tanning hides, canning, quilt making, and old time music.
I had just turned in a paper that had me researching the great history of settlers moving into the highlands of western Virginia and eastern Kentucky, and on into Tennessee. What I found was a surprise to me, but it all somehow seemed to finally fit. This could easily be traced through the language, the character of the people, and that music I heard as a youth. Suddenly it seeped into the forefront of my life like a magic blanket that would envelope my persona. I could run, but could never lose the roots of my ancestors and those of my friends and relatives from the lovely foothills where I grew up. Those people where more than just living stereo-types of hillbillies making ‘shine’ or doing rudimentary farming. They were experts in many things and a lot smarter than those that television programs described.
My term paper had some length to it but can be simply summarized as follows: In the early days the white population began to move in and occupy the Appalachian highlands. They fought Indians and pushed their settlements westward. They constituted a great influx of Scotsmen, Welshmen, and Irishmen. These people were used to living on the higher terrains of England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, in the gulley’s, hills, dells, of their old country. It was natural for them to move into the mountains. With them came their dialects, brogues, and a love of Celtic music. They adopted the banjo, an African instrument, and brought along their fiddles and jigs. The fifth string was added to the banjo, which gave a drone noise not unlike the bagpipes they remembered. Even the dancing of Irish jigs morphed into clogging, or ‘flatfoot,’ dancing that became common in the mountains. What we now call old-time country music was developed and grown from these humble beginnings.
Part of my research led me to read a number of ‘Foxfire’ books published by a high school in Georgia. They were developed from the student-body who interviewed elderly people from the mountains that had first-hand knowledge and skills relating to homesteading in those early days. I read stories of making ‘shine,’ of barn-raisings, weaving, cabin building, courting, and music making. One volume had a drawing of how to make a five-string banjo. It wasn’t long before I had collected various kinds of wood, made a pot to attach a handle (neck) and stretched out a cat skin that could be pulled taunt. Once it was finished I polished it and was admiring my work, when a professor of political science saw the banjo and lit up. He asked to see my creation. It turned out that he was a former professor in West Virginia and was a friend of ‘old time country music,’ a group dedicated to keeping the old ways alive. He knew how to play ‘claw-hammer,’ a method of strumming and picking. Once he tuned my banjo, he played it and was complementary about the sound. My little music box had done me proud. The fretless banjo sounded true and right. Over the weeks that followed he taught me how to play ‘Cripple Creek,’ ‘Soldiers Joy,’ and certain other songs, but frankly I had trouble making it sound like he did.
Nonetheless, I was a convert. Those haunting sounds of Appalachia became friends and now were finally part of my heritage. He showed me the difference between ‘blue grass’ picking like Earl Scruggs, and the Grandpaw Jones flailing style. In festivals I’ve attended I’ve seen teens that could play claw-hammer in amazing ways, and others that could pick Nashville style like master Scruggs himself.
In high school I once stopped by the home of Merle Stevens, a classmate and neighbor. He picked up a banjo that was leaning against the wall and began to make it sing. I was overcome with the number of beautiful notes that filled the air, all coming out faster than I could imagine any single person could cause. Merle played totally by ear and I counted that as one of those blessings you either have, or you don’t. I don’t. Over the years I discovered that many of the stars of today, some from around Lawrence County, not only played naturally by ear, but read music, and understand music theory, too. I had figured they had the gift, which of course they do, but they also turned out to be legitimate musicians with a wealth of knowledge.
Today I don’t argue over ‘old time’ traditional playing, versus the brassy sounds of Nashville. I think that means I’m not necessarily a purest, but one who enjoys both kinds. Each has their place and has the same origins. The music has the sounds of Scottish highlanders, Irish jigs, African American strumming, and even some sounds of Native Americans. Sitting back in the hills and hearing those lonely sounds of a ballad will surely take you back in time to those of our ancestors. The music makes sense and tells of the hardships, sufferings, and finally the faith of a wonderful stock of people. We can rest proudly knowing of our roots. mcoburncppo@aol.com
