Banjos and Bluetooth: How 2000s Southeastern Folk and Bluegrass Revitalized Americana

Songs: “Cumberland Gap” by Rising Appalachia, “Wagon Wheel” by Old Crow Medicine Show, and “Same Old Man” by Scythian

Rising Appalachia members (and sisters) Leah Song and Chloe Smith, winning the best sense of style in trad.

Every music movement occupies a specific time and place within the historical spectrum; sometimes it’s hard to figure out who came first, or who influenced who, or why something didn’t get as much attention at the time. But there’s no denying that the 2010s saw the soaring mainstream popularity of “indie-folk” and bluegrass acts like Mumford and Sons, Vance Joy, Fleet Foxes, Sufjan Stevens, Greensky Bluegrass, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, and too many others to count. While a few indie musicians dabbled with traditional in the ‘aughts, it didn’t really take off for a while. And then it did- kicking off a decade-long trend of pairing modern pop-rock song structures with spare guitars, handclaps, basic vocal harmonies, and the occasional hint of a fiddle or a harmonica. These groups weren’t exactly relegated to the dusty used cassette section of Goodwill, either. Mumford and Sons sold out Colorado’s legendary Red Rocks arena- twice. Iceland’s Of Monsters and Men had a massive international hit with “Little Talks” and Fleet Foxes released a series of critically acclaimed studio albums that garnered them two Grammy nominations.

And they all looked really cool doing it. Pictured: Of Monsters and Men.

I was a total music junkie as a kid growing up in the 90s, and back then each genre was much more balkanized and pigeonholed than today. If you flicked the dial to 99.1 HFS Alternative you’d get some indie and what was then termed “college radio,” a nice way of saying “concerts with more fistfights than audience members.” 101.1 DC101 Modern Rock aired well-known but no less controversial fare like Nirvana and Nine Inch Nails. 98.7 WMZQ Country featured a lot of wry, humorous ditties like “All My Exes Live in Texas” and seemed to focus heavily on cheatin’, drinkin’, and long-haul semis. But how were folk and bluegrass doing at the time?

Actually, quite well. The 1990s showcased a slew of brilliant Americana acts like Alison Krauss, Gillian Welch, New Grass Revival, the Lonesome River Band, and Mary Chapin Carpenter. The major barriers to massive commercial success were a matter of image and access. Whereas Of Monsters and Men could be an urban farming collective or a Brooklyn coffee klatch, 90s bluegrass performers staged their album covers with the whole band posing awkwardly in mullets and flannel on top of a haywagon.

While this was a highly regarded early-90s album, it probably didn’t look too appealing stacked up in the aisle beside Motley Crue and AC/DC.

It was also an ordeal to procure new folk records- you had to put in some work. First you had to hunt down the magazines with the reviews and then choose the album you thought you’d enjoy the most, because it was a $9 commitment. Then you’d have to make a special trip to Tower Records and get the profoundly stoned teenager behind the counter to special-order the CD for you. So it wasn’t like people didn’t know about all of these great groups; they just weren’t really sure how to find them, and the youth didn’t seem particularly interested in checking out a band whose homemade-looking promo photo contained two goats and a galvanized metal trough.

So how did folk and bluegrass bridge the gap from a gifted but relatively obscure scene onto a national mainstream stage? There are several reasons, some of which we don’t have time to cover today, like the rise of second-generation alt-country rockers Ryan Adams and the Drive-By Truckers. Another huge factor was the introduction of file-sharing services like Napster that allowed users to instantly download songs for free without having to deal with the perpetually baked kid behind the record-store register. But just as important were the emergence of a handful of traditional groups that breathed new life and energy into the genre like a kid joyously blowing up a birthday balloon.

I bought one of their shirts at a show but suspect that one of my old roommates stole it out of the dryer. Where’s mountain justice when you need it?

I’m not sure where to start writing about Rising Appalachia, because they’re one of my favorite groups of all time and deserve an entire article all to themselves. But here’s the condensed version: in 2006, multi-instrumentalist Georgia sisters Leah Smith and Chloe Song recorded an album for friends and family in a buddy’s basement studio and received so much support that they decided to officially form a band. They started off firmly within the Blue Ridge tradition- distinguishing themselves with melding harmonies, inspired fiddling, and clawhammer banjo- but over the next five albums moved increasingly into world, adding African djembe and ngoni players to broaden their sound. They’re fiercely independent, famously crowdfunding a few of their own records. They’re also refreshingly progressive on issues such as social justice, urban farming, and community activism. Rural musicians often get a rap for backwards-ass beliefs (think Kid Rock shooting a case of Bud Light with a high-powered rifle) but Leah and Chloe stand in stark contrast to this stereotype.

These immensely talented and gorgeous sisters write a lot of their own music, but sprinkled in with every album are a few excellent covers. For the sake of this article I’ve chosen “Cumberland Gap,” a merry dance tune featuring fiddle backed by banjo, bass, and hand drums, and hummed with a sweet and childish chorus. Cumberland Gap itself is a narrow mountain pass at the intersection of Virginia, Tennessee, and Kentucky, which is about as Appalachian (read: remote) as you get. This is a popular song for the area and is thought to date to the late 1800s; however, the melody could be quite a bit older, possibly referencing an early ballad about a sixteenth-century Scottish battle.

I was living in Roanoke, VA when this dropped. The song name-checks it and then rhymes it with “toke.” Probably the dopest compliment you can ever give to a city.

Old Crow Medicine Show’s “Wagon Wheel” is arguably the most famous folk song to come out of the 2000s and better-known than the actual group itself. Formed in 1998 in central Virginia and headed by old-timey punkish frontman Ketch Secor, O.C.M.S. busked for a few years before their discovery by Doc Watson. Although Secor wrote the verses for “Wagon Wheel” (as a teenager!), the chorus and melody came from an unfinished 1963 Bob Dylan bootleg. Dylan himself based it on an older song by bluesman Arthur Crudup, who likely got it from an even earlier composition by singer “Big” Bill Broonzy. According to Secor:

(Dylan) said ‘I didn’t write that; Arthur Crudup did.’ Arthur Crudup said, ‘I didn’t write that; [Big] Bill Broonzy wrote that.’ Bill’s first recording of the derivative of ‘Rock Me Mama’ is around 1928. That’s a true folk song — one that has gathered a lot of dust on the fender before it ever rolled into your town. And songs like that tend to last longer because they’ve been influenced by such lasting voices. In a way, it’s taken something like 85 years to get completed.

O.C.M.S.’s original piece is straight-up traditional Americana that wouldn’t be out of place in a 1940s state fair, with a thumping 2/4 beat, two banjos, a creaky fiddle, and Secor’s Southern yelp. Although never on the radio, it quickly became a staple of campfires and drum circles and music festivals in the Southeast; knowing the song was like having a passport to the Blue Ridge Mountains, an invite into the club. But in 2012 “Wagon Wheel” blew up into the stratosphere with a country-flavored cover by Hootie and the Blowfish’s Darius Rucker, who took the song to №1 and won a Grammy. Most people today couldn’t tell you who wrote “Wagon Wheel.” But apparently neither can its authors.

As featured on NPR.

Of the three groups discussed today, Northern Virginia’s Scythian (named after a tribe of Ukrainian nomads in a nod to their parents’ Ukrainian heritage) is probably the least recognized. As opposed to Rising Appalachia’s incorporation of African polyrhythms and Old Crow Medicine Show’s minstrel-folk aesthetic, Scythian incorporates a lot of European influences: Celtic, klezmer, Romani. Don’t be fooled- they’re no less talented. The core of the band consists of multi-instrumentalist brothers Alexander and Danylo Fedoryka, with a rotating cast of friends and family members. While they’ve toured extensively for over a decade, they’re best know for creating Appaloosa, an Appalachian music festival in Front Royal, VA showcasing the area’s best traditional acts (admittedly with a not-so-subtle Catholic undertone.) According to the Washington Post, “Scythian’s enthusiasm is contagious, and shows seem to end with everyone dancing, jumping around or hoisting glasses.” I can testify that this is true; I worked press at Appaloosa one year and have never seen such an intense mosh pit at an event also offering pony rides and face painting.

A concert experience where I learned that I was the WORLD’S WORST photographer.

The evolution of musical trends is usually a multifaceted affair with a lot of contributing factors. It’s true that the rise of the Internet made folk and bluegrass regularly accessible to anyone with a modem. But that doesn’t fully explain how we got from Hot Rize to Bon Iver in a decade. These three bands offered a fresh-faced take on traditional Americana that gently nudged the genre into the Digital Age, expanding its audience and renewing its interest among younger generations.