Page 4=Sunday, January 15, 1978-The Michigan Daily Page4-Snda, Jnuar 15 198-Te Mihign DilyThe Michigan Daily-Sunday, A~ Picking 'nfrailing in Berea, Kentucky A celebration of traditional music HE APPALACHIANS. In the mind of the outsider, the name conjures up few romantic images; we do not see the sharp, savage immensity of the Rockies or the pastoral vistas of the Adiron- dacks. Instead, we vaguely recall National Geo- graphic picture essays-scarred, strip-mined hill- sides and dingy wooden cabins. But, of course, the people who live in these hills phasize the melodies and pay little attention to the lyrics: My old hen's a good ol' hen she lays eggs for the railroad man sometimes one, sometimes two Always enough for the whole darn crew. * * * Throughout the festival weekend the middle- By Eric Zorn do not view their lives and their land in such aged were absent from the crowds of sprightly cliches. For them, the Appalachians are alive and older men and women and student-type im- vibrant, a place of myth and memory and migrants drawn from midwestern campuses. Dr. folktales. And, as happens all over the world, Loyal Jones, coordinator of the festival and direc- these myths and memories are best expressed in tor of the Center of Appalachian Studies at the music. college, expressed a common concern of older Appalachian traditional music-old backwoods listeners that the styles and the songs which com- songs characterized by thunking banjo rhythms, prise old-time music will be changed permanently droning fiddle breaks and sprightly lyrics-still by the younger generation. has a small but dedicated group of adherents scat- "You see, the older musicians whom we see per- tered throughout the valleys. forming here are the last group of entertainers to Every autumn, the faithful gather in Berea, grow up without the notion of music and money Kentucky to perform and celebrate their art form. being intertwined," said Jones. "We've skipped a Berea College, the heart of this southern academic generation, and hardly anyone's learning community for more than a century, has long been anything firsthand, from the original sources. Too a center for the study and preservation of Ap- many people are simple picking songs off of palachian culture. Museums and small craft shops recordings, then interpreting them without ever dot the campus, and on the last weekend of every really coming in direct contact with the music and October the college hosts a celebration of mountain-region people themselves. To share the traditional music. older traditions in a close and personal way is one Half an hour before the festival was to begin of our big objectives." early on a Thursday afternoon last fall, the quiet This would explain why there are so few "big town betrayed none of the activity which usually names" in attendance at Berea. Hardly any of the announces the start of a music festival. By all ap- acts on the schedule of performances would be pearances, the semester was progressing as usual familiar to an average Michigan country or across-the campus. The calm that reigned in bluegrass music fan. Indeed, it is a policy of the Berea that afternoon was evidence that old-time program officials not to invite any act back to followers are not the sort to rush into a small town Berea more than two or three years in a row in or- and raise an uncompromising ruckus. Some 20 der to discourage any emphasis on fame and years ago there wouldn't have been anyone in the crowd popularity. area for the festival at all; no one listened much to But also as a result of this particular emphasis, the old-time music, and devoted musicians could some of the performers-notably the older 'I can't say if we'll see another revolution, if the next genera- tion will break away from traditional music. But I tell you, I have_ a little five-year-old daughter, and she's learning the fiddle and bal- lads too. I'm going to push it down her throat.' - Sheila Rice, Berea festival performer Photos by Eric Zorn It seemed like the whole town of Berea was out hoofing and stomping, clapping and whis- tling along with the performers at-the old- time music festival. Among the celebrants (from left to right, clockwise) J.P. Fraley teaches assembled amateurs his version of "Arkansas Traveler"; a young Berea woman clog dances enthusiastically on stage during Friday night's concert; an old man from "down the road a way" demonstrates his technique on a borrowed fiddle (that's his hand on the magazine cover); old-timer George Hbwkins scratches the strings back- stage before a performance; and Sheila Rice belts out one of her haunting mountain ballads. be found only among an older generation of moun- tain folk who rarely ventured farther than the front porch of their cabin for concert appearances. But there has been a revival in this country in recent years as many young people have taken up the banjos, fiddles and guitars of their ancestors to recreate the old-time spirit. Unlike country music with its whiny electric guitars, unlike bluegrass with its sharp, hard-driving melodies; and unlike much. folk music shaped around lyrics which carry strong social and moral messages, old-time music is the quintessence of quaint simplicity and frankness. The ballads are woven from simple stories, often drawn from English and Irish traditions. Fiddle tunes and faster songs em- Eric Zorn, a Residential College sopho- more, plays the banjo, guitar, mandoline and aparticularly melancholy fiddle. ones--have ordinary to -poor singing voices and are not especially skilled instrumentally. Would- be harmonies sometimes soured and fiddles ten- ded to squawk in protest at sloppy bowing. However the audience did not seem to mind if an historically important performer, perhaps well in- to his dotage, occasionally forgot a few words and strummed a 'C' chord when he wanted a 'D'. * * * Among the younger performers was Sheila Rice, a clawhammer-style banjo player and singer from Madison County, North Carolina. Her strong, clear voice and distinctive southern twang were perfect for both nonsense songs and a capella ballads, a repertoire which she learned entirely from her great-aunt: "She's seventy-eight years old now, and I'm afraid I'm not going to learn all the songs from her before she dies." For her living, Rice teaches fourth grade in the mountains of western North Carolina. Athough she considers her music a full-time hobby, she makes only four or five concert appearances throughout the year at regional music festivals. "I don't consider myself a professional, and I won't cut records. Of course I've been asked to several times, but I'm still not sure enough of what I'm doing. Remember that I'm directly backtracking fifty years for my music, and that's not easy." Modern influences on the music are inevitable, Rice believes, due to the input of the younger generation. Still she insists, "I've accepted the new influence, but I'm not going to change anything in the music myself." In her opinion, the economic opportunities which accompanied World War II tempted her parents' generation away from mountain society and thus from the old-time music which was an integral part of their lives. "I can't say if we'll see another revolution-if the next generation will break away from traditional music.- N CONTRAST to Rice's straightforward, I amateur-bound approach to her music, David Holt, coordinator of the Appalachian Music Program at Warren Wilson College in North Carolina, presents an image of a new breed of "professional" performer. A self- styled entertainer, Holt warmed up his act with some small talk, taught everybody the chorus to' "I Wish I Was a Mole In The Ground" and played the old fiddle feature "Turkey in the Straw" ham- bone style-slapping various parts of his body to sound the notes-while the walls of the old chapel shook to the roof with laughter and applause. "Many of these older people have never been en- tertainers," Holt said later, "and festivals would get pretty dull without a few lively acts." Holt considers the decline in the old-time tradition and the subsequent surge in popularity of country-and-western swing during the forties a reaction to the Depression: "Old-time music reminded people of the thirties, and for those in Appalachia, these were extremely unpleasant times." He looks with optimism, however, toward the future. "The recent growth in popularity of traditional music is a trend and not a fad. We're not going to lose the beauty of the old-time tradition because traditions come about with some sort of development through history. In that sense, the tradition is very healthy and in no danger of dying." * ** * - The effects of mass media on the music tradition are worrisome to some performers-even though record sales aren't big in old-time, they're in- creasing yearly. And with the exception of festivals, students learning the music no longer have personal contact with the people who have grown up in the musical tradition. Still, people like Karen Colins, a thirtyish banjo player from Lexington, Kentucky, don't scorn the, new musical aids spawned by modern technology. "I've found the process is a bit like quilting," she said. "I was in a quilting group just recently with some younger women, and, where I had learned everything I know from my grandma and my mamma, these girls had picked up all their techniques from published instruction books. They could do tremendous things, things I'd never seen. rI guess they still don't have the feel for what -quilting is really all about. Growing up with a specific tradition means that you will know it bet- ter, but in most cases your experiences will be narrower."- J. P. Fraley, a mine official from Rush, Ken- tucky, and a consummate artist on the fiddle, also doesn't play by sheet music. "I-play by letter," he told a workshop gathering. "Let 'er go!" Later Fraley went outside the Alumni Hall to saw away with members of the audience who had brought along their instruments. As one of the venerated older performers, J.P. quickly drew a circle of fiddlers, and in the parking lot under a mild autumn sun he set to teaching them all his- variations pn the standard square dance melodies.. That evening, J.P. had found another stage-campus chapel, where he appeared ac- companied by his wife, Anadeen. Secure now in their popularity, the couple told a story about an incident from their leaner years: J.P. had decided that Anadeen really needed a new guitar just prior to a fiddling contest scheduled for a local county fair where the first prize was one hundred dollars. It was; by coincidence, the exact price of the guitar Anadeen wanted. The husband and wife team were so certain they were going to win that they scraped together a down payment, got the guitar, and used it in the act to win the contest. " ELL, YOU ASK me about tradi- tion," said the craggy-faced 82- year-old fiddler Columbus Wil- liams one .day after lunch. "J.P. Fraley is over there school-. ing those young fiddlers, the best in the country about tradition when th on." Williams himself pl secrets, he claims in a m one is learning from me. with me." * , The celebration closet formal singing of gospel Some of the performers one or two sacred nun helping out on the chorus Bird" was the last song the crowd suggested it wt everyone to leave until gospel tunes, "Amazing ( The room was overflc ticipants, and they all ci hearty voice. After the chord, everyone filed autumn air, satisified wi and a common respect tradition.