Perception sure can be sneaky on a beautiful day. Wily clouds and shifty blue skies cannot be trusted to tell your eyes the truth. I knew that pretty lie on some level as I held the perfect cup of coffee while gazing out my kitchen window one morning a few days back. I went so far as to have a “Snow White” moment, wanting to start humming a cheerful melody and twirl around, letting my princess dress swing out as little forest creatures danced around my feet because everything looked picture perfect and I couldn’t wait to be part of it. As I contemplated what I might put on my list of things to get done, my sleepy man joined me at the window and in a groggy voice announced it would be a scorcher of a day. I realized in that moment how that undetectable element couldn’t touch me as I stood there in my cool house looking out on the fields where the cows were grazing and the goats were jumping. It looked doggone delightful from my point of view, that was until I opened our back door. Shew, at seven in the morning, the wall of heat greeting me was hard to describe, just an unnatural feeling. In fact, my dear husband, lovingly nicknamed Farmer Rick, smiled slyly, reflecting the “I told you so” message as he asked if I wanted some ice cubes in my coffee cup. I slowly turned back inside where the dream of picture perfect was now distorted by the blast of hell I just experienced and pulled out my plan B to do list, gearing it toward inside tasks. As the day moved on and the hands on the clock ticked smugly into the afternoon hours, the light filtering through the window started changing. Of course, the best weather detector on the planet started pawing at my leg. Ginger Bread, our gentle pup, is deathly afraid of storms and deems it her job to make sure I can never enjoy a good storm for worrying about her puppy anxiety. Farmer Rick never mentioned the chance of a downpour, so I wasn’t prepared to see the tempest kicking up with complete abandonment just beyond the walls. I mean, the trees suddenly looked like they were bent sideways. Limbs, big limbs, were snapping off the poplar and maples and falling into the road in front of our house. The flowerpots on our patio went screaming into the yard as the cushions from our chairs took to the air. CRACK, the sound scared Ginger Bread into her next doggy lifetime as she frantically took off in a dead run down the hall. The brilliant lightning fell in straight lines, crooked warning for the thunderous sounds right on its heels as the rain fell in sheets so thick we couldn’t see beyond the water wall. I wish I had thought about filming it because this storm was WILD. My farm darling and his Goat Girl Gone Cat Crazy (that would be me) went from the front door to the back door and back to the front door, watching as the sky raged. Yep, it was like something out of a disaster movie. As I waited to see if trees would fall, my ever-quipping husband announced the heatwave would break as a result, and that meant I could help him clean up the debris when the rain stopped…Glory, just what I wanted to do. Oh, and of course to make it the perfect storm, our power went off, too. Immediately I thought of that hideous heat I felt during the morning hours and wondered how on earth we would make it without our air conditioning. Lawdy, the day had turned nightmarish. The power didn’t stay out long, and the winds finally died down. When the sky started sporting fluffy white clouds again and Ginger Bread pulled herself out from under our bed, we all went out to assess the damage and spent the next four hours picking up debris scattered all over the place. The big limbs we pulled out of the road were too large to break up; we left them in the front yard until they got a little chainsaw action. The tin roof on our goat shed needed nailing back down, but for the most part, things were amazingly alright. The day went places I never saw coming with that first glimpse of the morning, but suddenly the air felt wonderful - free of humidity and about twenty degrees cooler. Yeah, there was a complete mess to clean up, and the looks of the trees were different as a result, but we were safe. As I stood there thanking The Good Lord for seeing us through the storm, I thought how the weather was very much like my life. You knew I was gonna go there, right? It’s the truth. Everything can seem hunky dory, smooth sailing, and then some freak gust of wind blows in from nowhere and has a heart dealing with things it never saw coming. We weather all kinds of storms as we greet another day, but we are conditioned to roll like the clouds because there really isn’t another choice; we have to deal with life and all its gloriously unpredictable elements. I think often about what my grandfather told me years ago: “we don’t grow through the good times as fast as we grow through the bad times”…true that! These days, with the gray I see in my hair and the laugh lines branching around my eyes, I feel like an old oak tree, tall and reaching for the sky. I’m thankful for all the debris I’ve had to clean up throughout my years. Each broken limb carries a memory or lesson I needed to experience. I might look different after each storm as a result of losing a few limbs and a lot of leaves, but my roots are holding me in place, and my foundation has me sprouting out with new growth. I know the hardest storms are still ahead of me, but because of my faith in something bigger than I am, I stand the heavy rains with a surety that the storms will pass, and even when the ultimate storm hits, I will feel gentle breezes and enjoy a new day. There, I said it! Until next time… Donna Ulisse donnaulisse.com

On a June afternoon in New York, the idea of asking permission to step onto someone’s porch carries a certain weight. It suggests entry, humility, and a recognition that music, like conversation, is something shared rather than imposed. That spirit sits at the heart of Porch Stomp 2026, returning June 20 to Governors Island, where bluegrass and its extended folk family continue their unlikely, but deeply rooted, dialogue with the city. Now in its thirteenth year, Porch Stomp has grown from a scrappy experiment into one of the most distinctive acoustic gatherings in the country. More than 250 artists will spread across upwards of 20 stages, stretching from Colonels Row to Nolan Park, filling the island with bluegrass, old-time, Americana, Irish traditions, and everything in between. It remains free, open to families, and structurally simple on the surface, but underneath, it operates on a philosophy that feels closer to knocking on a neighbor’s door than booking a traditional festival. Theo Boguszewski, the festival’s producer, traces that ethos back to its beginnings. “Porch Stomp started in 2014. it was founded by Nick Horner, who was working for an organization called Make Music New York… whose mission is to put on a citywide day of outdoor music every year on the summer solstice,” she said. “Part of the mission… was to kind of open up all of these, you know, beautiful public spaces that we have in New York City that people might not be aware of.” That idea—opening space—remains central, but Porch Stomp does it differently than most festivals. There are no towering stages, no dominating sound systems, and no separation between performer and listener. Instead, the music lives at ground level, often literally, where a “stage” might be nothing more than a patch of grass or, when possible, a porch temporarily reclaimed for song. “We don’t have a stage, we don’t have sound systems… it’s very sort of DIY and organic,” Boguszewski explained. “It’s sort of this community event that we kind of describe it as being like the family picnic.” That description is not metaphor for effect; it is operational truth, and it reframes what it means to bring bluegrass into a city that doesn’t traditionally claim it. In that sense, Porch Stomp isn’t just about performance—it’s about permission. It asks whether New York will make room for this music, and whether the music, in turn, can adapt without losing itself. The answer plays out in small, human exchanges: musicians setting up within arm’s reach of listeners, audiences drifting from one porch to another, and strangers finding common ground through shared rhythm. Boguszewski sees those interactions as the real engine of the event. “You can go to a jam and… have what feels like very real interaction with somebody without having to talk to them,” she said. “There’s nothing easier, in connecting to other people than music.” It is a form of communication that bypasses introduction, résumé, or even geography, and that quality becomes especially potent in a city defined by boundaries. Those boundaries, however, are not always easy to navigate. As Governors Island has evolved, the literal porches that inspired the festival’s name have become harder to access, occupied by artist residencies and institutional programming. The act of asking permission has, at times, become more complicated and more revealing. “We’ve definitely gotten into some fights with people over the years about trying to use their porch. It has gotten tense,” Boguszewski admitted. “We usually, there’s usually a couple houses that are not being used, so we can use those porches.” The negotiation itself becomes part of the story, a reminder that cultural exchange in a dense city is rarely seamless. Even without full access to those physical spaces, the metaphor holds. Porch Stomp still operates as if every performance is a polite request—may we play here, may we be heard, may we share this. In return, New Yorkers are invited to step into a tradition that often feels geographically distant but proves emotionally immediate. That immediacy shows up most clearly in the festival’s unscripted moments. “We see these sort of pop up improvised events happening all the time,” Boguszewski said. “We’ll have people… jumping into bands, sitting in… that sort of cross-cultural thing that happens.” These are not programmed highlights; they are the natural consequence of proximity and openness. Some of the most memorable instances arrive by accident. “There was this huge rainstorm… and everybody just found places to play that were covered,” she recalled. “It created these really intimate concerts where the audiences would like crowd together on porches to watch people play.” What could have been a disruption instead reinforced the festival’s core idea: closeness over spectacle. The same holds true even after the music stops. “We had like the whole boat singing sea shanties together… it was totally improvised and really, really fun,” Boguszewski said of a ferry ride back to Manhattan. The event extends beyond its official footprint, carrying its communal spirit back into the city. For 2026, the scale continues to grow, with expanded stages, workshops, open jams, and a broader inclusion of folk traditions. Irish music, step dancing, student ensembles, and percussive groups all find a place within the acoustic framework, reinforcing the idea that bluegrass in New York is less a fixed genre than a meeting point. “We’ve been sort of trying to… reach more folk music communities in New York City,” Boguszewski said. “Bringing in the Irish music community… has been really cool.” The festival becomes not just a presentation of tradition, but an evolving conversation about what that tradition can include. Yet even as Porch Stomp expands, it resists becoming something slick or overly curated. The lack of amplification in Nolan Park is not an aesthetic gimmick; it is a practical commitment to intimacy. “If they were amplified, we could only have like three stages… it’s not the same experience,” Boguszewski explained. “You do have to get close to the musicians to hear them.” That closeness—physical, cultural, and emotional—is what keeps Porch Stomp distinct. It doesn’t try to replicate a rural festival in an urban setting; it translates the porch itself into a shared urban language. Each performance is an invitation, each listener a guest, and each space temporarily transformed by mutual agreement. In a city that rarely slows down long enough to ask, Porch Stomp still does. It asks for room, for attention, for a moment on the porch. And year after year, New York says yes. https://www.porchstomp.com/

Ten years ago, when he first began writing code for an app that his music students could play along with, Luke Abbott didn’t realize he was revolutionizing bluegrass music instruction and creating a career for himself. But a decade into Strum Machine, it’s clear that’s what happened. Not only does the subscription-based app allow users to play along with approximately 1300 bluegrass and old-time songs in its catalog, they can, among other things, select the key, set the tempo, choose any combination of guitar, mandolin, and bass instruments to play along with, change strumming patterns, add a metronome, and adjust the count-in. They can edit and add songs. Whether used as a play-along instruction aid or as a tool to create a backing track for recording, Strum Machine has been enthusiastically embraced by students, teachers, and artists of all stripes. Especially those in the bluegrass world. And that’s by design. “I'm not trying to make something for everybody, for all kinds of music, for all kinds of users,” Abbott says. “I'm really focusing on bluegrass and old time and acoustic sorts of music in that universe.” Now living in San Luis Obispo, California, Abbott was ten years old when his family fell in love with bluegrass. “We went to a bluegrass festival, kind of on a whim,” Abbott remembers. “And we were like, ‘Whoa, this whole scene where people are getting together and playing music just casually in the campground, it's so cool!’ And then the music on stage was also great. And we were like, ‘All right, I think this is what we're going to do now!’ We got all the bluegrass instruments and began learning the repertoire and started local jams in our town and started a little family band, so we were in the bluegrass world!” An accomplished player, eventually Abbott began giving as many as 20 to 30 lessons a week and provided backing tracks to his students. “I'd be recording them myself, doing whatever they needed. I'd sit down and record it and send MP3s to them. And I thought, ‘There's got to be a better way to do this.’ “I've been programming since I was a kid, so I knew that it should be possible to make a backing track player that could play whatever chord progression you wanted and sound good.” Abott looked at what was available but decided everything either didn’t sound good or was too hard to use. “So, I wanted to see if I could make something that was simple but uses real instrument sounds so you can play these fiddle tunes like simple chord progressions. That’s where I started. I made a sort of a prototype, showed it to my students, and they started using it right away. And then I decided I'm going to try to make this into a publicly available product. And it was mid-2016 when it went out publicly.” The app was widely available when the Covid pandemic forced many people to stay home, and that’s when many users discovered it. “I got a lot of messages from people who said they couldn’t go to their gym anymore. They were glad to have this to fill in the gap. I was happy to be able to offer it to people during that time.” Users love Strum Machine’s flexibility. They can make changes to create a soundtrack that works for them at that moment on their journey of learning a song or technique. They also like that they’re playing along to real music. You’re actually hearing Abbott playing the accompanying mandolin, guitar, and bass. “It's my guitar and mandolin. I actually borrowed a friend's bass, but I just recorded the samples. The way it works is, I record basically all the different sounds it can make and then Strum Machine stitches it together in order to recreate whatever sort of chord progression and strumming patterns you want.” Designed as a practice aid, users have found many ways to incorporate the app into their routines. It can be used to create a backing track when beginning a recording. “I've heard from a lot of people who do that,” Abbott says. “And some people bring Strum Machine busking, and they'll turn it on, and they'll be playing along with it. Or even some people have played dances with it where they're fiddling, and Strum Machine is the backup.” Now Strum Machine has become Abbott’s profession and full-time occupation. That includes marketing, innovating, customer relations, and research. The tenth anniversary of Strum Machine finds Abbott releasing a major update with an eye on the future. “It’s kind of under-the-hood work that isn't as visible but is really important to do in the long term, because now I'm thinking about the next ten years. I want Strum Machine to be strong and here for everyone for the next ten years and the ten years after that. So, I've been investing a lot of time in that infrastructure and making sure everything is well-built and ready to move forward.” https://strummachine.com/

Ask thirty-four-year-old North Carolina banjoist and tractor enthusiast Andy Hunt what a 1947 Farmall H and bluegrass have in common, and he'll show you living history. “Our family farm in Archdale, North Carolina, was bought by my great-great-granddaddy in the early 1900s,” Hunt says. Hunt also raises cattle, including one named Mabel. “Hereford cows are my favorite breed!” “I caught classic tractor fever at a very young age. My dad worked as a farrier. He would put me on a saddle, and I would cry, but when he’d put me on the seat of a tractor, I'd sit there and just be as happy as I could be,” Hunt says. Hunt, who frequently attends tractor shows and is a member of the International Harvester Collectors Club, has his own machine. “I bought a 1947 Farmall H that’s been restored to show quality.” While forging a bond with the tractor as a youth, Hunt soon found that farming wasn’t the only way to experience rural life. There was also music. “There was a radio station [on] 101.1 FM in North Carolina. I was between six and nine years old, and on Sunday mornings, they would have bluegrass on the radio,” Hunt says. “We would listen to that station on the way to church.” One day, his dad played him the song "Orange Blossom Special." “My dad brought [the] tape, Time Life’s Treasury of Bluegrass home, and the old radio he put it in is actually still hanging in the kitchen.” Yes, he was referring to a radio/cassette player that you can attach to the underside of a cabinet. He [Andy] wanted to play the banjo. “My mom and dad said they had talked to some people, and heard that it's best to make sure my hands are big enough to hold the instrument and play.” His first banjo was a Johnson JB-200. “My mom actually still has the original hang tag from when I got it—$209." "My mom said, 'You're going to banjo lessons today,'" recalls Hunt, who was homeschooled. "I tell people that I told her to pinch me, and she pinched me, and it hurt, so I know it was real." [laughs] "I feel old sometimes because I can say that the first place I took a banjo lesson has been torn down," says Hunt. He names Smith Whitley Music at the corner of Westchester and Lexington avenues in High Point. "There's a Sheetz station on that corner now." Today, Hunt is a seasoned musician who is passionate about Ralph Stanley’s traditional banjo style. "A lot of people say that Earl Scruggs is their favorite, but for me, the first [person] that comes to mind… would be Ralph Stanley. Along with him, I would say contemporaries for me would be Don Reno and Raymond Fairchild." If he had to choose one banjo player to spend the day with, "I'm probably down to Ralph or Raymond Fairchild because I patterned so much after both of them." He gives credit to Scruggs, "I like Earl's music, he's great, and I'm sure I've picked up some from him, too." His Own Picking Technique Hunt mixes bluegrass and old-time Appalachian banjo. "I've developed a little style I call mountain style. It's a little different. It has a constant drone on the fifth string with the right thumb, and a lot of times I'll play that with no picks," explains Hunt, describing it as a "softer sound." He continues, "I take a little bit from all the greats that I enjoy listening to... I take a little bit from each one of them and roll it all into one. And that's how I make my own style." Sharing what he developed with others, “I play in the praise band, Strings of Faith, at our church each week. I have played at nursing homes, tractor shows, auctions, festivals, rodeos, parades, breweries, and on the street corner in Hyden, Kentucky, and other cities in North Carolina.” Teaching history with bluegrass and antique tractors “We can't forget where we came from! If there weren't somebody who enjoyed the old ways and the old things, then they would completely die out,” says Hunt. “I’m preserving the history and keeping it fresh in people's minds.” The biggest gift is the reaction he gets, “I enjoy putting a smile on people’s faces—helping them relive happy times and making their day better.”

Charlie Worsham has been involved with music for as long as he can remember. Growing up in Grenada, Mississippi, as the son of a banker (his dad) and a teacher (his mother), young Charlie was an accomplished musician by the age of fourteen, honored as such by the Mississippi Senate. In high school, he attended a five-week summer program at Berklee College of Music and fell in love with Boston. By the time he graduated from high school, Charlie was ready to pursue his music dreams at Berklee. “That’s a magical place for me,” he says. “All the big fish from all the little ponds gather there, and I made great friends from all over the country and the world.” Many of those friends moved to Nashville, and Charlie joined them in Music City. “It’s been twenty years now,” Charlie says. He has covered a lot of ground during that time, collaborating on tour and in the studio with the likes of Dierks Bentley, Taylor Swift, Miranda Lambert, Ella Langley, Eric Church, Lainey Wilson, and Kenny Rogers. Throughout 2019, Charlie pulled double duty in both Vince Gill’s touring band and as a touring member of Old Crow Medicine Show. “It was fun for me to juggle playing in those two bands. Ketch Secor became a great friend and mentor, and playing with Old Crow was helpful for me as a performer. I try to incorporate what I learned from them into my own shows. Ketch has become a dear friend and is godfather to our son.” By 2021, Charlie won his first industry award for his work as a musician, the ACM for Acoustic Guitar Player of the Year. He would earn the honor again in 2023 In 2024, Charlie took home his first CMA Award for Musician of the Year. Charlie met his wife, Kristen, at a scholarship fund meeting at the Music Community Foundation. “Eleven months after that meeting, she reached out to me,” he laughs. The rest is history. They got married and had two children: their son, Gabe (5), and daughter Harper (18 months). “Nowadays, coming home from a run of shows has never been sweeter.” Charlie is preparing to launch a new full-length album, Once Upon a Second Time Around, slated for release on August 7. “Records should be a picture of who you are in a particular season of your life,” Charlie says. “Once Upon A Second Time Around is an honest portrait of who I am today. I’m so proud of this body of work. It feels like a bookend to my debut album, 2013’s Rubberband. I feel like I’m settling into my seat at the table of country music.” Listeners will hear tinges of bluegrass and Southern rock throughout the album. “Those are two of my favorite genres, and both speak to my core influences.” Three songs have been released as singles, including “Grass,” “They Never Do,” and “Family Man.” Each song speaks to Charlie’s life these days, juggling the chaos of a music career with his role as a husband and a father. “I get to make music every day with people who inspire me to be better. That, to me, is living the dream. The work is the reward.” Back in May, Charlie spent a week performing in Mississippi with the rejuvenated Parchman Band, comprised of men incarcerated at the infamous Mississippi prison. “The men in the Parchman Band have blessed me with a transformative experience. I’m so proud to know them and proud to see the way they are living a story of redemption and grace. Mississippi needs more new narratives like the one being written by the Parchman Band.” Charlie also hosts a podcast, Mississippi on the Map, produced by the state’s tourism bureau, Visit Mississippi. “I’ve had a blast hosting the podcast,” he says. “I am proud to have a platform to share some of Mississippi’s best stories. After all, stories here tend to be a size or two bigger than others.” With one foot in Mississippi and the other at home in East Nashville, Charlie Worsham knows where he is from and where he is going, and life for the talented singer/songwriter has never been better. https://www.charlieworsham.com/

Blue(Grass) Ribbon Dog Songs Congratulate yourself on making it this deep into summertime. We’ve almost reached the tail end of Dog Days—July 3 to August 11. But it seems to me our four-legged friends deserve more than our taking their names in vain for some of the muggiest days of the season. When they named this stretch of the calendar, the ancient Romans had mapped the path of Sirius, the bright “Dog Star.” Because it aligns with the summer sun, that star was thought to add extra heat that makes these days sweltering. Science has long since shifted blame to the tilt of the earth’s axis, so it’s time to apologize to our canine companions. What better way to give dogs their due than a Bluegrass celebration of tunes they’ve inspired. There are more than 300 recognized dog breeds—and more muddled mutt bloodlines than we can count. Those numbers might be rivaled by the many songs that feature dogs as main characters, rural scene setters, and tail-wagging metaphors. Attempting to choose the “best” dog song would be as impossible as trying to declare a single “top dog.” But here are a few blue-ribbon contenders and shaggy dog pretenders. On the Prowl The Osborne Brothers often got the pick of the litter from songwriters Felice and Boudleaux Bryant. The team behind the success of “Rocky Top” and other hits scored again with the tale of the “Tennessee Hound Dog.” The Bryants wrote of an old hound who “looks like skin on a bone pile” and whose “ears hang down to his knees.” He’s even scorned by the pack as “an old-age home for fleas.” But that hound still can get “a certain kind of look on his face” . . . and “when he takes a notion, all the girl dogs know/He’s a dynamite, uptight, outa sight backyard Romeo.” The driving melody and high harmonies of Bobby and Sonny Osborne really sold this song, and the Grascals’ recent revival has kept it a fan favorite. “Old Rattler” was another senior dog who didn’t let his infirmities get in the way. He might have been “as blind as he could be/But every night at suppertime, I believed that dog could see.” Rattler was a friend to all, walking “paw in paw” with his raccoon buddies instead of treeing them. A signature tune for Grandpa Jones, the song also was recorded by the Stanley Brothers and Stringbean. Jay Armsworthy and Eastern Tradition tell the story of another dog whose main interest isn’t hunting. “Billy the Bluegrass Beagle,” loves Bill Monroe’s music and howls his approval whenever his master picks up a guitar. On the Trail Other dogs are famous for keeping their minds and noses on the trail. “Old Dog Blue” helps his master by treeing possums in persimmon trees. The singer vows that “When I get to Heaven, first thing I’ll do/I’ll grab my horn and call for Blue.” The Dillards and Norman Blake are among many Bluegrass and folk artists who have great versions of this traditional tune. Before his preacher comes for Sunday dinner, “King of Bluegrass” Jimmy Martin needs help tracking down a main course. “Run, Pete, Run” is the command to his faithful dog, who does his part by treeing a 25-pound raccoon. As a reward, the dog gets to “harmonize” on the record and appear on the “Me ‘N Ole Pete” album cover. Martin continued to brag on his hunting companion in “Pete, the Best Coon Dog in the State of Tennessee.” Tom T. Hall wrote this song, which is not to be confused with another Hall creation—“The Fastest Rabbit Dog in Carter County.” In “Chattanooga Dog,” yet another Martin/Hall number, the singer compares his pursuit of a lady to a hound endlessly chasing a fairground kiddy train. Of course, Tom T. is best known in dog song circles for writing “three things in this world that’s worth a solitary dime . . . Old Dogs and Children and Watermelon Wine.” Dogs also can serve as “supporting actors” that quickly relate a song’s rural setting. For “Appalachian Blue,” a hit for Kristy Cox, co-writers Jerry Salley, Karen Bowles, Bobby Johnston and I set the scene with “A bluetick hound that’s howlin’ underneath an old blue moon/And the lonesome notes that linger from a Bluegrass fiddle tune.” “Love Me Like My Dog” Another song from Tom T. and Dixie Hall is more of a shaggy dog story. The singer comes home to find that his wife has left him and taken the car and his dog. He declares: “I Want My Dog Back . . . If he gets out, he’ll come back home/He knows that I’ll be blue/The only thing that worries me/Is she might come back too.” The Spinney Brothers have a classic recording of this tune. Bluegrass dogs generally are less critical than a singer’s significant other. Darren Nicholson makes that case in a song written by Harley Allen and Scotty Emerick: “He never says I need a new attitude/Him and my sister ain't always in a feud/When I leave the seat up, he don't think that it's rude/I want you to Love Me Like My Dog . . .” “My Dog Thinks I’m Elvis” is another tribute to canine good judgment. The song was recorded by Ray Herndon, a co-writer with Jimbeau Hinson and Jon Michaels. The original is more Blue Suede Shoes than Bluegrass, but these lyrics might inspire a grassy cover: “In his eyes I am the King/I think he’d crawl to Memphis if he thought I called his name/He looks up at my face like it’s painted on velvet/He ain’t nothing but a hound dog/But he thinks I’m Elvis.” “Their Only Fault, Really” Anyone who’s known the love and companionship of a dog can appreciate this comment from American writer Agnes Sligh Turnbull: "Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really." Many Bluegrass and Country singers have shared that sentiment in tributes to their childhood pets or rescue dogs that became part of the family. For more than 90 years, the standard in sad dog songs has been “Old Shep.” Red Foley’s tale of a young man saying goodbye to his old dog has brought tears to generations of listeners. Mac Wiseman may have the best-known Bluegrass version. Artists who have covered the song include Elvis Presley, who first sang it at age 10 in a talent show. Another “circle of life” song is Dolly Parton’s story of “Cracker Jack,” the childhood dog who was “everything a kid could want.” In Mo Pitney’s “It’s Just A Dog,” the singer tries not to show emotion when his rescue dog passes. But his memories tell a different story: “Just an old mutt ridin’ shotgun/Gettin’ my seats all muddy/Just the one who I came home to/Just my best fishin’ buddy.” In “God and a Dog,” Jerry Salley asks listeners, “Don’t call me crazy for comparing the two.” But when it comes to unconditional love, he says, “They find good in me even when I can’t/All part of a bigger plan/Loving me just the way I am/God and a dog.”

Andy Leftwich doesn’t deal in nostalgia, even when his résumé invites it. The four-time Grammy-winning instrumentalist could lean on a lifetime that runs from championship fiddle contests to nearly sixteen years inside Kentucky Thunder, but Aced pushes forward instead of looking back. The album captures a musician who has moved past proving himself and now focuses on saying something that lasts. “This latest record is one that I’ve been working on for just over a year,” Leftwich said, “and whereas The American Fiddler project, I had been working on it for a good ten or twelve years before I actually released it. So I’m really excited about this new project because it’s all fresh new music, and I feel like it’s a timestamp in where I’m at as a musician and in my career right now.” The title Aced started as a tune, then grew into something larger when a venue billed the group as “The Aces,” a name that stuck because it fit the room. Leftwich assembled a lineup that reflects both mastery and familiarity, bringing in Cody Kilby, Byron House, and Matt Menefee—players who share history as well as instinct. That shared language lets the music move freely, where arrangement and improvisation feed off each other instead of competing. “I always wanna leave room for that, being spontaneous in music is so wonderful and you wanna leave room for that,” Leftwich said, “and creativity is a huge part of that. I was so blessed with the musicians on this project. They are just great improvisers, and they interpret a song as great as anybody I’ve ever played with.” Across Aced, Leftwich stretches beyond strict bluegrass borders without losing his center. Original compositions drive the record, while pieces like “Tom and Jerry” and “Talk About Suffering” tie directly back to his upbringing and musical roots. He approaches each arrangement with the same goal: build something that invites listeners in, whether they understand the mechanics or not. “I don’t like putting a lid on creativity,” Leftwich said, “and I try to stretch the boundaries, but more than anything I want the listener to enjoy the music. I hope that maybe somebody that doesn’t play instruments or doesn’t really know anything about music can listen to this and enjoy the music.” That openness extends into the studio, where Leftwich approaches recording with the same care he brings to performance. Years spent watching Ricky Skaggs shape sessions left a mark, but Leftwich has carved out his own preferences, especially when it comes to sound. “I’m a big gear nerd,” Leftwich said, “I love microphones and preamps, and I love diving into the deep black hole of recording and different ways to record. I really enjoy the sound of the saturation of tube microphones, and I feel like that still has a foot in that realm of old school bluegrass and not getting too high-tech with it.” That balance between old and new mirrors the larger arc of his career. Early on, Leftwich focused on execution, chasing clean runs and technical perfection, the kind of discipline that defined both contest circuits and high-level touring. Over time, that focus shifted, not away from precision, but toward something deeper. “I always want to speak through the instrument,” Leftwich said, “and I think that comes with experience, and the better you are at your craft, the better folks will hear you and hear your heart through that. If I leave a stage and feel like I didn’t play my heart out, I feel like I’ve failed the listener.” That evolution didn’t happen in isolation. Leftwich points to a moment early in his career when his priorities changed, when performance stopped revolving around perfection and started centering on connection. The shift freed his playing, opening space for expression rather than constraint. “I was so focused on trying to execute perfectly for Ricky that I forgot about the audience,” Leftwich said, “and there was a moment where I felt like the Lord was just telling me to quit focusing on a man and put it on Him and the people you’re playing for. It just freed me up and all my insecurities went away, and it was a huge liberating feeling to know that I am there for a purpose.” Faith continues to shape how Leftwich approaches both music and life, giving Aced an undercurrent that runs deeper than arrangement or performance. That perspective comes through most clearly in moments like “Talk About Suffering,” where the message carries as much weight as the melody. “I always want to speak through the instrument,” Leftwich said, “and that’s always my prayer when I play, that people can hear your heart in what you play. No matter how hard it gets in life, the Lord has already gone through it for us and we can trust Him.” That sense of purpose anchors Aced from start to finish. Leftwich doesn’t abandon technique—he builds on it—but he refuses to let it stand alone. Instead, he leans into connection, shaping a record that feels lived-in, immediate, and human, where every note points toward something beyond itself. https://andyleftwich.com/

The audience for bluegrass music extends beyond the United States. Every year dozens of bluegrass bands tour in foreign lands, especially Europe and the United Kingdom. Playing abroad can increase a band’s audience and provide members with new travel, culinary, and cultural experiences. But the travel complications can be unexpected and confounding. The Bluegrass Standard invited several musicians to share their experiences traveling and performing abroad. Unsurprisingly, simply making the trip can be problematic. Before John, Jason, and Jeremy Chapman opened The Acoustic Shoppe in Springfield, Missouri, they toured widely with their father, Bill, as The Chapmans. Their second trip to Europe left a lasting impression. “My brother has a Martin 1940 D-18 guitar that he loves,” says Jeremy. “And he had it in a Calton case, which are pretty much indestructible except for whatever airline we were flying to Amsterdam. They found a way to close it in some kind of hydraulic press and crush the neck of the case. When they wheeled it out, and he saw it, his heart was completely broken. He was scared to open it.” But sometimes travel disasters are averted. “The case did its job and protected the guitar,” says Jeremy. “So kudos to Calton for protecting it and to the airline for finding a way to destroy a carbon fiber or fiberglass guitar case. But that's one of our scariest mishaps flying in Europe.” Banjoist and SiriusXM host Ned Luberecki is a little more relaxed traveling as a musician in Europe. That’s in contrast to flying in the States, where he always worries about getting his instrument safely stowed with him in the cabin. “But I've had really good luck in European airports, including Amsterdam, Munich, and Heathrow, where it just seems like a less stressful situation. And even in situations where I have had to ask, ‘Hey, can I get this on the plane?’ instead of getting an attitude of ‘Oh, you're not getting that past me!’ like I might get in the States …over in Europe and other countries, I've never had that attitude.” Overseas venues vary widely and may provide a memorable experience. You might be playing Albert Hall. Or not, as fiddler/singer/bandleader Becky Buller discovered. “A couple times when I was touring with Valerie Smith and Liberty Pike, we played in a half of a wine cellar in Oberotterbach, this tiny town up a hill in Germany. And the name of the venue was the Musikantebuckl. And it was absolutely tiny. I can't remember how many people it held, but their big thing was that they would serve you a piece of toast with ham on it, and a half of a canned peach and some cheese over the top of that, and they would melt the cheese on top of that. And that was their speciality. It was good!” Mandolinist David Benedict of The Foreign Landers has traveled widely. On a trip to Australia with the band Mile 12, they nearly had to leave behind one of their own. “Our bandmate, BB Bowness, a phenomenal banjo player who’s from New Zealand originally, was a green card holder in the States. But when we got to Australia, her wallet got lost or stolen or something, and it had her green card in it. We were freaking out, thinking that she wouldn't be able to get back into the States when we flew back to America.” To sort things out, the band had to wake at 3 a.m. to make a frantic four-hour drive between gigs to the American consulate in Sydney. “And I just remember at dusk, seeing all these kangaroos hopping in the distance on this panic trip to the U.S. embassy to try to beg for BB to get back into the States. And thankfully, everything worked out.” Mandolinist Jason Bailey played on a European tour with singer/songwriter Kristy Cox. His trip was a reminder of why traveling abroad can be worth the challenges. One of their stops was a performance at the Prucha banjo shop in the Czech Republic, a country with many fervent bluegrass fans. “That was probably one of the warmest and more fun shows for me personally,” Bailey remembers. “They applauded after every solo. They knew a lot of the material that we were doing, and we just hung out after the gig jamming, which doesn't happen at most gigs. Usually, you do your performance and you shake some hands and pack up and leave. But this one, we hung out and jammed tunes with people because they loved it. And that's what bluegrass is all about, in a way. It's about the community, everyone getting together, playing tunes together. And so that was one of the more special moments over there.”

As an industrial hygenist Steven Moore keeps workplaces safe by carefully monitoring dust, vapor, and noise levels, and reducing exposure to protect employees. But on stage he’s audacious and bold. This three-time national banjo champion plays jaw-dropping, inventive arrangements of contest tunes. As a member of The David Mayfield Parade, perhaps the most animated, eccentric, and exciting band in bluegrass, Moore combines his virtuosity with a sense of humor and humility that gives him a larger-than-life stage presence. And for his solo album, Just a Little Talk With Myself, a musical tour-de-force, he wanted something different for the album cover. “I think that we all know the bluegrass band where the guys take themselves very seriously, and they don't look like they're having any fun,” Moore says. “Their album covers are four guys standing in front of a set of railroad tracks or four guys in front of a cabin.” And so for something completely different (as another banjo player noted for his humor once said), the cover of Just a Little Talk With Myself depicts Moore in a therapy session with his banjo. “I think that part of my humor is just not taking myself too seriously,” he explains. Moore has been a serious devotee of the banjo since the age of six when he heard Bela Fleck playing the instrument on a Statler Brothers album. He took lessons from local teachers in Southeast Ohio, where he was reared and still lives. Among the most influential was Butch Osborne. “He was my teacher during my most formative years from about age 13 to 17, and he really shaped me into a better player. He was probably the best teacher I could have had at that time.” With Osborne’s encouragement Moore began competing in banjo contests. He won his first national championship in 2008 at the fabled Walnut Valley Festival in Winfield, Kansas, when he was a senior in high school. His version of “Wheel Hoss” followed the approach this biochemist/banjo player has used to win subsequent championships. “With a contest arrangement, you need something that's at least a minute and a half--maybe up to two-and-a-half minutes long--where the banjo is really in the lead the whole time. And I always try to do an intro. The first break is kind of true to the original. And then in the second break I’m doing something that's maybe totally different. Then the third break is totally different from that, but ultimately circling back around to that original melody or the way it was played near the end of the third or fourth break. And then playing an outro that reflects the intro. So that's kind of my formula for a banjo contest.” Despite being a national banjo champion, when it was time for college he didn't enroll in a university bluegrass music program. “I went to Marietta College in Marrietta, Ohio, and majored in biochemistry. But while I was there, I participated in several music ensembles and choirs, not the least of which was the jazz ensemble where I played electric guitar,” he says. “And I really enjoyed the choirs that I was in. The concert choir was very important and taught me a lot about harmonies. That’s been beneficial for any band that I've been in.” For the last seven years that’s been The David Mayfield Parade, a band led by a man that some have observed looks--and behaves--like Rasputin with a guitar. Moore says that the stage work of his boss, David Mayfield, is actually inspired by a very traditional artist. “He's been influenced a lot--specifically in bluegrass--by Little Roy Lewis. The antics that Little Roy did on stage--David saw that when he was younger. He always knew that he wanted to be kind of like Little Roy. His other comedic influences are anything from Smothers Brothers to, well, I don't know, just all the comedians.” Mayfield’s sense of humor may have Moore second guessing that “other duties as assigned” line in his job description. “The music video for ‘Face Your Life,’ a song that David wrote, involves me wearing an Andre the Giant one-piece wrestling singlet. And when David told us the idea of this video, I was a little bit reluctant to think, ‘Oh yes, I'm going to get in a one-piece wrestling singlet in front of a bunch of people and shoot a music video.’ But I did it.” The David Mayfield Parade isn’t just fun and games. There are thoughtful and moving songs, such as “Sapphire Town.” Mayfield wrote the lyrics after seeing a documentary that examined the dangers of working in the sapphire mines in Madagascar. Moore supplied the melody. Moore also has original songs on Just A Little Talk With Myself, the solo album that showcases his remarkable range as a composer and player. He says it was a thrill working with Scott Vestal, who produced the album, and other great musicians. “Stuart Duncan and Byron House and all these heroes of mine for years just showed up like it's no big deal to record on my album and play my material. It was just truly an incredible experience.” https://stevenmoorebanjo.com/

If you think being a full-time musician isn’t a rewarding job, ask Florida-based banjoist Isaac Taylor. Whether he’s teaching someone how to play “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” or touring with rising Florida band Remedy Tree, he enjoys every minute of it. “Oh my goodness. It’s my dream!” said Taylor over the phone during an early morning interview. In 2014, a newly married Taylor traded his banjo for computer systems and data management. “I was about to graduate from college, and I… thought, ‘You know, I need to be responsible—I need to get a regular job, settle down, and have a family,’” remembered the former member of The Florida State Bluegrass Band. “I worked in IT for eleven years—from desktop support to database management. I was good at it, but it was not a fulfilling profession for me.” One call changed everything. “Lead singer and guitarist, Gabriel Acevedo, of Remedy Tree called me and asked me if I wanted to be a member of the group. “My number one concern was, I didn't want to be gone all the time,” said Taylor, who’s a husband and father. “It requires planning, and it requires understanding. I have two kids; a two-year-old boy and a five-year-old girl,” shared the Remedy Tree banjoist. “I said to [Gabriel] ‘I would love to play in Remedy Tree, but I’m, not going to do it at the expense of my kids and my wife.’” Turns out that Gabriel didn’t want that either. “Gabriel is in the same season of life that I'm in,” said the Florida banjoist. “He and his wife, vocal/ bassist Abigail “Abby” Acevedo, have three kids.” Taylor also credited his wife Rachel. “I wouldn't be here playing music if it weren't for her. She told me when I was in IT, ‘I don't care if we won't make as much money. I would rather you be yourself and be happy than be miserable with this job.’” When he’s not with Remedy Tree, he pursues a different passion. “I got into teaching because I like to share what I know,” explained Taylor. He urges students to be creative. “That can be an issue in the banjo world because we get locked into, ‘this is the way Earl played it and it's the only way it should ever be played!’ I guess my hot take on that is, you're not making art unless you're being creative.” Along with Earl Sruggs, a young Taylor found a classic TV sitcom inspirational. “I grew up in a little beach town in Florida, called Vero Beach. It's not exactly the bluegrass capital of the world,” explained Taylor. “I didn't have much exposure to bluegrass at all until my dad was watching The Andy Griffith Show, and I [saw] the Dillards. I heard Doug Dillard kick off ‘Dooley’ on the banjo—and that just totally captivated me!” He received his education while playing with musician, festival promoter, and radio personality, Ernie Evans. “Ernie Evans taught me how to play banjo in a band format. Up until that point, I had been playing in jam circles—sort of free for all stuff. He showed me all the little mechanics, like what to do when a guitar is playing, and not to play the melody while the vocalist is singing. “The biggest takeaway from my years with The Florida State Bluegrass Band is the things that Ernie taught me. I treasure them today.” Leaving the band, he still played on occasions. “[Music] wasn't a main focus. It was just something like ‘hey, I'll make a little more money on the side.”’ Things are much different today, pointed out the Florida native. “I was seeing people that I know [perform] at IBMA and things happening in the music industry—I was just feeling major FOMO (fear of missing out) [laughed]. “Today I get to make music and be part of a band that is making art,” admitted Taylor about Remedy Tree. “You will not hear any complaints from me!” Keep an eye out for Remedy Tree’s new album, dropping this summer! https://www.remedytreemusic.com/

A songwriter, composer, and neo-traditional Americana musician, Kate MacLeod seems to be a pro at turning lemons into musical lemonade. Not that taking care of her elderly mother is a “lemon,” but it did uproot Kate somewhat, as she left her home in Utah to return to her eastern roots in West Virginia. Kate grew up in the Washington, DC, area, where both of her parents worked in the sciences, but there was always music in the house. “My father’s side of the family was very musical,” she recalls. “Also, my mother sang a lot of old folk songs, and I was always enamored by them. We had a record player in our home with records by Burl Ives and other folk artists of the day.” Kate’s path to becoming a musician began with classical violin lessons at a very young age. “As a teen, I was interested in all a violin could do. I loved fiddling and the freedom of expression it brought as opposed to purely technique.” A bit conflicted, Kate studied violin making while deciding what to do. She also attended the John C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, North Carolina, where she made a lap dulcimer. That hands-on DIY spirit has carried through to her newest album, Home-Brewed, with her band, Mind the Gap, to be released on August 14. Kate wrote many of the songs on the album while living in the area. The album also includes covers by artists who have inspired the band members. They recorded the tracks at a home studio over the winter. “This album is inspired by the region and the conversations I’ve had with the people here,” she says. She met all the band members in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, which is the lemonade part of the story. “When I moved to West Virginia, I needed to find work in the area.” She explains that as a songwriter, she loves to invite great musicians to have a format to express themselves. “So, I began booking concerts and asked these wonderful musicians to join me. Meeting the guys while helping my mom has been a surprise perk of living here.” Band members include Paul Hammerson on vocals and guitar, John Bryant, who is “a brilliant bass player,” and Matthew Metz on vocals and mandolin. “They are all such fine people, and they all sing beautiful harmony. John and I connected because he was a caregiver for his grandmother, so he understands where I am at this time.” Paul lives in a station-master’s house where he uses his skills as a master gardener to beautify his yard. “I wrote ‘Good Ol’ Virginia’ because I love the concept of digging in the soil,” says Kate. “I also love the generational concept of identity that comes from living on a piece of land.” The fiddle tune, “Old Charleston Pike,” was inspired by the old east-west highway here that runs near Kate’s mom’s land. “Before they replaced parts of it to move traffic faster, the road had a lot of curves. We did a video using the original demo version.” “The Green Rolling Hills of West Virginia,” while not an original song by Kate, is one of the band’s favorites, and Paul’s choice for singing lead for a song on the album. “It’s a Utah Phillips song. I’m friends with his son, and I thought the song would work perfectly on this album.” There are also some Kenny Baker fiddle tunes included. Don’t say we didn’t warn you. The Home Brewed album comes with a clear warning on the cover: “This music may be good for your health. Side effects may include dancing and singing along.” Release events for the album are planned for Harpers Ferry, West Virginia; Winchester, Virginia; and, Bluemont, Virginia. Be sure to check their website and Facebook page for more performance dates.

It’s an unlikely musical love story. Jon and Marina Lindblom took a sidestep from symphonic music to bluegrass, and the result has been something they never could have imagined. Jon, a native of New York, pursued his musical ambitions at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York, where he earned a degree in Trumpet Performance. While in college, he met a violinist, Marina, from Michigan. She was also at Eastman to study Violin Performance. Marina has played in symphony orchestras around the world, in venues ranging from Carnegie Hall to castles in Germany. She and Jon both landed jobs with the Savannah Symphony in Georgia, which brought them to the South, where they began their family. Their oldest daughter, Libby Lindblom, is the spokesperson for her family’s band. She explains that the Savannah Symphony sadly went bankrupt, but Jon and Marina were settled in the area, so Jon used his skills as a certified piano technician to start 88 Keys Piano, a company that offers piano tuning and moving services. Marina taught music lessons in their home. It’s what they both continue doing today, except when they are playing with the family band, Headin’ Home. There are nine children in the Lindblom family, and Marina has homeschooled all of them. “Mom taught us violin and piano, and we sang in nursing homes in the area,” says Libby. “We sang mostly hymns, played violins, and quoted Bible verses.” The family’s introduction to bluegrass music was quite unexpected. “We were on a family vacation in the mountains of North Carolina in 2016,” recalls Libby. “We spent time hiking near Maggie Valley, and one day we went into a shop that had bluegrass music playing on the speakers in the store.” They were mesmerized. “My parents bought the CD – Sunday Bluegrass featuring Mike Scott on the banjo.” The family listened to the CD until it was nearly worn out. “We wanted to start a bluegrass band, so everyone chose an instrument, and we all learned to play them,” Libby says. “We started touring about six years ago. We played locally in churches and branched out to festivals. We also began picking at a local guitar store – Randy Wood Guitars. He is a noted luthier here, and that gave us more exposure.” The band started as The Lindblom Family, but MCs couldn’t pronounce their last name, so the family wanted to choose a name that was simple, easy to say, and meaningful on both spiritual and practical levels. “Our dad suggested Headin’ Home,” says Libby, “and we chose the slogan, 'Bluegrass with a Destiny,' to reflect our goals of having a higher purpose to everything we do.” The Lindbloms bought a bus in 2023 and that opened opportunities to travel to faraway places. “We played in places like Minnesota and Montana, and next year we are traveling to Arizona. It’s been so much fun traveling and seeing the country, and we love doing it together.” The family still lives together, and many of them work during the week. “But on most weekends we are on the road, playing somewhere, and we love it.” A Family Band Headin’ Home is unique from other family bands in that they are all adults (the youngest band member is 22) and all accomplished working musicians, yet they have chosen to stick together and turn what they’ve grown up doing together - playing music - into a polished, professional, family-focused craft. Their love for sharing both original and traditional songs with a positive message has built them a loyal fanbase around the country. They were honored to take home second place at the 2026 SPBGMA International Band Championship. The band’s third and newest album, Rhythm of the Tires, was released in October 2025. Jon has traded in his trumpet for the upright bass. In addition to his role as dad and bus driver, he is one of the band’s lead vocalists, along with his two daughters. Marina is the fiddle player for Headin’ Home, and she has also written several original songs they have recorded. She is the 2024 Georgia State Fiddle Champion. Luke plays resophonic guitar and sings bass vocals. In 2023, he won the Georgia State Dobro Championship. Luke founded his own sound company and has become an in-demand sound technician for major bluegrass festivals around the country. Luke is a certified piano tuner and technician, and he works for the family business. Libby plays guitar in Headin’ Home. She has written many original songs for the band as well as two fiction books (integrityebooks.com). She also handles the band’s marketing, booking, and public relations. Libby and her sister both stay busy teaching private music lessons at home every day they’re not on the road. Lucy plays mandolin and sings lead and harmony for Headin’ Home. She teaches music lessons at home as well as runs a Patreon community for mandolinists called Lucy Lindblom Music. She is also a pro at running sound and lights and works with her brother Luke, running the stage at bluegrass festivals. Rounding out the band is Timothy, who plays banjo for Headin’ Home. He is the 2023 Georgia State Banjo Champion, and he has also placed first on guitar in the state of Georgia. He works with the family business, moving and servicing pianos. Headin’ Home Fest Libby says that after playing at so many wonderful festivals, it has been a dream of the family to host a festival of their own. They hosted their first festival in Fall 2022. “So many festivals had closed down after Covid, so we decided to give it a try. We did the first one and although it was small, it felt good. We have kept it going, and it continues to grow every year.” Now they do two festivals a year, one in the spring and one in the fall. The next one is scheduled for October 1 through 18. “We hold it at a campground in Hazlehurst, Georgia,” says Libby. “We are all in there the entire time jamming and networking and taking care of sound or anything else that’s needed. We have met so many great friends there.” This fall’s line-up is stellar. Joining Headin’ Home will be Russell Moore & IIIrd Tyme Out, The Kody Norris Show, Strings of Green, The Little Roy & Lizzy Show, and many more, including The Brothers Five – the youngest five Lindblom boys who will perform on Friday and Saturday nights. The event kicks off at 5:00 p.m. on Wednesday with a potluck dinner followed by an open stage. Music starts at noon Thursday, Friday, and Saturday with a Gospel Jam on Sunday starting at 9:30 a.m. There will be a banjo workshop with Brandon Green on Friday at 10:00 a.m., and a mandolin workshop with Lucy Lindblom at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday. For ticket information, visit the festival website at headinhomefest.com. The Brothers Five Some may call The Brothers Five an offshoot band of Headin’ Home, but they are accomplished in their own right. Ranging in age from 20 to 11, brothers Linus, Logan, Liam, Levi, and Leo Lindblom often tour with Headin’ Home. The youngest, Leo, released a solo album last year on which he played every instrument. “We’re just here for Leo,” laughs Libby. To hear music by Headin’ Home and to see where they’ll be playing, visit their website at Home - Headin' Home.