Ten Murder Ballads That’ll Slay You

‘Tis the season of ghosts and goblins, trips to the pumpkin patch and apple orchard, lots of candy and a reminder to visit your dentist. While some live in a climate without benefit of experiencing the change of seasons, this year in New York the leaves of the trees have been offering us a kaleidoscope of colors. With thoughts of skeletons, ghosts, and goblins in my head, it wouldn’t seem right to miss an opportunity to share some of my favorite songs about monsters and murder. Such a happy time of the year.

Back in the day before there were television networks that pumped in homogenized programming 24/7, local stations had to fill up morning and late-night slots with their own productions. My town had characters like Bertie the Bunyip, Chief Halftown, Sally Starr, and John Zacherle. The latter had a long career in hosting horror films in both Philadelphia and New York. He went by two names, either Roland or Zacherle. Maybe some might recall his 1958 recording of “Dinner With Drac.”

I suppose most people associate Halloween with “The Monster Mash” and Bobby “Boris” Pickett, but personally I prefer another song by Round Robin. An American songwriter and musician whose real name was Thomas Baker Knight Jr., he had quite a career writing hit singles in the ’50s such as “Lonesome Town” for Ricky Nelson, which was followed by decades of creating an impressive catalog that has been recorded by a long list of singers: Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Paul McCartney, Elvis Presley, and Jerry Lee Lewis, to name just a few. He spanned multiple genres, from early rock to psychedelic to country, but my favorite is this 1965 novelty number he performed himself. It’s darn scary.

Transitioning back to roots music, if you have any interest in learning about the history of American traditional ballads, the Library of Congress offers an excellent article. But murder ballads are a different beast, a subgenre, and Wikipedia offers this simple definition:

A broadsheet murder ballad typically recounts the details of a mythic or true crime — who the victim is, why the murderer decides to kill him or her, how the victim is lured to the murder site and the act itself — followed by the escape and/or capture of the murderer. Often the ballad ends with the murderer in jail or on their way to their execution, occasionally with a plea for the listeners not to copy the evils committed by them as recounted by the singer.

One of the things that make murder ballads so interesting to me are that they show up in so many styles, including folk, bluegrass, country, pop, rock, blues, and hip-hop. Some are old, some are new, and I enjoy them all, especially on a cold, dark night. Running the gamut from the traditional to some fresh blood, I put together some songs and performances that are guaranteed to take you down the road less traveled. Seriously: Lindsay Lohan and Nirvana on the same list? Boo.

Johnson Mountain Boys – “Duncan and Brady”

The Wilburn Brothers – “Knoxville Girl”

Kate and Anna McGarrigle – “Ommie Wise”

Wilson Pickett – “Stagger Lee”

Joni Mitchell and Johnny Cash – “Long Black Veil”

Vandaveer – “Pretty Polly”

Lindsay Lohan – “Frankie and Johnny”

Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds with PJ Harvey – “Henry Lee”

Sufjan Stevens – “John Wayne Gacy Jr.”

Nirvana – “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?”

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

The One About Doug Sahm and the Jukebox

That photo is a beauty, isn’t it? Wish that old jukebox was mine, but it’s just a stock photo I found somewhere in space and snatched for this week’s column. The plan was to write an update on the Doug Sahm documentary that debuted in 2015 at SXSW, but I got sidetracked when I found this 1959 single he recorded of “Why, Why, Why” and it reminded me of Gilbert’s El Indio on Pico Boulevard in Santa Monica.

It’s been over 25 years since I’ve been there, and it was a Friday night destination for years. In addition to serving up the finest margaritas and Mexican food west of Boyle Heights, they had an old school “three for a quarter” jukebox, loaded with mostly 45s from the ’50s and ’60s. My go-to song back in the day was Patsy Cline’s “Crazy,” and usually by the time we were on our second pitcher of adult beverage I’d stack it up to play a dozen times in a row. But had this one been on there, it might have been a contender.

That’s not Doug’s first record, and I don’t really have too much to tell you about the film other than the title: Sir Doug and The Genuine Texas Cosmic Groove. I did find a pretty good article about it published at Texas Monthly and a review here on No Depression, which has several video clips including the trailer. It’s been showing at film festivals for the past year or so, and despite exceeding a Kickstarter campaign goal to get it into distribution, seems like it’s not quite a done deal yet. I can’t wait to see it because I’ve been a fan since I was a kid, and his story spans several decades, genres, and memories.

Back to the jukebox … I miss it. When I was a kid my family would often have Sunday night dinners at a place in Philly called the Italian Riviera, and their box was filled with songs from Mario Lanza, Rocco Granata, Caterina Valente, Dean Martin, and Connie Francis – our favorite because cousin Arnold was her producer. But this was probably the most played song of that era: Domenico Modungo’s version of “Volare.”

While you can still find them at some bars, there are only two companies left that currently manufacture the coin-operated devices. There’s a bunch of touch screen, digital models being sold, but they just don’t connect with my teenage memories of sitting in a diner and dropping quarters into the slot.

These days I prefer the one that fits in my pocket, can hold 20,000 songs, lets me pay the bills, read the news, get a car, play games, rant on social media, take pictures, and occasionally make a call. I’ll close it out with sharing five songs currently on my “new music” playlist. Three are new or recently found versions of old songs, and two are new songs that just sound old, which sums up how I’m feeling right now.

Chris Hillman
The album Bidin’ My Time was produced by Tom Petty and executive produced by Herb Pedersen and features David Crosby, Roger McGuinn, Mike Campbell, Mark Fain, Steve Ferrone, John Jorgenson, Josh Jové, Jay Dee Maness, Benmont Tench, and Gabe Witcher. The album kicks off with a new recording of Pete Seeger’s and Welsh poet Idris Davies’ “The Bells of Rhymney,” which the Byrds recorded for their debut. I believe that’s Crosby and Pedersen doing harmony with Hillman.

Joan Shelley
In December 2016, she and guitarist Nathan Salsburg joined Jeff Tweedy in Wilco’s Loft studio for five days. Spencer Tweedy joined on drums, while James Elkington shifted between piano and resonator guitar. Jeff added electric accents and some bass, but mostly he helped the band stay out of its own way.

Tom Brosseau
“Treasures Untold is a 10-song collection recorded live at an intimate event in Cologne, Germany. Across six adaptations from the Great American Folksong Book, and four of Brosseau’s own original tunes, he manages to build a dreamy, atmospheric mood with just his voice and an acoustic guitar” – Maeri Ferguson, Glide Magazine

Neil Young
A 41-year-old “lost and found” album sounds like it was recorded last week. He says he did it one night strung out on weed, cocaine, and booze, but on most tracks you can hardly tell. Love the animation on this video, which was created by Black Balloon.

Richard Thompson
Acoustic Rarities is the third album in a series that began in 2014. These tracks are some of his more obscure material along with some never before released and cover versions. “Sloth” first appeared on Fairport Convention’s 1970 Full House album, and Thompson left the band the following year.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Americana Music: A Study in Black and White

It’s hardly a new story, but for whatever reason this year’s annual AmericanaFest down in Nashville came away a bit battered and bruised from articles published in both Billboard magazine and the Rolling Stone Country website questioning the lack of diversity in a commercialized genre that defines itself as being inclusive of multiple formats. Both articles made a point to mention that of the 300 performers that were showcased during the six-day conference and awards show, only 10 percent featured acts that weren’t comprised of exclusively white members.

Billboard broke it down even further:

That percentage held for the annual Americana Awards & Honors show as well, where only two of the 21 separate nominees stretched across six voter-influenced categories weren’t white. Rhiannon Giddens and Hurray for the Riff Raff, both nominated for Album of the Year, were the sole representations for people of color among nominees. Notably, not only has Album of the Year never gone to a person of color during the 18 years that the award has been given out, but only twice in the history of the Awards & Honors event has an act led by an artist of color won a voter-decided award: Alabama Shakes in 2012 for Emerging Artist of the Year and The Mavericks in 2015 for Best Duo/Group of the Year.

As a reminder, the Americana Music Association defines the genre as “contemporary music that incorporates elements of various American roots music styles, including country, roots-rock, folk, bluegrass, R&B, and blues, resulting in a distinctive roots-oriented sound that lives in a world apart from the pure forms of the genres upon which it may draw. While acoustic instruments are often present and vital, Americana also often uses a full electric band.”

Reverend Paul Foster and The Soul Stirrers’ above version of “I Am A Pilgrim” can be traced back to the 1930s, when it was first recorded by the Heavenly Gospel Singers. In the ’40s it was recorded and commercialized separately by both Merle Travis (who received the songwriting credit from BMI) and Bill Monroe, and it’s been covered multiple times by musicians black and white. As far as I can tell, it’s a perfect example of an American roots music song, albeit stolen by a recording industry ethos that has traditionally leaned white.

When interviewed by Rolling Stone Country, Rosanne Cash described her feelings when the term “Americana” actually became a genre:

It was like finding this really cool island that you tell all your friends about because the hotel is great and the weather is always sunny.

Yet it takes only a few minutes of conversation for Cash to bring up what she sees as the community’s greatest shortcoming.

The Americana community needs to embrace more black musicians. That’s the one area where I feel it should really strive to be even more inclusive. I, for one, wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing if there wasn’t some black musician who had suffered in the South. That needs to be honored and if amends need to be made, they need to be made.

If the Milk Carton Kids and Van Morrison and William Bell can co-exist under the same umbrella, then I think that some deeper blues artists could come under that umbrella as well.

The AMA’s voting members are broken down by two categories: Artist/Musician/Songwriter and Industry. Jed Hilly is the organization’s executive director and the man credited with successfully lobbying on behalf of the genre. While he acknowledges that past award showcases leaned heavily on musicians based in the Nashville area, he believes it’s an honor simply to be asked to participate. Speaking with Billboard, he says:

Membership is membership, and there’s not much I can do – or choose to do – to change how people vote. That would be an impropriety. All of the nominees are winners, to be frank. How membership votes, I think that’s a question that afflicts every [music industry awards ceremony]; I mean, good golly, take a look at the CMA Awards. I think it’s funny that people are asking me these questions, when I think we’re one of the most diverse industry awards shows in the business.

I can say from an organizational point of view, we have demonstrated our philosophy in the bigger picture through the honorees for Lifetime Achievement. I’m very proud of the gender, racial, and geographical diversity that we continue to highlight. I was very proud to honor the Hi Rhythm Section this year.

On the flip side of this question of inclusion, Rolling Stone Countryreached out to a number of people for their take on it. Charles L. Hughes, author of Country Soul, says “The most insidious part of American racial politics, music industry or otherwise, is the part that says race doesn’t matter. Americana is very directly tapping into that mythology.”

Alynda Segarra of Hurray for the Riff Raff makes her point on the festival: “No matter what, there should always be more people of color, and more women, and especially now more radically minded people onstage. That’s something that needs to change with all festivals, and I can help anybody if they want that.”

Kaia Kater, the African-Canadian roots musician who has performed at the last two AmericanaFests, graciously took the time to reach out to me and share her thoughs. ““I believe the AMA has a lot of work to do. First in recognizing that Americana as a genre would not exist without Black forms of music. And secondly, in searching out and inviting more artists and voices into the fold without putting any particular agenda on them. Letting these artists own both the stage and the discussion on their own terms. Only in this deliberate way can we move forward.”

Tamara Saviano is a past president of the AMA and is writing a book on the history of Americana. She wonders if the genre is starting to take on the characteristics of the country music establishment it set out to defy 20 years ago. From Rolling Stone Country again:

It all goes back to who’s connected. Let’s just say you’re a young artist, and consider yourself an Americana artist, and you’re out touring and doing your own thing, and you’re not on the Americana radio chart. Well, that might be because you can’t afford to hire a radio promoter who works the Americana chart. In some ways, it’s like we created the very beast that was the reason we started Americana.

Blues musician Keb’ Mo’ sits on the AMA’s board of directors and has expressed that he’d like the organization to expand it’s definition of American roots music to include jazz and hip-hop. “My hope is that it becomes a place where you can go to the Americana Awards show and it’s just purely about music and no categories.”

As Americana gains in popularity and crosses over into mainstream country markets, one hopes that it doesn’t devolve into a parody of itself. UK singer Yola Carter sums it up best by warning “it could turn into one single genre in which I wear plaid and play guitar music, which is basically indie rock with pedal steel, and sing about dusty roads and trains. Chill out about trains!”

Since much of this column relied on the interviews and work of others, I’d like to acknowledge Isaac Weeks at Billboard and Jonathan Bernstein for Rolling Stone Country.

Lead Belly began singing “Goodnight, Irene” in 1908 and said he learned it from his uncles. It’s possible it was written by Gussie L. Davis in 1892; the sheet music is available at the Library of Congress. Lead Belly was recorded by John and Alan Lomax in the early ’30s while he was serving a sentence at the Louisiana State Penitentiary. In 1936 he recorded it again for the Library of Congress, and it later received a Grammy Hall of Fame award.

The Weavers recorded their version of the song in 1950, a year after Lead Belly had passed. In June it entered the Billboard Best Sellers chart, where it peaked at number one for 13 weeks and was named the top song of the year. Their version cleaned up the lyrics a bit – Timemagazine called it “dehydrated and prettied up.”

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Thoughts on Tom Petty: I Don’t Like Mondays

Sometime after seven in the morning I woke up, made a pot of coffee, poured cereal into a bowl, and perched onto the couch. Switching on the morning cable news and expecting to hear the latest despicable social media rants from #notmypresident, the normal abnormal was askew. Something happened while I slept and it was bad. Like millions of others I watched the story unfold via cell phone videos and breathless reporters trying to explain the unexplainable. For the next 16 hours, minus the 86 minutes that I left my apartment for a solitary walk, my eyes stayed glued to the screen.

In the midst of this media bombardment of a country music concert that went terribly wrong came a one-line blurb on Twitter that caught my eye: Tom Petty was dead. Within a few minutes the news exploded over the internet. As I tried to wrap my head around each event, my mind also kept wandering and wondering about those three and half million people without water, food, medicine, power, or communications in Puerto Rico. With a limited capacity of bad news that I could deal with at one time, the unspeakable carnage in Vegas won out.

After a few hours, in what must be the only recorded miraculous resurrection in modern history, Tom Petty rose from the ashes and once again was alive. Headlines were altered, stories were retracted, obituaries that had been written and published vanished in thin air. Did I just imagine that?

Sometime in the late evening hours, as it became clear that we weren’t going to learn anything new from Las Vegas that we didn’t already know, it was time for cable news to drag out the experts for their postulation, speculation, and politicalization. When the jackass from Fox News began to prattle the NRA mantra that guns don’t kill people and assault rifle silencers make sense, and the three liberal pundits on MSNBC pondered whether this was the right time to talk seriously about gun control, I disconnected. Sitting alone in the dark room a song slowly came to mind.

On Jan. 29, 1979, a 16-year-old girl who lived across the street from Cleveland Elementary School in San Diego took her rifle – a gift from daddy – and opened fire as kids arrived for classes. The principal was shot and killed while trying to rescue children in the line of fire, as was the school custodian. Eight students and a police officer were also shot; they survived. When a reporter asked the young girl why she did it, she replied “I don’t like Mondays. This livens up the day.”

When I woke up on Tuesday morning I made a pot of coffee, poured cereal into a bowl and perched onto the couch. Switching on the morning cable news and expecting to hear the latest despicable social media rants from #notmypresident, the normal abnormal was askew. Something happened while I slept and it was bad. Tom Petty had died. Again.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Hillbilly Music That Was Straight Outta Compton

I would imagine most people know Compton as the epicenter of late ‘80s hip-hop and a city dominated by crime and gang violence. Smack in the middle between Long Beach and Los Angeles, just south of Watts, back in the ‘50s and ‘60s it became a suburban destination for middle class blacks attracted to both its location and the affordable single-family homes that were available after a Supreme Court case knocked out segregation laws. But with a small commercial area, a shrinking tax base, and a corrupt government, by 1969 Compton held the distinction of having the highest crime rate in California.

There’s another side of musical history from Compton that pre-dates local gansta rap and g-funk. Town Hall Party began in 1951 as a radio broadcast and eventually became a television show that lasted for almost ten years before going off the air. The old Town Hall building at 400 South Long Beach Boulevard was being booked occasionally for country-and-western “barn dances” when it was taken over by promoter William B. Wagnon Jr. It was his idea to get the dances broadcast live on local radio, and the success soon led to a television show concept that started and stopped, but didn’t really become cohesive until August 29, 1953.

The website Hillbilly-Music Dawt Com has done a great job in researching the history of Town Hall Party, which I would encourage you to check out, but here’s an excerpt:

“The lineup on that first show was to be Tex Ritter, Les (Carrot Top) Anderson, Wesley and Marilyn Tuttle, Jack Lloyd, Joe Maphis, Rose Lee Maphis and Texas Tiny (a disc jockey at KFOX who had a three hour a day show). Tex Williams and his band were to provide the musical backing for performers. Jay Stewart was to be the announcer.”

There were a number of country stars that either joined the cast for short periods or were simply guests, including Lefty Frizzell, Johnny Cash, Jim Reeves, Sons of the Pioneers, Smiley Burnette, Patsy Cline, Eddie Cochran, George Jones, Wanda Jackson, Carl Perkins and Gene Autry. The Collins Kids, Larry and Lorrie, became show regulars with their rockabilly beat and harmonies. Just two years apart, by age ten Larry was a guitar whiz, playing a double-neck Mosrite guitar like his mentor, Joe Maphis.

According to Country Song Round-Up in August 1954, “the 10-piece Town Hall Party band featured Joe Maphis, Merle Travis, superb steel guitarist Marian Hall, Billy Hill and Fiddlin’ Kate on violins, PeeWee Adams on drums, Jimmy Pruitt on piano, and other excellent musicians who created a Town Hall Party sound also heard on many country sessions produced by Columbia Records in Hollywood in the 1950s.”

In 1957 Screen Gems filmed a series of 39 half-hour shows that they syndicated and re-named the Ranch Party. The Collins Kids were given co-star billing with host Tex Ritter. In his book Reflections, country performer Johnny Bond, who was also involved in the program, wrote that “traditional country entertainers, singing cowboys and rock singers never shared the spotlight in a more harmonious manner than on the Town Hall Party and syndicated Ranch Party shows.”

Columbia Records released a Town Hall Party album in 1958 that included many of the regular cast members who soon departed the show because NBC decided to discontinue the Saturday night radio broadcasts. In late December 1958, the newly opened Showboat Hotel in Las Vegas began to put on Town Hall Party shows featuring Tex Ritter, The Collins Kids, and Town Hall regulars, thus drawing them away from the Saturday night telecasts on Los Angeles station KTTV. In December 1960 they were dropped from the lineup, and the final performance at the old Compton Town Hall was on Jan. 14, 1961.

Beginning in 2002, the Germany-based Bear Family Records began to release a series of Town Hall Party DVDs that now includes 25 titles. Most feature various artists, but they’ve also brought out an artist spotlight series that includes Joe Maphis, The Collins Kids, Johnny Cash, Eddie Cochran, Merle Travis, and others. There are a few dozen clips and also complete shows available to view on YouTube, with some posted from Bear Family and others from private collectors. It was a great time period for country music in California, and it came straight outta Compton.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

80 Years of Sittin’ on Top of the World

Whether it’s listed on the record label as Sittin’ or Sitting, this 1930 country blues number has become an American standard over the years, which was acknowledged in 2008 when it was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame. Although written by Walter Vinson and Lonnie Chatmon, and often credited to others, in typical folk music tradition it can originally be traced back to an instrumental a year prior from Leroy Carr and Scrapper Blackwell. Under the title of “You Got To Reap What You Sow,” it was recorded and released in 1929 by Tampa Red.

A year later The Mississippi Sheiks added lyrics and changed the title to what we all know it as now. The band stayed together, rotating several members throughout the early 1930s in addition to the above-mentioned Walter and Lonnie, and they recorded over 70 songs for three different record labels. The Chatmon family came from Bolton, Mississippi, and after a five-year run they went back home to work on the farm.

Through the years a number of cover versions have been recorded in various styles, this one by Ray Charles, the first under his own name, and it was his seventh single for Swing Time Records. Note the song credits.

Whether it’s true or not, I’ve read that Bob Wills was such a fan of the blues that he once walked 50 miles to see Bessie Smith. This particular performance was recorded in September 1951 in Hollywood, California. Cotton Whittington is the man playing his guitar upside down and Bobby Koeffer is doing the non-pedal steel.

Back in his home state of Mississippi, Chester Burnette (aka Howlin’ Wolf) used to check out the old blues musicians, including the Chatmons. In 1957 he moved north and cut a pure blues version, changing the beat and electrifying it Chicago-style. At about the same time, Bill Monroe turned the song upside down and inside out with this smokin’ bluegrass version. Note the mistake on the label: it confuses the song title and composers with that other song made famous by Al Jolson.

In the ’60s the song probably received its most exposure from both the Grateful Dead’s debut album and Cream’s Wheels of Fire, with Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, and Ginger Baker. But it’s the Doc Watson and Clarence Ashley version that I have always been most enamored of. Paste magazine called their collaborations “classic old-timey folk music and blues that remains a primary inspiration to Americana roots musicians” and said “they possessed a unique musical chemistry that defied generational limitations and remains vital and fresh to the present day.”

In August of 1978, folklorist Alan Lomax, along with John Bishop and Worth Long, visited Sam Chatmon’s home in Hollandale, Mississippi, to record this version, 48 years after his family brought it to life. The list of people who’ve recorded it over the decades cover a large swath of styles, from Bob Dylan to Willie Nelson, Richard Shindell to James Blood Ulmer.

For those interested in a bit more historical information, I’d like to suggest that you check out this transcription from NPR’s All Things Considered. This is an interview with musicologist Bruce Nemerov from 2006 that walks you through the decades, similar to what I’ve done here, but with more detail.

I’m going to close this out with a version I really like from the late Pinetop Perkins. This was his final studio recording, done a year before he passed in 2010, and the vocals are delivered by Emily Gimble. From Tampa to Pinetop, and most recently Jack White, this song goes on forever.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

New Riders of The Purple Sage: Americana Lost and Found

Halloween 1970 in Novato, California. From left to right: David Nelson, Jerry Garcia, Marmaduke, Mickey Hart, and Dave Talbert. Photo by Mary Ann Mayer.

John Collins Dawson IV,nicknamed both Marmaduke and McDuke, was only 64 when he died peacefully in Mexico eight years ago. Growing weary of life on the road as a professional musician, he retired in 1997 and had moved to San Miguel de Allende with his wife. Dawson, a singer, songwriter, and guitarist, was doing weekly gigs at The Underground in Menlo Park in May of 1969 when an old friend of his was tinkering around with a pedal steel guitar and asked if he could sit in with him.

“I first met Jerry Garcia at the house of my guitar teacher, who was my best friend’s mother,” Dawson told Instant Armadillo News. “It was during the folk music days in Palo Alto, sometime, I guess, before I left for my first semester at Millbrook School in New York, in September of 1959. After that, I would run into him often when I went into Dana Morgan’s shop in Palo Alto. He rented a space there to give guitar lessons, and whenever he wasn’t teaching, he’d be in the front of the place, picking his guitar (or banjo or mandolin), and holding forth.”

After two months of playing as a duo, they decided to expand the group and play straight country-western. They recruited David Nelson for lead guitar. Nelson was an old friend who had played in The Wildwood Boys, a bluegrass band with Garcia. Mickey Hart from the Dead sat behind the drums, bass was handled first by Alembic Studios engineer/producer Bob Matthews, followed by Phil Lesh. They called themselves New Riders of The Purple Sage.

“So there we had it: a full, five-piece band,” Dawson recalled. “And the neat thing was, the Dead would only have to buy two more plane tickets and we could go on the road with them, as an opening act. It would give Jerry, Phil, and Mickey a chance to warm up before theirset and it would give our music and my songs a national audience. After doing more gigs than I can remember locally that summer, we did the two extra ticket thing and went on the road with The Grateful Dead in the fall of 1969.”

In early 1970 Dave Torbert took over on bass, and when Mickey Hart decided to take a sabbatical from touring with the Dead, they enlisted former Jefferson Airplane drummer Spencer Dryden, who eventually also became their manager. It was that lineup, with Garcia still on pedal steel and banjo, that was signed to Columbia Records, and their self-titled debut was released in August 1971. Every single song on the album was written by John Dawson.

According to the Encyclopedia of Popular Music (1998), the album “blended country rock with hippie idealism, yet emerged as a worthy companion to the parent act’s lauded American Beauty.” When Dawson passed away, Rob Bleetstein, archivist for the band, wrote in an email to the LA Times that “Dawson’s songwriting brought an incredible vision of classic Americana to light with songs like ‘Glendale Train’ and ‘Last Lonely Eagle.’”

In addition to the songs he wrote for the New Riders, Dawson co-wrote the Dead’s “Friend of The Devil” with Garcia and lyricist Robert Hunter. And he also contributed in some manner … guitar, maybe vocals … to at least three Dead albums: Aoxomoxoa, Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty.

Garcia left the band in November 1971, and was replaced by Buddy Cage, who came from Ian and Sylvia’s Great Speckled Bird. The lineup stayed intact for Powerglide, The Adventures of Panama Red, Gypsy Cowboy, and Home, Home On The Road. Torbert exited the group in 1974 for Bob Weir’s Kingfish, and Dryden stayed for another three years. Dawson, Nelson, and Cage carried on with a number of bassists and drummers up until 1982, ultimately releasing 11 albums. When it came to touring, they were road warriors.

For the next 15 years, until he left for Mexico, Dawson teamed up with multi-instrumentalist Rusty Gauthier, and, along with a number of supporting musicians, they continued to tour and released one album, Midnight Moonlight, on Relix Records. In 2006 David Nelson and Buddy Cage re-formed NRPS to take the music of John Dawson “back to the ears of adoring crowds.” Dawson not only blessed the endeavor but “was excited to know his music is being heard live again by a new generation of fans.”

I got a chance to see the original band on their first tour with the Dead, and several times in the early ’70s. They’ve always been one of my favorite bands and I never quite understood why they haven’t been acknowledged as one of the pioneers in this thing we call Americana. Solid songwriting, great musicianship, and they carried on the sound of Bakersfield-style country, not unlike the Flying Burrito Brothers. But in 2002 they were given a lifetime achievement award by High Times magazine, so I guess there’s that.

For a complete history of the band, check this out. John Dawson’s personal memories, which include some of the quotes I used above, is here.

Update: In 2012 Buddy Cage was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, and has been battling blood cancer and a heart condition. Though he managed to stay on the road playing, he passed away on February 4, 2020.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.