Garret K. Woodward
During his recent solo album release show at 185 King St. in Brevard, singer-songwriter Graham Sharp was not only surrounded by a murderers’ row of bluegrass musicians; he was encapsulated by time and place itself — of people, purpose and passion.
The title of this column comes from a lyric in a 1968 song by R&B sensation, the late Johnny Thunder. Although it wasn’t a radio hit at the time, it has become a cult classic, a number that (truly) reinvigorates the soul. Trust me, track it down. You’ll get it.
On a recent sunny afternoon in Hot Springs, it was almost impossible to find a parking spot within vicinity of Big Pillow Brewing in downtown. And, for the tiny mountain town, this was a joyous sight compared to what the community has gone through as of late.
It’s 12:23 a.m. and I can hear the tires from sporadic cars splashing through small puddles on nearby Walnut Street in downtown Waynesville. They say a big rainstorm is coming later today. For now, it’s another pull from the lukewarm Coors Light can.
Much like their sorrowful, purposeful melodies, the members of The Last Revel contain this thick thread of self, and of place, when it comes to the underlying trait in the sounds and scope of their intent, onstage and in the studio — survival mode.
There’s a quote that’s stuck with me since I first heard it recently. It’s actually in the story I wrote last week about the newly-opened Astro Record Store in Waynesville: “There’s enjoyment and there’s convenience. As things become more and more convenient, I think people look for ways to invest their time and find enjoyment.”
One recent afternoon, while wandering the Historic Frog Level District in Waynesville, the sounds of hard rock act AC/DC drifted out the front door of 24 Commerce St. The retro sign on the window states Astro Record Store. The friendly face behind the counter is Kevin “Lippy” Mawby.
Wednesday. Late morning. Another bluebird sky day here in the mountains of Western North Carolina. Warm rays of sunshine greeted my face when I stepped off the porch of my humble abode apartment in downtown Waynesville. Put the truck in drive and begin the day.
In the seven months since Hurricane Helene ravaged the mountains and valleys of Western North Carolina, there’s been one constant thought rolling through the mind of Guy Smith.
“In memorializing Helene’s savagery, the agony it caused, the grief and loss, but also the resilience and charity,” Smith said. “I’d like people to internalize that when things are the worst, people are the best.”
The quote used to title this column was stated by the late Pope Francis, who passed away last week at age 88. Rest easy, good sir.
Pope Francis was cool in my book, even though I can’t say the same for the Catholic Church, in general. I’m an incredibly spiritual person, not religious. And, as someone who grew up surrounded by Catholicism, I’ve never been a fan of the church’s antics over the centuries and millennia (“antics” is a very, very diluted word to describe the dark history).
The wildest thing about being a longtime writer is that you end up compartmentalizing most of your life through your assignments, interviews, deadlines, and so forth.
Standing on the precipice of their 20th anniversary, The SteelDrivers aren’t looking over their shoulders at the road to the here and now. Quite the contrary, where the Americana/bluegrass icons are aiming headlong towards the unknowns of tomorrow. And with one simple, yet powerful, thought permeating throughout — what’s next?
As a young child, growing up right outside of London, Dan Tapster fondly remembers watching David Attenborough’s nature documentaries with his mother, these family moments that were “a cherished ritual.”
“She proudly claims to be his number one fan,” Tapster said. “And those early experiences ignited my fascination with storytelling and the natural world.”
Last Thursday afternoon, dark storm clouds overtook downtown Canton. Sitting on a couch in the Cold Mountain Art Collective on Adams Street, Hannah Burnisky gazes out at the raindrops sliding down the large front windows of the business.
I woke up this morning with this heavy feeling of how fast time is moving. I mean, in essence, time doesn’t exist and everything is all one moment. But, I still see those increasing grey hairs in my beard and well-earned laugh wrinkles in my face.
It’s mid-afternoon and the seats are starting to fill up at the Junction Pub in Sylva. Located along Skyland Drive near downtown, the old-style railroad depot structure is now entering its next chapter.
This evening, I realized that a wine bottle ordered at a restaurant (half-off bottles on Mondays) never lasts long enough when you’re with someone you love (friend, family, partner, etc.). And it never seems to empty itself when you’re by yourself.
This must be the place: ‘Buy me a drink, sing me a song, take me as I come ‘cause I can’t stay long’
Nearing the midnight hour, I found myself sipping on a cold Coors Light can in the depths of the Tradewinds Lounge in downtown St. Augustine, Florida. This was last Tuesday, but the classic rock tribute onstage that evening was rockin’ out as if it was Saturday night.
As far back as he can remember, singer-songwriter Wyatt Espalin has been not only surrounded by music in the mountains of his native North Georgia, but also enamored with the sights and sounds of live performance.
It was one of those moments that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
A moment just to myself, where when the moment was unfolding in real time, you feel an immediate and deep gratitude for, this intrinsic connection to the universe.
As I was cracking the third of four eggs into the bowl to then scramble the yolks, the chorus of John Prine’s seminal 1971 number “Spanish Pipedream” echoed throughout the room. I decided then and there that to make breakfast with Mr. Prine playing in the background is the only way to start your day.
In the late 1990s and early 2000s, it was pretty much impossible to not hear or be aware of the juggernaut country radio hit “Amazed” by Lonestar.
Early Tuesday morning. Sitting in the dentist chair, I stared blankly out onto the parking lot, only to then notice the bustling traffic on nearby U.S. 276. It was at that moment when the nice dental hygienist asked if a date and time in mid-September 2025 would be ideal for my next teeth cleaning.
When it comes to the vast, vibrant landscape of American blues guitarists, few six-string aces have had as varied and as illustrious a career over the last 30 years as that of Jimmy Vivino.
Located atop “The Plateau” on the outskirts of downtown Highlands, the Highlands Biological Station is a world-renowned facility for academics, locals and visitors alike.
Even though singer-songwriter Sierra Hull is an award-winning mandolin virtuoso — and one who’s toured the globe relentlessly for the better part of two decades — the last couple of years have been quite the whirlwind of sound and scope.
Hello from Room 105 at the Holiday Inn Express in Macon, Georgia. It’s 73 degrees outside with a slight, refreshing breeze. Quite the contrast from just a couple weeks ago when I was jogging down the snowy, frozen backroads of the North Country in my native Upstate New York.
Hello from Room 222 at the Comfort Inn, located just off Interstate 81 in Scranton, Pennsylvania. After a couple weeks immersed in a sort of vision quest back up to my native North Country that is Upstate New York, I’ll soon be below the Mason-Dixon Line.
With her latest album, “Highlander,” bluegrass/Americana icon Missy Raines takes inventory of where she stands at this current juncture in her storied career — this melodic ode to her native West Virginia, which simultaneously serves as an ideal prism of time and space Raines peers through into the unknowns of tomorrow.
In conversation, Judy Collins is as feisty and charming as ever. At 85 years old, the legendary singer-songwriter remains on the road and onstage, this never-ending tour of sound and scope.
I turned 40 years old today.
This morning, I awoke in the guest bedroom of my parents’ farmhouse in my native North Country of Upstate New York. It was 12 degrees outside with a frigid breeze, the sun shining brightly. I rolled over and looked out the second-story window onto a backyard blanketed in snow, each flake sparkling.
It’s safe to say that the whirlwind sounds and vibrant tones of Town Mountain (now referred to as “Americana”) were ahead of their time when the band first came to fruition in 2005 in the mountains of Western North Carolina.
By the time you read this, I will (hopefully) be the newest member of the 40-year-old club. God willin’ and the creek don’t rise. Onward into this next chapter of my existence. Head held high at what may come to pass in the next decade.
Yesterday was a rough one. Real rough. She moved out the last of her things from my apartment, formerly “our apartment.” She’d already signed a lease for a new spot across town. And she seemed genuinely excited to see what this next chapter of her life will look like in the coming weeks, months and years.
At age 55, Buddy Melton decided to make a major change in his life, which resulted in his recent departure from Haywood County bluegrass juggernaut Balsam Range.
It’s Friday. Late morning. And I’ve just completed my fourth online therapy session in four weeks. Another hour of purging my heart and soul of what bothers the former and latter. Another moment and interaction to reflect on what I was just asked about.
I’m not doing well. And it feels oddly good to say just that, whether it be to family, friends, strangers or you readers alike. I haven’t felt good in a long time. Truth be told, I can’t remember when the I began to feel this way.
Returning for its 15th installment, the annual outdoor race, the Tsali Ultra, will be once again held at Tsali Recreation Area on Fontana Lake in Graham County.
Dec. 31, 2024, marked the ninth anniversary of my “running streak.” Since Dec. 31, 2015, I’ve run every single day. The standard is to complete at least a mile to qualify as a run, with most of my jogs hovering around three miles.
Christmas Eve. With the sun fading behind the Blue Ridge Mountains, the sky transitioning into bright pink, purple and orange, I found myself quietly jogging the four-mile path around Lake Junaluska. Nobody around me, the air quickly gets cold during sunset. Dozens of Canada geese roaming the walking trails and shoreline, with many more either swimming or in-flight nearby.
Amid this modern era of rock music, Blackberry Smoke is the absolute epitome of what it means to plug in your guitar, crank the amplifier and tap into that sacred two-way interaction of sound and scope, energy and enthusiasm residing at the heart of live performance.
Last Thursday evening was a pure and present justification of why music (especially when performed live) has such an extremely deep and intricately intrinsic (and lifelong) hold on my heart and soul.
It’s Sunday afternoon. And while many are either watching professional football on a glowing TV somewhere or simply trying to relax and prepare for the impending workweek, an array of cars put on their blinkers and pull into 250 Pigeon Street in Waynesville — home to the Haywood Arts Regional Theatre.
You sure as heck can pack a lot into 365 days, especially when it comes to the immensely vibrant arts and culture scenes right here in our backyard of Western North Carolina.
Sunday. Late morning. I’m awakened by the sounds of a curious dog in my upstairs neighbor’s apartment. He’s a sweet pitbull mix. Always running around the yard, happily barking at the knowns and unknowns of this big ol’ world outside of his second story window.
Editor’s Note: Since August 2012, Garret K. Woodward has held the position of arts and entertainment editor for The Smoky Mountain News. In December 2018, he also became a contributing writer for Rolling Stone.
Below are a handful of excerpts from my Rolling Stone travels this year covering some of the best albums of 2024, excursions that took me from Maine to Montana, Florida to New York, Utah to Kentucky and then some — always in search of all things beautiful and true, especially when it comes to the sacred act of live performance.
It was quiet, so damn quiet. Wednesday evening. Myself flying solo, exiting Interstate 240, merging onto Patton Avenue and rolling into the heart of downtown Asheville. No traffic. No cars. No people. It was odd.
Thanksgiving morning. The streets of downtown Waynesville are quiet save for a slight, crisp breeze whirling through from the mountain ridges cradling the community. Emerge from bed and peer out the window blinds onto the cloudy sky holiday unfolding in real time.
On the weekdays, Alex Masciarelli proudly works as principal of Junaluska Elementary School in Waynesville. But, on the weekends during this time of year, he’s also a member of the Ski Patrol at Cataloochee Ski Area in Maggie Valley.
Since its formation in 2004, The Wood Brothers have become one of the premier, marquee acts in the vast sonic realms of Americana and indie-folk in this ongoing whirlwind that is the topsy-turvy 21st century musical landscape.
