Black Twig Pickers - North Fork Flyer
(VHF)
What is the validity of this music?
Don't get me wrong--I'm not the type to say that people shouldn't be allowed to play certain styles of music because it's not "authentic." But my roommate asked me "Who is this music for?" It's clearly different than the usual VHF release, but also not something that would be marketed to fans of traditional Appalachian folk music. Of course I stammered out a response about Pelt and their ilk's influence from this type of music, as well as my own interest in the Smithsonian Anthology of American Folk Music, but somehow I knew that my answer wasn't quite enough.
Black Twig Pickers are a trio from Virginia, featuring Pelt's Mike Gangloff on banjo and vocals and two other guys on fiddle, guitar and harmonica. Occasionally augmented by spoons, the Pickers play a mix of traditional and traditional-sounding songs, recorded on their front porch in the heart of Appalachia! What could be greater than this?
Indeed, the performances are very good--not sounding like some indie rock kids trying to play in an alien style. The vocals are raw but appropriate--not as polished as some other people would use. I'm a big fan of Mike Gangloff, and as a budding banjo player it's great to hear this style clearly (since many of the Anthology recordings are so lo-fi, it's hard to discern these notes). And I have no idea who the other two guys are--they could be authentic, whatever that might mean.
It's stupid to fuss over what is real and what isn't--clearly the Black Twig Pickers have an enthusiasm for this style of music, and they interpret these songs with appropriate vigor. There's something really wonderful about these songs--whether it's the plaintive cry of "It won't kill me" (referring to the hammer that slayed John Henry) or a quiet fiddle-driven instrumental--this is the musical history of America, preserved by another generation of musicians. Even though they aren't inflicting the same sort of weirdness that the Holy Modal Rounders or Camper Van Beethoven brought to their interpretations of old folk music, the Black Twig Pickers are certainly reinvigorating these old songs.
With 17 songs, this is not an insubstantial album. And while the fidelity may be miles above "I Wish I Was a Mole in the Ground," I sort of miss the crackle and noise that I associate with this sort of music. The original compositions are almost indistinguishable from the covers; thus establishing the Black Twig Pickers as keepers of the gates to Southern Virginia's musical heritage.
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