High Lonesome

For many people, bluegrass music is associated with rural fear and loathing.

That’s certainly the way it plays in the movies. Just think of the twanging guitars underscoring the mayhem in Bonnie and Clyde, or the musical duel that precedes the murderous river trip in Deliverance. In addition, bluegrass can invoke every bad hillbilly joke ever told. It’s practically become synonymous with the image of slope-browed, inbred cousins slithering out of trailer courts with their shotguns at the ready.

But as the documentary High Lonesome reminds us, bluegrass is one of the liveliest and most vital forms of music in our culture. Its influences reach all over the map, and it’s flexible enough to adapt to most anything thrown at it. In that regard, bluegrass is much like jazz – which is appropriate, since jazz is one of its sources.

High Lonesome centers on the career of Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys. During the 1940s, Monroe and his band helped to popularize country music through their numerous radio appearances, and the group was once home to such legendary performers as Mac Wiseman (who narrates this film), Earl Scruggs, Lester Flatt and Jimmy Martin. In 1993, Monroe was awarded the Lifetime Achievement Grammy Award for his contribution to music.

Monroe’s head was never turned by his long career in the recording industry, however. He comes across as a down-home mountain boy who clings to his roots. One of the most memorable images in High Lonesome is a visit Monroe paid to his boyhood home. The dilapidated frame house had been gutted of everything – everything, that is, except for the obvious value that Monroe himself placed on its tattered walls and shattered windows. He’s proof of the old saying that you sing bluegrass from the heart.

Monroe and his boys are integral to High Lonesome, but the group is only one runner in the movie’s swift race through the long history of bluegrass music. Rolling back to the original Scot-Irish immigrants who brought their ancient folk tunes to the hills of Kentucky and West Virginia, the documentary traces the crazy quilt development of Appalachian music. Its influences were many: black workers, brought in by the railroads, introduced the region to ragtime and jazz. The movies shared the Western songs of Gene Autry. Radio, meanwhile, suddenly opened backwater hamlets to a world of music. Bluegrass soaked it all in like a thick slab of bread dipped in gravy.

Then came the great northward journey, as the good ol’ boys loaded up their heaps and headed for the much-ballyhooed factory jobs up yonder. Routes 25 and 23 became the near mystical paths to such “paradises” as Chicago, Cleveland and Columbus. Not only did bluegrass music come with them, it even took on a new – and eventually more mournful – urban tune.

It’s this strong understanding of both the musical and sociological importance of bluegrass that makes High Lonesome such a good documentary. But being good doesn’t mean it’s dry. High Lonesome is a lot of fun – hell, you can even dance to it.