CHAPTER 1

BEREA, KENTUCKY: LEARNING TO LISTEN

Chapter one shares how I learned to listen to sound archives while visiting Berea, Kentucky, and how this process involves much more than the recordings themselves. It also tells of my first steps toward archival stewardship, where working alongside the families and communities related to the recordings becomes an integral part of my practice. The result is something between archival ethnography and an account of my emerging creative process.

Recordings

A Barbara Kunkle field recording from 1973, “Brought My Friend In” was made in Wise County, Virginia. Here, conversation smoothly blends into music and it is hard to distinguish between the two.

From Barbourville, Kentucky in 1958, on WBVL radio. “He is Knocking” features a young girl who thanks listeners to the program, followed by the Pritchard Quartet singing a gospel song. The amateur singing is informal, imperfect, and a delight to listen to.

“I Know It Was the Blood” was recorded by Bruce Greene. In this recording, there is no difference between singing and talking, between music and life. Conversations, stories, and voices come together in a form of counterpoint.

“Young People Who Delight In Sin” is another recording by Barbara Kunkle. Before the song, Addie Graham speaks of the fear she has when she first heard it as a young girl. The song triggered both reminiscence and a visceral reaction.

In Walter McNew’s performance of “Girl I left Behind Me,” recorded by Bruce Greene, we hear memory and music colliding. Its deep and mournful melody and artfully sung lyrics come out naturally and gracefully.

A field recording made by William Tallmadge, “Down By the Riverside” tells of unrequited love. It is haunting, and we never do learn how it ends. The song and the recording transported Frankie back to her childhood, to her front porch at night, listening to her brother perform.

This hymn, again recorded by William Tallmadge, is an example of “lining out,” as sung by Old Regular Baptist groups. Here, several individuals (along with everyday sounds) come together in a beautiful imperfect unison, opening a space of vulnerability and expression.

CHAPTER 2

BEREA PROJECTS: AMERICAN WINTER, RAWHEAD AND BLOODYBONES

Chapter two is focused on American Winter (2007) and Rawhead and Bloodybones (2015), two composed recording projects that came out of my time at Berea. Here, I recount stories of listening and composing, alongside detailed explanations of each project. I also offer insights into both the contexts of the archival recordings and my responses to them.

Recordings

Many of the people I listened to in the archives became central to American Winter, as if they were characters in a play. Unsurprisingly, the most prominent person on the album is Addie Graham. In fact, she appears on it five times. Her voice and spirit affected me more than anyone else; they helped define the ethos of the project. In “Drunkard’s Dream,” for example, the composed music begins with the steady clicking of an old electronic metronome that my father had given to me. Immediately, we hear Addie alongside her daughter, Opsa. Addie prepares to sing, first humming four ascending notes, then three more, searching for melody and pitch.

LYRICS

Addie: [speaking] … gonna be right now.
Opsa: I love the dawn.
Addie: [humming, then singing] 

O [Willy] you look so healthy, your dress so neat and clean
[speaking]: This is Drunkard’s Dream
[singing]: I never see you drink around, pray tell me where you’ve been

And are your wife and children well? You used to treat them strange.
And have you, too, been kindly been, how came this sudden change?

Last night I dreamt a warning dream that heaven sent to me
To snatch me from a drunkard’s grave of woe and misery

My Mary, dear, did waste away, I saw her sinking eyes
Her little babes in silence, I heard their wailing cries

I often sang a drunkard’s song, oh what a silent gloom
I miss my wife, where could she be, and strangers in the room

I heard them say, “Poor thing, she’s dead. She’s lived a wretched life.
Twas woe and grief that caused her death, who’d be a drunkard’s wife.”

“Oh, papa, go and wake her her up, the people says she’s dead
And make her speak and smile once more, she’ll never cry for bread.”

“Oh, Mary speak to Willy once more, I never gave you pain
I never give you [...] heart, I’ll never get drunk again.”

“Oh, Mary speak to me once more, and then she sobbed,” I cried,
When I awoke, my Mary dear was weeping by my side

I clasped her to my throbbing heart, while tears of joy did stream
It’s ever since been heaven blessed for sending me this dream

[speaking]: Now that was, I learned that when I was a little girl… No, no, my brother-in-law. My sister’s husband sang that. John Henry Coffee. Coffee, John Henry Coffee, a finer man [indecipherable] … Yeah, that’s “Drunkard’s Dream,” nearly everybody knows it. Yeah.
Barbara: Yeah, I’ve heard it a different[...], that’s beautiful.
Addie: Yeah. That’s about...I’ve always liked right well. Drunkard’s Dream. [humming] Yeah.

Much like the singers and musicians, the song collectors also became part of American Winter. In “I’ll Cross the Briny Ocean, I’ll Cross the Deep Blue Sea,” I once again visit William Tallmadge’s recordings of Frankie and Lionel Duff. The interaction between Frankie, Tallmadge, and Lionel becomes an integral part of the recording. Their conversations, fragmented and in between the singing, have their own cadence and variety. It is as if we are there in the room with them, learning about their lives through everyday words and a mythological song. 

LYRICS

Frankie: Oh, shoot...
Lionel: Bill, you want a cup of coffee?
Bill: No, thank you.
Frankie: Let’s see.

[singing] In lonesome scenes of winter
In thunder, frost, and snow
Dark clouds around me gather
And stormy winds doth blow

This night I went to see her
She seemed quite soberly
I asked her if she’d marry
She would not answer me

I sat there all the night long
Until the break of day
Awaiting for an answer
Kind love, what do you say?

Bill: Right. I’ll uh, record that one again on a fast speed.
Frankie: Yeah.
Lionel: Frankie, why don’t you sing, uh....
Bill: Who sings it?

[singing] …I chose the single life
I never well-suited
For me to be your wife

Take this for an answer
And for yourself goodbye
I found another suitor
And you may step aside

I’ll cross the briny ocean
I’ll cross the deep blue sea

Bill: Sad songs!
Lionel: Sad, um, hm.
Bill: She learned them, I suppose, going to church.

[singing] I’ll cross the briny ocean
You never will see me

Years after I left Berea, I made an album called Rawhead and Bloodybones. It incorporates recordings from the Leonard Roberts Collection, additional samples from Berea, and newly composed music. The first track, “Merrywise,” begins with Jane taking a deep breath and introducing herself. Jane’s voice transforms in the same way as the story itself: from innocence to violence, a hurried chase, death, and then a carefree “happily ever after.”

LYRICS

My name is Jane Muncy, from Hyden, Kentucky, and the name of my story is Merrywise, told by my grandmother. Once upon a time, there was a little boy and he had two brothers, Tom and Bill, and his name was Merrywise. And they lived in a little town and their mother died. And as they started, they came to a house, they traveled a long time. And when they came to this house, they knocked on the door. And a woman came to the door, with long hair. And she had a long nose and was real ugly. And, he, he says, uh, “May we stay all night here?”

And she says, “Yes, little boy. You’re so cute, I believe I’ll let you be my little grandson.” He said, “Alright, Granny.” So they went in the house and it came night and they got ready to bed down.

This old woman just happened to be a witch. And she was gonna, and she loved to kill people and she was gonna kill Tom and Bill. So she put red caps on Tom and Bill and she had two boys, and she put white caps on her boys. She told Merrywise he could sleep with her.

Tom and Bill fell sound asleep soon, and Merrywise did, too. But in the middle of the night, he woke up. Something was bothering him. He looked up and saw the woman sittin’ on the edge of the bed. She was, she was mumbling in a low voice, “I’ll get up and whet my knife. I’ll get up and whet my knife.” And soon, he heard her snore. He knew she was asleep. So, he got up and kicked his brothers and woke them up and changed their caps and he says, “You be ready to go, when I wake you up, now.” So she thought he was asleep, and she went over and looked at the boys which had the white caps on and cut their heads off. She really thought it was Tom and Bill, but it was her boys.

And she went back to bed, pleased and contented, and laid down and went to sleep. Merrywise got up just as soon as he hears her snore once more, and he kicked his brothers and they got up and run out. And they came on, traveled and traveled, until it was almost the middle of the next day. And she says, “Well, if you’re gonna do that, I can, too.” So they went up the tree and she went up the tree after them, and they ran down the other side and she run down. And they run back up. And she says, “I won’t fool with you any more. My legs are rusty and I can’t run up that tree after you.”

So she took out a bag, a funny lookin’ bag out of her pocket. And opened it up and she said, “Bill, jump down in my puddin’-tuddin’ bag,” and Bill said, “Alright,” so he jumped down into the bag. And then she says, “Tom, jump down in my puddin’-tuddin’ bag,” and Tom jumped down. And she said, “Merrywise, jump down in my puddin’-tuddin’ bag,” and he says, “I won’t do it, Granny. I don’t obey you.”

He pulled his brothers out of the bag and opened it up and he says, “Granny, jump down into my puddin’- tuddin’ bag.” And she jumped down and they put rocks in the bag, and tied her up and threw her in the river. And killed her. And they went back to their house and lived happily ever after.

LYRICS

My name is Estill South, I live in Hazard, Kentucky. Uh, I forget the name of the title of this story I’m gonna tell. “Where’d you hear it?” I heard it in my home town. My teacher told it to me. One time there was little boy, a little girl, a mother, and an old man. They live out in the forest. There was a country story down the road a piece. The old woman asked the little boy to go down and get a can of kraut.

And the little boy head off, went down the road to get some kraut. And on his way back, he met a bear. This bear said, “I’m gonna eat you up.” And he said, “No, you’re not.” He started to run and the bear caught him, and ate him. And the old woman got kind of worried about the little boy. She sent the little girl to look for him. On the way back from the store, the bear met the little girl and said, “I’m gonna eat you up.” She said, “No, you’re not, either. I’m gonna run.”

So he caught her, and eat her. And the old woman got kinda worried, and so she went after ‘em. And she was goin’ down and she met the same old bear. He said, “I’m gonna eat you.” She said, “No you’re not, I’m gonna run.” And he caught her and eat her. The old man stayed there that night, and he we up the next morning and he met the same bear. He said, “I’ve eat a little boy, a little girl, and an old woman, and I’m gonna eat an old man.” He said, “No you’re not, I’m gonna run.” So he started out running and the bear caught and eat him.

There’s this little rabbit. Out on their tree. And the bear says, “I’m gonna eat you.” He said, “No you’re not, I’m gonna run.” He caught the little rabbit and eat it. There’s a squirrel up on the limb. He said, “I’m gonna eat you, too.” Said, “No, you’re not.” And the little squirrel stayed on the limb, and the bear climbed up on the tree. And the squirrel jumped off and the bear jumped after it. Why, he feel to the ground, and his stomach busted open.

Out come the little boy, said, “Ha ha, I’m out.” The little girl come out, says, “Ha ha, I’m out.”

The old woman says, “Ha ha, I’m out.” Old man come out, says, “Ha ha, I’m out.” The rabbit said, “Ha ha, I’m out.” And the little squirrel up on the tree says, “Ha ha, I’m out, cause I never was in to be out.”