Norman Blake, a name synonymous with acoustic guitar mastery, rightfully claims a spot among the giants of flat-picking. For half a century, his distinctive style has shaped generations of guitarists, from Tony Rice to Dave Rawlings. Beyond his instrumental prowess, Blake is celebrated as a profound interpreter of traditional ballads, an influential folk songwriter, and a sought-after sideman, lending his talents to legends like Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, and Kris Kristofferson.
However, a simple list of accolades fails to capture the essence of Norman Blake’s enduring appeal. His unwavering artistic integrity, a steadfast refusal to bow to commercial pressures, and a remarkable series of chance encounters have placed him at the heart of folk music’s most pivotal moments over the last fifty years. Now, he marks what may be the culmination of his extraordinary career with Brushwood (Songs & Stories), an album of starkly beautiful folk music that resonates with both timeless tradition and startling modern relevance. While rooted in familiar sounds, Blake’s lyrics confront contemporary issues like social media and the internet with a palpable sense of righteous indignation. Norman Blake’s story is complex and richly rewarding, demanding a deeper look beyond the surface.
Born in 1938, on a farm straddling the Georgia-Alabama border, Blake’s early life was steeped in rural simplicity, learning songs from a battery-powered radio in a home without electricity. He left school at 16 to pursue music, playing in bluegrass bands and reaching the revered Grand Ole Opry in his early twenties. Military service followed, where he honed his mandolin skills in a bluegrass ensemble recognized as “best band in the Caribbean Command.” Upon returning to civilian life, a chance meeting with Johnny Cash at a Chattanooga recording session altered his trajectory. When Cash inquired about his dobro skills, the 25-year-old Blake’s affirmative response led to an immediate job offer.
From that moment, Blake became an integral part of era-defining albums, his presence woven into the fabric of musical history. It’s tempting to see a Forrest Gump-like serendipity in his journey.
Blake’s guitar work graced Bob Dylan’s Nashville Skyline (1968), a foundational album of country-rock; John Hartford’s Aereo-Plain (1971), a landmark of Newgrass; and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s Will the Circle Be Unbroken (1972), a massive success that introduced old-time country and bluegrass to a new generation. Decades later, Gillian Welch’s recommendation led to Blake’s collaboration with producer T Bone Burnett on the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack (2000). This project became a phenomenon, winning multiple Grammys, selling millions of copies, and providing Blake and his wife and musical partner, Nancy, the financial security to consider stepping back from relentless touring.
In characteristically unconventional fashion, Norman Blake adds another unexpected chapter to his narrative with Brushwood (Songs & Stories). The album’s sonic landscape is instantly recognizable as classic Norman and Nancy Blake: intricate guitar work, soulful fiddle melodies, and their signature vocal harmonies. However, the lyrical content takes a sharp turn toward unflinching commentary on modern society, embracing progressive themes alongside instrumental pieces, train ballads, and even a spoken-word ghost story. At 79, this master craftsman has delivered an album of traditional folk that fearlessly tackles climate change, religious hypocrisy, powerful political figures, and societal injustices. Brushwood feels like a deliberate and potent statement, possibly his final full-length recording – a powerful and fitting end note to an unparalleled career. God bless Norman Blake, indeed.
“Your music has always touched on political themes, but Brushwood seems particularly explicit in its political songwriting.”
“Yes, it just felt like the right time. I’m not sure why, but the songs I began writing naturally took that direction.”
“Songs like ‘The Truth Will Stand (When This World’s on Fire)’ blend observations on contemporary issues – climate change, the NRA, the influence of billionaires – with the spiritual language often found in traditional songs. Was this a conscious evolution, or did it emerge organically?”
“It’s simply how my songwriting unfolds. There’s no calculated approach; it’s just the natural flow of my writing.”
“Let’s rewind a bit. The success of the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack allowed you and Nancy to retire from touring, a decision you welcomed. Reflecting on your earlier career, were there times when you enjoyed touring, when performing was a vital part of your musical life, or did you always yearn for an end to the road?”
“I had considered stopping touring well before 2007, which is when we officially quit due to age and the demands of the road itself. We always traveled by car, and the constant driving eventually became too much to bear.”
“Do you think your career path would have been significantly different if financial considerations weren’t a factor? Would you have toured less, perhaps focused more on writing?”
“Money was definitely a driving force in our touring. While the artistic desire was there, the financial reality of making a living and supporting a family was paramount. In many ways, our album releases were tied to record company advances. Any money left over after recording often went directly to paying income taxes! [Laughs] So, in a sense, we released an album almost annually, partly to manage our taxes, but also driven by artistic impulse.”
“What motivates you to make records now, especially given the changing music industry landscape?”
“Primarily an artistic drive, I believe. The record industry today is unrecognizable compared to when we started. It’s a completely different world. My albums were never massive commercial successes, so they always had to possess artistic merit on some level. Now, that artistic focus is even more pronounced.”
“The final tracks on Brushwood, particularly ‘Nameless Photograph’ and ‘Stay Down on the Farm,’ evoke a sense of finality, almost like a goodbye.”
“That’s intentional. I anticipate this might be my last full album. I’m nearing 79, with health issues like a minor stroke and artery surgery. My voice, never particularly strong, has become quite gravelly. One has to consider how long to continue presenting oneself to the public as one ages. [Laughs]
Creating an album is demanding work, and my inclination to do so is waning. This year marks the first time since 2007, when we stopped touring, that I’ve decided to completely refrain from public performances. And I’m contemplating never performing publicly again, unless a compelling financial opportunity arises. It’s something I’m seriously considering.”
“Do you still find joy in making music at home?”
“Oh, I play constantly, every day. That will never stop. My commitment to playing is unwavering, but not in a public setting. As you get older, maintaining the necessary practice to keep my playing and voice at a level I deem acceptable for recording takes increasing effort. The physical demands of performing, even locally, are becoming too much, including the preparation and travel. My health conditions make it more challenging, and I no longer need the pressure of performance. Furthermore, and this is important to Nancy and me, the current political climate and societal attitudes make me hesitant to entertain certain segments of the population. I don’t want to put my music in front of people whose values I fundamentally disagree with.”
“That’s a striking sentiment. I recall your song ‘Don’t be Afraid of the Neo-Cons’ from the early 2000s during the Bush administration. Would the natural follow-up be, should we be afraid of Trump?”
“Yes, perhaps. But I’m not sure I’d write a song specifically about that. It feels like enough voices are already speaking out. The political climate is deeply troubling to us. Staying home feels like the appropriate response. As I said, I’m reluctant to entertain people I profoundly disagree with. The current atmosphere is unsettling; it feels like someone might resort to violence against performers for simply being different or expressing dissenting views. The risk of being targeted on stage feels real in these times.”
“Many have drawn parallels between today’s political turmoil and the late 1960s. Having lived through that era as a musician, are you at all optimistic about the country’s future? Listening to your new album, one might conclude you’re not.”
“Optimistic about the country? No, not entirely. Considering recent events, how can one be? I understand why some people voted for him, but I believe they were misled. He’s a con man who deceived many. It should be evident by now that he’s acting contrary to his promises. So, no, optimism is hard to come by. I think many were truly ‘snookered.'”
[Nancy’s voice in the background: “Democracy doesn’t come with a guarantee!”]
“Nancy reminds us that democracy isn’t guaranteed.”
“A vital reminder indeed.”
“Yes, she often has insightful perspectives. She even inspired some of the songs on the album and contributed to the writing process. I get many good ideas from her!”
“Speaking of songwriting, I’m curious about your journey as a songwriter. You became a professional musician in the late 50s, early 60s, but your first solo recording wasn’t until ’72, if my timeline is correct.”
“That’s right.”
“Were you writing songs during that earlier period, or did songwriting develop later, perhaps influenced by the songwriters you were working with?”
“No, my singing in those early years was primarily harmony vocals or chorus parts in bands. When the opportunity to make my first record arose – people had been suggesting it – and I connected with Bruce Kaplan, then with Rounder Records, I decided I wouldn’t record unless I had original material. So, I consciously started writing at that point.”
“Wow. Just like that. Following that first album, you toured extensively, and it seems your songwriting output decreased. Was that due to a shift in focus or interest?”
“Simply being too busy. Too much time spent driving, performing, and navigating the bluegrass scene. Trying to survive in a bluegrass world while playing music that was somewhat outside the mainstream. The demands of being a working musician – the travel, the gigs – left little time for focused creative songwriting.”
“What did you mean by ‘competing’ in the bluegrass world?”
“When you present an ensemble like ours – fiddle, cello, guitar – at a bluegrass festival dominated by five-string banjos, we were definitely an anomaly. We were outsiders in a very specific musical landscape.”
“How did it feel to be so different at those festivals?”
“We became musical crusaders to carve out a space for ourselves in that world. And we succeeded, but eventually, we grew weary of that constant musical ‘crusading.'”
“It seems you’ve influenced many musicians who have become highly influential themselves, perhaps even more so than those strictly within the five-string banjo world. Gillian Welch comes to mind. Do you feel like your ‘crusading’ ultimately had a lasting impact?”
“I’m not sure. I never really knew the extent of my influence. I deeply respect Gillian and David, they’re friends, and I admire their dedication. But I never consciously considered my influence or lack thereof. I was always too preoccupied with simply surviving and making a living in the music business, which was never easy for acoustic musicians.”
“Certainly. It seems from an outsider’s perspective that it took considerable conviction to pursue your musical path simply because it felt authentic, regardless of commercial viability or established niches.”
“We always prioritized artistic integrity. We played the music we knew, could play, and felt compelled to play. We never tailored our music to fit a specific mold or sought commercial success in any deliberate way.”
“This commitment to your artistic vision – is that what drove you to leave school at 16 to become a musician? Was that decision met with understanding from your family?”
“My parents were always supportive of my musical pursuits, but they were understandably concerned about me leaving home so young. It worried them, but they encouraged my music, even if they were surprised by the level of success I achieved. I think they always viewed music as a difficult path to make a living.”
“Growing up listening to the Grand Ole Opry on the radio in the 40s, what was it like to perform on the Opry stage in your early 20s, on the very program that shaped your musical upbringing?”
“It was a momentous occasion. Being on the Opry back then was truly significant. In those days, it was still at the Ryman Auditorium. It was the pinnacle, the ultimate achievement. When I was young, the Opry was almost the limit of our musical aspirations.”
“I’m curious about your early guitar education. On the Opry in the 40s, lead acoustic guitar players were relatively rare, weren’t they?”
“Yes, not prominently featured. Guitars were part of bands, but not often in a lead role. However, Sam McGee was on the Opry, playing solo guitar and with his brother Kirk. I heard him play.”
“Sam McGee? I’m not familiar with Sam McGee.”
“You’ve never heard of Sam McGee!”
“Well… [Laughs] I know a good number of guitarists from that era, but his name is new to me.”
“The McGee Brothers – Sam and Kirk McGee, ‘the boys from sunny Tennessee,’ as they were billed. They played with Uncle Dave Macon extensively, recorded with him, and also recorded as a duo. They also played with Fiddlin’ Arthur Smith’s band, the Dixieliners.”
“What was Sam McGee’s guitar style like?”
“Sam was a finger-style guitarist, also played guitar-banjo, in a kind of ragtime style. They were exceptionally talented, some of my favorites. I listened to them on the Opry as a child.”
“Did you study his style, learn to play like him?”
“Not directly early on, but I’m sure my playing reflects that style, that older finger-style approach, and similar song choices. They were remarkable performers.”
“Who else influenced your early guitar playing?”
“Mother Maybelle Carter was a major influence, absolutely. From those early Carter Family recordings, and later when I got to know her in Nashville.”
“What was your impression of Doc Watson when you first heard him?”
“After leaving the Army in ’63, I was teaching guitar in Chattanooga. One of my students asked if I’d heard of Doc Watson, and I hadn’t. They lent me some of his records. At that point, I was primarily finger-picking, though I’d always played mandolin with a flat pick and occasionally used a flat pick on guitar. Hearing Doc, who was gaining popularity at the time, I was struck by his flat-picking style. I thought, ‘This way of playing guitar is a revelation!’ I had learned the older thumb-and-finger style, but I realized, ‘I can do this too. This is something I already know how to do.’ So, I began focusing more on flat-picking from that point onwards.”
“Then, moving to Nashville opened up a whole new world. I realized flat-picking was a thriving style, and I immersed myself in it quickly. I went through a period of playing both finger-style and flat-picking – using flat-picking with John Hartford, and finger-style at other times. Eventually, I gravitated predominantly towards flat-picking.”
“It’s interesting to consider that while Riley Puckett’s style and Maybelle Carter’s melodic guitar playing were known in the 20s, you mentioned Doc Watson’s flat-picking seemed like a novelty to some. Why do you think that was the case? What was the distinguishing factor?”
“People simply weren’t accustomed to hearing that much lead guitar played with a pick. Guitar was primarily a band instrument. When it emerged as a prominent lead instrument, it created something entirely new. And we didn’t call it ‘flat-picking’ then. That term came later. We referred to that type of pick as a ‘straight pick.'”
“Did Doc ever teach you directly or offer any specific advice?”
“I always say I learned from anyone I admired. We played gigs with Doc, spent time together, had good conversations, and got along well.”
“Compared to learning from musicians you played with, recordings, and touring, many young musicians today – even in folk and bluegrass – attend conservatory programs. Do you see a significant difference in these learning approaches?”
“Learning methods have evolved. Today’s musicians have access to so much more than we did. Any effective way to learn is valid. Our approach was more rural, and rural life itself is less central to music now. It’s become more of a cultural trend in some ways. They simply don’t come from the same background. A battery-powered radio was our main source of music, along with a few records. Today, they can access virtually anything.”
“Do you think this accessibility, this lack of shared, common influences, is changing how music is made? Older generations often talk about shared touchstones like the Opry or The Ed Sullivan Show…”
“It’s hard to say definitively. When I first started listening to music, we had the Opry and a few other live radio programs on our battery-powered radio. No electricity, just the radio, a phonograph, a few records, and local musicians. That was our musical landscape.”
“Why did you decide to include spoken-word stories on this album, Brushwood?”
“Just stories I’d written. I thought, ‘If I don’t record them now, they may never be heard.’ Whether they should or shouldn’t be heard! They were things I’d written that weren’t songs, so I decided to include them.”
“Do you believe younger folk musicians have a responsibility to be as direct and honest as you are, to address contemporary issues and politics in their songs?”
“No, I don’t think it’s a responsibility. They should do what feels authentic to them. It’s a personal choice. If they feel compelled to, they should. I always tried to avoid overdoing the political aspect, especially when performing live. Like excessive religiosity on stage, it can alienate audiences who came for something else. Political rallies are different; politics are expected there. But in general entertainment settings, politics and religion are best approached with some restraint. That doesn’t mean avoiding religious songs entirely – we always included them – but avoiding overt political ‘stumping’ when audiences aren’t expecting it.”
“So, without live performances now, you feel liberated from those considerations?”
“Yes, records become my ‘soapbox’ if I choose to use them that way. But if I were to perform live now, I wouldn’t play this new album. I’d choose different material for a live performance.”
“Finally, one last question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Hearing folk songs about social media and the internet is quite novel, almost… refreshing.”
“[Laughs] Well, thank you.”
“It’s almost humorous that while many young folk musicians seem to draw heavily from past eras, you’ve embraced modern vocabulary and themes in a way that feels ahead of the curve.”
“Well, I see it all as part of the same world – the old and the new, existing side-by-side. It just emerged organically in the songwriting, not through any conscious calculation.”
