String Music

Making music on the porch or in the parlor, with no amplification other than wind pushing through vocal cords and valved chambers, or plucked strings resonating in curved wooden spaces, is the genesis of modern music. It still flourishes in pure form in bluegrass circles and folk venues, and a more jacked-up variety is making inroads now in pop culture with groups like Mumford and Sons and the Avett Brothers.

To those used to the electric assault of plugged-in guitars, computerized synthesizers and enhanced vocals, pure unadorned music can seem startling. Artifice is stripped away, leaving only the songs and the instruments giving them life.

SARAH JAROSZ is only 20 and has her second album out now, FOLLOW ME DOWN. She plays banjo, guitar and mandolin and sings like an angel with less-than-pristine wings (more Bonnie Raitt than Allison Krauss). While the bluegrass purist police might not like her choices, she’s determined to ignore boundaries. This lets her weave tradition with innovation to create her own suit of clothes. Good for her, and us.

“Follow me down through the cotton fields”, she invites us on the opener, “Run Away”, and it’s not to be resisted. There’s a hint of uncertainty and even a little danger evoked by the melody and delivery, but there’s no doubt the journey will be made. Purity is shucked instantly when she adds electric guitar flourishes to the mix. “Come Around” is edgy minor chord percussive menace resolving in hope. “Annabelle Lee” wraps the Edgar Allen Poe poem in another minor key maelstrom, this time evoking centuries-old flavor. Dan Tyminski adds appropriately archaic harmonies.

Serenity makes a welcome appearance with “Ring Them Bells”, a Dylan cover. Beautifully backed by Jerry Douglas’ dobro and sweet-singing Vince Gill, Jarosz mixes compassion and strength in equal doses. “My Muse” attempts a dialogue with the mystical force of creativity and Jarosz evidently has BFF status with hers. It’s appropriately dreamy and wistful. “Floating in the Balance” sounds like the flip side of its predecessor, with a harder-edged determination to create on display.

Instrumental chops take the spotlight on “Old Smitty”, which adds unexpected chord changes and dynamics to the usual bluegrass template. The other cover is next, Radiohead’s “The Tourist”. Punch Brothers (see below) add the backing to this slow-building and daring interpretation. “Here Nor There” has an Indian raga intro and recurring riff (dobro subbing for sitar) and still sounds like it came from the Appalachians. “The Gypsy” is all sweetness, a gentle waltz enlivened by accordion washes and Douglas’ dobro. “Peace” ends with a wordless prayer, all the more convincing for its simplicity.

Ms. Jarosz is prodigiously talented and will be heard from for a long time.

Where Sarah Jarosz treats tradition like home base in a baseball game with elastic rules, PUNCH BROTHERS treat bluegrass as only one of a universe of worlds to explore. They are mandolin master, Nickel Creek alumnus and all around cool guy Chris Thile, and guitarist Chris Eldridge, bassist Paul Kowert, banjo player Noam Pikelny, and fiddler Gabe Witcher. They are blessed (and maybe cursed) with so much talent and smarts that their music can be intimidating to those of us lesser mortals. But if you accept their challenge, hang in there and let the music have its way, payoffs will be had.

Their second record, ANTIFOGMATIC, is named after a 19th-century libation reputed to stave off bad weather’s ill effects. That steampunk (love that word) mix of radical tradition perfectly catches Punch Brothers’ aesthetic, as does the spot-on cover art.

“You Are” is a brilliant opener. Beginning with a playful and gentle guitar figure, Thile then sings unguardedly about a girl who has him befuddled and besotted. The chorus comes in and kicks butt, but then the next verse is bracketed with a quiet interlude and a wandering bridge before the chorus is sung again with resignation. “Don’t Need No” mixes the esoteric with the normal in more identifiable ways. It flirts with showing off, but reins in the strange just when it threatens to grate. “Alex” slows things down to a relative crawl, but allows the listener to catch his breath. Still, it takes unexpected turns melodically and rhythmically before coming back to its original theme.

“Rye Whiskey” is a stomper. Like its subject, the song starts off with abandon and glee, with regret and remorse coming later. “Me and Us” meanders a bit much, with more rhythmic and melodic shifts than seem good for it. “Missy” is about a girl of questionable virtue who just won’t listen to the singer’s advice, with a killer fiddle solo and soaring harmonies. “The Woman and the Bell” is a hoedown with dissonance as its chief virtue (and fault, to some.) “Next to the Trash” is a welcome return to convention, with whimsy and a little bit of foolishness. Waltz-timed mostly, it takes a dim view of domesticity. “Welcome Home” (like not of few of these tunes) has a McCartney-like song-within-a-song quality, where an impatient shifting can annoy when one groove is abandoned for another. The closer “This is the Song” is self-awareness taken to some extreme, but with heart: “good luck / these are tough times / but we’ll get by.”

These guys are more admirable than admired. It’ll be real interesting to see where they go from here.

The WOOD BROTHERS are for-real brothers (unlike the Punches), Oliver and Chris. Oliver plays guitar and does most of the singing, while Chris handles bass, as he does in jazz-outlaws Medeski, Martin and Wood. Their output to date has been mostly folk-based, with blues and country influences. Their third effort, SMOKE RING HALO, upgrades the songcraft, arrangements and intensity. (In an unfortunate coincidence, Kurt Vile’s two-month old album has a similar name; what a cool image, though.) Indeed, the brashness of the record sort of removes it from this column’s theme, but what the hell-it’s a cracking good record.

This one’s got much more of a band feel, with drums on most tracks and horns featured on others. Oliver’s singing has never been stronger and more endearing (as are Chris’ harmonies and occasional lead) and the arrangements are varied and thoughtful. But it’s the songs that shine the brightest.

“Mary Anna” welcomes the listener with southern charm that foretells what’s to come. “Shoofly Pie” rocks with some nasty slide and even nastier imagery. “Pay Attention” would be pitiful (the singer’s begging for some) if it wasn’t so damn good a song. “Stumbled In”‘s wobbly gait captures the title but doesn’t make walking crooked seem so bad at all. The title cut is a heart-on-the-sleeve paean to a departing lover.

“When I Was Young” features Chris’ lush, plummy bass as it percolates and pushes his brother to syncopate his vocals to great effect. “The Shore” is a gorgeous rumination, while “Made It Up the Mountain” is a rollicking tale of one man’s conversion (it involves a fire lit under his behind). “Rainbow” lets Chris’ thinner vocals lead on an appropriately gentler song. “Blue and Green” closes on a note of family love and loss, “You ain’t lived ’til you’ve seen blue and green.”

A friendly record of true depth, this one wears well, too.