Hillybilly troubadours of New York

One of the things I wanted to focus on in my Glimpse ‘Urban Americana’ article was the music. Or maybe the folklore behind the music. When you pick up a banjo, you’re doing more than just adding a twang to your music; you’re tapping into the massive tradition of American folk. You’re signalling a return to your (or someone else’s) roots, a nostalgia for the countryside, and a desire for the transcendence of the unexplored wilds.

It seems more and more people in New York are reaching for that mythic banjo. Or harmonica. Or washboard. Or fiddle. Or jug. Why it’s happening now isn’t entirely clear to me, although it might have something to do with Bon Iver getting all Walden in Wisconsin. It could also have something to do with Sufjan’s waylaid 50 states project (although he hardly needs American folklore any more; he has his own now). If he won’t do it, someone else is going to have to finish the project on his behalf.

So I’ve been stalking New York’s hillybilly troubadours. Not just any old kid with a banjo, but the new breed of bumpkin polymaths who can play any instrument, and have the suspenders and moustache to prove it. It hasn’t been very difficult to find these guys; they turn up everywhere, from stages to subway stations. I just have to follow the chatter of the washboard, and the crowds of horn-rimmed groupies.

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