acoustic

The Fretless | Jenny Bear

“There was a time when the fiddle was a complete ‘band’ unto itself. Barn dances, church gatherings, parties on the back porch, weddings, funerals (The Bluegrass Situation) … the musical cornerstone of these occasions, from Appalachia to Ireland and far beyond, was oftentimes a lone fiddle, standing apart, unencumbered. The ability of a fiddle to cut through the white noise and to wail at un-ignorable frequencies perfectly suited it to this role. There’s an immediacy to the droning sustain or slippery slurs, the humming double-stops or bouncing triplets of the instrument that, even solo, won’t leave your ears wanting more.

Canadian string ensemble the Fretless take this immediacy and multiply it by four. They translate the visceral, primal sounds that led fiddle to evolve into these one-instrument-band scenarios and weave them together so artfully that, all at once, they sound homogenous, as one cohesive unit, while the constituent parts remain perfectly distinct — as if they were each leading their own raucous living room step dance … you can feel the live audience leaning forward, reflecting the lilting energy of the modern-flavored percussive chopping and the timeless jig and reel drive back to the Fretless, who give it directly back to their audience. It’s almost as if they know they’re transporting each listener to a back porch, dance hall, or barn party with every bow stroke.”

Since forming in 2011, The Fretless “has toured extensively across Canada and worldwide, including Australia, South and North America, and seven European tours—playing historic small halls to prestigious stages such as the Cologne Philharmonic, Luxembourg Philharmonic Orchestra Hall, Shetland Folk Festival, Festival Internacional Cervantino, and two sold-out shows at Celtic Connections (artist site). “At home, they’ve captivated audiences at the Winnipeg Folk Festival, Small Halls, Hillside Festival, and Mariposa Folk Festival. They also had the honour of sharing the bill with legendary Canadian fiddler Natalie MacMaster for Canada Scene at the National Arts Centre.”

After a start in D minor and a shift to D major at 0:38, “Jenny Bear” alternates a bit more between these two key areas. The harmonic shifts and compelling groove would seem to provide plenty to keep the audience happy. But at 2:13 the tune shifts suddenly to E — and the jumps between major and minor accelerate to an even faster cadence.

Ray Charles, feat. Willie Nelson | Seven Spanish Angels

Ray Charles and Willie Nelson’s duet “’Seven Spanish Angels’ showcases the vocal strengths of both artists … allowing the lyric and the singers to shine,” (Country Universe). Written by Troy Seals and Eddie Setser, the tune was released in 1985. “… Charles and Nelson deliver this song with the reverence and empathy that it deserves. It feels like the best music often comes from storytelling like this, where characters with such different lives than us listeners can imagine have their stories told with humanity.”

“It was released in November 1984 as a single from Charles’ 1984 album Friendship,” (The Billboard Book of Country Hits). “Charles and Nelson split the verses, with Charles singing the first and Nelson the second, Charles sang the first and second choruses with Nelson joining for the outro. It was also included on Nelson’s 1985 compilation album Half Nelson. ‘Seven Spanish Angels’ was the most successful of Charles’ eight hits on the country chart. The single spent one week at number one and a total of twelve weeks on the country chart.”

Willie’s clipped delivery provides contrast with Ray’s lyrical phrasing. The two vocalists have a similar range, but the overarching difference in timbre between their two instantly recognizable voices is one of this version’s more noticeable features. At 2:58, the key moves up a half step for the final few verses.

Joni Mitchell | Down to You

“Joni Mitchell’s sixth album was a change of gear, coming deep from within the ME decade, its romantic entanglements dissolving to reveal a deeper search within, but far from being solipsistic Mitchell’s rumination strikes a universal chord … Post-Woodstock, the hippy dream was in crisis,” (The Quietus). “Progressive political hopes were dashed with 1972’s George McGovern electoral loss to incumbent Nixon. Mitchell (said) that this was ‘an especially lonely time’ with nothing feeling likely to last … New songs explored the struggle between love and freedom, set against a decadent backdrop, another illusion for her sharp-eyed and warm-hearted compositions to see through.

They required more expansive musical settings. Tom Scott, who would also play on Carole King’s wonderful single ‘Jazzman’, told Mojo that the self-taught Mitchell was ‘intuitively sophisticated.’ Since childhood, she’d favoured unorthodoxy, singing descant in the choir, playing her hurdy-gurdy backwards. Favouring open tunings, she produced what David Crosby called ‘weird chords’ or as she says ‘chords of inquiry’ ripped from her inner core. Rock players couldn’t follow them.

‘Down To You’ is Court and Spark’s cornerstone and one of the great songs of the 1970s. There’s a Buddhist view of transience comparing new lovers with new fashions, both being an ever-changing succession of veils that cover a core of loneliness … There’s no judgement here and life lessons come in a state of grace, from its easeful rhymes to its dazzling orchestral interlude with Mitchell’s headstrong piano working through Scott’s panorama of woodwind, horns and strings … Scott and Mitchell scooped a Grammy for this eye-watering showstopper … Court and Spark received rave reviews in both Rolling Stone and NYT, who hailed Mitchell as the ‘premier explorer’ of ‘not love songs but songs about love.’ By March it was at #2 in the US, going double platinum. November’s Miles Of Aisles live album hit the same peak and a Time cover that month sealed her cultural impact … The NYT review noted how Mitchell ‘can turn her experiences into truths that touch everyone.'”

After an unsettled intro, the verse enters at 0:33 in D major with a definitive statement about constant change. At 1:19, a rubato section in D minor delves into lightweight moonlit romance. A short interlude, built around Mitchell’s “chords of inquiry,” leads to the dawn of the next verse, which returns to a relatively uncomplicated D major. More shifts in tonality follow, second only in prominence to the shifting textural wonders of Scott’s arrangement for piano and small chamber orchestra.

Madison Cunningham | Take Two

“(Madison) Cunningham has been described as the musician’s musician …” (Here Comes the Song). “We prefer to be more inclusive and regard her as the discerning listener’s musician … the Californian achieves an almost classical sophistication in beautiful ballads such as ‘Shore,’ the Joni-esque ‘Take Two‘ and ‘My Full Name‘ (on 2025’s Ace). The young Madison was experimenting with open tunings before she discovered Joni Mitchell; secular sounds took time to woo her away from the constrictions of megachurch worship music.

… Her approach to melody is fearlessly innovative, the candour of her lyrics unflinching … At 29, Cunningham has survived a period of turbulence – married young, divorced young – normally experienced by people much older than her. Instead of retreating, she turned the ordeal into a meditation on the difference between happiness and contentment. ‘Happiness is hollow and shiny, contentment is rooted and rich and doesn’t deny sadness or joy,’ she told Leo Sidran on his Third Story podcast. ‘We want to numb pain away and that just means you numb everything else too. Contentment isn’t afraid of the feeling of pain … I’m learning how to be alone and to not feel loneliness. Those don’t have to be the same thing.’”

Joni-esque isn’t an adjective to be applied lightly. But given the broad harmonic vocabulary, the shifting instrumental textures, and cutting lyrics on offer here, it seems fitting. Beginning in A minor, “Take Two” progresses through two verses before a more strongly textured C minor verse falls into place at 1:41. At 2:26, there’s a return to the original key.

Nickel Creek | Scotch and Chocolate

“These are not veterans of bluegrass – these were three young people who drove their string machines like race cars … they have an appeal for the average ear just short of a confection – but never too sweet,” (Americana Highways). “They have the skill to play impressively and rollick in a bluegrass-commercial flavor that’s tasty … Their recordings are well-made and the group possesses a pearl of musical wisdom to perform with agility, passion, and creative beauty.

… Nickel Creek manages to balance these genres with each performance. It’s obvious the trio could play adeptly alongside such traditional mainstay contemporaries as the classic English ensembles Pentangle, Fairport Convention, Curved Air, the Acoustic Strawbs, Steeleye Span, Dando Shaft, Amazing Blondel and the Incredible String Band.”

After a soft-spoken, meandering intro, “Scotch and Chocolate” (2005) solidly settles into A major at 0:51. At 2:05, with the tempo now at a gallop, D major takes center stage for the balance of the track. This performance is from the COVID-cancelled series Live From Here, the more music-centric successor to A Prairie Home Companion. The series was hosted by Nickel Creek’s mandolinist, Chris Thile.

David Wilcox | Rusty Old American Dream

“Around the mid-to-late ’80s, major labels started to notice a new group of folk artists,” (Popdose). “They were more diverse than the Seegers and Guthries of decades past; the ‘new folk’ label could apply to traditionalists like Ellis Paul or Jonell Mosser just as easily as it could to the more overtly commercial Shawn Colvin. And the new folkies could be obvious direct descendants of living masters, like the Richie Havens-channeling Cliff Eberhardt, or they could head off in new directions entirely, like Patty Griffin. Though it’s doubtful anybody in a record label boardroom ever thought the “new folk” would be a huge commercial success, having an “Americana” imprint was sort of prestigious — it meant the suits hadn’t been entirely blinded to the meaning and appeal of music at the root level. A&M Records, recognizing this … signed David Wilcox.

Wilcox had been plying his trade in and around Asheville, North Carolina, for some years, and had become a favorite fixture at the legendary Bluebird Cafe. The Bluebird’s proprietor, Amy Kurland, was instrumental in the development of his career — even after the release of his second A&M album, the label was referring publicity calls to her — and it’s easy to see why she took such an interest. Other artists may have been more implicitly traditional, and thus more representative of ‘true’ folk, but Wilcox’s smooth vocals and emotional lyrics hinted at bigger things.

It’s no Born To Run, but for a folk musician in 1989, How Did You Find Me Here came fairly close — the album won him a modicum of critical attention on the national stage, nearly unanimous in its praise, and A&M realized it had a potential moneymaker on its hands.” One of the album’s standout tracks, “Rusty Old American Dream,” might be about an old car which has seen better days. But propelled by Wilcox’s intricate fingerstyle technique and impeccable time, an unprepared half-step key change (1:47) “gives that old starter a spin.”

James Taylor | Line ‘Em Up

“He’s seen fire, he’s seen rain,” (Santa Barbara Independent). “He’s seen sunny days he thought would never end, and lonely times when he could not find a friend. And James Taylor is in the ongoing journey of a career spanning six decades and stoking a reputation as a pioneer singer-songwriter known for hiring a good band and putting on an engaging live show.”

At a show in Santa Barbara this month, “He also joked, ‘From the beginning, I’ve been writing end of my life in show business songs.’ Thankfully, those were not self-fulfilling prophecies. He has also been writing songs taking on many subjects, not just recovery or romantic concerns: his tune ‘Line ‘Em Up,’ for instance, takes as its thematic angle Richard Nixon’s fateful departure from his White House tenure. Introducing the song, Taylor half-joked, ‘I never thought I’d hear myself say, I miss Richard Nixon.”

Hourglass, Taylor’s 1997 album, saw strong commercial success, reaching #9 on the Billboard 200. The album also won Taylor a Grammy (best Pop Album, 1998), his first since the 1977 smash hit JT. Built primarily in G major, the tune shifts to D minor for its early bridge (1:37 – 2:09) before reverting to the original key.

Maria Rita | Maltratar, Não é Direito

“As the daughter of two Brazilian musical icons – legendary singer Elis Regina and acclaimed pianist Cezar Camargo Mariano – it’s no surprise that Maria Rita has followed in their footsteps to become one of her native land’s best selling artists,” (BBC). “After studying at New York University and working as a journalist, Rita didn’t release her first album until the age of 24, but over a million sales worldwide for her eponymous debut and a host of Latin Grammy awards soon established her at the pinnacle of the MPB (Música Popular Brasileira) scene.

After further success with 2005’s Segundo, Samba Meu (My Samba, 2007) sees the São Paulo-born star paying tribute to the traditional music of Brazil, featuring acoustic reinterpretations of works by some of the country’s great songwriters. Backed by some impeccably tasteful musicianship and arrangements, Rita meanders politely through 13 pleasant, yet distinctly unmemorable, tracks; her note-perfect vocals never threatening to break into anything more taxing than a breezy trill.”

Beginning in D minor, Rita’s “Maltratar, Não é Direito” (which translates approximately to “mistreating others is not right”), shifts to D major at 1:00 for its chorus. At 1:36, it returns to D minor for an interlude centering around a wordless vocal before shifting back to the next verse. The pattern continues from there, propelled by a saturated instrumentation (layered percussion and the small yet mighty cavaquinho, in particular).

James Duncan Mackenzie | Fibhig

“With a superb piping pedigree and an equally fine touch on the wooden flute, this Lewis multi-instrumentalist and composer focuses on his island heritage and his own compositions on Fìbhig,” (Living Tradition).

“Fine new tunes, a dozen musicians and singers, and bewitching production by James himself bring the rugged beauty of (Scotland’s) Hebrides to life. Birthdays and weddings, mountains and sea, and an animal menagerie – there’s no shortage of excitement here. For an island album, especially one from Lewis, Fìbhig is surprisingly cheery and upbeat, enjoyable from start to finish … the charming title track (is) named for a tiny hamlet in the back of beyond … “

The first long section of “Fibhig” walks the line between Ab major and its relative F minor. At 2:19, an unprepared key change jumps us up to Eb major, which similarly shares the spotlight with its relative C minor.

Bruce Hornsby | What the Hell Happened

“Relevancy is an ambition that countless artists strive for, yet so few actually achieve,” (Glide Magazine). “Iconic pianist Bruce Hornsby can proudly count himself among those fortunate few. With a storied musical career that has spanned (50) years, the Williamsburg, VA native continues to be a prominent influence on many modern artists – from Spike Lee to Bon Iver – that seemingly encompasses nearly all aspects and genres of the music industry.

Starting in 1974 … he formed the Grateful Dead cover band Bobby Hi-Test and the Octane Kids with his older brother Bobby Hornsby … By 1980, Bruce and his younger brother John Hornsby moved to Los Angeles, where they spent the next three years writing songs together for 20th Century Fox. In 1986, Bruce, along with his newly-formed backing band The Range, released the multi-platinum album The Way It Is for RCA Records. It was that album’s eponymous chart-topping title track that propelled the group towards receiving their first Grammy Award, for Best New Artist, in 1987.”

Since then, Hornsby has continued to perform extensively — with his band The Noisemakers, touring solo, and supporing the Grateful Dead on keys and vocals. His writing style hasn’t really pivoted away from the pop-friendly sound of his days with The Range; it might be more accurate to say that his musical palette has expanded exponentially. A wonderful example of Hornsby’s relentless eclecticism is “What the Hell Happened” from 2004’s Halcyon Days. “Self-deprecating humor has always been a hallmark of Bruce’s lyrics, and the polytonal ‘What The Hell Happened’ might be his greatest example … (a) Randy Newman-esque piece.”

The tune’s intro and verse are built around Eb minor, but not without plenty of ear-bending alterations. At 0:39, the chorus shifts to Gb lydian. 0:56 brings a seams-hidden change to F major for an extended instrumental break, driven by Hornsby’s rock-solid stride technique and fluid right hand runs. At 2:41, we return to Gb lydian until near the end, when Eb minor makes another appearance. The tune’s overall feel might bring to mind one of Randy Newman’s sepia-toned tales, but the harmonic vocabulary is miles beyond — to borrow the title from another track on the album, very “Circus on the Moon.”