Doc Watson died yesterday at age 89. When I wrote my recent blog on the occasion of Earl Scruggs's death, I was able to say without fear of contradiction that he changed the face and sound of banjo music forever. The same could be said about Doc Watson on guitar.
Arthel "Doc" Watson was born in North Carolina, and lost his sight as an infant. There is an old cliche that when people lose a faculty such as sight, it intensifies their other abilities as a means of compensation. Apart from the historical fact that blind people have been limited in terms of job opportunities, being a musician seemed a natural outlet for them. While there are, of course, great musicians with 20/20 vision, I remember, as a young man, that the two best guitarists I ever heard were blind. Jose Feliciano was one, and Doc Watson was the other. (The Rev. Gary Davis, also blind, was no slouch himself.)
Growing up in the rural south, Doc was exposed to mountain music, country blues, as well as the songs of tin pan alley. As a working musician, he played as a sideman for many pop bands, and played what the audience wanted to hear. I remember hearing him talk about this at the old Gaslight Cafe on MacDougal Street in Greenwich Village in the early 60's. After this introduction, he played "The Sheik of Araby," replete with many chords unfamiliar to many budding folk guitarists such as I. Doc could also finger-pick better than anyone I'd ever heard, modeling much of his style on the late Merle Travis. But the area in which he truly revolutionized the field was the art of flat-picking. Guitars in country bands had pretty much been rhythm instruments, with the melodies and breaks done either on fiddle or mandolin. Earl Scruggs, of course, changed all that with his distinctive banjo-picking style, and Doc Watson did the same with guitar.
Now the fiddle is bowed so as to play out a seamless melodious strain. This is not as easy to do on guitar (unless you used a bow, which sounds like a bad idea even in jest). You must, in fact, be able to double-pick many of the strings to keep pace with what would otherwise have been the fiddle part. By double-pick, I refer to the mandolin-like technique of plucking up and down on the same string (either bass or treble). This enables you to get the speed equivalent to a fiddle. Needless to say, this is no mean feat. (Budding guitarists, give it a try.) Doc was able to do it at any pace, any tempo. He could also play blues, bluegrass, Carter Family and Jimmie Rodgers numbers--in fact, just about anything. He also had a good singing voice that was as enjoyable to hear in its understatement as his playing was in its virtuosity.
I had the good fortune to hear Doc Watson play live, in the small coffee house venues that were the hallmark of the urban folk scene in the 60's. Watching (and hearing) him play such songs as "Doc's Guitar," "Brown's Ferry Blues," "Don't Let Your Deal Go Down," "Spike Driver Blues," "Tennessee Stud," and "Deep River Blues" (a finger-picking gem) were just revelatory. To paraphrase Carly Simon, "nobody does it better."
There are wonderful duet albums available on CD with Doc pairing with Chet Atkins and Earl Scruggs that are marvelous in their combined excellence. An fine example of the variety with which Doc (assisted here by his late son, Merle) played can be found on the Vanguard album, "Southbound." On it you can hear Doc play such disparate numbers as "Sweet Georgia Brown," (practice that one, ye speed-guitar freaks, and despair), "Alberta," (later done by Eric Clapton) and the mis-named instrumental, "Nothing to it." There album also features the beautiful Tom Paxton song, "The Last thing on my Mind." I remember hearing Tom play the song one long-ago evening at the Gaslight when he was sharing the bill with Doc, and call out to Doc, "eat your heart out, Doc." As such, it is wonderful to hear Doc Watson covering the Paxton classic on "Southbound." Another Doc Watson song covered by Clapton when he was with "Cream," was "Sittin' on top of the World." When Doc sings the line, "But now she's gone, and I don't worry," he pronounces "worry" as if it was "weary." I don't mean it to sound patronizing, but there's something I love about his old mountain diction. There's a wonderful authenticity to Doc's singing. When he attacks a lyric, you know he understands what he's singing, and you sense that he wouldn't do the song if he didn't. In the old folk standard, "The Wabash Cannonball," countless musicians misunderstand the lyric when the verse recounts the country-wide route transversed by the train, and sing "no chances need be taken on the Wabash Cannonball." Doc understood that such a line made no sense, and sings "no changes need be taken." That's the whole point of the lyric, and one doesn't need a master's degree in musicology to know what Doc knew.
Doc played lead guitar on on the first of Roger Sprung's (no relation) "Progressive Bluegrass" albums. I think this may be available via Roger's website, and is notable for two songs featuring the good doctor, that must be heard to fully appreciate what this man could do with otherwise familiar tunes to make them his own. He does the old Child Ballad, "Greensleeves," first slowly, and then in an astonishing flat-picking overdrive. Next he does the old jazz standard, "Bye-Bye Blues," replete with chords not usually heard from a "folkie," and in rhythms one could practice a lifetime to master.
As a folk guitarist of modest talent, I was never able to feel comfortable with flat-picking, and relied on my thumb and other fingers. I once heard Doc talking about finger-picking, and described his use of what he called "an educated thumb." It was a technique by which one could double-pick on the bass strings to get the same kind of sound and rhythm otherwise only achievable with a flat-pick. This was something I was able to learn, and am forever in his debt.
Doc was a modest and gentle man, with a personality as warm as his voice. His admirers are legion. Guitar wizards from Eric Clapton to Tommy Emmanuel and Mark Knopfler are but a few of the superb crop of musicians who will openly sing his praises and acknowledge the special debt they owe to Doc Watson. The wonderfully eclectic guitarist, Ry Cooder, wrote a touching reminiscence of Doc in yesterday's New York Times. But those of you who are familiar with Doc Watson's music need no reminder from me of how special he was, or how unique were his contributions to the world of folk and county music. To those less familiar with his work, listen to some of his stuff. You are, I assure you, in for a treat.
Doc was said to have described his guitar wizardry as "just a skill." (Yeah, like Einstein was good with numbers.) It was, however, more than that. It was a calling.
Arthel "Doc" Watson was born in North Carolina, and lost his sight as an infant. There is an old cliche that when people lose a faculty such as sight, it intensifies their other abilities as a means of compensation. Apart from the historical fact that blind people have been limited in terms of job opportunities, being a musician seemed a natural outlet for them. While there are, of course, great musicians with 20/20 vision, I remember, as a young man, that the two best guitarists I ever heard were blind. Jose Feliciano was one, and Doc Watson was the other. (The Rev. Gary Davis, also blind, was no slouch himself.)
Growing up in the rural south, Doc was exposed to mountain music, country blues, as well as the songs of tin pan alley. As a working musician, he played as a sideman for many pop bands, and played what the audience wanted to hear. I remember hearing him talk about this at the old Gaslight Cafe on MacDougal Street in Greenwich Village in the early 60's. After this introduction, he played "The Sheik of Araby," replete with many chords unfamiliar to many budding folk guitarists such as I. Doc could also finger-pick better than anyone I'd ever heard, modeling much of his style on the late Merle Travis. But the area in which he truly revolutionized the field was the art of flat-picking. Guitars in country bands had pretty much been rhythm instruments, with the melodies and breaks done either on fiddle or mandolin. Earl Scruggs, of course, changed all that with his distinctive banjo-picking style, and Doc Watson did the same with guitar.
Now the fiddle is bowed so as to play out a seamless melodious strain. This is not as easy to do on guitar (unless you used a bow, which sounds like a bad idea even in jest). You must, in fact, be able to double-pick many of the strings to keep pace with what would otherwise have been the fiddle part. By double-pick, I refer to the mandolin-like technique of plucking up and down on the same string (either bass or treble). This enables you to get the speed equivalent to a fiddle. Needless to say, this is no mean feat. (Budding guitarists, give it a try.) Doc was able to do it at any pace, any tempo. He could also play blues, bluegrass, Carter Family and Jimmie Rodgers numbers--in fact, just about anything. He also had a good singing voice that was as enjoyable to hear in its understatement as his playing was in its virtuosity.
I had the good fortune to hear Doc Watson play live, in the small coffee house venues that were the hallmark of the urban folk scene in the 60's. Watching (and hearing) him play such songs as "Doc's Guitar," "Brown's Ferry Blues," "Don't Let Your Deal Go Down," "Spike Driver Blues," "Tennessee Stud," and "Deep River Blues" (a finger-picking gem) were just revelatory. To paraphrase Carly Simon, "nobody does it better."
There are wonderful duet albums available on CD with Doc pairing with Chet Atkins and Earl Scruggs that are marvelous in their combined excellence. An fine example of the variety with which Doc (assisted here by his late son, Merle) played can be found on the Vanguard album, "Southbound." On it you can hear Doc play such disparate numbers as "Sweet Georgia Brown," (practice that one, ye speed-guitar freaks, and despair), "Alberta," (later done by Eric Clapton) and the mis-named instrumental, "Nothing to it." There album also features the beautiful Tom Paxton song, "The Last thing on my Mind." I remember hearing Tom play the song one long-ago evening at the Gaslight when he was sharing the bill with Doc, and call out to Doc, "eat your heart out, Doc." As such, it is wonderful to hear Doc Watson covering the Paxton classic on "Southbound." Another Doc Watson song covered by Clapton when he was with "Cream," was "Sittin' on top of the World." When Doc sings the line, "But now she's gone, and I don't worry," he pronounces "worry" as if it was "weary." I don't mean it to sound patronizing, but there's something I love about his old mountain diction. There's a wonderful authenticity to Doc's singing. When he attacks a lyric, you know he understands what he's singing, and you sense that he wouldn't do the song if he didn't. In the old folk standard, "The Wabash Cannonball," countless musicians misunderstand the lyric when the verse recounts the country-wide route transversed by the train, and sing "no chances need be taken on the Wabash Cannonball." Doc understood that such a line made no sense, and sings "no changes need be taken." That's the whole point of the lyric, and one doesn't need a master's degree in musicology to know what Doc knew.
Doc played lead guitar on on the first of Roger Sprung's (no relation) "Progressive Bluegrass" albums. I think this may be available via Roger's website, and is notable for two songs featuring the good doctor, that must be heard to fully appreciate what this man could do with otherwise familiar tunes to make them his own. He does the old Child Ballad, "Greensleeves," first slowly, and then in an astonishing flat-picking overdrive. Next he does the old jazz standard, "Bye-Bye Blues," replete with chords not usually heard from a "folkie," and in rhythms one could practice a lifetime to master.
As a folk guitarist of modest talent, I was never able to feel comfortable with flat-picking, and relied on my thumb and other fingers. I once heard Doc talking about finger-picking, and described his use of what he called "an educated thumb." It was a technique by which one could double-pick on the bass strings to get the same kind of sound and rhythm otherwise only achievable with a flat-pick. This was something I was able to learn, and am forever in his debt.
Doc was a modest and gentle man, with a personality as warm as his voice. His admirers are legion. Guitar wizards from Eric Clapton to Tommy Emmanuel and Mark Knopfler are but a few of the superb crop of musicians who will openly sing his praises and acknowledge the special debt they owe to Doc Watson. The wonderfully eclectic guitarist, Ry Cooder, wrote a touching reminiscence of Doc in yesterday's New York Times. But those of you who are familiar with Doc Watson's music need no reminder from me of how special he was, or how unique were his contributions to the world of folk and county music. To those less familiar with his work, listen to some of his stuff. You are, I assure you, in for a treat.
Doc was said to have described his guitar wizardry as "just a skill." (Yeah, like Einstein was good with numbers.) It was, however, more than that. It was a calling.
