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Carter Stanley, born in 1925, preceded Ralph into the world by two years. From their earliest days, the Stanley boys were surrounded by music; their father was a singing man who taught the old tunes to his sons, and their mother was adept at the clawhammer, or "frailing," banjo method, a fingerpick-and-strum technique closely related to the African-American folk patterns. Ralph learned to play banjo from his mother. He and Carter, who turned out to be a gifted arranger and composer as well as a stringed-instrument whiz, were performing out of a radio station in Bristol, Virginia, in the mid-1940s. Soon they began recording for a variety of labels including Rich-R-Tone and Columbia, for whom they delivered a seminal series of bluegrass recordings between 1949 and 1952.
These were the earliest days of mass-marketed country music. As the Stanley Brothers, Carter and Ralph marked out a corner of the country-bluegrass circuit that was theirs alone. At the time, only Bill Monroe was as popular and influential; but Monroe's roots were more firmly traceable to the "blue yodel" tradition that Jimmie Rodgers had developed a couple of decades earlier. The Stanley Brothers sang songs of death and redemption, of sinners lost and the good shepherd searching the hillside, lest any soul should go astray. Like that of their spiritual forebears the Carter Family, the Stanley Brothers' music was steeped in the symbols of apocalyptic Christianity, providing an audible link between the Appalachian shoutin' gospel and the more narrative, secular folk influences in bluegrass music.
But it was the voice, Ralph Stanley's unmistakable and unforgettable instrument, that became the cornerstone of the Stanley Brothers' sound. Like Muddy Waters' was to the blues, Ralph Stanley's voice was not simply one example of mountain music; to many listeners it became so intimately associated with the genre that it simply was mountain music itself.
Once heard, Stanley's high lonesome tenor is impossible to forget. It's a voice that seems to come from no single throat at all; rather, it just infuses the air, materializing for a moment and then drifting away, the sound of hundreds of years of trouble appearing briefly, bearing witness, then receding back into the mountain from which it came.
Think this is hyperbole? When T-Bone Burnett was constructing the soundtrack for O Brother, Where Art Thou?, Joel and Ethan Coen's Odyssey-gone-to-Mississippi travelogue, he set out to collect new recordings of traditional American songs, "Angel Band," "Down to the River to Pray," "Keep on the Sunny Side" and so forth -- straight upbeat gospel, for the most part. But for the film's single truly malevolent moment, a midnight Klan rally assembled on the occasion of the lynching of a young black man, the producers called on Ralph Stanley to deliver an a cappella performance of "O Death," an ancient song presenting a dialogue between the Hooded One and a man he's come to collect: "My name is Death, none can excel/I hold the key to Heaven or Hell/I'll tie your tongue so you can't talk/I'll stiffen your limbs 'til you can't walk/This very hour, come and go with me"; "O Death, O Death/Won't you spare me over 'til another year?"
It's utterly hellish, that scene, that sound. And all of a sudden, people who never thought they enjoyed bluegrass music in their lives are taking notice of Ralph Stanley.
Dr. Stanley himself -- in addition to his membership in the Bluegrass Hall of Fame, Stanley holds an honorary doctorate in music from Lincoln Memorial University and was the first recipient of the National Endowment for the Humanities Traditional American Music Award in 1985 -- is happy to oblige. Man of Constant Sorrow, a new Rebel Records compilation drawn from his years of work with the Clinch Mountain Boys, is something like the 150th album entry in Stanley's catalogue. 1998's critically acclaimed double-CD Clinch Mountain Country saw Stanley joined by a who's who of musical luminaries, including Dwight Yoakam and Bob Dylan, a longtime self-proclaimed Ralph Stanley fan. Released ahead of schedule to answer a reinvigorated demand for Stanley's work, sparked by its prominent use in the Coens' film, Man of Constant Sorrow is a helpful (if, at 34 minutes, criminally brief) introduction to Stanley's art, including several renditions of songs featured in O Brother.
Scant weeks from his 74th birthday, Stanley finds himself in the midst of touring in support of Man of Constant Sorrow, averaging two to four shows per week. "We're doing all right," he reports from a hotel in Tucson. "We've had good weather, made it okay so far." On the 17th of February, he's slated to perform on A Prairie Home Companion, a stage he's looking forward to visiting. "I'll be singing 'O Death,'" he says brightly. "A lot of people, they've never really sat down and listened to this music, but the movie, that O Brother, it's gonna bring a lot of attention to this music. And the Clinch Mountain Country, where all those country singers sung with me, that woke a few people up, too. Bluegrass music is comin' right up now, right on top. There's several young people coming into this type of music. It's just a good, down-to-earth music. A lot of the older people have enjoyed it through the years, and they've passed it on down to their children. A lot more people have heard it lately, and when you hear it, why, it's like going to Florida and gettin' sand in your shoes. You get to where you want to hear it more, and you know, it sticks with you."