The document discusses blues guitarist Etta Baker who challenged the notion that women did not make significant contributions to the blues tradition of the American South from the 1920s-1950s. While a few women like Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith achieved fame, most female blues artists like Baker were overlooked as record producers primarily recorded male blues artists. Baker performed throughout her region but was never recorded commercially. After retiring from factory work, she began performing publicly in the 1970s, bringing overdue recognition to the important role women played in early southern blues.

1. Etta Baker
When folks today think about the blues—and especially about the acoustic blues that
reigned in the African American South in the 1920s–1950s—they tend not to
think about women performers. The few women who did find their way into
the canon were the gloriously bedecked stars of tent-show and vaudeville
stages, singers like the legendary Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith. But aside from
these stage singers, the cast of players seemed to be almost entirely male. The
men, after all, were the artists who made it onto records; consequently, they’re
the ones about whom questions are asked and essays are written. The
women, in turn, vanished from the historical record . . . presumably because
they weren’t making music alongside their male counterparts.
Blues guitarists like Etta Baker challenge this scenario, highlighting the grand lie
that emerged when the artifacts of commercial choices made by cultural
outsiders (i.e., recordings of African American blues made by white producers)
were taken as evidence of historical truths. Ms. Baker—who was born in 1913
in the high foothills of North Carolina’s Caldwell County—performed
throughout the heyday of southern blues, often playing alongside her sister and
a host of female cousins. All of these women played masterfully nuanced music
in the ragtimey, finger-picked guitar style that defined blues in the Southeast.
But none of them—and none of their regional counterparts—ever made it onto
records, at least not until the music’s heyday had long passed.
The reason? In part, because the record producers—universally male—held to
the tried-and-true formula of recording only bluesmen. And in part, because
many of these women—when they became mothers and caregivers—stopped
“playing out,” choosing (or sometimes being ordered by her husbands) to play
at home rather than at house parties and juke joints. After her husband’s
passing, and after her retirement from factory-work in the mid-
1970s, however, Ms. Baker began to play publicly again, her artistry testifying to
the vibrancy of a women’s tradition too long hidden. The next few years
brought widespread public acclaim and a National Heritage Award, finally
forcing a long-overdue re-thinking of the historical record.
— Glenn Hinson

2. Doc and Merle Watson
Doc Watson (1923-1912) always managed to convey a rare combination of qualities:
heartfelt sincerity, down-home eloquence, and emotional immediacy—all with
a consummate sense of professionalism. Born to a family of fiddlers and banjo
pickers in Deep Gap, North Carolina, he gained broader attention in 1960 while
playing guitar with the newly-rediscovered Clarence “Tom” Ashley (original
member of the Carolina Tar Heels string band). Watson soon began touring on
his own—flatpicking and singing old songs for enthusiastic folk revivalists across
the country. Drawing from his own deep connection to traditional Appalachian
music, he was always happy to convey its spirit and feeling to wider audiences:
“The most rewarding thing of my life was to do a song that I loved dearly—that
was dear to my heart, as they say—and find that people were actually in tears
from the emotions from the good old ballads and songs.”
Doc’s teenage son Merle (1949-1985) soon joined him on the road, and would
become his closest companion in music and travel. After some 20 years of
touring together, Merle was tragically killed in an accident on the family farm.
In commemoration of this deeply personal (as well as musical) loss, Doc began
hosting the annual Merlefest at Wilkes Community College in Wilkesboro, North
Carolina. The festival has grown to become one of the country’s premier
gatherings for traditional music—drawing world-famous musicians, while also
supporting local community and commerce.
Even with his Grammy awards, national medals, and honorary doctorate
degrees, Watson’s music and demeanor remained down-to-earth. His humble
approach to cultural outreach made him a conduit to a beloved musical
past, while enlivening the old traditions for new generations.
— Brian Jones

3. Etta Baker
When folks today think about the blues—and especially about the acoustic blues that
reigned in the African American South in the 1920s–1950s—they tend not to
think about women performers. The few women who did find their way into
the canon were the gloriously bedecked stars of tent-show and vaudeville
stages, singers like the legendary Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith. But aside from
these stage singers, the cast of players seemed to be almost entirely male. The
men, after all, were the artists who made it onto records; consequently, they’re
the ones about whom questions are asked and essays are written. The
women, in turn, vanished from the historical record . . . presumably because
they weren’t making music alongside their male counterparts.
Blues guitarists like Etta Baker challenge this scenario, highlighting the grand lie
that emerged when the artifacts of commercial choices made by cultural
outsiders (i.e., recordings of African American blues made by white producers)
were taken as evidence of historical truths. Ms. Baker—who was born in 1913
in the high foothills of North Carolina’s Caldwell County—performed
throughout the heyday of southern blues, often playing alongside her sister and
a host of female cousins. All of these women played masterfully nuanced music
in the ragtimey, finger-picked guitar style that defined blues in the Southeast.
But none of them—and none of their regional counterparts—ever made it onto
records, at least not until the music’s heyday had long passed.
The reason? In part, because the record producers—universally male—held to
the tried-and-true formula of recording only bluesmen. And in part, because
many of these women—when they became mothers and caregivers—stopped
“playing out,” choosing (or sometimes being ordered by her husbands) to play
at home rather than at house parties and juke joints. After her husband’s
passing, and after her retirement from factory-work in the mid-
1970s, however, Ms. Baker began to play publicly again, her artistry testifying to
the vibrancy of a women’s tradition too long hidden. The next few years
brought widespread public acclaim and a National Heritage Award, finally
forcing a long-overdue re-thinking of the historical record.
— Glenn Hinson