Hey there, I'm David Marcum, and welcome to Mountainthology, a new series covering a wide range of topics from throughout the mountain state.

Our goal is to shine a light on the lesser discussed wonders of the wild and wonderful.

In this series, we'll speak to artists, business owners, museum proprietors, and more.

Let's get started.

When you think about music traditionally made in Appalachia, you may think of folk, bluegrass, country.

But the music in our first story is harder to categorize, bringing fewer labels and more... cables.

Our producer, Devin Nuckles, introduces us to the world of electronic music in West Virginia.

I like electronic music, in that it can do the sorts of things that a person cannot do.

I can change the, the tune and the character or the instruments on the fly, which you can't do with a violin without getting like a carpenter, like get involved.

You can do things with rhythm and with pitch that are really difficult for like a live musician to do.

You can actually create sounds that you maybe you've never heard before, or structure things in ways that are a lot freer than in something that's very regimented, like rock music or folk music.

It's really fun just to get out there and try to make new sounds that nobody else is making.

That is one thing that I will say is that the way things have evolved in the modular synth world... it seems like, it's evolved toward abstraction.

As far as the sound goes.

People want abstract sounds.

They are not interested in what I would call conventional music.

The reason I started getting into analog synth modules and kind of pushing the direction of the company that way, is because for a lot of people, a lot of people know me best as the pipe organ guy.

I mean, I've been working on pipe organs now for 40 years, and honestly, the business just isn't there anymore.

I had to find something else to try to diversify.

And so knowing that I love electronics and music, why not put the two together and start building modules in this way?

There's lots of other technical things that could be done, but the combination of music and electronics just made perfect sense and it was a good fit for what I knew.

So coming over here, we have a couple of modules which we've more recently designed, these ones that here that we jokingly called a "Filternator" because they are both sort of a filter and a resonator.

And when you turn them up.

They give you a very... they can create a very thin sound in them.

Or they can take the high sounds out and leave you just with low sounds like this.

So I'm the other half of Kanawha Music.

After all the design work's done or most of the design work's done, Chris hands off the modules to me, and... I try to break them.

I have automated it, so I have solenoids that are that are triggered by Midi, and then I have a microphone in this box sending it to the rest of the Eurorack system.

It's also powering these motors.

So I can include, any kind of animatronics in my performance.

So this oscilloscope is displaying the waveform that this mess over here is creating this prototype module, which eventually will be made into a form like one of these over here.

But for now, this is a test to see the proof of concept.

And what's happening is that it's putting out a triangle wave, both in a regular version and an inverted version, so we can have.

Like that.

And we can speed it up.

Or slow it way down.

So the sound change is very gradual.

Or anywhere in between.

Chris is a classical music guy.

I grew up in the performance art world studying sculpture and printmaking.

So, my sensibilities in how I perform are completely different, and I love that.

Where did the modular synthesizer first come to public notice in a big way?

It was with Wendy Carlos with Switched on Bach, which was completely recorded on modular synthesizers and sold millions of copies.

So in some ways, I think, you know, what I'm doing here is going back to its roots.

The standard orchestra, classical, instruments, acoustic instruments aren't going away.

And we have, we have like centuries of music written for those.

And people like listening to that stuff.

I like listening to that stuff.

Electronic music is a relatively new invention.

Yeah.

I mean, it's, it's been around for about a century, but it's, it's still relatively new, and, we're still trying to figure out ways to meld them.

There have been some very interesting, interesting and wonderful, melding of both electronic and classical music.

Just, in the strings world, you have, very recently, in the past few years, concertos written for electric violin and orchestra.

I use a, seven string electric by it when it's called a Viper.

It's, made by Mark Wood.

And that runs through into this blue pedal here, and this is my synthesizer.

It's, I can produce a lot of different sounds with it.

So it's right now on a kind of a, distorted square wave, which.

Then from there, it goes to, into this pedal, and that's my delay pedal.

What it does is it produces, echoes of it.

So.

Appalachia has a long and storied musical history spanning many genres and generations.

Without music historians.

However, many details or stories of the sonic pioneers would be lost with time.

Producer Landon Mitchell ventured south to Johnson City, Tennessee, to meet with Doctor Ted Olson and discuss the preservation of Appalachia's musical past.

To be an effective music historian, you have to ask a lot of questions.

You have to have a not only a love for music, but a curiosity about where it came from.

Where did it come from?

Who made it?

Who?

Who created it?

What about the artist?

Do you know the person who becomes known as performing something?

What is their story?

Where did they learn to make music and what inspired them?

And then larger cultural questions behind that, you know, what is it about Appalachia, for example, that produces a whole genre of traditional ballads?

I know, you know, I've always loved music, but I've always been that kind of music listener who asks questions about the music.

When I was about four years old, dating myself here, but when I was about four years old, a box set was issued.

One of the early box sets of folk music.

My mother purchased it.

It's called the Folk Box.

It changed my life.

It was a box set that influenced an entire generation of artists.

It was out of print for years.

I hope to bring it back in print as one of my projects.

That record was on the shelf as a kid, and I listened to it constantly.

I was introduced to artists like Doc Watson and Judy Collins and Phil Oakes and others by means of that box set.

When I was just a toddler, basically.

The liner notes for that box set were written by a gentleman named Robert Shelton.

And so basically I was reading the words of Robert Shelton, this great writer, as a as a kid trying to figure out what he meant when he critiqued and analyzed the music on that record.

That got me to ask a lot of questions.

It was the other music I was listening to beyond that album.

Most of those records came with inserts containing liner notes.

I read those liner notes when I was old enough to read and understand them.

I asked similar questions as the writers of those liner notes asked.

I ask new questions which weren't dealt with in those liner notes, and it led me to a lifelong kind of habit I suppose you could say, of engaging with the stories behind the music I was listening to.

And once I started to hear musicians out in the field say, across Appalachia, I just carried forward with me that same propensity to engage with the music by asking questions and talking with the artists to learn from them, their feelings about the music, their stories about the music.

It's a lifelong process of of understanding, knowing and sharing.

So yeah, it's a it's a ongoing process of engagement with music history.

And some of that history is quite recent, but all of it is about making the music accessible to the public.

Once I find the music, then I convert them into projects, and in more recent years it has definitely involved the creation of a lot of documentary albums.

And those documentary albums bring the musical performances themselves to the public alongside interpretation of that music, wherein I work as both an editor and a writer.

In the role of editor, I bring existing texts together and convey them into books or liner notes that are included with the recordings, and then in other cases, I'll write original pieces so much as I bring the stories into the classroom by means of the box sets, I bring those stories into people's homes and into their lives, and then they participate in the celebration of that music in the form of of listening and learning from the box sets.

Here we are in Johnson City, Tennessee, at the site of the Johnson City Sessions.

There's a sign over here put up by the city of Johnson City to commemorate the Johnson City Sessions.

So what are the Johnson City Sessions?

They were early recording sessions held in Appalachia in 1928 and 1929 by this gentleman, Frank Walker, who was a pioneer of recorded sound.

Those records, made in 1929, in the Johnson City Sessions, are considered some of the finest recordings of all time music.

We're at the site of the 1929 Johnson City Sessions.

In 2013.

I was part of a group to celebrate the Johnson City sessions through the release of the box set.

We were trying to find out where the 29 sessions were held, but it had never been documented by the record company.

We were able to determine that it was in this building.

Loaves and fishes the congregation in 2013, when we told them that their building held historical relations to early country music, they were surprised.

And here's the State of Tennessee historical marker commemorating Rich R Tone Records, which was the first independent record label to record bluegrass music.

The person who was responsible for Rich R Tone Records was James Hobart Stanton, and had a very interesting way to market records.

He drove them around from county fair to local yard, where people were hanging out, and he was marketing these albums from the back of his car.

He would open the trunk and people would walk up to the back and choose a record and buy it from him.

A few years ago, I was asked to edit the music section of the Encyclopedia of Appalachia, which is a book on many on the shelves of many libraries today, and the Encyclopedia of Appalachian Music section gave me the opportunity to truly explore Appalachian music as a, from a multiplicity of perspectives.

And so we have stories in there about classical musicians from Appalachia, jazz musicians from Appalachia, blues musicians from Appalachia, you name the genre.

There's a connection to Appalachia.

Appalachia has a diversity of musical traditions, and I think they're all worthy of study.

And I really done my best to, keep my mind open and and explore different sounds and create different projects.

It's an ongoing process, fighting against stereotypes sometimes.

But ultimately the proof is in the culture.

And the cultural stories are so magnificent that they tell themselves, all we need to do is get out of the way of the stories and make them available to other people.

Today, hip-hop is one of the most popular genres in the world.

Producer Landon Mitchell talked with three of the leading hip-hop artists from West Virginia about their origins, influences, and what it means to be a part of a scene that many don't realize exists.

You know, I can't speak for all the Appalachians, but I think I can't speak for black Appalachians.

But it's always felt like that because like, these kids got nothing of their own.

They got nothing of theirs.

Let's get them something that's theirs.

So there's no options.

Like we got no option to lose, bro.

This... This, it's either ride or die.

Eric "Monstalung" Jordan.

I've been making music since the 90s.

When it comes to production, I'm considered almost, you know, you know, the OG.

My name is Shelem.

Celebrate the good times, right?

Focus on what you like about any given situation.

That is what I've tried to do in my life.

My name is Gardenn.

I think everybody has their lane and has their genre, and with my genre I think is more energetic, more light, more happy, more flow, and more free.

My first demo was actually 1989.

Back then I was just, you know, such a fan of the culture that I just wanted to share the music.

I, I started doing, parties at the University of Salisbury and my campus.

I wasn't a DJ at the time.

I was just playing stuff off my cassette tape.

I had a decent little house system, but it was this young kid who started coming to these campuses like, you know, "I'm, I'm, I'm a real DJ.

I got turntables," blah, blah, blah.

So he started doing, my parties.

I went over to his house one day for the first time.

So it's like walking into a mad scientist laboratory of of equipment.

I'm already a B-Boy.

I that's how I first enter the culture as a as a breakdancer.

And that was the early 80s.

But I started tinkering with the music towards the 90s and with, with his help, he helped me, write my first song, The Beat is Sweet.

And, yeah, you know, just a little corny title, but it was a hot beat.

My first recorded and released music as Shelem was 2010, what's that, 14 years?

Okay.

God it was.

It was 14 years.

Gettin old, son.

We are getting old.

We're getting there.

Technically.

I started producing before I started recording because I couldn't get a mic.

I don't know that there was a real defining moment for when I decided I wanted to do music, because I played the clarinet starting from starting from sixth grade, and I probably was getting into hip hop right around that time.

And then like, by the time I was in eighth grade, that's when I was like full fledged into it as like a genre of music.

Like that was what I was consuming.

So it just kind of made sense, like, I'm gonna do this, this is this is it.

That would be, I guess, when I decided for sure, like, I'm going to be a rapper because it's cool.

I decided music was, for me, probably around 2019, is when I really started taking it serious, really started to see the more realistic side of it was was possible for me.

The more business side of it, I was able to do those skills as well as being creative.

So I decided to go ahead and take that step to making it for real, making it serious and chasing my dreams.

And 1993 is a big year for me, because that's when I actually get the equipment and I start making those beats and I can hear what I can do.

And we talking about the that year, the things that came out that year, you know, Wu-Tang, 36 Chambers, Black Moon enta da stage, Cypress Hill, Black Sunday.

These are the albums that I'm making my beats and comparing my beats to.

I quit my job.

I went on the whole full time broke musician bit for the whole rest of the 90s.

After that, I went out there.

I lived in Atlanta.

I lived in Chicago, I lived in New York.

There's just a bunch of us out there trying to figure this thing out, you know, work on your craft, but at the same time become an entrepreneur with it.

If you don't serve your wants as much as you serve your needs, there's kind of like there's kind of like a whole- there's a disconnect.

In the past, I was more so guided by the style and the excitement and just the energy of a song, more so than what was being said.

Being a hip-hop guy, like, I've always put great emphasis on like, wordplay and just saying something witty and smart and and hopefully funny.

In my more recent work, probably in the last three years or so, it's been more focused on what exactly is going on in my life.

And like what I think about the things I see, and also trying to trying to create different scenarios and kind of paint a picture that that makes some kind of point.

I like to bring my ideas to life.

So I do the writing of my music, I do my beat selection, and I like to sit in the room while it's being put together.

The creativeness, the creative process, the fans, the ideas, the giving and recieving of energy.

That makes Gardenn.

But I started getting these demos from my brother who was in high school, at Morgantown High, and I'm living in Connecticut and I'm like, yo, this is better than anybody I am working with.

So I make a decision to move back to West Virginia then.

I go- We get here in 99.

There's nothing, there's no kind of resources here for anything.

We had to create everything.

We had to do shows and on Grand Avenue and, and and raves and biker bars and VFW.

I had to, to consciously go to neighborhoods and talk to to to artists and drug dealers and be like, look, I'm trying to create a scene here.

I mean, we sat down like country leaders and like, look, man, West Virginia is too small for us to try to like one compete against each other.

But second, it's too small demographically for us to make any kind of or career here.

So we got to treat these cities like neighborhoods.

You come play here, show with us, then we'll come play a show with you.

Yeah, get on a track with us and we'll get on track with you slowly.

We got this thing bubbling.

You know what I'm saying?

By mid early 2000s.

Now, you know I can do a decent showing and feel one, two, three up.

Now you know we can go to our small these dogs house in Huntington and I do a hip-hop event.

But we had to create that soil.

We had to create that scene.

I think when folks see someone like me doing a Tudors commercial and headlining at Live on the Levee, people see that and they're like, oh, West Virginia hip-hop is a thing.

It's very broad and pretty vibrant as far as, like the individual artists cover a pretty wide spectrum, which I think is pretty cool.

Everyone has a different identity, and so you never know who you're going to run into here and what kind of music, but what type of creative mind they have.

So definitely the hidden gem type of scene.

I've met people who I feel like, wow.

Like, I feel like I've known you my whole life.

And then music has been the main connect of why we got together.

And so once you do tap into that scene and you find the hidden gems, you'll find the community you're looking for in the network.

You're looking for.

When I say it's therapeutic, it's therapeutic.

I love what I do, and I think that translates into health and, and mental stability for me.

And, right there, that's enough for me.

As a creator and as one of many creators, I want the right person to find their right artist.

And whatever it takes to do that, as long as people are getting entertained and the entertainers are being appreciated and celebrated and duly compensated, that's all you can ask for.

Be yourself, love yourself, protect yourself, and surround yourself with people who want the same and who are genuine.

Because you need a strong team to survive and to be very successful.

There are unique stories that are in Appalachia that need to be told.

Untold, unique stories in Appalachia that aren't represented, that need to be represented.

We've seen so much talent not get the recognition that they need to.

Sometimes we don't feel like we should do it or it's worth doing, but I just see so many kids who don't want to do it because they don't.

They worry about what somebody is going to think or they don't think they're they're qualified enough to do.

And who were from West Virginia has done it before.

"Oh, nobody in West Virginia make it out doing no damn hip-hop."

Do it.

Do it.

Thanks for joining me to explore some of West Virginia's more obscure stories.

And thank you to the West Virginia Music Hall of Fame Museum for hosting us.

Stay tuned to West Virginia Public Broadcasting for next month's episode of Mountainthology.

Until then, extended versions of the stories you saw today are available on Passport and later on our YouTube channel.

I'm David Marcum and I'll see you next time.