In November 1996, James Kane sent Maine Historical Society a document about violin makers in Maine, which included the names of the violin makers, where they lived, and their birth and death dates. In his cover letter, Kane described a wealth of research papers on this topic and asked: “Would your organization be willing to eventually accept this material and house it there?”
Twenty years later, in May 2016, Kane sent us 18 notebooks of research papers about amateur and professional violin makers from Maine, including research notes, photographs, and newspaper clippings. Kane died shortly thereafter, in September of that year.
Who was James Kane, and what was his interest in violins?
James R. Kane (1948-2016) was from Portland, Maine, and graduated from Deering High School. He taught bands and orchestras in California for 36 years. His family summered in Maine since the 1960s at their camp on Sebago Lake, which had been in his family since the 1940s.
In 1978 Kane acquired a few locally made violins at an auction, and after trying to learn more about them he found there was very little to be learned from existing data in various books and historical institutions. His interest piqued, Kane researched and collected information on about 200 individuals in Maine who crafted violins, violas, fiddles, cellos, and basses from before the Civil War to the early 2000s.
He researched violin maker names online, in research libraries, historical societies, newspapers, and through writing letters to individual family members and friends. Whenever possible Kane traveled to examine individual instruments for authenticity and craftsmanship. Data collected by Kane verified that 200 Maine craftsmen constructed stringed instruments during the time span from before the Civil War to the early 2000s, for an estimated total of 2,500 to 3,000 instruments.
We are delighted to announce that this collection is now available for research (Coll. 2978)! Photographs of many of the instruments Kane researched can be found in the collection.
This rich collection provides a glimpse into one man’s passion, as well as providing detailed information on Maine’s legacy of violin makers over the past few centuries.
Below are several items from this collection featuring Henry Harris, considered one of Maine’s most famous violin makers and one of the instrument makers Kane researched.
Henry Harris (1832-1913) of Mercer, Maine, was a cobbler and farmer. Born in Winthrop, Maine to Caleb and Dorcas Harris, he made his first violin when he was 14 years old. Henry Harris was married three times: Abbie Maria Hatch, Ruth Works, and Rose Pickens (1840-1930).
“The project, initiated in 1923 by then Superintendent of the Bible Society, Edmund T Garland, involved distributing pages from an old Bible along with large (21’x28′) blank sheets.
Individuals from across the State each copied a page using pen and ink. The desire was for a broad cross-section of citizens to participate.
The oldest was Aunt Mary, a 91-year-old Quaker from Brunswick; the youngest was a 6-year-old who wrote, ‘Jesus wept.’ One page was written by a millionaire, one by a pauper. One copyist was a college president; another was a man whose whole school life consisted of only a few weeks. Another was written by then Gov. Percival Baxter [Editor’s note: Governor Baxter’s page is the last page (Revelations)], and yet another by a prisoner serving a life term. A Jewish Rabbi and a Greek Catholic Priest did their pages with equal grace, and the Book of Ruth was copied by girls named Ruth. Many of the copyists were students at secondary schools or colleges, including a student from Cuba. Each signed their name at the bottom of the page.
There are also beautifully ink-drawn, full-page illustrations. Includes a hand-drawn title page by H. W. Shaylor that states ‘Hand-written copy of The Holy Bible containing the Old and New Testaments copied by 1607 Different People representing all classes, ages, and creeds with Seventeen full-page Illustrations and Maps made by seventeen other people.”
The Big Bible, also known as the Large Handwritten Bible, is one of the largest Bibles in the world and weighs about 88 pounds.
Although the names of the 1,607 transcribers were already indexed (and available in a small pamphlet), we asked our volunteer Charles A. Lane, Esq. (Charlie to us) to further index the transcribers so that we can learn more about them, such as where they lived and what school or organization they were associated with.
After Charlie finished this project we asked him to write about The Big Bible. He said:
“The Big Bible is an imposing document, measuring 23 x 29 x 4 ½ inches and weighing 88 ½ pounds. It was compiled under the auspices of the Bible Society of Maine from May 1923 to July 1924. 1607 persons volunteered as scribes, copying the text of the Old and New Testaments on paper which was carefully sized and ruled so that each page would contain 55 lines of text.
The participants come from many different backgrounds: one had served as a missionary in Japan from 1882-1919; one was the dean of Bowdoin College; one was a young student from Auburn who later would serve as an associate justice of the Maine Supreme Court; the youngest scribe (who noted that her birthdate was December 25, 1916) was seven; and Percival P. Baxter proudly inscribed the final page as Governor of Maine.
Some participants were critical of their peers: “This page was well written by Hazel Dwelley. . . and then spoiled by [a] careless writer. …”
The Bible contains drawings illustrating familiar Biblical stories and ends with several maps drawn by students at the Emerson School in Portland.
I came away from the project wondering how more than 1600 participants could write so legibly in cursive.“
Below is a slideshow of photos of The Big Bible.
You are welcome to come and visit The Big Bible and use it for research. To do so, you can look it up on our Minerva library catalog (Coll. 2951), and call our library to make an appointment to see this special treasure.
For additional reading on The Big Bible, here is a Memories of Maine article about the Bible published in the spring of 2011 by writer Bonnie Smith.
Recently, I have been processing a collection regarding one Maine family’s travels aboard a Downeaster ship in the late 19th century. The family was the Athertons and the ship the C.F. Sargent.
To provide some background, David Hooper Atherton was captain of the Yarmouth-built ship, C.F. Sargent (circa 1883-1886). He married Cecelia (Celia) McDermott in 1856 and had four children: George, Frank, Carrie, and Cecelia. Celia, the matriarch, passed away in May 1881 while her husband David and son Frank were at sea. For a short time, oldest brother George and his wife Daisy cared for the two youngest girls, Carrie and two-year-old Cecelia, until they were able to join their father and brother in Liverpool.
This collection largely deals with Carrie and Cecelia’s voyages aboard the C.F. Sargent between 1883-86. Maine Historical Society was also gifted the narrative East with the Wind, written in the late 20th century by Cecelia’s daughter Hazel Hammond. The narrative is based on a 1932 typescript by Carrie Atherton. The typescripts, along with some corresponding photographs, have made this collection a joy to process! I was tickled to read these similar, yet differing in a way that only a large age gap can bring, accounts of Carrie and Cecelia’s time at a Governor’s Ball thrown by the American consul in Hong Kong.
According to Cecelia:
“In [Hong] Kong on the 22nd of February the American consul always gave a ball to which the captains and their families were invited. One voyage we were there. As my father had to chaperone my sister to any social event I went to because there was no one with whom I could be left. That was when Colonel John F. Mosby was consul, and he invited sister to be his partner to lead the grand march. There were many young men there than young women so when the young men were without a partner for dancing they devoted themselves to me, and taught me to dance. I must have been about five years old. I had a wonderful time and danced until five o’clock in the morning. The last dance was the Virginia Reel, which I danced with my father. I was so small that when we formed the arch at the end the other couples had to almost crawl on their hands and knees to pass under, even though my father held my hands as high as he could. Sister had not told anyone until everyone was ready to go home that it was her birthday, when she told Colonel Mosby. He clapped his hands to call everyone’s attention and told everyone. That was how I learned to dance.”
Carrie notes more specifically:
“Papa had made several trips to Hong Kong and this was our (Celia and I) second trip so we had several friends looking for us… I think it was this trip an Italian Opera Co. were playing. Papa got tickets for the season. It was my first opera hearing. Celia always went and kept her little eyes wide open all the time. We were as a rule on shore to dinner, entertained by friends. This would mean dinner at 7 o’clock till 9 o’clock. Portuguese musicians were ready to play and we would dance till midnight or past. Celia would enjoy this as well as I, as the young men seemed happy to teach her little steps and dance with her. She was always full of life, happy and wide awake, until we would get on board Ship. There she would insist she was not sleepy and wouldn’t go to bed, then there was a cry when she had to. She was so tired she would be asleep almost before I got her into bed. This was the trip too that I went to the Governor’s Ball with Colonel Mosby… [he] was ‘Mosby the Gorilla’ of the Civil War.
Bust of Colonel Mosby
He was a Southern Gentleman. Very quiet but known as a man of honesty and integrity. He held the respect of our governments’ representatives for himself and his government as but few consuls commanded. Papa said he was the most sober, not intoxicated, and honest consul he had ever dealt with.”
Here are a few of my favorite photographs from the sisters’ time in Hong Kong. Though the photographer(s) are unknown, these were all found in Carrie Atherton’s photo album.
City of Victoria and Hong Kong Harbor from Carrie G Atherton’s album (photographer unknown)
A wonderful new collection is available for researchers: The Walter Alphonsus, Jr. and Laura Mae Manchester O’Brien collection (Coll. 2962). Given to us by Julia O’Brien-Merrill, the daughter of Walter and Laura O’Brien, this collection contains the manuscript papers, business records, printed materials, FBI record, books, correspondence, photographs, genealogical research, newspaper articles, sound recordings, and several objects that tell the story of Walter and Laura O’Brien.
Walter Alphonsus O’Brien, Jr. was born in 1914, the fourth child of Walter A. O’Brien from Portland and Susan Ann Crosby (born in Cambridgeport, Massachusetts and raised in Portland, Maine), who were both third generation Irish Americans. Walter had one brother, Francis Massey O’Brien (b. 1908) and three sisters, Mary Louise O’Brien O’Connor (b. 1910), Anna Kathleen O’Brien Gardenier (b. 1912), and Dorothy Elizabeth O’Brien Picard (b. 1921). Walter was raised in Portland Maine, graduated from Portland High School, and Gorham Normal School (later Gorham State Teachers College and today University of Southern Maine) at the age of 20.
Instead of taking a teaching job, Walter went to sea in the mid-1930s performing various radio and communications jobs. It was while at sea that O’Brien discovered a taste and talent for politics and became a union organizer.
In 1939, he married Laura Mae Manchester, who was born in Bridgton, Maine in 1920 but raised in Portland, Maine. Laura’s parents were Donald Baxter Manchester and Ethel Lillian Pendexter, both of longtime Maine families. Laura had two siblings, Melvin Lyle (b. 1921) and Juanita Ann Manchester (b. 1926); all graduating from Deering High School.
Walter joined the Merchant Marines and served during World War II. After the war, the O’Briens moved to Boston and Walter took a position as port agent with the American Communications Association, a union affiliated with the Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO). Walter and Laura plunged into politics in Boston and joined the Massachusetts Chapter of the Progressive Party (founded in Boston April 1948). The Progressive Party’s candidate for the 1948 presidential election was Henry A. Wallace of Iowa. He was an inventor and publisher who had served as FDR’s Secretary of Agriculture and Secretary of Commerce.
Walter A. O’Brien was drafted as a 1948 Congressional candidate from both the Progressive Party and the Democratic Party in Massachusetts. O’Brien ran against Christian Herter, a Republican incumbent and future governor of Massachusetts. The O’Briens worked tirelessly to elect Wallace however he received less than 2% of the Massachusetts vote and only 2.4% of the national vote.
O’Brien fared better than Wallace, capitalizing on his Irish surname and the fact that he also ran on the combined Democratic and Progressive Parties ticket; however, he lost to Herter by a 2 to 1 margin. In 1949, Walter O’Brien ran for mayor of Boston on the platform that the Boston Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) not raise their rates to bail out stockholders of the privately-owned transit company. Campaign slogans and songs were popular then, and O’Brien partnered with The Boston Peoples Artists, also like-minded Progressives, and the M.T.A. song was written after the current mayor increased the MTA fares by 50%. Public outrage followed and the M.T.A. song was a big hit and campaign boost to O’Brien. O’Brien lost the Boston Mayoral race to John B. Hynes, finishing last with barely 1% of the vote. Laura O’Brien, also active in the Progressive Party, ran for Boston City Council in 1951. Both remained Progressive Party members who were passionate about their political candidates.
Despite the demise of the Progressive Party in Massachusetts and nationally in the early 1950s, the O’Brien’s continued to pursue their liberal ideology. The 1950s fostered in an era of the “Red Scare” and nationally the House Committee on Un-American Activities, led by Joseph McCarthy from Wisconsin, was “going strong,” blacklisting Hollywood actors, screenwriters and directors and working to execute the Rosenbergs. Massachusetts had its own Commission of Communism and this committee held more than 50 public hearings and private executive sessions calling scores of witnesses to testify.
Both Walter and Laura O’Brien, along with their good friend Florence Hope Luscomb, all three members of the Progressive Party, were questioned by this Commission and refused to answer sensitive questions. As a result, 85 people in Massachusetts were named “Communists or followers of the Communist Party Line” in an official published report. The O’Briens, with many others, rejected this report and vowed to “continue to fight for the rights of labor and civil liberties” guaranteed in the United States Constitution. McCarthyism in the 1950s resulted in the O’Briens being followed by the FBI and essentially blacklisted by the Commission.
Unable to get jobs, Walter and Laura O’Brien and their two children, Julia Massey O’Brien and Kathleen Manchester O’Brien, moved to Gray, Maine in 1956, together with Laura’s sister Juanita and her husband Chuck Wojchowski and their two young children Rachel and Don. In 1960, they all settled in Portland, Maine and lived there for ten years. Walter sold cars and then became a librarian while Laura, at the age of 37, started college and completed a teaching degree at Gorham State College. She went on to obtain a graduate degree in the mid-1960s and became a Reading Specialist in the Gray public schools. Walter and Laura had a third daughter, Amy Pendexter O’Brien, born in 1964.
In the late 1950s the Kingston Trio discovered the M.T.A. song that Walter’s campaign had used, changed some wording, and released their own version on their second album in June 1959. The Kingston Trio dropped the name Walter A. O’Brien and replaced it with George O’Brien. The song became a hit and for a time Walter and Laura were thrown into the spotlight. Walter enjoyed this attention; Laura, not so much.
In the 1960s, Walter pursued his Master’s Degree and became prominent on the State of Maine Library Commission for a number of years. He served as librarian for Lewiston Public Library, University of Southern Maine Library, and Westbrook High School Library. In retirement, from 1980 to 1990, Walter and Laura owned a small bookstore in Cundys Harbor, Maine, called “The Book Peddlers.” The business, also called “Parnassus on Wheels,” was open “only in the summer, by chance.” Walter specialized in Maine books and Laura in children’s books.
Walter A. O’Brien died in Maine in 1998 at the age of 83. Laura died two years later at the age of 79. Both died in Cundys Harbor, Maine.
The Walter A. Jr. and Laura M. O’Brien Collection contains limited information about Walter’s brother, Francis M. O’Brien, who in his own right was known for his love of books and his Antiquarian Bookstores in the Portland area. The collection also contains information about Florence Hope Luscomb, a close friend of Walter and Laura O’Brien. Florence was a fellow member of the Progressive Party; was one of the first women graduates of MIT in 1909 and a lifelong activist for women’s rights, civil rights, labor rights and civil liberties. In 1998, with the help of Walter and Laura O’Brien, Florence Luscomb was honored by the Massachusetts Commission on the Status of Women. A bust of Florence Luscomb, along with other prominent women in Massachusetts history, now hangs in the State House honoring their many and varied contributions.
In 2017, Julia M. O’Brien-Merrill, Walter and Laura’s middle daughter, honored her father’s legacy by writing and publishing a children’s book entitled Charlie on the M.T.A. Did He Ever Return? The book, published by Applewood Books, Commonwealth Editions, in Carlisle, Massachusetts, includes actual historical facts and a timeline in addition to the lyrics of the original campaign song. It is illustrated by Caitlin Marquis. The book is included in the collection.
We are thrilled to have this collection here at Maine Historical Society, and especially delighted that Julia O’Brien will be sharing her children’s book with us on November 11th!
The early morning sunlight freshened over Back Cove onto Baxter Boulevard as I walked along it in mid-May, 2013. Back Cove is the large salt-water inlet in the middle of Portland, Maine, sometimes called Back Bay, rimmed by a three and a half-mile recreational trail.The Boulevard hugs the trail for one and one-half miles on its western side and until May 2007 was part of U.S. Route 1.
In good weather my husband and I walk daily.We fall out of our third floor apartment to the Boulevard before breakfast and hoof the trail to and fro.Sometimes we walk together, sometimes separately. For a series of May mornings in 2013, I walked alone.It was the sixth month of the Boulevard’s closure to vehicular traffic because of a large federally mandated wastewater project.
Cyclists, runners, and we walkers had been enjoying the road closure to no end.In fact, it led to an ad hoc petition to the city, to close this part of the Boulevard every Sunday afternoon from May to October after the construction was finished so the public from all around could use it as we had.The City Council approved the move, and now we have our own little “Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte,” like the painting by George Seurat.
The morning I snapped to and did what I had been thinking of for many days was like all the others, basking in the beauty of the path of old linden trees, the view of the city on its hill, and the special peacefulness as I swung my arms and headed home.I had taken to walking in the middle of the Boulevard without traffic, except occasional trucks with sand or stones and machinery on tractor-trailers.Gradually I paid more attention to the tree shadows on the embankments. Without the hillsides topped by Boulevard houses there would be no “standing” shadows. Wouldn’t they make good pictures? I thought those mornings.But who would care?
“I care, “ must have been the answer to my interior dialogue that morning, because I pulled out my cell phone and took the first of 50 or so photographs, half that day, moving south; half the next day, moving north.My impulse to start photographing almost exactly half way in the half mile of ideal embankments, backdrops for the shadows, was a surge of living in the moment.If not now, when?If not me, who? I stood in the Boulevard roadway (something no one could have done for any length of time before the closure) with the rising sun behind me and only the shadows in my camera lens. The trees were just beginning to leaf out so their trunks and limbs were perfectly etched against the Irish green hillsides.
Lindens are not the only variety that flank the Boulevard roadway like silent sentries.Some are maple or birch.I photographed only the trees on the hilly westerly side of the Boulevard between Dartmouth Street and almost to Chevrus High School.The criteria were that the shadows had to “stand up,” which required a hillside behind them.None of this was calculated on my part.I was just documenting images –- a place in time — when one could linger and look because there was no traffic.I thought in the future an arborist or Olmsted devotee might take my little album with them as they checked on the historic trees’ development.After all,it had been nearly 100 years since many, if not most, had been planted.
“How do Portland’s tree gardens grow?” one might ask in 20 years.
The European linden trees were first planted on nearby Forest Avenue, Memorial Day, 1920, and then transplanted along with others the next Memorial Day to honor Portland’s veterans who died in World War I.Each tree is dedicated to an individual.
There is a little quarter-sized metal tag with a number corresponding to the veteran’s name struck into each linden tree at varying heights, on the oldest trees now slightly above where if one were installing them they would be hammered in at eye level.
The history of these trees is fraught with meaning and memory, not only for the veterans’ families butfor everyone.They stand as tributes to men who fought in good faith in the First World War, the one to end all wars. Peace, or peace education, is frequently on my mind, and the linden trees are friends to the cause.
James Phinney Baxter, several times Mayor of Portland in the late 1800s and early 1900s, had the vision of linked parks for the city, including the creation of the Back Cove Park we have now.The Cove was grossly polluted and stinky from toxic, industrial run-off. Portland had the same sanitation and health issues as Boston, with its swamped Back Bay Fens and rivers oozing into the Charles River tidal basin.Baxter visited Boston and the renowned landscape designer Frederick Law Olmsted who created green spaces for urban dwellers in many places and a long-term solution for Boston.Olmsted put his son, John Charles Olmsted, and Charles Eliot onto the task of studying what would work in Portland, both to solve the functional problems and eventually to attract a stronger tax base of residences and businesses.It would be twenty years for Baxter’s vision to take root because of politics: when elected he led on the idea; when not in office the plan was shelved.
“All’s well that ends well,” however. Many people with expertise and hard work created the Boulevard, shored up the Cove, planted the memorial trees, made a recreational path, and, finally, a posthumous naming of Back Cove Boulevard in the memory of the man who saw its possibilities: Baxter Boulevard, indeed.
In 2009, the City of Portland estimated that 250,000 people used the Boulevard’s recreational trail.That number does not begin to reflect how many vehicles drive along the road.One does not have to be a commuter to enjoy the Boulevard.There is a host of cars carrying plain, old-fashioned people who appreciate beauty and a magnificent view.
At night, before the 2008 economic downturn and therefore the reduction of streetlights, the Boulevard wore a necklace of diamond lights that held a great cluster of sparkling gems atop the city’s skyline.The necklace rested on the midnight-blue gown of Cove and sky, nothing quite like it in other cities because this necklace has a clasp.We used to take our grandchildren out as the sun set to get ice cream cones and then parked our car to face and view Portland’s “necklace.”
My maternal grandmother, a Vermonter born in 1874, came to Maine the last few summers of her life when she was widowed.She and my aunt, Gramma’s oldest child of her eight children, divided their year between Southeastern Vermont in the winter and Bowdoinham, Maine in the summer, both areas where my aunt was employed.What Gramma liked best in Maine was Baxter Boulevard.On a summer’s day-off in the late 1940s and early 1950smy aunt would drive her to see the Boulevard.I imagine they stopped at the brick bridge with built-in seats and outgoing water rushing beneath them.Since Gramma had lived through two World Wars, the deaths of three of her children, and my mother’s debilitating illness, I also imagine she appreciated the meaning of the growing, thriving linden trees.
The linden trees offer beauty with their white flowers, scented essence and busy bees in early summer. Why were lindens chosen? At least two theories have surfaced over the years: linden trees grew all over France and the French people paid dearly with their lives in WWI; and, the Baxter Boulevard designers wished to copy the Unter den Linden in Berlin, a famous city park of the time.
After the linden trees were first planted, veterans looked after replacing them when needed.Now, the trees suffer from automobiles crashing into them, diseases, and for the young ones a mowing too close to the bark and roots like shaving a man’s face by the lips or ears.It appears that more trees on the eastern side of the Boulevard, next to the trail, are either damaged, need care or replacement, or are replaced.I might think that, because I walk on the trail and not the road.That is why I took the photographs May 13 and 14, 2013: The road was there for the standing, the early morning sunshine was a gigantic search-light, and the city engineers and designershad chosen to build an embankment, or used an already existing hillside, as a fertile green backdrop for the memorial shadows a century later as we remember the Veterans of WWI.
[H.H. Price has donated the full album of photographs to the collections of Maine Historical Society.]
Another family’s story has emerged from the unprocessed collections: the Gould family. The collection consists primarily of three generations: Theodore Gould (1873-1966), his son Charles Edwin Gould Sr. (1909-1990), and Charles’s son Charles Gould Jr. (1944-).
Theodore Gould was born in Portland, Maine to Amelia (Twitchell) and John Mead Gould. He married Susan Francis Hill (“Daisy”) in North Berwick in 1908. Theodore and Susan had two children, Charles Edwin Gould Sr. and Althea Chase Gould. Of note in this collection are letters written by Susan to Theodore before and during their marriage. These letters offer detailed and interesting insight into the evolution of their relationship.
Charles Edwin Gould Sr., son of Theodore and Susan, attended Bowdoin College but transferred to Lowell Textile Institute to learn the mill business. However, his family’s mill, the North Berwick Company, was later sold and Charles went into banking at the First National Bank of Biddeford. He married Elizabeth Prince (1915-1987) in 1941 and they had two children, Charles Edwin Gould Jr. and Susan Kennison Gould, later Hennessey. Charles’s letters to Elizabeth during his service in World War II are preserved in this collection, as well as correspondence with his children.
Charles Edwin Gould Jr. grew up in Kennebunkport. He is a collector, dealer and authority of the author P.G. Wodehouse. He attended Phillips Exeter and Hebron Academy and graduated from Bowdoin College in 1967. He married Carolyn (Skidmore) Mayhew (1944-1986) in 1968. He went on to a career teaching English at Hebron Academy and Kent School. In addition to correspondence with his parents, there are also thirty years’ worth of Charles’ elaborate rhyming Christmas cards in this collection.
The heart of this collection is correspondence. However, this collection also includes diaries, photographs, notes and drawings from Lowell Textile Institute, documents regarding North Berwick Company, newspaper clippings and legal documents among others.
Join us Tuesday, June 13 for an evening of live music from the Lomax Folk Project, a five-piece band performing songs collected and archived by John and Alan Lomax for the American Archive of Folk Music. This evening’s performance will highlight music gathered in Maine.
John and Alan Lomax pioneered recording folklore by traveling across the United States. The father-son duo interviewed, recorded and learned from artists such as Leadbelly, Jean Ritchie and Muddy Waters. Together, they helped shape American music by influencing such artists as Jeff Buckley, Mumford and Sons, and Ed Sherran; all of whom have recorded folk classics from the Lomax collection. Hannah Grantham and Amanda Ekery created the Lomax Folk Project to commemorate the 150th anniversary of John Lomax in 2017 and celebrate American Folk Music with audiences. The Project’s mission is to inform audiences of the vibrant music history in their own backyards.
The Lomax Folk Project explores the vast repertoire recorded by the Lomaxes for the American Archive of Folk Music, located at the Library of Congress. This five-piece band—Amanda Ekery, voice, piano, arranger; Hannah Grantham, voice, musicologist; Daniel Raney, bass; Sam Talmadge, guitar; and Julian Loida, percussion—recreates these classics and invites audiences to learn about the artists, history and stories behind the music, and even join in! Ekery has arranged each of the songs, some being performed in an authentic way and some being reimagined with new harmony and melodic figures. Grantham, a musicologist, has researched the history of each song and spent years compiling stories about the artists, instrumentation, and time periods.
“What’s cool about the Lomax Folk Project is we not only share the musical aspect of American Folk but also share the stories about the songs and how this music is relevant now,” says Ekery. “We get the audience involved teaching them parts to sing along and clap with throughout the show, so they are involved in making music as well.”