Before he was a U.S. Senator, Vice President, or bestselling author, J.D. Vance was just a kid in a holler in Middletown, Ohio - raised by his grandmother, shaped by chaos, yet grounded by a stubborn Appalachian pride. In Hillbilly Elegy, Vance wrote not just of poverty or politics, but of a cultural inheritance: the fierce loyalty, front porch wisdom, and the sounds that echoed through the hills and into his soul.
For many like him, Appalachian music wasn’t just background noise - it was the heartbeat of a people who had little, lost much, but clung fiercely to their identity. Carried across oceans from Ireland and Scotland, shaped by African, English, and frontier influences, this music tells a story that stretches from ancient highlands to the misty mountains of Kentucky, Tennessee, and beyond.
It is a story of survival. Of belonging. Of a people bruised but unbroken - still finding harmony amid hardship.
The Appalachian region, stretching from New York to northern Alabama and Georgia, is renowned for its musical traditions, often associated with bluegrass, folk, and old-time music. This sound owes much to Irish and Scottish immigrants who arrived in the 18th and 19th centuries. Their musical legacy, combined with African American rhythms, English ballads, and German harmonies, gave rise to what we now recognise as Appalachian music.
But more than geography or instrumentation, it’s about a way of life.
" But we still know our neighbors. And when one needs help, then you help. If someone is sick in the holler, then you pitch in to help until they get back on their feet. If someone has a problem, then you listen. When someone claims you as a friend, then you're loyal. And if you make a promise, then you'd better make good on it.
There aren't any mansions In a holler. In fact, most houses in a holler are modest ones. And almost everyone has a barn, and a couple of other outbuildings. Some have chickens and cows and goats and a couple of horses. And they all have at least one dog that runs to the road and barks at every car that passes by.
Most people in a holler have a front porch. And they actually sit on it. They shell peas and string green beans and peel apples on the porch. And people stop by and sit on the porch with you. And in the dusky evenings, they come with fiddles and flat top guitars and five-string banjos. And, good Lord in heaven.....what music they make! Sometimes the music drifts up and down the holler and it's so pretty it just makes you want to cry! But instead of crying, you find yourself humming along."
When I was a teenager, my older brother and I belonged to a folk club, playing the music of Bob Dylan and Donovan. Later, he joined a jug band - full of joyful noise, homemade instruments, and toe-tapping tunes. Jug bands, which originated in African American communities in Louisville and elsewhere, brought a voice to the broader Appalachian tradition - mixing fiddles and banjos with washboards, kazoos, and of course, the jug itself.
But Appalachian music goes back even further.
The Celtic immigrants brought with them a deep musical tradition - fiddles playing jigs and hornpipes, ballads passed down through generations. Settling in the rugged terrain of Appalachia, which reminded them of their native highlands, they preserved their culture with little outside influence.
As these Celtic immigrants settled in the Appalachian region, they carried their instruments and musical traditions with them. The rugged, mountainous terrain of Appalachia, reminiscent of the landscapes of Ireland and Scotland, provided a familiar environment for these settlers. Isolated from larger urban centres, they preserved their cultural practices, including their music, with little outside influence for many years.
The immigrants' traditional music blended with the musical styles of other settlers, including English, Welsh, and German influences..... the interaction with African American communities, who contributed rhythms, banjo techniques, and spirituals, played a significant role in shaping Appalachian music.
The banjo, of African origin, became a part of American music. Its rhythmic twang sang well with Celtic melodies to create a sound both familiar and entirely new. Fiddle and banjo duets became the soundtrack of mountain life. Later, the dulcimer and guitar joined in.
The ballads.those ancient story-songs.remained central. They adapted to American life but retained their soul. They sang of coal mines and heartbreak, of moonshine and mountains, of faith, grit, and family
Ballads, narrative songs that tell stories, were another important element of the Irish and Scottish musical legacy. These ballads, often recounting tales of love, adventure, and historical events, were passed down orally from generation to generation. In Appalachia, the ballad tradition flourished, with many songs retaining their original melodies and themes while others adapted to reflect the experiences of life in the " New World."
In the early 20th century, Appalachian music evolved further with the emergence of bluegrass. Pioneered by musicians like Bill Monroe, bluegrass incorporated elements of traditional Appalachian music with influences from jazz and blues.
This is a long one - something to save to listen to later perhaps....
I’ve long loved the Ozark Mountain Daredevils, but Steve Earle’s version of Copperhead Road captures that raw, Scottish-influenced sound that still stirs my blood. The Ozarks, like Appalachia, were shaped by Irish and Scottish settlers and geographic isolation. The music, ballads, reels, fiddle tunes...remained unspoiled for generations. And that purity, that direct line to the past, is what gives it such power.
My grandson recently sent me a reflection on grit that struck me with its clarity:
“Too many are striving for mediocrity and comfort... and I fear we’ll soon understand the true gravity of this lacklustre social contagion.”
That sentence could’ve been plucked straight from a front porch ballad, strummed on a banjo as dusk settled over the hills. It’s the sound of what made us human in the first place.
In music, as in governance, a steady hand and a true ear are essential. But what happens when the song is drowned in noise? When the fiddlers aren’t on porches, but behind podiums?
So where does that leave us today? With songs that scream instead of sing, that curse and anger instead of comfort. Music that reflects a world hollowed out by outrage, where rhythm is noise and lyrics are lost. Perhaps that’s not just an artistic decline - but a cultural warning.
Maybe the devil came down on all of us. And maybe, just maybe, we need another Johnny to pick up the fiddle - not to dazzle us, but to remind us who we are. Because the governments of this world may be master fiddlers - but they must never win this duel.
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