Memories are often cemented by striking contrasts, and on Summer Solstice Saturday afternoon in Telluride, CO, I felt whipsawed in the most memorable and beautiful way.
Star musicians Jason Carter and Michael Cleveland twin-fiddled their way through a set of old-vine bluegrass as exciting and incendiary as anything you could hear on today’s circuit, an homage to the string sound that Bobby Hicks and Kenny Baker used to make with Bill Monroe. With an ace band, Carter and Cleveland demonstrated why the 2025 album by these old friends was nominated for a Grammy Award and was named Album Of The Year by the IBMA.
Up next, Punch Brothers used the same instruments to make magic of a post-modern kind - refined, dynamic, even a bit avant-garde - like chamber music from or for another world. This is more than my own metaphor; the band’s mandolinist and leader Chris Thile created a whole theater-of-the-mind comic drama about the band being transported to another star system where they shared their music with aliens. It was weird but funny (aided by the deadpan comic timing of banjo player Noam Pikleny) and it made a friendly frame for some of the most exotic and daring string band music ever conceived.
In these four hours, gently warmed by Rocky Mountain sunshine, 12,000 “Festivarians” lived the journey from the heart of traditional bluegrass to the newest of newgrass, as only Telluride can deliver it, almost as if Telluride had designed it.
Back in 1974, the locals of this quaint and hard-to-reach town could have called their new event the Telluride Music Festival or Telluride Folk Fest or anything, but by naming it the Telluride Bluegrass Festival, they did the genre a great service. In its home turf back East, bluegrass was evolving ever-so-gradually, in tune with a more conservative audience, adding a jazz chord here, a Bob Dylan cover there, maybe some (gasp) drums. Out West, the brakes were off, and audiences turned up in Telluride every year eager to be surprised by the music and to dance to its mountain grooves like inflatable car-lot tube men.
In their first gesture reaching beyond a modest local talent showcase, the Telluridians discovered a quirky band from Kentucky called New Grass Revival and invited them to headline their second event in 1975. Sam Bush, Curtis Burch, John Cowan, and Courtney Johnson drove day and night to make the date and found what they’ve said was the first audience that truly understood what they were all about. Bush has played every Telluride since in a variety of roles, including a big Saturday night headlining set. He became the King of Telluride, and Newgrass became its own subgenre.
While progressive bluegrass owes much to Los Angeles and the Bay Area in California, Colorado-grass took on a special shape, and Telluride has been its most influential stage, ushering in all the key newgrass and jamgrass acts in turn: John Hartford, David Grisman, Peter Rowan, Yonder Mountain String Band, Leftover Salmon, String Cheese Incident, and lately Mountain Grass Unit. The festival, in word and deed, has shown the world that bluegrass can contain multitudes - that it has two overlapping and complementary definitions - one being the core “traditional” sound built between the 1940s and the 60s, as well as a broad roots point of view that recognizes a galaxy of string band styles and voices.
Bluegrass has needed both forces - the lift of evolution and the gravity of tradition - to grow into the rich and creative American mega-genre it has become. The tension has made the music more resilient and creative across decades. And there’s been no cost paid. Old-school bluegrass is thriving today with bands like the Po’ Ramblin’ Boys and Appalachian Road Show. And even Billy Strings, jamgrass icon, plays the foundational music with consummate chops. After decades of low-key feudin’ and fussin’, coexistence and mutual support between fans of the trad and the rad is pretty much the norm in the bluegrass ecosystem nowadays.
This unlikely story is about to be told on film more comprehensively than ever with the release later this year of Rings Of Time: Tales From The Telluride Bluegrass Festival, which was steered by long-time festival director Craig Ferguson and directed by filmmaker and screenwriter Sascha Paladino.
There’s been no formal press announcement yet, so the best preview so far comes from festival veteran and Colorado journalist John Lehndorff writing for the official festival app: “Besides stunning live performances pulled from archival videos, viewers get to watch as the Town Park stage gradually gets larger, along with the crowds of dancers. It's a revelation to hear dozens of familiar voices explain their absolute passion for TBF, including musicians like Billy Strings, Rhiannon Giddens, Sam Bush, Sierra Ferrell, Victor Wooten and Dierks Bentley.”
I was fortunate to see a working cut of the film last fall. Like the event itself, it’s serious and whimsical, sprawling but emotionally focused. Paladino, half brother of Telluride lifer Béla Fleck, directed Throw Down Your Heart about Fleck’s banjo journey in Africa. So he understands the passionate love triangle of artists, audience and atmosphere that makes Telluride work. A blend of old footage and photos, recent interviews, and quirky animations braid together into an all-American epic. A picking session and conversation between Billy Strings and Chris Thile is but one glimpse into the event’s collaborative soul.
As far as pure history goes, we see with specificity how the festival grew out of a few locals itching to have a 4th of July party, and how it turned into this upstart acoustic music hotbed known only to a few. Management got pretty loose, and the event almost foundered in the late 1980s. But it came back in its modern form when Ferguson, an attorney and music fan, brought new levels of financial, legal, and political professionalism to a fraught situation. His vehicle was an entity called Planet Bluegrass, now a public benefit corporation that supports several festivals and camps in Colorado.
The documentary also makes it clear that TBF worked hard to reach out to the core founders of bluegrass. Bill Monroe himself made hotly anticipated appearances in 1983 and 1990. Earl Scruggs played twice as an elder with his family and friends band. Ralph Stanley performed in the canyon no less than four times, including during his post O Brother, Where Art Thou? swan song years. His a cappella “Oh Death” would have sounded mighty apt amid those mountains.
I caught up with Ferguson during my stay, and he told me that plans for the movie’s release are coming together but still undisclosed. He was keyed up to get this story told though. “This film started as an indie project for the 50th anniversary, and we've now been through the 53rd. And as with probably every film, this took on a life of its own,” he said. “It’s hard for a film like this to be faithful to a 53-year-old tradition. But perhaps even harder - and (the thing) that I'm most proud of - is it's faithful to the feeling.”
Thile, who plays a large role in the film, told me that weekend that for him, Telluride “is the town hall of the acoustic music community.” He said there’s time and space there for musical friends to catch up backstage on family and work and life. And there’s ample freedom on stage to create and collaborate in real time. “You know that Yo-Yo Ma always talks about how the highest concentration of life forms exists where two ecosystems meet? This is like seven musical ecosystems meeting. And like three or four generations of music-makers meeting. And so, the proliferation of ideas here, I live on it for the rest of the year.”
Ferguson affirmed that the critical mass of artists who mix and mingle at Telluride “fosters the growth of the music. The artists that experiment here, they know they're safe.”
I first attended in 2006, which by happenstance coincided with my (landmark) 40th birthday. I returned in 2013 as part of a team reporting for The Bluegrass Situation. This year’s trip was more of a working holiday, inspired by another landmark birthday (do the math) and an invitation from Ferguson to come out on a press pass, just to be transparent about it. Otherwise, I paid my own way and traveled with my friend Charlie from Savannah. In four days, we experienced a musical spectrum that proves that while TBF presents far more than bluegrass, it remains a vehicle for the genre in all its creative manifestations. Here were my most memorable sets.
AJ Lee and Blue Summit - Lee grew up with star Molly Tuttle in the California bluegrass scene, and she’s the act I’d recommend to anyone who’s looking for the next wave of what Alison Krauss delivered during the bluegrass boom of the early 2000s. Her clear, bluesy voice sounded amazing in the canyon, and guitarist Sullivan Tuttle (Molly’s brother) is a dazzling stylist who deserves more recognition in the bluegrass world.
The Telluride House Band - When the supergroup Strength In Numbers (all Nashvillians working in Nashville) made a pioneering instrumental bluegrass album in 1989, they called it The Telluride Sessions, which shows you how cemented the place was in their minds even back then. They were: Béla Fleck (banjo), Sam Bush (mandolin and fiddle), Jerry Douglas (resophonic guitar), Edgar Meyer (bass) and Mark O’Connor. And every year since then, that group minus O’Connor plays as the “house band,” like a necessary evocation of the Telluride muse. This year’s iteration included fiddle legend Stuart Duncan and Punch Brothers guitarist Chris “Critter” Eldridge. They opened with John Hartford’s essential “Steam Powered Aeroplane" and moved into a set that blended a few grassy classics with instrumentals by members of the group. Banjo player Noam Pikelny came on to play a part in a comic bit with Béla and his instrument. But the most memorable walk-on was Susan Tedeschi, who sang Sturgill Simpson’s “All Around You,” which may become a new entry in the bluegrass song canon.
East Nash Grass - The band that galvanized over a five-year Monday night residency at Dee’s Lounge in Madison represented Nashville’s current robust bluegrass scene with all the key ingredients - banjo drive from Cory Walker, ace fiddling by Maddie Denton and an overall bluesy ease that I associate with the late great Nashville Bluegrass Band. They could play rippingly fast without seeming to rush. Their songs are band-written and very strong. Their vocals soar. Most heartwarming on this day was a walk-on for the last handful of songs by James Kee, the band’s original organizer and lead singer. James has recently stepped away from the group to focus on other work and his new marriage, replaced by veteran picker Frank Rische. The gesture allowed Kee to participate in a dream-come-true performance and offered a blessing for the reshaped group to go forward with good will.
Béla Fleck and Renée Fleming - Nobody saw this combo coming a year ago, but Béla, in his relentless quest for new ideas and collaborations, has recently released the album The Fiddle And The Drum with the mega-famous operatic soprano. Fleming loves Appalachian music, and long-simmering plans to do the collection finally came into focus. Supporting them was Bela’s My Bluegrass Heart band, his latest incredible newgrass collective, here including Michael Cleveland on fiddle and Jake Stargell on guitar. Fleming adapted her voice and phrasing to the tradition, while still showing her famous resonance and control. Her take on “In The Pines” gave the old tune a new gravitas and shine. She and Béla made a duo to perform the purely classical “Ave Maria,” the Schubert version. Much weeping occurred in the valley.
A Jamgrass Trinity - Three of the bands that have done the most to fuse bluegrass instruments and jamband exploration performed during the weekend, and each brought its own flavor. Michigan’s Greensky Bluegrass (marking twenty years since winning the Telluride Band Contest) soared on the warm voice and songcraft of Paul Hoffman, while their instrumental excursions often took on a hypnotic cyclical swirl like an acoustic take on EDM (including a great light show). Leftover Salmon is looser and shaggier, a friendly party band that borrows from blues, reggae, and the Grateful Dead. They kept good vibes and humor in the foreground. I’m a bit partisan but I feel like the Infamous Stringdusters, who adapted their disciplined Nashville tutelage to the Colorado scene’s big-sky ethos in the 2000s, have the keenest balance of songwriting, pure musicianship, and vocal harmonies. They performed a lot of strong new material from their 20-song album celebrating 20 years as a band. A sit-in by Sierra Hull enhanced their joyful, danceable set.
Lark, Roman & Meyer - After the Punch Brothers put a toe or two in the realms of classical chamber music with tunes from their new instrumental album, Edgar Meyer took us all the way there with his string trio featuring Tessa Lark on violin and Joshua Roman on cello. With well over an hour of complex composed music committed to memory, they played with a common purpose like a capacious hive mind. Meyer’s beloved repertoire mingles challenging harmonic development with grounding rhythmic beds inspired by Appalachian music. A few pieces by J.S. Bach rounded out a session of impeccable grace and depth.
Sierra Hull - Growing up in small-town Tennessee, Hull idolized Chris Thile. By learning some of his hardest material, she set herself up to play with rare delicacy, authority, and rapidity. In recent years, she’s put together a band that measures up to her abilities at the top tiers of acoustic music. And they were in their element, playing her spirit-rich original songs, her extravagantly fun instrumentals, and - picking up the neoclassical theme from Meyer earlier that day - a composed piece (part of a suite) she rolled out this year called “Movement 1.” Between Sierra’s ever-present joy and the band’s locked-in timing, the set could be a standard by which all acoustic music might be judged.
Of course Telluride is and always has been a multi-genre roots music festival, so there was plenty of other excellence to enjoy, including night-cappers Larkin Poe, Gregory Alan Isakov, and the mighty Tedeschi Trucks Band, who hit me in the sternum on night one with its full contingent of horns and harmony singers. The fest also booked a smart suite of America’s coolest current country Americana, including Maggie Antone, Clay Street Unit, Flatland Cavalry, and the fetchingly unique Boy Golden. But my focus, my heart, was with the string band acts. That’s what I traveled so far to see. They are the ones who, for me, tell the story of how this event, over half a century, has defined and developed the vital genre of bluegrass.
Finally, it must be said that Telluride comes with a certain natural ambience that makes the music even more potent. The massive glacier-carved box canyon, the layers of red and beige sandstone climbing out of town, the plunging Bridal Veil falls that appear to be an extension of Colorado Ave. - they all heighten the emotions. From anywhere near the stage, a patron can glance left and up 3,000 feet to the crags of Ballard Mountain and imagine frolicking up there amid cathedrals of stone. Or you can step out of the festival gate and immediately onto a footpath hugging the San Miguel River, and in a few minutes you forget there’s even a town nearby, even as music from Town Park drifts along in harmony with the water.
In Telluride I think about the devine and about music and about the precious planet and how they all serve each other. I’m reminded of how sweet people can be and how caring they can be with everything from sound engineering to a well-made meal. The daily assault on our senses and our attention is silenced, replaced by love and devotion in sonic form.
When Chris Thile and Punch Brothers sidled into their gentle 2015 song “My Oh My,” he sang:
My oh my, what a wonderful day
We're having, we're having
Why, oh why, are we looking for a way
Outside it, outside it
And I looked away from the band, feeling grateful as I can be to know them as artists and people, toward the 12,000 festivarians with their eyes uplifted, and on toward the ochre cliffs and the green pines in the sunshine. And I just cried. My little incoherent prayer. The reason that I and so many others come to Telluride. The feeling.
