Why Bluegrass?

The answer to this question is simple:

It is the sound of the Blue Ridge Mountains

Now since that response wouldn't make for a very good post, allow me to expound. I've given the immense background -- the 'how' (which was far longer than I had intended) -- now here's the 'why'

I feel bluegrass is a reflection of my soul. It is simple, playful, and demonstrates the brighter, braver side of human nature. Even when the lyrics are sad, the music is happy. It is also the most ambrosial of musics when the tempo slows. After having listened to a lot of jazz, with its beautiful color palate of chords and scales, turning to bluegrass has been refreshingly simple. Its not what notes you play, its how you play them. It matters most the spiritual energy you put into what you play or sing. It comes out as clear as any language of the tongue. One thing I've noticed about the singing through listening to bluegrass is about how the notes are filtered through all the singer's years and joys and sorrows. The stretching sadness. You can hear the miles in their voice. The longer the road, the more powerful it comes out. Its all about how it sounds, how it feels. The sheer variance of instrument tones is something so special too.

I say, give me banjo or give me death. The banjo, the one-instrument musical army, is the five-string harp along with the Gabriel's trump that is the train horn. It is the icy wind blowing through the lonesome pine on the high ridge. It is the old jailbird walking into the setting sun. The dobro is the yearning outcry of the adventurous soul. It is also the romancer. It is the very voice of angels. But it is also the darkest tone of bluegrass. The mandolin, on the other hand, is the light-hearted hobo whistling down the road. It is the hard blizzard. The mandolin is the happy ending, it is also innocent love's beginnings. The fiddle is the processional waltz. It is even the never-ending train, both engine and whistle. It is the fire.

Banjo is spring. Fiddle is the summer. Dobro is autumn. Mandolin is the winter. The upright bass is the mountain. The guitar is the road.

And while the people in the bright city drink and talk idly, the river below rolls forever by.. 
"And the river rolls on like an endless ribbon, and the sunshine glistens on the rocks below. He can hear her voice in the rippling water sayin' 'please be home before the cold winds blow'"
~ Blue Highway