Latest news with #WilltheCircleBeUnbroken
UPI
27-05-2025
- Entertainment
- UPI
LGBTQ country stars still overlooked as Opry hits 100
May 27 (UPI) -- On March 15, 1974, the Grand Ole Opry country music radio show closed its run at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tennessee, with Johnny and June Carter Cash leading the song "Will the Circle Be Unbroken." After that final show, a six-foot circle of wood was cut from the Ryman stage and moved to the new Grand Ole Opry House. The next night, Roy Acuff opened the first show at the new venue. A video of Acuff singing in the 1940s played before the screen lifted to reveal Acuff himself, singing live in the same spot. The message was clear: Though the stage had changed, the story continued. The circle had not been broken. The Opry began on WSM on Nov. 28, 1925, and is celebrating its centennial with a series of concerts and tributes under the name Opry 100. On March 19, 2025, Reba McEntire stepped onto the iconic circle on the Grand Ole Opry stage and kicked off NBC's Opry 100 celebration with a verse of "Sweet Dreams." The final song of the night was "Will the Circle Be Unbroken," performed by country legends like Bill Anderson and Jeannie Seely, alongside newcomers like Lainey Wilson and Post Malone. It was a moment meant to celebrate 100 years of country music tradition and connection with a stage full of voices harmonizing across generations. A circle, unbroken. But that night in March, one group of country performers was missing. Not a single openly gay, lesbian or bisexual artist appeared onstage during the anniversary celebration. In a moment designed to honor the full sweep of the genre's past and future, a long line of country musicians was left standing outside the spotlight once again. Wilma Burgess' sexuality was common knowledge in music industry circles in the 1960s and '70s. A slowly opening circle Country music has never been without queer voices, but it regularly refuses to acknowledge them. From 1962 to 1982, Wilma Burgess had 15 songs on Billboard's Hot Country chart and two Grammy Award nominations. She recorded with legendary producer Owen Bradley and had Top 10 hits like "Misty Blue." Despite this success, Burgess never played the Opry. Though Burgess was never publicly out, her sexuality was common knowledge in recording circles. In the 1980s, she left music and opened The Hitching Post, Nashville's first lesbian bar. Like so many queer country artists, Burgess had to build her legacy outside the circle. In the 1980s and 90s, k.d. lang and Sid Spencer expanded the presence of queer artists in country music. Lang won two Grammys and performed at the Opry, but she was labeled "cowpunk" and left the genre before coming out in 1992. Spencer released albums and toured widely within the gay rodeo circuit, but he was never recognized by mainstream country before his 1996 death from AIDS-related complications. The 2000s offered small openings. Mary Gauthier became the first openly queer artist to perform on the Opry stage in 2005. Chely Wright had a No. 1 country single before coming out in 2010, but didn't return to the Opry until 2019. Ty Herndon charted 17 singles before coming out in 2014. He wouldn't appear at the Opry again until 2023. These artists established themselves first and came out later, at great professional cost. The Opry hosts 5-6 shows a week, featuring 6-8 artists each night. In that context, a nine-year absence isn't just a scheduling gap. In addition, the Grand Ole Opry currently has 76 members, a special designation indicating a level of success in country music. None of them identify as LGBTQ+. Today, there are signs of change. Lily Rose, who has been openly queer since the beginning of her career, receives radio play, has songs on the charts and tours widely. But she remains the exception, not the rule. Other openly LGBTQ+ artists like Paisley Fields, Mya Byrne and Amythyst Kiah are recording, performing and building loyal audiences, but they are still rarely featured on country radio or invited onto the Opry stage. The circle may be widening, but for many queer artists, it's still just out of reach. The importance of the circle In country music, visibility isn't just symbolic. If you're not on the radio, you don't chart. If you don't chart, you don't tour. Without that platform, you can't build a legacy. Country radio and the Opry stage serve as gatekeepers of who counts. In 2015, a radio consultant infamously compared women artists to "tomatoes in the salad," stating a few were fine, but they shouldn't dominate. That same logic has long applied to queer artists; they can be tolerated at the edges but are rarely treated as essential. Genre labeling becomes another barrier. Brandi Carlile and Brandy Clark both openly identify as lesbians and have been embraced by country audiences and critics alike, but they are routinely categorized as Americana artists. That rebranding often functions as a fence that keeps artists close enough to celebrate, but far enough to exclude. Reimagining the circle The Opry's centennial celebrations are scheduled to continue through the end of 2025 with a concert at London's Royal Albert Hall and a final anniversary show in Nashville on Nov. 28. Perhaps openly queer artists will take the stage at those events. If they do, it won't just be symbolic; it will be a long overdue acknowledgment of artists who have always been here, even if they weren't always seen. Country music's strength lies in how it braids together American traditions: gospel and blues, Black and white, rural and urban, old and new. It's not a genre built on purity, but one that relies on the mix. That mix is what makes country music American - and what makes it endure. If the circle on the Opry stage is meant to stand for country music itself, then I hope it will be like the music: honest and able to grow. If "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" is more of a promise than just a closing number, the future of country music depends on who's allowed in the circle to sing it next. Tanya Olson is an associate teaching professor at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County. This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article. The views and opinions in this commentary are solely those of the author.
Yahoo
28-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
In Kathmandu, Finding Notes of Commonality in Nepali Folk Music
All products featured on Condé Nast Traveler are independently selected by Condé Nast Traveler editors. However, when you buy something through our retail links, Condé Nast may earn an affiliate commission. Gentl & Hyers I'm on a brick patio at Northfield, a popular café in Kathmandu, Nepal, strumming 'Will the Circle Be Unbroken' on my guitar alongside Les Thompson, a founding member of the pioneering SoCal folk and bluegrass act the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. I've spent more than a decade going to bluegrass festivals, buying bluegrass records, and learning to flat-pick much of the American bluegrass canon; playing with Thompson anywhere would be a dream. But this is extremely special. We are surrounded by more than 20 Nepali Gandarbhas, who follow us on fiddle-like sarangis, bamboo bansuri flutes, and madal drums. Gandarbhas are a nomadic musician caste who for centuries have wandered the hills here, playing songs to earn a living. After the last note, our Nepali friends launch into their folk anthem 'Resham Firiri.' Thompson points out that, if you lose the percussion, it sounds like American Appalachian music. We're in Nepal with Music Arts Adventures, a tour company that offers an unconventional approach to discovering the country known for Everest by introducing visitors to Nepali artisans. It's the brainchild of Tara Linhardt, a musician I met years ago during a jam session at Brooklyn's legendary Sunny's Bar, which she now runs with her husband, Ian Poole. A Virginia native, Linhardt studied here in college and fell in love with the culture. Since then, she has returned repeatedly and eventually made a documentary film and an album, both called The Mountain Music Project, in which she and another musician, Danny Knicely, illustrate the commonalities between Appalachian and Himalayan folk music. Old-time bluegrass players and Gandarbhas—who are thought to have migrated to the Himalayas from Rajasthan and likely share ancestry with the Romani people—are both traditionally poor people from the mountains who scratch out a living with their instruments. Linhardt recalls being struck by how much the two groups had in common: 'The resourcefulness of the people, the sense of humor. When we met some of the Gandarbha musicians, it was obvious that the musicality was very similar. It's string-oriented and uses the same scales.' I'm part of a cohort of 15, which, in addition to Thompson, Linhardt, and Poole, includes other musicians and music lovers from the US as well as Nabin Moktan, a guide. Our visit begins at the quirky Ramsterdam Cafe, not far from the Boudhanath Stupa, a holy site for Tibetan Buddhists. Outfitted with Jerry Garcia posters and bottle-cap murals, the café also has a stage where we take part in an impromptu jam session with some local musicians, including 16-year-old Benjamin Das Tatma, the son of Ramsterdam's owner, who wears snakeskin cowboy boots and shreds his way through Billy Strings's 'Dust in a Baggie.' The next morning, after a walk through the Pashupatinath Temple, a sacred Hindu site where we see families performing funeral rites along the banks of the Bagmati River, we visit Naad Sangeet Pathshala—a school founded by Sarita Mishra, the first professional woman tabla player in Nepal—to offer music and dance classes to underprivileged kids. (Three of us wind up donating guitars we'd bought in Kathmandu to use during the trip.) The kids perform dances for us, along with a couple of songs on madals and bansuris, including the ubiquitous 'Resham Firiri,' which I'd already heard floating out of shops, hotel lobbies, and restaurants. 'Tara,' I hear Thompson ask, 'what mode are they playing in?' 'It's just G, 4/4 time,' Linhardt replies. 'There's nothing not bluegrass about it.' The following day we head to Bhaktapur, a historic city a few miles east of Kathmandu, where we visit an after-school program dedicated to keeping young girls out of child marriages. Thompson and I get enlisted to perform for the youngsters, and we play Hank Williams's 'Jambalaya' while Poole teaches them a square dance. Afterward the kids lead us to a nearby temple. A 12-year-old boy called Pawan holds my hand as we walk, and we apply tikas to each other's foreheads using the red dye on the idols. In the evening we attend a show on the rooftop of the Vajra Boutique Hotel, where a troupe of young dancers in bright red and yellow dresses and clay-and-cloth masks perform ceremonial dances. Afterward one of the musicians from the backing band, a 23-year-old multi-instrumentalist named Roshika Jadhari, whom Linhardt has known for years, joins us in the lobby for an impromptu 'jam up' (as the Nepalis call it). We start with the 19th-century traditional 'Angeline the Baker,' then do 'Resham Firiri,' with Jadhari accompanying our guitars on bansuri. 'It's kind of similar,' she says of the two kinds of music, 'but it's different also. Every song has its unique features.' A waiter asks if he can borrow Poole's guitar. ''Knockin' on Heaven's Door,'' he says. 'Guns N' Roses.' Before I can say the name Dylan, he's singing the song, and I'm joining in, as do all the guests and hotel staffers in the lobby. 'Musicians love to meet other musicians,' Linhardt says. Jadhari laughs and nods. The itinerary isn't all jams. Linhardt arranges visits to Bungamati, a village renowned for its wood-carvers and where she lived while studying; pottery stalls; and a thangka-painting school. It's the music that draws me most, though. One morning we stop by the Music Museum of Nepal, which curator and owner Ram Prasad Kadel established in 1995 to preserve music customs. Among the collection of nearly 1,200 instruments is an array of sarangis and tungnas, and a 10-foot-long laawaa horn. 'Most of the old people are dying, and all the skill and talent in their minds is not written down,' says Kadel. Toward the end of the trip, we go to Project Sarangi, another organization that aims to preserve and promote Nepali folk music. It's run by Kiran Nepali, the virtuoso sarangi player for Kutumba, a revolutionary Nepali band that has toured all over the world. Our group sits in a circle in the project's classroom, and Nepali shows off his favored instrument and tells us about his path to becoming a musician. 'I'm a Gandarbha,' he tells us. 'Generations of my forefathers have been playing, but I didn't start early, because my father said we should study.' He began Project Sarangi to try to destigmatize Gandarbhas and encourage young people to pick up the instrument. Nepali built a factory to standardize manufacturing and opened this teaching space to give lessons. He also employed effect pedals to go with other rock-and-roll elements in Kutumba's shows. 'You have to make it cool,' he says. Ironically, digging into his own people's music has helped Nepali play a variety of folk styles around the world. He recalls visiting Scotland, where a local musician began playing a tune on bagpipes. 'We were like, 'That's very familiar.' Same thing happened to me with bluegrass. Same thing happened to me with Irish music. All this folk music, somehow it's connected.' Linhardt and Nepali then lead us in a jam. I do my best to keep up as they exchange the rapid-fire notes of the bluegrass standard 'Squirrel Hunters.' She's on mandolin, he's on sarangi, but somehow they're speaking the same language, a worldly tongue I've gotten a little closer to picking up myself. This article appeared in the April 2025 issue of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the magazine here. Originally Appeared on Condé Nast Traveler Trending Travel Destinations Want to be the first to know? Sign up to our newsletters for travel inspiration and tips A Guide to Korčula, Croatia, a Hidden Gem on the Dalmatian Coast Why Everyone Will Be Going to Osaka in 2025 A London Local's Melting-Pot Itinerary for Food, Drinks, and Chill Vibes in the Capital
