We lost Dave Evans on Sunday (6/25), and I’m thinking that he might well be, as the title of the oft-delayed documentary film on his life and music puts it, the “Last Of A Breed.”
He was an extraordinary singer, compelling songwriter, powerful banjo player, and larger-than-life character. As John Wright once wrote: “Deep emotion, enriched by intelligence, transformed by imagination, communicated by enormous talent: this is the essence of the art of Dave Evans.”
The facts of his life, time with other bands, recordings made for Vetco and Rebel, and other biographical information are readily available elsewhere. I can’t stop thinking about two evenings I spent in his audience.
I count myself extremely fortunate to have been present for three of Dave Evans’ performances at IBMA in 2007, shortly after his last album, “Pretty Green Hills,” was released.
The first was an abbreviated solo set in an open room during a time when way too many revelers were carrying on in the hallway. But all it took was the story behind and the performance of “Be Proud Of the Grey In Your Hair” to shut them up, and Dave built on that with a few of his other classics. It was a great half-hour, and Dave Evans is as compelling a solo singer-songwriter as you’re likely to encounter. But, let’s face it: bluegrass isn’t about solo performances.
The shows the next night were with his son, whose voice is nearly as thrilling as Dave’s, playing guitar and amp-ing up the duets, and two different pick-up bands.
Dave played mostly banjo, and he seems to me, a decidedly non-expert, an exceptional banjo player. Not because of hot licks, although he can throw them in when called for, but because his banjo playing is so much like his singing: without artifice or pretense or barriers. The man fairly defines DIRECT, and the connection with his audience is immediate. Plus he can provide the back-up to his singing that’s stunning.
One set found the Rebel Records showcase room packed with hard-core fans, who cheered that banjo playing, whooped for the extraordinary singing, laughed at some amazing stories and off-hand comments, and cheered the first notes of his classic songs. And, yes, there were plenty of tears as well. MaryE Yeomans, Karen & Bob Artis, Paul Kovac (who was playing mandolin in the band), and others exchanged knowing glances with me, delighted to be witness to such amazing music.
Dave Evans always connected with his audience. The emotion in his music — in the words, in the delivery, in the dynamics, and in THAT voice – can be pretty overwhelming. And Dave was never detached from himself either. In that Rebel room, his eyes welled up and there was a catch in his voice, and right there with the pick-up band and the florescent lights and crappy sound and sterile convention center room, he was inside his music and so much a part of it that he could have been an actor performing a role. But I don’t think so.
His late, late show included Michael Cleveland on fiddle, and was pretty much all blues. Would you have wanted anything else? Mike heard all the nuance in Dave’s singing and playing, and shot it right back, filled with the hurt and soul that came from Dave, along with some of his own. It was a true collaboration, and it made time stand still. And the hairs on the back of my neck may never go down.
I don’t remember anything else about that IBMA gathering, but those three sets were truly memorable musical experiences.
We’ve lost a lot of great singers and songwriters, but we were lucky to live in the era of Dave Evans. Of course, he’s steeped in the tradition, but no one else in bluegrass did it his way.