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Beside the
obvious appeal to fans of bluegrass music, King of Bluegrass:
The Life & Times of Jimmy Martin is also a superb film
documenting the historical importance of a performer while also
unfolding an eloquent character study of blue-collar American
culture. Lifelong fans of legendary plucker Jimmy Martin will
applaud the film's in-depth chronology and newcomers to Martin
or even bluegrass music will become quickly enamored with the
story.
Martin puts on his tough, rebel-without-a-care attitude early in
the film, declaring that he is ambivalent to the Grand Ole Opry's
longstanding exclusion of him. He goes so far as to say that if
the Opry came calling now, he'd turn them down. It is a tense,
conflicted moment in the film, and King of Bluegrass goes
on to paint a portrait of Jimmy Martin's conflicted life and its
central battle with the Opry. Is Martin being blackballed or is
he a loose cannon too rowdy for the antique institution?
The cold war between Martin and the Opry is a documentary in
itself, and beyond the confrontation Martin proves to be
a deeply interesting character that begs for deeper analysis on
a number of levels.
Having grown up with a single mother and been put to work at a
young age, Martin seems remarkably friendly and well-adjusted 75
years later. But the casual aloofness with which Martin faces
the world belies the restless soul within, an identity always at
the mercy of its own ghost.
Whether at a squirrel-meat barbecue or a bluegrass festival,
Martin is at ease in any setting and is quick to break the ice,
embracing strangers and old friends alike with a warm, accommodating
glow. But in the quieter moments when visiting his grandfather's
home or addressing his highly-visible animosity with the Opry,
Martin is a man haunted by a legacy he is not sure he has.
Martin's personal struggles and his internal need to quantify
his life and career in a way that might fulfill his lifelong
longing for acceptance and acknowledgement play out beautifully
between the historical background of his career and the ongoing
tumultuousness in his life. The casual cool with which Martin
commands the spotlight in any room sharply accentuates his
paranoia about his mortality, and it is no surprise even early
on when we learn that Martin erected his own tombstone (headed with the inscription "NOW
SINGS IN HEAVEN") years ago.
Growing up in the northeastern spear of Tennessee in the hills
around the small town of Sneedville, Jimmy Martin was turned on
to music by WSM's Grand Ole Opry program, broadcast through the
airwaves east from Nashville. His first instrument, at the age
of five, was a three-string hand-held contraption made from a
Prince Albert tobacco can, and
Martin learned the basics of the guitar from a neighbor who
lived 3 miles through the woods. It wasn't long before Martin
met up with some like-minded local boys and soon took up playing
relaxing sets under the shade of a roadside apple tree. After
borrowing $10 from his grandfather, Martin struck out to Morristown
further east and the money a
factory job promised. With an irony that epitomizes Martin's
career, his urban-labor career was brief. Within a short time, Martin was fired ("for
singing") from his job and on his way to Nashville, where
he hooked up with a backing gig for Bill Munroe on the Grand Ole
Opry. An early indicator of the sarcastic integrity that would
color Martin's career, he returned to the office of the factory
manager that had fired him for singing and thanked him, telling
the suit that he could listen in and hear Jimmy on Saturday
nights, playing the Grand Ole Opry.
After watching his first show at the Grand Ole Opry Martin
approached his idol, bluegrass pioneer Bill Munroe, and
convinced him to play a few songs together. The performance was
enough to further convince Munroe, who hired Martin on the spot.
From his career with Munroe, who showed him the ropes of
traveling show-business and made a profound impression on his
career, Martin bounced around as a leading man
from Detroit to Shreveport, Louisiana, building a name for
himself with his Sunny Mountain Boys and earning member spots
with the Louisiana Hayride and the Wheeling (WV) Jamboree, two
stops on the Grand Ole Opry's minor-league circuit. The Opry
remained the elusive prize, however, never asking Martin to
become a member.
Colorful is a term that wouldn't do Martin justice as a stage
performer. From his comedic side banter to his animated demeanor,
the charismatic front man always captivates the audience; one
minute he's rebuking a heckler, telling him "one jackass at
a time, buddy, and I'm him right now" and the next he's
wriggling in a twitchy, backwoods geriatric Elvis kind of dance.
Martin's outlandish rock-star moments are juxtaposed with intimate,
at-home interviews that often show him cashing royalty checks of
modest amounts, paying household bills, or cutting up
pumpkins for his goat Vernon's dinner. Martin illustrates that there
is no distinction between the oddities of his stage performance
and his daily life, a sentiment which is epitomized by his asking Vernon to join him
on stage as a guest fiddler.
Martin's reputation as the class clown of Bluegrass' legendary
alumni is well-deserved, but his career is anything but a
novelty act. King of Bluegrass does an excellent job of
simultaneously developing the multitude of facets that make up
Martin's persona, sharply contrasting the divergent tales within
the larger story and keeping it interesting from all angels.
The DVD version of Straightsix Films' King of Bluegrass
is one of the better documentaries that I have seen in the past
year and includes a number of interesting and informative
interactive features about Martin, bluegrass music and the
making of the film.
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Eric J Herboth is an old-school staff writer for LAS
magazine.
---
SEE ALSO >
www.kingofbluegrass.com
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