Blues for Jack Rose

Friends and fans pay tribute to Philadelphia's lost guitar genius.

by A.D. Amorosi

Martin Squires

Jack Rose wasn't a large man, or tall, by my recollection. Fact is, I can't remember ever seeing him standing up — seated as he always was, sweaty and red-faced, over his acoustic guitar at the Khyber or Johnny Brenda's.

Still, Rose, who moved to Philadelphia from Virginia in 1998, was a broad man with a big presence whose music — a hybrid of old folk, blues and ragtime — was bold, unique and ever expansive. Before he started banging and plucking at an old acoustic, you could see Rose with the electric drone instrumental trio Pelt, where his guitar's slow, psychedelic growl met with the ringing tone of classical Indian raga. Pelt's experimental noise was see-sawing and impatient yet calm and meditative, a true innovation on the work of '60s drone masters Steve Reich and Tony Conrad.

But it was the music Rose made as a solo artist that was most haunting and epic. You could watch his shoulders roll and his curling wavy hair stick to his face as he hunkered over one of his beat-up old 12-strings. There he was carefully crafting brusquely elegiac music, finger-picking what would start out as a traditional country rag or blustery blues lick only to expand into washes of melody and harmony reminiscent of Stravinsky or Charles Ives. Most crucially, Rose's dustily cinematic sound reminded listeners of Takoma-era John Fahey's work. Only it was holier, more passionate and less distant.

"What Jack was learning and playing transcended what goes on usually in that sort of music," says Thurston Moore, the Sonic Youth guitarist and friend of Rose. The two played together on a Dredd Foole & the Din album called The Whys of Fire. "Jack was always pushing that technique forward. He was developing in public."

There was joy to be heard in everything Rose did — the joy of discovering new licks and old blues, and structuring something original from that, the joy of being part of something artistic and communal.

"In the words of Captain Beefheart, Jack 'breathed with all his holes open,'" says Rose's friend, writer Byron Coley, who runs Massachusetts record shop and label Ecstatic Yod. "That was always a nice respite from the easy irony and self-satisfied dumbbell-ism that's so common."

When the folk/blues/ragtime guitarist and composer died of a heart attack on Dec. 5, 2009, at the age of 38, it seemed like a cruel trick.

His Thrill Jockey label debut, Luck in the Valley, was due in 2010. His wife, Laurie, and he had a life in Philly. The cherished musician was busy. He was beyond something as trivial as death.

"Jack was the kinda guy that seemed to be part ox, and that it would take more than a little heart attack to take him out," says Anthony Vogdes, owner of Girard Avenue's Tequila Sunrise record shop and label. "As an American musician, he was steeped in the DIY ethos of making his music, getting it released, getting out on the road and, whenever possible, getting paid."

Though Rose was best known for his blistering live performances, he thought of records and CDs as keepsakes.

Several of Rose's earliest solo releases, like 2001's Hung Far Low, were CD-Rs, with limited availability.

"Jack had the idea for me to release a vinyl version of Kensington Blues because the VHF label was handling the CD release but wasn't releasing vinyl at the time," says Vogdes of Rose's 2005 breakout album. That's how Tequila Sunrise became a record label.

"I always thought of him as too good for Philly," says Ian Nagoski. The Baltimore musician was a friend and collaborator who added his cool, electronic twists to Rose's 2004 Raag Manifestos. "He gave more than he got, that's for sure. The Brits, the French and the Dutch appreciated him and paid him what he was worth, which, of course, America never did."

In Nagoski's mind, there was a palpable yearning for ecstasy in his pal's playing, a need for expansive beauty, and the expression of some fundamental, eternal state that was always beneath the surface. "And the necessity to say what he had to say about it in a way that was as graceful as it was raw," says Nagoski. That indelicate balance made him appreciated by like-minded instrumentalists playing similarly exotic music — a broad sound unfortunately tagged at one point as "freak folk."

"He was profoundly valued in the experimental music realm, not just in America but internationally," says Sonic Youth's Moore, a friend to independent avant-garde artists of every stripe. "Jack traveled all over the world and was recognized and appreciated by the underground cognoscenti everywhere for progressive music that was the underpinning of a unified aesthetic."

Moore's talking about the community of musicians looking to expand the notions of traditional folk. This avant-garde mix of acoustic and electric sound announced itself with 2004's Golden Apples of the Sun. This Arthur magazine compilation, curated by Devendra Banhart, defined the opiate-zoned contemporary neo-folk scene with appearances from Iron & Wine, Vashti Bunyan, Philly's Espers and the finger-picking Jack Rose. "There was a recognized mutual admiration going around then — there still is — and he was a very serious man and significant player in that still-vibrant scene," says Moore.

"I'm not exactly sure how we started hanging out, but I probably invited myself over to his apartment to listen to records and shortly after started bugging him to play solo shows that I was hosting at my loft space," says Brooke Sietinsons. The Espers guitarist gathered up friends and associates of Rose's for this weekend's event dedicated to the late guitarist's memory and posthumous celebration of Luck in the Valley's release.

Jack played many of Sietinsons' house shows in Fishtown in the early 2000s, opening for or headlining with Six Organs of Admittance, Charlambides, Fursaxa and others. The intimate salon was a perfect setting for Rose's quirky, homey folk; sometimes Rose and Sietinsons would collaborate on a menu for those comfy evenings. "Food was always an important component of the house shows." When Rose wasn't cooking or playing at these shows, he was in attendance, collecting donations for the bands. "Jack liked it when musicians got paid," says Sietinsons.

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Along with 2008's Dr. Ragtime and Pals and 2009's Jack Rose and the Black Twig Pickers, Luck in the Valley forms what Rose told Thrill Jockey was his "Ditch Trilogy" wherein the all-live, few-takes songs had a crusty but oddly swinging vibe, especially on the album's originals such as "Blues for Percy Danforth," "Lick Mountain Ramble" and "Woodpiles on the Side of the Road."

Rose's music has a "swagger," according to Sietinsons' Espers bandmate Meg Baird. "I certainly never played along with him or had anything like a session with him," notes Baird, "but I was in awe of Jack and studied him many times over. I'm pretty sure that my understanding of the complex role that some swagger has in your playing came directly from studying him."

Moore recalls the huffing, puffing mode Rose would get into, usually by his second song. "It was sweet, that physicality," he says. "Jack wasn't ever trying to be Mr. Cool. His technique had advancement to it."

Often compared to fellow earthen masters Charley Patton, Robbie Basho, Peter Walker and the high-plains drifting Fahey, Rose was a god when it came to open tunings on his Weissenborn-style lap steel and his Lemon Grove-era Taylor six-string.

"His music, all his music, contained many elements of style and weirdness that were easy to appreciate," says Coley, who befriended Rose when Pelt played 1998's psychedelic Terrastock festival. At that point, Pelt — Rose, Patrick Best, Mike Gangloff — was at its peak, its massive power drones and arcs of loudness becoming gradually influenced by classical Indian and Appalachian nuances. Rather than strut around like the belle of the ball, Rose sat around and bugged Coley. That's the kind of guy he was. "I was set up selling records and Jack hung around the table some, letting me know which ones were good and which ones stunk. He was helpful as hell."

That personal mix of humble and grumble sometimes made it so Rose was hidden in plain sight. Vogdes befriended Rose in 2001 during his time working at Philadelphia Record Exchange. The guitarist would come in on weekends and the two would drink beer and listen to records. "You know, when he was in Pelt, I wasn't aware Jack even played guitar."

That's how quiet he could be.

Sietinsons and Baird both met Rose when Pelt famously came through Silk City in 2001, and found the show transformative. Still, he was a silent enigma. "I met Jack as this mysterious person who had just made a decision to dedicate his unemployment insurance time to his guitar playing," says Baird.

Then there were Rose's disarming charms, his bluster and moodiness.

"Look, he was an opinionated guy, something which translates into being cantankerous and cranky," laughs Vogdes. "He rarely wavered in his opinion." Usually these were ardent discussions involving which Stratocaster was best or what Grateful Dead live album ruled, over many beers.

"And as a Philadelphian, he was a proud supporter of local beers, local bands and the very special places where they come together in a great synchronistic gush," says Coley.

"He was a champion of the music that he loved locally and beyond, and he was a teddy bear when it came to little animals," says Vogdes. "You had to see him around this kitten that my girlfriend and I adopted a week before Jack died. It was something so sweet to witness."

None of Rose's bewitching appeal disappeared when he passed — it just became fodder for any celebration of Rose's life and art. Namely this weekend's record release show and tribute.

For locals like Baird, who had a hard time talking on the phone through the raw emotion of his death, there's a need for everyone at this weekend's record release show to feel a part of the tribute. "It should be something that Jack would approve of. That's the standard with any Philly show, that Jack would show up and would like your set. I hope we all get to experience some of that feeling we miss so dearly."

For non-resident participants like Moore who'll play a 12-string guitar ("reverentially and referentially") at the tribute, there's the hope Rose's personality shines through. "I learned something when I went to his memorial," says Moore of the service held at West Laurel Hill Cemetery in December. "He had a sort of a consistent personality of being at once very lovable and also quite incorrigible. That personality trait's endearing because it seemed distinctive to him and not typical. He exuded this energy that was all about not dealing with the typical bullshit that goes on with daily life. For him, music was prayer."

(a_amorosi@citypaper.net)

Jack Rose memorial and Luck in the Valley record release party, Sat., Feb. 13, 7 p.m., sold out (50 tickets available at the door), performances by Thurston Moore, Pelt, Meg Baird, D. Charles Speer & The Helix, DJ Ian Nagoski and more, Latvian Society of Philadelphia, 531 N. Seventh St., 215-922-9798, settingsuns.org/luckinthevalley.