Even though I’m a dobro player, when it comes to bluegrass, for me Earl Scruggs has the main spot in my heart as an artist. I’d heard bits and pieces of bluegrass and old country music when I was younger, and always appreciated the sound of the banjo.

It’s more than likely I’d heard Earl Scruggs before, but the first time I truly became aware of his music was through a DVD of the live concert which accompanied the fantastic record “Down The Old Plank Road” by The Chieftains and numerous luminaries in the world of bluegrass and country. This concert featured Del McCoury, Ricky Skaggs, Tim O’Brien, Alison Krauss, Emmylou Harris. The backing band included Bryan Sutton, Jim Mills, Stuart Duncan, Barry Bales, and a dude playing a weird thing that was like a guitar, but not like a guitar (more on him in a minute). Out of all this though, it was Earl Scruggs who stood out, playing Sally Goodin. His up the neck solo is still to me the most bluegrass bluegrass there is. For a while I actively wished to learn the banjo, though the opportunity to do so hasn’t yet come about.

Responsible for introducing me to all this way my uncle, Richard. He was an intensely private man, and opened up to very few. When he saw my interest in what he saw as “his” music though, he opened up more to me.

For a while I kept hearing about this man called Jerry Douglas who played what I later learned was a dobro. I used to hear my uncle playing when he came to visit.

Not so long after this, my grandfather fell ill. My uncle helped out a great deal in the first year or so. He helped me out too. At some point he decided he was going to show me how to play the dobro. He gave me an old archtop guitar with raised strings to try playing on. I should mention that I had tried playing music before: clarinet when I was around 12, and guitar around the age of 13. Neither stuck. The dobro was different though, and soon after he bought me my first one.

It brought great joy to my life. Nobody really thought I’d be able to do it, given it seemed I had some dexterity and coordination problems. Richard believed in me though, and kept encouraging me. Playing the dobro soon became a huge part of my life, and I spent all my time listening to music or practicing.

After my grandfather died, it became an ever larger part of my life. Attending Sore Fingers bluegrass camp in England was an amazing experience for me. It was quite scary at first. I was a very shy and anxious person (still am in many ways), but I discovered an entirely new world and met some amazing people. I made so many friends that week. The standout for me was Bill Evans, who was one of two bluegrass banjo teachers that year. He took an interest in me, and gave me immense encouragement.

In some ways it was an escape from reality. The second time I attended, even more so, when my mother was seriously ill with cancer. At the time I didn’t know if she’d survive. Having the music as an escape was probably one of the few things keeping me sane over those few months. It gave me something on which to focus when everything else was out of control.

After a while all the life problems became too much to handle, and I sank into deep depression. I didn’t even get the opportunity to go to any music events any more. Still, I tried to keep playing and practicing, even if it were just a few minutes a day. It gave me solace, though my focus was no longer there and my heart wasn’t always into it.

I struggled through university, and somehow did reasonably well with my undergraduate studies. Well enough to get a place doing graduate studies at least.

Aside from an early crisis of confidence, things were starting to improve in my life. I was determined to work hard, and was slowly recovering from my mental health problems. I even managed to get a ticket to see Alison Krauss and Union Station in London. On top of that, I had a backstage pass and I would get to meet Jerry Douglas, my idol and the greatest dobro player in the world.

Less than two weeks before getting to see AKUS, my uncle took his own life. This isn’t something I’ve ever recovered from really. But I’ve come to terms with it as best I could. This was possibly the most devastating event in my whole life. Worse still, I was probably the last person to talk to him while he was alive. In some ways I’m glad it was me. At the end of his life I was the only person he was really close to and maybe getting to talk to someone he loved gave him some comfort in his last few hours.

I still went to see AKUS. He wouldn’t have had it any other way. After the show, I got to meet Jerry Douglas. He politely asked me how I was, and I couldn’t pretend I was ok. I thanked him for meeting though, and we chatted for a good twenty minutes about music and hats. He was great.

Music again became an escape for me. Along with a few other things. Fortunately I never turned to alcohol or other substances for comfort, but I became less and less engaged and slowly lost interest in my studies. I still managed to pass thankfully.

After my studies, music became a bigger part of my life. I became part of a band for the first time, and got to play with some extraordinary, world-class, musicians. For the next couple of years that was amazing. I still get to play with these people from to time, though not as regularly as I’d like to. Those couple of years of music gave me reason to get out of the house, to meet people, to be social. It gave me a real focus.

Music still gives me an escape and a focus. Bluegrass can’t help but cheer me up. There’s nothing quite like the high of hearing a great bluegrass band play live. Sadly I don’t experience that often enough.

I’ve already talked about how fearful I was that being transgender would mean I could never truly be a part of the bluegrass world. To lose that would have been horrific. Fortunately I have come across so many wonderful people in my journey so far. People like Bill Evans, Jerry Douglas and Sally Van Meter, who I deeply respect and admire have given me support and kindness in whatever ways they can. And others in the bluegrass world as well. You know who you are and I love you for it.

Getting to play still gives me solace from life’s challenges. My mental health remains a constant challenge which damages my life every single day. It even stifles my desire to play music. I try to make time for it though, and to make little bits of progress whenever I can.

In my worst times, I have had suicidal thoughts myself. I don’t know if music has saved my life or not. What I know it does it make me feel alive. I am in the moment with it. Perhaps what it really does is allow me to do more than just exist.

Bluegrass is always bittersweet without Richard though. I wish he could hear me play.