Bluegrass is all about 'drinking, cheating, killing and going to hell'. Hayseed Dixie from Deer Lick Holler, Appalachia, talk folk and blues mythology to Siobhán Long.
Lost highways, lonesome banjo pickers and hillbilly hootenannies are the stuff of Appalachia that strike chords with cinema and music lovers.
Anyone who has squirmed their way through the visceral horrors of John Boorman's Deliverance, or strummed a washboard in time to the high lonesome toons of Bill Monroe, Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs will (eventually) admit there's something right darn special about the sound of a banjo and a gee-tar - especially when they deliver their tunes at breakneck speed.
Hot on the heels of the bluegrass revival wrought by the soundtrack to the Coen Brothers' O Brother Where Art Thou? comes a trio which lays claim to the most fertile corner of Deer Lick Holler, in the heart of Appalachia. Hayseed Dixie like their music the same way as their scotch: sassy with a tincture of aftertaste and in between a whole lot of entertainment.
Barley Scotch, the unlikely-monikered lead singer, guitarist and voluble spokesperson, is in fine form when we meet. Bedecked in a pair of dungarees that look like they've been put through the ringer more than once, he's what you might call a new-age bluegrasser - short on straw-chewing technique, but long on cool, articulate observations on the nature of life and bluegrass, and unapologetically delighting in the band's crossover success this side of the Atlantic.
"I'd been wanting to marry some elements of hillbilly with elements of rock for a long time but I'd never found anyone to do it with until I met Dale [Reno, the banjo player]", he explains. "I really think that hillbilly music and blue collar rock 'n' roll have a lot in common. They're singing about a lot of the same subjects. The Lost Highway of Hank Williams and AC/DC's Highway to Hell are the same road, in my opinion."
With two "tribute" albums released, the first in 2001, A Tribute To AC/DC, and 2003's Kiss My Grass: A Tribute to Kiss, these Hayseeds don't go in for much whoopin' and hollerin' unless there's a raucous chainsaw pairing of banjo and mandolin driving it. Still, for a man who claims that bluegrass is all about "drinking, cheating, killing and going to hell", Barley Scotch is remarkably far away from any signs of exiting stage left . . . yet.
"I think the music is what allows you to overcome the downsides of life," he says. "I mean, when the blues man is singing about how sad he is because his woman has left, he's not frowning, he's smiling. He's taken all the stuff inside him that's dark and he's dancing on top of it. And that's how you overcome things in life."
The mythology of American folk and blues has exercised Hayseed Dixie more than most.
"Everything has been mythologised," Dale Reno grins. "Do you actually think that Robert Johnson went down to the crossroads and met the devil? No, he just went down there, drinking a little liquor one night and he hallucinated something, and that's where that story came from."
Dale Reno lays claim to a distinctive bluegrass heritage that would be the envy of most everyone with an ear for a distinctive tune, being the son of one Don Reno, who co-wrote Duelling Banjos, Deliverance's theme tune, with Arthur Smith back in 1955. Unfortunately for Dale, this was not the passport to financial nirvana that one might suspect.
"We're real proud of the fact that he wrote that song," Dale smiles, "and Feuding Banjos was the original title of it. Back in 1955, dad was playing with Arthur 'Guitar Boogie' Smith and The Crackerjacks, and that happened to be an instrumental that dad absolutely despised. He didn't like it, so he sold his half of the rights to the song to Arthur for $100, cause back then, he needed a hundred bucks worse than he needed that song.
"Now that's probably the world's biggest banjo tune. It's more recognisable than [Flatt and Scruggs's] Foggy Mountain Breakdown. I hear it every day on TV, and I think to myself, 'I could be watching this on my great big plasma screen, basking in its glory'. But who knows? We're just happy we know he wrote it."
With his brother Don Wayne picking at a banjo, Dale supped from the bluegrass cup from the cradle. His father's songs were covered by a rake of country and bluegrass artists including Dolly Parton, and by the age of 12, he found himself out on the road, using the backbeat of his mandolin in place of a drum kit, and keeping up with the breakneck speed of his father's touring band, Don Reno, Red Smiley and The Tennessee Cutups.
Barley Scotch is adamant that Hayseed Dixie's mission is purely to entertain, nothing more and nothing less. Mercifully, they're not here to save our souls or strengthen our moral fibre none.
"We like to keep our religious and political beliefs to ourselves," he insists. "Last time we were here, everyone wanted to know what we thought of Bush. We're not representatives of anybody's government. We're representatives of the music, and that's all. We play a lot of the same melodies you'll find in Irish music, such as Paddy On The Turnpike. So many Scottish and Irish settled in the Appalachians, and they not only brought the tunes, they brought the moonshine. That's where we got corn liquor."
Right now though, all the Dixies want to do is to have as much fun as they possibly can, with the most people they possibly can, without breaking the law.
"Nobody's staring at their shoes and singing about their deep poetic soul," Barley Scotch says. "We have our own share of bluegrass Nazis who'd like to control the whole music scene back at home, so to them, we're outlaws and outcasts. In every genre of music, there are people who resist change. There are people who think that all country music should sound like Hank Williams: else it sucks. Then there are people who'll tell you that modern art or architecture is crap, and a lot of it is, but a lot of the old stuff was too. All you remember is what's good.
"I don't think you can set out to create groundbreaking art, or that you know what's going to last while you're doing it. You just have to do what you do and time will tell whether it was artistically important or not. I don't think that when Mozart wrote The Magic Flute he was trying to make enduring art. He was trying to make his kids smile and pay the bills.
"If you're enjoying playing a certain piece of music, chances are people who are listening will enjoy it too," Barley Scotch continues. "If you're playing a piece of music and you're contemplating and pondering, then the only people who are going to listen to it are contemplative ponderers, which is not necessarily a bad thing. There's times I'm in the mood for that, and I'll listen to the latest Elvis Costello and it's more of an intellectual exercise, rather than a gut-level feeling. But we don't want to make anybody work that hard. No one band can be the be all and the end all of everything musical."
Hayseed Dixie play The Village on Sunday, Feb 13th. www.hayseed-dixie.com
