I’d never seen the river Haw was named after, but it felt right, going there with Taylor. Place is paramount in his work, as are what he calls “internal landscapes”—the facts of how we exist in the world, in relation to those around us. While we waited for coffee at a roastery on the outskirts of town, I asked Taylor, who was born and reared in California, if he ever self-identified as a Southern artist.
After Bussard felt I’d been sufficiently wowed by the sight of it, he pulled the 78 from its paper sleeve, laid it on his turntable, and wiped the surface with a record cleaning brush that resembled a blackboard eraser.
Amédé Ardoin was born in the spring of 1898, the grandson of slaves. His family worked as sharecroppers at the Rougeau farm in L’Anse des Rougeau, near Basile, Louisiana. Ardoin tried his best to avoid field labor whenever possible, preferring to tote his Monarch accordion to house parties, where he’d team up with like-minded fiddlers and play early iterations of the frenzied dance songs that would eventually constitute the Cajun canon.