Violet and the Newsroom

Remembering Elizabeth Blair Newton

Hey all, Clay (and Anabel near the end) here. We’re in the middle of a busy weekend (more on that in the next post), but we wanted to take a moment to remember our dear friend Liz Newton.

We’re coming up, now, on a week without her. Liz died last Sunday after a short stay in hospice. In the days since, I’ve been struck by how often her name comes up, even among friends I didn’t know had crossed paths with her. But, of course they had – Liz was well-known and deeply loved.

Liz was born and raised in Frankfort and was a lover of all kinds of music. If you are at all involved in the Frankfort/Lexington old time music scene, you’ve almost certainly played alongside her. She was a regular attendee at the Old North Bar jams in Lexington (and, before that, the Rock House old time jams) as well as the first Thursday jams at Mortimer Bibb’s in Frankfort. She even made it out to the inaugural jam at West Sixth Farm this past May.

Liz’s love of music extended beyond playing – she was a passionate supporter of public media! She’d regularly call in to chat with DeBraun Thomas on the morning block of WUKY’s Rock & Roots – so often, in fact, that when I mentioned I’d started working there, the first thing she did was rave about him, calling him her “phone-a-friend.”

She also regularly tuned in to WMKY’s Bluegrass Diversion with John Ryster. Frankfort’s just out of range to catch it on FM radio, so – distance be damned! – she tuned into that one online, leaving Facebook comments with song requests. Whenever John would play a murder ballad, she’d request a woman-forward song (or several!) in penance. And on Sundays, she’d stream WMOT out of Murfreesboro, TN to catch the gospel show Somebody Say Amen.

Liz had an immense impact on those around her. She was a generous and curious musician, always eager to share what she knew and lift others up. I’ve heard so many stories these past few days from people whose lives she touched. I want to share just one of mine.

During my last semester at Morehead State, I started to dabble in fiddle. I asked one of my professors, Jesse Wells, how I might continue my fiddle education after graduation. He pointed me toward an old time fiddle group that was basically in my own backyard. That’s where I met Liz.

She was one of the first to greet me, alongside a dozen fellow Frankfort fiddlers, including Lucian Parker and John Harrod. The whole group was incredible, all of them playing bouncy tunes I’d never heard at impossible speeds. I tried to hang back, just listening for a while, but they were so fast I could barely tell which string they were bowing. My shyness became obvious, I guess, and they decided to snap me out of it. They invited me right into the center of the circle and told me to play whatever I knew and they’d take it at my speed. I pulled out the only two I could half-play: Angeline the Baker and Old Joe Clark. They matched my pace – slow, at first, then faster at their encouragement.

From then on, I felt totally at ease around these folks – but still not 100% comfortable with the fiddle. It’s an awful loud instrument, you see, and its proximity to the ear made me hyper-aware of every shriek and squeal. So I took something quieter to play at jams – my dulcimer – and told myself I’d learn the tunes that way and translate them to the fiddle in my own time.

But Liz was wise to me. Whenever I’d come in with two cases, she’d ask me when I planned to take out my fiddle, and to show her what I’d been working on! She always made sure I had the chance to request a tune. And when I brought only one case, she’d ask where my fiddle was before I’d even take the dulcimer out. Eventually, I stopped bringing the fiddle entirely. I’d been renting it for about $30 a month, but it was an expense that my budget just didn’t have the padding to cover.

Liz wouldn’t have that. She invited me over to her home and put two fiddles out on the table, telling me I could borrow whichever one I liked best so I could continue to practice. I tried them both – a blonde one with a reedy-but-penetrating tone, and a darker one that was warm, clear, and responsive. She called the darker one her “picnic fiddle” because it was basically her beater – she could tote it around with her outside in the hot sun and it rarely complained. Easy choice!

I practiced with her picnic fiddle for a year. I got better, slowly. She encouraged me to go to Cowan Creek, if I could, so I did. I brought the picnic fiddle with me. And it was there that I learned that she’d entered hospice care just days before.

Liz had never gone to Cowan, but she was known to many there. We all messaged her to send our love, and she asked for updates and stories. Peyton, Lucian, Violet and I sent her videos of her friends’ performances. I told her I’d love to visit her and return her fiddle.

I went to see her the week before last. Her room was filled with chocolate and balloons. We chatted and shared songs for hours (her recommendations including Jesus At The Taco Truck, I Hope I’m Stoned (When Jesus Takes Me Home) & this video of Time After Time on the mountain dulcimer). She told me stories about her life, some I’d heard and some I hadn’t. I learned she’d once taken a singing workshop with Rhiannon Giddens! I learned that she’d once been a hospice nurse herself. I learned that she’d taken up fiddle not as a child – which I’d assumed – but at age 49, using the very instrument she’d now entrusted to me.

She bought it in 2003 for $75 at an antique store in Jupiter, Florida. It was a cheap German thing that had to be glued back together before it was ready for her to learn on. It served her dutifully for 20 years. She told me to use it and share it. She told me every fiddler needs a fiddle to travel with, because there are tunes everywhere waiting to be caught and taught.

It’s thanks to Liz that I’m still playing. It’s thanks to her warmth and enthusiasm that I felt so welcome from that very first jam session and came back for more. It’s thanks to her attention and generosity that I still have a fiddle in my hands. It’s thanks to her playful teasing and encouragement that left me determined to not chicken out and just play quietly in the background.

A quick note from Anabel: 

I didn’t get to know Liz quite as well as Clay and many others, but she still left a profound impact on my life. We first met at the 2024 Frankfort History Days, when Violet and the Newsroom was still the Flowerpatch Kids (deepcut)! Liz was there, accompanying our now good friends Peyton and Lucian and enjoying the music and festivities together. I don’t remember our conversations or the jokes inevitably cracked, but it was my first old-time festival of sorts, and she made me feel welcome.

Coming back to my alma mater to watch school concerts is anxiety-inducing for me, which is tough to admit. This last year, I’d walk in the venue and feel a million imaginary eyes on me, but that fear would dissipate when I saw an extra empty seat behind Liz and made a beeline to meet her. We’d chit chat about anything under the sun. Peyton’s cool hats or the terrible section of interstate between Lexington and Georgetown or how old-time jams have evolved and flourished… all of it. I’m not sure if she actively trained herself to become the most welcoming and safe presence in the world, or if she was just born like that. Either way, I am incredibly grateful. 

Thank you as well to her family and loved ones who I know worked tirelessly at the end of her life. Kentucky’s old-time music scene was incredibly lucky to have Liz. Her influence will long outlive her. All of us who love her are proof.

If you knew Liz, you likely have your own stories of her impact on you – of tunes she loved, encouragement she gave, or jokes she made. Please feel free to share them. I’d love to hear them. I want to keep listening.