Present in the Moment: Grey Fox Bluegrass Festival 2026

The Del McCoury Band | Grey Fox Bluegrass - photos by Stites McDaniel

Typically, my drive to a festival is when I begin thinking about its review. This year’s quick jaunt out of the Adirondacks and into the foothills of the Catskills for the Grey Fox Bluegrass Festival was no different. Having been lucky enough to cover nearly a decade’s worth of previous Grey Foxes, I wanted to make sure there was something new to my focus.

Sure, I’d done my research and listened to many of the bands on this year’s packed bill. My focus had grown even stronger in February when, despite keeping the lineup a secret from me, my contact in Grey Fox’s production informed me that this year’s festival would have a few Grateful Dead-inspired experiences—perfect fodder for my readers.

Still, despite my preparedness, I was stuck thinking about my angle. I always love to have a theme, some sort of connective tissue that brings the whole festival together for you, loyal readers. My struggle to find something singular led me down the path to enlightenment, so to speak. My focus was my focus. Being present in the moment made this one of the most special Grey Fox Festivals I’ve attended.

As time passes and my kids get older, the demands on their time begin to rise, and this summer has been no different. My eldest chose to attend an academic camp in Philly that conflicted with Grey Fox, so the quiet trip into the Walsh Family Farm was one shared with my son alone.

We had virtually reconnected with our festy family a few weeks before heading down to Oak Hill and easily found them set up in their usual spot. Grey Fox is primarily a Thursday-through-Saturday festival, with a couple of sets on Sunday morning, but don’t tell that to the dedicated many who come down as early as Tuesday to get in line before Wednesday admission, with a limited Thursday-night lineup to reward the hardcore.

Our crew at Camp Caution was hardcore indeed, and Fancy Lancy, our cruise director, had the spot at the corner of Watson St. and McReynolds Ave.—all streets in the Grey Fox campground bear the names of bluegrass legends—set up and welcoming for Jay and me.

We dropped anchor and caught up with all our campmates about their past years: kids, losses, hardship, love, and shows. Festival friends can be very much like family, since you typically spend nearly every waking minute together for about a week. But that intensity only lasts one week each year, so a recap was necessary.

Once we had set up our tent and EZ-Up, we hit the ground running Thursday afternoon and headed out to see East Nash Grass.

It seems the jam-band scene could learn a thing or two from our elder improvisational scene, specifically from its governing body. The International Bluegrass Music Association, IBMA for short, is a renowned body within the scene, giving it force from within, as if it were an engine running on its own exhaust.

The more clout the IBMA gives to a band, through recognition or simply nominating an individual player for an award, the more buzz it creates for the band and the scene. This scuttlebutt brings more people into the scene, creating more clout for the IBMA and leading to more eyes on said band. Perpetual motion.

East Nash Grass is a great example of this. A Thursday-afternoon time slot did not keep those “in the know” from attending this set of music from this oft-nominated band. The IBMA’s word is revered in the scene, and seeing this group showed me why.

As is becoming more often the rule rather than the exception, these younger players brought their knowledge of popular music from the ’90s and beyond to their songwriting and their way of attacking bluegrass standards. Representing tradition through their lineup of banjo, mandolin, guitar, fiddle, and bass, these upstarts have also got an edge to them, sewing strands of punk and grunge into their powerful solos.

Perhaps AJ Lee, in her first of many sit-ins throughout the weekend as artist-at-large, said it best: “Holy cow, these guys play fast.”

Conceivably, it is this speed that is attractive to the generation born into the end of dance-pop and the beginning of grunge.

The band let the crowd know this was their first time at Grey Fox, a common statement at Grey Fox. Even more common is the look of shock and awe on a first-timer’s face at Grey Fox, artist or audience member, for that matter.

A packed tent on a Thursday afternoon is not always what a band expects when it sees it has been assigned such an early time slot. But Grey Fox is different. IBMA recognition or not, people appreciate what is being offered. If the band understands the assignment, it can be a strong symbiotic relationship, even if only for an hour.

The dance tent, actually known as the Catskill Stage, perfectly shows how a crowd can push a band to new heights. This tent is the only unseated venue. People come to this stage ready to move, ready to party. East Nash Grass answered the call with fast picking, a Jimmy Martin cover, a little gypsy music, and even a traditional bluegrass waltz.

I’ve seen the bluegrass scene grow more inclusive over the years. While we can thank Billy Strings for thrusting that movement into the forefront with his 2025 IBMA keynote speech, we can see its incremental reality every year at this festival.

While the deeper political polarization can be felt everywhere, with “Trump Won!” koozies in front of me, the same can be said for the pendulum swinging the other way, as transgender folks comfortably danced behind me. This tent has room for all.

When that which connects us—in this case, our shared love of bluegrass—can be so strong, those things that divide us fall outside the light. We can focus on what binds us.

I often measure musical interludes in children. I remember the last time I saw Amy Helm, my ex was pregnant with my 13-year-old at a one-off bluegrass festival in Lake Placid. Amy bonded with my then-wife, having recently had a baby of her own, and we saw such a silly and enthusiastic side of Amy that day.

While neither her performance that day nor her Thursday set at Grey Fox was traditional bluegrass, Amy’s place in the Americana-roots genre gets her a pass. Over the years, Amy has polished her adult-contemporary psychedelic sound, telling stories about addiction and the hope that can be part of it, her family as dirt farmers and holy rollers in Arkansas, and the power of women in her family and beyond.

As Amy’s role on the production side of music has recently been in the headlines, this more serious paradigm came through in her music. Sure, she was playful at times, cooing and driving her guests forward, but her reverence for what her family had done before her and the place she has carved out as a working musician came through in her driving beats, reminiscent of her father’s solo work, and even a little Dire Straits sound mixed in.

Amy’s sound was not bluegrass, featuring drums—duh—as well as electric bass and guitars and spacious solos from all. Amy even took the mic off the stand and sang without standing still. The horror!

But when you sing a Mahalia Jackson cover like she did, and tell a personal story before covering “Atlantic City” that had more than a few of us old hippies shedding tears, you show that you have worked for everything you have gotten, regardless of whether your last name is musical royalty.

Bringing the set home with a soulful cover of her father’s “Up on Cripple Creek” left me awestruck.

After Amy finished, I took a few minutes to take in my surroundings. The folks putting on Grey Fox know that messing with their successful formula could lead to backlash from their loyal fans. My first Grey Fox was in 2009, and I still hear all about how upset the career attendees are regarding the change in venue. And don’t even get them started talking about Winterhawk.

So, little changes are the big changes. This year, among the Japanese lanterns in the dance tent hung a crystal chandelier. More eye candy, I suppose.

One thing that will never change at this festival is the “bluegrass version.” Remember when you heard the “Gin and Juice” cover that was reworked to sound like bluegrass? Well, at Grey Fox, that is what all the covers are.

So when the Sentimental Gentlemen fast-picked their way into a Beatles tune, you had to smile. “Eleanor Rigby” was never so upbeat. And, of course, “Midnight Moonlight” has always had a foot in bluegrass, so that one was a no-brainer.

I trudged up the hill to the High Meadow Stage for the first time when Della Mae’s set began. Even the politicians on site know that we are there for the music, as a local politico introduced Della Mae. Yet, despite her chosen polarizing career, you wouldn’t know her platform as she introduced Della Mae, encouraging the crowd to “just be present with the people you are with.”

Della Mae’s four-piece lineup has allowed the musicians to grow into the space once occupied by their fifth member. Now, the band’s founding members can cement their guitar and violin chops while being well complemented by rhythm guitar and bass.

This band has seen all sides of the Grey Fox Festival, even touting the lead singer’s experience as a volunteer before climbing onstage and joining the ranks of the performers. But their ascension took time, time they don’t take for granted.

Instead, they know their main-stage set needs to include gospel, deference, and traditional bluegrass for the folks sitting in the hot sun. They’ll save the antics for their dance-tent set, a slot they’ve owned for years and don’t seem eager to vacate.

This day’s set dipped its toe into political ideas, with lyrics reminding the crowd that “Lord knows it takes all kinds” and containing a cover of “Ohio” by CSNY. While this was a statement most agree with, the ladies of Della Mae were still to be commended for taking a stance, whether the crowd would support them or not.

I realized when AJ Lee sat in that this all-female group and its guests were making another statement in the historically masculine club of bluegrass. I shouldn’t have to talk about this every year, but seeing an all-female bluegrass band is a powerful statement in itself.

I finished my day with East Nash Grass’ second set of the day, this time on the High Meadow main stage. When they played “How Mountain Girls Can Love,” more in the style of String Cheese and less in that of the Stanley Brothers, I knew this band had planted its seed in my psyche, and I’d be keeping tabs on its tour dates.

So should you.

Friday

A festival family is just that, for better or worse. On the morning of my second day—the third or fourth day for the festival’s most dedicated—at Camp Caution, we woke up in waves that correlated with a matrix of factors, specifically level of hangover and age.

So I woke up first, with a minimal hangover factor and high age. Waves of children and parents joined me slowly. Our snail’s pace caused me to miss my first activity of the day. Meditation would have to come through the music and not the baritone of Grey Fox’s usual guru.

Instead of trying to see the seer, our focus was on Cookie Crisp, breakfast sandwiches, bluegrass on the Bluetooth, and laughs.

As only a peripheral bluegrass fan, I am often left dumbfounded by a band or two on second stages, left to pick up my jaw and wonder how long it will be before they headline.

This year’s addition to that list was The Burnett Sisters. A trio of soon-to-be and already-graduated women from East Tennessee State University made up the familial portion of the band, playing violin, mandolin, and bass, respectively. They were flanked by a staff member from the university who found bluegrass despite growing up in England, and a banjo player who apparently found bluegrass because it was pumping through his veins.

Their set on the smaller Creekside Stage was not a reflection of the band’s ability or following. The sisters weren’t just complemented by the added players; they were lifted up. The banjo player was a sound engineer to boot, allowing for amazing mic setups, with an added microphone at the back of the stage for one of the sisters to use when the other instruments became too crowded around the single mic.

And his nearly falsetto, gravelly voice was the cherry on top.

After being upended by this previously unknown-to-me powerhouse, I was happy to wander to the High Meadow tent to see Tray Wellington, a star I saw for the first time last year and one I hope not to miss at any Grey Fox to come.

Despite not having the official title, Tray has been an unofficial artist-at-large for the past couple of years, always bringing a very open and psychedelic style of playing to the traditionalists who ask him onto their stage.

On this day, he was one of two leading the band, along with Kaia Kater. Tray and Kaia did not take this opportunity to weave their sound into the fabric of Grey Fox lightly. The seated crowd was treated to a rap-bluegrass combination, philosophies on race, and a true window into what it means to be African American in a white-dominated genre.

High Meadow, like all stages at Grey Fox, continues to host a seated crowd. Yes, even the dance tent is about 50 percent seated, the only difference being that those seated are on the left and right of the centered dance floor. Other stages have room for dancing in the wings or in the back.

The seated crowd looks intimidating to me, but to the artist, perhaps it is more of a challenge. To get a standing ovation at the end of the set is the bar. To get one or multiple standing ovations during the set is the challenge.

Not often does a stage’s lineup, along with the lineups on other stages, allow me the opportunity to stay in one place too long at Grey Fox. But after Tray and Kaia’s set, I realized I would be able to stay in one place for three straight bands.

Next up was The Brothers Comatose, a San Francisco-based band making its premiere at Grey Fox. Clad in somewhat contradictory cowboy and baseball hats, these gentlemen sounded more influenced by their region than their choice of headgear.

The modern Bay Area sound of strong harmonies, unexpected key changes, and space within the music—all stylistic flair that started with the dear old Grateful Dead and the original Bay Area scene of the ’60s—came through in what Nicki Bluhm had aptly named “golden grass.”

The third in the trio of bands at the High Meadow tent was Jason Carter and Michael Cleveland’s band. A pair of violinists isn’t usually the greatest foundation from which to build a bluegrass band, but when the two violinists in question have 19 IBMA Fiddle Player of the Year awards between them, you forgive the atypical band construction.

Their award-winning album from last year would suggest the IBMA and Grammy committees agree.

In true bluegrass fashion, Jason spent a good bit of his banter time praising his former employer, Del McCoury. Bluegrass is so much about positivity through collaboration that to expect anything else from Jason is a reflection of my character and not that of the scene itself.

I ran by the Bluegrass Academy kids, released from the day’s training and now busking a Billy Strings song, in time to catch more of The Burnett Sisters—they covered “Big River!”—this time on a smaller stage with a crowd that suggested the secret of these badasses was out.

Then it was on to The Brothers Comatose at the Catskill dance stage. Seeing bands let their hair down at the Catskill Stage is still one of my favorite experiences at Grey Fox.

Yet, no matter the vibe at the Catskill Stage, I needed to get to High Meadow for Del’s headlining slot. So, after hearing a hauntingly beautiful cover of “Harvest Moon” by The Brothers Comatose with AJ Lee sitting in, I made my way up the hill once more for the Del McCoury Band.

I can’t remember a Grey Fox that Del didn’t play. His age has not slowed him down. Maybe it has loosened him up.

No matter how many times I have seen the Del McCoury Band, I am always in awe of the whole package: the songs, the smile, the coif, the stage banter, the suits. They are the gold standard.

Del invited the dueling fiddle players Jason Carter and Michael Cleveland to the stage, and the cumulative sound was magical.

Jason Carter and Michael Cleveland didn’t stick around very long, and as soon as Del’s set ended, neither did I. It was back to the Catskill Stage in time to catch Cleveland and Carter’s set down there.

Their early cover of the Butthole Surfers confirmed the fiddle players’ understanding of the dance tent, a place where deep covers, extended jams, and less structure are the rule rather than the exception.

Della Mae? They are the gold standard of dance-tent bands.

While their reverence for bluegrass roots is always apparent on the main stage, their irreverence under the multicolored paper lanterns and complementary glass chandelier energizes the crowd with positivity every year.

In addition to their covers of CCR and Fastball’s “The Way,” the ladies decided to lighten the mood with unmatched ’80s pastel jumpsuits this year. I think I even saw matching wristbands and headbands.

But now, folks, the moment you militant Grateful Dead fans have been begrudgingly reading to find: I attended the Grateful Ball.

The Travelin’ McCourys are made up of the typical Del McCoury Band, minus Del, with the addition of Cody Kilby on guitar. The coif and suits aren’t the only things that change drastically when they become The Travelin’ McCourys.

They lose the intensity of bluegrass structure, blurring those lines with the tie-dyed waves of psychedelia. What could go better with bluegrass than interpretations of the Dead?

“Cumberland Blues,” “Friend of the Devil,” “Mama Tried,” “Me and My Uncle,” “Deal,” “Loser,” “Brown-Eyed Women,” “Candyman,” “Loose Lucy,” and a “Scarlet Begonias” encore were all standouts and beautifully played, but the highlight of the night was seeing the way the Dead and bluegrass are so sewn together.

The old heads came out in force and sang along, just as they had for Del and would again for other traditional bluegrass bands throughout the weekend. But this release, this opportunity to dance to songs you knew, reimagined through the lens of fast picking and no percussion, was a freeing return to what was old through a new paradigm.

Saturday

When rain comes at a festival, it only dampens what you allow it to. A good rainfly and ground tarp ensure your tent won’t be penetrated by Mother Nature’s test. A good raincoat and hat will keep your body dry.

As for your attitude? Well, meditation can help with that.

Sitting with dozens of my festival brethren, sending good out to those I am in step with as well as those I am tripping over, can add light, no matter the forecast.

Next came a bit of shopping along one of the many scene-specific vendor rows I am seeing more and more, then on to the High Meadow Stage, a great place to stay dry if the rain picked up.

Jam-band sit-in specialist Darol Anger was slowly summoning the bluegrass gods for one more day, carefully stepping back and forth from jam to bluegrass.

When AJ Lee sat in, my 13-year-old stated as clearly as anyone could what her impact on the weekend had been.

“She doesn’t try to outshine the people she sits in with, even if she can.”

While she may lead and play big solos, AJ is showing great synergy and respect for those she gets to play with.

Darol Anger and Mr. Sun pushed structural boundaries while also playing those songs that defined the scene. Hearing Anger sashay through a standard is a privilege, no matter how many times you’ve seen it.

Despite Del’s set falling on Friday this year and the on-and-off threat of rain on this first weekend day, freedom from the traditional workweek schedule had brought the Grey Fox population to its weekend high.

The day-parking lot overflowed with those who could only make it for the day, and the campsites were all at capacity, with an additional tent here and there for those camping only one night.

A new, chaotic energy, accelerated by the meteorological unknown, had taken over the farm.

The second of the weekend’s Grateful Dead-inspired sets was up next at the Catskill Stage. Jam music’s influence on Andy Falco and Travis Book of The Infamous Stringdusters is often noted.

Seeing the full band on the bill at a jam-band festival, hearing them cover Phish’s “Free,” and even hearing their previous quotes and interviews doting on the direction the Grateful Dead offered them in their musical careers left little doubt that these gentlemen of bluegrass were going to bring something special to Saturday’s set, billed as “Andy and Travis Play Jerry.”

Immediately stepping away from that specific title with the Bob Weir-led soundcheck of “Jack Straw” let us know we were in for a limitless treat.

When they launched into “Help on the Way” > “Slipknot!,” their reverence was in the air. Just as Phil did so many times, this duo didn’t fall into traditional roles, allowing the bass to take solos and play leads alongside the acoustic guitar.

Yet these two weren’t trying to fill the stage with sound. Instead, they focused on the right combination of sound.

“Wharf Rat.” The bass played the melody we all know perfectly.

“Mission in the Rain.” Sure, “tomorrow will be Sunday, born of a rainy Saturday,” but these two were keeping me in this moment.

“Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo.”

These were fans, or, as they put it, “We are not here to celebrate the Grateful Dead for you. We are here to celebrate the Grateful Dead with you.”

“Terrapin Station” > “Scarlet Begonias.”

“These spaces filled with darkness” as a storm threatened.

“Ripple.”

The audience, the wind—we all sang along.

We took advantage of the dinner break that happens daily at both the High Meadow and Catskill stages and went to cook a bite.

The kids at Camp Caution were getting loose, full of the nervous energy that accompanies emptying coolers, increased conversations about weather, and dwindling whiskey and wine supplies—the latter more about the collective attitude of the parents by this point in the weekend.

Dusk was fast approaching on the final night of the festival, but the electricity in the air was at a three-day high.

Back at the Catskill Stage, before launching into a cover of The Byrds’ “Eight Miles High,” The Often Herd’s guitarist told the crowd that this was his first time in the States. Yet, within 10 days of his arrival, he was onstage at the Ryman.

It was like bluegrass Christmas morning.

Then all our pontificating finally turned into action, first in the form of rain, then thunder, then lightning.

But we were under the tent, and so was Le Vent du Nord, which harnessed the power of Mother Nature, along with its sound, to melt away the crowd’s inhibitions.

The dance party moved off the covered dance floor and into the roads around the tent, under the rain and without care. The lightning and thunder soon stopped, but the rain persisted. Not enough to cancel anything, just enough to test our collective resolve.

Getting to take pictures at a festival gives me the occasional peek into the social dynamics of a backstage scene.

The Infamous Stringdusters’ backstage crowd is getting younger and, apologies to my fellow overall-wearing brethren at Grey Fox, also hipper.

I deduced the bougie effect may have infiltrated this hay farm when a late teen in store-bought Daisy Dukes and a recently broken-in cowboy hat remarked that she wanted to be on trash detail next year because, “Like, they look so cute!”

Make it Insta-official.

But this observation and ensuing jaw pickup could only happen because I had 15 extra minutes. The band was off schedule—a Grey Fox rarity.

Was it weather-related?

Before I could truly contemplate these questions, it was raining buckets by the fifth song.

The Stringdusters could feel the pressure to bring it home for the attendees braving the rain, as water crept across the front of the stage. It was strictly bluegrass for most of the shortened set, save for a cover of “Sharp Dressed Man” with Darol Anger sitting in, giving the whole band the chance to explore the same type of huge, spacious jams that Andy and Travis had occupied during their covers set.

The rain continued to fall and forced The Stringdusters to end their set early.

The weather also led to Rhiannon Giddens’ headlining set being canceled.

The only game in town was the dance tent, and I didn’t even know who was playing. So I decided to contemplate how quickly we had found the bottom of the whiskey bottle from the confines of my tent, smiling as I fell asleep while hearing Rhiannon sit in with…whoever was at the Catskill Stage.

Sunday

My Sunday experience at Grey Fox is always full of apologies.

An early departure means I don’t have anything to tell you about Ron Thomason’s final performance after decades of playing with Grey Fox’s host band, Dry Branch Fire Squad.

I apologize that my son and I stunk up the Ambrosia Diner with festy feet to the nth degree.

I apologize that this review has taken so long to come to print.

Being in the moment is hard when the moment has passed, but this may be why I have been dragging my feet for so long before submitting it.

Grey Fox is a moment I never want to end, and being in the moment contradicts how much I am already looking forward to next year’s Grey Fox.

See you there.