Rick Shubb, musician
Someone once commented to Doc Watson about his Shubb Capo. Doc replied, “Son, I knowed Rick Shubb before there was a Shubb Capo.”
He was right. If you know my name, it is probably because of my capo. But before that I made my living as a 5-string banjo player and teacher, and occasionally as a freelance graphic artist. This page is for those of you who may be curious about my career as a performing and recording musician.
First, here are some sound files to listen to. Scroll down for the rest of the story.
I spent most of the summer of 1973 in Nashville, going out to bluegrass festivals each weekend to introduce my new 5th string capo. While in town midweek I got a call from Buck White, who needed a banjo player for some gigs.
He remembered me from the 1966 bluegrass festival in Fincastle VA, where we had done a lot of jamming together, and our playing styles had meshed beautifully. His memory of those sessions from seven years earlier was enough to get me the gig.
When I had jammed with him in ’66, his two daughters were not yet part of his band. But by ’73, they were a big part of it. They still went by the name Buck White and the Down Home Folks, but everyone referred to them as “Buck and the Girls.” Nowadays the Whites are known as “the first family of the Grand Ol Opry.”
These people were a pure joy to play music with. Their tight, relaxed rhythmic groove made playing easy, and Buck’s mandolin inspired me to pull out some of my swing licks I’d developed with Bob Wilson. I extended my stay in Nashville for a few weeks, and played a few festivals with them; it was one of the most enjoyable times I’ve had in music.
We were playing a midweek club gig in Nashville when who should walk in but Bill Monroe. Buck beckoned Monroe onto the stage and handed him his mandolin. Bill accepted, and took over the stage, leading Cheryl, Sharon, and me through a full set of his songs. Following a long medley of Monroe hits, on which he really ran me through my paces, he put his hand on my shoulder and announced “Now this boy is playing some mighty fine banjo, I can tell you that right now.” It was my one and only experience onstage with Bill Monroe, and it couldn’t have been better.
For a more detailed account, see “My Monroe Moment.”
In 1975 I moved to Portland, Oregon, where I played in a band called Dr. Corn’s Bluegrass Remedy. We played at a local club once a week, plus quite a few college gigs. We also managed to get onto network TV when the Today Show visited Oregon in 1976.
During my two year stay in the northwest I got to sit in with most of the local bands, including Good ‘n Country, the Sawtooth Mountain Boys, and the Muddy Bottom Boys. But the group I really clicked with, and which I joined up with for a short stint, was the Old Hat Band in Seattle. Besides being an old-time music trio, they each had self-created alter egos which they featured in Snootful’s Wonder Cure Medicine Show: a corny piece of vaudeville that was a barrel of fun. To participate in the Medicine Show, I created a character named “Honest Willie Cheatham,” banjo wizard and former town drunk of Gnawbone, Indiana.
In 1977 I returned to California, and did some playing with talented singer/guitarist Rob De Witt. We were hanging out and picking just about every day. It was an especially prolific period for me, and we were putting a band together simply called the Rick Shubb Band, that would mainly feature my own original tunes. We played only a few gigs, but then the life of this band was cut short as I neared completion of my new guitar capo, which would demand my undivided attention.
By the early 80s the Shubb Capo for Guitar had changed my life. While my passion for playing was as strong as ever, I knew a good thing when I saw one. The banjo took a back seat to the capo, as I set about learning to be a businessman.
I would have one more chance to feel like a working musician for three weeks, though. My old friend Laurie Lewis had booked a tour for her band, the Grant Street String Band, but learned that their regular banjo player could not make it. She asked me to fill in. The capo business was not yet so demanding that I could not take some time off, and so off I went.
We played gigs around the north coast of California, Oregon, Washington, and spent a week in British Columbia. It was like a vacation for me; the music was really good, as was the fellowship, and all I had to do for three weeks was play the banjo. For my last hurrah as a touring musician, I couldn’t have asked for more.
In the early 90s I had an injury to my left hand, and was unable to play for nearly two years. If you’re a musician then you know that coming back from a two-year layoff would be almost like starting over again. I had nearly decided to call it quits, and I was content with that decision, but some of my friends were set on talking me out of it. Or I should say, back into it. Chief among these was Raul Reynoso.
Along with Bob Wilson and Hank Bradley, Raul Reynoso has been one of my most consistent, longtime music partners. Although we have never been “officially” in a band together, we’ve managed to perform together dozens of times, and over the years we’ve developed a repertoire of specialty tunes. He’s been a member of my trade show team almost from the beginning. His playing is always an inspiration to me, and I try to never miss a chance to play music with him.
During my layoff from playing, Raul had become a member of a prestigious northern California club with an affinity for the performing arts, especially music. He wanted to share the experience with me, and invited me as his guest. The prospect of keeping in closer touch with Raul and some other world class musicians who were frequent guests or members convinced me to pick up the banjo and try to regain some of my old chops. It took years, as Raul patiently coaxed me back into shape, but eventually my playing was a reasonable facsimile of my former self.
In 2017 Raul and his wife moved to Northern California, and I quickly enlisted him to work for Shubb Capos, handling artist relations and customer support. He’s a natural born good will ambassador.
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Valse de Bamboula, with Raul Reynoso and David Jackson
Whenever possible I have tried to play with musicians who are better than me. It’s one of the best ways to improve, and it certainly makes the musical adventure more exhilarating. I don’t perform very often these days, but I do try to keep my hand in. And as per my own advice to students, I keep the banjo out of its case.
