The life and work of Matt Stamell, carving violins and fostering music through his storied Amherst workshop, set in a traditional string band ballad. #MattStamell #AmherstMA #LuthierBallad
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Come listen all you rambling folk, wherever you may stand,
Of a boy who heard the ancient wood call out across the land.
A child raised in the sixty’s breeze, where Dylan’s verses roll,
He sought a trade of honest hands to satisfy his soul.
At Hobart town in sixty-odd, a youthful spark was thrown,
A teardrop mountain dulcimer of sweet and hollow tone.
He learned the fret and carved the bridge before he took his flight
To study craft in Boston town, from early dawn till night.
He packed his planes and rasps away, and headed out out west,
To settle in the Wendell woods, where mountain air is best.
His bench was high as any hip, and wide as outstretched arm,
Where pine and maple turned to song, safe sheltered from the storm.
Beneath the bench a quilt was spread, of colors deep and fair,
Where little feet would crawl right in, away from fret and care.
While overhead the rolling chair went squeaking to and fro,
The pale curled shavings drifted down just like the winter snow.
He shaped the guitar's ringing box, the dulcimer so fine,
Until four daughters filled the house, like fruit upon the vine.
He weighed the trade and took the risk, and turned his practiced hand
To build and mend the fiddles tall, the finest in the land.
In Amherst town on Kellogg Street, behind the sorting mail,
He set his shop in timbers blue to weather every gale.
Up winding stairs the music hangs, where cellos stand in rows,
And through the rooms with open heart the piney varnish blows.
He never missed a dancer’s leap through seven-and-twenty years,
He sat through every stage and floor to greet them with his cheers.
He taught the eye to read the spruce, the secret maple grain,
And passed the craft from father's hand to flourish once again.
They come from far across the hills, a thousand schools and more,
To take the voice of singing pine beyond his workshop door.
A lifetime built on patience strong, on beauty, glue, and wood,
To leave a mark upon the world that honest hearts call good.
So raise a glass of autumn wine, and strike the fiddle ring,
For the luthier upon the hill who taught the pines to sing.
For hands that work, and eyes that know, and love that never fails,
Long may the bench of Stamell stand to tell its quiet tales.
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