Getting To Know: JOSEPH DECOSIMO

Durham-based folklorist, fiddler, and banjoist Joseph Decosimo has long been a torchbearer for Appalachian old-time music—but on his upcoming album Fiery Gizzard (out 15 August via Dear Life Records), he lights a bonfire under tradition. Prompted by a chance conversation with Hiss Golden Messenger’s MC Taylor, Decosimo wondered what would happen if he filtered old-time tunes through the psych-folk energy of Albion Country Band and Fairport Convention. The result is a live-recorded, electrified collision of past and present: shimmering banjos with cheap pickups, hypnotic percussion, and a crackling ensemble featuring members of Wye Oak, Beirut, Elephant Micah, and Fust.

The latest teaser, his version of “Billy Button,” distills Decosimo’s approach perfectly: a surreal nursery rhyme tune handed down through generations, transformed into something both ghostly and warm. Its roots trace from a North Georgia banjo tradition to folklorist Art Rosenbaum’s archive and finally to Decosimo’s own kitchen jams, where his three-year-old son dances to its tongue-twister chorus. With Fiery Gizzard, Decosimo navigates the tension between preservation and reinvention, capturing the spirit of Appalachia while bending it toward new sonic frontiers.

1. “Billy Button” is such a strange and beautiful tune—part nursery rhyme, part time capsule. What first grabbed you about this song, and how did your son’s reactions influence the way you approached it in the studio?

Absolutely—it’s a weird little gem. I first heard my friend Jake Xerxes Fussell sing it, and the melody and trippy imagery just stuck with me. When our son was born, I started singing it to him, and over time it became part of our household soundtrack. By the time we recorded it, he knew bits of the tongue-twister and was bopping in the control room. That joy and looseness shaped the way we played it—keeping it playful but reverent.

2. The spark for Fiery Gizzard came from MC Taylor suggesting an Albion Country Band/Fairport Convention filter for old-time music. What excited you about pushing Appalachian tunes into that more psychedelic, ensemble-driven space?

I’d been experimenting with electrified banjo and adding drums and electric guitars, so his suggestion lit a fire. Old-time music is already incredibly dynamic and jammy—it’s conversational. Bringing in a rock-band aesthetic let us stretch that conversation without losing its soul. It was about expanding the palette while staying true to the communal energy that’s always been at the heart of the tradition.

3. You recorded live with an incredible lineup—members of Wye Oak, Fust, Beirut, and Elephant Micah. How did that collaborative environment shape the sound and spirit of the album?

It was magical. Some of us had never all been in the same room before, but there was this shared trust. Andy Stack engineered and produced—his instincts were spot on, creating a space that felt natural and adventurous. When we listened back to our first takes of “Puncheon Camps,” we were floored by how everything clicked. The whole record felt like a responsive conversation—everyone throwing themselves into these old tunes with total commitment.

4. As both a folklorist and performer, you’re balancing preservation and innovation. How do you think about honoring tradition while allowing it to evolve?

Culture is never static—it’s always emerging and adapting. My mentors taught me that careful emulation is important, but so is recognizing that the music will inevitably sound different in my hands. I see myself less as a preservationist and more as a conduit. The older generation gave us this music generously, and I want to honor that by keeping it alive—sometimes in a very traditional way, and sometimes by letting it move in unexpected directions, like on Fiery Gizzard.

5. The title Fiery Gizzard nods to a Tennessee gorge and a failed 19th-century blast furnace—a name that’s both wild and poetic. Why did it feel right for this project, and what does it say about the album’s themes?

Fiery Gizzard is a place from my childhood—a gorge that’s both comforting and a little unsettling. The name itself has all these hazy, conflicting origin stories, which felt fitting. Like the blast furnace, the album came together fast and without a clear map—three days of recording, trusting the process. The name carries that sense of risk, transformation, and rootedness. It’s sentimental and unruly all at once, just like the music.