Laurie Lewis is in Honolulu on her annual visit with Tom Rozum. She's looking down at her bare toes, the nails of which are painted with little flowers. When asked about the fancy pedicure, she blushes a little and mumbles something about painting her nails in solidarity with a friend. This is obviously a woman who'd rather talk about her music than her toes. After all, she grew up in Berkeley, part of the beatnik and hippie generations that eschewed artifice.

“Very late in my career, I decided that I did need makeup to perform onstage,” she says wryly. “I'm pretty fair, and with blue eyes, I get completely washed out. I learned late, and very self-consciously, to use it, but it's not something I'm really comfortable with. I mean, I was a tomboy into my . . .” She pauses, trying to remember the end of this phase of childhood. She bursts into laughter. “No, I'm still a tomboy!”

Laurie Lewis is a middle child, one of four kids raised by a single mother. “Mom was a high school biology teacher. When my parents got divorced, she went back to college, got her teaching credentials . . . way older than anybody else in college! Started teaching at Berkeley High, and taught there for a long time.”

Her words are measured with care and used sparingly. There's no waste, nothing extra that might distract or obstruct. She's a product of her environment-liberal and liberated, introspective and conscientious, a vegetarian and yoga student who shops at organic produce markets near the Berkeley home she bought 30 years ago. She reads and thinks and speaks her mind. In 1997, she finished the California AIDS Ride, pedaling 583 miles from San Francisco to Los Angeles, raising over $6,000. And she believes in responsible procreation.

“Not everybody's cut out for motherhood. I suspect that if I had kids, I'd be a good mother. But there are so many people on the Earth, and I didn't feel a driving need to contribute in that way. I'd rather hang out with other peoples' kids!” she grins.

By Laurie's side for the past 15 years has been Tom Rozum, her musical compadre. He's one of the coolest sidemen in the business. Vocally, they are perfectly matched. “The more you sing with someone, the more you can anticipate how the other person is gonna phrase. We've been singing together for so long, I know Laurie's bag of tricks.”

When they began working together, Tom sang tenor. “But I had to sing below Laurie. It was really foreign to me. I had to memorize the parts, as opposed to automatically finding them.”

In the past couple years, Tom's done some duo gigs in the Bay Area with his friend Ray Bierl, providing an opportunity to try on the tenor once again. “I just wasn't used to it! The range isn't much different; I think it's a different mindset. When you're singing tenor, the listener's ear automatically goes to the high part. You're more exposed. Baritone singing is more invisible, and you're trying to make it all mesh together and give it a little bit of glue. Listen to J.D. Crowe. He's one of the best; you feel his voice more than hear it. It gives a song a whole different texture.”

Here's a listener's review of Earth & Sky from Amazon.com, written April 6, 1999:

Just buy it. This is rapidly becoming one of my favorite CDs. Why is Alison Krauss so well known (admittedly, she's great), and Laurie Lewis (who is just as good) so little known?

It certainly isn't the first time that somebody has wondered why the whole world doesn't know about Laurie Lewis.

Watch her onstage, delivering one of her own tunes or, respectfully and tenderly, somebody else's. Just listen to “The Wood Thrush's Song,” her wistful lament for the disappearing natural world, or her cover of Jean Ritchie's “Black Waters.” Or “The Maple's Lament,” her ode to the soul of her fiddles:

But sometimes from my mem'ry I can sing the birds in flight
And I can sing of sweet dark earth and endless starry nights,
But oh, my favorite song of all, I truly do believe,
Is the song the sunlight sang to me while dancing on my leaves.

She draws the bow across the strings, and her solo evokes loss and yearning. She sings the last verse with absolute confidence and clarity, dead on pitch even through the most challenging passages, pulling every haunting, perfect note from somewhere deep within her compact frame. The audience, momentarily left breathless and silent, erupts into wild applause.

Onstage, Tom plays mandolin-not his beloved 1924 Lloyd Loar F-5, or his Gilchrist, one of the last F-4 models made by luthier Steve Gilchrist, but an A-style Sullivan. “It's a great mandolin. I got it because after 9/11, there was talk about [the airlines] not allowing any instruments to be checked. I got really scared and ordered this one, because it was inexpensive, comparatively. It's such a good mandolin that I wouldn't want to check this one, either!”

Tom's been influenced by a number of mandolinists-“pretty much the ones that most mandolin players talk about,” he says. “Ricky Skaggs, David Grisman. Later on, Sam Bush.” His chop is impeccable, reminiscent of that of Bush himself, maybe? “Well, that's a big compliment!” Tom says with a huge smile. “I don't think my chop is anywhere near Sam's, but thank you. I've always had a good sense of time. That's probably my biggest asset. That's my main job in the band-to help with the groove.” He's a fan of Buck White, one of the subtlest, most elegant musicians ever to master those eight maddening strings. With tastefully inventive phrasing, Tom follows in his hero's footsteps.

Tom's own musical preferences are esoteric and interesting. They include the Beatles, Western swing, and Mexican music. “For the longest time I had this crazy style. A lot of people said they loved listening because they never knew what I would do. I've had to tone that down since we started touring in festival situations. I've tried to be less adventurous and more consistent, because it sounds more professional. People realize that you're taking chances, and a lot of times you fall on your face.”

In Honolulu, it's sunny and breezy, perfect for a day at some lazy white-sand beach. Where are Laurie and Tom? In a dark theatre at the Honolulu Academy of Art, watching a controversial new film about the Kissinger years.

“We try to keep our politics separate from our music,” Tom says carefully, “although it's getting harder and harder in this political climate . . . I have made it a point to try not to make any comments that would offend people. The thing about music is it brings people from all walks of life together. I know if I go to a festival and I hear someone talk in a preaching way, and it's not my way of thinking, I find it tiring. It seems like it's not the time and place, because people are paying money to come and enjoy a show. Having said that, it's getting harder and harder, because I'm feeling very helpless.”

Laurie's politics are similarly maligned and admired among her peers. “There is no single viewpoint among the bluegrass community. You just have to accept that if you say things, there are going to be people that don't agree. And that's fine; I'm willing to accept that. It's difficult for me because I feel extremely strongly about some things. I hate to be preached at, and I don't wanna be a preacher. Yet I want to sing and talk about what I think is important. So I try and do it in the first person, instead of 'You should do this, you should do that.' I write songs that don't alienate.” Chuckling, she adds, “They gently nudge you to my way of thinking!”

She believes “The Wood Thrush's Song” is a good example of this. “It's important to have a consciousness. If you have a consciousness of how the human world is impacting the environment, how we're losing so much of God's creation by our actions, you have an obligation to point it out! I try to do that in ways that aren't too mean, too hard-edged. Although maybe at this point, I should get up and start yellin' . . . but nobody listens to a hysterical woman.” This time, her gentle laughter is edged with sadness.

“I feel where bluegrass stems from is people with a very close connection to the earth. Certainly, Bill Monroe used imagery of the natural world all the time. He maybe didn't have as much of an ecological bent in his writing, but if he was my age now, in this world, he might!” She laughs--what an image, Big Mon as a tree hugger! “He certainly had an intense, close relationship with the earth. I heard a story from when he was in the hospital, that he asked some visitors to help him outside, because he just wanted to stand barefoot on the earth. That's a good story. That might end up in a song sometime.”

In March 1994, while traveling home from a show in Arizona, Laurie and Tom were in a devastating auto accident. Tom was thrown from the car, and broke his right wrist and shoulder blade and the femur head of his left leg; he dislocated his hip and completely tore the ligaments in his knee. By July, after exhaustive therapy, he was back full-time with the band.

Three years later, in a message asking friends and fans for their support of her California AIDS ride, Laurie wrote about the accident and its aftermath:

My physical injuries, which I thought would maybe take a couple of weeks to recover from, have actually taken years to heal. The process has become a part of my life . . . I am feeling strong and healthy again, and so taking part in this ride is a celebration. I am reveling in my strength! This isn't to say that training is not difficult. In truth, I have never asked so much of my body, but I just feel so incredibly blessed that I have it to give.

After a period of creative limbo following the accident, Laurie wrote “Kiss Me Before I Die,” her exhilarating anthem to the spirit of carpe diem. The song beautifully reflects the lessons she learned from the experience. “Never assume that an opportunity will come round again. Never assume that you'll be able to take advantage of an opportunity if it does come 'round again.”

The lesson Tom carried away is even plainer. “It's a short ride,” he says simply.

Tom's music, his art, and his stage presence all reflect his personality--wry, clever, tongue firmly planted in cheek. Is this something he's put a lot of thought into?

Laurie cracks up, then seems to consider the implications of the question. “Our shows are not scripted,” she says flatly.

“If you're asking why I try to be funny . . . that's a good question,” Tom muses. “Laurie's so serious in her presentation; she just opens herself up for these stupid comments.” They both snicker. “I've listened to a lot of Homer & Jethro. I remember watching them on TV when I was a kid, and I just loved them. Homer reminded me of my Uncle Ralph. Jethro'd be talking, and then Homer would shoot out a one-liner that was just perfect. I guess he's my model.

“If you can entertain with something besides the music, it gives more dimension to the show. A lot of our music is very serious, and I try to be respectful of it, and of Laurie. Sometimes [the humor] distracts too much. I feel bad about that, but you get better at it.”

“Since nothing's scripted, we run the risk of things working or not working,” Laurie says. “But we'd rather run the risk and have magic happen sometimes.”

One of the most delightful things about many of Laurie's original songs is the rhythm of their lyrics, the way the words flow around, away from, and into each other. Each line pours smoothly as it is delivered; there's no clumsiness or self-conscious poetic license. These lyrics are written by a songwriter raised on the language of poets.

“I was completely into Dylan Thomas and Yeats,” she says. “I read all kinds of poems. We had this set of encyclopedias when I was a kid, the Wonder Books or something like that. I would look through each volume, and only read the poems. I never paid attention to who wrote them. I read all the time. I don't feel I'm all that smart. There's people out there who write so fantastically.”

The hardest thing, for Laurie, is accepting that a song is finished. “And making the commitment to the performance of it. That's really hard, because I have a very strong editorial sense. If there's one little part that's still awkward, I'll hold the song away from public scrutiny until I feel it's the best I can do. Or I throw up my hands and say, 'I give up! I can't do it anymore, so this just must be the way it is.'”

Her collection of works in progress is an organized lyricist's nightmare--receipts and napkins and odd scraps of paper, shoved into a folder. She is often surprised by the music she writes. “A lot of my songs seem like some little miracle that happened. I don't remember the agony of childbirth, and I look at this thing and go, 'Huh! How'd that happen?' Just surprised that they came, and that they have ten fingers and ten toes.” She's reluctant to name her favorite. “It's like your children; you've gotta push 'em out in the world. How could I say I'm prouder of one child than another? And I don't want to be like the mother doting on her kids. I dote on them, but I don't want to do that in public.”

1997 saw the publication of Earth & Sky: The Laurie Lewis Songbook, a collection of 44 of Laurie's original tunes. “Everything from the Earth & Sky CD is in there, and everything I've recorded. It was in the works for a long time.”

The book almost didn't happen. “I sent inquiries to music publishers, and I never heard anything back. And I couldn't make myself follow up, because I'm a ninny. So I thought, 'Well, I'll put it out myself.' I had this mockup done, and I sold 20 of 'em, to try to get some money to put it out the right way.” She went to a writer's workshop in Oregon and met a publisher from Confluence Press. “We hit it off, and he really liked my songs. He loved the idea of the songbook, and said, 'How about if we set it up together? That way it will get distribution, and you won't have to warehouse it.'”

The initial press run was 3,000, with 500 signed hardcover editions packaged with the CD. It's a handsome volume, with dozens of great photos of Laurie onstage and off, with friends, family, and other musicians. Reviews have been excellent. Still, she expresses some vexation with the project. “Small independent publishers are in the same boat as small independent music companies. It's hard to get anybody to pay attention. I was doing signings at major bookstores, and the bookstores couldn't get the book! The distributor mostly deals with Barnes & Noble and Borders, and also has distributors that supply independent bookstores. But word never got to those independent distributors that the book was out. It happens with music all the time.”

She shakes her head, laughing ruefully. “I don't want to have anything to do with business! I just wanna play my little songs.”

In the tiny garden of the Pacific Heights home they're staying in during their visit to O`ahu, Tom and Laurie pose for photographs. Before long, Tom takes over as art director for the “shoot,” offering valuable suggestions and comments with quiet confidence. He knows what he's doing. Tom has created some of the most recognizable art in bluegrass; it's been seen on t-shirts, album covers, bumper stickers. His creations include the Edvard Munch-esque Banjo Scream, Bluegrassic Park (with the mando-pickin' dinosaur) and the Dog Boy logo for his own independent CD label.

“I've always been drawing. My mom says the earliest drawing she has is from before I was going to school. People would write numbers or letters of the alphabet, and I would turn them into drawings. And all through school, when I should have been taking notes, I was doing doodles in the margins of my notebooks--even in college! During a genetics class, I did a drawing of the professor as a fruit fly. It got passed around the class.”

Tom grew up in Prospect, Connecticut, the son of parents who encouraged family sing-alongs 'round the piano every Sunday. He taught himself electric guitar the old-fashioned way-listening to records. He graduated from Northeastern University in Boston with a degree in biology, moved to Arizona in 1973, and that's where his musical career began. He's never looked back.

The Oak and the Laurel, the 1995 collection of traditional tunes Laurie and Tom recorded, was nominated for a Grammy. Five subsequent collaborations were released to popular and critical acclaim. Laurie found the time to record a couple tunes for True Life Blues: The Songs of Bill Monroe, which took the Grammy for Bluegrass Album of the Year and double awards (for Album Of the Year and Recorded Event Of the Year) from the International Bluegrass Music Association in 1996. She also co-produced Music From Rancho DeVille, a stunning collection of songs with the late Charles Sawtelle and various guests, including Tom, who also lent a hand with projects by Si Kahn and Peter McLaughlin, among others. In 1998, Tom released his first solo project, Jubilee, to enthusiastic reviews.

At press time Laurie and Tom had just finished their new album, an all-acoustic project with bluegrass and old-time rooted material. “I am very happy with the way it sounds,” says Laurie, adding that the project's “feel” is much like that of The Oak and the Laurel. Material includes rewritten traditional tunes and three of Laurie's originals, along with songs by Hazel Dickens, Si Kahn, Kate McLeod, and others. They're joined by Craig Smith on bluegrass banjo, Tom Sauber on clawhammer banjo, Scott Huffman on guitar, Todd Sickafoose on bass, Mike Marshall on mandocello and guitar, and Nina Gerber on guitar. The project's working title: Lucky Wanderers.

Why isn't this duo a household name? “After you've been in the music business for the length of time I have, there are so many things that coulda happened, that were gonna happen and then didn't happen,” Laurie reflects. “I think my songs deserve a little more recognition than they've gotten. But I dunno . . . I'm doing okay.”

She insists that she doesn't resent the success of people like Alison Krauss or Rhonda Vincent. “Oh, no! They're all really talented. They're in there doing the business. If I don't engage in active business stuff, and then I don't get the recognition, whose fault is that? If I were in there really sluggin', I might feel differently. But I don't want to move to Nashville! I've never wanted to walk down Music Row to try to shop my songs. I don't do anything about shopping my songs! I'm not good at networking, not good at staying in touch, not good at pushing my songs. I cannot sell myself. It's probably one of those fears that I should just face.” She laughs sheepishly. “I guess I'm not ready to do that yet. It's probably because I don't believe in myself enough. Conquering my fear has allowed me to get up and do what I do for audiences who come to see me. But it hasn't gotten to the point where I wanna go out and push myself on people who maybe don't wanna come see me.”

“I feel as though Laurie doesn't want to compromise herself,” comments Tom. “In order to achieve success sometimes, you have to dilute your art a little bit, make it more palatable to the masses.”

“My aesthetics are maybe not so suited to mass appeal,” says Laurie quietly, “and I don't want to change them. But I don't think that Alison, for instance, is compromising. She's doing what she loves. It so happens that aside from being in the right place in the right time, and being incredibly talented, she has something that more people want to listen to! It's more palatable.”

“No!” Tom counters, “I was talking more about your songs. Some people go to Nashville and co-write and do all that stuff. They put out these songs, and they're not so personal. Some can do that.”

“That's true,” concedes Laurie. “I have never wanted to dilute myself. I think if I did that more naturally, I'd get a bigger audience for my songs. I remember Nick Forster [her friend and musical co-conspirator, and former Hot Rize bassist] telling me, 'The problem with your songs is that they're too personal. I know what they're about!' And I thought, 'Well, you don't really know what they're about, Nick.' On the other hand, they're probably still too personal.”

It's hard to believe: Laurie Lewis is 52 years old, though she certainly doesn't look it. “Everybody knows I'm 52,” she says nonchalantly. “Tom's the same age. I didn't decide to have a career in music until I was 35 or 36. Before then, I just played locally in bands and worked in a violin shop. I didn't think music was my livelihood. I didn't think it was my life. It was during the recording of Restless Rambling Heart that I thought, 'I feel the most alive when I'm doing this.'”

Laurie got some good advice from one of her musical heroes, Vern Williams of Vern and Ray. “Somebody asked him, 'What does it take to be a bluegrass singer?' And he said, 'Well, you've gotta spill your guts onstage . . . and then you've gotta walk in them.' I tend to take that to heart, in a good way.”

Her mentors include old lions like the late Texas fiddle legend Benny Thomasson and her pals Tim O'Brien, Pat Enright, and Paul Shelasky. “When I started playing, I got to hang out with Ron Hughey, a great old-time fiddler. He would go around to contests, and when things were too serious, he would get up onstage and play something happy and silly and ridiculous. He'd have a very good chance at winning. But if everybody was too uptight, he'd get up there and blow his chances, just to make everybody whoop and holler.”

Ten years ago Tom Rozum was diagnosed with Menierè's Syndrome, a condition of excess pressure accumulation in the inner ear. Symptoms include vertigo, dizziness, and hearing loss-devastating for a musician.

“Fortunately--knock on wood-I haven't had a vertigo attack in three or four years. I've lost most of the hearing in my left ear, and I have constant tinnitus. But I'm really happy that the vertigo has stopped. Out of the blue, it's like someone hit you in the side of the head with a 2”x4” and the whole room's spinning. I have to lie down and close my eyes. Otherwise . . .” His voice trails.

Never assume that an opportunity will come round again. It's a short ride. These folks know exactly how lucky they are.

“I'm just really happy that I can still play,” says Tom. “I'm happy that I can still make a living as a musician. I don't have any lofty goals, except to play, and try to remain healthy. With the accident and the ear thing . . .” he shrugs and smiles. “You just appreciate the simpler qualities in life.”

Visit Laurie and Tom online at www.laurielewis.com.