Bobby Horton: Breaking New Musical Ground in Film and with Three on a String

Fred Hunter's Alabama

They say the mark of a great song is when you can remember exactly where you were and what you were doing the first time you heard it. That was my experience with the music of a group I’d end up listening to my entire life. Three on a String is made up of the nicest, funniest, most humble guys you’ll meet.

The 2023 Alabama Music Hall of Fame inductees have earned their way into rarified music circles. I visited with group member Bobby Horton at his home recently, where we talked about the bluegrass group and about his work in film.

“The group goes back to Chandler Mountain and Horse Pens 40,” Bobby says. “Jerry Ryan was a freshman basketball coach at Samford University. I was a junior at Samford, and Jerry had been a basketball coach where I went to high school. So, I’d known him. The PR director for Samford owned Horse Pens and approached Jerry about getting a banjo player,” Bobby remembers. “He said, ‘You reckon you two could come up and play for my folk festival?’ Jerry called me, and I said ‘sure, I’m free this weekend.’ We learned seven songs and went up there and played them twice. That was the very first gig for what was to become Three on a String. And we split the 15 bucks,” Bobby chuckles.

“A guy named George Pruitt owned Alabama Music, where I was working as a college student. He heard us that day and said, ‘You get a bass player and a guy who can sing high, and I think you might have something.’ We found John Vess at Samford, and then we started playing. That was 1971,” Bobby says.

The group was hired to play Vestavia Country Club near Bobby’s hometown of Birmingham on Friday nights, then worked their way into the Lowenbrau Haus, a college bar in Homewood. That’s where I heard them the first time. A nice crowd, packed shoulder to shoulder and enjoying the tunes.

“It was just a wonderful place,” Bobby says. “It’s where we learned how to get up there and stay a step ahead of the crowd. It taught us about timing and that kind of thing.”

As their popularity grew, Three on a String outgrew the Lowenbrau. And Bobby faced the dilemma of which path to take in life: stick with his secure job at an insurance company or keep traveling with the group and taking advantage of the opportunities coming their way. Doing both was starting to impact his family life.

“I realized I was never home and my first son had been born. I wanted him to know he had a daddy,” he recalls. “I went to see my grandpa and told him I needed help with a decision.

Bobby’s started by telling his grandfather about the security he had with the insurance company. “What security?” his grandfather asked. “You don’t have security there. The only security there is, is how much you know how to do, how hard you’re willing to work, and how well you know the Lord. Now start over — which one do you like best?”

“He asked if I could support my family in music and I told him I thought I could,” Bobby recalls. “We had a business plan, we had a market, and all the guys were in it for the right reasons.

“And my grandpa said, ‘You’ve made your decision.’ I just had to hear him say that.”

Bobby gave notice at his job and never looked back. His gratitude for the blessings of his music has never waned. Three on a String, in various iterations, has continued to entertain audiences for five decades.

“We’re of course like family. When somebody asks how we’ve stayed together so long, I tell them we get separate rooms for starters,” Bobby laughs. “But seriously, I work with some of the greatest people. They’ve got a work ethic, and we all want to go the same direction.”

Bobby and I segued into his solo career, a reflection of his ambition and a fascinating tie to his love of history.

“I didn’t want to be dependent on somebody else for everything. You know, all the eggs in my basket,” he says. “I was able to combine the love of history that I’ve had my whole life with music. Every adult male in my life is a World War II guy, and they all had a story, and they’re my heroes. I realized that history is made by common folks playing the card that’s dealt them, and they’re usually in a whirlwind. It’s not of their making, but they made the best of it. I got into history when I was a kid, and then the Civil War centennial hit when I was 9, and I got sucked into that. I realized from World War II veterans that these were just guys doing what they had to do. So, I had that love. And then, of course, I love music. I've been playing my music my whole life, and I had some plans that went bust, but all this wonderful stuff fell in my lap. I know from whence all blessings flow, you know.”

Bobby’s story reminds me of the saying, “Life is what happens while you’re making plans.” Although his path was somewhat intentional.

“I started recording Civil War-era music,” Bobby says. “Mr. Edison’s recording machine changed everything musically in this country and really around the world for that matter, because prior to that, songwriters and people in music wrote for the common people to sing. If you wanted music, you had to make it yourself. Or you had to hang around with somebody that could. So the emphasis changed, and writers started writing for recording artists. Prior to that, they were writing for people to buy their sheet music.

“Music is so honest,” Bobby says. “When you go back, you can learn so much about historical figures and their period and what people were truly thinking at the time because they sang about what mattered to them.”

And that’s the connection that led to Bobby’s involvement in film. “Milton Bagby, who was a dear friend, was producing a period film called ‘Shadow Waltz,’ set in southern Indiana, 1863. The characters are anticipating John Hunt Morgan coming up from the South, the Confederate cavalry, and they’re preparing to receive him in a negative way, if you know what I mean.”

Bobby told the filmmaker he would research the songs that those soldiers really sang back then to lend authenticity to the work. In one afternoon in the Southern History Room of the Birmingham Public Library, he discovered over 100 pieces of sheet music from the 1860s. Thus began a genre of recording Bobby would apply to other periods in history — where music was the common denominator and a true reflection of the joys, fears, and thoughts of those who wrote it and listened to it.

“At that time, I realized that music was all the common man had. That’s it for most people — music is that important. It’s been estimated that roughly 3,000 new songs were written, copyrighted, published, and offered for sale in sheet music in the North in that four-year period,” Bobby says of the Civil War. “That’s an incredible output of music. And there were about 1,000 Southern tunes the same way. Soldiers were making up their own songs based on melodies they knew. Copyright laws were loosey-goosey, and guys would borrow melodies that everybody knew and write new words for them. This is what they were singing.

“You realize with that kind of output, this is important because it’s honest,” he adds. “If you study a letter from a fellow who’s writing home, he’s not going to say, ‘this is awful and I don’t think I'm going to live through this.’ He didn’t want to upset the people at home, but he’d sing about that very thing. To me, you can get to the heart of the people you’re talking about and really understand their mindset and how they’re dealing with what’s coming at them. It’s a fascinating study. And that applies to the Revolution. I’ve done a deep dive into Revolutionary War music, and you can go back to songs from the French and Indian War in the 1750s.”

The songs created during the war were honest and heartfelt. “The letters and the reminiscences and stuff that soldi...