“Why aren’t these guys famous?” former Cedar Rapids Gazette Arts and Entertainment writer Diane Nollen once wrote!
Two Mount Vernon residents are “these guys,” walking among us. Incognito. Blending.
Percussionist Dixie Collins and guitarist Patty Ankrum were two of the four-member Black Sheep, an ensemble that defined eastern Iowa folk music for nearly a decade.
Certainly well-known, but not famous in the larger sense.
Formed in 1991, Ankrum (from the Waubeek Trackers) and Collins (from Robert “One Man” Johnson), joined forces with violinist Carlis Faurot and guitarist Mike Maas, (both from Raldo Schneider and the Cedar Valley Sheikhs) to create the Sheep.
The blended vocals of Ankrum Maas, Farout and Collins were incomparable, akin to that mellow harmonization of Crosby, Stills & Nash or the Celtic group Clannad.
The Sheep’s energetic, crisp instrumentalization wasn’t pounding. It was deliciously delicate, allowing their synchronized voices to rise above and be heard. Lyrics mattered.
Black Sheep produced two still-available albums: A Sheep at the Wheel, and Deep Sheep.
Don’t recognize these names yet? Listen up!
The 1980s and 1990s produced a plethora of folk musicians in eastern Iowa. The two major regional venues for folk music, KUNI radio’s Studio One and the CSPS Performing Arts Hall, hosted the Sheep and many other soloists and bands.
However, there was the incomparable, historic Stone City General. Nestled riverside along the Wapsipinicon in remote Stone City, the General’s hallowed limestone provided intimate seating within. That made for delightful interaction between the personable Sheep and its elbow-room, 100 person crowds…aka the Sheepheads.
“Stone City was our home base, our favorite place to play,” Collins reflected. The General’s eclectic surrounds energized both band and audience.
“Mike was the major song writer. Patty did the arrangements,” Collins explains. Ankrum quickly added “I also wrote songs.”
Dixie and Patty, steadfast friends for four decades, often finish each other’s sentences. “We are sisters from different mothers,” Collins explained.
“We had strong personalities. Our success happened because we got our personalities to blend,” Ankrum recalled. “And, we were respectful of each other,” Collins emphasized.
Their performances succeeded because “we interacted with the audience,” Collins noted, adding “there wasn’t a veil between the audience and the band.”
One audience favorite was the up-tempo, semi-western Ghost Riders in the Sky. Collins cracked a bullwhip to “tame” the audience. Women became sheep and loudly vocalized “baaaaaaa.” In turn, as cattle, the men belted out deep “moooooooooooooooos.” This silliness was a trademark prelude to herding Sheepheads into song.
Area resident Roger Johanson said the Sheep’s concerts reminded him of “my best times in college. Their energy, the Celtic playlist, their folk blend, coupled with some social consciousness made for a perfect evening.”
Years before his election to Congress, Dave Loebsack often helped the band set up on stage. He keenly noted “their music built a community among people our age. I knew them as individuals. They were all good people.”
Following their 1999 “official” retirement, the Sheep would occasionally play reunion concerts. That too has ceased.
So why aren’t the Sheep famous?
“We got as famous as we could, but we all had full time jobs,” Collins said, citing one shortcoming. “Iowa doesn’t have a folk music hall of fame.”
If such a hall existed, the Sheep would certainly be headliners.
On the horizon, the Black Sheep will be featured at the Linn County History Center in an exhibit which opens in May, 2024.
“Black Sheep had a bit of magic,” Collins concluded.
Fame cannot be forever elusive.
For now, the quiet life in Mount Vernon suits Collins and Ankrum just fine.
And the magic remains.
Bob Campagna is a local photographer and writer. His email is: [email protected].