The Mount Hope Farm in Bristol, Rhode Island, has sustained a long and historical existence. Its origins hark back to the cradle of the earliest American settlements and townships, continuing as a functional acreage since the 1680’s.

Once the traditional seat of the Wampanoag people, it has morphed, adapted and survived numerous transformations as well as notable proprietors, which have included, William Bradford in 1783 and Samuel W. Church in 1837. In 1917, the wealthy industrialist R. F. Haffenreffer purchased the homestead, running it as a working farm while maintaining the house on the property as his private residence. 

Twenty-six years ago, the Haffenreffer estate, in a charitable bequest, donated the 127-acre farm to The Mount Hope Trust, a local non-profit organization. Today, in keeping with the Haffenreffers wishes, the farm is free to the public to enjoy its gardens, farm animals, farmers markets and walking trails. It’s also a learning center for Colonial and Native American history as well as the Agrarian social philosophy. 

Katie Blais is the Community events and program manager at the farm. In her capacity, Blais walks a tight rope. She is charged with helping to preserve the history, antiquity and magic of the nearly 350-year-old farm, while simultaneously assisting to propel it into modern day usage and appeal as a means to ensure its fiscal liquidity. 

“We are a 501(c)(3) nonprofit that is overseen by a board of directors. It’s a misconception that the State of Rhode Island or the town of Bristol own or fund the farm,” said Blais. “We, of course, do apply for grants from the state, but they are modest and infrequent. It takes a lot to finance and manage the farm. There are electric bills, heat, staff and upkeep. There is a lot of land to maintain — 127 acres. We are able to operate through memberships, private donations, running the house as an Inn, and using the barn as an events venue for weddings, private functions and concerts. We also hold a big annual fundraiser every year in August,” Blais went on to say. 

The barn at Mount Hope Farm

While not discounting the magnificence of the Inn and the Cove Cabin as the shining star and nucleus of the property, recently, it’s been painted and has undergone much needed structural updates to the foundation — increasing its beauty and core integrity. Inside, its high ceiling, dark wood and rustic charm suggests a simpler, more organic, uncomplicated life that once existed in America. 

On March 20, 2025, the first evening of spring, the barn was abuzz with anticipation. Nearly 100 people gathered for what was billed, Duke Robillard — a Night of Jazz. Inside, patrons mingled, sipped cocktails (provided by Two Gals) and were warmed by the hovering strings of lights from above and the communal musical kinship glowing from within. 

At showtime, Robillard, the internationally renowned guitarist, took the stand with surprisingly no fanfare. It was a gesture that spoke to the superstar’s humility and unpretentiousness. Followed by upright bassist Paul Del Nero and drummer Marty Richards, the three musicians, dressed all in troubadour black, took their places. The “stage” — a large decorative floor rug, adorned with candles scantly positioned on either side, created an air of modesty and relaxation. In what seemed like a giant embrace, 100 chairs were arranged in a semi-circle “hugging” the musicians. The setting created a feeling of intimacy and mood that voiced the amity of a neighborhood house party.  

In what may have been the shortest opening remarks in musical concert history, Del Nero, in a soft tone, said “It is so nice to play in this wonderful venue,”after which Robillard immediately introduced and counted in the first song of the night, “Jesse’s Blues.” Slow and methodical was the pulse of this Robillard original. His approach on this tune was melancholy.

As the song progressed, he slowly, measurably picked up the attack and volume of his well-chosen shades of blue notes. Straight away, Del Nero and Richard’s playing pronounced to the house that they understood and were onboard with Robillard’s temperament, delivery and musical objectives for the evening. Del Nero’s bass solo was particularly poignant with a velvety touch that echoed Robillard’s somber timbre. 

After a thunderous wave of applause, followed by a guileless, humble, “thank you” from Robillard, the guitar great dispatched a subtle, barely audible message to the musicians, “Swing in A flat,”  a sign hinting that perhaps rehearsals for the evening’s set list and performance were kept to a minimum, opting for a looser, more spontaneous musicale. As the audience settled in, Robillard’s playing became noticeably warmer. Swinging with his well-stocked arsenal of blues and jazz chords, this ditty payed tribute to the renowned musical genre of the evening — American Jazz.  

Drumming the beat

In the wrong hands, drum solos can be tiring and redundant, but throughout the evening, Richards offered the audience soloing steeped in taste, dynamics and percussion wizardry. On this tune, with the adept touch of his brushes, he razzled and dazzled, circumnavigating his drum kit. Keenly, he raised and lowered the volume and feeling of expectancy until he was good and ready to stamp his exclamation mark. At the perfect time, he eyed the band and hit four snare drum shots, calling them back in for the swing finale. 

At one point, Robillard said, “This is such a great venue.” which prompted an audience member to shout out, “Made greater with you here Duke!” The crowd agreed with booming applause. When the ovation subsided, Robillard stretched his arms out pointing left and right to his musical comrades, stating, “I’m just trying to keep up with these guys.” The audience again offered roaring applause, hoots and hollers. Robillard’s compliment spoke to his intention not to dominate the limelight this evening, but to honor and share it. 

To regard this lineup as a trio seems somehow lacking. A more fitting designation might be a triangle. Three sides equal in length, width and breadth, joined together to make one polygon of unity and strength. And no matter how it’s positioned, it always points to heaven.  

By the third song, Robillard illustrated that as well as being a guitar virtuoso, he’s also a devotee and avid archivist of the great American songbook. Throughout the evening, he provided brief details and history regarding many of the songs he performed. His insights transported the crowd back to a by-gone era in music, songwriting and performances — an exercise which added greatly to the program. “The next song, ‘If I Had You,’ ” he explained, “was written by Irving King in 1928 and made famous by Rudy Vallee a year later.” Within the first eight bars the audience witnessed a minimalist, melodic treatment by this ensemble raising the nearly one hundred-year-old song back to life as if it were written yesterday. 

Noticeably absent from the stand this night were vocal microphones and a public address system. The only glimpse of electronics were two small amplifiers, one each for the bass and the guitar. Robillard’s decision to forgo vocal amplification in lieu of the natural acoustics of the great barn was a clever and charming choice.

The next two selections, Tommy Tucker’s, “High Heel Sneakers” and T-Bone Walker’s, “You Don’t Love Me and I Don’t even Care,” featured Robillard on vocals. His singing was natural, earnest and playful. The pure, aural ambiance of the room brought the vocals directly and vividly into the audience’s personal space, a welcomed feature in keeping with the evening’s holistic quality. 

Take five

At intermission, the audience emerged from their seats enthusiastic and eager to share their impressions of the first half of the show. “I was touched by the way he was able to sing without words, just playing instrumentals, using his guitar as his voice,” said Eileen Eklund of Barrington. “I didn’t really know those songs or the lyrics to them, but the way he played — you could feel what the song was about and what he was saying without any vocals,” she went on to say.  

‘“We are members of this facility. We love jazz and we love Duke,”  said Kathy and Mike Hickey of Portsmouth. “We’ve seen him many times. We are from New York but retired here and we love this area. Duke is one of the few that are still playing live jazz for all of us to enjoy. He’s a keeper of the flame and we hope he will never retire,” they shared.

As the audience reclaimed their seats, Robillard and Co. dove into a swing version of the classic “All of Me.” Traditionally, swing arrangements are brisk in tempo, often conveying a feeling of elation, but here, contrary to musical convention, Robillard’s phrasing inferred the despondency of a lovelorn figure. The band’s playing and soloing echoed their maestros feeling of dejection. Right to the very end Robillard played it blue, exiting the song, and the tale of this collapsed tryst, with only his poetic pride intact. 

For the next forty-five minutes patrons were regaled with sterling renditions of some of the greatest music ever written. When Robillard launched into Duke Ellington’s “Mood Indigo,” the love and respect conveyed from one Royal Duke to another was palpable. On Harold Arlen’s “Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea,” the boys swung Cotton Club style. In what seemed like a friendly competition, all three took turns at soloing on this selection. Here, Robillard’s solo was thoughtful and weighty. It was a bit Charlie Christian with some Wes Montgomery thrown in for good measure.

Del Nero’s solo was impish and unique. He plucked and rest stroked his big bass strings for drama and greater projection, much to the audience’s delight. Richards took his solo and turned it into a drum clinic. He struck the cymbals from underneath, paradiddled the rim of his snare drum and finally dropped his sticks and played the full drum set with his bare hands. The audience couldn’t get enough of this exhibition. 
Before the house could catch their collective breaths, Robillard jumped into Jimmy Reed’s “Bright Lights Big City,” He sang it with guts and humor while Richards rocked, and Del Nero walked the bass, and the band, back home. 

The last song, (or so we thought), of the evening was Billie Holiday’s “I Can’t Believe You’re in Love with Me,” written by Jimmy McHugh in 1926. Robillard’s treatment of this classic capsulized the evening. One got the feeling that Robillard chose and designed the closing song as a requiem to Lady Day and all the other greats who came before him — an homage to the talent and regard for the struggles, personal pain, and torment that afflicted jazz musicians of that era and the genre as a whole.  

For an encore, Robillard offered Benny Carter’s 1946’s, “Cadillac Slim,” a joyful jump that brought the crowd to their feet — leaving them exhilarated and beaming in appreciation for an evening devoted to the celebration of jazz and thankful for these three artists that have dedicated their lives and careers to bearing the torch of this treasured American musical idiom. 

 Michael Khouri is a Barrington resident writing occasionally about the Rhode Island music scene. Reach him at mkhouri@cox.net.