Fiddler Through the Roof

Krauss credits her level head to parents Fred, 53, a real estate agent, and Louise, 50, a freelance illustrator, who continue to live in Krauss' hometown of Champaign, Ill. They ''took raising kids very seriously,'' says the singer, ''but we were never stuffy. We were pig kids — rolling around getting dirty. We had a ball.'' They were also encouraged, at their mother's insistence, to learn something new every day. ''We'd go to a Sunbeam bread factory to see how bread was made,'' recalls Louise Krauss. ''We went to a Coca-Cola bottling plant. We went to a doctor to see how a stethoscope worked. Another day we would get on a bus and just ride it the whole route.''

When she was 5, Krauss started taking violin lessons. By the time she was 8, her mother had entered young Alison in an adult fiddling contest; she came in fourth. When she was 12, a bluegrass outfit, Silver Rail, allowed the prodigy to audition for the band; she was accepted, and later Rail became Union Station. The small Massachusetts-based label Rounder Records signed Krauss at 14, releasing her album Too Late to Cry in 1987. The next year, she fronted Union Station's first album, Two Highways. At only 16 — before she even left high school — she was on the road, her parents serving as chaperons. It was strictly low budget, with everyone sharing one hotel room (Krauss got the cot; the four guys in the band doubled up in the two beds), but typically, Krauss remembers those days with enthusiasm. ''It was the best time,'' she says. ''Especially in the motel rooms — people would be farting and stuff. We had a ball.''

Clearly, Krauss prefers being one of the guys, which is a good thing, since she spends much of her time with seven of them: She and the four current members of Union Station (mandolin player Adam Steffey, 29; bass player Barry Bales, 26; guitarist Dan Tyminski, 27; and banjo and guitar player Ron Block, 31) travel to 125 gigs a year in a leased bus with their manager, soundman, and driver. ''They make fun of my voice and the stuff I eat,'' she says. And they tease her by calling her Flower, after an ardent fan pronounced Krauss ''the Flower of Bluegrass.'' But ''they don't treat me differently just because I don't have chest hair,'' she insists.

As a result of the band's mainstream success (punctuated by appearances on The Tonight Show and Late Show With David Letterman this summer), Krauss has received offers from nearly every major label. She fully intends to remain faithful to the indie that discovered her. ''If I were to leave [Rounder] it would mean something was wrong, or someone's not doing a good job, or not believing in you,'' she says. ''And nothing's wrong, you know?''

Nothing is wrong — except, perhaps, her losing battle to remain anonymous. Krauss gobbles the last of her candy corn and guiltily considers the fans lined up for autographs outside the bus. ''I need a little time after the show,'' Krauss says softly. ''But I feel bad about making them wait.'' A few minutes later, she climbs out of the bus. Before long she's joking with her fans and posing for pictures. Despite her reservations, she seems to be having a ball.