Releasing Her Final Studio Album, Janis Ian Insists “Better Times Will Come”

Over decades, Janis Ian’s career has risen and fallen and risen again. At 13, she performed at a folk showcase seated next to Tom Paxton. “Society’s Child,” a song she wrote soon after and recorded in 1965, earned her national fame – and death threats. But by the time she was 20, the music industry had written her off as a one-hit wonder. She fought depression and self-doubt for years before the songs “Jesse,” “Stars,” and ultimately “At Seventeen” put her back in the international spotlight.

She received a Grammy Award in 1975 for “At Seventeen” and another for her 2012 audio recording of her biography, Society’s Child. Her songs have been covered by a host of stars, ranging from Nina Simone to Amy Grant to Joan Baez. Yet over the years, she endured a disastrous and abusive marriage. Embezzlement by a long-trusted money manager left her indentured to the IRS. She spent years playing to sold-out overseas audiences without any U.S. airplay.

Nevertheless, she persisted. Today, she has a legacy of 25 albums, countless industry awards, her own record label and a long, happy marriage. Always an activist, she founded The Pearl Foundation to support older students’ higher education goals. In 2020, she started the Better Times Project to help out-of-work musicians during the pandemic.

Now, at age 70, Ian has released her last studio album, The Light at the End of the Line, joined by a stunning array of musicians. After years in the public eye, Ian long ago abandoned any pretense. And she speaks with warm gratitude of the musicians who helped her with her recording, as well as the freedom she has to produce what she considers the best album she has ever made.

“I love that this album has so many different genres. I love that there are people like Sam Bush and Vince Gill on it. And at the same time, they’re working with people like Diane Schuur,” she tells BGS. “I love the breadth of it, and I hope that other people do. I think that as a result of radio and record companies needing genres, we have become very genre-fied. Everything is a contest, and everything’s got to be slotted right now into its own pigeonhole. And I’m very, very happy that this album tries to avoid that.”

BGS: After 15 years, what inspired you to produce an album now?

Ian: I have had a rotating list of about 10 songs that I thought would be good for an album. I wanted my next album after Folk is the New Black to be absolutely song-oriented, with the best songs I could possibly contribute. I set a pretty high standard. I wanted to match or beat songs like “Jesse.” And that took a while. Then one day I looked up at the list, and I thought, oh, my gosh, I’ve got 16 songs here. And I think I’ve got 11 or 12 that would work.

I’ve often wondered, after somebody writes a musical melody like “Jesse,” if one gets to say, “that’s enough.”

But you always want to equal or better what you’ve done. I think especially as you get older, and you realize that the contest is not between you and a bunch of other people; that the contest is between you and what you’ve done. You become motivated by different things, and you’re still motivated. Part of being an artist is just that drive.

A release says you “took risks, both in lyrics and production techniques.” Can you talk about that?

I think in a song like “Resist,” talking about things like female genital mutilation is a risk. Using words like ‘crap’ is a risk in the kind of genres I work with. I think taking something like “Swannanoa” and making it sound like it’s been around for the last 200 years is a different kind of risk. Certainly, taking all those different musicians on “Better Times Will Come” and saying to each of them, “Okay, I want a step-out performance, like you’re with the Dorsey band, and you’re standing up and taking your solo from the very first note,” that’s a risk, because you never know what you’re going to get.

And I think putting together an album that only concerns itself with what are the best songs rather than what are commercial songs or what’s going to make radio happy, what’s going to make folk listeners happy — those are all risks. Those are all things that I’m not sure I could have done when I was younger.

Did having your own label free you up to do this?

It’s a combination of not being with a major label and not having to deal with the constant pressure of you need to do this, you need to do that, you need to look like this, you need to be there. Not being with a major label is a huge advantage for somebody like me. Plus, you actually get to earn a living. You actually get to keep part of what you make.

There are disadvantages, too. Without a major label, I wouldn’t have an international career. Without a major label, the people who heard me at 17 would not have heard me. So, it’s a plus/minus. I started the record company because I was more interested in making albums than making singles. At the time, that was a pretty bold thing to do. Oh, God, the amount of times I heard “singles drive the album,” even though album sales were booming and single sales were falling.

What did you mean when you said, “I realized that this album has an arc”?

As I started looking at the songs and the sequencing, it very clearly had an arc to me. From the statement “I’m Still Standing,” which is at once a statement of intent and a slap in the face to everybody who’s ever asked me whether I’m still making music, just because I’m not on television. But following that with “Resist” brought it full circle back to “Society’s Child.” And you’re standing there, and you’re involved in the refugee issue and the feeling that you will never again get to see your beloved home again. You’re dealing with friends who are losing children. You’re dealing with friends whose children are trans. Or you’re dealing with the fallout from the myth of the artist as a crazy person, and then having known Nina (Simone) who was a crazy person — until you get really worn out. And all of a sudden you go, “Take this off me, I can’t cope anymore.”

And then you move from that back to being a writer and thinking about good days in New York, and how wonderful it was when you were really young and the conga players in Central Park during the summer, to realizing that you’re in the last part of your life. So, you try to look at it not as the end of the line but that there’s a light coming. And “The Light at the End of the Line” is really a love song to my audience, because that’s how I feel about them. And then following it with “Better Times Will Come Again,” the Covid arc, clinging to hope like a drowning person clings to a stick. And then it all goes to hell, then it all comes back. And then it winds up with a big giant question mark, which really is what life is about anyway, isn’t it?

You have always been an avid learner of instruments. Do you feel you have to still practice?

Before a tour, absolutely. That’s part of the job, whether you’re with a band or not. I go out solo, which in some ways is a lot easier, but in some ways is a lot more difficult because it really requires that you be there and present and accountable every moment of the show. There’s nobody to hide behind. The older you get, the less fascinating you find yourself. Along with that there’s also the understanding that it’s great to play a lot of instruments and write a lot of songs, but it’s even better to play one instrument really well and write one really good song.

You have been writing science fiction. What is it about that genre that attracts you?

I think part of it is that I bore easily. I don’t mean that to sound snotty. But I do. Science fiction in general is not boring. It’s sometimes tedious, but not boring. I grew up on it. I think that it’s a lot like jazz. It’s the writing of possibilities. And that’s always more intriguing to me than the writing of what is. I think we tend to forget that Alice in Wonderland is science fiction. Nobody has a problem with Alice in Wonderland. Well, they do. But what do they know! Winnie the Pooh? I mean, how science fiction can you get? Here’s a talking bear. Cool! It’s that it’s a literature of possibilities that I like.

Are you continuing to write prose?

I’ve had nine short stories published. That’s nice, because as my wife pointed out, nobody is going to risk their reputation as an editor on some story that sucks. So, I have to believe that the stories are okay. And each one’s a little better than the last. But it is something I want to do more of. And I’m not one of those people who can do things like that in between 500 other things. Running three businesses—running a record company and a publishing company and a touring company—takes up a lot of time. I don’t remember the last time I had a full day off email. That’s all part of what I’m looking forward to at the end of next year.

Are you still running The Pearl Foundation?

We are, but we’re closing it as of the end of this year (2021). We’ve run it now for 22 years. And we’ve given away $1,300,000 in endowments. It will continue at the schools that have the endowments. But my wife and I have done all the fulfillment and all of the web work and all of the talking about it and performances and all of the begging and scratching. So, it’s time to start divesting ourselves of things that take up our time. I think $1,300,000 is pretty extraordinary. We’ve done that with no help, except from the fan base who contributed their time and their talents and their money. So, it’s a good time to close. You go out a hero.

We grew up in optimistic times, and yet at this stage in our lives, we see that we haven’t gotten any farther than perhaps the Civil War. Is that what “Better Times” was about?

But I think we have gone further. As a gay person, I can’t be lobotomized against my will for being gay. I can get married. It’s not legal to segregate. It’s not acceptable in most places. Yeah, there’s always going to be assholes. There’s always going to be jerks. There’s always going to be people who wish that it was like it was 200 years ago, forgetting that 200 years ago, women wouldn’t have been allowed to own property. I think we’ve come some of the way. And I think we have to hang on to that. We have to remember that the pendulum always swings hard one way or another before it rights itself.


Photo Credit: Lloyd Baggs

BGS 5+5: Goodnight, Texas

Artist: Goodnight, Texas
Hometown: San Francisco, CA and Chapel Hill, NC (bi-coastal band)
Latest album: How Long Will It Take Them to Die
Personal nicknames: GN,TX; P.Wolf and Avi (Our first name before settling on Goodnight, Texas)
Rejected Band Name: Armchair Archaeology

Answers provided by Avi Vinocur and Patrick Dyer Wolf.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

When I was in elementary school, I was really into Bill Nye the Science Guy. Every week the show ended with a new song and “music video” about the science theme from the episode, in the style of various ’90s genres. Think grunge songs about electrons or photosynthesis or pop rock songs about gravity or something. They were great. My mom told me while watching the show that writing a song was very hard and it must have taken a bunch of talented people to pull it off every week. I don’t know if I was trying to impress my mother or myself, but I took it as a challenge. I would sit at the piano and try to piece together songs and record them on a little cassette deck. I still have the tapes. She was only partially wrong: it is pretty easy to write a song — but it is infinitely harder to write a good song. To this day I’m still trying to make one of those. To impress my mom. — Avi


What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

Without a doubt, there are great concertgoers all over the land, but what sticks in memory right now is our last trip to The Larimer Lounge in Denver. It feels like a lifetime ago because of the pandemic. The crowd had eaten their Wheaties, and they were dancing and singing our words at the top of their lungs. It felt like we were working together towards a common goal, and that’s all you can really hope for. — Patrick

We toured with Rusted Root (you know, “Send Me On My Way,” Rusted Root). In San Francisco they invited us up at the end to play percussion on their encore and I WENT TO TOWN on the cowbell. I’d had a couple beers after our set and I was flippin’ beats backward all over the place and doing triplets and shit. I had an absolute blast. The next night in Sacramento lead singer Michael Glabicki said, “Let’s get Goodnight, Texas up here to help us out on this one! Oh wait, don’t give that guy the cowbell. Stop. Take that away from him. Last night in San Francisco was enough.” Haven’t played cowbell live since. I think there’s a video of the SF incident somewhere in the deep doldrums of YouTube. — Avi

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

We have a lot of songs about places — Barstow, New York, Tucumcari, Laramie — and each of our albums have different macrogeographic themes. When we’re on the road, I love to get up in the morning and go for runs. I always look for a park or woods or something green (or brown, in some spots). You can see and smell everything in a more intimate way than when you’re in the van, and you connect the streets and shops to the natural place the city sits on. I don’t always have a huge epiphany that turns into a song, but there’s usually a story lurking if you peek around enough corners. — Patrick

What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc. — inform your music? / If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

When we started this band, I took a lot of inspiration from 1800s photography, tintype portraits and the like. My family had a trove and I’d also collect them on my own. I would look into the eyes of some distant person and wonder, what was their story? I remember finding a photo of a young guy in my family’s boxes, not sure if he was a relative or family friend, and conjuring up the story for “Jesse Got Trapped in a Coal Mine.” What happened to this kid? Was he happy? What was his day-to-day like? Did he live to old age? How similar were the lives and emotions of these people to ours today? I’ve always suspected slower-paced, but similar.

I think an early mission statement, represented in the band name (a town exactly halfway between our homes on opposite coasts), is a desire to find middle ground, and to get to know people from different corners of the country to see what connects us. And perhaps there is a Z axis that connects us to those people in the tintypes. For our first album cover, we found David Bornfriend to photograph us using antique-style wet plate collodion, to nod to that mysterious past I was exploring, and to be another set of eyes with a story for whoever finds us. — Avi

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

“Be takin’ it easy but be takin’ it.” -Old Man Luedecke


Photo Credit: Brittany Powers

LISTEN: Gina Leslie, “I See You Everywhere I Go”

Artist: Gina Leslie
Hometown: New Orleans, Louisiana
Song: “I See You Everywhere I Go”
Album: No, You’re Crying EP
Release Date: February 11, 2022

In Their Words: “This song comes from a small bedroom in a yellow house in New Orleans, where I was nursing my heart back to health after a never-ending ending. Surrounded by the photos on the walls, dead flowers and love letters, I was spinning in my heartbreak. This song came to light as a call to letting go, even when I know there’s no forgetting. I had all the pieces of the song swirling around for some time, and my good friend Elise Leavy helped me finish the puzzle.

“I started recording my EP just a few weeks before the lockdown, and the project got stalled for months, so I holed up in that same room and recorded my own harmonies to stay busy. The most sparse track on the EP, I wanted to keep the raw and intimate feeling that song was born from. I sent it to my friend Alex Hargreaves and he added a ghostly and melancholy string section that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck.” — Gina Leslie


Photo Credit: Noe Cugny

Inspired by Tony Rice, Punch Brothers Give ‘Em ‘Hell on Church Street’

It was banjo player Noam Pikelny who heard first. On December 26, 2020, he messaged his Punch Brothers bandmate Chris Eldridge to tell him the news that Tony Rice, their bluegrass hero and Eldridge’s guitar mentor, had died on Christmas Day. “It just didn’t seem like it could be real,” says Eldridge. “It was a complete shock.”

The band felt more than just sadness at the legend’s passing; there was regret, too. Eldridge had thought about calling Rice to tell him what they had been working on — a reimagining of his landmark album, Church Street Blues — but had resisted the urge. “I thought, you know what, it’ll be cooler if I can just give him the music. ‘Hey, we made a thing for you…!’” The moment had never come. It was a heartbreaker.

Hell on Church Street, Punch Brothers’ sixth full album, was recorded in Nashville the month before Rice died. The 1983 solo record that inspired it is high canon among bluegrass lovers with its wistful songs and fiddle tunes repurposed as dazzling guitar solos, laid down in the period when Rice was opening up bluegrass music in multiple directions at once. Punch Brothers have remained faithful to the original tracklist, but equally to Rice’s boundary-pushing creativity.

What emerges is a kaleidoscopic mise en abyme — their versions of Rice’s versions of songs by Bob Dylan, Tom Paxton, Gordon Lightfoot, et al. — both reflecting bluegrass’s rich progressive history and refracting through their own endlessly inventive perspective. Those hoping for Chris Thile to indulge in some light Gordon Lightfoot karaoke, in other words, will be disappointed. A few have already cried sacrilege. Witness the internet backlash that accompanied the band’s release of the title track, which resets Norman Blake’s famous lyrics to an urgent 5/4 meter.

“You never want to admit you look at internet comments but some people were pissed,” says Eldridge. “I thought, oh boy, wait til these people hear ‘Gold Rush!’”

Even Pikelny admits he had a few early qualms about the technical ambition of that initial recording. “It took us a day and a half [in the studio] to play it with the effortlessness and ease it needed. But I’m glad we stuck with it, because if we were just going to play it like it’s already been played then really what’s the point? It becomes like a Civil War re-enactment.”

“And it’s just not true to the spirit of what Tony himself exemplified his entire career,” adds Eldridge. “This record was never a memorial — it was a living tribute created in the spirit of some of the deep lessons we learned from Tony: you have to be yourself. If you’re going to make music, play it the way only you can play it.”

Certainly only Punch Brothers would take bluegrass standard ‘Gold Rush’ and turn it into a piece of esoteric free-time improv, ethereally led by Gabe Witcher on fiddle. “For the record we all love that Bill Monroe tune,” says Eldridge, with a wry smile. “But I don’t even think I’ve played a fiddle tune that’s been that deconstructed and stripped of basic elements like pulse and beat before.” It is, laughs Pikelny, certainly not a version likely to be heard at a contest any time soon: “Contestant 11, you’ve been disqualified!”

Hell on Church Street is a record that might never have been made but for the pandemic. The band’s need to quarantine before they could assemble in the studio had restricted their time together and they were looking for a project that would satisfy them musically without turning their precious time in each other’s company into a songwriting bootcamp. “When we’re on the road together it’s camaraderie, it’s therapy,” says Pikelny. “We said, ‘What can we do that we can still enjoy being with each other?’”

Their minds turned back to a similar conversation they had had in Japan two and a half years previously. During their residency at the Blue Note in Tokyo, the band were asked to prepare a set of bluegrass standards for the 2019 Rockygrass festival (or, as Pikelny puts it: “Don’t bring all your original shit!”). With limited time to rehearse — or perhaps, given the allure of the Japanese capital, not a great deal of inclination — someone had suggested paying tribute to an artist or record they loved. The response was unanimous, almost instantaneous. It had to be Church Street Blues. “That record was so sacred to all of us,” says Eldridge.

The live set that followed at Rockygrass became one of the great wish-you-were-there experiences: a performance fizzing with spontaneity, in an atmosphere crackling with passion. It had been a busy festival for all of them — bassist Paul Kowert playing a set with Hawktail, Pikelny performing with Stuart Duncan — and when they took to the stage, they had been working on the material for just four hours. But the coupling of their collective virtuosity with one of bluegrass’s most beloved of song collections created instant electricity.

In Nashville last November they saw the chance to reignite that experience. “It’s not something we get to do much these days,” says Eldridge, “make music by the seat of our pants. And it’s one of the things that initially brought us together, all the way back the first time the five of us got in a room together. It’s something very special to us, and with this project we got to tap into that side of the band that tends to lie dormant for long stretches — to enjoy what it’s like when we don’t have super tight arrangements, when we just have to listen and be very reactive.”

It also allowed them to delve far more deeply into the songs on Church Street Blues than they ever have had before. “You get closer to the material when there’s a responsibility to make it your own,” says Pikelny. His own parents had loved Tom Paxton, for instance: Pikelny had been familiar with “Last Thing On My Mind” since he was a kid. “It had always seemed like just another heartbreak song — it was only when we started working on it I realised how profoundly sad it is.” At the start of their arrangement, Thile’s voice yearns out over the lone plucked notes of the fiddle, a sound like the ebbing of lost time.

But it’s “Streets of London” where Punch Brothers’ ability to mine the meaning of a song and transform it into sonic expression is most evident. Where Rice rendered the melancholy of Ralph McTell’s lyrics through his bell-like baritone, here the stories of abandoned, lonely lives are tossed about in broken melody and dismembered harmony. This is a sad song that’s been restrung with anxiety and tautened with menace, in a manner that detaches it from some nostalgic past and confronts you with the shamefulness of our world’s ongoing poverty and isolation.

What the band wishes, above all, is for the album to honour Rice’s own experimental and fearless musicianship. To most, the man himself had remained an enigma, withdrawn from the bluegrass world and even his peers to the end of his life, ever since the loss of his voice had stopped him performing. “He seemed like a king off in a castle,” says Pikelny. “I wish I’d once got to hear what Tony Rice’s guitar sounded like in a room, but he wasn’t accessible in the way of so many bluegrass heroes.”

But to Eldridge he had been more — a family friend and musical mentor, the man who used to crash on his parents’ sofa when his touring schedule brought him through DC. Eldridge can still recall the moment, aged 12, when Rice effectively changed the course of his own life forever. They were at the Graves Mountain bluegrass festival in Virginia, “and all of a sudden I was like, that’s a Zeus on stage and he’s throwing thunderbolts,” he remembers. “It wasn’t so much that his playing was so great, it was obviously really great that goes without saying, but the impression on me was that every note he’s playing is meaningful and is very direct. It was like they transcended being musical notes and took over your whole being.”

“Isn’t it true that the reason your nickname Critter got reinstated was due to Tony?” interjects Pikelny.

“It was entirely due to Tony! When I was in utero my parents referred to me as the critter, people called me it as a little boy but eventually they stopped and everyone called me Chris. Then when I went down to Merlefest with some of my college friends in 2001, we were hanging out with Tony, and the name came back with a vengeance! And here we are today…”

It’s a touching thought: that Rice’s legacy should have made so personal and lasting a mark on Eldridge, even as it continues to influence the musical world that he and Punch Brothers inhabit. “I would argue that he more than anybody ushered bluegrass into its modern form, in terms of the new standards of musicianship and song selection. He was probably more responsible for that than anybody.” Pikelny nods his head: “The way the music has expanded in all these different directions, Tony was involved in every single one of them, whether it was J.D. Crowe & the New South or David Grisman. It was like a superpower. He was such a team player, there was something about the way he played when he was around he just elevated everybody.”

They’ll never know exactly what their hero would have made of Hell on Church Street. Pikelny suspects there would be bits of it he may have even hated. But they hope that he would have recognised it as, above all, a love letter. “I hope he’d be proud,” says Eldridge. “Of what he encouraged us — and everybody else — to do.”


Photo Credit: Josh Goleman

LISTEN: Birds of Play, “Tarab”

Artist: Birds of Play
Hometown: Telluride, Colorado
Song: “Tarab”
Album: Murmurations, Vol. 2
Release Date: January 25th, 2022

In Their Words: “‘Tarab’ is an Arabic word that is defined as a state of musically-induced bliss brought on by a moving performance. Typically involving vocal music, tarab is a state of elation shared collectively by both performer and listener alike. Upon discovering this beautiful concept so succinctly captured in a single word, I wrote the five-letter word on a sticky note, set it on my desk, and wrote this song over the course of a few hours. More so than with any song I’ve ever written, ‘Tarab’ poured out of me as if it had already been written by a long-forgotten ancestor. I was merely a conduit as the song arrived from an ancient place.

“‘Tarab’ is an incantation, a mantra, imbued with the potential for a blissful enchantment that is as inextricable to the human experience as breathing itself. ‘A seed of bliss was there, waiting patiently to feel the air.’ ‘Before we made fire, we made noise. Before we had fire, we had voice.’” — Jack Tolan, Birds of Play

Birds of Play · Tarab

Photo Credit: Sarah Schwabb

LISTEN: Junior Sisk, “Patches on My Heart”

Artist: Junior Sisk
Hometown: Ferrum, Virginia
Song: “Patches on My Heart”
Album: Lost & Alone
Release Date: Single: January 25, 2022; Album: Spring 2022
Label: Mountain Fever Records

In Their Words: “Tony Mabe, our banjo player and old country buff, brought this song to my attention. It’s an old early ’60s Sonny Burns honky-tonk tune. The first time I heard it I said, ‘That would make a great bluegrass song!’ We worked it up to fit our style and I think it turned out to be a straight-ahead grass tune that fit us well. It’s like a brand new song that most have never heard. Hope everyone enjoys our version!” – Junior Sisk

Mountain Fever Music Group · Patches On My Heart

Photo credit: Sharon Quesenberry

WATCH: Haroula Rose, “Time’s Fool”

Artist: Haroula Rose
Hometown: Chicago, now LA
Song: “Time’s Fool”
Album: Catch the Light
Release Date: June 2022
Label: Little Bliss/Tonetree

In Their Words: “It feels like so much about love has also to do with timing, not only in the external world but in our internal worlds, our own emotional maps so to speak. Sometimes we are open to things more fully, and other times we are not, but wish we could be or could have been. So this song is, in a sense, a plea for someone to be patient with one’s heart, having the knowledge that you might not be ready but want to be and could be, that becoming more intimate with someone is scary but beautiful sometimes and so requires some extra time or care.

“I wrote this song in the UK with Geoff Martyn during a songwriting residency in Sussex. It was quiet which is fitting since it is inspired by the Shakespeare Sonnet 116 that is perhaps most familiar to people from Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, which is one of my absolute favorite films:

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

“Molly Parden is singing the harmonies and callbacks. I love Molly’s voice so much. Trying some more close and dissonant harmonies felt really cool and organic. You can also hear me fingerpicking on the guitar, Omar Velasco on the second/higher guitar part, and the inimitable Greg Leisz on the pedal steel. I was so excited to have this group of musicians on this track.” — Haroula Rose


Photo Credit: Logan Fahey

On a New Box Set Spanning Doc Watson’s Career, These 10 Songs Stand Out

I first heard Doc Watson’s music when I was a child, as Doc was a featured artist on the first album I ever listened to from beginning to end, the 1964 Elektra/Folkways 4-LP compilation set The Folk Box. From that initial exposure to Doc’s fluid acoustic guitar playing and resonant singing I acquired a few of his 1960s albums on the Vanguard label. I became a fan, and like many others I witnessed Doc’s legend expand in the wake of his participation in the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s popular 1972 album Will the Circle Be Unbroken. Throughout the 1970s Doc toured constantly, and he recorded frequently, but his music didn’t significantly change, as he continued to explore his distinctive “Traditional Plus” repertoire into the 1980s and beyond. On several occasions I heard him perform in concert alongside his son Merle, a formidable guitar player in his own right, and bassist T. Michael Coleman.

In 1984 my work for the National Park Service brought me to the same mountainous North Carolina county in which Doc lived, in the high Blue Ridge not far from the Tennessee-North Carolina boundary. My landlord, who learned of my interest in Doc’s music and who knew the Watson family, offered to arrange for me to meet Doc. While I never pursued such a meeting, I continued to seek out every opportunity to hear Doc’s music. Some years later I moved to Johnson City, a valley community in East Tennessee, and learned that Doc had been a key member of a Johnson City-based country band during the 1950s, long before he achieved national recognition. It was comforting to still be living in “Doc country.”

In my position at East Tennessee State University I researched Appalachia’s music history and taught Appalachian Studies, and everyone I met (young and old, local and from elsewhere) always agreed that Doc was special—that he was one of America’s greatest folk artists yet in his everyday demeanor “just one of the people.” For much of his long career through his death in 2012 Doc was Appalachia’s unofficial cultural ambassador who brought people together in rapt attention to his singular musical gifts, of course, but also in shared appreciation of the roots music heritage that Doc simultaneously preserved and transformed. And his gifts and his impact will live on in the recordings he made and in individual and collective memories of this humble and inspiring master musician.

For me, then, it has been the honor of a lifetime to co-produce (with Scott Billington and Mason Williams) and to contribute liner notes for Craft Recordings’ new box set Doc Watson: Life’s Work, A Retrospective. Containing 101 key recordings by Doc over 4 CDs and featuring an 88-page book with extensive notes and rare photographs, Life’s Work celebrates the legacy of this master musician. The first comprehensive overview of Doc’s life and recording career, the set is intended equally for longtime fans of his music and for those unfamiliar with him. The following ten recordings from Life’s Work are examples of Doc’s “Traditional Plus” repertoire, and it is hoped that these examples will help illustrate why he is widely considered as among the most important figures in the history of American roots music.

“Storms Are on the Ocean” (Jean Ritchie & Doc Watson)

In 1963 Ralph Rinzler coordinated a double-bill at Gerde’s Folk City in Greenwich Village featuring established folk star Jean Ritchie and newcomer to the urban folk music revival circuit Doc Watson, who performed a set together. Fortunately for posterity, Ritchie’s husband George Pickow recorded the proceedings, and that same year Folkways Records released the album Jean Ritchie and Doc Watson at Folk City. One performance recorded during the Folk City set–of The Carter Family’s early country classic “Storms Are on the Ocean,” originally recorded at the 1927 Bristol Sessions and based on a traditional Scottish ballad–captured the wistful sweetness in A.P. Carter’s lyrics and also demonstrated Doc’s gifts at duet singing.


“And Am I Born to Die”

This Methodist hymn, composed by 18th Century English minister Charles Wesley, was included in The Sacred Harp (1844) converted into a shape-note arrangement entitled “Idumea.” (The soundtrack for the 2003 film Cold Mountain featured the angular minor-key harmonies from a shape-note performance of “Idumea” to set the mood for a key scene.) Acknowledging that he first heard “And Am I Born to Die” when he was a 2-year-old sitting on his mother’s lap at Mount Paran Baptist Church near his home in Deep Gap, North Carolina, Doc related that his a cappella hymn-singing style was strongly influenced by that of his grandfather Smith Watson. This recording, among some 1964 field recordings made of Doc and his family in Deep Gap by Rinzler and Daniel Seeger, was finally released (with other recorded performances from various members of the Watson family) on the 1977 album Tradition.


“That Was the Last Thing on My Mind”

Throughout his long career, Doc performed and recorded a repertoire he himself referred to as “Traditional Plus.” This repertoire incorporated material from many genres and sources: traditional music, of course, but also songs composed by early country recording artists as well as by contemporary songwriters. One of the latter songs recorded by Doc, “The Last Thing on My Mind,” was written and first recorded in 1964 by Tom Paxton. The next year, Peter, Paul and Mary and The Kingston Trio covered the song, but those versions pale in comparison to Doc’s 1966 rendition, featured on his Vanguard album Southbound. Doc would record the song again and frequently perform it live, including at Merlefest (where in 2001 he performed the song in a duet with another fan of Paxton’s song, Dolly Parton). Doc remained a fan of Tom Paxton, recording several Paxton songs over the years.


“Alberta”

Frequently recording affectionate interpretations of blues compositions, Doc was a fan of several genres of Black music. Originally a steamboat work song sung by Black roustabouts, “Alberta” was performed over the years by many musicians associated with the urban folk music revival, from Lead Belly and Burl Ives to Odetta and Bob Gibson. Doc developed his rendition of “Alberta” not from those examples but from a version on the 1963 RCA Victor LP Come All Ye Fair and Tender Ladies, which featured folk revival-era songs crooned by Bonanza actor Pernell Roberts.


“Matty Groves”

“Matty Groves”—from Doc’s 1967 album for Vanguard Home Again!—was the musician’s rendition of a 17th century ballad chronicling an adulterous relationship between an aristocratic woman and a commoner man; the woman’s husband, who was a Lord, discovers the tryst and kills both his wife and her lover. Doc performs this grisly ballad with an expressive yet restrained voice, revealing his familiarity with traditional balladry. This performance, clocking in at 6:07, underscores his keen memory (so many verses!) and his flawless sense of timing (his guitar accompaniment was understated and delicate yet propulsive).


“Nothing to It” (Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs with Doc Watson)

Doc first recorded this instrumental (credited to him but probably influenced by the old-time song “I Don’t Love Nobody”) as a solo piece for his 1966 Southbound album. Impressed by Doc’s dexterity on the guitar, the sound engineer asked the guitarist “What the heck was that?” Doc answered, “Aw, nothing to it.” The title was ironic because the tune was indeed quite challenging. The next year Doc brought the tune to sessions for Flatt & Scruggs’ next album, invited to participate by Earl Scruggs, who was in awe of Doc’s virtuosity on the guitar. This bluegrass-band version of the tune was released by the Columbia label on the 1967 Strictly Instrumental album. Doc, in turn, was fascinated by Scruggs’ banjo style, and the two North Carolinians would perform together on stages and for records throughout their long careers.


“Deep River Blues”

First recorded by The Delmore Brothers in 1933 with its original title “I’ve Got the Big River Blues,” “Deep River Blues” was one of Doc’s most requested songs, and he clearly enjoyed performing it. Yearning to play this song on his guitar occasioned one of Doc’s most important stylistic breakthroughs on the instrument: he learned how to incorporate aspects of Merle Travis’s finger-style technique (known as “Travis picking”) into his own style. As Doc himself said of “Deep River Blues” in notes included in the 1971 book The Songs of Doc Watson: “This blues was introduced to me in the late thirties by a Delmore Brothers recording. … I never could figure a way to get even a resemblance of the sound that they got until I began to hear Merle Travis pick the guitar. When Merle plays the guitar, he gets a rhythmic beat going by bouncing his thumb back and forth on the bass strings, which he mutes with the edge of the palm of his hand. I worked out that little back-up part first, but it took me about ten years before I got the whole thing sounding the way I wanted it.” Doc recorded this song on several occasions, with a particularly fine rendition captured during a 1970 concert and issued on his live album for Vanguard, On Stage.


“Tennessee Stud” (with Nitty Gritty Dirt Band)

As Doc says in the spoken introduction to this legendary recording, “Jimmy Driftwood wrote this thing.” “This thing” is the song that would inspire one of Doc’s definitive performances—one that reached the broadest imaginable audience by becoming a favorite among roots music DJs and also among an ever-expanding circle of music fans who discovered The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s influential 1972 album for the United Artists label, Will the Circle Be Unbroken. “Jimmy Driftwood” was the pen name for James Corbett Morris, an Arkansas native who composed such hit “historical” songs as “The Battle of New Orleans.” Driftwood’s song “Tennessee Stud,” lyrically inspired by his wife’s grandfather’s horse, was composed in 1958 and was recorded the next year by Eddy Arnold, one of Doc’s favorite country singers. Other country artists would record the song—Chet Atkins, Jerry Reed, Johnny Cash, and Hank Williams Jr.—and Doc himself first recorded it for his 1966 album Southbound. But Doc’s version backed by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, recorded in August 1971, quickly took the reins as the definitive version of the song.


“Summertime”

Many musicians might shy away from covering “Summertime,” among the most frequently recorded songs since it was composed by George and Ira Gershwin/DuBose Heyward for the opera Porgy and Bess (1935). But not Doc. No song or tune was too familiar for him, as he could make any piece he performed his own. Other musicians had bigger hits with “Summertime”—Billie Holiday’s version rose to #12 hit in 1936, while Billy Stewart’s peaked at #10 in the Billboard Hot 100 in 1966—but surely Doc’s version of “Summertime,” appearing on his album Elementary Doctor Watson (released in 1972 on the Poppy label), is among the greatest recorded performances of this classic from the American songbook.


“Corrina Corrina” (Doc & Merle Watson)

First documented in a 1918 sheet music arrangement entitled “Has Anyone Seen My Corrine?” and recorded later that same year by Vernon Dalhart for the Edison label, this traditional blues chestnut (sometimes called “Corrine, Corrina”) has been championed over the years by countless musicians—by blues musicians like Blind Lemon Jefferson (1930), by “Hillbilly” musicians like Clayton McMichen (1929), by pop and rock covers by Bill Haley & His Comets (1955), Ray Peterson (a #9 pop hit in 1960), and Bob Dylan (1962). Similarly, musicians working in such niche genres as Western swing and Cajun have included “Corrina, Corrina” in their repertoires. Doc and his son Merle Watson recorded their version for their 1973 Grammy Award-winning album Then and Now.


About Ted Olson

Ted Olson, Professor of Appalachian Studies at East Tennessee State University, is the author of many articles, essays, encyclopedia entries, poems, and reviews published in a range of books and periodicals. He has produced many documentary albums of Appalachian music, and for his work as a music historian he has received an International Bluegrass Music Association Award; three Independent Music Awards; the Ramsey Award for Lifetime Achievement from the East Tennessee Historical Society; and seven Grammy Award nominations. Olson is presently serving as co-host (with Dr. William Turner) of the podcast Sepia Tones: Exploring Black Appalachian Music​.

Photo Credit: Hugh Morton Collection (black and white image); Charles Frizzell (color image)

The Show On The Road – Allison Russell

This week, we launch season 4 of the show with a bilingual banjo-slinging singer-songwriter originally from Montreal and now based in Nashville: Allison Russell.

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After two decades of quietly creating heart-on-her-sleeve roots music in hard-touring groups like Po’ Girl, Birds Of Chicago, and recently the supergroup Our Native Daughters – playing the guitar, clarinet, banjo and singing in English and French – the spotlight finally fell straight on Russell in 2021. With the help of her husband and longtime creative partner JT Nero, she released her visceral debut solo record Outside Child which confronts her traumatic childhood head on.

Rarely has an album struck such a nerve in the Americana community, as songs like “4th Day Prayer” use the slippery soul of Al Green’s best work and Mahalia Jackson’s gospel inspiration to paint in white-knuckled detail how she escaped the abusive home of her stepfather for the graveyards and streets of Montreal. As she tells us in the intense conversation from her home in Tennessee, it was her songwriting hero Brandi Carlile who went to bat for her (a bold Instagram DM set fate in motion,) helping get her raw, unreleased songs to Fantasy Records. Thankfully, they wanted to take a leap. Even President Obama noticed after the songs began to circulate and he put her ominous radio standout “Nightflyer” on his favorite songs of the year list. The album has since been nominated for three Grammy awards.

While Allison may feel like an “overnight sensation” to those just discovering her on AAA radio, hearing her soaring voice shining on stages from Carnegie Hall, Red Rocks and the Late Show With Stephen Colbert, she’s been playing hundreds of shows in small clubs and festivals around the world for twenty-two years and counting. It hasn’t been an easy road, as she often had to her young daughter on the trail with her.

With a new book deal in the works continuing her story where Outside Child left off, there is much more to come from Russell. A champion for the often forgotten victims of domestic and sexual abuse, listening to Russell speak reminds one more of a fiery community organizer than a singer. Did your host try and convince Russell to run for office? Maybe.

Stick around to hear her dive into one of her favorite tracks from the new record, the hopeful clarinet shuffle “Poison Arrow.”

Tammy Rogers & Thomm Jutz Keep It Simple on ‘Surely Will Be Singing’ Debut

Oftentimes keeping things simple yields the most profound results. Such is the case for accomplished fiddler Tammy Rogers of The SteelDrivers and well-traveled guitarist Thomm Jutz, the reigning IBMA Songwriter of the Year. Surely Will Be Singing, a new compilation of their co-writes, marks their first album together.

Having known of each other through bluegrass and roots music circles for years, the two finally met at a SESAC music industry dinner and awards show in 2016. Although neither won any awards that night, Rogers and Jutz were seated together, leading to the beginning of a long and fruitful friendship. After exchanging phone numbers on their way out of the gala while waiting in the valet line, the two met up at Rogers’ home the following week for their first songwriting session. Coming from that meet-up was “Old Railroads,” a song Jutz recorded for his 2017 album Crazy If You Let It as well as Eric Brace & Last Train Home’s Daytime Highs & Overnight Lows. Since then, Rogers and Jutz haven’t slowed down, writing on average one song per week for an cumulative total of over 140 songs and counting.

BGS: Considering you’ve written over 140 songs together, how’d you go about dwindling those down to the 12 that made it on the album?

Tammy Rogers: It’s a really hard process because we write so much together and love all the songs. They’re all like children to us. That being said, we don’t usually set out with the mindset of writing for Del McCoury or Tim McGraw. We just sit down and write whatever we’re feeling that day. Oftentimes a book, show, current events or just a random conversation will spark an idea. When we started talking about doing this record, the idea of keeping it simple kept coming up. Part of that was because when we began recording, we were still in serious lockdown mode. We knew we wouldn’t be able to get together in a big studio with our friends to record something really grand, so the simplicity was born out of necessity. The songs we chose lend themselves well to simple production.

Thomm Jutz: We also searched our catalogs for songs that would work well as duets. We’re also both big fans of the Carter Family, the Monroe Brothers, the Blue Sky Boys and other early country music. We didn’t necessarily want to make a full-band record. We wanted to have some bands on it, but at this point in my life with my own work I’m really intrigued by just whittling it down to duo and trio stuff with as much simplicity as possible.

Earlier y’all mentioned getting song inspiration from everything from current events to books and even television. Do you try to tie a lot of those themes back into your own lives with your songwriting or do you prefer going the fictional route? Or is it a bit of both?

Rogers: I don’t even know that I could even quantify how that would split because Thomm is the kind of writer who always has his antennas up. Whether he’s reading a book, watching a documentary or just letting his mind wander in conversation, I think he’s always listening for a phrase or thought that could turn into a song. I’m the same way. Just the other day I said something to a friend and immediately thought, “Hey, that’s a song!” I texted it to Thomm and he was on board. It’ll probably be the next song we work on. When you’re a writer and you’re really in the flow of it, anything can inspire. And if something catches your ear, whether it’s a fleshed-out story or a phrase that could be a title, you run with it. I do that all the time without thinking of a backstory. A phrase will pop into my head or I’ll say something and someone will follow up with something else and an idea snowballs from there.

Jutz: It’s important to pay attention. I think that’s the whole job description of a songwriter, or at least 90 percent of it. It’s also important to take good notes, whether it be a verse, one line, a title or just a general idea. I write all that stuff down, but like Tammy, I don’t try to overthink things. It’s important to keep an open mind because if you bring that into a co-writing session someone may interpret something completely different than you. But Tammy and I mostly write off of titles or general ideas. One of the nice things with bluegrass is that there’s a sort of vocabulary that goes with it. There are rules of what you say and how you say things that help us to focus on that structure when we’re writing. It’s like figure skating. You have to do certain poses or jumps to express yourself within the given parameters. That’s something I’ve always been intrigued about with bluegrass and American roots music. There’s a sense of structure already there and you have to try to do right by that.

Tammy, a moment ago you mentioned Thomm always having his antennas up. Going off that, what is it you each appreciate most about one another as songwriters and artists?

Tammy: One of the things I love most about writing with Thomm is that I’m from the Appalachian Mountains of East Tennessee and even though he’s from Germany, he’s studied my part of the world and is familiar with the culture. If I tell him we should try coming at something with a Carter Family approach or the Monroe and Stanley Brothers he knows exactly what I mean. That makes the process so fun and easy. I don’t think we’ve ever argued about a song and the direction it should go. It really allows us to get inside of a song and go to that place.

Jutz: I think what we both appreciate about each other is that we both take the work very seriously without taking ourselves too seriously. That’s not something that either of us came up with, but rather something that William Faulkner said when asked about writing for movies out in California. I think that mindset is a good recipe for a successful collaboration. In regards to Tammy, she’s just so musical. Not to say that other songwriters aren’t, but Tammy and I approach songwriting as instrumentalists. With that comes a different skill set that allows us to communicate differently than with people who work primarily as songwriters only. It’s very different writing with someone who’s a good instrumentalist, which Tammy obviously is.

That’s the second thing I find unique about our writing relationship, it just comes easy. We get along well and we’re close to the same age but have completely different life experiences. Tammy has children and I don’t, for example. Our lives are very similar and very different at the same time, which makes for a great exchange of ideas.

Speaking of the songwriting process, I love the song “Speakeasy Blues” and the Prohibition Era vibes it radiates. Can you tell me about the song’s story and how you pieced it together for the album?

Jutz: It doesn’t really tell the story of a book, but Tammy and I both had just read a book by North Carolina author Terry Roberts called The Holy Ghost Speakeasy and Revival. It’s a really cool story about the prohibition era and a preacher who had his own train and would recruit misfits to join his crew, preaching to them and selling them liquor. It’s a wild story. One day we were talking about it and I remember Tammy saying that “Speakeasy Blues” sounded like a good song idea, and we ran with it.

Rogers: That song is a great example of how Thomm and I write. We share a lot of books and always share stories we enjoy with one another. It’s fun making music with literary sources because not everyone who hears the song has read the book, which leaves some nuances of the song up to interpretation. On that song in particular, after framing it into the Prohibition Era, we sought to make sure it had a fast tempo and driving beat similar to a train because in the book that’s how they traveled. There’s stuff like that that’s almost subliminal that you may not catch as a listener but that we were aware of when constructing it. Those little easter eggs are fun.

Jutz: Another interesting side to that song is that the book’s author, Terry Roberts, wrote the liner notes for our record. After sending it over and asking him to write for us he said he first listened to it while in London and upon hearing the first line of “Speakeasy Blues” said, “That’s Jedediah. That’s the preacher from my book!”

Rogers: I just started reading another book of his called A Short Time to Stay Here. I really like the title, so maybe one day it’ll become a song, too.


Photo Credit: Anthony Scarlati