Guitarist-singer-songwriter Molly Tuttle caused bit of seismic activity in the roots music world when in the middle of May she announced a brand new band and the beginning of a brand new era, after the smashing, GRAMMY-winning run of her decidedly bluegrass outfit, Golden Highway. With several years of touring and two critically acclaimed and audience-adored albums with that group under her belt, Tuttle posted on social media that she had assembled Mary Meyer (fiddle, mandolin, keys), Vanessa McGowan (bass), Megan Jane (drums, percussion) and Ellen Angelico (guitars, Dobro) for her new backing band. Predictably, the award-amassing picker had many a bluegrass “chair snapper” run to her comment sections to decry her abandonment of bluegrass, her selling out, and her forsaking the genre that made her.
A little over a month later, Tuttle announced her upcoming album, So Long Little Miss Sunshine, due out August 15 via Nonesuch Records. With that second wave of exciting news she dropped the LP’s first single, “That’s Gonna Leave a Mark.” Last week, she and her newly-minted band appeared on CBS Saturday Morning to perform that track (watch above) as well as a burnin’ fan favorite from the Golden Highway years, “San Joaquin” (watch below). In addition, Tuttle spoke to journalist Anthony Mason about the project, her creative process, and how and why she’s ready for something fresh and different – sonically, and otherwise. (Watch Tuttle’s interview with Mason below, as well.)
“Okay, yeah, I want to set the record straight!” Tuttle laughs when asked about “abandoning bluegrass” and her more string-band-inclined fans. “I’m not abandoning the bluegrass fans. I feel like, with my music, a door will just open and then I’m walking through it.”
“With my last two records,” she continues, “I just felt so inspired to go back to my roots and write bluegrass songs. And, all of a sudden in the last year, I was like, ‘It’s time to do something different, to do something totally new, and find my own sound that’s not emulating a certain genre or style.'”
Longtime fans of Tuttle know that dabbling in genres on the fringes of more traditional bluegrass has always been a practice at the core of her creativity, songwriting, and expression. Her debut EP after moving to Nashville, 2017’s Rise, was far from straight ahead bluegrass in structure, arrangements, and production. In 2019 she released When You’re Ready. Her full-length debut, it boasted bluegrass and flatpicking bones with dashes of old-time and country, but couldn’t be easily or simply defined – or entirely contained – underneath any of those aesthetic umbrellas. “That’s Gonna Leave a Mark” is poppy, bold, and broad with dashes of Katie Gavin (of MUNA), Sheryl Crow, and Aimee Mann. But still, it’s anchored by, of all things, clawhammer guitar. Is that “abandoning” the genres that made her?
Along the way, Tuttle’s live shows have always been expansive, joyous, and fun, whatever the personnel on stage – and her shows have always been unconcerned with genre fidelity, too. (Even as she crisscrossed the country and the globe with her beloved ‘grassy Golden Highway comrades.) Now, with her new “that ain’t bluegrass” band, she continues playing with genre and expectations.
For instance, at ROMP in Owensboro, Kentucky, last month she at one point invited Del, Ronnie, and Rob McCoury onstage for a guest slot, many a Golden Highway track made the set list, and she covered both “Blue Moon of Kentucky” and a dramatic, languid version of Icona Pop and Charli XCX’s smash hyperpop hit “I Love It” for her twin encores. This sort of musical multiplicity from Tuttle isn’t anything new, it’s foundational. It’s a keystone on which she’s built her entire brand. Her incredible covers album, 2020’s pandemic-proffered …but i’d rather be with you is another excellent example of this fact.
It’s clear Tuttle, her band, and her team are knee-deep in messaging and intentionally reinforcing their brand identity for this next album and her headlining “The Highway Knows” tour, which kicks off in September. Whether on CBS Saturday Morning, social media, or a bluegrass festival stage, that task comes incredibly naturally to Tuttle, because these sounds aren’t a gimmick. This isn’t a cash grab or selling out or abandoning anything or anyone. It’s Molly Tuttle being exactly who she has always been. After all, just when you think you know her, “She’ll Change.”
Equal parts old soul and trailblazer, Western Kentucky singer-songwriter S.G. Goodman explores rural belief systems with a forward thinking, synth-heavy, swamp rock aesthetic on Planting By The Signs.
Released June 20, the record is the first for Goodman since 2022’s critically acclaimed Teeth Marks and sees her diving into tales of love, loss, reconciliation, and grief. The ancient Appalachian concept it draws its name from subtlety influences all aspects of rural life from farming to self-grooming. According to Goodman, the idea to center her fourth album around this idea came in late 2022 after stumbling across a section about planting by the signs in Foxfire, a collection of books first published in 1972 that delve into Appalachian philosophy and ways of life.
“When I got to the passage about moon planting or planting by the signs I started having all these memories of hearing about [moon phases and zodiac signs] throughout my childhood,” Goodman tells Good Country. “My family and a lot of the people in rural areas like Western Kentucky have been taught these things but don’t think or talk about them in everyday conversation.
“For instance, my brother cuts his hair by the signs and I remember old people saying to never pull a tooth when the signs are in ‘the head’ [an area of the sky attributed to Aries]. I was weaned by my mother to the signs, potty-trained even. It’s an old belief system that I wound up immersing myself in and felt a responsibility to pass on.”
We spoke with the Americana Music Association’s 2023 Emerging Artist Of The Year ahead of the release of Planting By The Sign via Zoom. Our conversation covered the inspiration for the album’s concept, the themes of grief and reconciliation within its songs, the sonic evolution of the singer’s sound, and more.
What was it like taking the concept of Planting By The Signs and making it a reality? Did it turn out to be everything you envisioned?
S.G. Goodman: There were elements that were given over to studio magic. Sometimes the circumstances of recording force you to try different things you weren’t planning on, but for the most part I had a pretty clear vision of what I wanted this album to sound like before the songs were even written. This project leans toward a rougher sound that really hones in on the human element of the music. I also wanted to push myself sonically and add in new instruments that I normally don’t have in my music just to see what it would feel like.
In terms of trying new things, “Satellite” is a song that stands out. Is that a bunch of synths added to it or something else?
“Satellite” not so much. It sounds like synth, but it’s actually a little $150 makeshift Kent baritone guitar with a really wild, natural sound being played through a Fender Champ amp. There were a lot of synths elsewhere, but I’m just so ignorant when it comes to keys that I couldn’t tell you what they were. [Laughs] But I had [The Alabama Shakes’] Ben Tanner, a wizard on keys, come in to lay down and experiment some on organ, Wurlitzer, and other things.
For instance, because I do like an organic sound from my amps instead of using a bunch of pedals, we wound up playing along with the tremolos on the actual amps and ran the keys through that. But even with that, I’ve never had a record where there’s been keys on the majority of the songs, until now. That’s mostly been for economical reasons – I’ve been just a rock outfit with a lead guitarist, bass, drums and occasionally pedal steel, but it takes a minute before you can afford to not only have another player with you, but also a vehicle big enough to carry another person and their equipment. I was always leery to have songs focused around that, but with this album I was able to do it and shift around what kind of utility musician I wanted on the road with me and I’m really proud of it.
You mentioned working with Ben Tanner on these songs, but you also recorded down in Alabama as well. Tell me about what that experience was like?
Yeah, I was down in the Shoals, specifically the Sheffield area where Jimmy Nutt’s studio, The NuttHouse, is. It operates out of an old converted bank and felt really familiar to the small town I grew up in, where you could stand out in the middle of the road and pretty much bet a million dollars you wouldn’t get run over, because you’d never even see a car.
When you’re in the studio I’m not so big on doing destination recording, because in my opinion you should just be in a room working on music and not out seeing the sights. This was the perfect balance of not feeling like you’re missing something outside the room, but if you did walk out there it would be a calm environment.
Another sonic element on this album I wanted to touch on are the conversational audio recordings interspersed on tracks like “Heat Lightning.” What purpose were you trying to serve with those?
Going back to my mindset heading into this record and my desire to write about planting by the signs, I was really interested in the way that beliefs carry on and evolve over the years. We either accept, adapt to, or even stop telling these stories and letting them die, so [that was] one thing I wanted to showcase, either in a long narrative form or by adding elements you mentioned like the field recordings. I wanted to add those in because it’s another style we’ve used to capture stories and keep them alive. I’m a big fan of Alan Lomax’s field recordings – there’s a massive musical and oral history tied to them – so it was important for me to pay homage to that storytelling medium.
I even sought to do that through the album layout and artwork, too, by incorporating flash tattoos. Tattoos are a way that we have planted stories on ourselves and applied meaning to. Even its color scheme with red, yellow, and black – I don’t know if you’re ever heard this saying, but, “When red touches black you’re OK Jack, but when red touches yellow you’re a dead fellow.” That’s a sign from nature [about venomous snakes], so every element around this album, from allowing myself to write a nearly nine-minute song [with “Heaven Song”] while keeping this cohesive storyline to retelling a story from my youth in “Snapping Turtle.” I really wanted to showcase the history and art of passing down a story and drawing attention to that.
Someone whose memory you’ve preserved within these songs (as well as on older tunes like “Red Bird Morning”) is your longtime mentor and father figure Mike Harmon, who tragically passed away recently during a tree cutting accident. What kind of influence has he had on you, not just with this new record, but also on you as a person?
As far as Mike’s influence on my music goes, he was a huge encourager of me throughout the years going back to my days with The Savage Radley. I also played with him in a local Murray, Kentucky, band called The Kentucky Vultures. He was their bass player and we became fast friends and at one point even neighbors. He served as a father figure that I could bounce ideas off of musically, but more than anything it was his wisdom and support that impacted me most. He was such a go-getter and always an amazing person to have on the road with you.
One time I needed someone to help me get my van back from Boston, Massachusetts, to Western Kentucky, because the band and I had to fly out to Portland or Los Angeles in the middle of our tour before resuming the run a few days later in the Midwest. Mike simply asked when and where he needed to be and followed through. He was always down to help and be a part of things. It’s hard to wrap up exactly how meaningful his presence was during those early years. He was so proud of me and the boys when we were able to do this in a more professional way and regularly flew out to see our shows. In fact, in early 2023, he was supposed to be on tour with me in Austin for a sold-out show that I was particularly excited to have him at because he’d previously lived there for a time before losing his housing, only to die a week and a half later in a tree accident.
I continue to find myself thinking that Mike is still providing me with a lot of gifts and wisdom. When he passed away I was able to reconnect with my longtime friend and music collaborator of over 10 years, Matt Rowan. At that point we had a rupture in our friendship and musical relationship and hadn’t spoken in a couple years, but with Mike being the confidant, he was very aware of Matt and my falling out. [He] was always supportive around that and believed that we’d eventually reconcile with each other.
And that reconciliation is what you’re exploring on the song “Michael Told Me,” correct?
Correct. It’s a song that speaks to both Matt and Mike and kind of gives a snapshot of evolution and the processing of Mike’s death, but also the exact moment that Matt and I spoke after a few years of not.
You’re also singing with Matt on the album’s title track. What was it like getting to reunite in the studio with him for that?
Matt is also a co-producer on this album with me and Drew Vandenberg. He’s obviously been a longtime collaborator, so I thought it’d be interesting if he had an even bigger role on this album. I wasn’t wrong in my expectations of it working out really well.
Circling back to “Satellite” for a moment, lyrically the song seems to talk a lot about modern technology and human connection, or a lack thereof, in modern day society. What inspired you to explore those themes and how do you feel they fit into the record’s larger concept of planting by the signs?
I actually wrote most of the song in the studio. I didn’t start it there, but wasn’t expecting to have it on the album either. It’s something that came to me during the creative process of recording, which is not uncommon. When I was writing it I realized that one important thing for me to tie into talking about an ancient belief system was my curiosity of how that applies to our real, modern world. A lot of questions were coming up for me around that that I also tried to showcase within this album and my approach to talking about it with people. If Planting By The Signs revolves around paying attention to messages from nature, what does it mean for us as a society when we’re putting things between us and being able to see those signs?
For instance, we’re talking to each other right now through Zoom and are living in a world where more and more importance is being put on having more filters between us and nature – and even convoluting it. What are we gonna be [at] when I die, like 20G? [Laughs] How many satellites are going to need to be shot up into the universe to accomplish that?
Right now as a person, I’m in that weird land of [having been] a child in the early days of the world wide web when my parents got their first computer with dial-up internet. I didn’t start texting until I was 18. Nowadays I can pull up a waterfall on YouTube and hear the sounds of it in my living room without ever going somewhere like Cumberland Falls. Or I can go to a bar in public and not talk to a single person, because I’m just staring at my phone. I’m definitely a grandma when it comes to communicating with people.
I’ve noticed in the last 15 years that people are very hesitant to get back to a real human connection. There’s so many barriers nowadays to us having tangible connections with other people and nature. With that comes implications with AI and in the media, so it’s no wonder that a person who’s been watching the same creek bed over the course of 20 years evolve and cut differently and rise and fall may have a better idea that the weather patterns have drastically changed than a person who’s only receiving their information through technology.
Is “Nature’s Child,” which you sing with Bonnie Prince Billy, also touching on those themes?
That’s actually the one song on the album that I didn’t write. It was written by my friend Tyler Ladd. I first came across it over 10 years ago at an open mic in Murray and was floored by its lyrics. Everyone has different opinions on what makes a good song, but for me it’s really simple – a good song is one that you remember after hearing it.
Not long after that night, Tyler took off hitchhiking across the United States. Then years later I got a message from him saying that he was in Europe traveling and was writing to me from a hospital bed in Germany after getting his guitar stolen and beaten up pretty badly. I told him to get on home and about a year after that he showed up on my front porch in late 2016. I had him sit in my living room and play that song to me before asking him if I could start playing that song too and making it my own.
I’ve covered it live for years at this point, so when it came time to begin writing and thinking about this album Tyler’s lyrics and emotion he evoked in that song were a placeholder for me. He was gracious enough to let me record it. The song encapsulates everything this album is about.
Through the process of bringing Planting By The Signs to life, what is something that music taught you about yourself?
With each album you find yourself at a different place in life. I don’t necessarily have a lot of people ask me about my process of writing. It’s not linear and I’ve always held the belief, even though I’ve doubted it at times, that a story’s gonna go about its business. That was told to me years ago by a writing mentor, and a song does the same thing. Through that process one thing I’ve had to come to terms with with the fact that being an artist in 2025 is having pressure to keep churning out content and material, which has never been natural for me. I’ve never written that way, so being OK with and waiting for something to be in place where you feel you’ve said everything you need to say and not just succumbing to the pressures of putting something out while also being genuinely proud of what I created is a testament to the fact that I let this come when it was supposed to.
My gourd banjo journey began on a crisp, winter day in downtown Ithaca, New York. While an undergrad at Ithaca College early in my banjo-playing days, I stopped by the local acoustic instrument store and saw a peculiar banjo-like creature hanging high up on the wall. I was instantly hooked. It had five strings and a short drone string just like my banjo. I could play the same clawhammer style I was familiar with, but everything felt and sounded different. The instrument had an earthy, plunky, and rich tone. Besides being completely fretless and tuned a few steps low, the head was made of a gourd that smelled like dirt. Flash forward 15 years and here I’ve just released an album of solo, unaccompanied gourd banjo music called Old Growth.
These days, I play a gourd banjo built by Pete Ross, an immensely talented banjo maker who lives in my hometown of Baltimore, Maryland, a town full of banjo history. The first professional banjo maker in the world, William Boucher, set up shop in Baltimore in the mid-19th century. The neck of this banjo, notably the scroll-shaped headstock, is modeled after the Boucher style. In addition to being a tool for creative exploration, the gourd banjo serves as a prism into the complex history of the banjo. It’s a reliable conversation-starter everywhere I go. For more on banjo history, I encourage you to read Well of Souls by Kristina Gaddy.
While compiling this list, I was struck by the sheer variety in tone and texture possible with the gourd banjo. While the instrument connects to the early roots of old-time music, it continues to serve as a platform for innovation. Every player is unique. This list features gourd banjoists from around the world playing traditional and original material. Let’s go on a deep dive into the gourd banjo! – Brad Kolodner
“Josie-O” – Adam Hurt
Arguably the most influential gourd banjo album of our time, Adam Hurt’s Earth Tones is sublime. Cover to cover, this is a dreamy album of solo gourd banjo pieces and it’s on regular rotation at my house. Adam is one of today’s most influential clawhammer banjo players and there’s no question his gourd banjo playing, and this album specifically, introduced the gourd banjo to much wider audiences inspiring countless musicians along the way.
“Old Growth” – Brad Kolodner
The title track of my new album Old Growth is a dark, spooky tune I wrote in the depths of winter, yearning for those sun-filled summer days in the vibrant forests just north of town. I tuned my banjo extra low on this track, hence the extra mellow vibes. The title speaks to the seemingly ancient sound of the gourd while nodding to how this music continues to evolve.
“Julie” – Rhiannon Giddens
A song inspired by a conversation between an enslaved woman and her mistress during the Civil War, Rhiannon Giddens’ use of the gourd banjo is particularly poignant on “Julie.” Rhiannon is a tremendous ambassador for the banjo. She’s reframing the conversation around the history of the instrument and the role Black folks have played and continue to play in American Roots music. The early incarnations of the banjo made by enslaved Africans were gourd banjos.
“Rolling Mills” – Pharis & Jason Romero
Based in Horsefly, British Columbia, Pharis & Jason Romero build some of the most gorgeous (gourd-geous?) banjos in the world. Jason Romero built the gourd banjo he’s playing on this track. Both are immensely talented musicians who take great care in their instrument building and songcraft.
“Darling Cora” – Nora Brown
One of the most exciting young banjo players on the scene today, Nora has a deep reverence for the roots of old-time music. Her playing is absolutely sublime. She plays a gourd banjo very similar to mine also built by Pete Ross in Baltimore. All gourd banjos are handmade, which gives each one a unique sound.
“Long Hot Summer Days” – John Showman & Chris Coole
Chris Coole is a banjo hero of mine and his gourd banjo playing on this John Hartford track fits perfectly. The slinky nature of the fretless gourd truly embodies those sluggish long, hot summer days.
“Gourdness” – Arnie Naiman
Arnie is one of Canada’s finest banjo players and a clever tunesmith to boot. I first heard his playing on the compilation album The Old Time Banjo Festival produced by Cathy Fink & Marcy Marxer.
“Goodbye, Honey, You Call That Gone” – Jake Blount
Ok so, technically, Jake isn’t playing a gourd banjo on this track. He’s playing a fretless banjo with nylon strings which sounds an awful lot like a gourd banjo. The next incarnation of the banjo in the mid-19th century after the gourd banjo was along the lines of what you’re hearing on this track.
“Four and Twenty Blackbirds Dancing on a Deer Skin / Twin Sisters” – Teilhard Frost
Teilhard Frost resides on Wolfe Island in Ontario and is a longtime member of the band Sheesham, Lotus & Son. He set out to build gourd fiddles many years ago and now specializes in gourd and tackhead banjos.
“The Rain Done Fell on Me, Pt. 1” – Justin Golden
Primarily known as a blues guitarist and songwriter, Justin Golden plays a mean gourd banjo. Based in Richmond, Virginia, Justin is a gem of a human – and he’s been going through a real challenging time as he’s currently battling stage 4 cancer. There’s a GoFundMe for him here.
“Wild Bill Jones” – Ken & Brad Kolodner
When my father Ken and I first started making music together nearly 15 years ago, we figured the fiddle and banjo would be the core focus of our music. We soon realized the percussive nature of the hammered dulcimer and the drive of clawhammer mesh together beautifully. The gourd banjo adds yet another dimension to this unusual texture, especially when cranked up to the tempo of “fast.” That’s Ken Kolodner on hammered dulcimer, Rachel Eddy on guitar, Alex Lacquement on bass, and myself on gourd banjo.
“Western Pine” – Talise
In compiling material for this list, I came across this lovely original song by the Canadian artist Talise featuring gourd banjo. I’m excited to dig more into her work!
“Jagged Mountain Is on Fire (Gourd Banjo)” – Andrea Verga
Born and raised in Italy, Andrea Verga is one of today’s most inventive and creative clawhammer banjo players. He writes adventurous melodies; this tune is inspired by the jagged peaks of the Dolomite Mountains in Andrea’s home country.
“Ard Aoibhinn / The Hunter’s Purse” – Steve Baughman
Steve is one of today’s most influential Celtic fingerstyle guitar players – he’s also one of the most creative banjo players out there. He even plays clawhammer on guitar! This medley features a pair of Celtic tunes played on gourd and mandolin.
“Pompey Ran Away” – Clarke Buehling
Considered to be the first banjo melody officially documented, “Pompey Ran Away” dates back to the 18th century. Hailing from Fayetteville, Arkansas, Clarke Buehling is a renowned banjo player and historian who has long been an advocate for the gourd banjo.
Ismay travels from Texas to Mississippi to visit the studio where Lucinda Williams made her first record. There, Ismay interviews Wolf Stephenson, who was the engineer that day in 1978, to learn about what happened during the session and whether Lucinda was confident through that initial challenge of recording. They discuss what results when artists get rejected and what keeps certain artists moving forward in spite of various roadblocks. Stephenson oversaw the development of Malaco Records, which produced R&B, soul, and gospel hits. Elsewhere in the episode, Ismay also takes time to visit the stretch of country between Austin, Texas, and Jackson, Mississippi, in order to understand the landscape that informed Lucinda’s work.
Produced in partnership with BGS and distributed through the BGS Podcast Network, Finding Lucinda expands on the themes of Ismay’s eponymous documentary film, exploring artistic influence, creative resilience, and the impact of Williams’ music. New episodes are released twice a month. Listen right here on BGS or wherever you get podcasts.
Finding Lucinda, the documentary film that inspired and instigated the podcast, is slated for release in the fall. Both the film and podcast showcase never-before-heard archival material, intimate conversations, and a visual journey through the literal and figurative landscapes that molded Lucinda’s songwriting.
Credits: Produced and mixed by Avery Hellman for Neanderthal Records, LLC. Music by Ismay. Artwork by Avery Hellman. Jackson, MS Recording: Recorded at Malaco Studios. Sound Recordist: Rodrigo Nino Producer: Liz McBee Director: Joel Fendelman Co-Director & Cinematographer: Rose Bush Special thanks to: Mick Hellman, Chuck Prophet, Don Fierro, Jacqueline Sabec, Rosemary Carroll, Lucinda Williams, & Tom Overby.
Find more information on Finding Lucinda here. Find our full Finding Lucinda episode archive here.
Today’s Only Vans guests are one of the coolest and cutest bands in Austin, Texas! We get to talk with Kelly, Jace, Cody, and Violet of Madam Radar about palindromes, The Goose on Lime Creek, band names, and family bands, about The Finishing School, female musicians, genre lines, and their new album, Motel.
Madam Radar is a band made up of two married couples: Kelly Green on lead guitar (y’all, she slays!), her husband Jace Cadle on rhythm guitar, Kody Lee on drums, Violet Lea on bass, and everyone sings and writes. Kelly and Kody are also brother and sister, so this band has really amazing chemistry and the coolest vibe. They’re all good at everything (except for math, Kelly jokes at the beginning if you don’t catch that).
They did end up selling out their album release party at Empire Garage in Austin, Texas this past May for their new record, Motel. Their producer Steve Berlin is a member of the band Los Lobos, but also has been a session musician in the studio for many amazing artists such as Sheryl Crow and R.E.M. We also talk former projects like The Texas KGB (which is where I first saw Kelly and fell in love) and current projects like PAACK (an all-female supergroup that plays weekly at our favorite The Saxon Pub). We give a shoutout to HAAM – for providing Austin musicians with health insurance and so much more – Swan Songs, and Dave and Rebecca at The Goose on Lime Creek for providing the amazing space in which to record this podcast.
The last time BGS spoke at length with Sister Sadie, in December 2020, they were two-time IBMA winners, GRAMMY nominees, and clearly on their trailblazing way with two albums to their credit. Fast-forward five years and the group, now in its thirteenth year, is back as BGS Artist of the Month with their new and fourth album, All Will Be Well, following last year’s No Fear.
Sister Sadie 2025 includes founding members Gena Britt (banjo, vocals) and Deanie Richardson (fiddle) with Jaelee Roberts (guitar, lead vocals), Dani Flowers (guitar, vocals), Rainy Miatke (mandolin, vocals), and Katie Blomarz-Kimball (bass, vocals). Along the way to solidifying this lineup, the band notched a few more personal and professional milestones. Since becoming the first all-female band to win IBMA Entertainer of the Year in 2020 they’ve won three Vocal Group of the Year awards from the trade organization as well; performed at The Grand Ole Opry numerous times, fulfilled what they describe as “our ongoing bucket list” of goal festivals and other dates they hoped to play; charted several Number One singles; and were among the artists requested to perform at Patty Loveless’s Country Music Hall of Fame induction.
All Will Be Well is the band’s second project for the Mountain Home Music Company label. It was tracked at Crossroads Recording Studios in Arden, North Carolina, with Clay Miller engineering and Richardson producing. While the band did not set out to write a concept album, All Will Be Well is in many ways just that in its explorations of life lessons, experiences gained, and finding closure – the latter powerfully represented in “Let The Circle Be Broken,” a revealing take on ending the cycle of generational trauma.
Sister Sadie gathered together from various points to speak with BGS. Their six-member Artist of the Month interview, following, has been edited for space and clarity.
How have your many accomplishments to date brought the band to this point?
Deanie Richardson: We never intended to be a full-time band. We were friends who played a one-off at the Station Inn. That went so well that we decided to do another one. Gena started getting phone calls from promoters and we thought, “That might be fun. Let’s do it.” From there, we got a call from a record label and it grew organically, doing everything ourselves, because we weren’t looking to do it a hundred percent.
With every person that’s come into Sister Sadie, the whole band has shifted. The energy changes every time you bring in a new vocalist, a new player. You have to just let this thing guide itself. With each personnel change comes a new sound and you have to rebuild and regroup. I feel like that has happened since the last time we spoke with you guys. With Katie and Rainy here now, the energy feels perfect.
We finally have this team around us – booking agents, management, publicists – helping now and we get to focus more on the music and the amazing women in this band. So, for me, it feels like every step led to where we are right now, and it feels so right.
Gena Britt: With these personnel changes we’ve gained some wonderful songwriters, and they bring this creativity to the band. Like Deanie said, we’ve evolved into what we are today and that has a lot to do with being together, being creative together, growing as a band, and Deanie and I growing as businesswomen. It’s incredible to think of where we were when we first started and had no intention of doing this. And here we are. We have an incredible team behind us and it’s working. All the ingredients are here.
Let’s talk about the theme of All Will Be Well and sequencing the songs to tell that story.
Dani Flowers: When we went in to make the record, we definitely did not go, “This is [the title], this is the theme, and this is what it’s going to be about.” But it almost feels like we did.
We all write songs and send them to each other in Dropbox, an Apple Music playlist, and listen to them over and over. We put our opinions in as to what we might want to sing, what we hear other people singing, what songs we think are a good fit for the band, and it comes together into this thing that we almost never could have planned.
I do feel there is an overarching production style, even a theme, throughout the sequencing. But it wasn’t planned, which is the crazy thing. Deanie did the sequencing, and even outside of the band we’ve had so many folks comment on how it’s such a journey. I think the sequencing on this record is really something.
DR: The title No Fear was about Gena and I facing fears of losing some powerful personnel and deciding, “Do we want to quit? Do we want to keep going?” We decided we wanted to be all in, no fear, let’s get a team around us and do this thing. When Dani brought “All Will Be Well,” the Gabe Dixon song, I thought instantly that would be a great title, coming from No Fear: “We’re going all in on this thing, and whatever happens, all will be well.”
Once we finished the record, I started listening to the tunes. I would go on walks around the neighborhood, listen to the record over and over, and it felt like a journey. It felt like you’re taking a trip or a drive, starting with “Winnebago.” Jaelee’s singing is so powerful – that had to be the first song. You step in this Winnebago, you’re going through your drive, and then “I Wish It Would Rain” just felt like the next thing.
I imagined this person going through … call it a trip or just life in general and that being the case with this sequencing. It’s telling a big story. There’s a lot of personal connections in the writing and the song choices, from “Let The Circle Be Broken” to “First Time Liar” to all of it. This record is a representation of the deepest parts of all of us.
DF: Sister Sadie members had a hand in nine out of these thirteen songs. So there’s a lot of originals here, there’s a lot of our personal stories, our personal feelings and experiences, and it’s not perfect. I love that the record is called All Will Be Well. It’s not “all is well at this very moment.” It’s that even when we make mistakes, when we are in good moods, in bad moods, we have this overall feeling that we are going to get where we want to go. It might not be butterflies and daisies right now, but we know we’re going to get there.
Jaelee Roberts: The sequencing really is quite something, because these songs means so much to all of us individually. Even though I didn’t have a hand in writing them, at the time that I was in my life, some of these songs meant so much to me. The fact that I got to sing some of them, that they trust me to sing their songs, is so cool. I was excited when Deanie sent the sequencing to listen to our final mixes in that order, because it really is like going on a journey. The sequencing is absolutely perfect.
Can you select one track and walk us through the recording process?
DR: We all play acoustic instruments, so from sitting in my kitchen with our instruments, working out arrangements, that’s how we walk into the sessions. We recorded at Crossroads and we trust Clay Miller a lot. He’s great. He sets up the mics, we walk in and record. There’s not a lot of discussion as far as gear and mics.
The song lets you know what it needs. It will arrange itself and produce itself. “Winnebago,” for instance, has dissonant chords. I heard right away a B-3 organ accenting that. So on that song there’s electric guitar, steel guitar, the B-3, some piano. We brought things in that add an incredible amount of texture to our bluegrass instrumentation, our acoustic instruments.
GB: When we got to the studio, I had just acquired a baritone banjo that I hadn’t had an opportunity to play very much. It really lent itself to the sound of “Winnebago” and “Do What You Want.” I don’t know how to explain the feel of that song, but it just fit so well. So I played baritone banjo on a couple of tunes, which was great.
How do your playing styles and backgrounds come together to create the band’s sound?
DF: We are all such music fans, and through our upbringings and our own exploration of music, we’ve all been exposed to the best songs. We have pretty high standards when it comes to writing our lyrics and what we want to sing. We love a good lyric. We love creative harmonies. We have great instrumentalists in this band, so we especially love a melody with a really cool hook. You can find that in any genre. Onstage we quite often cover rock and roll songs, pop songs, old and new country songs. Katie comes from a jazz background. Rainy comes more from West Coast bluegrass. Gena and Jaelee and Deanie all come from traditional bluegrass. I come strictly from a country background. You can find a good song, good lyrics, good melodies, in any genre.
Katie Blomarz-Kimball: My background is in jazz. I didn’t really grow up with country or bluegrass music. Since I’ve lived in Nashville for about ten years now, I’ve definitely dipped my toe into the genres, but it’s hard when you’re playing with some of the best bluegrass musicians on the scene to come in and not be like, “Am I good enough for this? Can I do this?”
One of the very first things Deanie said to me at the rehearsal two hours before the first show I ever played with them was, “I want you to play like you would play it.” That was important to me, because there is a really interesting perspective that can happen when people from different backgrounds come together in one group. And I think it can change, depending on what naturally migrates as a group. Adding some of my quirky bass playing can influence one way or another for things to have a different feel or vibrancy behind it that maybe shifts the music slightly. It’s definitely a fun part of this experience for me.
DR: We all come from different genres of music that we love, but we have country and bluegrass as a deep-rooted passion. That’s basically why we’re here. Because we are so creatively different, I think that’s a plus. Each of us brings something to the situation that changes it, adds to it, and you have to figure out ways to highlight or bring to the table everyone’s strengths. Once you do that, the sound starts coming together.
Deanie, you produced All Will Be Well. What does the term “producer” mean to you? Is it a democratic process?
DR: It is democratic up to pushing the red button. Everybody has input, but there comes a time when you have to call it, when you have to say, “That’s brilliant. I’m sure you think you could do it better, but I don’t need better. I need feel; I need it to feel a certain way.” This is a killer band, and they don’t need me to tell them how to play or sing. But there has to be some person that says, “You just wrecked me, you just turned me into a puddle on the floor, and I’m not going let you do it again because of that.” That’s what a producer is for me.
We all arrange these songs, pick these songs, write these songs, and at the end of the day, we’re making great records that I am so proud of. That’s not because of something I did. That’s because of something this band did. It’s a group effort. It is six very talented, capable women who I respect and value tremendously. It’s just that there has to be someone calling the shots, if you will.
Could we talk about writing “Let The Circle Be Broken” and presenting it to the band?
DR: We spend a lot of time in the car together, riding up and down the road, so we talk about everything. We know each other’s deepest, darkest secrets. We know the pain we’ve been through, the love we’ve been through, the relationships we’ve been in. We know everything about each other. I love being with a group of people you’re that connected to and that close with, and getting to be creative with them and make music together. That’s the ultimate thing for me. That’s honestly why I stay in tears all the time – because I love these women so much.
Dani, Erin Enderlin, and I got together right after my dad died. We were talking about all the shit I went through as a child growing up with him and all that Dani went through having an abusive mother. Each of the women in this band has experienced some form of generational trauma or abuse from someone in our lives. When we brought the song to the band, everyone knew my story and Dani’s, so it wasn’t a surprise.
Everyone was very supportive about telling the story and getting the song out, and it felt like the right time to do it. Once he passed away, I was ready to finally talk about it. It’s a very personal story, but it doesn’t say anything specific about what I went through. The song hopefully relates to anyone who’s experienced any sort of abuse.
We didn’t write it to make a statement. We wrote it because that’s where we all were, having that conversation that day. The more we talked, the more the song came to life. It was a beautiful thing and very therapeutic to write. I am extremely proud of how it came out, what each girl brought to this tune, and how they supported and loved me through it.
How do you protect yourself, mentally and emotionally, when performing the song live?
DR: Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I get upset. I just want to feel the song as I feel it every night. Some nights it’s just a song for me, some nights I just want to get through it, some nights I feel so much peace with it, and some nights I feel like he’s there. We played in Ogden, Utah, recently, and I could feel his presence and I got very upset.
One night in a theater I looked over at the girls while we were playing the song and I thought about each of them individually and how I know all these things about them. I know the struggles they’ve been through, the people who’ve hurt them, all the things they’ve felt, and struggled with, and beat, and have experienced in their lives.
At that moment, the song was theirs too. It was their experience as well. That night, walking across the stage as I’m playing that play-out at the end, I looked at each of them and told them I loved them as I walked by them. I’ve been doing that every night since, because I don’t feel like it’s just my song. I feel like it represents each of us. These are strong, amazing, talented women, and I’m so grateful to be in their presence every day.
DF: For me, this song is about the fact that we are in control now. We have the ability to stop the cycle that’s happened through our families and could very well carry on to our own children, if we didn’t take accountability, stand up, and say, “This goes no further.” So, for me, there’s not really a need for protection. It’s more letting it all out. Watching the crowd’s reaction every time we perform it is so therapeutic because you can tell there’s always somebody that really needed to hear what we had to say.
You both used the word “therapeutic.” What part does music play in your healing, in your mental health?
DR: It’s the only reason I’m still alive.
DF: To put it in perspective, imagine going through one of the worst things a person could go through, then to live your life and get to a place where … like, for Deanie, her dad passing away … to be able to sit down with two other women that are going, “I know almost exactly what you’re talking about. I have been through this as well. We are going to get it all out through the thing we all love the most.” And then to take that song you wrote that’s so honest and so vulnerable, play it for the people you’re in a band with, and have them all react with such compassion, saying, “Yeah, we have to do this.” And not only record the song, but there also was a conversation about how much we’re going to say about what the song is about, because some of us are really ready to talk about the things that happened to us, and we know that affects the entire band.
To have everybody embrace that, and then to get onstage and perform that with those people every night, to look at these women and tell them you love them — I can’t think of anything more therapeutic than to be able to say, “This happened to me,” and have so many people — the people that you wrote the song with, the people in the band with you, the people who made the record with you, and the people in the crowd listening and buying the record and all the comments we get on this song … I cannot think of anything more therapeutic for a person who has gone through something so traumatic. Other than actual therapy — I’m an advocate for actual therapy!
Rainy Miatke: Music plays such a huge role in my mental health and my healing journey. At times in my life when I’m not playing as much music, I can really feel the difference. Since I was a little kid, I’ve used music, writing melodies, writing songs, playing, and singing as a way to process the emotions I was going through. Now, being part of a band that is on a similar journey and path as I am, in my life and musically, and playing these powerful songs that the band has written about very personal subjects, it feels like we’re all in this together and here for each other, and it feels so healing.
When Deanie’s up there playing that part at the end of “Circle,” I sometimes find myself feeling really emotional and having to almost compartmentalize it, but also sometimes just letting it happen and processing some of the things that I’ve been through, too. I’ve found these people that I can do that with, and that I can process that stuff with through music, so it feels really special.
It’s a golden weekly roundup of new music and premieres! You Gotta Hear This.
Kicking off the collection, San Francisco-based bluegrassers the Brothers Comatose unveil “25 Miles,” a single from their upcoming album, Golden Grass. The full project arrives in September, but you need not journey that far to hear “25 miles,” which is available everywhere today. Listen below.
Then, Nashville Americana duo Goldpine keep the shimmering, golden aura going with “Space,” a blend of futurism and roots music about craving a break from the rat race and the “real world.” Goldpine’s brand new album, Three – their third, indeed – releases today, so we’re happy to spotlight a track from the project in celebration.
Alaskan bluegrass and country artist Josh Fortenbery shows off his new, expanded sound with “City Lights,” a song – and accompanying music video – about aging, opportunity, and anxiety that’s twangy and danceable even wrapped up in existential pondering. Plus, Mountain Home Music Company recording artist Jesse Smathers declares “If It Ain’t Broke (Don’t Fix It)” in his latest single, a tongue-in-cheek number that you’re sure to find hilarious and top notch.
To close us out on New Music Friday, Duluth, Minnesota’s Ross Thorn brings us “Baby, That’s All I Need.” With a folky sound and backed by lovely finger-picked guitar, the song is about empathy and, as Thorn puts it, “…Seeing the divine in everything, and seeing the divine in yourself.” It’s a perfect bookend for this week’s roundup.
We appreciate you joining us each week for new music. Because you know what we think – You Gotta Hear This!
The Brothers Comatose, “25 Miles”
Artist:The Brother Comatose Hometown: San Francisco, California Song: “25 Miles” Album:Golden Grass Release Date: July 16, 2025 (single); September 12, 2025 (album) Label: Swamp Jam Records
In Their Words: “’25 Miles’ was born out of a late-night drive from the SF Bay Area to LA, up and over the Grapevine, and a feeling that most of us know all too well: the weight of the world pressing down as we’re trying to outrun it. It’s about restless energy, being burned out and broke, with only dreams and close friends guiding you to your destination.
“It was written during a time of uncertainty and mental noise, and explores the tension between responsibility and freedom, and momentum and stillness.
“The line, ’25 miles to go and we’re running out of gas,’ is a metaphor for the transitional moments when you’re not quite sure where you’re headed, but you know you can’t turn back. There’s a subtle ache and a longing to escape not just a place, but also pressure, expectation, and the past. It’s about how getting lost is part of the plan, and survival sometimes looks like singing too loud with the windows down.” – Ben Morrison
Josh Fortenbery, “City Lights”
Artist:Josh Fortenbery Hometown: Juneau, Alaska Song: “City Lights” Album:Tidy Memorial Release Date: July 11, 2025 (single); October 10, 2025 (album) Label: Muskeg Collective
In Their Words: “This melody has been kicking around since I was in high school and I’ve returned to it and slowly tweaked the lyrics over the years. It definitely captures the expansion in my sound since the last record, but also highlights that internally, I feel as lost as ever. My anxiety around aging is pretty new – I think I’m finally recognizing that some doors are closed or closing, and I’m trying to decide if I’m still having fun.
“I worked with a videographer in Juneau, David Rossow, to visually capture the feeling of standing still in a small town while the world moves rapidly past. We probably weirded out some tourists walking in slow motion while singing the song at .2 speed, but it definitely shows off my local haunts and the local life that sometimes haunts me.” – Josh Fortenbery
Track Credits: Josh Fortenbery – Vocals, guitar Erik Clampitt – Pedal Steel Kat Moore –Fender Rhodes, Hammond B-3 Sam Roberts – Bass Todd Vierra – Drums Kennedy Jo Kruchoski – Vocals Taylor Dallas Vidic – Vocals
In Their Words: “We spend a lot of time on the road these days… it’s just become our regular life now. It seems like we drive so much, and do so much computer work, and are on the move so often that we just really cherish our breaks and time off. ‘Space’ is kind of like a stream of consciousness song about the desire for a break from the real world stuff. It’s a space-aged dreamy Americana tune with futuristic sounds and a rockin’ guitar solo. This tune was recorded from a compilation of live takes from shows on the road last year and mastered by engineer Dave McNair (Shovels & Rope, Brandi Carlile). We really captured the raw live performance feel on this tune, which is what we specialize in.” – Goldpine
Jesse Smathers, “If It Ain’t Broke (Don’t Fix It)”
Artist:Jesse Smathers Hometown: Floyd, Virginia Song: “If It Ain’t Broke (Don’t Fix It)” Release Date: July 11, 2025 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “This tune was fun as could be to write and record. ‘If It Ain’t Broke (Don’t Fix It)’ is a common saying most folks have heard. I know I’ve heard it my whole life. However, the family in this tune must not be up to speed on the old idiom. This tune is a tongue-in-cheek reminder that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it – just leave well enough alone.” – Jesse Smathers
Track Credits: Jesse Smathers – Guitar, lead vocal Hunter Berry – Fiddle Corbin Hayslett – Banjo Nick Goad – Mandolin, harmony vocal Joe Hannabach – Upright Bass
Ross Thorn, “Baby, That’s All I Need”
Artist:Ross Thorn Hometown: Duluth, Minnesota Song: “Baby, That’s All I Need” Album:Fitting In Release Date: July 11, 2025 (single); August 8, 2025 (album)
In Their Words: “I began writing this one morning after I went for a walk in the graveyard, a swim in Lake Superior during a storm, and came home to see a robin in the yard. It’s a song about radical empathy, seeing yourself in everything, seeing the divine in everything, and seeing the divine in yourself. We recorded the song live at the fabled Pachyderm Studios in Cannon Falls, Minnesota. To me, the song feels like John Prine collaborated with the rooster from the old Robin Hood cartoon (AKA Roger Miller), with a blend of honesty, humor, and some good old-fashioned whistling.” – Ross Thorn
Track Credits: Ross Thorn – Vocals, acoustic guitar Clark Singleton – Bass Cassandra Sotos – Violin, vocals Jacob Mahon – Banjo, vocals Ian Hopp – Drums Kyle Orla – Acoustic guitar, vocals
Photo Credit: The Brothers Comatose by Jessie McCall; Goldpine by Raechel Curtis.
As John C. Reilly cavorts around a converted Brooklyn warehouse, his wiry hair branching heavenward, he looks a bit like a heavily rouged version of his eccentric Dr. Steve Brule. But Dr. Brule isn’t here, and neither is Reilly, in a sense. A fellow named Mister Romantic holds court instead, serenading and chatting up audience members in an effort to win their hearts. He swoons and croons, he has a microphone that looks like a rose, and he really, really wants to be loved forever, lest he be doomed to an eternity in a steamer trunk.
Reilly is the rare sort of actor whose talents span cutting dramas and gut-busting comedy antics, and underneath all of it, he’s maintained a soft spot for musical theater. Audiences have gotten a peek at that in Reilly’s Oscar-nominated embodiment of Chicago’s “Mister Cellophane,” and while he’s hammed it up as Dewey Cox in Walk Hard. He’s long nurtured his musicianship, too, with a handful of bands in his youth, a blues outfit, and his more recent cadre of bluegrass friends.
After finishing his duties as Jerry Buss in Winning Time: The Rise of the Lakers Dynasty, Reilly fixed his energy on finding some sort of remedy to the discord that he felt dominating everyday life. Mister Cellophane only got the one song, as Reilly has noted, so he drew upon more than twenty years of his own tune-collecting to develop a repertoire that felt suited to his mission and was close to his own heart. He’s pulled most of his material from the early 20th century body of the American Songbook, which Reilly expands to include a handful of Tom Waits numbers. Though Mister Romantic works a special kind of magic in person, he issued a baker’s dozen of recordings on his album What’s Not to Love? in mid-June, a more permanent evidence of his visitation.
He credits Los Angeles’ famed venue Largo with being the nexus of countless creative relationships – including Mister Romantic compatriots like David Garza, fiddler Gabe Witcher, and Sebastian Steinberg, who joins the ensemble on their recordings. The crew keep remarkably stony faces as Reilly improvises his appeals to the crowd, part of the story built around Mister Romantic’s cosmic arc: “He’s been traveling in this box for thousands of years trying to find love, and he just fails over and over. He doesn’t have a memory of the past, but the band does, and they’re stuck in this purgatory cycle with him,” Reilly says.
In chatting up different audience members between selections (“I’m not gay or straight, I’m desperate,” he offers), Reilly hopes to get everybody in the room feeling like they can open up a little bit. The songs, for Reilly, facilitate that softening in a sort of bucket-brigade through time. “‘What’ll I Do?’ could’ve been forgotten by the 1930s, but people loved that song and kept passing it along, and here I am, doing it again,” he says. “I think that’s the way to pay things forward, to pass along what you think is good.”
Now with an album release and several more Mister Romantic shows in his rearview mirror, Reilly is impassioned and reflective as he considers the value of vulnerability in a prickly modern world. His fervent belief in the fundamental goodness of human nature spills over as he shares his efforts to bring a little more love into people’s lives.
You made a point to tell your first audience participant that you weren’t bringing her up there to shame her or embarrass her, which got me thinking about how you’re watching people react to your character in real time. What has that been like for you with these performances?
John C. Reilly: It’s been a really special part of the show. I don’t know what I expected it to be when I started doing this, just kind of improvising my way through, but it’s been amazingly consistent. I say that stuff about “I’m not going to embarrass you or do anything weird” because people just don’t know what the hell the show is about, what the boundaries are. I really want to make people feel like I’m going to take care of them up there. The joke is not going to be on them.
With the audience, I’ve noticed if you really see people and the best in them, or you look for qualities that you find attractive, and you talk about them – it’s amazing the way people let down their guard and open up. It makes the whole audience feel like I’m talking directly to each one of them, even though I only get to four or five people during each show.
Have you had any reactions that have caught you off guard?
Sometimes I ask pretty heavy questions, like, “Have you ever been in love? How long did it last?” People generally want to play along, there’s no one that has ruined the interaction. People always ask me, “Are those people plants?” They’re never plants. The second thing they ask is, “Does anyone ever not cooperate?” I have to say, it’s like, 100% cooperation so far. I think part of it comes from the loving approach and the fact that I say at the beginning what the mission of the night is going to be.
It’s a really encouraging part of the show for me personally, because you really do want to believe that, in their heart of hearts, people are good. When I do this show, that is what I think when I go through the audience. I try to look at every single person directly at some point. The whole point of the show is connection – to the music, the world, to each other – and creating a live unique moment with a group of people. Whatever’s happening outside in the world is one thing, but in here, we’re all going to be connected by the end of the night.
There was a moment where you kind of scolded someone for having their phone out, but you somehow did it in the nicest way possible, where you brought it back to maintaining a connection in the moment.
I try not to even engage with what phones even are. We try to make it clear that you’re not supposed to use your phone during the show. I called that guy out just because I was surprised to see it in his hand. My point was not to say, “You broke the rules!” or get mad at him. There have been other times when people have their phones out. The point of those interactions is always to point out what’s special about this moment without a phone. When I said that, the audience almost started cheering [note: this is true]. Everyone is getting to this place where they’re starting to realize the cost of using a phone, and the separation that it creates between you and a performance or an experience.
How did Largo get to be such a major fixture in your life?
Largo has been a big part of my life since it opened in the early ’90s. It’s been a big part of my development as a singer and as a musician. I had my bluegrass band there for a long time. Mark Flanagan, who owns the place, creates such a special vibe in there, and does not allow cell phones during the shows. The audience ends up being focused in this way that’s different than other places I’ve been.
It’s kind of this temple of quality and entertainment, especially music. When I first started going to Largo, it was Jon Brion and all these different musicians moving through there – a lot of my friends who I play with now, who I played with in the past in other bands. Walk Hard, the songwriters from there – all those guys were all part of the Largo scene in one way or another. It really feels like home when I’m there, and it has its priorities right. It’s not just a place that’s about profit and selling beers, slamming them in and slamming them out. There’s a real soul to the place. I shudder to think what LA would be without Largo.
Is your bluegrass band something you think you’ll return to?
The blues, bluegrass, and this kind of show-tune world are all different aspects of me. I had a blues band before I had a bluegrass band. But I love bluegrass music, for the same reason I love all these American Songbook standards that I’m doing. That’s part of the conversation about the show that I think is really important, that Americana doesn’t just mean white Southern folk music from the 1930s.
People talk about, “What kind of category does [Mister Romantic] fit in?” To me, it’s Americana. A lot of these songs were written by Americans, and they’re not classical music. I think bluegrass definitely falls under the Americana banner, but I think songs in the American Songbook also fall under the Americana banner. Blues music falls under the banner. Why is blues music separated as African-American music? It’s part of America’s history. We should all embrace under the same umbrella.
You’ve talked about using Mister Romantic as a vehicle for getting people to open up a bit more to love and empathy. I think of romance as only one slice of the pie when it comes to loving or forms of love – why go with “romantic” as your channel into exploring empathy?
To me, romance is appreciating a beautiful sunset, or the way a flower looks or smells. Appreciating some weird little detail about a person that makes them unique, that makes you cherish them. It’s not just a Valentine’s Day card. Think about the reason that you got crushes on different people in the past. Sometimes it’s about the physical looks, but oftentimes it’s like, “Man, I just love the way that person does their art.” You crush out on people because of why they’re special. That, to me, is romantic.
On the surface of it, this guy Mister Romantic is trying to fall in love, but he doesn’t even really know what that is. He has so little experience. All he knows is, it’s a deep connection with someone else that will then stay with you forever. I’m not trying to get anyone to be anything. To me, the show is an opportunity to come together. If you’re craving connection, then you should come. I’m not trying to lecture people. I’m just pointing out the inherent truth about human beings, that we do love each other, that the secret to civilization and the reason that human beings are still around on earth is because of love.
I was seeing a lack of empathy – a coarseness to our dialogue, or a viciousness to our debate, and I thought, “Well, that’s distressing. What could I do that might lessen that?” And I decided I’ll do a show about love, and I’ll invite people to come see it, and maybe they’ll feel what I’m feeling. [Mister Romantic] is more about reminding people of what is true about us. On a good day, I think, everyone feels that people are ultimately good when the chips are down.
There’s a line from bell hooks’ All About Love about how “cynicism is the great mask of the disappointed and betrayed heart,” and when I re-read that recently, it resonated with how the crowd felt at the end of the show—like this cynical layer that a lot of us have was dissolved for a bit while we were laughing and having a good time together.
Yeah! It’s not just about me and what I’m saying. It’s also the music. The music has an alchemical effect on people that does put air in their balloons. I didn’t know that quote, but I agree with it. I say misanthropes are actually the most romantic people of all. They’re the most sensitive. They’re so sensitive that when they experience disappointment, they retreat into this place of, “Well, if it can’t be perfect, then everything is terrible.” But if you’re really truthful about the way life is, there are all these gray areas. Everyone is not an asshole. That’s a generalization. To be a true misanthrope, you’re generalizing, and not seeing what’s really there.
You have to be open to someone being a good person. I think that’s just the truth of the way things are. I do think if you’re worried and you want things to be better in the world and in your own personal life, you have to be willing to be vulnerable, and willing to reflect a world that you want to see. These things sound so rudimentary, or maybe cliché, but that’s where we’re at. We’re having to fight for empathy, to say, “Human beings have value across the board.” Human rights are at stake right now in the world. So it’s not a cliché. It’s not a thing that’s assumed to be true by everyone. These things have to be regenerated, generation after generation.
What’s something you’ve learned about yourself in the process of bringing Mister Romantic to life?
I’ve learned a lot about the courage it takes to invite people to a place and say, “I’m going to sing for you.” I had to learn what my voice is when I’m not impersonating other people. How do I sing? How do I convey my spirit through my voice? Those are big things, and making this album was a huge step. The personal journey to get yourself to believe that it’s good enough to share –that’s a big struggle for everyone, especially the first time they do it. Mister Romantic was a big step in that direction for me saying, “Whatever, I may not be the most perfect singer, but the reason that I’m singing is a good reason, and I’m going to keep doing it.”
You have to kind of have this blind faith in the mission, because there’s all kinds of slings and arrows that you can generate for yourself. But then you remember the core of it – these experiences that you have during the show, that I have from the show – and that tells you what you should be doing with yourself, what is important. If touching people the way this show touches people isn’t important, then I don’t know what is. It has given meaning to my life at a time when I was really struggling for meaning.
In recent years, Tami Neilson has been learning to carry both great joy and great sorrow simultaneously. The New Zealand-based, Canada-born powerhouse’s new album, Neon Cowgirl, is named after the towering electric figure on a sign that’s overlooked Broadway in Nashville watching over Tami’s career since she was 16 years old. The songs were born from a five-month family road trip combined with a major musical tour that would allow Tami the once-in-a-lifetime chance to really give it her all with her career. It was the chance for her children to experience what her life was like at their age, when she toured the country with her family’s band, led by her eccentric and wildly lovable dreamer-father, Ron Neilson. Before she got the chance to hit the road for that trip, Tami landed in the ICU with sepsis and nearly lost her life. She blessedly recovered, but found that all her priorities centered around trip/tour had changed.
In our Basic Folk conversation, we talk about the songs on Neon Cowgirl, her dear friendship and collaborations with Willie Nelson, and Tami’s exciting performances at the Grand Ole Opry. One of the songs on Neon Cowgirl, “Keep On,” was inspired by a cosmic conversation she had with Wynonna Judd. Judd, to her surprise, quoted the same exact phrase – “Keep on, keep on, keep on” – that Tami’s late father had written in one of her most cherished letters.We also talk a lot about her brother, Jay Neilson. For all of her career and life, Jay has been by her side as her guitarist, co-writer, and musical partner. Last July, Jay suffered a rare and debilitating brain injury that he is still recovering from. Tami and Jay have not been able to perform together since that injury. She shares what it’s been like to be without Jay and how it’s been for him to be so public about his condition.
Tami Neilson and I first connected during the pandemic. She was a guest on the podcast after she released her 2020 album, Chickaboom!and again after she released her fifth album, Kingmaker, in 2022. Since those chats, I have loved following her career, listening to her new music, and experiencing her highs and lows with her. She’s one of my favorite guests and I’m thrilled to welcome Tami back to talk about her wonderful new record.
Ghosts are so much more than spooky or goofy animations; they represent lived histories, past selves, and the ever-unfolding work of becoming. With her latest album, Every Ghost, country singer-songwriter Kelsey Waldon gives grace to all the women she’s been along the way, entertaining their urgent lessons as she considers who she is today.
“There’s good ghosts and there’s bad ghosts. Some of them have unfinished business and maybe they feed off fear, or maybe they feed off your happiness. I certainly have them, I have a lot of ghosts,” Waldon says. “It’s those types of ghosts, but also the ghost of every version of yourself that you’ve been and just being proud of where you came from, where you’re going, and honestly, where you’re at; meet yourself there.”
On the album’s first track, “Ghost of Myself,” she lays out how she got here:
I had to get tough so I could get wise I’ve been a thousand women in my own time Been a thousand women and I’ve loved them all I had to get low so I could walk tall
From the album’s first lush, ebullient guitar run, Every Ghost is thick with layers of twang, accompanied by driving fiddle and classic country sounds. Waldon’s velvety voice, which has always been self-assured, sings clear and powerful. She’s standing on her own two feet; this is the album she’s been working toward over the last decade of hard work and meticulous touring.
Modern pop country is rife with men behaving badly or selfishly while extolling the unholy virtue of big truck worship. But long before their unceremonious relegation to the role of disingenuous machines, good for little else than scoring sex and drinking cheap beer, truck songs (usually about big rigs, not pickups) made poetry out of the long haul and produced some of country music’s most interesting characters. Look no further than Red Simpson and C.W. McCall’s catalogues, Jerry Reed’s “East Bound and Down,” Red Sovine’s “Phantom 309,” the Willis Brothers’ “Gimme 40 Acres to Turn this Rig Around,” or Kay Adams’ “Little Pink Mack.”
“Comanche,” track 2 on the new album (named after the 1988 Jeep Comanche Waldon bought recently) joins that lineage. “The rumble of the engine feels like my soul smooth when it’s runnin’/ A little rough when it’s not movin’,” Waldon sings.
Get behind the wheel on the open road, relax, blast some music, sort out your thoughts – there’s nothing like it. “We’ve all got our own amends to make/ We’ve all got our own hearts to break/ That’s the way it is,” Waldon continues, letting go of someone no longer in her life.
Spending time with an old, well-crafted object is a privilege and a joy in a commodified quick-fix world, one which Waldon manifests throughout the album as she tackles lessons and ghosts from a life lived deeply and broadly. The specters of Every Ghost include lost loves, of course; demons and vice; and also loved ones who are no longer earthside.
“Tiger Lilies” was written for her grandmother, whose beloved lilies she now tends in her own garden. Gardening and growth figure heavily in Waldon’s lyrics and worldview (notably “Season’s Ending,” off No Regular Dog and her cover of Jean Ritchie’s “Keep Your Garden Clean” on There’s Always a Song). “I think it’s sexy to know how to feed yourself and grow things,” she says. “What’s more country than that?” Later, she dwells more broadly on what we inherit generationally on “My Kin.”
The ghosts of vice have a particular way of lingering. “Happy new year, I’m scared to death/ My ol’ demons, they give me no rest,” Waldon sings on “Lost in My Idlin’.” Waldon has been, as she puts it “booze sober” for four years, but for her, the allure of letting loose and getting drunk lingers: “Wishin’ I was fucked up in some honky tonk/ Where they let me play my music way up loud.” Beyond an ode to temptation – and in some ways to simpler times – it’s an acknowledgement of those who’ve slipped and the hard work of holding the line. (Not to confuse resisting vice with moral superiority, addiction is a disease.) “I loved getting tore up from the floor up, that’s in my blood,” Waldon says; but staying sober is what’s best for her.
“I don’t wish for pain/ And I don’t dream of war/ When will it all end?? What are we killin’ for?” Waldon demands on the chorus of the wrenching, mournful “Nursery Rhyme.” “I honestly wrote that song after seeing pictures of children being bombed,” she says. Pertinent and direct, Waldon’s premise is simple: please, be kind and decent to each other. “How can you climb when you ain’t got a dime? / Workin’ your life away till you die/ Can’t pay what you owe ‘em, not in this lifetime/ Darlin’, it’s a nursery rhyme,” she continues in the song, lamenting the dissolution of the “American Dream” and economic parity for average people. “I’m a very, very proud American, but I know that sometimes the ‘American Dream’ does feel like a nursery rhyme,” Waldon says.
In 2019, that ability to zero in on the human condition landed Waldon the first new artist slot in 15 years on Oh Boy Records, founded by John Prine, who was likewise rivetingly dialed in to suffering and joy. Waldon’s bona fides include a bevy of appearances with Prine before his death in 2020. Before this she’s released six albums – Every Ghost her seventh – including 2020’s They’ll Never Keep Us Down, a cover album of protest songs including Nina Simone’s “Mississippi Goddam” and Prine’s “Sam Stone.” More recently, she released 2022’s No Regular Dog and 2024’s There’s Always a Song, covering some of her greatest musical influences.
Waldon’s been named a Kentucky Colonel, too. The highest title of honor awarded by the governor of the state, it’s often given to artists who guard Kentucky’s cultural traditions and further their future. She’s toured with Vincent Neil Emerson and 49 Winchester, the latter of whom she will join at the Ryman later in the year. She’s also looking forward to a long list of headlining shows, including at Under the Big Sky and FloydFest.
“That’s the only place that I do feel true freedom, honestly, is in the studio and then on stage doing whatever the fuck I want to, singing my heart out,” Waldon says. “I want the show to be a force to be reckoned with.”
Myriad wonderful songs have been written about ramblin’, but they’re all about men, Waldon says. She ends the album with one of the few exceptions, Hazel Dickens’ “Ramblin’ Woman.” At its release in 1976, the song represented a bold manifesto for female independence. As an album closer for Waldon, it acts as a bookend with “Ghost of Myself.” Waldon started the album telling listeners where she’s been and concludes with where she’s going.
“Hazel’s just saying ‘I got shit to do,’” Waldon says. “Women can ramble, too. I feel like we’re more than a girlfriend, a wife, a mother, even – and all these things that are so beautiful. We know we stand on our own. And we don’t have to explain it to anybody.”
Photo Credit: Alysse Gafkjen
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