Tag: activism

Alice Gerrard: Unearthed Tapes and Unintentional Activists

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

A cursory scan of the track listing for the new Free Dirt Records release, Hazel Dickens & Alice Gerrard Sing Me Back Home: The DC Tapes, 1965-1969, doesn’t reveal any sort of agenda or political bent, though that might be expected. The duo has long been celebrated for their unabashed approach to not only being women in a male-dominated genre in a male-dominated world, but also for writing and recording protest songs and feminist old time anthems, performing at political and activist events, and touring the South with integrated show bills. Hazel and Alice were so impeccably equipped to lift up these working class and feminist issues, because, at their core, they were always simply expressing their own lives, their own truths, and their own stories. No overt, obvious rallying cry of a song would be necessary. (Though they do have many, many of those sorts of songs in their catalogs.)

The undeniable legacy of protest and activism and lifting up the forgotten among us, continued and propagated by Alice Gerrard still today, is a striking reminder of the limitless value of allowing personal voices, true self-expression, and individual advocacy to shine clearly and crisply through art — especially roots and vernacular musics — without editing, or shame, or fear.

We began our conversation travelling back to the ’60s, examining this set of songs, how they came to be, and how the organic activism of Hazel & Alice blossomed of its own accord through their music all along, whether they knew it or not. 

I wonder, what goes through your mind when you listen to this album? What is it like to go back and revisit those points in history when you were working up those songs, figuring out your voices, and what you wanted to accomplish musically — and how you wanted to position yourselves, musically?

You know, I had totally forgotten that I even had those tapes, I just came across them. I was giving a bunch of stuff, a bunch of tapes and stuff like that, to the folks at UNC (University of North Carolina), so in the back of my closet was this box, I pull it out, and there were these reel-to-reel tapes. Some of them said, “A&H Practice.” So, I listened, and the first thing I thought was, “Well oh my god, some of this is really nice!” Then I realized that it was a lot of stuff that we had never recorded.

 We had just agreed to go on this tour that Anne Romaine had put together, this Southern tour. She was from Gastonia, North Carolina, living in Atlanta at the time. She was very into the civil rights movement and was friends with Bernice Reagon, who was also in Atlanta. Bernice was an African American woman who was the founder of Sweet Honey in the Rock. Anne wanted to start this tour, the idea being that if a tour of traditional music went around the South, it would be kind of a new thing. And it could be political in the sense that it could be traditional musicians, it could be integrated, black and white, and it could go around and speak to the struggles of working people. At that time, a lot of these musicians, like Dock Boggs and Lily May Ledford, they were being “discovered” and taken up north — to New York, and Newport Folk Festival, Philly Folk Festival, stuff like that. They were definitely sort of underappreciated in their home regions in the South. The idea was to just stay in the South, with this tour. It was always going to be a few white and a few black musicians.

She had asked Hazel and me to be on it, but she couldn’t afford [for us] to have a band, so we were trying to figure out stuff that we could do, just the two of us. I think that’s why we were kind of messing around with me doing some breaks, and Hazel playing guitar, which she didn’t usually do. What it sort of brought back — she had moved from Baltimore to Washington and I was living in Washington. My husband had been killed in this automobile accident, so I was living in this house with my four kids and she moved in for a while, before she got an apartment. It was those years [that we made the tapes], in D.C., when I was living there. We were just practicing stuff, like, “Let’s try this, see if maybe I can play an autoharp break” or, “See if I can play the banjo.” I’d work up these little guitar breaks for some things, and it just brought all that back to me when I listened to it. Some of that stuff seems pretty good! Although, it was definitely field recording quality. [Laughs] The kids would come in, doors would slam, stuff like that.

People think of the Hazel & Alice canon of material as having that through line of activism, Southern activism, and protest. Going down the list of songs on this record, one wouldn’t necessarily feel that any one of them would jump out at you as fitting those categories. But yet, you were working up all of these songs for a tour of the South, as an act of protest and activism. This is something so important to your and Hazel’s legacy — at the time, and maybe looking back now, how did that fit into how you were making music and why you were making music? How intentionally were you making that your mission statement?

I think when we started out, it was not intentional. We were kinda clueless. I’ll take the risk of speaking for Hazel. [Chuckles] I for sure was pretty clueless and I think, to some extent, she was too. We were surprised when we’d go do a concert somewhere and there’d be a whole lot of women in the audience. You know, “What’s going on?!” I remember being at some motel, we were around the swimming pool and I had my daughter with me, and the promoter of the event there came up saying, “I just came from the women’s liberation movement! It was really great!” And I said, “What’s women’s liberation?” [Laughs] Really! I think we were kind of surprised when there was attention coming to us and we would see lots and lots of women at the concerts we’d do. The first time we did this one festival in Canada we did a workshop and I sang the “Custom Made Woman Blues” for the first time and got a standing ovation and they made me do it again!

We were a little bit clueless. I think these things were happening because we had our own feelings about things and we started to express that. I don’t think we were aware of the effect that it was having. The other thing that happened when we started going on these tours, because they were so political in nature, we were tuned into what was going on. We’d do a tour of the Mountain South, then a tour of the Deep South, and sometimes we were playing in communities for various events like an anti-strip mining thing or this biscuit place in Big Stone Gap, Virginia, that was started by some nuns, so we were sort of tuned in. For me, for sure — I read Night Comes to the Cumberlands — it was a huge learning experience. I had never been in those types of situations before.

Hazel, of course, grew up with it. So I think what happened with her, being on those tours, it gave her permission to speak. It encouraged her giving voice to feelings that she already had. That’s why she really started writing a lot of songs. For me, it just introduced me to and raised my consciousness about a lot of things. Those tours got us started.

There’s a beauty in that it started so organically for you, because I think the most effective and visceral and immediate way to translate these messages of politics or activism through music is when the message is as natural and intrinsic in a human being as possible. Clearly you and Hazel were just being yourselves, expressing yourselves, through your music — that in itself was political and people responded to it. I think that’s the best way to effect change: to be ourselves, true and pure, unadulterated.

That was the whole point of those tours. It wasn’t to stand up and preach to people, but if Roscoe Holcomb gets up there and sings a song — by the way, those were the people going on these tours. Roscoe Holcomb, Dock Boggs, Bessie Jones, people who had lived these lives and had been affected by whatever had been going on, politically. Strip mining ruined Roscoe’s well, you know, so he could just stand up there and live his life. It was amazing. It was a great thing. Someone should write a book on that tour and organization!

Do you ever think back and wish that you could’ve just had the musical careers and experiences of your male contemporaries without all of the rest tacked on? Without the constant clarification and added phrases like: “Important women in bluegrass.” Do you ever wish you could do it all again and do it just for the music?

Well, you are what you are. I think you have to accept that. I don’t think I’d be who I am without that. So it doesn’t really bother me. What bothers me is when people call me “spry.” Like, “She’s 84, she’s really spry.” [Laughs]

[Laughs] So the ageism is more bothersome than anything else.

You know what, in a lot of ways, it really is.

Hazel, I know that she had many, many, really bad experiences before she and I teamed up. It was the usual kind of sexist crap. She’d put up with it most of the time, but she was very aware of it. But when we started singing together, I had become a part of this whole scene around Washington D.C. — and she became a part of it, too — which was a mix of young, sort of college-educated or at least high school-educated, middle-class folks. A bunch of young people who weren’t like [sexist]. I felt when we started that we were surrounded by a very supportive community. I never felt like they didn’t want us to do anything because we were women. They were really encouraging. I didn’t experience those things. I felt like we were lucky to have guys around us that were supportive.

I do remember, before Hazel and I started singing together, I would go with my husband– boyfriend? Whatever he was at that moment. We’d go to Baltimore to listen to Hazel and whomever she was playing with, she had a band, and we’d go listen to them practice. I did feel at those times sort of compelled to join the other women in the kitchen. [Laughs] Even though I really wanted to be in the other room!

When did you start feeling that change? When you met up with those folks in D.C.?

Yeah… more so. There weren’t a lot of women in what we were doing. I think part of what was going on was these guys, who’d moved up from the South, living in these hardscrabble places in the city, there was a lot of hard work involved, there was a lot of drinking, women had a perfect right to feel shit upon a lot of the time. Their husbands ran around on them, they’d get drunk. So it felt sometimes that we were treading a fine line in trying to be part of the music in that situation and context, and yet, not make the women dislike you because of it. It was a weird little thing going on there. But that didn’t happen in the D.C. scene.

Let’s talk about the present for second — what do we do in the face of the “shut up and sing” mentality that’s so rampant right now? This idea that if somebody on stage has political views that are different than somebody in the audience, that’s a problem. Roots music has always been built upon speaking truth and speaking to the most basic, concrete, ground-level needs of humanity. How do we translate the value of that in a modern context?

That seems to be the environment these times. I feel like I don’t care — I do pay attention to where I am. At the time, I do care about the context of where I am, usually, but I feel like you need to say what you have to say. It’s easier when it’s in a friendly environment, like Shout & Shine [the showcase]. That was a no-brainer. Everybody there was right behind me, one hundred percent. But if I went to… oh, I dunno…

Fill-in-the-blank.

Yeah.

That’s something we want to be cognizant of anyways, because reaching people that are further away from our frame of reference and our point of view requires us to be aware of context and to allow nuance into the situation.

Exactly.

Now there’s this local band, the New Deal String Band, college kids from around here back in the ’70s and ’80s. They were one of the first Southern hippie bands before the other hippie Southern band — I’m blanking on the name. [Laughs] They would go to the Galax Fiddlers’ Convention back in the day. They had long hair, but they were really good players and Leroy [Savage] was a really great singer. It was a little bit of a toxic environment. People didn’t like long-haired hippies and were likely to start a fight with you as not. Leroy used to say, “We’d get in there, with our long hair, but if we could get our instruments out and start playing before a fight broke out, we’d be okay.” [Laughs] Because of their music! It really does transcend a lot of barriers. You can start with the music and then maybe you can make some inroads.

…Getting to know people — it doesn’t hurt to make friends first and then play the music or take a position or whatever. I think sometimes that goes a longer way toward more permanent changes than busting in–

And raising hell.

Yeah. [Laughs] They have something to say, too. I might not agree with everything, but… [sighs] I don’t know, you know… it’s complicated!!

Photo credit: Betsy Siggins

Cary Morin Picks His Piece

Posted on by Editor

“Let there be no question of who’s wrong and who’s right. There should be no compromise. We all stand up and fight in the dawn’s early light,” Cary Morin sings on “Dawn’s Early Light,” written in support of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe during last year’s protest of the Dakota Access Pipeline.

“A friend of mine was doing a show [at Standing Rock with the Indigo Girls] and she had asked me, just in passing, if I would write a song for the Standing Rock movement,” Morin explains. “I felt like there were a lot of people writing songs about that, at that time, and I wanted this one to be a little different and stand out a little bit, so it was really more concentrated on the activism, in general, and not so much Standing Rock, but just the whole idea of people coming together to promote clean water.”

“Dawn’s Early Light” is one of the poignant original songs featured on Morin’s latest album, Cradle to the Grave. In order to lend his perspective, Morin tapped into his experience growing up as a Crow tribal member near the Missouri River in Montana.

“When you think about roots music in America, it’s a culmination of so many things. It’s all the stuff blended together, much like the culture in this country is people from all over the world that end up here and create a unique situation,” Morin explains. “With my Native heritage, I could say that I’m really the only finger-style Crow guy on the entire planet. That’s unique. But we all can say that, to some degree. We all have unique things that make us who we are, and I’m really thankful to have grown up in the area that I did, surrounded by the people that I did.”

Morin came to the guitar by way of the piano, which he first began playing around the age of 10. When he picked up a guitar a couple years later, he was enamored. He played by ear, emulating the sounds he loved from his parents’ and brother’s record collection: Chet Atkins, James Taylor, Cat Stevens and Neil Young.

“I grew up in the ‘70s so, at that time, [there was] no Internet, there was very little TV, mostly radio. And the local music scene was really pretty folky and a lot of bluegrass, so I really grew up in the pursuit of flat-picking and [was influenced by] popular bluegrass bands at the time — David Bromberg, Norman Blake, Tony Rice,” says Morin. “I had really fantastic examples of what the music should be, but then I kind of mashed everything up into a combination of bluegrass and finger-style stuff, mostly from Leo Kottke, which turned into this thing that I do now.”

Morin moved to Colorado just out of high school and formed the Atoll, a world-beat band that he toured with for more than 20 years. “I played electric guitar [in the band], but I continued to mess around with the acoustic guitar,” he says. “Once I stopped doing [the band], my focus was really just acoustic guitar and a lot of practicing — just hours and hours of sitting around and playing. To this day, I try to play quite a lot. I’ve been introduced to open-D tuning by a friend of mine, and it took me about a year to get it going and figure out just the basics of it. But then, once I got it going, I just found it to be really fascinating, and I continue to learn new stuff all the time with that tuning. I just love the way it sounds. There’s a fullness and richness to it that I can’t seem to get out of standard tuning.”

Morin’s reconnection with the acoustic guitar led to the release of his most recent string of solo acoustic albums. Cradle to the Grave is the fourth in the series showcasing his adept fingerpicking style and warm, inviting vocals. An amalgamation of bluegrass, country, rock ’n’ roll, and blues, the album features eight original tunes and three cover songs: Willie Brown’s “Mississippi Blues” and, perhaps more surprisingly, Prince’s “Nothing Compares 2 U” and Phish’s “Back on the Train.”

“Phish is one of my favorite bands … I think that Trey’s playing has just really been inspiring and just the whole feel of the band and the approach they take. There’s so much freedom in what they do, and I used that as an example with my band, when I was rolling around playing clubs and festivals,” Morin explains. “A lot of times we’d play five songs without stopping. We’d just roll from tune to tune, and the whole point of that band was really dance music, just to provide an outlet for people to go out and have fun and dance.”

Morin uses the same ethos in his current performances touring behind his solo efforts.

“As a solo player, I can do whatever I want. I can play in whatever key. I can speed things up or slow it down, or just kind of make things up as I go along. And I really dig that freedom to just do whatever I want on stage,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll try stuff and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But when it does, it’s a great feeling, and then it’s gone forever.”

While solo spontaneity on stage leads to such ephemeral moments, Morin has a solidified team off-stage that serves as his backbone — and they’re not going anywhere. From recording to promotion, it’s an organic, family affair.

“What I like about these four records [is that] the recordings are all done live in the studio with no headphones. I’ll sit and play these songs, and just play and play and play them, and a friend of mine has recorded all these albums,” Morin explains. “We’ve gotten together, I think, a pretty successful team with Maple Street Music and [my wife] promoting the live shows and the recordings, and Rich [Werdes] recording them, and we have the same person that’s been mastering and mixing the CDs, too. It’s just like the perfect combination of people and I like to think that I promote one guy, one guitar. People still are interested in such a thing … I just really enjoy being able to stand on stage by myself being able to do what I do.”

Photo credit: Timothy Duffy

eTown: Come for the Music, Stay for the Message

Posted on by Editor

Wife/husband duo Helen and Nick Forster have experienced first-hand how music can facilitate a connection. Both performers, they met backstage at the Telluride Bluegrass Festival in Colorado 30 years ago. While Helen had served as the co-owner and co-producer of the festival from its inception, Nick was a founding member of the acclaimed bluegrass band Hot Rize, which was on the precipice of a long-term hiatus. The couple bonded over music and shared values — including a concern for the environment. In 1991, they launched eTown, a nationally syndicated, independent, nonprofit radio show integrating conversations with community organizers and researchers along with performances and Q&A sessions with musical guests.

“If you imagine what happens at a bluegrass festival, there’s something very fundamental, which is that everyone comes together from disparate backgrounds and walks of life and there’s no vetting of philosophy or political party or socio-economic alignment or anything like that,” Nick says. “They have a shared experience … [and] a common focus … their hearts are being opened by music, which is a very real and palpable and powerful thing … There is that sense of connectedness which means that, by Sunday night, as things are starting to wrap up and people are thinking about heading home and going back to their jobs the next day, going back to their normal concerns and cares, there’s a wistfulness. There’s a little bit of sadness about, ‘Man I was part of something this weekend.’ I think, to a large extent, a community that’s connected like that is also going to do a couple of other things, including looking out for each other. And they also tend to look out for their space … and so all of those things are a part of the DNA of eTown.”

The program’s tagline defines eTown as a place where people come for the music and stay for the message.

“We wanted to give people a place to go where the music brought people together, where everybody was welcome, where the music would be both the connection point and uplifting, but more importantly, we would also stimulate dialogue in conversation about how do we take better care of each other and the planet,” Nick explains.

eTown is recorded weekly in front of a live studio audience at eTown Hall, a 17,000-square-foot converted performance space in the middle of downtown Boulder, Colorado. Once a church, the building features state-of-the-art recording studios, production rooms, and camera and lighting equipment, allowing Nick and Helen to navigate the shifting media landscape. eTown films the performance portion of each show and posts the videos on their website. When deciding which musicians they will feature each week, Nick and Helen say diversity is key.

“We wanted to have musicians who were soulful. We didn’t necessarily want to have any from a particular style. I think we do tend to focus on vocal singers, you know. We don’t do as much instrumental music, for example, because I don’t think it really fits with our show as well as others,” Nick says. “We’ve always tried to feature one well-known act and one less well-known act, so that people can get excited about hearing the person they know, but then get more excited about the discovery piece … We try to mix it up further, so we have one band, one solo, maybe one male, one female, maybe one from one musical tradition and one from another, because at the end, everybody plays together for the finale and so we want to make sure that the finales are kind of like, ‘Wow that’s a weird combination.’ You’ve got a singer/songwriter and a hip-hop artist, or you’ve got a bluegrass musician and a blues guy, or you’ve got a Cajun band playing with a Latina band from Los Angeles or whatever it is.”

The other segments of the show address social and environmental issues — from homelessness and hunger to air pollution and compromising the oceans. But in 1991, eTown was ahead of the curve when it came to these discussions. Climate change and global warming weren’t even concepts at the forefront of public or political discourse.

“There was a lot of apathy at the time, and people are not apathetic because they’re bad people. It’s usually because things seem overwhelming and you don’t feel like you have any power to do anything,” Helen explains. “So we wanted to bring people in and give them some food for thought. We wanted to inform them and, most of all, we wanted them to be inspired to get involved. We wanted to bring our skills together in order to create something that was really welcoming across the board: Wherever you were, you’re in eTown.”

This idea led to the creation of the eChievement Award, which Helen gives to one winner each week, inviting them to speak about their work on the show. Nominated by other listeners, eChievement honorees are citizens who are actively trying to improve their communities. “We’ve tried to be solutions-oriented,” Nick says. “We’ve tried to highlight the problems but also think about things that are working and things that are positive in the age of Trump and those things are welcome. We hear from listeners that are like, ‘Thank God, there’s something positive out there in media.”

After 26 years, Nick and Helen believe eTown is just getting started.

“The reason for doing eTown, I think, is more important now than ever because we are entering into this time in our nation’s history where politics have become so divisive and so violent, frankly, and the idea that we need to come together particularly around some core issues that are relevant and important for all of us. I mean, it is absolutely critical that we find some common ground,” Nick says. “And we are more committed than ever to making sure that we can use music to bring people together — but not gloss over the details — and talk about what’s important and talk about what we can all do, each of us, to try to address these issues that are absolutely critical for our future. So I’m super pumped about both our history and our legacy, but especially about our future.”

UPDATED: A Call to Action from the Indigo Girls #NoDAPL (Op-ed)

Posted on by Editor

As many of you know, there is a critical battle being fought right now in Standing Rock, North Dakota, between Native Americans, their allies who want to protect sacred land and water, and a huge corporation that wants to build an oil pipeline that threatens the Missouri River with leaks and devastating consequences. The name of the company building the pipeline is Energy Transfer Partners, and its CEO is a man named Kelcy Warren.

Kelcy Warren also happens to be a passionate music lover who owns a festival (Cherokee Creek Music Festival) and a record label (Music Road Records) that, among other things, released a Jackson Browne tribute record. Indigo Girls have played the festival and had a song on the tribute record. When we participated in those events, we had no idea about Kelcy Warren’s connection to big oil and its imminent threat to the Standing Rock Sioux. Now we know.

When this connection was brought to our attention, Amy and I wrote a letter to Mr. Warren, voicing our protest over his company’s pipeline (DAPL), and several other artists who had performed at his festival signed the letter in solidarity. We are simply saying that building this pipeline is the wrong thing to do, and its disregard for Native land, water, and rights is in direct conflict with our philosophy as artists and people who care about Indigenous peoples and the environment.

Amy and I, under the guidance of Honor the Earth, have recently been to Standing Rock to play a concert and stand in solidarity with the protectors (not protesters!) there. They are brave, outnumbered by abusive law enforcement, and suffering unfathomable racism, yet they remain firmly committed to opposing this pipeline — not just for themselves, but for all of us.

We wrote to Mr. Warren, asking him to reconsider and stop the pipeline.

Will you join us?

To Email, Call, or Message
Cherokee Creek Music Festival: [email protected] — 214.981.0700 — Facebook
Music Road Records: [email protected] — 512.444.0226 — Facebook

For more information, please visit Honor the Earth.

In gratitude and solidarity with Standing Rock,
Amy Ray and Emily Saliers — Indigo Girls

October 26, 2016

Mr. Kelcy Warren
c/o Cherokee Creek Music Festival
4160 West FM 501
Cherokee, TX 76832

Dear Mr. Warren,

We have played your Cherokee Music Festival and found it to be a compelling gathering of artists and a noble pursuit to help children’s charity organizations across the country. Many of us who have played your festival have invested time and energy into the fight for human rights and environmental justice. For some of us, this mission is the moving force and spiritual foundation of our larger community of musicians, and one of the inspirations to play such rich gatherings as the Cherokee Music Festival. But sadly, we realize that the bucolic setting of your festival and the image it projects is in direct conflict with the proposed Dakota Access Pipeline — a project your company, Energy Transfer Partners, is responsible for spearheading. This pipeline violates the Standing Rock Sioux Nation's treaty rights, endangers the vital Missouri River, and continues the trajectory of genocide against Native Peoples.

Many of us have also participated in projects affiliated with Music Road Records, another company of yours. While this company does a lot to promote incredible music that comes from the roots of our country, many of us, as artists, take offense and are mystified by how someone with such a deep passion for organic and traditional music can own a company that is so blatantly tearing at the heart of the fabric of our American community. The American tradition of music that is so diverse and rich depends on the respect for human rights and that includes environmental justice for Native Peoples that contribute to the great tapestry of this land.

In order to stay true to our music and respect the Native Nations that are united against the Dakota Access Pipeline, we will no longer play your festival or participate in Music Road Records recordings. We implore you to stop the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline and to reconsider your company’s pursuits with regards to the environment and the communities that depend on its well-being.

We stand with Standing Rock, the Standing Rock Sioux, their friends, and allies in protecting their sacred land and water by stopping the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline and all pipelines that threaten massive ecosystems.

UPDATE

Editor's note: Kelcy Warren responded to the letter by trotting out the usual tone deaf oil industry tropes which are handily rebutted with phrases like "There's a difference between treaty territory and reservation land," "Electricity never polluted anyone's drinking water,"  "It's not hard to imagine why 250 years of broken agreements might lead a Native tribe to be skeptical of negotiating with white men," "Oil barron and environmental steward are, in fact, mutually exclusive titles to hold," and so on. Nevertheless, in the spirit of fairness, we present his letter in full:

 

Lede image: Water Protectors prayerfully march across the desecrated sacred sites to stop DAPL construction. Photo by Rob Wilson Photography.

Squared Roots: Rhiannon Giddens Studies the Songs of Dolly Parton

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Dolly Parton turns 70 in January. And, while that might seem impossible, it takes that span of time to accomplish all that she has over the course of her various careers as a songwriter, a singer, an actress, and a businesswoman.

Rising out of the ashes of unspeakable poverty in east Tennessee, Parton blazed a trail like none other. From her early days with Porter Wagoner through her unrivaled run in the '70s and '80s to her artistic eclecticism of the '90s to today, Parton has composed more than 3,000 songs (by her own admission), charted 42 Top 10 country albums, and garnered more awards than anyone can count. She even has a TV movie of her life, Coat of Many Colors, slated for release in December.

In contrast, Rhiannon Giddens emerged only a decade ago as part of the Carolina Chocolate Drops after studying opera at Oberlin Conservatory. Though the Drops were known for their passion for and handling of old-time music, Giddens has taken a different tack with her solo debut, Tomorrow Is My Turn, and her guest appearance on Lost on the River: The New Basement Tapes. But, with everything she does, Giddens keeps one eye on the past and one eye on the now.

I gotta say … for whatever reason, I thought your pick would be maybe a little less polished — like Hazel and Alice or Ola Belle Reed or somebody like that. So why Dolly?

Well … I'm kind of obsessed with her right now. I guess I've been focused so much on the non-commercial parts of country music and old-time music — you know the Ola Belle Reeds and the Hazel and Alices. I love that so much, but as of now, I'm a more commercial artist. I'm not making CDs while doing something else. It's what I do for a living and I've had a bit of radio play. So I've been really thinking about what Dolly did — and she still does. I mean, she's not writing as much as she was. She definitely had a golden period of songwriting.

The thing that fascinates me about her is how she worked feminism into pop songs. That's kind of what I'm fascinated with right now because, as I look at being a songwriter myself, as I've developed over the last couple of years as a songwriter with definite activist urges, wanting to figure out how to say things while making them effective to as many people as possible … I've been really digging into her early stuff and been kind of amazed at the strength of writing and the really strong feminist themes wrapped up with this sort of smile. I've just been kind of fascinated with it. I've been talking about her every night because I do one of her songs in my show.

So according to the Gospel of Wikipedia, she has written more than 3,000 songs over the span of her career. What does it take to hit a milestone like that?

I mean … what I think is … of course, you'd have to ask her to get the answer. You can't pull all of that … I mean, you can pull all of that from yourself. But I think you'd probably go crazy in the process. I think you have to observe and see what's happening to other people, find things to write about that maybe nobody else ever thought of. If you're really engaged with life, you see that. That's what I think.

Yeah, it seems like the level of empathy that she must have — especially coming from … it's crazy to think of where she came from and where she is now. She's the most honored female country artist in history … and so much more.

Yeah.

I was reading that she got some early words of encouragement from Johnny Cash, then the gig with Porter Wagoner, and off she went. Now here we are 50 years later.

And, still, you think about how she's written that many songs and yet, is she known as a songwriter?

Right!

I know. She's not. And I think part of that's her image. That is sort of the image that she's put out there. I still think people have a hard time seeing a pretty smile and a pretty voice, and they have a hard time connecting that she has a razor-sharp brain … and those songs!

Yeah, you don't get where you are — where she is — by not having the razor-sharp brain.

She is so freaking smart. Oh my God! She's such an inspiration. Just watching what she's done with her career, how she's taken care of her family and people at home … how she's all-successful. Stuff doesn't come up and then collapse, you know? Books for children all over the world? And she does it all without fanfare.

And it's hard to imagine — because she did start as a songwriter with the songs for Bill Phillips and Kitty Wells and stuff — but it's hard to imagine a world where she rested on that, on those songwriting laurels, and didn't pursue being a performer. But what if she had just kept to songwriting? What do you think …

Oh, that would be a sad loss! There are people out there who can write but can hardly sing. But her voice is beautiful. Her phrasing's gorgeous. She's such a great performer and a great actress. She's a real triple threat. There are not many of those out there, really, where each thing is just as great as the other.

She's also — even just within music, taking aside Dollywood and acting — she's had so many different musical lives, as it were. I'm a child of the '70s, so I have to confess to loving 9 to 5 and Best Little Whorehouse in Texas … that was my childhood.

Oh yeah!

But your favorite era is the early stuff? Which cuts?

Right now, I'm obsessed with the early stuff. There's one record that's got a ton of stuff on it … which isn't really fair because I have a bunch of songs on my iPod, but … "A Little Bit Slow to Catch On," "Just Because I'm a Woman," "I'll Oilwells Love You." I've been writing all the lyrics down, studying how she does this stuff. "The Only Way Out (Is to Walk Over Me)" … just so good! That's the stuff that's not known, in addition to “Jolene” and "Coat of Many Colors" and that kind of stuff … you know, "9 to 5."

I first was introduced to her through her second bluegrass record, Little Sparrow. That was the first time I really … I had seen that stuff growing up, and I knew “9 to 5,” but the first time I really got a sense of Dolly as an artist was Little Sparrow. I loved it. I thought it was beautiful. One of my first introductions to old-time music was actually at the end of "Marry Me" — there's this like little old-time jam that kind of fades off. And I was like, "That sounds so good!" It's funny to think about that, before I knew about old-time or anything.

Everything old is new again, I guess.

You know? The lyrics of "I'm a I'm a little bit slow to catch on, but when I do I'm caught on. I'm a little bit slow to move on, but your baby's a-movin' on" … I mean that early stuff, I'm really into it right now.

Rhiannon Giddens photo by Dan Winters; Dolly Parton photo courtesy of RCA