Tag: Alabama Shakes

Planting By The Signs
Is a Way of Life

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

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.

Photo Credit: Ryan Hartley

MIXTAPE: Call Me Spinster’s LadyVox Crock-Pot

Posted on by Editor

As sisters, our deepest musical influences come from the shared “Crock-Pot” of our household. Our mom is a classical singer and choral director, and daughter of an eccentric music-savant with an encyclopedic knowledge of Gilbert and Sullivan. Our Amish-born dad was raised in the shape note choral tradition, but flew the coop and became a guitar-plucking singer-songwriter in the vein of Paul Simon and Dan Fogelberg. We were raised on music with an emphasis on voice — Joni Mitchell, Carole King, Ella Fitzgerald and loads of art songs and choral music from all over the world.

We began playing together as a cover band, dipping into our teen favorites, from TLC to the Andrews Sisters, Sparks to ’90’s boy bands. Now that we’re writing our own music we’re pulling from an even broader scope, from the Brazilian and West African percussion Rachel studied in college to Amelia’s obsession with ’80s French pop to Rosie’s deep love of classic rock radio hits.

This playlist is a sampling of vocal-centric artists that straddle the line between various types of pop and folk music that are either currently playing on our speakers, or artists whose DNA flows through the music we make. — Call Me Spinster

Pinc Louds – “Soul in My Body”

I stumbled across this band only recently and am obsessed. The power and vulnerability of Claudi’s voice is mesmerizing, and I love their use of raw percussive sounds like the kalimba, held together with synthy glue. – Amelia

DakhaBrakha – “Baby”

DakhaBrakha formed as an avant-garde theater phenomenon in Kiev, and pulls together folk traditions and soul/pop in a way I’ve never heard before. I love the combination of acoustic instruments like harmonica, glockenspiel and bowed cello/bass with some electric twangs throughout. – Amelia

Call Me Spinster – “Morning”

This song began as a sort of call and response, a cappella lullaby. We toyed around with the idea of keeping it that way, using only body percussion. As we started building it, though, Rachel started hearing a samba-style bateria. As layers quickly snowballed, we started calling it our “Lion King song,” including elements like strings and cymbals that aren’t elsewhere on our EP — but still built around that simple vocal call and response. – Amelia

Fiona Apple – “Hot Knife”

I first listened to this song when a friend told us to cover it — but we didn’t dare touch it, because it is perfect. Fiona Apple’s frenzied energy building in layers and countermelody, on top of a rumbling drum and dissonant keys makes me feel like a sleepless night after a killer date when you feel like your heart might shake down the walls of the apartment. – Rosie

Zap Mama – “W’happy Mama”

Zap Mama was a staple of our combined middle/high school CD collection and one of the most memorable groups we’ve seen live. It’s a group of badass women led by “Zap Mama” Marie Daulne who mix pop, jazz, and folk. They’re living proof that voices can be anything and all other instruments are extra party. That party brings in elements of funk and hip-hop throughout the song, but goes back to a cappella sounds at the end, reminding you what the true elements are. “Chante, chante, she say, she say.” – Rosie

Rubblebucket – “On the Ground”

I have listened to this album on repeat over the past few years. It makes me dance and cry. Kalmia Traver’s honest and unfettered vocals feel like a best friend reminding me to look around once in a while and stop taking things so f-ing seriously. – Amelia

Cocteau Twins – “Iceblink Luck”

Heaven or Las Vegas is one of my favorite complete albums of all time. Elizabeth Fraser’s uber-melodic, acrobatic vocals were the obvious draw for me, but as we incorporate more electronic elements into the songs we’re working on for our first full-length record, I am paying closer attention to their perfect cocktail of dreamy distortion. – Amelia

Les Rita Mitsouko – “Marcia Baïla”

Catherine Ringer is one of the most balls-to-the-wall performers ever, not only in her vocal style, but [also] the weird visual worlds that she and Fred Chichin created over the years. If you haven’t seen the music video for this song or for “Andy” do yourself a favor. We are often drawn to artists whose visual aesthetic seems inextricable from their music: Kate Bush, Tyler the Creator, FKA Twigs, etc. – Amelia

Lim Kim – “Awoo”

One of the driving forces for finding new music is making playlists for my yoga classes. “Awoo” has a way of wiggling into many — it has the perfect blend of joyful yet meditative vocals and groovy yet simple rhythm. I love when the voice can be a percussion instrument without sounding like an a cappella group. Janelle Monae and Kimbra also nail this vibe. Lim Kim just hits right every time. – Rachel

Alabama Shakes – “Gimme All Your Love”

This album took us by storm as it did so many — and we keep coming back to it again and again, particularly as we began our recording journey. Brittany Howard has the rare ability to harness the raw energy of her live performance in the studio, and the pacing and build of her songwriting is so unusual and satisfying, like the turn in the middle of this song and the build towards the end. – Amelia

Björk – “Hyperballad”

Björk gives us all permission to feel epic feels with few words and ear-dazzling, diverse orchestration. She has been hugely influential for us and so many artists across genres for multiple decades, probably even in bluegrass. I would love to hear a banjo choir re-make of her album Post — just sayin’. – Rachel

Juana Molina – “Al oeste”

Juana Molina has this super sexy and intimate way of singing that feels almost like the microphone is lodged inside of her. Her songwriting always has a trance quality, with a wink. It lulls you into a dream and then adds a tickle to make sure you’re really listening. – Rachel

Judee Sill – “The Lamb Ran Away with the Crown” (Remastered)

We had to include at least one of the great earnest singer-songwriters of the ’60s/’70s, and who better than the enigmatic, bank robber-theosophist-composer Judee Sill? One of our own songwriting tendencies is writing singable songs that have something sneaky lurking underneath — a disjointed rhythm, an odd structure, an unusual chord progression… perhaps this is the ghost of Judee. – Rachel

Lucy Michelle – “Heart Race”

We grew up falling asleep to our dad picking guitar in the living room and this pattern mixed with Lucy’s lilting and beautifully raw voice is everything that is home. – Rosie

The Roches – “Hammond Song”

I also play in a band called Holy Sheboygan and our first gig ever was in Hammond, Wisconsin’s (pop. 2000) Earth Day Celebration. The lady who hired us pleaded for us to cover “Hammond Song.” We haven’t yet, but we did fall in love with The Roches. The shout-singing style is very reminiscent of our Amish family’s shape-note vocal production, the cascading almost choral songwriting, shameless unisons (#sistergoals), and the drone all fit right in to our sisterhood of sounds. – Rachel

Photo credit: Our Ampersand Photography

The Show On The Road – Nicole Atkins

Posted on by Chris Jacobs

This week on The Show On The Road, a conversation with Nicole Atkins, a singer/songwriter  out of Neptune City, New Jersey who has become notorious for making her own brand of theatrical boardwalk soul. 

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The Show On The Road host Z. Lupetin fell in love with Atkins’ newest, harmony-rich record, Italian Ice, which came out spring 2020 and was recorded in historic Muscle Shoals, Alabama. Both rumblingly ominous and joyously escapist, standout songs like “Domino” make the record a perfectly David Lynch-esque summer soundtrack of an uneasy 2020 scene that vacillates between fits of intense creativity and innovation and deep despair. Toiling below the radar for much of her career, Atkins is finally enjoying nationwide recognition as a sought-after writer and producer; Italian Ice was co-produced by Atkins and Ben Tanner of Alabama Shakes.

While some may try to shoehorn Nicole Atkins into the Americana and roots-rock categories, one could better describe her as a new kind of wild-eyed Springsteen, who also mythologized the decaying beauty of New Jersey’s coastal towns like Asbury Park, or a similarly huge-voiced, peripatetic Linda Ronstadt who isn’t afraid to mix sticky French-pop grooves with AM radio doo-wop, ’70s blaxploitation R&B and airy jazz rock like her heroes in the band Traffic. If you watch her weekly streaming variety show, “Live From The Steel Porch” (which she initially filmed from her parents’ garage in NJ, but now does from her new home in Nashville), you’ll see her many sonic tastes and musical friends gathering in full effect. Italian Ice features a heady collection of collaborators including Britt Daniel of Spoon, Seth Avett, Erin Rae, and John Paul White.

After playing guitar and moving in and out of hard-luck bar bands in Charlotte and New York — many of which that would find any way to get rid of their one female member — Atkins’ bold first solo record Neptune City dropped in 2007 and three more acclaimed LPs followed, including her twangy, oddball breakout, Goodnight Rhonda Lee in 2017 on John Paul White’s Single Lock Records.

Much like the tart and brain-freezing treat sold on boardwalks around the world, Atkins’ newest work is a refreshing and many-flavored thing and demonstrates that, in a lot of ways, the show-stopping performer, producer, and songwriter has finally embraced all the sharp edges of her personality.

Photo credit: Anna Webber

Brittany Howard Shapes ‘Jaime’ as a Solo Artist, Songwriter, and Producer

Posted on by Editor

Hardly escapable with a presence everywhere from car commercials to the drugstore checkout line, Brittany Howard’s deeply expressive voice permeates our culture. It is a storytelling voice, capable of inimitable gymnastics and invoking multiple emotions simultaneously. Howard’s first solo project, Jaime, shines a floodlight on the fact that she’s the woman responsible for the vision and the creation of this carefully crafted universe.

Named for her late sister, Jaime speaks to Howard’s own family experiences growing up in Alabama and addresses the cultural imprints of the region’s complexity, rife with some of the deepest pockmarks in human history. The album doesn’t so much feel like she’s grappling with that past. More so, it is a comprehension of the impact that it has all had on her own life, like a summit’s view of a past on which she’s built a mountain of a career.

Howard has won four Grammy Awards as a founding member of Alabama Shakes. In January, she’ll compete for two more with “History Repeats,” her latest single from Jaime. Howard spoke to BGS by phone from San Francisco.

BGS: Not only did you write a very personal narrative on this record, but you also controlled it through the production. Were there differences with the recording process from other projects that you’ve done?

BH: I wouldn’t say it is that different from the Shakes just because usually when I was making the music I would just use my laptop to orchestrate everything. Then I’d show the guys and say, “Ok I’ve got this idea. What do y’all like about it? What don’t y’all like about it?” It was the same process except at the end of it, I just didn’t ask anybody what they thought about it.

Was there a difference in the anticipation of the release of this project because of that?

You know, I was really excited to put it out into the world because it was my baby. I didn’t really know what anyone was gonna think. And I honestly didn’t care or pay much mind to it. I was just happy to do something on my own and have that to show for it. It’s just one of those things.

How did the band come together for this? Did you know when you were writing these songs that you wanted some jazz players as collaborators?

I just wanted to play with people I looked up to and had a lot of respect for. Everybody I’m playing with right now, it is just people I’ve always wanted to play with. Nate Smith is my favorite drummer. He’s been my favorite drummer for several years so I reached out to him and asked if he’d play with me. With Robert (Glasper) it was the same thing. It was a level of respect for how they played and why they play and that’s why I got them on the project.

What was the recording process like? Was it experimental or did you have it mapped out?

It was pretty well mapped out. I use Logic to compose a lot of my songs so I just showed up with that. We used a lot of the guitar parts I had pre-recorded and put some new drums on it. Nate came in with drums and Robert came in with keys. It was mostly stuff I had already put down.

What guitars did you play on this record? Similar to what you’ve played in the past?

I just used this old Japanese Teisco guitar that I found at the pawnshop. It looked cool, felt cool. I just stuck to that.

It is widely known that there are astoundingly few female producers. What do you think the biggest barriers are to women in this field in 2019, and did you experience those barriers yourself?

I think probably the biggest barrier is not seeing enough female producers. We know of the most famous female producers. We know of Bjork and we know of Missy Elliot but there are so many other producers out there like Georgia Ann Muldrow that create beautiful music for all of these, especially, R&B artists that we look up to like Erykah Badu. You know there’s always somebody behind the “somebody.”

I think this is the hugest issue. We don’t know about them because they aren’t the ones going up and accepting Best Engineered Album. That’s part of it. And then giving props whenever you can to people like that, because this is our platform, doing interviews like this, to speak the word about people we look up to and are also inspired by. I love being a producer of my own work because when I was growing up I didn’t see enough of it. Still to this day, when I run into female producers and female engineers, I’m just like, “Wow, wow, wow!”

Would you ever produce other acts?

Maybe when I’m older. Right now I don’t really know how to do that. But I never say never.

What do you think it is about that Muscle Shoals, Alabama, area that yields so many artists?

Hmmm. You know, I don’t know. It’s got a colorful history and maybe because it is next to the water. I don’t know.

I’ve asked my dad that question about Mississippi and he says it is because they had so much spare time.

That could literally be it in the south. You finish work and what else you got to do? I think your dad’s got a good point. That’s why I got into music in the first place because I was bored.

Is that how you learned to play guitar?

Yep. I’ve been making up songs since I was itty bitty. Like 5 years old. I first got hold of an instrument when I was 11. I just stayed in my room and learned how to play it. And then when I got bored of that instrument, I’d pick up another instrument and learn how to play that. It was fun. Instant gratification.

Did you start on guitar?

No, drums were my first instrument and then bass guitar. And then keys and then I picked up guitar.

Were your parents supportive of that?

Yeah, they were pretty supportive. They are really supportive now. I think back then they were just like, “Man, what is she doing?” My rehearsal room was right next to my dad’s bedroom. I’d be playing the same thing over and over again for hours. He wouldn’t complain until like 11 p.m. and then he’d be like, “All right, that’s enough. You gotta cut the amps off.” I definitely don’t think they expected all this.

Who were some of your heroes when you were 11 and just starting to play?

When I first started playing, I liked that popular stuff, like anything and everything. I think one of my greatest inspirations was Chuck Berry. He was such a cool guitar player the way he played. And I really liked Bonn Scott from AC/DC. I thought he was a really good frontman, really entertaining and had really good energy. I liked anything I could get a hold of when I was 11. I’d play anything really. I even tried to play metal. Couldn’t do it but I tried. I was just so curious.

When you go from writing back then — when you were a child or when you were still an anonymous citizen — to writing now for an audience that you know is there, does it change the way that you approach writing?

Whenever I start getting bugged out, I just change what I’m doing. Once I think too much about what I’m going to make, that’s when I gotta get out of that headspace. I think the best thing to do is change instead of thinking about, “What am I gonna write about today?” Or “how do I write a song about this?” The best thing for me, in my opinion, is don’t try too hard. Just show up.

Did you approach the process of writing this record differently than you have in the past?

No. Here’s the thing. When you first start a record, well for me anyway…Boys and Girls [Alabama Shakes’ 2012 debut album] was different because we had all the time in the world to make the first record, like they say. But then the second record I was panicked because I was like, “Oh shoot. What if this is a fluke and I can’t do it no more.” There is always this panic.

So then with this record, I was panicking, because I was like, “What am I gonna write about? What’s it gonna sound like?” But I was less worried because I had been there before. So I would just say, I just sat down and quit thinking so much, and then that begat this record.

What would you as a young child growing up in Alabama think of this record?

Oh man, I would have loved it. I would have thought it was so dope when I was younger. But then I’m pretty biased, you know. I would have loved hearing something like that and knowing that a woman made all of it. Just like when I heard those Missy Elliott records and she made all those beats. It was like her child. Timbaland would leave the studio and she would finish the song. Knowing she did all that. Also Bjork. I think it would have been so cool to know.

Do you feel a sense of responsibility with that at all, like you need to be out there talking about that for the next generation?

I think it only helps everybody to talk about it. Like, “Hey, I made this and if you are a young woman that wants to make music how she hears it, don’t let nobody tell you different.” Everybody can have ideas but when it comes to creativity, it’s subjective. It is like everything else, it’s just about how you feel and how you wanna move people. I would say, no searching for perfection. Just search for the best way to talk about your experience and what makes you unique and your individual self. I think that the more you talk about that, the more interested in the music they will be.

Photo credit: Danny Clinch
Illustration: Zachary Johnson

WATCH: Brittany Howard’s Big Sound at NPR’s Tiny Desk

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Alabama Shakes alumnus and Bluegrass Situation Artist of the Month, Brittany Howard has maintained a steady course through her journey in blues and roots music. Driven by a resilient spirit and equipped with a stout voice, Howard has seen her fair share of peaks and valleys. From tragically losing a sister to cancer to breakout success and Grammy nods with Alabama Shakes, Howard has faced more in her 31 years than most of us will see in our whole lives.

After playing founding roles in two other rock bands (Bermuda Triangle and Thunderbitch), she decided it was time to take a step forward and release an album as a solo artist. The debut record was a tribute to Howard’s sister and was also named after her; Jaime was released this past September.

Howard’s addendum to the record offers some insight to the music: “Every song, I confront something within me or beyond me. Things that are hard or impossible to change, words and music to describe what I’m not good at conveying to those I love, or a name that hurts to be said: Jaime.” Brimming with emotion and truth, Jamie is available now, as are tickets to her  tour. Watch her Tiny Desk concert here, on BGS.

Photo credit: Danny Clinch

Artist of the Month: Brittany Howard

Posted on by Editor

Brittany Howard embarked on a road trip to recalibrate after stepping away from Alabama Shakes, the Grammy award-winning band known for anthems like “Hold On.” Those relentless highway miles gave her time to rest before roaring back with Jaime, one of the year’s most compelling new albums — and her first as a solo artist.

The acclaimed project is named for Howard’s late sister, who died as a teenager from a rare cancer, but these songs are all about Brittany Howard, and namely her experiences with racism, sexuality, religion, and other touchy topics that are rarely addressed by artists at the peak of their mainstream popularity.

Not to say it’s all heavy — for example, the breathtaking “Stay High” may be the album’s sweetest moment. The production, which is also credited to Howard, is especially remarkable, as Jaime feels like a unified statement, even as the inspirations run the musical gamut. And of course her electric guitar prowess is ceaselessly stunning.

In her first tour dates behind the record, the Alabama native skipped the Shakes catalog in favor of material on Jaime, along with tracks from her other bands. But for our BGS Essentials, we put ’em all in there. Enjoy this hand-picked playlist from our BGS Artist of the Month, Brittany Howard.

Illustration: Zachary Johnson

Pete Seeger: Listening from the Rafters (Part 1 of 2)

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Pete Seeger would have turned 100 this month, but he fit well over a century’s worth of impact into the ninety-four years he had. His accomplishments as an activist, musician, folklorist, and organizer have long been numerous enough to fill an anthology—and this month, Smithsonian Folkways has finally released one, complete with six CDs, a 200-page book, and twenty previously unreleased recordings.

The release, Pete Seeger: The Smithsonian Folkways Collection, is just one way to celebrate his centennial. Fans and admirers have also marked the occasion with “Spirit of Seeger” concerts nationwide, and a special set at this summer’s Newport Folk Festival, an event where Seeger’s impact is perhaps most evident.

But Pete’s legacy is about more than a single release or celebration. Jay Sweet, executive producer at Newport Folk and a friend to Seeger, says the late folk music icon wouldn’t want any fanfare for his birthday—he’d rather see a new generation put that energy towards helping others. Here, in the first of a two-part interview, Sweet recalls conversations and memories with Seeger and discusses the way Pete’s egalitarian spirit and fiery pursuit of truth continues to propel the Newport Folk Festival forward.

BGS: You met Pete for the first time after he was a well-established icon in the American folk scene. What was that like for you?

Sweet: They say to be careful when you meet your heroes. For me, with Pete, it was the exact opposite, and it was mostly because he wasn’t Mister Positive. When I met him in his late eighties, he was a bit of a curmudgeon. I actually really liked that. He was feisty, he was disgruntled with the state of everything that was happening in the world, and he was questioning why the younger generations weren’t doing more. I think he kind of considered them soft, and I liked that he was calling it like it was.

Did that attitude reveal itself more as you grew closer over the years?

A story that I love happened few years after I met him, at Newport the first time I brought the Decemberists there. I was really excited to see them—they were going to do a funny reenactment of Dylan Goes Electric, including Pete with an axe. (I’d even told them it’d have to be kind of tongue-in-cheek, because, y’know, uh, Pete’s here.) But during the set, I get this security guard running up to me: “We’ve lost Pete. You told us to keep an eye on Mr. Seeger. We don’t know where he is.” Then, immediately, there’s another security guard running up to me. “There’s somebody in the scaffolding up on stage left, thirty-five feet up in the air. We’ve asked him to come down, but the music has started and we don’t want to interrupt the band on stage. What do we do?”

So I go, and I look, and lo and behold—in his Wranglers and a purple-pink button-down work shirt, with his little hat—was Pete Seeger at ninety-plus, thirty-five feet up in the air, looking down at the Decemberists. I remember being terrified, thinking, Well, the best thing to do is to not scare him, to wait til he comes down. There were no stairs or anything, he had just climbed.

So when he got down, I was like, Pete… what?! And he said, “I was so sick of people asking me to take pictures with them and sign autographs. You told me that this band had a lot of good stuff—that their music was based in old-time sea shanties, had all these metaphors, took from these old tales. And I was fascinated. I had to see it. And they’re fantastic!” And I just remember thinking, I know Newport is onto something when Pete Seeger is climbing the scaffolding to be left alone, just to see good music.

I’ve heard that it was actually Pete’s idea, decades ago, to pay all of the performers the same fee to play—$50. And I know that’s not how it works now, but—

It’s pretty close! [Laughs]

What elements of that spirit are still around?

Well, we perhaps overpay up-and-coming artists — those who need it, really, in order to be able to take the dog-crap offers they get all over the place and still survive. If we don’t overpay them, we give them the opportunity to collaborate with somebody that is gonna help their star shine a little brighter, give them a platform to succeed. With anybody bigger than that, we basically ask to take a zero, or even more than a zero, away from their normal asking fee. And then we make a donation in their name to something that they believe in.

And the reason that works is because there’s an understanding. You can look at, say, the Avett Brothers, who I booked three or four times before they ever headlined. Hozier — his very first, basically, gig, in the United States? It was Newport. Courtney Barnett and Leon Bridges and Margo Price, all these amazing people that came to Newport before they became the names that you might recognize. We need to support the hell out of them, and not just for altruistic reasons. Bands like the Avett Brothers and Wilco and Hozier and the Alabama Shakes and My Morning Jacket, you don’t get those bands to come back year after year if you didn’t support them when nobody else did.

And I think that is all about that $50 model, and a general understanding of it. Fleet Foxes’ Robin [Pecknold] said it really well on a PBS special: He said, when we first came here, they didn’t pay us much, but we hadn’t proven ourselves. Then I think they paid us the exact same amount when we came back to Newport to headline. The interviewer was confounded by that, he asked — why? And [Robin] essentially said, “Because now there’s another band that Jay needs to book. They’re the Fleet Foxes from ten years ago, and they need that help. Me playing it, it’s a giving back.”

And that? It’s very rare. But it comes from the spirit of Pete saying that regardless of whether you’re Bob Dylan at the height of his popularity or church singers from Appalachia, you’re getting fifty bucks. That we’re-all-in-this-together mentality comes from that fifty dollars. And if during my tenure, if the whole thing is as close as I can get to the ideal of Pete Seeger, the better off the festival will be.

What were some of your last interactions with Pete, and how do they affect the way you move forward with Newport?

My last conversations with Pete were much more interesting than my first ones, in some respects. One is that he said to me, “Jay, if you’re not upsetting someone, you’re doing it wrong.” That’s a mantra I keep with me — a what-would-Pete-say kind of thing. That’s what makes Newport, this festival that Pete basically co-founded with George Wein, iconic in American music and around the world, even though it’s so small—why its name gets continuously mentioned in the same breath as the Glastonberrys and Bonnaroos and Coachellas. I remember him saying, “You’ve gotta keep challenging the ears of our audience. Unless you’re upsetting a certain faction, you’re doing it wrong. Take the opportunity.”

About four months before he died, he asked me, “How are you going to keep booking people that speak truth to power, speak on the human condition? Who is doing that now?” I said, “Well, at this point Pete, it’s hip-hop.” I sent him some lyrics—just lyrics at first, no music—and he wrote back and said, “These are fascinating. Does any of this stuff get radio play?” And I was like “Actually, no. It’s somewhat like when you started the festival.” Because when people like Pete and Joan Baez and others had lyrical messages that, due to the lingering effects of McCarthyism, were not “fit for radio,” Newport was created out of that blacklisting.

Pete figured, if I can’t get my message to the masses via these mediums, I’m just gonna do it in person, all over the country and all over the world. I’ll take it to union halls and VFWs and town assemblies, and whatever it is—gymnasiums at public schools. The festival was basically just a massive culmination of the grassroots effort to play for the island of misfits. So I think there was a lot of connection there, for him, with hip-hop—Kendrick Lamar, Chance the Rapper. It was fascinating to me. But white Pete was alive, we could never bring that to fruition for him. Bring somebody to Newport in a free rhyme, just a beat and somebody freestyling. I think he actually would have climbed that scaffolding again: “Leave me alone—I want to go see this truth.”

Illustration: Zachary Johnson
Editor’s Note: Read the second part of our interview with Jay Sweet.

Caleb Elliott Combines ’70s Soul, Strings, and Sad Songs on ‘Forever to Fade’

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Caleb Elliott’s Forever to Fade is a truly unique artistic statement, one that combines cinematic string arrangements with Muscle Shoals-inspired grooves. It’s a musical hodgepodge in which you can hear everything from hints of ’70s soul (“Makes Me Wonder”) to what Elliott calls “my little Harry Nilsson moment” (“Try,” a forbidden love song that features some cheeky whistling).

But those sounds weren’t ones he grew up listening to. His parents were followers of The Message, the teachings of evangelical faith healer William Branham, whose 1961 Armageddon prophecy reportedly inspired cult leader Jim Jones to set up his Jonestown settlement the following decade. This strict religious upbringing meant there was no TV in their house and secular music was strongly discouraged.

“I would venture to say no, I was not allowed [to listen to secular music], but the technically right answer was I could do what I want, it was just very frowned upon,” Elliott explains. “And especially like the churches we were going to, it was very frowned upon. We were guided towards the contemporary Christian realm, which was as rock ‘n’ roll as it got for us. Switchfoot was my Beatles, you know, in high school.” He laughs. “Sad to say. I probably shouldn’t be telling you that. I didn’t really get exposed to the good stuff until a little later.”

Raised in Louisiana, Elliott started playing the cello in third grade and “it sort of became my little kid identity because no one else played the cello, and I wasn’t bad at it,” he explains. But his real exposure to pop and rock music didn’t happen until much later in life.

“I remember going off to college and my taste in music was still very, very underdeveloped,” he continues. “I was on a long arc of discovery. I don’t feel like I started listening to really, really good stuff until I was in my twenties, even after college. I mean, I delved a little bit into the Beatles but I dove more into like Neil Young and Bob Dylan when I got more towards my mid-twenties—really when I started hanging out with better songwriters and that’s who they were listening to. And I was like, ‘Wow!’ I started to get it.”

For the past seven years or so, Elliott has made his living as a sideman, touring with the likes of Nicole Atkins, Dylan LeBlanc, and Travis Meadows and becoming a string-section staple at Single Lock Records, the Alabama-based label and studio co-founded by The Civil Wars’ John Paul White and Alabama Shakes’ Ben Tanner, recording with White, Lera Lynn, Donnie Fritts, and more.

Being surrounded by songwriters and spending time with them on the road and in the studio not only helped shape his musical tastes — Elliott says it also informed his own songwriting style.

“I don’t think there’s any way for it not to,” he says. “People ask about influences a lot. It’s a really common question, but I think for some folks, your greatest influences are the people you spend time with, and I think that’s been the case for me. The way I approach songwriting and just everything has changed a ton since I’ve had the opportunity to tour. And then touring led to more studio opportunities, and I’ve been able to be around people who have been doing this at a high level for a long time. And it’s had a huge impact on me in a lot of ways. I don’t think there’s any substitute for it. I’ve always been envious of the cats that grow up in this, you know. It’s a level of understanding of the whole thing that’s innate for them. For the rest of us, we’ve gotta go out there and figure it out.”

One spin of Forever to Fade and you’ll be able to tell he’s already got it figured out. And while the arrangements may be what came to him first (“I’m always thinking about a string line,” he says. “Always.”), the album’s lyrics are equally important to Elliott.

“Get Me Out of Here” tells the story of a love triangle, each of its three verses centered around one of the three characters involved. The title track deals with the feeling of being trapped or stuck in a bad relationship. And while he notes that these situations aren’t necessarily autobiographical, Elliott says much of the record is inspired by unhealthy relationships he’s witnessed.

“A lot of these songs on the record are inspired by dysfunctional relationships or needing to push through to a better place in your life and making hard choices, like whether or not you want to move forward or keep dealing with it,” he explains. “I think the title itself lends itself really well to that because for people who are caught up in those unhealthy relationships, it feels like they’re gonna be there forever and there’s nothing they can do to get out cleanly.”

Ultimately, he hopes that people going through a similar situation in their own lives will be able to hear Forever to Fade and feel understood.

“Recently I did a house concert and I got on this little spiel about how sad songs are better,” he says. “Happy songs are great, but you can’t commiserate with a happy song. There’s just more depth of emotion on the other side of things I think with sad songs, and whenever you find something like that that you can latch onto, it can help you get through what you’re going through a lot better than a happy song could. And so hopefully maybe somebody out there is going through something in their life that this helps them get through.”

He adds, “Dysfunctional relationships can be tough, you know. Letting go of people that you loved, or that it hasn’t been a healthy thing, or standing your ground on things in your life. Coming to terms in those ways can be very difficult, and maybe somebody will be able to find some hope in here. That would be really nice if it helps them get through a hard time.”

Working with Single Lock on the record was always Elliott’s top choice, he says, but he never presumed that a deal with them was a foregone conclusion.

“It was never a given on that level,” he says. “However, I’ve worked with Ben a lot over the past several years as a cellist. I’ve kind of been his go-to guy for the strings, and so when it came time for me to pick someone to record my songs with, he’s always been my favorite engineer and producer to work with, and I feel like he’s one of the best I’ve ever worked with. So that was the obvious choice for me, to ask him if he wanted to help me record my record. Down the line, after we got it kind of going, apparently there was a conversation between a couple of the guys at Single Lock about basically asking Ben what he’s been up to. They had a sit-down listen and they kept coming back to a couple of my songs. That’s when they sat me down and said, ‘Hey, we really like what you’ve been doing. We’d be interested in helping you put this out.’ It was sort of an organic thing.”

Elliott says that connection to his music on that level is his ultimate goal, but for now, he’s focused on getting it out there and in the ears of as many people as possible.

“More than anything my personal goal is to tour my butt off as much as possible,” he says. “I’m hoping this thing gets going. It’d be really cool. I’m a lifer, you know? This is what I do. And I’ve been very fortunate that I play the cello and that’s been able to lead to a lot of sideman work. I’ve played cello and guitar and background harmonies for people, but it’s such a treat to be able to sing my own songs.”

Photo credit: Joshua Black Wilkins

The Producers: Andrija Tokic

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When he modified a shotgun house in East Nashville into the “analog studio wonderland” known as the Bomb Shelter, Andrija Tokic wanted to bring the outdoors inside. He decorated with wooden slats and rustic stonework, creating something woodsy in the middle of a busy neighborhood. “If you’re going to be in one room for 10 hours, why not have something to look at?” he says. “For me, it’s stuff that’s usually outside — trees and rocks. There are other studios using wood as an acoustic treatment, but I just feel better being able to sit on something like a porch. It just takes the pressure off.”

If he feels any pressure, it doesn’t show. Over the past few years, his name has become synonymous with a rough-and-tumble branch of roots rock, ranging from the raw blues rock of Benjamin Booker to the scorched-earth Southern soul of Alabama Shakes to the tightly wound garage pop of Denney & the Jets. Although he works in no particular genre, Tokic’s projects are bound by an essential grittiness, an urgency that lends everything a live dynamic regardless of how it was recorded.

The son of Croatian immigrants, Tokic grew up in Takoma Park, Maryland, near Washington, D.C., and found a job manning the boards at a neighborhood studio. He recorded anyone who walked through the door, which gave him a strong grounding in a range of styles: gospel, rock, world beat, even go-go — that spry local sound that remains unsung outside the Mid-Atlantic. The experience also gave him the confidence to move to Nashville, although he found Music Row too restrictive and regimented for his tastes.

At his first studio, located in his home, he recorded the Shakes’ career-making debut, Boys & Girls, then moved to the Bomb Shelter’s current location. In just a few years, it has become a waystation for an array of artists who don’t fit easily into any one particular category or scene, who thrive at the fringes of rock and country.

A lot of people I talk to for this column were musicians first who then migrated into the producer role. But you’re a different. You wanted to do this from the beginning.

I grew up playing music at a very young age, but I got into recording as a teenager and preferred it to playing. I liked the diversity in what you do all the time. It’s cool to get involved with more instruments rather than just playing the same old guitar part. You’re able to do different kinds of projects and different kinds of music. It’s like playing in a whole bunch of different bands. That variety is really what got me excited about it. It’s not about how you play the part, but about how you capture it. How do you create an image in a record or a sense of time when the music was being played? How do you convey how that music was being played?

So I try to treat every project individually. At my studio, we don’t resort to the same setup every time for every band. Some places are like that, but I think it’s about how you can get the most out of every project. So I try to vary everything and customize the process for each specific artist and their strengths and weakness. Maybe a lot of people feel like the foundation of every song is the same: “Alright, let’s start with the drums and build from there.” But some things start with the vocals. Or a guitar. Or even a piano part.

When you started out, was there a song or an album that made you aware of the production?

The Beatles was the first time. I was rifling through my parents’ record collection, and there was a weird Yugo Tone version of Yellow Submarine. God knows what kind of editing or recutting happened with that record, but out of all of these records in this collection, it was the one that sounded like color, where everything else sounded like black and white. It was recorded with creativity in mind. I would go back and forth between that and Queen. And I remember loving the Queen record, but it didn’t make me want to grab my four-track.

When I would put on Yellow Submarine, all the parts just had so much character. To this day, the Beatles stand as a new approach to recording music. There’s still something about it that’s never been done the same. There are all kinds of things in their songs that make me excited about making music. How do you make guitars sound like that? What are all these instruments popping in and out? There’s no telling what the long-term impact of that record has been for me. But ever since I started playing around with a four-track, whenever I listen to a recording, I always picture what could be happening in the studio.

You got your start in D.C., a city that I think many people associate with punk. Did you have any connection to that world?

I feel like that was already long gone by the time I got started. I’d heard stories about how cool all that stuff used to be. But there was not a lot of rock ‘n’ roll music to record. Definitely the minority of the work I was doing was band-oriented, and a lot of that was jazz and gospel. Only the smallest bit of it would have been rock. There just wasn’t that much to be found, but I think there’s been a resurgence since I left.

D.C. is such a busy place, though. All of the best musicians I knew were these incredible players who played with all of these great people and had long histories and all had day jobs. There weren’t very many people who were only musicians. It was more like, “I’m a musician, but I also work on the Metro.” I didn’t see much opportunity when I was there, but there are more art spaces opening up, and I think things have gotten more affordable. Bands I work with will tell me about playing such-and-such place in D.C. and I’ve never heard of it.

It sounds like that experience gave you a good grounding in a lot of different types of music.

Definitely. I was able to get very, very hands on. There was definitely a good variety of stuff, some jazz and some world beat with a lot of hip-hop in between. We used to do restorations of old recordings — old reel-to-reel and really old records. We had all kinds of strange players that could play weird speeds with different head configurations. It was all kinds of audio — whatever came through the door. These days I’m working with musicians, and it’s more like curating a sound or working on a project from the ground up.

What kinds of conversations are you having with artists before the sessions start?

The first thing I like to do is try to get a feel for the music in its rawest form. Does the artist write on piano or do they write on guitar? Just hearing how they wrote the songs is helpful, so I love getting an early demo. What are the things they’re hoping to capture? How do they want to record the music and have a great time working on it? So, if I can hear a song with nothing added to it and not really stylized in any way, I get to think about what it could sound like in the studio.

It’s about trying to figure out the vision. If it’s a band, do they want to create a new sound and get studio heavy, or do they want to maintain a sound they’re already performing? I’m just trying to collect as much data before we set off in a particular direction, because that just makes everything more fun and more productive. But if I hear something and I want to go left and the artist wants to go right, that’s cool. I want to try what they’re thinking, or maybe it’s not going to feel like something I can help with.

You have a reputation for working very quickly in the studio.

I would say I work very efficiently. But it’s such a relative thing. You think about a place where they’re pounding out publishing demos and doing more songs that I’d even consider starting in a day. They have to work quickly. I do think it’s healthy for everyone to get a lot done and always be moving forward, even if there are projects where it’s not necessarily a good idea to set aside however many days to knock out the record. Sometimes you need to spread things out so you can readdress things or reapproach certain parts. Nobody wants to be sitting there running up the clock and not moving forward. You’re going to get burned out and frustrated.

There have definitely been projects where we knew we were going to have to try a bunch of different things. It’s going to be a much longer project. And then there are projects where we know exactly what we’re doing and we have it all mapped out. I always believe in letting the studio be an instrument, as well. I like to get things about 80 percent dialed in before we start, but leave a certain amount of openness to see what happens. You get everybody in a room playing together and sometimes things take on a new life that you never envisioned. “Hey, this is working well. We didn’t think to go in this direction, but it’s working. So let’s not be afraid to go off course a little.”

It also sounds like you’re playing a lot of different roles on these projects — not just what we think of as producing, but engineering, mixing, a little bit of everything.

I guess it’s all so connected! I’ve been hired to make something, so I just use the tools to my utmost ability. Whatever the project is, I do what sounds and feels right to me and to the artist, as well. Those lines get crossed a lot. I can produce this record, but I might as well engineer it, too, rather than run it through a different set of hands. I’ve worked as an engineer. I’ve been hired as a mixer. But I guess I’ve always thought that those jobs crossed each other a lot. After all, arranging a song is just as much about mixing it as sitting down and working out the parts. Some mix engineers spend a long time cutting out parts and moving parts around and rearranging the structure of the song. For me, that’s just part of the production: “Oh, we need something on the second chorus. It doesn’t sound big enough. Let’s throw another guitar in there.”

There are still a thousand definitions of what a producer does and what an engineer does. It’s comes down to what people individually feel. Especially with all of the changes happening in the recording industry, the roles are becoming harder and harder to define. I think they come down to individual people making their own definitions. Also, genre is a big thing, too. If you’re producing a jazz record, it would be closer to arranging, whereas if you’re doing a psychedelic rock record, you’re going to be doing a lot more with microphones, adjusting flangers, messing with gear. It all demands different knowledge and a different role.

You work primarily in tape instead of digital. Does that change your approach?

I think so. I can work on any format, but I find myself most fluently working with tape. I think it’s because it’s the format that I started on. It means more work on the front end and maybe less on the back end. You have to work out the parts and figure out what sounds best in a different way than when you’re working on a computer. Then the big thing is editing. It definitely affects the process, but the thing I’m thinking about is what suits the music the best.

Looking over your discography, I noticed a lot of bands seem to come to you when they’re recording a debut or making a big album, like Alabama Shakes or Hurray for the Riff Raff.

I’ve wondered if that’s the case. Maybe that’s part of my path or something, I don’t know. I definitely feel like a lot of people approach me looking to try something different or take a new step. It’s not always somebody’s first record. It’s hard to say. But I do enjoy developing something new from what’s already there. I like hearing demos and thinking about what we can do with the material. “What can we do to grow this into something new?” That’s always on my mind.

I wouldn’t attribute this to being someone’s first record, but I definitely like recording something where there are no expectations that you have to guide an artist toward. “Okay, we can stay in the same world as this previous record or we can change things up this way or that way.” My favorite people to work with are the people who are uninhibited about the music. I guess people tend to come to me already in that mindset.

3×3: Shannon LaBrie on Dresses, Cachaca, and Her Affinity for Alabama Songwriters

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

Artist: Shannon LaBrie
Hometown: Lincoln, NE
Latest Album: War & Peace
Personal Nicknames: Shay, LaBrie, ShalaBrie

What was the first record you ever bought with your own money?:
Matrix soundtrack. It was "Parental Advisory," so I had to have an older friend buy it for me. I was obsessed with the song "Clubbed to Death" by Rob Dougan. Now that I think about it, I think I was in fifth or sixth grade. Yeah, I was an intense kid. 

How many unread emails or texts currently fill your inbox?:
Ha! Tonight, 197 unread e-mails and 48 unread texts. I know, I know, I'm behind.  

If your life were a movie, which songs would be on the soundtrack?: 
"Cover Me Up" by Jason Isbell and "Over My Head" by Alabama Shakes. 
The lyrics, the tempo … they just fit every situation of my life. Those songs are perfect anytime of day. 

What brand of jeans do you wear?:
I wear dresses — preferably dresses by Johnny Was, Biya, and Free People. But, let's be honest: I shop at Goodwill. 

What's your go-to karaoke tune?:
If I did karaoke, it'd be Beyoncé "Rocket!"

If you were a liquor, what would you be? 
Weekdays: A glass of red wine or some Jameson neat! 
Weekends: Cachaca. Nothing like a spicy caparhinia!

 

A photo posted by Shannon Labrie (@shannonlabrie) on

Poehler or Schumer?
Poehler

Chocolate or vanilla?
Chocolate

Blues or bluegrass?
Blues