Tag: allison russell

WATCH: Midnight North, “Coyote”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Midnight North
Hometown: San Francisco, California
Song: “Coyote”
Album: There’s Always a Story
Release Date: July 23, 2021
Label: Americana Vibes

In Their Words: “I began writing the lyrics for ‘Coyote’ while on a cross-country flight in 2019, when life was busy and there was rarely a day off to spend home writing. I was looking out the airplane window thinking about Joni Mitchell’s song ‘Coyote,’ and the imagery and storyline of one of my favorite of her songs. I was also thinking about what the word coyote meant in a different context, one that touches on the current events on our US border, and the families and children who are deeply tangled in the mess of our immigration system.

“I knew the music for this song had to match the intensity and sensitivity of the lyrics, so I asked my dear friend and colleague Jason Crosby to help arrange a string section for the song that would provide that. Jason coordinated the connection with Dave Eggar to create the string section. I cried the first time I heard the final arrangement. I instantly knew it was perfect and so beautifully helped tell the story of this song. My bandmates brought a gorgeous feel & simplicity to the recording, and Grahame, Nathan, and guest vocalists Allison Russell & JT Nero’s harmonies give the song an otherworldly quality. I feel the music supports and showcases the message of the song, and I hope that it elicits thoughts, feelings, conversation and action.” — Elliott Peck

Photo credit: Samson Watson

From Ray Charles to Yola, These 12 Black Voices Command Our Attention

Posted on by Editor

In recognition of Black History Month, we have compiled these 12 features from the Bluegrass Situation archives to reexamine the breadth and sheer talent that Black artists are bringing to the roots music community. For additional stories, and to hear much, much more music, check out our Black Voices page on BGS.

 

Ray Charles

The musical and cultural impact of Ray Charles is extraordinary and spans the pantheon of American popular music. He was an outstanding multi-instrumentalist (though best known for piano and alto sax), vocalist, bandleader, songwriter and composer in the non-lyrical sense. His innovations include helping craft and popularize the secularization of gospel music, now otherwise known as soul, and bringing new attention and expanded audiences to country music, which was the earliest idiom he loved and played before blues, jazz, R&B, or soul.

Though his earliest material was heavily influenced by Charles Brown and Nat “King” Cole, Charles (full name Ray Charles Robinson) quickly developed a highly stylized, immediately recognizable singing and playing approach. He became an expressive, evocative vocalist, one of the finest interpretative singers of all time, and a skilled improviser as an instrumentalist, able to deliver intense and memorable melodic statements or energetic solos while heading either small combos or large bands. Read more.

Robert Finley

 

Depending on how much attention one pays to labels, singer-songwriter Robert Finley could accurately be called both a blues and soul vocalist, even though he’s also performed plenty of gospel, and has a passionate faith that is often reflected in comments about his unlikely emergence as a national figure in his 60s.

“You can’t call it anything except the hand of God a lot of what’s happened in my life,” Finley tells BGS. “For me to be recording and performing now, to have met and established a friendship with a young white guy like Dan (the Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach), and to be in the studio now recording and singing these songs when that’s what I’ve always wanted to do all my life, well it’s just God’s hand in my life.” Read more.

Reggie Harris

The joy and hope evident in Reggie Harris’ 2021 release, On Solid Ground, stem from a rooted sense of perseverance and from his intentional decision to face each and every moment, in the moment, and to find hope within each. It’s why such heavy topics don’t feel gargantuan or burdensome as they make appearances and anchor songs on the album. Harris, watching the social, political, and racial reckonings that bubbled onto the sidewalks and streets of every city in America over the course of the last year, didn’t sit down or give up in the face of the unclimbable summit of translating that reckoning into song.

Instead, Harris draws upon the wisdom, insight, and hope given to him by his own elders and communities throughout On Solid Ground. In choosing to keep himself open in each moment, Harris found himself receiving inspiration, nuggets of ideas and stories, glimpses of songs and arrangements in so many of those moments, simply because he was there, with a still heart and still soul, to receive them. Read more.

Christone “Kingfish” Ingram

 

Christone “Kingfish” Ingram seemed to come out of nowhere with his 2019 Alligator Records debut, Kingfish. At 20 years old, the native of Clarksdale, Mississippi, emerged as a fully-formed guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter and was quickly hailed as a defining blues voice of his generation. Since then, he’s toured the nation, performed with acts ranging from alt-rockers Vampire Weekend to Americana star Jason Isbell to blues godfather Buddy Guy.

In the midst of all this success, just as his career was taking off amidst over a year of non-stop touring, he lost his mother, Princess Pride Ingram, a devastating blow that the young man had to overcome. All of this life experience is reflected on Ingram’s second album, 662, named after the area code for his North Mississippi home. Read more.

Amythyst Kiah

 

When Amythyst Kiah was a teenager in the suburbs of Chattanooga, Tennessee, she wanted to be “the guitar-playing version of Tori Amos.” Locked away in her room with her headphones pulled over her ears, pouring over liner notes and listening intently for every nuance in her favorite records, she found solace in the way Amos told her darkest secrets in her songs and how she turned that vulnerability into something like a superpower. It made her feel less alone, especially as a young, closeted Black girl in a largely white suburb. Tori Amos helped her survive adolescence.

Kiah didn’t grow up to become any version of her hero. Instead, she simply became herself. Her new solo album, Wary + Strange, ingeniously mixes blues and folk with alternative and indie rock, devising a vivid palette to soundtrack her own songs that tell dark secrets. It’s one of the most bracing albums of the year, grappling with matters both personal (her mother’s suicide) and public (the struggles of Black Americans). “Now, when I’m in my mid-thirties,” says Kiah, “it’s amazing to make a vulnerable record and then have people at my shows tell me that my music helped them heal, helped them get through some hard times. To have someone connect with my music is really powerful.” Read more.

Keb’ Mo’

Keb’ Mo’ enjoyed a career milestone as he received a Lifetime Achievement in Performance Award from the Americana Music Association in 2021. Presented at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, the award joins a list of distinctions that include five Grammys and 14 Blues Foundation Awards. But in typically understated fashion, Mo’ (a.k.a. Kevin Moore) downplayed the latest honor during his Artist of the Month interview with the Bluegrass Situation.

“Well, for me I guess it represents the fact I’m getting old,” he said with a laugh. “But sure, you are honored whenever you get that kind of recognition from your peers. But I’ve still got a lot that I want to do and I’m still looking ahead.” A huge indication of that is his outstanding new LP, Good to Be. It is both a tribute to his background growing up in Compton, California, and a celebration of some 11 years in his current hometown, Nashville. Read more.

Buffalo Nichols

 

As the first solo blues artist signed to Fat Possum Records in 20 years, Buffalo Nichols faces high expectations. But on his self-titled debut, the musician (whose given name is Carl Nichols) more than meets them, stitching Black history and musical traditions with current events and experiences to craft the sonic equivalent of a quilt. And the story it tells is an important one.

Nichols was born in Houston and raised in Milwaukee, but when he got the urge to roam and the money to do it, he took off, immersing himself in creative scenes across Europe and West Africa. Although he’s been based in Austin since the fall of 2020, Nichols channels the Delta, North Mississippi and Chicago through his nimble fingers or resonator slide while wrapping his warm voice around words that cut to the core of oppression, and the many forms of heartbreak it causes. Read more.

Chris Pierce

 

Chris Pierce has cultivated a significant following in the Los Angeles area and beyond, usually writing soulful and emotional songs that have populated fifteen years’ worth of albums and appeared in TV shows like This Is Us. But in 2020, accompanied by little more than his 1949 Gibson J-45 (“Blondie”) or his 1973 Martin D-18 (“Doriella”), the California native recorded the album American Silence with a mission of social activism against racial disparities.

Pierce gained a love of language from his mother, an English teacher who taught at-risk youth. She introduced him to the lyrical writings of Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss, as well as essential writers like Langston Hughes and Walt Whitman. The economy of words in all of those authors is immediately evident in original compositions like “American Silence” and “It’s Been Burning for a While,” where Pierce gets his point across directly, and with power. His convictions are never more optimistically presented than in the album’s closing anthem, “Young, Black and Beautiful,” which details the experience of maturing from a cute little kid to a perceived threat. Read more.

 

Allison Russell

 

Within the songs of her new album Outside Child, Allison Russell delves deeply into the extreme trauma she experienced in her youth spent in Montreal both as a mechanism for personal relief, but also in the hopes that it might reach people with similar experiences.

“The writing process was having to delve deeply into the most painful parts of my past and childhood and history,” she says. “I experienced severe childhood abuse, sexual, physical, mental, and psychological. In many ways, I think the psychological is the toughest part to unpack and defang. I don’t know that I am ever going to be entirely free of that and the process of dealing with that. What was very beautiful about this to me is that I didn’t have to go on that fearsome journey alone. My partner J.T. [Nero] was with me every step of the way. He co-wrote many of the songs on this record with me. He scraped me up off the floor when I was in the depths of it.” Read more.

Tray Wellington

Banjo player Tray Wellington was everywhere to be found during the 2021 IBMA World of Bluegrass — performing, hosting the Momentum Awards luncheon, and playing a main stage set at the Red Hat Amphitheater. This is remarkable because if you had looked for Wellington at IBMA just a few short years ago, you might not have run into him except on the youth stage or in the halls, jamming.

Catapulted by his prior work with the talented young band Cane Mill Road, his studies at East Tennessee State University’s bluegrass program, and a stable of accomplished and connected mentors and peers, Wellington went from a newbie to a seasoned veteran faster than a global pandemic could subside — and during it. Efforts for better and more accurate representation in bluegrass have contributed to his momentum (no pun intended), but above all, his talent and his envelope-pushing approach to the five-string banjo are the root causes of his mounting and well-deserved notoriety. Read more.

Yasmin Williams

 

Guitarists spend lifetimes — often gleefully, sometimes manically, or at times frustratingly — finessing techniques, especially with their picking hand. Entire careers can be made or broken by the idiosyncrasies of one picker’s striking and sounding strings. Fingerstyle guitarist and composer Yasmin Williams has mastered myriad forms of right-hand styles, each complicated enough for multiple lifetimes’ worth of study. But she doesn’t merely alternate techniques between pieces; to a transcendentally perplexing degree she effortlessly alternates her entire picking hand approach mid-song.

On her 2021 release, Urban Driftwood, a collection of thoughtful, dynamic, and engaging instrumentals written for fingerstyle guitar and harp guitar, Williams makes many of these technique-swaps while the compositions charge forward, each one earning tailor-made right-hand approaches. As a result, the songs don’t feel encumbered when Williams, mid-melody, goes from right hand fingerstyle to bowing her strings with a cello bow, or plunking out notes on a kalimba taped to her guitar’s face, now positioned laying across her lap. She utilizes hand percussion and tap shoes to fill out arrangements, interposing Afro-descended instruments from around the world into her compositions, and she picks up, puts down, and readjusts her stable of musical tools in real time — as a foley sound effect artist, prop master, or choreographer might. Read more.

Yola

Speaking to Yola over Zoom is way more fun than a video call has any right to be. From the time she dials in from the UK, she’s ready to chat. Good thing, because there’s a lot to talk about. About a week earlier, she picked up two Grammy nominations in the American Roots Music category of Best American Roots Song (“Diamond Studded Shoes”) and Best Americana Album (Stand For Myself), and she’s clearly still exhilarated by it.

“It’s very hard for it to even land because it feels really super surreal,” she says. “I don’t know how else to describe it. I’m endlessly grateful to the work that everyone puts in to get me to this point, and honestly, the faith that people have to let me lead at all. I wasn’t always in positions like that, ones that would let me lead.”

She’s speaking of a different kind of leadership style than, say, former British Prime Minister Theresa May, whose sparkly footwear worn during a speech about childhood poverty led to the idea of writing “Diamond Studded Shoes.” Although it does have a feel-good groove, you can’t miss its message of inequality. “And that’s why we gots to fight,” she sings. Read more.

Photo Credit: Norman Seff (Ray Charles); Alysse Gafkjen (Robert Finley); Courtesy of Reggie Harris (Reggie Harris); Justin Hardiman (Christone “Kingfish” Ingram); Sandlin Gaither (Amythyst Kiah); Jeremy Cowart (Keb’ Mo’); Merrick Ales (Buffalo Nichols); Mathieu Bitton (Chris Pierce); Laura E. Partain (Allison Russell); Mountain Home Music Company (Tray Wellington); Kim Atkins Photography (Yasmin Williams); Joseph Ross Smith (Yola)

The Show On The Road – Allison Russell

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

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

LISTEN: APPLE PODCASTS • SPOTIFY • STITCHER
 

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

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

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

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

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

BGS Class of 2021: Our Favorite Albums, Made With Intention

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

This collection of albums is not simply a “best of” 2021. That would be selling every single collection included herein far too short. These roots and roots-adjacent releases each stood as a testament to the music makers and communities that spawned them. Not simply in the face of a globe-halting, existentially challenging pandemic, but in the face of an industry, government, and culture that would just as soon have all of us pretend the last two years — and beyond — simply didn’t happen. 

These artists and creators refused to let the pandemic define their artistic output through it, while simultaneously acknowledging, processing, and healing from the pandemic through this music. Not a single album below is a “pandemic record,” yet every single one is a resounding, joyful balm because the intention in each is not simply a reaction to a global disaster or an attempt to commodify it or its by-products. Not a single one is an attempt to “return to normalcy.” They’re each challenging us as listeners, in both overt and subtle ways, to walk into our collective new reality together, wide-eyed and open-armed, and with intention.

Daddy’s Country Gold, Melissa Carper

It was a sly move on Melissa Carper’s part to give her album, Daddy’s Country Gold, a title that works on so many levels, nodding to the passing down of sounds, to her road nickname and to her ability to casually loosen postwar country perceptions of masculinity and femininity. In her songs and performances, her gestures are even more beguilingly subtle. Enlisting a fellow upright bassist to produce with her, the Time Jumpers’ Dennis Crouch, Carper claimed western swing and early honky-tonk eras as her playground, and the shrewd, crooning intimacy of Billie Holiday as her guide. Carper sings in a slight, reedy rasp, deftly phrasing her lines and curling her words to suggest the lasting nature of longing and fleeting nature of pleasure. She’s written a movingly clever ballad of broken commitment (“My Old Chevy Van”), elegantly pining tunes of both torchy and down-home varieties (“I Almost Forgot About You,” “It’s Better If You Never Know”) and whimsical fantasies of rural homesteading, sometimes making clear that she’s cast a female partner in those stories (“Old Fashioned Gal,” “Would You Like to Get Some Goats?”) Her artful knowledgeable nudging of tradition is a revelation. — Jewly Hight

Music City USA, Charley Crockett

Few artists in the last few years have us as fired up as Charley Crockett. His unapologetically individual sound and aesthetic shine through once again on his 2021 release, Music City USA. The irony, of course, is that the album sounds nothing like most of what comes out of modern-day Nashville. It’s an amalgamation of influences both old and new — blues and classic country and soul with a peppering of Texas-tinged Americana on top. Charley Crockett absolutely represents what the future of Music City sounds (and looks) like in our book. — Amy Reitnouer Jacobs

Home Video, Lucy Dacus

We must forgo the existential “Is it roots?” question at this juncture, simply because this stunning and resplendent work by Lucy Dacus refused to be excluded from this list. Perhaps the superlative album of 2021, in a year filled to bursting with objectively and subjectively superlative albums, Home Video is impossibly resonant, relatable, down-to-earth, and touching — despite its intricate specificity and deeply vulnerable personality. Dacus’ queerness, and the beautiful, humane ways it refuses categorization and labels, is the crack beneath the door through which the light of this gorgeous, fully-realized universe is let into our hearts. Her post-evangelical pondering; the challenging while awe-inspiring abstract, amorphous gray zones she doesn’t just examine, but celebrates; the anger of rock and roll paired with the tenderness of folk and the spilled ink of singer-songwriters — whether taken as a masterpiece of genre-fluid postmodernity or an experiment on the fringes of roots music, Dacus’ Home Video establishes this ineffable artist as a subtle, intellect-defying (and -encouraging), empathetic genius of our time. — Justin Hiltner

My Bluegrass Heart, Béla Fleck

It’s been over twenty years since the eminent master of the banjo, Béla Fleck, recorded a bluegrass record. My Bluegrass Heart completes a trilogy of albums (following 1988’s Drive and 1999’s The Bluegrass Sessions) and is as much a who’s who of modern bluegrass – featuring the likes of Billy Strings, Chris Thile, Sierra Hull, Bryan Sutton, Molly Tuttle, Michael Cleveland, Sam Bush and many others – as it is a showcase of Fleck’s still-virtuoso level talent.

But as much as My Bluegrass Heart is an album for a bluegrass band, we would be hard pressed to call it a bluegrass album (in the best possible way). As he has done countless times before, Fleck effectively breaks every rule and pushes every boundary by surrounding himself with fellow legendary rule breakers, creating something wholly beautiful and unique in the process. — Amy Reitnouer Jacobs

A Tribute to Bill Monroe, The Infamous Stringdusters

Bluegrass loves a “back to bluegrass” album, no matter how far an artist or band may or may not have traveled from bluegrass before coming back to it. On A Tribute to Bill Monroe, the Infamous Stringdusters cement ‘80s and ‘90s ‘grass – “mash” and its subsidiaries – as an ancestor to the current generation of jamgrass. Or, at the very least, it cements that these two modern forms of bluegrass cooperatively evolved. It’s crisp, driving, bouncing bluegrass that’s as much traditional as it isn’t. Sounds like quintessential Stringdusters, doesn’t it? Their collective and individual personalities ooze through the Big Mon’s material, which is what we all want cover projects to do, in the end: Cast classics in a new light, into impossibly complicated refractions. And, in this case, infusing postgrass sensibilities back into the bluegrass forms that birthed them. — Justin Hiltner

Race Records, Miko Marks & the Resurrectors

One of the best bluegrass albums of the year most likely would not be “binned” as bluegrass, and that this album is titled Race Records demonstrates exactly why. Miko Marks returns to the primordial ooze aesthetic of country, old-time, blues and bluegrass — without a whiff of essentialism — and accomplishes a Bristol Sessions or ‘40s-era Grand Ole Opry sound that’s as firmly anchored in the present as it is elemental. Marks’ musical perspective has always highlighted her awareness that the death of genre, as it were, is nothing new, but a return to the traditions that birthed all of these roots genres, many of which can be attributed to the exact communities race records originally sought to erase. Marks & the Resurrectors joyfully and radically occupy songs and space on Race Records. The result is as light and carefree as it is profound; it’s devastatingly singular yet feels like a sing along. All quintessential elements of bluegrass and country. — Justin Hiltner

Dark in Here, Mountain Goats

John Darnielle sings at the velocity of a firehose torrent, and he writes songs with titles like “Let Me Bathe in Demonic Light” and “The Destruction of the Superdeep Kola Borehole Tower.” But rather than death metal, Mountain Goats play elegantly arranged folk-rock dressed up with saxophones and the occasional keyboard freak-out. Dark in Here, the best of five Mountain Goats albums released the past two years, coheres into tunefulness despite the clashing contrasts — especially “Mobile,” a gently gliding Biblical meditation on hurricane season, and also Darnielle’s prettiest song ever. Perfect for the whiplash jitters of this modern life. — David Menconi

In Defense Of My Own Happiness, Joy Oladokun

I don’t know if I’ve ever been so immediately captivated by an artist as I was when I first heard Joy Oladokun’s single, “Jordan,” earlier this year. On that song — and every other one on In Defense of My Own Happiness that I played over and over this year — her clear voice and searingly personal lyrics emerge as a calm, universal call to pursue something better, melting down her own painful past and re-molding it in the image of self-love, inner peace and … well, joy. Oladokun is indeed building her own promised land, and we’re all lucky to bear witness. — Dacey Orr Sivewright

Outside Child, Allison Russell

One might assume an album covering the subject of abuse could intimidate a listener with its potential heaviness. While Outside Child does indeed venture into the depths of those dark experiences, Allison Russell gleans profound lessons learned and treasures discovered from each and every detail of her experiences in her youth. The result is ethereal and uplifting — and a release of trauma through a bright musical experience swelling and overflowing with hope for the future. — Shelby Williamson

The Fray, John Smith

Most artists are pretty keen to play down the idea of a “lockdown record,” because they’re worried it will limit the music’s appeal or longevity. But the emotions John Smith pours into The Fray — born of that period when we were all taking stock of our lives, and wondering what to do next — will hold their currency for a long while yet. It’s honest, yes, but also pretty soothing on the ear, showcasing Smith’s fullest sound to date — both heart’s cry and soul’s balm at once. — Emma John

See You Next Time, Joshua Ray Walker

I wasn’t out after “Three Strikes.” Instead, I was all in. With the steel guitar weaving like a drunkard in a Buick, it sometimes seems like this Dallas musician’s third album is about to go off the rails, along with the lives of the people he’s created in these songs. It never does, though, and that’s a credit to Joshua Ray Walker’s commanding vocal and a willingness to bring his dry sense of humor to the country music landscape. From the pretty poser in “Cowboy” to the unsightly barfly known as “Welfare Chet,” these folks feel like true honky-tonk characters. — Craig Shelburne

Simple Syrup, Sunny War

“Tell me that I look like Nina,” sings Los Angeles singer-songwriter Sunny War in “Like Nina,” the keystone song of her fourth album, Simple Syrup. The Nina in question is, of course, Nina Simone. The look is the “same sad look in my eyes,” though in concert War often flashes a bright, disarmingly shy smile — that of a young Black artist demanding to be taken on her own, singular terms, not the terms of cultural expectations. She continues: She can’t dance like Tina, sing like Aretha, be styled like Beyoncé. But she can see injustice, seek love and respect, seek a sense of self, and sing about it, captivatingly, with her earthy voice and folk-blues-rooted fingerpicking, enhanced by a small cadre of friends led by producer Harlan Steinberger. Like Nina? No. Like Sunny War. — Steve Hochman

Sixteen Kings’ Daughters, Libby Weitnauer

There’s a new artist on the folk scene — Libby Weitnauer. Weitnauer is a fiddle player, violinist, singer and songwriter raised in East Tennessee and currently based in Nashville. Her debut EP and first solo effort, Sixteen Kings’ Daughters, was produced by Mike Robinson (Sarah Jarosz, Railroad Earth) and presents centuries-old Appalachian ballads that have been recast into a lush and unsettling sonic landscape. Weitnauer’s high lilting voice is reminiscent of Jean Ritchie, and she glides with ease atop eerie backdrops of electric guitar, bass, fiddle and pedal steel. A strong debut to say the least, and we’re excited to hear more. — Kaïa Kater

Urban Driftwood, Yasmin Williams

Watching Yasmin Williams play guitar can boggle your mind. She uses her full body to coax noise from the instrument, her fingers pounding on the strings, her feet clicking out counter rhythms in tap shoes, one hand even accompanying herself on kalimba. As impressive as her technique is, it’s less remarkable than her facility for compositions that are melodically direct yet structurally intricate. Urban Driftwood is a carefully and beautifully written album, and Williams’ songs lose none of their flair when she transfers them from the stage to the studio. Dense with earworm riffs and evocative textures, the album represents a crucial pivot away from the increasingly staid world of folk guitar, which has recently been dominated by white men indebted to the historical American Primitivism pioneered by John Fahey. Williams is opening that world up to new sounds and influences, insisting that her guitar can speak about our present moment in ways that are meaningful, moving, and subversive. — Stephen Deusner

Grammy Nominations 2022: See the American Roots Music Nominees

Posted on by Editor

The Grammy Awards have revealed their nominees, and the American Roots Music ballot is especially diverse this year. Take a look at nominations for the 2022 show, which will air January 31 from Los Angeles on CBS. (See the full list.)

Best American Roots Performance

Jon Batiste – “Cry”
Billy Strings – “Love and Regret”
The Blind Boys of Alabama and Béla Fleck – “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to be Free”
Brandy Clark Featuring Brandi Carlile – “Same Devil”
Allison Russell – “Nightflyer”

Best American Roots Song

Rhiannon Giddens, Francesco Turrisi – “Avalon”
Valerie June Featuring Carla Thomas – “Call Me a Fool”
Jon Batiste – “Cry”
Yola – “Diamond Studded Shoes”
Allison Russell – Nightflyer

Best Americana Album

Jackson Browne – Downhill From Everywhere
John Hiatt with the Jerry Douglas Band – Leftover Feelings
Los Lobos – Native Sons
Allison Russell – Outside Child
Yola – Stand for Myself

Best Bluegrass Album

Billy Strings – Renewal
Béla Fleck – My Bluegrass Heart
The Infamous Stringdusters – A Tribute to Bill Monroe
Sturgill Simpson – Cuttin’ Grass Vol. 1 (Butcher Shoppe Sessions)
Rhonda Vincent – Music Is What I See

Best Traditional Blues Album

Elvin Bishop and Charlie Musselwhite – 100 Years of Blues
Blues Traveler – Traveler’s Blues
Cedric Burnside – I Be Trying
Guy Davis – Be Ready When I Call You
Kim Wilson – Take Me Back

Best Contemporary Blues Album

The Black Keys Featuring Eric Deaton and Kenny Brown – Delta Kream
Joe Bonamassa – Royal Tea
Shemekia Copeland – Uncivil War
Steve Cropper – Fire It Up
Christone “Kingfish” Ingram – 662

Best Folk Album

Mary Chapin Carpenter – One Night Lonely (Live)
Tyler Childers – Long Violent History
Madison Cunningham – Wednesday (Extended Edition)
Rhiannon Giddens with Francesco Turrisi – They’re Calling Me Home
Sarah Jarosz – Blue Heron Suite

Best Regional Roots Music Album

Sean Ardoin and Kreole Rock and Soul – Live in New Orleans!
Big Chief Monk Boudreaux – Bloodstains and Teardrops
Cha Wa – My People
Corey Ledet Zydaco – Corey Ledet Zydaco
Kalani Pe’a – Kau Ka Pe’a

Photo of Allison Russell: Marc Baptiste
Photo of Tyler Childers: David McClister
Photo of Rhiannon Giddens and Francesco Turrisi: Karen Cox

Rodney Crowell’s ‘Triage’ Is All About Love, Mortality, and Making Amends

Posted on by Editor

Heartbreak songs, political takedowns, pronunciations of judgment — on his 18th album, Triage, Rodney Crowell doesn’t indulge much in any of them, with the possible exception of judging his own foibles as he burrows deep into his psyche, hoping to extract whatever nuggets of wisdom might still be buried there.

To help in the trenches, he enlisted son-in-law Dan Knobler, a rising talent who produced one of Crowell’s current favorite albums: Allison Russell’s Outside Child. “I respect him, and I learn from him,” Crowell says. “I learn from young people around me. You kiddin’? They’re on to things that I’m not on to, and they have information that I need.”

Knobler’s not the only family tie: another young artist, Jakob Leventhal, sings backing vocals on “Hymn #43,” a track that also contains contributions from his parents, John Leventhal and Rosanne Cash — Crowell’s ex-wife and mother of Knobler’s wife, Carrie. And though it’s “aimed more at the universal than the personal,” there is an homage to Joe Henry, who produced three Crowell albums: Sex & Gasoline, Kin: Songs by Mary Karr & Rodney Crowell, and The Traveling Kind, his second collection of duets with Emmylou Harris.

“I have a deep abiding love for Joe,” Crowell says. “I wrote the song ‘Triage’ for and to Joe, because the conversations we had when he was in the darkest part of coming to grips with a pretty shocking [cancer] diagnosis, his vulnerability and his courage and willingness to embrace everything about it inspired me, and I wanted to make a song based on the inspiration that I got from Joe’s courage and truthfulness.”

Courage and truthfulness. Those qualities permeate the entire album; in fact, it’s safe to say they’ve guided Crowell’s entire career.

BGS: Reviews are saying Triage is one of your most personal albums, and you referred to making amends in an NPR interview. But I suspect your use of “triage” has more to do with the global state of affairs than the need to address any personal sort of emergency at this stage of your life. Is that a reasonable assumption?

Crowell: Yeah, that’s most reasonable. I think the conversation with NPR started with the opening song [“Don’t Leave Me Now”], which is basically an attempt at amends, and it went from there. But the broader stroke on the album, and in my contemplation as I was writing the song, was how do I weigh in without dating myself? If you go political, or if you go topical in the moment, six months from now … you know, unless you write “Blowin’ in the Wind” or “This Land is Your Land,” you’re not timeless.

So my overview is that I want to write about, say, climate change, and I want to write about a monotheistic approach to livin’ my life, and instead of writing about boy/girl love, to write about a higher love — as Steve Winwood sang, “Bring me a higher love.” That’s what I had in mind, so I spent a lot of time revising all of the songs, checking and double-checking to make sure that I was grounding the language, because I was reaching into that place that’s very hard to define.

And yet, you do go topical on “It’s All About Love,” referring to Greta Thunberg and others, in that kind of talking-blues list style that you do so well. You often throw in pop-cultural references; how do you choose what works?

Well, when COVID happened, I got to slow down a bit and not try to race to make a release date, which allowed me to go back through the songs … you know the old saying, “Show, don’t tell”? I was able to go back through and say, “Oh, here I’m telling. I need to bounce this out of here,” and to stay in the show part of it, which is whatever metaphorical angle you take or however you ground the language in such a way that you can’t be accused of thinking you know better than everybody else.

It’s tongue in cheek for me to stick Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin and Greta Thunberg and Jessica Biel and the devil all in one stanza; honestly, I’m giggling to myself. They might not get it; they may take me literally, but this is humor.

You touch on religion repeatedly, and at one point in “I’m All About Love,” you chant the names of the lord, so to speak, so the sense is acceptance. Yet you mentioned monotheistic love, and the notion that there is one particular God seems to be expressed here, regardless of which one.

My mother was quite religious in the Pentecostal, speaking-in-tongues, emotional religious paradigm, and even as a child, it didn’t serve me. I just sensed something was amiss with it. I’ve always felt that way. Religion, I mistrust; the creator of it all, I do trust. Whether that creator of it all is a team, or whatever that is, I don’t really know. But I feel it. And hopefully, as I’m writing the songs and exploring that, I’m not saying that I really know, because I don’t. I can’t tell you anything about your god, and I really can’t tell you a lot about mine. But I sure do have a feeling.

When you’re writing songs, in some cases, you must have specific people or incidents in mind. But you also want to get them to the point where they have that universal feeling, where the listener can relate it to something in their own life. How do you strike that balance of not revealing too much about what’s going on in your life, while alluding to enough of it that it does personalize the lyric and make it touching?

I learned a long time ago, if it’s coming from my own experience, there’s a good chance I’m a step closer to true. And I can mine my personal truth, but confessional only goes so far. I’ve tried to walk that line; if I can carefully write about my own experience and put it in a broader perspective, then [for] the listener, it becomes their experience. It’s no longer my experience. That’s why I feel like I have to be really careful; if I make it too much about my experience, then I start to tread on the listener’s experience. The goal is to get it in such a way where — and there again, it’s the “show, don’t tell” — if it’s show, you show somebody their emotion, their experience. If you tell, you’re tellin’ ’em about you. And down there somewhere in the gravel of it all, I’m telling you about me.

But you’re actually not revealing that much, even though it comes across that way. I can’t listen to this and guess what’s happening in your life, even though I can sense what has happened, possibly.

Well, there you go. If that’s your experience, then I’ve succeeded, because I don’t want [the song] to be about me. I want it to be about it.

Other songs here, like “One Little Bird” and “Girl on the Street,” seem to be written for your children, or specific children. Am I close?

Yeah, you are, in a way. “Girl on the Street,” it’s something that happened in San Francisco. I met a girl and … however she could get money off me for drugs, she was willing to go there. And she was young and beautiful and reminded me of my own children. That was why the regret that the narrator has in the song is like, “I could have done more.” I could have bought her a room for the night where she could get a shower and a good night’s sleep. Or I could have taken her and bought her something to eat and sent her on her way, but no; I gave her 45 cents. So I really failed as an adult on the street. And that’s what I hope the song says.

Regarding amends, who in your life do you feel you haven’t apologized to that you still need to?

I’ve apologized to everybody that needs to be apologized to. But that doesn’t mean everybody accepted. And I have to live with that. If you look closely, in “One Little Bird,” it’s in there. I’ve been rebuffed.

You hit that one high note in “One Little Bird,” that falsetto, that I don’t think I’ve heard you do before. It’s evident that there’s definitely some change in your vocal style; that it’s actually expanding with age, which is interesting, because one would not expect that. Are you doing more training, or just finding ways to do that yourself?

I’m learning; as a matter of fact, I retired “Shame on the Moon” from my performances for years because Bob Seger sang it so damned well. And I’ve reinstated it into my live shows for the first time since ’84. I got an outro that will stand alongside Bob Seger’s now, as far as I’m concerned. I can ad-lib the outros in a way where I feel like, “OK, this is my song again.”

You took possession back.

Yes. I’ve repossessed “Shame on the Moon.” [Laughs] But I had to grow as a vocalist to where I could legitimately reclaim it. So that’s cool, I mean, from my perspective, to want to grow to become better. If I know that I’m getting better on that front, I’ll keep on writing songs because I’ll want to continue to experiment with what I can do.

I wanted to address the issue of mortality a bit. Let’s face it, we’re not all that young anymore, but it sounds as if you’ve still got a lot of plans. So how do you regard life now that there’s plenty of it in the rearview mirror, but you’re not ready to sign off?

Now that time is compressed? [Laughs]

Yes.

As a younger artist, quote/unquote, I was quite comfortable with broad-stroke; I wrote “Please Remember Me” and “Making Memories of Us” and those broad-stroke love songs because I was experiencing life in a way that I was trying to express myself outward, to understand how I fit into that world out there. And now as I age and become a septuagenarian, I made Triage as the kind of record it is because I am facing mortality. As you realize that the time out in front of you is a lot shorter than the time behind you, rather than going for those broad-stroke love songs to send out there into the world to find out who you are, I’m writing about my interior life, because I think, to prepare myself to leave this planet, I have to have a better understanding of my interior self.

What would you still like to achieve that you haven’t yet?

Mmmm, that’s interesting. Well, I’m working on achieving certain things as a singer that continue to reveal themselves to me. I’ve become a better singer and I’m continuing to develop as a vocalist. That makes me happy, because for a long time, I was very unhappy on that front. As I age, the more singular my sensibility becomes about my interior experience; I’m also arrogant enough to think that’s worth sharing out there with these records that I make. But I may yet open up onto another plateau where I’ve examined mortality enough that, hey, it’s time to celebrate a little bit, and I’m gonna make a blues record, or I want to make a honky-tonk record that sounds like 1954. Who knows? I’m pretty much free to do exactly what I want to do.

Photo credit: Sam Esty Rayner Photography

Amythyst Kiah Ends Her Shut-Up-and-Sing Policy on ‘Wary + Strange’ (Part 1 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

Amythyst Kiah took great pains to get Wary + Strange just right. After studying banjo and old-time music at East Tennessee State University in her twenties, she gained a reputation as an intense live performer, so much so that she was asked to join the roots supergroup Our Native Daughters, where she played alongside Rhiannon Giddens, Allison Russell, and Leyla McCalla. The group recorded Kiah’s bluesy anthem “Black Myself” as the opening cut on their 2019 album, Songs of Our Native Daughters.

The experience of working directly with her contemporaries — even the idea of considering them as her contemporaries — was a profound experience, one that stirred her to write songs that took bigger risks and told bigger truths about herself. She’d been struggling to make this record for several years by then, booking sessions with various producers, but never feeling satisfied with the results. She didn’t hear herself in the music.

That changed when she began working with producer Tony Berg (Aimee Mann, Phoebe Bridgers), and together they devised a way to combine all of Kiah’s influences rather than compartmentalize them. Wary + Strange is a headphones album, one that listeners will pore over intently. “It feels good to make music that helps people get through hard times,” Kiah tells the Bluegrass Situation.

Editor’s Note: Read the second half of our BGS Artist of the Month interview with Amythyst Kiah here.

BGS: Are you surprised by the response this record has gotten?

Kiah: This is my label debut. So it’s really the first time that I’ve worked with a giant team of people helping me get my music out into the world. So the whole experience has been completely new. My focus was really tol make this album where I’m excited about it and happy with it, so I felt pretty confident about it. Then I started promoting it and things started coming in, and I didn’t realize how much was going to come in because I’d never done it before. So now I have the craziest workload that I’ve had in a long time. I’m just drinking a lot of caffeine and hanging on as long as I can, because I’m getting an opportunity that a lot of artists don’t get.

And add to that the fact that you can actually play live shows again, if only for a little while. What has the audience reaction been like?

People are really excited to get back to playing or get back to just seeing live music. All of us that were doing virtual gigs for a year and a half. Any time I’ve played a virtual gig, I’ve made a point to say that we’re all in this weird situation together, so let’s make the best of it. The audience is just looking at me through a camera lens, and I’m looking at them through a camera lens, but we’re doing our best to share our energy with one another. I can’t tell you how many times over the past several shows that I’ve gone out to the merch table and people have told me, “This is the first show I’ve seen since quarantine.” They are so excited, so the energy has been more intense than I can remember.

You mentioned something a minute ago about wanting to make sure you were happy with this record. You recorded these songs several times trying to get to that point, and I wondered if you could talk about that process. What was missing from those early songs?

The first time I made the record, it was with Dirk Powell in Louisiana, and it was right before the sessions for Our Native Daughters. But I didn’t really have a strong idea of what I wanted. I was dealing with some writer’s block at the time, and I was putting pressure on myself to put out another record. So I was recording a lot of songs that I didn’t really play anymore, and it felt like I was just trying to fill out an album.

At the end of the recording process, it sounded like a record that was very safe. It sounded good but it was safe. It wasn’t showing any real musical growth from me as an artist. I felt like I was compartmentalizing a lot of my folk stuff and the stuff I played with my backing band. I had this folk side of me and this rock version of me, and it just slapped me in the face that all of those songs needed to be on the record.

What was the nature of your writer’s block? How did you get through it?

There was a period when I wasn’t really writing songs that much. A lot of it had to do with the fact that I was repressing a lot of emotions regarding my mother’s suicide. For twelve years I would do anything I could to avoid getting in touch with those feelings. I was in survival mode, and when you’re in survival mode it’s really hard to think deeply about some of your choices. I was just trying to ignore it all. By the time I got to Our Native Daughters, I’d written a handful of songs over the course of two or three years. That was my second year going into therapy, and I’d made a couple of breakthroughs in understanding how my grief was affecting other aspects of my life.

Being around Rhiannon and Leyla and Allison and writing songs with them, I started to understand something important about myself. We all had this similar background of being the token Black person in a genre that has some very obvious African influences. But that history and those identities had been removed and the music had been segregated. We were able to share stories about being confused with other people, stuff like that. Just to be able to have that conversation with other people who understood where I was coming from was wonderful. Being in that environment gave me the courage to write about the things I was talking about. I’d been afraid to put those experiences into songs because I have this shut-up-and-sing policy for a long time. So that was an important moment for me.

We’re telling stories of our ancestors who were able to survive the transatlantic ship voyage. They survived the Civil War. Reconstruction. Segregation. Civil Rights. We’re standing on the shoulders of so many people who survived, and we’re here because of their survival. Once you start to make those big spiritual connections beyond what you’ve read in a history book, suddenly there’s nothing to be afraid of. If they can survive, then I can survive writing a song about how I feel. There was a new sense of empowerment to really write about myself. So after that project, I wrote more songs. I wrote “Soapbox.” I wrote “Opaque.” I wrote “Firewater.”

Did that change how you approached recording the album?

Really I was still figuring myself out and how I wanted to be defined as a musician. It was a lot of self-exploration. I recorded the album again at Echo Mountain Studios in Asheville, North Carolina. But the third time’s the charm, as they say. I met Tony Berg, and he was able to help me encapsulate the inherent wariness and strangeness of all of these songs. We were also able to keep that essence of roots music while adding in these different textures and sounds. He actually told me once while we were recording, “I don’t think I’ve heard a record that sounds quite like this one.” He’s obviously listened to way more music than I ever have, so I knew we had something special at that point. I knew that would be the final time recording the album.

It sounds like you had to go through those first two versions of the album to get to that point.

Yes. I definitely don’t want to say that those first two didn’t sound good or weren’t worthy. And I’m appreciative of anybody who spent time in any capacity working on them with me. It took all of those moments to get where we are now. But something was always missing, and you shouldn’t be too afraid to explore that and figure out what’s missing. Unless you’re 100 percent excited about your record, it’s going to be hard to go out and play those songs.

There’s a malleable quality to your songs. I’m thinking about the two versions of “Soapbox” on the record, or the solo version of “Black Myself” and the Our Native Daughters version. You talked about learning not to compartmentalize your music, but the songs seem like they could fit so many different settings. “Black Myself” in particular sounds very different when you’ve got several people singing as opposed to just one person singing.

I think that’s a recurring theme that’s always going to be part of my creative process. I spent a good amount of time in my twenties focusing on reinterpreting songs that already existed and learning about the different ways to make it your own. Or at least give it another perspective. It made me hyperaware of, “OK, what am I saying? What if I deliver this particular line this way or what if I go to a minor chord here instead of a major chord. How does that change the meaning?” I’ve always been fascinated with that kind of thing.

That’s just as valuable as writing new songs, because that’s the way most of us learn music. We learn other people’s music, and within that we find our own voice. Reimagining certain songs — even if they’re your own songs — is a valid way to express yourself. Balancing that can be a little tricky. With the various incarnations of this album, I was rehashing a lot of songs that I’d already done. I was taking songs I’d already recorded and rerecording them in a different way. So I had to make myself write new material. I didn’t want to stop moving forward.

As for “Black Myself,” I remember thinking, “Man, I wish I could have some people singing with me on this song.” It’s not even just from a production standpoint. It was more personal. So it was good to record with Rhiannon and Allison and Leyla sticking up for me, you know? It’s different without them. For the version on my record I was doing my own background vocals, which is really enjoyable and helps me dig into a song in a different way. But I definitely missed singing with them. But I was really excited to record that song by myself, because it’s a way to continue that conversation about white supremacy and anti-racism. It was a good opportunity to bring the song forward.

Editor’s Note: Read the second half of our BGS Artist of the Month interview with Amythyst Kiah here.

Photo credit: Sandlin Gaither

Harmonics with Beth Behrs: Time for Some Music Recommendations

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Let’s face it: times are pretty dark right now — but what else is new? Harmonics was born out of a love for music and its healing powers, and we are once again turning towards art to pull us through. Today, Beth is joined by Amy Reitnouer Jacobs — our very own BGS co-founder and executive producer of Harmonics — who shares with us the fruits of her curatorial labor in the form of her top albums getting her through the summer: from heart-wrenching yet uplifting folk songs by Allison Russell, to the vibey, Don Henley-esque sounds of John Mayer’s recent release, on through to ’70s Japanese pop, and stopping everywhere in between.

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Allison Russell – Outside Child

BGS readers will be familiar with this first pick. We’ve long sang the praises of Allison Russell (she was our Artist of the Month for May of this year) and when asked their favorite albums of the year, essentially every member of the BGS team chose her solo debut Outside Child. This is a very special record — for so many reasons — that you do not want to miss. And your listening experience will only be enhanced by learning the context in which it was written. Russell shared her painful story with us back in Season 1 of Harmonics, then came back and breathed uplifting hope into that story through the beautiful music of Outside Child.

Dante Elephante – Mid-Century Modern Romance

This album has been Amy’s weekend soundtrack for some time now. Throw this record on first-thing Saturday morning, and you, too, will be grooving, coffee in hand, in no time.

Tony Joe White – Smoke from the Chimney

This posthumous album from Tony Joe White features vocals from acoustic demos the roots legend recorded shortly before his passing, brought to their full potential through the lush arrangements and editing magic of Dan Auerbach.

Valerie June – The Moon And Stars: Prescriptions For Dreamers

Fall into the weird and wonderful world of Valerie June through the intricately layered yet completely raw and vulnerable musical journey of her latest album. Don’t try to define this album — just allow yourself to get wrapped up in whatever it is.

John Mayer – Sob Rock

While Amy has admittedly not dug into any John Mayer album since his 2001 debut Room for Squares, her love for the newly coined “Bistro Vibes” aesthetic (read into this y’all, and just trust us…) has led her to Mayer’s latest summer release: a more-than-likely pandemic-fueled nostalgic nod to the sounds of the ’80s a la Don Henley, Dire Straits, Steve Winwood, and Phil Collins, paired with songwriting that taps into the isolation and despair we’ve felt for the past year and a half.

Yellow Magic Orchestra – Yellow Magic Orchestra

The experimental nature and endlessly chill vibes of Japanese pop of the ’70s and ’80s make for the perfect summer soundtrack, and the traceable influence on today’s indie music is fascinating. Bonus points if you can listen on vinyl, as the depths of these recordings are all the more rewarding and delicious in this format.

Sara Watkins – Under the Pepper Tree

While the beautiful Under the Pepper Tree — a collection of lovely lullabies, both original and classic favorites — was recorded and released for Watkins’ small daughter, we, as adults, have been unable to take it off of repeat since its March release. While some may laugh at the idea of being so enamored with a “children’s record,” we dare them to experience the comfort of Watkins’ magical collection — especially amidst the tumultuous year we’ve had — and not fall in love. She pulls out what is so beautiful and lasting about these songs, and what makes us connect with and feel through them.

Listen and subscribe to Harmonics through all podcast platforms and follow Harmonics and Beth Behrs on Instagram for series updates!

The Show On The Road – Amy Helm

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

This week, The Show On The Road places a call into Woodstock, NY, where we speak to a respected singer, songwriter, and sometimes drummer Amy Helm, beloved daughter of Levon Helm of The Band.

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Growing up in the home of two working performers (her mother is singer Libby Titus, who wrote songs covered by Bonnie Raitt and Linda Ronstadt) wasn’t always the easiest for the introspective Helm, but it gave her a fertile proving ground to begin exploring creating her own soaring songs in the folk, blues, and soul traditions. She waited until she was forty-four to release her acclaimed first solo record, Didn’t It Rain, with her father lending his signature earthy drums on several tracks — and this year, she teamed up with multi-instrumentalist and producer Josh Kaufman (Taylor Swift, Bonny Light Horseman) to create What The Flood Leaves Behind, her most emotive and lushly-realized project yet.

With her dogs often joining the conversation from her upstate home, Helm dives into her early years trying her hand at singing in New York City cafes, having folks walk out of her folk fest shows because her band was too loud, founding the band Ollabelle, joining her stepdad Donald Fagen’s group Steely Dan onstage, backing up legends like Stax soul artist William Bell and finally reconnecting with her dad in her mid-thirties as he began his late life renaissance, hosting his epic Americana throwdowns called “The Midnight Rambles.” It was being a member of that crack “ramble band” that gave Amy the final push to pursue her own lead voice.

While Levon famously struggled with heroine addiction and the foibles of post-Bob Dylan and The Band fame fallout, it was when he got clean and took Amy under his wing that both of their stars began to rise again. You can hear Amy singing on his gorgeous return in 2017’s Dirt Farmer. Becoming more ambitious, Amy laid down her upbeat rock-n-soul-tinged second album with producer Joe Henry in LA with notable players like Doyle Bramhall II, Tyler Chester, and a vocal choir of Allison Russell and JT Nero (Birds of Chicago) and Adam Minkoff. This Too Shall Light was released in 2018 on Yep Roc Records and Amy began to be recognized as one of the most powerful singers touring the Americana circuit. Her newest record was recorded at her spiritual home, Levon Helm Studios, where each ramble still takes place on the weekends.

During the pandemic, Helm had a unique idea to keep her creative muscles strong, even when live music gatherings were not technically allowed in public. She began setting up “curbside concerts” for her friends and any curious fans who missed her songs, touring around Woodstock with her guitar, bringing a little joy to her shut-in listeners during New York’s darkest hours.

Stick around to the end of the episode to hear Helm introduce the spiritual opening track of What The Flood Leaves Behind, “Verse 23.”

Photo credit: Ebru Yildiz

The BGS Radio Hour – Episode 209

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Welcome to the BGS Radio Hour! Since 2017, this weekly radio show and podcast has been a recap of all the great music, new and old, featured on the digital pages of BGS. This week, we bring you new music off of the beautiful new album Outside Child from Allison Russell, as well as bluegrass songs to celebrate springtime, and much more! Remember to check back every week for a new episode of the BGS Radio Hour.

APPLE PODCASTS, SPOTIFY

Kishi Bashi – “Waiting For Springtime”

To start off this week’s roundup, we visit our conversation with Athens, Georgia-based Kaoru Ishibashi, better known as Kishi Bashi, about his new EP Emigrant. When COVID hit, he and his daughter packed into a camper and hit the road, from the southeastern U.S. all the way to Oregon, over a period of several months. Along the way, he fleshed out the songs that became Emigrant through visiting places like the Ozarks, the Dakotas, and Montana, including Heart Mountain: a World War II Japanese internment camp he visited many times during the production of his documentary Omoiyari: A Songfilm by Kishi Bashi.


Reid Zoe – “When I Go”

This new track from singer-songwriter Reid Zoé is, on the surface, a song about dying, but really it’s about all of the questions that come with being a human on earth.

Full Cord – “Right In Step”

With a catchy melodic hook and low-tuned banjo, “Right in Step” is a lovely bluegrass tune full of love, hope, and togetherness – hopefully a respite from the uncertainty of the pandemic.

Sean McConnell – “Price of Love”

It’s been said that everything in this world comes with a price. For Nashville’s Sean McConnell, that price is reflected in loving someone — be it family, friend, or significant other — and the eventuality and certainty of you losing them. Yet still, he suggests, most of us are willing to take that risk for love, to give up our hearts completely. It’s the price that our heart pays for love in return.

The Deep Dark Woods – “How Could I Ever Be Single Again?”

A new song from pan-Atlantic singer-songwriter The Deep Dark Woods was inspired by English folk band Steeleye Span. Featuring Kacy Anderson on fiddle, the tune asks the titular question, “How Could I Ever Be Single Again?”

Sam Robbins – “Raining Sideways”

“Raining Sideways” is one of Sam Robbins’ most-requested songs, a stream of consciousness lyric that’s one of the most raw and authentic he’s ever written.

Lera Lynn – “A Light Comes Through”

A recent episode of The Show on the Road featured a deep dive with silky-voiced, southern gothic-folk songwriter Lera Lynn. Stick around to the end of the episode to hear Lynn introduce her favorite broken-romance number, “So Far.”

Graham Sharp – “Truer Picture of Me”

BGS recently caught up with Steep Canyon Rangers’ banjo player and songwriter Graham Sharp about the release of his new solo record, Truer Picture. We talked about Steve Martin’s influence on the Rangers and Sharp himself, as well as his approach to songwriting, nature inspirations, and the way literature and music coincide.

Our Native Daughters – “Quasheba, Quasheba”

Our Artist of the Month for May, Allison Russell, wrote this song for her many-times-great-great-grandmother Quasheba, who survived being enslaved, being ripped away from everything she knew, the horrible Middle Passage, having her children taken, and more. Russell says her art and a loving community have inspired her to connect with her ancestors and find connection through intergenerational strength, resilience, and transcendence, despite intergenerational trauma and abuse.

Grace Pettis – “Paper Boat”

Singer-songwriter Grace Pettis literally dreamed up “Paper Boat,” a song about coming of age, trying to fit in, and losing our innocence. She’s joined by her producer, Mary Bragg, on tender harmony vocals.

Allison Russell – “The Runner”

We spoke with our May Artist of the Month, Allison Russell, about the inspiration behind and creation of her honest and stunning album Outside Child, including this track “The Runner.” Read our two-part interview here.

Lost & Found – “Wild Mountain Flowers for Mary”

We hope, wherever you’re reading this from, that snow, frost, and the cold are truly retreating, giving way to longer days, warmer weather, and the gorgeous, humid, cicada-soundtracked days of summer. But, before we get to full-blown bluegrass season – and, hopefully, our first live music forays since COVID-19 shut the industry down in early 2020 – let’s take a moment to intentionally enjoy spring with 12 bluegrass songs perfect for collecting a wildflower bouquet, romping and frolicking in the meadow, and pickin’ on the back porch while the evenings are still cool.

Accidentals – “Wildfire”

The Accidentals spoke with BGS on loving and learning from Brandi Carlile, singing on stage with Joan Baez, the magic in meeting strangers and finding common ground, and much more in this edition of 5+5.

Photos: (L to R) Lera Lynn by Alysse Gafkjen; Allison Russell by Marc Baptiste; Kishi Bashi by Max Ritter