Ismay travels from Texas to Mississippi to visit the studio where Lucinda Williams made her first record. There, Ismay interviews Wolf Stephenson, who was the engineer that day in 1978, to learn about what happened during the session and whether Lucinda was confident through that initial challenge of recording. They discuss what results when artists get rejected and what keeps certain artists moving forward in spite of various roadblocks. Stephenson oversaw the development of Malaco Records, which produced R&B, soul, and gospel hits. Elsewhere in the episode, Ismay also takes time to visit the stretch of country between Austin, Texas, and Jackson, Mississippi, in order to understand the landscape that informed Lucinda’s work.
Produced in partnership with BGS and distributed through the BGS Podcast Network, Finding Lucinda expands on the themes of Ismay’s eponymous documentary film, exploring artistic influence, creative resilience, and the impact of Williams’ music. New episodes are released twice a month. Listen right here on BGS or wherever you get podcasts.
Finding Lucinda, the documentary film that inspired and instigated the podcast, is slated for release in the fall. Both the film and podcast showcase never-before-heard archival material, intimate conversations, and a visual journey through the literal and figurative landscapes that molded Lucinda’s songwriting.
Credits: Produced and mixed by Avery Hellman for Neanderthal Records, LLC. Music by Ismay. Artwork by Avery Hellman. Jackson, MS Recording: Recorded at Malaco Studios. Sound Recordist: Rodrigo Nino Producer: Liz McBee Director: Joel Fendelman Co-Director & Cinematographer: Rose Bush Special thanks to: Mick Hellman, Chuck Prophet, Don Fierro, Jacqueline Sabec, Rosemary Carroll, Lucinda Williams, & Tom Overby.
Find more information on Finding Lucinda here. Find our full Finding Lucinda episode archive here.
Today’s Only Vans guests are one of the coolest and cutest bands in Austin, Texas! We get to talk with Kelly, Jace, Cody, and Violet of Madam Radar about palindromes, The Goose on Lime Creek, band names, and family bands, about The Finishing School, female musicians, genre lines, and their new album, Motel.
Madam Radar is a band made up of two married couples: Kelly Green on lead guitar (y’all, she slays!), her husband Jace Cadle on rhythm guitar, Kody Lee on drums, Violet Lea on bass, and everyone sings and writes. Kelly and Kody are also brother and sister, so this band has really amazing chemistry and the coolest vibe. They’re all good at everything (except for math, Kelly jokes at the beginning if you don’t catch that).
They did end up selling out their album release party at Empire Garage in Austin, Texas this past May for their new record, Motel. Their producer Steve Berlin is a member of the band Los Lobos, but also has been a session musician in the studio for many amazing artists such as Sheryl Crow and R.E.M. We also talk former projects like The Texas KGB (which is where I first saw Kelly and fell in love) and current projects like PAACK (an all-female supergroup that plays weekly at our favorite The Saxon Pub). We give a shoutout to HAAM – for providing Austin musicians with health insurance and so much more – Swan Songs, and Dave and Rebecca at The Goose on Lime Creek for providing the amazing space in which to record this podcast.
It’s a golden weekly roundup of new music and premieres! You Gotta Hear This.
Kicking off the collection, San Francisco-based bluegrassers the Brothers Comatose unveil “25 Miles,” a single from their upcoming album, Golden Grass. The full project arrives in September, but you need not journey that far to hear “25 miles,” which is available everywhere today. Listen below.
Then, Nashville Americana duo Goldpine keep the shimmering, golden aura going with “Space,” a blend of futurism and roots music about craving a break from the rat race and the “real world.” Goldpine’s brand new album, Three – their third, indeed – releases today, so we’re happy to spotlight a track from the project in celebration.
Alaskan bluegrass and country artist Josh Fortenbery shows off his new, expanded sound with “City Lights,” a song – and accompanying music video – about aging, opportunity, and anxiety that’s twangy and danceable even wrapped up in existential pondering. Plus, Mountain Home Music Company recording artist Jesse Smathers declares “If It Ain’t Broke (Don’t Fix It)” in his latest single, a tongue-in-cheek number that you’re sure to find hilarious and top notch.
To close us out on New Music Friday, Duluth, Minnesota’s Ross Thorn brings us “Baby, That’s All I Need.” With a folky sound and backed by lovely finger-picked guitar, the song is about empathy and, as Thorn puts it, “…Seeing the divine in everything, and seeing the divine in yourself.” It’s a perfect bookend for this week’s roundup.
We appreciate you joining us each week for new music. Because you know what we think – You Gotta Hear This!
The Brothers Comatose, “25 Miles”
Artist:The Brother Comatose Hometown: San Francisco, California Song: “25 Miles” Album:Golden Grass Release Date: July 16, 2025 (single); September 12, 2025 (album) Label: Swamp Jam Records
In Their Words: “’25 Miles’ was born out of a late-night drive from the SF Bay Area to LA, up and over the Grapevine, and a feeling that most of us know all too well: the weight of the world pressing down as we’re trying to outrun it. It’s about restless energy, being burned out and broke, with only dreams and close friends guiding you to your destination.
“It was written during a time of uncertainty and mental noise, and explores the tension between responsibility and freedom, and momentum and stillness.
“The line, ’25 miles to go and we’re running out of gas,’ is a metaphor for the transitional moments when you’re not quite sure where you’re headed, but you know you can’t turn back. There’s a subtle ache and a longing to escape not just a place, but also pressure, expectation, and the past. It’s about how getting lost is part of the plan, and survival sometimes looks like singing too loud with the windows down.” – Ben Morrison
Josh Fortenbery, “City Lights”
Artist:Josh Fortenbery Hometown: Juneau, Alaska Song: “City Lights” Album:Tidy Memorial Release Date: July 11, 2025 (single); October 10, 2025 (album) Label: Muskeg Collective
In Their Words: “This melody has been kicking around since I was in high school and I’ve returned to it and slowly tweaked the lyrics over the years. It definitely captures the expansion in my sound since the last record, but also highlights that internally, I feel as lost as ever. My anxiety around aging is pretty new – I think I’m finally recognizing that some doors are closed or closing, and I’m trying to decide if I’m still having fun.
“I worked with a videographer in Juneau, David Rossow, to visually capture the feeling of standing still in a small town while the world moves rapidly past. We probably weirded out some tourists walking in slow motion while singing the song at .2 speed, but it definitely shows off my local haunts and the local life that sometimes haunts me.” – Josh Fortenbery
Track Credits: Josh Fortenbery – Vocals, guitar Erik Clampitt – Pedal Steel Kat Moore –Fender Rhodes, Hammond B-3 Sam Roberts – Bass Todd Vierra – Drums Kennedy Jo Kruchoski – Vocals Taylor Dallas Vidic – Vocals
In Their Words: “We spend a lot of time on the road these days… it’s just become our regular life now. It seems like we drive so much, and do so much computer work, and are on the move so often that we just really cherish our breaks and time off. ‘Space’ is kind of like a stream of consciousness song about the desire for a break from the real world stuff. It’s a space-aged dreamy Americana tune with futuristic sounds and a rockin’ guitar solo. This tune was recorded from a compilation of live takes from shows on the road last year and mastered by engineer Dave McNair (Shovels & Rope, Brandi Carlile). We really captured the raw live performance feel on this tune, which is what we specialize in.” – Goldpine
Jesse Smathers, “If It Ain’t Broke (Don’t Fix It)”
Artist:Jesse Smathers Hometown: Floyd, Virginia Song: “If It Ain’t Broke (Don’t Fix It)” Release Date: July 11, 2025 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “This tune was fun as could be to write and record. ‘If It Ain’t Broke (Don’t Fix It)’ is a common saying most folks have heard. I know I’ve heard it my whole life. However, the family in this tune must not be up to speed on the old idiom. This tune is a tongue-in-cheek reminder that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it – just leave well enough alone.” – Jesse Smathers
Track Credits: Jesse Smathers – Guitar, lead vocal Hunter Berry – Fiddle Corbin Hayslett – Banjo Nick Goad – Mandolin, harmony vocal Joe Hannabach – Upright Bass
Ross Thorn, “Baby, That’s All I Need”
Artist:Ross Thorn Hometown: Duluth, Minnesota Song: “Baby, That’s All I Need” Album:Fitting In Release Date: July 11, 2025 (single); August 8, 2025 (album)
In Their Words: “I began writing this one morning after I went for a walk in the graveyard, a swim in Lake Superior during a storm, and came home to see a robin in the yard. It’s a song about radical empathy, seeing yourself in everything, seeing the divine in everything, and seeing the divine in yourself. We recorded the song live at the fabled Pachyderm Studios in Cannon Falls, Minnesota. To me, the song feels like John Prine collaborated with the rooster from the old Robin Hood cartoon (AKA Roger Miller), with a blend of honesty, humor, and some good old-fashioned whistling.” – Ross Thorn
Track Credits: Ross Thorn – Vocals, acoustic guitar Clark Singleton – Bass Cassandra Sotos – Violin, vocals Jacob Mahon – Banjo, vocals Ian Hopp – Drums Kyle Orla – Acoustic guitar, vocals
Photo Credit: The Brothers Comatose by Jessie McCall; Goldpine by Raechel Curtis.
As John C. Reilly cavorts around a converted Brooklyn warehouse, his wiry hair branching heavenward, he looks a bit like a heavily rouged version of his eccentric Dr. Steve Brule. But Dr. Brule isn’t here, and neither is Reilly, in a sense. A fellow named Mister Romantic holds court instead, serenading and chatting up audience members in an effort to win their hearts. He swoons and croons, he has a microphone that looks like a rose, and he really, really wants to be loved forever, lest he be doomed to an eternity in a steamer trunk.
Reilly is the rare sort of actor whose talents span cutting dramas and gut-busting comedy antics, and underneath all of it, he’s maintained a soft spot for musical theater. Audiences have gotten a peek at that in Reilly’s Oscar-nominated embodiment of Chicago’s “Mister Cellophane,” and while he’s hammed it up as Dewey Cox in Walk Hard. He’s long nurtured his musicianship, too, with a handful of bands in his youth, a blues outfit, and his more recent cadre of bluegrass friends.
After finishing his duties as Jerry Buss in Winning Time: The Rise of the Lakers Dynasty, Reilly fixed his energy on finding some sort of remedy to the discord that he felt dominating everyday life. Mister Cellophane only got the one song, as Reilly has noted, so he drew upon more than twenty years of his own tune-collecting to develop a repertoire that felt suited to his mission and was close to his own heart. He’s pulled most of his material from the early 20th century body of the American Songbook, which Reilly expands to include a handful of Tom Waits numbers. Though Mister Romantic works a special kind of magic in person, he issued a baker’s dozen of recordings on his album What’s Not to Love? in mid-June, a more permanent evidence of his visitation.
He credits Los Angeles’ famed venue Largo with being the nexus of countless creative relationships – including Mister Romantic compatriots like David Garza, fiddler Gabe Witcher, and Sebastian Steinberg, who joins the ensemble on their recordings. The crew keep remarkably stony faces as Reilly improvises his appeals to the crowd, part of the story built around Mister Romantic’s cosmic arc: “He’s been traveling in this box for thousands of years trying to find love, and he just fails over and over. He doesn’t have a memory of the past, but the band does, and they’re stuck in this purgatory cycle with him,” Reilly says.
In chatting up different audience members between selections (“I’m not gay or straight, I’m desperate,” he offers), Reilly hopes to get everybody in the room feeling like they can open up a little bit. The songs, for Reilly, facilitate that softening in a sort of bucket-brigade through time. “‘What’ll I Do?’ could’ve been forgotten by the 1930s, but people loved that song and kept passing it along, and here I am, doing it again,” he says. “I think that’s the way to pay things forward, to pass along what you think is good.”
Now with an album release and several more Mister Romantic shows in his rearview mirror, Reilly is impassioned and reflective as he considers the value of vulnerability in a prickly modern world. His fervent belief in the fundamental goodness of human nature spills over as he shares his efforts to bring a little more love into people’s lives.
You made a point to tell your first audience participant that you weren’t bringing her up there to shame her or embarrass her, which got me thinking about how you’re watching people react to your character in real time. What has that been like for you with these performances?
John C. Reilly: It’s been a really special part of the show. I don’t know what I expected it to be when I started doing this, just kind of improvising my way through, but it’s been amazingly consistent. I say that stuff about “I’m not going to embarrass you or do anything weird” because people just don’t know what the hell the show is about, what the boundaries are. I really want to make people feel like I’m going to take care of them up there. The joke is not going to be on them.
With the audience, I’ve noticed if you really see people and the best in them, or you look for qualities that you find attractive, and you talk about them – it’s amazing the way people let down their guard and open up. It makes the whole audience feel like I’m talking directly to each one of them, even though I only get to four or five people during each show.
Have you had any reactions that have caught you off guard?
Sometimes I ask pretty heavy questions, like, “Have you ever been in love? How long did it last?” People generally want to play along, there’s no one that has ruined the interaction. People always ask me, “Are those people plants?” They’re never plants. The second thing they ask is, “Does anyone ever not cooperate?” I have to say, it’s like, 100% cooperation so far. I think part of it comes from the loving approach and the fact that I say at the beginning what the mission of the night is going to be.
It’s a really encouraging part of the show for me personally, because you really do want to believe that, in their heart of hearts, people are good. When I do this show, that is what I think when I go through the audience. I try to look at every single person directly at some point. The whole point of the show is connection – to the music, the world, to each other – and creating a live unique moment with a group of people. Whatever’s happening outside in the world is one thing, but in here, we’re all going to be connected by the end of the night.
There was a moment where you kind of scolded someone for having their phone out, but you somehow did it in the nicest way possible, where you brought it back to maintaining a connection in the moment.
I try not to even engage with what phones even are. We try to make it clear that you’re not supposed to use your phone during the show. I called that guy out just because I was surprised to see it in his hand. My point was not to say, “You broke the rules!” or get mad at him. There have been other times when people have their phones out. The point of those interactions is always to point out what’s special about this moment without a phone. When I said that, the audience almost started cheering [note: this is true]. Everyone is getting to this place where they’re starting to realize the cost of using a phone, and the separation that it creates between you and a performance or an experience.
How did Largo get to be such a major fixture in your life?
Largo has been a big part of my life since it opened in the early ’90s. It’s been a big part of my development as a singer and as a musician. I had my bluegrass band there for a long time. Mark Flanagan, who owns the place, creates such a special vibe in there, and does not allow cell phones during the shows. The audience ends up being focused in this way that’s different than other places I’ve been.
It’s kind of this temple of quality and entertainment, especially music. When I first started going to Largo, it was Jon Brion and all these different musicians moving through there – a lot of my friends who I play with now, who I played with in the past in other bands. Walk Hard, the songwriters from there – all those guys were all part of the Largo scene in one way or another. It really feels like home when I’m there, and it has its priorities right. It’s not just a place that’s about profit and selling beers, slamming them in and slamming them out. There’s a real soul to the place. I shudder to think what LA would be without Largo.
Is your bluegrass band something you think you’ll return to?
The blues, bluegrass, and this kind of show-tune world are all different aspects of me. I had a blues band before I had a bluegrass band. But I love bluegrass music, for the same reason I love all these American Songbook standards that I’m doing. That’s part of the conversation about the show that I think is really important, that Americana doesn’t just mean white Southern folk music from the 1930s.
People talk about, “What kind of category does [Mister Romantic] fit in?” To me, it’s Americana. A lot of these songs were written by Americans, and they’re not classical music. I think bluegrass definitely falls under the Americana banner, but I think songs in the American Songbook also fall under the Americana banner. Blues music falls under the banner. Why is blues music separated as African-American music? It’s part of America’s history. We should all embrace under the same umbrella.
You’ve talked about using Mister Romantic as a vehicle for getting people to open up a bit more to love and empathy. I think of romance as only one slice of the pie when it comes to loving or forms of love – why go with “romantic” as your channel into exploring empathy?
To me, romance is appreciating a beautiful sunset, or the way a flower looks or smells. Appreciating some weird little detail about a person that makes them unique, that makes you cherish them. It’s not just a Valentine’s Day card. Think about the reason that you got crushes on different people in the past. Sometimes it’s about the physical looks, but oftentimes it’s like, “Man, I just love the way that person does their art.” You crush out on people because of why they’re special. That, to me, is romantic.
On the surface of it, this guy Mister Romantic is trying to fall in love, but he doesn’t even really know what that is. He has so little experience. All he knows is, it’s a deep connection with someone else that will then stay with you forever. I’m not trying to get anyone to be anything. To me, the show is an opportunity to come together. If you’re craving connection, then you should come. I’m not trying to lecture people. I’m just pointing out the inherent truth about human beings, that we do love each other, that the secret to civilization and the reason that human beings are still around on earth is because of love.
I was seeing a lack of empathy – a coarseness to our dialogue, or a viciousness to our debate, and I thought, “Well, that’s distressing. What could I do that might lessen that?” And I decided I’ll do a show about love, and I’ll invite people to come see it, and maybe they’ll feel what I’m feeling. [Mister Romantic] is more about reminding people of what is true about us. On a good day, I think, everyone feels that people are ultimately good when the chips are down.
There’s a line from bell hooks’ All About Love about how “cynicism is the great mask of the disappointed and betrayed heart,” and when I re-read that recently, it resonated with how the crowd felt at the end of the show—like this cynical layer that a lot of us have was dissolved for a bit while we were laughing and having a good time together.
Yeah! It’s not just about me and what I’m saying. It’s also the music. The music has an alchemical effect on people that does put air in their balloons. I didn’t know that quote, but I agree with it. I say misanthropes are actually the most romantic people of all. They’re the most sensitive. They’re so sensitive that when they experience disappointment, they retreat into this place of, “Well, if it can’t be perfect, then everything is terrible.” But if you’re really truthful about the way life is, there are all these gray areas. Everyone is not an asshole. That’s a generalization. To be a true misanthrope, you’re generalizing, and not seeing what’s really there.
You have to be open to someone being a good person. I think that’s just the truth of the way things are. I do think if you’re worried and you want things to be better in the world and in your own personal life, you have to be willing to be vulnerable, and willing to reflect a world that you want to see. These things sound so rudimentary, or maybe cliché, but that’s where we’re at. We’re having to fight for empathy, to say, “Human beings have value across the board.” Human rights are at stake right now in the world. So it’s not a cliché. It’s not a thing that’s assumed to be true by everyone. These things have to be regenerated, generation after generation.
What’s something you’ve learned about yourself in the process of bringing Mister Romantic to life?
I’ve learned a lot about the courage it takes to invite people to a place and say, “I’m going to sing for you.” I had to learn what my voice is when I’m not impersonating other people. How do I sing? How do I convey my spirit through my voice? Those are big things, and making this album was a huge step. The personal journey to get yourself to believe that it’s good enough to share –that’s a big struggle for everyone, especially the first time they do it. Mister Romantic was a big step in that direction for me saying, “Whatever, I may not be the most perfect singer, but the reason that I’m singing is a good reason, and I’m going to keep doing it.”
You have to kind of have this blind faith in the mission, because there’s all kinds of slings and arrows that you can generate for yourself. But then you remember the core of it – these experiences that you have during the show, that I have from the show – and that tells you what you should be doing with yourself, what is important. If touching people the way this show touches people isn’t important, then I don’t know what is. It has given meaning to my life at a time when I was really struggling for meaning.
In recent years, Tami Neilson has been learning to carry both great joy and great sorrow simultaneously. The New Zealand-based, Canada-born powerhouse’s new album, Neon Cowgirl, is named after the towering electric figure on a sign that’s overlooked Broadway in Nashville watching over Tami’s career since she was 16 years old. The songs were born from a five-month family road trip combined with a major musical tour that would allow Tami the once-in-a-lifetime chance to really give it her all with her career. It was the chance for her children to experience what her life was like at their age, when she toured the country with her family’s band, led by her eccentric and wildly lovable dreamer-father, Ron Neilson. Before she got the chance to hit the road for that trip, Tami landed in the ICU with sepsis and nearly lost her life. She blessedly recovered, but found that all her priorities centered around trip/tour had changed.
In our Basic Folk conversation, we talk about the songs on Neon Cowgirl, her dear friendship and collaborations with Willie Nelson, and Tami’s exciting performances at the Grand Ole Opry. One of the songs on Neon Cowgirl, “Keep On,” was inspired by a cosmic conversation she had with Wynonna Judd. Judd, to her surprise, quoted the same exact phrase – “Keep on, keep on, keep on” – that Tami’s late father had written in one of her most cherished letters.We also talk a lot about her brother, Jay Neilson. For all of her career and life, Jay has been by her side as her guitarist, co-writer, and musical partner. Last July, Jay suffered a rare and debilitating brain injury that he is still recovering from. Tami and Jay have not been able to perform together since that injury. She shares what it’s been like to be without Jay and how it’s been for him to be so public about his condition.
Tami Neilson and I first connected during the pandemic. She was a guest on the podcast after she released her 2020 album, Chickaboom!and again after she released her fifth album, Kingmaker, in 2022. Since those chats, I have loved following her career, listening to her new music, and experiencing her highs and lows with her. She’s one of my favorite guests and I’m thrilled to welcome Tami back to talk about her wonderful new record.
Editor’s Note: Each issue of Good Country, our co-founder Ed Helms will share a handful of good country artists, albums, and songs direct from his own earphones in Ed’s Picks.
Couldn’t have said it better, ourselves. GEORGE F****** STRAIT! Good Country song of the season? We think so – and the internet does, too. You don’t wanna miss Laci on tour with Parker McCollum this summer and fall.
You’ll find New Orleans-based brothers Wes and Ocie Crowe at the intersection of country, indie, and rowdy millennial alt-folk. Their debut album’s title, Made To Wander, doesn’t just speak to their packed international tour schedule, it draws from their youthful days traveling with their family band, too.
We’ve been fans of the Kentucky Gentlemen and we remain fans of the Kentucky Gentlemen! The Kentuckian twin brothers’ latest, Rhinestone Revolution, is out now, continuing to bring their energy, sparkle, and fun to mainstream country lovers the world over.
From Sonora, Mexico to the GRAMMYs; to CMA Fest; to the cover of Billboard. Carín León exemplifies what we mean when we say “country & western” has always included Latin folk, Mexican music, and all of the roots music traditions of North America, no matter what language or any arbitrary borders. The deluxe version of his most recent smash hit album Palabra De To’s (Seca) is out now – it’s a must-listen.
Country soul rooted in Hawaii and the Pacific islands – that’s what Maoli offers on his latest, Last Sip of Summer. You’ll be forgiven for assuming the steel guitar is the only country input offered from the vast Pacific Ocean. Maoli shows island country sounds – his being a bit like Buffett meets Chesney meets reggae – are best when grown directly in volcanic soil.
This fan favorite Ashley McBryde track, “Rattlesnake Preacher,” has been a staple of her live shows for… well, forever. Now, a studio cut is available for the very first time. McBryde worked with producer John Osborne (of Brothers Osborne) to ensure this long-awaited rendition captured the magic of her live performances of the number. It does!
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Photo Credits: Laci Kaye Booth by Natalie Sakstrup; Crowe Boys by Nick Swift; the Kentucky Gentlemen courtesy of the artist; Carín León courtesy of Sacks & Co; Maoli by Reggie Villa; Ashley McBryde by Katie Kauss.
Dallas Ugly is not a country band. Except that they are?
More than a decade ago now, college classmates Eli Broxham, Owen Burton, and Libby Weitnauer began playing together as a new acoustic band, bluegrass and old-time chops combined with jazz and jammy virtuosity. Eventually, via COVID pandemic cloistering together, they crafted a collective identity as Dallas Ugly, a vibey and tight alt-country group built around original songs that made a splash with their 2022 debut, Watch Me Learn.
On that album you can hear bluegrass grit, the tenderness of folk and indie songwriting, influences of Southern rock and pop, and dashes of Texas twang – perhaps supplied by confirmation bias thanks to their moniker. On their latest album, See Me Now (released in April), the trio are abandoning any and all claims to Americana and country. But this collection – one of the best roots albums of the year – still listens like so many classic artists and albums at the intersection of indie, country, and the vast musical horizon.
When you ask the Nashville-based band how they’ve landed in this new, borderless, agnostic genre territory, they seem as surprised by their own chosen style markers and aesthetic vocabulary as their audiences. “It’s an accident,” says Weitnauer – with delight. “We don’t know why we sound this way. We’ve been able to loosen up more, build on the experience we’ve gotten just as musicians. … With this iteration, I feel like it shows a full development of our sound.”
In truth, however See Me Now and Dallas Ugly strike your ears, it’s quite a straightforward task to trace their journey through genres. (Though it’s not the most straightforward to discuss!) The trio simply follows each song down their own individual creative rabbit holes, trusting the music and each other to find or carve out sounds that encapsulate the feelings, textures, and stories that they craft together. They don’t lead the songs, the songs lead them. As a result, Dallas Ugly alchemically transform barn burning old-time fiddle, endless country twang, deep honky-tonkin’ pocket, earnest, sentimental songwriting, and pop-informed sweet tooths into smooth, artful, endlessly interesting indie rock.
Dallas Ugly’s brand of roots music – if you can call it that – is downright beautiful. We spoke to the group via phone between tours in May about making the album, claiming genre (or not), and the sometimes passive, sometimes overwrought process of shepherding these songs into the world.
I wanted to start with getting the genre conversation out of the way, as it were. Y’all have been very forward with communicating that this isn’t really a country album; that you don’t really see yourselves as a country band. You call it indie, indie-pop-rock. I hear you as decidedly Americana and country, personally. Obviously you have those indie-pop touches – plus, we know you have string band bones as well – but can you talk a little bit about your relationship to genre and how you intentionally stepped into this much more free, borderless sonic space with this project?
Libby Weitnauer: It’s funny, because as I’ve had more conversations with people since the album’s come out I’m like, we definitely marketed it wrong. [Laughs] The other way we could’ve gone – everyone is like, “Do you ever listen to Sunbelt?” “Do you ever listen to Wilco?” “What about like The Breeders?”
But you asked what were the intentional steps that we made – and I would say there have been no intentional steps towards any genre. Which is why we are having trouble pinning it down, because I think we decided to market it the indie route. Honestly, the Americana world seemingly wants to have nothing to do with our music. [Laughs] So we were like, “Okay, then, I guess it’s not Americana, I guess it’s not country.” Every time we bring it to those people they turn it away.
I would say our relationship with genre is very passive. When we’re making decisions and writing songs, genre isn’t a consideration. It’s always been that way. When we started playing together as the very goofy band that we were before this band, that was a sort of attempt at new acoustic music. It was the same thing, we just make decisions [based on] things that we like, or think we’re supposed to do sometimes, or sound good. Then it comes through this Dallas Ugly Eli-Libby-Owen filter, no matter what.
We’ve honestly tried so hard to fit into a genre. Where we’re like, “Okay! We’ve done it this time. You guys, we made a song that sounds like something else that exists.” Which is a funny thing to aspire to. Just trying to create stuff that we like and then it’s, “Oh, nope, nevermind. There it is. Just as weird as ever.”
Do you feel like the songs are what’s guiding you in that passive way? That you’re just trying to give the songs the treatment they each want or are asking for or deserve? Do you feel like it’s taste? Or is it just how it ends up is how it ends up? What do you think is the process for how it ends up being borderless and amorphous and not quite any one thing?
Owen Burton: Yeah, I think those are all in there. I think it isn’t as if we’re striving when we’re writing, it’s not like we’re intentionally pointing to a specific genre. There’s just things that we don’t realize are so genre-coded that are kind of inescapable about our musical voices. When we are asking how to start a song it’s, “Let’s do a fiddle kick.” It’s not, “Let’s do a country thing.” It’s just, “I feel like a fiddle kick would make sense.” And then, on the other end of that is people being like, “This is a country record now!”
It’s fair enough. But I think with this record, too, [as] I’ve learned with our first album – which we were like, this is a country record – I feel like we learned, in how it was received, how actually regimented the Americana style is. And how we weren’t within certain signifiers that are pretty regimented. Indie rock is way more broad, in terms of what it tolerates stylistically.
So the next one, this one, certainly can fit in that big tent. Now, the way it’s been perceived that way too, [I’ve realized] indie rock’s pretty regimented in ways that I didn’t understand, too. Mostly about singing. I think just none of us sing like indie boys. [Laughs]
LW: Or country voice. That’s the thing, I think what it comes down to is if different people were singing our songs, maybe it would be clearer. But I think, especially Owen and I, we have acquired taste, stinky cheese voices. [Laughs] It’s definitely not for everybody. Eli, obviously he doesn’t sing quite as much, but weirdly I would say Eli has the most familiar voice.
I happen to love stinky cheese.
LW: Exactly! Me too.
How does Justin Francis play into the genre paradigm here as your producer, as somebody who effortlessly walks between those sonic worlds? Can you talk a little bit about working with him and having him in the control room?
OB: He understood what we were going for. When we started, we intentionally controlled less variables going into the studio for this one. It’s not as if we had a strategy meeting about what kind of album this was gonna be before we started, making creative decisions on it. The songs were vaguely written before we went into the studio, but not arranged and not figured out like across the band ahead of time.
I feel like even just that process– I guess that’s a bit of a question, is that more of an Americana process or more of an indie rock process? I see that as more of a rock process; I feel like rock bands often go into the studio with songs not even written and they just write it in the studio. With [Justin] on board, he had all kinds of ideas when we were writing in the studio, little bits of studio vocab that we don’t have ourselves. [He] pushed and pulled in different genre directions, for sure.
LW: Part of the reason that we worked with him is we did these two singles with him, “Big Signs” and “Born Crying” just to try working with another producer and see what happens. I don’t even know that we were really [thinking] we could make an album with him, because honestly, he’s the real deal! We were like, “He’s famous, so he probably won’t make an album with us, but let’s just see what these things will sound like.” It was so effortless and he let us do our thing on those two. I feel like those [songs] are just as unhinged as anything else that we’ve made and he was right there with us with the ideas.
I would say, generally, working with him was really effortless. That’s the word I would use. The whole time, even the pre-production meetings.
Let’s talk about some of the music. My favorite is “Bad Feeling.” I know the lyric may say, “It’s a bad feeling, I don’t like it at all…” but I do like it. I like “Bad Feeling” a lot. I heard you guys play this song live a bunch before the album, too, but can you talk about the origin of it, its writing, how it came together in the studio?
LW: That’s the one song I think on the whole album that we had been performing [before recording]. Maybe “You Can Leave,” but it changed a lot. “Bad Feeling” we had been performing pretty much as it is, for the most part. I’m glad that you like it, because that was the song I was like… not disappointed in, but I had so much trouble breaking out of the live arrangement that we had. We had played it so much that I felt like the track suffered a little bit from how attached we were to the live arrangement.
But the making and the writing of that song, I feel like I wrote it [because] I’d been listening to a lot of Judee Sill. I guess I was inspired by that and was trying to capture how some of her songs, the chords move with the lyrics a lot. I didn’t end up really sounding like her at all, but some of the original harmonies we had for that song, played [off of] some of the harmonies in her music.
I feel like that song is like the epitome of my writing style, which is pretty autobiographical. Every time I try to write like feathery stuff, it sounds really goofy. And so with lyrics, I just try to find the most straightforward way I can say something. Usually that ends up being the most poetic, from my voice.
How do you know when you have a hook or you have the bit of the song that’s gonna be what everybody shouts along with? To me, it doesn’t feel like any of you are writing songs because you think they’re gonna be a hit. But at the same time, when I hear a really hooky song or a really catchy song – like basically this whole album – whether it’s “Bad Feeling” or “Sugar Crash” or “Circumstances” or “See Me Now,” I can picture a “light bulb moment” when you find that hook or line that ends up being the sing along.
LW: When I’m writing, I don’t really consciously think about hooks like this. That being said, a lot of my songs start with either a phrase or a melody. I’ll be on a walk or doing something in the kitchen just singing little thing. Like “Circumstances” – “I put a letter in the mail…” – that just happened in my brain when I was doing something. Then usually I’ll grab onto that and write the song around whatever little melody piece comes to me. I guess what ends up being the hook, a lot of the time, is what comes to me. And then I find myself singing it and I let it take off and do what it’s gonna do.
Eli Broxham: I feel like something that comes up, a question we end up asking ourselves that I’ve heard Libby ask a bunch of times is, “Is this super cheesy?” [All laugh] Which, we definitely ride the line of cheesiness, but at some point, you have to just be like, “I don’t know. I like it. And that’s good enough.” If it’s borderline to me, maybe it’ll be over the line for somebody else, but clearly, within bounds for another listener.
At some point, trust your instincts and be like, “It might be cheesy, but that’s okay.” And yeah, I think melodically is where I have my surest footing [writing hooks]. I still feel as a songwriter, if I hit the mark, it’s maybe by chance or something.
I also want to talk about “See Me Now,” because it’s the title track, because it’s a great song, but also because I feel like it epitomizes the journey y’all have been on, from Watch Me Learn to this album. Not just musically and creatively, but also genre, and also politically and socially. This song is “of the moment” in a really interesting way, because you can listen to it down and it’s a love song and it’s a song about seeing and being seen, but it’s also about perception and, “Is my existence valid?”
All of that is really deeply resonant, but if you zoom out and view the song in the context of the band, it changes its meaning. If you zoom out yet again and you view it in the context of y’all really coming together during COVID to do this project as Dallas Ugly, being friends for more than a decade, it changes the meaning of the song again. It’s a tesseract of a track where you guys are writing in four dimensions – it’s not too intellectual or conceptual, but it has endless depth. How!?
OB: I actually wrote that very quickly, because Elise Leavy was having like a songwriting circle. I hadn’t written a song terribly recently, so I was just gonna write something real quick for this. That was the song I wrote and at the time – this is years ago – I was very into that Kacey Musgraves album, Golden Hour, and the lead track, [“Slow Burn”]. That acoustic intro thing, I was messing around with that, because the chords are really simple, but the voicings are so interesting.
Those two things – “hurry up and write a song” and the somewhat new vocab I had just learned – came together. That first draft of it was soft, crummy – plus those lyrics, it’s hard to say what they’re about, because I wrote them very quick. Sometimes this spiel I give on stage is:
It’s three people meeting each other after some kind of apocalypse. In the universe of the apocalypse, because nobody has anything anymore, it’s very hard to [determine] what status anyone was before the apocalypse. It’s three different kinds of people with different former social status, wishing that people they interacted with could tell what status they used to have. People are very comfortable in their status, I feel like whether it’s high status or low status, people find comfort in both. Personal comfort in your own status and the comfort in feeling like you know how to treat people once you derive their status.
I feel like audiences never understand that spiel and it’s maybe too heady to be worth anything. [Laughs] Maybe that’s also why it feels like there’s so many different reads you could have of that song.
I think the most interesting thing about it – and maybe I’m projecting y’all – is the sentiment, “Can’t you see me now? I want you to see me.” Maybe that’s just the millennial condition. All of us having nostalgia for something that never existed, generationally, and being like, “I need you to see me. I need you to perceive me. But also I’d rather you perceive me from the golden era, from the before times. From when things were right.”
Also the “Can you hear me now?” reference of it all feels very millennial, very of the 2000s in a great way. Again, is this cheesy? No, of course not. Listen to it! But also, yes it is.
OB: Yeah, that’s where we live.
LW: That’s where we live! And I would say, before this, before the version that’s on the album, it had a very different flavor. I can’t even remember how it sounded exactly, but it was definitely more country – almost like country rock – and that was over the line. I’m glad we found [this style] and Justin helped us find that. Just pulling it back to the other side a little bit, because yeah, lyrically and melodically, it’s so solid and awesome. But we had to go to the drawing board a few times to get the setting right for it.
EB: That one is like the musical ideas are blocks that are put in place. I remember when we were doing this – after some of the drawing board stuff that Libby was talking about – but I was listening to that Mac Miller album, Circles – which I think is maybe the best Mac Miller album. I was listening to how the elements didn’t change, they just turned on and off to make the song, which I feel like is pretty common in pop and rap production. But often, especially in this band or in Americana and rock, things tend to sneak in and out and evolve.
But for that song in particular, the bass line just turns on, then turns off for a little part. It turns on and turns off. There’s different parts of different sections, but they are like binary, which I think is an interesting approach – and a first for us, in that sense. Somehow, that takes it out of the realm of cheesy country and accentuates the lyrics in a nice way. Even that final chorus, where it’s just a big pause and then the chorus turns on.
LW: That’s interesting that you say that, ’cause I feel like for my fiddling, that was the approach I took on this whole album. Honestly, until we got to the pre-production meetings I was like, “I don’t even think I’m gonna play fiddle on this album.”
I took more of [an approach like] I’m a sample of a thing, rather than being a fiddle in a band. Like even on “You Can Leave,” which is the more fiddle-y of the tracks, in the verses I’m not doing traditional fills. I’m doing this one rhythmic hook every time this comes around and that’s what I’m playing on this song.
It was the idea of turning things on and off rather than trying to be part of the whole song. And I let myself punctuate things and not feel like I need to play the whole time.
Artist:The Wildmans Hometown: Floyd, Virginia Latest Album:Longtime Friend (out July 11, 2025)
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
Growing up in the rich and vibrant region of the Appalachian mountains, nature has always been extremely influential to everything we do. Hearing the frogs sing in the evening or when the cicadas come out and fill the air with their hypnotic mantra every few years. Nature perseveres out here and if you want to live in it you are always battling one element or another. We don’t have AC, so in the summer all of our instruments are inundated with humidity, of course bringing them outside adds to this which we do often too. Dehumidifiers help. But it’s that soft humid atmosphere that makes the forest so lush and dense out here. I think it has always taught us a lot too living in such a rural area. And I would say the musical culture of these mountains and this region of America is possibly the most impactful aspect in our work today.
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
Every year as kids we got to attend the local music festival in our home town, Floydfest. We discovered so much music throughout those years and specifically it was an experience we shared at Jon Lohman’s workshop porch stage when this band The Boston Boys, along with Danny Knicely and Nate Leath, invited us up to play a couple tunes on stage. It was our first time being on stage in front of a real audience and it’s one of those quintessential moments in our lives that is significant to where we are and what we are pursuing today. I think that the relaxed and inviting atmosphere that both the musicians and the audience gave to us in that moment is something that we take with us into every show we play now.
What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?
Ever since Mk.gee dropped Two Star & The Dream Police in the beginning of 2024, it has stayed on rotation. Whether in the tour van, headphones, or home stereo. I also have a serious soft spot for 90s R&B like SWV and Soul For Real. And D’angelo always. – Aila
Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?
This is such a great question and immediately it makes me think of this scene of Leon Russell playing “Jambalaya on the Bayou” in 1972 filmed by Les Blank for his film, A Poem Is A Naked Person. This is the dream pairing right here, Leon is onstage with a plate of what appears to be half-eaten ribs sitting in front of him on his piano, full of soul and groove singing this old Hank Williams song. I mean did he wipe his hands before starting the song? It’s rock and roll, it’s Leon Russell with southern bbq. – Eli
What would a perfect day as an artist and creator look like to you?
Waking up in the morning and having a hot beverage of some sort. Tea or coffee. This is a good time to write freely, reflect. Even sing a new song. Then going outside to sit in the sun for a half hour before making a really good breakfast. We are serious about breakfast as a band, sometimes all other meals can feel like a failure while on tour, especially with dietary restrictions and what not. But we always make sure breakfast is accomplished and done right.
After breakfast, we might play some music by ourselves or with each other. Giving time and space into the day for creativity and practice. Exercise is also really important to us, this would come next as we are easing into the afternoon. Into the evening we love to have friends over to share music and food, cooking together or grilling out. Good food, good people, and good music make the world go round. All of these things are what make up a “perfect day as an artist” to us. General simplicity and grounding.
From their earliest days as a duo, Gillian Welch & David Rawlings have crafted utterly timeless old-time, bluegrass, and American roots music of the highest order. Their lyrics and melodies sound as though they could have been plucked from any/every golden era of folk music on this continent, while at the same time being effortlessly forward-looking and grounded in the present. Perhaps that timelessness is why it feels so surprising that Welch & Rawlings have entered their own new era, as sceptered elders in their chosen genres and communities. The surprise being, of course, the realization that… have they not always been roots music elders?!
Last week, NPR Music unveiled a brand new Tiny Desk Concert by Welch & Rawlings, 15 years since their last appearance at the internet’s biggest smallest stage. In the roughly 20-minute performance, the pickers, singers, songwriters, and life partners perform three songs from their most recent album, 2024’s Woodland, as well as revisiting one of their all-time classics, “Revelator” – from 2001’s Time (The Revelator). Viewing 2025’s Tiny Desk Concert alongside their 2010 performance (watch both sets below), the circuitous journey they’ve taken to sage old-time veterans is obvious, apparent. But it’s still no less mystifying that two artists and creators so adept at musical time traveling have landed in this new phase of their careers right under our noses. With silver hair, wizened voices, a lifetime’s supply of grit, and a tenderness that’s begun to eclipse their fiery, razor’s edge aggression, Welch & Rawlings continue to be their generation’s epitome of modern folk troubadour-ship.
And aren’t they suited for it! “Empty Trainload of Sky,” a song inspired by their titular recording studio Woodland’s propensity for landing in the middle of catastrophic tornado tracks, hits just as hard in this context, their Tiny Desk performance released mere days before tragic and fatal natural disasters and flooding hit multiple states across the U.S. Their songs constantly bend time like this, finding resonance in specificity and universality, both. “Lawman” and “Hashtag” sound like numbers that could’ve been sourced from wax cylinder recordings – or from 9:16 short form videos ripe for virality and topically delicious. “Revelator,” then, reminds that Welch & Rawlings know that they operate from within and outside of the constructs of time, at least as far as music goes. They are perfectly at home in this wormholed medium.
Fifteen years feels like a mere instant, a split-second, in the grand scheme – and, certainly, when you consider the ubiquity and staying power of Welch & Rawling’s body of work over the decades of their career. Still, you can see and hear the age, the miles traveled, the hardships overcome, and the joys celebrated on their faces, in their voices, and in the pluck of their strings. Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, with each and every note they utter, invite each of us to step outside of time. It’s no wonder that they’re thriving, at the highest of heights they’ve reached yet, as they enter their latest golden age, as roots music heroes and elders who’ve touched countless scores of us with their art.
Gillian Welch & David Rawlings continue on tour now through the fall. More info here.
(Editor’s Note: Welcome to our Reissue series! For the past several weeks, Basic Folk has been digging back into the archives and reposting some of our favorite episodes alongside new introductions commenting on what it’s like to listen back. This is our last Reissue for now, so please enjoy!
This episode featuring separate interviews with The Indigo Girls – Amy Ray and Emily Saliers – and host Cindy Howes was originally posted winter 2019.)
Back in 2019, my now-wife and I attended the inaugural Girls Just Wanna Weekend in Cancun, Mexico, which featured an all-women lineup curated and hosted by Brandi Carlile. I was lucky enough to be able to interview The Indigo Girls there in two separate solo interviews. I still feel nervous thinking about the scene of talking to both Amy Ray and Emily Saliers in each of their (very nice!) hotel suites on my new little Shure mic that connected to my phone. Lucky for me, both Amy and Emily were really into my new mic, so it served as the best possible icebreaker. Both were very generous with their time and with their answers to my unorthodox questions.
First I got to speak to Amy Ray, who talks about growing up in a conservative, modest Southern family with her radiologist father and a smart, scholarship-attaining mother. She speaks to how her suburban upbringing and intake of conservative values of the South has influenced her identity. She shares about her father’s deep involvement in community service and the impact of her father’s generosity on her own activism. I also asked Amy about her sense of fashion and how it challenges traditional gender norms. She talks about her love for creative clothing and that her historically unconventional approach to style serves as a form of activism.
Next up: Emily Saliers. She talks about her relationship with guitar playing, tracing it back to childhood lessons at the YMCA and musical members of her family. She also points out how playing electric guitar changed the game, particularly through collaborations with Amy Ray. Emily talks about first solo album, Murmuration Nation. Released in 2017, it took a long time to come to fruition due to challenges and emotional hurdles she faced during its creation. Lyris Hung, longtime Indigo Girls friend, collaborator, and producer – including on that solo album – brought her expansive musical imagination and played a critical role in shaping the record. We also get into Emily’s love for hip-hop, specifically political hip-hop, and the profound impact the genre has had on her. Emily ends with talking about her other great love, food, by drawing parallels between the communal nature of music and cuisine, illustrating how both bring people together in meaningful ways.
Photo Credit: Jeremy Cowart
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