Basic Folk is making trouble at sea with Ani DiFranco and Carsie Blanton! Hosts Lizzie and Cindy had the opportunity to speak with the two like-minded radical songwriters aboard the 2025 edition of Cayamo, a roots music cruise. Our conversation kicks off with Ani sharing her transformative experience performing as Persephone in the Broadway show Hadestown, delving into the challenges of acting and the lessons learned from stepping outside her musical comfort zone. We navigate through Ani’s journey of independence, discussing Unprecedented Sh!t, her first album with a producer besides herself in 23 years – BJ Burton – and what it means to relinquish control in the creative process.
In Ani’s memoir, No Walls and the Recurring Dream, she writes about how her creativity is aligned with her menstrual cycle. She described the most creative part of her cycle as “THE WINDOW.” Cindy asked all three artists onstage to reflect on how their creativity relates to their periods. What resulted was a discussion on how creativity is impacted by not only menstrual cycles, but menopause and ovulation and how that has evolved over time. The conversation also touches on the significance of hair as a form of self-expression and how societal perceptions of women change with their appearances.
Ani and Carsie speak to the power of songwriting in addressing historical and political issues, emphasizing the importance of music as part of a larger movement for justice. They share insights on the necessity of community and collaboration among artists in a challenging industry, encouraging listeners to find strength in solidarity rather than competition. To wrap up, they reminisce about their parallel wild, youthful experiences and how those versions of themselves continue to influence their art today. As Ani had to leave the stage early, Carsie brought it home with an Ani DiFranco-themed lightning round.
It’s been a decade since Doni Zasloff and Eric Lindberg became musical and life partners, melding her background in musical theater and singer-songwriter music together with his blues, jazz, and banjo-picking roots. Now, with a new double album, Beacons, their band Nefesh Mountain dives deep into the myriad ways music can serve as a light in dark times.
The album’s eighteen tracks across two discs convey not only a ferocious command of numerous roots styles, but also a level of compassion and empathy lacking from so much topical music.
“We’re always trying to … walk that high wire between trying to provide an escape … and not neglect[ing] what’s so clearly happening day by day to all of us, as we watch the news and look at our phones and feel this fear and anger and depression,” says Lindberg. The news, he adds, has become “this thing that we can’t run from.”
For many artists on the folk/roots continuum, this desire to comment on the state of the world might mean focusing entirely on our current political leadership. For Nefesh Mountain, though, it means relating with their audience on an even more personal level than usual.
“That’s really part of our job, I think, as artists right now,” Lindberg says.
This echoes a message of “revolutionary love” that many other artists have gotten behind, courtesy of author Valerie Karr.
“Wonder is where love begins,” Karr wrote in her 2020 memoir, See No Stranger: A Memoir and Manifesto of Revolutionary Love. “When we choose to wonder about people we don’t know, when we imagine their lives and listen for their stories, we begin to expand the circle of who we see as part of us.”
This notion is what inspired Ani DiFranco’s 2021 album Revolutionary Love and seems to be echoed on Beacons, with Nefesh Mountain’s determination to weave radical love into their approach to progressive bluegrass and Americana music. Indeed, Beacons seems to strive toward illuminating our common humanity.
Granted, this mission of “radical love” began with the name Lindberg and Zasloff chose for their band in the first place. “Nefesh” is a Hebrew word denoting life force, the sentience that pervades all living things. Radical love requires as much vulnerable expression as it does being open to the array of scary, emotional, dark trepidation so many people have in common. Among the topics Lindberg and Zasloff breach on Beacons: coming clean about a history of substance use, discussing the hard truths around their seven-year fertility journey, and their shared determination to maintain a sense of wonder in a world that can feel relentlessly staid. (“If we’re looking for some heaven, babe/ There’s some right here on the ground,” Lindberg sings in “Heaven Is Here.”)
The first disc of Beacons features a deft exploration of the group’s Americana tones. Though Lindberg and Zasloff are from the Northeast, their Nashville connections and twang-centric improv skills deliver a set of songs that could play just fine on say WSM, the radio home of the Grand Ole Opry.
The set begins with “Race to Run” – a radio-friendly country song about overthinking the struggles of the creative life (“I’m tired of trying to stay out in front/ But you remind me … it’s your own race to run”). “What Kind of World” is a rumination on a sense so many folks share these days, of powerlessness in the face of climate change. (“Is it just me? Can you feel it too?”) But, the song’s lyrics extend into geopolitics and the sense of divide that leaves so many feeling unstable.
Asked about the song’s vulnerable and rather personal honesty, Lindberg notes: “Remember, it was a year and a half ago when the fires from Canada kind of made their way down. We live in the New York area … so the line in the song is, ‘I saw the golden hour at 11 a.m./ They say it’s from the fires, it’s not us or them.’
“Now, a year later or so,” he adds, linking last year’s fire headlines with those of 2025, this time in California. “We had to sing this in Orange County a few weeks back while they were [still seeing smoke].”
As Lindberg’s proverbial camera pans out, the song considers the role of the average citizen in the face of such behemoth powers as climate and politics. “What’s it all for if we’re not all free,” the lyrics ask, shifting from fear about climate disasters to a purpose of climate justice. This ability to move from complaint to action item in a single verse, all couched in infectious twang, is what sets Nefesh Mountain apart from many others in the country space.
The Americana disc’s finest moment, however, is “Mother,” a song written by Lindberg that addresses so many of motherhood’s side effects. “I’ve lived many lives,” Zasloff sings. “…It’s all part of the job as a mother.”
Zasloff notes that her first two children – from a previous relationship – were practically grown when she and Lindberg began trying for a child of their own. What ensued was a seven-year fertility process that echoes what so many women encounter when they discover becoming pregnant is not always as easy as it seems.
“I burst out crying when [Eric] first shared [‘Mother’] with me,” she says, “because it was so personal and so empowering and beautiful for my husband to write that about me.”
In addition to the way the song tackles their infertility journey, it also reckons with Zasloff’s history with alcohol – something she chose to leave behind in order to become a mother. “I decided in that moment of having that song come into the world,” she says, “that I was wanting to talk about something personal that I had never talked about publicly, ever. Which is the fact that I am sober. I’m an alcoholic and I just celebrated 20 years of sobriety. And I actually became sober to become a mother. It’s part of my whole story.”
Livin’ with that drink, Lord, Always left me wanting more But I was saved When I became a mother
After that high point, the group moves into the traditional “Keep Your Lamp Trimmed and Burning,” which Lindberg notes has long been a part of their live show. “We’d always mess with the arrangement,” he says. “I kind of just called it in the studio. We had a little bit of extra time. I didn’t know it was going to be on the album, but it’s one that the band knew when we were down in Nashville and we kind of arranged it on the fly.”
“We’re all New York guys and jazz players,” he adds. “So we wanted to lean into that a little bit and bring this real Americana spiritual into a different sonic space, really let improvisation take over, and help that add to the obviously beautiful meaning of the song.”
Nine tracks in, Beacons switches to bluegrass, bringing in giants of the form to round out the band. Of course, anytime Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas, Stuart Duncan, Rob McCoury, Cody Kilby, and Mark Schatz come together in any room, the sound is bound to slap. Toss in Lindberg, whose pre-Nefesh background is jazz improvisation, and something truly special crops up.
“Regrets in the Rearview” opens this second disc, feeling like a bluegrass answer to the Americana set’s opener, “Race to Run.” Its instrumental section sets a high bar for the rest of the collection, as the band hands around lead duties, featuring some of the finest bluegrass instrumentals in the biz.
But it’s “This Is Me,” coming in at bluegrass track number three, that delivers one of the double album’s finest moments. Capitalizing on the band’s commitment to building connections and “radical love,” “This Is Me” tells the bluegrass side’s most personal story.
“A question that’s been thrown at us for years now, and especially to Eric,” says Zasloff, “is: How did a Jewish kid from Brooklyn get into bluegrass? … He came to me and he said, ‘I think I wrote a response song so that people will stop asking me that question.”
“I was thinking about it,” Lindberg says. “How did I get into bluegrass? [“This Is Me” is] more about if we’re lucky enough to find that thing that really makes us come alive and makes our soul kind of catch fire –whether it’s writing a song … or painting or sculpture or any trade anyone does. If that’s the thing, then it doesn’t matter, geographically, where we’re from.
“I’m of the belief, nowadays especially, with what we’re trying to do in the roots world, [that it’s important to] try to break down all the barriers,” he continues. No matter where people are from, he adds, “there are people that find this music and go, ‘Wow, that is lighting me up!'”
With that, Lindberg hearkens back to the title of the album. That music might be a light in dark times is, of course, no new concept. (Consider “This Little Light of Mine.”) But the fact that the idea has been floated before doesn’t mean it’s not worth mentioning. At a time when so many folks feel powerless to the onslaught of news and information coursing through the internet and the real world alike, it can be easy to feel like none of us are enough to meet the moment. But Beacons is a reminder that there is no darkness without light.
“No one knows how we become who we are,” Lindberg says, before offering a word of advice. “Everyone just be yourself –regardless of the questions you get or the pain or the hate that you see. You’ve just got to stay true.”
Joy Clark and Ani DiFranco connected over something unexpected: a Christmas song. Slated to perform at the same benefit show in 2022, the two singer-songwriter-guitarists were grouped to take the stage together and needed a holiday tune, ideally an original one. Clark’s “Gumbo Christmas” made it to DiFranco before the show, and the legendary artist and founder of Righteous Babe Records heard a hit. Once the pair synced up, they felt an instant musical kinship, and it wouldn’t be long before DiFranco signed Clark to her label.
Last October, Clark released her critically acclaimed debut album, Tell It to the Wind. Informed by her experience as a side player and imbued with a deep reverence for her craft as a solo artist, the record was one of 2024’s finest releases, announcing Clark as an artist with a keen sense of who she is and what she wants to create. The album sonically pulls from Clark’s roots as a Louisiana native and thematically from her experiences as a Black and queer woman making her way through the world. Highlights include “Lesson,” a bluesy, groovy reminder to keep your head up in the face of struggle, and the record’s vulnerable closing title track.
Before the holiday break, BGS caught up with DiFranco and Clark over Zoom to chat about Clark’s signing to Righteous Babe, her album Tell It to the Wind, and what she and DiFranco admire most in one another – as they prepare to hit the road together on tour next month.
Let’s start by having you share how you met and what drew you to one another.
Joy Clark: Well, it started with a Christmas song. It was 2022, and we were both on a Christmas show. There was a big lineup, with Big Freedia, John Goodman, and a lot of other people. So, they tried to group the performers together and I got grouped with Ani and Dayna Kurtz, and I happen to have a Christmas song called “Gumbo Christmas.” My agent contacted me and said, “Hey, can you make a recording of your song and send it to Ani?” He sent it to Ani and I heard back that it was a hit. She liked the song. So, they grouped us together and we performed it.
Ani DiFranco: It’s a total hit, this song. I mean, I don’t understand why people are not holding hands all over America singing this song right now.
JC: I wrote about my grandmother making gumbo every Christmas, it got to Ani, and I think that’s how I got on the radar.
AD: From my perspective, I’m asked to do a benefit and it’s just tons of New Orleans usual suspects involved, like she said. Then, I found out a little later everybody had to play Christmas songs for this thing. I was thinking I’d just show up and play a song or two of my own. I’m like, “Oh, man, Christmas. What the hell?” So, I’m combing through Christmas songs, and I’m like, “I don’t know.” And then I thought, “Oh, I’ll just write one. I’ll write a Christmas song.” I pounded my head against that wall for a few days and discovered that it’s harder than you think to write a Christmas song that anybody ever wants to hear.
Finally, somebody rescued me by saying, “Well, you know, Joy’s got a Christmas song. Maybe you could sing with Joy Clark.” And in comes this little video of Joy singing. I was like, “Oh, my God, that’s the best. That’s the best.” Now I know how hard it is to write a Christmas song, so my respect for this woman is already right up here for making this sweet, soulful Christmas song. And then [Joy] came and recorded it.
You don’t hear many artists getting signed off a Christmas song or even having that be their entry point to meeting their eventual label. That’s a great story.
AD: It was also just hooking up, you know, in person, doing a little rehearsal at Joy’s house, and then going and doing the gig. We got to hang out. It’s not just like I heard the song somewhere. I got to see firsthand that Joy can play and sing her ass off and was an artist in the world doing her thing. I always say that we’re not really a label with tons of resources that can create something out of nothing, or market somebody into existence or something. But what we can do is support working artists and try to get behind them and help facilitate what they’re already doing.
JC: I think that’s the cool part, because I’ve been a working musician for a long time. And not just being Joy Clark, just writing my songs and performing – I played in a lot of different bands, playing guitar, singing harmony. … I’ve really just been working, been doing the thing. I played as a side person for a long time, which is how you learn. That’s how you learn to just be a musician. I feel like that’s been a gift for me. So, now to be able to just to step out up front and write and put out music, I feel pretty lucky. But it also feels really right.
It sounds like you came into the picture with a fully realized sense of who you are and the kind of music you make and what you want to do. And it sounds like the label is a great home for artists like that, who already have strong senses of self and don’t necessarily need, like you mentioned, Ani, a lot of development and marketing.
AD: Certainly at Righteous Babe, you’re not going to have some pencil pusher telling you what you should do with your songs. The thing about an artist-run label is the artist has to follow their heart. That much is clear at Righteous Babe.
Joy, I’m going back to what you were saying a moment ago about being a side player and the opportunities that provides – or sometimes forces – for you to adapt and learn and be able to do things on the fly. How do you feel that those experiences have shaped your solo work?
JC: There’s pressure in it, but then there’s not really pressure, too, because it’s not about me. I think it allows me to just be and not think about, “What do I look like?” or “How do I feel about this certain thing?” It’s giving somebody else space to do their thing. And that gave me a lot of confidence, actually. It gave me a lot of freedom. … I think that helped me step into my work, because when you do need people, when you do need support, you get both sides of it. I think it’s made me more compassionate. I hope I’m not an ass. I don’t think I’m an asshole. [Laughs] I understand what it is to support somebody’s work.
AD: I can really relate, too. I remember the first time I worked on somebody else’s record that wasn’t my shit, and I was like, “Whoa. This is all the fun of making music without the crushing emotional baggage of exposing your guts and putting yourself up for judgment.” So, I completely hear what you’re saying about how it’s a different experience to make music when you’re not on the hot seat, when it’s not you being judged. I love working on other people’s music for exactly that reason. It’s so freeing emotionally. … And now we’re about to go out to make some live music together. That will be fun times.
I wanted to ask about that. As you get ready to hit the road together, is there anything you can share about your plans, or what you’re looking forward to, in particular, about getting to share a bill with one another?
AD: Another thing that is always in the back of my mind with Righteous Babe, if we’re considering releasing a record, is whether this is an artist we could have the means to help. Somebody came to us with a very different genre of music recently and it was a super cool record, but I just thought, “I don’t know how to get to the right audience and get this project where it needs to go.” But from the minute I met Joy and saw her play and interact with an audience, I thought to myself, “My audience will love this person.” So, that’s always in the back of my mind, like, if we put out a record on Righteous Babe, could we do shows together? That’s a really easy way for me to assemble a bunch of people and then point, “Look at her. Check this out.” I just know that they’ll eat you up, Joy. And I haven’t told you yet, but I was hoping to ask you if we could play a song or two together.
JC: Of course! Just let me know what you want. I’ve already been listening. You know it.
AD: I’ll text them to you.
JC: One thing I’m looking forward to is being on a bus. My dates have been fly, pick up a car, then drive, you know? And it’s not like I have a right hand. It’s me and my guitar, driving. When I’m driving, I can’t do anything.
AD: And it’s exhausting. Most of your energy is zapped when you get to the gig.
JC: Yeah, it’s like, “Can I just sit in the green room? Can I just recover from that?” I’m looking forward to having that tour experience of being on a bus and chatting it up and maybe even writing. We’ll see if I can actually write on the road.
AD: Yeah, you need a certain amount of space just to do that, like your own dressing room and your own hotel room. It’s so hard when you’re just out there driving around, doing all the things. Funnily enough, Joy and I were just at another benefit the other night, both playing a tribute to Irma Thomas, singing Irma Thomas songs and benefiting the New Orleans Musicians’ Clinic. We were joking and I was like, “You got to be careful because once you get on that bus, it’s so hard to get off.”
JC: I can feel that coming. I’m looking forward, too, because I’ve really only seen Ani perform once, at French Quarter Fest in 2023. Now, I get to check out the show night after night.
Ani, you mentioned a moment ago that feeling of knowing that your audience will love Joy’s music. I see a lot of connection points in what both of you do. There’s a lot of vulnerability there, for one – I think you described it as “exposing your guts” earlier, Ani, and that feels true for both of you, at least from my perspective as a listener. What points of connection do you see in one another’s music?
JC: I think Ani is a badass guitarist. I respect that, because it takes a lot to be able to play with the band and then to just be a person on stage with a guitar. I think I really connect with that fingerstyle picking. I prefer fingerstyle because it gives you a lot of different textures and it gives you different choices. Instead of strum – a strum is great, it’s just when you can pick, there are these other things happening. These little flavors and lines that I connect with, because that’s the type of player I am. I don’t have the picks on my fingers, it’s just my fingers. But I think that’s how I connect [to the instrument].
AD: Ditto for me. Keep those naked fingers, because it sounds so much better. I put on these plastic nails, but that’s just because I get so violent with my guitar and I bloody myself if I don’t have them. But the sound is so, so great with the real finger and the real nail. I’m really more of a rhythm player, and I just sort of play by ear, but you can play solos. You know what key we’re in and what the notes are supposed to go with that – all the things that I don’t actually freaking know. [Laughs]
I’m just super impressed with anybody who can legitimately play guitar like you do. There’s knowing how to play or knowing how to sing or this or that, and then there’s knowing how to stand there alone on stage and hold an audience. And Joy can do that, too.
I’m glad y’all brought up each other’s guitar playing, because there’s clearly so much passion and care there for both of you. And I don’t think we ask musicians about their instruments enough. People ask a lot of questions about songwriting and lyrics but not so much about, say, devising chord progressions. How does incorporating guitar into your songs work for each of you?
JC: It’s always different. When I write, there is no one way that it comes. But there is a feeling. There are colors that appear. Sometimes, there are sounds that come out. But one thing that I can say, for me, is that [writing] happens simultaneously with messing around on a guitar. I often sing as I play. I’m not usually writing. I do write, but the core of it is a feeling. If it’s something sentimental, then sentimental lines appear. Sometimes it happens if I’m driving, then I pick up my phone and I hum, and then when I pick up the guitar, I’m flowing. There’s an improvisation that happens and it’s a little bit mysterious. I don’t really understand it. It’s just mystery. But I love chords and I love to pick out cool shit. Then, I just put words to the thing that I’m picking.
AD: I can basically relate to everything you’re saying. Same for me. It’s different all the time. There’s no, like, set process, of course, and each song happens in a different way. But generally, it’s just being able to hang out with your instrument and just be with your guitar, hang out, and process your feelings with it. I miss that myself in life these days. I’m older and at a different point in my road than Joy. And I, many moments, wish I could put myself back where you are, Joy, just embarking on something and being really focused and having that guitar by your side all the time. Now, my kids are in the way most of the time, you know? [Laughs] … But that’s really what it is, having a relationship with the guitar that deepens and deepens. The understanding between you and this instrument deepens, and the guitar starts finishing your sentences.
JC: You can find some really pretty jewels in something that didn’t really feel good [while] writing it. But I want something to grow on me. Maybe it doesn’t fit so perfectly, but in time, “Oh, yeah, that does make sense.”
AD: I feel like that’s what you want for other people, too. It’s not necessarily to always be making songs that are instantly like, “Oh, Skittles! It’s sweet and fruity.” But, something that, maybe, on repeated listens, it takes its time to get under somebody’s skin. Then it really lives there. … What I’ve learned over many years and many albums and hundreds of songs is that, even after you get back to your disillusionment or you sour on something that’s not new anymore, you just have to have faith that somebody out there in the world is still going to have that first experience that you had with it. Somebody is going to feel that way about it, even if it’s not you anymore.
That feels like a lovely place to wrap. Before we sign off, do you have any parting words for one another?
JC: I’m really freaking grateful. I’ve been doing my work and I feel pretty lucky that people want to hear what I have to say. And I feel really lucky to have an album out on Righteous Babe, on your label, Ani. I feel like it’s right. I just turned 40 a couple months ago, and I think it’s pretty fantastic to feel like I’ve just started.
AD: Well, I would say – in a way that’s not weird, in a way that [reflects] that we’re on the same level – that I’m proud of you. It makes me so happy to see you stepping into yourself and your music and stepping out there in the world. You’ve paid a lot of dues and you completely deserve this moment. I can’t wait to see what’s next.
Photo Credit: Joy Clark by Steve Rapport; Ani DiFranco by Shervin Lainez.
Our next band featured on Out Now is the Accidentals, a group that I met over a decade ago, tucked under the oak trees in Northern Michigan at Interlochen Artist Academy. Interlochen is a hub for music and arts education. Katie Larson and Savannah Buist (founders of the band) attended the academy at the same time I did. I’ve admired their artistry and dedication ever since. I remember listening to Interlochen Public Radio, hearing a song they wrote, and thinking these artists were going somewhere. Spoiler alert… they have already gone everywhere, touring all over the U.S.!
Before they attended Interlochen, Katie and Savannah were already playing together in an orchestra and exploring their musical chemistry. The pair are creative, dedicated individuals, curious souls, skilled instrumentalists, and incredible writers. They built a successful career while still very young, touring and playing festival stages in their teenage years. Both turned down college scholarships to hit the road instead. After high school, they added Michael Dause to the band as their percussionist. In 2023, Michael parted from the band; they now play as a trio again with Katelynn Corll.
The Accidentals just released their latest single, “What a Waste.” It’s an honor to highlight this phenomenal band on Out Now. Learn all about their plans for the future, why they create music, and about their incredibly creative minds in our interview with Katie Larson and Savannah Buist.
You’ve been playing together since high school. What has it been like for you to create, write, record, and travel together for the past decade?
Savannah Buist: All of those processes – creating, writing, recording, and traveling – demand different parts of us, and all of them have changed and grown over the years. Creating and writing used to be a more solitary process, and yet [now] we find ourselves collaborating and co-writing with some of the people who inspired us to become songwriters in the first place. Recording went from being solitary, to with producers, to us becoming engineers and recording many of our own projects, to recently joining forces with producer Mary Bragg for a collaborative record. Traveling together used to mean 250 days on the road, sleepless nights living on the opposite schedule of everyone we loved – and now, we ease into it, take our time with it, and the number of people in the van seats, their names and faces have changed over the years.
But the thing that remains true is the constitution of our friendship and our trust. I lean on Katie more than I’ve ever let myself lean on anybody before. She’s the reason why I constantly challenge myself to do better, not just musically but as a person too. She’s a natural listener; she’s observant and deep-thinking. She’s the kind of person who would make an incredible documentary carefully examining both sides of a complex situation and reaching some inevitable core of truth. It’s been incredible watching her grow and change, too, just like all the processes that we engage in together. I think the growth and change I’ve undergone is just as dramatic and important. It’s what keeps us open to each other and supportive of our many interests and endeavors.
Adding Katelynn Corll to the band a couple years ago was like picking up a golden retriever to tour with. She’s always positive and brings balance to the band with her ability to see the big picture, ask good questions, and amp up the energy on stage. She’s got both our backs all the time. It’s a no-ego dream band reality.
Katie Larson: Some days, 10 years sounds like a lifetime and other days it feels like a drop in the bucket. Think about how much change people go through from their late teens to late 20s, then add in the inevitable ups and downs and major transitions you go through in the music industry. What a privilege to have someone by your side who has known your heart since day one. Not only that, but a friend who’s a true collaborator, business partner, and salsa-making science geek who’s always ready to dive into philosophical rabbit holes and will fiercely have your back no matter what. We take a lot of inspiration from the Indigo Girls, a few years ago we got to watch Ann Powers interview them during Americanafest. They’ve been playing music together for almost 40 years now and are still true friends.
Your early success, including playing at various festivals, is impressive. What were some of the most memorable moments or experiences from those early days of touring?
SB: I’ve kept journals for many years and those have sort of fallen into the digital world via Tour Blogs, which we write weekly on our Patreon. Cataloging our experiences has given us a plethora of perspectives. There are times I look back through those journals and blogs and think to myself, “How are we still alive?” From busted trailers to stolen gear to pedalboards lighting on fire from faulty power, playing in caverns and drained swimming pools and stages so tiny we stood shoulder-to-shoulder trying not to poke each others’ eyes out with our bows; farmer’s markets and people’s dogs and their bookshelves when we crashed at their houses, and the strangers who became family along the way. It’s literally too much to recount, because that’s thousands of memories stacked into some neural Jenga of nostalgia. I will say that the early days are like the later days in that we’ve never stopped learning, and never thought we were incapable of learning more.
KL: As an introverted teen, I remember being shocked by kindness from strangers. It still amazes me, but back then it seemed crazy that music could be a catalyst for people making us a home-cooked meal, letting us stay in their homes, or giving us boxes of books to read on the road. One time in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan a man handed us an entire smoked salmon after our set. On another tour in Colorado, we kept accumulating homemade pumpkin bread wherever we went. It wasn’t just gifts – music was also a fast pass to personal conversations with fans at the merch table or with our hosts who became family.
I remember playing a coveted electronic festival called Electric Forest the summer after we graduated high school. Playing folk rock in our dorky dresses (mine covered in pop art chickens and Sav’s covered in cats), we were probably the biggest outlier on the bill, but our artist badges gave us all access. We could go to any stage and watch Lindsey Stirling and Phantogram and Skrillex perform from behind the curtain. In the artist lounge there was this huge juicer, and the women there made me this juice concoction with beets and apple and fresh garlic, and they laughed and said I was glowing. I couldn’t believe we were there.
What was it like for you to start touring and building a career at such a young age?
SB: It was a lot. We thought we were just having fun playing some music with each other and it took on a life of its own. Sometimes in the early years it felt surreal, like a plane taking off and you’re running down the tarmac trying to get on it. I think having a team early was key. We’ve always had the support of our respective parental units – both our moms and dads are musicians and singers and songwriters, so they understood our ambitions and goals and sought tirelessly to lift us up. Having a parent that understands the industry and was willing to support us full time was a lot of the reason we were able to be full-time musicians from a young age.
My mom took us on a brutal “trial tour” in the summer of 2012 – she booked 30 shows in 27 days with radio shows a lot of those mornings, to convince us to go to college. It didn’t work. It just solidified that Katie and I were compatible on the road. At the end of that tour, Katie and I knew we wanted to do this music thing to the extent of both of us [gave] up scholarships to college. My mom agreed to manage/tour with us and we signed our first deal right out of high school. She buffered a lot of the stigma attached to young females playing in clubs they weren’t old enough to be in and took a lot of the verbal abuse that comes with this industry and recording with people you don’t know very well and we watched her handle it.
We learned to start with respect – even when it isn’t mutual – but stand up for ourselves when necessary. We learned to compromise when we could and if we couldn’t live with it, hold our ground. We were made acutely aware of the power of “core base, fans, supporters, road family” and FAMgrove, the fanclub was born. They have kept us going through all the hardest parts.
KL: It was eye opening for a lot of reasons. We had an amazing support system and we were eager to learn and become better musicians. A lot of artists and people in the industry took us under their wing and I learned so many life lessons from those who treated us with mutual respect. There were times when people assumed we put ourselves on a pedestal and didn’t know how to use our gear or hold our own, because we were young. We learned quickly that being alone in the wrong place at the wrong time could be very dangerous and relied on our tour family to keep each other safe. Contradictions can be true. I think touring made us more independent, and also more dependent on each other. It made us more self confident, and more self-conscious.
You founded a nonprofit organization, Play It Forward, Again and Again, to empower youth and provide better access to instruments, lessons, and mentors. What led you to that kind of work, and do you have plans and hopes to continue? What is your vision?
SB: We do a lot of workshops for kids all over the country – songwriting workshops, improvisational workshops, alternative styles for strings workshops. When we were in high school, a duo called the Moxie Strings came to our school and did a performance playing electric violin and cello. That was so monumental to us; it showed us that it was possible to take those instruments to a contemporary world and succeed and it also showed us that there were women out there making it happen. We started doing workshops for exactly that reason – to perpetuate that cycle of inspiration and encouragement; to allow people of any background to have the opportunity to express themselves via music.
It’s hard to do that when budgets for music programs are typically the first to get slashed. Many schools we traveled to had only a choir or a band program, if any program existed at all. The underprivileged areas we visited often contained extremely talented kids who were naturally gifted, but lacked access to the tools due to financial constraints. Instruments can be incredibly expensive, especially in the orchestral world, and it keeps them from being accessible to kids who could use them for therapeutic purposes, who could change the world with them.
So, that led to us establishing a nonprofit with the goal to get instruments into those kids’ hands. Not only that, but we want to establish a support system for them to get follow-up lessons from a musician local to their area. This allows them not just the tools for self-expression, but also instruction on how to use those tools, too. We wanna connect schools with bands that are touring through and provide funding for the band and school to show kids that it’s possible to make a living doing something you love.
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
KL: I’m still figuring out where I identify on the LGBTQ+ spectrum, so one of the most helpful things for me is to talk to friends about their experiences. It allows me to sort through things I resonate with and gives me a safe space for self-reflection. I’m not always the best communicator, but since I was a kid I always thought I had a good understanding of myself. That makes it hard for me to acknowledge that there are still parts of myself I’m learning about. It helps to hear other people I admire doing the same thing at various points in their life. These are a couple articles I’ve read that come to mind: Lucy Dacus on coming out and Amelia Meath of Sylvan Esso talking about her identity.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
SB: I think it’s important to clarify that many artists and bands have LGBTQ+ members without being an “LGBTQ-themed” band, per se. It’s hard for me to definitively know if a band with LGBTQ+ members or an artist who lies somewhere on the LGBTQ+ spectrum wants to be considered an LGBTQ+ artist or band, unless they’re specifically writing songs about their queerness – otherwise it leads to assumptions that I don’t think it’s my place to make.
I think identification can be both empowering and entrapping. We contain multitudes and we are so much more than who we love. It’s a big reason why I don’t always talk about my queerness. That being said, there is an important aspect to identifying with your queerness and resonating with it that creates a safety net for others to be themselves and I am all about that kind of inclusion.
There are artists of the LGBTQ+ community paving the way for inclusivity every day: Ani DiFranco and Brandi Carlile were the firsts for me, then I had a writing session with Maia Sharp and it opened up my world. She was the first person to tell me that I was OK. Then I met Crys Matthews, Heather Mae, Ethel Cain, Spencer LaJoye, and I felt safer talking about it. There is space for queer artists to create art about their queerness and queerness as a whole, and there’s also space for queer artists to create art that’s not about their queerness, at least to themselves. My favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands write all kinds of music, while staying true to themselves – whether they are out of the closet or still deciding how to verbalize how they feel.
What is your ideal vision for your future?
SB: We made a pie chart at the beginning of ’24 and we each decided how much time we wanted to give to each project. My ideal vision for the future is balance. Right now I’m feeling pretty good about playing as a side artist with Lainey Wilson and still sitting in with artists like Ashley McBryde, Hannah Wicklund, Beth Nielsen Chapman, and Kim Richey. Katie and I played strings (and other instruments) and sang on 40+ other albums this year and we loved that. So we’re always down for more session work.
The Accidentals are touring less in ’25 to make room for other projects and that was the plan that came out of the pie chart conversation. We’ll put out a couple albums in ’25 that we’ve been working on for two years, a TIME OUT 3 album (first single just dropped), a children’s album written with Tom Paxton, and a Christmas album with Kaboom Collective Studio Orchestra. We’ll tour those albums, but not much aside from that. We’re also looking at a “Michigan and Again” children’s book deal.
As far as long term, I’m one semester away from my bachelor’s in biology so I’ll likely finish that when time allows. The takeaway from all that is we are in love with the process, the learning, the growing, the becoming. We find gratitude everyday for the opportunity to explore all those things and become the best version of ourselves.
Releasing a new album is stressful enough for most artists, but releasing an album, a documentary, and a book almost simultaneously – while singing and dancing in a Broadway musical? That sounds crazy even to Ani DiFranco, who released her 23rd album, Unprecedented Sh!t, in May, while performing as Persephone in Hadestown, reprising the role she sang on the same-titled Anais Mitchell album that became the folk opera. (The album was released in 2010 on DiFranco’s Righteous Babe Records label; the show opened on Broadway in 2019 and won eight Tony Awards, including Best Musical and Best Original Score.) DiFranco wrapped her nearly five-month acting debut on June 30, just after performing at the Tribeca Film Festival premiere of director Dana Flora’s documentary, 1-800-ON-HER-OWN, filmed as DiFranco recorded her 2021 album, Revolutionary Love.
On August 27, DiFranco will release her second children’s book, the timely and inspiring lyrical narrative, Show Up and Vote, illustrated by Rachelle Baker. (Her first, The Knowing, was released in 2023.) For most of these endeavors, including Unprecedented Sh!t – only her second album produced by someone else (BJ Burton) – DiFranco did something she’s not used to: giving up control.
Who decides to be in a play, release an album and a book and have a documentary premiere at the same time?
Ani DiFranco: No one would decide that. That’s fate just laughing at me, just fucking with me. But it’s exciting. It’s exhausting. And my hamstrings may or may not hold me up through it all. [Laughs] But I wouldn’t be anywhere else.
Obviously, you’ve spent time in front of audiences. What’s different about doing it in a musical?
I’ve realized that performance has, at least for me, two big components. One is improvisational; it’s of the moment. It’s interactive. The other is putting on the show. I’ve always leaned into the interaction and improvisation. This is very much leaning in the other direction. Doing the same shit every night, eight times a week, for months, is a whole other approach. … What I think I love most about this super unique experience, besides the work itself – Hadestown is such an epic work, and I couldn’t think more highly of it – I’ve never done something where it’s such a group effort. I really have been amazed by [the] collective experience. Like we all became one organism, sort of this collective energy field.
Do you think you would get involved in another production like this?
I’m pretty open to anything. I’m most enamored by the new and terrifying, so I have no idea.
I would think a documentary is exciting, too.
Yeah. Yes …
You don’t sound so sure.
I’m just going with exciting as the adjective. [Laughs] For me, it’s very disconcerting.
In what way?
I actually haven’t seen it and I’m not sure if I will. It’s a lot, to show yourself.
That’s got to be a challenge. But you have led what I consider to be a singular life and have had a really impactful career. It seems like it would make sense to put that onscreen.
It’s not a career-defining, expansive retrospective. Of course, there’s some historical context. But it’s just a walk in the shoes of a woman who’s trying to be an artist in the world, and also a mother and have a relationship and be accountable to everyone that wants her to be at any given moment.
Let’s talk about the voting book. I’m so charmed by the concept, because it’s such an important one to teach. What inspired you to do that?
Exactly what you said. I feel like young people being inspired to vote in this country, in this moment, is the difference between having a democracy tomorrow and not. So when I was invited to make a book for children, I thought, “Hey, maybe I’ll try to talk to some future voters.” It’s from a kid’s point of view about going to vote with her mom. The book is a tool with which parents can engage their kids about voting.
I’m somebody who takes my kids with me to vote so that they see it modeled, so that they understand it as a part of being grown and a member of a society. But even more than a teaching tool, I hope that it will inspire kids, that it will get them excited about this thing that they get to do when they’re grown up, because they’re part of a democracy. It’s a really important, empowering, profound thing that connects them to everybody else, and is a way that we take care of each other, a way that we express our love for each other, and all of these really cool things. I guess I most hope that it lights a fire in a kid.
That brings me to the album. I noticed that “The Thing at Hand” and “The Knowing” seem to share similar concepts, but the latter one apparently was describing the ideas to a child. Is there a connection?
They are very related, but “The Knowing,” I wrote specifically to a child. When I was faced with making my first children’s book, I was having a hard time, and the only way I made it through was to pick up my guitar and make a song that was also a book. And “The Thing at Hand,” those themes of identity and ego, and the vast realms that exist beneath that or beyond it, are themes that run through the record.
I totally caught that, and I loved the lyric, “I defy being defined”; that sums up a lot of your career – and your life. How hard has it been to maintain that stance in a society and music industry that seem to be all about definitions, and judging based on them?
It’s been really hard, every step of the way. People want to define and describe you in very finite terms, and they’re often very reductive. Holding onto a sense of myself as this ever-changing field of infinite possibility, so to speak, is a hard thing to do. There are pressures from every direction to be something very concrete, that thing that this person or that person or the other wants you to be or insists that you are. It’s been a real dance of negotiating that all the way along.
What do you do when it gets really frustrating?
I’ve had to just develop this – I mean, I’m as thin-skinned as the next guy, when it comes right down to it. I am as lost in seeking affirmation from the world around me instead of from inside myself as the next guy, so it’s a constant challenge to go beyond all of that and to keep yourself at a distance, no matter what the world is saying about you. I’ve learned that you can’t rely on the world to tell you that you’re worthy and you’re good and you’re great and you’re wonderful, which sometimes it does, because then when it turns around and says you’re unworthy, you’re terrible, you’re horrible, you’re a sham, your whole premise of yourself comes crumbling down. So it’s still a challenge that I am trying to rise to, to self-love. The older I get, the more I believe that the ways that we harm each other all come home to our lack of self-love. So it’s not some kind of trite endeavor; it’s not self-centered or indulgent. It is extremely important to peace on earth that we learn to find our inherent worthiness within ourselves in order that we not turn our self-hatred on each other.
Back to the concepts you address in these songs. “New Bible” sounds almost like a manifesto; there’s so much to unpack there. In other songs, you just allude to an idea; for instance, in “Baby Roe,” you say, “I think we might be wrong about all of that,” which raises the question, wrong about what?
That’s another song that is interrelated on the theme of ego and identity; it’s … stepping back from this debate about abortion and reproductive freedom and going, this is ridiculous. Like, projecting your ego onto a potential human; it’s like, I am a being of light. I am consciousness and that’s what you are. And this is one of many, many lives and manifestations of this unified field of consciousness that unites us all, that we are coming from and returning to infinitely, that we are all one within. This idea that consciousness need be born right now, into this exact body, in order to be manifesting, is really silly. The whole premise of forced reproduction is based in this very stunted understanding of what we are and what life is and what death is. I think a lot of the traps that we fall into that are entrapping us more and more, sociopolitically, environmentally – it’s all ego-based delusion.
In many of these songs, you sing so sweetly, and yet there’s these undertones, like in “More or Less Free.” I was surprised to read that was about somebody in prison; I thought of it as possibly directed to oppressors.
“More or Less Free” is intentionally open-ended, but yes, it’s written from within prison walls, as a free person inside a prison, visiting and having very human moments and connections with people who live in cages all the time. But it’s a tricky business to talk about songs and what is this about and what is that about? I hate doing that, because songs are supposed to reach you the way they reach you and you’re supposed to hear what you hear, or not. And that’s not for me to say, really. They’re about what you decide they are.
But you know what I’m saying. Technically, that’s where it comes from, but it is very much about being born into a society, that dichotomy of – we are all born free, as my friend Utah Phillips would say, and then you wait for somebody to come along and try to take away that freedom. He always said the degree to which you resist is the degree to which you are free. So yeah, we are all born free, and yet, we’re not. That’s all that it’s about.
What was different about doing an album with somebody else calling the shots?
Everything of this particular record and process was unique. The remote thing, for one, which is just how it worked out. He and I would have loved to have spent endless hours in a room together vibing off each other, but we did it interacting through many levels of machines. In retrospect, that’s maybe exactly apropos for a record where I was really trying to bring the machines in. BJ, of course, is the one with the machines and the facility to be intuitive and creative with them, but we sort of worked vicariously with each other.
Because I was not in the room with him, I couldn’t say, “Ooh, a little to the left. Oh, a little louder.” It was like, I record the songs, he fucks with them royally, and what comes back is – I mean, we had a little back and forth, but really, it was overwhelmingly a process of giving over. Just saying yes to his artistry, like he was saying yes to mine. I was not prepared to do [that] at 20 or 30 or 40, and with album one or six or 10. But this is album 23. I’m 53 years old, and I’m more than ready to say yes and really delegate.
People have gone back and redone previous albums. Maybe 10 years from now, you might decide that you want to redo it.
Well, I’ve been in this music game and song-making game for 30-plus years, and one thing that I’ve learned from experience is that songs have long lives. And, that even when I was in charge and doing everything “the way I thought it should be done,” which was most of those other records, I don’t necessarily “get it right,” or the album version is not the definitive version of any song of mine, necessarily. In fact, I have no memory of making any of them. And sometimes when I hear them, I’m like, “Whoa, what?” because the song as it’s lived onstage and in the world is not necessarily that moment. When I had misgivings about BJ’s tendency to turn my guitar into some other sound, or eliminate it altogether, or sort of deconstruct what I sent him or something, I would think, “Whoa, is this cool?” And then I was thinking, “Well, who cares? That’s just how it sounds on this little piece of vinyl.” The song, it’s like a snapshot of a human; the human has many faces.
I love the line in “Unprecedented Sh!t,” “the bigger the heart, the more it bleeds.” But it also sounds like there’s an attempt to ignore that [i.e., “I got a lot of heart/ But I can’t afford to let it bleed”]. Sometimes, for example, with animal rescue, I have to stop myself from reading another story about this poor …
Oh, yeah. Dude. That’s all I’m talking about there, is how much we have to numb ourselves to survive being surrounded by pain and suffering and feeling helpless, if not being helpless, to stop it.
It’s a shame that we have to numb ourselves, but on the other hand, do you ever feel like that character in The Green Mile, where it’s just all going into you, and it’s too much to hold sometimes?
Yes, very much. I think anybody whose heart is not dead inside their chest is trying to deal with that.
That’s what I got from “New Bible,” too. There are some really pessimistic statements in there, but there’s also some real optimistic ones, a sense of, yeah, you can let this stuff overwhelm you, or you can look for ways to do something. That, to me, is a really good thing to put out there.
Yeah. Which brings us back around to the children’s book. The tools of nonviolent revolution are right there in our pocket, actually. What do you know? What do you know?
Utter the phrase “Broadway musical” and most folks are likely to assume you’re referring to the jazz-hands-inspiring works of Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein; the emotionally manipulative drama of Andrew Lloyd Weber; or the inventive playfulness of Steven Sondheim. But folk and roots music have a long legacy on the great white way — and a bit of a folk boom has been happening in those storied theaters lately.
Granted, Broadway producers have long presented shows that pull in the music of roots-informed artists. Folk-pop singer-songwriter Duncan Sheik delivered a stunning musical score for the groundbreaking Spring Awakening, cementing the careers of Broadway stars Lea Michelle and Jonathan Groff back in 2006. Let’s not forget brief runs of musicals that pulled from the catalogs of Dolly Parton (2009’s stage adaptation of 9 to 5) and Bob Dylan (Girl from the North Country, which debuted in 2020).
Of the shows currently occupying midtown theaters, Anaïs Mitchell’s Hadestown has run the longest, having just passed its five-year mark. With eight Tony Awards from its 2019 debut, the musical pairs the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice with that of Hades and Persephone. Though its original cast has scattered to other projects, beloved folksinger Ani DiFranco spent a bit of her winter and spring this year offering a stunning run as Persephone.
Ani DiFranco and Anaïs Mitchell outside the Walter Kerr Theater in New York City. Photo by Matthew Murphy.
Fans may know DiFranco trained for many years as a dancer, even as she was building her singer-songwriter street cred. She proves to be a triple threat in the role, embodying the storied arbiter of summertime with a deeply rooted, empathic swagger. And though her June 30 departure feels like the end of an era for the musical, her latest album Unprecedented Sh!t (released May 17 on Righteous Babe Records) charts some new sonic territory via her political POVs.
Further, it’s hard to mourn DiFranco moving on when it was recently announced that British country favorite Yola will replace her in the role of Persephone, beginning July 2.
Hadestown was briefly joined last year by fellow roots musical Shucked, which came and went too soon. Awash in silly corn puns and Tampa-centric storyline, its earworm score was penned by Nashville mainstays — and Grammy darlings — Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally.
Last month, Illinoise opened at the St. James Theater on 44th St. Pulling tracks from Sufjan Stevens’s sprawling, ambitious 2006 album of the same name, the show reorders the songs to depict a group of friends sharing stories around a campfire. There is no dialogue. Instead, a 12-piece band and a trio of vocalists in magical butterfly wings perform the music in the background.
Upstage, Illinoise tells its stories through exquisite choreography that runs the gambit from lyrical contemporary to hip-hop, some sweet Broadway jazz, and even one number (“Jacksonville”) with a lightning-fast tapper in pinstripes. Dancers touch on love and loss, fear and transcendence.
“Zombies” becomes a scene about the immigrant experience, as dancer Jeanette Delgado (“Jo”) tries to outrun the ghosts of America’s founders, whose complex legacies still haunt the present day. “The Man of Metropolis” becomes a comical superhero-themed character romp. And former Billy Elliot star Ben Cook (“Carl”) delivers a heartbreaking and inspired series in Act II to track an emotionally complex love triangle.
By show’s end, there is a pervasive sense of the opportunity art grants us to transcend our selves and build a better world together. It’s no wonder the show was nominated for four Tony Awards, including Best Musical. If it wins, it will be the first time a dance musical has won the prestigious award.
The Outsiders, meanwhile, is running now just one block away, at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theater. It sets to music the novel by S.E. Hinton, which was immortalized in a 1980s film by Francis Ford Coppola. Produced in part by Angelina Jolie, with a book by New York theater fixture Adam Rapp (Wolf in the River, The Sound Outside) and music by Americana mainstays Jamestown Revival, this musical version unfortunately doesn’t measure up to the other two roots musicals in the neighborhood.
Granted, perhaps it doesn’t have to. The Broadway League and American Theater Wing don’t seem to be anything less than impressed, having nominated the musical for a whopping 12 Tonys this year. It may not translate seamlessly to the Broadway stage, but The Outsiders is a story that has been beloved by numerous generations. It was a treat to witness members of Generation Alpha giddy with excitement to take in the narrative arc of Ponyboy and the other Curtis brothers — a story that feels to this writer as though it’s rooted in Gen X sensibilities, despite being set in the 1960s.
Choreography by Rick and Jeff Kuperman was athletic and stunning — plenty of leaps and jumps and long, denim-clad legs spinning in the air like human helicopters. The Kuperman brothers’ martial arts background comes through even beyond the inventive dance-fight scenes. There is water on the stage, somehow, and it splashes up from time to time, for some reason. It doesn’t matter why. The effect is properly dramatic.
Brent Comer, who plays “Darryl,” steals the show with his powerful Zac Brown-reminiscent twang. He has some of the most compelling solos, embodying the exhaustion of a stay-at-home-mom as he folds clothes and laments his lot in life, “somewhere between brother and father” since their parents died. Jason Schmidt as “Sodapop” matched his rootsy musicality with the second-act heart grabber, “Throw in the Towel.”
But it is Joshua Boone’s “Dallas” who is perhaps the show’s greatest revelation, with his Bill Withers-esque vocals on solos like “Little Brother.” Brody Grant as Ponyboy seemed a bit lacking during the matinee performance this writer recently caught, but it could have been an off moment. Eight shows a week requires almost superhuman amounts of energy reserve.
Or perhaps it was a side effect of Grant being in his 20s while his character is supposed to be 14. Indeed, despite the electricity of The Outsiders’ score and choreography, the script doesn’t feel as authentic as its emotional realities demand. Hinton’s book offered readers a revolutionary view of teen struggles, written by a teenager. Perhaps the Broadway show should have brought in some teenagers to consult.
Regardless, both Grant and Boone were nominated for Tonys (as was Sky Lakota-Lynch, who delivers a haunting performance as Johnny). For folks just interested in what Jamestown Revival did for the show’s score, an Original Broadway Cast Recording is available now.
All told, there is no indication Broadway is going to break its love affair with roots music anytime soon. The Avett Brothers are set to make their Broadway debut with shipwreck-themed musical Swept Away this fall. The show has previewed in California and Washington, D.C., and has received critical praise already. Swept Away’s score is drawn from the Avetts’ 2004 album, Mignonette, plus four other songs from their canon — a treat for the band’s incredibly loyal fanbase and Broadway subscribers alike.
Further on the horizon is an adaptation of the classic labor movement-inspired film Norma Rae, with music by Rosanne Cash. In an email, her manager indicated a possible 2025 opening. One can only hope. And, just last week, Dolly Parton announced an upcoming original musical, Hello, I’m Dolly, set to arrive on Broadway in 2026.
The 77th Tony Awards will be held on Sunday, June 16, 2024 and will air on CBS. Find out how to watch here.
Artist:Hannah Connolly Hometown: Los Angeles, California (via Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Latest Album:Shadowboxing Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Han, Hannah Banana, Hannah Montana, Hanny
How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me?”
Most of the songs I’ve written and recorded so far have been very autobiographical and written from a first-person perspective. I often write songs as a way of processing my life and experiences. With my latest album, Shadowboxing, that was still very much the case, with the exception of the title track.
“Shadowboxing” was the first time I recorded and released an original song that felt like it may have been meant for someone else. I don’t think I was hiding behind a character necessarily, but it was the first time I felt a character surface within a song. It made me excited to lean further into that way of writing. I imagine my next record will draw more heavily on the concept of zooming out and drawing inspiration from the stories around me, rather than within me.
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
One of my favorite shows to date was in Dublin, Ireland last fall. I was opening for my partner’s band, Young the Giant, and the crowd of over five hundred was the largest audience I’d played in front of in a while. I was a little nervous to be playing a more stripped down format opening for a rock band, but the second I stepped out on stage the crowd made me feel comfortable, supported, and excited. Looking out at that audience, being at peace in the moment and within my music was a feeling I’d dreamt of for a long time. To experience it in reality was surreal. That is a memory I am going to hold onto for a long time.
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
I first knew that I wanted to be a touring musician when I was a teenager and joined a pop punk band out of high school. We recorded an EP and self-booked a tour of the East Coast. Driving across the country in a van with friends, seeing new cities, and meeting new people was a highlight of my life up until that point. The minute we got home I wanted to go out and do it again. I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since and I feel so lucky to have returned to touring this year with my second album.
Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?
There are a lot of artists who have influenced me over the years, a lot of them being strong women with a clear message and powerful stage presence.
For me that list includes Dolly Parton, Brandi Carlile, Tracy Chapman, Sheryl Crow, Stevie Nicks, Ani DiFranco, Hayley Williams, and Shania Twain, among others.
Watching these women move through the world was an inspiration to me both as a musician and a person. I hope to pay forward the same kind of positive impact they had on me, in whatever capacity that may be.
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
One thing I’ve recently started to realize about my mission is that I want to show up as my full self, powerfully and unapologetically, so that others feel comfortable doing the same.
I spent a lot of my life wrestling self-doubt and fearing the judgment of others. Watching some of my favorite artists take ownership of their art and story helped model for me how I could do that for myself in my own way.
As an artist I aim to be free enough in my expression that others can feel more comfortable showing up as themselves as well. It’s a constant learning process and I find new ways that this goal challenges me everyday, but I am really proud of the ways I’ve been able to grow in recent months with this in mind.
Brittany Ann Tranbaugh is the first artist we’ve featured in Out Now that I have yet to meet. She runs in queer music circles, playing with many LGBTQ+ artists – including Liv Greene and Jobi Riccio, who were featured on this column last year, as well as other queer-identifying artists like Sadie Gustafson-Zook and Mya Byrne.
I’m very much looking forward to hearing Brittany live at our next Queerfest show, also featuring Liv Greene and Carmen Dianne, at Dee’s Country Cocktail Lounge in Nashville on February 24 at 7 pm. Brittany writes with relatable lyrics, warm, inviting sounds, and sings with silky vocals.
Our Out Now conversation covers her upcoming touring plans, her favorite LGBTQ+ artists, and how she balances creativity and business as an independent artist.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
Sleeping in, but not too late (9 am is my ideal wake-up time), making a hearty homemade breakfast with a good podcast or record playing, walking my dog in the woods, taking a long shower, then playing a queer country night with my band and a bunch of friends, enjoying some excellent drinks and food together afterward.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
I think I’ve spent most of my creative life on the outcome-oriented side of the spectrum, but I’m learning to enjoy the process more. Having a band has taught me to love all of the steps of making a song, because they can evolve a lot when I bring them to the band. My bandmates make arranging and recording extra fun and satisfying. I’ve also begun to open myself up to co-writing, which is a process I enjoy deeply when it’s with the right people.
Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?
I think above all else, I strive to create music I feel proud of, that effectively and artfully communicates my truth, that feels cathartic to sing and play. I’m incredibly lucky that a large enough number of other people resonate with it, to the point that I get to do it for a living and connect with wonderful folks all over the world.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Growing up, my favorite out queer artists were Brandi Carlile, Melissa Etheridge, Indigo Girls, Ani DiFranco, and Tegan and Sara. Lately I’m a huge fan of Adrianne Lenker/Big Thief, and honestly a lot of my favorite LGBTQ+ artists are people I consider friends, like Liv Greene and Jobi Riccio. Here’s a link to a Spotify playlist with my Queer Americana faves.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
I released an existential lullaby called “For Caroline” in January and in March I’ll be releasing a poignant short-story song called “Bushwick.” This winter I’m spending most of my time home, but doing a few weekend mini tours, going as far away as Nashville. I’ll be solidly on tour all spring and summer: April in the Northeast and New England with Blair Borax, May in the Midwest with Sadie Gustafson-Zook, June and early July on the West Coast with Joh Chase, mid-July in Germany and the UK, then back to the US for some festivals. I haven’t planned much for fall yet. Just leaving it open for magic.
As an independent artist, how do you find the balance between the creation of music and the business of managing, booking, and promoting your work?
It’s tough! I’m still figuring it out. I get easily wrapped up in all the business aspects of the job, because it takes a huge amount of that work just to pay my bills. I know that when I don’t nurture my curiosity and creativity, songwriting begins to feel tedious, then I avoid doing it, then my mental health declines. Recently I started two simple habits that have helped me access my creativity more easily: morning pages (3 pages of free-writing) after waking up and a phone-free bedtime and morning routine.
These habits let my “artist brain” wander, and allow songs to come easier. Another thing that’s been really helpful is scheduling retreats and/or residencies at least twice a year, where I get away and unplug from social media and just focus on songwriting and self care for at least a week. I did a communal retreat in a lake cottage with some songwriter friends last year that was life-changing, and I realized that retreats really work for me, so I made them a priority.
Like you mentioned, you’ve played shows and continue to play shows with other LGBTQ+ artists including Liv Greene, Sadie Gustafson-Zook, Jobi Riccio, and Mya Byrne, what has it been like for you to work with other queer-identifying artists?
I love playing with other queer artists! I definitely seek out fellow queer songwriters. I connected with all of the folks you mentioned on Instagram and now we’re friends in real life who tour and collaborate together. I’ve always been a deeply community-oriented artist. My favorite shows are the ones I play with friends. I think that the love and respect artists have for one another is palpable and sets the tone for everyone in the room. Here in Philly, I’ve been heavily involved with Baby’s First Rodeo Queer Country Night. We’ll be doing our third event in February. Those shows have been bliss for me: to see that many queer folks, who grew up listening to and loving country music, being so authentically themselves in a country music space makes me cry every time.
This is a collection of the BEST love songs in my life, the heartbreakers and the heart menders. The ones that make your heart burst and bloom. Because hey, it’s spring, and who doesn’t want a damn good love song or two in their lives? — Leah Song, Rising Appalachia
John Prine – “Angel From Montgomery”
This song brought me to my knees when I heard it live at the Kate Wolf Music Festival years ago. A hardened kind of love song, a love long changed and still just barely holding. But still, even the love between John Prine and Emmylou Harris is precious…
The Roots, Erykah Badu – “You Got Me”
I have listened to this song since my teenage years and it is rich, passionate, and real amid the throes of what life on the road looks like. What longing feels like. How to show up.
Hozier – “Almost (Sweet Music)”
The most joyful and epic lyricist around. And such a bright and catchy melody, this one is contagious.
Keb’ Mo’ – “Kindhearted Woman Blues”
Such a rich treatment of this classic. Got that salty form of simple, front porch, storytelling love.
Arouna & Biko – “Doubabu”
Nothing sings to the heart like the sweetness of this melodic instrumental by our dear friends, Arouna & Biko.
James Blake – “A Case of You”
I mean, this needs no additional telling. It just SLAYS.
Ray LaMontange – “Shelter”
The tamber of LaMontange’s voice is so insane, it’s another delicate one, but it reaches into the pain and pleasure of love.
Lankum – “What Will We Do When We Have No Money?”
A gentle, Irish look at love and the long haul. How to piece it together with your beloved when times are tough.
Beyoncé – “Drunk in Love”
Riddles with unapologetic passion.
Jorge Cafrune – “La atardecida”
Classic heart strings, plus the guitar just makes you swoon.
Rising Applachia – “Novels of Acquaintance”
Our favorite love song.
Polecat Creek – “That I Should Know Your Face”
A traditional Appalachian love ballad. “That I should know your face,” the depths of loyal love.
Maggie Koerner – “Shades of Grey”
Simple, open-hearted love song from the young vulnerability of the road.
Trevor Hall – “Chapter of the Forest”
A love song to the divine.
Hypnotized – “Ani DiFranco”
The classic bass line of this song plus the simplicity of the imagery. Sometimes, you are just brought to your knees by the wafting breathlessness of love.
This week on The Show On The Road, we bring you a truly inspiring talk with the activist, author, and free-spirited feminist folk icon Ani DiFranco, who just released her lushly orchestrated twenty-second album: Revolutionary Love.
Many things have been said about the music Ani DiFranco has created for the last thirty years since she burst on the scene with her fiery self-titled LP in 1990. With her shaved head on the cover, fearlessly bisexual love songs, dexterous guitar work and hold-no-prisoners lyrics sparing no one from her poetic magnifying glass, DiFranco’s persona became almost synonymous with a rejuvenated women’s movement that blossomed in the late-1990’s Lilith Fair moment. And yet she was always a bit more committed to the cause than some of her more pop-leaning contemporaries, who faded away as soon as their hits subsided.
Framing herself somewhere between the rebellious folk-singing teacher Pete Seeger and the gender-fluid show-stopping rock spirit in Prince, (who she recorded with after he became a fan,) DiFranco was always just as passionate about raising awareness for abortion rights, ensuring safety for gay and trans youth and bringing music to prisons, as she was promoting her latest musical experiment. She began playing publicly around age ten, and as a nineteen-year-old runaway from Buffalo, NY, she started her own label, Righteous Babe Records, that allowed her to operate free of corporate (and overwhelmingly male) oversight. Indeed, despite gaining a wide international fanbase she has released every album herself since the beginning — as well as championing genre-defying songwriters like Andrew Bird, Anaïs Mitchell, Utah Philips, and others. It was DiFranco’s encouragement that helped Mitchell’s opus Hadestown become a Tony-winning Broadway smash. DiFranco may have been deemed a bit too left-of-center for pop radio, but her beloved 1997 live record Living In Clip went gold.
Let’s get something out of the way real quick: was this male podcast host initially a bit intimidated to dive into her encyclopedic album collection after admiring her work from afar and believing the songs were not meant for his ears? Indeed. I grew up with girlfriends and fellow musicians who rocked Ani’s Righteous Babe pins and patches on their jean jackets like they were religious ornaments. What I found during this mind-bending conversation, and after listening to her polished and mystical newest record especially, was that DiFranco has never tried to push away people that don’t look or talk like her — or tried to mock or belittle conservative movements she doesn’t agree with or understand. There is a deep kindness and empathy in her songwriting that I never expected and in her 2019 autobiography, No Walls And The Recurring Dream, she acknowledges how lonely and exhausting it can be trying to fight against a societal tide that doesn’t want to stop and give you space to be who you are.
What became increasingly clear during our conversation was that DiFranco wants to make music for everyone. She prides herself on her quirky, multi-generational fanbase — with grandparents and kids, dads and sons, daughters and aunties alike singing along to favorites like “Both Hands,” “Untouchable Face,” and covers like Woody Guthrie’s “This Land Is Your Land” at packed shows across three continents.
I had my own goosebumps-inducing moment singing with Ani that I’ll never forget. The oldest folk festival in America, The Ann Arbor Folk Fest, once put me on stage to sing harmony on “Angel From Montgomery” with DiFranco at the acoustically perfect Hill Auditorium. I attended the University Of Michigan years earlier and I saw John Prine sing that classic in that same room, and it felt like a full circle moment. Seeing how DiFranco transfixed the crowd that night, and how the women songwriters and musicians offstage especially watched her with such admiration made me want to see what her music — which I had never fully listened to — was all about.
If you have a chance, listen to Revolutionary Love start to finish, and stick around to the end of the episode to hear DiFranco read lyrics as poetry.
Photo credit: Daymon Gardner
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