Tag: AOTM

25 Years of Greensky Bluegrass Connecting the Dots

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

On a recent afternoon, Paul Hoffman is standing in a parking lot in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Lead singer/mandolinist for Greensky Bluegrass, Hoffman is pacing around the backstage lot before the gig at XL Live that evening deep in reflection about questions posed over the phone – the core of which focus on the upcoming 25th anniversary of the groundbreaking jamgrass outfit. A while back, in the depths of rural New Hampshire, I interviewed Hoffman for another project and I asked him just what the original intent was behind Greensky Bluegrass.

“To play heavy metal music on acoustic instruments,” he replied, a sly grin emerging across his face.

Now, 25 years since its inception, Greensky Bluegrass has adhered directly to Hoffman’s sentiments. These days, the group has become a marquee live act, one which uses its string instruments to transcend all genres of music, whether bluegrass or blues, rock or country, funk or soul – or even heavy metal.

Case-in-point, the ensemble’s latest album, XXV, is not only an ode to a quarter-century of passion, purpose, and performance, but also a mile marker by which Greensky Bluegrass can measure their own road to the “here and now” – this realm where the passage of time doesn’t necessarily matter, only fleeting moments onstage with the ones you love do.

XXV brings together many of those dear friends and collaborators of Greensky – Sam Bush, Billy Strings, Lindsay Lou, Nathaniel Rateliff, Aoife O’Donovan, Holly Bowling, Ivan Neville, Natalie Cressman, and Jennifer Hartswick. Each of these special guests represent chapters of the band’s continued journey to something – somewhere, anywhere – that kind and curious folks congregate in the name of fellowship, compassion, and sonic joy.

With the starting line of Greensky Bluegrass being an impromptu Halloween gig in 2000 in Kalamazoo, Michigan, other pivotal dots pop up quickly along the way. Like the inevitable camaraderie between the group and other Michigan artists like Strings and Lou, who came up in the same scene and have supported each other ever since. Or, like Sam Bush himself – Bluegrass Hall of Famer and the symbolic face of the Telluride Bluegrass Festival – being featured on the project, reminding how the Telluride stage brought Greensky Bluegrass into the national spotlight when they won its famed band contest in 2006.

For Greensky, the friendships made along the way brought endless opportunities to play alongside one another at a show, a festival, or late-night jam. Opportunities that would always be too good to pass up – don’t forget, fun is the original point, and should remain so.

XXV is also a fresh snapshot of Greensky Bluegrass. The songs are pulled from across the entire timeline of the outfit, from their early days in Kalamazoo to the mountains of Colorado. From the bright lights of Nashville to the backroads of Southern Appalachia. From the blue skies of Anytown, U.S.A., to the sandy beaches of some international destination.

After 25 years, what remains is a band of genuine souls where gratitude is only matched by hunger and curiosity for what resides just around the next corner. Greensky Bluegrass, decades later, remain ready to surprise the listener and to carry on the pure intent that emerged those many years ago.

Now that this album’s coming out, whether consciously or subconsciously, the celebration of 25 years is currently underway. What’s been kind of rolling through your mind?

Hoffman: Primarily gratitude. I’d be remiss to not be grateful that we’ve been able to [do this for 25 years]. It’s a celebration, truly. It feels so cool. We’re doing [the anniversary shows] in our hometown and playing the [Wings Event Center in Kalamazoo] for the first time, which we’ve talked about since we were a very young band. And, you know, something interesting I’ve learned is how excited people are about this retrospective project. In true Greensky fashion, it’s this unique, hybrid idea. Like, “What if we did this? What if it took this turn? What if we recorded this and revamped this?”

We didn’t just make a new record, we stopped to reflect and commemorate in a way that was meaningful to us. And it seems like it’s translating. It’s not even out yet. It’s a unique perspective on gratitude that maybe I didn’t expect. [For XXV], I don’t want to say that it was easy or something. Because we did it pretty quickly and we didn’t have to write any material and we didn’t have to make huge choices about how to present it, because there already is an arrangement and an idea. But, in some cases, we did things differently because we could and we were not beholden to some authority on how it needs to go.

[The recording process] was so casual and creative in this really innocent way – “Let’s just record this and see what happens.” And we just kept recording stuff. We didn’t even know what we were going to do next. Every moment is monumental in some way or another, but 25 years is nothing to scoff at. And this all was birthed from, “What could we do?” With making new music and new albums, there’s a pressure to create something better than we’ve ever done. Or genuine to the brand we’ve created and to ourselves, but also exploratory enough [and] a departure from the norm enough that it’s new and exciting. It feels like such a relief to do [XXV], to approach creating new material from a different perspective.

How did you decide on the guests?

I wanted to find guests that celebrate our story, that are close to us and collaborators and such, but also elevated the material in some meaningful way. And there were real pleasant surprises along the way there.

What did it mean to have Billy and Lindsay on the record, seeing as all of you emerged from the same scene in Kalamazoo and have always supported each other?

I mean, to say that it was sort of obvious and natural is probably an understatement. We joked about why we chose “Reverend,” because Billy plays it [live]. But, I also feel it’s an important song. And for me as a writer, it’s kind of a landmark in my journey as a creative. But again, even though I knew [Billy] would crush it on the guitar solo, some of the phrasing choices he makes are subtly different than mine – I love it. And, man, I can’t stress enough, what a gift [“Reverend” is]. I wrote that song almost 20 years ago. It means something different to me now, and it has throughout my life singing that song.

You’ve always been a very sonically elusive band. Was that by design or just how things evolved?

I think that we just have a spirit to not be limited. So, if we want to emulate all the things we love – and we’d love a diverse amount of things, musical things – we honor the acoustic nature of our heritage as a band, but we want so much more. We want [things] to keep us interested and engaged. We’ve allowed ourselves that creative freedom to try anything. And we think we’ve jumped the shark many times. [Laughs]

With getting older, you also start having different perspectives on what you were creating and how you want to present it.

Yeah. You know, art is timeless in some ways, because you can change your opinion about it or the way you relate to it as you mature.

When you had mentioned that you guys “jumped the shark many times,” I think that’s one of the things I appreciate about Greensky – you’re not afraid to just take a leap.

It’s one of my favorite things about musicians I admire, too, are the ones that I watch struggle to either challenge themselves, push themselves, push their boundaries, or convey a message with emotion that’s challenging, you know? If you’re willing to make a mistake, if you’re willing to truly find the line of your capacity, you have to be willing to cross it to know where it is. I’ve always said – in my later maturity – that I wonder if I’ve crossed it too many times, and in sort of a noble quest with noble intentions. [Laughs]

That’s something I love about Billy’s playing a lot. Despite being one of the greatest guitar players I’ve ever seen, I’ve watched him up there grasping for things and struggling. Struggle doesn’t always have to have a negative [connotation]. To not struggle would be complicit and boring.

The upcoming Halloween shows in Kalamazoo are the official 25th anniversary of when the stars aligned, when you, Mike [Bont], and Dave [Bruzza] played together as Greensky for the first time.

When you started asking the question, my brain went to right about now, [25 years ago]. We met [a few] weeks before Halloween. I was a college freshman and I went to this bar called the Blue Dolphin, where there was a bluegrass open mic. I saw Dave and Bont play and approached them after the thing and was like, “Hey, I just bought a mandolin,” that I’d gotten in late August before moving to college. So, I’d only had it for four or five weeks.

I didn’t know what the hell I was doing at all or what bluegrass even was. I bought the mandolin because of David Grisman, who’s so bluegrass-adjacent that I didn’t know who Bill Monroe was. I knew “Shady Grove.” [All of] which is still just a remarkable thing for me to think about. Like, what hell would my life have been had I not made that choice [to play mandolin]? What a bizarre twist of fate and then here we are 25 years later.

So, you guys met and you said, “Let’s jam”?

Yeah. A couple days later, I showed up at Bont’s house for a rehearsal. Him and Dave would just get together and pick. They were both learning bluegrass. Everything was so casual and just for fun. They would have band practices where we would get together and learn songs and stuff. And I just showed up for the next one and then didn’t go away.

What was the name of that [open mic] band?

Greensky Bluegrass. They were already playing as Greensky Bluegrass, which was named by a friend of Dave’s that played mandolin with him a little bit for fun. It was a joke in jest, “Wouldn’t it be funny to have a bluegrass band named Greensky Bluegrass?”

I don’t think I ever knew that you guys were called Greensky before the official [2000] Halloween show.

Well, I mean, what is “official” is interesting to think about. They were already [Greensky]. It wasn’t their first open mic, either. So, the first time the three of us [“officially”] played was the Halloween show. But, I think I joined them at open mics for a week or two or something [before Halloween]. And Halloween was a party. There was a poster made for fun or something. We were on the bill. Dave was in another band called Seeds & Stems. It was a house party in a house that Dave lived in. [Laughs] A pretty wild party, if I may say so.

So, it was billed as Greensky Bluegrass?

“Billed” is still kind of generous. But, yeah, we played a set in the basement and in the living room. I think the living room upstairs was just acoustic and then the jam band played downstairs in the basement, like colleges do, you know? A couple days later, we played a show at a venue in town, Club Soda in Kalamazoo, that was kind of a legendary rock club through the ‘90s and stuff. It was small, but we played there on a triple bill November 5 or something, [just] days later. And that one, I [still] have the poster. I think that was our first paid show.

Were you doing covers or did [Dave and Mike] have originals, too?

They were playing just bluegrass standards for the most part. It’s funny, that [first] night [I met] Dave, he gave me CDs – Seldom Scene, Live at The Cellar Door, a Rounder Records bluegrass compilation, and a Bill Monroe live show. And [he] was like, “Listen to these. See you on Tuesday at Bont’s house.”

In hindsight, man, to be 18 and have that kind of freedom, you know what I mean? I’ve been recently jamming on electric guitar at my house by myself for fun. And I’ve been thinking, “I wonder if I could find some dads around to start a band with for just fun.” And that experience is so foreign to me now, because I’m so immersed in this thing that’s become my life.

Looking back on it, you kind of jumped into the deep end pretty quickly.

I didn’t take a mandolin lesson until COVID. [Laughs] I was self-taught, because I already knew how to play the guitar – “knew how to,” I use that a little loosely, too. Took some [music theory] classes in high school and college and I’m sort of classically trained. But, I was able to teach myself my own instrument for a really long time. I should have sooner harnessed the strength of learning from another, because when I took a lesson during COVID from a friend, I was like, “I should’ve done this a lot sooner.” [Laughs]

You know, so much of what I was learning in those early days was how to express myself as a writer and find my voice. That stuff always superseded my need for technical prowess. I think we all kind of share that sentiment, all five of us – how to present this passion piece is more important than how to do it. We took on this every-other-week gig and stuff like that [in Kalamazoo]. And the commitment to go play shows for the same crowd every other week inspired us to grow, because we needed to. We had that jam band sensibility of satiating the fans. What can we do next week that’ll keep people excited? What can we do that’s new? How can we make this better?

When you look back, you can see where the dots connect. But, when it’s happening in real time, you don’t realize what the domino effect is, where all of a sudden you’ve found yourself in this band that you’re still in 25 years later.

Yeah. I was 18 [when we started the band]. I’ve lived with Dave and Bont for 25 years of my life. I didn’t even live with my parents that long. [Laughs] I’ve spent 200+ days of [every] year of my life with those two guys for 25 years, and the other ones for many years, as well. It’s kind of wild. It’s so cool that we created this project, [which has become] just a celebration of our relationship and that’s so much more important than what it has become. We care about each other and we genuinely have a lot of aligned goals, artistically and personally. We’re still grinding for it, and I’m grateful for what we have.

I think we’ve been very successful. I feel less “grinding” now and more, “Let’s just go and have some fun and play some shows.” Play where people want us to play and not measure our success by how many tickets we sell. And I’m starting to learn that more now. It took 25 years for me to figure out that what we have is great. We’ve got something cool, let’s just keep doing it.

And that’s got to be a nice place to get to, because you don’t get to 25 years by accident. The fact the original three members are still there is amazing, because that story is not that common in the grand scheme of things in this industry.

Even in our culture. It’s not even [common] in business partnerships, families, friendships. And the reality of that – that I’m learning with age – is that relationships change and everything shouldn’t be measured by the testament of time. I want to find value in a moment that is for the sake of “now” and not some transactional [thing]. Like, if I’m nice to you “now,” then we’ll have this friendship that serves us both and we’ll be there for each other. All that kind of stuff is great, but I want to live in the moment.

I think what’s remarkable is that we’ve stayed together, because we’ve all grown and changed in similar ways and our journeys have aligned the whole time, or for the most of the time. We’ve veered away from each other and back to each other many times. But, when one of us has wanted something different, we’ve all kind of shared that desire. In a way, we’ve been able to all be very sincere to ourselves and grow and change together.

I don’t mean to speculate what other bands are like or anything like that, but I don’t have a lot of relationships in my life that have lasted this long. And not just people, but to things like food or activities I enjoy. The only thing maybe is the way I’ve worn my hair for 30 years. [Laughs] When we grow, our tastes change for all things. But, my [creative, intrinsic] tastes for these four other men have not changed.

Continue to explore our Artist of the Month content on Greensky Bluegrass here.

Photo Credit: Dylan Langille

Artist of the Month:
Greensky Bluegrass

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Michigan music isn’t just Motown or the MC5, Bob Seger or (ugh) Kid Rock. While it’s seldom mentioned as a modern bluegrass hotbed, the Wolverine State has become an unlikely 21st century hub of the latter-day bluegrass offshoot jamgrass. And at the center of this upland strain of music is where you’ll find Greensky Bluegrass, a quintet that is our Artist of the Month for October.

The roots of jamgrass go back to the 1970s, when New Grass Revival took inspiration from the bluegrass adjacency of the Grateful Dead and other proto-Americana rock acts, injecting rock and roll overtones into their music. It was also during this period that Dead guitarist Jerry Garcia went back to his original folkie roots with 1975’s Old & In the Way, a super-session album that would stand as the top-selling bluegrass LP of all time until O Brother, Where Art Thou? a quarter-century later.

Fast-forward to the 1980s, when New Grass Revival banjo maestro Béla Fleck went in some truly idiosyncratic and worldly directions with his new group The Flecktones. Then came the 1990s-vintage H.O.R.D.E. Festival and a generation of bands like String Cheese Incident, Leftover Salmon, and Phish that further obliterated whatever boundary remained between bluegrass and rock.

That set the stage for Greensky Bluegrass, whose emergence in 2000 cued up another chapter of combining traditional bluegrass with rock-band theatrics (to the point of even including a bitchin’ onstage light show). Greensky originally formed as a trio of mandolinist/frontman Paul Hoffman, guitarist Dave Bruzza and banjo player Michael Arlen Bont, convening in the fall of 2000 after meeting at an open-mic show in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

Greensky had plenty of traditionalist bona fides, covering classic bluegrass pantheon cuts by the likes of Stanley Brothers, Charlie Poole, and Bill Monroe. But they’d cover the likes of Pink Floyd, Bruce Springsteen, Prince, Talking Heads, and (yes) the Grateful Dead, too. That has continued over the years as their lineup expanded to a quintet with the addition of resonator guitarist Anders Beck and bassist Michael Devol. As an indicator of their eclectic tendencies, one of the studio producers Greensky has worked with is Steve Berlin (who handled 2016’s Shouted, Written Down & Quoted), best-known as saxophonist of the acclaimed Latino rock band Los Lobos.

One big milestone of Greensky’s first decade came at Telluride, the storied annual bluegrass festival in Colorado, where they won the band contest in 2006. They’ve steadily built themselves up as a live draw playing bigger venues, becoming a major presence at Red Rocks, the Colorado amphitheater that is the high church of jamgrass. This September, Greensky played the 20th headlining show of their career at Red Rocks.

As they progressed, Greensky provided an inspirational example for younger acts following in their wake, most notably a young guitarist from their home state of Michigan. Born William Apostol in 1992 in the college town of Lansing, he adopted the stage name Billy Strings as a teenager. Greensky was well-established by then and served as Strings’ mentors, collaborating frequently and giving him a choice opening-act slot on a 2018 tour. Strings has gone on to become a worldwide arena-level star, something like the jamgrass genre’s Nirvana equivalent to Greensky’s Sonic Youth.

Fittingly, Strings is one of the cameo guests appearing on the new Greensky album, XXV, which marks the group’s 25-year anniversary with all kinds of star power. Nine of the album’s 13 tracks feature guest appearances from some of the top names in the field.

Sam Bush, a co-founder of the previously mentioned jamgrass pioneers New Grass Revival, opens the first track “Can’t Stop Now” with one of his trademark lightning-speed mandolin runs. Americana stars Nathaniel Rateliff and Aoife O’Donovan turn up to provide lead vocals on a couple of songs. Other tracks feature String Cheese Incident drummer Jason Hann, New Orleans scion Ivan Neville and, from Trey Anastasio Band’s horn section, trumpeter Jennifer Hartswick and trombonist Natalie Cressman. Among the guests with Michigan ties are Phil Lesh & Friends pianist Holly Bowling and, from the Great Lakes State supergroup Sweet Water Warblers, vocalist Lindsay Lou.

Greensky has always been more than willing to expand tunes out to epic, near-galactic dimensions, and XXV has more than enough sprawling solos to satisfy the pickiest of jamgrass fans. Most notable is the 14-plus minutes of “Last Winter in the Copper Country,” on which Bowling’s rippling piano takes center-stage. Bowling also stars on “Windshield,” a longtime Greensky favorite that appeared on the band’s 2014 album If Sorrows Swim in an arrangement of just her piano and Hoffman’s powerful bellow – the closest thing to operatic bluegrass this side of The Hillbenders’ bluegrass take on The Who’s Tommy. That’s only one of the songs from throughout the Greensky discography that they reprise in (sometimes drastically) rearranged form for XXV.

In anticipation of the new album’s release date, which is set for Halloween, check out our Essential Greensky Bluegrass playlist below. Plenty of further Greensky content is also on the way, including a feature interview with the group and plenty of excellent picks from the archives, as well. Follow along all month here on BGS and on our social media pages as we celebrate Greensky Bluegrass as our Artist of the Month.

Photo Credit: Dylan Langille

Your Favorite Artists and Songwriters Love Caroline Spence

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Caroline Spence knows better than anyone the importance of community in the roots music scene. Since her 2015 debut album, Somehow, the singer-songwriter has risen through the ranks with four additional solo albums including her latest, Heart Go Wild. Stylistically, Spence fits within the realm of Natalie Hemby, Aoife O’Donovan, Lori McKenna, and Mary Bragg, with a smattering of Mary Chapin Carpenter sensibility. She has garnered praise from both direct peers and industry giants alike. From signal-boosting her work online to recording her songs, many musicians and artists have used their platforms to give Spence a well-deserved spotlight.

Throughout the past decade, Spence has used these moments to nurture friendships within a thankless industry. “The acknowledgement and validation from artists that I respect have been vital in keeping the fire burning under me when parts of the industry have threatened to put it out,” Spence tells BGS.

“No ‘suit’ can convince me I’m not good enough when I have worked with my heroes and have the respect of artists I admire.”

Lori McKenna and Caroline Spence after recording “The Next Good Time” together. Photo by Jordan Lehning.

Reciprocated applause and mutual admiration prove essential to building relationships, in addition to contextualizing an artist’s music within the scene for those fans who may not be familiar. For example, Miranda Lambert has enlisted countless lesser-known artists for her tours, including Gwen Sebastian, Ashley Monroe, and Angaleena Presley. These placements introduce her loyal audience to talent they might not have discovered elsewhere, thus giving those artists more name recognition.

Even more importantly, Spence finds these shout-outs and promotional spots to be her “life force” in keeping her inspired to push through trying times. “My primary goal has always been to be good at my craft and to get better at it,” she says. “To me, the most important judges of that are those who are masters of theirs, and it’s been deeply meaningful every time someone I admire has paid attention to, let alone praised, what it is that I do.”

In her career, Spence has tumbled into the orbits of countless artists who have shown unwavering support for her work. A big Hayes Carll fan, she covered his song “It’s a Shame,” from his 2002 album, Flowers & Liquor, early in her career and later toured with him in 2021 – a moment Spence describes as coming “full circle.” She’s also toured with John Moreland and Madi Diaz. In addition, she wrote “Heavy” with Carl Anderson for Andrew Combs’ album Worried Man and another song she wrote, “We Don’t Know We’re Living,” was recorded by Lucie Silvas, Brandi Carlile, and Joy Oladokun. “[Brandi] called it ‘a once in a century song,’” notes Spence.

Madi Diaz performs with Spence as special guest and opener on tour in 2022.

Despite not having a “game-changing platform,” as she puts it, she pays it forward by sharing “the work of my peers and what I am loving listening to. I think word-of-mouth from trusted personal sources is still the best way to get someone to pay attention to music.”

She takes a moment to shout out others, beginning with Ken Yates & Brian Dunne before mentioning several other artists she’s been listening to, including Angela Autumn (“Her song ‘Electric Lizard’ is intoxicating and reminds me of some of the tracks that made me fall in love with music in high school,” she says), Brennan Wedl & Mariel Buckley, and Danny Malone, “an incredible songwriter out of Austin that I recently saw at a house show in Nashville and was absolutely floored by.”

In our conversation, Spence names an additional six artists, from Miranda Lambert to Tyler Childers, who have uplifted her music over the years.

The National

 
“The fact that I have a duet with Matt Berninger is still completely insane to me. When I was in college in Ohio, falling in love with The National, I could have never even dreamed that I would cross paths with Matt, let alone have him sing words I wrote. I love that band, and his voice is legendary. It still feels unreal.”

Miranda Lambert

 
“[She] posted about my first record back in 2016, and that totally blew my mind. I had just been in the studio making my second record [Spades and Roses] and was questioning a lot, and that really felt like a sign to keep doing what I was doing. Part of my dream when I moved to Nashville was to write songs for her, so that was an incredibly validating moment.”

Miranda Lambert shared a Spence original, “Last Call” on her Instagram in 2016.

Lori McKenna

 
“Lori added my music to her monthly favorites playlists that she makes. She featured on a song we wrote together called ‘The Next Good Time.’ One of my biggest heroes and one of the people who inspired me to start pursuing this work.”

For our Artist of the Month feature, Spence joined McKenna for an intimate and engaging conversation. Read here.

Clare Bowen

 
“Clare recorded my song ‘All The Beds I’ve Made’ on her self-titled album.”

Tyler Childers

 
“I’ve known him since 2014 and he opened for me in early 2016 – a month after Miranda posted about my record, and she actually came to the show. I toured opening for him in 2017 and 2019. At some point, he posted about my album on his IG.”

Spence and Tyler Childers backstage together on tour in 2019. Photo by Jace Kartye.

Mary Chapin Carpenter

 
“We connected on social media and she eventually invited me to open some shows for her. A treasured memory was performing in the round with her at the Edmonton Folk Festival and her asking me to play ‘I Know You Know Me’ and her singing it with me.”

Continue exploring our Artist of the Month coverage of Caroline Spence here.

Photo Credit: Caroline Walker Evans
Inset images and screenshot courtesy of Caroline Spence. 

Caroline Spence in Conversation With Lori McKenna

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Caroline Spence and Lori McKenna are both lauded for writing songs that cut straight to the heart. In conversation, it’s clear they also share admiration and a generosity of spirit, offering insight into how a life built around family can both coexist with and deepen a life in music. The two met with BGS via Zoom to discuss Spence’s new record, Heart Go Wild, produced by Peter Groenwald, Mark Campbell, and Spence herself.

As Spence charts her first year of motherhood, McKenna reflects on building a catalog of piercingly honest songs while raising five children of her own. Together, they explore the mysteries of publishing, the influence of mentors like Mary Gauthier, and the butterfly effect of one songwriter’s choices on another’s path.

Their exchange drifts from songwriting craft to the role of co-writers in self-discovery into the bigger questions of life: how family and creativity intertwine, how community ripples outward, and how songs become offerings that carry meaning long after they leave the writer’s hands.

What emerges is a portrait of two artists at different points along similar paths, each proving that family life and creative life are not competing forces, but intertwined sources of inspiration and strength.

I know you two have a lot to talk about, but I’d love to start, if we can, with how you know each other? Did you know of each other musically first, and then how did you come to know each other personally?

Lori McKenna: I think the first time we met might have been at breakfast that time?

Caroline Spence: Right. I think that was another Bluegrass Situation connection. I think that was the first time I met you.

I had a good friend from summer camp and we would often trade mixes. She put one of your songs on a CD for me. I had already found Patty Griffin and was having my singer-songwriter love affair. That led me to The Kitchen Tapes, which led me to everything else. And I distinctly remember when Faith Hill cut “Stealing Kisses” and I thought, “Wait, that’s how that works?” I didn’t know what publishing was. I didn’t know how music worked in that way and that became a new little baby dream of mine that I carried with me: to write a song that was good enough that maybe somebody else would want to sing it. I feel like I would not be aware of the job that I have had I not found you, Lori.

LM: That is really cool. I remember not knowing anything about publishing, how it works and all that stuff, too. And I still feel like I know just a tiny bit more.

CS: I know, totally. It’s still a mystery.

LM: We were at a wedding over the weekend and my son Chris, who’s a writer in town, has his first single that he co-wrote that’s going to radio. So we were singing songs and at the end of the night, my brother was like, “Chris sold the song!” I’m like, “It’s not called selling the song.” He’s like, “Well, how does it work?” Nobody knows.

CS: Yeah, nobody knows. They just stream it now into the abyss.

LM: The only reason I knew anything was because of Mary Gauthier. I did know people who had moved to Nashville before Mary, but because I’m in the Boston area, they came back saying, “Yep, it’s very different.” It is very different in Nashville. I didn’t know anyone who had stayed before Mary, you know? I love being inspired by other people. I love it that that’s how life works, that you see someone else do something, and you’re like, “Wait! I can do that! At least I can try!”

CS: I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, the butterfly effect, and how that happens within our community. Like, if Mary hadn’t done this, then this wouldn’t have happened for you, and if you hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t have known about this, and I’ve been thinking about that as I’ve been in this creative community for a decade now. There’s so much stuff that you never know your little ripple is doing.

LM: The ripple is such a good word. It’s such a ripple, isn’t it? It’s crazy. We’re really lucky. I know you just had a baby, but the number of people that come up to me and ask, “How did you do this with kids?” Nobody told me that I couldn’t. I know stories of other artists that someone’s told, “You can’t do this and have a family at the same time.” I’ve heard those stories, but nobody ever told me that.

It didn’t seem impossible at the time. But now my son Chris has a baby. I look at them and I’m like, “Wait, how does anybody do that ever? How does anybody have a baby?”

CS: Man, some days it really feels that way. Most days it feels that way. No one ever said that to me either, but those are absolutely the cultural messages you absorb. There are certain gigs I might not get because of my familial obligations, but you just make your choices. And I’m not building my life around what I “might get.” I want to build my life around what I know I want to have. I just feel like all of that is gonna feed your person. You can’t starve yourself of these big, beautiful growth opportunities for some sort of potential. My life is bigger than my career, and I would like it to be as big as possible.

LM: And it’s crazy, right?

CS: Yeah, it’s nuts. Absolutely nuts. The fact that I got a shower this morning is a big win.

LM: Well, that and the fact you’re putting a record out!

CS: Yeah, yeah, and the record!

LM: You did good.

CS: It’s a little bit cuckoo, but it’s been done for a while. A lot of the heavy lifting was done even before I was pregnant, so that was an accidentally smart idea and we’ve just had to be strategic about everything else. I feel like there’ll be a lot of people who assume this is a record about marriage and family, which it’s not. I’m sure I will have that, but this feels like a record that’s more about the chaos before I decided I could do all that.

LM: From the minute I knew who you were, I’ve always loved the way that you express your feelings in such a way that makes other people be like, “Oh! I’ve felt like that! This song makes me realize that I’m not alone in feeling that.”

There’s something in the way that you write that is like arms are reaching out, but they’re also like, “I know you feel this way, too and it’s okay that we all feel this way.” I feel like that’s why music exists. For someone pulling over their car and being like, “Oh my god, okay, I’m not gonna die today because I just heard the song!” It is the biggest reason, the service of songwriting, as Mary Gauthier says. You don’t do it consciously, but it just is your way of doing it. It just seems so innate in the way you write.

CS: That’s so kind and means a lot to me, because that’s really how I feel about it. It’s been a progression. I started writing because I needed to get these hard things out when I was a younger person and as I started putting those out there, I would have conversations where someone would say, “I feel that way, too.” That kind of cemented in me to keep writing from that place, because that’s what music did, and still does for me.

What is personal is universal. I feel like someone smart said that before I did, but it’s so true. And Mary’s perspective of songs as a service resonates so deeply with me. There’s a quote I read when I was doing The Artist Way a few years ago that says, “The artist has to be humble, for he is essentially a channel.” To let the divine in, whatever it is, to flow through you, you have to get small and get in your humanity.

And when I’m feeling really in my head and when I don’t want to perform or I’m feeling self-critical, I think about what I’m doing as an offering, and it makes me feel better and more inside what I’m trying to do.

LM: I love the offering.

CS: People want to feel understood. As a listener, you want to find your soundtrack for your hard time or your good time.

LM: Well, congratulations on doing all this, because the record’s beautiful, as usual. You co-produced this whole thing, right? Did you always co-produce? Because this record seems, and I hate to use the word “rockier,” but it feels like it moves a little bit more. Was that intentional?

CS: I think a lot of that might sort of be a songwriting change for me. I feel like I’ve gotten better at translating what I’m hearing into the actual thing, so I think that’s a skill I’ve slowly developed from my slow folk songs for years.

LM: The transition is so beautiful. With the song “Soft Animal,” if I wrote that song, it would be just the slowest. It wouldn’t move the way [it does].

CS: It totally started on the page, too. It was very much like a poem. Sometimes I sit down to a piece of writing, if I’m going through my ideas, and if something’s sort of dead on the page, I’ll just start playing. That one was one where it sort of just came out that way. The clash of “Soft Animal” to something that felt really thrashy, the irony of that felt celebratory to me, and it was fun. That’s one of my favorites production-wise on the record.

LM: Oh, that’s great. When I work with a producer, you can tell. You can listen to the record and know that this is definitely different. But there’s been this really consistent line with you the whole time, which is kind of remarkable when you think about how much you’ve changed in life and as a person over the years. There’s this vibe that really just comes through where you can tell that you are a big piece of the production of everything.

CS: Thank you for saying that. That was actually a dealbreaker thing for me for this record, that I would only work with people who would give me a production credit, because I felt like over the years – and not to discredit the people who are credited as producers on my albums – but because of who they are as producers, it was collaborative, and there were times when I was making sure that my vision got to the finish line in spite of their initial instincts. I didn’t know it mattered to me until maybe I’d read some press that would bring that person’s name into it and it made me feel a certain way.

Producers are important because I think it’s really helpful to get outside of yourself and your own instincts, and to be challenged. But sometimes what’s helpful is to be challenged, and then you know exactly how firmly you feel about something.

For this record, I really wanted to know that it was collaborative from the jump. That felt incredible, and I worked with two people who had the best energy and a healthy sense of ego, and it was just really fun.

LM: That’s awesome. You come through. I’m exactly the opposite, because I can’t stand being in the studio.

CS: I understand that as well.

LM: I don’t know how you do it, because I literally only hear the song and what it sounds like when I sit at my kitchen table and sing it. People kept telling me over the years that I’d start to hear parts. So I am a person who needs producers… I’m just like, “Here are the songs.”

CS: Yeah, I’ve done that so many times, I’ve given a pile of songs and been like, “I don’t know what I made. What’s speaking to you?”

LM: Well, this morning I was listening to the album again, and I thought, “Oh, she’s gonna produce other people’s records someday.”

CS: That’s very kind and, honestly, a thought I hadn’t really had for myself, but I really did enjoy it. I think if I ever do that, it’s gonna be because of the experience I just had with these people that built up my confidence in that space. It was a lot of fun.

LM: You have this beautiful voice. I have an unpretty voice and you have a very pretty voice that you know how to use really well. You can say the hard things with that beautifully well-orchestrated production and then your beautiful voice, and it still makes you feel all the feels, versus I always feel like no matter what I sing, it’s gonna sound sad.

CS: I feel like a lot of the time I try to be like, “I’m not so sweet,” and grit up the production or avoid certain songs. I was self-conscious about it, which I think may be some internalized misogyny, because I have such a high female voice.

Speaking of songs being of service, babies and children come out singing, you know? It’s such a natural thing to do. We’re meant to do it. It’s joyous; it’s a release. And knowing the way it feels in my body to perform or really sing has changed the way I perceive my own voice.

LM: It is the first thing anybody knows how to do.

CS: Your voice has this wisdom to it. It kind of doesn’t matter what you’re singing; it sounds like you believe what you’re saying and you trust what you’re saying. You have this earnestness to your voice. If you were singing “Red Solo Cup” I’d be like, “That song means a lot to me.”

LM: I actually was at a round at the Bluebird [Cafe] with the Warren Brothers a couple of weeks ago, and they sang “Red Solo Cup.” I am so jealous of songs like that, because I could never write them.

In terms of writing for you, how have things changed since the baby?

CS: I haven’t had the same amount of headspace. My publisher held a sync camp and my mom came to town to help. I wrote for days straight and that felt really good to get back at it. As far as writing by myself, that’s just now kind of coming back.

LM: Is your son enjoying you playing the guitar?

CS: It’s a pacifying thing. I could put him in his playpen if I want to and mess around on guitar, and he’s super happy to listen. The other day, I was practicing for this Springsteen cover night that I got asked to do and I just started kind of riffing around. The flow started and that felt really good. I was like, “Oh, okay, it’s still in there.” I just hadn’t had the circumstances to put myself in the position where I’m visited by that energy. Being in creative spaces with others has been really nice right now, too, to slowly rebuild.

LM: When my kids were little, I actually wrote a lot. They all shared a bedroom and, after dinner, my husband would work on the house while I tried to sing them songs – sometimes terrible ones – or make up songs while they fell asleep. That routine gave me more time to write than I expected.

Two of my kids are songwriters now, though at the time they probably went to sleep just to get away from me singing the same line over and over. But honestly, if I hadn’t had that hour and a half every night with them, I don’t think I would have learned how to write. I wasn’t planning to be a musician. My children gave me the time and space to discover that.

By the time I had five kids, I started doing open mics. I never would have had the courage to get up there if I didn’t have my kids. They were my world, so if people didn’t like what I did on stage, I could always just go home and sing in the living room with them. That gave me the confidence to try.

CS: That balance is so important and it’s hard to reverse-engineer for people. If you move somewhere completely career-focused, you can get lost in that and miss the balance of family and partnership. I feel like any sense of longevity in life or career needs that.

For me, I’ve realized that to be a happy, well-rounded person – good partner, good friend – I need a rich family and personal life. Otherwise, my career just eats me alive. I think the reason you’ve been able to sustain your career and create a catalog of songs full of humanity is that you’ve always had that balance.

LM: Exactly. And it’s not just a woman’s thing. I know men who do it, too. But when you put family first, you have to say no to some things. You can’t always do that week-long tour, for example. But the things you say no to fade away; you don’t remember them. You only remember what you did. Instead, you stayed home and sat in the backyard with your kids and that’s the summer you wrote that one song that you’re still singing years later.

Love is supposed to be the thing you surrender to. It just opens up the universe wider. I’ve seen it happen again and again; even songwriters who know exactly what they want in their twenties, after falling in love or having a child, the world opens up in new ways.

CS: That’s making me emotional. That’s exactly where I am right now. I feel like my life is starting in a really good way. My career feels like it is starting over again. It is making me recalibrate how I want to show up in the world. And it’s freeing to have my compass aligned around my family. It feels like a new beginning. It’s really beautiful.

LM: That’s exactly it. Parenthood gives you a stream of love you hadn’t experienced before and it changes everything creatively. For me, it didn’t really happen until my fifth child, but it always happens. The universe shows up when you do something hard, like having a baby. I remember putting out a record in May, right around the birth of my son, David. By Thanksgiving, I had Faith Hill cuts. It’s like the universe says, “We should remind her that she gets to keep doing this.”

CS: That really resonates.

LM: I always listen to the last song on a record first.

CS: I love that because some of my favorite songs on your records are the last songs.

LM: When I heard “Where the Light Gets Through,” that song is such an offering, such a service. I don’t know if you want to talk about where that song came from, but years from now you are still going to have people tapping you on the shoulder saying “thank you” for that song.

CS: We’d made the record basically and we couldn’t figure out the last one. I said to the producers, “What if we write this one together?” Mark and Peter started building the track. I was going through ideas and I’d been writing a lot about my brother-in-law’s passing away. It just so happened that something I’d written fit almost exactly word for word and we shaped it from there. It couldn’t have just been me on that record, because it needed to feel lighter than I wanted it to.

LM: I know exactly what you are talking about. That’s why I love co-writing. You get perspectives that you could never create alone. Sometimes you can’t do it by yourself, and the song only exists because of that.

I’ve had that experience with Liz [Rose] and Hillary [Lindsey]. I had a song I’d been trying to write for a month by myself and I was so mad I couldn’t. I showed it to them and Liz was writing and singing it immediately. Hillary was like, “Do you know this song?”

CS: Do you feel like that is possible because you know each other so well that they can meet you where your brain is?

LM: Absolutely. And that’s another thing I love about co-writing. You fall in love with each other so quickly in the room. And when you trust yourself with someone, you can say the dumbest thing and it might turn into the smartest thing. I rarely sit with someone who doesn’t make me feel like I can speak my mind. With Liz and Hillary, Liz can read my mind and Hillary is like a musical and emotional genius. They both are.

Parenthood also gives you that focus. You don’t have all the time in the world, so you go straight to the point.

CS: I’ve heard many parents say they become more productive because they have to think differently about time and energy. I feel that now, with my baby being a little more self-sufficient.

LM: Exactly. And think of all the things you can do since having a kid! You weren’t opening drawers with your feet before, were you! Well, I love what you do, and I was genuinely happy when I heard you were pregnant. It’s a good thing for artists to step into family life.

CS: There’s a class of women my age choosing to have families now, balancing careers – it feels like a statement in all the best ways.

LM: Parenthood changes your perspective. You look back and wonder how you managed everything, but the flow and the creative life meet you there. You make the things you have to make because that’s what we’re here for.

CS: Man, there’s a lot of stuff I needed to hear today that you just spouted out. Thank you for spending time with this record.

LM: Congratulations. The record is so good. I hope the biggest challenge with it is all the things you have to say no to.

CS: And I won’t remember them, like you said.

Explore more of our Artist of the Month content on Caroline Spence here.

Photo Credit: Caroline Walker Evans

Artist of the Month:
Caroline Spence

Posted on by Justin Hiltner
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Author and artist Jenny Odell begins her impeccable book, How to Do Nothing, immediately driving to the heart of the matter:

Nothing is harder to do than nothing. In a world where our value is determined by our productivity, many of us find our every last minute captured, optimized, or appropriated as a financial resource by the technologies we use daily.

The book is a striking, heartfelt argument for a realignment of societal and personal priorities that decenters social media, the “attention economy,” and the ways each of our individual “rat races” have now penetrated every aspect of our own lives and our each and every waking moment. In Chapter 1, “The Case for Nothing,” Odell continues,

Currently, I see a similar battle playing out for our time, a colonization of the self by capitalist ideas of productivity and efficiency. … The removal of economic security for working people dissolves those boundaries – eight hours for work, eight hours for rest, eight hours for what we will – so that we are left with twenty-four potentially monetizable hours that are sometimes not even restricted to time zones or our sleep cycles.

These paradigms of and assumptions about “productivity” immediately jumped into my mind when I first heard singer-songwriter Caroline Spence’s lovely new album, Heart Go Wild. Released August 29, it marks Spence’s return to independently releasing music – on her own terms and retaining ownership of her own intellectual property (and the productivity that birthed it).

Over 12 original tracks, Spence is meditative and introspective, angry and tender, grateful and underappreciated, clamoring for justice and toying with the idea of giving up. There’s self-cajoling and there’s self-acceptance. There are aspirations, too, but the undercurrent of this collection isn’t ambition or climbing Music Row ladders or seeking any sort of superlative recognition. More than perhaps any of her other delicious albums – which also carry through many of these same themes – Heart Go Wild seems to be an exercise in songcraft, music-making, and album production that’s more in the vein of “doing nothing” than “doing everything, for everyone, 100% of the time.”

So, while these songs will surely elicit tears, spur daydreams, trigger longing, and untether dozens of emotions, overall they feel like one long, therapeutic sigh. A “deep breath out” to purge years of being underestimated or overlooked or underserved by record label execs, an exhale to eliminate any traces of ambition only for ambition’s sake, and to say goodbye – once and for all – to making art in order to meet the expectations (or profit margin targets) of others.

Since Spence’s most recent prior album, 2022’s True North, the shape of her professional life and network isn’t the only way her day-to-day has changed. She married her life partner, together they started a family, and the rocky relationship she had with the music business and its executives was just one facet of many in a deep self-searching and realignment of her musical and artistic priorities.

You can hear this shift in – or perhaps, recovery of – her values system in each of these songs. Spence has learned that “doing nothing,” that is, working outside of the machinations of the music industry, has always been her preferred method. And, just as she tends her bulbs, wildflowers, and hydrangeas, rain by rain, day by day, season by season, she now brings the same sort intention to her entire music-making process.

Odell continues in How to Do Nothing, “Our very idea of productivity is premised on the idea of producing something new, whereas we do not tend to see maintenance and care as productive in the same way.”

These songs – whether “Confront It,” “The Sound of You,” “Soft Animal,” “Dried Flowers, Old Habits,” and many others on the LP – indicate a deep, in-her-bones understanding that maintenance, stillness, rejuvenation, and feeding one’s soul – and the souls of your loved ones – is always productivity. Does it pad the pockets of suits in Nashville board rooms? Certainly not. Can it birth one of the best albums of the year? It does seem so!

Heart Go Wild is full of redemption – and the labors required to bring about a “blank slate,” a fresh starting point, and a re-solidified foundation. It may not feel like a totally new turn for diehard Spence fans (either sonically or textually), but there is still a palpable sense of the dust being shaken off and a new and endless creative horizon coming into view – tempting, tantalizing, and ready for Spence to gallop off toward.

As often as these songs are sad and self-challenging they are bold and dripping with agency. There are many moments of looking back and asking, “Why? How?” and “Did it need to end up this way?” Which are that much more impactful alongside their counterparts that say, “I know who I am,” “I know where I’m going,” and “I know who I’m bringing with me.”

Heart Go Wild places at its center – first and foremost – the loved ones Spence will elect for her songwriting and album-producing “board room” in her mind: her loving husband, their child, her family, her friends and peers, and her endlessly faithful rescue dog, Roxy. Spence is looking forward, utilizing the clarity she did gain from looking back to establish a new sort of workflow.

Externally defined productivity clearly won’t have the power over this critically acclaimed and musician-and-artist-beloved singer-songwriter anymore. (Though this writer is skeptical it ever truly did have that power to begin with.) Spence, like many of us, has spent the last few years, especially post-COVID and in the midst of growing her family, to learn how to constructively do nothing.

Now, with this stunning set of songs, she’s passing along those lessons to us. And, as we’ve already established, this kind of nothing isn’t nothing at all, no matter how hard it is to do. This kind of doing nothing is doing everything.

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Caroline Spence is our Artist of the Month! Check out our Essential Caroline Spence playlist below and stay tuned as we share content on Spence, her music, and her songwriting throughout the month. We also have a very special “in conversation” interview feature with Spence and Lori McKenna. Follow on social media, too, as we dip back into the BGS archives for all things Caroline Spence all month long.

Photo Credit: Kaitlyn Raitz

Artist of the Month:
Tyler Childers

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Next to fellow Kentuckians Sturgill Simpson and Chris Stapleton, you’ll be hard pressed to find a singer more influential on the Commonwealth – or on all of Appalachian music – than Tyler Childers.

The Lawrence County-born artist first began cutting his teeth on dark corner stages inside diners across Eastern Kentucky and in grainy YouTube videos prior to laying the foundation for the cult-like following that’s been enamored with him since with 2011’s Bottles & Bibles and 2016’s Live On Red Barn Radio I & II. The following year he burst onto the national scene with his Simpson-produced studio debut, Purgatory.

From a voice as gritty and raw as the black gold he sings about on songs like “Nose On The Grindstone” and “Coal” to lyrics that shatter stereotypes and perceptions cast down on his home region by those outside of it, it’s easy to see why Childers’ music has become a soundtrack for not just part but all of Appalachia.

Whether it be the combination of humility and holler-bred antics within Purgatory, the intimate honky-tonk vignettes of Country Squire, the fiddle tunes of Long Violent History, the gospel-fueled experimentation of Can I Take My Hounds To Heaven? or the spiritual embodiment of Elvis on Rustin’ In The Rain, Childers has found success by shaking expectations at every turn, keeping old fans on their toes and bringing new ones in along the way.

When violence perpetrated by police was front and center during the aftermath of George Floyd’s death in 2020, Childers opted to cap off that fiddle album with its only vocal track, the protest anthem “Long Violent History.” During a heated societal moment, he approached the tune from an angle of empathy rather than pretentiousness as he tried contextualizing everything going on with past events like the Battle of Blair Mountain. Then in 2023 he had his first hit on country radio with “In Your Love,” an epic love tale that he recast as a gay one with the help of then Kentucky Poet Laureate Silas House in 2023.

While some fans have been turned off by his “political” statements, his viewpoints ultimately led to more people going down the rabbit hole of Childers’ catalog than ever before. This growth has culminated in sold-out shows at fabled venues like New York City’s Madison Square Garden, Lexington’s Kroger Field, London’s O2 Arena and the Los Angeles’ Hollywood Bowl. It also resulted in recording a track for last year’s TWISTERS soundtrack, collaborating with Olivia Rodrigo for a cover of “All Your’n” during a GUTS tour stop in Kentucky, and performing during The White House’s Fourth of July celebrations in 2024. Close to 10 years removed from his breakthrough moment, the singer is as popular and influential as ever.

That influence is sure to grow with the release of his latest studio album, Snipe Hunter. Recorded with and produced by Rick Rubin in Hawaii in early 2024, the 13-song compilation charts the red-headed stranger’s creative and spiritual coming of age with stories of the band’s success. The project is sprinkled with a bit of anti-capitalistic sentiment (“Eatin’ Big Time”), a yearning to escape on a trek to India (“Tirtha Yatra”), his fear of Koalas (“Down Under”) and hunting for whitetail deer (“Dirty Ought Trill”).

Much like its predecessors, Snipe Hunter captures Childers signature sound while also sounding like nothing he’s released before it, a fact no doubt aided by Rubin’s knack for crafting material that sticks to the cultural zeitgeist like superglue. Songs like “Nose On The Grindstone” and “Oneida” – a story about falling for an older woman – have been in Childers’ performance rotation, on YouTube playlists for years, and traded as coveted bootlegs, but the versions captured for Snipe Hunter, with their additions of organ, synths, and other studio toys, has each feeling reborn and completely new again.

Collectively, the album feels rooted in country funk bands of old like Goose Creek Symphony just as much as it incorporates more modern influences like Charlie Brown Superstar (whose remixes for Can I Take My Hounds To Heaven? are sublime) and Eric Church, serving up the perfect combination of past, present and future sounds in the process while sticking to the deeply personal Appalachian flavoring that has long highlighted his grand storytelling.

To celebrate the release of Snipe Hunter, we’ve named Childers our Good Country and BGS Artist Of The Month for August. Throughout the month, we’ll celebrate Childers by going back into our archives for all-things-Tyler, plus we put together a retrospective look at his catalog of songs and recordings here, have shared a thoughtful examination of whether or not Snipe Hunter was created as a musical “prank,” and of course, don’t miss our Essential Tyler Childers Playlist, below.

Photo Credit: Sam Waxman

Sister Sadie Are
At Their Strongest, Together

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The last time BGS spoke at length with Sister Sadie, in December 2020, they were two-time IBMA winners, GRAMMY nominees, and clearly on their trailblazing way with two albums to their credit. Fast-forward five years and the group, now in its thirteenth year, is back as BGS Artist of the Month with their new and fourth album, All Will Be Well, following last year’s No Fear.

Sister Sadie 2025 includes founding members Gena Britt (banjo, vocals) and Deanie Richardson (fiddle) with Jaelee Roberts (guitar, lead vocals), Dani Flowers (guitar, vocals), Rainy Miatke (mandolin, vocals), and Katie Blomarz-Kimball (bass, vocals). Along the way to solidifying this lineup, the band notched a few more personal and professional milestones. Since becoming the first all-female band to win IBMA Entertainer of the Year in 2020 they’ve won three Vocal Group of the Year awards from the trade organization as well; performed at The Grand Ole Opry numerous times, fulfilled what they describe as “our ongoing bucket list” of goal festivals and other dates they hoped to play; charted several Number One singles; and were among the artists requested to perform at Patty Loveless’s Country Music Hall of Fame induction.

All Will Be Well is the band’s second project for the Mountain Home Music Company label. It was tracked at Crossroads Recording Studios in Arden, North Carolina, with Clay Miller engineering and Richardson producing. While the band did not set out to write a concept album, All Will Be Well is in many ways just that in its explorations of life lessons, experiences gained, and finding closure – the latter powerfully represented in “Let The Circle Be Broken,” a revealing take on ending the cycle of generational trauma.

Sister Sadie gathered together from various points to speak with BGS. Their six-member Artist of the Month interview, following, has been edited for space and clarity.

How have your many accomplishments to date brought the band to this point?

Deanie Richardson: We never intended to be a full-time band. We were friends who played a one-off at the Station Inn. That went so well that we decided to do another one. Gena started getting phone calls from promoters and we thought, “That might be fun. Let’s do it.” From there, we got a call from a record label and it grew organically, doing everything ourselves, because we weren’t looking to do it a hundred percent.

With every person that’s come into Sister Sadie, the whole band has shifted. The energy changes every time you bring in a new vocalist, a new player. You have to just let this thing guide itself. With each personnel change comes a new sound and you have to rebuild and regroup. I feel like that has happened since the last time we spoke with you guys. With Katie and Rainy here now, the energy feels perfect.

We finally have this team around us – booking agents, management, publicists – helping now and we get to focus more on the music and the amazing women in this band. So, for me, it feels like every step led to where we are right now, and it feels so right.

Gena Britt: With these personnel changes we’ve gained some wonderful songwriters, and they bring this creativity to the band. Like Deanie said, we’ve evolved into what we are today and that has a lot to do with being together, being creative together, growing as a band, and Deanie and I growing as businesswomen. It’s incredible to think of where we were when we first started and had no intention of doing this. And here we are. We have an incredible team behind us and it’s working. All the ingredients are here.

Let’s talk about the theme of All Will Be Well and sequencing the songs to tell that story.

Dani Flowers: When we went in to make the record, we definitely did not go, “This is [the title], this is the theme, and this is what it’s going to be about.” But it almost feels like we did.

We all write songs and send them to each other in Dropbox, an Apple Music playlist, and listen to them over and over. We put our opinions in as to what we might want to sing, what we hear other people singing, what songs we think are a good fit for the band, and it comes together into this thing that we almost never could have planned.

I do feel there is an overarching production style, even a theme, throughout the sequencing. But it wasn’t planned, which is the crazy thing. Deanie did the sequencing, and even outside of the band we’ve had so many folks comment on how it’s such a journey. I think the sequencing on this record is really something.

DR: The title No Fear was about Gena and I facing fears of losing some powerful personnel and deciding, “Do we want to quit? Do we want to keep going?” We decided we wanted to be all in, no fear, let’s get a team around us and do this thing. When Dani brought “All Will Be Well,” the Gabe Dixon song, I thought instantly that would be a great title, coming from No Fear: “We’re going all in on this thing, and whatever happens, all will be well.”

Once we finished the record, I started listening to the tunes. I would go on walks around the neighborhood, listen to the record over and over, and it felt like a journey. It felt like you’re taking a trip or a drive, starting with “Winnebago.” Jaelee’s singing is so powerful – that had to be the first song. You step in this Winnebago, you’re going through your drive, and then “I Wish It Would Rain” just felt like the next thing.

I imagined this person going through … call it a trip or just life in general and that being the case with this sequencing. It’s telling a big story. There’s a lot of personal connections in the writing and the song choices, from “Let The Circle Be Broken” to “First Time Liar” to all of it. This record is a representation of the deepest parts of all of us.

DF: Sister Sadie members had a hand in nine out of these thirteen songs. So there’s a lot of originals here, there’s a lot of our personal stories, our personal feelings and experiences, and it’s not perfect. I love that the record is called All Will Be Well. It’s not “all is well at this very moment.” It’s that even when we make mistakes, when we are in good moods, in bad moods, we have this overall feeling that we are going to get where we want to go. It might not be butterflies and daisies right now, but we know we’re going to get there.

Jaelee Roberts: The sequencing really is quite something, because these songs means so much to all of us individually. Even though I didn’t have a hand in writing them, at the time that I was in my life, some of these songs meant so much to me. The fact that I got to sing some of them, that they trust me to sing their songs, is so cool. I was excited when Deanie sent the sequencing to listen to our final mixes in that order, because it really is like going on a journey. The sequencing is absolutely perfect.

Can you select one track and walk us through the recording process?

DR: We all play acoustic instruments, so from sitting in my kitchen with our instruments, working out arrangements, that’s how we walk into the sessions. We recorded at Crossroads and we trust Clay Miller a lot. He’s great. He sets up the mics, we walk in and record. There’s not a lot of discussion as far as gear and mics.

The song lets you know what it needs. It will arrange itself and produce itself. “Winnebago,” for instance, has dissonant chords. I heard right away a B-3 organ accenting that. So on that song there’s electric guitar, steel guitar, the B-3, some piano. We brought things in that add an incredible amount of texture to our bluegrass instrumentation, our acoustic instruments.

GB: When we got to the studio, I had just acquired a baritone banjo that I hadn’t had an opportunity to play very much. It really lent itself to the sound of “Winnebago” and “Do What You Want.” I don’t know how to explain the feel of that song, but it just fit so well. So I played baritone banjo on a couple of tunes, which was great.

How do your playing styles and backgrounds come together to create the band’s sound?

DF: We are all such music fans, and through our upbringings and our own exploration of music, we’ve all been exposed to the best songs. We have pretty high standards when it comes to writing our lyrics and what we want to sing. We love a good lyric. We love creative harmonies. We have great instrumentalists in this band, so we especially love a melody with a really cool hook.
You can find that in any genre. Onstage we quite often cover rock and roll songs, pop songs, old and new country songs. Katie comes from a jazz background. Rainy comes more from West Coast bluegrass. Gena and Jaelee and Deanie all come from traditional bluegrass. I come strictly from a country background. You can find a good song, good lyrics, good melodies, in any genre.

Katie Blomarz-Kimball: My background is in jazz. I didn’t really grow up with country or bluegrass music. Since I’ve lived in Nashville for about ten years now, I’ve definitely dipped my toe into the genres, but it’s hard when you’re playing with some of the best bluegrass musicians on the scene to come in and not be like, “Am I good enough for this? Can I do this?”

One of the very first things Deanie said to me at the rehearsal two hours before the first show I ever played with them was, “I want you to play like you would play it.” That was important to me, because there is a really interesting perspective that can happen when people from different backgrounds come together in one group. And I think it can change, depending on what naturally migrates as a group. Adding some of my quirky bass playing can influence one way or another for things to have a different feel or vibrancy behind it that maybe shifts the music slightly. It’s definitely a fun part of this experience for me.

DR: We all come from different genres of music that we love, but we have country and bluegrass as a deep-rooted passion. That’s basically why we’re here. Because we are so creatively different, I think that’s a plus. Each of us brings something to the situation that changes it, adds to it, and you have to figure out ways to highlight or bring to the table everyone’s strengths. Once you do that, the sound starts coming together.

Deanie, you produced All Will Be Well. What does the term “producer” mean to you? Is it a democratic process?

DR: It is democratic up to pushing the red button. Everybody has input, but there comes a time when you have to call it, when you have to say, “That’s brilliant. I’m sure you think you could do it better, but I don’t need better. I need feel; I need it to feel a certain way.” This is a killer band, and they don’t need me to tell them how to play or sing. But there has to be some person that says, “You just wrecked me, you just turned me into a puddle on the floor, and I’m not going let you do it again because of that.” That’s what a producer is for me.

We all arrange these songs, pick these songs, write these songs, and at the end of the day, we’re making great records that I am so proud of. That’s not because of something I did. That’s because of something this band did. It’s a group effort. It is six very talented, capable women who I respect and value tremendously. It’s just that there has to be someone calling the shots, if you will.

Could we talk about writing “Let The Circle Be Broken” and presenting it to the band?

DR: We spend a lot of time in the car together, riding up and down the road, so we talk about everything. We know each other’s deepest, darkest secrets. We know the pain we’ve been through, the love we’ve been through, the relationships we’ve been in. We know everything about each other. I love being with a group of people you’re that connected to and that close with, and getting to be creative with them and make music together. That’s the ultimate thing for me. That’s honestly why I stay in tears all the time – because I love these women so much.

Dani, Erin Enderlin, and I got together right after my dad died. We were talking about all the shit I went through as a child growing up with him and all that Dani went through having an abusive mother. Each of the women in this band has experienced some form of generational trauma or abuse from someone in our lives. When we brought the song to the band, everyone knew my story and Dani’s, so it wasn’t a surprise.

Everyone was very supportive about telling the story and getting the song out, and it felt like the right time to do it. Once he passed away, I was ready to finally talk about it. It’s a very personal story, but it doesn’t say anything specific about what I went through. The song hopefully relates to anyone who’s experienced any sort of abuse.

We didn’t write it to make a statement. We wrote it because that’s where we all were, having that conversation that day. The more we talked, the more the song came to life. It was a beautiful thing and very therapeutic to write. I am extremely proud of how it came out, what each girl brought to this tune, and how they supported and loved me through it.

How do you protect yourself, mentally and emotionally, when performing the song live?

DR: Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I get upset. I just want to feel the song as I feel it every night. Some nights it’s just a song for me, some nights I just want to get through it, some nights I feel so much peace with it, and some nights I feel like he’s there. We played in Ogden, Utah, recently, and I could feel his presence and I got very upset.

One night in a theater I looked over at the girls while we were playing the song and I thought about each of them individually and how I know all these things about them. I know the struggles they’ve been through, the people who’ve hurt them, all the things they’ve felt, and struggled with, and beat, and have experienced in their lives.

At that moment, the song was theirs too. It was their experience as well. That night, walking across the stage as I’m playing that play-out at the end, I looked at each of them and told them I loved them as I walked by them. I’ve been doing that every night since, because I don’t feel like it’s just my song. I feel like it represents each of us. These are strong, amazing, talented women, and I’m so grateful to be in their presence every day.

DF: For me, this song is about the fact that we are in control now. We have the ability to stop the cycle that’s happened through our families and could very well carry on to our own children, if we didn’t take accountability, stand up, and say, “This goes no further.” So, for me, there’s not really a need for protection. It’s more letting it all out. Watching the crowd’s reaction every time we perform it is so therapeutic because you can tell there’s always somebody that really needed to hear what we had to say.

You both used the word “therapeutic.” What part does music play in your healing, in your mental health?

DR: It’s the only reason I’m still alive.

DF: To put it in perspective, imagine going through one of the worst things a person could go through, then to live your life and get to a place where … like, for Deanie, her dad passing away … to be able to sit down with two other women that are going, “I know almost exactly what you’re talking about. I have been through this as well. We are going to get it all out through the thing we all love the most.” And then to take that song you wrote that’s so honest and so vulnerable, play it for the people you’re in a band with, and have them all react with such compassion, saying, “Yeah, we have to do this.” And not only record the song, but there also was a conversation about how much we’re going to say about what the song is about, because some of us are really ready to talk about the things that happened to us, and we know that affects the entire band.

To have everybody embrace that, and then to get onstage and perform that with those people every night, to look at these women and tell them you love them — I can’t think of anything more therapeutic than to be able to say, “This happened to me,” and have so many people — the people that you wrote the song with, the people in the band with you, the people who made the record with you, and the people in the crowd listening and buying the record and all the comments we get on this song … I cannot think of anything more therapeutic for a person who has gone through something so traumatic. Other than actual therapy — I’m an advocate for actual therapy!

Rainy Miatke: Music plays such a huge role in my mental health and my healing journey. At times in my life when I’m not playing as much music, I can really feel the difference. Since I was a little kid, I’ve used music, writing melodies, writing songs, playing, and singing as a way to process the emotions I was going through. Now, being part of a band that is on a similar journey and path as I am, in my life and musically, and playing these powerful songs that the band has written about very personal subjects, it feels like we’re all in this together and here for each other, and it feels so healing.

When Deanie’s up there playing that part at the end of “Circle,” I sometimes find myself feeling really emotional and having to almost compartmentalize it, but also sometimes just letting it happen and processing some of the things that I’ve been through, too. I’ve found these people that I can do that with, and that I can process that stuff with through music, so it feels really special.

Read more on our Artist of the Month, Sister Sadie, here.

Photos courtesy of the artist.

Artist of the Month: Sister Sadie

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Sister Sadie, one of the most electrifying, interesting, and resonant bands in bluegrass today, have just released their latest album, All Will Be Well, via Mountain Home Music Company. The award-amassing collective of impeccably talented women have once again raised the bar for themselves, offering an LP with limitless star power, heart, and unapologetic grit – musically and otherwise.

Over the years since their origin – a one-off supergroup-style show in 2012 at the World Famous Station Inn in Nashville – Sister Sadie have undergone quite a few metamorphoses. As is the case for many bluegrass groups, where band names may be retained as lineups constantly change, members leaving, returning, and swapping out, the ensemble has seen many a superlative woman picker join or leave their ranks over the last decade plus. Somehow, over these many transitions, the group has emerged with a cogent, cohesive sound – and a brand and sense of identity that remain indelible, whomever they may boast among their members at any given time.

It’s remarkable that this musical identity and their mission statement can be so clear, but is no surprise with stalwarts fiddler Deanie Richardson and banjoist Gena Britt as the sole remaining original members of the group. It’s even more remarkable that this new project, All Will Be Well, truly feels like the most true and one-for-one representation of the band recorded and released to date. No matter what changes may come for this assemblage of women, their perspective – as a band, as songwriters, as collaborators and peers, as first-rate bluegrass pickers – comes more and more into focus. As a result, All Will Be Well shines, tackling generational and familial trauma, highlighting class and social stratifications, uplifting women, femme folks, and the narratives that touch on their lives, all while welcoming and engaging all of their fans, no matter who they are or how they came to love this music.

Most of all, though, this album is pure fun. Redemptive and forward-looking? Yes. Intricate, detail-oriented, and technically on point? For sure. Cerebral, heartfelt, and emotive? That, too. But is it also down-to-earth, danceable, and rowdy? Oh, of course!

Sister Sadie are a bluegrass band, but they’re so much more. The mantle they take up with their music, recordings, and live performances was perhaps lifted in portions from the shoulders of the Chicks, and Alison Krauss, and Lynn Morris, and Ashley McBryde. These songs would feel equally at home on mainstream country radio or your local, once-a-week bluegrass radio show. As driving and barn-burning as they can be, there are as many moments of tenderness, embodied love, tearful compassion, and boundless empathy – for ourselves and for each other. For every sort of “Goodbye Earl” winking moment there are equal touches of “When You Say Nothing At All” and “I Never Wanted To Be That Girl” and “Wrong Road Again.” Whether soaring, blazing, or slowly smoldering, this band moves in and out of each texture with ease.

As for any/all of the all-women groups that have been born of bluegrass, Sister Sadie could have at any point across their lifespan rested on the perceived “novelty” of being a band comprised of all women pickers, singers, and songwriters. Instead, they know firsthand that the reality for women in roots music is one that requires superlative skills, ardent commitment, and a polish and care often not mandatory for the cis, straight, male bands occupying similar niches. Sister Sadie are diamonds forged by such pressure, though, not just rising up to industry expectations, but exceeding them – while finding self expression, originality, and insight in their work. A novelty group this is not. A “mere” supergroup? Not that, either. This is a band, not just a collection of last names and ampersands.

It’s an obvious, forest-for-the-trees sort of statement, but these women are certainly greater than the sum of their parts. With mandolinist Rainy Miatke, guitarists and singer-songwriters Dani Flowers and Jaelee Roberts, who often split frontwoman and lead singer duties, and bassist Katie Blomarz-Kimball currently filling out the band, Richardson and Britt demonstrate time and time again that there are always more women to call who are qualified and interesting and engaging enough to join the ranks of Sister Sadie. And they clearly haven’t even begun to exhaust those resources.

The central messages of All Will Be Well are incredibly apt and well-timed for this particular social and political moment, as well. It’s striking to find these women, as on “Let the Circle Be Broken,” offering and accepting redemption from themselves and each other, instead of any external force or power. Perhaps, in that truth is where they also find their greatest strengths within the music industry, too.

From their GRAMMY nominations to their many (individual and collective) IBMA Awards, this jaw-dropping band truly does not need any external factor to validate their music, their mission, or their existence. It’s how they started, too, a simple pick-up gig at the Station isn’t a particularly ambitious origin story, it’s even passé. Usual. But, from the outset then, the foundation of Sister Sadie hasn’t been one of ladder climbing, belt notching, or industry achievement. It’s been about expressing themselves, making great music, and having a whole hell of a lot of fun.

It’s no wonder, then, that with an album like All Will Be Well, they continue following in the exact trail they’ve blazed for themselves, being, becoming, or striving to arrive at the best version of Sister Sadie possible in each and every present moment, with whomever they find among their ranks. And, above all else, doing it for their own edification and joy before any other purpose. That’s what makes this band a true supergroup. Sister Sadie knows that All Will Be Well, because they are determined to make that reality so.

We are so proud to have Sister Sadie return for their second stint as Artist of the Month. Enjoy our Essential Sister Sadie Playlist below and read an all-skate interview feature with the entire band here. Plus, we’ll be dipping back into the BGS archives for all of the many times we’ve covered and collaborated with this incredible group. So follow along right here on BGS and on social media as we celebrate Sister Sadie for the entire month of July.

Photo courtesy of the artist.

Watchhouse Found New Rituals Amid the Push and Pull of Change

Posted on by Editor

Chances are you’ve cultivated a few personal routines to help you navigate the world: one for daily life, one for weekly, monthly, and so on. There’s also likely a handful of individual habits that affect how you choose to go about your routine. The former, at times, can influence the latter, fitting within each other like a pair of nesting dolls, adjacent and similar in their roles.

Then there are rituals. Though these three recurring sets of actions – routines, habits, and rituals – would seem like easily overlapping bedfellows, rituals carry an intrinsic quality the other two lack: mindfulness. Rituals bear a sense of intention like the other two, but it’s often coupled with an element of symbolism or custom. It’s not just a matter of doing something and saying it’s done; there are other connotations or expectations that may influence why doing it matters.

Holding this notion in mind, it’s Rituals that Andrew Marlin and Emily Frantz of North Carolina duo Watchhouse have decided to name their new album. Through its 11 tracks, the married musicians posit an abundance of questions and actions, their contemplations placed in settings that are as clear as a simple back porch and as abstract as a space “through the looking glass,” “beyond this to and fro.” Settings that exist outside of not only any kind of routine, but separate from time and space all together.

Though Watchhouse’s new writings don’t seem to present rituals in their conventional form, the title still feels wholly appropriate. Marlin and Frantz’s reflections, wistful pining, and open-ended ruminations don’t lead to a sense of clear, expected structure that rituals would traditionally provide, but each song is lined with an abundance of intention, mindfulness, and hope for various outcomes. Sometimes these are overtly stated – Oh, I’m dreaming of a life with you in the sun/ And I hope our time together has only just begun… – and sometimes they are dressed in metaphors: Go fire your cannonball, go and fire away/ When the ashes fall we’ll start a brand new day.

There are defined ideas that Watchhouse put forth on the album: identity and awareness, the distinction between patterns and truths, how to develop a positive relationship with change, and what it means to evolve. All the same, while our internal responses to these songs may change over time, the very act of revisiting, replaying, and reconsidering their meanings, and how we are affected by them, can be a form of ritual in its own way.

Amid an extensive tour that will take them all over the U.S. and into Canada through summer and fall, Watchhouse spoke with BGS about their collaborative dynamic, how their individual artistic instincts influence the direction of a song, and the prevalence of duality in the album – as well as in their lives.

It’s been about four years since your last album and eight years since both your lives changed from bandmates to family. Given that Rituals focuses on patterns and the perception of change on our lives, how has the ever-growing longevity of your union in marriage — and all the ways marriage transforms a relationship on its own — changed the way you perceive and interact with the music making process?

Andrew Marlin: When you hit the road and join forces with other people to play music, it’s kind of like stepping outside of the norm and stepping outside of the daily life to go up there and almost take on a role or take on a character in order to get inside the music. You kind of just forget everything that the day often requires of you, because all of a sudden those requirements aren’t there. It’s just the stage and the music and the people that are there rooting for you to go deep, you know?

I think finding that zone with Emily has had its challenges in the past, because we’re so closely tied to each other. We raise kids together and we live together, and so doing all this traveling together and playing music together too, it makes it harder – or made it harder for me at the beginning, I think – to leave the daily routine and expectations behind on stage and just shed all of that and take on that character. It’s one thing to look at your bandmates’ eyes and get a little nod or whatever’s happening during the music. It’s kind of like this understanding of, “I’m not here right now. This is just me playing music.”

Getting to that zone with Emily, now that we’re 16 years into it, has taken a while to get to that point to where it’s an acceptance of all of it, instead of just leaving things behind to get on stage. It’s like we’re carrying all of it with us at all points in time. People that come to see us get a real and honest version of ourselves, trying to go deep in the music but also being completely aware of each other too.

Emily Frantz: I was just thinking about how much things changed in 2020 and 2021, living our mundane day-to-day lives in our house, and the transition back into being on the road again and touring. We’ve obviously been doing that for a few years now since COVID, but that experience made us relearn what the relationship is between our daily life at home and touring and [figuring out] how can they coexist in a healthy way.

Ironically, the album’s opening track, “Shape,” avoids the traditional shape or structure of a song (all verses, no chorus) while the actual narrative of the song embraces ideas that lean into a sense of purgatory and a nebulous state of being — the very opposite of what would help establish a sense of shape, boundaries, identity, direction, patterns, or truths. What were the mental and emotional motivations that inspired you to take the song in this direction?

AM: It’s like establishing the shape or the pattern in order to separate yourself from it. That’s what a lot of those verses are doing, kind of outlining the things that often make me feel like I’m in a box and I’m trying to get outside of that box. The only way to do it – because there’s no real form to it – is to imagine the parameters, imagine the spaces that it ends up kind of confining you in, in order to step outside of those [boxes]. I think that was the intention with “Shape.”

EF: And the way that “Shape” came into its final form, at least final the way it appears on the record, was a lot of the things that you said about it: It didn’t ever really conform and it got rearranged and had things added and taken away from it so many times, a lot more so than other songs. But it always did feel like the backbone of this record in a lot of ways, which is why it felt really right as the opening track of this record.

AM: If there was a shape to define that song, I’d say it’s a spiral.

 

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How have you fit rituals into your lives and have they helped you maintain a sense of stable continuity as a family and as musicians?

AM: I feel like since having kids, the day has taken so much more form. Because I think that, and Emily [is] really brilliant about this, giving structure to the day is super helpful for them. So that they don’t have to wonder what’s happening, so that they can really pay attention to what is happening. I’ve watched both of our kids blossom in that environment. Emily’s really good about helping to create that and make sure we stick to it. Carrying that on the road has been really helpful, too and something that I didn’t realize I was going to benefit very much from. Because I definitely, when left to my own devices, am like a sheet left out to dry – just flapping in the wind. To have a little bit of structure to the day, and have to enter into these mental zones with the kiddos, has added a lot of mental structure to my existence. I think that’s the biggest thing for me.

And within that, it’s about realizing what the day actually requires of me, instead of what I imagined today to be expecting of me. Finding those real anchors and a little more gravity to the things I’m working on have helped me shed old expectations of myself and what I think I’m supposed to be doing. I think that’s what led us to be okay with changing the band name and changing up some of the sounds and approaching this thing we’ve been doing for a long time in a whole new way.

EF: I think the thing that we are [focusing on] 16 years in is finding where the balance is between freedom and artistic expression, and also just daily life and figuring out how to have those two things like coexist and make each other better and not be in a constant sort of push and pull.

The first verse in “Beyond Meaning” is intriguing. The statement of your “gentle” disposition is nice, but its seemingly conditional nature gives pause — particularly when considering that life is noisy and out of our control more often than not. What is it that you’re trying to say about your own identity and awareness of how you cope with the noise and bustle of everyday living?

AM: I feel like what I was getting at is to view it as though it’s external noise. But it’s actually internal noise. That’s often the thing that keeps me from my peace and keeps me from being gentle. It’s my own defenses and my own self-consciousness that end up creating all of this noise. It paints the external noise in a negative light. When I can control that and remember to keep my own defenses at bay and be open and actually present, the idea that maybe this external noise is not a malicious one keeps me gentle and then often what comes from that is a gentle interaction. So it’s more about controlling the internal noise in order to actually experience the external factors.

Out of the 11 songs on the album, Emily is the primary vocalist only for “Firelight.” Why was Emily the right fit to sing the story of this one song? And more broadly, what went into your shared thought process on when, and for how long, you two would sing together? Is it a purely harmony and arrangement-based decision, or do the emotions of a song influence how each vocal arrangement is structured?

EF: A lot of times it can be pretty cut and dry. If we’re deciding who should sing lead on a song, it might just have to do with the range or the key, where we think it sounds good. Sometimes that plays into it maybe even more than the lyrics or the subject matter. With Andrew doing the songwriting, he’s always been more of the primary lead vocalist. Oftentimes, by the time we’re arranging a tune and finding out how we want to present it, it’s very cemented in his voice. But then a lot of times, there will be tunes that we’re struggling with and we’re not quite finding it. By switching out who’s singing, it reframes the whole song and allows us to not just change the lead vocalist, but to find a whole different zone for the song in terms of what we hear and how it gets arranged and recorded. That was the case with “Firelight.” We had so many different versions of that song over the years leading up to recording – different time signatures, different instrumentation – and that was one of the last ones that came together for this album. Most of it got done after the initial tracking session because we were searching on it for a long time and I think I like it more and more the longer I sit with it, the more I hear it.

AM: Often people do want to know why Emily’s not singing more tunes or why the roles are what they are. But I think it’s really important to shine a little light on what Emily does behind the scenes when she’s not singing. The way she plays rhythm and plays violin or whatever instrument she’s on, it ends up being this anchor for everyone in the band. The way that offers complete structure to what we’re doing and allows everything else to sway around that a little bit, I feel like even when she’s not singing, her musical voice is such a strong presence in the music. I’ve heard her say this before, like when she’s playing violin, she’d rather not sing lead because it’s almost like having to sing with two voices. That became part of the structure of what we’ve been doing all along, not just with the lead vocal. The feel of the song and the rhythm and the chord structure and the flow of it all often is hinged on what Emily ends up doing. I think that’s just as important as her taking a lead vocal.

EF: I’ve really, over the years of us playing music together, come around to enjoying singing lead when we find the song that feels good in my range. But for the most part, I’d rather be singing harmony to Andrew and that definitely brings me just as much, if not more, fulfillment than singing lead on a song.

“Endless Highway (Pt. 1)” and “Sway / Endless Highway (Pt. 2)” leave a much heavier state of reflection than that of “Patterns,” the song you chose as the album’s finale. Were the lighter tone of the music and the lyrics a driving factor for why these last three songs are in this order? Did you want to avoid an ending that leaves the listener with a more uncertain emotional state?

AM: I’ll start off by saying Ryan Gustafson, who produced this record with us, actually ended up coming up with this track order. Having not listened to it that way and then taking Ryan’s perspective on it, it was like being able to listen to these songs in their entirety for the first time. All of a sudden, I was getting feelings from these recordings that I hadn’t gotten yet.

“Endless Highway (Pt. 1)” is a heavier song and talks about a really traumatic event that Emily and I went through and that long drone at the end of it kind of dances around the dread of that. Then into “Sway,” it’s more of a coming out of that [feeling]. How do we peek our heads out of the hole once we’ve gone down and slowly crawl back out? To finally get into “Endless Highway (Pt. 2),” where it feels like a real revelation and a real triumphant part of the record? So, you get to the top of the mountain on this song. But I do believe that while those revelations come, we get to the top of those mountains, everything’s clear, and there’s so much lightness and clarity around us, we still have to wake up the next morning, make coffee, make breakfast, get kids to school, go and run errands and carry that little mountain of revelation with us everywhere we go.

I think that the heaviness and the profoundness of that idea ends up giving way to these smaller, mundane parts of our life. That’s what “Patterns” feels like to me. It’s an admission that if we can hold on to those little revelations and the clarity they offered us, hopefully it’ll keep us light by offering us that little reminder of hope.

EF: Going back to what Andrew was just saying about having these big events or these heavy, emotional things happen, and then having to go on with our lives, and the push and pull of that – there’s frustration and beauty in it. I love the order of those [last few] tracks, because I feel both the “Endless Highways” and “Sway” are songs that were written in the middle of this album being written and there’s a lot of anguish from a lot of different sources in those songs. And then “Patterns” was the last song that was written for the album before we recorded it, so it feels like it has a certain clarity to it. Going down in the trench and making your way back up, even though it’s still really just posing a lot of the same questions [as the beginning of the album], but from a more settled state of mind.

What truths about yourselves and how you view the world have you discovered and accepted since finishing Rituals? How many of the questions you’ve posed through these songs do you feel you’ve managed to settle on answers for?

AM: I don’t think I would often look closely enough at how I was making a person feel, as much as I would look at the way the person was. I think that’s becoming more of my truth these days, just to trust that showing up open-minded with awareness and consciousness, focused on experiencing rather than projecting, is probably the closest to any truths that have come out of writing these songs and getting to the end of this record. The takeaway is that it’s not like we found answers, necessarily.

EF: It’s all just a pursuit, always.

AM: You know, it’s not always about finding answers. It’s about finding out–

AM/EF: It’s figuring out what the question is.

Photo Credit: Jillian Clark

Explore more of our Artist of the Month coverage here.

Artist of the Month: Watchhouse

Posted on by Editor

What picker doesn’t dream of a bluegrass jam meet-cute? For Andrew Marlin and Emily Frantz, a fateful inauguration day jam in 2009 not only introduced each to their lifelong beloved, but also sowed the seeds for a renowned roots duo – Watchhouse.

In a radio interview with WNCW, Marlin recalls the pair’s chemistry felt immediately apparent, with Frantz’s harmonies lending new life to The Carter Family standard “Bury Me Beneath the Willow,” one of Marlin’s jamming mainstays at the time.

The North Carolina-based duo got right to work, gigging across the backyards and front porches of their Chapel Hill community. Both multi-instrumentalists and vocalists in their own right, Marlin took on the role as primary songwriter/guitarist/banjoist/mandolinist/vocalist, with Frantz augmenting via fiddle/vocals/guitar throughout their articulate arrangements.

By 2011, the pair had released two full-length albums, Quiet Little Room (2010) and Haste Make/Hard Hearted Stranger (2011) under the name Mandolin Orange. Though they would later outgrow the moniker, Mandolin Orange utilized just two instruments to primarily sculpt the duo’s sound – the mandolin and the orange fiddle. With lyrical depth and sensitive instrumental synastry, they established themselves as adept songweavers in the roots scene.

The year 2013 saw the pair signed to Yep Roc Records, a celebrated North Carolina label, starting a distinct shift in their visibility and distribution. Their debut release under the new label that year, This Side of Jordan, earned attention from an expanding national audience, with NPR deeming the record “effortless and beautiful.” They would go on to release three more albums with Yep Roc before shedding the Mandolin Orange title in 2021. Having conceived of the name Mandolin Orange in their early twenties, Marlin remarked that the shift to Watchhouse signaled leaning into intentionality, as the two had “long been burdened by the dichotomy between our band name and the music we strive to create.” As their palates developed, the sense of intimacy in Marlin’s songwriting ripened over time. Their 2019 release, Tides of a Teardrop, an album brimming with tenderness, honesty, and grief, reckoned with Marlin’s mother’s early death.

Propelled to rename the project with similar authenticity, the name Watchhouse emerged after a year of percolating during COVID quarantine. Their subsequent self-titled album, Watchhouse (2021), centered a sonic expansiveness that reached past the confines established and upheld by their moniker of old. Additionally, the duo gained full creative control as their own label, Tiptoe Tiger Music, released the record, partnering with Thirty Tigers for distribution. Layered with novel tones that veer into the vicinity of pop, Watchhouse maintains its makers’ telltale warmth and intimacy while dressing the project in a new glow.

Notably, many of these evolutions occurred in tandem with the birth and growth of Marlin and Frantz’s daughter, Ruby, who was born in late 2018. When asked by BGS back in 2021 about the influence becoming a parent has had on his songwriting, Marlin responded, “I would love to help pave a safe path for my daughter and hopefully inspire some of our listeners to be kind and open up a kind world for her to go into. And that’s made its way into my perspective even in songs where I’m not talking about it.” The songs grapple with a wide range of muses, from parenthood to life during climate change, remaining buoyant despite the weightiness of it all.

That tenor of pondering accompanies Watchhouse into the release of their 2025 album, Rituals, which entered the world on May 30 via Tiptoe Tiger Music/Thirty Tigers. The provocative 11-track collection, true to the duo’s thematic strengths, interrogates the circular nature of humanity, inspecting the relationship between steadfast, cyclical ritual and ever-evolving change.

Of the title track, Marlin states in the song’s press release, “When my circumstances change, who I think I am changes, and then my established rituals and patterns no longer serve me. This song is a leap of faith, a message to anyone feeling like they are struggling to leave a former self behind. We cement ourselves through constant sharing and projection, and it feels like it’s in direct conflict with staying present and evolving. ‘Rituals’ is a song of empathy, both for myself and for others – an acknowledgment of the celebrated nobody in us all.”

Throughout the album, Marlin’s songwriting investigates these themes, brought to life by a stunning range of vocal and instrumental performances, from harmonium to pedal steel to drum kit. Frantz and Marlin strike a vocal blend as warmly entangled as ever; listening to the two sing in harmony feels akin to being mesmerized by a crackling campfire dancing beneath the starlight. Frantz even graces listeners with a rare display of lead vocals on the track fittingly called “Firelight.”

In 2019, following the release of Tides of a Teardrop, Frantz told The Boot, “I like to play more of a supportive role, as someone who’s not doing much of the songwriting and someone who likes to sing harmony more so than lead. It’s always been what I’ve gravitated to – trying to complement the song as honestly as I can without taking too much ownership over it.”

“Firelight,” therefore, feels like a glimmering gem, a highly yearned-for showcasing of Frantz’s lilting vocals. Her timber and sway sift thoughtfully through Marlin’s lyrics of memory and connection, further infusing the album’s universe with a soft haze of timelessness.

The album art adds yet another dimension to these motifs. Its subtle depiction of domestic ritual (clotheslines, coffee machines, mugs, pots, etc.), emulates the familiar tenderness with which Watchhouse posits their profound inquiries. Reckoning with the simplicity of this imagery provokes listeners to explore the songs’ ponderings in the mundane alongside the larger overarching picture. Grown with an immense deal of care and attention, Rituals is a sonically transcendent record that begets deep inner stirrings within its listeners.

With Watchhouse presently in the midst of their album release tour, the entire BGS team is simply elated to name this dynamic pair our Artist of the Month. For all of June, we’ll be resharing articles, interviews, and music from the incredible duo from the BGS archives. Plus, don’t miss our brand new, exclusive interview with Marlin and Frantz and a special edition episode of Basic Folk featuring the duo in conversation with Jacob Sharp (of Mipso), as well. Check out our Essential Watchhouse Playlist below and, if you’re lucky, catch these wondrous performers on the road this festival season!

Photo Credit: Jillian Clark