Tag: AOTM

Artist of the Month: Billy Strings

Posted on by Editor

Billy Strings takes things up a notch for Renewal, a long-awaited collection of original songs produced by Jonathan Wilson. But is it bluegrass? Or is it rock ‘n’ roll? Perhaps more on the psychedelic side? Truly there’s no right (or wrong) answer to these questions. As Strings himself puts it, “I’ve learned, you’ve just got to let the song do its thing. So that’s what I try to do — write songs and let them come out however they do.”

Billy Strings is no stranger to the festival circuit, bluegrass or otherwise. His career trajectory over the last few years has netted him international acclaim, a handful of IBMA Awards — including Entertainer of the Year at this year’s IBMA Awards show — and even a Grammy for his 2019 album, Home. A Michigan native who now lives in Nashville, Strings says, “I called my last record Home, and then a few months later that’s where we all got stuck. Right now, we’re heading back into opening back up, and doing some more touring with real concerts and real shows. Hopefully we can renew everything. I think it’s an interesting word. It reminds me of how every morning is a renewed day and another chance.”

With Renewal, Strings seizes upon the opportunity to surprise his listeners and to expand his own musical horizons. By winning the Grammy, he discovered a newfound confidence to consider every creative path that presented itself. Because he’s bringing in his touring bandmates Billy Failing (banjo, vocals, piano), Royal Masat (bass, vocals), and Jarrod Walker (mandolin, vocals, guitar), as well as guests John Mailander (violin), Spencer Cullum Jr. (pedal steel) and Grant Millikem (synth), Renewal is far more than just a singer-songwriter record, even if it exposes his own mindset more than any of his material to date.

“I listen to this album now and it’s emotional,” he says. “I could sit there and tweak it forever, but there’s a point where it’s like building a house of cards. Yeah, I could add an extra tower on top, but it might collapse. I’ve always doubted myself, and I still do, but this album makes me think, ‘Hey, you’re doing all right, kid. You just need to keep going.’”

Read our exclusive two-part interview with Billy Strings here, and enjoy our BGS Essentials playlist below.

Photo credit: Jesse Faatz

Béla Fleck Explains How ‘The Beverly Hillbillies’ Set Him on a Bluegrass Path

Posted on by Editor

Béla Fleck came to the banjo in quite possibly the oddest way imaginable — via The Beverly Hillbillies when he was a kid. Hearing Scruggs-style banjo on “The Ballad of Jed Clampett” while watching television, he was instantly smitten and fell in love with the sound. But he chose not to tell anyone.

“It would have made no sense to anybody else why I liked it so much, but it just took my breath away,” Fleck remembers. “It was this odd moment at my grandparents’ house, watching TV with my brother even though he doesn’t remember it at all. I never thought I could actually play that. It seemed impossible, not within human grasp.”

Afterward, Fleck got his mom to teach him enough guitar to play folk songs casually. He liked playing guitar, although it did not fire his imagination. But after his grandfather saw him playing guitar, he came upon a banjo at a garage sale and bought it for his grandson, who was 15 and about to start high school.

“Just this flukey thing,” Fleck says with a laugh. “’Here, you like stringed instruments, this was at a garage sale.’ I would never have had the nerve to buy one myself, and he bought it for me not even knowing my interest in it. Bringing it home on the train, I ran into a guy who asked if I knew how to play. I didn’t, so he tuned it in G, handed it back to me and I never put it down. Got a Pete Seeger book and got to work. It was a really profound thing and I became Type-A obsessed. Still am. I’m always thinking about it.”

That work ethic never changed, either. Bob Burtman was an early roommate of Fleck’s in Somerville, Massachussetts, in the late 1970s and recalls Fleck as the perfect roommate.

“Either he was off making money, or he’d be there endlessly practicing,” Burtman says. “He was so dedicated, you just knew how good he was gonna be. There was a mattress on the floor and he’d sit there playing scales for hours. Not typical scales, either — diatonic, weird Eastern European, just everything. Up and down, up and down. Word got around and people started hearing about him and dropping by to jam — people like Tony Trischka, Mark Schatz. I got to hang out and listen, which was fabulous. Béla soon moved on to bigger and better things, like his own apartment.”

Over the decades, Fleck has covered a lot of ground both literally and figuratively. He traveled to Africa to explore the African origins of banjo with the 2008 project Throw Down Your Heart and has also played jazz and classical as well as bluegrass with groups including New Grass Revival and his own Flecktones, winning 14 Grammy Awards. His most recent Grammy Award came in 2015, claiming best folk album for Béla Fleck and Abigail Washburn, made with his spouse and musical fellow traveler.

Strangely enough, however, he actually hasn’t done all that much straight-up bluegrass over the years. His latest album My Bluegrass Heart is a star-studded affair featuring notables old and new including Sam Bush, Michael Cleveland, Jerry Douglas, Billy Strings, Chris Thile, Molly Tuttle, and Sierra Hull. It’s just his third bluegrass album, and first in more than 20 years. But the timing does not feel coincidental.

“I always thought there’d be a time when I would want to do more bluegrass,” he says. “Growing up, it’s a great training ground before you spread your wings. Any great bluegrass musician has done that, pushed the edge, but they tend to want to come back when they realize how special the basic root is. Well, we had some family issues, my son got sick and we almost lost him. Once we knew he’d be okay, what to do then? Maybe it was feeling a lack of control, but I wanted to play music where I knew what to do rather than explore the unknown. I needed to connect with where I’d started, and the bluegrass community is one of the most beautiful things. You’re never alone when you play it.

“You know, I remember seeing Ricky Skaggs after he’d become a big country star, coming back to a bluegrass festival,” he adds. “He was this legit big star, and he played with eight bands that day. Bluegrass was still a part of him and servicing that part of himself and that community was important to him. That made a real impression. It’s important to me, too.”

Editor’s note: Read about more about our Artist of the Month, Béla Fleck, here.

Photo credit: Alan Messer

Béla Fleck: “It’s Clear to Me That Bluegrass Is Still My Defining Element”

Posted on by Editor

Novelist Thomas Wolfe famously declared that you can’t go home again. But then again, Wolfe is not remembered as a musician who played bluegrass, a style that’s all about going home again.

So it is that Béla Fleck’s new album is a homecoming, and an ambitious one at that. A third installment in Fleck’s long-running bluegrass trilogy, My Bluegrass Heart (Renew/BMG Records) is his first bluegrass album of this century. It’s a double-disc effort with an all-star cast – from old hands like Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas to new stars including Sierra Hull, Molly Tuttle, Chris Thile, Billy Strings, and more – with a running time not much shorter than the first two volumes put together.

“It’s hard to get around,” Fleck says. “As much as I may pretend to be something else, I am bluegrass at heart and that’s okay. It’s something I’m proud of and have come to embrace more as time goes on. Part of that is aging – do something when you’re young and you may not want that to be what defines you. Bluegrass just seemed like too obvious a pigeonhole for a banjo player when I was starting out and there was so much other music I loved, too. But after a lot of exploring, it’s clear to me that bluegrass is still my defining element.”

The album title of My Bluegrass Heart is actually a riff on an unexpected source, the late jazz pianist Chick Corea, a sometime collaborator of Fleck’s. One of Fleck’s favorite Corea albums was 1976’s My Spanish Heart, an ironic title because Corea was of Italian rather than Spanish descent.

“He was a guy from Boston with a natural affinity for Latin music, which was central to who he was even though he did not have legit entry in terms of ethnicity,” Fleck says. “That resonates for me. I’m from New York, of Eastern European and Russian descent with no natural connection to folk or bluegrass. So I’m defining myself with music that’s not necessarily my heritage, but being an outsider helps you bring new things to the idiom. When I go off to study Indian music, I can come back and write this album’s ‘Vertigo,’ which has very Indian rhythmic devices. Finding a way to insert Indian music or jazz or classical into bluegrass is very satisfying.”

The roots of My Bluegrass Heart go all the way back to Fleck’s first bluegrass album, 1988’s Drive, which he made with a core group including Bush, Douglas, Stuart Duncan, Mark Schatz, and most notable of all the late great guitarist Tony Rice (to whom the new album is dedicated, along with Corea). That same cast appeared on the 1999 follow-up, The Bluegrass Sessions: Tales From the Acoustic Planet, Vol. 2.

Had Fleck had his way, the same crew would have convened for volume three, and it would have come out many years ago. But the holdup was Rice, the troubled but brilliant guitarist who died in 2020 on Christmas day after years of health struggles.

“Playing bluegrass with Tony Rice was such a profound, dramatic upgrade from anything I’d ever experienced before,” Fleck says. “I wanted to do it again and reached out a lot over the years, but there was no response. I was puzzled and disappointed. Hurt, even. But come to find out that a lot of his other friends were going through the same thing with him as he started to isolate. He was not confident about playing anymore, so he shut it down and withdrew. And at a certain point, I heard about some close musician friends of mine who were starting to have hand problems. I thought, ‘If I don’t do this soon, some people I want to play with might not be able to anymore.’”

To that end, Fleck convened the surviving cast from his first two bluegrass forays, while adding young guns like Strings and Tuttle as well as other longtime pals including Tony Trischka, David Grisman, and Michael Cleveland. There’s plenty of firepower throughout these 19 tracks, especially on “Slippery Eel” — the first-ever studio work featuring the pairing of Strings and Thile. Fleck did his best to come up with something that would challenge those two, but notes that, “Of course they made it look easy.”

All 19 tracks are instrumentals, with a conservatory feel akin to Punch Brothers (several of whom appear) or the Kruger Brothers. But there are vocals of a sort, between-song quips and jokes by various players.

“This is such a community record and I thought it’d be cool for people to know this bluegrass community through these voices,” Fleck says. “You know, Sierra Hull talking, Tony Trischka and Jerry Douglas laughing, Sam Bush being silly, David Grisman being David Grisman. I think people in the bluegrass world will know every voice. When I’d play the record for people, they would always tell me, ‘I hope you keep that stuff in. It really humanizes it.’ I’m really excited and satisfied with everything about this record. The community aspect, hearing everybody play and talk, makes me happy. It’s like a love letter to the bluegrass community. If there’s ever been any doubt I love this music, there’s this.”

Editor’s note: Read about more about our Artist of the Month, Béla Fleck, here.

Photo credit: Alan Messer

Artist of the Month: Béla Fleck

Posted on by Editor

Banjo maestro Béla Fleck has always followed his muse, jamming with collaborators and crisscrossing continents for decades now. His newest album leads him back to familiar terrain, as My Bluegrass Heart is his first bluegrass record in 20 years. “They nearly always come back,” says Fleck, who composed and produced the album (set for a September 10 release). “All the people that leave bluegrass. I had a strong feeling that I’d be coming back as well.”

The reunion encompasses some of his closest comrades, too, like Sam Bush, Stuart Duncan, Mark Schatz, and Jerry Douglas. As a nod to the newest generation of acoustic all-stars, the project also includes guests such as Chris Thile, Molly Tuttle, Sierra Hull, Billy Strings, and Billy Contreras. Longtime allies like David Grisman, Edgar Meyer, and Tony Trischka get in on the action too.

Speaking from his own bluegrass heart, Billy Strings says, “In my opinion, Béla Fleck is one of the most important musicians of all time. He bridges the gap between bluegrass, classical, jazz, world music, and everything in between. It seems like there’s no limit to what he can achieve on the banjo.”

But as with any project involving Béla Fleck, there’s bound to be some exploration. “This is not a straight bluegrass album, but it’s written for a bluegrass band,” he explains. “I like taking that instrumentation, and seeing what I can do with it — how I can stretch it, what I can take from what I’ve learned from other kinds of music, and what can apply for this combination of musicians, the very particularly ‘bluegrass’ idea of how music works, and what can be accomplished that might be unexpected, but still has deep connections to the origins.”

This month, Fleck will be touring in support of the album with Michael Cleveland, Sierra Hull, Justin Moses, Mark Schatz, and Bryan Sutton, concluding with a festival spot during IBMA World of Bluegrass on October 1. He’ll resume roadwork in late November and December joined by Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer, and Bryan Sutton. And it’s not too early to circle the calendar for January 7, 2022, when he’s headlining the Ryman alongside nearly every musician who makes an appearance on My Bluegrass Heart.

In the meantime, read our two-part Artist of the Month interview feature here and here — and enjoy our BGS Essentials playlist spanning his remarkable career.

Photo credit: Alan Messer

The BGS Radio Hour – Episode 217

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Welcome to the BGS Radio Hour! Since 2017, this weekly radio show and podcast has been a recap of all the great music, new and old, featured on the digital pages of BGS. This week we have California country from Elijah Ocean and the Ben Reddell Band, acoustic folk goodness from Anna Tivel, a final farewell to our August Artist of the Month Amythyst Kiah, and much more.

APPLE PODCASTS, SPOTIFY

Amythyst Kiah – “Black Myself”

In our recent two-part interview with our August Artist of the Month, Amythyst Kiah, she spoke with us about faith, about mental health and singing vulnerable, open songs every night, and the intent behind lyrics and songs like “Black Myself.” Plus, she retells the series of events that helped her leave her “shut-up-and-sing” policy behind. Thank goodness for that.

Chris J. Norwood – “Good Guy With a Gun”

On “Good Guy With a Gun,” singer-songwriter Chris J Norwood examines the grief and loss of his father’s suicide while challenging the United States’ gun culture: “Truth be told, we as a country need to talk more openly about suicide. Especially as it relates to the gun debate…”

Ava Earl – “New Light”

One of the first love songs singer-songwriter Ava Earl ever wrote, “New Light” is also a little existential — it deals with the wonder and mystery of the universe as well as that of love.

Elijah Ocean – “Honky Tonk Hole”

As Elijah Ocean himself puts it: “‘Honky Tonk Hole’ is about a guy who has seen better days and whose big dreams have all gone up in smoke. Now he spends all his time drinking and playing country music in bars. Not entirely sure why he’s complaining about it, though. Seems kinda fun and not a bad life. It’s a high-energy shuffle about falling into a rut but also kind of loving it.”

Ben Reddell Band – “12 Bar Blues”

Musician and frontman Ben Reddell recently put together a Mixtape celebrating bands and artists who have played The Grand Ole Echo, a roots music concert series he books at LA’s Echo Park, or who rely on the creative and rehearsal space he manages, Bedrock LA. To quote: “We love our traditional country here in Echo Park, but we also like to let our freak flag fly with the hippie-dippie, pot-smoking types as well.” Check out the community-minded Mixtape here.

Kashena Sampson – “Hello Darkness”

Nashville-based Americana singer Kashena Sampson brings us a Shocking Blue cover that carries a feeling of yearning for someone you can’t be with.

Morningsiders – “This Could Be Good”

Morningsiders began writing their new album after the pandemic lockdowns began. They wanted “This Could Be Good” to be dance-y and delicate while being about aimless nights out with friends.

Anna Tivel – “Illinois”

Singer-songwriter Anna Tivel talked with us about her pre-show rituals (or lack thereof), drawing inspiration from literature and poetry, observing the natural and manmade world, and more in a recent 5+5.

Anya Hinkle – “Why Women Need Wine”

Asheville’s Anya Hinkle told us about the massive influence Gillian Welch had on her musically, combining the spirits of musicians who had influenced Hinkle early on — like Tony Rice, the Grateful Dead, Joan Baez, Sarah McLachlan and Madonna — into one tangible, modern, and original roots sound. Read more in this edition of 5+5.

Jay Nash – “Shine”

Jay Nash wrote “Shine” inspired by the new arrival of his daughter. It took him nearly ten years to return to the song idea: “Because, as all parents know, what followed those calm and quiet moments of parenthood was an all-out sprint… a crash course [of] becoming a parent.”

Dallas Burrow – “My Father’s Son”

On his new track, “My Father’s Son,” self-described troubadour Dallas Burrow tells the four-generation story of the men in his family line — and the influence they’ve had on their sons. It’s a tender, honest, autobiographical history.

Lonesome River Band – “Every Minute Means a Mile”

The Lonesome River Band pays tribute to the Easter Brothers on their upcoming album, Singing Up There: A Tribute to the Easter Brothers. And “Every Minute Means a Mile” is an uncomplicated Easter Brothers classic.

Adeline Stringband – “Hickory”

Adeline Stringband — a veritable old-time supergroup featuring Chris Coole, Mark Kilianski, John Showman, Adrian Gross, and Sam Allison — holed up in a cabin in the woods and recorded old time tunes for three days and three nights. Gross describes it as one of the most off-the-cuff and creative sessions he’s ever been a part of: “Seeing as it was -20º and there was a blizzard outside the whole time, there was nothing to do but pick tunes and roll the tape, and that’s exactly what we did.”

Jackson Melnick – “John the Revelator”

“Apocalypse isn’t to be confused with tragedy. Apocalypse is seeing something in truth, and the pain that might come from having the blinders pulled off.” Jackson Melnick brings us a bluegrass version of this classic blues song.

Photos: (L to R) Elijah Ocean by Wolfe & Von; Amythyst Kiah by Sandlin Gaither; Anna Tivel by Matt Kennelly

Artist of the Month: Amythyst Kiah

Posted on by Editor

Amythyst Kiah is having a moment with Wary + Strange, an album that positions her among today’s most compelling singer-songwriters. Although she is an East Tennessee native, her personal lyrics somehow feel universal — this isn’t an album about rivers and mountains, but instead touches on identity (“Black Myself”), grief (“Wild Turkey”), and unsolicited advice (“Soapbox”). Written from a place of questioning and reckoning, a gently-played song like “Firewater” would satisfy anyone who enjoys an acoustic aesthetic, as well as those who draw confidence from the music of others.

“A lot of these songs come from a moment in my 20s when I was grappling with trauma while also trying to navigate the experience of being a Black and LGBT woman in a white suburban area in a Bible Belt town,” says Kiah, who moved to Johnson City after growing up in Chattanooga. “I’ve had moments of feeling othered in certain aspects of my life, and it took me a long time to figure out who I wanted to be and how to move through this world.”

With that perspective and a guitar in hand, she’s been sharing her music on stages ranging from the Grand Ole Opry to Newport Folk Festival to Jimmy Kimmel Live, where she performed “Black Myself.”

Upon announcing the record, she noted, “‘Black Myself’ is the first song I’ve written that was confrontational. I’d always made it a point to sing songs that anybody could relate to, but this was something that had been welling up inside me for a long time, and working with three other Black women in Our Native Daughters put me in the position where I finally had the courage to put those words out. The reception of the song so far has given me hope that there are people out there who are ready to confront the shared trauma of racism, to look within ourselves and see how we might be perpetuating racist beliefs, and to do what is needed to create equality for all people.”

Next month, Kiah (pronounced “KEE-uh”) is in the running in multiple categories for the Americana Music Honors & Awards. (As a solo artist, she’ll compete for Emerging Act of the Year, while “Black Myself” is up for Song of the Year. Our Native Daughters is also up for Duo/Group of the Year.) With this incredible career momentum, she’s criss-crossing the country in the months ahead: After a gig with Brandi Carlile and Sheryl Crow at the Gorge in Washington, she’ll be everywhere from Maine to Mexico, with a MerleFest gig in the mix too. Enjoy new music and some crowd favorites in our BGS Essentials Playlist with Amythyst Kiah below. And don’t miss our two-part Artist of the Month interview. Read part one here. Read part two here.

Photo credit: Sandlin Gaither

Tim O’Brien Recalls the Origins of Hot Rize… and That Other Band (Part 2 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

Tim O’Brien’s seemingly effortless tenor singing, musicianship, and songwriting have kept him in great esteem in the bluegrass community for more than four decades. One might say “seemingly effortless” is a fitting way to describe his career path, too. So much of it seems natural, as if each new thing was the obvious next step, whether it was creating a Western swing band alter ego within a bluegrass band, recording duet albums with his sister Mollie O’Brien, earning a Grammy nomination with an collection of Bob Dylan covers, or connecting lines between Appalachian music and traditional Irish music, tying back to his own heritage as a West Virginian of Irish descent.

Yet beneath his quiet demeanor is a thoughtful artist who brings a tremendous amount of intentionality to his work. We sat down with O’Brien, our BGS Artist of the Month for July, to ask him about how he got started and how some of these projects came to light.

(Editor’s Note: Read the first half of our interview with Tim O’Brien.)

BGS: When did you first start trying to play music professionally?

TO: In the fall of ‘73 I gave up on the idea of college and decided that maybe I could support myself playing guitar and a little bit of fiddle. I was just learning back then. I saved up for a car and I went to Jackson Hole and played shows in bars and whatever I could get. I had some friends that I had worked with as part of a summer camp out near there that were out there to spend the winter. Then, in the fall of ‘74, I ended up in Boulder and briefly played in a bluegrass band called Town and Country Revue with two guys who were affiliated with a music store that I worked for a short time. Then I met up with a guy that started a band called the Ophelia Swing Band and I joined them for about three years. Our front man was Dan Sadowsky, who later became known as “Pastor Mustard” at the Telluride Bluegrass Festival.

We did some bluegrass things, but we weren’t portraying ourselves as a bluegrass band. We had strings, but it was mostly a swing band. I had been playing guitar and fiddle at this point and ended up borrowing a mandolin for a while until I eventually got my Nugget in ‘76. We were into that Cab Calloway kind of a hepster swing and there was another violin player in the group named Linda Joseph so we’d play some twin fiddle parts in a Western swing style. We tried to make big band arrangements with a lot of call and response between the instruments. We were making it up as we went along, but very much enjoying it.

We made a record, [Swing Tunes of the 30’s & 40’s], for the same label that my solo record came out on, a Denver label called Biscuit City. That record came out in ‘77, but I quit the band right before the record came out. I briefly moved to Minneapolis but I went back and did a little run of gigs with them in the summertime. I went back and was trying to dig in in Minneapolis, and then Pete Wernick called and suggested that we should get a group together. My girlfriend at the time, shortly before we ended up getting married, was thinking that maybe we should move back to Colorado anyway. So we went back in January of ‘78 to start up Hot Rize.

Your description of the Ophelia Swing Band’s material reminds me a lot of Red Knuckles and The Trailblazers. I’ve always enjoyed the Trailblazers portion of Hot Rize shows because the music is so good but it’s almost hiding behind the facade of a well-presented comedy show. Sort of like Homer & Jethro. How did you end up presenting it in that way? Or playing that music in the first place?

What happened was, Pete said that we should get a bluegrass band together and promote these two records. I had just put out Guess Who’s in Town on Biscuit City and Pete had just released Dr. Banjo Steps Out. I said, “That sounds good, I’ll do it, but I’d like to venture out into some other kinds of music other than straight bluegrass” and I mentioned Hank Williams kind of stuff or Western Swing. I asked Pete if he’d ever play Dobro. He had never played Dobro, but he said he’d look into getting one (he ended up getting a lap steel) and said we could work some of that stuff in.

Our first guitar player was a brilliant instrumentalist named Mike Scapp [who also played with the Ophelia Swing Band]. He didn’t last very long though and when he quit, Charles Sawtelle had been playing bass, but switched to guitar. When Nick Forster came along we told him we were doing this country and western material and he said that he had a Charlie Christian Gibson [electric archtop] guitar and played that kind of stuff. So all of a sudden, we had electric guitar, steel guitar, acoustic guitar, and bass. (Charles would go back to the bass for that because he didn’t play that kind of music on guitar.) So, when we would play four sets at a bar or something, we’d feature some of that stuff on the third set just to break it up. We would say, “We’re going to bring another band up here,” but we would just stay on the stage and switch instruments. We’d make a joke about the name of the band — we had different silly names that we used — and it was just a stage patter and a bit of a different kind of music.

Then, about two years into the band, we had a formal concert at the City Park in Denver in a nice theater sponsored by the Denver Folklore Center. I’m not sure who said it but I think it was Charles who said, “Why don’t we do a quick change? We’ll wear cowboy outfits and actually be a different band.” So we worked out the basic formula in rehearsal where Pete would introduce us while three of the four change clothes and then we’d come on and he’d make his quick change and all of a sudden we were a different band. That night, we called ourselves Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers. Rather than this just being some bar, these were mostly bluegrass and folk music fans and Pete and Charles were well-known in that community at that time. So we changed clothes and played a part and never let on that we were the same people and everybody knew it, but they got into it. That seemed to work, so we kept doing it.

The following fall, we played in Louisville at the free bluegrass festival that was put on by Kentucky Fried Chicken. We were interviewed by a radio host there and she said, “Well, I want to interview Hot Rize, but who I really want to interview is Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers.” So we said, OK, and acted like the Trailblazers. When she asked us stuff about where we’re from, we were just making up these answers. All of that stuff about us being from Wyoming, Montana, which is on the border of Wyoming and Montana, and the Eat Cafe was all just jokes that we might have said while we were driving around in the car. But it became our story after that interview. After we’d finished we all looked at each other and said, “Well, I guess that’s our story. Now we have to remember it.” [Laughs]

That’s how it started. I had always wanted to play that music so I wanted to do the music justice, but the act was about not taking yourself seriously. It helped Hot Rize immeasurably to have that as a foil. Whenever we’d mention the name of that band we’d make a snide remark about them as if they were a different band and we were rivals. This helped create an understanding that this was a lighthearted event which helped a lot.

Yeah, I could imagine it helped a lot. Not only as a way to stand out with something different, but since you guys were from Colorado playing a progressive style of bluegrass I’m sure the Hot Rize material sounded even more like traditional bluegrass when juxtaposed against the Trailblazers.

That’s why we got Entertainer of the Year the first year that they awarded it at IBMA; we had a show. At that time you had bands starting like Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver, The Johnson Mountain Boys, and the Nashville Bluegrass Band. The Johnson Mountain Boys were also working on a show, but those other two bands were still standing by their individual microphones. I loved those bands a lot and still do but having a show was good for us because it took a little stress off the music and let our music just be what it could be. We weren’t measuring ourselves against those other bands quite as much as we might have been otherwise.

It took a while for the promoters to understand it. There were some traditional festivals that wouldn’t let us do that. Out in Grass Valley, California, at the CBA festival, they didn’t even really want electric bass there, but they’ve made an exception for Hot Rize. But they wouldn’t let us do the Trailblazers. The same thing happened at Doyle Lawson’s festival the first time we played there. Milton Harkey said, “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love the harmonies,” which proved that he had never heard it since the Trailblazers didn’t really have a lot of harmony singing. But after we played his fans got to him and asked why they didn’t let us play that Trailblazers stuff and explained it to him and they started letting us.

For some of those festivals like the one in Grass Valley, I think they just have their rules about what is and isn’t bluegrass. But the other ones like Doyle Lawson’s festival, they just didn’t want a bunch of bikers coming in. They didn’t want hippies taking a lot of drugs with electric music because it might get out of control.

What was it like to play in these traditional, sometimes conservative spaces?

We were always the funny ones. Our hair was too big and too long and our ties were wrong. We wanted to fit in so we wore suits, but we never hid who we were. Bluegrass, since the ‘60s at least, has always had lots of different fans. They might be Northerners or city folks that didn’t grow up with the banjo but they love it and kind of poke fun at themselves for being involved in a way. I think that’s the thing that’s sort of wonderful about music; it’s a free pass. It’s whatever anybody thinks it is and anybody can like any kind of music and art. How you react to it is up for grabs and, in a way, all responses are valid. People all respond to music differently and people will change it to express themselves within it.

(Editor’s Note: Read the first half of our interview with Tim O’Brien.)

Photo credit: Scott Simontacchi

Tim O’Brien Sings of American Life, Then and Now, on ‘He Walked On’ (Part 1 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

Tim O’Brien’s latest album, He Walked On, explores the many realities and histories of what it means and what it has meant to be American. With his well-known ability to tell a story through song and his less recognized, but equally powerful ability to pick and perform covers, O’Brien shares intimate and intriguing stories including the traditions of the Irish Travellers living in the U.S., Volga German immigrants turned sodbusters, or Thomas Jefferson’s children birthed by his slave, Sally Hemings.

Such stories and topics are not uncommon for O’Brien to write about, but in the wake of the murder of George Floyd and the protests that followed, as well as the Black Lives Matter movement, these songs feel even more topical and personal. His music is often presented with a lightheartedness that settles the listener and reminds them not to take themselves too seriously. And while some of that can still be found here, there is a somber tone that reflects the state of the country today. He’s joined on the album by bassist Mike Bub, drummer Pete Abbott, fiddler Shad Cobb, and vocalist (and fiancée) Jan Fabricius.

In the first of a two-part interview, BGS catches up with O’Brien, our Artist of the Month for July, to discuss the songs from He Walked On. (Editor’s note: Read part two here.)

BGS: The songs on this album speak to a lot of current events and the theme is more “political” than some of your previous work — although I don’t like thinking of human rights issues as being political.

TO: Yeah, they are politics nowadays. I think that the artist’s job is to reflect and respond to what’s going on around you and in your life. I don’t know anybody that creates original stuff who’s not doing that. Of course, this is an exceptional year for that. There’s a lot of things going on that were highly, highly provocative such as the Black Lives Matter movement and the pandemic itself and the way the politics entered into that, which was unfortunate. And then related to that is paying attention to history, the developments of technology, and how it affects society. That’s where songs like “Nervous” came from and they’re not “political,” but they’re kind of a report on the state of humanity.

You’ve often written about your experience in the modern world and talked about technology before but usually with a humorous tone. When I heard “Nervous” and “Pushing on Buttons,” it made me think of “Phantom Phone Call” from Chameleon.

You know, actually, I think one of the saddest things I’ve ever written is “Pushing on Buttons.”

Yeah, that’s what I was getting at. There’s usually a lot of whimsy when you’re talking about modern stuff, but “Pushing on Buttons” is pretty somber.

Yeah, I almost left it off because I thought, “Nobody wants to hear how sad this is.” But I was able to get Chris Scruggs in the studio and said, “I ought to cut this song so let’s make it like a Hank Williams number, if I can.”

The tone on the album felt more serious, in general, than your previous work. Do you feel that way?

Yeah, I suppose so. I don’t know how it will ring with everybody, but I felt like this was the thing to do. The Black Lives Matter movement is another step on a long road of reckoning with our history and the racial divide in this country. When stuff gets thrown up in the air like it did with George Floyd it’s time to look at all that’s been going on from day one and try to make sense of it. I could have written these songs like “When You Pray” and “Can You See Me, Sister?” any time. But it was staring me in the face much more so this year. Whimsy is good and all, but I couldn’t ignore these things.

But, in general, I try to stay light on my feet and that’s more of the tone of “When You Pray, Move Your Feet” which is a pretty happy song in a lot of ways. And I hope that means something. “He Walked On” is like, well, the only way to really get through this is just to try and notice the good. Notice when it’s really good and when you don’t just keep going and try to find it again. So it is sort of a mission statement for living in the United States. You have people doing their various jobs — farming, or trading mules, or coal mining, or looking at a computer — and we’re all kind of looking for the same things. It’s nice to have somebody to share your love with and a roof over your head. It’s nice to help other people find that as you’re going along to help yourself.

Songs like “He Walked On” or “Can You See Me, Sister?” — like a lot of songs that you’ve written — are told from a different perspective than your own life experience. How do you approach writing those stories in particular?

I don’t know. Maybe my age is telling me to look at it in different ways. But I don’t know that I was conscious about trying to write differently. Back working with Darrell Scott, I realized that he had so much personal detail in his songs and it made them more universal. Which is counterintuitive, but I’ve noticed that that’s the case. So, “He Walked On” is about changing your perspective and getting a glimpse of the divine. We’re not always paying attention but about one percent of my time, I wake up and go “gee, look at that” and really appreciate it and really be present and in the moment.

In the case of “Can You See Me, Sister?” it was such a fascinating story. I kind of knew about Sally Hemings and Thomas Jefferson because in the early days of Hot Rize, we played in Charlottesville, Virginia. A bluegrass fan brought us around to Monticello and took us on a personal tour. Jefferson is a really interesting character in American history in so many ways, but you and I can relate to him in that he was a fiddler. He was really interested in old-time fiddling. He played tunes like “Money Musk” and they have his handwritten transcriptions of some of these tunes at Monticello. He was a renaissance man — an artist, a writer — and apparently he carried a pocket fiddle around with him. He had a little mini-fiddle you could put in your overcoat pocket.

So I had known some about him but I recently learned more about the children he had with Sally Hemings. It was a great loss for him when his wife [Martha Jefferson] died. He promised her he wouldn’t get remarried and he didn’t. But he turned to Sally Hemings, who had been a slave at Monticello and was brought to France to nanny his daughter. She birthed at least six of Jefferson’s children and I hadn’t realized until recently that a couple of them passed as white and lived their adult lives in white society.

The decision to have a spoken word introduction to “Can You See Me, Sister?” was interesting. I don’t remember ever hearing one in any of your other songs.

Mike Bub brought it up because when I sent the demos around he heard it and liked it, and then I told him what it was about. He said, “Wow, there’s a lot more punch to it when you know what it’s about.” He said most of the radio listeners wouldn’t know that so he recommended having some kind of explanation. It was a conscious choice and it was interesting to write. I don’t usually  write stage dialogue. I guess I hone it as I go and I get more succinct and more pointed and more efficient with it as I learn. But this was before I ever performed it on stage. I wanted to have the right introduction that would say what needed to be said; no more and no less.

What inspired you to write “See You at the Funeral?”

“See You at the Funeral” is kind of an odd one. It’s about Irish Travellers in America, which is a subset of American society that’s kind of unknown. The song is about the once-yearly reunion in Nashville of the greater clan of the Sherlocks families and their relatives. They have all their funerals and weddings for the year in one week so everybody can be there and then they scatter and go do their own thing. … It’s all the happy parts and the sad parts and the big ball of wax. By the end of that week, you would have a sense of where you come from, who you are, and what’s next. Those rituals are part of what helps us get by. That’s Americana. It’s from a lesser-known part of our history and our society. That is the part that I’m interested in. And if it means something to me, maybe I can make it into something to someone else.

What about some of the covers like “Sod Buster”?

Jan’s family is from western Kansas and her great-grandfather was another type of migrant. Their background is what they call Volga German; they were German farmers that got recruited by Catherine the Great of Russia to farm wheat on the Volga River. Then the politics changed and they were going to have to serve in the Russian army. That’s when everybody started coming to the American plains. The railroads had started and they were advertising for people to move. Her great-grandfather was one of the earliest sodbusters in the late 1800s.

It’s a Bill Caswell song that I just love and I ended up talking to him about it and he said, “Oh, yeah, that’s about my grandfather. He was out there at that time and plowed with a team of horses.” I love Bill Caswell and I love this song. And I wondered why nobody had yet recorded it. So we worked it up and it means something because of Jan’s connection. We go out there sometimes and I really love being out in someplace exotic like that. I grew up where there’s hills everywhere and being on an absolute flat plain with the sky and the grass is an amazing thing.

I’ve always admired how much of a personal connection to all of your music that you have. It all feels very intentional.

John Hartford gave good advice to Hot Rize one time. He said, “You don’t want to get famous doing something you don’t like doing.” So I want to try to aim for the intersection of what people might enjoy and what I’m interested in and it ends up attracting people that think like me. I’m a bit of a bleeding heart liberal, if we got down to it. But I try to mostly put something out that people could enjoy and then maybe give them something to think about and maybe they’ll think poorly of it, or maybe they’ll change. You know, that’s a Buddhist thing. You work towards conscious change. Change and betterment and creativity. You just try to find your opening and hopefully I’ve found a few here.

(Editor’s Note: Read the second half of our interview with Tim O’Brien here.)

Photo courtesy of Tim O’Brien

Chris Thile Takes Us to Church in Official Music Video for “Laysong”

Posted on by Editor

For a musician who has seemingly done it all and has the awards to prove it, Chris Thile found an excellent opportunity to create a solo record in the throes of the early pandemic. The project of that period of introspection and seclusion is one that has been, in some ways, a long time in the making, as his label Nonesuch had been hinting for some time to make an album centered around faith and spirituality. When the circumstance arose, Thile decided it should be done in as honest and straightforward a manner as possible: performed entirely by himself and recorded within the walls of a beautiful old church in upstate New York.

Titled Laysongs, the album offers a host of incredible performances, including compelling arrangements of Bartok and Bach, re-imaginings of traditional folk tunes, and original pieces inspired by literature. Enjoy this video of Chris Thile, our BGS Artist of the Month for June, performing the album’s title track in the church where it was recorded. And, check out Part 1 and Part 2 of our exclusive, AOTM interview.

Photo credit: Josh Goleman

For Chris Thile, Instrumental Music Excels in the Cracks of Language (2 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

Chris Thile has always woven religious references into his songwriting, but never so much as on Laysongs. Recorded in solitude in an old church with just a mandolin and a sound engineer, the new album offers lyrics that question our impulses and references that span the Bible (“Ecclesiastes”), Hungarian composers (a take on Bartok’s “Sonata for Solo Violin, Sz. 117: IV. Presto”), and bluegrass legends (a cover of Hazel Dickens’ “Won’t You Come and Sing for Me”) in service of a higher truth.

Here, in the second installment of a two-part interview, BGS catches up with Thile about co-producing an album with his wife, finding inspiration in good wine, and why great instrumental music should emulate a warm dinner conversation.

Read the first half of the BGS Artist of the Month interview with Chris Thile here.

BGS: Your wife, [actress Claire Coffee], co-produced this album with you. What did that lend to the final product, and how did it influence the process?

Thile: Pretty much since we met, she’s graciously been my unofficial editor. It was high time to just formalize that. [Laughs] When you’re doing something like this — a pure solo record, no overdubs, absolutely nothing between me and your ears — it really helps to have someone involved who is absolutely 100 percent unimpressed with you. She has heard every one of my tricks and can see straight through them, can hear straight through them.

As an actor and someone who’s made a lot of film and television, Claire cuts straight to the chase: “Is this meaning something? Does one and one equal two here? Are we starting somewhere and ending somewhere — and how is the ride between those two points? Are we engaged? Is this clear enough, and does it ever get too painfully clear? Are we leading the witness, are we telling people the punchline before we give them the setup?” I can really gild the lily when left to my own devices. Musically, I can sort of be the guy in the theatre, like, elbowing you — like I’ve seen it six times and I’m like, oh, you’re going to love this part! And so Claire, I think, is so good at being like, “Hey. Don’t do that.” [Laughs]

And perhaps, also, letting you know when it’s warranted.

Right. Sometimes I won’t pull the trigger on what would be a really interesting decision because I’m worried that I’m just swinging too hard. I sort of gingerly put the idea of doing the fourth movement of Bartok solo violin sonata. Thinking, well, this is kind of a bridge too far. I sent it to Claire like, “What if I learned this on the mandolin?” and she was like, “Absolutely. Do that. That’s gonna be amazing.” Which was just so shocking to me! I thought I had probably lost my mind. [Laughs]

It was also her idea to put it after “Salt (in the Wounds) of the Earth.” I mean, I feel like everyone thinks they’re gonna get a big ol’ chance to exhale after “Salt (in the Wounds) of the Earth,” and instead… I mean, think of it like these Peloton instructors: You think, “Surely, surely this is it. Surely this is the hardest I’m gonna have to go.” And they’re like, GIVE ME FIVE MORE ON YOUR RESISTANCE!!

I feel like it’s that kind of move, going from “Salt (in the Wounds) of the Earth” to the fourth movement of the Bartok sonata. It’s as if the demon in “Salt (in the Wounds) of the Earth” just took my mandolin from me. But that’s the kind of perspective someone who loves you—but isn’t taking any of your shit—can help you with, especially someone who also has a deep and wide skill set that is compatible with mine. It was so fun to work with her on that.

You’ve always got multiple projects going. Is there anything you learned specifically from performing in groups and making music in that atmosphere that you feel gave you an advantage when you set out to record an album alone?

The accountability — the musical accountability, artistic accountability — that you feel in a collaborative context is noticeably absent in a solo context, so you need to pick up the slack there. You need to start roleplaying those people in your life who hold you artistically accountable. Thank God I had Claire involved in this project, but on the deep I-dotting and T-crossings that you encounter at every step along the way of the record-making process, I would also assume the role of an Edgar Meyer or Gabe Witcher or a Sara Watkins. I’d tease out a little fake conversation between myself and them, all by myself in the practice room. “In what way am I not being clear enough right now? In what way am I being self-indulgent right now?”

There are so many things that you learn from the people around you. But there are also things that you can learn in the silent retreat of making music solo. There are things that I can take back to each of those projects — things I can take back to Punch Brothers, or Nickel Creek, or the Goat Rodeo Sessions — that I think could be illuminative in those contexts.

Do you enjoy talking about religion outside of your art?

People have such strong feelings about religion. You wanna bust open a conversation, bring up God — like, in a real way. People are gonna quit mincing words and they’re gonna start talking about shit. I love that. I really love talking to people about that kind of stuff, from wherever they are. I find it endlessly instructive in my own journey. I find someone’s total disinterest in it just as interesting as total interest in it. If I bring up God and you’re like, “I don’t wanna talk about that shit, come on,” then I love you for that. Let’s go with that. Let’s talk about that.

And if I bring up God and you’re like, “Ugh, you know what? I was just praying about that this morning, I feel like the Lord brought you to me,” I’m in. Let’s go there. Why do you feel that way? Let’s go there. At this point, I have no reservations about bringing up God. It’s always been an instinct of mine to infuse whatever I’m thinking about with a little of that kind of imagery and language and thought, and so this was cathartic for me to just turn all the taps on and let it run.

You push beyond your own religious upbringing, too — you also included a song, “Dionysus,” named for the Greek god of grapes and wine. What inspired you to write about that figure?

I’m always looking for encouragement, as a human being, about human beings. We see a lot of evidence of our failings right now, and I want to see evidence of our success. Wine — the existence of good wine — is evidence of our success as a species. That is a beautiful relationship with the earth. We have occasionally exploited that relationship, but the best wine comes from the healthiest relationship with the soil. The best winemakers have this beautiful balance of science and mysticism. It sounds silly, but I find the whole thing very inspiring.

Ecclesiastes 2:24 seems like it’s along those lines, too: “Nothing is better for a man than that he should eat and drink, and that his soul should enjoy good in his labor. This also, I saw, was from the hand of God.” Why express that instrumentally rather than through lyrics?

Think about the last great dinner that you had with friends. Could you really, with words, describe to me why it was so great? Could you say, “And then we talked about this” or “Next, we gossiped about that”? When you walk me through that, or when I walk you through the last dinner I had, it’s gonna sound trite. And yet, there was something holy about it, you know? Maybe there was a new person that you sat next to, and you got a little light into a different corner of life that night. But could you say with words what that was? I don’t think you could, necessarily, say what can be so transcendent and transportive about a great dinner with friends. That’s where instrumental music excels — in the cracks of language. What language is incapable of properly expressing, instrumental music steps up and says, “I got this.”

Photos: Josh Goleman