Tag: AOTM

On ‘Blackbirds,’ Bettye LaVette Honors Black Women Who Inspire Her (Part 2 of 2)

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When Bettye LaVette sings “I Hold No Grudge,” she brings the weight of all her years to it. The 74-year-old vocalist draws out certain notes, delivers certain lines almost in a speaking voice, as though she wants to show us how difficult, but also how essential, it can be to let things go. “Deep inside me there ain’t no regrets,” she declares, “but a woman who’s been forgotten may forgive but never, never forget.” She draws out that second “never” to underscore its harsh finality, to remind you that she’ll live with the memory of this slighting forever.

“I Hold No Grudge” has never been merely a song about romantic betrayal — not when Nina Simone recorded it for her landmark 1967 album, High Priestess of Soul, and not when LaVette recorded it more than sixty years later. This new version sounds like it’s addressed to anyone who stood in LaVette’s way so many years ago, in particular those executives at Atlantic Records who saw fit to shelve her debut album in 1972 without so much as explanation, much less an apology. That decision crushed her and thwarted her promising career. “That’s exactly what it is,” says LaVette. “I probably have some grudges, but they aren’t big enough to make me stop. I’ve not been defeated. I’m extending the olive branch once again.”

“I Hold No Grudge” opens her latest album, Blackbirds, which collects her interpretations of songs made famous by Black women in the 1940s and 1950s, including Dinah Washington, Ruth Brown, Nancy Wilson, and Billie Holiday. She calls them “the bridge I came across on,” referring to that era between big band blues of the 1940s and rhythm & blues of the 1960s, when these artists were pushing popular music in new directions.

With a small band led by producer-arranger Steve Jordan, LaVette runs through deep cuts like “Blues for the Weepers,” a song first sung by Ruth Brown (and later made famous by Lou Rawls). It’s a song dedicated to “all the soft-singing sisters and torch-bearing misters,” she sings. “They just come to listen and dream.” She understands that we go to songs now for the same reasons we did sixty or seventy years ago: to find sympathy and solace, but also to find a way forward, perhaps some promise of a better life.

The most familiar tune on Blackbirds is likely “Strange Fruit,” popularized by Billie Holiday ninety years ago at Café Society in New York City and covered by countless singers ever since. As a result it’s difficult to make the song sound new and urgent, yet LaVette manages to do just that. Against her band’s dolefully trudging rhythm, she tilts the melody forward just slightly, as though pulling us toward some horrific destination, and she shreds the syllables of the song’s climactic declaration: “Here is a strange and bitter crop.”

That middle word is frayed almost beyond recognition – “stra-ya-ange” – to make the song’s metaphor sound tragically real. LaVette recorded it nearly a year ago and was startled when it became so heavily relevant again. To hear her sing “Strange Fruit” in 2020 is to be reminded that the injustices so many Americans are protesting — the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and too many other Black men and women — are not new or specific to the current era.

In the second installment of our Artist of the Month coverage, LaVette talks about growing up with a jukebox in her living room, giving these formative artists their due, and how Paul McCartney fits into all this.

(Editor’s note: Read part one of our Artist of the Month interview here.)

BGS: This record is rooted in the history of popular music. Can you tell me about this particular period and what it means to you?

LaVette: People — especially white people — they throw “rhythm and blues” and “blues” together a lot. And now today, they’re throwing “rhythm and blues” toward young blacks and young whites who want to sound black. When people talk about rhythm and blues, they go back about as far as Etta James, but these women are the bridge that Etta came across on as well. Rhythm and blues was a music that came from blues, of course, and from gospel. When people ask me the difference between “blues” and “rhythm and blues,” I always tell them that you can cry to blues, but you can dance and cry to rhythm and blues.

It’s a short bridge, from about 1948 or ’49 to the burgeoning of Atlantic and Motown’s rhythm and blues, which was about ’61 or ’62. That’s when I came along. We took away the saxophones and added more guitars. We took the blues guitar and sped it up and put it in our tunes. The people who took us from the late ‘40s into the early ‘60s are rarely mentioned, and that’s why I chose this group of women.

I didn’t even know there were Black women who sang, other than Lena Horne and Dorothy Dandridge. And then, hearing LaVern Baker and Ruth Brown and Little Esther, I don’t know whether it gave me hope or whatever, but it really surprised me. I didn’t know that women who sung in such a bawdy way even existed.

When did you first hear these women?

When rhythm and blues came about, that was when I was young and I was dancing. That was when I was coming up and my sister was a teenager. We had a jukebox in our living room in Muskegon, Michigan, which is where I was born, and it had all the current tunes of the day, which my sister played daily when she got out of school. They were all rhythm and blues songs. You know, they weren’t into jazz — they were either blues or rhythm and blues songs on the jukebox. And gospel and country-western, no less. At one point, my favorite singers used to be Doris Day and Dale Evans.

Wait, you had a jukebox in your living room?

My parents sold corn liquor in the ‘40s and ‘50s. Muskegon was extremely segregated, so if you wanted a drink after dinner or after work, you had to come by my house. These were homes that had been built for the soldiers returning from the Second World War. So they were theoretically projects, but they hadn’t started making them out of brick yet. They looked more like barracks, and everybody’s house was just alike.

It was living room, dining room, small kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. My parents sold corn liquor and chicken sandwiches and barbeque sandwiches. There was no gambling. Nobody could cuss but my mother. But they could get shots and pints and half pints. And the jukebox was there in the living room where most people’s couch probably was. I was about 18 months old when I learned all the songs on the jukebox — all of them.

How did you choose the songs for this record?

I keep several files. Or, I should say, my husband keeps them for me. I’ve got all kinds of files. I’ve got a country and western file. I’ve got a strictly George Jones file. What I do is, I offer my label two or three ideas based on these files, and they tell me which one they like best. So I have some ideas that I like, and that way I don’t have to take their suggestions. If they find one they believe in and are willing to spend money on, I’ve got the songs already in.

I had this file here of standards, some of which I had done when I did little gigs in places around, just me and a keyboard player. Some of them, like Nancy Wilson’s “Save Your Love for Me,” I had done in other venues that most people haven’t seen me in, because they didn’t come where I was. A song like “I Hold No Grudge, which I heard eighteen years ago, it’s been in my file since then. I thought, if I ever get a chance to do that kind of album, I will do that tune. I wasn’t going to throw it away.

When did you discover that song?

I was living in Detroit, and I was getting my hair done. Usually in Black salons, there’s a radio on that plays Black music, and this song came on. I had never heard it before! And because Detroit is one of the places where I can pick up the phone and call whoever is playing whatever it is and I’ll know them, I called them up and she told me it was Nina Simone. And I said, well, if I ever get the chance, I’m gonna record that tune. That was eighteen years ago.

Just a few years ago I performed at a party for David Lynch, the movie producer, and this gentleman came up to me and said, “I loved your performance. My name is Angelo Badalamenti, and I do all the music for David Lynch’s films.” My husband, who loves David Lynch’s films, was ecstatic. Angelo says, “I have a tune. Years ago, I used to work with Nina Simone, and I wrote this tune for her that I think would be perfect for you.” I said, “What’s the name of it?” “‘I Hold No Grudge.’” I said, “I know you aren’t going to believe this, but I’ve had plans to do that tune for the last fifteen years!” So when I got the opportunity to do this album for Verve, I got in touch with Angelo and sent it to him, and he said he could hear Nina listening to it, closing her eyes, and saying, “Yeah, she got it.” Of course that made me feel very good.

Another song I wanted to ask you about is “Strange Fruit,” which seems sadly very timely right now.

But it just became timely! When we recorded it back in August, it was one of the oldest tunes on the album. And then all of this mess broke out, and the tune became timely! But all of this wasn’t going on when we recorded it. That’s not why we recorded it. We recorded it to fill in the Billie Holiday slot. While we were waiting for the album to come out, all of this happened. And it was just timely — as if we went to look for a tune to describe what’s going on now. So it’s bad that it’s timely — it’s awful that it’s timely — but it’s timely.

I knew the tune had not lost any of its power, and I knew I had to do it completely different from Billie. I’m blessed to work with Steve Jordan because he doesn’t hear these songs the way they were originally recorded. He hears them the way I sing them, because his age is closer to mine. He was born and raised in Harlem, and he grew up with these rhythm and blues tunes. He knew that I wanted “Strange Fruit” to be terse and sad and black and dark, and when we finished recording the music, I said, “Steve! I didn’t want it to sound exactly like they’re standing by the tree playing this song,” but it does. It’s just haunting. That’s the thing that makes Steve so important to me.

The outlier on the album is your interpretation of the Beatles’ “Blackbird.” What made that song fit this project?

The reason that I chose it — and I chose it for the title — is because many Americans don’t know that Brits call their women birds, and Paul is talking about a Black girl that he saw standing up on a picnic table singing one night in a park. He’s talking about a Black girl singing and I thought that that would just be perfect for it.

(Editor’s note: Read the first half of our Artist of the Month interview with Bettye LaVette.)

Photo credit: Joseph A. Rosen

 

LISTEN: Bettye LaVette, “Blues for the Weepers”

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Artist: Bettye LaVette
Hometown: Detroit, Michigan; now lives in West Orange, New Jersey
Song: “Blues for the Weepers” (originally sung by Della Reese in 1965)
Album: Blackbirds
Release Date: August 28, 2020
Label: Verve Records

In Their Words: “I’ve performed at a lot of places. I’ve sung at all types of venues, but I’ve also sung at a bingo game and a Chinese restaurant and performed for all types of people. But I’ve been one of the weeping ones because of the career and ups and downs. But I’m still here.” — Bettye LaVette

Photo credit: Joseph A. Rosen

Artist of the Month: Bettye LaVette

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The very definition of persistence, Bettye LaVette is among the newest inductees into the Blues Music Hall of Fame, yet she pulls her material from nearly every imaginable corner of music. In addition to her distinguished R&B output that dates to the 1960s, she has interpreted the greats of folk and country music, ranging from Bob Dylan and Patty Griffin to George Jones and Dolly Parton. Now the five-time Grammy nominee is honoring many of the Black women who inspire her with Blackbirds, a collection that takes its name from the Beatles standard. However, as LaVette has stated before, Paul McCartney wrote the song about a Black woman (as British slang refers to a girl as a “bird”). In LaVette’s rendition, though, she is the one who’s been waiting… and waiting… and waiting for this moment to arrive. And, in a specific allusion to this moment in history, to be free.

Set for release on the venerated Verve label, Blackbirds alights on August 28, though the Detroit-raised diva has already issued a stunning rendition of Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit,” as well as Nina Simone’s “I Hold No Grudge” and Sharon Robinson’s “One More Song.” (Songs recorded by Ruth Brown, Lou Rawls, Dinah Washington, and jazz vocalist Nancy Wilson are featured on the album, too.) Read our two-part interview — part one here, part two here — with this candid and compelling entertainer, who’s now based in New Jersey and enjoy our BGS Essentials playlist of August’s Artist of the Month, Bettye LaVette.

 

As ‘Goat Rodeo’ Returns, Edgar Meyer Makes Every Three-Note Chord Count

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Lucky is how Edgar Meyer says he feels that he and his Goat Rodeo collaborators — Yo-Yo Ma, Chris Thile, and Stuart Duncan — were able to get together for the ensemble’s second album, Not Our First Goat Rodeo. They weren’t so lucky, however, when it came to their tour, which was supposed to start in August. “That’s not going to happen right now,” he tells BGS, adding, “We were looking forward to cherry-pick from both records.”

Along with their 2011 debut, which won two Grammy Awards, the Goat Rodeo albums represent two of the many high points in Meyers’ illustrious career. Renowned for his artistry on the double bass as well as for his compositional skills, the award-winning musician has been honored with a MacArthur Fellowship and the Avery Fisher Prize — the only bassist to have won either. Meyer also might be the man most responsible for Goat Rodeo’s existence. Having collaborated with both Ma and Thile, he introduced them to each other; later he and Thile recommended Duncan to Ma as the one to round out their quartet.

This Artist of the Month interview is the second of four installments as BGS salutes the incredible and iconic musicians of Not Our First Goat Rodeo.

BGS: Was there less preparation time for Not Our First Goat Rodeo than for the first album?

Meyer: I’d say in terms of learning how to play the parts, yes. But Stuart, Chris, and I spent 20 days together writing and that’s very similar to the first one. That’s probably more important than learning how to play it. We were not particularly well rehearsed or knew the music when we [all] got together, but the important part — which is the writing — had about the same amount of effort.

How was it building these pieces together?

It’s a joy. It is a unique endeavor and we were able to go somewhere we probably wouldn’t go with another set of people.

And did songs evolve a lot once you all got into the studio?

Not much in terms of the actual notes. Maybe the feeling of it — that would evolve some. Occasionally, there might be a kind of loosely mandolin/bass improvised area that became more consistent in what it is. But there’s not a lot of that. Actually [the] music did not change immensely while recording, except in terms of it gelling. And in terms of people really understanding everyone else’s and their own roles, and making it into a whole.

All four of you had more familiarity playing with each other this time. Did that make it easier for everyone to gel?

Overall, yes. It’s tricky in that we attempted to try to find things that were wholly different from the first one. I wouldn’t say that we entirely succeeded in that, but I don’t think we were disappointed either. We just felt obligated to try and find brand new places to go. At the end of the day, it still sounds exactly like that same set of people — and I don’t think we were able to deeply change it. I think it is nine years later and I think we are all a little bit different. It is a different record, but very recognizable from the first one.

Were there musical territories that you all were specifically interested for this album?

For each piece we do, there’s always something that we are trying to explore that is new in some way for one or all of us — that’s almost a baseline. An esoteric example would be… I relate to harmony most centrally as a three-voice thing. For me if there’s more than three voices usually, no matter what the type of counterpoint is, most of these things are not going to track all four at the same time. But it is possible with good three-part writing to have the listener track all three voices almost all the time. That’s just what I find. Obviously somebody with enough skills will try to turn that on its head.

Depending on which way you count, there are either 19 possible three-note chords or there are 12. The modern music guys like to say 12, but their way of counting says that the major chord is the same thing as a minor chord. So, I prefer to count 19 and make those redundancies separate chords.

So, for “Not for Lack of Trying,” we experimented; there’s a chorale that it’s kind of built around — a three-part chorale. It has a repeated phrase. I think we tried to get one of each kind of chord. And maybe it’s a 24-note chorale [because] the last five chords are the ones that were used in the beginning. But there’s at least one of each of the 19 kinds of three-note chords in that chorale. That’s not something we did on the first record.

But there’s always some kind of something that somebody or all of us are trying to explore. And it’s not going to usually be something like, “Oh, we wanted to see if we could mix some bluegrass with some Caribbean music.” It’s going to be much more melodies, rhythms, harmonies — very specific musical questions.

What was your reaction listening to how Not Our First Goat Rodeo came together as a completed album?

I think mainly good… it’s a little more even than the first one. Maybe it doesn’t have some of the crazy highs, but it is a little more consistent. It’s more like somebody’s doing it for the second time.

This time everyone was a little more consistent with what instruments they played. Was that a conscious choice?

It’s just how it went down. The truth is on that count we were trying to emulate the first record. I probably like the variety of the first one slightly more. What we knew before we started the project was that an instrumentation of mandolin, violin, cello, and bass is not a very good instrumentation, and we knew the three of us would have to switch instruments in order to make the textures really work. Then when we are all on our main instruments, you can hear the comfort. You can hear all of us doing what we do best, but if you had to listen to those four instruments for a whole recording it wouldn’t work as well.

Song titles on both Goat Rodeo albums are very fun, like “Waltz Whitman.” Does one person tend to come up with the titles or are they batted around and one title rises to the top?

Chris and I had a session on the phone for about a half an hour the day before we turned in the album. “Waltz Whitman” was Chris’s, and he didn’t like it when he said it. I liked it a lot and made him stay with it. And, of course, he likes it now.

A lot of projects that Chris and I’ve done, and that I have done in general probably, have a lot of titles with useless meanings that the listener will never know about. Because we don’t put a lot of stock in titles. And so we could slap almost anything on there. This one actually didn’t have anything that we wouldn’t be afraid to have on the front page of the paper. There’s no hidden stories behind these titles. That’s unusual. Maybe it’s a new trend for me.

What is one recording that ranks as a G.O.A.T. (greatest of all time) for you?

It’s a tough one because I will start by rejecting the question. What has had bigger impressions on me are particular pieces of music, and not particular recordings of them. The set of my favorite Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart pieces have had a bigger influence on me than single recordings have. My primary method of browsing in my formative years was less recordings than sitting at the piano and going through those composers’ scores. Although my list of influences is broad, at the top of it is Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart, and my primary way of knowing them is not through recordings.

So it’s their compositions overall?

Yes, that is exactly right. And the scores themselves. Because that is what we have from them. Whereas with Stevie Wonder, the way I know him is through a recording; so that’s how I’m influenced by him. But with these classical composers, it is not through the recordings. Like I’ve said that’s the most important. It probably depends primarily on the vintage. It’s a tough one, because some people who lived during the times of recordings are not well-documented. Anyway, that’s a true answer though. That’s how it works for me. The essence of what moves me is the writing.

(Editor’s note: Read the remaining installments of our Artist of the Month interview series here.)

Photo credit: Josh Goleman

Artist of the Month: Not Our First Goat Rodeo (Yo-Yo Ma, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer, and Chris Thile)

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A remarkable blend of improvisation and composition, Not Our First Goat Rodeo is the just-released second volume of music from four American acoustic icons: Yo-Yo Ma, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer, and Chris Thile. The eclectic group chose their name based on the aviation term “goat rodeo,” indicating a delicate situation in which 100 things need to go right to avoid disaster.

That intricacy is apparent throughout Not Our First Goat Rodeo, and so is the band members’ mutual respect and sense of joy that stems from collaboration. One such example is “The Trappings,” a cinematic piece featuring Aoife O’Donovan, who lent her talents to the first collection and returns as a guest vocalist for the new project, too.

Sharing the story behind the track, Yo-Yo Ma recalls: “‘The Trappings’ came out of a question of aesthetics. I believe Edgar was talking about pop music, how he used to think, ‘Oh, if something’s too poppy, I’m not going to like it.’ But that’s like saying ‘classical music is boring,’ or that jazz, rock, rhythm and blues are one way, or even ‘people from different countries are’…. You know that as soon as you make a general statement like that, it’s not true, because you can think of hundreds, thousands of exceptions. ‘The Trappings’ is one of those.”

The group’s initial set, 2011’s The Goat Rodeo Sessions, is a classical crossover masterpiece that won Grammy Awards for Best Folk Album as well as Best Engineered Album, Non-Classical. The critically acclaimed project also spent 11 weeks at No. 1 on Billboard‘s bluegrass albums chart. Nine years (and many other outside projects) later, the group’s camaraderie and undeniable chemistry remain intact.

Yo-Yo Ma observes, “What is so amazing about playing with Chris, Edgar, Stuart, and Aoife is that when I’m working with them, I’m almost not a full participant, because I’m actually a fan. I’m such a big fan that I approach what they’re doing with a mixture of wonder and awe at these fellow musicians whom I feel very close to, but who are doing things that are almost beyond my imagination.”

This month BGS will conduct interviews with each of the ensemble’s members about Not Our First Goat Rodeo as well as their individual inspirations and insights. Check out our Tunesday Tuesday featuring “Voila!” and enjoy this brand new Essentials Playlist featuring music from Yo-Yo Ma, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer, and Chris Thile.

Read part one with Stuart Duncan here. Read part two with Edgar Meyer here. Read part three with Chris Thile here. Read part four with Yo-Yo Ma here.

Photo credit: Josh Goleman

Sarah Jarosz Studies Her Heroes While Staying True to Herself (Part 2 of 2)

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Wimberley isn’t just another “little Texas town” for Sarah Jarosz. It’s where she grew up, where she first fell in love with bluegrass, and where she found seeds of inspiration that grew into World on the Ground, her first album with producer John Leventhal and her fifth overall. From the sharp-eyed opener “Eve” to the quick-picking of closer “Little Satchel,” Jarosz gives voice to the stories of hometown life and the dreams that grow beyond it — a radically empathetic detour through her past that gives relatable depth to World on the Ground.

“Ultimately, if I’m being true to myself, if I’m moving myself within my music, then that’s the most that I can try to do as a songwriter,” she says. “That’s what has to be at the basis of any great song: a real feeling that you believe in more than anything. Even the songs where it’s written from another perspective, it’s still me in there, trying to inject what my beliefs are and what I am feeling at any given time, but in a poetic way that feels like you’re reading a story. That’s what so many great songwriters do and have done. I’m studying them and trying to honor them, but also be myself, just try to find that balance of honoring tradition and doing my own thing.”

In the second half of our two-part Artist of the Month interview, Jarosz reveals which Texas songwriters she turned to for guidance on this musical trip home, how to tackle a song about a small town, and more.

Editor’s Note: Read part one of our interview with BGS Artist of the Month Sarah Jarosz here.

The American small town is definitely well-trodden songwriting territory, and all the greats have returned to that endlessly inspirational well. Based on everything we’ve been talking about, you have different perspectives to explore, scenes to describe and a wealth of landscapes to uncover in that one place. What were you listening to when you were working on World on the Ground? Which artists did you turn to for inspiration?

Jarosz: I feel like in a way, the people I was listening to leading into this and during the recording process [were] a lot of what made me want to turn back to even writing about my Texas upbringing at all. When I was going into this, I think I had this moment. Sometimes as a writer I feel like, what should I write for the people who love my music? But I think it’s more important to say, what music do I love, and just get that zingy feeling from? How can I create that music myself? I want to write a song that I can sing and that I can believe in, because ultimately that’s all I can do.

Before John and I were locked in to work together, we met up in New York, and I played him a few ideas that I had lying around. From the get-go he was like, “Why don’t you try to change your approach and not necessarily write about your feelings and looking inward towards yourself? What if you tried to be more of a storyteller?” Just the simple act of him saying that, it changed my perspective a little bit. Simultaneously I was listening to all these Texas singer/songwriters. James McMurtry is one of my favorites of all time. I really did study his lyrics, because I think he’s one of the greatest in terms of creating these characters, but it doesn’t feel contrived — it’s like reading a novel in a song. Guy Clark, Nanci Griffith, Robert Earl Keen, Lyle Lovett — Shawn Colvin, obviously, her music was why I wanted to work with John in the first place.

I was realizing, OK, yes, so many other people have written about their hometowns — but I never have. When I started writing music as a high schooler, so much of the feeling when you’re that age is wanting to leave, writing about what you’re longing for and what’s not right in front of you. There is such a wealth of images and landscapes and memories that I have that are a part of who I am as a person, and I had never really taken the time to write about them. That’s what led to a lot of these songs. With that being said, it was never, “I want to make a concept record about my hometown.” I realized there were all these throughlines after all the songs were recorded and done.

What’s the most difficult, or moving, song for you to listen back to, or one that was hard to tackle when you were writing it?

“Maggie.” That one is based on a real person, and I don’t think that’s something that I’ve done before as a writer. Thankfully, she actually has written me since it’s been out and told me how moved she was by the song. It’s funny because there’s so much truth and honesty in a song like that, but then it’s also still being creative. The blue Ford Escape in “Maggie,” that was a car of my parents’, so it’s still songwriting and pulling images in from different inspirations but it’s not all necessary literal or the actual story.

It’s trying to pull symbols together in a way that makes the most meaning. That’s what I tried to do there. In a way, if that was the most difficult song for me to face, it’s actually turned out to be my favorite song on the record. I felt that way when we were recording it, that I was kind of hitting on something that I’ve always wanted to do and write about, but wasn’t quite ready for before. I think “Hometown” would be the other one that’s just very, very moving for me, even still, to sing — sometimes it’s hard for me to get through. Those two songs stand out in that way.

It sounds like you experienced a lot of firsts that shook up World on the Ground. How do Undercurrent and World on the Ground separate themselves in terms of the growth that went into each of them?

I think Undercurrent was a step towards wanting to just be me. The three albums prior to that were full of tons of guests on a lot of the songs. The way we made those, I would record my part, and Gary [Paczosa, who produced her first four albums] and I would invite so many of my heroes and musical friends in, and we’d just layer, layer, layer, layer with lots of different people. Undercurrent was the first album where I was like, no, this needs to be more truthful to me, and sound like that. There are four songs on that record that are literally just me and a guitar, no other instrumentation, no drums — I tried to keep things very small with that in an effort to start peeling away and finding out who I am as an artist and trying to convey that in a record format.

That felt like the beginning of that journey, and World on the Ground feels like I’m fully in that journey. I just feel like I believe in these songs more than I have in the past — nothing against my old songs, because the thing that means the most is when people say songs mean something to them, and moved them in hard and good times in their lives. I’m not trying to detract from that, but I really try to see these songs through in a lyrical way that I haven’t before. John was really key in helping me do that and trimming the fat and being really clear about what the purpose of each song, and the story that each song told. I believe in every single song so much. That’s a really kind of beautiful feeling. I’ve loved all of my records, but I haven’t felt it this strongly before.

What did World on the Ground teach you about yourself as a songwriter you didn’t already know?

It taught me that there’s always room to grow. Before I started writing this record, I had this sense of myself, where I was like, okay, these are the sorts of songs that I write, this is the vibe, and this felt like a departure from that. No matter how much you think you know or how much experience you have or whatever life has thrown your way, there’s just always more, and there’s always more to be discovered and learned. I think that was a beautiful lesson that this record taught me and sort of inspired me going forward. For me, it’s all about the songs — I think that’s also what I realized with this record. The music that I love, it all boils down to the song. That’s what I tried to focus on this time around.

Photo credit: Josh Wool

Sarah Jarosz Looks to Her Texas Hometown for Inspiration (Part 1 of 2)

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After years spent living in New York City and traveling the world on tour, Sarah Jarosz has turned to a source of inspiration she’s never mined before: her hometown.

With her fifth album, World on the Ground, the Grammy-winning artist gleaned her own folktales from the everyday rhythms of her life in Wimberley, Texas. Her time away from Friday night football games and the shadows of cypress trees allowed her to look on Wimberley’s details with fresh eyes, from the Ford Escape her parents drove and the dusty trails it kicked up to conversations about out-of-reach dreams with old friends (that she examines on “Maggie,” which came from an actual heart-to-heart she had with an old friend at her high-school reunion).

Jarosz found a breakthrough in the most familiar folds of her memory, but this perspective was also molded by the city that guided her as she retraced her steps through the Texas Hill Country in her lyrics. On “Pay It No Mind,” the single that gives World on the Ground its name, Jarosz alludes to this ability to find meaning and movement at a distance: she sings of the frightening, and often destructive, churn of life in our current moment from the point of view of a “little bird stretching her wings” who takes in the chaos from the seventh floor.

“I think being able to write and make this record mostly about my hometown, in New York, from far away, was an interesting part of the process,” she says. “It’s almost what allowed me to take on the role of the little bird on the seventh floor in a way, because I think it took leaving Wimberley and being away from it for quite awhile to be in a place where I could actually write about it in this way.”

In the first half of our two-part interview, Jarosz walks BGS through the little Texas town that became her muse, how her work with bluegrass supergroup I’m With Her left an impact on her creative process, and more.

For some people, going back to their hometown is a traumatic event, a negative, damaging experience. There’s clearly a lot of compassion for the voices you explore on World on the Ground, which was inspired by your own hometown. If you were to visit Wimberley with fresh eyes, how would you describe it?

Jarosz: One of the things that stands out about it compared to other towns of its size in Texas — and I think this would be obvious, even if you’d never been there and were taking a drive through town — it seems like it’s a little more balanced. It has one high school, and one football team, and a lot of the small town culture does revolve around that, around this sort of Friday Night Lights idea of a small Texas town.

But there’s also this incredible artsy kind of community in Wimberley. One of the big draws of Wimberley is its market days, which I think happens once a month — maybe it’s every weekend in the summer, I can’t remember. Arts and crafts and even the fact that there was a bluegrass jam every Friday night, that was why I fell in love with all this music in the first place. It feels a little more balanced in that way.

I truly feel, probably in a biased way, that it’s a very magical place. A lot of people who drive through it, if they’re driving around the hill country in Texas, would agree that it’s one of the towns that stands out from the rest. It has this kind of shimmery quality to it — that’s the word that comes to mind.

I love the contrast of “Maggie,” then, in which you’re singing from the perspective of a friend of yours from high school who can’t wait to leave the small town behind. I appreciate “Maggie” because it’s a real conversation you could be having with anyone who’s stuck where they are. The location is almost insignificant, because it’s about whatever’s holding you — it doesn’t necessarily have to be the town you’re in.

Exactly. The “football games and processed food” line definitely puts it in a place, but I feel like [the song] could also be anywhere. I purposely tried to make that happen. It was such an eye-opening thing for me to actually have this conversation with this friend — we were really close friends in childhood, then just drifted apart over the years, and ran into each other at my tenth high school reunion. She actually didn’t go to my high school, she went to a different school and that’s why we drifted apart.

She was asking me about my touring and my life and everything, and I think I was probably saying, “I wish I could be in one place more. I wish I had more of a home sense at this point in my life.” She was sort of saying, “All I want is to do what you do, travel and see the world.” It’s funny how sometimes the things that seem so obvious take just a simple moment of someone saying it to your face, and then you realize, “Oh! Duh!” That really happened for me there. That song is all about empathy and compassion for anyone who wants their circumstance to be different than it is and might not necessarily have the means to make that happen, but still having the dreams to hopefully one day change.

“What Do I Do” is a companion song to that, in a way: It’s sung by someone who wants to be home more, who wants to be still for a minute. What inspired that song?

A lot of these songs feel like gifts, in the sense that I generally feel like a very, very slow lyrical writer. The music comes more quickly to me, but that song and a lot of the songs that I wrote with John Leventhal were similar experiences. If he had the music written and sent it to me, the lyrics seemed to come very quickly. “Pay It No Mind” and “Orange and Blue” were two of those.

“What Do I Do” was another one where it almost felt like a dream to write. It’s similar to “Maggie” in the sense that it’s that same sort of longing for wanting something else than what you currently have, but then it’s also a thankfulness and acceptance in that. It almost feels like a mantra-type song where it’s repeated and it goes to a different place — very simple chords in the verses, and then it opens into this washy vibe in the, “What do I do, what do I do?” It was one of those gifts of a song.

You’ve been collaborating with your friends Sara Watkins and Aoife O’Donovan for years. Now that you’ve written albums and toured together, do you hear, or did you feel, the imprint of your time with I’m With Her going into this record in a new way?

I felt it in a creative way, personally. I think all of us were just so positively influenced by that experience [of] touring and putting out that record. What that allowed all of us — I’m speaking for myself, but I’d imagine they probably feel a similar way — was just the chance to step back and take a breath. Not in a busy sense, because we were just constantly working and on tour, but creatively.

I had never been in a band before; I had only ever put out my solo records. I think after Undercurrent, I couldn’t really imagine going straight into another solo record or album push because I just wasn’t inspired to. I had reached a point where I had wanted to experience something new. There was something so rewarding about feeling like I was a part of a team. We were all on each other’s team and carrying the load together. It was just so wonderful and magical. It definitely gave me the creative juice to just be so psyched about making this record.

With Sarah and Sean making their Watkins Family Hour duo project, and Aoife making Bull Frogs Croon, I love those projects so much because [we] all seem so inspired. I think that is because we all allowed ourselves this chance to step back from our own things, be a part of a team and give ourselves the gift of this renewed inspiration, almost. I definitely felt that. I hope they do, too. I’m so grateful for them.

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

Photo credit: Josh Wool

BGS Long Reads of the Week // June 5

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Welcome to another conglomeration of diverting, entertaining, and engaging long reads! The BGS archives never disappoint. As we share our favorite longer, more in-depth articles, stories, and features to help you pass the time, you should follow us on social media [on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram] so you don’t miss a single #longreadoftheday pick! But, as always, we’ll put them all together right here at the end of each week if you happen to let one sneak by you, too.

This week’s long reads are educational, meandering, inspiring, and much more. Read on:

On New Duet Album, Laurie Lewis Gathers Old Friends and Close Companions

May went by in a blink of an eye (how did this happen!?) and we had to say goodbye to our Artist of the Month, Grammy and IBMA award-winning multi-instrumentalist and songwriter Laurie Lewis. In our two-part May AOTM interview, Lewis gave us insight into the making of her new duet album, and Laurie Lewis, and talks a little bit about wanting to measure up to others’ view that she’s a trailblazer and role model in bluegrass. [Read more]

For First Solo Album, Sam Doores Opens the Map of Musical Influences

In a meandering feature we follow singer/songwriter and lifelong troubadour Sam Doores from the Bay Area to New Orleans to Berlin to his first solo album, which is filled with echoes of everything from Tin Pan Alley to the Mississippi hill country, from jazz to psychedelic-folk-rock. The Hurray for the Riff Raff alumnus has co-created some of the last decade’s most arresting socially-conscious anthems with HFTRR, and he’s also made sparkling folk- and country-derived excursions with his own band, the Deslondes. [Read more]

The Ebony Hillbillies: Becoming Part of the Music

In 2017, Henrique Prince and Gloria Thomas Gassaway — of the legendary and long-running New York-based, Black string band, the Ebony Hillbillies — gave us an excellent primer on how Black folks ostensibly invented bluegrass music. We could all use a reminder of this fact, given how Black contributions to old-time, bluegrass, and string band musics are more often than not erased — and this true, more fleshed out narrative enables us, the roots music community, to unabashedly lift up Black stories and Black lives in full voice at this current moment of crisis. [Read the interview]

7 Bluegrass Family Bands You Need to Know

Bluegrass Bands

From the Monroe Brothers and the Stanley Brothers to Cherryholmes and Flatt Lonesome, the matching outfits, tight harmonies, and long-lasting careers of family bands are an integral part of what makes bluegrass bluegrass. Here are a few lesser-known, underrated, or too-often-forgotten family bands that you ought to spend some quality time with — a classic from the BGS archives. [See the list]

Canon Fodder: Tracy Chapman, Tracy Chapman

Tracy Chapman’s music is ceaselessly relevant, it’s true. Still, her self-titled, 1988 album has a much more broad, eclectic musical palette than we often give it credit for. Its themes surrounding her Blackness continue to distinguish her from her peers and most common comparisons, demanding a more nuanced approach to considering the ongoing impact of Tracy Chapman. [Read our archived edition of Canon Fodder]

 

Artist of the Month: Sarah Jarosz

Posted on by Editor

Sarah Jarosz heeded the advice to look outward, rather than inward, as she began to write for her fifth album, World on the Ground. Those words of wisdom came from producer John Leventhal, who told Jarosz in the studio that they would first record demos for her original songs — and, as Jarosz later realized, those no-pressure recordings often ended up on the final project.

“Because of that, I think there’s a magic that comes through in the songs,” she says. “Instead of judging myself or getting in my head too much, we were just creating true music in the moment.”

World on the Ground marks Jarosz’s full transition from a promising newcomer from Wimberly, Texas, to a cornerstone of the acoustic music community. A gifted guitarist and songwriter, Jarosz won two Grammys for her prior album, 2016’s Undercurrent, and a third for the song “Call My Name,” which she recorded as a member of I’m With Her. Now living in New York City, Jarosz still draws on her hometown experiences on songs like “Orange and Blue,” which she performed on a recent episode of Whiskey Sour Happy Hour (watch above).

“As I was writing this record, it was the deepest I’d ever gone in terms of getting down to the very specific details in the way I told each story,” she says. “The details are what make people feel something and connect the story to their own lives, and that’s really all I want for my music.”

Read our two-part Artist of the Month interview here: Part One. Part Two. And while you’re at it, enjoy our Essentials playlist, too.

Photo credit: Josh Wool

Laurie Lewis & Friends, “Dear Old Dixie (Live)”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner
This edition of Tunesday turned out to be an oddly circuitous task. We often take this space to highlight our Artists of the Month, pointing out instrumentals from throughout their catalogs and across their careers, but for singer, songwriter, guitarist, poet, frontwoman, and long-distance hiker Laurie Lewis, the tunes are simply in too-short supply. Not because they don’t exist, but because Lewis’ cosmic level lyricism tends to eclipse her virtuosic command of the majority of bluegrass’s titular instruments. You may most often see her with a dreadnought strapped around her shoulders, but rest a fiddle there instead and you’re bound to enjoy some of the best bluegrass fiddling — with an even sprinkling of contest style, West Coast country, and the melody-driven old-time of the Pacific Northwest throughout.
In this clip from a live performance on The Texas Connection in 1992, Lewis is joined by longtime musical partner and bandmate Tom Rozum as well as Sally Van Meter, Alan Munde, Peter Rowan, Peter McLaughlin, and Cary Black on a sleek and stupefying rendition of “Dear Old Dixie.” It’s a banjo number, naturally, so Munde kicks it off with an uncharacteristically normative, Scruggs-like play through the melody. The remaining bandmates each take a turn, but the fire’s really lit when Lewis saws out her own solo, reminding all of us that she only ends up placing herself behind the guitar more often than not because she chooses to. With slippery, deliciously dissonant double stops she capitalizes upon the signature energy and showmanship concentrated within every note, every bow stroke, and every string pluck she issues.
While a quick stroll through her catalog, especially on streaming platforms, may not immediately land you in a pile of recordings of burning Bill Monroe tunes, or contemplative waltzes, or danceable hornpipes, you’ll probably find yourself confounded by the natural imagery, tender emotion, and raw spiritual power of her lyrics instead. That’s understandable. With a little digging, though, that picture of a legendary artist’s work can be expanded to include lifelong rations of indomitable pickin’ like this, too. And it ought to.

Photo courtesy of the artist.