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Bringing ‘Arcadia’ to Life, Alison Krauss Saw Its Songs Like Movies in Her Head

From her early days as a young fiddler picking up prizes at youth fiddle competitions, accomplishment has defined Alison Krauss’ career. She’s cleaned up on trophies from the Recording Academy, the International Bluegrass Music Association, and numerous other acronymned institutions, and earned the highest civilian honor in her birth state of Illinois last year. She continues to rack up the achievements at an easy clip: Arcadia, her newest album with Union Station and their first together in 14 years, debuted at No. 1 on Billboard’s bluegrass chart.

Amid a return to themes of yearning love and rich storytelling, Arcadia marks a new chapter for Union Station with a changing of the guard. Dan Tyminski, the group’s longtime vocalist and himself a heavily decorated picker, revealed his departure from the band late last year. The ensemble – with Jerry Douglas, Barry Bales, and Ron Block still in the fold – enlisted bluegrass veteran Russell Moore to step in with them to sing, along with fiddler Stuart Duncan joining them on the road. Krauss recalls first encountering Moore and his singular voice at a Kentucky Fried Chicken bluegrass festival as a 14-year-old, and she’s been a devoted fan ever since. As a part of Union Station, Krauss sees Moore as an enlivening addition, and her admiration for her colleague hasn’t waned. “He’s like a nightingale!” she exclaims.

The time between Union Station records has manifested both another solo album, 2017’s Windy City, and the more recent Robert Plant reunion, 2021’s Raise the Roof. In the years prior, Krauss had to recuse herself from singing due to a bout with dysphonia, which had stricken her hero, Tony Rice, too. Her fight, in turn, inspired Rice to rally his voice in her honor when he was inducted into the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame in 2013 (Krauss was inducted herself in 2021).

As she stares down a strident tour schedule that extends through the end of the summer, Krauss remains careful to protect the instrument that has connected her to millions of people over her decades in the bluegrass business. Pausing amid Union Station rehearsals ahead of their run together, Krauss unravels some of her thinking around Arcadia, and how songs transport her through time and memory.

What made you feel like the time was right for another Union Station record?

Alison Krauss: It’s always a process to get the right songs together. I’ve been looking for songs since we made Paper Airplane. I’m sure if COVID wouldn’t have happened, we probably would have been in there sooner. I sent out a group message in the beginning of 2021, like, “I think we’ve got some good songs here, we want to get together and listen.” Whenever we record, we find the first song that sounds like the opening to the record and have one that feels like that for a while. Then you find another one that might feel that way. When I heard “Looks Like the End of the Road,” it really felt like, for a listener, an introduction to new music.

You’ve talked about the record snapping into place around “Looks Like the End of the Road” elsewhere, too. What about it made you feel that way?

When you hear them, you just see [them], it’s like a movie. They just come alive. You see the story, and it’s spontaneous thought. You know you can’t control it and you’re a passenger to the story, and that’s what happens with things. It happened with that tune, “Looks like the End of the Road,” the first half, the first verse, when I heard it, I was like, “Oh boy, here we go.”

I think I wrote [the band] the next day. But then everything, all the stuff I’ve been holding on to, just fell into place. It was great. Luckily, when we played everything for the guys, they felt good about it. If they were in disagreement, it wouldn’t have worked.

On Arcadia, you’ve got “The Hangman” about resisting evil, “Granite Mills” about workers dying in a factory fire, and the lament for a young soldier in “Richmond on the James.” To what extent did these songs come from a sense of historical resonance with our present day?

It’s strange, you find you gravitate to certain things, and then you go, “Well, here’s the pattern.” It’s not beforehand, at least for myself. The songs find you and then you kind of find a pattern within them, how they fit together.

I’m not a songwriter. A songwriter, they’re writing how they feel, and if you gather tunes from when they’re writing during a certain time in their life, there’s going to be similarity in there. After we’re collecting these things, you do find a thread.

As a listener, what makes a song stick in your memory?

Anything that makes you daydream. You automatically go there. It’s so personal, those thoughts that you have regarding music, regarding any art. It makes one person feel some certain way, another will feel another. The things that come into your mind that are only for you. I love that private, personal experience you have with these things. I always think about what makes a person who they are, what they daydream about. Songs are more powerful than political people, when you look at it—they start movements, they change the way people see themselves.

It’s been like that throughout history. It has a way of changing the atmosphere, how you feel in three minutes, and the way your day goes. The whole thing is important to people and how they get around. You may need joy. You may need to have someone sing your story for you. You may not have known that this was your story.

It’s a magical thing, music in general, and to be a part of it is a really powerful experience. I find it – I don’t know what other word to use, other than magical. It’s costly to your emotions. Done well, you’ll feel it. That’s what we’re here to do.

Why does daydreaming hold such importance for you, when we’re so often discouraged from it as adults?

It has possibilities in every area of how you see yourself, how you see others, how you see the world. You may have an understanding of another person you didn’t have, because some musical moment took you some place you didn’t think it would. You have things you’re familiar with that will take you to the same place.

I’m careful with certain records because, when I hear them again, I don’t want them to change where they took me as a kid. I’ll go, “I’m gonna listen to this today, and I’m gonna put it away again, because I want to keep that place that it takes me for myself.” I don’t understand why it works that way, but it does. I always feel like you’ve got to be really careful with the words that come out of your mouth when you’re singing, because they’re powerful. You know you have to be in agreement, in your mind and in your heart, about what words are coming out of your mouth, because you are in agreement with them.

I’ve felt that way about records, where it’s like I don’t want to “tape over” whatever memories or feelings I already have associated with them.

It’s the same with me: “I’d love to hear that, but I’m gonna wait.” I don’t want to mix my life up with what that [music] did back then. I go watch YouTube, which is the greatest invention. Just the other day, I watched Nashville Bluegrass Band from 1985 or something. You watch that stuff, and it’s just so emotional. It’s costly when you remember hearing something for the first time, and you go back. It’s so bittersweet, so inspiring, and sad, because you can’t go back. The only thing that lets you go back is hearing these tunes again.

Looking back on your experience with dysphonia, and the time you took away from recording and public performance, what do you see about that period now that you couldn’t see while you were going through it?

Years ago, the only time you thought about your voice, really, is if you got the flu or something. I had never had that happen, where the throat would tighten up. It was disturbing. I went to the same voice teacher I see now, who helped me through that. He said, “You’ve got to clean off your desk,” which was really funny, because anytime I’d go to the studio, I used to literally clean the desk off. He’s like, “No, you’ve got too many other things on your mind. It has to be free.”

When there’s grief or too much stress, your throat tightens up, like if you want to cry or you’re angry, and it stays like that. How can you move through it? I try to stay on it, try to find other ways to make sure I don’t get bogged down. But you can’t always control it.

My voice teacher says some really funny stuff at times that I probably can’t repeat. I go see him pretty regularly to get ready. When you count on [your voice] and it goes away one time, you don’t feel so secure anymore. It’s maintenance. I went back to him one time, like, “I’m worried, why is this happening again?” And he goes, “Well, you don’t sweep the floor one time and it’s done forever. You gotta keep sweeping the floor.” That helped.

I’ve got to keep sweeping the floor.

Continue exploring our Artist of the Month content featuring Alison Krauss & Union Station here.

Photo Credit: Randee St. Nicholas

An AKUS Primer: Alison Krauss and (Mostly) Union Station for Beginners

While you know better, there’s a wide swath of the music-listening world in which Alison Krauss is best known as former Led Zeppelin golden god Robert Plant’s duet partner. Yet, Krauss has had a wholly remarkable career going back nearly 40 years, in which she has exhibited profound collaborative instincts and abilities.

On the occasion of the release of Arcadia, her first album with Union Station in 14 years (as well as a reunion with the founders of her former longtime label, Rounder Records), we look back at some of Krauss’ career highlights in and out of Union Station.

“Cluck Old Hen” (traditional; 1992-2007)

We begin with a literal oldie, “Cluck Old Hen,” from the pre-bluegrass era, which demonstrates two things – that Alison Krauss has always revered the history, roots, and traditions of bluegrass; and that Union Station is one incredible ensemble. Recordings of this Appalachian fiddle tune go back more than a century, to country music forefather Fiddlin’ John Carson in the 1920s.

Krauss first released an instrumental version of the tune on 1992’s Everytime You Say Goodbye (her second LP with Union Station), and won a GRAMMY with the onstage version on 2002’s AKUS album, Live. But feast your ears and eyes on this 2007 performance at the Grand Ole Opry, with a pre-teen Sierra Hull sitting in.

1992 studio version:

2002 live version:

“When You Say Nothing At All” (Paul Overstreet & Don Schlitz; 1994)

After a decade of steadily accelerating momentum, Krauss had her big commercial breakout with this AKUS cover of the late Keith Whitley’s 1988 country chart-topper. Krauss sang it on 1994’s Keith Whitley: A Tribute Album and it served as centerpiece of her own 1995 album, Now That I’ve Found You: A Collection. It reached No. 3 on the country singles chart and went on to win the Country Music Association’s single of the year plus a GRAMMY Award. You can hear why.

Whitley’s version:

“I Can Let Go Now” (Michael McDonald; 1997)

For any interpretive singer, the choice of material is key. And if the singer in question has Krauss’ range and chops and vision, some truly unlikely alchemy is possible. Among the best examples from the AKUS repertoire is “I Can Let Go Now,” a deep cut on Doobie Brothers frontman Michael McDonald’s 1982 solo album, If That’s What It Takes. Another amazing Krauss vocal in a career full of them.

McDonald’s version:

“Man of Constant Sorrow” (traditional; 2000-2002)

Before O Brother, Where Art Thou?, you wouldn’t have called singer-guitarist Dan Tyminski the unheralded “secret weapon” of AKUS. Nevertheless, he didn’t become a star in his own right until serving as movie star George Clooney’s singing voice in the Coen Brothers loopy, Odyssey-inspired farce. “Man of Constant Sorrow” was the hit in the movie and also on the radio, launching Tyminski to solo stardom.

Resonator guitarist Jerry Douglas especially shines on this version from 2002’s Live, recorded in Louisville – you can just tell everyone in the crowd was waiting for the “I bid farewell to old Kentucky” line so they could go nuts. Tyminski would have another unlikely hit in 2013, singing on Swedish deejay Avicii’s “Hey Brother.”

O Brother version:

“New Favorite” (Gillian Welch & David Rawlings; 2001)

Kraus sang on the GRAMMY-winning O Brother soundtrack, too, alongside Gillian Welch. It will come as no surprise that the Welch/Rawlings catalog has been a recurrent favorite song source for her. One of Krauss’ best Welch/Rawlings selections is “New Favorite,” title track of the thrice-GRAMMY-winning 2001 AKUS album. Though it’s edited out in this video, the album-closing version concluded with a rare in-the-studio instrumental flub, followed by sheepish laughter to end the record. Perhaps the AKUS crew is human after all?

“Borderline” (Sidney & Suzanne Cox; 2004)

The story goes that the first time Krauss was on the summer touring circuit, she’d go around knocking on camper doors at bluegrass festivals to ask whoever answered, “Are you the Cox Family?” Once she found them, she didn’t let go, and the Coxes became some of the best of her collaborators and song providers. Along with producing their albums, Krauss covered Cox compositions frequently; “Borderline” appeared on 2004’s Lonely Runs Both Ways, another triple GRAMMY winner.

“Big Log” (Robert Plant, Robbie Blunt, Jezz Woodroffe; 2004)

When Krauss first sang with Robert Plant at a Leadbelly tribute concert in November 2004, it seemed like the unlikeliest of pairings. But here’s proof that they had more in common than you’d expect, with Krauss covering a solo Plant hit from 1983. She sang “Big Log” on her brother Victor Krauss’ album, Far From Enough, which was released earlier in 2004.

This video pairs the Krauss siblings’ version with Plant’s original 1983 video, directed by Storm Thorgerson.

“Dimming of the Day” (Richard & Linda Thompson; 2011)

Fairport Convention guitarist Richard Thompson is one of the finest instrumentalists of his generation as well as a brilliant songwriter, especially with his former wife and collaborator Linda Thompson. This stately, bittersweet love song dates back to their 1975 duo LP, Pour Down Like Silver, and Linda sets the bar high with a stoic yet emotional vocal. Krauss more than lives up to it on the 2011 AKUS album Paper Airplane, which also offers another great showcase for resonator guitarist Douglas.

Richard & Linda’s version:

“Your Long Journey” (Doc & Rosa Lee Watson; 2007)

Krauss isn’t just a spectacular lead vocalist, but also an amazing harmony singer, one of the few who can hold a candle to Emmylou Harris. Retitled from the Doc/Rosa Lee Watson original, “Your Lone Journey,” this closing track to 2007’s grand-slam GRAMMY winner Raising Sand has Krauss’ most emotional vocal harmonies with Plant on either of their two albums together.

Doc Watson’s version:

“Heaven’s Bright Shore” (A. Kennedy; 1989, 2015)

All that, and she’s an incredible backup vocalist to boot. “Heaven’s Bright Shore” is a gospel song Krauss first recorded as a teenager on 1989’s Two Highways, her first album billed as Alison Krauss & Union Station (and also her first to receive a GRAMMY nomination). It’s great, but an even better version is this 2015 recording in which she’s backing up bluegrass patriarch Ralph Stanley alongside Judy Marshall.

AKUS version:

“The Captain’s Daughter” (Johnny Cash & Robert Lee Castleman; 2018)

The late great Johnny Cash left behind a lot of writings after he died in 2003, some of which were turned into songs for the 2018 tribute album, Forever Words: The Music. None of his songs ever had it so good as “The Captain’s Daughter.” This superlative AKUS version fits Cash’s words like a glove.

Continue exploring our Artist of the Month coverage of Alison Krauss & Union Station here.

Alison Krauss & Union Station figure prominently in David Menconi’s book, Oh, Didn’t They Ramble: Rounder Records and the Transformation of American Roots Music, published in 2023 by University of North Carolina Press and featuring a foreword by Robert Plant.

Photo Credit: Randee St. Nicholas

Six of the Best Alison Krauss Covers

Alison Krauss has been recording and releasing music with her band, Union Station, for longer than she’s been able to legally drink or vote. Along the way, she’s been a key influence in the lives and careers of countless other musicians, many of whom have recorded and performed covers of their favorite Alison Krauss material.

Famously signing with Rounder Records when she was just 16, Krauss has spent the past four decades offering inspiration to multiple generations of artists spanning many genres, from bluegrass and country to Americana, folk, and beyond. She’s collaborated with fellow legends like Dolly Parton, Neil Young, and Robert Plant, and her list of honors includes not one, not two, but 27 GRAMMY Awards. In fact, she’s the fifth-most GRAMMY-awarded musician of all time, across all genres and categories.

As we highlight the vibrant legacy of Alison Krauss & Union Station, our Artist of the Month, in celebration of Arcadia, their first album in over a decade, we’re carving out some space for the performers who have skillfully and reverently covered Krauss and her music over the years. From big names and bluegrass stalwarts to some less expected artists that land a bit further off the beaten path.

While not all of our selections are Alison Krauss & Union Station originals, you can tell each of these musicians have been distinctly inspired by Krauss and her musical legacy. The internet is chock full of Alison Krauss covers, and we think these are six of the best.

“Whiskey Lullaby” – Kaitlin Butts and Flatland Cavalry

Originally released by Brad Paisley on his 2003 album, Mud on the Tires, “Whiskey Lullaby” was penned by Jon Randall and Bill Anderson and remains one of Krauss’s most popular songs as a featured guest artist. This cover by country phenoms Kaitlin Butts and Cleto Cordero of Flatland Cavalry – and featuring multi-instrumentalist Kurt Ozan on Dobro – infuses fresh grit and intimacy into the somber sensitivity of the original. While it’s hard to compete with Krauss’s bright, soaring vocals, Butts honors them well while staying true to her own rich vocal timbre.

We also recommend checking out this version where Paisley and Krauss perform the track at Carnegie Hall back in 2005.

Plus, the pair recently reunited on the special Opry 100: A Live Celebration TV broadcast to perform the song, as well. It was one of our favorite moments from the event.

“The Boy Who Wouldn’t Hoe Corn” – Dan Tyminski

You might know Dan Tyminski as the voice of Ulysses Everett McGill (AKA George Clooney’s character in O Brother, Where Art Thou?), but he was also a longtime member of Alison Krauss & Union Station. In 2001, Tyminski arranged and recorded a version of “The Boy Who Wouldn’t Hoe Corn” for the band’s album New Favorite.

In this video recorded for BBC Four, Tyminski leads the charge, belting this stunning rendition of the American folk traditional. While admittedly not a cover in the truest sense of the word (since Tyminski also sings lead vocals on the original), we couldn’t help but include this heart-stopping performance with Jerry Douglas, Russ Barenburg, Aly Bain, and more.

Tyminski performs the song as a member of Alison Krauss & Union Station in this equally impressive video from a 2002 performance in Louisville, Kentucky.

Tyminski left AKUS before the release of Arcadia and has been replaced in the band and on the recordings by bluegrass veteran Russell Moore. Still, Tyminski does appear on Arcadia on a couple of tracks and he also co-wrote “The Wrong Way.”

“My Love Follows You Where You Go” – Lori McKenna

Another unconventional cover, Lori McKenna co-wrote “My Love Follows You Where You Go” for Alison Krauss, but she didn’t record or release it herself until 2013. Alison Krauss & Union Station had recorded and released it on their acclaimed 2011 album, Paper Airplane.

This offbeat love song captures the richness and complexity of Krauss’s singing and performance style; hearing McKenna perform it adds another layer of depth. McKenna wrote the track with Barry Dean and Liz Rose as a bittersweet love note to her children. She shared her feelings about it with American Songwriter in 2013: “I was able to sing it pretty well. Not as beautifully as Alison Krauss, of course. But I’m happy that one made my record because it is such a message to our kids.”

Watch AKUS performing the number on a live television performance from 2011:

“Let Me Touch You For A While” — Mary Spender

Mary Spender isn’t too well-known in the American bluegrass scene, but she’s an acclaimed British singer-songwriter and YouTuber. Guitarist Magazine even called her “one of the most dynamic, expressive young British singer-songwriters working today.” She’s one of many young musicians who draws inspiration from Alison Krauss.

Spender has one of those rich, soulful voices that makes you stop and catch your breath when you first hear it. It’s hard to anticipate and it’s also very distinct from Krauss’s light, angelic voice. But in this cover of “Let Me Touch You For A While,” Spender offers a simple yet jaw-dropping performance that boldly honors the original while taking things in a unique direction. Accompanied only by her guitar, Spender brings a sultry, driving energy to the song’s emotional complexity and leans into her impressive vocal range.

Originally recording the track in 2001 for New Favorite, it would go on to become one of their most recognizable hits. Krauss & Union Station performed “Let Me Touch You For A While” alongside Jerry Douglas at the Opry 100 celebration last month.

“No Place to Hide” – Adam Steffey

If you’re a diehard AKUS fan, you’ll definitely recognize Adam Steffey’s name; he’s another past member of Union Station from 1990 to 1998. Here, Steffey and his own band (including Tyminski) give a raucous rendition of “No Place to Hide,” a song Steffey recorded with Union Station on So Long So Wrong (1997). A straightforward “mash” bluegrass track, “No Place to Hide” booms and rolls with the band’s strong vocal harmonies and tight, effortless timing.

Here’s a much earlier live version of the song that’s got a more traditional bluegrass sound by Krauss and band:

“The Lucky One” – Jessica Willis Fisher, Gavin Trent

One of Krauss’s major country hits, “The Lucky One” was originally released on New Favorite in 2001. That same year, it won two GRAMMY Awards: Best Country Song and Best Country Performance by a Duo or Group. This stripped-down cover by Jessica Willis Fisher and Gavin Trent honors Krauss’s voice and musicianship in a way few other musicians can. Fisher has a similarly bright, soprano voice, and she can definitely hold her own on the fiddle, which she’s been playing since she was a child. As soon as you start listening, it’s clear Fisher is inspired by Krauss and this rendition serves as a fitting tribute.

A lifelong musician, Fisher has received praise from CMT, American Songwriter, and Billboard, and she’s worked with some of the same songwriters who write for AKUS – but it’s still possible you’ve never heard of her. Fisher has intentionally stayed out of the public eye in recent years (despite releasing her debut solo album, Brand New Day, in 2022) due to significant personal trauma tied to her family history. Fisher now uses the trauma she’s endured to help others heal, both through her music and her writing.

Alison Krauss & Union Station performed “The Lucky One” live on CMT in 2005:

Explore more of our Artist of the Month content on Alison Krauss & Union Station here.

Photo Credit: Randee St. Nicholas

Artist of the Month: Alison Krauss & Union Station

After 14 years, one of the biggest and most well-known bluegrass bands in the history of the music, Alison Krauss & Union Station, have returned with a brand new studio album, Arcadia. Released on March 28 to the delight of bluegrass and AKUS fans the world over, the collection doesn’t merely pick up where the group left off with 2011’s Paper Airplane. Instead, Arcadia soars back through the band’s deep and mighty discography landing somewhere, sonically, between So Long, So Wrong (1997) and Lonely Runs Both Ways (2004) – in other words, this iconic bluegrass band made a bluegrass album.

Alison Krauss & Union Station, by many measures, are one of the most prominent bluegrass bands to ever emerge from the genre. With the smashing success of her late ’90s to 2010s projects with Union Station and the incredible momentum behind their particular blend of bluegrass, “mash,” easy listening, country, and adult contemporary, Krauss catapulted to roots music notoriety, becoming a household name. She’d lend her voice to the blockbuster Coen Brothers film O Brother, Where Art Thou?, tour with Willie Nelson and Family, make two smash hit records with rock and roll legend Robert Plant, back up Shania Twain, duet with artists like Dolly Parton, Andrea Bocelli, Kris Kristofferson, Cyndi Lauper, Ringo Starr, and countless others. Was bluegrass, which Krauss had called her musical home since she was a pre-teen fiddle contest phenom, merely a springboard into fame and notoriety?

Of course not. This is the idiom in which Krauss has made most of her art; this is a second language – or perhaps, a first – and the fluency and virtuosity Krauss and her band have displayed are two of the most important bluegrass exports that registered and resonated with the masses who would become her fans. Krauss’s crystalline and powerful voice, sensitive and deliberate deliveries, endless grit, and one-of-a-kind skill for song curation only bolstered the electric, engaging charm of the bluegrass bones endemic in her artistry. It’s no wonder that this iteration of bluegrass ended up becoming arguably the most mainstream and most recognizable in the U.S., if not the world.

So, Krauss spread her wings and flew, carrying those bluegrass sensibilities – however overt or subtle – into everything she made. Whether the clean and country Windy City or the soulful and rockin’ pair of Raising Sand and Raise The Roof with Robert Plant, or the easy and romantic Forget About It, she had new horizons to run towards. But she always brought bluegrass with her. To arena tours, giant amphitheaters, sheds, pavilions, the biggest festivals, and beyond. By the time Paper Airplane took off, many in bluegrass regarded AKUS as bluegrass’s zenith, its peak, its maximum. Would anyone ever go further, achieve more, or play to larger audiences? This, after all, is the woman and band who up until they were bested by Beyoncé herself boasted more GRAMMY wins than any other artist in the organization’s history. Who could ever top them?

Well, it turns out Alison Krauss & Union Station weren’t just blazing a trail only they could trod down. Arcadia, fourteen years on from their most recent studio release, enters a universe – a resplendent ecosystem, a vibrant economy – that wouldn’t have existed if not for this band creating the factors that would allow it to exist. Folks like Billy Strings, Molly Tuttle, Sierra Ferrell, Tyler Childers, Zach Top, and many more have raised the roof on what’s possible for bluegrass and bluegrass-adjacent artists, what heights they can achieve, and what genre and style infusions are acceptable and marketable.

But AKUS and Arcadia, especially by returning to many of the musical markers from their ’90s and ’00s offerings, reenter the world that they created not as legacy artists or sceptered elders. They seem to be quite happy to consider themselves among these fresh giants in or around or from bluegrass as peers, contemporaries. Legends in their own rights, yes, and with a mythical gravitational pull to all of these acts and musicians they have inspired across generations, but Arcadia doesn’t feel stoic or mothballed, or almighty and shrouded by clouds high atop a sacred mountain. There’s mash that sounds direct from the halls of SPBGMA at the Music City Sheraton, there’s tender, longing romance, there’s rip roarin’ fiddle, there are transatlantic touches, there’s a dash of dystopia, and plenty of that iconoclastic melancholy for which Krauss has become known. There’s also a new voice in the mix, IIIrd Tyme Out’s frontman Russell Moore, who sings lead on four of the album’s ten tracks, filling the “big shoes” of former member Dan Tyminski.

In short, Alison Krauss & Union Station may be roots music royalty, but their status has in no way dulled their dynamism. They could rest on their laurels, but Krauss and her cohort are clearly still staring down fresh, new horizons. Could there be a new wind in their sails, as they embark alongside this new class of arena-ready, large scale bluegrassers? Has a tacit permission been given to return to their essential roots? Or maybe it’s just a matter of time. When bluegrass is in you, in the soil from which you grew, it has a tendency to ooze out all along or all at once. That trail of ‘grassy touches is what got Alison Krauss & Union Station here in the first place, and it’s what will bring them through the next fourteen years, too. Whatever sounds, songs, and stories occur between.

Alison Krauss & Union Station are our April 2025 Artist of the Month. Our 3+ hour Essentials Playlist below covers their entire discography, as well as Krauss’ own releases and other collaborations. Stay tuned for exclusive content coming later this month – like our interview with Alison about the album, powering through dysphonia, how she collects songs, and more. Plus, we have a collection of Six of the Best Alison Krauss Covers and our discography deep dive for beginners and longtime fans alike. Don’t forget about our exclusive Toy Heart podcast interview with Alison hosted by Tom Power or our recent interview with Russell Moore himself about how excited he is for this brand new gig. We’ll be diving back into the BGS Archives for all things AKUS, so follow along on social media as, for a month at least, we’ll be a proud Alison Krauss & Union Situation.

Photo Credit: Randee St. Nicholas

Basic Folk: Rose Cousins

Rose Cousins and Edie Carey‘s friendship has blossomed for over two decades. On the occasion of Rose releasing her new album, Conditions of Love – Vol 1, the pair appear on Basic Folk to discuss the new music. They reflect on their early days and their first meeting as well as the ways they’ve influenced each other’s careers and personal growth.

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To witness Rose’s new album through the eyes (and ears) of her best friend feels like a huge privilege, a front-row seat looking into what the human heart and mind are capable of. Edie prompts Rose to expand on the challenges of balancing love and freedom, the complexities of navigating midlife, and why the piano is her soulmate. With humor and depth, they tackle the big questions of life, love, and the creative process, revealing the layers of their artistic identities.

“I just had a really moving, hilarious, enlightening conversation with my best friend Rose Cousins,” Edie reflects. “We talked about vulnerability, middle-aged gardening, accidentally putting in one another’s eye contacts, and befriending our own mortality. We also talked about her stunning new record, Conditions of Love – Vol 1.”

Explore more of our Artist of the Month coverage of Rose Cousins here.

Photo Credit: Lindsay Duncan

Rose Cousins Honors Love in All Its Forms on ‘Conditions of Love – Vol. 1’

One day, as a favor for a friend who was building a recording studio, Rose Cousins wandered through a piano showroom. She had no intention of buying anything for herself, but then she came upon a 1967 Baldwin baby grand. She asked the salesperson about it and was told it already had a buyer. She asked to put her name on a waiting list, though, just in case.

“A few days later,” she said in our recent Zoom interview for BGS, “they called me and said, ‘It’s become available.’ So then I went [back to the store] … and they pulled it into a room so I could play it. I spent a couple of hours with it and then freaked out over the next month. And then ended up buying it as my first real piano.”

Piano had been an early acquaintance for Cousins, when she was first finding her voice as a musician. Growing up on a Prince Edward Island farm, the second of five children in a tight-knit family, Cousins was both poet and athlete. The piano was an early friend to her empathic insides as she began to find her voice amid the bustle of a busy household.

More than twenty years and nine releases into her JUNO Award-winning career, Cousins has long since migrated to Canada’s mainland. Based in Halifax, Nova Scotia, she is one of her country’s finest contributors to her generation of singer-songwriters. Across her career, she has mostly recorded her own songs, often on guitar, but the piano has been a constant presence, both in the studio and her live performances. She has turned to it for pulling the feelings forward in cover songs like Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind” and Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” She has relied on it for original songs that are especially emotionally demanding, such as the devastating “Go First” from 2012’s We Have Made a Spark and “Grace” and “Like Trees” from GRAMMY-nominated Natural Conclusion (2017).

Now, Cousins has reached her tenth release, Conditions of Love – Vol. 1. For it, she has laid her Martin acoustic guitar to the side. From the album’s opening instrumental overture, “To Be Born,” to its final rumination, “How Is This (the last time),” we hear Cousins playing that beautiful old Baldwin. Taken in its entirety, Conditions is a collection of songs that is even more deeply vulnerable than usual, with good reason.

“The sensation of playing a full, real piano of my own and having it in my space,” she says, “it’s kind of like a zone I go into. It’s a very intimate relationship.”

These are strong words coming from an artist who has sold T-shirts at her shows that read “Feelings Welcome” and “Rose Cousins Made Me Cry.” That there might be some deeper well of emotion available to her than she has been willing or able to access on previous projects, might make some listeners nervous. But there is no need for a wellness warning on Conditions of Love – Vol. 1.

Once the listener is “Born” into this album, the first song with lyrics is called “Forget Me Not.” It’s delivered in list form, an ode on spring and, perhaps, a nod toward rebirth.

In 2020, Cousins says, the pandemic lockdown saw her moving neighborhoods. “I got a dog, and that meant I was walking outside multiple times a day. I was walking through, particularly, the spring and summer.” Free of the administrative tasks that pile up when she’s planning for another show or tour, she adds, “It’s like my peripheral vision widened and my top vision heightened and my noticing was so much sharper. I was just noticing things blooming – and when they were blooming. It seems ridiculous, because I’ve lived many, many springs, but I actually haven’t experienced spring in the same place multiple times in many, many years. And here I was experiencing it. … It really was this, like, holy shit [moment]. Like oh, snowdrops are the first thing you see. You see them come up and there’s still snow on the ground.”

For an artist – a poet – who had grown up on an island roaming the woods and the beach and playing outside with her siblings, this return to the city oddly necessitated a return to nature. As the rest of us watched YouTube videos of mountain goats and bears roaming urban neighborhoods the world over quiet from COVID lockdowns, Cousins was developing a kinship with those wild things reclaiming their natural environment, even if just for a moment.

“Sweet fern and knapweed,” she sings. “Lavender and rosemary.”

Perhaps an accident, perhaps a nod to the album’s theme, the flowering plants come in pairs. There is some kind of partnership between, say, the “buttercup and poppy,” though it would take a gardening expertise beyond this writer’s own to specify why. And yet, the casual observer, rekindling a relationship with the earth, can sense it.

“Forget Me Not” shifts when Cousins begins listing trees. “Dogwood and gingko,” she sings as the lyrics evolve into sentences. “The poplar leaves clap as the wind blows.” Nature is spreading its roots and branches. There is more space for more observations, more developed ideas, more potential.

The blossoms open. The bees arrive. The eye draws upward.

By the end of the song, Cousins is simply imploring, “Don’t forget me,” but there is a sense that she is not speaking to a lover or even a friend. This is a dialogue with the earth, with the seasons and sky. She is speaking for and to them as much as she is speaking for and to herself.

“Dogwood was one of the trees that I absolutely fell in love with,” Cousins continues. “I planted one on my property two falls ago. The fall dogwood. I just couldn’t even believe how beautiful it is. … I probably would have seen the dogwood before, but didn’t know that it was called dogwood, you know. I didn’t have a relationship with that tree.” But now she does.

Perhaps one condition of love is first knowing what it is.

Here is where the idea of love’s conditions immediately turns. After all, love is one of the most commented upon musical subjects. Contemporary music typically focuses on the romantic sort – particularly brand-new or just ending. But that is not all Rose Cousins is here for. (The album is not called Conditions of Romantic Love.)

From the first set of lyrics on this album, we are handed an implicit definition of love: It is small and big. It is colorful and everywhere. It is where you may not expect it. It is of the self and of the earth. It emerges at the right time. It withers and hibernates and invisibly readies rebirth.

Perhaps love is always – even when it is not. Yet it can feel so elusive, so impossible to pin down. “Love makes us insane,” Cousins says, while discussing the album’s third track and its first single, “I Believe in Love (and it’s very hard).”

“We’re kind of told that we want it. We kind of do want it. We get into it. We struggle with it. It’s ridiculous. … And it’s like, ‘I want to have this. I’m doing my best out here to try and have this love thing.’ … But then [there’s] the choice between being in a relationship with somebody and working through all the ridiculousness – or being wild and free.”

Which brings us back to the mountain goats and bears wandering cities during lockdown. Back to Cousins walking her dog, noticing flowers and trees. Reacquainting with oneself is part of love, whether it comes in the throes of a long connection with another human, or after such a relationship has come to an end.

Indeed, this juxtaposition between endurance and ending is among the running themes on Conditions. In reality, love does not have a beginning, middle, and end. It is not a story we tell as much as it is an ongoing pursuit of life itself. “There [is] a cycle to every relationship where you come in close, and then you move back, [and then] you come in close,” Cousins says.

“Denouement” is another sort of list song. “Dissonance,” she sings in its final verse. “Elephants. Vigilance. Grand defense.” And as she lists these rhyming words, the inclusion of “Elephants” feels so ridiculous. She is recounting a lovers’ spat, which ends with “dinner mints” as her protagonists presumably leave the restaurant together.

All kinds of love relationships can turn on what we tend to call “elephants in the room.” There are the things we decide to not bring up over dinner – with our families or our lovers or our friends. The times we hurt one another, the grief and fear, the secrets between us. The willingness to hold these things, to let the elephants stand as we take our dinner mints and move on, that gives love room to persist.

“There’s this movie I watched on an airplane on my way back from Calgary in 2023,” Cousins recalls. “It’s just this small Canadian independent film called Wildhood. … There [were] a couple characters who come from tough homes. One of them says, ‘Love has conditions, I guess.’ … And I was like, fuck, it’s exactly that. Does it ever, you know?”

Cousins is careful to clarify that she doesn’t understand her album’s theme as merely a push-and-pull between conditional and unconditional love.

“Conditions, in all of the definitions of ‘conditions,’” she says. “It’s like – what is the weather in this relationship today? What are the guises under which I’m going to be loved and that I belong, or that I will be accepted, or, you know, that I can be vulnerable? There’s no one [condition]. There’s just so many.”

While many of the songs are clearly circling around an understanding of romantic love, there is also the love that exists within a family of origin. Love that is perpetual and yet can feel as though it rests on one or more people behaving a certain way. This love can feel more like a barrier than a connection. Like reaching toward a wall, unable to even see whether the person on the other side is reaching too.

The places where this image resonates most – “That’s How Long (I’ve waited for your love),” “Wolf and Man,” “Borrowed Light” – come in the second half of the disc. If we are to take Conditions as a birth-to-death exploration of love, these are the songs that come with middle age. When we have the same amount of time behind us as we do in front. When we begin to wrestle with familiality and community and our own identity in relation to both. The balance of love between self and others.

“I am borrowing light from the moon, who is borrowing light from the sun,” she sings in the album’s penultimate track.

Perhaps another condition of love is connection and disconnection, the way we use each other, the choice to depend upon another body.

“As we age,” she adds, “if you choose it, there’s a lot of facing oneself that can be really fruitful and deeply painful. And I think that the pandemic did that for me. As glorious as it was to have the ‘Forget Me Not’ experience of … [a] revisited relationship with nature. It also was really arresting in the way that it was holding up a bunch of mirrors.

“Like, where are all these mirrors coming from? I was able to kind of ignore [them before], or didn’t know that they were there, that I needed to look into them, because I was just so busy with work and motion and the next thing. So, as painful as that was, it was a rich ground for growth. And growth is most often painful. I definitely learned a lot about myself during the last four years.”

Cousins pauses before continuing: “I don’t really know how to talk about this.”

Fair enough. The music she’s created, as usual, speaks plenty.

Photo Credit: Lindsay Duncan

Artist of the Month: Rose Cousins

Rose Cousins is nothing if not intentional. With her new album Conditions of Love – Vol 1 (out March 14), Cousins demonstrates a controlled discipline as she considers the most unruly of our emotions. The JUNO award-winning artist is a student of love, from the sweet certainty of “One Love” from her 2016 album If You Were For Me to the entirety of her 2017 masterpiece Natural Conclusion to “The Agreement,” a consideration of the liberties and drawbacks of a long-distance open relationship from her most recent prior full-length project, Bravado.

Over the years, Cousins has honed her approach to her craft as carefully as her music, even taking a five-year break between albums to recover from burn out and focus on songwriting over performance. That commitment to her art is just one small part of what has earned Cousins the recognition of being named BGS’ Artist of the Month.

Conditions kicks off with “To Be Born,” an instrumental channeling of the rural Prince Edward Island where Cousins grew up. Buzzing wonderment introduces us to a song cycle of love in all its forms: romantic, platonic, a sense of one-ness with the universe – and what causes them to grow and die. At the beginning of it all, Cousins tells us, is that sense of wondrous possibility.

“I Believe in Love (and it’s very hard)” harbors a desire that Cousins hinted in a 2012 interview with No Depression – a fascination with songs that are upbeat and poppy, but communicate something serious. The song is a catchy thesis statement for this album: that as much we depend on our bonds with others to survive, we crave our individual freedoms and yearn for balance.

I know in love it’s hard to be
Everything that someone else could ever need
While holding onto “wild and free”

Wild and free
Wild and free
Wild and free
Wild and free

But there are certain types of love that require obligation. “Needed You” weaves bitterness and compassion together with the opening salvo,

Yeah I turned out fine
It’s what we do
I spent my time looking for clues
So I became a wishing well
And I don’t need water
Is what I tell myself

In this moving piano ballad, Cousins considers both the person she’s become and the inner child who needed nurturing. While the song seeks to find reconciliation between that vulnerable inner core and the people in our past who make us lock that core away, the song also invites us to empathize with the legacies of intergenerational trauma that can lead to a family’s failure to meet a child’s emotional needs. It’s an astonishing track, one that efficiently wraps years of therapy into four minutes.

“Denouement” is even more precise – an airy collection of word associations that invite us to fill in the blanks in the arc of a relationship.

Happenstance
Vast expanse
Circumstance
Second glance
Take a chance
New romance
Take my hand
Can I have this dance

Cousins’ abstraction is delightful, a wry acknowledgment of how cliche love can be, even as we revel in its glorious highs (and pray that the lows stay away as long as possible – forever, ideally.) But the cycle eventually starts again – after all, we’re only human – and the dance can feel as familiar as it does wondrous.

That feeling extends to another shade of love: gratitude. “Borrowed Light” asks us to reflect on the ways we connect with everything around us, and to appreciate the all-too-brief length of time we have to experience it.

I am borrowing light
From the moon, who is borrowing light
From the sun who comes back every time
Every time

“Borrowed Light” is anchored by a questing piano line, an instrument that Cousins feels is her first love. As the instrument – a 1967 Baldwin grand that Cousins and long-time collaborator/producer Joshua Van Tassel fell in love with immediately – traverses the cosmos, Cousins is buttressed by a backing chorus momentarily, sublimely, at the song’s apex.

Conditions of Love – Vol 1 doesn’t offer many answers and, of course, the title hints at further dives into the topic. However, Cousins does offer one example of how to live, a waltz dedicated to her late friend and colleague, Koady Chaisson, “K’s Waltz.”

Your heart
It did not give out or give in
It gave everything
It gave everything
It gave everything
It gave everything

As hard as it is, Cousins begs us to be as open as possible, to feel all of it – love and joy, yes, but also grief at partings that are inevitable, no matter what. It’s only when we push through our defenses to embrace radical openness, when we “give everything,” that we can say we have lived well.

We are so very excited to name Rose Cousins our March 2025 Artist of the Month. Dive into our exclusive interview with Rose all about the new album here, listen to Rose in conversation with her longtime friend Edie Carey on Basic Folk here, explore our Essential Rose Cousins Playlist below, and follow along on social media all month long as we go back into the BGS archives for anything and everything Rose Cousins.

Photo Credit: Lindsay Duncan

The Subtle Danger of Guitarist Sunny War and ‘Armageddon in a Summer Dress’

In 2022, punk-blues innovator Sunny War moved into her late father’s house in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and began making repairs. There was no heat that first winter and the house needed a full electrical rewiring. By winter 2023, she had the money to heat the place, but as the temperature rose each night, Sunny felt a strange impulse to patrol the house in the dark, swinging her grandfather’s machete at the ghosts inhabiting the top floor.

At the start of our Zoom call interview in January, Sunny recounts the bizarre magical realism of the weeks she spent living with an undiscovered gas leak. I ask enough follow-up questions to be reassured that my friend is not still being fumigated in her own home before I allow myself to belly laugh. “I have to fix everything,” she sighs.

Sunny goes on to explain that by the time the city discovered and fixed the problem, the mood had already been set for her forthcoming album, Armageddon in a Summer Dress. I would describe the results as psychedelic and subtly dangerous.

My friend Sunny can be a little hard to read, a fact which she mentions at one point during our call. We first met at Americanafest in 2019. It was my second year traveling from New York to Tennessee for the annual roots music conference and festival. That summer I had made up my mind to bring Black artists together during the festival for our own unofficial day party. I booked Dee’s Country Cocktail Lounge, cross-referenced names on the festival poster with Google image searches, and sent out a few invitations. Sunny agreed to perform, as did Tré Burt and Milwaukee folk duo Nickel & Rose (featuring Carl Nichols, the artist soon to become Buffalo Nichols). One after another we played our songs then stepped out onto the Madison, Tennessee, porch, most of us meeting for the first time. It was the greatest number of Black people I had ever been around in a professional space since releasing my debut album in 2017.

It was clear to me even then that Sunny was a star. Carl, Tré, and I were on ascendant career arcs of our own, but Sunny was out ahead somehow. She was already well known in songwriter circles for her inimitable movements on the guitar and for her punk rock roots, but it was the intensity of her stage presence that stood out to me most on that first meeting. I watched her suck in the air and light around her as she sang, quietly commanding the audience’s attention. Songs like “Drugs Are Bad” and “Shell” became spells when sung in War’s almost-effortless, warmly breathy style. She appeared peaceful in her own creative world amidst the restless energy of the festival.

2019 was also the year that Sunny founded the downtown Los Angeles chapter of Food Not Bombs, a national network of community groups addressing hunger. In interviews about the movement she was candid about having experienced houselessness herself and how she noticed the disproportionate presence of veterans on the street. She organized weekly meetups in which volunteers made meals and shared them, potluck-style, with their unhoused neighbors on skid row. When COVID hit they switched to burritos and sack lunches. On “Deployed and Destroyed,” one of the outstanding tracks from Sunny’s 2021 album, Simple Syrup, she invites her listener to spend three minutes and 54 seconds in the shoes of a 26-year-old unhoused veteran experiencing PTSD. When I listen to her sing “I still love you/ We’re still friends” I feel like I am sitting beside her. This is what Aristotle and contemporary Marxists call “praxis.”

Sunny is fearless on stage. Six years into our friendship I remain awed by the way in which she commands attention without ever seeming contained by it. Her presence has a kinetic power that you can more easily get lost in than describe. We met up in Chicago on a winter night in early 2023 when Sunny was on tour and I was in between tours. Both of us were depressed, I think. Wide, wet snowflakes were beginning to fall outside while we caught up over drinks. We bribed the DJ into letting us jump the line for karaoke and then launched into a formally unconventional performance of Destiny’s Child’s “Jumpin’ Jumpin’.” The mostly-white crowd of beer-drinking twenty-somethings were amused at first and then bored. I gave up. Sunny stayed the course, winning the audience over with mischief in her eyes.

Later that year Sunny released Anarchist Gospel on New West Records to well-deserved, unanimous acclaim. The album featured Americana heavy hitters Allison Russell, Dave Rawlings, and Chris Pierce. She also toured with Mitski, broadening her fandom to include more indie listeners. I cheered my friend from afar, mostly on Instagram, as her star continued to rise.

When I ask about her memories of that album cycle, Sunny enthusiastically recalls the younger audiences who discovered her music. She expresses gratitude that a 14-year-old at a Mitski concert, someone who “actually is into music for the first time in their life, in the way that you are when you hate your parents and all you have is music” would become a fan. A lot of journalists described her as an “emerging” artist or a songwriter soon to be one of the most beloved in Americana. But for those of us on the fringes of the format, Sunny had been the best around for a minute and the momentum of her career spoke for itself.

Sunny’s latest album, Armageddon In A Summer Dress, comes out on February 21. I ask her to describe the new record in her own words. “Silly,” she responds. I ask if there is a genre descriptor for her music in general. She says, “No.” I am going to follow the artist’s lead and not do her album the disservice of describing it too much. I will say that Armageddon In A Summer Dress is her seventh full-length effort and contains her most inspired vocal performances yet – and some of her finest lyrics.

There is a haze hovering in the top layers of some of these tunes. The winding guitar melodies often weave themselves into the vocal lines, but sometimes they go their own way. I ask her if audiences are reacting to the Black anarchist content of her songs differently than they did the last time she released a folk album with transparently leftist politics. “I don’t feel like people pay that much attention to my lyrics,” she responds. Her primary musical concern, she reflects, is playing the guitar. And in any case, the best way to metabolize these songs is by listening to them repeatedly.

Sunny, Carl, Tré, and I have remained loosely intertwined in the years since that first Americana kickback. We have toured together. We run into each other at festivals and in thrift shops. Tré and Sunny were roommates for a time and in the summertime can be seen riding bikes like cousins in Sunny’s recent music video for “Scornful Heart.” I interview my friends periodically.

We all continue to embody aspects of the blues tradition while resisting categorization. Sunny continues moving patiently through her own cycles of living, transforming, creating in darkness, and then telling the story. She leaps unexpectedly from now to the future and then doubles back to sample tradition, inviting you to keep up. Her lyrics are disarmingly empathetic. Like all great artists, Sunny moves in her own time, less concerned with debating the canon than she is with creating the future. She looks back on the nights she hunted ghosts with her grandfather’s machete joking, “That wasn’t me!”

There is great integrity in Sunny’s storytelling, which means that no matter how long it has been since we last spoke, she will catch me up quickly when we meet again. I ask her who the narrator of “No One Calls Me Baby” is, trying to signal that I am a feminist who recognizes women writers as authors beyond the world of autobiography. But she quickly tells me that the narrator is her and fills me in on the past few months of her life. She has been single for over a year, and has been learning to enjoy the alone time in a house she owns. We commiserate about being single, but we are both leaned back by this point, looking down on loneliness together. “No one calls me baby anymore/ I hold my own hand now…”

One of my favorite things about Sunny is that whether she’s playing a dive bar or a sold-out theater, everyone walks away dazzled. She is just as warm and entertaining sitting across from you in her home. She accompanies herself.

Find more Sunny War Artist of the Month coverage here.

Photo Credit: Joshua Black Wilkins

Artist of the Month: Sunny War

Sunny War has done it again. Her brand new album, Armageddon in a Summer Dress (out February 21 via New West Records), is yet another anarcho-punk-roots masterpiece in her already deep-and-wide catalog of superlative recordings. The project builds on the sonic and rhetorical universe of her critically acclaimed and triumphantly received 2023 release, Anarchist Gospel, further expanding her charming, down-to-earth doctrine of mutual aid, community, and truly radical ideas – musically, and otherwise – exactly when we need them most.

That fact – the apropos timing of this collection of songs and their release – feels most striking because this music wasn’t written expressly to be a response to the current critical mass of fascism, oligarchy, and attacks on human rights in our country and around the world. Instead, the messages and morals in these songs are well-placed, not as slapdash reactions to the current political discourse or as activist-branded cash grabs in a terrifying societal moment, but by focusing on the real day-to-day implications of such imperialism as evidenced within War’s own life and her own inner circle.

On Armageddon’s opening track, “One Way Train,” she sings:

When there’s no one left to use
And no police or state
And the fascists and the classists
All evaporate
Won’t you meet me on the outskirts
Of my left brain
Close your eyes and take a ride
On a one way train

This album is exactly such a refuge on par with the singer’s “left brain” – and stemming directly from it! – in “One Way Train.” Armageddon is a respite from the noise of the news cycle and the sensationalism of consumerist media that needs not deny the realities we all witness and live through in order to be a resting place. This isn’t toxic positivity or “joy” and “hope” as cudgels to smack down criticism of inequalities, corruption, and ruling classes, thereby reinforcing the status quo. The songs of Armageddon in a Summer Dress do feel hopeful– but because they acknowledge and grapple with these issues, instead of willing them away under the rug or into hiding.

The deft and artful positioning of these incisive songs is directly tied to the ways anarchy, mutual aid, and solidarity have been woven into War’s life as an artist – and as a human, since even before she picked up the guitar. These are embodied, real concepts to Sunny, not just intellectual ideas and hypotheticals.

Punk and blues, folk and grunge ooze out of songs ripe for protest and resistance, but never packaged in a pink crocheted pussy cat hat or internet-ready bumper sticker quips. Sunny War knows the violence and tyranny we all face – she has faced it her entire life – and gives it the treatment it deserves, but without ever preaching or finger-wagging. The beliefs evident in Armageddon in a Summer Dress are never contingent on which team, “red or blue,” holds the power. Rather, the hope and tenacity in these songs feels derived from an intrinsic understanding that it’s always been “the many versus the few” and “the powerless versus the powerful” where the battle lines are drawn, instead.

“Walking Contradiction” – which features punk icon Steve Ignorant – is searing in its indictment of toothless neoliberalism having landed us in this exact political and social scenario:

…While the war pigs killed more kids today
Picket signs were made 6,000 miles away
And all the lefties and the liberals were marching so you know
Just because they pay their taxes doesn’t mean that they don’t know
All the pigs and the big wigs foaming at the mouth
Look down at us laughing like we’ll never figure out
All the war outside starts here at home
If they didn’t have our money they’d be fighting it alone
Doesn’t matter what your silly little signs have to say
‘Cause the genocide is funded by the taxes that you pay

Stopping and inhabiting this song, one of the project’s singles, and its message is illuminating. Especially when you realize it was written under the prior administration, but applies to the current one as well. And, perhaps, to every other presidential administration in U.S. history.

Armageddon in a Summer Dress still feels light and rewarding, though. It’s flowing and intuitive, and decidedly charming, even with these stark messages. Because, like most of Sunny War’s creative output, it actually drives to the heart of the issues we all turn over in our minds and on our screens each day, rather than tilting at superficial, sensational windmills that end up reinforcing our oligarchic status quo.

Of course, this album is not solely political and anarchic and intellectual. In fact, it’s not attempting to be cerebral and be-monocled at all. These are songs of love, of grief, of being an individual with a collective mindset in an individualist world with collective blindness.

There are songs of introspection, of perception, of self growth, of regression. Each feels fully realized in production, lush and deep. But there, in the gaps, in the bones of each track, are War’s signature fingerstyle licks, hooks, and turns of phrase on the guitar. She plays banjo throughout the project as well, and though the referenced genres evident on the project are endlessly rootsy, the blues and folk approach that charmed much of the bluegrass, folk, and Americana worlds previously serve a more subtle purpose here. War’s personality on her instruments is still prominent, and is ultimately successful playing more of a support role to the greater whole. Above all else, you can tell creating this album and these songs must have been so much fun to make.

Tré Burt, Valerie June, and John Doe – along with Ignorant – all guest on the record, which was produced by Andrija Tokic and recorded in Nashville, just up the highway from War’s current hometown of Chattanooga, Tennessee. Like Anarchist Gospel, seeing War’s community of collaborators grow and morph on the new project again speaks to the way this guitarist-songwriter-performer’s mission is an active, constructive one. It’s never merely a mantra hung on the wall to be admired from afar.

As we all face an ongoing apocalypse, as we each reckon with the indisputable fact that we are already living in dystopia – and have been – Armageddon in a Summer Dress is the perfect album to bring along with us. Dancing and flowing and twirling through the end of the world is certainly not a winning strategy, but dancing, marching, caring for one another, and lifting each other up despite Armageddon and imperialism might just do the trick.

She perhaps encapsulates this feeling best alongside wailing organ on “Bad Times:”

Had nothing so I had to borrow
What I owe’s gonna double tomorrow
Maybe now or in an hour or so
I’m gonna have to let everything go

So long room and board
And all the other things I can’t afford
You’re overrated anyway
I’ll be good soon as you
Bad times stay away
Bad times stay away
Bad times stay away
Bad times stay away…

This affirmation is not the end game, it is merely the beginning. If we take Sunny War’s ideals to heart, if we sing along at the top of our lungs, if we do mutual aid on a daily basis, if we take each moment, one individual second at a time– we, too, can navigate through Armageddon in a Summer Dress, emerging on the other side in a better, more just, more sunny world.

Sunny War is our Artist of the Month. Check out our exclusive interview with Sunny by her friend and peer Lizzie No here. Make sure to save our Essential Sunny War Playlist below while we gear up for the new album on February 21. Plus, follow BGS on social media as we dip back into our archives every day for all things Sunny during the entire month of February.

Photo Credit: Joshua Black Wilkins

With Real Vulnerability and Honesty as Guides, Larkin Poe Continue to ‘Bloom’

Megan and Rebecca Lovell are Larkin Poe, a band that nestles into a myriad of genres – and the sisters are good with that. Their newest full-length album effort, Bloom, out January 24, comes fresh off the heels of a GRAMMY win for Best Contemporary Blues Album with last year’s Blood Harmony. They also landed Duo of the Year at 2024’s Americana Honors & Awards, proving that by digging into their own stories, collaborating even when it isn’t easy, and filtering it all through what the music will feel like on stage, they carve a sound that knocks down doors into multiple genre territories.

Independent spirit permeates everything the sisters do, from the way they write and produce the music to how they map out the aesthetics of how they present the work. Bloom is no exception, finding the women delving deeply into personal and social themes in a way they say they have not before, the result of getting real with each other and learning how to collaborate through the writing process.

In “You Are the River,” we find them contemplating a common theme throughout the album, that sometimes the best and the worst are married inextricably and tie us to each other.

The sand in the oyster
The pressure on the coal
The sum of the parts is greater than the whole
A chain of reactions
A butterfly’s wing
My hand holding yours to form another link

For our Artist of the Month interview, BGS spoke with Megan and Rebecca via Zoom from their respective homes in Nashville. The Lovells discuss the challenges and joy of writing together, the evolution of their relationship with their fans, and the pressures of public life in the age of social media.

You all have been lauded in multiple genres, from blues to Americana. You are also identified as a rock and roll band and here we are talking on a bluegrass outlet. What do you think about genres in general, and do you consider them at all during creation of the music?

Rebecca Lovell: One of the greatest pieces of advice that we’ve ever received was from Mr. Elvis Costello. Many, many years ago, he advised us to defy the temptation to put ourselves into a genre box. He has lived up to that creed himself, having made bluegrass, gospel, country, punk, rock records, operatic records, and musical records.

For us, having been able to sample all the different facets of who we are as people and music lovers allows us to connect with the people who are consuming our music. I think increasingly, all of us consume music from a wide range of genres. I do think that that’s one gift of streaming platforms. The very barest of silver lining is that it opens up your mind to the fact that there is great music to be found in every genre, and I think genre-blending is the way of the future.

So we call what we do roots rock and roll, which is intentionally very vague because we get great joy out of letting the many flavors of our musical heritage be represented. That allowed us this past summer to play at a bluegrass festival and then play at a world music festival, play at a pop festival, a rock festival, a country festival, and it keeps it fresh. It keeps it exciting.

You’ve won awards in multiple genres, especially in the past few years. I was curious: are awards ever a motivator for you? Do you ever think about them when you’re creating?

Megan Lovell: Winning awards is a very new thing for us. We’ve always made music with a different focus, because we’ve always felt that the real reward is people being willing to stand in line or travel and buy a ticket and wait at the venue for us to come and play. So that’s always been our focus. Not to say that winning an award isn’t a cool experience, and definitely something we’re super appreciative of, but I don’t think it’s something we consider when we’re writing or recording.

We’re definitely thinking about our live show. We’re really writing intentionally, thinking about how it will feel when we’re touring. Because that’s what we do most of the year is tour.

Tell me about your writing process, both when it’s just you two as sisters, bandmates, and business owners and then also when you bring in other folks to collaborate.

RL: I think Bloom represents a really cool point in our evolution as creative collaborators. Since the ground up, Megan and I have been projecting together since we were little kids. It’s felt like [there was] a lot of foreshadowing in our childhood that we would work together, because we’ve always been so collaborative. But songwriting was one of the last holdouts of our working relationship that there was friction in. I’m sure it has to do with the fact that there is a piece of this sibling rivalry thing. But getting older, being more comfortable with and accepting your flaws, and being able to then have the self-confidence in a writing session to throw out ideas – that inherently, because they are ideas, they’re not fully fledged. They can be misunderstood or sound stupid.

I think we’d had some writing experiences in the past where we had not had the best of times. It just felt like a lot of false starts. We typically had written separately, but something clicked in the last 6 to 8 months leading up to the writing process for Bloom. We made the commitment to and had many conversations about writing the record together, and I really think you can hear the progress that we made as a team in manifesting that true creative collaboration. I think the songs are so much better.

There was a real commitment to being very intentional with everything that we said on this record. Being a songwriter and a performer, there is always this temptation to self-aggrandize, or build a character for yourself, or be the movie theatrical version of who you are and what your life feels like. I specifically have written from that space in the past and listening back, we wanted to do something different this time. That was our consensus. We went through every song, every lyric on this record with a fine-tooth comb, to ensure that real vulnerable authenticity was represented in the lyrics. That took a lot of courage and I am really proud of us for making that commitment, and being able to actually pull it off with this album.

ML: You know, what’s funny is, when we were thinking about bringing in a third collaborator, did we go outside? No, we actually end up working with Rebecca’s husband [Tyler Bryant] a lot. So we have that sibling dynamic and the husband-and-wife dynamic. We really like to complicate things.

RL: There is a certain shorthand that exists when someone knows you really well, when you know someone really well, and especially between Megan and myself – and also Tyler. We all have very closely mirrored musical upbringings and we have a lot of kindred spirit energy in the records that we’re all referencing for the production and the songwriting.

It does create this space, when handled correctly, for being really truthful, being really genuine, and allowing yourself to actually go to those spaces. I was the big crybaby on this record. I was weeping in these co-writes, like inconsolable. But that allows you to really channel some specific, detailed stuff from your own experience. The more specific you’re able to get with yourself, the more likely it is you’re going to be able to connect with other people. And that is our biggest motivator.

That’s so wonderful. Speaking of, what is your relationship with your fans like? And do you see it evolving as you change your process and become more open that way?

ML: We have a lot of musically deep music lovers and they’re really cool, knowledgeable people. I think because we’ve kind of always been a little bit left of center, we’ve attracted a cool audience; people who appreciate the do-it-yourself attitude and people who just really want to support a grassroots effort.

We’ve had people who have been following now for decades, which is strange to be able to say, but they’ve really stuck with it. Of course, those relationships do shift over time. And certainly through the pandemic. That was a huge shift in the way that we related to people, because we were using the internet to connect. We had these pretty spiritual conversations with people that I’m not sure would have happened if we hadn’t been online and talking all of the time. We came out of the pandemic with a lot more intimate fans.

Can you talk about the recording process? Where did you cut this record? How did you decide to bring in your husband as co-producer?

RL: I do think the pandemic played a big role in the shift of Megan and myself bringing Tyler Bryant in as a co-producer because, for the last 10 years, we’ve been self-producing our records. At Megan’s behest as the big sister, she was like, “It’s time. We need to self-produce our records.” That was very scary at first, but we got our feet wet and got our bearings.

Ultimately, we’re so grateful that we made that shift, because it allowed us to hold the reins in the studio and steer the music in the direction that we wanted to go. Through the pandemic, we built a state of the art recording studio in the basement of our home, and we wanted to make records. We didn’t want to hold up our creative process. We were still distancing in our bubble. But it was the group of us, and by necessity we started recording in that home studio; we’re kind of blown away at the sounds we could get. There was an effortless nature of being in a really safe home environment.

When Megan and I tour with our band, we’re a four-piece, so we set up as a four-piece in the studio and went for it. Hopefully, that will allow our records to age gracefully because they are very true and very stripped down to who we are as a band.

ML: But honestly, when we were going to studios, we were experiencing a lot of Keurig machines and we like really nice espresso machines. So we made the decision to stay home.

Let’s talk about the song “Pearls.” It seems to be built around the idea of maintaining a sense of self while you’re navigating the world that’s constantly reflecting you in such a public way. I wanted to know, as family and as bandmates and business partners, how do you navigate the ever-changing and tumultuous world of being in the public eye, especially in the age of social media?

RL: I think it’s one of the hardest things. It is so challenging to exist in a space where you need to have just enough ego to get on stage and perform. But you can’t identify too much with that ego, because then you’re creating a very limited, narrow lane for yourself. But don’t have too big of an ego, because then you’re going to be a bitch and nobody’s gonna like you. So it’s this weird straddling of all these different elements of our identities. And then we’re having to do that together.

With so much shared experience between us, Megan knows the true me. I think that you and I have cultivated a great deal of grace, allowing that true nature to evolve. Who we were when we were 5, is simultaneously the same as who we are now, and also very, very different. Allowing that leeway for ourselves is only something that we’ve started really engaging with in the last 5 years. Right, Megan?

ML: Yeah, we’ve had a lot of conversations over the last couple of years. We are coming to more of an understanding of where the tension was coming from, from who we are as people, and then who we expect ourselves to be on stage. Then also that sort of external pressure that everybody has that we also felt from a very young age from the people around us. There are people in the industry who expect us to be something and then fans who come and meet us. There are a lot of opinions flying around, but you really don’t have to take anything on board that you don’t want to.

Whether it’s that one negative comment on a post that you for some reason have to obsess about, even though there are 99% positive comments. You just can’t get that negative comment out of your head and I don’t even know if I trust that person’s opinion. It’s a good reminder to just steer your own ship.

You mentioned different kinds of festivals, different genres of festivals. When you think about your tour, what kind of stage do you feel the most at home on? Is it a festival? Is it a club or theater? Is it a genre of festival?

ML: 2025 is going to be a big year for touring. Last year we played a lot of festivals. This year we are playing a lot of headline shows and we’re going to start in the U.S. and go through the spring. Then we’re gonna do a big fall European tour. And it’s shaping up to be really, really amazing. We have a really substantial following over in Europe. We have done a lot of work over there. There’s some bucket list venues that we’re gonna play.

I love a headline show. You know, where the place is packed, and there’s that energy in the audience, and everybody knows the lyrics. There’s nothing that beats that vibe and you can find that anywhere. You can find it in a tiny rock club to an arena or a festival. The important thing is that people are engaged from the stage to the audience, and vice versa.

Same for you, Rebecca?

RL: Yeah, I agree. I love a headline date, I think, especially because Megan and I are album people. We like a body of work. I like to sit down and listen to an artist’s album from the beginning to the end to try and get a sense of where they were at when they were writing the record. Megan and I, when we make our records, we obsess about the content, about the story arc, about the sequencing of the record, about the packaging, about the font.

And I think we get that same kind of energy in a headline show because we’re thinking about the colors of lights and which of the songs we are going to include and how much of the old material. We really want to have that space with the music and the emotional content of the music, and you feel that energy, and you feel that resonance. If everything goes right and everyone has their hearts open, you gain access to this portal where I think a lot of transformative change can happen between humans. And that’s what we seek.

Photo courtesy of the artist.