Tag: bass

How “Guidelines” Made Madison Cunningham’s Ace Feel Totally Free

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It is no news that Madison Cunningham is among the top tier of artists and musicians doggedly pursuing their craft; her newest record, Ace, casually echoes this. Soberly confronting a mountain of grief at home and transmuting its impressions through her open-minded, mature songcraft, the record encourages listeners through a seamless track list whose performances take on the form of open letters to its subjects. She treats an album as the dignified platform it once was and should be and this stance feels radical in today’s streaming-focused world.

A most striking feature of Ace (released on October 10, 2025) is the presentation of her vocals in a more expansive and spacious light, putting aside her much-associated – and anticipated – guitar for the piano, a more than suitable vehicle for this new terrain. Cunningham returns to her native instrument, the keys, as a “lost sojourner,” using it to strip away all but the most critical aspects of the record’s narrative, while highlighting its grooves and timbres.

All the songs played on piano started on guitar and later migrated to it. This practice seemingly grew out of her fascination with embracing the uncomfortable, like the open tunings she is known to use in her celebrated approach to the guitar as an instrument to be challenged and played with. From a new-to-her tuning, to the piano, and then to her band, this game of telephone still allowed Cunningham to sound more like herself.

The game doesn’t stop there. At a lair in Woodstock, New York, in the fall of 2024, Madison and her band committed themselves to a few simple principles: No demos. No vocal comps. “Do the thing that feels most musically true and curious.” And, “Don’t give a shit about what people have known you for.” These rules, in many ways, allow the anthropology of the moment in time during which this record was made to speak loudest. It goes without saying that this path is impossible to tread without a rigorous knowledge of oneself, trust in the folks around you, and, most centrally, the chops to back it up. The consequence of these choices is a record with a narrative “spine” throughout, animating what Cunningham likens to a ballet in its transitions – something she has been working toward both in the studio and on the road since her triumphant, full-length debut in 2019, Who Are You Now.

The song “Wake,” a duet with Robin Pecknold of Fleet Foxes, evokes the kaleidoscopic nexus of Alison Krauss & Robert Plant’s Raising Sand, the orchestration of Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, and the cinematic flair of Gustavo Santaolalla on top. More stripped-down performances, such as “Take Two” and “My Full Name,” demonstrate Madison’s subtle confidence as both a devoted curator and a fearless innovator. Woodwinds underscore and bookmark this collection’s ethereal climate, thanks to the work of Jesse Chandler. Taken as a whole, Ace brings the listener into the same trenches Madison found herself in and onward toward truth in the face of its hardships.

BGS reached Madison Cunningham via Zoom in mid-September to discuss Ace, its making, and the guidelines and rules by which she brought these songs into the world.

I noticed that you described the record as “light” when making it, despite its sober depiction of difficult subject matter. Which aspects were light to you?

Madison Cunningham: That’s a great question. The mission for making the record was really clear and all the “guidelines” were set up well in advance, which was something I had never done before. In the past, my process has been more about figuring it out as we go. This time, my band and I were very prepared. I used the touring band that I’ve been with for the last five years, and the deep collaboration and shared language we’ve developed over that time made everything feel so fluid.

We were all “cracked open” in this special way and we laughed the whole time. That’s probably what I mean the most about the record being “light,” how joyful it felt. I didn’t feel much fear while we were making it. I just had a picture of how I wanted it to sound, and it already was sounding like that. That felt like a relief.

Did you feel like you had less to prove in a superficial sense?

I guess there’s always something to prove. I don’t mean to erase the feeling that I had, which was, of course, a certain amount of pressure or wanting it to level up in some way. But, in light of being quite devastated in my personal life, everything else felt so small compared to the mountain I felt like I was climbing at home.

And maybe that was the gift and that’s why everything felt like it. For whatever reason, everything felt like green lights. It just couldn’t have been easier. Also, I’d never had a more fluid relationship with my label; there was no argument about how this was going to happen. It just was like, “Go. Do it.”

How would you describe the guidelines you had in place for this record and how did they differ from your usual process? Also, did playing the piano more for this record affect your writing style, perhaps making it more expansive in some ways?

I started as a kid on piano first and it had a resurgence in my life in the last three years. I fell back in love with it and I enjoyed the feeling of being a lost sojourner on it, just being like, “Oh, I’m finding all these things that I now am – I found a style here that I’m injecting into my guitar playing.” I wanted to play guitar more like a pianist.

One of my guidelines was, “Just don’t give a shit about what people have known you for, what they might expect. Do the thing that feels most musically true and curious.” And that sounds a lot like permission, but it was also a guideline. Another guideline was, “Make sure that there’s emotional delivery over anything that sounds too perfect. And don’t compromise on that.”

The other set of guidelines were between me and my band: we did a lot of rehearsal beforehand, but we didn’t record anything, so there were no demos. That was a huge rule. I also said, “I don’t want to do any vocal comps. I just want to sing the songs live.” That was helpful. It was another way of being like, “Okay, focus, and be in the room for the moment that these songs are being captured.” So, yeah, there was no previous, “Ah, but shit, we gotta out-beat that one demo we made.” Because that slate was so clean, I think everything was clearer.

During the recording process, do you listen to other music for comfort or do you stay entirely within the feedback loop of your own project? I’m also curious if the recording period was a continuous block of time, which would obviously influence your ability to listen to music.

We did record it continuously, and I don’t usually listen to music while I’m making a record. Honestly, destination recordings help so much with that, because you’re just immersed in the physical and spiritual environment of the whole thing. We were up at a lair and it was fall – it was this time last year – and there’s this beautiful hike that allowed you to look over the reservoir and the golden, brown, red leaves. I felt so romantic that whole time. Even if there was something that wasn’t working, I just had such faith it was going to get there.

We also had a crazy sort of work cycle, which was [that] we would start the skeleton of the song in the morning and then we would record until 2:00 AM and finish it. Again, I think because we all had the guidelines, we were like, “We want every song to have woodwinds pretty much, unless it doesn’t call for it, so we’re going to try and flesh it all out in the same day.”

Jesse Chandler did all that. He’s a genius. We would both talk through things we were both hearing, and then he would just play it all. It was like building a puzzle in real time, and it felt so wonderful to be able to see it all and to feel moved by it. We barely did any overdubs. We did another session in LA a month later after those two weeks up at Woodstock and did a few little overdubs, but we had mainly done everything while we were there.

Ace feels like a return to the “record” as a dignified format. In the lead-up to making it, did you think about the songs as individual tracks – as it relates to streaming culture – or did you focus on creating a cohesive narrative for the entire album?

There are so many examples of records that feel like a full statement and we’ve lost that. That feels radical now. I feel like I’ve made records that have been molded to the current format and I was so disinterested in that this time. I am so over the, “Hey, let’s just do what everyone else is doing,” and, “It’s guaranteed to work.” I really mistrust people when they say that to me, and that mistrust has usually been right.

Even if I see the “format” working for someone else, I’m like, “But that’s not me. That’s not my music, so we can’t say that’s the target, that’s the answer.” I was so interested in making the record feel like a ballet and feeling like the transitions were seamless. It was the first record I felt like I made that had a spine that connected the whole thing and I still find such value in that.

To be honest, we also made efforts to make sure that the songs were not too long. They were separated from their instrumental tracks so that it could work for playlisting. We weren’t, like, fully in protest.

When working on a song like “Wake,” where did that start? How different does it look from when you’re playing it on the couch, versus sitting down with Robin [Pecknold] to record it? Could you walk me through how that song got made? I love how active the guitar parts are, the closeness of the vocal harmonies, and how relaxed everything feels in the recording.

MC: I love that. I really appreciate that it comes across that way. That was the goal and the way that it was written. I wrote it with another songwriter named Will Taylor and we were both just playing these counterparts. And that’s where the seamlessness of it kind of took place; on the recording, that’s the direction I wanted it to go in. Then I just added some different flavors.

All those guitar parts you hear were added and layered, but I didn’t do very many takes of them, so that’s how it might feel live. I didn’t get in there and try to overly correct things. I wanted it to breathe. That has to be one of my favorite songs on the record because we wrote it in a Nashville blizzard and it sounds like that. The guitar part sounds like snowflakes falling in different directions to me, and Robin’s voice is just like a warm fire.

Did you record that in Nashville, or did you just write it in Nashville?

Wrote it in Nashville, recorded it in Los Angeles a year later, and we did all of that, everything that you hear, in one day. I recorded the main guitar and sang at the same time and then Robin sang in the other room. And once we figured that out, we added all the guitars, then Daniel Rhine added upright bass, and then we did the foot stomps at the end. And that was the song.

For the guitar-centric people, is “Wake” in an open tuning, and do you mind sharing what that is?

No, I always forget it, but I’m going to pull it up on my “favorite tunings” column.

It is C-G-D-F-A-C, from low to high. It’s basically an open suspended chord and it’s so tricky. At first, you’re like, “There’s no possible way through this tuning.” And that’s the tuning I wrote all the record on. Every guitar here, it’s in that tuning.

Your music contains rhythmic feels that seem to be informed by drums or percussion, outside of the guitar. I know you’ve played percussion – does your drumming experience influence your songwriting on other instruments? Do you workshop things back and forth with your drummer, Kyle [Crane] in this way?

I feel like if I were to show you the original demos of these songs, there was already such a strong, informed rhythmic thing, more than in the past for me. And Kyle, I think he was playing into, “How do I make this feel like we thought of this at the same time? Or, “How can it feel like that?” For example, “Break the Jaw” came out of a band jam. I wrote the lyrics to it, but the feel of the song wasn’t something Kyle tried to figure out after the fact. We were figuring it out in real time and I think that’s why it came out so cool. Everybody put their stamp on it.

The whole process was us trying to figure out the skeleton of rhythm and how to make it feel like it wasn’t fighting with itself.

I’m wondering how you approach sequencing an album. When you consider the interludes, the streaming world, live performance, and recording, are there specific ideas, people, or records that have helped you learn how to think about the flow and energy of a record from start to finish?

Ooh, yeah, I’m sure. Radiohead is a big one for me. I think the sequencing of their records is so specific. Their opening track is always perfect to me and their closing track is always perfect. From the beginning of making this record, before all the songs were written, I knew which was going to be the first and which was going to be the last. And then Robbie Lackritz – who made the record with me – and I spent a lot of time delineating over sequencing.

The story of the record is important. Obviously, the tempo arc, and the keys melded together. The story has a plot, so that was a big thing. I wasn’t trying to write it like that, but from an aerial view, I was like, “Oh yeah, this is how it connects.”

In the song “Take Two,” you mention a fear of writing simple songs. Did this perceived fear influence the guidelines you set for yourself when writing the album? Also, were the initial ideas for the songs primarily written on guitar or piano?

For every song that ended up on piano, it actually started on guitar – with the exception of the instrumental pieces, which were formed from the piano.

For example, “Shore” started on guitar and so did “My Full Name,” but they felt like piano songs to me because I was doing a lot of transposing between instruments to see if the song was good. I would transfer it between instruments and say, “Yeah, it still has a message.” In doing that, I fell in love with “My Full Name” on the piano.

“Take Two” also started on guitar, and I was like, “I don’t like this song very much. I love what it’s saying, but I find it to be so boring.” It was a song that everybody on my team was attached to. When we got to Woodstock, the song came together on the piano before we were going to record it and I was like, “I love this song.” Something made me say, “Hell yeah.”

On a more technical note, I’m curious about the guitar sound for “Skeletree.” It sounds like a low-tuned nylon string guitar with a contact mic. What was it?

Killed it. That’s exactly what it is. There was this big bedroom with a tall ceiling and that’s where we stored the amp. The contact mic was also sitting in a really big room, which contributed to the fairy dust.

Very cool. Were there any other notable guitars on the record that were new to you or were just lying around the studio?

I used a hollow body for the bridge of “Break the Jaw.” I think it might have been a 330 or something. I really love that you can hear a crunchy, kind of reverb thing just break out for a second. I also used my Collings acoustic. I know I had that for a few, but mainly it was just that nylon string that I stuck with. A little bit of the Collings, and then that electric guitar once, for one section of a song, and then all piano after that.

I did play electric bass for “Golden Gate” and “Mummy” too.

Do you ever write on bass or play along with records on bass?

I do, and I wrote “Golden Gate” on bass. That line that you hear at the beginning, it started with that.

Do you have any advice for people who want to feel like they don’t have anything to prove, especially if they are working toward a platform in the process?

I feel like the thing that I’ve learned the most from is, even if you don’t fully have your sound yet, make it a mission to just make music you like the sound of. Even if you haven’t fully found yours yet, you will, by way of learning what it is that you love and what you like coming out of your own body and mouth and fingers.

I think the things that have spoken the most to people is going, “I can tell that you love what you’re doing.” And even though in my earlier years, you could definitely see a lot of comparisons, I needed those because those were the things that made me believe in music and what I was doing. And then I think those faded away and now this record is the first time I’ve ever been like, “This is what I’ve always wanted to make. This sounds like me.” It just took a minute, but I enjoyed the whole ride.

I also feel like I was never not myself. Everything that I did, I felt was a risk in some way or stretched me as an artist. … What I loved the most about making this record was that all of it felt in balance. Finally, my voice was the loudest.

That’s just because I finally, like you said, trusted myself, trusted the process. I knew enough to know that even if something isn’t working the first time, there’s always a second, third, or fourth to try. So, trust your curiosity and do whatever it takes to make sure your curiosity is above the fearful, negative self-talk.

Photo Credit: Sean Stout

Dallas Ugly’s New Album Is Downright Beautiful

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Dallas Ugly is not a country band. Except that they are?

More than a decade ago now, college classmates Eli Broxham, Owen Burton, and Libby Weitnauer began playing together as a new acoustic band, bluegrass and old-time chops combined with jazz and jammy virtuosity. Eventually, via COVID pandemic cloistering together, they crafted a collective identity as Dallas Ugly, a vibey and tight alt-country group built around original songs that made a splash with their 2022 debut, Watch Me Learn.

On that album you can hear bluegrass grit, the tenderness of folk and indie songwriting, influences of Southern rock and pop, and dashes of Texas twang – perhaps supplied by confirmation bias thanks to their moniker. On their latest album, See Me Now (released in April), the trio are abandoning any and all claims to Americana and country. But this collection – one of the best roots albums of the year – still listens like so many classic artists and albums at the intersection of indie, country, and the vast musical horizon.

When you ask the Nashville-based band how they’ve landed in this new, borderless, agnostic genre territory, they seem as surprised by their own chosen style markers and aesthetic vocabulary as their audiences. “It’s an accident,” says Weitnauer – with delight. “We don’t know why we sound this way. We’ve been able to loosen up more, build on the experience we’ve gotten just as musicians. … With this iteration, I feel like it shows a full development of our sound.”

In truth, however See Me Now and Dallas Ugly strike your ears, it’s quite a straightforward task to trace their journey through genres. (Though it’s not the most straightforward to discuss!) The trio simply follows each song down their own individual creative rabbit holes, trusting the music and each other to find or carve out sounds that encapsulate the feelings, textures, and stories that they craft together. They don’t lead the songs, the songs lead them. As a result, Dallas Ugly alchemically transform barn burning old-time fiddle, endless country twang, deep honky-tonkin’ pocket, earnest, sentimental songwriting, and pop-informed sweet tooths into smooth, artful, endlessly interesting indie rock.

Dallas Ugly’s brand of roots music – if you can call it that – is downright beautiful. We spoke to the group via phone between tours in May about making the album, claiming genre (or not), and the sometimes passive, sometimes overwrought process of shepherding these songs into the world.

I wanted to start with getting the genre conversation out of the way, as it were. Y’all have been very forward with communicating that this isn’t really a country album; that you don’t really see yourselves as a country band. You call it indie, indie-pop-rock. I hear you as decidedly Americana and country, personally. Obviously you have those indie-pop touches – plus, we know you have string band bones as well – but can you talk a little bit about your relationship to genre and how you intentionally stepped into this much more free, borderless sonic space with this project?

Libby Weitnauer: It’s funny, because as I’ve had more conversations with people since the album’s come out I’m like, we definitely marketed it wrong. [Laughs] The other way we could’ve gone – everyone is like, “Do you ever listen to Sunbelt?” “Do you ever listen to Wilco?” “What about like The Breeders?”

Everyone says it’s ‘90s alt-country. It’s like, “Damnit… you’re right.” [Laughs]

But you asked what were the intentional steps that we made – and I would say there have been no intentional steps towards any genre. Which is why we are having trouble pinning it down, because I think we decided to market it the indie route. Honestly, the Americana world seemingly wants to have nothing to do with our music. [Laughs] So we were like, “Okay, then, I guess it’s not Americana, I guess it’s not country.” Every time we bring it to those people they turn it away.

I would say our relationship with genre is very passive. When we’re making decisions and writing songs, genre isn’t a consideration. It’s always been that way. When we started playing together as the very goofy band that we were before this band, that was a sort of attempt at new acoustic music. It was the same thing, we just make decisions [based on] things that we like, or think we’re supposed to do sometimes, or sound good. Then it comes through this Dallas Ugly Eli-Libby-Owen filter, no matter what.

We’ve honestly tried so hard to fit into a genre. Where we’re like, “Okay! We’ve done it this time. You guys, we made a song that sounds like something else that exists.” Which is a funny thing to aspire to. Just trying to create stuff that we like and then it’s, “Oh, nope, nevermind. There it is. Just as weird as ever.”

Do you feel like the songs are what’s guiding you in that passive way? That you’re just trying to give the songs the treatment they each want or are asking for or deserve? Do you feel like it’s taste? Or is it just how it ends up is how it ends up? What do you think is the process for how it ends up being borderless and amorphous and not quite any one thing?

Owen Burton: Yeah, I think those are all in there. I think it isn’t as if we’re striving when we’re writing, it’s not like we’re intentionally pointing to a specific genre. There’s just things that we don’t realize are so genre-coded that are kind of inescapable about our musical voices. When we are asking how to start a song it’s, “Let’s do a fiddle kick.” It’s not, “Let’s do a country thing.” It’s just, “I feel like a fiddle kick would make sense.” And then, on the other end of that is people being like, “This is a country record now!”

It’s fair enough. But I think with this record, too, [as] I’ve learned with our first album – which we were like, this is a country record – I feel like we learned, in how it was received, how actually regimented the Americana style is. And how we weren’t within certain signifiers that are pretty regimented. Indie rock is way more broad, in terms of what it tolerates stylistically.

So the next one, this one, certainly can fit in that big tent. Now, the way it’s been perceived that way too, [I’ve realized] indie rock’s pretty regimented in ways that I didn’t understand, too. Mostly about singing. I think just none of us sing like indie boys. [Laughs]

LW: Or country voice. That’s the thing, I think what it comes down to is if different people were singing our songs, maybe it would be clearer. But I think, especially Owen and I, we have acquired taste, stinky cheese voices. [Laughs] It’s definitely not for everybody. Eli, obviously he doesn’t sing quite as much, but weirdly I would say Eli has the most familiar voice.

I happen to love stinky cheese.

LW: Exactly! Me too.

How does Justin Francis play into the genre paradigm here as your producer, as somebody who effortlessly walks between those sonic worlds? Can you talk a little bit about working with him and having him in the control room?

OB: He understood what we were going for. When we started, we intentionally controlled less variables going into the studio for this one. It’s not as if we had a strategy meeting about what kind of album this was gonna be before we started, making creative decisions on it. The songs were vaguely written before we went into the studio, but not arranged and not figured out like across the band ahead of time.

I feel like even just that process– I guess that’s a bit of a question, is that more of an Americana process or more of an indie rock process? I see that as more of a rock process; I feel like rock bands often go into the studio with songs not even written and they just write it in the studio. With [Justin] on board, he had all kinds of ideas when we were writing in the studio, little bits of studio vocab that we don’t have ourselves. [He] pushed and pulled in different genre directions, for sure.

LW: Part of the reason that we worked with him is we did these two singles with him, “Big Signs” and “Born Crying” just to try working with another producer and see what happens. I don’t even know that we were really [thinking] we could make an album with him, because honestly, he’s the real deal! We were like, “He’s famous, so he probably won’t make an album with us, but let’s just see what these things will sound like.” It was so effortless and he let us do our thing on those two. I feel like those [songs] are just as unhinged as anything else that we’ve made and he was right there with us with the ideas.

I would say, generally, working with him was really effortless. That’s the word I would use. The whole time, even the pre-production meetings.

Let’s talk about some of the music. My favorite is “Bad Feeling.” I know the lyric may say, “It’s a bad feeling, I don’t like it at all…” but I do like it. I like “Bad Feeling” a lot. I heard you guys play this song live a bunch before the album, too, but can you talk about the origin of it, its writing, how it came together in the studio?

LW: That’s the one song I think on the whole album that we had been performing [before recording]. Maybe “You Can Leave,” but it changed a lot. “Bad Feeling” we had been performing pretty much as it is, for the most part. I’m glad that you like it, because that was the song I was like… not disappointed in, but I had so much trouble breaking out of the live arrangement that we had. We had played it so much that I felt like the track suffered a little bit from how attached we were to the live arrangement.

But the making and the writing of that song, I feel like I wrote it [because] I’d been listening to a lot of Judee Sill. I guess I was inspired by that and was trying to capture how some of her songs, the chords move with the lyrics a lot. I didn’t end up really sounding like her at all, but some of the original harmonies we had for that song, played [off of] some of the harmonies in her music.

I feel like that song is like the epitome of my writing style, which is pretty autobiographical. Every time I try to write like feathery stuff, it sounds really goofy. And so with lyrics, I just try to find the most straightforward way I can say something. Usually that ends up being the most poetic, from my voice.

How do you know when you have a hook or you have the bit of the song that’s gonna be what everybody shouts along with? To me, it doesn’t feel like any of you are writing songs because you think they’re gonna be a hit. But at the same time, when I hear a really hooky song or a really catchy song – like basically this whole album – whether it’s “Bad Feeling” or “Sugar Crash” or “Circumstances” or “See Me Now,” I can picture a “light bulb moment” when you find that hook or line that ends up being the sing along.

LW: When I’m writing, I don’t really consciously think about hooks like this. That being said, a lot of my songs start with either a phrase or a melody. I’ll be on a walk or doing something in the kitchen just singing little thing. Like “Circumstances” – “I put a letter in the mail…” – that just happened in my brain when I was doing something. Then usually I’ll grab onto that and write the song around whatever little melody piece comes to me. I guess what ends up being the hook, a lot of the time, is what comes to me. And then I find myself singing it and I let it take off and do what it’s gonna do.

Eli Broxham: I feel like something that comes up, a question we end up asking ourselves that I’ve heard Libby ask a bunch of times is, “Is this super cheesy?” [All laugh] Which, we definitely ride the line of cheesiness, but at some point, you have to just be like, “I don’t know. I like it. And that’s good enough.” If it’s borderline to me, maybe it’ll be over the line for somebody else, but clearly, within bounds for another listener.

At some point, trust your instincts and be like, “It might be cheesy, but that’s okay.” And yeah, I think melodically is where I have my surest footing [writing hooks]. I still feel as a songwriter, if I hit the mark, it’s maybe by chance or something.

I also want to talk about “See Me Now,” because it’s the title track, because it’s a great song, but also because I feel like it epitomizes the journey y’all have been on, from Watch Me Learn to this album. Not just musically and creatively, but also genre, and also politically and socially. This song is “of the moment” in a really interesting way, because you can listen to it down and it’s a love song and it’s a song about seeing and being seen, but it’s also about perception and, “Is my existence valid?”

All of that is really deeply resonant, but if you zoom out and view the song in the context of the band, it changes its meaning. If you zoom out yet again and you view it in the context of y’all really coming together during COVID to do this project as Dallas Ugly, being friends for more than a decade, it changes the meaning of the song again. It’s a tesseract of a track where you guys are writing in four dimensions – it’s not too intellectual or conceptual, but it has endless depth. How!?

OB: I actually wrote that very quickly, because Elise Leavy was having like a songwriting circle. I hadn’t written a song terribly recently, so I was just gonna write something real quick for this. That was the song I wrote and at the time – this is years ago – I was very into that Kacey Musgraves album, Golden Hour, and the lead track, [“Slow Burn”]. That acoustic intro thing, I was messing around with that, because the chords are really simple, but the voicings are so interesting.

Those two things – “hurry up and write a song” and the somewhat new vocab I had just learned – came together. That first draft of it was soft, crummy – plus those lyrics, it’s hard to say what they’re about, because I wrote them very quick. Sometimes this spiel I give on stage is:

It’s three people meeting each other after some kind of apocalypse. In the universe of the apocalypse, because nobody has anything anymore, it’s very hard to [determine] what status anyone was before the apocalypse. It’s three different kinds of people with different former social status, wishing that people they interacted with could tell what status they used to have.
People are very comfortable in their status, I feel like whether it’s high status or low status, people find comfort in both. Personal comfort in your own status and the comfort in feeling like you know how to treat people once you derive their status.

I feel like audiences never understand that spiel and it’s maybe too heady to be worth anything. [Laughs] Maybe that’s also why it feels like there’s so many different reads you could have of that song.

I think the most interesting thing about it – and maybe I’m projecting y’all – is the sentiment, “Can’t you see me now? I want you to see me.” Maybe that’s just the millennial condition. All of us having nostalgia for something that never existed, generationally, and being like, “I need you to see me. I need you to perceive me. But also I’d rather you perceive me from the golden era, from the before times. From when things were right.”

Also the “Can you hear me now?” reference of it all feels very millennial, very of the 2000s in a great way. Again, is this cheesy? No, of course not. Listen to it! But also, yes it is.

OB: Yeah, that’s where we live.

LW: That’s where we live! And I would say, before this, before the version that’s on the album, it had a very different flavor. I can’t even remember how it sounded exactly, but it was definitely more country – almost like country rock – and that was over the line. I’m glad we found [this style] and Justin helped us find that. Just pulling it back to the other side a little bit, because yeah, lyrically and melodically, it’s so solid and awesome. But we had to go to the drawing board a few times to get the setting right for it.

 

@dallasuglymusic Woops! We turned our indie pop song “Circumstances” into an acoustic one 🙊 #bigthief #adriennelenker #mjlenderman #mjlenderman #fiddle #acoustic #uprightbass #arcadianwild #indierock #fleetwoomac #acousticguitar #folkmusic #indierock ♬ original sound – Dallas Ugly

EB: That one is like the musical ideas are blocks that are put in place. I remember when we were doing this – after some of the drawing board stuff that Libby was talking about – but I was listening to that Mac Miller album, Circles – which I think is maybe the best Mac Miller album. I was listening to how the elements didn’t change, they just turned on and off to make the song, which I feel like is pretty common in pop and rap production. But often, especially in this band or in Americana and rock, things tend to sneak in and out and evolve.

But for that song in particular, the bass line just turns on, then turns off for a little part. It turns on and turns off. There’s different parts of different sections, but they are like binary, which I think is an interesting approach – and a first for us, in that sense. Somehow, that takes it out of the realm of cheesy country and accentuates the lyrics in a nice way. Even that final chorus, where it’s just a big pause and then the chorus turns on.

LW: That’s interesting that you say that, ’cause I feel like for my fiddling, that was the approach I took on this whole album. Honestly, until we got to the pre-production meetings I was like, “I don’t even think I’m gonna play fiddle on this album.”

I took more of [an approach like] I’m a sample of a thing, rather than being a fiddle in a band. Like even on “You Can Leave,” which is the more fiddle-y of the tracks, in the verses I’m not doing traditional fills. I’m doing this one rhythmic hook every time this comes around and that’s what I’m playing on this song.

It was the idea of turning things on and off rather than trying to be part of the whole song. And I let myself punctuate things and not feel like I need to play the whole time.

Photos courtesy of the artist.

Basses of Comparison: Shelby Means and Bridget Kearney Step Out Front

Posted on by Editor

Although she spent a decade living and playing music in Nashville, most notably as the bassist for bluegrass group Della Mae, Shelby Means is now settled in Charleston, South Carolina, where she says she appreciates being closer to her family and so much beautiful nature. Throughout a back porch Zoom call about her self-titled bluegrass album, she also praises her producer, Maya De Vitry, a fellow singer-songwriter and former bandmate of Means’s husband, Joel Timmons. To hear Means tell it, De Vitry helped her pull together the masterful band on the collection. The session players read like a who’s-who of bluegrass’ finest: Jerry Douglas, Billy Strings, Sam Bush, Molly Tuttle, Ronnie McCoury, Sam Grisman, Bryan Sutton, and on and on.

Granted, players such as these have a way of winding up in recording studios together. But rarely is the bass player at the mic, directing the traffic. So, to mark this rare occasion, BGS got Means on Zoom with bassist/songwriter/bandleader Bridget Kearney (Lake Street Dive, Joy Kills Sorrow), whose 2023 solo album Comeback Kid also had the bassist at the wheel.

When I see projects like yours, Shelby, I’m always interested in the community of it all. These folks play on a lot of people’s albums, but when somebody different is in the front, it shifts the vibe. It brings out something different. I hate to gender something like this, but there’s something different about feminine energy being out front, so I wanted to just start there.

Both of you have played in women-led projects. You’ve done solo stuff. You’ve backed up other people. And you’ve both been doing it a long time. What have you noticed about how the vibe changes, or how the community plays, when a woman is at the front?

Shelby Means: Well, Bridget, have you ever been the only woman in a band?

Bridget Kearney: Yes.

SM: I think I have, too. But when I was much younger. Then, when I moved to Nashville, it seemed like, even if the band was being led by a man, there was usually at least one other woman, which I found very useful and helpful. [There was] solidarity.

BK: Yeah, I feel like I’ve often been in bands that are a mix. Lake Street Dive is a mix, and Joy Kills Sorrow was a mix. So I guess the only thing I’ve never been in is an all-men band. I tend to like it when there’s a mix, when people are bringing all sorts of different perspectives into a band. When I’m putting a band together for a project, I’m always making sure I’m leaving all the possibilities open. I think that’s the most important thing: making sure everyone’s at least getting in the door to get interviewed.

SM: I think it’s super balanced when there’s men and women. It feels yin/yang. Like the whole thing is present.

Which is interesting, considering Della Mae is an all-women band. Do you feel like there was imbalance in that? Or like that’s just a whole different vibe.

SM: Yeah, it’s a whole different vibe. It was a great experience being part of an all-female band. We had some amazing opportunities because we only had women in the band. For example, going to Pakistan and being able to perform for colleges that were all women. It was some of those women’s first time ever seeing a [musical] performance … because they aren’t allowed to go out and see shows, especially unaccompanied. So those experiences were totally amazing and worth whatever it was that made it feel slightly imbalanced. … I’m very new to putting my own band together. But because I’ve enjoyed being in projects with a balance of male and female energy, I do kind of want to make sure that I get boys and girls, or however you identify. It doesn’t matter to me, you know.

Back to the community thing, though. I’m thinking about jams at festivals, and how bluegrass works. Somebody steps to the front and takes the solo and that kind of vibe is on this record. How did you feel to get to lead the band for the first time?

SM: It was amazing. And I want to give a lot of props to my producer, Maya De Vitry. When you think about her and I teaming up together, and calling Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas, Bryan Sutton, Ron Block—all the the big names on the record—and basically being in charge of them, that was something else. We respect them so much and look up to their music. … We’ve listened to that stuff growing up, so it’s really cool to be in a position of [directing] those cats. They totally respected Maya and me, and looked to us for direction like they were on the team. I remember Maya saying, before Day One, “Jerry Douglas is a human being. Ron Block is a human being. Maya De Vitry is a human being.” Like, we’re on the same playing field in the fact that we’re all humans. Obviously all of us feel nervous or scared at some point, so we can relate on those things and just take the pressure off a little bit.

We’re all in the folk roots, Americana, bluegrass, whatever you want to call it world, where everything is community-centric, and of course you’re touring all the time so you know people everywhere. But I think especially right now in the world, the idea of bringing people together with different skill sets to collaborate and make something beautiful feels really heavy and important. Heavy in a really good way. Do you feel like that is a priority to you, or does it feel more about just music and art for art’s sake?

SM: Well, they’re similar, those. I feel music for art’s sake is like music for the heart. I mean we have to [make music]. But it does help that we’re bringing people together. And hopefully people are gonna come out and see the show and we’ll have an experience at the show that can potentially transcend any sort of darkness or whatever it is that’s going on in each person’s [life] or the collective world. … I’ve had an experience recently where we’re watching a band. And just because I’ve had some grief and things going on in my life, it just was flowing. Like, I was crying and enjoying the concert. I was there feeling it with my bandmates, we were all together having a crybaby moment, letting our emotions go, and feeling safe in that environment to do that, which I think is very important.

BK: One hundred percent agree. I think the pause in live shows during COVID lockdown really highlighted that for me, because there was this long period where that wasn’t happening. The first time I went back to a music festival, the band that was playing before us was The War and Treaty. Same thing. I was just in tears, like this is so powerful. Their songs are so good. All these people came from far and wide, and they’re in the same place, and they’re singing along. It’s truly the most connective force that I see.

Both of you play bass, which requires you to be the support system for the band. I don’t know why it seems that upright bass is a male instrument more than other instruments. Maybe because it’s so big and it’s so low, and it’s harder to press the strings down. But can you talk a little bit about being, specifically, women bassists?

SM: We could probably talk for hours about that. It’s always fun whenever I get together with another bass player in general, because we often don’t [get together]. There’s many times where, if there’s somebody sitting in, it’s another fiddle player, another banjo player. Often another bass player isn’t asked to sit in, so we don’t get to hang out very frequently. But when we do, it’s really cool.

For me, growing up, my dad and my brother definitely enabled me. They would carry my bass around at jam sessions. At a certain point, when I was in high school and college, I had the gumption. I wanted to do it. I would carry the bass down the hall. I got one with backpack straps, so I would have to hunch over because the hotel halls are usually too short to fully stand upright and carry a bass on your back. You look like a little turtle. … I tried other instruments, but the bass was the one for me, despite its size and physical nature.

BK: For me, one thing that was influential with choosing the bass was that where were some examples in my life of women who played the bass. Actually, my first three bass teachers were women. There was an amazing bass player, Diana Gannett, who was teaching at the University of Iowa when I was growing up. She had a bunch of students who were undergrads or grad students that were in town, and those were the people that were accessible to take lessons from, when I was starting to play bass in junior high and high school. So that was lucky for me that it was just, like, normalized. I think that’s an important thing about representation on stage, making sure kids out there see versions of themselves doing all the jobs.

SM: Yeah, I don’t remember noticing any men playing the bass, but I remember the first woman that I saw playing the bass and thought I wanna do that. I think I can do that.

Let’s end with an easy question: What have you been listening to lately?

SM: I’ve been listening to some of the other new releases coming out. I’m With Her. And Leftover Salmon put out a record.

BK: MK.Gee and what else? I’ve been listening to some music from Morocco. It’s this Sufi Islamic healing music with this instrument that’s very similar to bass, called the gimbri. I did a semester abroad there in college and then was just back there recently for the first time since college. I’ve been getting into that music. It’s so cool.

Do you feel like that gets into what you’re writing?

BK: I think it definitely gets into the way that I play bass, because it’s an instrument that’s like the register of bass. It’s the only pitched instrument in the ensemble, so it’s extremely bass-forward music. It’s just this instrument and then percussion and singing, so the bass has this really central role. It’s very melodic and kind of percussive. Also, the front of the instrument is leather, so it’s kind of like a drum head. Sometimes you play a note with your finger but also use your other fingers to hit the drum. So you’re kind of playing bass and drum at the same time. That’s something I think very much influenced the way I play bass. Shelby, I’ll send you some.

SM: Yeah, send me some of that. That sounds awesome.

Photo Credit: Bridget Kearney by Rodneri; Shelby Means by Hunter McRae

BGS 5+5: Adam Chaffins

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Adam Chaffins
Hometown: Louisa, Kentucky
Latest Album: Trailer Trash EP (released May 16, 2025)
Personal Nicknames: “Chaffins”

Genre is dead (long live genre!), but how would you describe the genres and styles your music inhabits?

I’ve considered myself a multi-genre artist from the beginning. While I feel confident identifying as a country artist, that label doesn’t capture the full range of my influences. Growing up, I listened to country alongside Top 40 hits and classic rock – those styles shaped my ear just as much. In high school, I discovered bluegrass and jazz, and during college I really dove deep into those genres and honed my craft within them.

All of those influences have filtered into my writing today and I think that’s especially clear on this new EP. Music, like culture, is becoming increasingly interconnected and multi-dimensional. It’s exciting to see more country artists exploring new spaces and I want to make music that is part of that evolution.

Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?

Speaking of multi-genre artists, Willie Nelson is a great place to start. He’s part of the foundation of country songwriting – hell, songwriting in general. His music draws from so many different influences and we wouldn’t have the classic Willie Nelson records without that breadth.

It’s tough to single out just one artist as my biggest influence, but more often than not, when I’m writing a line or delivering a phrase, I catch myself asking, “What would Willie do?” His sound has never felt forced or put on – it’s authentic because he’s lived every word of it. Beyond the music, his lessons in patience and positivity have been a huge influence on me and have played a big part in keeping me grounded and continuing to make music.

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

I love the outdoors – it’s essential for my creativity. Whether I’m kayaking on the lake, hiking with my dog, or cycling down country backroads, being outside helps me reset. When I’m feeling bogged down by the ‘business’ side of music, stuck on a lyric, or just need a break from a piece I’m learning, nature gives me the space to clear my mind. It’s like a creative reset button – being in the elements helps me return with energy and perspective.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

Some of my earliest memories are of wanting to be a musician – or at least be around musicians. I had toy guitars and drum sets and would just bang away, trying to get the sounds in my head out long before I had any idea what I was doing.

One moment that really stands out happened before I could even read or write. A local DJ I was obsessed with was doing a promo at a car lot and my mom took me to meet him. I thought he was the gatekeeper to all of music. I remember scribbling on sticky notes – what I explained were the instruments and band members I wanted for my future group. He smiled, folded the notes, and tucked them into his shirt pocket with a wink, just before going back on the air.

Looking back, that moment felt like an early manifestation. Even then, I knew music was where I wanted to be – I just didn’t have the words for it yet.

If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?

I love to cook. When the world shut down during COVID and there were no shows to play, I got a big offset smoker trailer and started smoking whole chickens outside a locally owned grocery store. Honestly, I probably earned fans faster with barbecue than I ever have with music…

That said – it’s tough work. Tending fires inside a steel pit during a Tennessee summer isn’t for the faint of heart. But then again, neither is rolling around the country in a van playing songs for strangers. I guess one just happened to be the dream I had first. I still cook and smoke meat whenever I can and, if I weren’t making music, I could absolutely see myself doing that full-time.

Photo Credit: Natia Cinco

Mark Erelli Had an Idea for a Special First Live Album: a String Quintet

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Just as spring began its soft awakening here in the Northeast, Mark Erelli breathed new life into his vast catalog with the release of Live in Rockport: Mark Erelli & His String Quintet. As if his 13 solo albums, three bluegrass albums, and a considerable list of collaborations weren’t extensive enough, Erelli’s newest album forages entirely novel innovations.

With the help of longtime collaborator Zachariah Hickman (bass, vocals, arrangements), Erelli dispenses a selection of nine songs from throughout his decades-long vault of material with an imaginative twist – each has been delicately rearranged for Erelli, his guitar, and a string quintet. Recorded live in the sonically apt Shalin Liu Performance Center of Rockport, Massachusetts, the painstakingly intricate layers of strings weave a dynamic backdrop for Erelli’s potent songsmanship.

Cinematic and profound, the resulting tracklist examines these illustrious songs through new textures and colors. With deep attunement to both past iterations and new arrangements, listeners are struck by the simultaneously transient and perpetual nature of a good song.

BGS had the pleasure of chatting with Mark Erelli about the musings and process behind his newest creation.

So tell me about what the inception of this project was like – what propelled you to make a live album with a string quintet?

Mark Erelli: I’ve wanted to make a live record for years. And the question for any artist is always, “When do you do it?” If you do it too early in your career, you don’t maybe have as much experience performing live and you’re maybe not at the height of your powers. Yet, if you do it when it’s been a long time between records, it can seem almost like an afterthought. So I’ve always wanted to do it, but I’ve really struggled with the “when” of it. And then I’ve also grappled with what the format should be, because I perform in a lot of different formats, but I think my native performance format is still as a solo acoustic singer-songwriter.

I’ve thought about doing that live since I don’t have any records where it’s just me and my guitar. I’ve actually tried to professionally record live shows, but I never really captured a show that felt magical, and that’s the thing about live performance, right? It’s such an ephemeral thing, that’s the beauty of it, and that’s the frustrating thing if you’re trying to capture it. As I got further and further in my career, I realized I didn’t want to do the kind of live record that is just a snapshot of me on a normal night. I decided if I was going to do it, I wanted to make something really special and I wanted it to be a classic moment that really transforms how you think about an artist.

One of my favorite live albums is At Fillmore East by the Allman Brothers Band – it’s a high bar to measure yourself against, but I really wanted a live album that showcased my work in a new light. That’s where the string quintet came in. I had worked with strings on my most recent three records or so and I started working with strings on my covers record in 2018 called Mixtape. Strings are such a novel, fun, really amazing element to be able to work with – they’re quite the extra color to paint with, but I always had used them in the context of a band performance, tracking the strings after to support and augment the band.

I started wondering, what would it sound like if the strings just were the band? I got the chance to figure this out when I re-released my debut record on its 25th anniversary and I re-recorded one of the songs with a string quintet. That’s when I realized, “Oh yeah, this is gonna work out great, we’ve got to find a way to document this.” We made the live record shortly thereafter.

What do you think changes about the music and the material when you intentionalize the context and the sound like this?

Strings are really unique in that they can support a very wide dynamic range. For example, if you’re playing with a rock band, it’s pretty easy to get and you can only really get so quiet. The drums can only be so quiet. Electric guitars can only be so quiet. But the strings can get as loud and as percussive as stirring as a rock band. There’s this extra part of the dynamic range at the lower end of the spectrum, at the quieter end, that is not really accessible in any other kind of band format. String players are really adept at playing very quietly, because sometimes they have to provide atmosphere and/or introduce tension. But then other times they have to have this totally, totally aggressive, intense kind of energy, like with Psycho. What I love about the string quintet is that they just let me keep the full dynamic range of my music on the table, as far as what kind of songs I can play and how I deliver them, meanwhile I don’t have to sing over a drum kit.

Could you talk a little bit more about that process of arranging with the quintet? And I’m also curious about song selection – what it was like picking and choosing which songs you’d arrange?

I mean, I can’t speak specifically to the arrangement process, because that is pretty much entirely the purview of Zachariah Hickman, who wrote all the arrangements. I’ve worked with Zach basically on every project I’ve done since 2008 in some capacity. He’s produced a lot of them. We do a lot of projects and side projects together, which is to say that we’ve built up almost 20 years of really intense, deep trust. Zach is a far more trained musician than I am and he just always knows what I want to hear or what I’m trying to strive for, even if I can’t quite verbalize it. And he wrote these string parts accordingly.

As far as which songs to do, I think some songs have a more cinematic quality to them for whatever reason, whether it’s the sweep of the imagery and lyrics or the interaction between tempo of the song and the chord changes. Some chord progressions just feel more majestic. Anytime there’s majesty and a big sweep of emotion involved, the strings are a no-brainer. The bigger challenge is to present the strings within the kind of fuller spectrum of what I can do. I didn’t want to just do a whole live record of ballads. I wanted some songs to be able to rock, and I wanted to show that the strings can rock too. “Is it Enough” and “Love Wins in the Long Run” are two songs I specifically commissioned for this record to have some rockers with strings, not just these beautiful ballads. As far as which songs to add strings to from my catalog, I feel like I’m not even done with this yet. I want more.

Yes, same here! What was it like practicing with the strings for this performance?

It’s interesting – when you have a rock band, the parts aren’t always necessarily written out. There might be specific hooks or chord changes that have to happen, but there’s a lot more freedom for improvisation in the performance. You just kind of play the songs together a few times, then you go out and you play them in front of people, and you see what happens. Oftentimes it’s very different with strings. All their parts are written out, so I’m the thing that changes every time. Zach’s bass parts are not written out either, so the two of us can kind of move together as a dynamic unit. If I move to sing something a certain way, or phrase something with a particular feel, he can match my feel and translate between what I’m doing and what the rest of the quintet is doing.

But for the most part, the form is set. If I don’t play the basic structure as their charts are written out, they’re lost and then it comes off the rails. But within the form, there’s a lot of freedom for me to phrase things a certain way. I can phrase behind the beat I can push my phrasing a little bit against how they’re voicing their parts. That’s where I think a lot of the best art comes from. Having complete freedom to create and improvise, unless you’re working with the highest, highest caliber of musicians, is just really tough. Having no rules and no parameters – it’s really hard to make that compelling, unless you’re a band of virtuosos.

To me, it’s the constraints that really let you play around with the other factors. Maybe that’s the scientist in me talking. Everything can change. Something has to stay the same. In the case of these string quintet shows, the structure of the song is the same every time, but the way that you color in those lines – there’s almost endless variations to play with.

I’m curious how your relationship to these songs has evolved throughout the years and then specifically within the creation of this record. How will this process inspire your artistry moving forward?

The first song on Live in Rockport is the last song from my most recent studio record. Then towards the end of the live record is the song “Northern Star,” which is from my debut that I re-recorded 25 years later. So there’s a huge spread there. It tends to be mostly focused on stuff from the last 10 years or so, but having that early song there has helped me see more of a through line within my body of work that I previously was less aware of.

I think of my catalog as falling into either side of a particular line, and that line being parenthood—or at least when I started to really think seriously about becoming a parent. The art that I made before I was a parent, or before I started considering it, that all feels sort of separate from the art I make now. Sometimes it’s been hard for me to relate to the kid that made that work and the kind of man that I am now that’s been changed in so many ways by all that new love in my life – not just marriage, but family. So to reach back across that dividing line and to take a song like “Northern Star” and treat it the same way that we’re treating some of these newer songs and have it come alive so vibrantly really made me think, “Okay, well maybe that was the same person all along.”

I was just growing all along. So in some strange way, the strings have helped me kind of reconnect with some of my earlier material when I would have never thought to even dream of having a string quintet on my records – I wouldn’t have had any idea how to do that. And if you’d asked me if the songs would support it or if it was appropriate for the songs, I would have said, “I don’t think so. “Hearing all the songs side by side like this from such a long period of time has made me connect with the fact that maybe I’ve always been the same kind of artist that I am now and it just took me a while to grow into that realization.

I think when the audience is hearing me with the strings, it can be pretty revelatory – they’re really learning new things about me as an artist. And when I’m on stage performing with the strings, I’m learning new things about myself in real time, too. To me, that’s the beautiful thing that made working with the strings just so amazing – it really was a growth opportunity all around, just like anytime you do something that affords you a new perspective, or a new appreciation of a particular dimension of what you do. You just can’t help but be a better artist on the other side of that. I have a lot to be grateful for, as far as the different configurations that I’ve been able to work with. And this, right now – this is one of my absolute favorites.

Photo Credit: Bri Gately

The Herculean Story Behind Andrea Zonn and John Cowan Becoming The HercuLeons

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Andrea Zonn and John Cowan have been among the hardest-working musicians around Nashville for the past few decades. Zonn has done tons of sessions both for her violin and vocal prowess as well as touring with superstars like Vince Gill, Lyle Lovett, and James Taylor. Cowan, a longtime member of the legendary New Grass Revival, also was a founding member of the country-rock supergroup The Sky Kings, has done solo projects, and currently tours as the Doobie Brothers’ bassist. However, they only really started playing together due to the pandemic. Their collaboration resulted in a band called The HercuLeons, whose debut album Andrea Zonn & John Cowan Are The HercuLeons arrives March 21 on True Lonesome Records.

Darrell Scott, Tom Britt, Greg Morrow, Abraham Parker, Gary Prim, and Reese Wynans represent the primary HercuLeons on the album, while Billy Payne, Michael McDonald, Jonell Mosser, John Hall, and John McFee number among the special guests.

Zonn and Cowan spoke separately to BGS for our feature interview all about their unique collaboration, becoming a band, and the debut album.

When did you two first meet?

Andrea Zonn: I moved to Nashville in 1986 and John I think got here two, three, four years before that. I was already a fan of his, but we met and our paths crossed over the years. Then at some point we got called to sing on a session together. I just love singing with him. We became friends and have been great friends. He’s like a brother to me, actually.

John Cowan: Our lives have been continually entwined because of our musical interests, our mutual respect for each other, and because we would get hired to do backing vocal sessions.

How did this particular collaboration come to be?

JC: Right during the pandemic, Andrea and I had gotten solicited to play on a custom project. It was like, “We’ve got three songs for you.” And we’re like, “Okay.” Well, it turns out they had like nine songs for us and we basically just went from the top of the list all the way to the bottom; we were there like 10 hours.

AZ: Then I was just about to call him on my way home, when he called me and we were both about to say the same thing, which is “God, I love singing with you.” We just decided to sort of become each other’s creative bubble during the pandemic. We were thinking we would do something sort of bluegrass-y with [mandolinist] Ashby Frank, [guitarist] Seth Taylor, and [banjo player] Matt Menefee, which was a blast. So, we did a couple of Facebook Live concerts, which is hysterical because we were playing just to the camera.

JC: These kind of young guns guys – Ashby and Seth and Matt – they’re at that time of their lives where they’re just running full speed. They’re just so impassioned and so full of music that you really can’t get somebody like that to commit to, “Hey, let’s be in a band.” By the time we got around to making this record, the personnel had just switched to basically me and Andrea and then we chose the band that we wanted to make the record with.

How did the record come about?

JC: It happened pretty organically. We were talking about making this record. We weren’t even as far as who’s playing on it, or who’s producing or what it is. But I was driving home from my sister’s house in Indiana back to Nashville one day and I heard Claire Lynch doing this song called “Barbed Wire Boys” and I literally pulled my car over because I thought to myself: “Am I hearing what I [think I’m hearing]?” The words were so unbelievably well-written. It was just stunning. I played it for Andrea and I said, “What do you think of this song? Are you just as stunned by the words as I am?” She said, “Absolutely!”

AZ: It just felt like such a timely message in this song, which is that there’s this generation of strong, stoic men who have this really soft underbelly. It feels like there’s not a place for that right now and there’s a real wistful longing for this gentle strength. We were listening to the song going, “What could we do with this?” We were just looking at it as this single standalone thing. Let’s just record this because we love it. We’ve got time on our hands. And the idea just kept growing. It’s like, “Let’s just figure out a way to make a record like this.” Also, with the pandemic [it was] a weird time to make long-term plans

Wendy Waldman produced the album – how did she get involved?

JC: We got a hold of Wendy Waldman, who’s one of my oldest friends and produced many things I’m involved with. Andrea and I made a vocal guitar demo and sent it to her.

AZ: We decided we wanted to slow down [the song], break it down, and make it more of what Wendy calls, “The prairie orchestra sort of thing.”

JC: She worked on it for us – it’s like she went away in a little hobbit in a village of stuff, she came back to us, and she’d written the most beautiful layers of mandolins and acoustic guitar tuned down low.

AZ: She’s like a shaman the way she creates. It’s like you just see glowing aura is coming out of her when she’s in that space.

The idea to do an album grew from there?

JC: That was the beginning of the record. We had that song and we started pursuing it and it would be about sharing tracks and files back and forth from California, which is where Wendy lived, and that was going swimmingly well.

AZ: Exactly. It was like, “Let’s put something beautiful in the world, because I feel like that’s our responsibility as artists.” Especially during these times we’re living in are so full of devastation and difficult things and people need healing. They need beauty. They need that balance. And so that’s where we come in. So, it just started as just this yearning to create something beautiful. And then it was just so much fun, and the chemistry was there.

The album features only 11 songs and those are mainly covers. Was it hard to decide what songs to record?

AZ: It was brutal actually picking songs, because there are so many beautiful and great songs and we weren’t really all that concerned with where the genre markers are. We just were like, let’s just do stuff we love. We’ve just been feeling our way through it. Things that we really felt like we could sing well together were sort of a consideration. It was such an organic process, and it was not a quick process.

JC: I think we got up to 30 songs that we wanted to have a stab at. We kept culling it down. So, this bushel of songs started to reveal itself to us. We opened it up a lot [like] a basket of fruit and you could see which one was going to make it and which ones might get a little too ripe.

One of the things that immediately stands out is the amazing way you two sing together

AZ: We have a lot of the same influences. You know, I call him “The Powerhouse” and I’m sort of a “Powder Puff” so [we] complement each other. He’s just so intuitive and such a great musician, such a beautiful sense of phrasing, and it’s just very easy to fall into place with him

JC: We know each other’s voice, so there’s some kind of internal resonance that’s going on there that you can’t see or feel or touch… You can’t necessarily write it out on a piece of paper. When two singers sing together like that it’s like Baez and Dylan.

The music is remarkably diverse – a vibrant mix of rock, soul, blues, country, funk, and bluegrass – but the album holds a real cohesiveness. There’s a sense of humanism and empathy that flows through the songs you picked.

JC: That’s just who we are. Andrea and I are the same. We’re the perennial man looking for a spirit greater than all of us to bond us to human beings in the world.

That seems to be spotlighted using your single “Face of Appalachia” (an old Lowell George/John Sebastian tune that Valerie Carter had on her 1977 debut album) to raise awareness for victims of Hurricane Helene. It’s a song that has many connections with both of you, right?

JC: Both Andrea and I became or were friends with Valerie before she passed a couple of years, so there’s a huge emotional connection for both of us.

AZ: We just love the song and we wanted to kind of do our little spin on it. Then when the hurricane hit, it’s like we all felt so powerless to help, so we wanted to raise awareness and direct people to organizations that are actually on the ground doing good work. I mean, John and I love the people, the region, the music that comes from there. It’s just such a meaningful place, you know, and your heart just breaks for what people are going through.

If you had to choose a song that’s a good entry point for listeners, what would it be?

AZ: You have to listen to the whole thing. You just have to suck it up and suffer through it, it’s only 11 songs! “Straight Up” would get their attention. Let’s say that it’s short and sweet and it’s just full of a lot of what we do, except for the slow pretty stuff and there’s a great message in that song.

JC: I might say “Face of Appalachia,” because there are two beautiful lead vocals on there, but they don’t appear to be lead vocals. They just appear as these two people singing together. … There’s so much about that track. How the words fit so well with the arrangement. It has shadows and light as well, but a lot of pathos.

The Gregory Porter song we do called “Take Me to the Alley,” I just think it’s a staggering song. It’s basically talking about how people are lining up all these shining things in front of their houses waiting for God to return and then he shows up and he’s like, “I don’t want to see any of this, take me to the alley, take me where the desperate ones are.”

Photo Credit: Courtesy of the HercuLeons.

Travis Book Happy Hour: Caitlin Krisko

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

I had heard of Caitlin Krisko, but I’d never really heard her until she took over the stage at the Floydfest Buffalo Jam a few years ago. I’d finished up my part of the show and had headed out into the crowd to unwind and watch the proceedings. Every time Caitlin stepped up to the mic the ensemble struggled to match her soul and intensity. It wasn’t even fair, really. She owned that show that night and she owned the interview and music during the Happy Hour, too. It was Caitlin’s show, Aaron and Tommy and I were just along for the ride!

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • STITCHER • AMAZON • MP3

This episode was recorded live at 185 King St in Brevard, NC on August 13th, 2024.

This episode is brought to you by Thompson Guitars and is presented by Americana Vibes and BGS as part of the BGS Podcast Network.

Photo Credit: Aaron Austin

Editor’s Note: The Travis Book Happy Hour is hosted by Travis Book of the GRAMMY Award-winning band, The Infamous Stringdusters. The show’s focus is musical collaboration and conversation around matters of being. The podcast includes highlights from Travis’s interviews and music from each live show recorded in Brevard, North Carolina.

The Travis Book Happy Hour is brought to you by Thompson Guitars and is presented by Americana Vibes and The Bluegrass Situation as part of the BGS Podcast Network. You can find the Travis Book Happy Hour on Instagram and Facebook and online at thetravisbookhappyhour.com.

You Gotta Hear This: New Music From Nefesh Mountain, Juliet Lloyd, and More

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Quality over quantity is sometimes what it’s all about. This week’s edition of our premiere round-up is small but mighty, with brand new tracks and videos from a stellar collection of roots musicians.

To kick us off, singer-songwriter Juliet Lloyd brings us a properly spooky video for her track, “Call Your Wife,” which was filmed at an abandoned amusement park in West Virginia. The song is about anger and shame, growth and change, running away and getting caught back up in it again, too. It’s an excellent lead in to spooky and scary season, that’s for sure.

Next, our friends Nefesh Mountain have a gorgeous new fall-tinged video for an original song, “Regrets In The Rearview,” that features an all-star lineup of bluegrass legends. It’s a paean to gratitude, to living life for the moment, and celebrates finding peace – and a home – in movement and change. We think it’s the perfect song to put on for your drive to the pumpkin patch or apple orchard.

To wrap us up, California roots duo Two Runner – made up of Paige Anderson and Emilie Rose – perform “Late Dinner” live from a cozy front porch. They combine old-time, bluegrass, Americana, folk, and more into their own exemplary sound, which highlights the slightly melancholy story just perfectly.

It’s an apropos musical triptych for fall, for golden hour, for sipping some hot cider or cozying up beneath a blanket as the autumn rain falls outside. And, you know what we think… You Gotta Hear This!

Juliet Lloyd, “Call Your Wife”

Artist: Juliet Lloyd
Hometown: Washington, D.C.
Song: “Call Your Wife”
Album: Carnival
Release Date: October 25, 2024

In Their Words: “It’s funny to me that the most carnival-sounding song on the entire album is not the title track – it’s this one. ‘Call Your Wife’ was inspired by an anonymous text message that I got in the middle of the night. I had released another single from the album, ‘Pretty,’ a few weeks before, and it was a really personal song that parsed through my complicated feelings about an old relationship that I’ve mostly run from in the 20 years since. The text message said I wasn’t being fair to the guy in the song– and all of a sudden I was 18 again, feeling afraid and ashamed. And then I got angry.

“Todd Wright (who co-wrote and produced) and I managed to channel those feelings into a track that goes to a really unexpected place. It starts sweetly threatening and builds to a really satisfying, vengeful final chorus. I love the unhinged banjo and bass lines that kick in in the second verse. After we finished the track, I knew I wanted a video to match the vibe. The song and video for me are really about using art to process, to heal, and to connect with anyone else who has ever felt like they couldn’t speak up and confront their gaslighters and abusers.” – Juliet Lloyd

Track Credits:
Written by Juliet Lloyd & Todd Wright.

Video Credits: Produced by Mind in Motion.
Directed by Joshua Land and Victor Fink.
Featuring Todd Wright and Steve Quintilian.
Colleen Laffey, Zachary Buckley, Abigail Sussman – Production assistants
Shot at Lake Shawnee Abandoned Amusement Park in Rock, West Virginia.

Nefesh Mountain, “Regrets In The Rearview”

Artist: Nefesh Mountain
Hometown: New York, New York
Song: “Regrets In The Rearview”
Album: Beacons
Release Date: September 25, 2024 (single); January 2025 (album)
Label: Eden Sky Records

In Their Words: “We’ve spent the last number of years on the road, getting the band out there as much as possible, all with our now 3-year-old daughter, Willow! Needless to say, it can be hard to balance touring with writing sometimes, but when we finally sat down in early 2024 to write new material, dozens of songs just poured out of us. We spent those early months feverishly creating, composing, and refining our vision and voice for this next iteration of the band. The result of this musical alchemy is Beacons; our new double LP containing eight Americana songs with our electric band on disc one, and 10 more on the bluegrass-oriented disc two.

“We feel eternally grateful and beyond lucky to have become close with our heroes over the years and while our own band makes up much of the two discs, we also called on our friends Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas, Stuart Duncan, Rob McCoury and Mark Schatz to bring this song to life! This particular song also marks an incredibly special first for us – our older daughter Millie is on it, beautifully singing the third part in the chorus and duetting with mom on verse four.” – Eric Lindberg

“‘Regrets In The Rearview’ kicks off the bluegrass half of Beacons and is a tune all about gratitude and living in the moment. It’s our own personal reminder to stay present and keep moving forward instead of dwelling too much on the past. It’s about finding some peace with the struggles we have, and we wanted to channel the blissful freedom we feel when we’re out there hitting the road.” – Doni Zasloff

Track Credits:
Written by Eric Lindberg and Doni Zasloff.
Doni Zasloff – Vocals
Eric Lindberg – Vocals, guitar
Stuart Duncan – Fiddle
Jerry Douglas – Dobro
Sam Bush – Mandolin
Rob McCoury – Banjo
Mark Schatz – Bass

Video Credits:
Shot in and around the communities surrounding Woodstock, New York.
Directed and conceptualized by Lindberg and Zasloff along with Rafael Roy & Kelin Verrette with All Solid Things.

Two Runner, “Late Dinner”

Artist: Two Runner
Hometown: Nevada City, California
Song: “Late Dinner”
Album: Late Dinner
Release Date: September 13, 2024
Label: Gar Hole Records

In Their Words: “‘Late Dinner’ is a song for all the people who have been ghosted and let down. That feeling of yearning for the perfect relationship dinner where everything feels glowy-warm amongst the candle light. I was cheated on/ghosted in a somewhat new relationship and cooked dinner that night yearning for the person to be there and wishing things were different. This song is a reminiscence about that time and hopefully relates to those who have made the ‘late dinner’ without the person ever showing up.” – Two Runner, Paige Anderson and Emilie Rose

Track Credits: Written by Paige Anderson.
Performed by Paige Anderson and Emilie Rose.
Video Credits: Filmed, recorded, mixed, and edited by Nick Futch.

Photo Credit: Nefesh Mountain by Rafael Roy & Kelin Verrette; Juliet Lloyd by Anna Haas.

10 of the Best Deep Voices in Country

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

No matter where you look in the history of country music, you’ll find some common themes – working-class stories, banjos, an appreciation for the simple life. But there’s something else fans of country music then and now all seem to love, and that’s a deep, rich singing voice.

In this roundup, we’ve gathered just 10 of the all-time best deep voices in country music, from smooth baritones to booming basses. Whether you’re a fan of outlaw country, pop country, or something a bit more classic, there’s a voice for you on this list.

Amythyst Kiah

Combining elements of Americana, old-time, folk, and country, Amythyst Kiah has spent the past decade proving she has one of the most powerful deep voices in roots music. Whether she’s sharing an arrangement of a traditional ballad or innovating Americana, Kiah brings her unique, rich, and haunting voice to everything she does. Her song “Black Myself” even earned her a Grammy nomination in 2020 for “Best American Roots Song.”

Accompanied only by banjo, Kiah’s take on the traditional ballad “Darlin’ Cory” highlights the literal and emotional depth of her one-of-a-kind voice.

Waylon Jennings

Known as a pioneer of outlaw country, Waylon Jennings got his start in country music when he was just a 14-year-old kid in Texas. He then spent six decades gracing the world with his soothing baritone voice, earning himself a permanent place in country music history – and the Country Music Hall of Fame. Alongside frequent collaborators Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, and Johnny Cash, Jennings recorded some of the most legendary songs in the modern country canon, including “Highwayman” and “Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys.” Jennings passed away in 2002, but his deep and powerful voice remains one of the most recognizable sounds in country music.

Scotty McCreery

Newer to the scene, North Carolina-born Scotty McCreery got his industry start in 2011 after winning the 10th season of American Idol. Since then, he’s enjoyed a successful career as a country singer-songwriter – he even became a Grand Ole Opry member earlier this year – thanks largely to his smooth, deep vocals. Fitting in perfectly with the modern Nashville sound, McCreery’s most recent single, “Cab in a Solo,” showcases this young country star’s keen skill as a baritone crooner.

Orville Peck

A mysterious character in the alt-country realm, Orville Peck has one of the most stunning deep voices in country music, genre-wide. Boasting an impressive vocal range (baritone to falsetto), Peck is best known for his resounding lower register. Teaming up with country stars like Midland and Sheryl Crow, Peck has quickly made a name for himself since the release of his debut album, Pony, just five years ago. Inspired by ’60s- and ’70s country (à la Jennings and his collaborator, Willie Nelson), Peck’s brooding, emotive, and theatrical voice is a must-hear for appreciators of high-quality baritone country singers.

Trace Adkins

First rising to fame in the mid-’90s, Trace Adkins continues to reign as a big name in pop country. His gruff-yet-soothing voice sounds like a day on the farm in the hot sun — and that’s exactly why he’s on this list. A songwriter, singer, and dynamic performer, Adkins wields an unmistakable baritone voice that helped shape the sound and direction of Nashville in recent decades. If you’re looking for a chance to relive the glory days of early pop country, Adkins has the voice you’re looking for.

Randy Travis

One of the most popular country singers of all time, Randy Travis is known for his earnest songwriting style and velvet-smooth baritone voice. After getting his start in the 1980s, Travis recorded over 20 albums and charted on the Billboard Hot Country Songs chart over 50 times. In 2013, he experienced a tragic, life-altering stroke, affecting his ability to sing and perform. With the help of AI, producers recently teamed up with Travis to record and release his first new single in over a decade, “Where That Came From.” Using AI to combine past existing recordings of Travis’s vocals with contributions from another singer, James Dupre, the new single captures the singer’s spirit and depth, giving listeners a newfound opportunity to appreciate a living legend.

Johnny Cash

Let’s be real: This list would not be complete without Johnny Cash. Arguably the most famous country music star to ever live, Johnny Cash is known near and far for his deep, rich voice that straddled the border between baritone and bass. Cash had a storyteller’s voice, and he used it proudly to tell the stories others weren’t telling. As time went on, Cash’s voice settled into its lower register, which can be heard on his final non-posthumous album American IV: The Man Comes Around. But there’s no better way to showcase the rumbling voice of Johnny Cash than through his infamous recording of “Folsom Prison Blues,” recorded live at Folsom State Prison in 1968.

Jim Reeves

One of the forefathers of country music, Jim Reeves wielded one of the most beautiful baritone voices in the genre. A true crooner and country & western artist, Jim Reeves’s voice is smooth, deep, and unforgettable. Arguably the most technically accomplished singer on this list, Reeves topped the country charts throughout the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s. A dynamic and masterful baritone with a gentle stage presence, Reeves played a huge role in shaping the sound of Nashville and his influence is still felt today.

Colter Wall

Canadian singer-songwriter Colter Wall released his first single, “The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie,” in 2015 when he was just 20 years old. Showcasing Wall’s impossibly deep and weathered voice, the single swiftly launched the young artist into the limelight, mostly via a live performance video on YouTube. Treading the country and Americana borderlands, Wall has one of those voices that makes you think, “How is that sound coming out of that person?”

Since his debut, Wall has released five full-length albums, including his 2023 release, Little Songs. Throughout his catalogue, Wall never misses a beat or fails to remind us that he has one of the deepest and richest bass voices in country.

 Josh Turner

For Josh Turner, bass singing is old hat. He grew up singing bass parts in church choirs and gospel quartets, then debuting at the Grand Ole Opry when he was just 24. Now in his 40s, Turner has spent over half his life making waves in the industry as one of the only true bass singers in the genre — and a top-notch one at that. In May 2024, Turner released a brand-new single, “Heatin’ Things Up,” proving he still deserves the title of the man with the most satisfying deep voice in country.

Photo Credit: Johnny Cash courtesy of JohnnyCash.com.

MIXTAPE: Bridget Kearney’s Photographic Memories

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

From my early days of being photo editor of my high school newspaper to my current tour hobby of photographing bizarre regional potato chip flavors in their native lands for @chipscapes, I have long held a fascination for photography. As life rushes by us at a mile a minute a camera has the ability to freeze the frame for a second, capture a moment in time, and provide photographic evidence that the moment actually existed. Though the waves may have crashed into your impossibly magnificent sand castle, you can keep it standing forever in a photo. And though time may have drowned out a love that once burned impossibly bright, a security camera may have accidentally captured the most blissful moments of that love and if you can track down the footage and find those moments, you could potentially kick back on the couch and watch those moments on infinite loop forever.

This is the premise of my song, “Security Camera,” from my new album Comeback Kid. Beyond that song, the subject of photos, memories, and trying to hold on to a moment for what it was, to love that moment forever in spite of its ephemeral nature, weaves its way through the album as a common thread. I put together a playlist of songs on the theme of cameras and memory and it turns out a lot of my favorite songwriters and biggest influences have also been fascinated by this subject. Recorded music is basically the audio version of a photo/video, so it makes sense. Hope you enjoy these songs as much as I do. – Bridget Kearney

“Kamera” – Wilco

Jeff Tweedy seems to be using the camera as a self-revealing truth teller in this song. He’s lost his grip on reality and only a camera can tell him “which lies that I been hiding.” I have loved Wilco for a long time and have a very specific visual memory of listening to them on headphones in college: I was on a semester abroad in Morocco and I was going for a run along the beach in Essaouira and came upon these big sand dunes. I spontaneously decided to run up to the top of the dunes and then bound down them into the water. This joyous discovery of dune jumping on a perfect sunny day will always be soundtracked to Wilco’s song “Theologians” in my mind.

“Kodachrome” – Paul Simon

Paul Simon was always playing around the house when I was growing up and this song has a particular significance to the origin story of my band, Lake Street Dive: We were on one of our first tours and we were driving my parent’s minivan around the Midwest. The only way to listen to music in the van was through the CD player. It was in the pre-streaming era where we all would have had a big library of digital music on our laptops (probably illegally downloaded from Napster or the like). So we decided to co-create a mystery mix CD by passing around someone’s laptop and letting each of us put in songs one-by-one, not telling each other what we’d put it in. Then we burned out the mystery mix CD and listened to it together.

As four students studying jazz at a conservatory we had mostly listened to Charles Mingus and The Bad Plus together thus far, but the mystery mix exposed all four of us pop music fiends. Song after song kept coming on and we’d go, “Oh my god, you like Lauryn Hill too?!” and “You also know every lyric to David Bowie’s ‘Life on Mars’?!” This culminated in the moment when the mystery mix played Paul Simon’s “Kodachrome” THREE TIMES IN A ROW! That was when we knew we should be a band forever. The groove on this song is also part of the inspiration for the song “If You’re Driving” from Comeback Kid.

“Hey Ya” – Outkast

Not actually a song about photos and you’re not actually supposed to shake Polaroid pictures, but Andre 3000 is one of the greatest musicians of our time and I’ve learned so much from him about music and language and spirit! Also this song is a total jam.

“Security Camera” – Bridget Kearney

I live in Brooklyn and there are security cameras everywhere here – at the bodegas, at the clubs, on the rooftops. Their purpose is to capture criminals in the act of committing a crime, but they are also capturing so many other things. Everyday things and extraordinary things. Moments of extreme beauty and moments of extreme pain. The idea behind this song is to track down security camera footage of the very best moments of your life so you can watch them on repeat.

“Pictures Of Me” – Elliott Smith

I went through a huge Elliott Smith phase in college and had an instrumental Elliott Smith cover band. His harmonies and melodies are so good that you don’t even need the lyrics, but adding them in, of course, makes it all the better. This one seems to say that pictures can lie to you, too.

“Picture In a Frame” – Tom Waits

This is one of those songs that seems like it has existed forever. “Ever since I put your picture in a frame” sounds to me like he is saying, “Ever since I decided to love you.”

“Body” – Julia Jacklin

My friend Michael Leviton (a great photographer and musician!) told me about this song and its passing but gutting reference to a photo. We were talking about how I had realized that a lot of my songs are about cameras and photography and how funny it is to look back at your own songs and see patterns and discover what you’ve been obsessed with the whole time. Michael said his thing is “curtains,” which appear over and over again in his songs.

“Bad Self Portraits” – Lake Street Dive

A song I wrote for Lake Street Dive years ago about what happens when the person you want to take a picture of steps out of the frame. What you’re left with and how to make the most of it.

“Videotape” – Radiohead

I always thought this song was about when you die and you are at the pearly gates of heaven, they are deciding whether you get in or not and watch back videotapes of your life to see if you were good or bad. I don’t know if that’s what Radiohead meant, but that’s my interpretation! The production is so cool, the way the drum loop is slightly off tempo and moves around the phrase slowly as it cycles around. Damn, Radiohead is so cool!!

There are a few songs on Comeback Kid that are directly Radiohead influenced. “Sleep In” is like Radiohead meets Ravel (or that’s what I was going for!) When I graduated from Iowa City West High School, I arranged a version of “Paranoid Android” that some friends and I played instrumentally at the graduation ceremony. In retrospect, that is a really weird song for us to have played at graduation! But I think it’s cool that they let us be brooding teenagers and go for it.

“When the Lights Go Out” – Sarah Jarosz

The song that gave Sarah’s brilliant new record its title, Polaroid Lovers. I feel so inspired by the music that my friends make, and Sarah’s songs from this album really knocked me off my feet when I heard the album and even more so when I heard them live!

“People Take Pictures of Each Other” – The Kinks

A festive little song about taking photos of things to prove that they existed.

“I Bet Ur” – Bridget Kearney

This is a song from the album I put out last year, Snakes of Paradise. The narrative is built around seeing a picture of something that you don’t want to see, letting your imagination fill in the details, and learning to accept it as truth.

“I Turn My Camera On” – Spoon

Groove goals. The camera here puts a bit of distance between you and the world.

“Photograph” – Ringo Starr

A song about photographs by my favorite Beatle? Yes, please!

“My Funny Valentine” – Chet Baker

I love Chet Baker’s singing, his pure, dry, affectless delivery, his deadpan panache. And I love the way this song manages to rhyme “laughable” and “un-photographable” and stick the landing.

“Camera Roll” – Kacey Musgraves

Photography has been around for a long time now but carrying thousands of photos of our lives organized in chronological order in our pockets at all times is relatively new. And both wonderful and terrible.

“Come Down” – Anderson .Paak

Just a passing reference to pictures in this song, but I had to get Anderson .Paak on the playlist because he’s the best!

“Obsessed” – Bridget Kearney

A song about falling quickly, unexpectedly, insanely in love with someone and trying to understand how it happened. You look back at the pictures as evidence trying to gather clues, see the train of events that led to this madness.

Photo Credit: Rodneri