Tag: Belfast

Joshua Burnside’s It’s Not Going To Be Okay is an Absolutely Shattering Album

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Irish folksinger Joshua Burnside has always shown an affinity for expressing grief, once calling it the reason he began writing songs as a precocious 13-year-old. He’s 36 now, and that sense of grief has never felt as overt as it does on his latest music. Burnside’s It’s Not Going To Be Okay is absolutely shattering, an album that more than lives up to its title. Written and recorded in the wake of the death of Burnside’s best friend Dean Jendoubi, who died of a drug overdose in August of 2024, the album is a bittersweet requiem.

Burnside’s previous albums combined Irish folk with electronic flourishes, worldly rhythms, and elements of sonic collage. His multi-layered experimentation reached a peak with 2025’s Teeth of Time, a record that felt like a major statement and milestone. Barely a year later, It’s Not Going To Be Okay could almost be his Nebraska move – bare-bones stark with minimal embellishment, focused on unadorned voice and guitar in the service of deep, deep mourning.

It’s a state of mind where everything brings back memories of the departed, like the opening of “The Last Armchair”:

Oh, the last armchair you ever sat on
Before you overdosed
Is the one I sit in every morning
To eat my egg and toast…

Ahead of the album’s release on March 20, 2026, we caught up with Burnside for a Zoom interview about his musical past, present and future plans.

It’s Not Going To Be Okay is quite a title. How did that come to be the name of this body of work?

Joshua Burnside: These songs are about the inevitability of pain, suffering, and death, which is what I was dealing with while accepting the loss of my friend. But it was at least a little bit tongue-in-cheek, too, such a ridiculously depressing statement to make. I thought it would be funny in a way. In Northern Ireland, we have a very strong sense of gallows humor. So I was drawing on that a wee bit. I don’t think it’s supposed to be taken literally.

How did you and Dean Jendoubi first meet?

Our paths crossed briefly in school and then we met playing music. Formed a band with a few other people. He and I were maybe 14 and got on immediately. Then there was a trio when we were 16. He played drums, I played guitar, and another friend played bass. We didn’t really gig, just played for the fun of it at his parents’ house. He was a great musician and songwriter himself. His music is amazing and beautiful and weird and dark, like him in many ways. He released a few EPs. The last one is called Skin Hunger and I sing on one of those tracks. Recorded in his mum’s greenhouse, our summer shed 10 years ago.

Since it’s been not much more than a year since Teeth of Time was released, when did you make It’s Not Going To Be Okay?

My sense of time has been so terrible the last few years. It was maybe a few months after Dean passed away in 2024, which is strange to say now. So, end of 2024 is when I started writing and recording and I finished it up autumn of 2025. I was recording it as I was writing it, and the last song I wrote was “It’s Not Going To Be Okay.” It was in the last month of making the record that that one happened.

Is it unusual for you to be working ahead like that, on the next record before the last one was even released?

It’s not typical. It was five years between Teeth of Time and Into the Depths of Hell. That one was a similar dark-humor title, but then COVID hit not long after I’d written those songs. That was some strangely perfect timing. So no, it’s not really normal for me to write and record this quickly. But I just felt an urgency, because one of the main ways I’ve always processed painful feelings is writing and singing about them.

The songs came quickly and easily. I had not planned to focus on just one topic, but most of what came out happened to be that. It felt natural to have them all together like this, almost like a grief journal. That’s the story. A lot of people thought some songs on Teeth of Time had been about Dean’s passing, but they were all written before that. Some of those songs seem resonant with this new record. That seems to happen to me a lot, I’ll write a song and then it seems like life imitates it. If I were not of sound mind, I’d start to worry about ever writing anything tragic or sad.

Was it your intention from the start for this one to be so sonically spare?

Absolutely. I’d been listening to Bill Callahan and Smog, A River Ain’t Too Much To Love. I love how sparse his records are – guitar and cymbal and voice – and they’re still so alive and rich. So sparse, you hang on every word. His voice is so clear. I wanted to do something like that.

Teeth of Time had a lot going on, so I wanted to go with more of a less-is-more principle. See if I could make the songs simpler, almost minimalist, and keep attention with straightforward and very to-the-point lyrics. So I challenged myself. Before that, I was almost hiding behind production and layered instruments. I’d maybe felt a little insecure. But after all these years, I’m feeling more confident.

What has the response been to this record and these songs?

It’s been interesting. I’ve already been playing a lot of these songs live, and so many people come up afterward to say how they lost a friend, dad, uncle, and how much it means to them to connect with my music in a time of grief. That’s powerful, makes me think it’s worthwhile to make music and do this at all. It’s special. I feel a great responsibility not to take this lightly.

I did send the album to Dean’s family, my family, his closest friends, to make sure it’s okay and wouldn’t upset anyone to put this out in the world. My brother and dad knew Dean as well and they told me they couldn’t finish it at first. Just too painful. It took them a while to come around to it. It’s so raw for people who knew him. A bit of an emotional whirlwind in general.

Touring with a record this intimate and personal seems like it would be challenging. Does it feel like you’re delving into difficult feelings every night?

Actors have an ongoing debate about performance technique, whether you should act an emotion or actually feel it. I think it’s similar to performing as a musician. I don’t know what’s more correct or authentic, but the main thing seems to be to stay present in the moment. Playing these songs does make me revisit those feelings a little bit. But I have to be careful with that because I only have so much emotional bandwidth. In performance, I try to remain as present as possible with the feeling of the song, the melody, sound of the words, and craft of the song, as opposed to tapping directly into the original emotion. Sometimes I’ll do that and it’s powerful. But I can’t do that the whole gig or every night, because then touring would be too much.

How many of these It’s Not Going To Be Okay songs will be in your every-show setlist this go-round?

I’ve been toying with the idea of playing all of it start to finish. I was thinking of it that way while writing these songs, how I wanted to play every track and have it hold up even if it was just me. I need to get into the rehearsal room with my bandmates to see if we can crack it. Would be nice to make some different arrangements with electric guitar and cello. We’re a three-piece most of the time.

What were you listening to while growing up?

Lots of heavier stuff, hardcore and post-hardcore, new metal, funk, grunge. Nirvana, Offspring, Fall of Troy. An endless list of screaming, shouting, loud bands, which I still love. But alongside that, I also got a heavy dose of what mom and dad were listening to – Simon & Garfunkel, Fleetwood Mac, Alanis Morissette. Jagged Little Pill was a favorite of my mom’s and I still love that one. Great pop record.

You’ve often cited the experimental duo The Books as a major influence and the source of some of your experimental tendencies.

I saw The Books playing when I was a student in Manchester 15 years ago and they just knocked my socks off. It did not sound like any music I’d ever heard before. All the sampling and found-sound collaging was just eye-opening, a completely different way of making music. I loved the aesthetic, the sound, the folksiness of banjo and cello with all that. It was just inspired.

I would not think about music the way I do without The Books. I still listen to them all the time, and you can hear their influence on loads of my tracks. “Under the Concrete” has city noises I recorded in a park in Belfast, sirens in the distance. I wanted that song to have the feeling of being set in that park in that city. It felt like that’s where it had to take place emotionally.

After two such vastly different records back to back, what’s next for you?

I don’t know yet. I need a bit of time for gestation and recalibrating why I make music and to try to come at it from a different angle. I’m very excited at the prospect of making something new that goes away from what I’ve done before, something a bit more experimental. That’s where my head is at now. Maybe someplace percussive. At the moment all I’ve got are loose imaginary mental soundscapes, but that’s enough to keep me happy for now.

Photo Credit: Tom Johnson

Foy Vance’s The Wake Is Really a Celebration

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The second track on Foy Vance’s new album, The Wake, is simply titled, “Hi, I’m The Preacher’s Son.” Among a beautifully intricate and incredibly serene record dealing with overcoming deep grief and prolonged sorrow, the tune hits at the core theme and genuine emotion offered up within the entire body of work – learning to love yourself as you grow older.

“I am no fortunate son/ I am no favoured one/ I am but a loaded gun/ Fired into a world gone wrong,” the Northern Ireland-raised singer-songwriter rumbles through the song. “Face down in the dirt I learned/ You don’t always get what you deserve/ I can hide, I can try to run/ But I am what I have become.”

Captured by acclaimed British producer Ethan Johns, The Wake closes the door on the artist’s 26-year trek, both physically and emotionally, in dealing with the death of his father – what it means for Vance to let go of the pain and finally set his parent free, and himself, as well, within that process.

This journey began in January 1999 on the Spanish island of Lanzarote. Vance was in the midst of a performance when he slipped into this surreal, overwhelming trance, one that felt like the line was being blurred between reality and the cosmos above. The following day, Vance was informed of his father’s passing from a heart attack the previous evening.

“Only time will tell if I know you well/ Or if I did not know you at all,” Vance ascends on “I Think I Preferred the Question,” a selection from the album that squarely aims to put Vance’s past behind him. “It’s heaven, it’s hell/ It is well/ The spell dispels the more that I talk about it.”

The key to The Wake is the number seven. There’s a reason this chapter of Vance’s existence concludes on the seventh of his albums, all of which were inspired by his father. It’s directly linked to an ancient saying often used by Vance’s father, a traveling preacher, which eventually soaked into his son’s heart and soul: “Give me the boy to the age of seven, and I will give you the man.”

“You’ll be up high on the mountain’s peak/ Seeing everything that you just might seek,” Vance rolls through the final track, “Bathed in Light,” an uplifting tent revival number of redemption and closure. “When it gets time for town again/ I’m gonna tell you how you’ll feel right then/ Like nothing will ever bring you down.”

What Foy Vance has presented with The Wake is a raw and real album of sheer vulnerability and human strength, all wrapped up in melodies of such creative depth and sonic splendor. It’s a ceremonial, hallowed shedding of spiritual skin by one of the great songwriters of our day.

Where’s your head space at right now?

Foy Vance: Very good, the field is open. I feel like I walked a narrow road for 26 years, pretty single-minded and focused on one thing. And I don’t think I was even as aware of that at the time I was coming up on the seventh album, realizing that I’d set out on that journey and that was it. So, as you can imagine, finishing a journey that you self-imposed came with a sense of pleasure. Completing something feels good, but there was a bit of dread also, if I’m honest pretty straightaway. But, as is always the way, the end always reveals the new beginning, you know?

You talk about 26 years since your father passed away. What was that heaviness? Was it the relationship you had with him? Things that weren’t said? Things that could’ve been?

I came out [of the womb] singing. There were tapes of me singing at three years old, shutting my brothers up ‘cause they were singing it wrong, saying “No, I’m doing it well.” Music was huge in my life [growing up]. I had just turned 24 when my dad died. I was already playing music and trying to sing a career in it and trying to write songs. And I moved to Lanzarote to try and get away from the humdrum, the comfort zone of life. At home, it was just too easy to become comfortable. I wanted to go and find some time away from all that to seek songs.

And boy, did I find them, but I didn’t expect to find them the way I did. I think it was all the stars aligned at that moment. The moment my dad died, I’d already begun the song the night before as he was dying, and I didn’t even know that bit until the next day. But, the second I found out, I went back and I wrote the first song that mattered to me, the first song that was healing.

It’s like when those musicians were on the Titanic and they played “Amazing Grace” as it was going down. They weren’t playing that for a fee or for applause. Why were they doing that, Garret? You know what I mean? Therein lies something inherent in music that we’ve all but forgotten for the most part. And I think I had that moment [when my dad died] – everything became clear. I realized I’ve been sort of conning music into trying to make it fit my regime. And the whole time, it’s quietly beckoning me to grow and learn and glean. I’m glad I can pay my rent with [music], but that’s not what this is about. It’s not what music is. It’s not what it means.

Did you know that when your dad died or was it this revelation that came in later years?

No, I think I realized immediately, the second that song came and you realize it can come that way. It was like my antenna was out. A thin space was created between me and my dad. And obviously there’s a lot of things going on when you have that shock of grief, a monumental figure like a parent. I’m sure there are a lot of similarities between bouts of great creative inspiration and bouts of mental instability. Like an episode, if you will. So, I was making all kinds of connections that day. I guess I was grasping at anything to make sense of something and give myself something to hold onto and stick to and walk a narrow road with, and just stay focused. My dad was a big figure, and without him it was sink or swim – music was a vehicle for that.

Was he a tough love, hard to read kind of guy?

No. Tough love with three older brothers, for sure. But not so much with me. I think they wore him down by the time I came along. He was very soft and gentle, but he was a rough man. He was from East Belfast, born in 1945. He came from a tough background.

What is it you’re letting go of this far down the road since his departure?

The fact [the album] is called The Wake, it’s the end of it. Where I come from, [at a wake] you go to celebrate the life of someone, not to commiserate the death. You go and tell stories and you laugh your hole off. You raise pints and you sing songs and you have a wake. I realize it’s not the end of “the grief journey,” it’s the end of a grief journey – it’s never going to go away. I hope it doesn’t, because he’s been my co-writer, and I hope it remains that way. But, it just changed. It’s hard to put my finger on what lifted. Something lifted.

You know, I never went to college, I never even passed my school exams. I just left and got a job, didn’t even show up for the exams. I think this is as close as I’ll feel to walking [at graduation]. Like, setting out on a journey and then completing it and there’s your certificate.

In a short documentary about the album, one of the things you mentioned that really struck me was what your father would say to you, “Give me the boy to the age of seven, and I will give you the man.” How has that statement affected you as you’ve gotten older?

Well, because I have two boys. One of ‘em is still under five and I know that by the age of seven, that’s him – he’s locked and dialed. Whoever he is, it’s in there. I’m aware of that and I want to put as much good information in there as you possibly can, all the strong stuff that will be core beliefs when he grows up. [And] being very careful about how you speak to them, the tone you take, making sure that when they hear your voice in their head and you’re not around, it’s a comforting one, it’s a welcoming one. That all takes time and attention to detail and nuance.

I think it’s the same in work in art, like making those seven albums. It was like the making of me as an artist, I guess in my mind. Give me the artist of the age of seven albums and I’ll give you whoever he is. I guess I was making those sorts of connections in my mind. Like, I will have become whatever I am probably by then, I’ll be settled into something.

I have a lot of solidarity with that statement because it plays into another statement that “you learn most everything you need to know in life in the sandbox.” When you look back at who you were at seven, how much of that person is still who you are?

Garret, I’m 51 now. It’s taken me a long time to wander through some wild places, but I finally got back to [myself]. I was right at seven. You can trust your seven-year-old self.

One of the things I’ve noticed as I’ve gotten older is how much, in certain ways, I’m turning into my father. Do you notice anything like that?

Well, I think that’s what I got caught up with on “Hi, I’m the Preacher’s Son.” No matter how much you get away, try to run away from what your dad did. What I do is not a million miles away. Let’s face it, I’m just not preaching any truth of any sort, just talking about what’s happening, reflecting my own experience here or whatever. But, it’s not a million miles away [from what he did], that you go off and you dig for details and you articulate them. He always spoke in parables and riddles, so it’s not surprising that I became a songwriter.

Well, whether you perform onstage or you’re in a pulpit, you have everyone in that room facing the same direction, and everyone’s in there for a different reason. In the church or at a live concert, they’re focused on what you have to say and hopefully walk away with a better feeling of themselves.

Yeah. I guess the main difference is I’m not trying to sell them anything. I’m there having an experience, too. I’m caught up in the music. I, too, get lost in those two hours that we’re onstage. I go there. You can’t take anyone anywhere you’re not willing to go yourself.

Do you look at The Wake as maybe a death of an ego?

I’ve never really thought about it like that, but yeah.

It’s also a shedding of your own skin.

Yeah. Perhaps every album is a bit of a death of an ego. Putting to bed, marking the end of that journey and heading out into the next one. At the end of The Wake, I genuinely didn’t know if I was just going to take a few years off or what was going to happen. And then, I exploded, just absolutely exploded. By the time I got into the car [at the recording studio] in Bath, [England], and got home, I just wrote for the next two weeks. Endless ideas. What I thought was going to be the end was very quickly becoming a beginning.

It became fuel on the fire.

It really did.

What would your dad think about where you’re at right now?

It’s hard to gauge, because my dad applauded anything I did. If I boiled rice, he’d be calling my mom in to see how well I boiled the rice. He was very proud, so I don’t know if he could handle this. And I think it’s sort of sad that he doesn’t get to see it. But, at the same time, I wouldn’t have it without his passing – it’s the strangest gift I’ve ever been given.

There’s a lot of heaviness with the album. But, it does feel like, at the same token, there’s a big sense of release. It sounds like you’re in a good place right now.

Yes, I am. I’m done commiserating. I’m ready to celebrate. It’s the wake, you know what I mean?

Photo Credit: Gregg Houston

The Many Perspectives of Rissi Palmer

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Rissi Palmer is putting her lifelong love of country music into Perspectives, her first project in six years. With three tracks produced by Shannon Sanders and a fourth by Dan Knobler, the new EP places Palmer back in the artist spotlight after a period of time focused on personal and professional evolution.

Palmer also hosts an Apple Music country radio show, Color Me Country, which spotlights original music from artists of color. But there’s even more to the story. She’s collaborated on a children’s book titled Color Me Country: A Celebration of Black Women Who Shaped Country Music and she’s also wrapped a memorable tour called The Trailblazing Women of Country, where she performed some of the best-loved songs from Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, and Dolly Parton. Off the stage, she’s devoted more time to her two daughters following her divorce, while still ramping up to the release of Perspectives.

Though she’s based in Durham, North Carolina, Palmer caught up with Good Country in Belfast, Northern Ireland, during the Your Roots Are Showing conference. At the event’s opening night concert, she sang “Old Black Southern Woman,” a heartfelt ballad that touches on the loss of her mother when Palmer was just seven years old. Perspectives also offers a cover of the SteelDrivers’ “Can You Run?” as well as an original song titled “Good For Me” (about diving back into the dating pool) and a rendition of a Loretta Lynn classic, “Somebody Somewhere.”

“All these things came together, and Shannon so graciously decided to be a part of this with me,” Palmer recalls. “He said, ‘Well, two of these songs sound very bluegrassy. What if we just did the whole project like that?’ I was like, ‘That’s kind of dope,’ because I hadn’t done anything like that. And again, perspectives. Two Black musicians, making this very bluegrassy, but still very soulful, project. And I decided midway through that we’re going to call it Perspectives.”

What was on your mind as “Old Black Southern Woman” was taking shape?

Rissi Palmer: I wrote that with Kyshona, and that was our first time writing together. Kyshona has a way of getting straight to the heart of whatever it is that you’re talking about. I had the idea for the chorus, the “ooh-ooooh” thing, in my head, and I hadn’t really started writing anything. So, we sat down and we started talking. When you go to her house, she’s got all these really cool plants from her mom and her grandma. We talked about that, and I wanted to write something that paid homage to my mother but also acknowledged all the other women that came in and helped raise me.

It’s a universal thing, too. Everybody thinks of getting older as really bad, and I don’t know what I thought my 40s were going to be like, when I was in my 20s. I honestly don’t know, but I don’t feel old! [Laughs] I think I thought 40 was going to feel different, but 40 actually feels just like a creakier 25! And I see the blessing in it. I feel really lucky to be here, because I outlived [my mother] and I have babies now. I just wanted to write something that says it’s OK to get old. It’s actually really cool to be able to get old and to see the fruits of your work.

I think the title kind of throws people off because they’re like, “Oh, this is a song about some Black people.” But it’s actually about getting to be old, seeing the blessing and good in that, and making the most of it.

When you sing that song now, it gives you a chance to talk about your mom and share her memory. Is that extra special for you?

Yeah. It was hard, I’ll be honest. The first few times that I sang it were really hard and I would cry. I’m starting not to cry when I sing it. Especially when we get to the lyric, “Every curse my family claimed ends with me.” That’s always where it got hard. You don’t realize how hard it is to overcome and not repeat mistakes.

Was it a dream for you as a kid to become a singer?

I’ve always known. I don’t know how, but I’ve always known that this is what I wanted to do. In that way, I’m very lucky. It was never, “Maybe I should be…” I would say that I was gonna do other stuff, just to make my parents happy, because I figured that they were probably really scared about me wanting to be a singer. So, I was like, “I’ll be a lawyer.” They’ve got a lawyer. My brother is a lawyer, so they got one. So, we’re good. [Laughs]

Now I did not always want to be a country singer. I wanted to be a singer and I wanted to write songs. I knew the kind of songs that I wanted to do, but I didn’t call it that. That didn’t become clear to me until I met my first managers, and then that was when I realized, “Yeah, I guess that is what I want to do.”

Is bluegrass an influence for you?

I like bluegrass! I’m a Rhonda Vincent fan and I’ve always been an Alison Krauss fan. And on Jon Randall’s first record he has this really cool song with Vince Gill called “My Life.” That’s one of my favorite records, by the way. It’s called Walking Among the Living.

I’ve always been a fan. I’ve always listened. I’ve always had those things on my playlist. I just never thought of myself as that, because there’s a very distinct vocal style. There’s a very distinct cadence in which they’re singing. A lot of the people on the show last night [at Your Roots Are Showing] were just brilliant bluegrass singers, and I never thought of myself that way because I can’t do that. Like, that’s not what I do. I didn’t really think of it as something that I could do. I used to write stuff like that all the time and I tried to give it to other people. But it was Shannon – Shannon was the push. Shannon was like, “Let’s do this.”

What was the Trailblazing Women of Country tour like?

It’s one of my favorite things that I’ve ever done. It was an all-female band and it was myself and Kristina Train, who’s a brilliant singer, as the two leads. We split the show in half, usually there was an intermission between Kristina and me, and we sang two songs together. You know how it is to be a fan, but you don’t necessarily know everything by a person? Patsy, I knew. For Patsy, I didn’t even have to study, because I knew all those songs. Most of my Dolly stuff I knew, but there’s a lot of words in “Coat of Many Colors”! And then Loretta, I’ll be perfectly honest, I had not gone super deep into Loretta’s catalog, so that was fun. That was the one that I needed the most work.

And I loved it! We did mostly theaters. I played in places I never went before. I went to Alaska. We did Wyoming – and you haven’t lived until you’ve driven across Wyoming! It’s just space! It’s wild! With the audiences, it was really funny how they varied. Sometimes we would make jokes, and sometimes people would say things to me. Like, someone asked me once, “Where’s your blonde wig?” when we got to the Dolly part. And I was just like, “Did you ask Kristina that?” They didn’t say anything, and I was like, “Girl, why would I cover up my fabulous hair?” and everybody started laughing.

You know, we got some weird comments. There were some people that (gasps) when I walked out. And afterwards, people would say really kind things. I never had anything rude said to me. But I did notice the [look of surprise] at first. It was good for me. It reminded me about why I love country music. I think I needed that, because you spend so much time, like with Color Me Country, talking about what’s wrong with the industry and talking about ways that we’ve been slighted or ignored. Then you lose sight of why you even started this in the first place, and that was why. It’s because of those songs. It’s because of those women. It’s because of the connection that the audience had with that music.

I can’t tell you how many people came up and told me stories. I met one woman who actually saw Patsy Cline performing on the bed of a truck when she was a kid. And I was just like, “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard before.” That’s country music.

You’ve got a lot of things coming up. Where would you like this new music to take you?

That’s a great question. I put so much into other facets of my career for the last few years. I put a lot into my children, because of our changing family situation, and just wanting to be there for them. At the same time, I was wanting to experience the career wave that I was having and trying to balance that. So, my own music took a backseat. I started feeling like, “I think people forget that I sing.” And really what I’m saying is, “I think I forgot that I sing,”

I was still doing shows, and still doing things in between, but it was like, “I don’t want everybody to forget why I’m here.” Really I’m saying, “I don’t want to forget why I’m here.” The Trailblazing Women of Country really cemented that for me, especially the “country” part. I’ve been experimenting and trying different things – and there is a project that comes later – but I wanted to do this. I felt like this was a really important statement to make, like, “This is why she talks so much shit.” [Laughs] Because this is where I started and this is what I do.

Photo Credit: Dire Image

Your Roots Are Showing Conference Unites Nashville and Northern Ireland

Posted on by Editor

Always in search of a balance between the traditional and the contemporary, the official Sister Cities of Nashville, Tennessee, and Belfast, Northern Ireland, shared the spotlight in a special conference called Your Roots Are Showing, held January 13-18, 2026 in Belfast. Across six days, music industry leaders and artists from both countries mingled at panels and showcases – and perhaps an Irish pub or two. Immediate friendships were formed throughout the event, proving that folk music still has the power to bring strangers together.

Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame members Amy Grant, Jim Lauderdale, and Mac McAnally led the impressive list of Nashville artists at the Folk iN Fusion concert event at Waterfront Hall on opening night, alongside Irish performers such as Wallis Bird, David Keenan, and Lorraine Nash. Other American roots artists taking the stage included Ron Block, Wyatt Ellis, Jessica Willis Fisher, Rissi Palmer, and Dee White, while Lorraine Nash, harpist Niamn Noade, Gerry O’Connor, and Clare Sands represented the Emerald Isle with their folk songs.

In addition, Paddy Keenan of the Bothy Band was recognized with the Anam Award at the opening night concert, with lifelong friend Paddy Glackin accepting on his behalf. Irish music icon Sandy Kelly performed and co-hosted Folk iN Fusion with Brenda Willis. The all-star evening concluded with a group performance of “Nashville Blues,” “People Get Ready,” and “We All Shall Be Reunited.”

 

Through a wide variety of panels, leading industry figures shared their knowledge and experiences with an audience of aspiring artists and others in the international roots music community. The Lord Mayor of Belfast, Tracy Kelly, personally welcomed attendees to a panel discussion about the 100-year history of the Grand Ole Opry, moderated by author Craig Shelburne with panelists such as former Opry GM Pete Fisher and performers Amy Grant, Rissi Palmer, Jessica Willis Fisher, and Brenda Willis.

Conference producers Charlene Sloan and Brendan McCreanor, Lord Mayor of Belfast Tracy Kelly, and Amy Grant pose for a photo at Your Roots Are Showing. Photo by Colin Gillen.

Other panels offered insight on booking agencies, contracts, distribution, publicity, publishing and social media, among many other topics. Wyatt Ellis led a mandolin workshop, songwriters and producers Kristian Bush and Brandon Bush hosted a conversation about the role of rules in the creative process, and music supervisor Andrea von Foerster of Firestarter Music shared stories about placing music in TV series such as Yellowstone and Landman. On Friday afternoon, Amy Grant discussed the origins of her career in a keynote interview before taking questions from captivated audience members.

While many of the showcasing artists are based in Ireland and Northern Ireland, listeners were also treated to showcases by performers from Australia, Canada, Czech Republic, England, France, Italy, the Netherlands, Norway, Scotland, Spain, Sweden, the United States, and Wales. During programming breaks, some attendees ventured into Belfast for a visit to the Titanic Museum, St. George’s Market, or a Black Taxi Tour. Others simply explored the streets of the city center, taking photos of the architecture or seeking out a perfectly poured Guinness. BGS staff strolled the picturesque city taking photos on our Camp Snap camera.

Photo Credit: All photos from Your Roots Are Showing and Folk iN Fusion by Colin Gillen, courtesy of Your Roots Are Showing.
Lead image: The entire lineup of Folk iN Fusion join each other on stage for a concert finale.

Camp Snap photographs shot by BGS Staff.