Tag: Ben Tanner

Planting By The Signs
Is a Way of Life

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Equal parts old soul and trailblazer, Western Kentucky singer-songwriter S.G. Goodman explores rural belief systems with a forward thinking, synth-heavy, swamp rock aesthetic on Planting By The Signs.

Released June 20, the record is the first for Goodman since 2022’s critically acclaimed Teeth Marks and sees her diving into tales of love, loss, reconciliation, and grief. The ancient Appalachian concept it draws its name from subtlety influences all aspects of rural life from farming to self-grooming. According to Goodman, the idea to center her fourth album around this idea came in late 2022 after stumbling across a section about planting by the signs in Foxfire, a collection of books first published in 1972 that delve into Appalachian philosophy and ways of life.

“When I got to the passage about moon planting or planting by the signs I started having all these memories of hearing about [moon phases and zodiac signs] throughout my childhood,” Goodman tells Good Country. “My family and a lot of the people in rural areas like Western Kentucky have been taught these things but don’t think or talk about them in everyday conversation.

“For instance, my brother cuts his hair by the signs and I remember old people saying to never pull a tooth when the signs are in ‘the head’ [an area of the sky attributed to Aries]. I was weaned by my mother to the signs, potty-trained even. It’s an old belief system that I wound up immersing myself in and felt a responsibility to pass on.”

We spoke with the Americana Music Association’s 2023 Emerging Artist Of The Year ahead of the release of Planting By The Sign via Zoom. Our conversation covered the inspiration for the album’s concept, the themes of grief and reconciliation within its songs, the sonic evolution of the singer’s sound, and more.

What was it like taking the concept of Planting By The Signs and making it a reality? Did it turn out to be everything you envisioned?

S.G. Goodman: There were elements that were given over to studio magic. Sometimes the circumstances of recording force you to try different things you weren’t planning on, but for the most part I had a pretty clear vision of what I wanted this album to sound like before the songs were even written. This project leans toward a rougher sound that really hones in on the human element of the music. I also wanted to push myself sonically and add in new instruments that I normally don’t have in my music just to see what it would feel like.

In terms of trying new things, “Satellite” is a song that stands out. Is that a bunch of synths added to it or something else?

“Satellite” not so much. It sounds like synth, but it’s actually a little $150 makeshift Kent baritone guitar with a really wild, natural sound being played through a Fender Champ amp. There were a lot of synths elsewhere, but I’m just so ignorant when it comes to keys that I couldn’t tell you what they were. [Laughs] But I had [The Alabama Shakes’] Ben Tanner, a wizard on keys, come in to lay down and experiment some on organ, Wurlitzer, and other things.

For instance, because I do like an organic sound from my amps instead of using a bunch of pedals, we wound up playing along with the tremolos on the actual amps and ran the keys through that. But even with that, I’ve never had a record where there’s been keys on the majority of the songs, until now. That’s mostly been for economical reasons – I’ve been just a rock outfit with a lead guitarist, bass, drums and occasionally pedal steel, but it takes a minute before you can afford to not only have another player with you, but also a vehicle big enough to carry another person and their equipment. I was always leery to have songs focused around that, but with this album I was able to do it and shift around what kind of utility musician I wanted on the road with me and I’m really proud of it.

You mentioned working with Ben Tanner on these songs, but you also recorded down in Alabama as well. Tell me about what that experience was like?

Yeah, I was down in the Shoals, specifically the Sheffield area where Jimmy Nutt’s studio, The NuttHouse, is. It operates out of an old converted bank and felt really familiar to the small town I grew up in, where you could stand out in the middle of the road and pretty much bet a million dollars you wouldn’t get run over, because you’d never even see a car.

When you’re in the studio I’m not so big on doing destination recording, because in my opinion you should just be in a room working on music and not out seeing the sights. This was the perfect balance of not feeling like you’re missing something outside the room, but if you did walk out there it would be a calm environment.

Another sonic element on this album I wanted to touch on are the conversational audio recordings interspersed on tracks like “Heat Lightning.” What purpose were you trying to serve with those?

Going back to my mindset heading into this record and my desire to write about planting by the signs, I was really interested in the way that beliefs carry on and evolve over the years. We either accept, adapt to, or even stop telling these stories and letting them die, so [that was] one thing I wanted to showcase, either in a long narrative form or by adding elements you mentioned like the field recordings. I wanted to add those in because it’s another style we’ve used to capture stories and keep them alive. I’m a big fan of Alan Lomax’s field recordings – there’s a massive musical and oral history tied to them – so it was important for me to pay homage to that storytelling medium.

I even sought to do that through the album layout and artwork, too, by incorporating flash tattoos. Tattoos are a way that we have planted stories on ourselves and applied meaning to. Even its color scheme with red, yellow, and black – I don’t know if you’re ever heard this saying, but, “When red touches black you’re OK Jack, but when red touches yellow you’re a dead fellow.” That’s a sign from nature [about venomous snakes], so every element around this album, from allowing myself to write a nearly nine-minute song [with “Heaven Song”] while keeping this cohesive storyline to retelling a story from my youth in “Snapping Turtle.” I really wanted to showcase the history and art of passing down a story and drawing attention to that.

Someone whose memory you’ve preserved within these songs (as well as on older tunes like “Red Bird Morning”) is your longtime mentor and father figure Mike Harmon, who tragically passed away recently during a tree cutting accident. What kind of influence has he had on you, not just with this new record, but also on you as a person?

As far as Mike’s influence on my music goes, he was a huge encourager of me throughout the years going back to my days with The Savage Radley. I also played with him in a local Murray, Kentucky, band called The Kentucky Vultures. He was their bass player and we became fast friends and at one point even neighbors. He served as a father figure that I could bounce ideas off of musically, but more than anything it was his wisdom and support that impacted me most. He was such a go-getter and always an amazing person to have on the road with you.

One time I needed someone to help me get my van back from Boston, Massachusetts, to Western Kentucky, because the band and I had to fly out to Portland or Los Angeles in the middle of our tour before resuming the run a few days later in the Midwest. Mike simply asked when and where he needed to be and followed through. He was always down to help and be a part of things. It’s hard to wrap up exactly how meaningful his presence was during those early years. He was so proud of me and the boys when we were able to do this in a more professional way and regularly flew out to see our shows. In fact, in early 2023, he was supposed to be on tour with me in Austin for a sold-out show that I was particularly excited to have him at because he’d previously lived there for a time before losing his housing, only to die a week and a half later in a tree accident.

I continue to find myself thinking that Mike is still providing me with a lot of gifts and wisdom. When he passed away I was able to reconnect with my longtime friend and music collaborator of over 10 years, Matt Rowan. At that point we had a rupture in our friendship and musical relationship and hadn’t spoken in a couple years, but with Mike being the confidant, he was very aware of Matt and my falling out. [He] was always supportive around that and believed that we’d eventually reconcile with each other.

And that reconciliation is what you’re exploring on the song “Michael Told Me,” correct?

Correct. It’s a song that speaks to both Matt and Mike and kind of gives a snapshot of evolution and the processing of Mike’s death, but also the exact moment that Matt and I spoke after a few years of not.

You’re also singing with Matt on the album’s title track. What was it like getting to reunite in the studio with him for that?

Matt is also a co-producer on this album with me and Drew Vandenberg. He’s obviously been a longtime collaborator, so I thought it’d be interesting if he had an even bigger role on this album. I wasn’t wrong in my expectations of it working out really well.

Circling back to “Satellite” for a moment, lyrically the song seems to talk a lot about modern technology and human connection, or a lack thereof, in modern day society. What inspired you to explore those themes and how do you feel they fit into the record’s larger concept of planting by the signs?

I actually wrote most of the song in the studio. I didn’t start it there, but wasn’t expecting to have it on the album either. It’s something that came to me during the creative process of recording, which is not uncommon. When I was writing it I realized that one important thing for me to tie into talking about an ancient belief system was my curiosity of how that applies to our real, modern world. A lot of questions were coming up for me around that that I also tried to showcase within this album and my approach to talking about it with people. If Planting By The Signs revolves around paying attention to messages from nature, what does it mean for us as a society when we’re putting things between us and being able to see those signs?

For instance, we’re talking to each other right now through Zoom and are living in a world where more and more importance is being put on having more filters between us and nature – and even convoluting it. What are we gonna be [at] when I die, like 20G? [Laughs] How many satellites are going to need to be shot up into the universe to accomplish that?

Right now as a person, I’m in that weird land of [having been] a child in the early days of the world wide web when my parents got their first computer with dial-up internet. I didn’t start texting until I was 18. Nowadays I can pull up a waterfall on YouTube and hear the sounds of it in my living room without ever going somewhere like Cumberland Falls. Or I can go to a bar in public and not talk to a single person, because I’m just staring at my phone. I’m definitely a grandma when it comes to communicating with people.

I’ve noticed in the last 15 years that people are very hesitant to get back to a real human connection. There’s so many barriers nowadays to us having tangible connections with other people and nature. With that comes implications with AI and in the media, so it’s no wonder that a person who’s been watching the same creek bed over the course of 20 years evolve and cut differently and rise and fall may have a better idea that the weather patterns have drastically changed than a person who’s only receiving their information through technology.

Is “Nature’s Child,” which you sing with Bonnie Prince Billy, also touching on those themes?

That’s actually the one song on the album that I didn’t write. It was written by my friend Tyler Ladd. I first came across it over 10 years ago at an open mic in Murray and was floored by its lyrics. Everyone has different opinions on what makes a good song, but for me it’s really simple – a good song is one that you remember after hearing it.

Not long after that night, Tyler took off hitchhiking across the United States. Then years later I got a message from him saying that he was in Europe traveling and was writing to me from a hospital bed in Germany after getting his guitar stolen and beaten up pretty badly. I told him to get on home and about a year after that he showed up on my front porch in late 2016. I had him sit in my living room and play that song to me before asking him if I could start playing that song too and making it my own.

I’ve covered it live for years at this point, so when it came time to begin writing and thinking about this album Tyler’s lyrics and emotion he evoked in that song were a placeholder for me. He was gracious enough to let me record it. The song encapsulates everything this album is about.

Through the process of bringing Planting By The Signs to life, what is something that music taught you about yourself?

With each album you find yourself at a different place in life. I don’t necessarily have a lot of people ask me about my process of writing. It’s not linear and I’ve always held the belief, even though I’ve doubted it at times, that a story’s gonna go about its business. That was told to me years ago by a writing mentor, and a song does the same thing. Through that process one thing I’ve had to come to terms with with the fact that being an artist in 2025 is having pressure to keep churning out content and material, which has never been natural for me. I’ve never written that way, so being OK with and waiting for something to be in place where you feel you’ve said everything you need to say and not just succumbing to the pressures of putting something out while also being genuinely proud of what I created is a testament to the fact that I let this come when it was supposed to.

Photo Credit: Ryan Hartley

Caleb Elliott Combines ’70s Soul, Strings, and Sad Songs on ‘Forever to Fade’

Posted on by Editor

Caleb Elliott’s Forever to Fade is a truly unique artistic statement, one that combines cinematic string arrangements with Muscle Shoals-inspired grooves. It’s a musical hodgepodge in which you can hear everything from hints of ’70s soul (“Makes Me Wonder”) to what Elliott calls “my little Harry Nilsson moment” (“Try,” a forbidden love song that features some cheeky whistling).

But those sounds weren’t ones he grew up listening to. His parents were followers of The Message, the teachings of evangelical faith healer William Branham, whose 1961 Armageddon prophecy reportedly inspired cult leader Jim Jones to set up his Jonestown settlement the following decade. This strict religious upbringing meant there was no TV in their house and secular music was strongly discouraged.

“I would venture to say no, I was not allowed [to listen to secular music], but the technically right answer was I could do what I want, it was just very frowned upon,” Elliott explains. “And especially like the churches we were going to, it was very frowned upon. We were guided towards the contemporary Christian realm, which was as rock ‘n’ roll as it got for us. Switchfoot was my Beatles, you know, in high school.” He laughs. “Sad to say. I probably shouldn’t be telling you that. I didn’t really get exposed to the good stuff until a little later.”

Raised in Louisiana, Elliott started playing the cello in third grade and “it sort of became my little kid identity because no one else played the cello, and I wasn’t bad at it,” he explains. But his real exposure to pop and rock music didn’t happen until much later in life.

“I remember going off to college and my taste in music was still very, very underdeveloped,” he continues. “I was on a long arc of discovery. I don’t feel like I started listening to really, really good stuff until I was in my twenties, even after college. I mean, I delved a little bit into the Beatles but I dove more into like Neil Young and Bob Dylan when I got more towards my mid-twenties—really when I started hanging out with better songwriters and that’s who they were listening to. And I was like, ‘Wow!’ I started to get it.”

For the past seven years or so, Elliott has made his living as a sideman, touring with the likes of Nicole Atkins, Dylan LeBlanc, and Travis Meadows and becoming a string-section staple at Single Lock Records, the Alabama-based label and studio co-founded by The Civil Wars’ John Paul White and Alabama Shakes’ Ben Tanner, recording with White, Lera Lynn, Donnie Fritts, and more.

Being surrounded by songwriters and spending time with them on the road and in the studio not only helped shape his musical tastes — Elliott says it also informed his own songwriting style.

“I don’t think there’s any way for it not to,” he says. “People ask about influences a lot. It’s a really common question, but I think for some folks, your greatest influences are the people you spend time with, and I think that’s been the case for me. The way I approach songwriting and just everything has changed a ton since I’ve had the opportunity to tour. And then touring led to more studio opportunities, and I’ve been able to be around people who have been doing this at a high level for a long time. And it’s had a huge impact on me in a lot of ways. I don’t think there’s any substitute for it. I’ve always been envious of the cats that grow up in this, you know. It’s a level of understanding of the whole thing that’s innate for them. For the rest of us, we’ve gotta go out there and figure it out.”

One spin of Forever to Fade and you’ll be able to tell he’s already got it figured out. And while the arrangements may be what came to him first (“I’m always thinking about a string line,” he says. “Always.”), the album’s lyrics are equally important to Elliott.

“Get Me Out of Here” tells the story of a love triangle, each of its three verses centered around one of the three characters involved. The title track deals with the feeling of being trapped or stuck in a bad relationship. And while he notes that these situations aren’t necessarily autobiographical, Elliott says much of the record is inspired by unhealthy relationships he’s witnessed.

“A lot of these songs on the record are inspired by dysfunctional relationships or needing to push through to a better place in your life and making hard choices, like whether or not you want to move forward or keep dealing with it,” he explains. “I think the title itself lends itself really well to that because for people who are caught up in those unhealthy relationships, it feels like they’re gonna be there forever and there’s nothing they can do to get out cleanly.”

Ultimately, he hopes that people going through a similar situation in their own lives will be able to hear Forever to Fade and feel understood.

“Recently I did a house concert and I got on this little spiel about how sad songs are better,” he says. “Happy songs are great, but you can’t commiserate with a happy song. There’s just more depth of emotion on the other side of things I think with sad songs, and whenever you find something like that that you can latch onto, it can help you get through what you’re going through a lot better than a happy song could. And so hopefully maybe somebody out there is going through something in their life that this helps them get through.”

He adds, “Dysfunctional relationships can be tough, you know. Letting go of people that you loved, or that it hasn’t been a healthy thing, or standing your ground on things in your life. Coming to terms in those ways can be very difficult, and maybe somebody will be able to find some hope in here. That would be really nice if it helps them get through a hard time.”

Working with Single Lock on the record was always Elliott’s top choice, he says, but he never presumed that a deal with them was a foregone conclusion.

“It was never a given on that level,” he says. “However, I’ve worked with Ben a lot over the past several years as a cellist. I’ve kind of been his go-to guy for the strings, and so when it came time for me to pick someone to record my songs with, he’s always been my favorite engineer and producer to work with, and I feel like he’s one of the best I’ve ever worked with. So that was the obvious choice for me, to ask him if he wanted to help me record my record. Down the line, after we got it kind of going, apparently there was a conversation between a couple of the guys at Single Lock about basically asking Ben what he’s been up to. They had a sit-down listen and they kept coming back to a couple of my songs. That’s when they sat me down and said, ‘Hey, we really like what you’ve been doing. We’d be interested in helping you put this out.’ It was sort of an organic thing.”

Elliott says that connection to his music on that level is his ultimate goal, but for now, he’s focused on getting it out there and in the ears of as many people as possible.

“More than anything my personal goal is to tour my butt off as much as possible,” he says. “I’m hoping this thing gets going. It’d be really cool. I’m a lifer, you know? This is what I do. And I’ve been very fortunate that I play the cello and that’s been able to lead to a lot of sideman work. I’ve played cello and guitar and background harmonies for people, but it’s such a treat to be able to sing my own songs.”

Photo credit: Joshua Black Wilkins

Here, Nobody Wears a Crown: A Conversation with Lindi Ortega

Posted on by Editor

Born in Toronto to parents of Irish and Mexican decent, singer/songwriter Lindi Ortega picked up a guitar and wrote her first song at age 17. For the next 15 years or so, she bounced from record label to record label — including a brief stint with Interscope — before making her home with Last Gang Records in 2011. Since then, she's made some great albums that highlight her fiery voice and passionate lyricism. Her newest set, Faded Gloryville, showcases her striking talent over the course of a dozen tunes produced by a trio of name brand producers. She took time out from her fall tour to chat about her approach to making her new album, why she chose three different producers, and whether or not drinking the water in Muscle Shoals will make you sing like Aretha Franklin..

How are things in the 615 today?

They’re good. It’s not really a sunny day, though. It’s a bit rainy and overcast in the 615.

The report from the 360 is that the sun is trying to kick through. Let’s start our little conversation with a chat about the cover of your new album. I love the dress. I love the picture. I love the Wild West graphics. Was that all your idea?

Yeah, it was my idea to hire the guy who did the artwork. He goes by the name Straw Castle Designs. His name is Derrick Castle. I’ve been following him on Instagram for a really long time; he does a lot of wood block printing and old school, vintage designs. I always said to myself, when it came time to do my next record, I really wanted him to be involved somehow. So I contacted him when we started working on the album. He came up with some really great stuff.

Was it Julie Moe who took the picture?

Yeah, it was. She’s a dear friend of mine.

It’s a great picture. I love the whole vibe. Then we get inside and find songs recorded in Muscle Shoals, songs produced by Dave Cobb — who can do no wrong right now — and songs recorded by one of the nicest, most talented dudes out there — Colin Linden. Most people would kill for one of those opportunities, much less all three. How did you manage that?

I just consider myself very fortunate and very lucky to be able to work with these people. I’ve developed a nice relationship with them and they happened to be available at the time. It was really incredible. They’re all very different producers with different approaches to things, but they all seem to have, in common, a real appreciation for the way things were recorded "back in the day." They enjoy using vintage tube amps and old microphones and the whole idea of recording the bed tracks live off the floor. The bass and guitar and drums and I are all recorded at the same time. I’m a huge fan of that. I feel like it really captures the essence of the song, and that we all feed off each other in that setting.

The first two cuts, “Ashes” and “Faded Gloryville,” are Colin productions. Will you be flattered if I tell you they remind me a little of Emmylou Harris?

Absolutely. I’m a huge fan. I’m not sure but maybe you’re referring to the Wrecking Ball record?

Your voice on those tunes reminds me of her earlier stuff — the production, maybe, of things that came later with Daniel Lanois.

That’s what I love about Colin: He’s sort of "of that world." He’s worked with T Bone Burnett a lot. He really loves capturing the ambiance, doing these beautiful, lush soundscapes with guitars and production. I was the one who allotted the songs to each producer and he was definitely the one I felt would really capture the essence of those two songs.

I’m not much for slow songs but “Faded Gloryville” raised some goose bumps. “Here nobody wears a crown …”.

Yeah. [Laughs] When I wrote that song, it was inspired by the movie Crazy Heart with Jeff Bridges — sort of me asking myself if I was going to end up like that. Then going back and remembering my romantic ideal of what I thought the music industry was, dreams that I had … the journeys, the ups and downs, the moments when you doubt yourself. And I wrote it without realizing I truly am, sort of, living these things right now. When I go to sing these songs live, I’m very affected by them. So, that song, I feel very very close to; it makes me very emotional when I’m singing it.

Then you track three in a row in Muscle Shoals. When you drink the tap water in Muscle Shoals, do you immediately start feeling a little like Aretha Franklin?

[Laughs] I wish I could sing like that! 

Me, too. They’re very groovy, soulful songs.

It’s sort of embedded in the musicians down there. There was definitely a unique vibe and sound that grew from Muscle Shoals. When I decided I wanted John Paul White and Ben Tanner to do the Bee Gees song (“To Love Somebody”), I had the other songs in mind to fit with that vibe. I happened to be watching the Muscle Shoals documentary when I was down there recording with them, so it was a pretty amazing thing. David Hood, who is in that movie, actually played on those three sessions so it was another incredible experience.

“To Love Somebody” really endures and you definitely read it as a torch song.

[Laughs] I have to thank Nina Simone for that because it was her live version that really blew me away. I really felt the unrequited yearning through her interpretation of the lyrics, from a woman’s perspective. Then I heard the Bee Gees’ version which has a groovier, '60s feel. I think our version falls somewhere in between the inspiration from the Bee Gees and Nina Simone.

I’m impressed you referenced the Nina version because that’s the first thing I thought of when I heard your take. It’s cool the inspiration didn’t come just from the Nina catalog. Then you pretty much close out the set with the songs Dave produced, which sound a little like Wanda Jackson — just fun, dance party rock 'n' roll. Did you have this sequence mapped out in your mind as you approached production?

When I allotted the songs to the producers, I kept the styles they're really good at in mind. I felt like those songs, in particular, Dave Cobb would be especially suited for. I think he’s really good at making what I call a "barn burner."

It’s kind of like three little EPs in one full album, tied together with your voice and a classic country rock vibe.

It makes perfect sense. I’m a fan of records that have variation and diversity; I’ve never been into records that sound like one big long song. I was a bit worried people wouldn’t get it, that it wouldn’t flow properly. But when all was said and done, I was happy with it. It’s been nice to hear the positive response from people.

Photo credit: Julie Moe

The Singer Is Secondary: An Interview with Dylan LeBlanc

Posted on by Editor

Singer/songwriter Dylan LeBlanc grew up splitting his time between Louisiana and Alabama, shuffling from his mom's house to his dad's. On the one side was an oppressively religious upbringing; on the other was a music-filled refuge. But, once his teenage years hit, LeBlanc's demons started to outpace all else, and he began a booze- and drug-filled downward spiral — all while crafting two fairly wonderful albums, Paupers Field (2010) and Cast the Same Old Shadow (2012). To write his new Cautionary Tale, LeBlanc climbed out of that hole, stared down those demons, and churned out 10 exquisite songs. He then surrendered himself and his compositions to the mercy of producers John Paul White (The Civil Wars) and Ben Tanner (Alabama Shakes), and the result is nothing short of magnificent.

Paint me a picture of you as a kid … Loner? Book nerd? What was going on for you down in the Southern wilds?

I was kind of a bad kid, actually. [Laughs] I was a bit of a kleptomaniac. I remember, in class, I would be seated away from all the other kids. I had to sit up in the front of the class, facing the chalkboard, away from the classroom because I disrupted class a lot. I would also steal candy from the other kids and I also stole candy from my teacher's desk. I remember that was a real big thing.

Wow.

Yeah. There was one more kid that was also bad and, eventually, he was moved up to there, so it was me and him up there. [Laughs]

[Laughs] What was behind all of that, you little candy thief?

I don't know. I have no idea. I was a bit of a liar, as well. I liked to tell fibs — really crazy fibs that were totally tall tales. Just extravagant. That was when I was really little, like 5 until I was 7 or so. I got a spanking from everybody in my family for the last time I stole the candy. I got a really bad whipping from my mom, and I think my dad drove all the way out there to give me a whipping. My step-dad whipped me. It was crazy. That was the last time I ever stole anything.

Then you had the much-written and talked about late teen years. During that time, what sorts of people did you have around you — were they more protective of you or more enabling?

Well, I didn't have any friends up until I started smoking pot. We didn't come from a lot of money. The school that I went to was mostly wealthy children. And I always had something against people with money. I guess it was because they treated me and my sister kind of badly. We didn't wear expensive clothes. I always wanted to fit in, but I usually just withdrew from all that and played my guitar … in my early teens — we're talking 11, 12, 13, and all through middle school.

I remember, when I was about 15, I met this other kid who played guitar in high school. That was, like, my freshman year of high school. His name was Daniel Goodwill. He played guitar and liked Jimi Hendrix, and he liked Bob Dylan, and he liked the Byrds. He knew a whole lot more about music than I did, and a whole lot more about classic rock. I really liked him and we became best friends. He also smoked pot. I remember, when I started smoking pot, I started getting a whole lot of new friends. [Laughs]

[Laughs] Funny how that works, hey?

It is. It is. You kind of find that you go toward the like-minded people who are similar to you.

With all that in your rear view, where are you today? What are the things you cherish these days? What are the things you're striving to achieve, as a person and an artist?

All around, I'm striving for a balance, today, in every aspect of my life — in my artist's career and my personal life. I've always been extremely up or extremely down, in one aspect or the other. You could just call it extreme, one way or another. Personality-wise, I'm either extremely happy and ready to take over the world or extremely not happy. Some call it manic.

In this day and age, I'm trying to achieve some sort of balance — not get too high, not get too low. Stay somewhere in the middle. I don't drink anymore. Don't do drugs anymore. That helps a lot. [Laughs] And I'm starting to get back to normal, I think. I think.

There's a lot pouring out of you on this record, a lot of speaking truth — and surrendering — to various powers. Which of these songs are proving to be the most healing for you or the best way to get things out?

This record is really about somebody who's in the process of just waking up. I was so naïve or undeveloped or whatever the heck you want to call it … I don't know. But I was really gullible and I lived in a lot of fear for most of my life, up until a few years ago. I had all these people telling me … my mother's side is very religious. I grew up with that whole ideology just pounded on me, all of my life. I carried that religious guilt.

And that really started to weigh on me and, finally, I cracked. I couldn't carry it anymore. There was this big process of un-learning all that shit that people had been putting in my head all those years. It's not their fault, either. It's not like I'm angry at them. That's where they came from. They could not help it, either. They were scared, and they scared the hell out of me. So I had to let all of that go. But that didn't happen until … it was well after my first album had come out. It was like 2012. When my grandfather died, really, is when I started to understand some things. So I started to un-learn a bunch of things.

It's funny what witnessing death and grief and those various processes … it puts a lot of things in perspective. You figure out what's worth fighting for and what's not.

I started asking myself questions like, “Why am I the way that I am?” I just wanted some relief … from myself. I put myself through all this stuff. I keep repeating the same mistake over and over again. I feel bad about it, but I can't do anything about it. I'm not capable of doing anything about it. A lot of people don't understand that. They don't realize that they're not capable of doing anything different until they let go of all these old ideas and all of the shit that they've been dragging with them all their lives.

I completely unraveled, first. That's the first thing that happened. I completely lost my mind. It had been building up and building up and building up. I mean, I lost it. Big time. Like certifiably a nut job. With that, came a large amount of fear, like, “Oh my God. How am I going to get through this life with all this anxiety and all this fear?” I couldn't live with it anymore and I was ready to check out, but I knew I didn't have the courage it would take to check out. All of this crap going through my head. I just decided that I needed to go in another direction altogether. I couldn't live with that guilt anymore. I couldn't stop hurting people. I couldn't stop hurting myself. I don't think everybody's like that. I think it's the level of disturbance which is inside someone.

I think it's probably a matter of degrees, right? That is inside everybody.

Yeah. It is.

It's just how it manifests. And how controllable it is … what tools we have.

Exactly.

So you come out of that and go into these songs. To work with John and Ben on this thing … how important or imperative, maybe, was it for you to have the safe harbor that they were to dock these songs in and get them right?

It was important to me to let somebody else take the reins. It was good for my ego. It was good to humble me. It was good for me on more levels than one. I'm really bad about, especially when it comes to my songs … I want to hover over everything. I want things to sound a certain way. I want to cover them up with this and that. John is a musician who's been doing it for a long time. And Ben has also been doing it for a long time. I needed the objective ears.

I'd worked with Ben for both of my other two records that came out before this one, but it was something that I needed to do and try. It was, “Well, I've tried this and that didn't work.” Neither one of those albums were successful, no matter what the press says about it. I don't know what they're talking about with, “the success of the first two albums.” Paupers Field sold 5,000 copies and Cast the Same Old Shadow is at 1,200, as we're speaking right now. [Laughs] They just did not sell any records and nobody cared.

I knew I couldn't write other than for anybody but me. I'm not that kind of artist. I know that they know what to do with what I do. I liked John, as a songwriter. I liked him because he was very laid-back, but he's also very firm, when he needs to be. I needed that objective ear. And I needed the organization because my thoughts run like crazy, and I want to try this and I want to try that. I needed somebody to mediate the thoughts going through my head. Like, “Dude, we don't need four tracks of pedal steel guitar going on one song. You don't need to layer six guitars. We're not going to try 50 different string parts on one song. This is what we're going to record. And we're going to do it deliberately, and we're going to be very organized. And you're going to sing this where we can understand the words. It doesn't matter how many times you have to sing it. I want a vocal that I can understand every word you're saying.”

Sometimes, I was very resistant, like, “I hate this and I don't see where you're going.” And they'd say, “Look, you asked us to do this. Now you gotta trust us.” It was great. It was great for me. I humbled myself and said, “You're absolutely right. I need to step back and let you do your thing because that's what I asked for.”

Talk about surrendering yourself to a higher power …

Yeah, it's a lot like that. Just letting go. And I did. I totally let go. Everything you hear on that record, it's John Paul and Ben. That's them. They arranged a lot of the parts. I mean, we collectively did, but they had a lot to do with it. Ben's really great at achieving something you want, sonically. I really wanted to stick close to that late '60s/early '70s rhythm section feel and we knew that going in, so it was cool.

Your record and Andrew Combs' record last year … it's my favorite sound to hear. I grew up in the '70s. That's my childhood, my comfort zone. You're my musical mac 'n' cheese, Dylan. [Laughs]

[Laughs] Well, I'm glad to be!

Where do you think your songs originate — do you feel like they come from you …

Absolutely not. I don't know where they come from.

… or through you?

Yeah. Through me. I don't know where they come from. I think it's definitely a gift that you're given … I don't know from what, but there's definitely a creative intelligence out there that's greater than me. I don't know what that is. I don't think it's left up to me whether or not I'm able to create a piece of work that's worth anything. I think that comes from something else. And, if it touches people, it definitely isn't from me.

I heard Merle Haggard say something so cool one time and it was on a documentary. He said that what people don't realize is that the singer is secondary to the song. It's so true, man. The song is where it's at. He said he realized that when this Black child came up to him, touched his face, and started singing his song back to him. He said that was the moment he realized the singer is secondary to the song. That just gave the chills. I just thought that was so right on.

Photos courtesy of the artist