Today, critically acclaimed roots musicians Jake Blount and Mali Obomsawin (Odanak First Nation) have announced their upcoming collaborative album, symbiont. The news comes with a first listen, “My Way’s Cloudy,” featuring Joe Rainey (Red Lake Ojibwe) and an entrancing video directed by Lokotah Sanborn. (Watch and listen above.)
The album, set for release September 27 on Smithsonian Folkways, builds loosely on the storytelling of Blount’s lauded 2022 project, The New Faith, imagining a not-so-distant future world marked by climate disaster and civil unrest. Utilizing Blount’s expertise on discovering, uncovering, and showcasing vernacular music often forgotten or overlooked by folk, old-time, and the greater roots music communities, the duo look forward by looking back. “My Way’s Cloudy,” for instance, is described in a press release as “a spiritual collected from formerly enslaved Black people at the Hampton Institute – mere miles from where Jake’s family originates.”
But, as the track demonstrates, Blount and Obomsawin defy expectations and longstanding traditions of “song collection” or colonialist archiving that’s typified this type of repertoire building in the past. As they declare in the album materials:
“symbiont is a remix album,” they explain. “The works included here synthesize instruments, songs, teachings, and oratory from different traditions with modern literary, political, and compositional sensibilities (and even a dash of ‘hard’ science). The interactions between these disciplines give rise to the musical, ideological, and spiritual synergisms that undergird symbiont – and also to points of intense conflict.”
It’s clear this “genrequeer” project will be transformative and revolutionary – literally and figuratively. “My Way’s Cloudy” is ethereal, grooving, and dark, but with a glint; a slight sheen that denotes even in the proverbial (or demonstrable) end times, there’s art to be made, conversations to be had, and stories to be told, kept, and carried on. Between Blount’s curatorial and ethnomusicological knowledge, Obomsawin’s remarkable compositional and free jazz chops, and the duo’s multi-instrumentalist skills, these old-time folk remixes – made with assists from incredible collaborators and often, plants as music-makers! – symbiont will illustrate so many of the intricate ways by which music can transcend time, alter history and the future, while having a striking purpose in the present.
symbiont is impeccably described as “Indigenous and Afrofuturist folklore,” but do not mistake these songs and their inspirations for fantasy. If there’s one thing Blount and Obomsawin can accomplish together, it’s grounding such a high concept project in reality and the everyday. This will be a must-listen album, as “My Way’s Cloudy” foretells in so many ways.
Early in my recent interview with Swamp Dogg, the iconoclastic singer-songwriter and producer makes a self-aware confession: “I have read columns about Swamp Dogg and so forth, and I try to find out what they classify me as,” referring to the veritable grab-bag of hyphenated micro genres that music writers use to classify him. We connected a few days out from the release of his latest album, Blackgrass: From West Virginia to 125th St, and the artist, born Jerry Williams Jr., seems unbothered. Later he adds, “When I do the Swamp Dogg albums, I really don’t try to please anybody but myself.”
He has known from the jump that the music industry doesn’t know what to do with him. Working as a singer and songwriter under the name Little Jerry Williams, Swamp enjoyed some success with his 1964 soul 7 inch, “I’m The Lover Man,” and was subsequently invited to perform at clubs in the Midwest. As Swamp remembers, “When I showed up they found out I was Black and the audience was lily white. They were good about it, they paid me and said I didn’t have to do a second show.” The small-mindedness of industry gatekeepers would follow him into his first musical steps as Swamp Dogg.
In 1971, Swamp released his second album, Rat On!, on Elektra Records. He was dropped from the label immediately after the release. At issue was the provocatively titled, “God Bless America For What,” track six on the album, which Elektra had pressured Swamp to leave on the cutting room floor. He kept the song, and his brief stint with Elektra was over. (The album cover, featuring Swamp in a victory pose astride an enormous white rat, might also have earned him some detractors in the office.) Asked if he considered caving to the label’s demands, he quickly sets me straight. “No! No. Nuh-uh. I’m dealing in truth!”
The controversy surrounding Rat On! did nothing to slow Swamp’s momentum as a creative force and in the years since its release, has proven itself a classic of left-of-center soul. He produced artists like Patti LaBelle, Z.Z. Hill, and Irma Thomas. Swamp also continued working in A&R. He signed a still-mostly-unknown John Prine to Atlantic Records in 1968, later reuniting with Prine for what would turn out to be the final recording made by the legendary storyteller. Swamp built a cult following among indie music fans in the know, collaborating with artist-tastemakers Justin Vernon and Jenny Lewis – the latter of whom returns as a guest on Blackgrass, as well. He dunked on the snobbier side of the mainstream with albums like Love, Loss, and Auto-Tune, and I Need A Job… So I Can Buy More Autotune.
A list of Swamp’s credits tells the story of one of the most fascinating music careers of the last century, but he himself tells an even deeper one. He speaks about painful failures, like when he became a millionaire in the 1970s and the sudden reality of wealth gutted his mental health. “The right word is obnoxious, I really became obnoxious, my wife pointed out to me. I was running so much that I would run in my sleep and run out of the bed.”
When the nine cars in the family garage proved insufficiently curative, she got him to see a therapist, a “who’s who psychiatrist” in Swamp’s words. He tells me so many sweet things about the great love of his life, Yvonne Williams. “My wife, she was a Leo. She was a strong Leo, she was a leader. Everybody loved her. Everybody feared her when it came to brain-to-brain. She could knock your shit right out the box. She was the reason I made a little money. Her name was Yvonne and I still think about her.” Subsequent girlfriends have told him he is still in mourning, and a second marriage was short-lived.
Discussing his musical roots, Swamp lists “blues, soul, R&B, pop, just about everything except classical and polka, and gotta add country there, cause country is what I was listening to growing up as a kid.”
His brand new record, Blackgrass, released May 31 on Oh Boy Records, is an inventive, often moving exploration of the genre. Sensitive instrumentation by Jerry Douglas, Sierra Hull, Chris Scruggs, and Noam Pikelny, among others, pairs beautifully with Swamp’s varied vocal performances across all 12 tracks. “The Other Woman,” featuring Margo Price, is an elegant update of the classic written by Swamp and first performed by Doris Duke. And Swamp himself is at home as a country vocalist, playing characters like the neighborhood ne’er-do-well on “Mess Under That Dress,” the lovelorn crooner on “Gotta Have My Baby Back,” and delivering a breathtaking country gospel performance on “This Is My Dream.”
Even as Blackgrass offers country music moments that should please even the most determined traditionalists, Swamp Dogg remains committed to surprising his listeners. “Rise Up,” for example, a Swamp original first recorded by the Commodores – “Atlantic didn’t know what to do with them!”– is reincarnated as a country-meets-alternative rock and roll foot stomper, with a guitar solo by Living Colour’s Vernon Reid, which readers should listen to in a safe and seated position.
One of the great rebellions of Blackgrass is the singer’s assumption, on an album that is being marketed to country and roots media, of a Black audience. He explains, “I’m calling it Blackgrass … mainly because of the banjo. When I was coming up the minute somebody said ‘country music’ or ‘banjo’ … we turned our nose up at it, way up until Charley Pride came along.”
As Black listeners, we are being made to understand that this record is for us, decades of deliberate exclusion from the genre be damned. Its creator is equanimous about how the art will be received. “If this one sells enough, there will be a next record. If it doesn’t, there will still be a next record. I’ll put it out myself.”
Fifty years since “I’m The Lover Man,” Swamp Dogg remains curious about, and frequently explodes, the boxes into which small-minded gatekeepers of popular music have attempted to place him. As he recalls some of the more colorful antagonists along his musical journey, Swamp is gracious in the knowledge that he has had the last laugh. He speaks with refreshing pettiness about his early critics, reasoning, “The people that I dealt with back in the day are either dead or don’t know who they are. And I know I’m in line for that, but I keep jumping out of line. When I see myself getting near the front of the line I jump out and go to the end of the line.”
As usual, Swamp Dogg plays in his own time. He has finally outlived the haters.
It is clear to me that 2024 will be known for being a landmark year in the evolution of Black roots music. Not only has there been tremendous growth in the number of artists that are throwing their hat in the ring for roots music – whether it be country & western, bluegrass, folk or Americana – but it is also a time where the mainstream music world is responding to this outpouring of talent in a way that hasn’t been seen in a long time. In many ways, it’s not surprising that things have grown in this fashion. Since I started my professional music career back in 2005, I have seen quite a few changes in the general musical landscape that have set the stage for a Black Roots music revolution.
In the early 2000s, the musical fabric of Black Roots had already been woven into the tapestry of American culture. Hidden between the more well-known pieces of Black music, these acoustic styles that didn’t fit into the traditional mold of blues, jazz, and gospel remained unseen and unheard, relegated to the fringes. Even though it was simultaneously considered a quintessential piece of the larger puzzle of American popular culture, Black Roots music was held in greater reverence for its historical significance than for being a living musical tradition played by modern musicians of the African Diaspora.
There were great pioneers who set the stage back in the early 20th century. There were songsters, string bands, folk musicians, storytellers, songwriters, composers, and community historians who shared their stories for the early folk song collectors who were searching for the purest forms of black expression. This happened while the commercial recording companies sent their representatives out to the field looking for music that they could sell to a record buying public who wanted a sound that not only reflected the past, but the future as well.
With all that in mind, my goal in becoming a professional musician came not from a desire to be a stage performer alone, but to also expand the scholarship and visibility of Black Roots music. By becoming a touring musician I found I was filling a void that most people are not aware of today. Having the opportunity to evoke the names of people who had not gotten their due in their own time was empowering. Not only have I advocated for the music, I have played it and arranged it to reflect the rich history of American music while at same time writing my own songs that represent the modern Black experience in all of its phases.
When I first began performing in Arizona, there was no Black Roots community for me to lean on, so I had to teach myself everything. I had to learn to play the guitar, the banjo, and all of the other instruments in my repertoire on my own. Before the internet, the library was my main resource for music and I grew up in a time when a good portion of all of the world’s recorded music throughout history was not readily available on streaming platforms. Sometimes, I had to search far and wide through stacks of CDs, LPs, and 78s to gain access to the music, just so I could learn how to play it. As I began to learn more songs, I found out about the history of the performers and the legacies they left behind. Later on, I met others who held a similar passion and those individuals taught me how to play different styles and shared more parts of the history that I didn’t know about.
We are now in an era where people have access to the music that was once very hard for me to find. In many ways, I was at the forefront of these musical discoveries in the roots music community, because I took what I had learned and planted seeds all around the world with the Carolina Chocolate Drops and on my own as a solo artist over the past 25 years.
Once I left Arizona and we formed the Carolina Chocolate Drops, we were able to tap into a certain energy in the crowd that changed the paradigm for Black Roots music, so that now people can see the whole picture of American music in a different way. They could see a Black person playing the banjo in the modern world and be inspired to learn more about the African and Caribbean roots of the banjo. We did that for the better part of a decade and then I decided to move on into a new territory: Black Cowboys and Black Western music. This was a new area of music that the Carolina Chocolate Drops were not a part of in any way. The Chocolate Drops had focused on the music of North Carolina and this new musical venture was an exploration into my own family roots in the Southwest.
Back in 2010, I had come across a book called The Negro Cowboys, which encouraged me to research about African American cowboys of the West. In 2018, my research came together in my solo album, Dom Flemons Presents Black Cowboys, which came out on Smithsonian Folkways as a part of the African American Legacy Series. Having grown up in Arizona, I knew that the album needed to be a part of the National Museum of African American History & Culture so that future generations could appreciate and respect the history of the Black West as well as activate the communities that had been there all along.
Back when I released Black Cowboys, I was one of the few artists talking about the contributions of African Americans out west and their varied connections to country music. Not only was I sharing this lesser known history, but I was playing the music that we now celebrate as “Black Country” long before Beyoncé, Lil Nas X, the “Yee-Haw Agenda,” or any of the newer Black artists who have risen to fame in the TikTok era. Now that the concept of Black Cowboys has gone mainstream in music, television, movies, and fashion, it’s another reminder to me that the music I created had made a major impact on American culture in both a conscious and subconscious way.
The most important part of it all is that no one owns Black Country music and nobody owns Black Cowboys or the roots of Black music. However, nowadays I am noticing that people are trying to take credit for exposing the history when they have only scratched the surface of it.
What I have learned is that there are so many parts of the Black Country and roots music story that are still missing and are being left out of the media. There are many other artists who should be considered in the conversation and yet they aren’t getting their flowers. I have noticed the Black Country music narrative that has sprung up recently has actively disregarded the work of the many Black artists who are deeply connected to the legacy, including myself on many occasions. My hope is that people will take the time to acknowledge the ones who have paved the way for the current movement and shed light on their individual stories, too.
The main reason I have included extensive liner notes in all of my albums, including my most recent, Traveling Wildfire, is because I always make sure to give credit where it is due. The sources for my traditional songs are clearly laid out for anyone to see and my original songs are exercises in expanding the existing palette of roots music so that both can be presented to a new generation of listeners. I have seen my talking points being used to fuel many of the current conversations, but oftentimes there is no back reference to the work I have done. All of the fanfare has forgotten to give proper credit to someone who has spent the majority of their career trying to set the record straight. As a well known musician in my community, this exposes a general trend that is problematic for the current state of Black Roots music.
If it is acceptable for a mainstream pop star or the media to sidestep and steamroll the pioneers of Black Roots music, it can only lead to a narrative of uplift that will ring hollow in the long term. It will teach the future generations that sleight of hand is the only way to get ahead and that surface level fame is the goal and key to being successful. Bad ideologies take a long time to disperse once they have become a part of the general fabric of society, and if people continue to spout it the integrity of the music can be undermined without them even knowing it.
This is why I am cautiously optimistic for the current state of Black Roots music, because oftentimes it feels more like a one-sided competition than a community of Black artists coming together to be celebrated collectively.
Yet, on a positive note, I believe the current state of Black Roots music is very exciting. People are being activated by the work that has been done by the pioneers of the past one hundred years. They are reinterpreting, reinventing, and showcasing music that is becoming a viable part of the mainstream music industry. They come with a variety of sounds, instruments, and songs that will shift the template of American culture as Black Roots music always has and always will.
More voices are being added every day in places and spaces that would have been unheard of even ten years ago. It can be clearly stated that there are now plenty of young musicians in every field of Black Roots music and there is no shortage of new talent who have proven their worth on the stage, on recordings, and on social media.
The holistic landscape of the modern Black Roots music community is something that I am proud to have helped establish over the past 25 years. Major growth is upon us, but I feel like it can only happen if everyone in the community gets acknowledged, not just the “favorites” or the ones making the most money while begging for all of the attention. The connecting of dots that bind the past and future are within our reach through the technology we have at our fingertips; it is essential for us to use it with great care and responsibility.
I started my journey as the American Songster building a legacy upon a dream. I got the notion to write songs and play the old styles back when I was sixteen years old and this eventually led me to sell everything I own, jump in my car, and drive across America to find where that dream could take me. It then took me all over the world and brought me much acclaim, but I have never lost sight of what inspired me to start this journey.
For me, I’m just getting started and I’ll always be here, no matter who stays and who goes. I’ve done the work to make the music more accessible for others and I can hope that it has reflected well on my own legacy as well as the entire community I have tried to uplift.
The year’s most discussed, and in some respects, most controversial LP to date has been Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter. Its admirers have painted Beyoncé as a trailblazer for Black country artists. They cite her inclusion on the album of both past – like Linda Martell – and contemporary Black country artists, including Rhiannon Giddens, plus the foursome of Brittney Spencer, Reyna Roberts, Tanner Adell, and Tiera Kennedy, all featured on the update of The Beatles classic, “Blackbird” (stylized “Blackbiird”). They also cite Beyoncé’s Texas background as ample proof of her country roots and sincerity.
Others, notably contributors to The Washington Post and The Guardian, have attacked the 27-song project for a variety of sins ranging from overproduction to such emphasis on idiomatic variety that the result to their ears is faceless, forgettable music. Beyoncé herself has repeatedly said “It’s not a country album, it’s a Beyoncé album,” a line that can and has been viewed many different ways.
Still, there’s been a genuine explosion of interest in Black country music the past couple of years prior to the release of Cowboy Carter. It has resulted in a host of attention for artists ranging from Charley Crockett, Mickey Guyton, Miko Marks, Rissi Palmer and Brei Carter to established hitmakers like Darius Rucker and Kane Brown. But there’s one name that stands above all others as a key figure who’s been in the country music trenches over five decades. That’s author and songwriter Alice Randall, a superb novelist and academic. Randall, a Detroit native, made the move to Nashville from Washington, D.C. back in 1983, because she wanted to showcase her skills as a country songwriter and simultaneously wanted to demolish the widely held myth that the music had no links or connection to Black music and zero audience among African Americans.
“Yes, I faced open hostility and overt racism when I began,” Randall told Good Country during a recent interview. “There were plenty of people who looked at me and figured what’s this small Black woman doing here? But I wasn’t going to let that stop me.” Randall spent plenty of time attending songwriters rounds, plus examining and analyzing the songs that were becoming hits. In her book she pays credit to Bob Doyle, who was then a songwriter liaison at ASCAP. Doyle’s Bob Doyle & Associates is the longtime management firm for Garth Brooks. Another of her early Nashville mentors was singer-songwriter Steve Earle, whom she met through Doyle. She cites Earle’s willingness to address personal and social trauma and pain as an influence on her writing style.
Randall earned her first Top 10 country hit in 1987 with the Judy Rodman-recorded “Girls Ride Horses, Too,” which she wrote with Mark D. Sanders. She also launched the publishing company Midsummer Music (which she later sold), with the aim of aiding and developing a community of storytellers. She’d soon enjoy bigger success, becoming one of the first Black women to write a No. 1 country hit, when she and Matraca Berg co-wrote “XXXs and OOOs (An American Girl),” for Trisha Yearwood in 1994. (Donna Summer previously co-wrote Dolly Parton’s “Starting Over Again” in 1980).
Randall was also a writer on Moe Bandy’s top 40 hit, “Many Mansions.” Some other notable Randall milestones include writing the treatment for Reba McEntire’s “Is There Life Out There?” music video, which won an ACM Award and features a Randall cameo. In addition, she wrote and produced the pilot for a primetime drama “XXX’s and OOO’s,” which later aired as a made-for-TV movie on CBS.
But as Randall notes in her book, additional trials can come with success. Randall recounts how after the success of “XXXs and OOOs,” a music publishing executive pressured her into signing a contract before she had time to let her lawyers look at the paperwork. That move eventually led to Randall signing away much of her writer’s share of the song’s profits, an experience she called “part of my graduate school.”
Her new book, My Black Country (and its co-released, eponymous album), nicely combines personal reflection with historical commemoration and cultural examination. It highlights Black country’s finest performers and personalities, while noting that early country music was a far more interracial activity than many realized. “It’s amazing to me how many people don’t realize that Jimmie Rodgers recorded with Louis Armstrong, or that Lil’ Hardin was also involved in that historic recording,” she continues.
Randall cites Hardin as the mother of Black Country, the premier vocalist/harmonica soloist DeFord Bailey as the papa, multi-idiomatic master Ray Charles as the genius child, Charley Pride as Bailey’s side child, and the vocalist and TV/film star Herb Jefferies, also known as the Bronze Buckaroo, as Hardin’s stepchild.
She’s equally passionate about the frequent omission from country music histories and commentary of the contributions of Black cowboys. “I fight for all the Black cowboys who have been erased, all the country and western songs through the years that did not tell those stories,” Randall told Billboard magazine in an earlier interview. “When I wrote songs like ‘Went For a Ride,’ a lot of people did not realize they were Black cowboys I was writing about… but 20 or 30% of all cowboys were Black and brown in the 19th and 20th centuries, so it’s one of the ways that African Americans have contributed so much to the legacy of country music, is through cowboy songs.”
The book also chronicles a further lineage of Black country artists, including the Pointer Sisters and Linda Martell, as well as other artists like Sunny War, Miko Marks, Valerie June, and Rissi Palmer.
With 2024 being a big year for Black country, it’s only fitting that Nashville and the music world at large recognize and celebrate Alice Randall’s achievements. Last month she published the memoir, My Black Country (Simon & Schuster), while an accompanying LP, My Black Country: The Songs Of Alice Randall (Oh Boy Records), was also released.
A pair of sold out events in Music City – a book signing at Parnassus bookstore and a combination celebration/Black Opry concert at the City Winery where contemporary Black country vocalists performed Randall tunes – were just the first events to honor the current Vanderbilt Professor of African American and Diaspora Studies as well as writer-in residence. Randall’s other notable literary feats include The Wind Done Gone, a blistering examination and parody of the book and film, Gone With The Wind.
During Black Music Month in June, Randall will appear at the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History & Culture on June 7, and she’ll return to Nashville on June 15 for another in-person conversation about Blacks and country music.
Randall’s book traces her love for country to a family relocation. While growing up in Detroit, she was also a fan of Motown and even spent some time with Stevie Wonder. But upon moving with her mother to Washington, D.C., country became the dominant music she regularly heard. As a student at Harvard studying both English and American Literature & Language Randall says it was after closely surveying Bobby Bare’s 1976 song, “Dropkick Me Through Jesus (Through the Goalposts of Life),” she really began to understand the depth and breadth of country music storytelling.
That knowledge, along with her excellence as a lyricist and storyteller, resonates throughout the many memorable and unforgettable numbers on the album My Black Country: The Songs Of Alice Randall. The roster of 12 women selected to perform the various tunes features many of today’s finest country stylists. The honor roll includes Ada Victoria’s soaring “Went For a Ride,” Allison Russell’s glorious “Many Mansions,” Rhiannon Giddens’ routinely spectacular rendition of “The Ballad of Sally Anne,” and Rissi Palmer’s poignant performance on “Who’s Minding the Garden.” Randall’s daughter, poet and commentator Caroline Randall Williams, delivers a strong performance on “XXXs and OOOs.”
Randall credits Russell for introducing her to Ebonie Smith, better known for her work as a producer on Sturgill Simpson’s Grammy-winning album, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth.
And it’s no surprise Randall would conclude our interview by weighing in on the Beyoncé LP, herself.
“She’s the only Black woman to achieve those feats [No. 1 country single and album], but I don’t think she’ll be the last,” Randall concludes. “I’m more proud of the fact that there are so many great Black country artists out there, that the Black Opry is getting national attention, and that we’re finally putting to rest that garbage about country only being for white people.”
“In fact, to me, Nashville’s becoming a town for wild women, and for Black women to freely express themselves any way they choose.”
(Editor’s Note: 50 years ago this month, Rufus released what would become a seminal album in American roots music, soul, and funk, Rags To Rufus, which featured Chaka Khan. To mark the 50th anniversary of this iconic recording, singer-songwriter Kyshona ponders the personal meanings of the project and how it relates to her own brand new album, Legacy.)
My mother is battling dementia, so car rides with her are the perfect time to play music from her younger years, when she was carefree, childless, and she and my Dad hosted an abundance of house parties for their friends and family. I have a playlist of songs from the late ‘60s and ‘70s I’ll put on when we’re shuttling her between doctors’ appointments.
On one of these car rides, I turned on Rags To Rufus. My mom was in the passenger seat, playing “brain games” on her phone to, in her words, “Exercise her mind and hold on to what she’s got.” I noticed she was singing, under her breath, the melodies and choruses of the first three tracks on the album. She turned to me and said, “I’ve never heard this before, who is this? I like it!” This got me thinking beyond personal family legacy and more about musical legacy.
This year marks the 50th anniversary of Rags To Rufus, the album that transformed the trajectory of funk band Rufus and propelled Chaka Khan into the spotlight. Chaka Khan’s music is a soundtrack that has woven itself into the fabric of not only my work as an artist, but also into my personal life.
There is an expectation to conform, to try to categorize and compartmentalize music; I can’t imagine enduring the pressure from the industry, and even society as a whole, as it was nearly a half a century ago, artists and bands trying to squeeze themselves into arbitrary molds. To my ears, Rags To Rufus is the sound of a group of friends hanging out and having a good time – there is a sense of celebration, camaraderie, a sonic journey of Black joy. It feels like an album made for the thrill of being creative, for the sake of unbridled artistic freedom. I have always wanted my music to feel like this, telling stories, playing around with sounds and ideas. When I’m creating, that’s my goal. I write in the style that serves the story that I’m telling, without regard to genre constraints or others’ expectations.
The record begins with empowered swagger and affirmation – “You Got The Love,” which I interpret as, “You belong here.” The sentiment is carried through in “Walkin’ In The Sun,” a song that brings a comforting sense of nostalgia. I can hear my “aunties” in the hook: “Even a blind man can tell when he’s walking in the sun.”
The title track is a funked-out jam session, and then the band brings out old-time fervor in “Swing Down Chariot.”
Think about it – Rufus takes an old gospel song, adds Chaka Khan’s powerhouse vocals, blends it with blues, jazz, funk, soul, and takes it to an entirely new dimension! Forget genre, industry rules, or album cycles. Back in the day, it was just music that made you feel good, it was about that vibe.
As a music therapist, I recognize the profound impact music has on those grappling with conditions like Alzheimer’s and dementia – it encourages lucidity and presence of self. As a daughter, I see how music bonds me to my mother.
In the past, when I’ve done music therapy in nursing home settings, I’ve used songs from the early 20th century – like “Let Me Call You Sweetheart,” “Heart And Soul,” and “Sentimental Journey.” But now, the memory care songs I reach for are songs I grew up listening to in our house, at family reunions, on road trips. How fantastic is it that Chaka Khan’s work throughout her 50-year career can provide a generation-spanning conduit for a mother and a daughter to connect? We can experience that freedom in her sound as we listen together, regardless of the chaos happening around us.
I can’t begin to put into words how much I admire Chaka Khan; with my new album, Legacy, I tell the stories of my ancestors and my family. Chaka Khan’s legacy is intertwined with generations of music-makers.
Over the last 50 years, Khan has been a major influence on pop artists like Whitney Houston, R&B artists like Erykah Badu and Mary J. Blige, and on myself – and so many of my peers in the roots and folk scenes. I learned of her musical magic as a child, listening to my parents’ favorite radio stations, so being able to sing backing vocals for her at Newport Folk Festival a few years ago was absolutely surreal. I can’t imagine the journey she’s been on, but I hope she knows that her existence alone encourages artists like me to keep on being true to ourselves and our art.
Rags To Rufus is a part of my journey. For me, it’s the sound of “blackness.” I hope that 50 years from now, someone will listen to the music of myself and my peers and hear that same resonance of joy, love, and celebration of culture.
We all dream to leave a lasting musical legacy as deep and profound as Chaka Khan and Rufus.
Since her solo debut in 2014, Vari-Colored Songs: a Tribute to Langston Hughes, multi-instrumentalist, composer, songwriter, and thought leader Leyla McCalla has routinely and consistently expanded her own sonic universe. But these have not been gratuitous or ambitious artistic reinventions. Instead, the cellist and multi-instrumentalist intentionally and organically brings in new and exciting textures, influences, stories, cultural touch points, and text paintings into her work. On April 12, she’ll continue in a similar vein, once again broadening her own endless musical horizons with a brand new record, Sun Without the Heat, available via ANTI-.
After Vari-Colored Songs, a collection of thoughtful, dense, and engaging adapted Hughes poems, Haitian folk, and originals, the critically acclaimed and “fan favorite” collection, A day for the hunter, a day for the prey (2016), brought in still more French, Haitian Creole, and bilingual material, underpinned by string band sounds that recalled her days performing and recording with the Carolina Chocolate Drops – but with many iconoclastic wrinkles and touches uniquely her own. At no point has there seemed to be any floundering or self doubt, musically and otherwise, in McCalla’s releases, but still their progression points to a growing confidence, an indelible sense of self, and an unwavering commitment to telling often untold stories. Time and again, she plumbs the depths of her own soul, her family, her lineage to discover and honor narratives regularly left in the shadows.
Sun Without the Heat certainly finds McCalla – who is based in New Orleans – covering exciting, tantalizing new ground that neither feels entirely new or, again, like any sort of attempt at frivolous reinvention. Instead, this album is a re-distillation of the personal journey – whether inward or outward – that McCalla has invited us to join her on since Vari-Colored Songs. Over 10 tracks, Sun Without the Heat is fiery while inviting, with limitless sparks and an intractable gravity. Building on her Haitian roots, which remained front-and-center in 2019’s incredible TheCapitalist Blues and also anchored her theatrical sort-of-concept album, Breaking the Thermometer (2022), on Sun Without the Heat McCalla again subverts antiquated ideas around “world music” and global folk by grounding Afrobeat, Ethiopian music theory, Brazilian Tropicalismo, and more in her American folk and string band expertise.
The result, like on TheCapitalist Blues and Breaking the Thermometer, is as charming as it is dense, crave-able and nutritious, entirely one-of-a-kind while obviously interconnected with so many constituent musical traditions. There are clearly lessons learned and perspectives gained from her time collaborating with supergroup Our Native Daughters – with Amythyst Kiah, Allison Russell, and Rhiannon Giddens – here, too. On the new album, with her arm-length resumé at her disposal, McCalla remains the industrial-strength adhesive holding together all of these seemingly disparate parts. Sun Without the Heat’s current singles, “Scaled to Survive” (listen above), “Tree,” and “Love We Had” are a perfect aural triptych to demonstrate McCalla’s deft combination of inputs to create a singular output.
It’s nearly impossible to overstate the impact the Carolina Chocolate Drops and its now legendary alumni have had on American roots music and global folk. Giddens, Dom Flemons, Rowan Corbett, Justin Robinson, and more each continue to increase their audiences’ scope of understanding well after their time in the Grammy Award-winning group. But the niche McCalla has carved out and built a home for herself within since branching out from the band is truly her own.
Sun Without the Heat is timeless while Afrofuturist, essential but never essentialist. This is folk music crafted in the spirit of folk musician activists the world over since time immemorial. When you listen to McCalla, whether Sun Without the Heat or Capitalist Blues, or any of her five studio albums, you can rest assured what you’re hearing is truly idiosyncratic, while she never lets her listeners mistakenly assume she and she alone is the sole arbiter of these sounds, genres, and traditions. It’s a deft balancing act that perhaps only she can execute with such ease and such entrancing music.
All month long, we’ll be celebrating Sun Without the Heat and Leyla McCalla as our Artist of the Month. Enjoy our Essential Leyla McCalla Playlist below and stay tuned for our AOTM interview to come later in April.
The fourth annual edition of the Fort Worth African American Roots Music Festival (AKA FWAAMFest) will take place this weekend, on Saturday, March 16, at Southside Preservation Hall in Fort Worth, Texas. BGS has been proud to support and sponsor this quickly up-and-coming event over the past few years and 2024’s edition of the all-day festival will be the biggest FWAAMFest yet.
The festival has a mission of centering the vital and transformative contributions of Black and African-American folks to American roots music. Though their purview at first glance may seem “niche,” this is a concept that is as broad and expansive as it is pointed and specific. Festival organizer, Decolonizing the Music Room founding director Brandi Waller-Pace – a regular contributor to and collaborator of BGS – goes out of her way each year to demonstrate Black music, Black artists, and Black stories are not monoliths. Each year’s lineup is carefully curated to show FWAAMFest audience members the depth and breadth of Black musical traditions, not only in Fort Worth but around the country.
Tickets for the event are competitively priced ($50 general admission, $30 for students, with discounts for educators and children) and are truly an excellent value. Where else under one roof can you enjoy workshops, partake in Oakland Public Conservatory of Music’s Black Banjo & Fiddle Fellowship, dine on excellent barbeque and soul food, and hear sets from Jerron Paxton, Lizzie No, Crys Matthews, Joy Clark, Jontavious Willis, Corey Harris, Piedmont Bluz Acoustic Duo, Spice Cake Blues, Lilli Lewis, EJ Mathews, Stephanie Anne Johnson, Patrice Strahan, and Darcy Ford-James?
Below, take some time to familiarize yourself with this year’s FWAAMFest lineup while you make your plans to join Fort Worth at Southside Preservation hall this Saturday for an incomparable day filled with music, history, fellowship, and community building.
Jerron Paxton
Well known to BGS, Jerron Paxton – who you may know as “Blind Boy” Paxton – is a blues, old-time, and ragtime musician adept on many instruments, from piano to banjo to harmonica and beyond. Paxton was on BGS’s Shout & Shine Online lineup in 2020, a virtual showcase also curated by Brandi Waller-Pace. We’ve spoken to Paxton a few times about his incredible, timeless sound – and how he doesn’t view his music as coming from the past, but being rooted in the present. With his material and storytelling, he demonstrates how all of these American roots genres are so closely intertwined.
Lizzie No
Lizzie No’s new album, Halfsies, is certainly one of the best releases of the year. An Americana and country singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, No has a perspective that’s effortlessly modern while steeped in country traditions of the ’80s, ’90s, and 2000s. There’s introspective indie touches, pop infusions, and an end result that’s truly singular. Her music has plenty to sink your teeth into, and we go back to it time and time again.
Check out a recent GOOD COUNTRY feature about feminine country that highlights No and Halfsies and take some time to discover why our co-founder, Ed Helms, highly recommends her music via Ed’s Picks. Oh, and did we mention No co-hosts a BGS podcast, Basic Folk, too? An entire multi-hyphenate, right here!
Corey Harris
Corey Harris is a blues musician who has busked the streets of New Orleans, lived in Cameroon and West Africa, collaborated with Taj Mahal, and garnered millions of streams. His is an old-fashioned sound, but without essentialism or facing backwards. The lead single and title track from his upcoming album, Chicken Man, is out now – watch for the full record later this month. Based in Charlottesville, Virginia, don’t miss your opportunity to see this world-traveling blues picker and singer in Fort Worth.
Piedmont Bluz Acoustic Duo
Valerie and Benedict Turner are Piedmont Bluz Acoustic Duo, inductees of the New York Blues Hall of Fame. They’re committed to bringing “awareness to these unique aspects of African-American culture,” especially Piedmont style fingerpicking, washboard, and what they (rightly) call “country blues.” They’ve traveled all around the world playing Piedmont blues and they’re especially adept at preserving songs and sounds from artists like Mississippi John Hurt, Etta Baker, and Libba Cotten while showing how important their music is in modern contexts – in the present moment.
Crys Matthews
Singer-songwriter-picker Crys Matthews is another FWAAMFest 2024 artist that’s a well known name to BGS readers. An activist in songwriter form, Matthews writes pointed, sharp, and compassionate protest music that’s never saccharine or blinders-on, a rare feat in folk music. She also has a guitar playing style all her own – playing left handed, with the guitar upside down, she also reminds of musicians like Elizabeth Cotten. But still, what listeners take away from her joyful and encouraging sets, filled to bursting with solidarity, is an understanding that what Matthews does with her music is an art form all her own. Check out a BGS fan favorite from 2023, Matthews’ collaboration with Heather Mae and Melody Walker on a rousing community-minded number, “Room.”
Jontavious Willis
Grammy nominee Jontavious Willis was born and raised in rural Georgia and his childhood was filled with gospel music and connections to deep cultural traditions. As a teenager, he discovered Muddy Waters and the blues; it wasn’t long ’til he was sharing stages with Taj Mahal, Keb’ Mo’, and so many of his heroes and forebears. (Mahal called him “Wonderboy,” a certainly fitting and worthy title!) Willis makes music with a huge scope and limitless lifespan, but in that same DIY, hard-scrabble, down to earth way so highly valued in the blues. In 2018, he won the Blues Foundation’s International Blues Challenge Award for Best Self-Produced CD, and his 2019 follow up, Spectacular Class, garnered his Grammy nomination and millions of streams on digital platforms.
Joy Clark
Guitarist Joy Clark is rapidly on the rise – and deservedly so! She tours and performs with the Black Opry Revue, with Allison Russell’s Rainbow Coalition, and as an incredibly accomplished solo picker-singer-songwriter. Just last month, she wowed the Folk Alliance International audience at the International Folk Music Awards with her tribute to Tracy Chapman, showing the intuitive and intentional connections between Clark and queer, Black guitarists, musicians, and songwriters who came before her. The most remarkable thing about Clark’s music, though, is not that it reminds of other musicians and artists – even when it does. Instead, it’s impossible to deny that Clark has a voice on the guitar that is all her own and she’s on a steady march to bring that voice to the world. Thank goodness!
Spice Cake Blues
FWAAMFest has it all, from internationally known artists to insider favorites to gem-like discoveries, like duo Spice Cake Blues. A new introduction to BGS and our readers, Spice Cake features Miles Spicer and Jael Patterson and they are based out of Maryland. Spicer is a co-founder of the Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation and an accomplished Piedmont (and multi-style) guitar picker. Jael, who also goes by Yaya, is a powerful and soulful singer. Spicer also performs with Jackie Merritt and Resa Gibbs in the M.S.G. Acoustic Blues Trio. (M.S.G. = Merritt, Spicer, Gibbs.)
Lilli Lewis
You may know her as “Folk Rock Diva,” Lilli Lewis is a powerhouse vocalist, pianist, songwriter, former record label runner, and forever community builder. Her shows are entrancing, like a combination of Wednesday-night church and a New Orleans Saturday night. Lewis is prolific and critically-acclaimed, and something of a genre and context shapeshifter, unifying the many sounds and styles she inhabits with her heartfelt stories and encouraging words of insight. Her latest album, All is Forgiven, was released in December 2023. Don’t miss her cover of Radiohead’s “Creep,” though, too – there’s a reason it’s so often requested at her concerts!
EJ Mathews
EJ Mathews was born and raised in Atlanta… Texas. A small town near the Arkansas border, Mathews grew up listening to the music of his grandpa – an even mix of country and blues. As such, his sound infuses as much modern blues as country, southern rock, and gospel, with infinite feel and groove. His 2020 single, “Smokin’ & Drankin'” shows so many of the styles he effortlessly combines. Now living in Dallas, Mathews will make the relatively short hike over to Fort Worth for FWAAMFest to bring his unique, melting-pot sound to Southside Preservation Hall.
Stephanie Anne Johnson
Stephanie Anne Johnson is a singer-songwriter and radio host based in the Pacific Northwest. Born and raised in Tacoma, they were already becoming a common sight in folk and Americana circles when they seemingly burst onto the national scene appearing on season five of NBC’s The Voice. Johnson is another FWAAMFest artist who was featured on the Shout & Shine Online lineup in 2020 curated by Waller-Pace. Criminally underrated in national folk, Americana, and indie circles, Johnson creates powerful music that brings love, mental health, togetherness, and redemption all under a compassionate lens – and with a remarkably grounded sensibility. Whether solo or with their band, the HiDogs, Stephanie Anne Johnson is an entrancing musician and songwriter. Don’t miss their 2023 album, Jewels.
You can see all these artists and so much more this weekend at FWAAMFest in Fort Worth! Get your tickets now.
Photos courtesy of FWAAMFest. L to R: Crys Matthews; Jerron Paxton; Lizzie No.
In advance of the release of Vincent Neil Emerson’s latest, critically-acclaimed album, The Golden Crystal Kingdom – which dropped on November 10 – BGS moderated a conversation between VNE and his friend and peer, country & western singer-songwriter and song-interpreter Charley Crockett.
Both artists cut their teeth in music venues in Texas a decade ago. In our conversation, they tell the story of how they came to know each other and discuss ways they protect each other within the business. They talk about covering and cutting each other’s songs and the importance of telling their truths.
Emerson’s new album, produced by Shooter Jennings, veers his sound toward warm ’60s rock and folk influences. He opens up to Charley and BGS about its creation process and what is on the horizon for him.
Charley Crockett: What’s up, Vincent?
Vincent Neil Emerson: What’s up, my boy?
CC: Another day, another dollar.
BGS: Tell me where you both are in the world right now.
VNE: I’m in Asheville, North Carolina, right now, at an Airbnb.
CC: I’m up here in San Luis Valley in Southern Colorado.
Both really nice places to be in the fall.
VNE: You ain’t wrong.
Can you give us a little bit of context about your relationship, where you know each other from, and how long you have been working together?
VNE: Charley, you wanna go?
CC: Oh man, I always tell that story; I wanna hear it from you.
VNE: I met Charley in Deep Ellum. We were playing around town, playing a lot of shows around there and Fort Worth. That was over 10 years ago, maybe?
CC: I was trying to think about it this morning. I think it had to be ’13 or ’14.
VNE: That’s crazy, man.
CC: He remembers it being at Adair Saloon; I remember it being at the Freeman. It really don’t matter, ’cause I’m sure it was both places.
VNE: I’m sure we went and had a drink at Adairs or something like that.
CC: I remember I walked up on him and said, “I like all them Justin Townes Earle songs.” And he said, “I only played one.” I always liked what he was doing, and he used to play solo and do the guitar pools up at Magnolia Motor Lounge all the time. He’d be up there smoking a cigarette, picking through them songs like Townes Van Zandt, and I thought, “Oh lord have mercy, this boy is a force to be reckoned with.”
VNE: Man, I felt the same way as soon as I heard you, brother. I remember a couple of nights I saw you at the Freeman with this band. You had a bunch of guys up on that tiny little stage, and you were just ripping through all these songs, taking all these old honky tonk songs and flipping them on their head and turning them into blues and vice versa. I always thought that was so cool, man.
CC: I don’t remember that well, but I guess you’re right. In those days, every gig we played for both me and Vincent, we ended up getting booked by the same folks, or they were all standing together in some bar, no matter if it was Ft. Worth or Nashville or Los Angeles. One way or another, all them same business folks been standing pretty close to me and Vincent. And that’s the truth.
Well, that’s convenient if you like to work together, I guess. Charley, do you have questions you want to dig in on?
CC: You know, Erin, I don’t even know what the hell we are doing?
Let’s talk about the release of Vincent’s new album.
CC: Well, let me just do this then. Everything he’s been putting out with Shooter [Jennings], like everything else he’s ever done…If you sit there looking at Vincent and he surprises you, it’s like, “Oh damn, I didn’t know old boy was gonna do that.” The very next thing he does, it just happens again — every single time. I remember when he was playing “7 Come 11” way before anybody gave a damn about him and was looking out for his interests or his career. He had all them songs in his pocket way before anybody had ideas or designs on him and his business. I’ve said for a long time that “7 Come 11” is one of the best folk songs written out of Texas in 20 years. Remember Central Track, Vincent?
VNE: Yeah, they did a lot of write-ups on music.
CC: I will never forget that stuff when you did that record and what you were doing live. Erin, he was playing for 50 bucks and a case of Lone Star in them dive bars in Fort Worth, you know? He was living in a 10×10 room. He was hardly ever even standing inside of the damn joint.
A handful of us showed up at the same time, and we are all moving on our own paths, but we’ve all stayed pretty close, or we damn sure weave it together quite a bit even if we get way out there, you know, in the territories, we always come back to each other. I think I met Leon Bridges right around the same time that I met Vincent. I met him in Deep Ellum, too. There is a guy who plays guitar with me now named Alexis Sanchez. He had a band back then, and he was playing at Club Dada there for some little festival, and Leon Bridges was standing there in a trench coat and a bowler hat. I venture to guess that me and Leon and Vincent met each other damn near about the same time. There were a lot of other folks like that. Ten years later, especially for some Texas guys, you know, we’ve all grown a lot, and I think we have always supported each other and loved each others’ music. That’s only grown, and Vincent is standing there as one of the premier, original, authentic talents to come out of Texas since the turn of the damn century. I’m not blowing smoke. I’m just stating what is already happening.
VNE: Man, that is high praise. I appreciate you sayin’ that, Charley.
CC: Well, they want all this shit to write about it, but that’s just the truth. He was playing in Fort Worth and like I said, playing for all that low money. They were calling him Lefty. Why did they call you Lefty? I figured it was because you had a black eye or something.
VNE: Yeah, I had my left eye knocked out of the socket one time, and the nickname stuck for a while.
CC: I remember they wrote about you pretty salaciously there in the Fort Worth Weekly. I know a thing or two about that myself.
VNE: I would say it was because they were trying to sell papers, but it was a free publication.
CC: Shit, they are selling advertisements. I think the Dallas Observer is still doing that to me.
He was playing them bars, we were playing them bars. I don’t know which one of us is which, but more often than not, he sure seems like if I’m Waylon, he’s Willie. I have felt like that for a long time. You could change the names. I think about this stuff a lot. The business folks, it is always hard to tell what they are doing, but you can be sure they are rolling dice and betting and gambling on folks. It ends up being, a guy like Vincent that somebody like me can lean on a lot more. We can trust those guys, and I’m real happy with who I’m working with, and I’m sure Vincent is, too. It is the other artists living life for the song that gets us through. I know I feel like that about Vincent, and I feel like that about a lot of other guys I don’t know as well as him.
Kind of like Johnny Cash said, “We are all family, even though some of us barely know each other.” I think it is because we can see each other and know we are in the same boat and in that way, care more for each other than other people would. I think it is pretty serious. It is life and death.
VNE: That’s a good feeling to not feel so alone in that way and have people out there and doing things similar to you. They probably think a lot of the same thoughts. Me and you are good buddies, Charley, and I feel that way, too. I feel like some guys out there like Tyler Childers – I really respect him, and I feel like he is in the same boat as us. I’m not as well known as you guys, but I think none of that really matters. I think what it comes down to is that we are all songwriters trying to make our own stories happen and be true to ourselves and honest to the world. I think that the reason we can relate to each other is the same reason the fans can relate. Honesty will cut through anything and bring people together.
CC: One way or another, them folks we are selling tickets to, they know.
VNE: You can’t fake the funk, I guess.
CC: Eventually, it comes through. Speaking of Tyler Childers, we ended up on the same plane flying from Nashville to Austin recently… I was there for the Country Music Hall of Fame induction and I didn’t want to go. I get real antisocial and want to hide out from everybody and shit, and I went to Nashville kicking and screaming. Tanya Tucker was getting inducted to the Hall of Fame with a couple of other people. Patty Loveless and Bob McDill, who I wasn’t that familiar with. I had thought that he’d written the Jimmy C. Newman song, “Louisiana Saturday Night”, which I know real well. To be honest with you, it is the only reason I agreed to go out there, ’cause I love singing that song. I made a lot of money writing songs off of that song, so I figured I owed whoever the songwriter was. Long story short, there in the last week, I found out it was a different “Louisiana Saturday Night,” regularly mistakenly attributed to Bob McDill cause he wrote a totally separate song called “Louisiana Saturday Night” that Mel McDaniel had a big hit with, and that’s the one that goes,
“Well, you get down the fiddle and you get down the bow Kick off your shoes and you throw ’em on the floor Dance in the kitchen ’til the mornin’ light Louisiana Saturday night”
That was a big ol hit, right Vincent? He did “Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On,” and a bunch of shit like that that I just didn’t realize. My naive, ignorant ass goes up there to Nashville kicking and screaming, and that’s how I feel. A horse gets led to water or something like that. I saw Tanya get inducted. I damn near built my career off of my version of “Jamestown Ferry” when I was younger, and I realized that she had blazed that trail for me, and I had not shown her enough respect. I really hadn’t. Same thing with Bob McDill. All those songs he wrote and the advice he gave in his speech, and my dumbass could really shut up and pay attention to these folks.
Then I ran into Tyler going from there. He was flying to Austin to do a John Prine tribute. That’s how it is. When I see Tyler, I’m on a plane. When I see Vincent, it is at Monterey Fairgrounds. We are ships passing in the night. All these guys like Tyler, Colter [Wall], Leon, Vincent. Whenever I see them, they got a big light around them, and it is shining. You just want it to keep shining for them, and for myself, to keep it going,
I don’t know exactly where you want to go with this, Erin, but I’m excited about this record. Shooter was telling me about your songs and offered to send them and I was like, “No, I ain’t gonna do that. I wanna be like everyone else.” I wanna watch this thing get rolled out, and I wanna be excited. I’m looking forward to going through the songs.
Vincent, can you tell us about working with Shooter on this record?
VNE: I met Shooter a few times. Me and Charley were at this festival in Iowa hanging out, and Shooter came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. I’d met him before at another festival but I’d never talked to him. He turned me around and said, “Hey man, I really like that thing you did with Rodney Crowell.” He paid me a lot of compliments, and since then, we talked, and when it came time to make another record, Shooter was the first guy I thought of. I thought it would be such a cool idea to work with him on an album. One thing about him is he really is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and he is a genuine fan of music. He’s trying to make cool things happen. I’m so lucky I got to work with him on it. That is the big takeaway from the whole thing for me was making a real good friend like that and meeting someone who gets me excited about songwriting and about making an album and making music in general.
Since Charley cut “7 Come 11” and you cut one of Charley’s songs for this record, can you talk about what prompted “Time of the Cottonwood Trees” winding up in this pile of songs?
VNE: Oh man – that song. Me and you were on tour together for three months, was it last summer? We did a bunch of dates, and we were on the road a long time, and I was listening to Charley do that song every night. It was a brand new song that hadn’t come out on his record yet. I got to hear him sing that song every night by himself, and I just think it is one of the best songs I’ve ever heard. It is one of my favorites from you, Charley. I think it is a fine example of songwriting. When it came time to make this album, I always wanted to pay tribute to you and cut one of your songs on a record because you cut “7 Come 11.” That really ties back into that whole Willie and Waylon and all those old timers who cut each others’ songs and lifted each other up like that. I just wanted to pay tribute to you, and that’s why I put it on the album.
CC: Shit, I appreciate it. I’ll be excited to get the check in the mail. You surprised the hell out of me with that one, you really did. I’ve always wanted people to cut my songs. Sometimes, I think I’d be better off that way. I have so many. I’ve always cut a lot of songs that weren’t mine, probably about half of them. And I got about a 250-song catalog of published shit. I would guess about 40-50% are songs I didn’t write. I feel like I’ve caught a lot of heat for that. People have an idea about me that I never wrote a single song. I think that’s because we live in an era where, like what Vincent was talking about, where all those folks back in the day, across genres, and it wasn’t just country it was pop, folk, soul, R&B. It was everything. Everyone was cutting each other’s songs. I just really think that to write a great song, you have to learn great songs from other people.
You have to watch out for these publishers these days. They’ll just put any piece of junk out as long as they’ve got control over it. They figured out they can make money selling junk. If you can make more money than ever before selling junk and you aren’t principled, and you aren’t that close to the music, well, they don’t see the reason not to do it that way. I think it feels like a renaissance.
VNE: Specifically in the genre of country music, there is a lot of junk out there. I don’t want to put anyone down. Most of the time, I just try to ignore whatever I don’t like. I think that’s the best way to go about it. I think there is room at the table for everybody, whatever you are into. I just think it is so cool that Sturgill and Charley and Colter and Tyler, all these other guys that are out here putting out real, honest-to-goodness songwriter songs. And not just that, but real country music. It doesn’t matter if it is your song or someone else’s; if you are telling that story honestly, I think that’s great. I’ve always appreciated you for that, Charley. I think you are a great interpreter of songs, and I think you are an even better songwriter, man.
CC: Damn, I’m glad I talked to y’all this morning. I feel better.
I’m glad that we are talking about cutting songs because that is such a huge part of country music, interpreting other people’s songs or reinterpreting a song. It feels like that art was lost in the past 20 years or so and it is having a resurgence. I’m excited that you guys are at the forefront of that, because great songs have more than one life. And it is an opportunity for songwriters to make more money.
VNE: I think it is one of the greatest compliments that a songwriter could receive – to have an artist who they love and respect cut one of their songs.
CC: There is no question about that. That is the best feeling.
VNE: It is, cause you know that your songs has legs and can go places that you can’t, which is a great feeling.
CC: It really is. It is such a political world, and it is so divided. There is a lot of pressure on people that you step out there into the great mirror of society, and the more out there in front of the public that you get, there is a mirror that starts projecting on you, and it is tough to deal with. It is hard to know what to do, but the thing about it is – being able to write honest songs and tell the truth in your writing; that is the most rewarding feeling. That is why I always look forward to what Vincent is doing. There aren’t a whole lot of people that I anticipate their new works as much as him, if anybody really. That’s the whole deal. You look over, and he’s writing better and better, and it makes me want to write better, too.
Speaking of, Vincent, can you talk a bit about your writing process for this record?
VNE: I kind of pieced together songs over time. Sometimes they jump out real fast; sometimes it takes a while. And thanks for saying that Charley, brother. Damn.
CC: I’ve been saying it for 10 years.
VNE: That’s kept me going a lot of times and I don’t think you realize that. These songs – damn, what was I saying?
CC: You were saying sometimes they come quick, sometimes they come slow.
VNE: I’m very influenced by the music that I’m listening to and that is why I try to be real careful about what I listen to. I think it is like if I’m making a smoothie. I gotta put certain ingredients in my brain, and it comes out me on the other end, hopefully. I was listening to a lot of Neil Young and Steven Stills and David Crosby. A lot of the ’60s rock and roll and a lot of Bob Dylan stuff. That’s just where I was in my headspace, so I was taking in all that. I try to put it all together to make it my own. That’s where I was at when I was making this album.
By the way, I’m excited about this rodeo we are playing together, Charley.
CC: Oh shit yeah! At the Virgin Theater there? Yeah man, I’m excited about it, too. Thanks for doing it.
VNE: Thanks for having me on.
CC: When it comes to money and shit like that, just any time, whatever you gotta do to make it work cause I wanna keep playing with you as much as we can and build up. I’ve played in some arenas recently, and I really don’t like it. I don’t know if country music belongs in arenas. And I just mean opening. I can’t sell tickets to no damn arena. And I take a cue from Colter cause he and Tyler and them boys, they could be in arenas all day long if they wanted to be. I would rather play rodeos and municipal auditoriums and really special theaters and stack ‘em up. I think we need to get a goddamned Dripping Springs reunion tour going. A real one.
VNE: Man, that’d be great.
CC: You know what I mean, just do some of our own shit. My aunt and uncle and a bunch of people who haven’t been out to see me play in a long time are coming out to Vegas. I used to live with my uncle when I was a kid in Louisiana and Mississippi and shit. He’s gonna flip his shit when he sees you.
VNE: I can’t wait, man, I’ve heard so many stories about him.
CC: He’s wild. We gonna show these folks what country music actually sounds like. They might not be able to tell who is left or right. Nahhh I’m just kidding it is a bunch of cool people.
Thank y’all for letting me be a part of this. I’m just happy to help out or talk about this. I’m real excited about the album for real. The imagery in your writing, man, it’s like everything you write is getting more and more vivid. You paint such a picture. I’ll stop blowing smoke up your ass.
I’m gonna get back on the trail and Vincent, I’ll talk to you soon.
VNE: Thank you for doing this brother, I appreciate you.
This week we have a Basic Folk hero returning to the pod! Tré Burt is back today, going track by track through his new album, Traffic Fiction. I am a longtime fan of Tré’s music, and this new release on Oh Boy Records is my favorite of his records so far. It combines what fans have come to love about Tré’s writing and unmistakable vocal performances with a new infusion of soul and Motown-inspired styles. The soulful grooves of Traffic Fiction are souvenirs of Tré’s close relationship with his grandfather, who recently passed away. Tré recalls listening to his pops’ favorite records and invites us into his family’s musical lineage.
The heart of the album are field recordings that Tré made of his grandfather while he was still alive. Just two people, talking about music, talking about life, encouraging one another. The simple moments that mean the most when somebody is gone. And they give us insight into one of the greatest triumphs of Traffic Fiction, which is the transformation of melancholy into dancing. You can’t help but move your body when you hear this music, even as Tré deals with profound loss. He reminds us that being an Important Artist is not incompatible with having fun. And isn’t that what great Black artists do? Tell you the story of a tragedy in a way that somehow makes you feel joyful?
It’s remarkable that a prolific artist such as Rhiannon Giddens could reach this juncture in her career and still be accomplishing notable firsts. This time, she’s putting out her first album of all original material – called You’re the One – since she began her post-Carolina Chocolate Drops solo career in the 2010s. On a recent airing of CBS Saturday Morning, Giddens and her band performed two tracks from the album: “Too Little, Too Late, Too Bad” and the project’s title track, “You’re the One.”
From a genre perspective, You’re the One is one of Giddens’ most expansive works to date, drawing on her endless knowledge of folk and vernacular musics to craft a sound that’s rootsy, yes, but ultimately demonstrates the down home, everyday, and Black origins of all popular American musics. “Too Little, Too Late, Too Bad,” for instance, was co-written with Giddens’ longtime friend and collaborator, fiddler Dirk Powell, to channel the late, legendary Aretha Franklin. The album includes accordions, horns, globally-inspired percussion (by Giddens’ partner Francesco Turrisi), countrypolitan strings, and so much more. Produced by Jack Splash, You’re the One seems to draw on Giddens’ penchant for the theatrical more prominently than previous outings. She did, after all, just win a Pulitzer Prize for her opera, Omar, so the performative elements of this record seem to draw equally from folk and stage traditions.
Among a discography chocked full of essential works, You’re the One is still a landmark release by Giddens, further establishing – and complicating – her unique and indelible voice and once again highlighting the diverse and representative lineages that gave rise to all American roots music forms, with joy and love centered in every note.
Photo Credit: Ebru Yildiz
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