It’s not only the end of the week, it’s the end of the month! And that, to us, is scary enough for October 31. Mark the occasion – whether Halloween, the end of the week, or the end of October – with our new music roundup.
Kicking us off, singer-songwriter Sophie Gault releases her new album, Unhinged, today so we’re sharing the project’s title track to celebrate. Inspired by a stroke of luck playing cards aboard a cruise ship, Gault leans into trusting your gut and doing what feels true – even if others might call that “unhinged.”
Red Camel Collective, 2025 IBMA Award winners for Best New Artist, have unveiled a new music video today for “In The Mexican Sun,” written by hit bluegrass songwriter Malcolm Pulley. Perfect contrast for the cool, rainy days of fall or the quickly approaching shivery weather of winter, “In The Mexican Sun” wasn’t intended to be a bluegrass number, but the Collective make it feel right at home in the genre.
Meanwhile, contemporary bluegrass (and everything else) guitar great Bryan Sutton has a special posthumous duet with Doc Watson that he’s sharing today. The new single, “Working Man Blues,” includes vocals and guitar by Watson and Sutton shares the story of how the Merle Haggard cover came to be.
Experimental old-time and indie musician Laurel Premo shares her new project today, Laments, a thoughtful and deep exploration of grief from a variety of perspectives. A sort of instrumental text painting, “Grief Of The Angler” listens like an entrancing dreamscape as resonant bow strokes and heart-wrenching vocalizations interweave in evocative and inspiring ways.
Bringing us home, Nashville bluegrass-Americana supergroup Wood Box Heroes pay tribute to K.T. Oslin with a video performance of their cover of “Do Ya.'” With fiddler/vocalist Jenee Fleenor on the mic, it’s a lovely homage to a relatively undersung hero of ’80s and ’90s country music. Of course, the track shines with the Wood Box treatment.
There’s plenty to enjoy in our weekly collection of new music, videos, and premieres. You Gotta Hear This!
Sophie Gault, “Unhinged”
Artist:Sophie Gault Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Unhinged” Album:Unhinged Release Date: October 31, 2025 (single); January 23, 2025 (album) Label: Torrez Music Group
In Their Words: “I wrote ‘Unhinged’ after going on the Outlaw Country Cruise. I was learning to play blackjack and everyone told me I was crazy for doubling down on a 17 – but I did it anyway, and won. That moment kind of summed up everything for me. The song’s about gambling, but really it’s about trusting your gut and doing what feels true, even when the odds are against you. Sometimes the biggest risk is the one that pays off inside. On the way off the boat, this guy stopped me and said, ‘Hey, you’re that unhinged girl from the blackjack table!’ and I thought, ‘Yup, that’s the spirit of the song right there.'” – Sophie Gault
Laurel Premo, “Grief Of The Angler”
Artist:Laurel Premo Hometown: Traverse City, Michigan Song: “Grief Of The Angler” Album:Laments Release Date: October 31, 2025
In Their Words: “The four pieces on this record each hold a different-sized relationship. The third track, ‘Grief Of The Angler / I Grieve In The Realization Of The Generosity Of Your Gift,’ is sung from a formed deeper intimacy with the ecosystem that I belong to. In my life, my relationship with a form of hunting has been fishing and this piece sings the shared experience of taking another body for nourishment.
“As every relationship deepens, as the bonds are woven together between individuals, there is the opportunity for those threads to hold beings closer together but also to create tension when one leans back. The ties stay connected in both directions and that reciprocity demanded is an exchange for the gift of being able to be closer in intimacy. This piece sings from the moment of gravity of the fisherperson deciding to keep a catch and the energetic blending of beings therein.” – Laurel Premo
Red Camel Collective, “In The Mexican Sun”
Artist:Red Camel Collective Hometown: Wirtz, Virginia (Johnathan Dillon); Walnut Cove, North Carolina (Tony and Heather Mabe); Oakboro, North Carolina (Curt Love). Song: “In The Mexican Sun” Release Date: October 17, 2025 (single); October 31, 2025 (video) Label: Pinecastle Records
In Their Words: “This tune comes to us from the pen of our buddy Malcolm Pulley. You may recognize that name as he also wrote the hit song ‘In The Gravel Yard,’ which went on to become a bluegrass jam standard. ‘In The Mexican Sun’ is one of those songs that you’re sure you’ve heard somewhere before. The melody seems familiar somehow. It has all the earmarks of a hit tune. This one wasn’t a bluegrass song from its conception, but I believe it was always destined to become one.” – Heather Berry Mabe
Track Credits: Heather Berry Mabe – Guitar, vocals Tony Mabe – Banjo, vocals Johnathan Dillon – Mandolin Curt Love – Bass Stephen Burwell – Fiddle
Video Credit: Laci Mack
Bryan Sutton, “Working Man Blues”
Artist:Bryan Sutton Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Working Man Blues” Album:From Roots to Branches Release Date: October 31, 2025 (single) Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “On the original 2006 release, I would just show up, set my gear up, and we would record. Even in those sessions I had a general idea but not so much of a design on what exactly I needed to get. Once [Doc] got comfortable, he was just starting to talk and show me some different tunes. … He just launched into ‘Working Man Blues,’ out of nowhere! It felt like, ‘I hope I got all that, I hope the tape didn’t run out.’ Then he said at the end of it (and I kept it on the recordings), ‘I just wanted to hear what you did with it.’
“You never knew what you were going to get with Doc Watson – from Crystal Gayle songs and ‘Nights in White Satin,’ certainly all that Doc-abilly stuff and swing tunes – outside of just fiddle tunes and bluegrass and folk ballads and things like that. Certainly Doc Watson was a fan of Merle Haggard and probably knew more Merle Haggard songs than he ever played for anybody. And I don’t know that I’ve ever heard him play it any other place.” – Bryan Sutton
In Their Words: “I heard K.T. Oslin’s ‘Do Ya” on the radio one day and immediately thought, ‘Now that’s a song I’d love to sing.’ I brought it to the guys and when we worked it up together the crowd response was incredible! K.T. has always inspired me – not just because of her artistry, but because her country career didn’t take off until she was in her 40s. I’ve been so blessed with a successful fiddle career, but I’ll admit, there were times I thought about stepping away from singing and letting that part of me go. Starting Wood Box Heroes reignited that spark and this song, in particular, hit me on so many levels. It’s a joy to perform and I hope we can all take a moment to remember and celebrate the great K.T. Oslin.” – Jenee Fleenor
Track Credits: Jenee Fleenor – Lead vocal, fiddle Josh Martin – Vocals, guitar Barry Bales – Upright bass Matt Menefee – Banjo Thomas Cassell – Mandolin
Video Credits: Videography by Barry Rice, Steve Anderson, and Andy Jeffers.
Photo Credit: Red Camel Collective by Ed Rode; Wood Box Heroes by Eric Ahlgrim.
Bay Area five-piece The Brothers Comatose were actually founded by the brothers Morrison: that would be Ben on guitar and lead vocals and his brother Alex on banjo. The Morrisons came from a musical family and were influenced as much by classic rock as they were by country and bluegrass – their first album, Songs from the Stoop (2010), even contains a cover of The Rolling Stones’ “Dead Flowers.” Initially, the band’s lineup included bassist Steve Height, fiddler Phil Brezina, and mandolin player Greg Fleischut.
In the 15 years since, they have stayed busy both in the studio and on the road. As anyone who has seen the band’s concerts can attest, The Brothers Comatose are anything but… comatose. Their live performances are known to be high energy and often include audience participation. They have supported everyone from Gillian Welch & David Rawlings to Yonder Mountain String Band to Trampled By Turtles. In addition, the group has played festivals like Hardly Strictly Bluegrass and Outside Lands.
The Brothers Comatose returned at the end of July with their fifth studio outing, Golden Grass. The title track, which also opens the album, came from an unlikely source. “A fan started calling our sound ‘golden grass,’” explains Ben Morrison. “And the phrase just felt right.”
Golden Grass arrives three years after the band’s prior album and continues their mix of traditional bluegrass and rock. But behind the scenes, there have been some changes. The Brothers recorded Golden Grass in two separate installments with two different producers, Greg Holden and Tim Bluhm. While they were making the disc, mandolin player Greg Fleischut decided to leave the group. His replacement, Addie Levy, is the first woman in the band and, at just 23, significantly younger than her fellow members. “We always thought it would be cool to have a female voice to hit those high harmonies,” says Morrison. “Addie’s such an incredible mandolin and fiddle player, but she’s also a great singer and songwriter in her own right.”
Golden Grass is probably a bit more diverse than the band’s previous albums. Beyond being their first release to include a woman singer and mandolin player, it’s more collaborative in general. Ben wrote several songs, of course, but other tracks were penned by Levy, Brezina, and Alex Morrison. Still, Golden Grass maintains a pretty consistent sound over its 10 songs. The title track sounds like a lost Allman Brothers tune from back in the day and other highlights include lovely ballads like “Home Again” (featuring Lindsay Lou on guest vocals) and “My Friend” as well as the funny, rollicking “The IPA Song.”
I recently had the pleasure of catching up with Ben Morrison and Addie Levy for BGS.
To start with, tell me a little about the making of Golden Grass. I understand there were some changes between your last album and this one. Addie obviously is the new addition. And I guess Greg was the guy who left?
Ben Morrison: Yeah, Greg was in the band before. He left like halfway through the album. We recorded it in chunks. So we recorded half the album, we were working through the rest of the songs, and in that process, he left the band. Addie joined and recorded the second half of the album with us. But it’s funny. There are four mandolin players on [Golden Grass]. We had a couple of guest mandolin players on the album before Addie joined. Ronnie McCoury’s on there. It’s a good variety, I guess. [Laughs]
Tell me about the title track, which is also the first song on the album.
BM: That’s a good question. It started out with us trying to identify ourselves – that age-old question when you ask a musician what kind of music they play. “Well, it’s kind of hard to define. We’re jazz and pop and metal and boy band!” [Laughs] You know, it’s definitely pulling a lot from the bluegrass world. But also from a bunch of other influences.
We kept posting these things on Facebook and there’s this guy, Cyrus Clark, I believe his name is. He kept commenting about a lot of music coming from California – string band music specifically – going back to Old & In the Way. He kept saying, “Golden Grass! Brothers Comatose, Molly Tuttle, and AJ Lee.” We thought that was really cool.
I think I had just written it down in a notebook one day. And we did a cowrite – myself, our fiddle player Phil, and the guy that produced the second half of the record, Tim Bluhm. I was like, “What if we called it Golden Grass?” We started name-dropping different bands in the lyrics and kind of giving them a little shout out. We had fun with that and went with it.
“Home Again” – reading the press release, I know what inspired it. But just listening to the lyrics, I [probably] would have known anyway. For those of us on the East Coast, tell me a bit more about what [the wildfires] were like and how it affected the song.
BM: That wasn’t a personal story; it was about good friends of ours who lost their house in the Santa Cruz Mountains fires a few years back. For those of you not in California, there’s a fire season [here] where fires can just rip through and destroy communities. It’s pretty messed up and now it’s literally close to home. Some good friends of ours – all their property and their house got destroyed. I think it was during the pandemic and it hit me pretty hard. I was just really feeling for them and that song kinda came pretty quickly.
We had the song and thought about getting somebody to help sing it with us. Lindsay Lou’s been a friend for a long, long time and she’s such a great singer. We sent it to her and she was on it. It’s about a couple losing their house and building back together. So it made more sense to me as a duet.
I like the ballads on the album. Addie, I think you were the one who wrote “Blue Mountain?”
Addie Levy: I am.
Tell me a bit about the inspiration for that song.
AL: I’m from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. I grew up in Appalachia my whole life. [The mountains] have always been a very big inspiration for my writing and who I am as a person.
I was driving to work one day and was listening to the Infamous Stringdusters’ [version of the Cure’s] “Just Like Heaven” and got really inspired by having a keen lick throughout the whole song. I was like, “I need to write a song like that.” It all came to me within the drive to work. I showed it to my mom when I got home and she kind of looked at me with concern. She was like “Are you and your boyfriend okay?” I was like, “What does that have to do with the song I just played you?” I accidentally wrote the entire thing about him – which is bad ‘cause he cheats on me in the song! But he doesn’t in real life! [Laughs]
There were all these little pieces. Like, I pass his exit to work every day. He knows my Starbucks order. I painted the walls blue in his bedroom in one of our first months of dating. I pulled all these little things I didn’t mean to. Then I had to show it to him. I was like, “I am so sorry I wrote this song about you!” But when you’re in a nice, healthy relationship – I don’t have that much stuff to complain about so I can’t really write about it!
“The IPA Song” is a fun track. Anything either of you want to share with me about that?
BM: When we play shows, we like to get people onstage to help us out – you know, for sing-alongs or whatever it might be. I think we’ve had more children onstage for “The IPA Song” than any other song, which is ridiculous. But they make signs and stuff – like the IPA circled with a line through it. We had a 15-year-old last night playing mandolin with us for that song! I mean, the lyrics are goofy, but I guess it’s a catchy one. It’s been a fun song to play live.
Going back to the Bay Area music scene. In the late ‘60s, it was known for bands like The Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, and the whole psychedelic thing. And in the late ‘70s, there was something of a punk scene. Even in the ‘90s, there were bands like Counting Crows that recorded in San Francisco.
What is the scene like now? And with all these different musical sounds that have come from the city, how did you settle on more of an Americana/bluegrass sound?
BM: The band got its start in 2008 in San Francisco. My brother and I were living in a house on Haight Street – right in the thick of it. Phil lived a few blocks down, so he would come over. We continued to live in the city for a long time and there was a bustling scene. With bluegrass too – like this [past] weekend was the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival. I kind of credit that festival with my direct interest with this kind of music. It’s massive, three-quarters of a million people throughout the weekend. It’s all free. Huge headliners. It’s not all bluegrass but it definitely leans in that direction.
It was so cool being exposed to different kinds of music that I hadn’t really listened to before. What was also cool was watching artists play – Del McCoury, John Prine, Emmylou Harris – all these players that were older. It seemed like the older you get, the more respect you get in this world. [That] was interesting, because I felt like in the rock world there was sort of a shelf life. Like “Oh, you’re in your late 20s in a rock band? Give it up, kid.” That kind of thing. But in this world, when you’re 70, you’re doing it! That was always so cool to me.
So San Francisco does have a pretty cool scene. Probably 10 years ago, a lot of people started moving out because tech started moving in [and it became] more expensive. But I’ve heard that it’s getting cool again. I don’t hang out there as much anymore ‘cause we’re on the road a lot and I’ve got two kids. I mean, Addie probably hangs out there more than I do.
AL: Anytime I’m in town, I try to find a bluegrass gang. There’s a couple of bars [where] I’ve made some good friends. Sometimes there are jams, sometimes they’re just drinking. But there are some really cool musicians in town.
Ben, I know your brother is also in the band. Tell me what Alex brings to The Brothers Comatose that is unique.
BM: Alex has swagger beyond belief. [Laughs] Is that what you would call it?
AL: Yeah. [He’s] the most photogenic, most in the vibe of every situation.
BM: And the way he plays, too. To me, he plays banjo like Keith Richards plays guitar. You know, he’s not trying to be the Yngwie Malmsteen of the banjo or anything. He’s just trying to make it groovy, stanky, in the pocket. It’s just got such good feel to it. And also, he’s a great songwriter and singer. But a lot of his influences come from [bands like] The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin. We used to listen to a lot of classic rock when we were kids.
Addie, I guess I wanted to ask you what it’s like so far as the new member of the band and also the first woman. Crashing the boys’ club, as it were.
AL: My very first show with them was in Idaho. I had never met any of them, I had one phone call with them and I had never been west of Nashville! You know, I grew up traveling up and down the East Coast and never really left. I remember touching down in Sun Valley and the realization hit that I knew two people there and they were leaving the next day. And I was like, “I’m gonna get murdered. I am gonna die out here!” [Laughs] I never heard of the festival, it was in the mountains somewhere… I was like, “This is the end.”
[I was] super anxious to start. I mean, our first show was a headlining slot that Sunday. That was terrifying. But [the Brothers Comatose are] just the greatest people. They’re so welcoming. And I’m an only child. So they’re really the siblings [I never had]… They’re the best.
Photo Credits: Lead image courtesy of Burning House Management. Alternate image by Jessie McCall.
They always say, “Don’t meet your heroes,” but in the bluegrass world, I’ve mostly found that not to be true. Take Steve Martin & Alison Brown, for instance – two of the most recognizable and veritable banjo players alive today. Earlier this year, I was fortunate enough to join them (along with Rhiannon Giddens and a formidable lineup of bluegrass, folk, and old-time musicians) onstage at the legendary Hollywood Bowl. It was a night I’ll never forget.
And earlier this month, I had the pleasure of rejoining Steve and Alison in conversation about their new collaborative project, Safe, Sensible and Sane, (out now via Compass Records). It’s a beautiful album filled with original songs, guest appearances from musical friends, and a whole lot of banjos.
Hope you enjoy our conversation!
Ed Helms: First of all, let me just say huge congratulations. An album like this is such a big undertaking and this is phenomenal. I’ve been listening to it basically on a loop for the last couple of days. And my family, my kids are loving it.
Steve Martin: Thanks. Thank you. It’s not easy to rope the family in.
I know! My four- and seven-year-old are extremely critical of anything banjo-related. You won them over.
SM: Awesome.
Right off the bat, what jumps out at me about this album is the title – which immediately strikes me as a kind of direct counterbalance or maybe even a rebuke of these unsafe, nonsensical, and totally insane times that we’re living in. I do think that the album title sets such a warm, funny, and welcoming tone that the music then totally delivers on. Am I getting close?
SM: You’re so far. [All laugh]
Tell me what it is. Walk me through.
SM: I’m almost embarrassed to tell you. Alison, should we confess?
Alison Brown: You told us never to tell, but it’s up to you. [Laughter]
SM: When Alison and I were writing songs together, I had come across a book published in the 1930s on how to improve your letter writing. 80 years old, 90 years old, and it had a list of phrases you can use in your letter writing or business letter writing to brighten up your letters. It said things that are formal phrases, like “thank you for the frank statement of your affairs.” And it went on, things like that.
One of them was “safe, sensible and sane.” I just listed these suggestions and I wrote Alison and said, “I think there’s song lyrics in here somewhere.” Alison organized it, so they kind of rhyme, then Alison wrote this tune for it, and Jason Mraz made sense of it. Because the lyrics are actually nonsense, we have noted that the more we listen to it they actually start to make sense in some way.
That is wild. That is such a weirdly specific rabbit hole of where that came from.
Is the banjo itself something that feels safe, sensible, and sane to each of you in some way? Is it a place of home?
AB: For sure. I think so, certainly speaking for myself. It’s definitely been an anchor for me in my life and I noticed, Steve, watching your documentary, how many scenes the banjo was in the background and realizing that it’s been trailing you your whole life, too.
SM: Yeah. I find you’re right, in the sense that it’s not a “dangerous” instrument like the guitar, sure. Which can be naughty. The banjo is safe, sensible, and sane – but the way Alison plays and the way these great banjo [players] turn it into a kind of extraordinary jazz instrument. It’s too bad that most people probably have an idea of what the banjo sounds like and they’re way off.
I think what you’re saying is that the banjo can be edgy.
AB: it can be edgy, but it can be mainstream, palatable at the same time.
SM: Edgy in the sense of avant-garde, yes. There are some. Didn’t you write a 12-tone banjo song, Alison?
AB: I did. I had a chance to produce and play on a track called “Old Atonal Music” and I actually wrote a 12-tone row banjo solo, which–
Oh my gosh.
AB: Which was then analyzed by the classical community. And fortunately it really was a 12-tone row, so that’s about as edgy as you get.
That’s getting out there.
AB: Boy, are we.
This just got so nerdy so fast.
AB: It sure did. I knew that was gonna happen.
The last time I saw you guys, we had the incredible privilege of joining Rhiannon Giddens at her show at the Hollywood Bowl, and I remember showing up to rehearsal for that and you guys were working on what I thought was just “Cluck Old Hen.” I’m watching you and listening and thinking, “What are these lyrics? What is this? This is so funny.”
Of course, now I know that’s “New Cluck Old Hen,” which is on the album. But what I observed that day in the rehearsal stages was just the rapport that you guys share, which seems so easy and effortless, light, fun, and playful – and well earned. It makes me very curious about the origin of your friendship and was it music immediately? Where did you first connect and what was it you saw in each other?
SM: Go, Alison.
AB: Okay, we were on a Caribbean island at the same time by chance, really just by luck. It was a place that we both vacation regularly with our families and I knew we were gonna be down there at the same time that Steve was gonna be down there. We were gonna overlap for a couple of days and Steve suggested we get together for lunch. Of course, banjos had to be involved, so we had a really wonderful lunch and then sat and spent the afternoon playing banjo together, just sonically clicked really easily.
Because Steve and I both really love finding beautiful melodies in the instrument, we’re both in the same pursuit when we’re playing and composing music. Writing this music, it’s been surprising to me how easy it’s been. It is almost like the tunes were just waiting to be written and we just had to pull them outta the sky.
How long ago was that first connection?
AB: I would say maybe about 10 years ago.
Then was it right away, “Let’s start collaborating!” Or did you guys circle back to each other?
AB: It took me a little while to get up the nerve to see if Steve actually would co-write some music together. [Laughs] I got a chance to do a few shows with Steve and Marty [Short] when the Steep Canyon rangers weren’t able to make shows, so we got a chance to jam some more backstage and play some more clawhammer banjo and three-finger banjo, which is my favorite combination. Like chocolate and peanut butter. Clawhammer and three-finger.
I totally agree. It’s so beautiful. And there are a lot of great players that do both, but usually I think most people assume that a song is in an old-time style or in a sort of three-finger style. So to hear [you] two just beautifully mixed together, you guys are really sharing a language that transcends the style of playing. You’re playing very differently, but there is a fluidness.
I think the song “Evening Star,” which might be my favorite on the album, is such a great example of that, starting out with your three-finger, beautiful lilting rolls and melodic runs. Then Steve comes in picking up the same tune in a [clawhammer] style that feels like a really even, woven-in feel. It doesn’t change the feeling of the song in any way. I think that’s a testament to the connection that you guys share musically.
SM: Our roots and love of the banjo are very similar in the sense of Appalachian sound, the Celtic sound, the modal mountain sound. That’s what gets me. We both like to find those melodies that reside within those tunings and history.
And Alison, as I recall, you sent me this beautiful part and I contributed another part and then Alison found– You can tell the story. You found yourself in Dublin?
AB: Yeah, actually that one, I knew that we were gonna be in Glasgow. I dunno if you have ever become acquainted with the music of John McSherry, Mike McGoldrick, and John Doyle, they have a fabulous trio. They’re completely badass Irish players, Celtic players and I knew that it would sound great to play this tune with them. John Doyle in particular, when he plays rhythm guitar, it’s like riding a big wave. They’re also heroes.
SM: They’re heroes of mine, too.
AB: It’s funny, though, because the genesis of that tune was really Steve telling me about a song he wrote called “Canadian Girl” where he was playing clawhammer in 3/4 time. I’d never even thought about the clawhammer playing in 3/4. But it’s so beautiful. Then I tried to write a melody that could work for both.
I think it’s a real testament to Steve’s banjo playing, too – like you were saying, a lot of banjo players will choose a lane. They’re either three-finger or they’re clawhammer. But Steve’s really unique that he plays both. I think that’s part of the reason why our two banjos go so well together, ’cause he completely understands the three-finger thing. But when he’s playing clawhammer, he brings some of that sensibility to it.
SM: You can also play the modality that you find in clawhammer on three-finger. I remember a song I found on a record recorded by Dick Weissman called “Trail Ridge Road” and it was played with picks, but it had this unique– I just call it modality. I’m sorry to keep using that word, but it had this minor sound that just kept rolling. I always loved it. I think that sound stuck with me forever. I even wrote him once to tell him that.
I think your song, “The Crow,” falls in that category, right?
SM: It is in double C. [It has] that drone sound, ’cause you have two strings tuned to the same note. Yeah, that does have a bit of that in there.
That was one of my favorite songs to learn. I found a transcription in a Banjo Newsletter and I was able to work it up and I love it. Another one of my all-time favorite tunes.
SM: Alison told me that banjo players like to play my songs because they’re easy. [All laugh]
How do you guys collaborate? Walk me through that process. Are you sending each other tracks and just saying, “Hey, here’s an idea.” A little melody or a catch or a hook, and then you’re building on it together? Or do you try to make sure you’re in the same space, just steeping the tea together?
SM: All of the above. Garry [West] and Alison flew out to California, where we spent like three, four days there just writing and recording. We got ideas, initial ideas for songs there. Then we started communicating by text and sending song ideas. It’s the new way to write things. It’s everything.
But we did meet and get that sound of two people together. You’re listening to the other player.
AB: That’s the thing, when I get a chance to sit around with Steve and just play, it always gives me more ideas for where we can take the banjo. Or gives me a new way of thinking about what he’s doing that maybe you could expand on. That’s really exciting. But technology’s totally been our friend, so we’ve done a lot of this by just swapping ideas back and forth and it’s amazing how efficiently you can do that.
How frustrating is it that Zoom, the latency of these video conferences, you can’t quite jam.
SM: You cannot play over the internet! You can’t play, you gotta bounce it back and forth.
That’s [why] I flew down to Nashville to record with Vince Gill, so it’d all be in the same room.
You mention flying down to Nashville to work with Vince and others. This album is so much more than just a double banjo album. It’s this grand collaboration. So many special guests, close friends of yours like Tim O’Brien, Aoife O’Donovan, Sarah Jarosz, Vince Gill, Jason Mraz, Jackson Browne, Jeff Hanna, the Indigo Girls – I’m from Georgia, so that’s a huge one for me. I love, love, love the Indigo Girls.
You two obviously have such a deep well of relationships and friendships throughout music. How did you decide who to rope in on these particular songs? What was that decision-making process like?
SM: I’ve said this before, I’m a talk singer. I sing like Robert Preston, The Music Man. I know Alison sings harmony, but she’s never presented herself as a lead singer, as I know. So we’re forced to find someone to sing these songs. A good example is the song “Michael,” which was written without anybody in mind. The lyrics to that are imperfect in the best sense, in a good sense. Sometimes they don’t quite scan out. Sometimes the rhyme is soft.
Alison was at an event with Aoife O’Donovan and said, “Hey, would you mind singing?” And [Aoife] just understood the song so perfectly. You just go, “Oh, that’s it!” There’s no need to look anywhere. She just really knew how to sing it. You’re looking for people who know how to sing these songs. Like Jason Mraz instantly understood “Safe, Sensible and Sane.” He knew that it was in some way humorous, that none of us could figure out why.
Both of those songs have a little international flair to them. “Michael” almost has a samba or Brazilian feel? And then “Statement Of Your Affairs” with Jason Mraz, is it like reggae?
SM: Is it reggae?
There’s something Caribbean there.
AB: It’s definitely Caribbean, yeah.
Really everything sprang from the banjo. The melody for “Michael,” I just wrote that chorus melody as a banjo tune and really could not fathom how you could do anything other than play a newgrass banjo tune with that melody. It was amazing that Steve could set words to it and then he developed this whole story. It was really fabulous.
SM: What I liked is Alison sent me the tune, I listened to it, and it inspired me to a situation, an atmosphere. And she said, “We can change those lines, some of those melodic lines, and shorten ’em.” I say no. That’s what you want, that unexpected line that extends too long or it forces the words to do something tricky. I really like that challenge.
I love your closing number, “Let’s Get Out of Here” [with] Sam Bush, who counts that one in. I’ve heard it said often that Sam Bush is the best drummer in bluegrass. He sets such a great, driving tempo and rhythm.
SM: I couldn’t play without the mandolin! I’d be all over the place, rhythmically.
AB: No, that’s true. There is nothing like Sam’s chop. When Stuart Duncan and I were teenagers, we were presidents of the “Sam Bush Chop Fan Club.” A super nerdy thing.
This is one for both of you. You’re both multifaceted, creative people. You move so effortlessly between different creative disciplines, collaborative contexts, different bands, different musicians, different media and art forms. Obviously, Steve with film and comedy and writing and performing. You’re also a passionate art collector. Alison, you have tremendous business acumen running Compass Records for so long with your husband.
This is a question as a fellow sort of striving, creative person: How do you balance all of it? I always wonder when I see people like you, is this something that you set aside and approach each discipline as a chunk? Or do you feel more like these are constantly interwoven? Is there a seamless overlap of your various disciplines and ideas and you’re just weaving in and out? Or is it more, “I do this for this time” and now, “It’s comedy time. I’m gonna work on this.” How do you break it down?
SM: Go ahead, Alison. I know my answer.
AB: Okay. So mine probably is less interesting, ’cause mine is kinda like that right brain versus left brain thing. I find that sometimes I’ll be doing just banjo for a stretch of time or music or producing a record or getting to go out and play shows. Other times, I’ll be behind the desk doing spreadsheets and financials – that kind of thing. In some kind of bizarre way, the two things inform each other.
I think for me, I spent so many years in school and got an MBA studying finance. I was an investment banker for a while, so there’s part of me that really enjoys doing all that and feels a responsibility to my mom and dad, too, that I do some of that stuff on some kind of regular basis. I have to look analytically at the music business. I think it helps me when I go in the studio to think about positioning a record – whether I’m producing or just writing my own stuff – positioning it for success, because I understand the challenges of the business landscape in a way that if I was just a banjo player, I wouldn’t understand.
Then when I get to go out and play, it’s like a complete relief just to be out and let your mind be a little bit more free. I know you can be structured and disciplined about creating, but it’s a completely different mindset to sit and look at financials than it is to have enough of an expansive view in your mind to be creative for a moment. But, somehow, the two things work together.
SM: I’ll give my answer. Most people have a job. They maybe, let’s say, go to work at nine and they come home at six – or sometimes they work [until] maybe seven or eight. And if they’re gonna do any extracurricular thing, like practice the banjo, they have to do it at night or on the weekend.
But I just wake up. I don’t have a job, so I can have breakfast and have an idea and go pick up my banjo and go play it. There’s a lot of time where you’re just really doing nothing, because you don’t have a job.
I think it really is that concept they used to apply to basketball players, “being in the zone.” Where you don’t have a sense of time. It’s just there and it’s either working or not. And it’s fun, especially at this age where my creative mind is more agile, where I’m not afraid to go other places or think of things. Ideas seem to come without as much angst, because it doesn’t have to be a success. It just has to be fun.
I know Alison hates hearing that. [All laugh]
AB: No, actually. I’m glad to hear that!
SM: The creative part of my life has become really fun. Whether I’m working with Alison or with Marty or live stage shows… or just dinners! Dinners will be fun.
That’s really beautiful and really inspiring and I’m really grateful to both of you for opening up a little bit and talking me through this. Congrats! This is a fantastic album. It’s a really wide pastiche of different ideas and feelings and vibes, and it all works together. So congrats and thank you.
SM: Thank you, Ed. It’s always great to talk with you. And you’re a great player, too. Don’t forget that!
Thanks, guys.
AB: I’m thinking what we need to do is a triple banjo thing!
SM: I’m up for it! We’ll figure it out.
AB: We’ll figure it out.
SM: Fifteen banjo strings. Can’t get enough. You can never have too many.
Saxophone, mountain dulcimer, mandolins, banjos – what else could you need? Our weekly new music roundup is here!
Today, we complete our mini-series with saxophonist Eddie Barbash with a video for “Fort Smith Breakdown,” an old-time fiddle tune performed exquisitely by Barbash on sax in a lovely, natural setting. You can find links to watch all four of Barbash’s live performance videos from his upcoming project Larkspur, below. On the other end of the roots instrument continuum, perhaps the South’s most accomplished and technical mountain dulcimer player Sarah Kate Morgan teams up with fiddler Leo Shannon on a new album, Featherbed, out today. To celebrate, we’re sharing their track “Belle of Lexington,” which they first sourced from a Library of Congress recording made in 1941 before crafting their own arrangement.
Bluegrass stalwarts Chris Jones & the Night Drivers offer a delightful play on words with “Under Over,” a song Jones wrote with broadcaster-songwriter Terry Herd. The uptempo, straight-ahead bluegrass single is available today wherever you stream music. Jones’ labelmate, mandolinist and singer-songwriter Ashby Frank, also launches a new single today. “Mr. Engineer” is a Jimmy Martin and Paul Williams classic that Frank has performed for years, but only just recorded for the first time.
Alt-Americana rockers Keyland release their new EP today, so don’t miss the title track to Stand Up To You below. As you’ll hear, this soulful Oklahoman outfit blend so many roots genres together into a melting pot style all their own. Singer-songwriter Jon Danforth then takes us just across the state line to Arkansas with his new single, “Arkansas Sunrise,” which will be included on his upcoming 2026 album, Natural State. Dripping with childhood memories and nostalgia, it’s an homage to his home state and its moniker, from which he pulled the title of the new LP.
Plus, don’t miss the new music video for a just-released single from singer-songwriter Abby Hamilton “Fried Green Tomatoes” was inspired by a line uttered by Idgie Threadgoode of the novel (and film) Fried Green Tomatoes. The vibey country-folk track explores relationships and friendships – and the parts of ourselves we display or keep hidden away.
There’s plenty to explore and enjoy from all corners of the roots music landscape! You Gotta Hear This…
Eddie Barbash, “Fort Smith Breakdown”
Artist:Eddie Barbash Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Fort Smith Breakdown” Album:Larkspur Release Date: November 28, 2025 (The album will be released one song at a time with the last track coming out Nov. 28).
In Their Words: “I learned ‘Fort Smith Breakdown’ from a great Floyd, Virginia, old-time fiddler named Earl White. My favorite old-time guitarist Danny Knicely was playing with him at the time and called it ‘that tune that goes to the 4 all of a sudden.’ This practice of adding or dropping beats in unexpected places is one of my favorite things about the old-time tradition. Four of the nine tunes that I chose for Larkspur are ‘crooked’ like this. We made this recording on a trail through the Larkspur Conservation area’s natural burial ground. After two days on the grounds, I’m completely sold on natural burial. I’d much rather feed the forest and donate my body to the preservation of wild land than to rot alone in a concrete box under a lifeless lawn.” – Eddie Barbash
(Editor’s Note: Watch all the videos in our mini-series with Eddie Barbash here, here, and here.)
Jon Danforth, “Arkansas Sunrise”
Artist:Jon Danforth Hometown: Dallas, Texas Song: “Arkansas Sunrise” Album:Natural State Release Date: October 24, 2025 (single); January 23, 2026 (album)
In Their Words: “‘Arkansas Sunrise’ is about the countless, lazy Saturday mornings I’ve spent in my home state with family and friends. Arkansas is a beautiful state and a wonderful place to be, especially in the fall when the hot temperatures finally drop. There is nothing better than waking up to cool weather, leaves changing, and bacon crackling alongside the people you love. My goal was to capture that warmth and nostalgia in a song that hopefully honors my home state.” – Jon Danforth
Track Credits: Jon Danforth – Vocals, acoustic guitar, songwriter Will Carmack – Bass Aaron Carpenter – Drums, percussion Bobby Orozco – Piano Melissa Cox – Fiddle Hannah Brooks – Background vocals
Ashby Frank, “Mr. Engineer”
Artist:Ashby Frank Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Mr. Engineer” Release Date: October 24, 2025 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “I started performing this Jimmy Martin and Paul Williams classic on stage with Mashville Brigade years ago and recently started adding it to the set list of my Yachtgrass band’s shows. I have wanted to record it since I started singing it live and I am so proud of the finished product. I just love the old-school vibe and super lonesome content of the lyrics and melody, and of course Matt Menefee (banjo) and Jim VanCleve (fiddle) added some wicked and bluesy solos that made the whole track gel. I can’t wait for everyone to hear it!” – Ashby Frank
Track Credits: Ashby Frank – Mandolin, lead vocal, harmony vocal Seth Taylor – Acoustic guitar Travis Anderson – Upright bass Matt Menefee – Banjo Jim VanCleve – Fiddle Jaelee Roberts – Harmony vocal
Abby Hamilton, “Fried Green Tomatoes”
Artist:Abby Hamilton Hometown: Nicholasville, Kentucky Song: “Fried Green Tomatoes” Release Date: October 24, 2025
In Their Words: “‘I’m as settled as I’ll ever be’ is the line from Idgie Threadgoode in Fried Green Tomatoes that inspired this song. It’s about the inner dialogue in relationships and friendships as you never show the world what you question from within. The world sees you as secure and confident, which you very well may be in some ways, but inside you feel a sense of doubt that no one else knows. Maybe just the most intimate of friendships or relationships get questioned. That in whatever you’re carrying on about inside or out, it’s still ‘look at those fried green tomatoes’ in the middle of ‘she’s trying to teach me how to cook.’ Chaos and joy and confusion. You can be all out of sorts about whatever’s in your brain and it’s still just ‘fried green tomatoes.’ The right person will make you laugh and ground you, remind you that you’re not so alone.” – Abby Hamilton
Chris Jones & the Night Drivers, “Under Over”
Artist:Chris Jones & The Night Drivers Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Under Over” Release Date: October 24, 2025 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “I have no idea where the phrase ‘file it under over’ came from; it was just one of those things that popped into my head one day. Aside from the play on words, I just got to thinking about the idea of filing something away for good, whether it be a bad relationship or an addiction of some kind, and I pictured a file with ‘over’ on the tab. I’ve been friends with songwriter and bluegrass broadcaster Terry Herd for many years and he’s written all sorts of award-winning and hit bluegrass songs with a range of writers. But we had never written one together and it’s been something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. We discussed the song concept together when I was at his house in Nashville and we got right to work on it. He was the one who came up with the phrase ‘in a little box of pain,’ which I think is my favorite part of the song. The uptempo, straight-ahead bluegrass feel really fit with the uplifting feeling of filing something negative away and moving on.” – Chris Jones
Track Credits: Chris Jones – Acoustic guitar, lead vocal Jon Weisberger – Bass Mark Stoffel – Mandolin, harmony vocal Grace van’t Hof – Banjo, harmony vocal Tony Creasman – Drums Carley Arrowood – Fiddle
Keyland, “Stand Up To You”
Artist:Keyland Hometown: Tulsa, Oklahoma Song: “Stand Up To You” Album:Stand Up To You (EP) Release Date: October 24, 2025 Label: One Riot
In Their Words: “I’m hoping this song feels like you’ve heard it before and you can’t remember where or from whom. I think most of my favorite music has this effect on me – whether it’s from 1965 or 2025. When I listen to music like this, I feel like I’ve known it forever. And not in a redundant, boring sense, but in a way that feels as though that particular song has just always existed in some deeper, elusive but still tangible reality. Like you’ve always known it, but you can’t exactly remember how.
“I’m unsure if we’ve actually accomplished that, but hopefully it is somewhat close. I also love music that makes you feel like you are in the same room as the artist. I think live-tracked recordings have a lot to do with this particular effect, so we leaned into that with this song – as well as a few others on this EP. I was listening to a lot of Ray Charles, Stones, and Faces (and will always be) when I wrote this one, so I’d guess that will come through as well. In the words of Taylor Goldsmith, ‘Anyone that’s making anything new only breaks something else…'” – Kyle Ross
Sarah Kate Morgan & Leo Shannon, “Belle of Lexington”
Artist:Sarah Kate Morgan & Leo Shannon Hometown: Hindman, Kentucky (Sarah Kate); Whitesburg, Kentucky (Leo) Song: “Belle of Lexington” Album:Featherbed Release Date: October 24, 2025 Label: June Appal Recordings
In Their Words: “This is a very old fiddle tune which I learned as a teenager in my mom’s living room in Seattle, Washington. The source is a recording of fiddler Emmet Lundy made by the Library of Congress in Galax, Virginia, in 1941. (Many thanks to the Slippery Hill archive for facilitating this transmission.) Eighty-four years later, our performance of the tune was recorded live at The Burl in Lexington, Kentucky, by the intrepid Nick Petersen. We dedicate this track to all the beautiful people in all the Lexingtons around the world.” – Leo Shannon
Photo Credit: Eddie Barbash by Jeremy Stanley; Chris Jones & the Night Drivers by Brooke Stevens.
Last October, Tommy Emmanuel took a fall and busted a couple ribs at a concert in Toronto’s Massey Hall. While the injury led to some postponed concerts (although he performed the full show in Toronto), it also produced, in its own way, a very welcome result: Emmanuel’s first solo studio album in a decade.
From his home in Nashville the guitar master told BGS that he experienced a burst of creativity while recuperating at home. “I’m like, ‘Wow, I’ve got time to write and play and experiment.’ All of a sudden I’m a kid in a candy store again.” He also confided that he disregarded his doctor’s advice on how long to rest and was back on the road after “going into hibernation” for three weeks. “If I had taken my doctor’s advice, he’d have set me back 20 years. I’m a moving-forward guy,” he explains.
Emmanuel may not pass muster as a medical doctor, but he certainly qualifies as a doctor of guitar playing. In fact, an authority such as Chet “Mister Guitar” Atkins bestowed Emmanuel with his Certified Guitar Player honor, one of only four CGPs that he handed out during his lifetime. An Australian native who moved to Nashville in the early 2000s, over his long, exceptional career Emmanuel also has earned a GRAMMY, many various music awards in Australia, a Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Guitar Museum, and he is a Member of the Order of Australia.
Never one to rest on his laurels, Emmanuel delivers perhaps his most eclectic album with Living In The Light. While it is definitely stocked with exquisite acoustic picking, the album also contains some more experimental tracks. On “Intuition #25,” for example, he uses some delay pedal wizardry to reimagine an old instrumental. He also handles lead voices on a trio of tunes, including his take on an ‘80s Australian new wave pop hit “Maxine,” the even older, yet still timely “Waiting For The Times To Get Better” – previously recorded by folks like Crystal Gayle and Doc Watson – and a funky, inspiring number, “Ya Gotta Do What Ya Gotta Do,” written by his buddy Michael “Mad Dog” McRae.
Emmanuel may have turned 70 this year, but he exhibits a perennially youthful passion for music. As he explains it: “Music is my blood. I love it.”
Living In The Light is your first solo studio album in around a decade – how did it come about?
Tommy Emmanuel: Well, after I broke my ribs [last year], I knew I had to surrender from touring, and so I was forced to come home and hibernate – try to get my ribs fixed or healed. When I got home, even though I was kind of slightly medicated because of the pain and everything, I was in a great place. I didn’t have to walk out the house and fly somewhere and go play shows. All I had to do was be here and get healed. … Probably the best thing to happen to me was falling, breaking my ribs, and then being poured into a break, because then I got the whole record together.
The first thing I wrote was “Black and White to Color.” It’s like full of energy, full of spark, it’s got everything. It’s completely adventurous and it just came out of nowhere. I started playing some of the guitars that I don’t take on the road, and all of a sudden I got this idea in the way it went. And that’s kind of like how it all came together.
How did you hook up with Vance Powell as your producer?
My great desire was to work with Vance Powell, who I had heard and discovered through Chris Stapleton, Jack White, and people like that. I just loved his work. It was so real and so pure. And I thought, “I’ve got to work with this guy.” He is so busy that last year when I tried to book him, he could only give me four days this whole year, right? That’s how busy he is. So, I booked him. And we cut the whole album, finished, [and] mixed it in four days. That’s it.
I got to tell you that Vance is my kind of guy. There’s no bullshit. There’s no wasting time. We start at 10, we finish at 6. That’s it. We didn’t work all night and wear ourselves out and labor over take after take after take after take. People are always surprised when you say, “Well, I just did it in one take.” They’re like: “What? That’s impossible.” No, it’s not. I have to do it every night when I walk on stage.
You sing on a couple songs on this album, which is more than you usually do.
I’ve worked with some great singers and I’m not one of them, but there’s an honesty about what I do. If you sing something because you really love it and you love to sing it, that’s a good enough reason, you know? I don’t have to prove that I’m the world’s best singer, because I’m not.
Where did the album title, Living In The Light, come from?
I’m glad you asked that. This is how it all started. I was out with my buddy, “Mad Dog.” Him and I are early morning walkers. We go down to an area called Percy Priest Lake here in Nashville and there’s a three-mile walk. We usually do that at like 6 a.m. We’ll meet there and we’ll walk the three miles and talk and laugh and carry on.
And he was amazed how well I looked. He said, “Brother, I’ve never seen you looking so well. You must be living in the light.” And when he said that, I went: “That’s it!” I just thought: “Living in the light. Wow, this is what it’s about.” We’ve all had enough darkness. Let’s get some light.
Can you talk a little about the guitars you use here?
They’re mostly my touring guitar, my Maton Traditional, it is called. When I did “Ready for the Times to Get Better,” I borrowed a Martin D28 because it was just the right sound for that track. When I played “Little Georgia,” I used my Larrivée, which was a different, Canadian guitar and it just sounded just right for that track.
Did you know which guitar you wanted for “Little Georgia” or did you try your Maton guitar and then go, “I don’t think it’s the right match”?
I went straight to the Larrivée because the guitar has a sweetness and it has great sustain. When you play it in a kind of close-to-the-microphone, intimate way, it’s like everything you need is right there, and it’s beautiful.
I’m a song player, I’m a song person, and so I need the right voice to tell the story.
And on instrumentals, your guitar is like your voice?
That’s right. I tell stories without words. That’s my job.
Bluegrass has been influential in your music, but on Living in The Light it seems less prominent than other albums.
I tend to not think about putting a label on it or a genre. Bluegrass music is to me as soulful as R&B or as in-your-face as rock and roll. So I never worry about someone saying “Oh, is this really bluegrass?” or whatever… I’m hardly bluegrass, but yet I am bluegrass in many ways. But I’m also R&B and I’m rock and roll, and I love pop music. I just like good songs and good music.
What American music did you first connect with growing up in Australia?
My first love was Jimmie Rodgers and Hank Williams. And then I heard Jim Reeves and Marty Robbins. Then, when I was about seven, I heard Chet Atkins and that galvanized me. That sent me on another path and changed my life completely. Because when I heard Chet Atkins, something changed inside me. I heard a sound that I’d never heard before and I just knew that’s what I wanted to do. “I want to do that – whatever that is.” I didn’t know how to play like him at all. But I worked it out myself.
And because, you got to remember, this is the early ‘60s. There were no music shops. There were no guitar teachers. There was no video. There was no TV in Australia that we could see live music on. It was all either on the radio or the record player. That was it.
To have Chet Atkins take you under his wing must have been an unbelievable dream come true.
Exactly! You said it, right on. When my dad died, I was 10, I kind of retreated into Chet’s records. That’s what got me through that terrible loss and that period. And I ended up writing a letter to him and he wrote back and we stayed in touch. We were like pen pals and he stayed in touch with me.
Then somebody sent him a tape of me playing when I was about 18 and I get this letter out of the blue. It’s from Chet saying, “I heard your tape and when you come to Nashville, you call me and here’s the number.” He gave me his office number. I came to Nashville to meet him in 1980 and we were like family when we got together. He was my daddy, you know.
You’ve hosted a guitar camp for several years. Is that a way for you to mentor the next generation of musicians, similar to what Chet Atkins did for you?
It’s not just my camp. It’s nearly every night of my life, wherever I am. I meet young players and people and I try to be a positive force for them in their life. I try to show them that if you’re willing to put the work in, this is what’s possible, because I came from nothing and from nowhere, and this is what you can do. You’ve just got to stick at it. Do not quit. You know, stuff like that. But also, my camps give me a chance to talk to people from the perspective of: “I’m an example to you of someone who makes a living playing the guitar. I don’t do anything else.”
Most of the teachers that I employ are much better teachers than I am, but I have fun talking about what I do and demonstrating stuff that shows people behind the wizardry that they’re seeing with their eyes. I can open the window on it and say, “Look in here, this is what I’m actually doing.”
Congratulations on turning 70 earlier this year. I was wondering how your playing style has evolved. Have you had to make any adjustments to the way you play guitar?
Here’s the truth. I’m pushing harder than ever. I’m getting out there like a kid having the time of my life. I’m bulldozing the shit out of everything. I’m having a great time. And I feel energized, inspired, and I just feel like I don’t have that anxiety of, “Oh I’ve got to get out and prove myself.” I just get out and play because I love to play and take people with me. It’s as simple as that.
Of course, there are certain things, like some songs that I try to play that I struggle with now, because my skills in some areas are not what they used to be. I can hear myself playing a song 30 years ago and I go, “Holy shit, I can’t play anywhere at all like that now.”
But I can do other stuff that’s more meaningful to me now, you know. So, my focus has changed. I know that I don’t have the skills in some areas that I used to have but I’ve been there and done that, so now I’ve got this. And I’ll try to do my best with whatever I’ve got to give the people right now at this time in my life.
It certainly seems like you also now have the freedom to make the music that you want to make.
That’s exactly right. And I don’t labor over stuff and I’m not a perfectionist. It’s about telling the story and capturing the feeling of the whole thing, even if it has a few rough edges. If this is the one that has all the feeling, [then] that’s the one I’m going to live with. I’m not going to try and polish it up.
I’m just going to say, “This is it and here’s the story,” and that’s it. … It’s only the people who are willing to be true to their art [who] are the ones that the public actually really likes – all the other stuff is contrived.
Long before folks were strumming guitars and picking banjos, they were telling stories. Stories about origin, hopes, dreams, and fears, and lessons learned. These stories guided lives and relationships, became myths, legends, and songs, and were passed down for generations and adjusted for place and time. From “The Knoxville Girl” to “Down in the Willow Garden,” to Lindi Ortega’s “Murder of Crows” and Tyler Childers’ “Banded Clovis,” the spooky story looms large in bluegrass, old-time, and Americana music.
For the season, we asked BGS readers to share their own roots music-themed writing with us in the form of spooky fiction, creative non-fiction, poetry, or cross-genre writing. We were not disappointed! Below, Emily Garcia’s young musician narrator achieves justice for poor Rose Connelly of “Down in the Willow Garden,” and Stuart Thompson details the sad fate of two brother fiddlers who became entangled with the wrong woman.
But first, we share with you an old tale of the farmer and the devil, regarding the origin of crop circles, found in a newspaper from 1678 – from which we’ve also pulled the creepy and fantastic woodcut we’ve chosen for lead image.
With this series, we hope to honor and continue the long tradition of storytelling and verse that has lived alongside and contributed to our favorite genres of music.
“The Mowing Devil Or, Strange News Out of Hartford-Shire”
Being a true relation of a farmer, who bargaining with a poor farmer about the cutting down three half acres of Oats; upon the mower’s asking too much, the farmer swore, that the devil mow it, rather than He; And so it fell out, that that very night, the crop of oats shew’d as if it had been all of a Flame: But next morning appear’d so neatly mow’d by the Devil, or some infernal spirit, that no mortal man was able to do the like. Also, how the said oats now lay in the field, and the owner has not power to fetch them away.
The Hunter’s Moon, red from eclipse, slides above the pines and half-bare maple trees, its hollow stare cast over Virginia’s Appalachian Plateau. Behind it, the night is black as pitch.
“You okay, Wills?” asks Annie. No, she hasn’t been okay in months, but Annie doesn’t want to hear that.
“Yeah, of course!” Willow rosins her bow, trying to ignore the wailing in her ears.
Annie glances down, rocking the toe of her boot into a groove on the worn cabin floor. “I hope I wasn’t too pushy…I just thought playing again might help.”
Two weeks earlier, over the phone, Annie had been less concerned about being pushy. “Willow Rose O’Connell, I’m not taking no for an answer. You are coming to Hunter Jam Weekend, just like you have every year for the last four years. I will not let my best friend rot away in some North Carolina suburb just because one tour didn’t work out.”
Didn’t work out. That was the story she let everyone believe: she had quit the gig of a lifetime halfway through the European arena tour, all because she couldn’t handle the pressure and had a nervous breakdown in a hotel room in London. It was a breakdown so bad that she flew straight back to Nashville that night, packed her entire apartment, drove eight hours to her parents’ house in Raleigh, and was now living in her childhood bedroom strung out on Xanax.
“What a shame,” people liked to say.
Now, she forces a smile. “I appreciate it, Annie. I’m good. I’m glad I’m here.”
Relief washes over Annie’s face. “Okay awesome. Let’s go, then. You don’t need to solo or anything, just play.” Annie grabs her mandolin and heads for the door. Willow follows, fiddle tucked neatly under her arm.
They wind through a wooded path lit only by the moon, towards the fire where the rest of their group has already started jamming. She can’t shake the wailing sound. An old recurring nightmare from childhood, a screaming woman next to a riverbank, has resurfaced with a vengeance since she left the tour six months ago. On the worst nights, the screams would weave themselves around memories of her grandmother’s shriveled voice singing old folk songs by the fireplace.
My race is run beneath the sun, the devil is waiting for me.
What no one knows is that an hour before the nervous breakdown, she forced her way out of the back of the tour bus, shaking uncontrollably, the manager’s whiskey breath staining the air. She had escaped the worst, thank god, but his slurred voice taunted behind her. “Don’t even try telling anyone, Will. You know I can ruin you.”
She knows. She knows how this industry works.
They reach the circle and Willow perches on a stump by the fire. There are a few awkward mumbled greetings, her former companions from the Nashville scene now looking at her like the ghost of an old friend. “Okay, where we at?” Annie cuts in. “‘Deep River’?” And with that, the jam resumes. Every time solos reach her, she leans to Annie and passes them off. The screaming is back, louder than usual, mixing with the songs into a sideways cacophony that makes her feel sick to her stomach. Her playing drifts off, she squeezes her eyes shut. The fire feels like it’s taking over her body.
The tune ends, and she gets up. “Sorry guys, I think I need to go lie down for a second. My head is killing me.” A murmur of concern ripples through the group but she can hardly hear it. She heads up the path towards the cabin.
The screaming is getting louder, and the ground feels like it’s shifting beneath her. Vertigo, maybe. The devil is waiting for me. She stumbles forward, barely conscious of where she’s going. You know I can ruin you. She reaches for a tree to steady herself, but the trees seem to be sliding up and down the periphery. She falls, hands driving into the dirt. Eyes squeeze shut.
The screaming stops.
A faint sound of banjo and a slurring male voice touches the air. She slowly pushes herself up, eyes adjusting. The sun is out, hanging red and low over the horizon, as if the moon has reversed its course. A river runs to her right.
In front of her lies a young woman, wispy brown hair fanned across the dry grass, and a half-empty bottle of burgundy wine next to her. She could almost be peacefully asleep, if not for the 15-inch knife sticking out of her chest and the crimson blood soaking her white cotton dress.
She stares at the woman like a mirror, the smell of whiskey burning her nose, when she hears him, gasping. She looks up. He’s in a loose-fitting linen shirt and dirty denim overalls, his eyes bloodshot, a banjo clutched in his left hand. His splotched face drains to white as their gazes meet.
“Rose– I– Rosie, my dear– I– I– I… my God, my God.” His trembling voice is centuries old. He glances wildly at the dead girl’s face, then back at Willow.
Her fingers curl around the knife handle and she pulls upward.
“I didn’t m-m-mean… I– I– I… Rosie please, I love you.”
She raises her bow arm. Her movements are not her own. Virginia turns red beneath the sun. The screaming begins again, different now, deafening.
Then it stops.
Heavenly quiet. And then a heavy splash.
It’s dark again. The moon is fixed to the night sky, and she’s standing at the edge of the circle. “You scared me!” Annie raises her eyebrows. “You okay, girl?”
“Yeah I’m good. Just needed a quick nap.”
Willow picks up her fiddle, which she had left leaning against the stump, and gives it a quick tune. “Okay y’all. ‘Wheel Hoss’? I’ll kick.” Without waiting for a reply, she jumps in. A few hollers from the group, and they all launch after her. Her fingers dance across the strings as everyone else holds back to hear her, finally, play again.
The final notes ring out. Silence, then the circle explodes into wild cheers and laughter.
Annie turns to her, grinning. “See Will, I told you playing again would help…” Her voice trails off.
Willow follows Annie’s stare. Her hands, strings, and fingerboard shine in the firelight, covered in blood.
Emily Garcia is a writer and fiddle player who spent her early career studying and performing within Nashville’s roots scene. She is now based in southern Maine and continues to perform, travel, and write stories inspired by American music and place. You can follow her work on Instagram at @imemilygarcia.
“Brother Fiddlers” by Stuart Thompson
Up in Clear Creek County, when the wind is lying still, They say you can hear it high above the Argo Mill. The sound is lonesome, and the sound is low, Like the fiddlers pointing out the guilty with their bows.
Will and Tom were brothers, bold and bound for gold, They followed the rush where the rivers ran cold. They staked their claim where the tall pines lean, And they carved their camp in a cut of green.
By day they dug with blood and sweat, By night they played in the dry sunset. Twin fiddles rose in the old saloon, And the one they played for was a gal named Lou.
She poured the drinks and danced the floor, With eyes that knew what men were for. She’d kiss you soft, then slip away– Leave you lost ’til your dying day.
Up in Clear Creek County, when the wind is lying still, They say you can hear it high above the Argo Mill. The sound is lonesome, and the sound is low, Like the fiddlers pointing out the guilty with their bow.
They struck it rich – oh, mother lode! A vein so thick it near broke the road. One would sleep while the other stood, Guardin’ gold in the dark pine wood.
But Lou, she schemed with a serpent’s smile, Fed them lies and love the while. “I want the stronger,” she said with a kiss. “One who’d fight for a prize like this.”
So Will took watch on a moonless night, With rage in his heart and death in sight. Tom came quiet, just to check the claim– But Will saw red and took his aim.
The shot rang once, and his brother fell, And all went silent but the echo’s knell. Will knelt down with a choking cry– Then Lou stepped out with a pistol high.
No words she spoke, no tear she shed, Just one quick flash – and Will was dead. She buried them both where the cold creek bends, And set her sights on richer ends.
Up in Clear Creek County, when the wind is lying still, They say you can hear it high above the Argo Mill. The sound is lonesome, and the sound is low, Like the fiddlers pointing out the guilty with their bows.
She bought new gowns and she drank top shelf, But Lou could never escape herself. At night she’d wake with a strangled cry– Hearing bows that scraped like a widow’s sigh.
She climbed the trail where the cold winds moan, To the shaft where the brothers’ blood was sown. And some say madness took her mind– She walked into that hole and left no sign.
Now nothing grows where the gold once lay, Just wind and whispers and strings that play. The miners say, when the stars hang low, You’ll hear twin fiddles weep and glow…
Up in Clear Creek County, when the wind is lying still, They say you can hear it high above the Argo Mill. The sound is lonesome, and the sound is low, Like the fiddlers pointing out the guilty with their bows.
Stuart Thompson is a husband, dad, and mandolin picker from Denver, Colorado. He can be found online at @stu.art.thompson.
Stay tuned for more opportunities to publish your own writing or art on BGS in a future collection!
Collection edited by Rachel Baiman and BGS staff.
Lead Image: Woodcut, “The Mowing Devil Or, Strange News Out of Hartford-Shire”, August 22, 1678. Source: The Public Domain Review.
My conversation with Ben Garnett finds him at about a decade in Music City and in the swing of an album cycle for Kite’s Keep, the guitarist-composer’s second full-length solo record. Our discussion centers around the ethos of modern string band music, what the guitar has to say about it, and the potential for folk music’s inherent narrative quality to uplift and move past tradition itself.
Garnett’s perspective on these topics is one that is quite underrepresented: A graduate of the University of North Texas’s famously rigorous jazz guitar program, he spent his early years in Texas developing the skills needed as a pop-oriented sideman and session player, while making ripples in the experimentally disposed Denton, Texas, before heading east. As we’ll find out, he has made disparate musical worlds come together, informing each other along the singular path he leads.
Upon arriving in Nashville, Garnett was quickly recruited as trailblazer Missy Raines’ go-to guitarist, while contributing his compositions and musicianship to progressive acoustic ensemble Circus No. 9. Though his path wasn’t entirely certain at first, his dedicated, open-minded approach to musicianship quickly yielded success both creatively and professionally. Now touring his original music while balancing responsibilities as a band member, the new album Kite’s Keep was made in collaboration with today’s top-of-the-heap acoustic guard: Darol Anger, Chris Eldridge, Brittany Haas, Ethan Jodziewicz, Paul Kowert and experimental pianist-composer Matt Glassmeyer.
I was surprised to hear Ben describe this project as a “guitar” record; being a guitarist myself, and with kindred reference points, I am conditioned to hear six string-born music through the instrument’s highly subjective – yet unendingly capable – lens, though Ben manages to disrupt this. His distinct transcendence of the instrument comes from embracing its format and stepping past folks’ conception of it, while explosively celebrating the guitar as a compositional tool.
Garnett’s ability to write for the room, so to speak, enables him to accommodate many players’ perspectives while balancing high precision with casualness. This is a blend of skill sets and priorities that are rare in ecosystems historically dominated by performative virtuosity. At every turn, Ben Garnett is courteous and grateful, crediting his achievements to friends, linchpins, and heroes within his scene – ones that he now orates his compelling tale alongside.
Is it safe to say that your new record, Kite’s Keep, portrays a narrative? Was that built into your approach as you wrote and recorded it?
Ben Garnett: Absolutely. Poetically speaking, the album title Kite’s Keep loosely refers to this idea of a child’s inner world – a dreamscape where each song represents a different vignette of imagination. The broader narrative has to do with using the acoustic guitar as a world-building tool. This idea that guitar records can be more expansive than just, “here’s my solo arrangement of such and such a tune.”
My goal was to make a record that celebrates the power of what an acoustic guitar can do as an ensemble instrument – like bringing out what other instruments are capable of. The guitar can act as this stage, or world, that other instruments can then inhabit.
So, in that way, would you say that this is a guitar record?
Definitely.
Interesting, because when I listen to it, it doesn’t necessarily feel that way, which is an aspect I’m quite partial to.
I’m curious why this feels like a guitar record to you. I know you’re facilitating these exchanges and you’re world-building with them, you’re obviously pushing past what the guitar is conceived of, but it sounds like you’re not trying to push past the guitar itself.
I guess the idea is that, in addition to world-building, a lot of the compositional material was guitar-born. I’m thinking of the fiddle and bass as extensions of what I would otherwise play. They’re bringing guitar-born ideas into this other register, carrying them to places where the guitar can only point.
Do you have a compositional process? Would you consider it more passive, or do you sit down to compose in a more dutiful way?
Sometimes it’s dutiful, but a lot of the time it’s passive, like when I’m at the airport. Thoughts come to me and I’ll write them down in my notes app. From there, it’s more like script or scene writing. For instance, I’ll want the tunes to arrive at a certain point and I’ll figure out how to get there in reverse. When I’m being more dutiful, I’ll realize a piece in a program like Ableton or Finale, or just by recording myself.
I wrote one tune in a weird way: I improvised freely for 15 minutes, mostly with long tones. The only directive was to play a note and whatever note I heard after that, I would immediately try to play. I chased my tail for 15 minutes and recorded myself. Then I sped up the recording by 400%. I chopped up the transients, warped it, and put the transients on different parts of the metric grid. I had a groove in mind – a half-time, kind of bluegrass-funky tempo. Since it was my melodic sensibility and the way I heard the notes flowing into each other, there was a certain intention and trajectory there.
So, you were kind of sampling yourself – that must get you out of your own head and off the instrument.
Yes. It gave me rhythms and phrasing that I never would have come across otherwise.
And then you learn it from yourself.
Exactly. … It’s the second track, with Darol Anger, “Tell Me About You.”
For something like that, which is more thoroughly composed, how do you make it sound so fluid in the studio while recording?
The process for that tune involved getting the basic elements assembled in Ableton, but then there was the process of arranging the material. Then after arranging, came “breaking in” the tune, so to speak.
Once I had a basic arrangement, I brought it to Darol. We probably got together four or so times. I remember asking him what would make it more idiosyncratic to his instrument and playing. He’d suggest adding a double stop somewhere or doing something rhythmically a little differently. Basically, it was all about massaging it so it didn’t feel clunky. It had to pass all these “tests” before we even got into the studio.
What are these tests that it must pass?
They have to do with the flow. Even if the compositional material comes from using a computer or another unusual place, the music still has to have this casualness. String band music tends to sound its strongest when the parts rely on each other in a certain way. I generally will “test” my music by playing it with as many people as I can, to make sure it has an inherent interpretive quality. Making sure the ideas are robust enough to hold water no matter who’s playing them.
For people who don’t know, you come from Dallas, you went through UNT’s jazz guitar program, and then you moved to Nashville. I’m curious how you found Nashville with your sensibilities, growing of musical age in an environment that is uniquely experimental, yet highly rigorous. Did you come here with the aspirations of doing the things that you’re doing now?
Not at all. At the time, it was much more open-ended than that. I was mostly driven by wanting to get out of Texas. But I had also just gone to the Acoustic Music Seminar with Mike Marshall, Julian Lage, Bryan Sutton, and Aoife O’Donovan, which was a hugely formative experience. I think it was Sutton who offhandedly mentioned, “You should think about moving to Nashville.” I knew there were acoustic musicians here I looked up to – the whole Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas generation of players and I knew Critter [Chris Eldridge] and Sutton were here, too.
At that time, I was also in a phase of wanting to be an electric guitar player. The idea of being a session musician or side-person appealed to me. I had an electric background playing all kinds of music back in Texas – jazz, rock, country, pop, etc. I remember my cousin and my first guitar hero, Andy Timmons, telling me, “Nashville is definitely where I would be if I were your age.” It just seemed like the most open-ended place for the variety of interests I had.
Did you feel like you could do what you wanted to do at first?
It took a while to figure that out. I got a job with bluegrass bassist Missy Raines two weeks after arriving, which was a great first touring experience. I had the idea of making a solo record in my head for a long time, but I always thought I’d wait until I was 30 or so to make it. However, at one point, I distinctly remember Missy telling me, “You definitely need to make a record before you’re 30,” which was amazing advice.
I also got a job with progressive bluegrass band Circus No. 9, a year or so after moving, and was expected to bring in original music to build out our repertoire. The more engrossed I got in the progressive bluegrass world, the more I realized how rare my perspective on it was. It felt isolating at first, but being on the road with Missy and Circus was like being in a second family where I got to realize my position and perspective.
Fast forward a few years, and my hero Chris Eldridge agreed to produce my first solo record, Imitation Fields.
I’m always fascinated by the Dennis Hopper quote where he says one day an actor wakes up and they decide they’re a producer. I’m wondering if you feel similarly in regard to pursuing your voice as a bandleader, composer, artist. I feel like in the current state of the music industry, with how comically hard it is to do anything, it’s almost like a fatalistic, “Why not?”
I’m curious if you could speak to the process of finding yourself in a record of your own stuff and what advice you might give to somebody trying to figure it out.
It goes back to the validation thing. I probably wouldn’t have made a record without all the help and encouragement from those around me. I hate to even frame it this way, but I just have to count my blessings. In some ways, I feel like I walked into something that was waiting for me.
You could have stayed in Texas and made records, but you wouldn’t have made the records you’re making here in town.
Absolutely. Who knows what those Texas records would’ve sounded like.
Going back to your question on what advice I’d give to somebody figuring it out. If you’re an aspiring musician who wants to make your own music, I’d advise not to be too career-oriented at first. Obviously, you need to do what it takes to pay the bills. But there’s a lot of music out there that, to me, sounds born from a certain careerist mentality, which I frankly find to be taking up space.
All the stuff I’m doing now – booking my own tours, stocking merchandise, making promo graphics, being my own publicist (essentially being a small-business owner) – is all really new to me. I moved to Nashville just to see what would happen. I had no real objective. Even if it at times felt meandering or directionless, I’m grateful for the space I inadvertently gave myself to try things. You find yourself in that process, and I think your art becomes more meaningful as a result.
Another factor worth considering in finding myself was the impact of COVID. Critter and I were in the middle of editing Imitation Fields during this time and I think if it weren’t for COVID, it could have easily been, “Okay, we’ve recorded now – let’s edit, mix, master, then done.” All the sudden, it became a whole process of, “What if we tried this? What if we did that?”
It’s like being in a block of molasses. You’re not thinking, “I have three days in the studio, and we have to figure it out.”
Exactly. We had all this time. No corners were cut. … It was kind of insane. I didn’t quite realize it at the time. I’m just really grateful, even if it ultimately drove me a little crazy.
As someone who puts a lot of meticulous work into the visuals which accompany your music, how do you feel that film informs music and vice versa?
First and foremost, the two seem inseparable. For those of us who can see and hear, we’re always looking at something while we’re listening and we’re always listening while we’re looking. That connection is inherent, so my argument is, why not have a say in both realms of sensory experience?
On top of that, I think there’s something cinematically interesting with the traditions of jazz and folk music. A lot of folk music tends to have this quality of wanting to tell a story, albeit in a fairly literal way. Listening to a song, there can be this mini-movie playing in the listener’s mind. Maybe they’re imagining a character, or their own life experiences – whatever the case may be, it largely seems to be about evoking imagery on some level.
In contrast, that kind of storytelling seems less of an objective in jazz. Jazz tends to revolve around this more abstract, spontaneous kind of communication. Which feels equally as cinematic, but the goal of that storytelling feels distinctly different than with folk music.
Of course these are generalizations and I don’t mean to be reductive with either music. This is all to say – the way these traditions interact with our “cinematic” experience of music is something I find deeply fascinating and is a huge source of inspiration for my writing and playing.
It’s the same phenomenon with a song like “Nine Pound Hammer” that has lyrics and semantic content, but is also a vehicle for instrumental virtuosity. I feel like you’re meeting in the middle there.
Absolutely. This is where bluegrass, in some ways, has the best of both worlds.
What I think initially drew me to folk music, in general, was the cinematic quality I didn’t get playing jazz standards. Obviously, there’s the storytelling you get listening to the great singer-songwriters, but there’s also listening to bands like Strength in Numbers. It feels like cinematic stories are being told in those compositions.
Do you feel like a more approachable rhythmic foundation provides a shoo-in for listeners to more quickly imagine a world?
It certainly can. But I also think it’s this general narrative quality in folk music that provides this. For instance, when I play a tune with Brittany [Haas], there’s almost this unspoken objective between us to build the tune in a certain way. In a way that’s very different from playing a jazz tune.
As an aside, I think that’s why people sometimes misunderstand jazz or say they can’t connect with it. Most of the time, jazz isn’t trying to do what most pop or folk music is doing. It’s not trying to conjure a story in this literal way. What makes jazz work is how it centers around this more abstract, colloquial communication.
Perhaps in that way, music school’s training isn’t always “backwards compatible.” Is that fair to say?
I grew up being taught a certain set of rules about how to make good music from going to jazz school. Then, when I moved to Nashville and started working with string band musicians, I realized what I was working with was quite different from the rules they had grown up with.
I think this intersection is what makes someone like Edgar Meyer a powerful force. In some ways, he’s able to pull out all these things in people like Jerry Douglas, Russ Barenberg, Béla Fleck, Mike Marshall, and Sam Bush by bringing in this other perspective from his classical background.
He also realized that the same rules did not apply.
Exactly. He’s able to take what those musicians are giving him, see what they’re good at, harness it, and arrive at a perspective that none of them would have had otherwise.
As you might guess, there’s tens of dollars to be made working in folk music. One of the more macabre ways I’ve made a living is… um… off the dead, performing educational programs on gender inequality in murder ballads for more than a decade with my band, ilyAIMY (i love you And I Miss You).
Maybe I was just born spooky (Halloween birthday!), but I’ve made the most of my curiosity for folk music’s unnerving and often misogynistic underbelly. All while collecting a few outliers that turn the old tales on their heads.
First found in Europe in the 1600s, murder ballad poems and songs have since become heavily associated with traditional American music. A mainstay in country and folk – whether it’s Polly or Omie falling prey to poor choices, or “Stagger Lee” (a staple since 1897), or Brokeneck Girls: The Murder Ballad Musical selling out its 2023 run – we’re still pressing play on cautionary tales of love inextricably woven with violence and remorseless outlaws. But we’re also starting to look back at the facts, wondering more at why the women of murder ballads are voiceless victims and rarely vigilantes.
I’ve kept the body count relatively low on my new album, Panic Room with a View, but there are a few graves. It is October after all. So, witches, black widows, and wanton women – who makes it out from this Mixtape alive? – Heather Aubrey Lloyd
“Bang, Bang” – Nancy Sinatra
This one might be a metaphor, but the messaging sure isn’t. Love is interlaced with violence right from childhood: “He would always win the fight,” and she should have known better. P.S. Sinatra may be singing it, but this lament from the “female perspective” was written by Sonny Bono.
“Come All Ye Fair And Tender Ladies” – Odetta
In rare cases, it’s not a man’s voice behind the mask, but women warning one another to “lock their hearts” against lying lovers. Cause of death here will eventually be sorrow, but don’t worry – we’re getting to the grisly bits and what happens when you don’t heed the warnings.
“Pretty Polly” – Coon Creek Girls
Appalachian, music academic, or horror movie fan, we all know the rules: the girl getting “busy” is the first body to drop. This song has roots in 1750s English ballads, where the pregnant and unwed victim at least sometimes gets revenge as a ghost. Not so with most American versions of Polly, or North Carolina’s Omie Wise, where the vague-but-violent tale is told with little remorse or consequence.
This is the blueprint of the classic American murder ballad. He’s dug the grave in advance or brought her to the river (no obvious sin-cleansing symbolism here) and “her blood, it did flow.” In some versions of “The Knoxville Girl,” his friends still try to bail him out of jail. Though countless renditions exist (The Byrds, Béla Fleck & Abigail Washburn, etc.), this stark presentation by the Coon Creek Girls has always been my favorite.
“Barbara Allen” – Joan Baez
Controversial opinion alert! I’ve always had a huge problem with the claim of “the world’s most-collected English-language folk ballad.”
Barbara Allen doesn’t die because she loves a man, but because she simply doesn’t. When women refuse there are still consequences, and “hard-hearted” Barb’ry follows “sweet” William to his grave, where he entwines with her in death. Ew. Still, it’s hard to argue with Baez’s perfectly mournful vocal take on this tune.
“The Dreadful End of Marianna for Sorcery” – Malinky
Or, if she says no and doesn’t die of sorrow, you can always cry “witch” and get her burned at the stake. Happy Halloween! You might think it’s a traditional, but this modern murder ballad from the year 2000 has a feminist twist; Marianna gets to tell on the men who wronged her, their hypocrisy revealed, her virtue extolled. This is a significant evolution from the third-person narrator (or male murderer’s perspective) pervasive in classic murder ballads.
“Frankie and Johnny” – Pete Seeger
Let’s get to a murderess. What if I told you Pete Seeger was singing you a lie? Did Frankie shoot her cheatin’ man? Yup, on October 14, 1899, Frankie Baker did. Was she sentenced to the electric chair for it? No. Songwriters didn’t bother waiting on the verdict. Besides, what ideas might women get if they thought they might get away with it?
Just days after the shooting, the streets of St. Louis were already singing. Frankie’s philandering beau, Allen, became “Albert” then “Johnny.” And Frankie, who unsuccessfully sued once a movie was made, was hounded by hundreds of renditions before she died in 1952.
“The Valley Is Ours” – Heather Aubrey Lloyd
Does a folk singer owe listeners absolute truth, or do we use bits and pieces of honesty to shed light on greater truths? As a songwriter and a former journalist, I’ve spent a while reconciling that question. This song from my freshly released album is a perfect example. I weave true stories from various eras of flood-ravaged Ellicott City, Maryland – a news article about a drowning victim, my time sanitizing debris from my friend’s submerged apartment – into a fictional family, unifying the experiences for the greater story representing all those who brave disaster and rebuild.
“Independence Day” – Martina McBride
If you’re an ’80s baby like me, this 1995 CMA Song of the Year (and one of Rolling Stone’s 100 Greatest Country Songs of All Time) was probably the first murder ballad you heard on the radio. Domestic violence, the standard trope, drives the battered wife to finally burn down the house with them both in it, leaving their surviving daughter to wonder, “I ain’t sayin’ it’s right or it’s wrong/ But maybe it’s the only way.”
I’ve spent years thinking about just how many other ways there should be for that woman. And maybe that’s the point of a great line like that. (I was too nervous to ask Gretchen Peters, the song’s writer, when I opened for her in 2022.)
“Silent Little Bells” – ilyAIMY
We all start by mimicking the art we loved growing up. So, it’s no wonder that in 2010 when it came time to write a murder ballad for my own band, ilyAIMY, I couldn’t seem to let the murderess get away with it, either. But my questions were starting. How do I reconcile my love of murder ballads with their problematic or outdated ideas? Can the women get more say in their stories?
“Can it be a sin/ For a woman done wrong to do the man done it/ Do that man right in?”
“Country Death Song” – The Violent Femmes
And I probably threw my fictional characters down a well, because I subconsciously remembered it from this song. We are all the culmination of everything we’ve ever heard and only think we’ve forgotten. This song’s presentation is so deadpan it’s almost parody, like a scary Halloween costume. An innocent daughter falls victim to a father’s starvation and madness. And when the victim is a woman child, at least, the murderer can’t live with the guilt and punishes himself.
“Delia’s Gone” – Johnny Cash
You can’t have a murder ballad Mixtape without Johnny Cash. The man in black – also a kind of persona/costume – put plenty of women in the ground through song, with a vocal delivery that’s dead serious. We know little about Delia’s actual “trifling” offenses, and as with early American murder ballads, much is left to the imagination.
“So if your woman’s devilish/ You can let her run/ Or you can bring her down and do her/ Like Delia got done…” references the old trope that men are somewhat justified killing sinful women, be it 1762 or 1962.
“Church Bells” – Carrie Underwood
Between 2000 and 2016 women got a lot of mixed messages about spousal abuse and murder ballads. The Chicks’ infamous “Goodbye Earl” was met with 14% of Radio & Records reporting stations refusing to play it with accusations the song “advocated premeditated murder.” Um … “Folsom Prison” much?!? Why not the same uproar for 2007’s “Gunpowder & Lead” wherein Miranda Lambert shows she’s willing, but we never get the actual trigger pull, or Underwood’s similar poisoning of an abusive husband in 2016?
Answer: It’s all about the aftermath and the attitude. The Chicks were too undeniably happy. “Church Bells,” meanwhile, walks the line that the bells toll for her in remorse and damnation, or that she finds absolution in the church.
“Pocket of God” – Cory Branan
When asked how the genre is evolving, I can’t hit play fast enough on this tune, featured on BGS in 2022. It has all the vicious, remorseless teeth I want in my bloody ballads – along with a surprising respect for its female victim. “Pocket” is reminiscent of a narcocorrido (Mexican drug ballad), narrated by a dealer who falls for a woman that becomes “a punch” he “couldn’t counter” and someone he “admired” for her intelligence. It’s only when she double-crosses him in business that he’s forced to kill her, like any other rogue henchman, as an example. But she haunts him.
“Oh (Field Recording)” – Laurel Hells Ramblers
Young artists keeping old Appalachian song traditions alive might be killing off a new kind of character – their former selves. Trans songstress Clover-Lynn follows up this boy’s murder by asking her father, “Oh, tell me daddy/ Can you ever forgive/ The death of your son/ So your daughter can live?”
“The Ballad of Yvonne Johnson” – Eliza Gilkyson
Trigger warning: this one’s a hard listen, but the truth always is. Instead of exploiting “Stagger Lee” as a Black anti-hero powerful enough to usurp the devil, or fetishizing Frankie in her kimono, we get the thorough, unflinching story of a Canadian Cree woman’s childhood abuse and the murder it drove her to, told in her words (Johnson shares a writing credit) through Gilkyson. All so that listeners can “awaken to themselves and to all people of this world.” When it comes to the fate of women in murder ballads, we’re starting to make room for greater complexity.
“Sisterly” – Jean Rohe
I’m skeptical that a song can change the world, but this song definitely changed me. When Rohe witnesses an assault on a woman from her window, she hesitates to get involved “in the name of it wasn’t me.”
“I’m not known for being sisterly/ Let the strong girls win and cut the weak ones free/ The boys lie, they say the boys are mean / Said I better get myself a spot on the boys’ team.”
We’re left uncertain of the girl’s fate, but mine was revealed. I was Rohe at the window, who didn’t like women I viewed as weak. I’d learned the rules to survive and they hadn’t. After I couldn’t look away from that part of myself, I started performing with more women, looking harder at where I stand in life and in the songs I love.
You’ve reached the end of the week and we’ve got roots music ready to take you into the weekend. It’s our weekly roundup of new music, new videos, and premieres.
Continuing with our mini-series this week, saxophonist Eddie Barbash returns with yet another excellent performance video of a classic instrumental bluegrass tune on sax. This time, he offers “Clinch Mountain Backstep,” listening to and learning from every instrument in a classic bluegrass five-piece in order to forge his own way through the melody on his outlier of a string band instrument. Also in bluegrass, the long-running and fundamental group Lonesome River Band have unveiled a new single today, “No Business Mountain,” drawing inspiration from near their home turf, down the road in Patrick County, Virginia. It’s a lilting, sunshiny bluegrass song perfect for a two-step.
Americana duo The Prickly Pair have brought us a song from their upcoming self-titled EP. Out next week, you can hear a sneak peek of “Piece of the Sky” today, a vibe-rich retro-sounding song inspired by the infamous story of D. B. Cooper. Plus, Western North Carolina singer-songwriter and Steep Canyon Rangers member Aaron Burdett shares a new single, “Rhyme or Reason.” First conceived and written at a songwriting workshop with Darrell Scott a few years ago, Burdett’s recording of the track comes shortly after he got to share the stage with Scott in Brevard, N.C. A full circle moment right in time for the song’s release.
Singer-songwriter Max Gomez released his latest album, Memory Mountain, in late summer, but lucky for us he’s not done with bringing new content from the project yet. Today he shares a new music video for “New Mexico,” a number that some folks call the unofficial anthem for the state. Which, Gomez is deliberate in sharing with us, is also a point of the song: To remind listeners that New Mexico is indeed a state. Rounding out our collection, Appalachian Americana artist Darrin Hacquard also brings a new music video for “Places I Went,” a song from his brand new album, Weights & Measures, which is out today. It’s a track that interrogates duality and Hacquard describes as a sort of “fucked up gospel song.” But you’ll have to listen and watch to see if you agree.
Up and down the mountains, whether in Virginia, North Carolina, or New Mexico, there’s plenty of excellent roots music for you to enjoy right here on BGS. You Gotta Hear This!
Eddie Barbash, “Clinch Mountain Backstep”
Artist:Eddie Barbash Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Clinch Mountain Backstep” Album:Larkspur Release Date: November 28, 2025 (The album will be released one song at a time with the last track coming out Nov. 28.)
In Their Words: “I enjoy playing fiddle music on saxophone because it feels like an adventure! I have to figure out how to make these tunes sound good on sax, because I have no example to look to. Every instrument in a string band has its own versions of the melodies that are uniquely suited to it. When I adapt a tune for saxophone, I listen to how every instrument plays it and then use the variations that work best for me. If there are any phrases that continue to elude me, I create my own variation that is unique to the saxophone. This process is especially evident with a banjo tune like ‘Clinch Mountain Backstep.'” – Eddie Barbash
(Editor’s Note: Watch the first two videos in our mini-series with Eddie Barbash here and here.)
Aaron Burdett, “Rhyme or Reason”
Artist:Aaron Burdett Hometown: Saluda, North Carolina Song: “Rhyme or Reason” Release Date: October 17, 2025 Label: Organic Records
In Their Words: “The very last thing I did before the COVID pandemic hit in 2020 was to attend one of Darrell Scott’s ‘Songfood’ workshops. ‘Rhyme or Reason’ is a song I wrote over the course of a few days there with about a dozen other songwriters who were doing the same thing. I’d been thinking about the concept on the way, driving from my home in North Carolina over to Nashville, and when Darrell told us to bring a new song back to the group, this is what came up. I remember right where I was when the idea hit, which isn’t uncommon. And then it fleshed out there in that workshop in late February of 2020. As I write this now in September of 2025, I am proud to say I was on stage with Darrell recently singing with him at the Mountain Song Festival in Brevard. Funny how things turn out. And truly that’s what the song is about – appreciating the ride as we move through life and doing the best we can with what we have. Things work out.” – Aaron Burdett
Track Credits: Aaron Burdett – Lead vocal, acoustic guitar Kristin Scott Benson – Banjo Carley Arrowood – Fiddle Tristan Scroggins – Mandolin Jon Weisberger – Upright bass Wendy Hickman – Harmony vocal Travis Book – Harmony vocal
Max Gomez, “New Mexico”
Artist:Max Gomez Hometown: Taos, New Mexico Song: “New Mexico” Album:Memory Mountain Release Date: October 17, 2025 (video); August 29, 2025 (album)
In Their Words: “The song is a protest song. What we’re protesting against in the song are our fellow Americans who seem to be unaware at times that my home state, the great state of New Mexico, is in fact one of the 50 that make up our nation. And yes, it’s sort of a tongue-in-cheek approach, but, it’s a real problem no less.
“In the last verse of the song I mean you no disrespect if you happen to be from Kansas or Kansas City, Missouri. Or if you ever worked for the TSA. It’s a true story, it happened to me when I was younger.
“Some folks call it the ‘unofficial state anthem’ of New Mexico. Perhaps one day we’ll find some legislature and crowbar it in the history books.” – Max Gomez
Darrin Hacquard, “Places I Went”
Artist:Darrin Hacquard Hometown: Hocking Hills, Ohio Song: “Places I Went” Album:Weights & Measures Release Date: October 17, 2025 Label: Like You Mean It Records
In Their Words: “‘Places I Went’ is an anthem of duality, highs and lows. I’ve always thought of this as a fucked up gospel song, riffing on the Christian notions of salvation and eternal life (heaven; ‘the mountaintop’) and the Buddhist conviction that life is suffering and completely impermanent ( ‘the river,’ never the same twice, it all melts away).
“The song also speaks to my mental/social duality – some days I want to live it up and laugh with all of my friends and some days I want to ‘live in a Goddamn cave!’ I have flirted with suicidal and depressive ideations at times, but ultimately want to stick it out to uncover the great mysteries and to sup of that holy chalice of gas station coffee with the radio on a late-night drive. I’m proud of the ‘Jawbreaker x Eagles’ brand of slacker rock we cooked up for this track and I never get tired of hearing Don Rogers’ ferocious Tele solos! The music video is especially dear and personal to me, as it features a pile of friends and family (including my lovely mother) who have been there through my highs and lows and helped me KEEP GOING!” – Darrin Hacquard
Lonesome River Band, “No Business Mountain”
Artist:Lonesome River Band Hometown: Floyd, Virginia Song: “No Business Mountain” Release Date: October 17, 2025 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “‘No Business Mountain’ is an idea that Barry and Will Hutchens mentioned to me a few years ago. It’s a place the three of us grew up seeing in our youth in eastern Patrick County, Virginia. I guess we all kind of had the thoughts that are portrayed in this song back in the day, but were never able to explore there. Made perfect sense to put what we thought it was like there in a song. We hope you enjoy the story!” – Sammy Shelor
Track Credits: Sammy Shelor – Banjo, harmony vocal Jesse Smathers – Acoustic guitar, harmony vocal Mike Hartgrove – Fiddle Adam Miller – Mandolin, lead vocal Kameron Keller – Upright bass Rod Riley – Electric guitar
The Prickly Pair, “Piece of the Sky”
Artist:The Prickly Pair (Mason Summit & Irene Greene) Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Piece of the Sky” Album:The Prickly Pair (EP) Release Date: October 24, 2025
In Their Words: “I figured that we had things in common based on the first songs we played in [songwriting] class, the first day. We’d never met before [I’d invited him to write together]. Instantly, when Mason came into the room he had this idea. He said, ‘Do you know about D. B. Cooper?’ And I said, ‘No, I’ve never heard of that.’ But he thought it was something I would be interested in. So we looked it up and watched something about it and then we instantly came up with this thought. What would it be like to write a song from his perspective? And it worked really easily. Sometimes writing songs with people is challenging because you’re not on the same wavelength with them. But I felt instantly we had a connection and that we had a lot in common.” – Irene Greene
“The first day of songwriting class, Irene performed a song about Roswell, New Mexico and UFOs, so I thought another unsolved mystery/conspiracy theory might be a good jumping-off point for a co-write.” – Mason Summit
Photo Credit: Lonesome River Band by Sandlin Gaither; The Prickly Pair by Libby Danforth.
On a recent afternoon, Paul Hoffman is standing in a parking lot in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Lead singer/mandolinist for Greensky Bluegrass, Hoffman is pacing around the backstage lot before the gig at XL Live that evening deep in reflection about questions posed over the phone – the core of which focus on the upcoming 25th anniversary of the groundbreaking jamgrass outfit. A while back, in the depths of rural New Hampshire, I interviewed Hoffman for another project and I asked him just what the original intent was behind Greensky Bluegrass.
“To play heavy metal music on acoustic instruments,” he replied, a sly grin emerging across his face.
Now, 25 years since its inception, Greensky Bluegrass has adhered directly to Hoffman’s sentiments. These days, the group has become a marquee live act, one which uses its string instruments to transcend all genres of music, whether bluegrass or blues, rock or country, funk or soul – or even heavy metal.
Case-in-point, the ensemble’s latest album, XXV, is not only an ode to a quarter-century of passion, purpose, and performance, but also a mile marker by which Greensky Bluegrass can measure their own road to the “here and now” – this realm where the passage of time doesn’t necessarily matter, only fleeting moments onstage with the ones you love do.
XXV brings together many of those dear friends and collaborators of Greensky – Sam Bush, Billy Strings, Lindsay Lou, Nathaniel Rateliff, Aoife O’Donovan, Holly Bowling, Ivan Neville, Natalie Cressman, and Jennifer Hartswick. Each of these special guests represent chapters of the band’s continued journey to something – somewhere, anywhere – that kind and curious folks congregate in the name of fellowship, compassion, and sonic joy.
With the starting line of Greensky Bluegrass being an impromptu Halloween gig in 2000 in Kalamazoo, Michigan, other pivotal dots pop up quickly along the way. Like the inevitable camaraderie between the group and other Michigan artists like Strings and Lou, who came up in the same scene and have supported each other ever since. Or, like Sam Bush himself – Bluegrass Hall of Famer and the symbolic face of the Telluride Bluegrass Festival – being featured on the project, reminding how the Telluride stage brought Greensky Bluegrass into the national spotlight when they won its famed band contest in 2006.
For Greensky, the friendships made along the way brought endless opportunities to play alongside one another at a show, a festival, or late-night jam. Opportunities that would always be too good to pass up – don’t forget, fun is the original point, and should remain so.
XXV is also a fresh snapshot of Greensky Bluegrass. The songs are pulled from across the entire timeline of the outfit, from their early days in Kalamazoo to the mountains of Colorado. From the bright lights of Nashville to the backroads of Southern Appalachia. From the blue skies of Anytown, U.S.A., to the sandy beaches of some international destination.
After 25 years, what remains is a band of genuine souls where gratitude is only matched by hunger and curiosity for what resides just around the next corner. Greensky Bluegrass, decades later, remain ready to surprise the listener and to carry on the pure intent that emerged those many years ago.
Now that this album’s coming out, whether consciously or subconsciously, the celebration of 25 years is currently underway. What’s been kind of rolling through your mind?
Hoffman: Primarily gratitude. I’d be remiss to not be grateful that we’ve been able to [do this for 25 years]. It’s a celebration, truly. It feels so cool. We’re doing [the anniversary shows] in our hometown and playing the [Wings Event Center in Kalamazoo] for the first time, which we’ve talked about since we were a very young band. And, you know, something interesting I’ve learned is how excited people are about this retrospective project. In true Greensky fashion, it’s this unique, hybrid idea. Like, “What if we did this? What if it took this turn? What if we recorded this and revamped this?”
We didn’t just make a new record, we stopped to reflect and commemorate in a way that was meaningful to us. And it seems like it’s translating. It’s not even out yet. It’s a unique perspective on gratitude that maybe I didn’t expect. [For XXV], I don’t want to say that it was easy or something. Because we did it pretty quickly and we didn’t have to write any material and we didn’t have to make huge choices about how to present it, because there already is an arrangement and an idea. But, in some cases, we did things differently because we could and we were not beholden to some authority on how it needs to go.
[The recording process] was so casual and creative in this really innocent way – “Let’s just record this and see what happens.” And we just kept recording stuff. We didn’t even know what we were going to do next. Every moment is monumental in some way or another, but 25 years is nothing to scoff at. And this all was birthed from, “What could we do?” With making new music and new albums, there’s a pressure to create something better than we’ve ever done. Or genuine to the brand we’ve created and to ourselves, but also exploratory enough [and] a departure from the norm enough that it’s new and exciting. It feels like such a relief to do [XXV], to approach creating new material from a different perspective.
How did you decide on the guests?
I wanted to find guests that celebrate our story, that are close to us and collaborators and such, but also elevated the material in some meaningful way. And there were real pleasant surprises along the way there.
What did it mean to have Billy and Lindsay on the record, seeing as all of you emerged from the same scene in Kalamazoo and have always supported each other?
I mean, to say that it was sort of obvious and natural is probably an understatement. We joked about why we chose “Reverend,” because Billy plays it [live]. But, I also feel it’s an important song. And for me as a writer, it’s kind of a landmark in my journey as a creative. But again, even though I knew [Billy] would crush it on the guitar solo, some of the phrasing choices he makes are subtly different than mine – I love it. And, man, I can’t stress enough, what a gift [“Reverend” is]. I wrote that song almost 20 years ago. It means something different to me now, and it has throughout my life singing that song.
You’ve always been a very sonically elusive band. Was that by design or just how things evolved?
I think that we just have a spirit to not be limited. So, if we want to emulate all the things we love – and we’d love a diverse amount of things, musical things – we honor the acoustic nature of our heritage as a band, but we want so much more. We want [things] to keep us interested and engaged. We’ve allowed ourselves that creative freedom to try anything. And we think we’ve jumped the shark many times. [Laughs]
With getting older, you also start having different perspectives on what you were creating and how you want to present it.
Yeah. You know, art is timeless in some ways, because you can change your opinion about it or the way you relate to it as you mature.
When you had mentioned that you guys “jumped the shark many times,” I think that’s one of the things I appreciate about Greensky – you’re not afraid to just take a leap.
It’s one of my favorite things about musicians I admire, too, are the ones that I watch struggle to either challenge themselves, push themselves, push their boundaries, or convey a message with emotion that’s challenging, you know? If you’re willing to make a mistake, if you’re willing to truly find the line of your capacity, you have to be willing to cross it to know where it is. I’ve always said – in my later maturity – that I wonder if I’ve crossed it too many times, and in sort of a noble quest with noble intentions. [Laughs]
That’s something I love about Billy’s playing a lot. Despite being one of the greatest guitar players I’ve ever seen, I’ve watched him up there grasping for things and struggling. Struggle doesn’t always have to have a negative [connotation]. To not struggle would be complicit and boring.
The upcoming Halloween shows in Kalamazoo are the official 25th anniversary of when the stars aligned, when you, Mike [Bont], and Dave [Bruzza] played together as Greensky for the first time.
When you started asking the question, my brain went to right about now, [25 years ago]. We met [a few] weeks before Halloween. I was a college freshman and I went to this bar called the Blue Dolphin, where there was a bluegrass open mic. I saw Dave and Bont play and approached them after the thing and was like, “Hey, I just bought a mandolin,” that I’d gotten in late August before moving to college. So, I’d only had it for four or five weeks.
I didn’t know what the hell I was doing at all or what bluegrass even was. I bought the mandolin because of David Grisman, who’s so bluegrass-adjacent that I didn’t know who Bill Monroe was. I knew “Shady Grove.” [All of] which is still just a remarkable thing for me to think about. Like, what hell would my life have been had I not made that choice [to play mandolin]? What a bizarre twist of fate and then here we are 25 years later.
So, you guys met and you said, “Let’s jam”?
Yeah. A couple days later, I showed up at Bont’s house for a rehearsal. Him and Dave would just get together and pick. They were both learning bluegrass. Everything was so casual and just for fun. They would have band practices where we would get together and learn songs and stuff. And I just showed up for the next one and then didn’t go away.
What was the name of that [open mic] band?
Greensky Bluegrass. They were already playing as Greensky Bluegrass, which was named by a friend of Dave’s that played mandolin with him a little bit for fun. It was a joke in jest, “Wouldn’t it be funny to have a bluegrass band named Greensky Bluegrass?”
I don’t think I ever knew that you guys were called Greensky before the official [2000] Halloween show.
Well, I mean, what is “official” is interesting to think about. They were already [Greensky]. It wasn’t their first open mic, either. So, the first time the three of us [“officially”] played was the Halloween show. But, I think I joined them at open mics for a week or two or something [before Halloween]. And Halloween was a party. There was a poster made for fun or something. We were on the bill. Dave was in another band called Seeds & Stems. It was a house party in a house that Dave lived in. [Laughs] A pretty wild party, if I may say so.
So, it was billed as Greensky Bluegrass?
“Billed” is still kind of generous. But, yeah, we played a set in the basement and in the living room. I think the living room upstairs was just acoustic and then the jam band played downstairs in the basement, like colleges do, you know? A couple days later, we played a show at a venue in town, Club Soda in Kalamazoo, that was kind of a legendary rock club through the ‘90s and stuff. It was small, but we played there on a triple bill November 5 or something, [just] days later. And that one, I [still] have the poster. I think that was our first paid show.
Were you doing covers or did [Dave and Mike] have originals, too?
They were playing just bluegrass standards for the most part. It’s funny, that [first] night [I met] Dave, he gave me CDs – Seldom Scene, Live at The Cellar Door, a Rounder Records bluegrass compilation, and a Bill Monroe live show. And [he] was like, “Listen to these. See you on Tuesday at Bont’s house.”
In hindsight, man, to be 18 and have that kind of freedom, you know what I mean? I’ve been recently jamming on electric guitar at my house by myself for fun. And I’ve been thinking, “I wonder if I could find some dads around to start a band with for just fun.” And that experience is so foreign to me now, because I’m so immersed in this thing that’s become my life.
Looking back on it, you kind of jumped into the deep end pretty quickly.
I didn’t take a mandolin lesson until COVID. [Laughs] I was self-taught, because I already knew how to play the guitar – “knew how to,” I use that a little loosely, too. Took some [music theory] classes in high school and college and I’m sort of classically trained. But, I was able to teach myself my own instrument for a really long time. I should have sooner harnessed the strength of learning from another, because when I took a lesson during COVID from a friend, I was like, “I should’ve done this a lot sooner.” [Laughs]
You know, so much of what I was learning in those early days was how to express myself as a writer and find my voice. That stuff always superseded my need for technical prowess. I think we all kind of share that sentiment, all five of us – how to present this passion piece is more important than how to do it. We took on this every-other-week gig and stuff like that [in Kalamazoo]. And the commitment to go play shows for the same crowd every other week inspired us to grow, because we needed to. We had that jam band sensibility of satiating the fans. What can we do next week that’ll keep people excited? What can we do that’s new? How can we make this better?
When you look back, you can see where the dots connect. But, when it’s happening in real time, you don’t realize what the domino effect is, where all of a sudden you’ve found yourself in this band that you’re still in 25 years later.
Yeah. I was 18 [when we started the band]. I’ve lived with Dave and Bont for 25 years of my life. I didn’t even live with my parents that long. [Laughs] I’ve spent 200+ days of [every] year of my life with those two guys for 25 years, and the other ones for many years, as well. It’s kind of wild. It’s so cool that we created this project, [which has become] just a celebration of our relationship and that’s so much more important than what it has become. We care about each other and we genuinely have a lot of aligned goals, artistically and personally. We’re still grinding for it, and I’m grateful for what we have.
I think we’ve been very successful. I feel less “grinding” now and more, “Let’s just go and have some fun and play some shows.” Play where people want us to play and not measure our success by how many tickets we sell. And I’m starting to learn that more now. It took 25 years for me to figure out that what we have is great. We’ve got something cool, let’s just keep doing it.
And that’s got to be a nice place to get to, because you don’t get to 25 years by accident. The fact the original three members are still there is amazing, because that story is not that common in the grand scheme of things in this industry.
Even in our culture. It’s not even [common] in business partnerships, families, friendships. And the reality of that – that I’m learning with age – is that relationships change and everything shouldn’t be measured by the testament of time. I want to find value in a moment that is for the sake of “now” and not some transactional [thing]. Like, if I’m nice to you “now,” then we’ll have this friendship that serves us both and we’ll be there for each other. All that kind of stuff is great, but I want to live in the moment.
I think what’s remarkable is that we’ve stayed together, because we’ve all grown and changed in similar ways and our journeys have aligned the whole time, or for the most of the time. We’ve veered away from each other and back to each other many times. But, when one of us has wanted something different, we’ve all kind of shared that desire. In a way, we’ve been able to all be very sincere to ourselves and grow and change together.
I don’t mean to speculate what other bands are like or anything like that, but I don’t have a lot of relationships in my life that have lasted this long. And not just people, but to things like food or activities I enjoy. The only thing maybe is the way I’ve worn my hair for 30 years. [Laughs] When we grow, our tastes change for all things. But, my [creative, intrinsic] tastes for these four other men have not changed.
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