How It Must Remain: The Living Legacy of Jimmy LaFave (Op-ed)

In light of the recent news that Jimmy LaFave has been diagnosed with a rare, terminal cancer, some of his friends have set up a GoFundMe page to celebrate and support him. Singer/songwriter Gretchen Peters also wanted to share a few words about her dear friend and cherished collaborator.

I love Jimmy LaFave. I love him as a friend and as a fellow musician, and I’d love him even if I hadn’t known him for the better part of the last 20 years. As a songwriter, I’ve been graced with not one, but two Jimmy LaFave covers (“On a Bus to St. Cloud,” which appeared on his Texoma album, and “Revival,” which came four years later on Blue Nightfall). Whenever I play in Texas, I always joke that the former is a Jimmy LaFave song which I just happened to write. That’s the power of his voice. I don’t know how many new fans have come my way via Jimmy’s recordings of my songs, but there’ve been plenty. Many of them admit apologetically that they thought “Bus” was a LaFave original until hearing him mention me from a stage somewhere. They don’t understand that I take it as a compliment. A singer like that can sing anything. I’m lucky my songs found their way to him; even luckier that we met, became friends, and ultimately collaborated with each other musically, too.

Our mutual friend, music journalist Dave Marsh, said of him, “Jimmy LaFave has one of America’s greatest voices. It’s a unique instrument with startling range and its own peculiar sense of gravity, liable to swoop in and wreck your expectations at any instant.” That’s as good a description as I’ve seen. You can usually trace the influences in a singer’s style, hear obvious DNA markers in his phrasing. With Jimmy, it’s as if he landed on earth from a distant musical planet, where syllables and notes appear in surprising and serendipitous places you’d never think to put them. His phrasing is all his own, his sense of melody and rhythm unique. Singing with him — one of my great joys — is a zen meditation.

Lots of people sing cover songs. Mostly, they’re derivative of the original version. Jimmy didn’t just open a door, in terms of interpreting other people’s (most notably, Bob Dylan’s) material; he blew out the windows and shook the foundation. This is how you tackle an iconic song like “Just Like a Woman”: You blow it apart like one of those exploded diagrams and then put it back together using your own architecture, an intuitive kind of red dirt Okie genius that knows what it knows and is so sure-footed that it sounds like the song was written that way in the first place.

Here’s who Jimmy is, musically: He’s dedicated a good part of his stage life to spreading the gospel of Woody Guthrie, singing Woody’s songs and gathering us — his many friends and co-conspirators — to join in and make a mighty noise on the Ribbon of Highway shows. He’s made a study of American song, and his choice of covers proves it: “Walk Away Renée” sits comfortably next to Dylan’s “Girl from the North Country” on the Austin Skyline album. And if that doesn’t convince you, I can personally vouch for the fact that Jimmy can sing American rock ‘n’ roll songs for two hours straight without a set list and never drop a lyric. I know, because we did that just last month. I’m in awe of the music that’s inside of him (I also never had a better time onstage). His devotion to the song as an art form is total — that’s what makes him a great singer and a great songwriter. For my money, his “Never Is a Moment” is his masterpiece.

Here’s who Jimmy is, personally: He’s a devoted friend. He’s one of the kindest people I know. He’s an empathetic soul who roots for the underdog. He’s funny, and sweet, and gentle. He’s humble to the core. Virtually no one I know has an unkind word to say about him.

Last month, while we were in Chicago doing a run of shows together, I watched him closely during his set. I wondered if I’d ever get another chance to hear him sing. I knew he was in some discomfort, and that his energy was flagging. Backstage, he was visibly tired. Onstage, he was emanating pure light. I’ve always been in awe of Jimmy’s ability to go right into the zone from note one, song one and stay there until the last encore. But watching him sing during those last couple of shows was like watching grace embodied. So rarely do we get to witness someone doing what they were born to do — fully committed to the moment, as if the moment is all there is.

I’m so sad and so sorry that Jimmy is, as he puts it, “on my way off the planet,” and, selfishly, that we’ll all be deprived of more Jimmy LaFave music. But watching him sing that night in Chicago, I thought that he is living the way I want to live: inside the song, inside the moment, not doing but being. He has already created so much beauty in this world. I can’t think of a better way to spend my own moments while I’m still here. And I can’t imagine a better legacy. Godspeed, my friend. There never is a moment that you are not on our minds.

3×3: Moonsville Collective on San Luis Obispo, Sriracha Mayo, and ‘Gran Torino’

Artist: Corey Adams & Ryan Welch (of Moonsville Collective)
Hometown: Long Beach, CA
Latest Album: Moonsville II
Personal Nicknames: We usually call Corey “Core” and Ryan “Ry.” I guess we’re too lazy to be bothered with an extra syllable. Matt is “Phantom,” as he wasn’t in any of our band photos for about two years. Dobro Dan is “Dobro Dan” because that’s who he is and what he plays. And Seth is “Tenney,” as his mom added her maiden name on his birth certificate to read “Daniel Seth Tenney Richardson,” though it has become more of a verb lately for some reason …
 

 

Pickin’ & Howlin’ @ojaideerlodge #ojaideerlodge #ojai

A post shared by Moonsville Collective (@moonsville) on

What song do you wish you had written?

CA: “Coffee Blues” by Mississippi John Hurt. He and this tune came along at the right time, a long time ago. He’s the real deal.

Who would be in your dream songwriter round?

CA: Lead Belly, Brownie McGhee, Gillian Welch, and Gary Arcemont — the scientist fiddle player from San Luis Obispo. That would be very satisfying. Proper storytellers, proper entertainers.

If you could only listen to one artist’s discography for the rest of your life, whose would you choose?

CA: Probably Bob Dylan. I bought Modern Times on CD when it came out a decade ago or so, and it just knocked me out. He gets a lot of shit for sounding old, but he is old. This record was as intriguing to me as Blonde on Blonde was the first time I heard it, and I know there’s plenty more in between that I can spend some time with.

 

Dobro Dan / Cow Strap Blvd. #studio #EPII

A post shared by Moonsville Collective (@moonsville) on

What was the last movie that you really loved?

CA: I don’t watch a lot of movies, but the last one that really hung around was Gran Torino. I’ve lived in the same neighborhood my entire life and, if I went into further detail about why the film is so great, I’d have to kick my own ass.

What’s your go-to comfort food?

CA: My wife’s vegetable soup is a warm jacket on a cold day. On the other end of the spectrum, McDonald’s original cheeseburgers.

Mustard or mayo?

CA: Do they not complement each other perfectly on any sandwich? There are days when I opt for the honey mustard. Sometimes it’s the sriracha mayo. The simplest things need not change.

How often do you do laundry?

RW: Whenever the hamper tells me to. I’m still trying to figure out what day is the least crowded down at the laundromat. 

If you could re-live one year of your life, which would it be and why?

RW: The year I was born, of course. I remember the world entrance light being so bright and beautiful and the swirling donkeys above my crib. The comfort of the rocking chair always eclipsed the discomfort of the diaper rash.

Which Whiskey is your favorite — Scotch, Tennessee, Myers, Shivers, or Gentry?

RW: Tennessee, I suppose. Scotch always gives me the shivers, Myers will help you meet the bailiff, and Gentry is just too high-class.

3×3: Ned Roberts on Big Bird, Berlin, and Bob Dylan

Artist: Ned Roberts
Hometown: London, UK
Latest Album: Outside My Mind
Personal Nicknames: Nedley, Neddy, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing.

 

Just chilling in the back garden with @rebeccacollingwood

A post shared by Ned Roberts (@nedrobertsmusic) on

If you had to live the life of a character in a song, which song would you choose?

I’ll say the Jack of Hearts from the long story song “Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts” on Blood on the Tracks. He doesn’t quite get the girl at the end, but he does get the loot. I’ve always pictured it like a scene from Chaplin’s The Gold Rush.

Where would you most like to live or visit that you haven’t yet?

To live, San Francisco or, perhaps, Berlin. To visit, there are still too many continents and countries I’ve yet been to — India, South America. But actually, I think the Lake District is next.

What was the last thing that made you really mad?

The builders drilling and hammering right above my head this morning. Working at 8 in the morning, what is this madness?

 

That’s the 2nd largest pair of bellows hanging from pub ceiling I’ve ever seen.

A post shared by Ned Roberts (@nedrobertsmusic) on

Which Judd is your favorite — Naomi, Wynonna, Ashley, Apatow, or Hirsch?

I confess I had to look them all up, so I’ll have to get back to you on that.

Whose career do you admire the most?

The guy who’s been inside Big Bird for nearly 50 years.

What are you reading right now?

This year, I’m catching up on classics I should have read years ago. So it’s To Kill a Mockingbird, which to the surprise of absolutely no one, is really quite brilliant. I also just finished The Touchstone by Edith Wharton.

 

Broadway market putting on a big one.

A post shared by Ned Roberts (@nedrobertsmusic) on

Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

Both.

Whiskey, water, or wine?

Whiskey, then wine, then water. Reverse the process in the morning.

Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram?

I use them all for music, but I’m actually partial to Instagram …

The Producers: Cathy Fink and Marcy Marxer

Cathy Fink and Marcy Marxer have devised a clever game to play when they’re traveling — something to keep their ears sharp, when they’re away from their home studio outside Washington, D.C. “We’ll go into a room,” says Marxer. “Big room or small, it doesn’t matter. We’ll clap our hands and see if we can figure out what reverb setting we would need to copy that sound. It’s geeky all the way.”

The pair have visited a lot of rooms together over the years. For nearly four decades, they’ve been playing and recording and touring together: Fink is one of the best banjo players alive, and Marxer plays nearly everything else. They’ve released 45 albums covering a range of styles and set-ups, mostly folk and old-time, bluegrass and children’s tunes. Their latest, Get Up and Do Right, is their first collection of duets for two voices and two acoustic instruments, featuring a handful of originals and covers of songs penned by Alice Gerrard, Pete Seeger, and Bob Dylan.

Gently political and certainly timely, the album digs into folk’s enormous capacity for dissenting voices combining in beautiful harmony. For Fink and Marxer, making music is a way to get up and do right: an inherently radical act. Their DIY process extends into the studio, where they work as their own producers and, occasionally, their own engineers and mixers. Marxer is the more technical-minded of the two (see below for her favorite piece of equipment), while Fink is the conceptualist — the one who keeps the big picture in perspective. Together and separately, they have produced roughly 150 records, including Sam Gleaves’ 2015 breakout Ain’t We Brothers and Tom Paxton’s new album, Boat in the Water.

What unites this disparate catalog is a warmth of sound and an idea of music as a communal undertaking, a labor and a joy to be shared. “We both do many things and wear many hats,” says Marxer. “Sometimes we produce together and sometimes separately.” Adds Fink: “Even when we have separate projects, we have an open door with each other for what we call continuous consulting. It’s pretty hard for one of us to get involved in something where the other person doesn’t have some influence to make it better.”

How did you move into the role of producer?

Cathy Fink: We’ve both been playing music professionally since the early 1970s and, in the early days, I had the opportunity to work with some really great producers. Two who were very influential on me were David Essig and Ken Whiteley, both from Canada. Ken has produced probably 2,500 albums over the last 40 years. In both cases, I was a musician who was confident in what I wanted to accomplish, but didn’t feel like I had the knowledge to take my dream and get it on tape. By working with lots of producers I really trusted and whose music I enjoyed, I was able to pay attention to how they accomplished things. After a few projects like that, it was time for a transition, so I did an album where I co-produced. Marcy was involved, along with a lot of other people, and I bounced ideas off them. As we continued working together, we really relied on each other to the point where most of these things became co-productions.

Marcy Marxer: I started out very differently. When I was a kid, my dad used to go to the junkyard and collect wires and speakers and thermostats and things like that. He’d come home and give them to me to take apart and look at. When I was in the eighth grade, I built my first tube amp. That really developed the techno-geek side of my brain. Eventually, I got a job with Macmillan/McGraw-Hill producing 120 songs for an educational project. Since then, Cathy and I have been able to join forces, and it just mushroomed. We push each other to get better. We have a bit of a competitive streak, but it works in our favor.

It sounds like together you cover nearly every aspect of the recording process.

CF: You don’t need to be an engineer to be a good producer, but we found it so helpful to get those skills in order to better speak with the engineers we were working with. It really rounded out our abilities, and I’m in a better position to know what I’m looking for, how I might get it, and whether or not we’re getting it. In turn, we try to pass that along to other people. Our Grammys actually say Artist, Engineer, and Producer.

MM: It’s crucial to know every step, but it’s not crucial to do every step. It’s good to have a bigger team, people you trust, people who are fast at certain things, people who are the house painters of their field or the Rembrandts of their field. If we didn’t play and engineer and produce and mix, I don’t think we could efficiently speak with the other team members.

CF: We do lots of projects that we don’t engineer on. The reason we started engineering really had to do with a combination of convenience and health issues a long time ago. We wanted to do these things at home and at our own convenience. When you’re traveling as much as we do, we would sometimes book a date in the studio, and then the day would come and, oh man, we’re just too tired to do that today. So we learned to do our own tracks and our own overdubs at home. It gives us a whole new way of producing our own projects. Time is a big factor, so if we have two weeks to make an album, we’re not going to sit in the studio with all of the crayons and start creating the painting. We’re going to visualize the painting before we go in, and then we’re going to take the right steps to make it happen. When we do it all at home, we have the opportunity to take out all the crayons and try out different colors. We might do a take with different banjos or different harmonies and decide which one works better for a particular track.

Is that how you made Get Up and Do Right?

CF: Most of it was recorded in our home studio. There were two tracks recorded live at AirShow, and there are two tracks recorded at Jim Robeson’s studio. We wanted to do those tracks live, but didn’t want to have to deal with the mechanics of being engineers at the same time. Everything else was done at home, sometimes live, sometimes overdubbed, but always with the feeling of, “This is what it sounds like when we play together.”

MM: The great thing about the studio at home is that all of my instruments are here. When I’m working on other people’s projects, I might be doing some overdubs or filling some holes, and I’ll just fill up the car with instruments and see what I can do to finish it up. If I didn’t bring an instrument with me, then I can’t use it. So it’s much easier having everything in one place.

CF: We don’t have to think ahead to which five guitars we might need. If we’re at home, we can go, “What this song really needs is the electric baritone guitar,” and we can run and get it. But if we’re at someone else’s studio, too bad. We recently produced Tom Paxton’s newest album, and we worked with our engineer Jim Robeson at his studio. Tom did all of his tracks there, and a lot of other people came in, but when it came time to do our own tracks, we decided to do them at home. Another example is the project we did called cELLAbration!, which was a tribute to Ella Jenkins that includes an amazing array of artists, including Sweet Honey in the Rock, Red Grammer, and Riders in the Sky. I’d say about 60 percent of that album was done in a variety of commercial studios and about 40 percent was done at home. It’s a really fun way of filling out the whole puzzle.

Something that strikes me about your new album and Paxton’s new album is how rich and complex the instruments sound.

MM: We mic all the instruments in stereo. We almost never single-mic an acoustic instrument because we want it to sound like we’re listening with both of our ears. Both of those albums are so sparse, and you really want to hear all the detail. If something was going to sound really big, we might be inclined to leave it off. We want you to feel like you’re sitting in a living room with us — a really nice-sounding living room.

CF: We don’t have a giant collection of gear, though. What we’ve found is that we’re very good at using a handful of things, so we stick with a couple of mics that sound fabulous. We know how to deal with them, and sometimes we’ll cart them around, if we go to another studio. What you’re most familiar with is usually what you’re going to sound best with. I just have to give a huge amount of credit to Greg Lukens and Jim Robeson for the incredible tutelage they gave us. There aren’t a lot of female engineers who are well known, and we’ve certainly worked in a lot of studios where it was assumed that we couldn’t possibly know what we were talking about. But Greg and Jim really empowered us to do all of this stuff for ourselves.

MM: Every once in a while, I’ll be working with an engineer that I might not be very familiar with, somebody that I might not have a lot of faith or trust in or just might not know very well. If there’s a man in the room, then all the production questions will be addressed to him instead of me. It seems impossible in this day and age, but it does happen. I’ve stopped working with people like that, people I don’t absolutely trust. I’m not the kind of person who will put my foot down and demand something. Cathy is a little bit better at that, but I just try to avoid those people.

You seem to be at the center of a very large musical community, which reflects in the music itself — not just who’s on the record, but how those people interact.

CF: It is a very large, very close musical community in the D.C. area. One of the advantages of working in a place like this is that, when people think of where the hotbeds of music are in the United States, they may pinpoint New York or Los Angeles or Nashville. But in D.C., there isn’t such a competitive atmosphere. When I moved to town, I was welcomed into the world of session players and there wasn’t really a hierarchy. Musicians are very supportive of each other, and the engineering world, in particular, is not competitive at all. If one person has a problem, everybody’s going to help them out.

The other thing is, we have a pretty active touring schedule both nationally and internationally, so we’ve had a good time making that community even bigger. Twenty-two years ago, we played at the Auckland Folk Festival in New Zealand, where we met a couple of musicians that we’ve remained friends with all these years. One of them is Chris Newman, and the other one is a traditional harp player named Máire Ní Chathasaigh. We’ve played on their records through the magic of the Internet. And we just got back from a UK tour, where we did 10 days with Tom Paxton and then a week in the Orkney Islands in Scotland. Talk about off the beaten track. Our friends Hazel and Jennifer Wrigley have spent 10 or 15 years touring nonstop around the world as a fiddle and guitar duo playing traditional Scottish music. They’re just spectacular. They settled back in their home of Orkney to open up this place called Wrigley and the Reel, which is a music shop, café, venue, and educational facility. We’ve played on their records and, when they come to the States, they stay with us. So the community just gets larger and larger.

MM: We also find that when we meet other producers and engineers, they’re thrilled to discuss equipment and show you their gear. It can get pretty geeky. And if you’re wondering, my favorite preamps are simple and easily accessible. They’re APIs, and we use a full preamp rack mount that would sell online for $2,500 or something like that. They’re absolutely clear, beautiful, pristine sounds.

CF: We do get buried in the geekiness, but we try not to forget that what we’re really doing here is using the medium as a way to share the music that we love. When we produced Get Up and Do Right, we wanted to use all that gear to highlight the music — the feeling of the music and the message of the music. There is always something to discover and that’s what makes it fun.

MM: I’ll tell you two of my favorite recordings. One is Cowboy Calypso by Russ Barenberg. The vinyl sounds absolutely gorgeous. The other, which was done digitally, is John Fogerty’s Blue Moon Swamp. And anything Gary Paczosa produces always sounds beautiful.

There is something very direct about the music on this album, something very refreshing about its optimism during hard times.

CF: We have to stay optimistic. On our tour of the UK, we played to about 4,500 people, and the song “Get Up and Do Right” was a rabble-rouser every single night. It’s a song we loved, when we heard it two years ago and, when we recorded it, no one thought Donald Trump was going to win the election. We just knew that it was a great daily meditation, but we didn’t realize that it could be this ultimate rallying cry. I just finished a down-and-dirty video for the song that’s based on pictures that people sent us from marches all over the world. We went to a march in Kirkwall, in the Orkneys, a very tiny place, and the first night we’re there, there’s a vigil in front of the local church. We were very welcomed. When we got there, Marcy announces, “We’re Americans and we’re with you!” That got a big cheer, and we made a bunch of friends. It feels like our job every day is to get up and do right. Do the best we can to make the Earth a good place to live. Negativity breeds negativity. Action breeds positivity. Rather than get bogged down in the negative stuff, we’re just going to continue to get up and do right.

MM: Cathy and I are old enough to have lived through the civil rights movement, so we’ve done this before and we’ve come out better than we were for it. My parents went to marches, and it was really the music that kept us moving forward. It was the music that brought everyone together and kept us going. This was back when you used to have to dress up in your Sunday clothes and your Sunday shoes for a march. For a little kid, that’s not easy. But music gave us support and energy. Something happens when everybody is singing at the same time. They all take a breath at the same time, and that’s power. It’s real power.

Can you tell me how that sense of social responsibility informs your children’s music, especially the Children of Selma album from 1988?

CF: Children of Selma is a project that I still deeply love. I was brought to that project by Jane Sapp who was, at the time, working with the Highlander Center. That’s the place where Rosa Parks went for a workshop two weeks before she wouldn’t go to the back of the bus. Jane had met a woman named Rose Sanders who had worked with a group of kids after school in Selma. Rose is a civil rights attorney, but her purpose was to give the kids something useful to do after school. She turned out to be quite a prolific and incredible songwriter. I went down there and we went to an old YMCA or community center, where there was an out-of-tune piano, and Rose gathered the kids around to sing a bunch of these songs. I was blown away by the spirit of these songs and by the magic that happened when she engaged the kids who were singing about their real lives. One of the songs that comes back to me every election is “Vote for Me Until I Can.” That project was a big challenge: I had to go to a location where I didn’t know anyone and I didn’t know how to take a group of kids, who had never recorded before, into a studio. But the important part was taking their message to a bigger audience. Even though, commercially, it’s one of the least successful things I’ve done, in my heart, it’s one of the most important projects I’ve ever worked on.


Photo credit: Michael Stewart

3×3: Ali Sperry on Mystics, Morocco, and Memoirs

Artist: Ali Sperry
Hometown: Fairfield, IA
Latest Album: Crooked Feelings
Personal Nicknames: Ribs, Albo, Spears

If you had to live the life of a character in a song, which song would you choose?

I’d like to live the life of the woman Bob Dylan describes in “She Belongs to Me”: “She’s got everything she needs, she’s an artist, she don’t look back.” If someone described me that way, I’d be pretty psyched. I’d also like to wear an Egyptian ring that sparkles before I speak. There is a queenly grandeur about this character. She’s revered for being mystical and wise and for creating her own reality.

Where would you most like to live or visit that you haven’t yet?

I’d like to visit Morocco. It seems very exotic and romantic there. And I think it would be fun to ride a camel.

What was the last thing that made you really mad?

November 8, 2016

What’s the best concert you’ve ever attended?

Paul Simon at the Ryman last Summer. I splurged on a ticket and went by myself. I got there early, in time to get a beer and box of popcorn and take my “obstructed view” seat with a huge grin on my face. He started the show with “The Boy in the Bubble” and, by the time he was singing “don’t cry, baby, don’t cry,” I definitely already was. I cried and laughed and danced through the whole show, completely enveloped by the music. I’ve been listening to his songs my whole life. He’s a hero of mine and seeing him that night further solidified it. What a massive, stunning body of work, and how inspiring that he is still executing it so beautifully.

Whose career do you admire the most?

Patty Griffin. To me, she is equal parts artist and songwriter, and excels at both. I respect the longevity of her career and the way she has always re-invented aspects of her sound to make each album feel like new territory, while maintaining her complete Patty Griffin-ness that is so recognizable and lovable. She is constantly collaborating with killer musicians, and I just get the feeling that she’s always doing exactly what she wants. Her songs are so her and yet translate gracefully to other artists — to the point of having an entire, massive, country tour by the Dixie Chicks named after one of one of her songs.

What are you reading right now?

I just finished Composed, Rosanne Cash’s memoir and have been recommending it to everyone. She has a true gift with words, and I was enthralled by her stories and the way she told them. She wrote eloquently about life and death, music, being a woman and an artist, family. She was able to do that magical thing that authors sometimes do where you feel like they are speaking directly to you. In the thick of endeavoring to navigate the waters of a music career, this book felt like a much-needed dose of the bigger picture, a reminder of how all of the little parts connect, and what will be most significant when looking back. If you haven’t, read it!

Whiskey, water, or wine?

All three are vital

Facebook or Twitter?

Facebook

Grammys or Oscars?

Grammys

The Sound of the Shoals

Attempts to codify the “Muscle Shoals sound,” which fueled a plethora of rhythm and blues hits in the ‘60s and ‘70s, often result in anthropomorphizing. Musicians, producers, and fans alike refer to its heart, its pulse, its gut, and, above all, its soul. Originating in the Shoals — a group of small towns located along the Tennessee River in northwest Alabama — it drew musical heavyweights like Aretha Franklin, Etta James, the Rolling Stones, and Bob Dylan. Now, the public can experience a slice of that musical history. The success of filmmaker Greg Camalier’s 2013 documentary, Muscle Shoals, prompted Beats Electronics and Google to put up nearly $1 million for the restoration of Muscle Shoals Sound Studios, the site of some of the region’s most legendary recordings. While the studio just reopened for tours on January 9, the Alabama Tourism Department has already named it the state’s top attraction for 2017.

Located at 3614 Jackson Highway in Sheffield, Alabama, the studio dates back to 1969, when the session musicians at a neighboring musical hallmark, FAME Studios, decided to open their own facility. Affectionately known as the Swampers, the Muscle Shoals rhythm section consisted of Jimmy Johnson on guitar, David Hood on bass, Barry Beckett on keyboards, and Roger Hawkins on drums. During their time at FAME Studios working with founder Rick Hall, they played on classic records ranging from Wilson Pickett’s popular cover of “Mustang Sally,” to Aretha Franklin’s “I Never Loved a Man (the Way I Love You),” and Etta James’s rendition of “Come to Mama.” Their approach wasn’t anything like the arranged compositions played in the studios in New York. Instead, their process was reminiscent of a jam session: Once in the studio, they would noodle around on their instruments together and come up with an arrangement to go with the vocal. While Nashville had country music and Memphis had the blues, Muscle Shoals sat between the two, becoming a melting pot of Southern rock, R&B, and soul. And the Swampers, with their bass-heavy funk, helped catapult that sound. The result was a musical renaissance that crossed racial boundaries. During a time of extreme racial tension, some of the most iconic Black artists in music history would travel to the South to record with a white producer and a white band.

Four towns make up what is considered the Shoals: Florence, Sheffield, Tuscumbia, and Muscle Shoals, itself. With a combined population of around 71,000 according to the most recent census reports, this small, rural region was an unassuming hotbed for musical innovation. “It always seems to come out of the river, you know, even in Liverpool, you know, the Mersey sound and, of course, the Mississippi,” U2 frontman Bono says in the Muscle Shoals documentary. “And here you have the Tennessee River. It’s like the songs come out of the mud.”

The Shoals’ rich musical roots can be traced back to the water. The Yuchi Native American tribe first made note of the Tennessee River’s musical power, naming it “The River That Sings.” It was their belief that a woman in the river sang songs to protect them. Years later, the town of Florence became the birthplace of both WC Handy, known as the “Father of the Blues,” and Sam Phillips, the “Father of Rock ‘n’ Roll.” Phillips went on to become the owner of Sun Studios and Sun Records, putting Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, and Jerry Lee Lewis on the map. Through Rick Hall’s production at FAME Studios, Muscle Shoals became the “Hit Recording Capital of the World,” with Jerry Wexler of Atlantic Records sending his artists to the Shoals to record.

Once the Swampers struck out on their own with the help of a loan from Wexler, Muscle Shoals Sound Studio was a haven for popular artists who flocked from recording hubs like New York City and Los Angeles in search of the “Muscle Shoals sound.” Cher became the first artist to record at Muscle Shoals Sound Studio, followed by the Rolling Stones, who recorded both “Wild Horses” and “Brown Sugar” from their 1971 album Sticky Fingers. Before long, the Swampers were cutting around 50 albums per year, with countless legendary artists. The shortlist includes Paul Simon, Boz Scaggs, Levon Helm, John Prine, Joan Baez, Cat Stevens, the Staple Singers, Willie Nelson, Santana, Leon Russell, Bob Dylan, and Bob Seger. (Yes, that’s the shortlist.)

Measuring about 75 feet by 25 feet, Muscle Shoals Sound Studio is located across from a cemetery and had once been a storage unit for headstones, grave slabs, and coffins. There’s something poetic about the fact that the very room that housed markers of death ended up becoming a space of remarkable rebirth. The Swampers closed the location in 1979, moving to 1000 Alabama Avenue. It was listed on the National Register of Historic Places and was sold to the Muscle Shoals Music Foundation in 2013.

Judy Hood, the wife of Swampers bassist David Hood, is the chair of the Muscle Shoals Music Foundation, which still owns and operates the studio. The facility’s recent renovations aim to bring an authentic Muscle Shoals recording experience to tourists. Replete with vintage recording equipment in the production booth, original guitars, basses, organs, pianos, amps, and retro chairs and paint colors, the atmosphere stays true to how the studio looked in the early ‘70s. Studio tours start in the basement, also known as the “den of debauchery,” where musicians hung out during breaks from recording. Visitors will also be able to visit the bathroom where Keith Richards wrote “Wild Horses,” the couch where Steve Winwood took a nap, and the “listening porch” where the Rolling Stones took smoke breaks. But most importantly, visitors will have access to archives of music, bringing the “Muscle Shoals sound” front and center. More than anything, the “Muscle Shoals sound” is a feeling, and visitors can now walk on hallowed ground and experience that Muscle Shoals soul firsthand.

“What music built there is not something that you can see with your eye,” Bono explains at the end of the Muscle Shoals documentary. “In fact, if you look at the recording studios, they were humble shells. But what they contained was an empire that crossed race and creed and ethnicity. It was revolutionary.”


Photos courtesy of Music Shoals Music Foundation

3×3: Patrick Dethlefs on Batman, Blue, and Books (on Tape)

Artist: Patrick Dethlefs
Hometown: Kittredge, CO
Latest Album: Beauty in the Unknown
Personal Nicknames: Patty, P-Money

 

I got a new guitar. New to me at least.

A photo posted by Patrick Dethlefs (@patrickdethlefs) on

If you could go back (or forward) to live in any decade, when would you choose?

The ’70s, and I would make sure I was at The Last Waltz.

Who would be your dream co-writer?

Townes Van Zandt

If a song started playing every time you entered the room, what would you want it to be?

“Man in Me” by Bob Dylan. That’d be pretty sweet.

What is the one thing you can’t survive without on tour?

A good book on tape, stand up comedy, and some sick jams.

What are you most afraid of?

My answer has the possibility of getting pretty deep, so I’ll just say scary movies … always hated them.

Who is your favorite superhero?

Batman has always been my favorite, ever since I was a kid.

 

What a good day celebrating @suzzzo , I’m a lucky guy. Happy 27th Birthday!

A photo posted by Patrick Dethlefs (@patrickdethlefs) on

Pickles or olives?

Pickles … Bubbie’s Pickles

Which primary color is the best — blue, yellow, or red?

Blue, but if we’re choosing colors, green is the best.

Summer or Winter?

Summer … but I’ll take Fall all year long.

The Paycheck Is Blowin’ in the Wind: A Brief History of Bob Dylan in Commercials

When Bob Dylan began recording in 1962, he quickly became the poster boy for the "anti-establishment" — a totem around which disenchanted and disenfranchised baby boomers could rally their rebellion. His unadorned, unencumbered voice was the voice of every man. His poetry the rallying cry of political unrest, his songs simple but powerful, his personality both rebellious and thoughtful. He was, to put it simply, a sort of Woody Guthrie for the Age of Aquarius.

To this day, people young and old staunchly defend his legacy. Fans in their 50s and 60s stand up for him with vehemence (though his work may not always warrant such passion) while young people co-opt his style (though some may not understand exactly why). It’s all because, in the minds of many, Robert Allen Zimmerman remains an icon of the anti-establishment.

While Dylan's musical genius is undeniable — his singular dedication to his singular path admirable — the illusion that he’s some sort of icon of anti-corporate purity is a case of idealistic people whistling in the wind to scare away the wolves. The truth is: Bob Dylan's never hesitated to take payment from the very establishment against which he has railed. Back as far as '65, Dylan aligned himself with Albert Grossman, the bellicose ombudsman of Dylan's business affairs during the ‘60s and early ‘70s. He was the first of his sort to refer to his charges as "artists." In concert with that lofty definition, Grossman never hesitated to extract as much money as he could on behalf of his client’s “artistry.”

Dylan’s alliance with Grossman was dissolved in the early ‘70s, in an adversarial fashion, as Dylan accused his manager of “skimming the cream from the top of the milk can” (as Guthrie might have said). But, 40 years hence, Dylan still finds meaning in the capitalistic Gospel of Grossman. He’s chosen to be a somewhat peripatetic pitch man for a strangely disparate selection of products, from sexy underwear to luxury cars.

Witness Exhibit A, his recent appearance in IBM’s commercial for its Watson computer (an event journalist Paul Walsh charmingly referred to as “Tangled Up in Big Blue”).

According to IBM spokeswoman Laurie Friedman (as quoted by Walsh), the company actually did use the Watson computer to analyze 320 Dylan songs, adding an element of truth to the singer’s bemused “conversation” with the computer. What IBM didn’t do was listen to Dylan’s tragically horrific album of Sinatra covers or have another look at 2001: A Space Odyssey. Had they done so, they probably wouldn’t have outfitted Watson with a voice that sounds like HAL and programmed him to sing those mockingly Sinatra-esque doo-be-doo-be-doos.

“Let Asia build your phone and Switzerland make your watch,” Zimmy says in Exhibit B, a 60-second long ode to American ingenuity in the form of a 2004 Super Bowl commercial for Chrysler. Though less odd and unsettling than his IBM commercial, it leaves one markedly more dyspeptic. For IBM, Bob seemed distracted, but here he offers a poetic reading — presented as his own poetry — in the name of economic aspiration.

Chrysler was the first, but it wouldn’t prove to be the last car company who would pay Dylan to back down their driveway. In ‘07, Bob pimped for Cadillac, a markedly more bourgeoisie brand than Chrysler. Though more tight-lipped than he was with Chrysler, the message is essentially the same.

Dylan presaged his sit down with HAL (er, Watson) when he went to bat for Apple a few years prior. While it definitely hawks all the musical “i’s” the company could cram into 30 seconds, this one’s a touch more tolerable than the rest: He was, after all, pitching a new album in the process. (And Modern Times was easily one of his recent best.)

Like owning a lot of rental properties, Dylan made money while he was sleeping with his 2009 Pepsi deal. For those who cling to the fraying threads of his counterculture heroics, this one has to be the most appalling. Not only does he capitalize on his name, he does it by offering up imagery from the past — when he really was something of a rebel — and pinning it to a company that makes liquid candy.

Did we say the Pepsi commercial was the “most appalling”? We lied. His infamous appearance in a commercial for Victoria’s Secret ranks as Zimmy’s most appalling foray into commercials. It’s not that we have anything against Victoria’s Secret, in particular, or pretty girls, in general. But we do get creeped out by the sight of a grizzled 74-year-old grandfather leering at a 22-year old girl in her underwear. There’s no paycheck in the world that excuses such a bombastic exhibition of bad taste.

Even though this brief history of Dylan's relationship with advertising portrays the artist in question as a corporate shill, the end of the story is this: Dylan seemingly doesn't give a damn. His enigmatic career bends and curves at his will, and those of us who dissent simply don’t understand. Frank Sinatra cover songs? Check. Dyed blonde emo hair for a movie? Check. Fat paycheck from Chrysler? Check. Dylan does whatever the hell he pleases. So maybe he really is anti-establishment; he just has the luxury of paying for said lifestyle through the same means Don Draper did.


Photo: Bob Dylan as he appears in his Chrysler commercial

The Essential Old Crow Medicine Show Playlist

Though Old Crow Medicine Show are generally associated with North Carolina, where they were discovered busking outside a drug store in Boone, the band also known as O.C.M.S. are actually the product of two different areas of the Appalachians. Two of the band's five founding members, Ketch Secor and Critter Fuqua, are from the east side the mountain (Harrisonburg, Virginia) while Kevin Hayes and former members Ben Gould and Willie Watson were from the fertile string music scene of Ithaca, New York. It was when Secor headed to Ithaca College — and brought Fuqua along for the ride — that the band got its start in earnest (and later found their big break in Boone).

Like many of their counterparts in modern string music, the members of O.C.M.S. are as influenced by the sounds of Guns ‘N’ Roses as by the songwriting of Doc Watson. It has been their ability to meld the classic melodies and storytelling style of the traditional string music with the energy and enthusiasm of classic rock 'n' roll that have made them so successful.

Now, with nine studio records to their credit, from 1998’s cassette recording, Trans:mission, to their award-winning 2014 set, Remedy, O.C.M.S. have been consistently at the leading and influential edge of modern string music. For newbies and fans alike, here’s an essential playlist that spans most of their career, ranges from covers of classics to their own songs, and includes the tune that not even Bob Dylan has our permission to cover.


Photo of OCMS by Crackerfarm.

7 Americana Songs That Should Absolutely Not Be Covered By Anyone (Even Bob Dylan)

We all know that feeling, the one we get when someone does a cover of one of our favorite songs. It's the same mix of excitement and fear we felt as teenagers, when we jumped into the back of Dad's Plymouth Reliant and started working on our 'Night Moves.' Will it be an ecstatic experience or will it completely suck? But just as there are people with whom we'd never endeavor to join in the back of that car, there are songs that are patently untouchable, recordings that should be left alone for posterity, never to be covered by anyone (even Bob Dylan). Here's a list of seven that are sacred.

"Wagon Wheel" — Old Crow Medicine Show

It’s not too farfetched to imagine that somewhere in this great musical land of ours some ‘record guy’ is hatching a plot to have Bob Dylan cover his own co-write, like some evil scientist plotting to destroy the North Carolina transit system. Don’t engage with the dark side, Bob. I gave you a pass on that semi-awful Frank Sinatra thing but, if you dare lay hands on this Americana classic (part owner though you may be), I’ll be compelled to give you a thorough tongue-lashing. Worse than I would’ve given Darius Rucker had I cared enough to talk about it. And don’t get me started on the other versions that are floating around from bands that ought to know better (but apparently don’t). Heck, there's even an entire website devoted to stopping the spread of "Wagon Wheel."

"La Cienega Just Smiled" — Ryan Adams

I have a 15-year old son who’s quite an accomplished musician, who does a pretty nice piano and vocal version of this song. But he’ll never record it or perform it in public, he says, “because the original version is perfect and I’ll never, ever come close.” Others should have such foresight. Out of the mouths of babes, as they say.

"Don’t Think About Her When You’re Trying To Drive" — Little Village

A good friend of mine, once the music editor of a hi-fi magazine, said the demise of Little Village came because there was no one in charge (so everyone thought he was in charge). I’m guessing that dogs like "Solar Sex Panel" had something to do with it, too. But tucked among the mutts was this Westminster Best In Show, a fervently heart-breaking ballad about being on the road to somewhere without someone. The arrangement is beautiful, the twanging Telecasters are glorious and drummer Jim Keltner has more taste in his left foot than most people have in their whole body.

"Quits" — Danny O’Keefe

“What will we call it now? It’s not a marriage anymore.” Seriously, I tear up every time I hear this song, probably the most heart-wrenching three minutes and nineteen seconds about divorce ever written. Weeping pedal steel, desolate strings, lonely harmonies (courtesy of Linda Ronstadt), lyrics that are hankie worthy, even for the toughest of tough guys. A couple of country dudes have covered this one and they're still meeting with their therapists to work through their guilt and shame.

"Windfall" — Son Volt

Quite possibly the greatest Americana song ever written, it’s hard to imagine why anyone would try to improve on this example of perfection. It’s all here: moaning vocals, steel guitars (settlin’ down), fabulous fiddles, all night radio stations, hands on the wheel, the wind in your face, troubles, troubles and more troubles at 134 beats per minute. I’ll give ‘Rusty Fender” a pass on his YouTube bass cover (Really? bass cover?) but that’s as far as my forgiveness will extend.

"Big Yellow Taxi" — Joni Mitchell

As much as my boy and I are pretty simpatico when it comes to music, I think about putting him up for adoption every time he cracks open Spotify and plays the isn't-he-cute boyfriend funk version of this song that Counting Crows massacred for the benefit of pop radio. The codpiece caterwaul of the emotive Mr. Durwitz that was somewhat charming when he was hanging with "Mr. Jones" just proves he has no clue what he's singing about. For God sakes, dude, the song isn't about the girl. It's about our collective loss of childhood innocence and appreciation that's leading us to destroy the planet. 

"Tenderness" — Paul Simon

There Goes Rhymin’ Simon was one of Paul Simon’s most popular records and "Tenderness" followed "Kodachrome" so, even by mistake, this song got played a lot back when vinyl and tape were all we had. And why wouldn’t it? It’s New Orleans blues meets New York folk in its finest form, perfectly framed by The Dixie Hummingbirds. And that’s why it should never be covered … ’cuz no one sings like those guys.