MIXTAPE: Growing Up Hardly Strictly with ISMAY

I consider myself to be amongst the luckiest of music lovers. Growing up, I saw some of the most incredible roots artists from backstage while holding my Jack Russell terrier and playing with my cousins. When I was 8 years old, my grandfather Warren started a free bluegrass festival in San Francisco called Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. These artists shaped me since they were the first ones I watched perform, but the connection went on to become even deeper. When my grandfather passed away in 2011 I started performing music, and the larger community of Hardly Strictly was where I found my encouragers and mentors.

This is a compilation of the artists who I heard from and listened to as a child, and those whose songs I learned when I first became a musician. – ISMAY (AKA Avery Hellman)

“Dark Turn of Mind” – Gillian Welch

Just after high school I spent time working on some small homesteads with a farm labor trade for room and board. This was the same time that The Harrow & the Harvest by Gillian Welch came out – a literary masterpiece. Every time I listen to this record it reminds me of those homesteads and my borrowed car with a faulty battery. It brings me back to the day I arrived late to a new farm in West Virginia while my roommate was still sleeping and how odd it felt to be in a house with a stranger. I got up in the morning to make sourdough toast with an egg wondering what that person who was asleep in the loft of that ’80s wood cabin would think of me.

“Concrete And Barbed Wire” – Lucinda Williams

In the ’90s I was fortunate that my mom had great music taste. She took us around in a magenta suburban car and played Lucinda Williams. She said us kids used to sing along with silly accents to the words “concrete and barbed wire.” It took me another 20 years to fully appreciate Lucinda Williams and the masterful lyricist she is. Over the last four years, I’ve been working on a documentary about her, and it’s been so rewarding, because Lucinda’s music is the kind that gets better the more you know it.

“Dallas” – The Flatlanders

My grandfather was not a professional musician for most of his life, but in the final years he played in a bluegrass band with his friend Jimmie Dale Gilmore. What a kind man Jimmie is, with a voice that reminds me of a dove fluttering away. Because of this relationship he had with my grandfather, I heard about this record Jimmie made with his band The Flatlanders that was lost for 40 years. It was raw and made me feel like I was under a tin roof in Texas. It’s said that this tape helped mark the birth of alt-country.

“The Times They Are A-Changin'” – Odetta

A few years ago I was asked to perform at an event that compared and contrasted Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen. I’m more of a Cohen person, so I had more trouble finding a Dylan song that felt like it would fit my feel. That was when I came upon this remarkable Odetta cover and I was inspired. She changed the whole feel of the song to make it her own. In 2008, she performed at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass just two months before she passed away, it was one of the final times she ever performed.

“St. James Hospital” – Doc Watson

I know that most people know Doc for his flatpicking, but I’ve always been much more drawn to the fingerpicking style of guitar in general. “St. James Hospital” feels like a fascinating departure from the more well known Doc Watson performances, and I love hearing him playing in a less linear fashion. This shows he can do it all. In the music that I’ve recorded I sometimes feel a bit out-of-the-norm and nowhere-to-belong, but this song feels similar to one I recorded called “A Song in Praise of Sonoma Mountain.” Hearing “St. James Hospital” makes me feel less out-on-a-limb in roots music.

“Permanent” – Kenneth Pattengale & Joey Ryan (The Milk Carton Kids)

As I started playing music I found this record by The Milk Carton Kids before they had that name, and played under Kenneth Pattengale & Joey Ryan. Listening to this song now, it is still unreal that it was all recorded live at a concert. It was deeply inspiring to see artists like Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings generating a new live sound that was somehow very modern and yet felt like a continuation of original folk music. As if the ’80s and ’90s had never happened! What a gift. Then, seeing The Milk Carton Kids take that torch and carry it on was so exciting for me as a 19 year old.

“Boulder to Birmingham” – Emmylou Harris

I listen to Emmylou every year on Sunday night at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. Her silver hair and steadiness feel beyond time. I can’t believe she is still here, with that same strong presence since I was just 8 years old. As a performer she has a strong sense of worthiness to the audience, a sense of mutual respect for the relationship between listener and performer. I hope that I can hold just a bit of her steadiness within myself.

“Restless” – Alison Krauss & Union Station

I was in 6th grade and didn’t much enjoy recess out on the playground. I brought my CDs over to an empty classroom, and sat in the back listening to Alison Krauss & Union Station. Sometimes I’d show these CDs to my friends. This was before I figured out that it was cooler to be listening to rock music. But I loved that music, and the songs were amongst the first I tried to learn in singing lessons.

“The Silver Dagger” – Old Crow Medicine Show

Old Crow Medicine Show was playing at Hardly Strictly as they rose up in mainstream culture. I appreciate the edge that this recording preserves. There’s even a moment where it sounds like someone might have dropped something or hit their instrument on another (01:35). I wish more recordings kept imperfections preserved within them.

“Pretty Bird” – Hazel Dickens

Part of the reason that my grandfather started Hardly Strictly Bluegrass was because of his love of Hazel Dickens. They were from very different backgrounds, but they became friends and saw the common humanity in one another through music. She played every year until she died. This is my favorite song of hers. What is beautiful to me about Hazel’s take on bluegrass is the imperfections and raw emotion. She brought her whole self to the song.

“Harlem River Blues” – Justin Townes Earle 

I can still picture Justin on the stage with his impeccably curated suits. Back around 2018, I opened a show for him in Santa Cruz, California. He drove up to the venue in a red convertible, which I thought was the coolest thing ever. Just a guy and his ride. He was very kind to me and I wish I had more chances to see him play again. May his music never fade away.

“Tiniest Lights” – Angel Olsen 

When I was 20, I went into a record shop in Ohio. The guy there said they only really carry more obscure records. No problem, I thought, I was here for Captain Beefheart and PJ Harvey. But when I asked, he said those artists were too well known. He pointed me towards Angel Olsen and I heard something in songwriting I had never heard before. My world opened up, and I knew there was so much more that was possible after listening to “Tiniest Lights.” She performed at Hardly Strictly in 2015 and her voice was as real and penetrating as the recordings.

“If I Needed You” – Lyle Lovett

What’s better than Lyle Lovett playing a Townes Van Zandt song?? We listened to Lyle a bunch when I was a kid. No, I’m not from Texas, but I do love those Texas songwriters.

“Long Ride Home” – Patty Griffin

The first time I performed at Hardly Strictly (although somewhat tangentially) was at an artist after party. I chose this song, because it had a fun fancy guitar line I could play with my beginner fingers. Someone who was performing came up and said they thought I was talented. I think that might have changed my life right there. It was the first time anyone had come up to me and said I was good enough to do this as a job, not to mention amongst professional musicians.

“Are You Sure” – Willie Nelson

Willie played Hardly Strictly in 2003 and I remember that big black bus sitting behind the main stage. I can’t even imagine the thrill of the audience members, his fans are as dedicated as they come. I heard this song at a recently released film that is fantastic called To Leslie.

“Little Bird of Heaven” – Reeltime Travellers

This band was part of that wave of old-time style artists that came at the same time as Hardly Strictly. The vocals are so unexpected, but real and honest. One of their band members became a mentor of mine and helped me get my start in the music business and I am forever grateful.

“Essay Man” and “The Golden Palomino” – ISMAY

These are two songs from my latest release, Desert Pavement, that would never have happened if it weren’t for Hardly Strictly. I am trying to find my way with my own version of folk, and can’t help but be inspired at what a rich trove of artists I have to draw from.


Photo Credit: Aubrey Trinnaman

American Patchwork Quartet’s Debut Album Celebrates Multicultural Folk

The members of American Patchwork Quartet present an array of diverse backgrounds – both musical and cultural. The group is made up of Clay Ross, multi-Grammy winning guitarist and founder of Gullah group Ranky Tanky; Grammy-winning Hindustani classical vocalist, Falguni “Falu” Shah; internationally acclaimed jazz bassist, Yasushi Nakamura; and Juno Award-winning drummer, Clarence Penn. However, even with the variety of identities and backgrounds they do represent, the ensemble makes it clear in their live performances and in every conversation they have that “APQ” is not a group made for the sake of some exaggerated or token sense of unity. Despite their most prominent accolades and individual backgrounds, this group isn’t a concept band or a supergroup made for shock value.

American Patchwork Quartet was born from a foundation of genuine friendship forged between four people connecting with one another, rather than four musicians immediately rushing to talk shop. It was from there that interest in the differences the way each of them interact with and understand music, inspired the idea to form “APQ.” The group would discover through their curiosity things both mutual and unique to their relationships with music – as well as things mutual and unique to their shared identities as Americans. It’s this aspect of APQ’s bond that made American folksongs the bedrock of their repertoire for performances and their newly released, self-titled debut, which includes longstanding American folk fare like “Shenandoah,” “Wayfaring Stranger,” “Gone for Soldier,” and “Beneath the Willow.”

Through an abundance of performances that have taken them to various regions of the U.S. – and now an album of painstakingly arranged and honed songs – APQ is prepared to show and tell how individuals such as themselves can be connected through contrast. They showcase how folk music can tell specific stories of people, places, and times and can stay true to its past while adopting a new present and future – just the way one does when immigrating to somewhere new.

After attending one of APQ’s performances, I connected with the group to share their story with the diverse community of BGS and beyond, speaking with guitarist-vocalist Clay Ross and vocalist Falu Shah. Our conversation, via Zoom, stretched between New York and Arizona, just days before the group embarked on a cross-country album release tour, which kicked off in Princeton, New Jersey on February 9.

What brought you all together to form a quartet, particularly one that’s driven by more than the aim to “make music for a living?”

Clay Ross: It really started with my relationship with Falu [Shah]. We were working at Carnegie Hall as teaching artists. At least twice a week we’d be together either writing songs or developing a curriculum to teach our students and we really enjoyed being together and we enjoyed becoming friends.

At that time, I was [also] getting Ranky Tanky started and doing a lot of research in the folk archives of Alan Lomax, Guy Carawan and other ethnomusicologists that collected songs from across the United States. One day, I asked Falu, “Tell me what you think of this song, ‘Pretty Saro.'” She listened to it, loved it, and she learned it. Then we learned how to sing it together. We just felt like “Wow, this is something really special!” And we liked the idea of collaborating.

Around the same time, I met Clarence Penn at the Monterey Jazz Festival. We ended up on this flight that got canceled on the way back to New York. So we were in this airport for 10 hours, talking and bonding over all these life things and not about music at all. We became friends first, which was a really great way to start a collaboration. I said, “We need to find a bassist,” and we both immediately thought of Yasushi Nakamura – one of the first musicians that I ever played with when I came to New York 20 years ago. Clarence was playing with him that whole time and they’re like brothers. Yasushi is a family man, he’s got two kids, and so we’re all really connected beyond the music. We connected as people and we can relate to one another as parents and as human beings.

I think between meeting Clarence and knowing that I wanted to deepen this collaboration with Falu somehow, that was where the idea [for APQ] was born. I felt like, we’re all American, you know? That’s the one thing that connects us, no matter how different we are and how radically different our pasts and our backgrounds may be. We are now all connected as Americans and so we all have some access and an entry point into these American folksongs. They can be a part of our story now, whether they were a part of our traditions up until now or not.

Falu, as both a U.S. immigrant and a vocalist primarily trained in Indian classical rather than Western music, how was your experience in becoming part of APQ?

Falu Shah: For me, American folk music was something my mother only played records of. I grew up in India, in Mumbai, and my mom was a big fan of Bob Dylan and Emmylou Harris and growing up she played this music, which I found absolutely intriguing. We only had one one record store in the entire city of Bombay and it was called Rhythm House. My mom had to travel 45 minutes in a train to get to this record store, stay there, and stand in a line for four or five hours. She would bring Michael Jackson and I would think, “Oh, my goodness, why would you bring me all these [records]?” And she said, “Because I want you to have a broad vocabulary of music, not just Indian classical.”

The biggest difference I found in both music styles is harmony. Sometimes I feel Western music is very delighted to use chords. And harmony context was very different for me. Clay used to tell me to sing in a different key. And I’m like, “How do I sing like that?” It’s a different style of learning. So in Carnegie, when we were doing all the songs and all the writing, Clay used to always switch harmonies, and I thought, “I really like this concept.” That was the first thing that intrigued me: that Clay would never sing what I sang – he would always find another note and he would completely change the melody of that song, but it sounded so beautiful when layered together. I had to unlearn a lot of things to learn how to sing [American folk] music. So my journey has been always as a student. I still consider myself as a student and I’m always going to APQ concerts and rehearsals thinking, “What can I learn this time?”

How does APQ decide on repertoire to explore, interpret, and perform?

FS: Clay will send me a song and I will find a folk melody or an [Indian] classical raga that is close to it. And if it’s not, then I’ll tell Clay, “I don’t like this song.” …When I told Clay, “I love this, I don’t like this,” it’s based upon this [idea] of what can I as an immigrant and Indian person, what can I bring to this song that already doesn’t exist? There are so many people who have already sung it and they have sung it so beautifully. What am I adding? Something has to relate because our cultures are so different. For us to break the boundaries of continents and lines between us, we had to connect with the beautiful harmony of music.

CR: I’m looking for songs that are spiritual and not religious – and that celebrate man’s humanity to man. And that speak to the universal qualities of all people – be it love, nature, heartache and longing, loss, or joy.

How do you balance the idea of APQ’s music existing as “teaching tools” or “portals to history” with the idea that music can and should be entertaining?

CR: It’s an organic process of creation that I gravitate towards things that are both entertaining and fun. And [things that] also have a depth and that can guide you into a whole world – whether it’s history or emotional exploration. Because really, for me, I’m trying to live. I’m trying to live in those big questions of like, “Why are we here? Where are we headed? Where have we been? What does it all mean?”

How has the journey been working with one another toward the goal of inspiring enthusiasm and curiosity around multiculturalism through folk music?

CR: I think any endeavor you embark upon with other people, and it doesn’t matter if they’re your own family and your own blood, it’s always a negotiation with oneself… and learning to appreciate the positive surprises that come out of it.

FS: [Clay, Clarence Penn, and Yasushi Nakamura] know rock and they know jazz and they know the [American] culture. I had to do research. I have to give [Clay] microtones that are proper to the mood of the song. Indian music is very balanced and very thought out. I had to have chemistry with Yasushi and Clarence. I kept telling Clay, “I need to understand more to play with them.” I’ve always tried to figure out my journey as a musician.

CR: I think that [Falu’s] persistence is what gave [APQ] life. She could have very easily had an attitude of “I don’t do this.” Falu has had to bend far more than we’ve had to bend to her. The frame of what we’re dealing with is American music. She’s adapted to that frame. I think that process in and of itself is what this band is about. We’ve definitely had to tap into our best human qualities to get to this music. I’m so proud of this music just for this reason, for what it represents, what we’ve had to live to arrive at this document, this album, that we have now.


Where do you think folk music can find its place in a world that often looks ahead, rather than stopping to contemplate who and what’s around us in a meaningful and lasting way?

CR: I think folk music will continue to exist in a place of meaning and quality. [Folksongs] may be ignored in the short term, but in the long term they will remain. We all just have to do our best to find our tribe of people who appreciate what we do… I feel this is an album that is a document that will last, because people can go back to it.

FS: I feel folk music is always going to be amazing, because it is by the people, for the people. And it’s inherited from generation to generation and something that’s worked for 400 years. There is no doubt about it. Our children’s children are going to listen to and learn and sing ‘Shenandoah’ – I guarantee it – because it the power of folk music is so unique and so important and strong that if it has worked for 400 years, I don’t know why it would not work for another 400 years or more.


Photo Credit: Sandlin Gaither

BGS 5+5: Frontier Ruckus

Artist: Frontier Ruckus
Hometown: Detroit, Michigan
Latest Album: On the Northline (out February 16)

(Editor’s Note: All answers provided by Matthew Milia.)

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

“Celebrate the minutiae.” It’s no secret that that’s what my lyrics are all about. Specificity, specificity, specificity. I truly believe that the universal resides in the particular. And, that by singing about things in extreme detail, enormous truths are unlocked. Hence my apparent mission to name every landmark of my local universe/my personal mythology: The mall where my mom worked when I was a kid, my Catholic grade school, the soccer field where I first experienced the holy human emotion of humiliation.

On the Northline is a continuation of that ongoing catalog of catharsis. Me constantly digging deeper in the junk drawer of memory. You’d think that approach would be an almost unlistenably niche experience for the audience – but I’ve found it to be the opposite. I was so stunned the first time we played in London and kids in the front row were singing lyrics back to me about obscure Michigan towns and situations. They told me after the show that I might as well have been singing about their own towns, that the truths were universal. That was one of the best feelings ever.

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

We once opened for blues harmonica legend Charlie Musselwhite in Houston and his parting words for us were: “Remember, the only chords you need are I, IV, and V.” Anyone who’s listened to Frontier Ruckus knows I definitely did not heed that advice, as I’m constantly trying to insert labyrinthine chord progressions and every melodic trick I’ve absorbed from 38 years of listening to pop radio.

Advice that we’ve found more apt came from our first manager, Dolphus Ramseur – an old-school North Carolinian known for discovering the Avett Brothers. He would always say, “Matthew, a career’s not a rocket ship, it’s a balloon ride.” And though we’d often laugh at the down-home, fortune cookie flavor of that mantra, it proved truthful time and again. The little career peaks came and went – playing Bonnaroo, Lollapalooza, whatever. But the thing that really allowed us to build anything of lasting value was the very gradual “one fan at a time” approach. Back-alley performances of the song someone wanted to hear, who drove from another state, sending out lyrics that someone wants tattooed in your handwriting, favoring intimate living room shows over bar gigs. I’m sure my bandmates Davey and Zach would agree, those are the things that have made Frontier Ruckus a glorious balloon ride.

How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me?”

Constantly. People think the majority of my songs addressed to a “you” are to a love interest or even an enemy, depending on the song. It’s almost always me speaking to me. Sometimes encouraging myself; sometimes beating myself up. Internal monologues, at least mine, are mercurial and neurotic. Putting them into song really helps me work through some stuff, psychologically. That bit of distance allows me healthy perspective. A chance to pep myself up to fight another day. To quote myself singing to myself: “If only you knew what you are.”

Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?

It’s no doubt cliched, but it has to be Dylan. My dad raised me on him and it’s what activated my love for language. The potential playfulness of words. Their athleticism and malleability. The infinitude of connotation. The element of surprise packed into unexpected metaphor. How a line can be drop-dead-serious and winking at the same time. I also think Dylan is an underrated melodist and chordal architect. Look at all the non-12-bar-blues songs on Blonde on Blonde. The energy is propellent, continually cascading in an amphetamine avalanche. And it’s not just the words, it’s the chords providing the lyrics a perfect vehicle to ride in. The erosion of really intentional chord progressions in modern music is something that worries me quite a bit.

What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?

I studied poetry in college under an incredible poet named Diane Wakoski who came out of the New York beat scene. She really informed my fondness for striking images, unexpected metaphor, and surprise revelations. Other than my bandmate David Jones, she was one of the earliest champions of my writing who helped me hone my voice and style.

Sometimes I wanna write songs that feel like a David Lynch film: A shiny Americana veneer on the surface, a severed ear of fractured emotion buried in the grass. I love quaint things with a shady underbelly. I’m obsessed with ’90s sitcoms set in New York, but with obvious LA studio back-lot sunlight. Any art form where sharply antithetical images are juxtaposed in magnetic conflict inspires me. On the Northline hopefully portrays a similar landscape: An insular world where the darkness and light necessitate one another.


Photo Credit: John Mark Hanson

MIXTAPE: Mick Flannery on Melody and Meaning

Most songs stay in one musical scale or “key.” In this key there are 6 chords which are widely used. The 1 chord is the root chord, usually used to end the song and give a definite feeling.

Chords 2 and 3 are sad sounding minor chords in most cases. Chord 4 and 5 often give a feel of expectation to the ear, willing the melody back to the root (1) chord. The 6 chord is a relative minor to the root, often sad sounding.

In my opinion, some of the most successful moments of empathy occur when the feel of the chords and melody marry in harmony with the meaning of the lyrics. The lyrics themselves can also provide a musical feeling, the choice of vowels can marry to emotions, the consonants selected can give a nod to drum-like rhythm. I will try to give some examples here. – Mick Flannery

Bob Dylan – “Changing of the Guards”

Dylan uses a mixture of metaphors for social struggle and revolution in this epic song. The frequent use of the root chord and its relative minor at the end of phrases helps to add weight to the lines. This gives the song a definite feel, as he is ending on these strong chords as opposed to chords 4 or 5, which suggest a question unanswered.

Bob Dylan – “Baby, Stop Crying”

An example of melody marrying to feeling. The line, “Please stop crying,” is expressed with a longing in the melody concurrent with the meaning of the words. Also, “You know, I know, the sun will always shine” has a comforting feel in the melody with the word “shine” being on the root chord, helping it to sound definite and consoling.

Adele – “Someone Like You”

The top of the chorus in this song works very well between meaning and melody. The word “nevermind” is dismissed in quick order, as it would be in common parlance, giving a natural, talkative feel. The internal rhyme of “mind” and “find” gives a rhythmical feel to the line as a whole, allowing the listener to imagine a snare sound on the “I” vowels. The use of this internal rhyme makes the song universally easy on the ear, even to non-English speakers.

Lana Del Rey – “Video Games”

“It’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you, everything I do…” This whole line is placed on a 5 chord, which gives a feeling of something needing to be resolved, so the listener doesn’t know if the narrator is placing her trust in the right place.

“I tell you all the time” lands on a 4 chord – again, an expectant feel – making the listener wait for the line, “Heaven is a place on earth with you” landing on the 1 chord. This gives a definite note to the feeling, but narratively the listener is still left unsure if the feeling is requited, owing to the amount of time spent on uncertain footing in the melody.

Arctic Monkeys – “Fluorescent Adolescent”

The quick, rap-like nature of the verses are aided by the use of short vowels (“I” “E”) and short-sounding consonants like “T” and “K.” The line, “Flicking through your little book of sex tips,” almost sounds like a rhythm played on a high-hat, because of the choice of words.

Tom Waits – “Martha”

The chorus here leans on long vowels to intone nostalgia, “Those were days of roses, poetry and prose and… no tomorrow’s packed away our sorrows and we saved them for a rainy day.” The choice of words echoes a longing and almost sounds like a groan of regretful realization, as per the theme of the song.

Blaze Foley – “Clay Pigeons” 

In this soft and low intoned song, Foley utilizes “T” and “K” with short vowels to inject a spot of rhythm in the line, “Gonna get a ticket to ride.” The line, “Start talking again when I know what to say,” lands on a 4 chord which has an unresolved feel, marrying well to the meaning of the line, wherein we hear that the narrator has not yet reached a certain point.

Anna Tivel – “Riverside Hotel”

“Someday I’m gonna laugh about it, looking down from heaven’s golden plain,” moves from the 4 to the 1 and then 4 to 5. “Someday” marries nicely with the unresolved feel of the 4 chord. Ending on the 5 leaves the listener waiting for a resolve, which comes on the root chord in the line: “But for now I’ve found some piece down by the water, just to watch a building rise up in the rain.” This line uses a root chord on “for now” which gives a reassuring, steady feel concurrent with the sentiment.

Anna Tivel – “The Question”

The title of this song in itself sets the listener up for an unresolved feeling. The use of long “A” sounds (razor, saved, saving, hallelujah waiting, raise, etc.) leading up to the line, “A prayer that never mentioned,” works very well, as it sounds like an expectant chant. On the last words, “The glory of the question and the answer and the same,” the word “glory” lands strongly on the sad sounding relative minor chord, while the line ends on an expectant 5 chord. This gives a juxtaposition, the narrator has seemingly answered a question, but also left it open to further thought because of the use of this uncertain chord underneath.

Eminem – “Lose Yourself”

This song is a masterclass in internal rhyme. The lines of the verses are so phonetically intertwined that they begin to sound like the components of a drum kit. This is easy for the human ear to digest even in an unknown language. The fact that the lines make perfect sense narratively is the “icing” achievement.

Tom Waits – “Hold On”

Long vowels in the chorus marry to the meaning of patience and perseverance. In meditation, long vowels are used in calming chants, which is echoed here in the repetition of  “Hold on.” This feel is broken up slightly by the words “take my hand” where Waits accentuates the “T” and “K” to give a burst of drum-like rhythm.


Photo Credit: Susie Conroy

Buddy & Julie Miller, ‘In the Throes’ of a Joyful Creative and Life Partnership

Deep in the throes of their multi-decade romantic and creative partnership, Buddy & Julie Miller continue to open their world to listeners with their fourth studio album, In the Throes. Entirely cooked within the walls of their home from song ideation to production, we get to hear their joyful admiration for each other alongside the frustrations of living, loving, and making music as a pair. There is still a youthful exuberance in the simplicity of the rhymes and meter that manages to capture subtle and profound aspects of life.

BGS caught up with the couple via phone at their home in Nashville to hear about the new album and their storied lives as co-creators.

What is the process of working together leading into production? How do you know when you have a Buddy & Julie Miller record?

Buddy Miller: Well, There have been records where we went into it thinking, let’s make a record. This one, we didn’t. We backed into it accidentally. We were wanting to do a gospel record with our friend Victoria Williams and our two friends Larry Campbell and Teresa Williams. Julie had written all these songs and then COVID hit. Victoria has M.S., and she lives in Joshua Tree. We realized, this isn’t worth killing Victoria for this record. We kind of put a hold on that and we had that song on the record called “We’re Leaving,” and it just kept going over and over in my head, and I loved it. Julie was just writing a ton of songs. I wanted to pilfer that song and use it as a cornerstone for this record. That’s the genesis of it.

Julie, I hear that these songs came from a profoundly creative writing time for you. What does your life look like when you are in the midst of a prolific creative output time?

Julie Miller: I don’t focus on it. It is more like, I’ll be going to the bathroom or walking to the kitchen or something, and I’m just humming something and it just kind of rumbles up in me. It comes out and my brain just says, “Oh, we are doing a record now, let’s think!” It turns on and starts thinking of subject matter. It is a real accidental sort of situation. I’m sure it is more purposeful than I realize. I am kind of closed off once it is hitting. I don’t talk to a lot of people for a while once I’m writing except for Buddy. I’ll get some musical thing in my mind and I can tell him how it goes, and he can play all the notes. He’s like my right-hand man.

Do you have a language that is only your own?

JM: Not exactly, not like that, but we understand each other. I understand him anyway. [Laughs]

Has that evolved a lot over time, how you communicate musically?

JM: Yeah, I’m more intuitive overall than he is. He is just really incredible. And I kind of prompt him on something I’m thinking, and he carries it away. I couldn’t imagine trying to work with anybody else. I just wouldn’t want to do it. He’s my team. We are really locked together on it.

In terms of the songs about relationships on this record, how autobiographical are they? You can feel the reverence and the frustration of being in a creative relationship.

BM: I was kind of a jerk to be in a band with, I think. I probably took things for granted. I would be insensitive enough on stage. I messed up our thing. She stopped playing. And then I took every gig that would come along, which was a lot. I didn’t expect it. At the time, I was playing with Emmylou, but then I got a lot of other production and tour offers. I left Julie at home for years. And that made her relationship with music and me something that needed to be repaired. So we started repairing it with the record before this.

And we spent a lot of time hanging out together and enjoying making the music together. By the time we were working on this, she was on a roll writing songs, and I just loved capturing them.

That’s really inspiring. Let’s be honest, when people hit walls in relationships or creatively, sometimes they quit. But pushing through it and finding healing through music, it’s awesome.

BM: Yes, and it happened through the music and spending time together. And me not taking any more outside work.

You can feel that. How autobiographical is this record?

JM: Well I guess every record is somewhat biographical. But there are certain songs that are pretty autobiographical, just emotions that I’ve been through that I turn into a song. I mean, “You’re My Thrill,” I was feeling it. I was feeling it about Buddy. And “In the Throes,” too. But “Don’t Make Her Cry,” now that was Bob Dylan. I can’t take credit for that line.

That’s a fun co-write!

JM: Oh yeah! I didn’t think I’d live that long. He and Regina [McCrary] are friends and they had this half a song sitting and he said, “Give it to Buddy.” And Buddy didn’t know what to do with it. But I knew what to do with it! I knew just what to do. I’m amazed now, when I look back, that I had the gall to do it. I had no fear or hesitation at all, just like it was anybody else. When I think about it now, I think, “What was I thinking!?”

This album feels like it was cut live, like I’m in the room with you when I’m listening. It seems rare these days that producers let the whole room into the record. I was wondering if you could talk about where you cut it and what the process was like for this one?

BM: The process was a little different, but we’ve made all our records at home. Back in our teeny weeny apartment in LA, Julie had a deal early on where they didn’t quite get the music and it wasn’t a good fit, but the person who signed her took her in the studio and quickly realized that they liked our home demos better. But we just had a little porta-studio. He gave what was left in the budget to buy a tape machine and a couple of mic pre-[amps] so we could do it ourselves. It was very kind of him, and it started us on our way of working together. We started on a four-track cassette, and then we graduated to a little reel-to-reel that had eight-tracks. But we have always made our records at home. Julie has always been super involved in every aspect, just the two of us.

Julie, what is recording like for you? Do you like the process?

JM: I do with Buddy. I don’t without Buddy. With Buddy I can yell. We have a studio downstairs, and we have one directly upstairs. There are pocket doors that open into the studio upstairs and so I sit on the bed and he sits in the actual producer’s chair with all the instruments around and we just play. I’ll have an idea to have him play and then he’ll play something and I’ll go, “Wait! Listen to that! Play that again!” We just play off of each other a lot. He lets me have as much leeway on the songs as I want, but then where I leave off, he is more than there to take it up. He blows my mind. I just can’t believe how fortunate I am to have someone like that to work with. But it is a joy. I don’t really like recording singing that much. It is tedious. It used to be easier. It is harder singing now.

Can I ask you what is harder about it?

JM: Well, I just don’t do it as much. I have this condition called fibromyalgia. It is a pain condition that affects your muscles. It goes into my jaw and under my tongue, and if I use it very much, it gets stiff and paralyzed. It is a good thing we do it at home. I have this concoction made out of tomato soup and hot sauce. Emmylou would have lemon and Altoids, and I have hot sauce and tomatoes.

Well, for what it is worth, one of the notes I made about this record was how exuberant and youthful your voice sounds.

JM: Thank you! I’ll chalk it up to immaturity.


Photo Credit: Jeff Fasano

LISTEN: Humbird, “North Country Girl”

Artist: Humbird
Hometown: Minneapolis, Minnesota
Song: “North Country Girl”
Release Date: September 29, 2023
Label: Nettwerk Music Group

In Their Words: “This is a song written from the deep heart of winter in Minnesota. After singing Bob Dylan’s classic ‘Girl From the North Country’ for years, I started to wonder what she would say if given the chance. I realized by the end that she and I had a lot more in common than I’d thought – namely, a love of stark landscapes and fresh water. A lot of folk songs talk about leaving all the time. This one is the opposite. What happens when you choose to stay?” – Siri Undlin, Humbird


Photo Credit: Melissa Alderton

MIXTAPE: Chris Pierce on the Healing Powers of Music

Hello Folks! My name is Chris Pierce. I’m a musician, songwriter and storyteller. My new album, Let All Who Will, was created to offer a message of resilience and empowerment – and to remind those who have been pressed to never give up the good fight for justice and equality. The songs are there for folks to hear, dissect and discuss. They also offer suggestions of ways to speak up and move together from a place of common ground. I believe that compassion is the only way forward. I fight with compassion. I sing with compassion. For this Mixtape, let’s explore a theme of the healing powers of music. Songs of liberation, pain, encouragement, empowerment and togetherness. – Chris Pierce

Reverend Gary Davis – “Let Us Get Together Right Down Here”

Starting with a song from Rev. Gary Davis – also known as Blind Gary Davis (born on April 30, 1896) – a blues and gospel singer who was also proficient on the banjo, guitar, and harmonica. Born in Laurens, South Carolina, and blind since infancy, Davis first performed professionally in the Piedmont blues scene of Durham, North Carolina, in the 1930s. After relocating to New York in the 1940s, Davis experienced a career rebirth as part of the American folk music revival that peaked through the 1960s. I’ve always been particularly moved by this song by Rev. Davis as it draws the listener in right away and encourages us all to “get together” as part of the great congregation of humanity.

Nina Simone – “Backlash Blues”

Growing up, my mother was an English teacher and I was fortunate enough to have access to books by some of the greatest writers of our time. I gravitated towards studying Langston Hughes from the time I was around 10 years old and the inspiration from reading his profound works is one of the reasons that I became a songwriter.Backlash Blues” is one of his poems that was given a melody and was sung by the high priestess of soul, Nina Simone. It was written as a sign of hope for Black people during times of segregation.

Chris Pierce – “It’s Been Burning for a While”

This song is a response to the furor surrounding the tragic death of George Floyd in 2020. It was beyond puzzling to see how surprised many voices were, in the media and beyond, at the anger people felt. My co-writer and I collaborated on this song in an effort to point out that while all these stories have been making the headlines a lot recently, repression of the marginalized is nothing new.

Richie Havens – “Handsome Johnny”

Richie Havens’ music has elements of folk, soul and rhythm and blues. He had an intense and rhythmic guitar style and often played in open tunings. A lot of folks know him from Woodstock, but he continued on playing concerts right up until his passing in 2013.

I’ve been deeply inspired by Richie Havens in my own songwriting and growing up hearing songs like “Handsome Johnny” inspired me to expand my writing. To me, “Handsome Johnny” testifies about the sacrifices and inner struggles of the soldier and describes soldiers of all kinds going off to fight for what they believe in.

Lead Belly – “In the Pines” / “Black Girl” / “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?”

I’ve studied Lead Belly’s songs throughout my journey as a songwriter. His songs covered a wide range of genres and topics including gospel music; love, loss, liquor, prison life and racism; and folk songs about cowboys, prison, work, sailors, cattle herding and dancing. His version of “In The Pines” is one of the most widely known.

“In the Pines” is an American folk song originating from two songs, “In the Pines” and “The Longest Train,” both of whose authorship is unknown and date back to at least the 1870s. The songs originated in the Southern Appalachian area of the United States. Historians have said this song was probably born from African Americans living along or east of the Appalachian Mountains around the turn of the 20th century. Huddie Ledbetter, better known as Lead Belly, recorded over half-a-dozen versions between 1944 and 1948, most often under the title “Black Girl” or “Black Gal.” His first rendition, recorded for Musicraft Records in New York City in February 1944, is arguably his most familiar.

Odetta – “Got My Mind on Freedom”

Odetta Holmes, known as Odetta, is an inspiration to all. Born in Birmingham, Alabama on December 31, 1930, her voice has inspired hearts all over the world and she is often referred to as “The Voice of the Civil Rights Movement.” Odetta truly embodied a voice that inspired change. Martin Luther King Jr. called her the queen of American folk music. 

Terry Callier – “Spin, Spin, Spin”

Terry Callier was born in the North Side of Chicago. He was a childhood friend of Curtis Mayfield, Major Lance and Jerry Butler and he sang in doo-wop groups in his teens. In 1964 he recorded his debut album on Prestige Records. The album wasn’t released until 1968 as The New Folk Sound of Terry Callier. A dear musician friend of mine gifted me a copy of the album around 20 years ago and it’s been in steady rotation in my house ever since. My opinion, widely shared, is that Terry Callier didn’t get the popular recognition his varied talents deserved. Nonetheless, he released a string of enduring and influential albums.

Josh White – “Southern Exposure”

When I was in the 6th grade, I wrote a book report on the music of Josh White. I remember heading to the library in Claremont, California, and finding a treasure chest of literature and recordings by White. I dove in and was deeply inspired by the man, the songwriter, guitarist and civil rights activist that he was. White grew up in the South during the 1920s and 1930s. He released a prolific output of recordings in genres including Piedmont blues, country blues, gospel music and social protest songs. His music went on to influence several generations of artists, including yours truly. White’s album, Southern Exposure, is known as a political blues album and dealt with issues of Jim Crow. The album as a whole, to me, is a protest album of protest albums.    

Bob Dylan – “Only a Pawn in Their Game”

Bob Dylan sang a stirring solo performance of “Only a Pawn In Their Game,” at The March on Washington, a retelling of the murder of civil rights activist Medgar Evers. The lyrics attribute blame for the killing and other racial violence to the rich white politicians and authorities who manipulated poor whites into directing their anger and hatred at Black people. The song suggests that Evers’ killer does not deserve to be remembered by name, unlike the man he murdered (“They lowered him down as a king”), because he was “only a pawn in their game.”

Chris Pierce – “Mr. McMartin”

My song, “Mr. McMartin” from my new album, Let All Who Will, is about a street sweeper who has seen a lot of what human beings are capable of in the past 40 years on the job. He sweeps after celebrations, uprisings, political rallies, parades, holidays and catastrophes. As he sweeps on through the years, he wonders if we are capable of real change or just broken promises and broken prayer.


Photo Credit: Mathieu Bitton

First & Latest: “The Thrill Is Gone,” but Bettye LaVette Continues

At 77 years-old, singer and song interpreter extraordinaire Bettye LaVette just keeps going. Her new album, LaVette!, features a set of songs so perfectly suited to the recording artist’s voice and perspective many listeners assume she wrote the material herself. But this collection was all penned by Randall Bramblett, whose songs were first selected by LaVette’s husband of 20 years, Kevin Kiley.

“[Kevin] has actually sought out these tunes for me, about 100 tunes,” LaVette explains via phone. “He narrows it down to about 50 that he knows I’ll like and then I narrow it down to the 10 I’m going to record… But if I could write, these songs are exactly what I would have written.”

Whether she’s covering Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Van Morrison, or Bramblett, LaVette has a striking ability to make a song her own – a hallmark of her style since her earliest days as a recording artist, tracking singles like “He Made a Woman Out of Me” and “Nearer to You” as a teen, now more than 60 years ago. For this installment of First & Latest, we compare and contrast these two early singles from the late ’60s with LaVette’s latest album, which has a special vinyl edition dropping today, Friday, August 18, with a vinyl-exclusive track, “What You Don’t Say” featuring Reverend Charles Hodges of Hi Rhythm on organ. Hear a BGS-exclusive preview of “What You Don’t Say” above.

We reached LaVette via phone to chat about her First & Latest recordings and about what’s changed within her creative process and her perspective over the last 60+ years.

BGS: What goes through your mind when you listen back to those first recordings of yourself from the earliest days of your career? What comes back to you? What do you remember about those times and recording those tracks?

BL:  I don’t think I look at it quite so sentimentally. They’re just fleeting. There’s no one big thing. From your questions, I immediately knew that you were probably very young. [Laughs] Because old people don’t think like that. That’s what you might think about, but do you know how many singles I had before I even had an album? The fact that I wasn’t having an album out was not a pleasing situation. Those singles made me think of various things, but it wasn’t on a trajectory, the way you may think about it.

I do know that since this journey of mine started when I was 16 years old, I was thinking something different during that period. You know you age in periods of about five years at a time, so from 16 to about 20 or 21 I saw one thing – and I kind of felt that way about everything! Not just a particular song or anything, that was just my mindset for about five or six years.

[“He Made a Woman Out of Me” and “Nearer to You,”] those songs were back to back and were meant to be an A side and B side. They were the first time I recorded in Nashville, with the people that became the Memphis Horns, with Wayne Jackson as leader. I was in love with him. And that’s what I remember most. [Laughs]

At that juncture, when you were recording those tracks, did you think you would still be singing this many years later? Did you hope you would be? What was your frame of mind?

No. I thought I was going to be a star right after that came out and that would be it. I didn’t think in long range at that point. I’m thinking in long range now. Like, “Am I gonna get through this next tour?” That’s long range now. I saw somebody with a t-shirt the other day that said, “Do not fuck with old people. Life terms in jail do not bother them.” I will kill you!! [Laughs] No…

If somebody had even come up to me and said, “At 77 you will have a new album out.” I would have been like, “Okay… and it’s been large talking to you.” [Laughs] You know, I don’t know that anybody – if they exist they are certainly more brilliant than I – who were thinking at 20 about what they were going to be doing at 77. We’ve got to force ourselves to think that way, we plan better.

Listening to your music made me think about how it has morphed and changed over the years, but also how it has stayed the same. I think there’s so much enjoyment and so much love in what you do, musically. Is that what’s kept you going and kept you in it?

Do you seriously believe, even if this was my husband we were talking about and I married him when I was 16 years old, do you seriously think I’d still be getting giddy every time I saw him? [Laughs]

I don’t know how to do anything else this proficiently! [Laughs] And I would look foolish trying to do something new. I do this well, it would be stupid for me not to do it. And since they didn’t let me get rich, I can’t not do it. But have you listened to the new recording? Have you listened to the lyrics?

Yes! I love it.

[Sings:] “I keep right on rolling, but the thrill is gone…” and I don’t say anything I don’t mean, at this point. [Laughs] No, honey! I’m somebody’s grandmother! If you think I want to put on real tight clothes, a lot of makeup, and go holler and scoot across the stage, you’re wrong. [Laughs]

But I would like at this point, I would like to have what I keep calling a “Ray Charles career,” where they pay a lot of money for the tickets. Everybody’s sitting down. It’s a beautiful venue. And I just sit there and talk to them and sing for an hour to two hours and a half. But, no! [The music business] isn’t even what I think about when I’m not doing it.

[Laughs]

Now, don’t laugh at old people… [Laughs]

The tracks that we chose from the latest album are “Lazy (And I Know It)” and “In the Meantime,” and I wanted to start talking about how you’re known kind of famously as being this song interpreter, somebody who takes songs and makes them your own. How do you find songs? What’s your process for collecting and putting together a collection of songs?

It took me 50 years and kissing a lot of frogs to find a husband. And he loves music. He has everything that everyone has ever recorded in the history of the world. [Laughs] I’m exaggerating, but he is a record historian and a record collector. This still thrills him, even if it doesn’t thrill me. We just celebrated our 20th anniversary and in the 20 years we’ve been together this career, this “fifth career,” I call it, has been going on that whole time. He has actually sought out these tunes for me, about 100 tunes. Then he narrows it down to about 50 that he knows I’ll like and then I narrow it down to the 10 I’m going to record. I could not sit at this point and listen to that much music for any reason in the world.

[Kevin] pretty much knows what I like. When I’m looking for a song, the lyrics have got to be solid. Absolutely solid. I’m too old to look in your face and say bullshit. As I said, I mean the lyrics that I sing. This young man, [Randall Bramblett,] he wrote all the tunes on this album, he said, “Do all the tunes have to be about you?” I said, “Yes.” [Laughs] He said, “Okay…”

But listen, I’ve lived 77 years now. There isn’t a genre of song you could write that wouldn’t pertain to me at this point. And that is why there are so many different genres of songs on the album. I picked the ones out of them that that pertain to me.

Everybody keeps saying in interviews, “Did you write the songs? Did you write them for you? Did you write them together?” None of those things are true! [Bramblett] and I are about two years apart in age. He’s the only person I know who’s had more flop records than I have. [Laughs] He’s done the same thing, devoted his whole life to it for 50 or 60 years, and he pretty much feels the way I feel about this. There were adjustments I had to make in the tunes, but if I could write, these songs are exactly what I would have written.

I’m very pleased with them. When you talk about the tunes, like when you when you were talking about “He Made a Woman Out of Me,” since I was 20, I have just become such a different singer now. The basics of me have always been there, but I’ve broadened so and become such a different thing, a different woman. “He Made a Woman Out of Me,” by now it’s almost a throwaway, a novelty [song] on stage. I sing it when I’m somewhere where people are familiar with it, but it’s no longer a part of my show. It’s now just a part of my life. And my recordings’ lineage.

I wanted to ask you about “Lazy (And I Know It),” because I make this joke constantly lately that laziness is a radical act–

You know what, I’m writing this down – and I’m slapping you! [Laughs] A radical act! [Turns to her husband,] He said “Laziness is a radical act!”

You know what? White people associate laziness with Black people so much, I took the tune out of the list 50 times. [Laughs] I’d take it off, then I’d put it back. I put it back [ultimately] because I was thinking about – girlfriend in Blazing Saddles… She’s laying in the bed. She’s like, “I’m just tired.” Wasn’t she named Lili Von… something? But I thought about it and I think that’s the attitude that I wanna have about it. Oh yes, Lili Von Shtupp!

Yes!!

I entertained myself with it. When I could make it entertaining to me and I got away from that initial feeling, then it was just fun. And it’s just fun to do on stage. I love it.

What do you do when you need to be lazy when you need to take a vacation? What’s your what’s your favorite way to relax?

Oh no, I just come home. I like to be at home. I’ve got 50 plants in the house and with summer, I’ve got 1,084! Me and the deer have been having a constant battle over whose hostas they are, mine or theirs. I love my home. If my mother had lived to know that I would love being at home, she could have lived to be 200 years old, because she could have just been so satisfied.

I don’t want to go out to dinner. I entertain at parties, at a place where people are having a good time. And I drink and I eat and I don’t want to do that when I come home. I want to taste my food that I cook and you know, but I’m not that anxious to look decent and go out and have dinner.

That’s what you gotta do for work!

Yes, I do not want to do that. [Laughs]


Photo Credit: Danny Clinch

Marty Stuart: From Bluegrass to Psychedelia and Back

Told that a song on his new album brings to mind The Doors, Marty Stuart is bemused, but open to the idea.

“Did it?” he responds during an interview. “That’s fine. If so, why not?”

“Nightriding,” from new album Altitude by Stuart and His Fabulous Superlatives, kicks off with droning guitars, then evolves to a riff somewhat like that of Jim Morrison’s “Roadhouse Blues”   

“Cadillac, sundown,” Stuart intones. “Think I’ll investigate this town.”

To be clear, most of the cuts on the Altitude are more evocative of The Byrds than The Doors. So, is Marty Stuart really a country music traditionalist, as many people perceive him? Yes. And also no.

“I’m totally fine with it,” Stuart says when asked if the country music purist reputation is OK with him. “It’s a self-appointed mission. But my comment would be that country music has broad shoulders.”

Dante Bonutto, who heads up Snakefarm Records, which is releasing Altitude, says that Stuart has earned the right to experiment. 

“Since he’s definitely someone who pretty much invented the wheel, he’s allowed to put different spokes on it when he wants to, I think,” Bonutto said. 

Stuart, who’s been a bluegrass prodigy, a mainstream country music star, and remains a prodigious collector of country music artifacts, was born in 1958, making him a child of the 1960s, with all that comes with it. 

“I still think of when The Byrds and Bob Dylan and all those guys came to Nashville to make their records in the late ‘60s,” he says. “That is like contemporary stuff to me. …That was the stuff that touched me when I was growing up, so it was just a part of country music to me.”

At a recent benefit concert for Northwest Mississippi Community College, Stuart’s base was definitely country — he and the group appropriated the whole history of the genre as their back catalogue, doing songs by Merle Haggard (“Brain Cloudy Blues”), Marty Robbins (“El Paso”), Waylon Jennings (“Just to Satisfy You”) and Stuart’s own hits from the early 1990s such as “The Whiskey Ain’t Workin.’” 

The casually virtuosic Fabulous Superlatives band (Kenny Vaughan on guitar, Chris Scruggs on bass and Harry Stinson on drums; all of them sing) wore matching glitter-flecked black suits, and Stuart’s performing style still owes a debt to his former boss and mentor Johnny Cash.

But that wasn’t all. During the hour-long set before a well-heeled audience dressed in tuxedoes and evening gowns, there was also a Woody Guthrie indictment of the rich, a mandatory gospel number, and a big helping of surf rock, obviously a favorite of Vaughan in particular.

“We hereby declare Senatobia, Mississippi, as the surf capital of the world,” Stuart announced before Vaughan launched into a Telecaster version of “House of the Rising Sun.” Also, “Wipeout” was played by Scruggs solo on the upright bass, with Stinson slapping out the drum solo on the cheeks of his face. 

“Well, it doesn’t really matter how people categorize us,” Stinson said. “If anybody’s interested in what you’re doing, then they listen a little bit deeper and find a much wider spectrum, in terms of the music. I think Marty is much more than just a traditional country artist. He came from that world and uses that as a place to plant himself, and then branches out in different directions.”

Possibly because the Altitude album hadn’t been released yet during the March 25 concert in Mississippi, that audience didn’t get a taste of its cosmic, sometimes psychedelic country music.

The album’s beginnings go back to 2018, when Stuart, Vaughan, Stinson, and Scruggs toured with Roger McGuinn and Chris Hillman to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the pioneering country rock album Sweetheart of the Rodeo by The Byrds. McGuinn and Hillman were original members, along with the late Gene Clark, David Crosby, and Michael Clarke. 

“That was Roger McGuinn’s idea,” Hillman recalled. “Roger had done some dates with Marty; he knew him really well. …He knew the Superlatives would be right on the money because he had done a couple of Byrds songs with them onstage.”

Hillman rates the Superlatives as “the best band probably in this country right now, if not the Western Hemisphere.”

“We had so much fun doing the Sweetheart of the Rodeo Tour,” said Hillman, who was also a member of the Flying Burrito Brothers and Desert Rose Band. “The arrangements were the same as we did on the album in 1968,” he said. “We played the songs better, but we didn’t change anything. It was a joy to go back out and do those songs, especially with the Superlatives.”

Stinson says the tour with The Byrds was “a joyous experience.”

“I got to play with some of my heroes,” he said. “I grew up on those records and so to get to play that music, especially the Sweetheart record, which was kind of groundbreaking. I got to go back through it and really dissect it, and then put it on stage. It was surreal for me.”

The Sweetheart of the Rodeo Tour, coming around the same time Stuart and the Superlatives were opening for Chris Stapleton and the Steve Miller Band, had a profound effect on Stuart’s songwriting. 

“It got me in the mood to write songs with all the sounds that were left hanging around in my head,” Stuart said. “We were hot on those ideas, and I just carried the inspiration in with me.”

Like a lot of albums released in the past year, Altitude was recorded while COVID-19 was at its height. 

“We rehearsed,” Stuart said. “Most of the producing of this record was done in dressing rooms and at soundcheck and trying songs out there in shows before we ever went to the studio.” The original plan to record was ruined by the coronavirus. 

“We were hot, we were ready to go to Capitol Studios in Hollywood (California), and make a record,” Stuart said.  “Well the pandemic crashed and Capitol Studios shut down, so we found East Iris Studios (in Nashville). We put on our masks and stood 6 feet apart and soldiered on.”

“I’m glad everybody agreed to do that, because I think this record would not have sounded like it does if we would have had to wait several months and relearn it.”

The album’s Byrd-like sound, complete with the jangling guitars that are McGuinn’s trademark, has Hillman’s endorsement.

“What they’ve done is not a tribute to The Byrds,” Hillman said. “It just has a few little nice, ever-so-tasty hints of what we did.”

Hillman thinks the driving “Country Star,” which also owes a debt to Chuck Berry, has the feel of Byrd’s songs such as “So You Want to be a Rock ‘n’ Roll Star.”

“There’s a lot of influence there — not overtly, but it just is there. Marty doesn’t stray far from the well, meaning the bluegrass well. I never did either.”

Stuart’s ability on mandolin shouldn’t be overlooked, Hillman said. “Marty is an unbelievably gifted musician,” he said. “I love Ricky Skaggs’ playing and Ronnie McCoury,” he added. “But I told Marty when we were on the road, ‘You got that machine gun hand.’ He says, ‘Yeah, that’s Everett Lilly.’”

Lilly (1924-2012), played mandolin and sang tenor with the Lilly Brothers and Don Stover. He also spent a couple years with Flatt and Scruggs.

“(Lilly) had that cool right hand and when he took a break on ‘Earl’s Breakdown,’ when he played with Flatt and Scruggs, it was great,” Hillman said.  Factor in Vaughan on guitar in the Superlatives, and “you can’t get any better,” Hillman says. “But it’s two different approaches to music.

“Marty really grasped ahold of the pulled string stylings of Clarence White (who played with The Byrds and Kentucky Colonels before his 1973 death)”, and then Kenny “is so good, all over the place.” 

“He doesn’t overblow; he plays just what is needed,” Hillman said of Vaughan.

While Stuart released his last album, Way Out West, on his own Superlatone Records, he’s partnered with Snakefarm, a subsidiary of Universal Music Group, for Altitude.

Bonutto, a journalist and record company executive, heads up the roots-rock focused Snakefarm and its sister label Spinefarm Records, which specializes in heavy metal. In addition to Stuart, Snakefarm has acclaimed Southern rocker Marcus King on its roster. 

“(Stuart is) obviously an artist I’ve always been aware of, because I love country music and I’m aware of its legacy,” Bonutto said. “The first time I saw him was when he played the Country to Country (music festival) in London, which is a big annual country music event. I thought his personality was fantastic and his playing is obviously unbelievably good.”

Bonutto wrangled a quick meeting with Stuart at the festival, but had to wait a while before Stuart and his management were ready to sign a new record contract.

“I’m trying to build the Snakefarm label into a global entity [in Americana music],” he said. “The best way you can build anything is to attach yourself to people who are legendary and iconic. Hopefully you do an amazing job for them and they speak well of you and they become part of the fabric of what you do.”

Bonutto noted that Stuart, who is also a photographer and working on a facility to display his country music artifacts, is not “a one-dimensional character.”

“He’s a man with a fantastic vision,” Bonutto said. “I think that comes across in the other things.”

Stuart is a leading collector of country music memorabilia, and he’s working on a $30 million museum to display it in his hometown of Philadelphia, Mississippi. A 500-seat theater is already open, and 50,000-square-feet of exhibit space for 20,000 artifacts will be the second phase. An education center is planned after that. 

“I was a fan, going back to those country or gospel groups or bluegrass groups who come through my hometown when I was a kid,” Stuart said. “I’d always buy a record and ask for an autograph or ask one of the pickers if I could grab a pick.”

In the 1980s, he observed that “old timers, the pioneers, the people who had raised me, were being disregarded.”

“Their treasures, their personal effects, their guitars and costumes, were winding up in junk stores around Nashville,” he said. “I found Patsy Cline’s makeup kit for 75 bucks in a junk store on Eighth Avenue in Nashville. I couldn’t believe it.”

Stuart met Isaac Tigrett of Hard Rock Café in London, and he showed Stuart how that restaurant chain was investing in and exhibiting rock music memorabilia.

“Even though it was a hamburger joint, I understood the importance of them collecting and curating stuff from The Beatles and the Stones and The Who. … Beyond the Country Music Hall of Fame, I didn’t see anybody doing it, so it just became a self-appointed mission to start rescuing a lot of those things that were winding up in junk stores.”

Stuart’s collection includes treasures such as the handwritten lyrics of “I Saw the Light” and “Cold, Cold Heart” by Hank Williams Sr., the boots Patsy Cline was wearing during her 1963 fatal plane crash and Cash’s first all-black performance outfit.

Speaking of country music history, Stuart began his career in bluegrass backing up Lester Flatt before joining Cash’s band. He’d like to return to those roots and record a bluegrass album.

“I need to, I need to,” he said. “But it needs to be authentic. It needs to be the real deal, blood-curdling bluegrass.”


Photo Credit: Alysse Gafkjen 

BGS 5+5: Ellis Paul

Artist: Ellis Paul
Hometown: Charlottesville, Virginia
Latest album: 55 (available June 9, 2023)

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

I can’t say which artist has inspired me “the most,” there’s too many great ones in the generations that came before me and too many new ones popping up as I go. And some of them are unconscious influences. I don’t go to James Taylor or Paul Simon consciously, but they are such a part of my youth and DNA that I know they are there. The Beatles are my go to teachers, as is Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell. Their entire catalogues. When I listen to them with a magnifying glass, I’m constantly awe struck. They make my humility rise as a dominant emotional state. I’m good at what I do. But the gap between them and me is clear to me – but it is also where my great frontier lies. The best version of me is somewhere out there ahead — in that direction — and I need them as inspiration to explore it. To guide my improvements. So I dissect their music. And thank them. While their songs lie like frogs in the biology class of my mind.

What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc. — inform your music? 

All of it! Everywhere I’m engaged in life can create a song — so I’m constantly on the lookout. I see what I do as a form of literature. There is a reason why Bob Dylan is walking around with a Nobel Prize in Literature. It’s storytelling, poetry, lyricism wrapped in imagery, dressed within melody and colored orchestration. It’s a visual medium in people’s brains as they watch the details unfold in a song while they are listening. So it’s like a movie or a painting. The music is a dance. It’s flowing. It’s a kind of geography.

Everything from a great meal to a great movie can inspire. Anytime I’m stuck, I try to get out and see a film or go to a museum or take a walk. Read a book. Watch how film makers tell their stories. It’s all a deep well to drink from, aren’t we incredibly lucky? I love my job.

What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?

One of the best rituals I have in the studio is working with a grid sheet and stickers to watch the progress I’m making as the album evolves. I put it on the wall so everyone involved can see it. It’s a big piece of paper usually 18” by 24”. The songs are on the left side going down and all the tracks run across the top. After a musician plays their part, I give them a sticker to fill in their square for the song. It helps me project out, to see what’s left to do, and to see how much has been done. It helps to focus my thoughts on the parts left to finish and I can be creatively thinking about how I want the remaining tracks to lie against the ones that are completed. It also makes the musician feel good for some reason. They always love it. The stickers are usually cool, like Wizard of Oz characters. It brings out the first grader in people. They choose which sticker and then find their empty box and fill it with Toto.

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be? 

Mainly— create beauty in every part of your work.

Now, since I’m in my fifties, this would be by making the most of your talent and my skill set. Focus on the writing because that is the part that will be left behind when you part from the earthly side of things. The recordings will tell the story of you in the years to come when your gone. So I’m editing the songs until they shimmer, working more in the studio to get things right and less as a road dog doing shows. I was always writing and recording on the fly. Coming into the studio with a voice torn up by the road. And songs written on airplanes. I’ve got more space now, because I’m established, and can live off of fewer shows. I can’t sing as high or sustain notes the same way, but I have more patience and wisdom now. I’m a better writer for those things. And the best is yet to come.

How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?

I like character driven songs and usually have a couple on every album. The latest album, 55, has a song from the perspective of a tattooed lady in a circus. I did it as a writing exercise where I was assigning circus characters to my songwriting students. So I had to assume a lot of different things with this song: a woman’s perspective, a time/era perspective – because I felt like it was occurring in the late ’40s – and then someone who is essentially a circus act in a freak show. It was fun to write. Unlike, say a “bearded lady” or conjoined twins, the tattooed performer chose to look as she does. I don’t feel like she is a victim of circumstance in the same way, so the character invites the listener to gaze upon her physique. Circus life can be tough as well, doing show after show, so you sense her boredom. Despite the fact that she is lighting the wick on the big gun of the human cannonball. She’s a bit over it.


Photo Credit: Jack Looney