Artist:Reckless Kelly Hometown: Austin, Texas Latest Album:The Last Frontier
(Editor’s Note: Answers supplied by Willy Braun.)
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
My favorite memory of being on stage is usually the last song at the Braun Brothers Reunion. We always close with a Bob Dylan song, “You Ain’t Going Nowhere.” It’s been a tradition for a long time and that’s always the end of our set. Reckless Kelly always closes Saturday night of the festival. We bring all of our artist friends out to do a big grand finale jam on that song. It’s always really fun, because it’s following a week of great times, great shows, great music, and people getting together having a ball. The crowd is always singing along with it. It’s just a good little crescendo to end the BBR every year. So that’s one of my top ten right there for sure.
What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?
I get a lot of inspiration for songs from reading. Actually, I borrow lines from books and maybe story lines or direct quotes. Not sure if that’s considered stealing or not, but haven’t been sued yet; so that’s good. But no, I try to read a lot, especially when I am up in Idaho in the wintertime and I keep a notepad by the chair or by the fire where I’m reading. I’ll jot down lines that jump out at me or you know sometimes when you’re reading a story you’ll get an inspiration for a song. But yeah, I take a lot of inspiration from reading books.
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
The nature element that inspired me the most is probably just being in the mountains up in Idaho. Kind of out in the middle of nowhere in the high desert. My place is pretty secluded, so I don’t have a lot of people stopping by, especially in the wintertime. I’m able to just kind of shut the phone off and do some writing. It’s just a great place to just sit and stare out the window at the mountains and just be inspired by the solitude and silence of it all. So I would say the mountains are my number one place to go and get away from it all.
Does pineapple really belong on pizza?
This is two questions rolled into one. First question being, “What’s the most random question you’ve been asked in an interview?” followed by, “Does pineapple belong on pizza?” I think that’s the most random thing I’ve been asked, so we’re going to answer it for you.
The answer is, yes, pineapple belongs on pizza. If you don’t think so, then you’re only fooling yourself, you’re trying to be cool, and trying to be a little more Italian than maybe you are. I can just tell you this from experience. When we have more than one pizza delivered to the bus and one of them contains pineapple, it’s the first one to go. Even though half the guys in the band claim they don’t like pineapple on their pizza, like it is some kind of abomination. So, I’ll take my pizza with pineapple, canadian bacon, and jalapeño, thank you very much. Preferably on thin crust and if you don’t like it, you can go back to Sicily.
If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?
If I didn’t work in music, I would probably be a carpenter. I’ve always liked building stuff. My grandpa was a carpenter; he taught me how to build stuff when I was a kid. I just enjoy creating things; whether it’s a coffee table, a cabin, a house, or a picture frame, whatever – if it’s made out of wood. It’s fun, I like to build stuff out of wood. I’m not much of a mechanic, but I can work with wood. Yeah, I’d be a woodworker/carpenter if this whole music thing doesn’t work out.
Though Randall Deaton’s excellence as a producer and engineer has been well known for many years in the bluegrass world, he had taken a hiatus from music for nearly nine years before returning in 2024. His latest venture is both a conceptual and musical triumph. The new release, Silver Bullet Bluegrass (Lonesome Day Records), pays tribute to the great rocker Bob Seger with an all-star corps of bluegrass vocalists and instrumentalists performing his tunes reworked, bluegrass style. The lineup of performers includes Gary Nichols, Tim Shelton, Shonna Tucker, Bo Bice, Tim Stafford, Bill Taylor, Larry Cordle, and more.
The project’s origin dates back even further, as Deaton detailed during a recent extensive interview with BGS conducted via email.
“(I got the idea) probably sometime around 2009,” Deaton said. “We released records by the band Blue Moon Rising and Ralph Stanley II in 2008 and each of those records contained songs that were pulled from non-traditional bluegrass sources. Blue Moon Rising did a cover of Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Youngstown’ and Fred Eaglesmith’s ‘Freight Train,’ while Ralph II did Elton John’s ‘Georgia’ and Townes Van Zandt’s ‘Loretta.’ I brought all those songs to the artists and I was really pleased with the way they turned out. They ended up being very legitimate takes on the songs without having any of the ‘pickin’ on’ vibe. I think the first thoughts of a Seger bluegrass record came from the idea of wondering how ‘Hollywood Nights’ would sound in a bluegrass style.”
However, the project took longer to happen than anticipated. “The overall recording process took over 12 years, but that was because I took about an eight year break from music in the middle to pursue other things,” Deaton continued. “The original challenge was to track the songs without the final lead vocalist. Seger is such a great vocalist and can comfortably sing in keys that most other male singers can’t, so I had to consider which keys to track some of the songs in. Some songs I left in the original keys and just knew that those songs needed to stay right there. Other songs we dropped down a step or so in order to have more options when it came to finding the right singer. The actual studio work was pretty easy once we knew who was doing what.”
“A great deal of the tracking band was the same group of musicians that we used on a record by Jeff Parker entitled Go Parker!” Deaton continued. “Mike Bub, Stephen Mougin, Ned Luberecki, and Shawn Brock all had plenty of experience playing and recording traditional bluegrass, but they also had experience outside of that – including Mike playing with Steve Earle on The Mountain record and Stephen touring with Sam Bush. Ned is a very progressive banjo player and Shawn is simply one of the best musicians I know. Other musicians were added based on what I thought the track needed. We used several fiddle players on this record and each of them brought something special and unique.”
When asked about personal favorites from the session Deaton responded: “The first singer to agree to perform on the record was Josh Shilling of the band Mountain Heart. He did “Main Street.” He did such an awesome job on that song that he set a bar for the rest of the record. That song is definitely one of my favorites. I am also partial to that track, because Megan Lynch [Chowning] played my grandfather’s fiddle on that track. It was just an old catalog fiddle from the 1930s, but I was told that he used to sit on the front porch and play it.”
“He passed away before I was born, but somehow I ended up with the fiddle. I think it is really neat that the same fiddle is doing that signature melody on ‘Main Street.’ The last two vocals that we recorded for the record were the Carson Peters and Bill Taylor tracks. Producing those vocals and in Carson’s case the fiddle was the first time I had been in a studio in many years and I wasn’t sure how effective I would be after so much time away. I am very proud of how those tracks turned out because they made me feel like I could do this again in the future if the right situation came up.”
An interesting thing about Deaton is bluegrass wasn’t his initial musical love growing up. “When I was a kid, we listened to country music around the house,” he recalled in his bio. “I knew more about Exile than I did about The Police. I knew a little bit about bluegrass, but I didn’t really get into bluegrass until I started learning how to play guitar. All the people that I could play with around home were mostly playing bluegrass music. That’s how I really got introduced to it.”
From that early start as a guitarist, Deaton converted a church left him by his grandmother in 1999 to a studio and started focusing on engineering. That led to the creation of the Lonesome Day label, which took its name off a Springsteen tune. Their first project was by Eastern Kentucky bluegrass artist Sam Wilson. The label soon became celebrated in bluegrass circles for turning out both hits and classic albums by a host of greats. The list includes Jeff Parker, Lou Reid, Blue Moon Rising, Larry Cordle, Steve Gulley, Ralph Stanley II, Ernie Thacker, Darrell Webb, Richard Bennett, Shotgun Holler, Wildfire, Fred Eaglesmith, and more.
Deaton’s accomplishments aren’t limited solely to the music world. He’s overcome retinitis pigmentosa, a genetic condition that affects nerve cells in the retina that causes functional failure and an inability to transmit information from the eye to the brain. But that hasn’t prevented Deaton from continuing his brilliance in the studio, nor from expanding into other musical areas as a label owner and producer. In 2011, Lonesome Day would release Sweet Nothings by Girls Guns & Glory – now known as Ward Hayden & the Outliers – which was produced by Paul Kolderie and recorded in Boston.
Kolderie would later produce Tim Shelton’s album, Jackson Browne Revisited. In 2014, A second Girls Guns & Glory project titled Good Luck was produced by Eric “Roscoe” Ambel. Prior to taking his break from music, Deaton’s label would also issue three albums by bluegrass guitar master Richard Bennett. But, by 2015, Deaton was both a bit disillusioned by some things happening in the music business and ready to do something else.
“Something else” included converting his music studio into an AirBnb, investing in short-term rentals in Eastern Kentucky, and later buying resorts in two different areas in Michigan, as well as a restaurant. Deaton also did a bit of concert promotion in the meantime. Eventually, he’d return to making music, with the latest result being Silver Bullet Bluegrass.
When asked about his favorite projects over his career, Deaton offers these selections:
“I really like the work I did with the band Blue Moon Rising. Their first record, On The Rise, was very well received and made me feel like I could make records that would find their place in the bluegrass genre. The second record I did with them entitled, One Lonely Shadow, is the record that contained ‘Youngstown’ and to me that is still probably the single best record I have been a part of. The song selection, the performances, and the engineering work of Mike Latterell are all outstanding. I am also very proud of the Ralph Stanley II record entitled, This One Is II. Again, the performances and song selections were outstanding and Mike also tracked and mixed this record.”
“We did both of these records in the same timeframe so they are kind of linked for me,” he continued. “These are consistently the two records that people still bring up to me saying that one of them is their favorite. One of my very first things that I still think guided me was my work on the record entitled Time by Lou Reid & Carolina. This was a band record and most everything on the record was done by Lou’s current band. Lou brought the song ‘Time’ that ended up being the title track to the record and it was clear to me that the song needed more than just what the band could bring.”
“We ended up using some great outside musicians,” he continued, “Such as Ron Stewart, Randy Kohrs, and Harold Nixon to get a track that was more solid. We also ended up getting Vince Gill and Ricky Skaggs to sing on the track. The final track turned out great and it ended up being a #1 song on the Bluegrass Unlimited chart in 2005. The song was also a challenge, because I felt like I was pushing for greatness and the artist was taking into account other things besides the record – such as the feelings of the band (which also included his then wife) and how those considerations would always be there moving forward. I always thought that if you were going to make a record you should do everything that is possible to make it as good as it can be within the means that you have.”
Deaton hesitates to pick personal favorites in terms of artists he’s worked with, but acknowledges a few names. “That is a tough one, because I have worked with so many talented people. Since I am such a proponent for great records, I would have to say that the audio engineers that I have worked with are always very special to me. In the very beginning I worked a lot with a guy named Harold Nixon and Harold introduced me to Ron Stewart.”
“Harold and Ron were very big parts of a lot of the Lonesome Day work from the beginning through when I got out in 2015. I also did a lot of work with Mike Latterell starting in 2005. Mike is one of the best audio engineers that I know and we still keep in touch to this day. I also had the chance to work with Brandon Bell on a couple records. He is also an incredible engineer and just a great guy in the studio. Gary Nichols introduced me to Jimmy Nutt back around 2013 or so, and he has been awesome to work with on this Silver Bullet Bluegrass record. When I got back in the studio in 2023 with Carson Peters, Jimmy made me feel like it was just yesterday that we were in the studio together, not eight years ago. Jimmy and his wife Angie have also become great friends to me and my wife, Shelagh, so if there is music in my future Jimmy will definitely be involved.”
“One musician that I have known for years, but never have worked with is Shawn Camp,” is Deaton’s first response when asked about possible future collaborations. “I think he is so talented and such a nice guy that I would love to work with him sometime in the future. A lot of the singers on Silver Bullet Bluegrass I had worked with in the past. Carson Peters and Bill Taylor were great in the studio and I think they have immense talent and I would like to work with those guys sometime in the future.”
As for possibly adapting other musicians’ tunes to the bluegrass idiom, Deaton immediately cites one name. “I think it would be great to do a Bruce Springsteen record. I am a big Springsteen fan and even named my label after one of his songs. I’ve lost count of the number of [his] concerts I have been to, but it is well over 100 from 1999 to 2024.”
His first response to the final question, regarding what’s next for his label, is “I don’t know.”
“I have been really focused on finally getting Silver Bullet Bluegrass finished and released that I haven’t thought about anything else. The landscape of the music business has changed so much since I started that I am in the middle of a learning curve again. I know that I like making records and I know that I don’t need to make records in order to make money. Whatever I end up doing, if anything, I want it to be fun and I want to at least think that it may matter somehow.”
Genre is dead (long live genre!), but how would you describe the genres and styles your music inhabits?
I like to describe my music as rock meets country, though I have some ’90s alternative and pop influences in there. To mash all those up into one genre, I settle on calling it alt-country.
How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me?”
All the time. It’s almost impossible to exclusively divorce my own emotions and experience when creating a character. It’s very freeing, though, and I like to weave in and out of not just the character’s perspective, but the perspectives of other people I know, too, as well as mine.
What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?
I wrote a song called “Back of My Mind,” which is about my father who passed away when I was young. I cried my way through writing it and relived a lot of the grief I hadn’t felt in years.
What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?
I love Enya. I put it on when I am super stressed, need to fall asleep, or just want to feel some mystical vibes. Last time I visited Ireland, I fulfilled a dream and put it on full blast as I drove along the Irish west coast taking in the scenery.
Does pineapple really belong on pizza?
I fought it for so long and one day I was high and hungry enough to be talked into it. It was an instant love affair. I’ve since branched out into being open to other fruits on a pizza. Fig, pear… though I might draw the line at watermelon.
Artist:Abby Hamilton Hometown: Nicholasville, Kentucky Latest Album: #1 Zookeeper (of the San Diego Zoo)
Which artist has influenced you the most?
It’s always been Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash. My mom used to have us stop before a Myrtle Beach or Gatlinburg vacation growing up to have us pick out a book. At 12 years old I resented this greatly. But, as luck would have it, I landed on a June Carter Cash biography, Anchored in Love. Realizing I had known this music my whole life, I saw so much of myself in her story and it led me down one of the richest love affairs of discographies I’ve ever experienced. The music and life stories of Johnny Cash and June Carter have always been a north star for my writing, performing, and presence as a person and a writer. I adore them. It also opened the doors to the world of country and folk music.
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
Speaking of Johnny Cash, I remember being in college and discovering that Kris Kristofferson had written “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” not Johnny. I had no idea people could be songwriters and not the artist. It was like this huge “aha!” moment in my life. I never really felt like I was good at anything growing up. Not very high achieving in school and not super passionate about anything. Until that moment. I thought to myself, “If I can write songs, I will be happy. No matter who sings them.” And that’s what happened!
When I started writing here in Kentucky, I quickly realized everyone who made music here wrote their songs. A beautiful legacy from these parts, but it made me shift my attention to performing them. Thinking maybe, “If I sing these songs, someone might want to sing them, too.” This lead to a beautiful and unexpected journey with performing and falling in love with singing and my band. Don’t know how I got here really, but that’s the most I know.
Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?
Man, I think I’d take a bowl of Vodka Pasta and Bruce Springsteen. Those two always hit. And make it spicy.
What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?
There’s so many things. I’m lucky to be surrounded by so many friends, family, and influences who know me and tell me the truth. The biggest thing has always been staying true to myself. Protect my tribe and be honest with those closest to me. CLICHES I know. But, it’s true.
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
Anytime I’m in Eastern Kentucky on a dewey spring morning, I’m writing like a fiend. TRULY. If I can catch a sunrise and see the spiders making webs in the grass in the morning, I’ve always finished a song. Something that feels like a retreat from the real world always inspires me. No matter the season.
(Editor’s Note: This interview first appeared in full on Basic Folk. Listen on BGS or wherever you get podcasts. The following has been lightly edited for flow and clarity.)
Jobi Riccio has only begun to scratch the surface of what they have to offer on their debut album, Whiplash. The songwriting is centered around self discovery and mourning past lives, laid alongside super-smart country and pop melodies. Our hero grew up an outdoor kid amongst the woods of Red Rocks Parks Amphitheatre in Colorado.
A strong bluegrass community encircled her playing from a very young age in a way that encouraged her to pursue music as a career. She spent time in Boston attending Berklee College of Music, nestled in the folk community centered around the historic venue Club Passim. March 2020 hit. Jobi had to leave her newfound community and found herself back in her childhood bedroom.
While wrestling with all the complications of finding herself and her place in the world, they were letting go of their childhood and the sense of grounding that came with it. Eventually, they made their way to Asheville, North Carolina to work on Whiplash.
In the studio, she took her time making the album and discovered that indeed, she had a strong sense of vision for the music. The trust of her collaborators allowed her to trust in herself and create an album that is turning heads and making Jobi Riccio one of the most exciting young songwriters of 2023.
BGS: Thank you so much for being on Basic Folk.
Jobi Riccio: Thank you for having me.
Alright, let’s start. I wanted to talk about identity and give you the opportunity to talk about your identity, like how do you identify pronouns, orientation, any of that stuff that we want to address.
JR: Yeah, I use she/they pronouns. I identify as queer and identity has been something that feels like it’s been important and very complicated for me. It feels like something that I have spoken about and made a part of my career, and now I’m kind of feeling, a little bit, like it’s become too much of a focus in my career, actually.
It’s funny, because I was listening to your other podcast that [you do], I can’t remember–
Yes! I was like, you’ll know the person to plug – and I’m so sorry to Why We Write.
It’s based on actually something that Lizzie No was saying. I just really resonated with something that she said, which was it’s about who is asking those questions of me. It can feel like a fine line. It’s kind of “cool” right now to be a queer artist or a Black artist or an artist of color in the folk space.
When you’re with your community, that feels one way, or with people who are truly great. And then when you’re with people who it just seems like they need to check that box. It’s so obvious and it’s so painful and it feels like a betrayal of yourself. And [Lizzie] put it a lot more eloquently than all that, but if we’re really going down the discussion of identity, it’s important to me that I am open with my identity, but I also feel like there have been times where it’s been so hyper-focused on. In a way that it’s like, “Did you even listen to any of my songs or did you know what I mean?”
I really enjoyed that answer. Doing these interviews, sometimes I feel like I’m gonna ask and I think that the interview is gonna go one way or a question is gonna go one way and it goes the complete opposite way. I just get to enjoy the ride.
You are from Morrison, Colorado, which is outside of Denver – the same place as Red Rocks Parks and Amphitheatre. You were an outdoor kid. How do you think your early experience in nature has impacted the person you became?
I think that it’s something that I really value and need and it’s a processing tool for me, being out in nature. It’s almost equivalent to songwriting and writing in my journal. It’s honestly super hard here in Nashville, because I don’t feel like I can get that, in the way that I used to be able to walk to a hiking trail five minutes from my house. I was absolutely supremely spoiled with outdoor access as a kid. [I didn’t] know any better. Like, there’s going to come a time where you’re going to live somewhere the nearest mountains are two and a half hours away. That is rough. It’s something I have to really intentionally build into my life now.
I think that nature heavily informs me as a person. Musically, I feel like it shows up in my lyrics [and] images from home, talking about coyotes and cactus and etc. I feel like it’s so intrinsic to who I am as a person.
So nature ruined you.
For real. The nature ruined me. Colorado ruined me.
There has always been this strong draw to music for you – country radio, your parents and sister’s collection of music, and also making music on your own. Can you set the scene for what music looked like in your house? And when did you get a grasp on your own taste in music?
My parents definitely – we had like a home stereo and a big collection of CDs and I spent a lot of time just sort of putzing around my house as a little kid, opening cabinets, and looking at things and opening the encyclopedia and reading. I don’t know if anyone else feels like a really intrinsic part of childhood was just looking at things.
The CD collection in like, a big wicker basket was definitely a huge one for me. They felt like little gifts. I could open up the CD and then there was this extra thing I could pull out and there were liner notes and lyrics and I could read along. That was really big for me, because I was always really interested in lyrics.
My dad’s a huge Bruce Springsteen fan. We love the Boss and sometimes we can’t understand the Boss. And like, his lyrics are wonderful, too. I really feel like that was pretty formative to me, looking through my parents’ CDs and my sister’s CDs as well. My oldest sister had like a clear, hot pink, very early 2000s lockbox thing that she kept her CDs in. I very vividly remember going into her room and stealing CDs – The Killers, Coldplay, A Rush of Blood to the Head was a big one for me, Sheryl Crow, Tuesday Night Music Club, Yellow Ocean Avenue. Then like Emmylou Harris, Bruce Springsteen, Linda Ronstadt, the Eagles, James Taylor.
There is a strong bluegrass community where you’re from. You found it at an early age, playing mandolin when you were like eight or nine years old. Since then you’ve sought out musical community, so what did you learn from that first musical community?
The bluegrass community was a big part of feeling supported for me in music. I was always a kid who sang and was like, the girl with a good voice in like my elementary school class or whatever, but I didn’t see myself as a musician until I really started playing mandolin. I had a teacher and he was super supportive and was like, “You’re really great at instruments, too.”
I feel like the bluegrass community in my hometown took me seriously even though I was a little kid running around at RockyGrass – and by “a little kid” I mean 16. I didn’t go to my first bluegrass festival until I was a teenager. I would go and sit and jam with adults and be taken seriously. I really looked up to [those who were] offering their support to me, that was immeasurable to [growing] my own self confidence at that age.
I mean, I was so insecure at like 15, 16. The first year I ever went to RockyGrass, which sort of became my home festival, I didn’t even go out and play with anyone. I just sat in my camper with my mom, because I was so scared and so nervous and having trouble with confidence. The next year, I was out like playing every night ’til like 2 or 3 a.m.
That’s a huge shift!
Yeah. I feel like community and music– I mean, no musician is an island. We’re nothing without the musicians who came before us and those who’ve supported us. Sometimes I look back on that time and wonder if I hadn’t gotten that nod in that jam from that older kid who was really good, who I thought was awesome; or from that artist who I worshipped, who told me I had a beautiful voice; or I had shared one of my songs with them, and they were encouraging of me writing. I wonder if I would have taken it this far?
Then I got to be in a really beautiful community space working at Club Passim in college, too. That also further helped bolster my confidence, especially playing solo. Because – as you know, as also somebody who worked there in a much different capacity – it’s very much like a solo listening room, singer-songwriter space.
I play solo [a lot] now on tour, because I can’t afford to bring out a band. I feel like I really garnered some valuable skills watching other people like Mark Erelli and Lori McKenna play solo at Passim and also having to do that myself, learning how to speak about the songs I had written and not be painfully awkward, but doing that in the loving embrace of that room.
You’ve talked about Sheryl Crow and The Chicks as having a huge impact on you. You picked up the mandolin after you first heard Nickel Creek – can you talk more about the influence Chris Thile and Sara and Sean Watkins had on you?
So, I first heard Nickel Creek on the radio on KBCO, which is like the AAA station.
Hell yeah, that’s a huge station. That’s where AAA was born!
Where AAA was born, famously, yes! That was my local radio station that I listened to as a kid. And they would play “Smoothie Song” by Nickel Creek. This was around the same time that I heard the Home album by The Chicks. I was listening to Top 40 country music and also hearing mandolin here and there. It’s so strange, because I don’t play the mandolin anymore. It’s just something I’m not interested in now – it makes me almost kind of sad to think of how this was such a big part of my life.
Then I really pivoted – and it’s like, I’ll never say never, but yeah, I started playing mandolin when I was 15, I wanted to play mandolin when I was about eight or nine years old, because that was when we got Why Should the Fire Die on CD as a family. When I started opening up the CD and reading the booklet and listening – that album is so cool, because there’s a little bit of almost a pop-punk thing to some of the songs, like “Somebody More Like You.” That was so of-the-time and I loved it. I couldn’t get enough of that.
Being introduced to this new palette of instruments that I really hadn’t heard played in this way. I was familiar with bluegrass to some extent, but it like bluegrass for me and my like angsty little 12-year-old self. And, you know, everybody’s angsty selves at any age. That struck such a chord in me…
And Pavement’s super emo! “Spit On a Stranger,” right?
Yeah, that’s it.
I loved that album, too. They were all older than me, but I didn’t really know that either because, like, they’re pretty young on the CD case. They’re probably [around] my older sister’s age, who is now 28. They’re not that close in age to me, but I did feel a kindred-ness that I feel like a lot of roots artists talk about, hearing them and the Chicks and being like, “Oh, this is cool! This is of the moment.” They’re incorporating sounds that we like from other genres, which is really what I think I’m trying to get with the whole pop-punk thing, though I know that can be kind of a “dirty” word, like pop country. I don’t think it should be, I don’t think any genre word should be.
And I definitely had like a three month period where I was like, “I’m in love with Chris Thile. I’m going to marry him.” That was a little, you know, short lived, but it was strong. His high, angelic voice really spoke to my prepubescent soul.
That’s so sweet.
You’re like, “I don’t know what to say about that!”
Thank you for sharing. No, it turns out it was Sara Watkins the whole time!
I was born in Boston, Massachusetts, and I was raised primarily in San Francisco, but we lived in Havana and Amsterdam before settling in Kentucky, ancestral homeland of my maternal grandfather. My family on my grandmother’s side were Roma and Jewish, my grandfather’s, Scotch Kentuckian. My mother took after hers, and we moved around a lot while she made documentaries and wrote poetry.
Latest Album:Forever Home (out September 22, 2023)
Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Sadwick, Dadwick, Sandwich, Shadooby, sometimes I am Henry, and so on. We have many names and take many forms.
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
If I’m doing my job well, I don’t really retain memories of being onstage… The “I” disappears into the music. Of course, if something goes badly, I will remember it for the rest of my life. But my dearest onstage memory is from recently at a festival in Wisconsin – a tattooed dad and his two punk-rocker daughters were all singing along to every word of our songs. That felt really special… I may have cried about it. I definitely cried about it.
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
I remember being five years old, dancing in the mirror with my plastic guitar and ripped jeans to my mother’s Bruce Springsteen records. She likes to remind me of that memory. I guess I have always known. Even though there are many career paths that I would like to explore in other lives – baker, teacher, postman, monk – this one is for songs, and I am rich with them. Laden, even.
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
Sing from the heart. Don’t take it too seriously. Remember to have fun, and to be kind. That’s pretty much it! We have a tendency to overcomplicate things, when the simplest answers are often the truest.
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
I love to watch trees. We are rich with trees in Kentucky, and out where we live on the farm (just outside Louisville). The last few years I have been trying to learn all of their names, their leaf shapes, their bark textures. A favorite hobby of mine is foraging – black walnut, mulberry, gingko. Mushrooms, too. This year we got lucky with the morels. Last year I missed morels, but was lousy with the butteriest chanterelles, from a hillside near Greenbo Lake in Eastern Kentucky.
I have always felt connection in nature, in a spiritual sense. Nurturing that connection is essential for my mental health, and, I believe, also for our survival as a species. Our dominant culture would have us believe that humankind is separate from nature, but of course we know that’s not the case. We are wholly of the Earth, our larger body. It is this imaginary separation that allows us to objectify and exploit her, which of course has brought about this very real existential threat that is the climate crisis.
How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?
This is such an interesting dance, as a writer – the one between subject and object. Every time we perform, we are creating a character for the purpose of communicating this particular story. When I was a younger songwriter, I would tend to write about things that had really happened to me – heartbreaks, epiphanies, tribulations and such. Nowadays, I don’t find my autobiography to be quite so interesting. And although there are many such personal narratives on Forever Home, the “I” and the “you” are ultimately “us,” and the perspectives of “writer” and “listener” can be interchangeable in that same way: telling the stories of the human heart and mind, that are universal in more ways than they are disparate. So yes, very often, because in the end, there is only us; only One consciousness experiencing our human and cosmic dramas through the infinite and beautiful forms we take.
Artist:Reckless Son Hometown: New York City Latest Album:Reckless Son
Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?
If there has been one consistent touchstone for me, particularly as a songwriter, it’s been Bruce Springsteen. I can remember the exact moment I fell in love with his music. I was a bit of a punk rock kid growing up and for the most part Bruce had always struck me as too theatrical, too earnest for my taste. But I was also a real bookworm, and I remember one night at a party listening to the song “Backstreets” from Born to Run and I was blown away by the lyrical scope of the song. It felt ambitious to me on the level of really great literature. I think as far as influences go, and this extends beyond my life as an artist or musician, I’ve always been looking for people that I could model myself after. In that moment, even though I was a kid growing up in Manhattan who had never been behind the wheel of a car or set foot in Asbury Park, I felt like Bruce was someone I could model myself after, someone I wanted to be like. I’ve also always been drawn to artists that I felt really had something to say, artists who’re seeking something rather than just looking to be entertaining, and to me Bruce was that.
Lastly, I’ll say that Springsteen on Broadway was a big inspiration for me specifically when it came to writing Reckless Son. I’d been traveling the country performing in prisons for a long time and I desperately wanted to communicate what I was seeing and experiencing to people who would normally never have any exposure to those places, and when I saw the Springsteen show I said to myself, “This is how you’re gonna do it.” His character sketches in songs like “The River,” “Born In the USA” and “Highway Patrolman” just blow me away. Those songs are entire novels in three minutes and thirty seconds. Not only do you feel like you know those characters inside and out by the time the song is over, you feel like you could be them, or that you at least totally relate to them. That’s maybe the most remarkable part about it. You can listen to one of those songs, and although you seemingly have nothing in common with the narrator, you can relate to the point where their struggles could be your own. I wanted to make the experience of incarceration and all the circumstances that lead to it something relatable to people who live a life completely removed from that world. I wanted to make that experience tangible and human, to inspire some compassion. I feel like more than anyone, Bruce showed me not only how to do that, but why it’s so important to do that.
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
I’ve amassed a pretty incredible repertoire of stories and scrapbook of memories, but if I had to narrow it down to one I think I’d have to pick the very first time I ever played a show in a jail. It was in November of 2016 when I was given the opportunity to do a show in the Heroin Recovery Program of the Albany County Jail. I took the train up to Albany. I remember most of the leaves had already started falling by that point but the ones that remained on the trees were just incredible. It was a gorgeous train ride but I was so nervous. The entire time I kept kicking myself, thinking, “How did I get myself into this?” Once I got to the jail, I remember the sheriff walking with me down these long corridors and crossing checkpoints with huge metal doors banging and slamming into place behind us each time, each one its own “point of no return.”
When I finally walked into the unit, the men all seemed to turn and look at me at once, completely perplexed by why I was there. But I literally just put one foot in front of the other, unpacked my guitar and got ready to play. After I played my first song, the craziest thing happened. They all started clapping! I’m telling you, I couldn’t believe it! And when I played my second song, an even crazier thing happened. They clapped again! Before long, we started talking to each other in between songs — the space was small enough to have a conversation with the maybe 20 or 30 guys in the group. They started telling me how they felt about each song, about if and how they related, and they started telling me stories from their own lives. My life changed inalterably that day. An entirely new world of possibilities opened itself up to me, not only as an artist, but as a person.
What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc. — inform your music?
Like I mentioned, I’ve been a bookworm most of my life and I’d have to say that books and literature have impacted my music more than any other artform. I work as a bookseller at an independent bookstore in my neighborhood in Manhattan called 192 Books and besides playing music it’s the best job I’ve ever had. You go on these epic scavenger hunts though the inventory when you’re restocking and you come across so many special books accidentally you would have never discovered, and each one sort of feels like it was waiting for you to find it. Books let you travel in time and travel all over the world and for me they feed a kind of spiritual wanderlust.
It’s the same sense of adventure that motivates me to keep making art and music. The discovery of some new landscape, a new color or texture, a way to feel a little bit closer to articulating my interior world and making it something I can share with others. Great books can also give you incredible insights into the mind and the soul. In my songs, I feel like I’m constantly grappling with the question of “Why do we do things we don’t want to do?” Great literature and poetry don’t necessarily give answers to that question, but they help me accept, embrace, and maybe even celebrate all the inevitable limitations that come with being human.
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
The final song of Reckless Son is called “Just One” and I think that song is about as close to writing a mission statement for myself as I’ll ever come. When I introduce the song, I talk about how I’m pretty terrified every time I walk into a jail or a prison to perform. The problems people are facing seem overwhelming and impossible to solve, and it can feel silly at times thinking I can do anything to help, but the way I get past that doubt is to tell myself if I can help just one person in the room, then it’s worth it. If I can make just one person feel a little more seen and a little less alone, then I’ve done my job and I’ve done it well. I think it’s easy to underestimate the profound difference we can make with just simple acts of kindness and respect. Sometimes I think the only real way to make a difference in the world is on a one-on-one, individual basis, and this song reminds me that no matter how powerless I feel I know I’ve got it in me to be helpful to someone, somewhere and somehow.
How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?
This is an interesting question, because every song on Reckless Son is written in the first person, so I might definitely be hiding in “I.” Part of it is a craft thing. Sometimes I don’t think I’m a good enough writer to make something feel interesting or intimate enough from the narrative distance of third person, but with Reckless Son I also knew I was trying to write a body of work that felt like it was all coming from one person’s point of view. The Reckless Son is a character I sketched together. He’s an amalgamation of different men I met inside correctional facilities, but he’s also got some of me and my life experience in him too. While I’ve never been incarcerated, there are elements of that experience I believe I can identify with. I also make a point in the show to say that even when I take on a character in a song, if the lyric isn’t still somehow drawn from the truth of my own experience, it will fall flat.
I think another reason why I created the Reckless Son was because I didn’t think that I was an interesting enough person on my own, that my life story isn’t particularly compelling, and I needed to invent something to get people interested. It seems common for artists to create avatars and personas for themselves, but this is something I think about a lot for two reasons in particular. First, I plan to keep writing songs and I don’t know if they should still be coming from this character, and second, because I think it probably says something about my own insecurities and sense of identity that’s worth being mindful of. And that, to me, is the real wonder of the creative process. This journey took me all over, I learned so much and saw the whole country by visiting these shadowy places most people never see, all the while learning more and more about myself. It’s an inner and outer unfolding that happen simultaneously, and I’m eager to see where it brings me next.
Songs can be truly short short stories. There is so little time, so little space to convey a complete narrative. That challenge has always thrilled us when crafting our music. When we were asked to create a themed playlist for The Bluegrass Situation, I thought through our own songs that formed the new album Close Enough to Hear (out February 3) and wondered what common thread tied them together. Many of them really are conveying a story, something with a beginning, middle and end. We all went back to our favorite short story songs and marveled at the writers’ ability to forge a genuine drama, with a plot and characters, inciting events and climaxes, in just a few short minutes. It’s a high wire act, where every single word counts and nothing can be wasted. Here’s a list of our favorite short story songs. — Evan Murphy (acoustic guitar), Mile Twelve
This song makes me emotional every time I hear it. Bruce delivers this Billy Bragg song so powerfully and honestly, giving it a distinctly American flavor. – Nate Sabat (upright bass)
I was recently turned on to Bobbie Gentry through the Cocaine and Rhinestones podcast by Tyler Mahan Coe (highly recommended) and stumbled on this song while checking out her catalog. She’s done such an incredible job painting a musical representation of that longing, wishing feeling of wanting to be included. And on a dorkier note, listen to how the phrasing of the hook is different on line one of the chorus than it is on line four. So, so good. — Nate
Our good friends of the duo Tattletale Saints are excellent songwriters from New Zealand, now based in Nashville. This song about Little Richard has beautiful, clear imagery that pulls you right into the song. It’s a mellow performance, not trying too hard and resulting in a memorable story about a unique Nashville music legend. – BB Bowness (banjo)
This haunting a cappella song written by Jean Ritchie is sung from the wife’s point of view as she awaits news of her husband’s fate down in the mine. The song captures the anxiety and uncertainty she feels while she imagines a possible future without her husband. — BB
A dozen cheap roses in a shopping cart, veins through the skin like a faded tattoo. Isbell’s tight, sparse images bloom into vignettes which form a complete story by the end of this song. A man has reached the limits of his patience with a stagnant life. His father lays dying in the ICU, he has no prospects, nothing to stay for. After long years, he finally decides to pack it up and break free. When I am in a period of writing I actually can’t listen to songs this good. They torment me with their lean, sinewy perfection. To use Isbell’s own language, there is no fat on these lyrics. Everybody knows you in a speed trap town. — Evan
“My name’s Joe Roberts, I work for the state” might as well be “Call me Ishmael.” For me, this is the quintessential short story song. There are major motion pictures with plots less deep. It’s the struggle between two brothers, Joe and Frankie, one a state trooper and the other a struggling veteran who can’t seem to stay out of trouble. “I got a brother named Frankie, and Frankie ain’t no good,” sings Joe. Maybe it’s the fact that I have two older brothers, but when Joe watches Frankie’s taillights disappear across the border I cry, even after hundreds of listens. “I musta done a 110 through Michigan County that night.” How desperate was Joe to catch Frankie, to save him from himself? This song has taught me so much about musical storytelling. Springsteen is larger than life, for me and so many others. I wish I could open the back of his head and see how he does it. Thank God we have his music, it’s sacred. — Evan
“Caleb Meyer, he lived alone in them hollerin’ pines” opens this exquisitely brutal ghost story. Gillian Welch has reshaped the very structure of modern folk songwriting. She and David Rawlings prove that when the song, the vocals and the playing are flawless you really don’t need anything more. “Caleb Meyer” is a haunting murder ballad. A woman fights for her life, finding a broken bottle to slash the throat of her would-be rapist. I am in that room with her when I listen to this, the hair standing up straight on the back of my neck. It’s a full-fledged Western, and she does it in three damn minutes. She is a force of nature. — Evan
The lives of Prine’s characters are smaller and simpler than the legends of epic folk ballads. There’s no steam drill, no six shooters, no gallows at dawn. It’s just Loretta, Davie and Rudy, a back porch, a TV that plays the same old news. This is Prine’s genius, making the mundane transcendent in its beauty and its tragedy. It’s like watching modern human life itself dancing on top of his gorgeous finger-picked eighth notes. He was one of our great American prophets, observing, critiquing, reflecting, teaching. He is missed so dearly. — Evan
“‘If this was the Cold War, we could keep each other warm,’ I said on the first occasion that I met Marie.” Ritter is a favorite of novelist Stephen King. It’s not surprising, given the literary grandeur of his songwriting. The strange, post-apocalyptic tale of Marie and the missile silo transfixed me when I first heard it. It’s more mesmerizing with each repeat listen. How does someone create a world so fully realized, so convincing, with such simple tools at their disposal? What a gorgeously weird tale. — Evan
When I was younger, I had four or five Bob Wills CDs that were pretty much on repeat for my whole childhood. This Cindy Walker song was on a couple of them, and every time I heard that fiddle intro, it would stop me in my tracks. I’d sit there completely absorbed in the stark, dusty imagery. This song is lyrically and musically as simple as it gets, but it packs a heavy emotional punch. When this song was recorded by Bob in 1941, the Dust Bowl was barely history, and I can feel the pain it caused in every beat. You don’t always need fancy chords and poetry to make a statement—sometimes you just need a semi-natural disaster. — Ella Jordan (fiddle)
How can you have a playlist without a Joni Mitchell song? The oppressively ordinary yet starkly evocative imagery in the second half (only Joni can put a dishwasher in a song) somehow reminds me a little of some of Lucia Berlin’s writing. This is one of those songs that if you had never heard anybody sing it and you just read the lyrics, it would still be a beautiful poem. One that takes you on a journey, and makes you feel things. One that makes you question your life choices. We all hope it’s only a phase, these dark café days…. – Ella
This is one of my favorite songs from Randy Newman. He sings about traveling around the United States as a child of a Jewish immigrant family in an attempt to find a home and live the American Dream. He deals with themes such as privilege and the issue of losing one’s culture while assimilating. This is the story of many families during the end of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th and continues to be a relatable topic today. – Korey Brodsky (mandolin)
Songwriter Unknown, Recorded by Hazel & Alice – “Two Soldiers”
The story of two Union soldiers during the Civil War who promise each other they will bring news back to their families if one of them does not make it through the battle. The imagery of war is vivid and the storytelling is masterful. Hazel & Alice bring this one to life in their incredible version. — Korey
While putting the finishing touches on my new record, At First There Was Nothing, I found myself living beside the tracks of the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad in southwestern Colorado. Widely considered one of the most scenic train trips on the continent, the jaw-dropping route stretches 45 miles through pristine wilderness, along impossibly narrow cliff ledges, and above roaring river rapids.
Though it was originally constructed in order to haul gold and silver ore from the otherwise inaccessible San Juan Mountains, these days it’s a tourist line beloved by sightseers, backpackers, and whitewater rafters. Even though the cargo has changed, the railroad is still powered by steam engines, just as it was 140 years ago when it first opened, and it’s hard not to fall in love with the sights and sounds and smells that go with it.
When it came time to make a video for the album’s lead single, “Long Haul,” I knew that I wanted to find a way to bring the railroad into it, and fortunately they were gracious enough to let us commandeer a caboose for the finale.
Returning to Durango for the project had me thinking about the strong connections between music and railroads. For as long as there have been trains, there have been train songs: some are joyful celebrations, others, mournful laments. A train whistle can mark a long-awaited arrival or a much-dreaded departure, the start of a new adventure or the end of the good old days. It’s hard to know where to begin when it comes to putting together a playlist of railroad songs, as trains have been written about from nearly every angle in nearly every genre, but here you’ll find some of my favorites, which I hope may inspire you to hit the rails yourself. — Anthony D’Amato
The Band – “Mystery Train”
A cornerstone of American rock and roll, “Mystery Train” has been performed and recorded by just about everyone over the years, but I chose to kick things off with The Band’s version. Musicians use the term “train beat” to refer to a certain kind of basic drum pattern, but Levon goes above and beyond here. There’s a relentlessness and a momentum to his groove that genuinely evokes the feeling of wheels rolling down the track, and it’s utterly mesmerizing.
Howlin’ Wolf – “Smokestack Lightnin’”
Eerie and hypnotic, “Smokestack Lightnin’” is an all-time blues classic. Howlin’ Wolf said the title was inspired by sitting in the country at night and watching sparks fly from the smokestack of passing trains. Close your eyes while you listen and it’s easy to see the red-hot embers dancing in the empty black sky.
The Kinks – “Last of the Steam-Powered Trains”
The through line from Howlin’ Wolf to The Kinks is pretty obvious when you listen to these songs back to back.
The Staple Singers – “This Train”
There are a whole host of versions of this song to choose from, but I’ve always loved The Staple Singers’ take on it, which blurs the lines between gospel and blues. The train is a potent symbol not just in 20th century music and art and literature, but in religious expression, as well, and this is a prime example.
Bruce Springsteen – “Land of Hope and Dreams”
Springsteen references a number of train songs (including “This Train”) within “Land of Hope and Dreams,” which was a live favorite for years before he recorded it on the Wrecking Ball album. I’ve always been drawn to the imagery in this tune, as well as the intricate way in which the words all fit together like puzzle pieces without a single wasted vowel or consonant. “Big wheels roll through fields where sunlight streams” is as clean a line as you could ever hope to write.
Elizabeth Cotten – “Freight Train”
Written when Cotten was still quite young, “Freight Train” is an enduring classic more than 100 years later, and her performance here is utterly timeless. Interestingly enough, the tune made its way to England in the 1950s, where it was covered by a skiffle group called The Quarrymen (which eventually evolved into The Beatles). Seems everyone cut their teeth on train songs.
Lead Belly – “Midnight Special”
The passing headlight of a train is a sign of freedom and salvation for a prisoner in this song, who lets the glow wash over him like baptismal waters in his penitentiary cell.
Ernest Stoneman – “Wreck of the Old 97”
Trainwrecks have been fertile ground for songwriters through the years, and who could blame them? Trainwrecks have it all: drama, heroism, danger, tragedy, sacrifice. If all we got out of this tune was Rhett Miller and his compatriots in the Old 97s, it’d still be worthy of inclusion here.
Woody Guthrie – “John Henry”
Railroads have produced their fair share of local and regional folk heroes over the years, but none as iconic as John Henry, who wins the battle of man versus machine but pays with his life. There’s a whole lot about capitalism and labor and race and technology all wrapped up in this song, which could be said of the railroads themselves, too.
Bob Dylan – “Slow Train”
There’s a simmering intensity to this song that stares you dead in the eye and refuses to blink. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Dylan chose a train as the central metaphor in this scathing assessment of America.
Arlo Guthrie – “The City of New Orleans”
Steve Goodman’s “City of New Orleans” is another well-covered train song, but as far as I’m concerned, Arlo Guthrie has the definitive version. It’s a beautiful slice of life from the perspective of a traveler looking out the window at a changing country.
Justin Townes Earle – “Workin’ for the MTA”
It’s hard to write a modern train song that doesn’t sound like Woody Guthrie cosplay, but Justin Townes Earle did a brilliant job of updating the form on this tune, which is sung from the perspective of a New York City subway worker.
Amanda Shires – “When You Need a Train It Never Comes”
This one’s about a lack of trains, but I think it still qualifies. This was the first song of Amanda’s I ever heard, and I was instantly drawn to her unique perspective on what could otherwise be well-worn territory. Like the Justin Townes Earle tune, it’s a rare contemporary take that feels genuinely original.
Brad Miller – “Reader Railroad No 1702 2-8-0”
This might be considered cheating since it’s not technically a song, but over the years there have been a number of LPs released by and for railfans that consist entirely of field recordings of trains. Many have been relegated to attics and secondhand shops, but some were digitized and made the leap to streaming. I chose this recording from a 1972 album called Steel Rails Under Thundering Skys because I think it offers a great entry point to someone asking the perfectly reasonable question, “Why the hell would I want to listen to that?” The mix of steam trains, falling rain, and rolling thunder is incredibly soothing. Put it on and watch your blood pressure drop.
Artist:Bruce Springsteen Hometown: Freehold, New Jersey Song: “Do I Love You (Indeed I Do)” (originally performed and written by Frank Wilson) Album:Only the Strong Survive Release Date: November 11, 2022 Label: Columbia Records
In Their Words: “I wanted to make an album where I just sang. And what better music to work with than the great American songbook of the Sixties and Seventies? I’ve taken my inspiration from Levi Stubbs, David Ruffin, Jimmy Ruffin, the Iceman Jerry Butler, Diana Ross, Dobie Gray, and Scott Walker, among many others. I’ve tried to do justice to them all — and to the fabulous writers of this glorious music. My goal is for the modern audience to experience its beauty and joy, just as I have since I first heard it. I hope you love listening to it as much as I loved making it.” — Bruce Springsteen
Photo Credit: Danny Clinch
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