Though an uncommon encounter in the roots music scene, the BGS team will always applaud a roots, folk, bluegrass, or old-time cello moment. With velvety, rich tones and a unique percussive capacity, the cello deepens the flavor of every tune it encounters. While not considered a traditional bluegrass instrument, it carries an ancestry boasting many folk interweavings – and its proximity to both the upright bass and fiddle grant it a certain amount of creative leverage while integrating into roots music.
The cello’s undefined yet familiar positionality allows cellists an unconventional playing ground for innovation; without the same distinctly canonized roots traditions as say, the fiddle or the banjo, cellists can access a broadened range of textures and styles.
This list, though it is by no means comprehensive and is curated in no particular order, pays tribute to some of our favorite cellists in a variety of roots music contexts.
Leyla McCalla
A prolific multi-instrumentalist and multilingual singer, Leyla McCalla’s impact on the roots music scene continues to be nothing short of profound. An alumna of the GRAMMY-winning Black string band the Carolina Chocolate Drops and founding member of Our Native Daughters (alongside Allison Russell, Rhiannon Giddens, and Amythyst Kiah), McCalla also has five solo releases under her belt. She is the daughter of two Haitian immigrants and activists and her work is widely informed by Afrofuturist thinkers and Afro-diasporic musical influences. The 2022 recipient of the People’s Voice Award by Folk Alliance international, McCalla’s work has been recognized time and again for her deep commitment to ancestral study and social change.
Ever seen a cellist perform standing up? If you have, they’ve probably heard of Mike Block. Among the inaugural wave of cellists to perform using a strap, Block was the first cellist to ever perform standing at Carnegie Hall and he did so using his own patented creation, the Block Strap.
Sonically, Block has also explored an expanded range of motion, as he is well known for his cross-cultural collaborations. While BGS fans may know him best from the Mike Block trio, his acoustic string band with Joe K. Walsh and Zachariah Hickman, Block also tours with an electric trio called Biribà Union, a duo with Indian tabla player Sandeep Das, a six-piece American/African fusion band, and the Silk Road Ensemble, a collective formerly spearheaded by fellow cello luminary Yo-Yo Ma. Block, astoundingly, has also released 20 albums of his own music, in addition to recording, performing, and arranging for other musical giants such as Miley Cyrus, Elton John, Raffi, and more.
Yo-Yo Ma
Perhaps one of the most renowned cello players of all time, Yo-Yo Ma is widely recognized for his feats in classical music. His discography includes over 120 albums (19 of which earned GRAMMYs), both paying tribute to the classical Western canon and forging revolutionary cross-cultural connections. One of our personal favorite examples here at BGS is Ma’s participation in the Goat Rodeo Sessions, a stellar 2011 collection of classical and Appalachian entwinements featuring Ma, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer, and Chris Thile, with vocals from Aoife O’Donovan showcased as well. The result is nothing short of breathtaking – truly an original fusion of soundscapes that remained unparalleled until the supergroup’s release of their sequel album, Not Our First Goat Rodeo (2020).
Hailing from Milwaukee, Wisconsin and now based in Nashville, cellist Monique Ross is one half of the dynamic sibling duo SistaStrings. She and her sister, Chauntee Ross (violin), blend their classical training with gospel, R&B, and folk influences to yield music that once again proves the age-old wisdom that there is nothing quite like sibling synastry. The pair’s vocal and instrumental prowess enrapture with both distinctive emotive execution and precise relationality. Both also perform as members of Brandi Carlile’s touring band and Carlile will serve as the producer for their upcoming project currently in the works.
Find more Monique Ross and SistaStrings here and here.
Larissa Maestro
Larissa Maestro is a Filipinx multi-hyphenate talent based out of Nashville, Tennessee. Named “Instrumentalist of the Year” at the 2022 Americana Music Awards, Maestro was the first cellist and the first member of the AAPI community to receive that honor. A composer and activist as well as a musician, Maestro arranges chamber music, co-founded a community orchestra (The Nashville Concerto Orchestra), and often fundraises for non-profit organizations through their craft.
Maestro’s ability to weave lush string arrangements into a vast array of genres positions them as a highly coveted collaborator, having worked alongside the likes of Hozier, Margo Price, Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, Ms. Lauryn Hill, John Legend, Allison Russell, and more as well as fronting and collaborating with various projects and bands.
Natalie Haas
Known for her impeccable traditional cello playing, Natalie Haas keeps centuries of Celtic traditions ablaze. She and Scottish fiddler Alasdair Fraser have toured together for twenty-three years, reviving and reimagining the tradition of cello/fiddle duets, popular in 18th and 19th century Scottish dance music. Though historically these duets featured a droning cello and melodic fiddle, Haas’s curiosity coupled with her virtuosity explore the cello as a dynamic instrument, capable of harmony, melody, percussion, and every blended iteration thereof. As Peter Winter once said, “Natalie basically wrote the book on the cello’s place in Celtic music.”
Ben Sollee is a Kentucky-based cellist and activist whose interdisciplinary work seeks to connect and elevate his communities. His most recent solo album, The Long Haul, interpolates both American influences and inspirations from the global south to deliver a dynamic album that, in part, processes the many griefs he faced during COVID’s inaugural years while maintaining a buoyant sense of resilience and growth. In addition to his innovative cello playing, Sollee works as a composer, having scored several films and the podcast “Unreformed.” Sollee has also recently helped spearhead a non-profit called Canopy to support local Kentucky businesses mindful of having a positive social and environmental impact on their community.
A pioneer for glimmers of cello in the modern American roots landscape, Nancy Blake is a cross-genre hero. Nancy began her relationship to the instrument at age 12 and grew up playing cello in the Nashville Youth Symphony. On a fortuitous day in 1972, her band Natchez Trace opened up for prolific picker Norman Blake. The two eventually married, and Nancy aptly fused her cello playing into Norman’s musical landscape. She also picked up several other more traditional roots instruments, such as guitar, fiddle, and upright bass, appearing on many of Norman’s releases throughout his career.
Joy Adams
Dr. Joy Adams is a versatile multi-instrumentalist, vocalist, composer, songwriter, and educator from Washington state who currently resides in Denver. While you may know her best from her extensive touring with Nataniel Rateliff, Darol Anger, and the all-women powerhouse group Big Richard, she has accrued a sprawling list of collaborators throughout her career. From recording on the Emmy award-winning soundtrack of The Queen’s Gambit to performing with the likes of Chick Corea, Kenny Loggins, Ben Folds, Waxahatchee, and more, Adams weaves energetic innovations into each of her collaborations.
Like many of our favorite cellists, Casey Murray is a talented educator in addition to their performance and compositional ventures. A Berklee grad based in the luscious roots scene of Boston, Murray finds much inspiration in blending Celtic, old-time, folk, classical, and improvisational sensibilities – like in their work with forward-looking string band Corner House. They particularly enjoy providing musical accompaniment for contra dances around the New England area, an exercise of their keen attunement to the rhythmic possibilities the cello has to offer.
Of course, even with ten incredible entries, our list of roots cellists barely scratches the surface of this vibrant community in folk, bluegrass, and beyond. With plenty of examples – like Rushad Eggleston, Nathaniel Smith, Kaitlyn Raitz, and many more – still to pull from, we’re already prepping a Part II to our roots cello exploration. Who would you include?
Photo Credit: Ben Sollee courtesy of Big Hassle; Leyla McCalla by Noé Cugny; Yo-Yo Ma by Austin Mann.
The members of Big Richard – Joy Adams (vocals, cello, banjo, octave mandolin), Eve Panning (vocals, fiddle), Hazel Royer (vocals, bass, guitar), and Bonnie Sims (vocals, mandolin, guitar) – were seasoned studio and gigging musicians when they met for their first rehearsal. Familiar with one another from Colorado’s thriving music scene, their initial gathering was the result of an offer to assemble a band and perform at McAwesome Festival 2021 in Castle Rock.
Musical and personal chemistry, apparent during practice, was also a given onstage, solidly reinforced by an outpouring of support from fans. There was also a flip side – backlash to the band’s suggestive name and often-bawdy stage banter. This, it turns out, created even more incentive to continue. Big Richard was officially a band.
Their wealth of experience across musical genres – bluegrass, country, jazz, classical, rock, and beyond – opened the door for writing, recording, and performing music that pushes beyond parameters while remaining firmly planted in tradition. It shows on their new album, Girl Dinner (released January 24), produced by the band and recorded with Colorado musician and friend Eric Wiggs at his Vermillion Road Studio.
Technically their second release, following 2022’s Live from Telluride, Girl Dinner represents several firsts for the band: their first studio release, first recording of all-original material, and first with Royer, who joined the ensemble a year ago. According to the musicians, Girl Dinner demonstrates the many sides of Big Richard, everything from stripped-down, quiet instrumentation and harmonies to the blazing solos that define their performances.
When was it obvious that Big Richard would be more than a one-festival project?
Joy Adams: It wasn’t really in the first rehearsal. It was in the reception to the show that we played. Obviously, bluegrass is a jam-based genre; it’s common to sit down with your friends and play tunes. But we felt a crazy chemistry in the way we sang and played together that was apparent from the very first song we played at Bonnie’s house. When we played McAwesome Fest, for starters, our set got rained out, so we didn’t get to play the whole set. We were upset about that. We were looking for another gig just so we could get to the other songs. And we also had a bad reaction to us, too. There were people who were very upset about our name and how crass we were onstage and we got some initial hate mail after that first show. That was the moment – in my head, anyway – where we were like, “Oh, we have something here. If we can ruffle some feathers with this band, we’ve got to do this. This is an important thing.”
When and how did you build the band?
Bonnie Sims: We played that first gig in May 2021, our second gig in September 2021, and we hit the ground running in the beginning of 2022. We booked [Colorado festivals] RockyGrass and WinterWonderGrass right out of the gate, and that gave us a lot of fuel in our tank to want to invest in the creative side, start writing together, start rehearsing more, and really invest in the music, because we had these exciting opportunities to be a part of. Not long after we booked those things ourselves, we signed with Crossover Touring. Our buddy Chandler Holt has been our booking agent from the beginning and has been a huge part of helping us get to lots of festivals and play fun rooms.
Eve Panning: That first year or so was an unexpected influx of gigs. We did a ton of touring and I feel like we were kind of playing catch-up. It’s been really fun in this last year. We’ve all settled into the band a little bit more, and it’s been fun to hear the songs that everybody’s bringing and spend a lot of time working on those. You can hear that in the new album. Live From Telluride had some originals, but we were doing a lot of covers because we were so new as a band. This new album is all originals, and it’s been fun to explore that side of things as well.
How have the sound and dynamic changed since Hazel joined you?
JA: The band has changed so much. Hazel is wonderful. Her attitude is fantastic. She’s an incredible musician who has brought the level of the band up a lot. The arrangements have gotten better, the groove is tighter, and the overall balance of band vibes is wonderful. It’s everything all of us could ever have dreamed of, and I blame Hazel for that entirely. She’s such a lovely person to be around, she writes incredible songs that are deep and moving and exciting, and we’re so lucky to have her in the band. She really saved us.
BS: I agree. Hazel brings such a strong singing voice. It’s really fun to lean into the power she brings vocally, intertwine with that power, and lose ourselves in it. And her original songs are incredible. It’s a natural elevation of maturing as a group and playing together. This is year three going on to year four for the band. It’s a lot different. The pace has been incredible as far as how much time we’re spending making music together. It’s very much like a pressure cooker. It has an effect on the music itself, so the sound has evolved immensely and continues to evolve in an exciting way.
Hazel Royer: Thank you, everybody. That’s so nice. When I joined the band, everyone was, “We want to work. We want to try new things and learn new songs.” We spent two months rehearsing before we played our first gig with me on bass. We looked at the music and we became a band before playing the shows. There was an emphasis on learning new material, and there was a really good excuse to do that because there was a new member and no gigs for a couple months, so we had the space to learn new things. I’m really grateful that I got to be a part of that.
EP: When you only have four people onstage and it’s all acoustic instruments, when 25 percent of the band changes, that’s really significant. That means the sound is definitely going to change. But, like everyone said, Hazel has such a powerful voice, she’s such an accomplished musician, so it’s felt great. It’s felt like a wonderful step up.
HR: I was super-lucky because everyone in this band wanted me to exist as myself. That was the primary thing: “We want you to sing. We want you to write your own songs and bring them to the band.” That’s rare for a new person – joining a band and being like, “We want what you do as embedded immediately.” Additionally, we have a lot of crossover, musically, that we all can draw from. I grew up playing bluegrass and old-time music, and these guys are steeped in that. I also like pop music, and everybody likes that, and I had classical studies, and there’s two people who are very accomplished classical musicians, so there was a lot of crossover that made the integration of myself into the band easier than it could have been.
Let’s talk about the album – the songwriting process, song selection, your goals going into the studio.
BS: Our goal was to present something different than what we presented on our live album, which, like Eve said, was mostly covers. We recorded Live From Telluride after being a band for right at the one-year mark. It was very much the first generation of material. This is our debut studio album, but it’s our sophomore offering as far as the material, in my opinion, because it’s the second stage of the band’s development as far as it’s all original. There’s introspective and thoughtful moments within the songwriting. We have those at shows, but they’re always intermixed with high-energy, raging things where you can hop around and have a really intense, energetic experience. The album, I feel, offers up the soft side of Big Richard, in a way. We have this saying, “Big Richard, big feelings,” and the album is representative of that side of the band, which is, again, usually balanced with this different vibe live. So we took that out and just are doing the original stuff on the record, which is exciting.
Did you write deliberately to explore that softer side, or did the direction become obvious as you were writing?
JA: We didn’t intentionally write a soft album, and I hesitate to call it a soft album, because there are some burning fiddle tunes that Eve wrote and there’s a couple of aggressive songs, mostly coming out of Bonnie’s pen. The album is all over the map. The more lyrical songs were collected over the course of a year playing together. We love these songs so much and they got such a good reception at all of our shows. We did play them out pretty thoroughly before we recorded them, so it was a matter of collecting our favorite songs that we felt hit the emotional depths of “Big Richard, big feelings.” We were really proud of these songs.
HR: To go off of what Joy said, they’re our favorites. We picked them because we all were very passionate and love those songs. There are some soft songs on the album, but there’s a wide variety of things going on there. It is different than our live show by a significant margin. The album, in my view, is a piece of something that’s made out of love. We love this music and we created these arrangements together.
Once the songs were selected, what was the sequencing process?
EP: We had an initial sequence, and then we were limited by how many songs we could put on each side of the vinyl, so we had to take our original idea and rework it. The album starts and ends with songs about saying goodbye, and that hits; that feels like a powerful moment.
HR: We looked at this group of songs as a set list. We wanted to create a listening experience similar to something we would provide at a show, like, how do these songs flow into each other? Are there seamless transitions that we’re able to utilize? That’s how we looked at sequencing the album. And also separating saying goodbye a million times. At the top and the end of the album was important.
BS: Vinyl presents an opportunity for sequencing to have more of a presence again. With digital consumption, people just click what they want and add it to their own playlist. No shade; do your thing with your playlist, but with vinyl you’re going to probably sit and listen to it in the order that we put it in, because that’s the style of listening for a record. So it’s nice to have that opportunity with vinyl.
Tell us about the recording process.
JA: We recorded this album in May 2024, and we had the last master submitted in September or October. Vinyl production takes a little while, so we got the vinyl back in December, which was really exciting. Mixing and mastering is a crazy process that takes so long. That’s the part I’m very obsessed with. I was, unfortunately, the squeaky wheel the whole time, being like, “The bass needs to be half a dB [decibel] higher in this song, in this one section, but not all the other sections.” That was all me. I love the process of recording. We’re not a band that plays a song a hundred times – thank heavens for that. We tend to get things within five takes. Some solos got replayed or re-recorded, little things that got added, studio magic. I’m very proud that this album required basically no tuning and really simple edits.
EP: We also did a lot of tracks without a click. We didn’t go into the studio with a plan as far as which ones we were going to record to a click and which ones we were going to just play. But I think it keeps a lot of life in those songs as well, playing them like we do with a little bit of breadth to them.
HR: This might go without saying, but we tracked the whole thing together. We made basic tracks and there was some soloing, editing, but that was it. Just iso booths, but all four of us live.
The album was self-produced. What does the word “producer” mean to you? Did you experiment much or make changes to the songs while recording them?
JA: Production for this kind of band, to me, means deciding how we were going to record it, which is a very big discussion: are you all in the same room together, are you recording separate, are you recording to a click track, etc. And then, of course, trying to democratically decide what take has the most musical power, because you’re going to sacrifice a little perfection somewhere for the sake of something that’s riveting. That’s always the case. And then making decisions about mixing and mastering. In some ways it would have been nice to have had an external source of nature in the room, like another producer to help us make those decisions, but it was incredibly empowering to make them ourselves, because we have dragged these songs through both the mud and the sky on the touring road.
We had really figured out and dialed in the arrangements in front of thousands of people. We knew exactly what we wanted out of these songs, and so it was liberating to be able to put those down in our way and not have to fight a producer on some decisions. As far as things changing in the studio, not a whole lot changed. We were all playing the instruments that we do. Sometimes Hazel plays guitar or bass, and so we had the ability to have both bass and guitar on some of her tunes, which was really effective. That was one thing that was different than how we usually do it live.
HR: To go off what Joy said, I think the production, as far as the musical side of things goes, really did happen on the road and in rehearsals. We came into the studio knowing our songs, exactly how they go, what we want where, and what we’ve tried and tested a billion times, instead of coming up with arrangements in a studio environment.
The Colorado music scene has been very supportive. How great a part have those audiences played in taking the band to the next level?
BS: The audience has been instrumental in every step and every piece of our success. They are the success, because if they weren’t there, buying tickets and wanting to be at shows, we wouldn’t have a reason to be out touring. We’re grateful to everybody who comes to shows. When we come back to our Colorado hometown vibe, it really keeps us going. It keeps the light on for us, because those are the crowds that lift us up energetically and have been there from day one. Coming back to those audiences fills our tank in a real way.
Our next band featured on Out Now is the Accidentals, a group that I met over a decade ago, tucked under the oak trees in Northern Michigan at Interlochen Artist Academy. Interlochen is a hub for music and arts education. Katie Larson and Savannah Buist (founders of the band) attended the academy at the same time I did. I’ve admired their artistry and dedication ever since. I remember listening to Interlochen Public Radio, hearing a song they wrote, and thinking these artists were going somewhere. Spoiler alert… they have already gone everywhere, touring all over the U.S.!
Before they attended Interlochen, Katie and Savannah were already playing together in an orchestra and exploring their musical chemistry. The pair are creative, dedicated individuals, curious souls, skilled instrumentalists, and incredible writers. They built a successful career while still very young, touring and playing festival stages in their teenage years. Both turned down college scholarships to hit the road instead. After high school, they added Michael Dause to the band as their percussionist. In 2023, Michael parted from the band; they now play as a trio again with Katelynn Corll.
The Accidentals just released their latest single, “What a Waste.” It’s an honor to highlight this phenomenal band on Out Now. Learn all about their plans for the future, why they create music, and about their incredibly creative minds in our interview with Katie Larson and Savannah Buist.
You’ve been playing together since high school. What has it been like for you to create, write, record, and travel together for the past decade?
Savannah Buist: All of those processes – creating, writing, recording, and traveling – demand different parts of us, and all of them have changed and grown over the years. Creating and writing used to be a more solitary process, and yet [now] we find ourselves collaborating and co-writing with some of the people who inspired us to become songwriters in the first place. Recording went from being solitary, to with producers, to us becoming engineers and recording many of our own projects, to recently joining forces with producer Mary Bragg for a collaborative record. Traveling together used to mean 250 days on the road, sleepless nights living on the opposite schedule of everyone we loved – and now, we ease into it, take our time with it, and the number of people in the van seats, their names and faces have changed over the years.
But the thing that remains true is the constitution of our friendship and our trust. I lean on Katie more than I’ve ever let myself lean on anybody before. She’s the reason why I constantly challenge myself to do better, not just musically but as a person too. She’s a natural listener; she’s observant and deep-thinking. She’s the kind of person who would make an incredible documentary carefully examining both sides of a complex situation and reaching some inevitable core of truth. It’s been incredible watching her grow and change, too, just like all the processes that we engage in together. I think the growth and change I’ve undergone is just as dramatic and important. It’s what keeps us open to each other and supportive of our many interests and endeavors.
Adding Katelynn Corll to the band a couple years ago was like picking up a golden retriever to tour with. She’s always positive and brings balance to the band with her ability to see the big picture, ask good questions, and amp up the energy on stage. She’s got both our backs all the time. It’s a no-ego dream band reality.
Katie Larson: Some days, 10 years sounds like a lifetime and other days it feels like a drop in the bucket. Think about how much change people go through from their late teens to late 20s, then add in the inevitable ups and downs and major transitions you go through in the music industry. What a privilege to have someone by your side who has known your heart since day one. Not only that, but a friend who’s a true collaborator, business partner, and salsa-making science geek who’s always ready to dive into philosophical rabbit holes and will fiercely have your back no matter what. We take a lot of inspiration from the Indigo Girls, a few years ago we got to watch Ann Powers interview them during Americanafest. They’ve been playing music together for almost 40 years now and are still true friends.
Your early success, including playing at various festivals, is impressive. What were some of the most memorable moments or experiences from those early days of touring?
SB: I’ve kept journals for many years and those have sort of fallen into the digital world via Tour Blogs, which we write weekly on our Patreon. Cataloging our experiences has given us a plethora of perspectives. There are times I look back through those journals and blogs and think to myself, “How are we still alive?” From busted trailers to stolen gear to pedalboards lighting on fire from faulty power, playing in caverns and drained swimming pools and stages so tiny we stood shoulder-to-shoulder trying not to poke each others’ eyes out with our bows; farmer’s markets and people’s dogs and their bookshelves when we crashed at their houses, and the strangers who became family along the way. It’s literally too much to recount, because that’s thousands of memories stacked into some neural Jenga of nostalgia. I will say that the early days are like the later days in that we’ve never stopped learning, and never thought we were incapable of learning more.
KL: As an introverted teen, I remember being shocked by kindness from strangers. It still amazes me, but back then it seemed crazy that music could be a catalyst for people making us a home-cooked meal, letting us stay in their homes, or giving us boxes of books to read on the road. One time in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan a man handed us an entire smoked salmon after our set. On another tour in Colorado, we kept accumulating homemade pumpkin bread wherever we went. It wasn’t just gifts – music was also a fast pass to personal conversations with fans at the merch table or with our hosts who became family.
I remember playing a coveted electronic festival called Electric Forest the summer after we graduated high school. Playing folk rock in our dorky dresses (mine covered in pop art chickens and Sav’s covered in cats), we were probably the biggest outlier on the bill, but our artist badges gave us all access. We could go to any stage and watch Lindsey Stirling and Phantogram and Skrillex perform from behind the curtain. In the artist lounge there was this huge juicer, and the women there made me this juice concoction with beets and apple and fresh garlic, and they laughed and said I was glowing. I couldn’t believe we were there.
What was it like for you to start touring and building a career at such a young age?
SB: It was a lot. We thought we were just having fun playing some music with each other and it took on a life of its own. Sometimes in the early years it felt surreal, like a plane taking off and you’re running down the tarmac trying to get on it. I think having a team early was key. We’ve always had the support of our respective parental units – both our moms and dads are musicians and singers and songwriters, so they understood our ambitions and goals and sought tirelessly to lift us up. Having a parent that understands the industry and was willing to support us full time was a lot of the reason we were able to be full-time musicians from a young age.
My mom took us on a brutal “trial tour” in the summer of 2012 – she booked 30 shows in 27 days with radio shows a lot of those mornings, to convince us to go to college. It didn’t work. It just solidified that Katie and I were compatible on the road. At the end of that tour, Katie and I knew we wanted to do this music thing to the extent of both of us [gave] up scholarships to college. My mom agreed to manage/tour with us and we signed our first deal right out of high school. She buffered a lot of the stigma attached to young females playing in clubs they weren’t old enough to be in and took a lot of the verbal abuse that comes with this industry and recording with people you don’t know very well and we watched her handle it.
We learned to start with respect – even when it isn’t mutual – but stand up for ourselves when necessary. We learned to compromise when we could and if we couldn’t live with it, hold our ground. We were made acutely aware of the power of “core base, fans, supporters, road family” and FAMgrove, the fanclub was born. They have kept us going through all the hardest parts.
KL: It was eye opening for a lot of reasons. We had an amazing support system and we were eager to learn and become better musicians. A lot of artists and people in the industry took us under their wing and I learned so many life lessons from those who treated us with mutual respect. There were times when people assumed we put ourselves on a pedestal and didn’t know how to use our gear or hold our own, because we were young. We learned quickly that being alone in the wrong place at the wrong time could be very dangerous and relied on our tour family to keep each other safe. Contradictions can be true. I think touring made us more independent, and also more dependent on each other. It made us more self confident, and more self-conscious.
You founded a nonprofit organization, Play It Forward, Again and Again, to empower youth and provide better access to instruments, lessons, and mentors. What led you to that kind of work, and do you have plans and hopes to continue? What is your vision?
SB: We do a lot of workshops for kids all over the country – songwriting workshops, improvisational workshops, alternative styles for strings workshops. When we were in high school, a duo called the Moxie Strings came to our school and did a performance playing electric violin and cello. That was so monumental to us; it showed us that it was possible to take those instruments to a contemporary world and succeed and it also showed us that there were women out there making it happen. We started doing workshops for exactly that reason – to perpetuate that cycle of inspiration and encouragement; to allow people of any background to have the opportunity to express themselves via music.
It’s hard to do that when budgets for music programs are typically the first to get slashed. Many schools we traveled to had only a choir or a band program, if any program existed at all. The underprivileged areas we visited often contained extremely talented kids who were naturally gifted, but lacked access to the tools due to financial constraints. Instruments can be incredibly expensive, especially in the orchestral world, and it keeps them from being accessible to kids who could use them for therapeutic purposes, who could change the world with them.
So, that led to us establishing a nonprofit with the goal to get instruments into those kids’ hands. Not only that, but we want to establish a support system for them to get follow-up lessons from a musician local to their area. This allows them not just the tools for self-expression, but also instruction on how to use those tools, too. We wanna connect schools with bands that are touring through and provide funding for the band and school to show kids that it’s possible to make a living doing something you love.
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
KL: I’m still figuring out where I identify on the LGBTQ+ spectrum, so one of the most helpful things for me is to talk to friends about their experiences. It allows me to sort through things I resonate with and gives me a safe space for self-reflection. I’m not always the best communicator, but since I was a kid I always thought I had a good understanding of myself. That makes it hard for me to acknowledge that there are still parts of myself I’m learning about. It helps to hear other people I admire doing the same thing at various points in their life. These are a couple articles I’ve read that come to mind: Lucy Dacus on coming out and Amelia Meath of Sylvan Esso talking about her identity.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
SB: I think it’s important to clarify that many artists and bands have LGBTQ+ members without being an “LGBTQ-themed” band, per se. It’s hard for me to definitively know if a band with LGBTQ+ members or an artist who lies somewhere on the LGBTQ+ spectrum wants to be considered an LGBTQ+ artist or band, unless they’re specifically writing songs about their queerness – otherwise it leads to assumptions that I don’t think it’s my place to make.
I think identification can be both empowering and entrapping. We contain multitudes and we are so much more than who we love. It’s a big reason why I don’t always talk about my queerness. That being said, there is an important aspect to identifying with your queerness and resonating with it that creates a safety net for others to be themselves and I am all about that kind of inclusion.
There are artists of the LGBTQ+ community paving the way for inclusivity every day: Ani DiFranco and Brandi Carlile were the firsts for me, then I had a writing session with Maia Sharp and it opened up my world. She was the first person to tell me that I was OK. Then I met Crys Matthews, Heather Mae, Ethel Cain, Spencer LaJoye, and I felt safer talking about it. There is space for queer artists to create art about their queerness and queerness as a whole, and there’s also space for queer artists to create art that’s not about their queerness, at least to themselves. My favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands write all kinds of music, while staying true to themselves – whether they are out of the closet or still deciding how to verbalize how they feel.
What is your ideal vision for your future?
SB: We made a pie chart at the beginning of ’24 and we each decided how much time we wanted to give to each project. My ideal vision for the future is balance. Right now I’m feeling pretty good about playing as a side artist with Lainey Wilson and still sitting in with artists like Ashley McBryde, Hannah Wicklund, Beth Nielsen Chapman, and Kim Richey. Katie and I played strings (and other instruments) and sang on 40+ other albums this year and we loved that. So we’re always down for more session work.
The Accidentals are touring less in ’25 to make room for other projects and that was the plan that came out of the pie chart conversation. We’ll put out a couple albums in ’25 that we’ve been working on for two years, a TIME OUT 3 album (first single just dropped), a children’s album written with Tom Paxton, and a Christmas album with Kaboom Collective Studio Orchestra. We’ll tour those albums, but not much aside from that. We’re also looking at a “Michigan and Again” children’s book deal.
As far as long term, I’m one semester away from my bachelor’s in biology so I’ll likely finish that when time allows. The takeaway from all that is we are in love with the process, the learning, the growing, the becoming. We find gratitude everyday for the opportunity to explore all those things and become the best version of ourselves.
Seven years have elapsed between Ben Sollee’s last studio release, his 2017 album with Kentucky Native, and his new one, Long Haul (arriving August 16). Much has happened in Sollee’s life since ‘17. His family has grown by two children. He worked on a number of soundtracks, even winning an Emmy Award in 2018 for his score on the ABC special, Base Ballet. The Kentucky born and based singer/songwriter/cellist, who has long been an advocate for environmental and other social causes, also helped launch a nonprofit named Canopy, which helps businesses in his home state positively impact people, the planet, and the future.
When COVID hit, it hit Sollee hard. “I was one of the early folks to get COVID in fall of 2020 and it stuck with me in a way that didn’t stick with other people.” During his prolonged recovery, he had to change how he ate, what he drank, how he slept, and how he exercised. “It turned into a journey of inward exploration and changing my external life. I really changed pretty much everything… It wasn’t until I started emerging from long haul [COVID], I was like, ‘Oh, I think I’ve got something to say about this.’”
While this album grew out of Sollee’s personal health crisis, it also was greatly affected by the death of his close friend and long-time collaborator, Jordon Ellis, who died by suicide in early 2023.
Always ready to blur genres, Sollee felt more free to expand his sonic palette on Long Haul, which includes a gospel-style choir, a Little Richard-inspired rock ‘n’ roll rave-up, West African rhythms, and Caribbean grooves. He purposely wanted to have lively, rhythmic melodies to balance deeply thoughtful lyrics.
“The same way,” he explained, “That Michael Jackson would have these big statements in the middle of these dance songs.” Sollee also recorded a special Dolby ATMOS Spatial Audio version for this album – a first for him – to underscore Long Haul’s immersive sound quality.
Part of what the title Long Haul refers to is your serious battle with long COVID and it also addresses life as being a long haul. How did the two interrelate for you, personally?
Ben Sollee: [COVID] definitely put me in relationship with my body in a way that I had never been before and once you start that relationship with your body, you realize just how interconnected everything is. I mean, we’re all on this long haul together… and I realized that maybe the most radical thing that I could do was to care for myself. That really shifted how I think of my live performances and really my purpose for being out on the road, [which] is to help people connect with themselves. Because once they connect with themselves, then they can have the capacity to be in relationship with nature, other people, animals, you name it. How I be in the world has shifted. It’s subtle from an external view, but internally it’s pretty profound.
How did this all affect your approach in making this album?
I realized that I had a very exploitative relationship with my creativity over the years, where it was just like: Here’s a project, just make stuff. And that was just really eye-opening.
I took a couple of different approaches in the making of this record. The passing of my friend and musical collaborator, Jordon, in the process of writing this record was really profound, because he was such a keystone to my creative process. It kind of forced me to think about how I was approaching music-making in the record without him.
So, I tried a couple different mantras, and one of them was “follow the resonance.” If it said something to me, I didn’t need to figure out why it said something to me, even if that is Polynesian flute playing or this sort of strange Tejano Caribbean groove – just follow it. In the past, I would kind of hedge; like I would hear something, I’d be really into that sound, but I wouldn’t feel like I could, for whatever reason. Like it’s not part of my cultural heritage. I would come up with a reason to be like, I shouldn’t make music with that sound or influence.
Another mantra was “show our fingerprints.” The way that we recorded the record – it was about hearing the hands and the strings and hearing the breath. I chose instruments that would really feature those human aspects of breath and touch. We incorporated woodwinds, which you can hear prominently on the first single, “Misty Miles.” We incorporated choirs in this record for the first time, because I really wanted that breath and sound. Much of the percussion is hand percussion. It’s a very tactile record… very high touch record.
You produced Long Haul. What was the recording process like?
It was a very intuitive, collective approach, and it meant that not only did the music turn out as a surprise to me and others, but it also meant that it was a very engaged, emotional journey. Adrienne Maree Brown [author of the book, Emergent Strategy] is really the inspiration for this – instead of having a singular artist’s vision, you really bring together a group of people in a facilitated way.
It made me maybe a little bit more brave and confident that wherever things went, we could execute that… I mean, musicians left the sessions crying, because they had such a good time and they felt seen and heard. And that, to me, means as much as the music that came out.
Did your experiences composing film soundtracks serve at all as an influence?
[Film work] also inspired me to explore Atmos. I really wanted this record to be an immersive experience, kind of like a sonic film. In keeping with that, there are a few songs that actually have sound design incorporated into them. It’s the first time I’ve done it in such an intentional and immersive way where we’ve got cars driving by with “Hawk and Crows.”
There is a real stylistic diversity to the sound of this album, like “Under The Spell” is one song with a funky dance groove to it.
[Laughs] I wasn’t trying to make a dance track. It started with that cello lick that you hear at the beginning. And it’s sort of this hypnotic West African loop of a lick that really began as kind of me trying to figure out some old-time banjo, like clawhammer music, on the cello.
The words are referencing this kind of duality… dealing with identity and self and how often we are under the influence of the stories that people tell of us. Every time I have this ambition, desire, and even just like the idea of me having something, it sets me down a path of being unsatisfied, which causes a lot of harm to other people and myself in the world. So, the words can go as deep as somebody wants to, but it’s also if people just want to release and have some sort of existential-like dance experience – then let’s go, let’s dance!
It touches on an evolution that I don’t expect anybody to notice in my music and career. My early records had a lot of direct social and political statements in the song. I realized that they were a little bit superficial and surface-y. They weren’t really getting it to the core of those issues. So, I’ve kind of moved into, I guess what I would call like a “post-activist” stance. My music has moved away from direct political commentary most of the time to more of a foundational, fundamental idea of togetherness, of connectedness.
“One More Day” stands out as a key song too.
I guess the original seed of that song emerged as I was beginning to travel again after Jordon had passed away – to places where he and I had traveled so many times. I started thinking about what would I have said had he called me in that moment of decision before he took his life? But the only thing that I would have really said to him is, “Listen, I hear you, I respect your decision, but what’s the rush? Like, if you’re going to do it, you’re going to do it, but you don’t have to do it right now. Just give it one more day, give it one more sunrise. Just get one last look.”
I think that’s what I would have said to him. And the song makes that case through different vignettes of our time together on the road. And, it does it over this Caribbean, Tejano groove that must have come from some jams that he and I did together. It must have. It just feels like a very Jordon groove. What I love about that is it has this real joyous, almost like early Police kind of vibe to it. There’s some really tough content in there and I just love the idea of people dancing at a festival – and just saying, “Give it one more day.”
The closing song, “When You Gonna Learn,” features a rousing gospel-style choir and addresses following your inner voice. It launches the listener out of the album and into the world in a very uplifting way.
I wanted to end with that message, because as a father I watch my four- and six-year-old who have yet to really settle into a sense of self or identity, and they are just so connected to their world and just basic truths about caring for things and protecting things and love and justice. And I think that it’s just more proof to me that there are things we know that get taught out of us. This song just is like: When are you going to learn that you already know?
You address a lot of tough issues on the album, but do so with a sense of humanism and spirited music that offer a hopeful way out of these challenging times.
I often reflect on that “Pale Blue Dot” image that Voyager took looking back at Earth and it’s just black and there’s just one little, tiny dot. And that dot really says it all, because it’s all there, as Carl Sagan says: every love, every heartbreak, every war, every church, it’s all on that one little dot.
So, we got to make it work here. And I think that’s the biggest challenge that we have right now. How do we make this work? I get that we’re going to make some big mistakes along the way. I sure have in my life. That’s where the grace comes in, but we got to make it work here. We don’t have another spot.
Two long-time collaborators, cellist Francesa Ter-Berg and violinist Flora Curazon, Fran & Flora, have bonded over their obsession with ancient music, rooted in Eastern European and Jewish culture, for over a dozen years. Together and separately, the English musicians have been studying with teachers of ethnomusicology in places like Transylvania and Romanian. There, they took in the music as well as the cultural influences. That’s not to speak of their higher musical education, Francesca holds two masters in music (including in contemporary improvisation from the New England Conservatory of Music) while Flora trained at the Royal Academy of Music, London. They break down the benefits of each learning style and how it impacts their creative process. They also get into their love of klezmer music and the importance of portraying cultural heritage while remaining modern.
We also talk about how as female musicians, they are expected to do absolutely everything and excel at it while people still talk about whether or not you smile on stage. They share “There’s a very deep thing in there that has affected our choices as a band in order to keep it safe and healthy within ourselves.” Their latest album, Precious Collection, features a couple of original tunes, but it’s mostly new and unique arrangements of traditional Klezmer and Yiddish songs. Don’t sleep on the smokey translation that Flora shares of the song “Little Bird” and stick around to learn who is the better roommate. All in all, great conversation with wonderful people who create bonkers music that’s rich in tradition and layers.
Sun Without the Heat is Leyla McCalla’s fifth solo album, but it is different from past efforts and she brings the listener through the transformative process with her. Produced by Maryam Qudus at Dockside Studio in Louisiana, McCalla dug into her personal history, primary sources from Amistad Research Center at Tulane University’s archives, world musical influences, and her creative trust in her long time bandmates to bring forth a bright, kinetic, and meditative project.
The studio, nestled along the Vermilion Bayou, offered an insular, bucolic setting for the nine days McCalla and band were recording; a place where friends and children could visit and local fishermen provided fresh catch for dinner. Qudus’ direction provided McCalla with space and vision to piece together her research and personal edification, while her relationship with her band allowed a deeply creative process to unfold. McCalla spoke wistfully about the experience, “It was very luxurious to have that kind of space. And it’s just really a very nurturing environment.”
Traditionally a cellist, on this project, McCalla explores her relationship with the guitar. She delves into West African and Brazilian polyrhythms flowing underneath lyrics that, at times, feel like a repetitive prayer or mantra. She balances the seemingly unanswerable aspects of life with the sometimes illusive, but simple notion that many contradictory feelings can be true at once.
BGS spoke with McCalla via Zoom from her home in New Orleans earlier this month. McCalla discussed the experience of researching, writing, and recording, her relationship with fans and supporters, creative freedom, and trusting the process.
I’ve been listening to all your music the past couple of days and I’ve noticed that the sonic palette of this album is somewhat of a shift for you. It seems like there’s a transformation theme running through it, both lyrically and musically, and it seems like even in the process of recording it. So I wanna talk about that on multiple levels, but can we start with the process for this? It sounds like you went into the woodshed and didn’t come out until the record was done.
Leyla McCalla: This is an album that was mostly finished in the studio. I had a pre-production session with Maryam Qudus, who produced the record. It was also just this really crazy time in my life. I was on tour a lot and coordinating with kids’ schedules. We really only had 36 hours of workshopping songs. Maryam was really amazing at being like, “Okay, let’s play with this idea, and come up with a verse and a chorus.” So I think we came out of that pre-production session with about 7 different demos that were just these rough sketches and we sent them all around to the band. When we went into the studio, everyone contributed what they were hearing to the songs. I’ve been working with my band now for about six years. I think that we have developed fluidity in our process of coming up with parts and talking about music. And so I knew that I had these sort of vague notions of delving into psychedelia and Afrofuturism and mining, this incredible music from Africa, ultimately. I think that that’s been a consistent through line in all my work is connecting my music through the ancestral lines of the sounds themselves.
I played a lot more guitar on this record than any other record. For me, it was really about delving into the songwriting and figuring out what I wanted to say. I’d been doing a lot of reading of Black feminist thinkers, and contemporary thinkers like Adrienne Maree Brown, Alexis Pauline Gumbs, and Octavia Butler. I think this record for me was really about, “How am I going to survive life? What does it mean to be resilient? What does it mean to transform and change? And give myself the space to grieve and also to hope and to dream.” There are a lot of things that I was meditating on when I wrote these songs.
I remember feeling very vulnerable, because I was really going back into this more beginner’s mind. I’ve never gone into the studio and been like, “I don’t know what it’s gonna sound like on the other side.” I’ve always had the band pretty well rehearsed and gone in. This time it was like, “These are the things that are emerging in real-time.”
Did you feel nervous about it? It seems like you have a lot of trust with your band, which is a great starting point. And you had the 36 hours of workshopping and all the ideas that you came up with. But were there nerves about it walking in to record?
Oh, yeah. It was not nerves about, “Can I trust my bandmates to be awesome?” It was more nerves of, “Do I suck?” Which is classic imposter syndrome that artists have as part of the process of writing. You get an idea. It’s a good idea. You question whether it’s a good idea.
I’m trying to do a new thing. I’m trying to break new ground in my creative life and in my sonic expression. Within that, I think that there’s a lot of room for self-doubt. That’s why for this album it was critical to have the support of my bandmates and of Maryam, who didn’t have that kind of attachment to any of the songs. They were just there to help execute what I wanted. I think this album really has strengthened my trust in my songwriting and in my creative process. And just knowing that you don’t always have to know what’s gonna happen to know that it’ll be good.
Absolutely. I was just going to say when you said it was a sort of meditative for you, I think that really comes across, lyrically and sonically. There are these phrases that you repeat that are meditative and it seems like you’re asking questions, you’re answering the ones you can, and you’re submitting to the ones that you can’t. What you are saying you wanted to happen comes across.
Yeah, I think so. I think that there is, on a spiritual level, deep healing for me in writing these songs. I was calling that in. I was navigating single motherhood, divorce, breakups, and big deaths in my family. It was like, “How do I call myself back to myself, what is gonna guide me through that?” I think for me, doing a lot of sort of ancestral healing work and meditating on the the gifts and the things that I’ve inherited from my ancestors, those made their way into the songs.
Speaking of process, you mentioned in your liner notes that you are grateful for creative freedom on this project. And I’d love to know what creative freedom looks like for you and how it impacts your work. And maybe what a lack of creative freedom has felt like in the past for you.
I think creative freedom, for me, was kind of twofold. I have a label that is mostly doing stuff outside of the commercial realm. Obviously, we’re part of the music industry, but I never felt like I needed to make a particular album. I felt like the question from the label was, “What kind of album do you want to make? What is coming through right now for you? What do you want to say?” Being able to come from that place is very different than, “Try to take over this part of the market,” or something. It’s a lot more empowering experience. Also, not being afraid to go in different directions. Not being afraid to use weird pedals on my guitars, experiment with synths, have a freaking psychedelic freak out, or have piano on the songs or organ. It was just sort of intuitive, “Yes, this belongs.” And not feeling like anyone was going to disapprove of that.
I never felt that there was a particular agenda outside of the agenda that I wanted to fulfill. That has been a really empowering experience for me, coming off of my previous record where it was like, “Okay, these are these ancient rhythms that are Haitian and African, and this is a mapping of where Haitian people come from.” I felt empowered by that, but in a very different way, almost like I wanted to serve this music. For this record it felt like, “Okay, how can this process really serve me and serve my creative genesis?” Returning back to like a more beginner’s mind, “What are the things that really I love about music? What are the things that make me wanna write songs?”
I didn’t have as much of a mind for that with Breaking the Thermometer, because it had been such a longstanding collaboration that I had been working on for five years with a crew of theater makers and different musicians and then going into the studio.
I always felt like that project was like a garden of weeds that are growing out of control. It could be a book. It could be a theater project. It could be a dance piece. I explored the intersection of all those things together. Whereas this was like, “Okay, I’m just returning back to this one format. We’re making an album.”
It meant connecting with some of my earliest influences. That’s why I went back to listening to a lot of artists from the tropicalismo movement in Brazil, in the ’60s and ’70s. There was all this experimentation with traditional music forms and rock and roll and psychedelia. I love that music. There’s something about it that just really speaks deeply to me. And I think that it’s also because of my generation, who I am, and where I am. I’m drawn to things that are out of the box. And I’m also drawn to really solid groove and feel and deep emotional content. I never had an agenda other than to figure out what I want to sound like and being able to have that space. A lot of these songs were about like, “How do I get out of my own way?”
When you started thinking about making this record did you know that you’d be playing more guitar than cello? Did you write on guitar? What was the relationship with that instrument like?
I was writing a lot on guitar. I wasn’t like, “I’m gonna play guitar and not cello.” I didn’t have an agenda in that way. I really wanted to explore different shapes in my fingers and try different rhythmic structures. Guitar is exciting for me in that way. I’ve done a lot of finger-picking in my work and there’s plenty of that on this record. But I’m like, “What about this inflection? What about this texture? And what about this feel? What does that conjure?” That was really fun for me.
Fun was also really central to the process. I was like, “I want to heal, I want to be creative, I want to expand my sonic palette, and I also want to have fun.” I do this work to have fun. I don’t do this work to be the “king of the capitalists” or something. I want to have a good experience with it and find it enriching. I feel like the guitar is the ultimate symbol of liberation and freedom. It has a different meaning to me than the cello. With cello, I know the notes. I am thinking about technique and I have to think about how I’m holding my body. Guitar is just like, “This is who I am.”
For sure. Partly because the guitar is so mobile. You can walk off into the woods with it.
Yeah, totally. You should see me walk through an airport. I’m carrying my guitar, my banjo, and my cello, and I’m always like, ”Man, life would be so much easier without this cello.” But it’s such a powerful thing. When I’m playing cello, it feels totally like, “Wow, this is also home.”
Cello moves so much air. It can completely change the vibration of a room.
Totally. I always tell my bandmates, “Oh, we gotta be careful with that cello. It’s like melting a dark piece of chocolate on stage.”
I think a lot about sense of place and how a place can affect the creative process. Since you were sort of in a “lock-in” at Dockside Studio, I want to know if that studio and that place had an effect on this record.
Oh, yeah. Dockside is an incredible place. There’s a house with a pool and then a whole other house with a studio. The grounds are beautiful and well-kept. You’re right by the river.
There was a sense of deep relaxation for me there, because it is kind of separate. If it were in the middle of a city, there would be so much more distraction. But because there isn’t, I felt like it really helped me to focus and to tune in. We burnt candles there every day. We were calling in a lot of spirits and support. I did a lot of just sitting by the river and writing and reading in order to write.
And Maryam is amazing. If it had just been me producing the record, it would have been way more disorganized. Maryam was amazing at being like, “Okay, Leyla, we don’t need you in the studio right now. What we really need from you is to go and write.” I feel like I do best in those sorts of relationships, when someone is gently nudging me in the direction of what’s gonna be most productive for me. I was really able to get to a place of being productive and feeling quiet enough to actually hear whatever was coming through. If we had made the record anywhere else, it would have probably sounded completely different. We are all pretty well versed in the different styles of Louisianan music, so we kept thinking, “What is this sound that we’re coming up with?” And we were like, “This is Louisiana tropicalia.” It’s a fun construct.
Tell me a bit about what your relationship is like with fans and supporters of your music and the impact that they might have on your creations or your career.
For my first record, I did a Kickstarter campaign and I asked for $5,000, because I didn’t know how expensive it is to make albums. I ended up making over $20k. That whole process of doing the Kickstarter was such a boon to my career. At that point, I had been touring with the Carolina Chocolate Drops. No one really knew who I was, but I realized that there was support and space for me to be doing these projects that combine research and intellectual pursuits with making music. That’s the line that I have been toeing this whole time. And it is incredible, over the years, the number of connections that I have made from pursuing two things at once and growing this academic life within my body of work as a recording artist.
People have brought me, over the years, limited edition Langston Hughes, Haitian Creole poetry from the 1800s, translations of Zora Neale Hurston books that are in French or German. Those are the kinds of connections that feel so sustaining creatively for me and really enriching. The music industry is so inundated with artists, and everyone’s trying to stand out. That kind of symbiosis, I think, is really critical not only to me as an artist but to me seeking support.
That’s wonderful. There’s something sort of clinical about the traditional record label rollout of material in the past, but now it feels like, because of social media, because of things like Kickstarter and house shows, a wall has broken down.
Totally. And I feel people really connect to that, even sometimes more than the actual songs. Which may be problematic in one way. Everything is kind of about more of this “cult of personality” thing. Not that I’m super invested in developing that, but I do feel like the fan base is invested in me as a person, and wants to want to support the music as a result of that.
Can you talk a little bit about the collaboration with the Rivers Institute and the Amistad Research Center at Tulane, and how that might have informed this project, or what you’re working on in general?
I was invited by the Rivers Institute to be their first music fellow. They have this incredible artist-in-residence program that is in concert with the Amistad Research Center at Tulane University, which is an incredible archive of stuff from all over the South, particularly Louisiana Black culture. There are so many oral history interviews. I discovered writers that I didn’t know about, particularly a guy named Tom Dent, who feels like he’s kind of like the Langston Hughes of Louisiana.
I’ve always known how important archives and libraries are, but it’s just so much information. There’s a woman named Jade Flint who works there who helped me. She was like, “What are you interested in?” I’m like, “I like poetry. I like organizers. I like movement work.” I found myself down this path of discovering letters that Fannie Lou Hamer had written to her best friend. She was from the Delta in Mississippi and in the ’60s was really active in registering Black voters at the height of Jim Crow. She was attacked. She was beaten really badly for that. She just kept on fighting her whole life for Black people to have the right to vote and for political participation for Black people at a time where that came at a great cost to her mental, emotional, and physical health.
There’s an organization called Core New Orleans, which actually did a lot of COVID testing during the pandemic, but they were also working on voter registrations. I was reading their pamphlets that were like, “This is how you deal with potentially violent situations. This is how you approach people about trying to get them to vote.” I was doing that and concurrently reading things about emergent strategy and pleasure activism and comparing notes like, “These are the activists of yesteryear and the organizing principles.”
And then I was reading Adrienne Maree Brown’s books. She’s like, “You’re gonna need to masturbate before reading this chapter, because otherwise you won’t be connected with your pleasure center. That is essential to this activist work.” You could see this sea change in the attitude about what is actually going to aid our collective liberation the most.
During this time, my grandfather passed away and he [had] started a Socialist Haitian newspaper called Haiti Progress. Both of my parents are activists. I’ve been immersed in a lot organizing and activist stuff my whole life like going to protests throughout my childhood, especially regarding Haitian immigrants and human rights issues in the United States.
All of these things just really filled me with this feeling of, “Wow! It’s taken so much bravery to be able to fight the good fight and keep these conversations moving forward.” I think we still have a long way to go. I did a lot of reflecting on that. And that song, “I Want to Believe,” was written during that residency. It’s a simple song, but I wanted to write something that was almost a song that could be sung at a protest, something that was not quite gospel and not quite protest music, somewhere in the middle.
I love a library, I love an archivist, and I love being in that space and finding things that feel like a secret. How you process that as a person in the present, feeling the history in the present, and how it comes across – that is reflected in your lyrics. We have access to so much information today, but that information is very much filtered by these multinational corporations. There’s search engine optimization and all that, and we can’t really dig down until you go into a place like that where those regional details exist, like in an archive or library.
It just is incredible to me, because there’s so much to keep track of. And you know, even the different categories like oral histories or audio interviews or drafts of books or poems. There are unpublished pieces that may only be read by five people every year. Those five people then know about this thing and can share it with their community, and make work from it, or include it in their research papers. There’s there’s endless ways to see the world and then filter this information.
I feel like my job as a musician is looking for those bits of information that feel like the diamond in the rough, like the thing that I’ve been looking for my whole life. That’s really the chase. It really keeps me in the archives.
Can you talk specifically about the title track, “Sun Without the Heat?” In your liner notes, you dedicate the song to Susan Raffo and Frederick Douglass. I’d love to know more about that.
Susan Rafo released a book called Liberated to the Bone: Histories. Bodies. Futures. I went down this rabbit hole of progressive thought. Her book is written for healers, people working within the medical industrial complex, and anyone who’s engaged in healing work, whether that be on a community level or on a one-on-one basis. I read that book, and it was really fortifying for me.
She has this theory of the original wounds of our society, which are the genocide of Indigenous peoples and the enslavement of African people through the transatlantic slave trade. It’s about our inability to grapple with the harm that has been perpetuated and is being perpetuated from those original wounds. It is holding us back from larger systemic change. There’s a chapter where she references a speech that Frederick Douglass gave in 1857 to a room full of white abolitionists. He said, “You want the crops without the plow. You want the rain without the thunder. You want the ocean without the roar of its waters.” I was immediately like, “Those are song lyrics.” I just heard it immediately. Those were just such beautiful words and and phrases and concepts, and I kept on singing that.
It occurred to me, “You can’t have the sun without the heat.” I was like, “There are only three phrases, and I need that one other thing.” I was also thinking about how so many of these songs to me are about transformation, and are about what change really requires of us. And it felt like those phrases spoke so well to that theme.
I read a book called Undrowned by Alexis Pauline Ghums. It’s a Black feminist study of marine mammals off the coast of South Carolina and Georgia and the things that we can learn from them about survival, resiliency, living on this planet, and our inherent connection to nature — you know, how to thrive on this seemingly unsustainable planet. It is also about our connections to each other and community.
For a long time, I think in my own personal life I was like, “I just can’t help but feel like I’m drowning.” But I didn’t want to just make a record about that feeling. I wanted to make a record about getting through that feeling: about breaking through the overwhelm.
Since her solo debut in 2014, Vari-Colored Songs: a Tribute to Langston Hughes, multi-instrumentalist, composer, songwriter, and thought leader Leyla McCalla has routinely and consistently expanded her own sonic universe. But these have not been gratuitous or ambitious artistic reinventions. Instead, the cellist and multi-instrumentalist intentionally and organically brings in new and exciting textures, influences, stories, cultural touch points, and text paintings into her work. On April 12, she’ll continue in a similar vein, once again broadening her own endless musical horizons with a brand new record, Sun Without the Heat, available via ANTI-.
After Vari-Colored Songs, a collection of thoughtful, dense, and engaging adapted Hughes poems, Haitian folk, and originals, the critically acclaimed and “fan favorite” collection, A day for the hunter, a day for the prey (2016), brought in still more French, Haitian Creole, and bilingual material, underpinned by string band sounds that recalled her days performing and recording with the Carolina Chocolate Drops – but with many iconoclastic wrinkles and touches uniquely her own. At no point has there seemed to be any floundering or self doubt, musically and otherwise, in McCalla’s releases, but still their progression points to a growing confidence, an indelible sense of self, and an unwavering commitment to telling often untold stories. Time and again, she plumbs the depths of her own soul, her family, her lineage to discover and honor narratives regularly left in the shadows.
Sun Without the Heat certainly finds McCalla – who is based in New Orleans – covering exciting, tantalizing new ground that neither feels entirely new or, again, like any sort of attempt at frivolous reinvention. Instead, this album is a re-distillation of the personal journey – whether inward or outward – that McCalla has invited us to join her on since Vari-Colored Songs. Over 10 tracks, Sun Without the Heat is fiery while inviting, with limitless sparks and an intractable gravity. Building on her Haitian roots, which remained front-and-center in 2019’s incredible TheCapitalist Blues and also anchored her theatrical sort-of-concept album, Breaking the Thermometer (2022), on Sun Without the Heat McCalla again subverts antiquated ideas around “world music” and global folk by grounding Afrobeat, Ethiopian music theory, Brazilian Tropicalismo, and more in her American folk and string band expertise.
The result, like on TheCapitalist Blues and Breaking the Thermometer, is as charming as it is dense, crave-able and nutritious, entirely one-of-a-kind while obviously interconnected with so many constituent musical traditions. There are clearly lessons learned and perspectives gained from her time collaborating with supergroup Our Native Daughters – with Amythyst Kiah, Allison Russell, and Rhiannon Giddens – here, too. On the new album, with her arm-length resumé at her disposal, McCalla remains the industrial-strength adhesive holding together all of these seemingly disparate parts. Sun Without the Heat’s current singles, “Scaled to Survive” (listen above), “Tree,” and “Love We Had” are a perfect aural triptych to demonstrate McCalla’s deft combination of inputs to create a singular output.
It’s nearly impossible to overstate the impact the Carolina Chocolate Drops and its now legendary alumni have had on American roots music and global folk. Giddens, Dom Flemons, Rowan Corbett, Justin Robinson, and more each continue to increase their audiences’ scope of understanding well after their time in the Grammy Award-winning group. But the niche McCalla has carved out and built a home for herself within since branching out from the band is truly her own.
Sun Without the Heat is timeless while Afrofuturist, essential but never essentialist. This is folk music crafted in the spirit of folk musician activists the world over since time immemorial. When you listen to McCalla, whether Sun Without the Heat or Capitalist Blues, or any of her five studio albums, you can rest assured what you’re hearing is truly idiosyncratic, while she never lets her listeners mistakenly assume she and she alone is the sole arbiter of these sounds, genres, and traditions. It’s a deft balancing act that perhaps only she can execute with such ease and such entrancing music.
All month long, we’ll be celebrating Sun Without the Heat and Leyla McCalla as our Artist of the Month. Enjoy our Essential Leyla McCalla Playlist below and stay tuned for our AOTM interview to come later in April.
This week, BGS readers were graced by two special, Valentine’s Day-themed premieres from jamgrass supergroup The High Hawks and singer-songwriter Caroline Cotter. Plus, our old friend, Kentucky-based cellist Ben Sollee, brought us a gorgeous new performance video of a John Prine cover shot surrounded by verdant houseplants.
Below, catch up on that new music you might have missed from earlier in the week and discover brand new, exclusive premieres from bluegrass group Sideline and indie/Americana duo the Ballroom Thieves. It’s all right here on BGS and… You Gotta Hear This!
Sideline, “The Lives of the Innocent”
Artist:Sideline Hometown: Raleigh, North Carolina Song: “The Lives of the Innocent” Release Date: February 16, 2024 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “It was great getting back in the studio after over two years. There was a lot of bottled-up magic that came bursting out when we hit the first downbeat. This song fit the very definition of what Sideline is as a sound and the energy we project. It certainly enters the catalog as a blood-pumping, foot stomping, Sideline hit for the ages.” – Skip Cherryholmes, guitar
“‘The Lives of the Innocent’ was a song that was inspired by the Hibriten Guards during the Civil War that mustered in Alexander County, North Carolina. They saw heavy combat during the war, suffering a high casualty rate, and this tune chronicles what potentially could have been one of the soldiers in those ranks. Steve [Dilling] and the guys bumped the tempo a little and captured the essence of the song and the singing is just top-notch!” – Shannon Slaughter, songwriter
Track Credits: Skip Cherryholmes – Guitar Steve Dilling – Banjo, harmony vocal Matt Flake – Fiddle Nick Goad – Mandolin, harmony vocal Kyle Windbeck – Bass Bailey Coe – Lead vocal
The Ballroom Thieves, “Tender”
Artist:The Ballroom Thieves Hometown: Easton, Massachusetts Song: “Tender” Album:Sundust Release Date: April 12, 2024 Label: Nettwerk Music Group
In Their Words: “We were listening to the band Watchhouse at Newport Folk Festival in 2022 and their sparse instrumentation and fluid melodies inspired us to start writing ‘Tender’ right on the spot. We learn a lot from our peers, and in this case, the lesson was about the importance of creating space for your songs to breathe so you can hear what’s happening between the notes.” – The Ballroom Thieves
In Their Words: “John Prine had a knack for folding mantras in to his songs. This song has a message that resonates deeply with my journey as a creative, father, and husband [and] that is so needed in this fitful world. ‘When love comes your way, you learn to say, I love you!’” – Ben Sollee
Artist:The High Hawks Hometown: Boulder, Colorado and All Points Between, USA Song: “This Is What Love Feels Like” Album:Mother Nature’s Show Release Date: February 16, 2024
In Their Words: “This song sits in a slightly different world than the rest of The High Hawks’ new record. It’s a step into the mind of a hopeless romantic at a show, waiting for the band to come on with his love by his side. Sometimes the world just seems to conspire to make everything just right. This is about one of those nights. The song came out of a co-write with Chris Gelbuda, Shawn Camp, and myself one Nashville summer afternoon. I’m glad it found a home with The High Hawks!” — Vince Herman
Artist:Caroline Cotter Hometown: from Providence, Rhode Island; currently living in Ellsworth, Maine Song: “Do You Love Me?” Album:Gently As I Go Release Date: August 18, 2023
In Their Words: “‘Do You Love Me?’ is a love song, short and sweet and perhaps a bit tongue–in–cheek, echoing desperate and anxious attempts from a hopeless romantic to their new love (and the universe) to get some certainty in very uncertain territory. This anxiety and excitement come together in a fun little package, trading places depending on the day or the moment, and sometimes it’s best to laugh at the silliness of it all, and realize that attempts to know or pretend to know by reading the signs are likely futile, but if nothing else, they’re fun to sing about. I love how Fernando’s illustrations in the video bring out the whimsy, playfulness, and sweetness of the lyrics.” – Caroline Cotter
In Their Words: “John Prine had a knack for folding mantras in to his songs. This song has a message that resonates deeply with my journey as a creative, father, and husband [and] that is so needed in this fitful world. ‘When love comes your way, you learn to say, I love you!'” – Ben Sollee
Photo Credit: Jessica Ebelhar Video Credit: Created by Josh Ford, FordFoto. Recorded at Mahonia Studios, Louisville, Kentucky.
What changes about the oft championed phenomenon of “family harmonies” when the voices entwined together are not voices at all, but strings, plucked and bowed and fingered? It’s a question that immediately comes to mind as you hear the first notes of Haas, the recent duo album released by sisters, fiddler Brittany Haas and cellist Natalie Haas. It’s also a question that immediately came to mind as we chatted via Zoom last month.
“I feel like I connect more deeply with Brittany than anyone else from a rhythmic standpoint,” Natalie responds after a thoughtful pause. “That’s not so much the family harmony thing, but it does play into everything.”
The familial blend they’ve established as adults – in many ways, Haas is their first deliberate and intentional music making as a pair since their teen years – defies any and all boundaries and language, as they swap melodic hooks and call and respond and toggle between accompanying and leading, adding texture and tenderness or vigor and enthusiasm. Their interplay is as comfortable and cozy as you would expect these two sibling virtuosos to be together, their reunion the not-so-subtle underpinning that makes the entire collection of tunes and sets sparkle.
This is family harmony – and family rhythm – but unspooled, complicated, and set to a new acoustic, Celtic, chambergrass sound that defies categorization. Haas also gently and kindly stands in implied opposition to more masculine, performative, and competitive musicians and groups in similar spaces. It’s a brilliant, crave-able album that showcases how much can be accomplished musically when one’s goal isn’t just the cooperative music one creates, but the space one opens up with another in which you cultivate that cooperative music.
I wanted to start by just asking y’all how long it’s been since you put out music together, or since you’ve been in like a creative space together? How does it feel to be “reunited” in this way?
Natalie Haas: We sort of played together as kids in chamber music groups and youth symphony together. And we went to fiddle camps together – that was how we got excited about maybe doing music as a career. That would sort of continue throughout the year, because the way for us to continue all that excitement and motivation that we got at fiddle camps was for us to play together.
We did the odd gig together as teenagers, like farmers markets, school performances, and that kind of thing. Then we sort of went our separate ways and we’re both very busy doing our own thing, but we took every chance we got when other people would hire both of us to be on their gigs. We always said yes because we just wanted to hang out with each other. So this is like the first time that we’ve done anything like this and it’s pretty exciting.
The way that your musical paths have diverged, they don’t feel like they’re that separate from each other. It feels like the vocabulary that you both draw from is very similar. When you started sitting down to think about doing an album together, what changed about the way that you thought about music separately or together?
Brittany Haas: That’s a cool question. I think, it all felt kind of new in a way, but also so familiar, you know? Because it’s us. We have made a lot of music together. I think on my side, it was really cool because Nat already had a bunch of tunes. So some of [our collaboration] was just like, schedule based, it was like, “Okay, we know we want to do this thing, because we’ve been getting odd gigs.” It was really like motivated by the fact that we had shows coming up, and that was a reason to be like, “Let’s have new material for that.”
Then we were like, “Here’s our days when we can put together material.” Nat had just done a writing session where she had all this new stuff ready to go. These are the tunes that she’s cranking out and they feel very much like they come from something or some place that is like so near and dear to me, because it’s from our shared fiddle-camp upbringing. That’s like the source, the well, where the tunes come from, even though they’re new and different. It feels like very homey, I guess? The kind of tunes. And then I think we’ve just both grown a lot over the decades as musicians and as arrangers. We like bring more stuff to the table than when we were teenagers.
NH: I should certainly hope so! [Laughs]
That is the goal. [Laughs] That leads really naturally to my next question, which was going to be about material curation, especially because you both have demanding schedules that kept you apart, I’m sure, during the album creation to some degree. What was it actually like when you were like setting aside that time, like you’re talking about, to get together to make the music? What was the curation process like? It’s all originals, but one, yes?
NH: Yes. And yeah, that’s the nice thing about us both being busy is when you set aside a block of time, that’s all you are focused on. Brittany had all these amazing musical ideas and made all of my tunes better the minute she got her hands on them. The arranging process, it was pretty easy, because we’re both, comfortable switching back and forth between roles. I was just amazed at how much we got done in such a short amount of time, both in the arranging process and in the recording process. It all felt very easy. [Laughs]
BH: We did the bulk of it together, I think we had like a week or maybe slightly under a week when we first met to gather the material. And wasn’t that before we even knew we were making a record then?
NH: Oh yeah, that was preparing for a tour. Our first adult sister tour.
BH: No, no, no – second.
NH: Oh, second. Yeah! Because we toured Ireland. Right. We were playing all of these trad tunes, our shared repertoire from our of teenage years. And then for [Haas], we decided to make it all original. For the most part.
BH: Do you remember the moment when we actually said, “Let’s record this”?
NH: Uh… well, I think we toured it first. Then Brittany brings her handheld recorder to all of those gigs and recorded everything. We listened back to it and decided that it was actually pretty good and that we should make something of it. I think we had another tour coming up, of Australia, and we decided it would be fun to have something for people to take away with them.
BH: At that point, we didn’t meet again until a few days before the studio. We had arranged the material and toured it, so we kind of had it under our hands pretty good. And then a long amount of time passed, but during that time it was good to listen back to stuff and decide what we wanted to change.
We had like a couple days of rehearsals and revisions. That was from listening and emailing and saying like, “I have this idea about this. What do you think of that?” Then we had like three days in the studio before it went back to email, because Natalie lives in Spain and we’re also both busy doing stuff. So it was emailing like, “Do you like this take?” and, “Is it okay if I edit out the second B part on this?”
Did you trip into or over any sort of feeling like, “This reminds me of when we were playing together as kids” or did it feel like you were getting back on the bicycle in a way?
BH: I’d say mostly yes. It’s just really easy. I think in other collaborations, people aren’t always so willing to just try anything. We have this basis of, “I love you no matter what, and even though you’re being really annoying and you’re asking me to do something I don’t want to do, I’m still going to do it, because might as well.” It’s an ease of communication, which I think mostly comes from family. [Laughs]
NH: We were never really a band as kids. We did the odd gig, but it was always just for fun. Our parents weren’t pushing us into performing together. So yeah, no bad memories, really, associated with playing together as kids. But we do have the ease of having this shared history of fiddle camps and learning from the same kind of mentors.
BH: Since we’re both like primarily collaborators, this project was like running our own band. As adults we’ve both come into our own and we’ve probably become more opinionated about musical things as a result of that. So it’s fun to meet again where there’s a lot of give and take.
What do you think of the term, “chambergrass?” Is this album chambergrass? Is that even a thing?
BH: I like the term, but I’m not sure it applies here. I also don’t mind it applying here. I guess maybe that wouldn’t have been what I would have gone to, because from my perspective, it just feels so much more Celtic. It’s still in that sort of “past of American music,” that’s more over there in the Celtic Isles. It doesn’t feel very grassy, but I mean, that’s a part of me as a musician. So, it’s not like it’s not in there.
NH: It does feel like chamber music to me. Yeah… I’m not familiar with all of the myriad grass terms. [Laughs]
BH: We grew up going to Valley of the Moon Fiddle Camp, where there were a lot of genres meeting. So the boundaries were very blurred, and both of us having worked with Darol [Anger] from a young age, he’s all about blurring and negating the idea of boundaries. It’s everything, it’s all of that, it’s all the influences and where they’re going. I know the current Celtic world less than Nat does, but it seems like a lot of the forward-thinking, new tunes on stringed instruments are happening in chambergrass, the new acoustic realm, so it’s definitely an influence on both of us.
NH: It does have a Celtic bent, but it is Celtic from an American perspective – because we’re American. I’ve listened to a lot of stuff in the new acoustic realm – like Brittany said, all of our influences are coming out, and it’s hard to define a genre.
BH: I think Nat, for all of her “I don’t totally play bluegrass” sense of self, she can and she does sometimes. Some of the bluesier tunes that she writes lend themselves to that area.
You make very in-the-moment music, there’s a lot of improvisation, there’s a lot of dialogue, and this kind of music can often feel very – it’s silly to say this cause you’re literally performers – but it can often feel very performative and like there’s a lot of hubris in it. I also feel like new acoustic music, newgrass, jamgrass, and that sort of “Let’s jam out together, let’s be in the moment together!” music, it can often feel really masculine and toxic. How do you go about creating this space you’ve made together, to have those moments, to be together and present and making music, but it doesn’t feel like you’re being self-absorbed or self important?
BH: That is something I think about when I’m listening to music – and sometimes when I’m playing it. Sometimes I do feel like I’m uncomfortable, like that’s not something that I want to do. Even though you think that that’s what the music calls for in this moment, it can feel a little bit too masculine.
It’s like, “No, I don’t want to take a really long solo there.” I think I’m embracing that it’s okay to say, “No, I’m not gonna do that.” It’s a tricky one, because a lot of our heroes in that realm of creating this newer music, they’re men, and that nature is informing the music that they’re making and the way that they’re arranging it. It does have that hubris thing built into it. On some level, that is important and it does work well, for stepping into the moment and taking a great solo. You kind of have to have that attitude. But, it’s not necessarily masculine or feminine. Like it doesn’t have to be either one. It could be both.
What we’re trying to do, it’s a little more tune- or melody-based than based on soloing, so it lends itself well to a tight arrangement. That may not be the right term, because it still is loose, there still is a conversation going on. But, if there is a solo it’s pretty short, it’s this little thing we’re going to do to give a breath of fresh air here. It’s not like, “And now, we will rip for 50 more bars!”
“And now everybody look at me!”
BH: Yeah! I think in a duo especially, because we’re very equal and we like sharing, that’s just kind of part of the vibe. Even when Natalie’s filling more of an accompanist role, it’s still such a powerful, interesting sound. It’s so varied that it doesn’t fade into the background. It’s super interesting all the time. It’s like both voices are very equal, even if mine is higher.
NH: It’s interesting because, like Brittany said, a lot of our heroes are men. That’s definitely a generational thing in the Celtic music world, because like, the people that we grew up sort of – I don’t want to use a phrase like “hero worshipping” – that we admired and wanted to copy were mostly men, with a couple very key exceptions. But then, my generation in the Celtic music world is almost exclusively women. There are some men doing it, but it’s very different than the bluegrass thing.
Also like Brittany said, soloing is not as much a part of it. That changes the dynamic a little bit. But it is kind of a melody>accompaniment hierarchy going on. But I wouldn’t say that that’s necessarily a male thing, I don’t know.
As Brittany said before – and I hate to associate this with just feminine energy – but both of us coming from being collaborators in our other projects rather than soloists, per se, you could say that that is the more feminine approach, maybe, to music making. It does feel very equal because the melody playing is getting passed back and forth all the time. And it does feel very conversational, even though the soloing thing is not as prominent as it might be in some other genres.
I think that’s part of why you can listen through y’all’s entire album and it doesn’t feel stale, it doesn’t feel boring, while it also doesn’t feel like it’s trying too hard. It doesn’t feel like you guys have something to prove.
NH: That’s part of the thing with having done it at this point in our lives, it doesn’t feel like we have anything to prove anymore. We’re doing it because we want to, not because we’re trying to prove anything to the world.
Photo Credit: Irene Young
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