WATCH: First Aid Kit, “On the Road Again”

Artist: First Aid Kit
Hometown: Stockholm, Sweden
Song: “On the Road Again”
Release Date: August 14, 2020

In Their Words: “We’re excited to release our version of ‘On the Road Again’ by Willie Nelson. We recorded this cover a couple of years ago and recently found it while digging through the archives. The song is a country classic, it feels like we’ve known it forever. Because of the situation with COVID, sadly, the theme of the song has never felt more relevant than it does today.

“We made a video for the song using cellphone footage from our tours throughout the years. Going through all those videos made us emotional. It made us realize how much we appreciate being able to roam freely around the world. How much we love the feeling of playing live for people, in the flesh. How much we miss our incredible band and crew.

“All the proceeds from the streaming of the song will go to Crew Nation. So much of the magic happens behind the stage. It’s easily taken for granted, but without our touring and venue crew live music wouldn’t be possible. It’s important that we help them out right now. Oh, how we wish we could get back on the road again! Hopefully we’ll see you down the road sometime soon.” — Johanna and Klara Söderberg, First Aid Kit


Photo credit: Nirrimi Firebrace

‘Urban Cowboy’ at 40: How a Mechanical Bull Changed Mickey Gilley’s Life

Mickey Gilley admits he wasn’t keen on the idea of installing a mechanical bull at his namesake honky-tonk on the outskirts of Houston, Texas. Nor is he shy about admitting just how wrong he was. That rodeo training device transformed Gilley’s Club into a cultural force. “The mechanical bull was never meant to be in an entertainment establishment like ours,” says the 84-year-old country star. “I thought it was a mistake, but it turned out to be a blessing. Without the mechanical bull, we never would have gotten that film with John Travolta.”

Every night there was a line for the mechanical bull. Demand was so high they installed a second bull and briefly considered buying the rights to the device in order to market it to honky-tonks around the country. Those would-be cowboys — called Gilleyrats after their favorite gathering spot — would compete to see who could stay on the bucking bull the longest, and that contest became the centerpiece of James Bridges’ 1980 film Urban Cowboy, featuring John Travolta in his follow-up to Saturday Night Fever. Exchanging the New York City discos for this dusty, Lone Star honky-tonk, he stars as Bud Davis, a small-town kid who moves to the big city and becomes a master of the mechanical bull.

The film culminates in a showdown with his nemesis, played by Scott Glenn, over the affections of a scene-stealing Debra Winger. As drama goes, this test of saddle skill is anticlimactic, as there is nothing at stake beyond macho pride. Bud isn’t fighting to escape his life (as his character in Fever did) nor to stay at Gilley’s. He’s just fighting. Though never quite satisfying as drama, Urban Cowboy is still fascinating 40 years later as a documentary about Gilley’s and the particular culture that grew up around it.

Gilley and his business partner, Sherwood Cryer, opened the place in 1970. At the time Gilley was only a regional star, with his own TV show in Houston and enough name recognition to open a club. (Being cousins with both Jerry Lee Lewis and Jimmy Swaggart didn’t hurt, either.) In 1974 he had a surprise hit with “Room Full of Roses,” which only brought more attention to his honky-tonk. He played there regularly and invited friends to fill in for him when he was on the road. The place grew into something like a theme park, with a dance floor roughly the size of a football field, several bars, tons of games, even a rodeo arena. “This place is bigger than my whole hometown,” Travolta’s character says when he first steps foot in the place.

Urban Cowboy captures the energy of Gilley’s Club in frenetic long takes that put you right at the bar or out on the dance floor. You can almost smell the sawdust and beer. Gilley even performs during a couple of scenes, as does Charlie Daniels, and the shots of couples shuffling across the floor in tight, fluid choreography are among the film’s highlights.

By the time a suspicious fire destroyed Gilley’s in 1990, the place and the film had already left a deep impression in popular culture. It introduced western wear as high fashion: tight jeans and big hats worn by guys who never rode the range (or a bull, for that matter), but still bought into the mythos of the American cowboy. And its soundtrack, featuring Bonnie Raitt, Boz Scaggs, and Kenny Rogers, peaked at No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 and produced chart-topping country singles such as “Lookin’ for Love” by Johnny Lee, “Could I Have This Dance” by Anne Murray, and “Stand by Me” by Gilley himself.

For our latest Roots on Screen column, we chatted with the club’s namesake about accidentally recording a hit single, flying with Travolta, and assaulting the sausage king.

BGS: How did you get to a point where you could open a massive honky-tonk with your name on it?

Gilley: I grew up in Louisiana and got two famous cousins, Jerry Lee Lewis and Rev. Jimmy Swaggart. Jerry Lee was my hero, because without him I probably wouldn’t have gotten in the music business. He came to Houston in ’57 and I saw how well he was doing. I was working construction making $1.25 an hour and that’s when I threw my hat in the ring. Seventeen years later I cut “Room Full of Roses” by mistake and it turned out to be my first No. 1 song. After that I got to tour with Conway and Loretta and next thing I knew John Travolta came knocking on my door. Everything broke loose.

How does somebody cut a hit single by accident?

I had a little TV show in the Houston market. One night I walked into Gilley’s and the lady who had the jukebox called me over and says, “Today on your TV show you did my favorite song, ‘She Called Me Baby All Night Long.’” It’s a Harlan Howard tune. She told me she’s in the jukebox business and if I would record that song, she’d put it on every one of her jukeboxes. I said, “Ma’am, I ain’t made a record in probably three years. The show is doing well. The club is doing well. I don’t really make records anymore.” She said, “Just make that one song for me.”

Well, as you know, back then they had 45s and you had to have an A side and a B side. I went in to cut “She Called Me Baby All Night Long” and for the flip side, I picked “Room Full of Roses.” It’s an old George Morgan song from the late ‘40s or early ‘50s. Lorrie Morgan’s father. I started the arpeggio on the piano and got maybe 30 seconds into it and then stopped. My bass guitar player looked over and said, “What’d you quit for?” I told him it sounded too much like Jerry Lee. And he says, “Who cares? Nobody’s going to hear it. It’s a B side!” So I recorded it. Didn’t think anything about it.

I took the record around to radio stations where we were buying time to advertise the club — “Gilley’s! 4500 Spencer Highway! Pasadena, Texas!” — and I asked if they would play the record when they did the spot on the club. I remember Bruce Nelson at WKNR asked me which side I wanted him to play. I said, “Either side you want. Doesn’t matter to me.” He looked at both sides and said, “I think I like that flower song.” He played it and it shot up the charts. Playboy Records picked it up and took it national for me in 1974.

What was a typical night like at Gilley’s during its heyday?

After the film Urban Cowboy came out, it was packed every night. I never seen anything like it in my life. It went on for about three and a half years. It was totally jam-packed, seven nights a week. People wanted to be a part of what it was all about. They just came out to have a good time. We had a lot of things in the club you could do, too. We had the two mechanical bulls, plus we had quite a few pool tables spread out through the club. Pinball. Punching bags… you know, things of that nature that people would get a kick out of.

How many stages did you have?

We had just the one big stage for music. Of course, my business partner built a rodeo arena back in ’85 or ’86 and hitched it onto the club, because he wanted to stay ahead of Billy Bob’s down in Fort Worth. The concerts we had in there worked out pretty good, because we had Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, George Jones, George Strait. People like that do real good in a rodeo arena, but other than that, it was just a big building that we didn’t need.

How often were you playing the regular stage?

I worked the club up until 1985. But I got into a squabble with him about the way the club was running and what was going on, and we got in a lawsuit. I got the club closed down, I got my name off of it, and later it was set on fire and burned. It was arson, but I don’t know who did it, you know? It went up in flames and no more Gilley’s in Pasadena, Texas. But we have a Gilley’s in Treasure Island in Vegas. We have two in Oklahoma and one in Dallas.

What do you remember about filming at Gilley’s?

The main thing I remember was that we had to do it during the day, daylight hours, because we operated the club at night as the regular nightclub. They closed all the doors and tried to make it as dark as they could. I remember the director hollering, “More smoke! More smoke!” to make it look more like a night at the club. They’d start early in the morning and go all day, shooting the parts they had to have. I never had been in a film of that caliber before, so it was different for me. But it was fun.

Was the Urban Cowboy Band something you put together especially for the film?

We had a band there that was playing the club, but I took them on the road with me and renamed them the Urban Cowboy Band when the film came out. Paramount Pictures told me it was OK to use it, so that’s what we did. We were awarded a Grammy for the song “Orange Blossom Special,” which I played piano on. But there were some great songs in the film. “Hello Texas” was written by a Texas guy by the name of Brian Collins and sung by Jimmy Buffett. That’s a great song. We also had Charlie Daniels doing “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” in the film.

Your version of “Stand by Me” was a big hit as well.

It was originally recorded by Ben E. King and written by Leiber and Stoller. The song was brought in by the producer, who was wanting to do what he called a “grudge dance” in the film. They picked “Stand by Me” and asked me to do the song. I was a little reluctant but the arrangement they put on it made it a different song than the Ben E. King version. When we got the song recorded, people were raving about it, and it turned out to be a hit. Now I close my shows with it.

What was it like having someone like John Travolta in your club every day? What was he like to work with?

Well, the one thing that John and I had in common was we both loved aviation. At the time, he was working on his pilot’s license, and I got to fly with him. I was so excited about the fact that I was getting to fly with the star of Urban Cowboy. He had just come off of Saturday Night Fever and Grease, so I’m in awe. I’m just an old country boy that’s had quite a few No. 1 songs, but I never had the popularity John Travolta had. He was working on his pilot’s license at the time, so I went up with him a few times. He went on to fly the big jets, which I’m sure is exciting for him. I never got that far in my career. I got to fly some jets, but they were like the LearJet and the Citation — nothing like the 747 he was flying.

How did the success of that movie and the soundtrack change your career?

It changed my life, because the record company put me with a different producer and he started picking songs like “You Don’t Know Me,” “That’s All That Matters to Me,” “Headache Tomorrow (Heartache Tonight),” and “Put Your Dreams Away.” They were all hits for me and opened more doors for me, as far as casino dates in Reno, Vegas, and Atlantic City. I wasn’t just known as a honky-tonk piano player anymore. I was known as a country performer and it gave me a little more clout. I got to play for two presidents. They gave me a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, invited me to come to Hollywood and do some acting roles, and I did The Fall Guy, Fantasy Island, The Dukes of Hazzard, and Murder, She Wrote. I had a scene in Murder, She Wrote where I grab Jimmy Dean, the sausage king! I grab him by the collar and shake him. Sometimes I show that clip in my show and say, “Look at that! I’m trying to shake the sausage out of Jimmy Dean!”

You’re still playing a lot of those songs from Urban Cowboy on tour, right?

Johnny Lee and I have done well by doing the music from that soundtrack and we called it the Urban Cowboy Reunion Tour. I wish we could have gotten more people involved, maybe Charlie Daniels or Bonnie Raitt. But we did pretty good just the two of us. I remember playing a casino down in Louisiana, and at the end of the show I looked at Johnny and said, “Do you realize those people out there dancing wasn’t even born when we did the film?” I think they come out here to see if we’re still alive!


Photo credit: Courtesy of 117 Entertainment

By Defending Her Own Happiness, Joy Oladokun’s Determination Pays Off

It was far from a given that Joy Oladokun would settle on her present path as a singer-songwriter of pensive folk-pop. She absorbed an array of musical models earlier in life — those that culturally linked her family to their Nigerian roots; reflected the rural pride of her peers in agriculture-rich Arizona; united her evangelical congregation in upward-aimed worship; and offered various styles of self-expression, emotional catharsis or social critique.

But on her texturally varied second album, in defense of my own happiness (vol. 1), much of which she self-produced, she sketches the distance between where she stands, sorting out her sources of pain, anxiety, and pleasure, and what she’s chosen to leave behind. Throughout, she’s exploring knotty interiority with warm yet watchful vulnerability. Oladokun paused her daily songwriting schedule to talk with BGS about how she made her way here.

BGS: After your parents immigrated to the U.S., did they maintain an attachment to traditional or contemporary Nigerian music and share it with you?

My parents came here in the ‘80s, so the Nigerian music they listened to growing up is definitely still a part of their everyday life today. I think one of my first introductions to the guitar was this Nigerian artist named King Sunny Adé, just these crazy, cascading, arpeggiated guitar riffs. They’re not as in touch with contemporary Nigerian music, but Nigeria had a pretty rich and interesting musical history.

You’ve said in past interviews that you grew up in an Arizona farming town that prized folk and country music. What role did that music actually play in community life?

There is not a music scene to speak of in Casa Grande, Arizona, that is for sure. My high school was big into Future Farmers of America. Lots of big trucks and dairy farms, that vibe is the vibe of my town. Some of the country I wasn’t very interested in, but I had a short fascination with ‘90s country. I mean, Martina McBride, Alan Jackson, Brooks & Dunn, it’s a lot, but in a good way. Everyone around me was listening to ‘90s country.

And my dad, for some reason, has an affinity for country-gospel music. He has all these records of Johnny Cash or Charley Pride, all these different people singing old country-gospel standards. So there’s this dusty, Southwestern country sound that I also grew up around that I think is the country that I gravitate to now, more than the big trucks and farms.

Along with hearing King Sunny Adé’s playing, you’ve said that seeing concert footage of Tracy Chapman with acoustic guitar in hand really caught your attention. What was it about those moments that moved you to pick up the instrument yourself?

I was always a really shy and reserved kid, and pretty smart, but had a hard time focusing or applying myself for long amounts of time. I think what I found in myself when I saw the guitar and decided to learn, and what my family saw in me, was a determination that hadn’t been applied to anything else ever.

I just know that the gift of self-expression that it’s given me has been pretty lifesaving. King Sunny Adé and Tracy Chapman, those are two very different expressions of how to use the guitar and how to make music, but they both took the inner workings of themselves and the world around them, and they expressed it through the music they made. I think that’s pretty dope and especially appealing to a kid who has a hard time talking.

Since you were so shy, how did you wind up playing music in front of a congregation?

If you wanted to get me to do anything as a kid, convince me that it would make God happy, or if I didn’t do it, God would be upset. That’s a pretty good motivator to any kid, but especially for me. I think I was so driven because I was so enmeshed in Christian culture. I was driven by this narrative of, “You need to do something big with your life and you can’t just spectate. You have to participate.” I honestly think had I been a little atheist in middle school, or had language been different, I maybe wouldn’t have ever done it or stepped on a stage. But I think it was the, “I feel this duty to use my gift for something bigger than myself.”

What did it take for you to leave behind what you thought might be a lasting career path in praise & worship music?

I often laugh at how much my adult life parallels my mother’s. Growing up, she would always tell this story about how her dad really wanted her to be a teacher. She spent a year or so teaching school and freaking hated it. So she became a nurse and she still does that to this day. I think I honored the thing that is spiritual in myself by working at a church and by falling in line and doing the thing for as long as I did. When I realized, “OK, I’m queer. There’s no getting around that. And I maybe don’t believe these things politically or theologically that I sometimes said on a day-to-day basis.”

I just got to a place where it became more important for me to live a life of integrity on all fronts than to keep up appearances or do what I thought God or my parents or my old boss wanted me to do. When I left, I made the decision pretty much on my own. And in circles like that, that is a no-no. I think the reason I did step into it by myself, though, is because I have to live this life. I would rather pursue something that feels more authentic to me. And once that decision was made, then the career decision was easy. I honestly tie it back to hearing my mom every day since I was born tell the story of how she made that decision for herself.

These days you’re signed to the Nashville office of a publishing company, operating in a world with its own customs and practices when it comes to being creative and collaborative. How’d you adjust to things like co-writing?

I honestly don’t think the worlds are that different, or maybe just people are the same. I do write a considerable amount by myself, so co-writing was maybe the biggest leap that I’ve made into discomfort. To me, even if I have a bad session, there is something that can be learned or gleaned or laughed about from it. If someone has a bad ego during a write it’s, “OK, I’m not going to work with that person again.”

You chose a loaded title for this album, in defense of my own happiness (vol. 1). What were you getting at?

Every time I post something on Instagram or Twitter or Facebook that someone from my past dislikes, I hear about it. I didn’t realize that that was a strange practice until I was talking to my girlfriend. She was like, “That’s so bizarre that people you worked with five years ago still feel the need to tell you that they’re disappointed in you, or say that they’re praying that you’ll become straight again one day.”

It is the source of a lot of my anxiety, to be honest. I don’t regret anything that I am or anything that I’m doing, but there’s this part of me that wants to defend that who I am is good. So many of the songs we ended up picking for the album speak to that. I think the idea of in defense of my own happiness is, it’s maybe an open letter to all these people.

Also it’s a letter to myself saying, “You deserve this life. You deserve to have a girlfriend who loves you and live in a beautiful house, and you deserve to be working a job that you enjoy. You’ve made mistakes, but none of that disqualifies you from what you found.” The album is literally just, “Please let me live.”

As much as I hear you insisting on your right to happiness on the album, I can also hear you sitting with your melancholy, and not hurrying past it.

I don’t know that there’s any other way to actually be happy or healthy without acknowledging how you’ve been hurt in the past, who you’ve hurt in the past, acknowledging the things that you don’t understand or the things that scare you, and sitting with them. I’ve been doing a lot of meditation, because it’s 2020 and the world’s on fire. I was reading a quote about how emotions and our thoughts, we should entertain them as friends, as opposed to treating them as these things that we can’t control. I do feel like melancholy is like a friend that I entertained on this record.

That definitely applies to your song “Who Do I Turn To?” Tell me about the choice you made to phrase the chorus as one long, uncomfortable, unresolved question.

I credit the open-endedness of it to Natalie Hemby, who I wrote the song with. I am a big fan of open-ended things, but I think I wanted an answer. I wanted to write a protest song. I think Natalie could see in my face just the heaviness and the sadness. I was, like, four months old when the LA riots happened, and the fact that we’re still marching for the same thing in 2020 is so bizarre. It’s so heartbreaking. Black people have been showing up for themselves from the beginning of time, countless Civil Rights leaders and movements.

Even to this day, you can point to people like Angela Davis that are alive and doing the work. But we are a minority group, so we cannot be the only people doing the work to protect and honor our lives, especially in this climate. It became open-ended because it’s like, “You keep saying that it’s not your fault, but you let your grandpa make racist remarks while I’m at dinner.” There’s all these little actions and behaviors that play into it. Leaving it open-ended just allows people to think and reflect.


Photo credit: Shannon Beveridge

WATCH: Logan Ledger, “Starlight”

Artist: Logan Ledger
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee (by way of San Francisco)
Song: “Starlight”
Album: Logan Ledger
Release Date: May 3, 2020
Label: Rounder Records

In Their Words: “I was very fortunate to work with Joshua Shoemaker on the video for ‘Starlight.’ He’s a fantastic director. He conjured up the shadow world of sleepless nights and broken dreams. We shot it on the banks of the Cumberland River as the sun sank beneath the trees. It was a beautiful time.” — Logan Ledger


Photo credit: Bella Mazzola

LISTEN: Kenny Roby, “Silver Moon (For Neal)”

Artist: Kenny Roby
Hometown: Raleigh, North Carolina
Song: “Silver Moon (For Neal)”
Album: The Reservoir
Release Date: August 7, 2020
Label: Royal Potato Family

In Their Words: “I had the idea for this song the night after the memorial show for my friend Neal Casal at The Capitol Theatre in Port Chester, New York, in September of last year. Dave Schools, who was taking the helm as producer for The Reservoir in Neal’s place, and I were standing outside the venue with other friends and performers, and he said, ‘Look at that moon!’ It was a giant bright silver crescent. We all just stood there and gawked at it. A beautiful sight at the end of a beautiful but heartbreaking night. Late the next night in the hotel I thought of the idea for the chorus. And the following morning as Dave and I stood waiting for a taxi to take us back to the city, I had the idea for the first verse. It was about the gathering in tribute to our friend and us singing the old gospel song ‘Farther Along’ together for the encore.

“Six days later I came back from South Carolina to New York to sort of pick up the pieces and start recording the new record. Before heading up to Woodstock, I was walking around New York City alone early one morning and thinking about Neal and other friends when the idea for the second verse came to me. I went back to our friend Gary’s apartment where Neal’s 1952 Gibson SJ-45 was. I quickly scribbled the new lyrics down and grabbed Neal’s guitar and made a demo of the song to send to Dave and Gary. Oddly enough I also finished the verses to ‘I’m Gonna Love Again’ that morning, which I had started the day before, and demoed it on Neal’s guitar. So the only two songs that I wrote after Neal’s death were written in the same week, finished on the same morning, and demoed on his guitar.” — Kenny Roby


Photo credit: Gary Waldman

LISTEN: Xanthe Alexis, “The Offering”

Artist: Xanthe Alexis
Hometown: Colorado Springs, Colorado
Song: “The Offering”
Album: The Offering
Release Date: August 21, 2020

In Their Words: “I see ‘The Offering’ as a voice of an omniscient narrator, The Oracle, The Mother. She is beckoning the listener to open. Offering a promise of protection. A presence of the mystical, the benevolent. When I wrote this song, I was in need of guidance and reassurance. These words soothed my heart that is so often straining under the weight of our collective suffering. I hope it does the same for others too.” — Xanthe Alexis


Photo credit: Luigi Scorcia

LISTEN: Warren Givens, “You’re on My Mind” (Featuring Ivy Givens)

Artist: Warren Givens
Hometown: Asheville, North Carolina
Song: “You’re on My Mind” (Featuring Ivy Givens)
Album: Rattle the Cages
Release Date: August 7, 2020

In Their Words: “In case it isn’t obvious, this is a good old-fashioned breakup song. I wrote it soon after releasing my first full-length record, when we were touring pretty heavily, about a short-lived fling that turned out to have a pretty lasting impact. Even though the song is about a breakup I went through, my idea at the time was to write a melody that Ivy (my sister) could sing. It was really fun to write something that was totally out of my range and to see how she really brought it to life. This is the only song on the record with someone besides Seth Kauffman (my producer and engineer) and me playing. Ivy flew down from New York and we gathered around one big dynamic mic — old-school bluegrass style. We did guitar, fiddle, and our vocals live, maybe two takes tops, and then Seth added the drums, bass, and electric guitar.” — Warren Givens


Photo credit: West Givens

The String – Adia Victoria

Adia Victoria taps the lineage and resolve of the early Blues queens with a sound made for “the now” on her 2019 album, Silences.

LISTEN: APPLE PODCASTS

Victoria’s journey from South Carolina to Atlanta and then to Nashville reads like no other artist of recent memory. She works hard to set herself apart from the institutional trappings of the indie music business. Critically acclaimed and sharply thoughtful, this made for a fascinating and challenging conversation.


Photo credit: Daniel Jackson at Newport Folk Fest 2019 for BGS

LISTEN: Veranda, “Yodel Bleu”

Artist: Veranda
Hometown: Montreal, QC, Canada
Song: “Yodel Bleu”
Album: Yodel Bleu
Release Date: May 29, 2020

In Their Words: “‘Yodel Bleu’ is a song about using yodeling to cure the blues! It tells the story of this girl who’s so down that the only thing that brings her joy is yodeling when she’s all by herself. And who could blame her? Because let’s face it, it’s hard to be blue when you’re yodeling. Maybe what we all need right now is a good dose of yodel therapy. Isn’t there an old saying that says ‘You can’t yodel in a minor key’? The song is also a tribute to the great Jimmie Rodgers and his classic ‘Blue Yodel’ song series.” — Catherine-Audrey Lachapelle and Léandre Joly-Pelletier, Veranda


Photo credit: Kevin Beaulieu

BGS Launches Shout & Shine Video Series with Black Harpist & Songwriter Lizzie No

Like many of us, Lizzie No is weary of quarantine. Yet as the New York City musician and harpist joins BGS on the phone to talk about her life in pandemic isolation, her songwriting, her creative processes, and the growing pains intrinsic to all of the above, the joy in her voice cracks through the fatigued outer layers we all wear right now. A Black creator in traditionally white genres, No brings a distinct and important perspective to help guide longtime BGS column Shout & Shine into a new era.

In 2017, Shout & Shine began as an interview series dedicated to exploring identity, advocacy, and marginalization, along with the ways these paradigms filter into music and art, especially of roots varieties. Taking today’s civil unrest and righteous rebellions into account, we’ve purposefully refocused this column’s mission with the hope of giving a platform to Black musicians in roots music specifically, because these spaces too often relegate Black, Brown, Indigenous, and Asian voices to the sidelines.

Now, in addition to interviews and an upcoming podcast, BGS is proud to announce Shout & Shine will be moving to video! Lizzie No is our debut guest for the livestream version of Shout & Shine, which comprises short-form, intimate video performances by underrepresented and marginalized artists in Americana, folk, and bluegrass.

Lizzie No’s Shout & Shine set, presented by Preston Thompson Guitars, will feature a brand new song, “Mourning Dove Waltz,” and will be streamed live on BGS, our YouTube channel, and Facebook page on August 5 at 4pm PT / 7pm ET. In the meantime, read a little more about No’s songwriting, her approach to roots-driven harp, and her thoughts on tokenism — and why white folks perhaps shouldn’t feel free to lead that kind of conversation.

Editor’s Note: You can watch Lizzie No’s Shout & Shine performance in full below:

BGS: I wanted to start — and this is a little selfish — with “Mourning Dove Waltz,” because I’m an avid birdwatcher and in shelter-in-place everyone is watching birds! This song is not only about quarantine, but also the idea of being in an old space, but with new intention. Can you tell us a little bit about that song, through the lens of isolation, and creativity in isolation?

Lizzie No: That’s a brand new song and I think you can tell I wrote it during quarantine. I was never terribly interested in birds before March of this year. My mom always loved and delighted in them and I always thought it was very cute, but they never captured my attention. Right as we were truly locked down here in New York and a lot of people were making the decision to try to go somewhere else, it felt like there weren’t any rules anymore. I decided to stay here in my apartment and I ended up having so many hours, especially first thing in the morning, where I would just sit and try to make the day’s activities stretch out over the longest period of time possible so I wouldn’t go insane. 

That’s when I started to notice a couple of Mourning Doves had nested in my plant boxes on my balcony. It felt miraculous to get to watch them every single day through the balcony door. [They] laid two eggs, we watched them hatch, we posted about them on Instagram, we took name suggestions. It was this unfolding thing I didn’t think I cared about until I had this uninterrupted time where I didn’t need to be doing anything other than staying calm. I was pretty much on these birds’ schedule. I noticed when they took their breaks in the middle of the day and when mom and dad would switch places. Of course, this is so cheesy, but I felt a real loss when the babies grew up and flew away. As a songwriter, it led me to thinking about losing people. About losing a sense of connection. That’s what led to that song. 

The harp is one of my favorite instruments, but through no fault of its own — besides maybe its complexity — it’s not common in roots genres. How did you find it, and how did you infuse it into your songwriting and artistry?

After giving up on violin as a kid [Laughs] I thought harp was one of the biggest and weirdest and coolest-looking instruments. I took lessons for all of elementary, middle, and high schools and then I hit the point in high school where friends were starting bands and I wanted to be part of it. I wanted to be able to sing and play and strum along while singing, but I didn’t play guitar and I didn’t play piano; I played harp. Basically the harp just had to catch up with my evolving interests in the Indigo Girls and Brandi Carlile. That’s where I was at when I was 16. 

I didn’t really see any examples of people who were doing that — though now I know that there are. I think I saw videos of people like Joanna Newsom and Edmar Castañeda, people who weren’t playing the classical music that I was used to. Then I tried to just treat it like a bass, then trying to pick out a few chords. The motto being, “Nothing too fancy.” I wanted to get to a point where I could play and sing at the same time. That’s when I was first starting to write songs, so the skills developed together. 

I can notice that! I notice mainly because I play banjo and songwrite on banjo, and it’s such a different beast than writing on piano or guitar. There are so many similarities in the way you’re writing and backing yourself up. Especially in the way you’re comping on harp, it reminds me so much of banjo rolls — how John Hartford or Ashley Campbell or Béla Fleck, banjoists that might have more “composed” songs, might play. Do you see those similarities? 

That’s a very kind comparison! That’s the kind of music I listen to, but it’s funny because I don’t feel like I really have any harp inspirations to my playing — which is not to say I’m not inspired by great harpists, because of course I am, but that’s not really what influences me when I’m writing songs and figuring out how the harp is going to fit into the songwriting. Someone like Béla Fleck especially, I listen to his playing a lot and those are the types of textures and rhythms that I’m hearing when I’m writing on harp. Rather than something that actually contains a harp. [Laughs]

For the remainder of the year, our Shout & Shine series will be devoted to Black artists and part of that is in response to the current rebellion against racial injustice and police brutality — and also due to the heightened awareness of how Black voices and forebears in country and roots music have been erased for so long. Do you worry about this sudden uptick in enthusiasm and awareness resulting in more tokenization of Black artists? And I have to add a quick aside, because it is intrinsically tokenizing for me to ask that question, right? It’s a hard thing to unpack, so I’d love to hear your perspective on it. 

I really appreciate that and I appreciate you acknowledging that it’s difficult to talk about. Even assuming that it’s OK to have the conversation between a white person or a white journalist or a white audience or a white editor — whomever is doing the asking — and a Black artist is one of the problems. That being said, I’m happy to have it right now because I knew we were going to come into this conversation and talk about a whole bunch of topics. I’m happy to give my two cents: I think if non-Black listeners and fans and enthusiasts of the genre are thinking about [these issues], just know that those of us who deal with this day in and day out are going to be exhausted and aren’t going to be the best people to always go to. That’s a great place to start, knowing it’s so much heavier. It’s not intellectual, for us. It’s a lived reality. 

As far as tokenization goes, I do worry about it and I worry about it because I remember when I was in high school — I went to a really competitive boarding school — college acceptance letters were coming out and everyone was on edge. This is a time when we had Honesty Box on Facebook, where you could send an anonymous message — which, in retrospect, what a horrible way to let people bully each other. I remember getting a message that just said, “Affirmative Action” after I got into Stanford. It was so hurtful to me. Intellectually I knew that Affirmative Action is a wonderful program and it helps deserving people get into schools they deserve to get into. (I also had excellent grades and, you know, I’m smart as shit. So go away!) But it was hurtful to think that my peers didn’t see that in me and what they saw was my skin color. 

That’s such a trite way of putting it, but I think a lot of people maybe subconsciously think about Black artists in Americana, in spaces where Black people are not the standard, as “diversity hires.” They may even be for that. Like, “It’s great that we have these diverse perspectives!” They don’t realize that we are a fundamental part of these spaces and we deserve to be here. Just as much as everybody else. We have roots in these geographical regions and these genres that go just as deep as white artists. We shouldn’t have to rattle off our qualifications. 

There have been so many movements of Black artists who didn’t want to be called “Black artists” for this reason. They didn’t want to be put on the “Black Feminists” bookshelf and be marginalized [further] in that way. I definitely identify with that. I’m Black and I’m proud, in a very 1970s way, so I am proud to have the label of a “Black Americana artist.” I think my Blackness informs my work just as much as my hometown, my feminism, etc. 

I do worry about the swingback of resentment! That anonymous message of, “OK, when are we going to be done giving these people a hand?” Meanwhile, [Black folks] have been working twice as much for all of our careers. If anyone was wondering, we’re not going to stop asking for the door to be opened and we’re not going to stop kicking the door down just because people get tired of the trends. If people are about to get sick of it, well… you can leave. [Laughs] 

Who would you like to see on Shout & Shine? And maybe, beyond that, who are some artists or creators right now that you’re gaining inspiration, or joy, or energy from right now?

Lately I have been listening to mostly rock and I think it has changed how I think about my folk writing, so if I could be allowed to go a little bit outside of the genre…

I have been listening to The Beths a lot. They have a great new album out, [Jump Rope Gazers], and the lyrics are fantastic and their melodies are so fantastic, I’m probably going to try to cover one of their songs. I love catchy melodies — like, I love Carly Rae Jepsen, I listen to her constantly. 

A former bandmate opened my ears to new types, new ways of being a singer/songwriter. I don’t know if you know Bartees Strange but he used to play guitar for me. He does a really good combo of like, doing a really great solo show and he’ll do a full post-punk, indie-rock show. He and all of his collaborators are great. He just invited me and another New York artist, Oceanator, onto a live stream — she’s fantastic. She also plays solo and with a full rock band. Those are New York homies I listen to a ton. 

I love Sunny War’s playing. She’s a friend and she’s the best. Her live shows are the most mesmerizing thing ever. I’ve been loving listening to her as well. 

(Editor’s note: Tune in on August 5, 2020 at 4pm PT / 7pm ET for Lizzie No’s debut performance for Shout & Shine. On BGS, our YouTube channel, and/or Facebook.)


All photos: Gabriel Barreto