May is Mental Health Awareness Month, but for those with lived experience, every day is about mental health awareness. During the most difficult times, many creators and listeners turn to music. It’s where we connect through lyrics and melodies that express the things we so often cannot, will not, dare not say.
The intersection of music and mental health is nothing new. Long before memes and catchphrases about “break the stigma,” Hank Williams did just that with “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.” Years later, Porter Wagoner exposed the ugly unspoken truth about “The Rubber Room.”
Thankfully, through incremental steps, times have changed – although not enough – in terms of media portrayal and public discourse. With great courage, more and more artists are coming forward about their struggles. Dozens of artists and musicians have spoken openly with BGS and Good Country about how mental health challenges move them to create songs and albums that make us all feel a little bit less alone. (Scroll to find our playlist of roots songs all about mental health below.)
Artists and bands like Becky Buller, Courtney Marie Andrews, Sister Sadie, and Tenille Townes give us glimpses at how mental health and self-care inform their creative processes and how they craft their songs, albums, and sets. Groups like Southern Avenue and the Band Loula – who make music built on the sonic and storytelling traditions of the South – subvert regional expectations about what’s “allowed” to be spoken about in the light of day with their approaches to infusing mental health awareness into their songs. Still more conversations with artists like Fruit Bats, Cole Chaney, Emily Scott Robinson, and Chely Wright reinforce that mental health in roots music isn’t a fad or passing trend, it’s an intentional through line. Songwriting and roots music are perfect vehicles for this sort of vulnerability and these once forbidden topics.
The proliferation of YouTube and democratization of music videos in the 2000s and 2010s opened up new dimensions for artists, giving them more formats in which to express themselves, depict their work, and consider mental health. Additionally, of course, it offers live performances that go beyond anything a studio recording can capture.
“I Think It’s Going to Rain Today” – Randy Newman
Randy Newman’s masterpiece has been covered many times, and the internet is full of those recordings – as well as his. This performance, however, at his induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, may very well surpass them all.
“God, Can You Hear Me?” – Dax
Dax is fearless in addressing the most difficult and “taboo” topics. “God, Can You Hear Me?” asks the unspoken question within the context of a subject that far too many people refuse to address: suicidal ideation. (Content warning: graphic.)
“Let the Circle Be Broken” – Sister Sadie
In genres predicated upon generational legacies and “handing down” tradition, Sister Sadie’s song of release, letting go, and stepping out from underneath the long shadow of generational traumas is more than powerful. By the same token, that it was written and is sung and performed by a band of all women makes it a truly transcendent message. Some circles are meant to remain unbroken, others must be demolished.
“Bench Seat” – Chase Rice
Chase Rice broke down walls and stereotypes and opened doors to discussions about suicide with this multiple-award-winning video. Country needed this. Country needs more of this. (Content warning: graphic.)
“Hurt” – Johnny Cash
Johnny Cash. Enough said.
“I’m Gonna Be the Wind” – Laurie Lewis
Bluegrass legend Laurie Lewis has penned many a fine song tackling issues of mental health, but this is the song for when you’re ready to stride out anew again. It’s a song of strength, resilience, of realizing that often one of the primary forces keeping us down is our own mindset. Tired of being a blade of grass, bent and bruised by the wind? Be the wind!
“Sunday Morning Coming Down” – The Highwaymen
Mickey Raphael described them as “like Mount Rushmore onstage” and called Kris Kristofferson “the Shakespeare of our time.” This is why.
“Will the Sun Ever Shine Again” – Bonnie Raitt
One of the best songs Bonnie Raitt has ever sung and released was recorded for the 2004 animated film Home on the Range. Devastating, endlessly relatable, but ultimately hopeful, the film cut of “Will the Sun Ever Shine Again” is hard to track down on streaming services and online, but it’s truly lovely. A gem of a soundtrack find from an often overlooked Disney children’s movie from the aughts.
“Alone Again (Naturally)” – Gilbert O’Sullivan
In 1971, Gilbert O’Sullivan bravely addressed loss, grief, heartbreak, loneliness, depression, suicidal thoughts, and questions of faith, wrapped them up in a lovely melody, set them to a catchy beat, and rode to the top of the charts with one of the most gutting, most accurate depictions of mental health challenges ever put to song. Decades and numerous cover versions later, stripped down to keyboard and guitar, his voice aged like fine wine, “Alone Again (Naturally)” remains poignantly accurate and relatable.
“Bad Mind” – Erin Rae
A song so perfect in its illustration of how we project and ascribe mental health, onto ourselves and others. We all may know, somewhere inside ourselves, that there is no such thing as a “Bad Mind,” but stigma and internalized expectations leave so many of us feeling broken and “incorrect.” Listening to Erin Rae sing this lovely, devastating song brings an immediate feeling of needing to reassure the singer that there really aren’t bad minds… and thereby the realization we should also apply that grace to ourselves.
Below, you’ll find our full playlist of nearly 8 hours of roots music created by the teams at BGS and Good Country that features some of the many excellent songs that address mental health. For Mental Health Awareness Month and beyond.
Photo Credit: (L to R) Cole Chaney by Anthony Simpkins; Sister Sadie courtesy of the artist; Dax by Annie Devine.
Additional curation and contributions by Shelby Williamson and Justin Hiltner.
Courtney Marie Andrews’ story begins in Phoenix, Arizona. An only child raised by her mother, she found solace and an outlet for her creativity and imagination in music. She planted her music roots in a self-described “feminist punk band” and began touring while in her teens. Along the way, she recorded a number of albums – best known are Honest Life (2016), GRAMMY-nominated Old Flowers (2020), and Loose Future (2022) – lived in a number of cities, and worked and toured with a number of musicians, including rock band Jimmy Eat World.
Andrews eventually made her way to Nashville, where she now resides. There, she creates music and other art, fueling her soul and inspiration with long walks and her love of animals, bonding with friends’ dogs, and feeding an assortment of “porch animals,” mostly cats, who take up residence outside her door.
In addition to music, Andrews expresses herself through painting and poetry. She has published two collections: 2021’s Old Monarch (2021) and the recent Love Is a Dog That Bites When It’s Scared. Her music, writings, and artwork explore a broad scope of emotions and experiences: loss, grief, fearless love, deep darkness, pure joy, and acceptance of the entire spectrum.
These outpourings are at the essence of her new release, Valentine (out January 16 via Thirty Tigers). Written in the throes of anticipatory grief, the album plummets into the vortex of her trajectory. While the message is raw, the recording is anything but. Valentine is an unfiltered look into Andrews’ heart, filled with waves of sounds and layers of instrumentation.
Among the numerous instruments she plays on Valentine, Andrews is featured on an assortment of guitars and basses, including a 1973 Martin D-28, 1968 Gibson B-45 12-string, 1970s high-strung Japanese Epiphone, Gibson J-45, Epiphone Casino, 1972 Fender P-Bass, 1960s Kay K5915 bass, and 1960s Teisco six-string bass. Longtime friend and colleague Jerry Bernhardt joins her on various instruments, with drummer Chris Bear rounding out the trio. The album was recorded by Michael Harris at Valentine Recording Studios in Los Angeles and produced by Bernhardt and Andrews.
BGS reached Andrews via Zoom for an Artist of the Month conversation.
Has Nashville changed you as a songwriter?
Courtney Marie Andrews: I thought it would deeply shift everything for me, but if anything, it made me want to do other things as well, maybe subconsciously. I started painting and focusing on poetry. But that core sense of self, that songwriter self, will always be with me wherever I go. It’s hard to say how it has shaped me until I’m looking back on my life 20, 30, 40 years from now.
But I will say the community I’ve found here is profound. I’m a Western girl. I’ve lived in Arizona and Seattle up until pretty much my 30s, and I didn’t realize how lonely the West can be. I think that’s apparent in my early work as a songwriter. That subject is throughout the work. When I moved here, I was almost overwhelmed by how much people wanted to hang out. It took a while to adjust and now I can’t imagine it any other way, not having that community to feel into and understand this work, because it is a strange career. So I think more [that] it has affected me personally, but I’ve always continued to write and been on this journey on my own and in my own time.
This is a stripped-down album – only three musicians, including you, and one of them is also your co-producer. Did you know, when the songs were written, that this is how it needed to be done?
I completely funded this album on my own, so if I’m being frank, it was an economical choice. Originally, we would have loved to have a band, but in hindsight, ultimately it created the record it created and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. There’s some power to it being a very condensed group of people, because the focus is a little bit more zoned in, and it becomes a vibe if it’s coming from a few core people, rather than everybody adding their stroke to what you’re doing – which I think is also valid. But looking back, it was probably the best thing we could have done, having Jerry and I playing all the instruments and Chris Bear, of course, on drums.
You played a number of guitars on Valentine. Do the songs determine the guitar, or does the guitar sometimes direct the song?
The songs ultimately lead the way on feeling and vibe. Jerry and I wanted to layer the record. There are a lot of different layers of guitars. We would varispeed one guitar up, so it’s super-high, and then we’d varispeed one guitar lower, so it’s super-low, to create the rounder sound, especially if you’re listening in headphones or on a high-definition speaker system.
But it’s definitely song-driven, whatever the feeling. “Best Friend” is just my guitar and Jerry’s twelve-string. We didn’t go much further than that, because the song was meant to be a bit sparser as far as the depth goes.
“Everyone Wants To Feel Like You Do” is about a certain type of misogyny where it’s, “I do whatever I want and I don’t care about the consequences, nor am I held accountable for the consequences.” The song was written with that feeling, and I thought it would be funny if I played guitar like that, where I didn’t care, so I over-distorted my guitar and played as crazy as I could to assert my power.
How do songwriting, poetry, and painting each fulfill a different side of your artistry and emotions? Is there ever some cross-pollinating?
I wanted to tell the same story with a different perspective, so there is cross-pollinating in terms of the source of the material, where it’s coming from, where I’m at in my life, whatever darkness or lightness I feel. It all sources from the same well of emotion and experience. But there are different ways of telling the same story. I found that when I was songwriting exclusively, I would write the same song over and over again. Whereas if I take a step back, do a different medium, and come back to songwriting, I feel fresher.
Ultimately and forever, I’ll always identify and feel the deepest connection with songwriting. That’s the first thing I fell in love with. It’s the thing I understand the most. But the mystery of these other mediums has really flourished.
There’s a natural through-line between poetry and lyrics. What about painting? Do lyrics sometimes inspire a painting? Does something you create on canvas ever become words in one of the other mediums?
There’s not a lot of crossover. I don’t look at painting like I would look at a page or a song. Painting is, for me, a place to describe emotions that are unexplainable. That’s why painting is so cool. It’s almost equivalent to jazz; it’s more of a feeling that you can’t describe. That was enticing to me. To express myself as a word person who ultimately values words so much, it was important to think outside of the box a little bit. Painting allows that. To not be confined by words is really interesting.
Tell us about your recent Artist in Residence at the Iowa City Songwriters Festival. You performed and did a reading from your new book, but what does “artist in residence” mean at this particular event?
Because Iowa City is a UNESCO World Heritage City of Literature, there’s a heavy college-funded element. I’m not sure if that was their direct funding, but they definitely have more of a collegiate approach to an artist in residence. I’ve done some residencies where they don’t want anything from you. They just say, “Come up and write whatever you want. We don’t care.” But this one was definitely a bit more mentorship-driven. I led a class, a songwriting workshop. I also had one-on-one mentorships with young songwriters, people who are just getting started. They had a packed schedule for me, but it was so lovely.
I think their ultimate goal is to prop up songwriting among the other literature of the world, having songwriting classes in college, and having it there with poetry, fiction, nonfiction, memoirs, memoir writing, and all that. I think that’s ultimately what they’re trying to attain with the residency program. So it was great.
I’ve found that I really love to talk about songwriting in that way. I think that, in our culture, it’s a dying thing, at least from where I’m sitting, to seek out opportunities to learn from elders, from people who’ve been doing it a long time. The more we can do that in our culture, the better off we’ll be. It’s an incredible festival, and I would highly recommend people going. The people who run it are just wonderful.
When you lead workshops and do one-on-one mentoring, is it as much a learning experience for you as it is a teaching experience?
Absolutely. I think to teach is to be a constant student. The moment you feel like you’ve figured it all out … I don’t know if that’s a good thing. Even as I speak about songwriting, I say things that open doors all the time to myself. It’s good to be endlessly curious.
Do you think being an only child contributes to your storytelling ability through songwriting and poetry? Living inside your head, escaping into your own head, in a way that might have been different if you had been surrounded by siblings?
Oh yeah, absolutely. Because I was a latchkey kid, I spent a lot of time alone. If I didn’t have a friend to play with, I had to go into the inner landscape of my mind. That was my way of communicating in a deeper way that I couldn’t quite get in my home life if my mom wasn’t home. I can attribute a lot of my childhood to that. I was a deeply imaginative kid and would create stories all the time. So I think the loneliness also fueled what I do now.
Do you draw from those past emotions when expressing what you’re currently experiencing?
How it manifests is that it’s like a period of reckoning when I’m writing songs. I’m generally alone. I find it very hard to write if I know somebody is even in the next room. I’ve had weird moments in my life where I wrote at soundcheck and stuff, but when I listen back to those things that I’ve written around people, it’s not as dialed in. So when I’m writing, I’m alone and reckoning with the life that I’m leading, or the life of others. It feels like this very quiet thing that needs to happen.
Are you an old-school pen-and-paper writer or have you gone the way of voice memos?
I do both. I exclusively use a green book to write in. It doesn’t matter what color green. They all are green, though, green-colored notebooks, generally the Moleskine variety or that look. I have plenty of them in a pile. [And] I love Micron, the ballpoint art pens. I really don’t like the standard DMV pen. I’m a little bit bougie when it comes to my pens. I like the flow of a Micron. I write and then voice memo. Generally, once I’m done writing a song, I try and always get it down in its unproduced form. I think it’s important to have that, and the phone happens to be the easiest way.
Is playing guitar, just playing, as much a part of songwriting as writing lyrics?
Oh, yeah. I love the guitar. I love open tunings. I love acoustic guitar music, Hawaiian slack key, and classical Spanish-style guitar on a nylon. I love to play and try and emulate that style. And so in certain works, it’s the first thing that happens. There’s many ways to come to a song, but one of them is [to] play a chord progression I like and sing gibberish, and that sometimes leads to a song. In that case, absolutely I need the guitar. But yeah, the instrument can definitely lead the way. It just depends.
When you spoke earlier about adapting to the Nashville community, it brought up the thought that growing up as “an only” maybe affects our social skills to a degree. It can make community something new, as opposed to something you’re used to having around you.
Yeah. I feel that. I have a hard time with small talk for this reason. I want to go immediately for the jugular, as far as intense conversations. I go from zero to a hundred. It’s really hard for me to be like, “Hey, how are you doing?” I feel like such an actor in those circumstances. Of course I’ve learned to do it by way of being a musician – you have to talk to new people every day. But small talk doesn’t do it for me. I have a hard time going in a simple, surface level.
In the bio accompanying this album, you said, “I was in one of the darkest periods of my life and songs were the only way I could reckon with it. I felt cursed and the only mental cure felt like songwriting and painting.” Have you always felt that darkness?
Obviously, as a teenager, I went through a pretty wild part of my life where I felt dark, but I think I actually denied my darkness for a very long time. I lived in a haze of denial and hope, which is a beautiful thing. It can do wonderful things for your mental health. But you also can’t really grow if you’re living in that state.
When I was younger, especially in my early twenties, I always had this hope – “Oh, one day things are going to change.” That denial, that hope, kept me in this holding place, which for a time was really nice, and as a matter of defense and self-preservation, I stayed there for a long time. It wasn’t until I started therapy that I realized I always had this underlying darkness. When I had that, we worked on that, and real things started to happen. Things in life that are so hard that happen to all of us – it became deeply dark and profound to experience that in a more awake state.
How did that help with writing this album?
During a lot of writing this, I was caretaking for my family member who was terminal. If you’ve ever been in that situation, it is all-consuming. The only way I could turn my brain off from that was to write. It wasn’t “I need to write an album.” It was “I need to get back to myself for a moment.” I wouldn’t say it was a conscious decision. It was just I know how I am, and I know that songs are my only way of regulating in these crazy times.
You once said you felt embarrassed by the vulnerability of your songwriting. Where do you draw the line, or do you draw one, between what needs to be said for yourself and what needs to be said for listeners for whom you are the voice? How do you do this and protect your mental health when performing these songs every night?
I’ve always said that once the song is written, it’s not mine. It also transforms for me as I sing it. There are songs I wrote fifteen years ago that I still perform, that have taken on completely new meaning and feel different to me when I sing them. I honestly can’t remember the headspace I was in when I wrote them, or the origin of them, or who I was thinking about, to a strong degree, but I feel differently about them.
As far as what needs to be said, ultimately I try to relate to people, or first myself, and then you put the song out and it becomes a different thing. I try, in an artistic space, to be as true to myself as possible. I try not to put up any walls in that space. As far as my life where I’m not playing music, that’s a different thing. But music is a safe space to say whatever the hell I want to say. That’s the reason it’s such a powerful thing. It’s a safe place for me to communicate. Whatever walls are up in a song are walls that I have up with myself. That’s always very apparent when you write a song. It’s not quite clicking and you’re like, “I’ve got some walls up to my subconscious, clearly.” So the extent to which the boundaries, the walls, are up is truly only the stage at which my heart is at in that moment.
Did that happen with Valentine – the walls, maybe the fear of the vulnerability? It’s deeply personal and powerful, going deeper and deeper into those emotions as your journey is sequenced.
I hate to say it, because I don’t want to sound trite, but making albums, making bodies of work like this, fear is the last thing on my mind. Obviously, natural fears come up: Is it going to be what I wanted, what I envisioned in my dreams? But as far as songwriting and being vulnerable in a song, that’s not the fear. In fact, if I got very close to the heart in a song, it’s generally the ones that I’m like, “That’s a good one. I got there. I got to the essence of this thing I was feeling.”
Being vulnerable in life can be really hard in my personal life, in some ways, and I think that is more where the fear is. But, for whatever reason, the way I direct it is okay in a song, and I’ve made up my mind for that to be true. I don’t know why; I guess it just makes sense to me. Human emotion makes the most sense to me in the backdrop of music.
As far as sequencing, Jerry and I argued quite deeply about the sequencing, but ultimately it did go to a place where once we got the sequence, it was undeniable. Side A and Side B are completely different frames of minds. Side A, you’re fighting for love and you’re desperate. Side B is a resignation – this is how it is, this is how it’s always been, and this is my childhood. By the end, in “Hangman,” you’re just “This is how it is, and you can fight for it or you can walk away.” So the sequencing was purposeful. I wanted it to be a journey. I think records should be like that. They shouldn’t be all one color or palette the whole way through.
Explore more of our Artist of the Month content featuring Courtney Marie Andrews here.
On singer-songwriter Courtney Marie Andrews’ upcoming album Valentine, you can hear her letting go.
It’s a process she ostensibly started – at least, musically or outwardly – on 2022’s Loose Future, a collection on which Andrews also reckoned with being in a period of transition, personally and professionally, letting go of former five- and 10-year plans and recentering in the present.
Approaching four years since that most recent studio album, with Valentine it seems Andrews is intent on reinforcing and revisiting the same lessons she taught us and herself on Loose Future. The new album, which will be released on January 16 by Thirty Tigers, begins with a grand, tone-setting opener, “Pendulum Swing.”
Reminiscent of ‘60s pop-folk and rich with arpeggiated 12-string guitars, Andrews vocally soars into the verses and murmurs each contemplative chorus:
If I get what I want Gotta let the pendulum swing Can’t be good for too long Let the pendulum swing…
It doesn’t exactly strike a listener as the sort of Loose Future Andrews formerly envisioned, but the song also doesn’t seem to wallow in the apparent feeling of impending doom, or the instinct that imbalances of “good for too long” must be righted. Instead, to this writer, it rather sounds like she’s focusing on the instinct itself. On her belief, conscious or subconscious, active or passive, that “karma” or “deserving” necessitates inevitable negative responses to anything positive.
As with all of her impeccable albums, Valentine finds love as a frequent subject – as well as community, perception, expectations, and how all of these topics touch on or intersect with existential dread. But Andrews seems to be letting go of her ideals of what love is or what it can be, as well. Thankfully, her perspective on the subject is always expansive, never simply reduced to just romance or sex or heteronormativity – or some slurried combination thereof. But Valentine is more direct in its approach to love than some of her LPs.
“[Valentine is] a record in pursuit of love,” Andrews explains via press release. But that love “is a lot more than I gave it credit for,” she continues. “It’s built over years, it’s built with trust, with changes, it becomes something new and unrecognizable, the deeper you go.”
Songs like “Keeper,” “Cons and Clowns,” and “Everyone Wants to Feel Like You Do” follow in tight formation behind Andrews’ past songs on love, connection, and romance – especially the masterful album, 2020’s Old Flowers. But other tracks, perhaps chief among them “Best Friend,” indicate that expansion on love as an idea and point back to the creative process here also being one of letting go.
You can sense that surrender, the gradual unclasping of fists and de-whitening of knuckles, in almost every aspect of Andrews’ creative output. It has, after all, been quite a few years since she last released an album. Her prior rhythm of abject road-dogging and releasing LPs every year or two has been replaced by much more thoughtful and intentional tours, performance forays, and product launches. She’s leaned more into another medium, painting, and has gone full-bore as a published poet, too. She’s released two collections of poetry – Love Is a Dog That Bites When It’s Scared having arrived this past August – and has built up her creative, community infrastructure to feed more than just her itinerant musical pursuits and former wall-to-wall, year-round tour schedule.
It’s almost like you can hear the retooling of Andrews’ idea of success happening in real time, from Loose Future through to Valentine. Like you can hear her realizing that giving up the version of herself who existed on Honest Life (2017) through May Your Kindness Remain (2018), and the version of herself from Old Flowers and Loose Future, doesn’t ever mean net loss. Like being on the road less means one could grow flowers, feed stray cats, and build a support system in her new home of Nashville that, especially as an only child and retired nomadic busker, she’s always craved.
The sense of letting go was perhaps infused into Valentine by the specific circumstances that gave birth to these songs. “I was in one of the darkest periods of my life,” Andrews continues in the project’s album bio, “and songs were the only way I could reckon with it.”
“I felt cursed, and the only mental cure felt like songwriting and painting.”
It’s why this album, like almost all of her prior releases, also feels as self-directed as it is outward-facing and primed for wide audiences. Andrews has learned that letting go – of control, of her past self, of expectations, of legalism around or criteria for love, of the “power” (and curse) of individualism, of freneticism and frantic ladder-climbing, or of life itself – is a process we don’t ever graduate from. We never muster out. We have to return to ourselves, to introspection, to the very constructions of our selfhoods over and over again to do that work.
The redemption and sheer beauty of this album are not because Courtney Marie Andrews has found her Valentine, but because she can hold up her wants, needs, and dreams as valid and wholesome goals on one hand, while stripping – and re-stripping – them of any power they may hold over her on the other. It’s an impressive duality, one that wouldn’t be nearly as successful without Andrews already having done so many reps in finding herself and of letting go.
Andrews is our January 2026 Artist of the Month, an auspicious start to a brand new year of roots music. Here, you can read our feature interview with Andrews all about Valentine, its making, and the unique way she and her collaborators went about recording these fantastic songs. Below, enjoy our Essentials Playlist and tune in on social media as we dip back into the BGS archives throughout the month to share all things Courtney Marie Andrews.
Born in Arizona, Andrews first started singing at Phoenix-area karaoke bars with her mom before setting out to see the country in Greyhound busses as a teenager, finding a place in bands like Jimmy Eat World with her signature high-aching voice and talent on guitar and piano. Writing in fiery spurts (she mentions on the taping that 30 new songs emerged just last month), Andrews has put out eight records and counting, beginning with 2008’s Urban Myths and culminating in 2022’s lush and cautiously hopeful Loose Future. “These Are The Good Old Days” finds her trying to be present in a world of relentless distraction and hidden pain — and while the chord changes and harmonies harken back to 1950s girl group vibes, there is always a searching, aching energy roiling underneath.
If you feel like you missed out seeing touchstone genre-defying singers like Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris in their 1970s roots-pop prime, fear not: it can be argued that Andrews is leading the newest wave of honey-voiced performers who just happen to be writing the most honest, heart-stopping work in the expanding Americana universe. Many first heard her with the acclaimed, gorgeously direct Honest Life in 2016 which helped develop her following, especially in Europe, and the mournful and cathartic Old Flowers which earned her a 2020 Grammy nomination for Best Americana Album.
We all go through painful breakups and have to learn how to process the fallout. But what Andrews can do with the thorny moments most of us would want to forget, may be her superpower. “I’m not used to feeling good,” Courtney Marie Andrews sings with a weary smile on “Change My Mind” towards the finale of Loose Future. And yet, as she penned many of these timeless tunes in a small cabin on Cape Cod during the height of the lockdowns, sometimes realizing that you can be happy after all is that big first step that can get your future to start opening up.
Courtney Marie Andrews seems anciently wise in general, but on her new album Loose Future, she’s particularly tapped into some cosmic intelligence. Growing up, CMA spent a lot of time alone, so we naturally started our conversation there. People have been isolated in the last few years, which can be sad and scary, but also offer certain gifts. Courtney was able to quarantine during the first summer of the pandemic on Cape Cod. She grounded herself by walking six to eight miles daily and exploring herself “forever against the backdrop of summer.” She painted, reconnected with nature and wrote a song a day. Those songs resulted in the new record.
She made the album at Flying Cloud Recordings in New York, taking a dip in the creek every morning before getting to work in order to embody the feeling of letting love in: “Sometimes you plunge, and sometimes you walk slowly in,” she says. We discuss how that practice got her ready for the day and the ins and outs of several of the songs. We also get into the intentionality she put into the beat for Loose Future. She wanted to make something modern with a driving percussive beat, but Graceland was also an inspiration. CMA ended up at a few distanced drum circles during the pandemic that felt very healing and communal. Enjoy Courtney Marie! She’s brilliant and offers so much foresight.
In July we put together a playlist of bluegrass songs for summer vacation and once the inspiration was flowing, it was difficult to stop! We thought we should return to the theme, but slightly zoomed out, to include songs from across the roots music landscape. With the summer still shining, enjoy these 17 folk, Americana, and country songs perfect for your road trip playlist.
“Ride Out in the Country” – Yola
Yola was a 2020 Best New Artist nominee at the Grammys and she’s just returned with a new, full-length album on Easy Eye Sound, Stand For Myself. The entire project is lush and resplendent, like the glory days of orchestral, big-sound country-pop in the ‘60s and ‘70s. For this playlist, though, we return to her prior release, Walk Through Fire, and the perfectly country track, “Ride Out in the Country.” Take the scenic byways and crank the volume!
“I Like It When You’re Home” – Della Mae
One of the nicest silver linings of vacation is missing home – and that delicious feeling of returning to your own space and your own bed after being away. And your loved one(s), too! Della Mae captures that sentiment in this jammy, rootsy track from their album, Headlight. Take the day off, drive north, sit by a lake.
“A Little Past Little Rock” – Lee Ann Womack
A truly quintessential driving song. A must-add even if your vacation route comes nowhere near Arkansas. The baritone guitar intro, the shout-along-with-the-lyrics chorus, the whimsically late ‘90s production. A banger. A bop.
“Sunny and Warm” – Keb’ Mo’
Keb’ Mo’ is a master of vibes. His single “Sunny and Warm” showcases the acoustic blues musician in a more traditional R&B light – and the impact and result are simply golden. This track will have you craving your happy place, wherever that warm and sunny locale may be.
“Heavy Traffic Ahead” – Bill Monroe
Look, we’re The Bluegrass Situation! We’ve gotta get our bluegrass kicks in somewhere – bluegrass is roots music, after all. Given that we left this classic by the Big Mon himself off our Bluegrass Songs for Summer Vacation we felt it was worth inclusion here. And worth a mention so that you’ll go check out the entirely bluegrass playlist, too!
“Country Radio” – Indigo Girls
Finally a country song about country radio – and cruising around aimlessly listening to it – that is enjoyable and free of the guilt associated with the false nostalgia, conservative politics, authenticity signalling, and post-2000s country. Especially the kind most often played on the radio! This Indigo Girls track is testament to all the folks out there who love country music, even if it doesn’t always love them back. Don’t worry, it will. Eventually! (Read the BGS interview.)
“White Noise, White Lines” – Kelsey Waldon
If you catch yourself daydreaming, in a dissociative or meditative trance as you keep it between the lines, Kentucky-born singer-songwriter Kelsey Waldon has the exact soundtrack for you. “Whie Noise, White Lines,” the title track of her most recent album, speaks to that near-trope-ish phenomenon of losing oneself amid the countless miles traveled while living the life of a traveling musician. Waldon, as in most of her music, accomplishes this motif without stereotypes or clichés, and the result is a song that will be a staple on vacation playlists for decades to come.
“Table For One” – Courtney Marie Andrews
A variation on the same theme, this time from Courtney Marie Andrews, “Table For One” is gauzy and lonesomely trippy. “You don’t wanna be like me / this life ain’t free,” the singer pleads, seeking a sense of reality in a life almost entirely abided within liminal spaces. Find peace in the redwoods, but try to hold on to it. You might lose it twenty miles later.
“Two Roads” – Valerie June
Cosmic and longing, Valerie June distills Kermit the Frog’s “the lovers, the dreamers, and me” into album form with her latest outing, The Moon and Stars: Prescriptions For Dreamers. Whatever bug you’ve been bitten by – rambling, restlessness, cabin fever, listlessness – let this song and this album scratch that itch. And as you let the miles fade behind you, on whichever of the two roads you take, don’t forget to look up… at the moon and stars and beyond.
“Christine” – Lucy Dacus
Whether or not you’ve experienced the beautiful, transcendent, and heart-rending forbidden love of being queer — on the outside looking in on love that society has constructed to which you’ll never have access — Lucy Dacus’ fantastic, alt/indie roots pop universe will give you a crystalline window into this very particular iteration of unrequited love on “Christine.” The song feels almost as though you’ve woken from a warm, sunny, time-halting afternoon nap in the back seat of a car yourself.
“It’s a Great Day to Be Alive” – Darrell Scott
Darrell Scott goes two for two, landing on both our bluegrass summer vacation round-up and our rootsy list, too! “It’s a Great Day to Be Alive” is THE song for the moment you realize you’re out of the office, away from your chores, without a care in the world — whether you have rice cooking in your microwave or not.
“Hometown” – Lula Wiles
For those summers when all you can muster is a trip home. Lula Wiles don’t just trade in nostalgia and hometown praise, though, they take on the subject with a genuine, measured perspective that picks up paradoxes, turns them over, and places them back down for listeners. It’s a subtly charming earworm, too.
“Heavenly Day” – Patty Griffin
“Oh heavenly day / All the clouds blew away / Got no trouble today…” The exact intention to be channeling during vacation! Don’t let your summer getaway be one of those vacations from which you end up needing a vacation. Leave your troubles behind, have a heavenly day.
“Midnight in Harlem” – Tedeschi Trucks Band
Your travels may not bring you even within the same state as Harlem, but this song had still better be on your road trip playlist. There’s almost no song better to put on at midnight, wherever you may be roaming, than Tedeschi Trucks’ “Midnight in Harlem.”
“Outbound Plane” – Suzy Bogguss
Every time I step into an airport my anxiety seems to sing, “I don’t want to be standing here with this ticket for an outbound plane.” It’s always true. This writer has not yet returned to the jetways post-COVID, so we’ll see how that goes. At least there will be the security and comfort of this jam (composed by Nanci Griffith and Tom Russell) from Suzy Bogguss’ heyday.
“455 Rocket” – Kathy Mattea
There are plenty of modern versions of muscle cars available and on the road today, but not a single one is an Oldsmobile 455 Rocket! Kathy Mattea represents the rockabilly/Americana tradition of paeans to automobiles and gearhead culture with this loping tribute to a 455 Rocket, an early cut for Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. If you happen to take your country drives in a muscle car, regardless of brand, this track is for you.
“Take the Journey” – Molly Tuttle
What better way to conclude our playlist than with this always-timely reminder from Molly Tuttle? It might be a cliché, though it really is true: It’s about the journey, not the destination. So take the journey! Enjoy its twists, turns, and be in the moment. And take some clawhammer guitar along with you.
This week, in the final installment of our Americana April series here on Harmonics, host Beth Behrs speaks with folk singer-songwriter Courtney Marie Andrews, who has just released Old Monarch, a beautiful collection of poetry, and her very first of its kind. Beth’s own deep love of poetry makes for a perfect pair in this episode.
On top of her songwriting and poetry, Andrews also had a deep passion for painting, and she and Beth discuss the difference between various artistic outlets and how she moves through a creative block, as well as the joy of creating art simply for the sake of creating art, not necessarily as something to be shared with the world — or with anyone, for that matter.
Growing up in the Sonoran desert of Arizona, Andrews has been influenced by the beauty and vastness of the desert since a young age, and the desert and nature in general continue to inspire her art and spirituality to this day. And as we will never know the answers to the major questions of the universe in this realm, she finds comfort in embracing the beauty in the mysteries of life, rather than in the answers.
Andrews discusses the feeling of recently playing her first live show to an audience since the pandemic began, reads us some poetry from Old Monarch, and so much more on this episode.
Also check out our first two installments of Americana April featuring Fiona Prine and Margo Price.
Listen and subscribe to Harmonics through all podcast platforms and follow Harmonics and Beth Behrs on Instagram for series updates!
This episode of Harmonics is brought to you by BLUblox: blue light blocking glasses, backed by science. Reclaim your energy and block out the unhealthy effects of blue light on your mental and physical health. Take 15% off your order with code “HARMONICS”
It’s a national holiday. Patron saint, Willie Nelson. And perhaps his heir would be Kacey Musgraves? Or Billy Strings. Or Margo Price. Or Snoop Dogg. We’ve got options.
Bluegrass and country may be upheld as the pinnacles of wholesome, “American values” music, but in reality artists have been putting the GRASS into bluegrass since as long as that term has been in popular usage. (And damn, does it look good on a sweatshirt, too.)
We hope you ascend to new heights this 4/20, and while we’re at it we hope you enjoy these 16 high lonesome roots songs perfect for the occasion.
Roland White – “Why You Been Gone So Long”
Roland White, his late brother Clarence, and the Kentucky Colonels are known for “Why You Been Gone So Long,” and in 2018 Roland re-recorded the number on his IBMA Award-nominated album, A Tribute to the Kentucky Colonels, with a star-studded cast of friends.
Also known for his monthly shows at the World Famous Station Inn in Nashville (pre-COVID), every time Roland sings the line, “Nothing left to do, lord, so I guess I’ll go get stoned,” the crowd erupts with laughter. To this writer, though, that line feels less like a hilarious non-sequitur from a septuagenarian bluegrasser and more like sage wisdom. I guess I will go get stoned!
Selwyn Birchwood – “I Got Drunk, Laid & Stoned”
As modern bluesman Selwyn Birchwood put it in our premiere of this track, “This song proves that you can party to blues music.” That may seem like an obvious fact to a blues fan, but the uninitiated deserve to know the blues isn’t just about what you’ve lost, it’s about what you gain – through the music and otherwise. As Birchwood concludes, “‘I Got Drunk, Laid and Stoned’ is the epitome of what I feel is missing in a lot of blues music right now. You’ll find all of the rawness, edginess, and boundary pushing that I love…” That is the blues.
Ashley Monroe – “Weed Instead of Roses”
No matter the occasion, when you’re reaching for flower… buds – reach for weed. Ashley Monroe makes a compelling case that men are certainly not the only ones in country who can live up to the outlaw moniker. Guthrie Trapp chicken pickin’ along is the cherry on top of this cannabis bop.
John Hartford – “Granny Wontcha Smoke Some Marijuana”
For all those who’ve ever imagined hotboxing a steam-powered aereo plane, here’s a lazy, loping sing-along that kicks into barn-burning — or, grass burning? — country meets honky-tonk meets bluegrass. You’ll be calling it “mary-joo-wanna” now too.
David Grisman & Tommy Emmanuel – “Cinderella’s Fella”
If you’re here, you must be celebrating 4/20, so you might know about Cinderella – a potent, hazy strain that Dawg attributes to his late friend Jerome Schwartz in Petaluma, California. If Cinderella were a princess instead of a strain of cannabis, Grisman would certainly arrive at her door with glass slipper in hand. Instead, we assume he fits her with a glass bowl instead? This performance by Grisman and Tommy Emmanuel is sweet, tender, and jaw-dropping. Classic “Dawg music.”
Courtney Marie Andrews – “Table For One”
Everyone self medicates, whether they’re aware of it or not, it’s just that touring musicians — by the very nature of their jobs — face their self medications, “crutches,” and vices everywhere they go. Courtney Marie Andrews, a lifelong Americana nomad, captures the depression and melancholy of touring perfectly in this haunting song, which reminds the listener that you don’t really want the life of the person on stage, no matter how glamorous it might seem. If the sometimes foggy dissociation of weed smoking were bottled and infused into a song, it would be this track.
New Lost City Ramblers – “Wildwood Weed”
Have you ever asked yourself the question, “What if Mother Maybelle smoked pot?” With this song — a Jim Stafford hit — The New Lost City Ramblers kinda did!
New life side quest unlocked: smoke weed from a corncob pipe.
Kacey Musgraves – “Follow Your Arrow”
It’s April 20th and your arrow is pointing directly at your bong. F*CK, water pipe. Follow that arrow, babies! Do you! Light up a joint. (Or don’t.)
Nah, do.
Charlie Worsham feat. Old Crow Medicine Show – “I Hope I’m Stoned (When Jesus Takes Me Home)”
We’ve loved Charlie Worsham and the bluegrass bona fides underpinning his brand of modern country for quite a while, but it’s extra perfect when he sits in and otherwise collaborates with the fellas in Old Crow Medicine Show. Heaven’s golden streets? Overrated. What about its fields of pot?! I mean… it will have amber waves of cannabis, will it not? It’s called “heaven.”
Margo Price – “WAP”
She’s partnered with Willie’s Reserve to release her own branded strain of weed, “All American Made,” and she’s infamous for smokin’ and tokin’. But in this Daily Show withTrevor Noah spot featuring comedian Dulce Sloan, Price is called upon to prove the point that if “WAP” were a country song, the universe would still be as upset at its radical centering of female pleasure and agency. (She’s right, of course.) Thank GOD for Sloan and Noah making this point, because it’s given us this country-rendition of Price singin’ “Need a hard hitter, a deep stroker/ a Henny drinker, need a weed smoker.” Perfection.
Chris Stapleton – “Might As Well Get Stoned”
Look, you can’t mess with the hits. This list wouldn’t/shouldn’t exist without this song on it. Chris Stapleton, perhaps the biggest crossover artist — crossing over from bluegrass to mainstream, of course — in roots music since Alison Krauss proves his allegiance to whiskey and weed in this jam from his smash major label debut, Traveller.
It’s like he took Roland’s advice! Might as well…
Peter Rowan – “Panama Red”
Peter Rowan’s career has been well-peppered with southwestern and Latin folk-flavored bluegrass, but did you know he wrote “Panama Red”? This live recording is suitably trippy for 4/20, with a slight atonal warble as if the record were slightly warped on the turntable and the pickers holding on for dear life to Peter’s delightfully languid phrasing — that somehow drives as much as it lays down for a weed-induced siesta. Everybody’s acting lazy…
Billy Strings – “Dust In A Baggie”
He means kief, right? Right??
Guy Clark – “Worry B Gone”
How every “worried man” in Americana, country, and the blues still has a job when “worry B gone” exists is perplexing, isn’t it? Granted he was not a medical professional, but Guy Clark’s endorsement surely must stand for something. Don’t give me no guff, give me a puff!
Willie Nelson – “Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die”
Did you know that funerary and embalming processes are actually incredibly harmful to the environment and often non-sustainable? But this style of cremation must be ideal. Do it for the earth. Think green. HaHA!
John Prine – “Illegal Smile”
Love that plant peeking from behind John Prine like a shoulder angel. Let’s all do Prine proud and don illegal smiles today, how about it?
With that in mind, let’s not celebrate today without also striving towards decriminalization, decarceration, and the expungement of criminal records for anyone currently imprisoned on marijuana charges. Illegal smiles no more!
Pictured: Limited edition BGS herb grinder. Want one? Let us know in the comments and we might add them to the BGS Mercantile!
The 63rd Annual Grammy Awards were held yesterday afternoon and evening, Sunday March 14, 2021. Here are the nominees and winners in the American Roots Music fields:
Best American Roots Performance
Black Pumas, “Colors”
Bonny Light Horseman, “Deep in Love”
Brittany Howard, “Short and Sweet”
Norah Jones & Mavis Staples, “I’ll Be Gone”
John Prine, “I Remember Everything”
Best American Roots Song
“Cabin,” Laura Rogers & Lydia Rogers, songwriters (The Secret Sisters)
“Ceiling to the Floor,” Sierra Hull & Kai Welch, songwriters (Sierra Hull)
“Hometown,” Sarah Jarosz, songwriter (Sarah Jarosz)
“I Remember Everything,” Pat McLaughlin & John Prine, songwriters (John Prine)
“Man Without a Soul,” Tom Overby & Lucinda Williams, songwriters (Lucinda Williams)
Best Americana Album
Courtney Marie Andrews, Old Flowers
Hiss Golden Messenger, Terms of Surrender
Sarah Jarosz, World on the Ground
Marcus King, El Dorado
Lucinda Williams, Good Souls Better Angels
Best Bluegrass Album
Danny Barnes, Man on Fire
Thomm Jutz, To Live in Two Worlds, Vol. 1
Steep Canyon Rangers, North Carolina Songbook
Billy Strings, Home
Various Artists, The John Hartford Fiddle Tune Project, Vol. 1
Best Traditional Blues Album
Frank Bey, All My Dues are Paid
Don Bryant, You Make Me Feel
Robert Cray Band, That’s What I Heard
Jimmy “Duck” Holmes, Cypress Grove
Bobby Rush, Rawer Than Raw
Best Contemporary Blues Album
Fantastic Negrito, Have You Lost Your Mind Yet?
Ruthie Foster Big Band, Live at the Paramount
G. Love, The Juice
Bettye LaVette, Blackbirds
North Mississippi Allstars, Up and Rolling
Best Folk Album
Bonny Light Horseman, Bonny Light Horseman
Leonard Cohen, Thanks for the Dance
Laura Marling, Song for Our Daughter
The Secret Sisters, Saturn Return
Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, All the Good Times
Best Regional Roots Music Album
Black Lodge Singers, My Relatives “Nikso Kowaiks”
Cameron Dupuy and the Cajun Troubadours, Cameron Dupuy and the Cajun Troubadours
Nā Wai ʽEhā, Lovely Sunrise
New Orleans Nightcrawlers, Atmosphere
Sweet Cecilia, A Tribute to Al Berard
Also, note these Americana winners in other categories:
Photo by Kevin Winter/Getty Images for The Recording Academy
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