Tag: david crosby

Becca Stevens Strips It All Back on ‘Maple to Paper’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

In her dynamic, restless career, Becca Stevens plans to never repeat herself, like the proverbial waterway that’s never the same river twice.

Since being noticed by New York Times jazz critic Nate Chinen in 2008 as a 24-year-old “best kept secret,” she’s collaborated with: David Crosby and his Lighthouse Band; jazz orchestra Snarky Puppy; the modernist ensemble Kneebody; pianist Brad Mehldau; harmony genius Jacob Collier; the neo-classical Attacca Quartet; and others. Her five solo studio albums, especially the mind-stretching and richly grooving Regina (2018) and Wonderbloom (2022), have mingled folk-grounded melodies and jazz-deep harmonies with pop dazzle. The common denominator has been her uncommon voice, which is conservatory-trained, but utterly unique and enthralling. She is, in my humble opinion, one of the finest overall musicians making song-based music today, a peer to 21st century savants St. Vincent and Madison Cunningham.

One frontier that remained for Stevens was, ironically, the most obvious for a singer-songwriter – the solo acoustic album. Her version of this venerable format finally arrived in late August with Maple to Paper, a 13-song collection that was shaped at every level by a series of landmark life events. After marrying Nathan Schram, violist in the Attacca Quartet, she gave birth to daughters in 2022 and 2024. Their family moved from New York to Princeton, New Jersey. Her mother died, as did her close collaborator and friend David Crosby.

Stevens alchemizes this season of change, love, and loss through songs that challenge conventional forms with rich and fearless lyrics that play at times like Emily Dickinson set to classical guitar. On the cover, she’s demurely naked behind a guitar. In the grooves, she’s as vulnerable as we’ve ever heard her. As she told me of her emotional multiverse of the past few years, “I felt uncomfortable about sharing it, but I also was like, well, if I’m going to do this, I might as well make it completely exposed.”

It’s easy to suppose that the changes of the past few years – moving, having children, losing your mom – made a solo acoustic record sound more appealing at both artistic and practical levels?

Becca Stevens: Absolutely, yeah. You’re spot on. Two things can be true. So the choice to do this album completely solo and from home both served the concept and integrity of the album. But it also was maybe the only way that I could have gotten it done during that time.

Just to put that into perspective, you know, there was the logistics of the grieving. The loss of my mom was super fresh, and I had a six-month-old who was part-time in daycare. And then towards the end of the recording and writing process, I was pregnant again. So there was the logistics of being a new mom, of having morning sickness, of being in a new place, of grieving my mom, and all of that was so much more possible to do from home. But I resisted it.

For a long time, I had the idea of recording the demos at home and then going into the studio. But I went back and forth a lot with Nic Hard, who mixed it with me. He also did Wonderbloom. And the deeper that we got into the material, the more crystal clear it was that the songs were best served if performed live – guitar and singing at the same time – and performed at home, where I was really in the character and in the feelings.

Did writing and making art feel like what you wanted to do under all those cross-cutting pressures and changes, or did you have to force yourself a bit through the work?

“Want” is maybe the wrong word. I felt like, at least for the grieving part, I had to do it because it was like I was going to explode if I didn’t do something. And it was a confusing loss – something that left me with a lot of questions. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been somebody who processes confusing emotions through writing songs or stories, or art in some way.

I felt like I needed to do it. But also, yes, there were times where I just absolutely did not want to and just wanted to lie on the floor. And I had to find a way to incorporate that as part of the process, so that I could forgive myself. I literally had a futon on the floor of my workspace, where I told that part of my brain, “You are invited to lay down there whenever you need to. You’re not at a studio. The clock’s not ticking. You’re not paying for this.” I called it my Womb Room. And I would put on salt lamps and put the lights down really low and lay down. And then some of the songs came from that space.

Some of these feel more like classical art songs than folk songs, in that they’re not shaped around a set number of measures or predictable beats. Did they feel a bit like that to you?

Yeah, the song “Payin’ to be Apart” comes to mind. It definitely felt that way; a little less folky, more like poetry that just happens to be on a wave of music. It’s interesting to hear you say that, because in the writing process – harmonically and in the accompaniment – I took a much simpler approach than what I have done before, on Regina or Wonderbloom, on everything really. Because I put so much intention and honesty and, like, blood, sweat, and tears into the lyric, I gave myself permission to let the waters that it was floating on be a little less turbulent artistically, a little less complex and a little more like I was trying to cradle them and deliver them in a way that takes care of them and makes it easier to metabolize – or something.

Was your mindset different, knowing there’s not going to be the grid of the drum beat? Can drums be a bit of a cage sometimes?

Yeah, they can be a cage. But they can also be like something that’s really cozy to lean on in the arrangement. Like, I can drop everything and have it just be drums and vocals for a verse and it feels really good. But for this album, I set a goal that the songs are meant to be performed as just me and the guitar, because that’s how they were recorded. That means that whatever break that I gave you in Wonderbloom by stripping down the arrangement and going to drums now needs to be created with whatever tools I have by myself, whether that’s narrative, or a right hand finger pattern, or fill in the blank.

This made me wonder how much you have performed solo acoustically in your career, given the emphasis on arrangement on a lot of your records.

Quite a bit, yeah. I have a lot of respect for my bandmates. And if there were ever gigs that we were offered where I felt like I couldn’t cover their fee and treat them well, I would just take it solo. I’ve done that a lot. I’ve done a lot of solo tours. A lot of my writing has started out solo, and I have solo versions – for example, “You Didn’t Know,” the song from Wonderbloom that was inspired from watching the documentary about R. Kelly. That song, I poured my heart out solo and then stripped the solo version back when I was in the studio turning it into the Wonderbloom version.

Solo feels like a home base to me, and it’s something that I think I’ve resisted, because maybe I felt like it wouldn’t be enough. There’s this narrative, especially in the booking world, that they don’t want to book you unless you have more than one or two people on stage, because it’s not enough to create the energy to get the focus of the audience. And maybe it’s not loud enough, you know? I also had that in mind. This might not be very marketable, but I’ve got to do my best to just serve these songs to the best of my ability. And it’s got to get done anyway, because this is how I’m processing this part of my life,

Meanwhile, your tempo of collaborative work never seems to let up. I have my personal favorites, but can you address some of your favorite partnerships here in the last few years?

We haven’t mentioned this yet as part of the story of this record, but knee-deep in the writing and recording stages of this album, we also lost David Crosby. I’d already gotten punched in the face and then I was like, kicked on the ground. Not that it’s about me. The whole world grieved that loss. As I mentioned, when I lost my mom, it was a very complicated grieving process. I took a lot of inspiration from listening to albums like Sufjan Stevens’s Carrie & Lowell, where it’s okay for grief to be ugly and complicated and to show that. But with Croz, it was so sad, because I loved him so much, and I loved being in his band, and I loved writing music with him. But the presence that he held in my life didn’t diminish. I couldn’t hug him, but there was this sort of heavenly presence when I was writing the songs for this album, where I could hear him and see him in my mind, kind of rooting me along.

And tell me about Michael League of Snarky Puppy and the universe that he inhabits with the GroundUP record label, which has been supportive of you all this time. It’s such a fascinating record company. I feel like they’ve got a lot to teach the music industry about curation and cultivation of a tribe, and I’d love for you to remark on how that model has served you.

I like the word tribe. I often think of it as family, but I think tribe is even stronger. I feel safe with that label in a way that I’ve never felt safe with labels before, especially major ones, where, if you’re not performing exactly the way that they want you to, you get kind of put on a shelf, and then your art doesn’t get heard because, because you’re not pleasing the corporation.

With GroundUP, I’ve always felt like whatever I’m getting into is what they want me to do. They’re like, “Your health and happiness and artistry come first and if that’s what you need to make right now, we’re behind it.” And I can’t tell you how liberating and comforting that is as an artist to know that the people that are helping you put your music out have your back. And we all love each other too. We all play together and love each other too.

And speaking of Sufjan Stevens, you got to be on Broadway in his Illinoise musical. What did that add to your world?

Yeah, it was a limited run on Broadway and I did half of the run. So I had Isla, my second daughter, on February 24 of this year. And then I got a call from Timo Andres, who did the orchestrations, saying, “I know you’re on maternity leave. This is crazy. I shouldn’t even be calling you, but I can’t not think of you for this role. Is there a world where you would ever audition for this?” I was like, “Yeah, I could audition and see what happens…” and didn’t expect to get it. I came in with my newborn baby. I handed her to my manager, did the audition, and they called me within a day and said they’d love for me to do it.

Initially I thought, “There’s no way.” I’m giving you all of this extra detail because a huge part of the experience for me was the chaos and the balance of the life that I was living at home for the first half of that day in Princeton – nursing my baby and being a new mama – and then handing her to my husband and jumping on the train for two hours, going into the city just in time to perform, and then coming back home and doing it all again and nursing through the night. It was this superhuman thing that initially I thought, “Oh, there’s no way this is going to work.”

The whole experience was like a dream state – being on stage and singing that music, which I’ve loved for so long. And also, having it not be about me was very refreshing. I’m not the band leader and I’m singing someone else’s music as a narrative that’s coming from the bodies of the dancers. We can lean on the coziness of the production, and just enjoy it.

I would say coming out of that helped me to be less self-absorbed. The headspace that I was in for Maple to Paper was very me, me, me, me, me, me. And then Illinoise was like, “No, it’s not about you. It’s about being in service to something greater than you.” Whether you’re writing a song about your feelings or singing somebody else’s, that’s always what it’s been.

Editor’s Note: Need more Becca Stevens? Check out our recent Basic Folk conversation with Stevens here.

Photo Credit: Shervin Lainez

Basic Folk: Becca Stevens

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

I first came across Becca Stevens via her collaboration with string group The Attica Quartet. Her new album, Maple to Paper, is really different from her previous releases. If you think you know everything that there is to know about Becca Stevens as a singer, songwriter, arranger, and producer, you are wrong. And you are going to be so amazed by this new record. It’s completely stripped down, featuring just her guitar and her voice. During the pandemic, Stevens started getting inspired to write songs about her family, about her mom, about grief, about becoming a mother. She decided to record Maple to Paper in her home in Princeton, New Jersey. The result is a super intimate and adventurous, bold and personal album which is full of amazing performances.

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In our Basic Folk conversation we also got to talk about some of her notable collaborations. The most interesting one, to me, was hearing about how she considers the late David Crosby a continuous spiritual co-writer. In addition to her friendship with Crosby, Stevens has collaborated with so many more incredible musicians including Jacob Collier and Sufjan Stevens on the Illinoise Broadway musical. She has a really unconventional approach to infusing pop, jazz, and folk into her work. Maple to Paper became an instant classic for me the minute I heard it. I’m really excited for our listeners to hear “Shoulda Been There for Me,” which feels like an old school R&B tune, but arranged for a contemporary folk record.

Photo Credit: Shervin Lainez

Explore the Essential Songs of Sarah Jarosz’s Discography

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Stripping away convention, honing in on narrative, and keeping complex melodies afloat with her ethereal vocals, Sarah Jarosz is a superlative presence in the roots music landscape. The daughter of two schoolteachers hailing from Wimberley, Texas, she began learning to play the mandolin at age 9. By the time she turned 12, Sarah was already gracing stages alongside the likes of musical giants David Grisman and Ricky Skaggs.

Her multi-instrumentalist capabilities and songwriting proficiency only grew from there; at the age of 16, Jarosz signed a deal with Sugar Hill Records and released her first album, Song Up in Her Head, in 2009. This critically acclaimed record would be the first of what now surmounts to seven full-length, tremendously lauded projects. Polaroid Lovers, Jarosz’s latest and the muse of her current tour, is set to be released on January 26, 2024.

Over the span of nearly two decades spent recording and touring, Sarah Jarosz has established herself as a foundational thread in the tapestry of modern roots music. From impeccable collaborations (with Punch Brothers, David Grisman, Sierra Ferrell), to forming a supergroup alongside Aoife O’Donovan and Sarah Watkins (I’m With Her), to a whopping 5 hours and 45 minutes of music published under her name, Jarosz stands firmly in her power. As she forges ahead, she only continues to outdo herself.

While her entire catalog is sure to edify any listener, this compilation showcases some of Jarosz’s most essential tracks. Tracing the arc of her musicianship from adolescence to adulthood, the following 17 songs demonstrate the particular sonic maturity, lyrical astuteness, and emotional evocation that span all she creates.

“Mansinneedof”

From Jarosz’s first album, Song Up in Her Head, this indelible instrumental boldly answers the question, “Can a mandolin be a lead instrument?” with a resounding, “Of course!” The first of many Grammy nominations acquired throughout her career, this tune was considered for Best Country Instrumental in 2009. Impossibly advanced beyond her years, Jarosz’s nimble and articulate melody is akin to a sonic coast through star-studded galaxies.

“Come On Up To The House”

In a clear demonstration of the range of her musical influences, the most-streamed song from Sarah’s inaugural album is a cover of Tom Waits’s “Come On Up To The House.” Her cool, slippery voice lends a new angle to the iconic tune. Paired with astute backing vocals from Tim O’Brien and a slick fiddle solo by Alex Hargreaves, this song grooves right along – an ingenious, albeit unlikely, bluegrass cover.

“Annabelle Lee”

Jarosz’s sophomore album, Follow Me Down, is latent with a mystical quality that reaches towards the ethers, shepherded into expansiveness by a creative spectrum of influences. The third track, “Annabelle Lee,” features lyrics adapted from the illustrious Edgar Allen Poe poem of the same name. Jarosz sets the eerie tale against a conglomerate of haunting textures – the heightened pace and drums evoke a sense of urgency while Jerry Douglas makes his lap steel wail, a somber cello moans, and Dan Tyminski’s backing vocals lend fullness to the ravenous depths of this dark tune. It is also worth noting that Jarosz performed and recorded this tune, very fittingly filmed in an old hunting lodge in the Scottish Highlands, for the Transatlantic Sessions in 2011. (Watch above.)

“The Tourist”

Sarah sure knows how to pick a cover. From Prince to the Decemberists to Joanna Newsom, she can masterfully braid her grace and artistry into anything. “The Tourist” offers Jarosz’s take on Radiohead, an influence cited among many of Jarosz’s contemporaries, including Madison Cunningham and Chris Thile. In fact, Punch Brothers provide the musical backdrop on this track, their syncopated rhythms and blustery fills meeting Jarosz and Thile’s airtight harmonies to create a sense of whirling, palpable, delicate angst.

“Build Me Up From Bones”

Off of her Grammy-nominated third album, this titular track received an additional nom for Best American Roots Song of 2014. This song is SJ’s most popular of all time, having racked up a total of 70.7M streams on Spotify. Here, Jarosz’s songwriting forges into new territory; her lyrics are both poetic and measured, imbued with textures of velvety longing. The form matches the content, from Aoife O’Donovan’s dewy harmonies to the pizzicato string section to the gorgeous cello solo. Effectively, listeners are bathed in a most intimate listening experience that beckons infinite re-listens.

“1,000 Things”

In another track off of Build Me Up From Bones, here SJ shares songwriting credits with the legendary Darrell Scott. The result? Pure synastry. Underscored by pulsating Celtic rhythms, this uptempo earworm says 1,000 things despite its brevity.

“House of Mercy”

This tune, along with the album carrying it – Undercurrent – won Sarah her first two Grammys in one night. “House of Mercy” was crowned Best American Roots Performance of 2017, and it was indubitably worthy. Jarosz shares songwriting credits with Australian singer-songwriter Jedd Hughes, and together they achieve a dark story arc as the encumbered narrator addresses an unwanted visitor. Jarosz opens up her sound into cutting, fierce Americana twang – effectively offering audiences a new layer to her multitudes of sound.

“Jacqueline”

The closing track of Undercurrent is stark, honest, and bewildering. The song is named after the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir in New York City where Jarosz, who once lived nearby, would often do her pondering. Accompanied solely by an electric guitar, Jarosz’s voice is agile and glimmering as liquid silver. She muses over the reflective surface and projected companion while disclosing her own state of unease, immersing listeners in an intimate, unyielding pensiveness.

“Your Water” (with Parker Millsap)

The first of a two-single release titled the Luck Mansion Sessions (2017), SJ here collaborates with fellow singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Parker Millsap. The track, written and originally released by Millsap, is delivered as a duet. The groove opens up into a soul-type feel, allowing for Sarah to showcase a more raw, bluesy, unmeasured latitude of her voice.

“See You Around”

“See You Around” is the title track off of supergroup I’m With Her’s first and – to every listener’s chagrin – only full-length album. In 2018, Jarosz linked up with two of the most astounding women in roots music, Aoife O’Donovan and Sara Watkins, to form a trio of unadulterated excellence (it should be noted that that group won Americana Music Association’s Music Duo/Group of the Year). The album waffles between the three songwriters’ contributions, with each vocalist singing lead on an approximately even number of tracks. “See You Around” is driven by Jarosz’s signature poetic lyrics and fluttery melody, elevated to new horizons by the pristine, angelic blend of harmonies from Watkins and O’Donovan. The musical chemistry these women share evokes the divine; every single song on this album delivers listeners into the sublime.

“Johnny”

For her also Grammy-winning fifth studio album, World on the Ground (2020), Sarah Jarosz invites listeners to experience an array of vignettes; her songs on this album, more than ever, become vehicles for potent storytelling.“Johnny” is the second of three tracks on the album named, presumably, for a character the song aims to illustrate. Jarosz has said that during this album, she “[Tried] to take a step back and look out at the world in my songwriting, rather than looking inward,” and spent much time constructing the album as a patchwork of memories from her hometown in Texas, both faithful and fictionalized.

“Johnny” conveys the psychological landscape of a slightly drunk, slightly disillusioned man who is “just waitin’ on the stars/ that will never align.” It’s all slightly devastating, yet the melody latches onto an unforgettable earworm of a hook uplifted by its folk-pop flavor. Jarosz incorporates a strings section alongside drums, electric guitar, and mandolin, seamlessly using the nuances of sound to bolster the complex mundanities of Johnny’s life.

“Pay It No Mind”

Jarosz shares the songwriting credits on “Pay It No Mind” (also off of World on the Ground) with the renowned John Leventhal, who also produced the album and plays a slew of instruments sprinkled throughout. The song begins with just Sarah and a pensive guitar riff, musing upon a bird and her ponderings. The song then builds in dynamics, layering percussion and eventually a full orchestration of instruments and vocals. It’s slick, it’s sly, and it looks at the world with a cool sense of distance.

“I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” / “my future”

In the midst of quarantine, Sarah Jarosz committed to staying connected with fans by using Garageband and her home microphone to record one cover each week from July to October of 2020. In January 2021, she released two of the covers, U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” and Billie Eilish’s “my future,” on streaming services. These barebones covers are a time capsule of a moment drenched in emotion, isolation, and fear. Catharsis swells through the minimalistic recordings – Jarosz cradles her whole soul into these songs, and the results are absolutely astounding.

“Mama”

For her sixth full-length studio album, Blue Heron Suite (2021), Sarah Jarosz released a song cycle that she first premiered at Freshgrass in 2017, whereupon she was awarded with the Freshgrass Composition Commission. At the time, Sarah was reckoning with her mother’s cancer diagnosis and reflecting upon childhood trips to the town of Port Aransas, Texas, which at that time had recently been severely affected by Hurricane Harvey. Named for the Great Blue Herons she and her mother used to observe along the town’s shore, this album is imbued with love and hope in its deepest forms. “Mama,” the opening track, is an utterly gorgeous, pared-down arrangement of voice and guitar – a most gentle and tender ode to Jarosz’s mother, who is thankfully now in remission.

“For Free” (with David Crosby)

An astonishing songwriter and pioneer of three-part harmony in American roots/folk music as we know it, David Crosby was a long time supporter of Sarah Jarosz’s work up until his passing last January. Sarah graced the title track of Crosby’s final full-length solo album, For Free (2021). The two sing the entirety of this Joni Mitchell cover in tight harmony, their voices mirroring one another perfectly. The pared back solo piano accompaniment highlights the duo’s vocal finesse; every riff is intertwined with precision and elegance.

“Jealous Moon”

“Jealous Moon” was the first of four singles SJ released from her upcoming album, Polaroid Lovers (out this Friday). Co-written alongside Daniel Tashian, the record’s producer, Sarah remarks of the song, “I’m always seeking to push myself into new sonic territory, and this song gave me permission to not hold back.” In this track, she boldly steps away from her traditional acoustic tethers and moves towards a more pop-rock-twang fusion. Jarosz successfully elicits a sense of novelty while still embodying the sense of fullness and depth she puts into all she creates – reminding us that we still have yet to see the full bloom of her artistry.

Photo Credit: Shervin Lainez

Curl Up With New Books by Bob Dylan, Willie Nelson, Margo Price, and More

Posted on by Editor

It’s that time of year when the world falls in love, when we dust off “Pretty Paper” for its annual spin, and of course … recollect the best work of the past year. In that spirit, here is a round-up of 16 music-related books from 2022, with topics ranging from the banjo to The Byrds.

The Birth of Rock ‘n’ Roll: The Illustrated Story of Sun Records and the 70 Recordings That Changed the World, Peter Guralnick, Colin Escott

Some would contend that Chuck Berry, not Elvis Presley, should be considered the “King of Rock and Roll.” That aside, Sun Records certainly put a stamp on the budding industry, and this book offers a look into its history with 70 iconic recordings by Elvis, Howlin’ Wolf, B.B. King, Jerry Lee Lewis, and more. Jerry Lee Lewis himself wrote the foreword.

Build a House, Rhiannon Giddens

This illustrated book celebrates the determination and triumph of Black people in the face of oppression. It follows an enslaved family that “will not be moved.” The book contains lyrics from the song Rhiannon Giddens wrote, by the same name, to commemorate the 155th anniversary of Juneteenth. Illustrations are by Monica Mikai.

The Byrds: 1964-1967, Roger McGuinn, Chris Hillman, and David Crosby

The Byrds members Roger McGuinn, Chris Hillman, and David Crosby came together to curate this hefty 400-page art book that gives a visual and oral history of (and from) the original era of the band. The book comes in three editions: a standard edition with no signatures, a deluxe edition with signatures from McGuinn and Hillman, and a super deluxe version for which Crosby even provided his John Hancock.

Deep In the South: A Music Maker Songbook, Tim Duffy, Chuck Reece, and Earle Pughe

This songbook and CD compilation from the Music Maker Foundation, a non-profit founded in 1994 to “preserve and support” roots music of the South, brings together songs, stories, photographs and sheet music/guitar tabs from the likes of Etta Baker, Little Freddie King, Alabama Slim, Beverly “Guitar” Watkins, and more. It promises to take you on “a musical road trip through the South.”

How to Write a Song That Matters, Dar Williams

Dar Williams has led songwriting retreats for both beginners and professionals for many years. Now, How to Write a Song That Matters gives songwriters access to these lessons in book format. Songwriters looking for a “formula” for writing “hit songs” can skip. Williams instead focuses on tapping into the writer’s own creativity and unique experiences to make meaningful songs.

Live Forever: The Songwriting Legacy of Billy Joe Shaver, Courtney S. Lennon

Courtney S. Lennon describes Billy Joe Shaver as “country’s music unsung hero.” Shaver wrote all but one song on Waylon Jennings’ 1973 album Honky Tonk Heroes, considered a foundational work in the genesis of the “outlaw country” subgenre. If that credential on its own isn’t enough, the author dedicates the entirety of Live Forever to shed light on Shaver’s accomplishments, giving him the credit he’s due.

Maybe We’ll Make It: A Memoir, Margo Price

Parts of Margo Price’s memoir may be relatable for aspiring singer-songwriters: long tours with little to no payoff, busking, open-mic nights, and struggling to make ends meet. But much like her music, her memoir is written with an authentic, singular voice. She opens up more about loss, motherhood, drinking, her songs, and much more.

Me and Paul: Untold Stories of a Fabled Friendship, Willie Nelson and David Ritz

Me and Paul: Untold Stories of a Fabled Friendship chronicles the relationship between Willie Nelson and his longtime drummer, Paul English. Willie’s classic song “Me and Paul,” (released on the 1971 album, Yesterday’s Wine) gave us a primer on the misadventures of these pals, but the conversational book promises to go deeper and reveal the … well… “untold stories” of their time together.

The Music Never Stops: What Putting on 10,000 Shows Has Taught Me About Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Magic, Peter Shapiro with Dean Budnick

Have you ever wondered what goes into putting on shows for the most celebrated acts in the music industry and what really goes on behind the scenes? Well, Peter Shapiro has been there, and in this book he shares the story of how he became one of the most successful concert promoters in the business. Looking back on 50 of his iconic concerts, Shapiro shares backstage stories, photographs, and insights to what it’s like working with big names such as Bob Dylan, The Grateful Dead, U2, Lauryn Hill, Al Green, The Roots, Jason Isbell, Robert Plant, Leonard Cohen, and more.

The Philosophy of Modern Song, Bob Dylan

So… Dylan may have not “personally” hand-signed the copies that customers of the $600 edition expected. Nonetheless, it seems he put a lot of work and thought into writing the actual book. According to publisher Simon & Schuster, Dylan began penning it back in 2010. The book contains over 60 essays that dissect songs by other artists, including Nina Simone, Elvis Costello, and Hank Williams. The music Dylan explores spans many genres. He even finds common ground with bluegrass and heavy metal.

Rock’s In My Head: Encounters With Phil Spector, John & Yoko, Brian Wilson, and a Host of Other People Who Should Be Just as Famous, Art Fein

Art Fein has held many roles in the music industry. He’s been a music journalist, album producer, worked for labels, hosted a music-themed public access TV show (Art Fein’s Poker Party), and more. In this book, Art shares some of the wild experiences he’s had in his career including spending a week with John Lennon and Yoko Ono, coaching Lennon on “old rock and roll” that he wasn’t exposed to in Liverpool.

Rudy Lyle: The Unsung Hero of the Five-String Banjo, Max Wareham

Max Wareham shares the legacy of a lesser-known banjo player, Rudy Lyle, through interviews with other prominent banjo players and members of Lyle’s family. The book analyzes 19 instrumental breaks Lyle played with the legendary Bill Monroe. BGS wrote about, and previewed a chapter of Rudy Lyle: The Unsung Hero of the Five-String Banjo ahead of its August release.

This Is What It Sounds Like: What the Music You Love Says About You, Susan Rogers and Ogi Ogas

Susan Rogers has a fascinating résumé. She was the lead engineer on Prince’s Purple Rain and worked on records by The Barenaked Ladies and David Byrne (to name a few). She’s also an award-winning professor of cognitive neuroscience. It’s this unique set of experiences that gives her the ability to, as she says, determine one’s “listener profile,” and scientifically dissect why certain songs move certain people.

Unspeakable: Surviving My Childhood and Finding My Voice, Jessica Willis Fisher

Jessica Willis Fisher fronted a band made up of her parents and her 11 siblings. The Willis Clan found fame on America’s Got Talent in 2014. During that performance, the children charmed America while their fundamentalist Christian father lurked backstage, hiding an ugly truth. In this memoir, Fisher discusses finding her voice after years of being silenced by her abusive father, Toby Willis.

Well of Souls: Uncovering the Banjo’s Hidden History, Kristina R. Gaddy

Kristina Gaddy traces the banjo’s roots back to the 17th century when enslaved people with African descent created them from gourds, calabashes or wood. As future generations were sold to slave owners in other countries, the banjo became prevalent around the world, even though its origins are often overlooked and misunderstood today. Through archival research and seeking out letters and diaries, Gaddy describes the banjo’s journey over the last 200 years and educates the reader of the instrument’s place in American slave gatherings and Blackface routines. Rhiannon Giddens offers a foreword.

Word for Word, Rodney Crowell

After publishing a memoir in 2012, Rodney Crowell now gives readers a peek into a legendary songwriter’s process and history. The book documents his handwritten lyrics, the notes he made while writing the songs, and numerous personal photos. It also features commentary from Rosanne Cash, whom he worked with both before and after their 13-year marriage. Crowell shares, in his own words, his memories of collaborations with Guy Clark, Emmylou Harris, and others throughout his illustrious career.

The BGS Radio Hour – Episode 216

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Welcome to the BGS Radio Hour! Since 2017, this weekly radio show and podcast has been a recap of all the great music, new and old, featured on the digital pages of BGS. This week, David Crosby and Sarah Jarosz join up for a Joni Mitchell number, husband-and-wife duo Darin and Brooke Aldridge bring us some beautiful bluegrass harmonies, LA’s own Los Lobos share their rendition of a favorite Jackson Browne tune, and much more.

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The Wallflowers – “Maybe Your Heart’s Not In It Anymore”

25 years after their breakout hit and almost a decade after their most recent release, The Wallflowers are back with a new album, Exit Wounds. In our interview with Jakob Dylan we talk about the project, singing with Shelby Lynne, the documentary Dylan executive produced, Echo in the Canyon, and more.

Ric Robertson – “Carolina Child”

We spoke with Ric Robertson about playing a popcorn kernel in a musical as a kid, his kite surfing aspirations, his new album Carolina Child, and more in a recent edition of 5+5.

Amy Ray Band – “Chuck Will’s Widow”

Amy Ray of The Indigo Girls finds herself often haunted by the song of the nocturnal songbird, the Chuck-will’s-widow: “I find that I witness the most profound moments in the midst of their songs, when everyone else is asleep. While I am often in need of rest, the respite I find in being awake under a miraculous and melodic night sky is too tempting for me to sleep. It’s a conundrum that inspires me, but also leaves me bleary-eyed.”

Darin and Brooke Aldridge – “Once In A While”

Bluegrass husband-and-wife duo Darin & Brooke Aldridge hope that every aspect of their music makes you smile — even more than “Once in a While!”

Matt the Electrician – “Home Again”

Folk singer-songwriter Matt The Electrician will return with a new album called We Imagined an Ending in November. A new track, “Home Again,” takes inspiration from the point of view of his teenage daughter. “The conundrum of parenthood, that as you finally start to figure some things out, and try to pass along some of that hard won wisdom, you’re greeted with your own teenage face staring balefully back at you.”

Tobacco City – “AA Blues”

Says Chris Coleslaw of Tobacco City’s latest single, “The character in the song is trapped between working in a brewery and staring at beers all day and trying to walk a sober line. I think regardless of your sobriety status we can all relate to those kind of blues.”

Jesse Daniel – “Clayton Was A Cowboy”

Jesse Daniel spoke with us about his new album, Beyond These Walls, about growing up catching crawdads and fishing, the chills-inducing feeling when a crowd sings along with his lyrics, and more in a recent 5+5.

Joy Oladokun – “Judas”

Joy Oladokun is able to do more with just an acoustic guitar and her voice than many artists can in an entire discography of work. And going from Arizona to L.A. then across country to Nashville with a new outlook and perspective, her music stands on a plane with a unique vantage point.

Luke LeBlanc – “Same Blues”

A new video for Luke LeBlanc’s co-written tune with Roy August, “Same Blues,” attempts to capture what the song is about: the tug of war between the status quo and what you’re currently doing versus that thing you really want to do.

Midnight North – “Silent Lonely Drifter”

“Silent Lonely Drifter” is an original folk melody reminiscent of timeless Appalachian string band music. Each verse references a different full moon, speaking to the natural balance that exists in the universe.

Los Lobos – “Jamaica Say You Will”

The Jackson Browne tune “Jamaica Say You Will” always resonated for the fellas of Los Lobos and the narrative and storytelling were attractive, too. So, they recorded their own rendition of the track on their latest project, Native Sons.

Aoife O’Donovan ft. Milk Carton Kids – “More Than We Know”

New music from Aoife O’Donovan is here and we’re loving it! Hear tracks created with Joe Henry and the Milk Carton Kids — one inspired by the modern classic re-telling of Peter Pan, the movie Hook.

John R. Miller – “Shenandoah Shakedown”

Depreciated, the new Rounder Records release from singer-songwriter John R. Miller, combines many of his string band and bluegrass influences with a satisfyingly melancholy and dark mood — plus plenty of fiddle.

David Crosby ft. Sarah Jarosz – “For Free”

Legendary singer, guitar picker, and songwriter David Crosby keeps his love for collaboration alive on his new album, For Free, which features guests and co-writers such as Sarah Jarosz, Michael McDonald, his son James Raymond, and more.

Photos: (L to R) Joy Oladokun by Nolan Knight; Aoife O’Donovan courtesy of Shorefire Media; David Crosby by Anna Webber

With His Son and Special Guests, David Crosby Finds His Way on ‘For Free’

Posted on by Editor

“I think I found my way.”

When a guy about to turn 80 sings that line, you take note. When that guy is David Crosby, who in fact turns that age on August 14… well…

“I don’t know if I would have sung it at any other time in my life,” Crosby says in a Zoom chat from his home north of Santa Barbara, California, where he lives with Jan Dance, his wife of 34 years.

But sing it he does, in the song “I Think I,” a highlight of his new album, For Free. With this, his fifth album in seven years (after just three solo albums in the earlier part of his career), he comes to his 80th in a remarkable creative run. It’s a strong collection featuring the fruits of several creative collaborations, mostly with his son, James Raymond. Among the guests are Michael McDonald on the shining opener “River Rise,” Steely Dan’s Donald Fagen on the jazzy, dark “Rodriguez For a Night” and Sarah Jarosz, with whom he duets on a gorgeously spare version of the Joni Mitchell song that gives the album its title.

It’s that line from “I Think I,” though, that speaks most profoundly to the state of his life. If you know much about that life, you understand. And you might greet those words with a sigh of relief. He certainly does.

“I do feel happy now,” he says. “The thing I love about the song the most is that it’s up. It’s, you know, happy sounding. Normally I record tortured ballads that go on for days. ‘The dog died’ or ‘my truck broke down.’ This is up and happy and positive and it just captures that mood that’s around. That’s a blessing for me. That’s a great thing.”

The life leading to this moment has been well-documented and much discussed. Most significantly, Crosby created some of the most bracing, beloved, and enduring American music of the past 60 years, first as a founding member of folk-rock pioneers the Byrds and then in the various partnerships with Stephen Stills, Graham Nash and/or Neil Young. Along with the essential, indelible songs CSN(&Y) gave us, there was much discord and discontent and it finally blew up, apparently for good, in 2014, sparked in part by some unfortunate remarks Crosby made regarding Young’s personal life. And Crosby’s history is marked by his years of drug addiction and a consequent prison term and liver transplant — and, thankfully, recovery. This was all covered in Remember My Name, the unflinching 2019 documentary that brought him to some painfully heartfelt reckonings.

For better or worse, Crosby’s legacy is tangled up with groups and partnerships. Asked to untangle it, he turns thoughtful.

“A lot of the musical complexity and strangeness comes from me loving jazz and world music,” he says. “I mean, I like a lot of different kinds of music, man. I like bluegrass. I like blues. I like classical music. And that has influenced me very strongly. Particularly jazz, and particularly jazz keyboard players, McCoy Tyner, Bill Evans, people like that. They have had a very strong influence because they played those real dense, big tone, cluster kinds of chords. And I couldn’t do them in regular tuning on the guitar. That’s what made me start re-tuning the guitar into other shapes so that I could get those kind of chords. So the jazz thing really did stack me up differently.”

That influence has been a constant facet, all the way back to the Byrds (“Everybody’s Been Burned” is almost a template for the folk-jazz explorations Tim Buckley would make) and CSN (“Guinnevere,” with its floating harmonics, was covered by both Miles Davis and jazz flute player Herbie Mann).

These days Crosby is not focused on the past, although with last year’s 50th anniversary of the CSN&Y album Déjà Vu and the expanded deluxe reissue, he’s had to do more of that than he’d like.

“I always prefer when it comes to talking about me, I like it to be somebody else doing the talking,” he says.

He’s not focused on the future, either. He says that he likely won’t tour again and with tendonitis in both hands, he expects he won’t be able to play guitar anymore within a year — a great shame as his guitar playing, with its intricate jazz voicings and inventive tunings, is as stunning as his singing, if not as widely recognized.

He’s certainly not looking forward to his birthday.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” he insists. “Birthdays are not happy when you get old. No, no, no, no, no, no! We don’t celebrate. We mourn those.”

Yet he’s utterly bubbly celebrating the new album, as well as the four leading up to it, by far his most prolific stretch in terms of making and releasing his own music. It’s not often that we can say that about someone’s 70s, let alone someone with such a vaunted career packed with songs and albums cherished dearly by millions.

“Isn’t that weird?” he says. “It’s just completely bass-ackwards. But there you go.”

To what does he attribute this?

“I got out of CSN,” he says, never one to mince words. “It was, obviously, a wonderful band and we did a lot of really great stuff. But when it when sour, it went really sour. And it went sour very fast.”

It was rough, but the silver lining shines brightly.

“I don’t make anywhere near as much money,” he says. “But I’m making good music. And that’s kind of what they put me here to do, I think.”

Cue the title song, Mitchell’s loving portrait of a street musician playing for the pure joy of it. This is the third straight Crosby album to include a Mitchell song, following “Amelia” on 2017’s Sky Trails and “Woodstock” closing 2018’s Here If You Listen. Crosby, who was an early champion (and romantic partner) of Mitchell’s, producing her debut album, Song to a Seagull, sang “For Free” on the Byrds’ 1973 reunion album. Now, though, it has a deeper resonance, reconnecting to the essence of music-making. Rather than an observer, he’s the guy in the song.

“Yep,” he says. “There I am standing on the corner. It’s squarely, smack dab in the middle of who I wanted to be, as me. I love what it says. Putting it on as the title track is also taking a little dig at the streamers. Because it is for free, man. They don’t pay us.”

Crosby had become a fan of Sarah Jarosz via I’m With Her, the group in which she’s teamed with Aoife O’Donovan and Sara Watkins. And he loved Jarosz’s 2020 album, World on the Ground.

“I called her up and said, ‘Listen, Sarah. Can we do something together?’” he says. “And she said, ‘Sure! What do you want to do?’ And I said, ‘I don’t know. I just want to sing with you.’ And she said, ‘Oh, you sweetheart.’”

Crosby quickly suggested “For Free.”

“I’ve sung it a bunch, and I’m confident with it,” he told her. “She said, ‘Oh, I love that song.’ So I sent her a tape of it that I went in to the studio and cut. James made this incredible piano track for it. Just beautiful. Sarah sent it back with her vocal on it, and it completely blew my mind out of my ear. It was unbelievably good.”

Clearly, Crosby still craves collaboration. A sense of joyful purpose is unmistakable in his voice and in the voices and playing of those who helped him make the album. Foremost is James Raymond, the producer-composer-keyboardist who has been at Crosby’s musical side regularly since 1997, five years after learning that Crosby was his biological father. His talents have been showcased not only in his father’s solo projects, but also for years with CSN as a full-time member of the touring band, and in the jazzy group Crosby and Raymond fronted off and on with bassist Jeff Pevar, cheekily branded CPR. On For Free, Raymond wrote or co-wrote seven of its 10 songs, including “I Think I” and the somberly beautiful closer, “I Won’t Stay for Long,” inspired by Marcel Camus’ haunting 1959 film Black Orpheus.

“It’s wild to watch,” Crosby beamed. “He’s gotten to be as good a writer as I am, or better. ‘I Won’t Stay for Long’ is the best song on the record. It makes me cry. It just freaks me out.”

Guitarist Dean Parks adds color to “Rodriguez” and “Shot at Me,” the latter a powerful ballad which he co-wrote from Crosby’s words inspired by an encounter with an Afghanistan war veteran, who told him of the most human costs of war. It’s a strong addition to Crosby’s deep catalog of incisive, biting topical songs.

“I seem to run into those guys and talk to them,” Crosby says. “I ran into this guy at the airport and was drinking in the bar and he looked really bummed, really sad. So sure, I talked to him.”

As for not being able to tour anymore, Crosby is sad but sanguine.

“Singing live is the great joy of my life,” he says. “My family and singing live. That’s the top of my world, you know?”

Even if the shows stop, the music won’t, right?

“I don’t know,” he says. “I can still sing. That’s why we’re doing the records, because we love making music. Right? They obviously don’t pay us for them, so that’s the only reason there could be. We’re not trying to win the ratings war or something. We’re just singing exactly the music that really rings our bell and makes our heart sing. And there you go. And if people like it, great. And if they don’t like it, great, we don’t care.”

Photo credit: Anna Webber.
Album cover painting by Joan Baez.

The String – Becca Stevens

Posted on by Chris Jacobs

Just beyond the fuzzy boundaries of roots and Americana music, we find Brooklyn-based singer/songwriter Becca Stevens – at least, we hope you have found her. With a complex musical language drawn from folk, jazz, classical, and pop, her output is searching, challenging, and ever-evolving.


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A graduate of the North Carolina School of the Arts and the New School in New York, Stevens leaps from American public radio to European tours to collaborations with the likes of Jacob Collier, Snarky Puppy, and recently folk icon David Crosby. She is among host Craig Havighurt’s favorite artists working today, so he sought out an interview and was excited and loaded with questions when she said yes. Her newest album is the shiny and electric Wonderbloom.

The Byrds’ Chris Hillman Reflects on ‘Laurel Canyon’ and Why He Had to Leave

Posted on by Editor

Splitting off from Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood, Laurel Canyon Boulevard runs a circuitous route through unkempt mountain acres, past the Laurel Canyon Country Store, weaving and curving for miles before finally spilling out in Studio City. Along the way small roads split off into the mountains like tributaries from a river.

Up these narrow, twisting mountain byways lived many of the musicians who, in the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s, exerted an incalculable influence on popular music: the Byrds chief among them, but also the Mamas & the Papas, Joni Mitchell, Love, James Taylor, the Monkees, and Crosby Stills & Nash. Together, they transformed folk music into folk rock and singer/songwriter fare, transforming it with new sounds, new ideas, new priorities, and — it can’t be denied — new drugs.

This strange, paradoxical place — a rustic mountain paradise nestled within the purgatory of Los Angeles — is the subject of a two-part documentary on EPIX, directed by Alison Ellwood and produced by Alex Gibney. Across two 90-minute episodes, Laurel Canyon traces the comings and goings of several generations of folk rockers down the boulevard and up into the hills.

Ellwood depicts this place as something like a bucolic community that enabled and encouraged romantic and musical collaboration among its denizens. A struggling musician named Stephen Stills flubbed an audition for a TV show called The Monkees, but suggested his roommate Peter Tork try out for a role. Mama Cass introduced Stills and David Crosby to a British musician named Graham Nash, and the trio became one of the most successful groups of the 1970s. A band of freaks from Phoenix, Arizona, calling themselves Alice Cooper showed up at Frank Zappa’s cabin at 7 a.m. — about twelve hours early for their audition. The stories go on and on, too much for even a lengthy documentary to contain.

Laurel Canyon didn’t just offer a sense of community along with unobstructed views of the city at night. It also gave these musicians access to the city itself — in particular, the happening Sunset Strip clubs like the Troubadour, Pandora’s Box, Ciro’s Le Disc, and the Hullabaloo Club. It was a neighborhood galvanized by the riots in 1966, when young clubgoers protested a police-imposed curfew — a pivotal moment in ‘60s radicalism and the inspiration for Buffalo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth.”

The popularity of the music written in the hills above the Strip meant that Laurel Canyon’s most famous residents spent more time away from the canyon, spending weeks in the studio recording their next albums or months on the road playing their songs in front of growing legions of fans. Elwood’s documentary strays from the locale in its title, traveling as far away as Bethel, New York, for the Woodstock music festival in 1969, which demonstrate how deeply these new musical ideas were taking across the country.

There are, refreshingly, few talking heads in these two episodes. Rather than the usual musicians rhapsodizing about their youth, Ellwood frames the documentary with remembrances by a pair of photographers, Nurit Wilde and Henry Diltz. Their archival images and films make up the bulk of Laurel Canyon, which makes it all seem more immediate, as though fifty years ago was just yesterday. In that regard it’s closer to Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood than Jakob Dylan’s Echo in the Canyon.

But that also makes this historical moment seem more fleeting. Around the time that Charles Manson sent four of his followers to a house he thought belonged to producer Terry Melcher, drugs started to infiltrate Laurel Canyon, puncturing what Graham Nash calls a “beautiful bubble.” Grass and booze are quickly displaced by coke and heroine, and the scene chills a bit in the 1970s, as a new wave of musicians moved in to these houses and crash on these couches.

There are many stories from Laurel Canyon that don’t get told in the documentary, as well as many songs that don’t get played and many artists who don’t get mentioned. There’s no trace of Van Dyke Parks, the eccentric L.A. arranger who affectionately satirized the community on “Laurel Canyon Boulevard,” off his 1968 album Song Cycle. “What is up in Laurel Canyon?” he asks, quixotically, like the most ironic tour guide. “The seat of the beat,” he replies to himself.

On the other hand, the film can only hold so much. And the stories that Ellwood does tell add up to something larger: Laurel Canyon is less about a place and more about an idea. It’s about how different strains of traditional and popular music commingle and mutate, how they point to an infinite set of possibilities for voice and guitar (and drums and bass and amps and keyboards and synthesizers and so on).

On the eve of the documentary’s premiere, BGS spoke with one of Laurel Canyon’s early and most famous residents, Chris Hillman.

BGS: You moved to Laurel Canyon in 1965. What took you there?

Hillman: First thing on the list was, I needed a place to stay. The Byrds were getting going and starting to gain a little ground, and I had already known about Laurel Canyon. It was purely by accident that I’m up there one day by the country store, and I run into a guy who had a place to rent. It was wonderful. It was up on this road overlooking the entire city of L.A. You can imagine how beautiful it was at night, with all the lights on and everything. Shortly thereafter, David Crosby moved up there, and then Roger McGuinn. I’m not sure where Mike [Clarke] and Gene [Clark] were. They were probably up there, too. The Byrds were very early occupants of the area.

To what degree was it like a small town in the middle of this big city?

It sorta was. But it was trying so hard not to be that. We were literally four minutes away from the Sunset Strip. So you went from this incredibly energetic, fast-moving madness of the Sunset Strip clubs, you go up Laurel Canyon Boulevard, and in four minutes you’re up in this pristine, quiet environment with all these beautiful old houses. We weren’t the first ones to discover this place. People were living up there in the ‘40s and ‘50s — some actors and a lot of artists. It already had this reputation as a bohemian beatnik enclave.

There was the famous legend that Houdini had a house up there. People would be driving around and point out a place and say, “That’s where Houdini lived.” They’d point out some old wreck of a place, some ruins of an old structure. There were a lot of good legends to the place. I think that’s where Robert Mitchum got in trouble at a party in 1949 or 1950. He walked into a party and then the police came and arrested people for marijuana. He just happened to walk in at the wrong time. But he had a hell of a career after that, though, so he must have struck a deal. The musicians didn’t start moving up there until the ‘60s, and by then it seemed like a quiet mountain town that just happened to be minutes away from the heart of the city.

I always thought of it as the Woodstock of the West Coast — this retreat from the rigors of the big city.

Well, in Woodstock you’re a good long ways from Manhattan. But in Laurel Canyon you’re minutes from the Sunset Strip and maybe ten minutes from Beverly Hills or Hollywood proper. A lot of people don’t know this, but the Sunset Strip was part of Los Angeles County. It was a mile long, from La Cienega I think to Doheny. It was county instead of city, so it was run completely differently. It was patrolled by the L.A. County sheriff, as opposed to the LAPD.

Is that why they imposed that curfews that led to the riots in ’66?

The whole thing with the kids rioting had to do with the small business owners, whose businesses were being infringed upon by foot traffic. The kids were running around, goofing around, and it was killing business. I didn’t get involved in that. I just saw it on the news. I remember seeing that footage. I still lived in the Canyon then. I was there until ’68, then I moved to Topanga Canyon.

Why did you leave?

Things changed. I was still in the Byrds and I just bought a house in Topanga. No, I’ll tell you why I left. I completely forgot the most important part of the story. I’m getting older. The reason I left was, my house burned down in Laurel Canyon.

I was renting this beautiful house, and you could see the whole city. It was all wood, and I remember it was fall, then the ferocious Santa Ana winds hit. They always come around in the fall. They’re very dangerous. It was real hot that day, and the winds were kicking up, and I had pulled my motorcycle out. I was going to kick it over, but it was leaking gas and the wind blew the fumes into the water heater. It was an open-flame heater and it just ignited. It made the same sound you hear when you light an old-fashioned gas range. I literally caught on fire. Instinctively I rolled on the ground. I think I lost a bit of hair and some eyebrow before I got out of there. I jumped in my car and pulled into the dirt road. I had nothing. I had my car and that was it. I lost everything I owned.

David Crosby had just been visiting me at my house. He’d been there for an hour and left just 20 minutes before my house burned down. I think we can connect the dots! I’m kidding. I love David dearly, but I still poke him about that one. Roger McGuinn lived across the canyon from me and saw the fire. He said it looks like where Chris lives, so he starts filming it. Somehow the footage got on the local NBC affiliate. I was living in a hotel for a few nights, and I remember watching my house burn down on the TV. That was ’66.

Is that why you left for Topanga?

Well, it was starting to be the place to live. More groups were moving up there: the Turtles and Frank Zappa and Mama Cass and Peter Tork. Everything was changing. Drugs entered the picture. I ended up buying a house in Topanga Canyon, which is about 25 miles north of Los Angeles. It’s also very pristine and quiet — a little bit bigger than Laurel Canyon. A lot of people moved there, too, like Neil Young. And it was a very similar scene, with everybody interacting with each other. That should be the next documentary.

Photo of Gram Parsons and Chris Hillman playing cards: Courtesy of Nurit Wilde
Photo of Crosby, Stills & Nash at Big Bear: Henry Diltz

WATCH: David Crosby’s Tiny Desk Concert

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Just in time for the 50th anniversary of Woodstock, David Crosby stopped by NPR’s Tiny Desk with the Lighthouse Band. This is not just a lineup that hinges on David Crosby — the Lighthouse Band has three other accomplished writers in Michael League (Snarky Puppy), Michelle Willis, and Becca Stevens. Reminiscent and smooth, reverent and fresh, these artists combine their talents to make something greater than the sum of its parts. Watch David Crosby and the Lighthouse Band on NPR.

Photo credit: Anna Webber

Counsel of Elders: Chris Hillman on Looking Across Time

Posted on by Editor

Chris Hillman — he of the Byrds and Flying Burrito Brothers fame — has returned with a new solo project, Bidin’ My Time, after more than a decade away. As he’s said in countless other interviews, he was resigned to living out the concluding chapter of his musical career. He’d all but packed up any ideas about recording another album, but he knew enough not to turn down an opportunity to work with Tom Petty, when it unexpectedly came calling. Petty produced Bidin’ My Time before his untimely death in October. The LP was originally supposed to be acoustic, but once the pair got in the studio, Petty’s ear for rock ‘n’ roll opened up Hillman’s songs. All 12 tracks, an array of original and covers, retain their originally imagined acoustic structure by sitting heavily in the folk and bluegrass traditions, but they’re expansive, grander realizations.

As the title suggests, the album finds the legendary folk artist concerned with time — lifetimes, past times, and “the times.” (Though the project was released before Petty’s death, that, too, has imbued the album with added meaning, but it’s not a point Hillman wants to exploit. He holds tight to the memories he made recording with the equally iconic musician, and only sometimes loosens his grip enough to let a rose-colored anecdote slip through.) On Bidin’ My Time, Hillman collected his career in songs new and old. He covered Pete Seeger’s “Bells of Rhymney” with former Byrds bandmate David Crosby and executive producer Herb Pedersen singing harmony. He also re-recorded Byrds co-founder Gene Clark’s “She Don’t Care About Time”; the song he co-wrote with Roger McGuinn, “Here She Comes Again”; and, of course, a tip of the hat to Petty with “Wildflowers.” Then there’s the title track and “Restless,” both of which reveal a presence of mind that knows more endings loom on the horizon than beginnings. If Bidin’ My Time ends up being Hillman’s last solo album, it only means he’s come full circle. Turn, turn, turn.

Tom Petty has covered the Byrds and you’ve covered Petty. What was it like getting in the studio together after you’ve both danced around each other’s music in the past?

He had subtle ideas and he guided me in a way. Originally, when we were talking, before we started the record, I said, “You haven’t heard my songs.” He said, “Oh, I’m not worried. Believe me. If I hear something that doesn’t quite fit, I’ll let you know. We’ll work it out.” Which he did. It was a joy. Everybody had a good time, and nothing was planned, in that sense. It really started as an acoustic album, but then we had the Heartbreakers come in and overdub some stuff. It worked out great.

Your styles are different, but you obviously found a way to blend them. What did that process of compromise come to look like?

Well, I don’t know if I would ever stop to analyze it. Tom started out with a great love of the Byrds; he said the Byrds were so influential. But he took it 10 steps up the ladder, musically. There’s one song, “Listen to Her Heart,” that sounds so much like a Byrds song, but it’s highly evolved Byrds, and then he just took it off. As we all do, you start out — even as an actor or a painter or as a musician, of course — you start out really imitating, and then you seek to innovate. You take the best parts of what you’re learning as a young person and then you develop your own style — your signature style — which he did, and which I did to some degree. There’s a close proximity of musical styles all coming out. For me, for the Byrds, we all came out of folk music until we plugged in. And, of course, I came out of bluegrass. I must admit, I was a little nervous. I didn’t know if Tom would like my songs. As you know, I had no intention of making another record. I was done.

I know, and that’s what makes the timing so interesting to me. And, on top of that, there’s a theme of time throughout all the songs.

Well, I’m sitting there thinking, “I’m done.” Not out of bitterness. I said, “I’ve had a great time. I really don’t want to make any more records.” And this came along, and how can you say no? Toward the end, I started to say, “This is almost a conceptual record.” It’s touching on early acoustic, semi-bluegrass things that I started out with and then, through the Byrds, covering one Gene Clark song and redoing “Old John Robertson.” It sort of touched on different decades of what I did.

Right, even though Petty fleshed out the sound, it definitely holds to an acoustic structure between the folk and bluegrass elements.

That’s where I came from. The Byrds were very acoustic-oriented.

Speaking to that folk element, I’ve always associated the genre with containing really important messages. The song you covered, “When I Get a Little Money” — written by your friend — has such a beautiful message that it seems plucked from the ‘60s folk movement.

Well, I get handed songs a lot. Usually, you don’t take them. But this is the first time in probably 50 years where I get this CD — and, really, it’s a favor to my wife’s cousin who knew this young man and he’s a school teacher — and I hear this song, and I think “Well, that’s fantastic.” It had so many different little nuances to it, and I asked him if I could record it. He flipped out; he was so happy. It came out great.

And you’re right about the folk music and the message. Our first manager in the Byrds really drilled it into our heads. He said, “You guys go for substance or depth in your lyric, whether you’re writing the song or whether you’re finding the song, because you want to make a record you’ll be proud of 40 or 50 years down the road.” “Turn! Turn! Turn!,” well, Roger had remembered Pete Seeger doing that, and how Pete had put the melody to Ecclesiastes. That was a real nice tune to cut, as was “Bells of Rhymney,” another song where Pete put melody to a Welsh poem. You could dance to these songs, but they were in the folk tradition. There was a deeper message to each song; they were story songs. “Turn! Turn! Turn!” is almost an owner’s manual on how to live.

Right? That is, if you’re paying attention.

Yeah, but as Solomon wrote it, it’s all in black and white. There’s no gray area there, which is fine. I think we all, having come out of folk music, had that sense of story or some depth to the lyric. We tried to. We didn’t always — we cut some stupid songs. At the time, you think it’s the hippest thing in the world, and you listen back and think, “Why did I record that?”

So your former manager’s advice stands true, then.

Well, I’ve lived by that rule. Like I said, what I think is really brilliant at the time doesn’t always stand up over the years.

How do you see folk music impacting listeners today as opposed to what you were trying to convey back in the ‘60s and ‘70s?

I don’t see it any different. As you get older — and here I’m very happily married for 38 years, and I’ve got two grown children, I’ve got a granddaughter; the greatest blessing in my life — if I sit down and write a song, it’s going to be something closer to a mini short story. There’s a song on the album, “Such Is the World That We Live In,” and it was a tiny jab, in a political sense, but it was also how I felt about how things had so rapidly changed. I wasn’t trying to tell anybody how to live. It’s the grandfather telling the young people things are acceptable now that never were acceptable, in the sense of relationships and this and that.

I grew up, as did everybody my age, with a sense of civility and manners. We were taught manners, we were taught responsibility, we were taught, if we got in trouble at school, we’d get in trouble at home. It was never a case of the parent suing the school because the school teacher yelled. There was a sense of order and structure. It’s not as I see it anymore. Am I going to be able to do anything about that? No. What keeps civilization on an even keel is laws: moral laws, ethical laws. And we seem to have strayed away from that all over the world. I don’t think it’s a matter of evolving. So you’re accepting it in the song.

But it wasn’t always an ideal time. Out of folk music — this high, moral tradition — came Altamont, rampant drug use, and this degeneration into chaos.

You’re absolutely right. Okay, I played Monterey Pop, a beautiful festival. It was the true peace and love thing. And then, within a matter of two or three years, there was Altamont, which I played, too, which was the darkest, most frightening day I’ve ever spent in music. The minute I got off of that stage, I took off. It was dreadful. Then it started to slide into this chaos. The ‘70s were one of the darkest decades.

Right, so then, if you look at history’s cyclical nature, we’re seeing a similar pattern as what took place nearly half a century ago.

Then you have to look back thousands of years. There’s some validity to the story of Genesis — that man is determined to destroy each other in some way, shape, or form. I don’t hold the ‘60s up as some wonderful time. A few years were great. I think my generation were trampling on all those things I told you about that kept our civilization pretty much in order — the values and things. But we’re not going to talk about that. We’ll talk about music. Music never dies.

When it was confirmed to me on that Monday that Tom passed away, I was so much in shock that I said to the guys, “We’re going to cancel the next four shows and go home.” Roger McGuinn called me — I hadn’t spoken to him in a year or two — he called me up to talk about Tom. I said, “I’m going to cancel and go home.” He said, “No, you’re not. Tom wouldn’t want you to cancel your shows.” Tom and Roger were very close friends for years and years. Roger laid it out to me in a gentle way. I said, “You’re absolutely right.” We continued on and finished the shows in Tom’s honor.

So then how did the album’s significance change in light of his passing?

Here’s the fine line: I am not using this as an opportunity. I’d rather have that album in the trashcan and him alive. It’s a very touchy subject for me. Here was a man who was an incredibly big rock star, but he had more of a grip on humility than any of us can aspire to, and I’m a Christian. We aspire to have that virtue of humility. He had it. Every morning, he would come into the studio with a tray of coffee. He didn’t have one of his employees bring it. One time, I drove up and I was getting stuff out of the car, and he said, “Let me take that for you.”

I can see why you’d want to be protective of that.

Tom’s death shocked everybody in the world. The thing he possessed besides humility, he was so accessible as an artist. His music affected everybody in a positive way — 40 years, an incredible catalog of work. Everyone could relate to Tom Petty. He was everyman. The absolute best rock guy we had, post-Beatles. I didn’t see any health issues with him. He had something with his knee or his hip that is common territory, when you get into your late 60s.

It was so unexpected. In that spirit, then, what you were able to accomplish on this record …

I wanted to do a great album. The opportunity coming along when I wasn’t going to record anymore … One of the last conversations I had with Tom — the album was about wrapping up — I said, “Tom, I can’t thank you enough. This exceeded my expectations.” He said, “It exceeded my expectations.” I said, “It’s a wonderful way to end my career.” He said, “What are you talking about? I’m not done with you. I’ve got other plans for you. We’re going to get to do some more stuff.” I thought, “Wow.” That was nice to hear. If anybody could’ve put the Byrds back together — Roger, David, and me — it would’ve been Tom. He knew us all so well. It didn’t happen, but that’s okay. We all loved him. If you didn’t know Petty, you loved him.