Like Billy Strings, Tyler Childers has taken an unlikely path to the top via live performance, not radio singles. He’s become an improbable arena-level star by ignoring typical Nashville bromides – equal parts Patterson Hood’s working-class Southern blues, Chris Stapleton’s bluegrass bonafides, and Woody Guthrie’s progressive populism. After all, you’re not gonna call your touring band The Food Stamps unless you lean left, at least a little.
Childers has become enough of a sensation for his appeal to extend beyond the Americana-adjacent world, too. Last year, he even turned up onstage for a live cameo with pop star Olivia Rodrigo in his Kentucky stomping grounds to do his song “All Your’n.” It went over like a house on fire.
Since country radio is finally, belatedly catching on with “Nose On The Grindstone,” lead single to Childers’ fine new Rick Rubin-produced LP Snipe Hunter, let’s take a look back to where he came from.
How’d this happen, anyway? Like this.
“Hard Times,” Bottles and Bibles (2011)
Going back to the beginning, “Hard Times” was the song that opened Childers’ full-length debut Bottles and Bibles. It’s an actual hillbilly elegy that definitely sets a tone, with finely detailed lyrics that unfold like a short story. Simultaneously stoic and emotional, Childers’ quavering vocal about a holdup gone wrong makes him sound like a protagonist who somehow regrets both everything and nothing at all: “And if the Lord wants to take me, I’m here for the taking/ ‘Cause Hell’s probably better than tryin’ to get by.”
“Long Violent History,” Long Violent History (2020)
Bluegrass roots and of-the-moment progressive activism makes for an unusual combination, but here we are. “Long Violent History” is title track to a bluegrass album and it’s the only original and non-instrumental track on the record. Evoking “Faded Love” at the outset and “My Old Kentucky Home” on the outro, it’s a rural Southern score for the Black Lives Matter protests that swept America in 2020.
“It’s the worst that it’s been since the last time it happened,” Childers sighs at the outset, resigned to the inevitability of violence happening again. For good measure, Childers made a supplemental spoken-word video (below) explaining the necessity of BLM: “If we didn’t need to be reminded, there would be justice for Breonna Taylor, a Kentuckian like me, and countless others.”
“Jersey Giant” – Elle King (2022)
If Childers ever records his own version of “Jersey Giant,” he’ll have to hustle to top Elle King’s cover. As with the similarly themed “Me and Bobby McGee” (written by Kris Kristofferson, but owned for the ages by Janis Joplin), King just completely inhabits the song’s bittersweet, longing anguish. “I left town when we were over… Just didn’t feel the same” – the way she pauses a beat between lines is just chef’s-kiss perfection. There are numerous cover versions of “Jersey Giant” out there, but this is the one that’s going to linger.
“Luke 2:8-10,” Rustin’ In The Rain (2023)
Remember the big pivot-point moment of truth in the classic holiday cartoon A Charlie Brown Christmas – the “Lights, please” speech that his friend Linus makes? Childers must have grown up with that, too. Linus spoke these Bible verses, Luke 2:8-10, which Childers transposes to the key of honky-tonk in this song with his drawl in full effect. You can almost imagine the “Peanuts” dancers doing a two-step to it.
“Purgatory,” Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven? (2022)
Childers’ ambitiously wide-ranging 2022 album Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven? featured eight gospel songs, each done in three different versions dubbed Hallelujah, Jubilee, and Joyful Noise. The latter category tricked each tune up with samples and remixes, which might be the closest Childers has ever come to hip-hop electronica (at least so far!). In this guise, the title track from his 2017 project Purgatory cuts the sort of groove you’d expect to hear in New Orleans.
“The Heart You’ve Been Tending,” Harlan Road – NewTown (2016)
What does it mean that so many of the best covers of Childers’ songs are by women? Who’s to say, but here’s another great one, from the Kentucky band NewTown’s Harlan Road album. “The Heart You’ve Been Tending” is in waltz time, with fiddler/singer Kati Penn’s vocal shining bright as a lighthouse cutting through a foggy mountain breakdown.
“In Your Love,” Rustin’ in the Rain (2023)
Another multimedia project of sorts, this song from Childers’ Rustin’ in the Rain started out as a relatively conventional devotional love song. Then he enlisted collaborators including his fellow Kentuckian, author Silas House, to make a video that casts “In Your Love” as a sort of country music version of Brokeback Mountain set in coal-mining country. As beautiful as it is heartbreaking.
“Matthew,” Country Squire (2019)
Childers has always been wildly eclectic and this song from his Country Squire LP is a prime example. “Matthew” is yet another working-class waltz, with enough bluegrass savvy to drop bluegrass legend Clarence White’s name in the lyrics – plus an actual sitar as oddball sound-effect mood-setter at the beginning of the song. Somehow it makes perfect sense.
“Bottles and Bibles (Live),” Live on Red Barn Radio I & II (2018)
With or without a band, Childers has always been a riveting live performer. This live version of the title track to his 2011 studio debut closed out 2018’s Live on Red Barn Radio I & II and it’s just voice and guitar. All the better to focus on the lyrics’ tale of preacher as wayfaring stranger pondering the difficulties of keeping to the straight and narrow: “But they ain’t had to walk with the weight that you’ve hauled/ They don’t know you at all, but they think that they do.”
“Coal,” Bottles and Bibles (2011)
What might Bruce Springsteen have been like if he’d grown up in a Kentucky coal-mining family? You can imagine him turning out like the narrator of this song, which sounds way too timeless to have originated in this century. It’s pure working class desperation: “We coulda made something of ourselves out there, if we’d listened to the folks/ That coal is gonna bury you.”
“Oneida,” Snipe Hunter (2025)
To be a Childers fan is to accept that he does have some idiosyncratic boundaries. There are songs from his live shows he’s never recorded, like the previously mentioned “Jersey Giant”; or popular recorded songs he has sworn off playing live, including the now-widely-seen-as-problematic “Feathered Indians.” For the better part of a decade, one of his unrecorded orphans was “Oneida,” a longtime fan favorite that’s like a Harold and Maude for the country set. Lo and behold, a recorded version finally surfaced as one of the best songs on Snipe Hunter. Dreams do come true.
Bluegrass and country fans may recognize Kentucky-born, San Francisco-based fiddler Brandon Godman from touring, recording, and performing with folks like Dale Ann Bradley, Laurie Lewis, Jon Pardi, the Band Perry, the Music City Doughboys, and many more. He’s also an accomplished business owner and luthier, helming two fiddle repair and retail shops based in Nashville (The Violin Shop) and the Bay Area (The Fiddle Mercantile.) In addition, Godman helped found Bluegrass Pride and was instrumental in organizing the non-profit association’s float and marching contingent that won the coveted “Best Overall” ribbon from the 2017 SF Pride Parade.
Godman has played fiddle his entire life, beginning on the instrument as a young child in Northern Kentucky. His skills span old-time, bluegrass, western swing, country, contest fiddle, and beyond, and his career, by necessity often, has been remarkably varied, boasting stories of success, trials, tribulations, and highs and lows beyond his years. Now, filmmaker Bria Light has crafted a remarkable, heartfelt, and stunning documentary short all about Godman and his journey on and with the fiddle.
Shot and crafted in 2022 and 2023 as Light’s thesis film at UC Berkeley’s Graduate School of Journalism, The Road Home is an intimate and gorgeous look at Godman and his relationship with his instrument, his career path, and his rural home in Kentucky. The film includes lovely original music – much drawn from Godman’s acclaimed 2024 solo album, I Heard the Morgan Bell – that offers many varied samples of his expansive skillset on fiddle throughout, a perfect score and soundtrack for the 20 minute-plus documentary. Together, Light and Godman travel from California to Kentucky, visit with Godman’s family, share old memories and stories, and examine the complications and intricacies of family and community, the transient, intangible nature of “home,” and the pains and reliefs of leaving and returning.
Now, for the first time, The Road Home is available to screen online, right here on BGS and on YouTube. (Watch below.)
Light has a deft and artful touch as a filmmaker and director, utilizing the fiddle and Godman’s original compositions as an enormous character in these narratives, propelling the story forward and entrancing viewers with the sights, sounds, textures, and mythos of Northern Kentucky – as could only be delivered by a musician and creative like Godman. The end result is moving and illuminating, subverting expectations of the region, the instrument, the genres we associate with the fiddle, and the communities we expect – or don’t expect – to love these traditions and the people who keep them alive.
We spoke to Light via email about the film, its conception and making, and the twists and turns along the way that led Light and Godman to this stellar piece of visual, aural, and narrative storytelling.
Let’s begin by going back to the beginning. Can you tell us a bit of the story of how this film project came to be? What inspired you and how did you get connected with Brandon?
Bria Light: I made this film for my thesis film in the documentary film program at UC Berkeley’s Graduate School of Journalism and when it came time to look for a story that I would be spending all year working on, I knew I wanted a story that was music-related. But I also wanted to find a story that revealed something deeper about how music can help us find our way through the sometimes fraught path of being human. I eventually got connected with Brandon, who agreed to let me into his life and tell me this slice of his story.
This film tells such an expansive story in a relatively short amount of time. What was it like trying to condense such an interesting and often complicated narrative into this short film “package”?
I’ve sometimes used the metaphor that making a film feels like having the vast expanse and depth of the ocean stretching out before you and your job is to chart the best course from continent to continent. It can feel overwhelming! At every turn there are not only creative decisions to be made (What part of this person’s complex life do I focus on? Do I shoot this scene? Do I interview that person?), but also ethical ones (Who is affected by telling this story and how? Should I or should I not reveal someone’s identity? What impact am I hoping for this film to have and how is that best served?).
While you’re finding and crafting the story, it’s not always self-evident what the best, most meaningful storyline is and you want to explore a million different possible paths. You end up with hours and hours of footage (the ocean) that you have to fully explore to find the best course. And the thing is, you have to try things out to see if they work in a movie and until that golden moment where something works, it, well, doesn’t work. So it is a process of months – or years for feature docs – of trial and error, during much of which you suspect you might be terribly lost at sea and had no business becoming a sailor in the first place, to follow the metaphor… until one fine day you’re like, “Land ho!” and things start coming together and you can sleep again at night. [Laughs]
I feel like you let the music itself, and the tradition of fiddle music and roots music, do a lot of the storytelling here. What is it like translating music to a visual media like film in this way and leveraging it to help advance your narrative?
Absolutely. One of the key elements of my vision of the film from the beginning was to leverage the richness of this musical tradition and Brandon’s music within that to assist in telling his personal story. In fact, I pictured the music almost as a character itself. Music, of course, is a storyteller, even when it doesn’t have lyrics. So thinking of the music almost like the narrator of the story felt very natural.
Of course, Brandon creating his album of original tunes, I Heard The Morgan Bell, is part of the film’s narrative as well, so it all tied together organically. Additionally, since part of the film delves into the past and the creation of the album was the part of the story that was unfolding in the present, it helped provide a narrative thread to follow and to tie Brandon’s musical and personal evolution together from his past to his present.
Can you tell us a bit about what it was like traveling to Kentucky with Brandon?
It was very, very cold! Our trip to Kentucky took place over Christmas week and it just so happened to be during a cold snap that swept the entire country. It was in the single digits temperature-wise, in the negatives with wind chill, and the roads were covered in thick ice. I had envisioned going there and shooting scenes on the family farm with golden winter light sparkling in the crisp air, etc., and instead there was roaring wind so bitterly cold that you could barely be outside for two minutes before your fingers were completely numb. At one point, my camera was having some issues because it was so cold! But of course we filmed mostly inside and Brandon’s family was so warm and welcoming. I ate a copious amount of Mamaw’s famous chocolate peanut butter squares!
The music of the film is so stunning, and some of the selections went on to be included on Brandon’s 2024 album, which you mentioned already, I Heard the Morgan Bell – it was one of our favorite bluegrass albums of last year. Was there a “music supervision” process for the film? Did you leave it up to Brandon? What was it like collaborating on what would become the soundtrack and soundbed for your visuals?
Brandon was so generous in granting me permission to select music from his album, which was still in process, to use for the film. Through the course of our many hours of conversation over the year, he told me many of the stories behind the songs, of the inspiration and ideas that led to their creation. So I used that, along with the general feel and mood of the tune, to inform my choices as to which pieces to include where. Normally, you’re right, there would be a music supervision process, but in this case I had the privilege of working directly with Brandon, who was essentially also the film’s composer!
Do you have a favorite moment in the film? Or from the process of crafting it?
Hmm, there are so many memories attached to the creation of this film! I loved filming and editing the “Morgan Bell” scene in the church. The music is so gorgeous and I knew I would love filming in low light with stained glass church windows as the container for that wordless song that expresses so much emotion.
I also loved the moment in the editing process where I found the old footage of Brandon as a young teen on a local TV show. In Kentucky, his parents had given me a paper bag full of photo albums and old VHS tapes of Brandon at fiddling contests and other things to go through and see what I could use. Late one night, after a full day on campus, I headed back to the edit rooms in the journalism school to continue digitizing and going through the old VHS tapes. I got to one tape, began watching it, and it seemed to be all recorded re-runs of Days of Our Lives. After fast-fowarding through so many episodes of Days of Our Lives, I was wondering if that tape had been mistakenly included. I was about to stop when suddenly it cut to the footage of Brandon on the local TV station. It ended up becoming of my favorite scenes in the film, thanks to the very enthusiastic TV show host and a young, guileless Brandon.
Another favorite part of making the film was simply working with Brandon and getting to know him throughout our many conversations together. He’s such an old soul was a joy to work with, which is of course not always the case when making a film about someone’s real life. He was always open and willing to go along for the ride, despite the vulnerability required.
Filmmaker Bria Light, creator and director of ‘The Road Home.’
Maybe it’s an obvious question to ask, but what’s your goal? Making such an incredible and involved piece of art is goal enough, but where do you hope to take this film? How are you thinking about getting it in front of audiences? What’s next for the project?
I had several goals: I hoped some people might see a bit of themselves in the story and feel that they, too – despite having been made to feel othered in the past – belong in bluegrass and country music, that this music can be a home for everyone.
I also hoped that people would see Brandon’s story and say, “Wow, I didn’t realize there were still folks facing this type of persecution in the music industry.” This wasn’t so long ago. And unfortunately, as we all know, we are seeing today the continuation and resurgence of anti-LGBTQ laws and bigotry all over the country and the world. Another hope I have for the film is that by sharing stories that elevate the depth and humanness of the characters onscreen, folks from all sides of the political spectrum might, over time, begin to think about these issues in a new light.
What’s next? Recently the film screened to lovely and engaged audiences at the Sebastopol Documentary Film Festival and next it will play a bit farther from home at the Sound on Screen Film Festival in South Africa. I’m also hoping to show the film at music events or conferences, to continue to share Brandon’s story with audiences around the country.
What did you learn during the making of The Road Home that was unexpected? What will you take with you into future projects – whether in a similar vein or in another space entirely?
I learned so much! I learned the importance of finding that balance of pre-planning and knowing what the story is about while at the same time going with the flow of real-life, nonfiction storytelling – that is to say, you can’t actually predict how life is going to unfold, so you have to hold your preconceived ideas in one hand, while leaving room for the story to reveal itself to you as it unfolds in real time in the other. One thing I “learned” (in quotation marks because I’m still learning it…!) is to trust the creative process, with its highs and lows, self-doubts, rewarding moments, and ultimately, you find that you have gotten to the end of your creative process and survived! There are really too many things I’ve learned that I’ll be taking with me into future projects, so I’ll just leave it there for now.
You know what you need? You need a roundup of brand new roots music!
In this edition of our weekly collection, Andy Leftwich kicks us off with a frequent fiddle contest selection, “Tom and Jerry,” giving an appropriate Texas swing treatment to the classic tune. It draws from his childhood growing up performing and competing at contests. A couple of Leftwich’s labelmates on Mountain Home Music are included below, as well. North Carolina’s Unspoken Tradition call on Danny Paisley, Jason Carter, and Bronwyn Keith-Hynes to guest on “I’ll Break Out Again Tonight.” Below, the group’s bassist Sav Sankaran gives us some insight on who inspired their cover of the track and how they chose their special guests. Plus, bassist and singer-songwriter Vickie Vaughn, also on Mountain Home, releases her most vulnerable original track to date, “Mama Took Her Ring Off Yesterday.” Written with Deanie Richardson, who produced Vaughn’s upcoming solo debut, it’s a song about grief, loss, and how life always marches on.
In a similar sonic space to our bluegrass selections, Old Crow Medicine Show have pitched in for John McCutcheon’s upcoming album that pays tribute to the seminal 1925 Mountain City Fiddlers Convention to mark the year of its 100th anniversary. The album, Long Journey Home: a Century After the 1925 Mountain City Fiddlers Convention, was produced by McCutcheon and features an incredible varied roster of artists and pickers rendering songs that pay homage to the important East Tennessee gathering. OCMS perform “Whatcha Gonna Do with the Baby,” which McCutcheon has set to photos from the album’s star-studded recording sessions.
Also below you’ll hear Amanda Pascali combine cultures and sounds from Sicily and the American South on “Amuri,” a brand new song from her upcoming album, Roses and Basil. It’s a delightfully cross-genre track, with touches of cumbia, Latin folk, Texas, Sicily – of course – and beyond. You won’t want to miss new music from Queen Bonobo (AKA Maya Goldblum), either. “Waiting Tables” is the indie-alt-folk artist’s Saturn Return song, about manifesting success and chasing dreams.
It’s a lovely collection of new songs and videos and you know what we’re gonna say… You Gotta Hear This!
Andy Leftwich, “Tom and Jerry”
Artist:Andy Leftwich Hometown: Carthage, Tennessee Song: “Tom and Jerry” Release Date: July 25, 2025 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “This song brings back so many memories for me. I grew up competing in fiddle contests all around the southern region of the United States where I met some of the best fiddlers of our day and was introduced to the style of Texas fiddling. ‘Tom and Jerry’ is an anthem and you’ll hear it played in just about every fiddling contest and Texas jam session there is. This arrangement is a development of those experiences and pays homage to my upbringing, reminding me of where I started. It’s hard to describe the feeling you get when you play these tunes with those incredible passing chords along with the Texas swing feel. It’s just so much fun!” – Andy Leftwich
Track Credits: Andy Leftwich – Fiddle, mandolin Byron House – Upright bass Cody Kilby – Acoustic guitar
Old Crow Medicine Show, “Whatcha Gonna Do with the Baby”
In Their Words: “Old Crow Medicine Show probably wouldn’t be a band if it weren’t for the time we spent around Johnson County, Tennessee, in the late ’90s. It was there that we learned to love the plain affairs of simple living in the hills, where country music was born. Fiddlers like JB Grayson were an early inspiration to us and the legend of the 1925 Mountain City Fiddlers Convention loomed large, even 75 years later. Now 100 years have passed since this, the first of the big national old-time music conventions, and we are mighty proud to have played a role alongside the great John McCutcheon in bringing this album to fruition.
John first approached me a year ago with the exciting news that he was embarking on a tribute to the Mountain City Fiddlers convention, the event that was so instrumental to the development of the Upper East Tennessee region’s identity as the national headwaters for hillbilly music. I immediately jumped in headfirst, bringing along Old Crow as the first act to sign up for the project. Many of the recordings we helped John make at our own Hartland Studio in East Nashville and now we are honored to finally be able to express our gratitude to Johnson County, Tennessee, an inspirational community for our band.” – Ketch Secor
“I first heard about Mountain City, Tennessee, as a teenager just beginning to play the banjo. I heard the Folkways album Old Time Music at Clarence Ashley’s and it changed the way I thought about the banjo and music as a whole. When I was finally lucky enough to get to Mountain City – doing a concert – I realized how important this little town and its heritage was. When the centenary of the 1925 fiddlers convention was rolling around, I called a bunch of my musical pals and invited them to join me in celebrating this event and, at the same time, benefit the fledgling arts center the town had started. My only request of the musicians was: Don’t make these museum pieces. Own them. I want to hear your fingerprints all over the music. And it turned out way cooler than I ever imagined.” – John McCutcheon
Amanda Pascali, “Amuri”
Artist:Amanda Pascali Hometown: Houston, Texas Song: “Amuri” Album: Roses and Basil Release Date: July 23, 2025 (single); September 12, 2025 (album) Label: Amanda Pascali & the Family/Missing Piece Records
In Their Words: “‘Amuri’ is the first song off my new record, Roses and Basil. The song opens the album with a Leonard Cohen-esque guitar part and a stanza of ancient Sicilian verse: ‘Amuri, amuri, chi m’hai fattu fari? M’hai fattu fari ‘na granni pazzia.’ (‘My love, my love, what have you made me do? You’ve made me go mad.’) These centuries-old lines, interpreted by many artists over time, tell the story of someone so overtaken by love that they forget the way to the church. In my version, that sense of losing the path becomes a metaphor for drifting away from what once felt like absolute truth, all in the name of love.
“The song quickly shifts from that quiet opening into a vibrant cumbia rhythm, inspired by the Latin sounds I grew up with in Texas. A spaghetti western-style electric guitar, 1960s and ’70s Italian lounge piano and vibraphone, and the figure of the priest reimagined as a Southern preacher man all come together to bridge my two worlds: Sicily and the American South.
“Though ‘Amuri’ borrows its opening from the past, the song itself is entirely my own. It sets the tone for the album: anchored in tradition, but reimagined for today. How strange and beautiful that something so old can still feel so relatable.
“The album was recorded at Niles City Sound in Fort Worth, Texas. The day before we recorded this song, my producer Robert Ellis came over to the place where I was staying, with a second-hand nylon string guitar he had bought that very same day. He sat at the table with me at golden hour and as the sun shone through the windows, he played the song in a way that resembled Leonard Cohen’s ‘Master Song.’ The wheels started spinning at that moment.” – Amanda Pascali
In Their Words: “‘Waiting Tables’ is my Saturn Return song. It’s about envisioning how I want my life to be and letting go of all that’s not serving me. I’ve been in the service industry since I was 14 years old and this song is my slightly sassy and soothing way of manifesting success in my music career. We all deserve safety, peace, and for our dreams to be actualized.” – Queen Bonobo
Track Credits: Maya Goldblum – Guitar, vocals, producer Joe Kaplow – Drums, percussion, engineer Joel Ludford – Stand-up bass Kyle Knadinger – Pedal steel Neil Burns – Keys
Unspoken Tradition, “I’ll Break Out Again Tonight” featuring Danny Paisley
Artist:Unspoken Tradition Hometown: Western North Carolina Song: “I’ll Break Out Again Tonight” featuring Danny Paisley Album:Resilience Release Date: July 25, 2025 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “‘I’ll Break Out Again Tonight’ was one of the first bluegrass songs I ever learned, largely inspired by the captivating rendition of the song by Danny Paisley & The Southern Grass. It has long been one of my favorite old country ballads to sing and to honor my Mid-Atlantic bluegrass roots and collaborate with Danny on this song is a dream come true. Danny is my all-time favorite bluegrass vocalist, and has been an inspiration to me since I was a child. I’m so excited to have Unspoken Tradition’s version of this classic out in the world, and even more excited to share the track with my bluegrass hero!” – Sav Sankaran
Track Credits: Audie McGinnis – Acoustic guitar Sav Sankaran – Bass, lead vocal, harmony vocal Tim Gardner – Fiddle, harmony vocal Zane McGinnis – Banjo Ty Gilpin – Mandolin Danny Paisley – Lead vocal, harmony vocal Jason Carter – Fiddle Bronwyn Keith-Hynes – Fiddle
Vickie Vaughn, “Mama Took Her Ring Off Yesterday”
Artist:Vickie Vaughn Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Mama Took Her Ring Off Yesterday” Release Date: July 25, 2025 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “I was having lunch with Mama at a Mexican restaurant in Paducah, Kentucky, one day about three months after my father’s unexpected passing. In her charming and sneaky lil way, she wiggled the fingers of her left hand past the chips toward me. (She’s always had a soft/sweet way of breaking strange news to me and my brother.) I saw that her wedding ring was off, a final signal to me, my brother, and her that life goes on after tragedy. The whole situation struck me so much that I had to write this song with Deanie Richardson about the day we found out Mama took her ring off.” – Vickie Vaughn
After a quarter century fronting the frenetic bluegrass and jug band outfit Old Crow Medicine Show, Ketch Secor is finally breaking out on his own with his solo debut Story The Crow Told Me. The retrospective record looks back on the past few decades, from his own journey to stardom spurred by a chance encounter with Doc Watson to the certified platinum hit “Wagon Wheel,” through the lens of a soundtrack that’s equal parts bluegrass and contemporary country.
“Because the band [recently] celebrated 25 years, I was already in the mindset of a retrospective look,” Secor tells BGS. “I was thinking about everything that’s happened and transpired over that time and started writing about it. In fact, at first I really thought it was going to be a spoken word record before the music eventually took over.”
Talking over the phone, Secor spoke about the timing for his debut project, its connections to both Old Crow and contemporaries like Dierks Bentley, becoming the new host of Tennessee Crossroads on Nashville PBS, and more.
You mentioned this album was initially envisioned as a spoken word compilation. What led to its transformation into a fully realized album?
Ketch Secor: I was working with Jody Stevens. We had written a couple songs that were largely based around spoken word and others we were looking to add background sounds on. Those sounds started getting more and more like what I already do, which is writing songs with choruses and verses and hooks. It just evolved out of the beat poetry version of the album, which was probably a little less listenable but closer to what I was striving for. The musicality of it is a bit of a compromise to be like “Well, I’m going to make this an actual record people might want to listen to” because the spoken word records I enjoy are not highly listened to.
I recently was trying to find them again since my record collection got lost in the 2010 floods we had in Nashville. I went on Spotify, which I’d never used before, to find all these songs in my head like Amiri Baraka’s “It’s Nation Time” or Moondog – a 1950’s renegade beat poet from New York – in trying to get an understanding of how the spoken word music I heard as a kid was being utilized today. It quickly became clear that nobody listens to that stuff anymore. [Laughs] So it seemed like making it musical would make it more fun for people.
It seems a bit ironic that you had to look up all these songs – many of which would be considered part of the Great American Songbook – on a digital streaming platform like Spotify. Talk about two very different worlds colliding!
I talk a little bit about that phenomenon on the song “Junkin’.” A lot of the experience of making music with Old Crow, especially in the beginning when we were still developing a canon, was about music’s physical form. When the band first started the internet was still new and we were still selling cassettes. The last time I made a solo record was on tape, the band didn’t have a website and none of us even used email when all of this started. It meant that searching for the physical was really important.
There’s another song on the album called “Thanks Again” that highlights the personal relationships that you develop out on the road – these chance encounters that are very much real and put the wind in your sails. There’s something to be said about having to come of age in a time when information was so tactile and often involved a human touch.
With the emergence of the internet and things like streaming and social media it really is an entirely different world for artists to navigate nowadays.
I realized that I had a kind of time capsule in my mind I had yet to crack open in the days before going in to make this record, which was done quickly and often with me writing the songs as we were recording them. Opening it up was really cathartic and essential for me to process and move past because the experience of coming to Nashville when we did and the kind of band we were in was, at times, slightly traumatic. It was a very intense quest similar to a military deployment, being a minor league ball player fighting your way through the ranks or even being a teenage whaler in Moby Dick. You end up leaving everything else behind in search of this one pursuit.
It’s not unique to come to Nashville to make it big, but what made our experience unique was that we were trying to do it with these traditional sounds in an era in which technological changes were happening as we were doing it. It was almost like we were going against the literal tide with our choices and artistic motivation.
You just mentioned writing these songs as you were recording them. Is that something you’d done before?
That was a very new way of going about things. I understand that record-making has changed a lot since we first started – our most popular Old Crow records that gave us a career were the early ones we made with Dave Rawlings on analog tape that we cut with a razor blade. Making a record the way Gillian [Welch] and Dave do is very studious, labor and time-intensive. But now the technology exists to do it super fast.
This record almost felt like a throwback to the seminal recordings of the 1920s and ‘30s that are the headwaters of our sound. Those records were made in three minutes oftentimes without knowing what the arrangements would be. Three minutes wasn’t the time frame of hillbilly music until the record company said it was – they just sat there, watched the light turn on and played. Writing a song and building a track like that actually felt really on par with what it would have been like going to Camden, New Jersey, in 1928 on a train when you’d never left your county before that. The challenge is keeping one foot in the past and one in the present. When you play fiddles and banjos and blow harmonica for a living the instrument kind of does it for you.
You name dropped Jody Stevens a few minutes ago. How’d y’all come together and what was it like working with him?
We met through my publishing company. I was going to do a co-write with him and knew he’d written a lot of songs for contemporary country artists, so I brought my bag of tricks that I bring out when I try to pretend I’m going to write the next big, top 10 country smash, except for this one time with Darius [Rucker]. I love country music even though I feel that in the past 25 years I have a whole lot less in common with it than I did when I was a kid, in terms of what it sounds like today in its mainstream output versus when I was singing along to Jo Dee Messina when I was 19. It was interesting to circle the wagons with Jody because he brought such a unique perspective in record making that comes from contemporary country music even though his roots are in hip-hop.
The other thing that brought us together was that Jody had seen Old Crow a lot, especially in our early days from 2000-2005, which is the sweet spot I try to explore on this record. He’d been there at the Station Inn and the festival Lightning 100 used to do downtown and some of these other places that have since been replaced by high rises. The fact that he had been a first-account witness to the band was really helpful to bounce ideas off of. His sister was also a big Old Crow fan and even though I’ve never met her I thought about her as my target demographic – someone who saw us back in 2001 and wanted to know what that time capsule looked like.
The fact that Jody had done all this work with people that rapped – only to find that 25 years later the tapes and demos he’d made with Jelly Roll were now part of a pop culture consciousness that hadn’t been there when he first started working on them – gave him a similar orientation to country music that I have about Americana. When I got started there was nothing called Americana and nobody lived outside of contemporary country music unless you were alt-country. Coming into this period of time in Nashville where it wasn’t yet determined that anyone with a banjo could make it that wasn’t bluegrass is another place where Jody and I shared commonality. The rap game has since become a massive component to contemporary country music similar to how Americana has become the tastemaker for anything roots-related.
In terms of the sound on this record, the way you move between more Old Crow-esque bluegrass and those pop country flavors reminds me a lot of Dierks Bentley, another person who excels at showcasing the best of both sides of roots music.
I came up with Dierks and remember witnessing his arrival. Before [“What Was I Thinkin’”] came out there was an issue of CMA Up Close that had a story about us on the page opposite one about Dierks and I thought to myself, “Well, if a guy named Dierks Bentley can make it, then probably a guy named Ketch Secor can, too.” Surely Nashville has the appetite for two oddly-named boys. [Laughs] Then I went on and took a moniker that wasn’t my name. Because of that I feel very much like a brand-new artist now and have developed a strong sense of empathy for the young guns who are out there trying to put their stuff out for the first time, because it’s so much harder now than when I was a kid.
What are some of those major hurdles you’ve noticed for new artists today compared to what you first encountered with Old Crow?
Now the way you stand out in a crowd is through visual means that often require the least amount of artistic acumen and the most amount of social media acumen. So far, I’m not sure it’s helping the cream rise to the top, though. The skill set should be how good can you pick a banjo, not how good can you pick the keypad on your iPhone, even though you have to do both to be successful today. When I was a kid it was about making these connections with people, knocking on doors so many times that every time something good came to me [it did] on account of me showing up and being in the right place at the right time.
Seeking a viral moment has an undue effect of potentially limiting the number of new entrants into the arena. For one generation, what was once divinized is now digitized. I’m sure that if there’s a God above that He or She can use the binary code to reach people and connect their children. I can pick up The New York Times and feel like there’s a closeness with the loss in Texas right now, which is only amplified by me having swam in the Guadalupe before and having a personal connection to the area. If you’ve plunged in the waters yourself then you’ll share something so much more vital with those who are experiencing the loss.
It’s really a metaphor for how we all have a shot at playing the Grand Ole Opry or going from the Station Inn to the Ryman like I did. There’s a turnstile in front of that and I want to see it spinning wide so that artists of all stripes can find their way up to that stage where they belong. As a steward of those stages, I want to see the people show up who have found music as the great connector that, regardless of the speed of the computer in your pocket, the speed of music breaks all other forms of sonic barriers.
In terms of personnel, what motivated you to bring in past and present Old Crow members like Willie Watson, Critter Fuqua, and Morgan Jahnig to record these songs with?
I really wanted to have all the past members of Old Crow on the record, because it felt like a bit of an offering to the gods to say “thanks.” So I really wanted a little bit of all their spirits on it. Not only that, but I read through a lot of old journals and called up some people I’d met hitchhiking, but hadn’t talked to in 25 years. I went and visited the guy who coined the term “Wagon Wheel,” because that song was always called “Rock Me Mama” until I met James Sizemore – a wonderful rascal and drug-dealing Vietnam vet.
I went to see him on his deathbed and recorded phone conversations late at night with old friends. While none of that stuff is necessarily on the record in its physical form, it all went into the process of trying to bake something that really felt like I was living in the past and bringing it to the present through these songs. I think a lot about cairn stones that the Inuit people up north call inuksuit, which are like sign posts that tell you where to turn, but they’re also spiritual. So imagine a road sign that could say “300 miles to Memphis,” but also told you the ancestral route of the settlers who first brought buffalo down 7,000 years ago, sort of like the duality of a time signature.
That duality of time reminds me of one of the album’s songs, “What Nashville Was,” which highlights how much Nashville has changed over the decades while also highlighting how no matter how many venues are replaced with condos, music will always be the city’s heartbeat.
A lot about the way Bob [Dylan’s] record Nashville Skyline had a way of pointing out Nashville for the first time to anyone who didn’t live in the South or listen to country music. He was really pointing to Nashville from a unique perspective and certainly Bob Dylan’s Nashville was the kind of Nashville that I was looking for when I first started playing on the street corner there in 1996.
Similarly, I was also looking for Dolly Parton’s Nashville. I wanted the Nashville that Dolly got when she stepped out of the pickup truck and married the first guy that honked his horn at her, the kind of Nashville where Willie Nelson was laying down in the street in front of Tootsie’s thinking he’s gonna kill himself because nobody wants his songs.
I used “Girl From The North Country” as the template for a love letter to a changing place and a cityscape that has gone on to do so much stuff that it itself is largely oblivious to the price it pays for its constant reinvention. And the price is that who we’re ushering in … is probably because you were on a reality TV show more consistently than because you had a song that people couldn’t stop singing at summer camps. Not that those things are good or bad, they just change. But we’re at a point now where the legend and lore of Nashville has grown so much that we’re at risk of the bubble bursting and it being something like Seattle after grunge or Austin after it wasn’t weird anymore – which is a glass, monolithic, industry executive business center. Oftentimes those forces stand in opposition to the ability of songwriters, hucksters, showmen, and the survival spirit that goes into creating the next Bob Dylan of a generation. I’m hoping that we, the architects of Nashville, can endeavor to build a place that still allows a hearty hero or heroine to come through the gates just like Loretta Lynn or Jack White did.
You were recently named the new host of Tennessee Crossroads on Nashville Public Television. How’d that opportunity come about and what’s it mean to you?
When PBS called me about this unique role that had come available with the sudden and sad loss of Joe [Elmore] – who ran the show for 30 or so years – it only made sense to find someone else to step in who’s also run a business for around 30 years that’s similar to Tennessee Crossroads. Old Crow Medicine Show has been criss-crossing the American south getting inspired by quilters, gee-haw whimmy diddles, carvers, and folks that plant by the lunar signs – those are the kind of folk heroes that go into our music. They’re also the same kind of stories that this show loves to tell.
I love public broadcasting and care a lot about access to it in this country. I made my television debut on our local PBS affiliate up in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia when I was in fifth grade. I fell in love with my own backyard because Ken Burns showed me what was so rich about it and so frightening and tragic, which was the bones of the Union and Confederate armies right here, just past the fence. Ken Burns really illuminated that for me and ever since I’ve been the biggest fan of public broadcasting.
What has the process of bringing this record to life taught you about yourself?
I was born about 35 miles outside the birthplace of Walt Whitman and always wondered why I like the guy so much. Then I recently rode my bicycle there and thought, “God, this guy’s place is really popular!” There were people sleeping on a stoop and waiting for a free sandwich in the parking lot. And it turns out where Walt Whitman used to live is like the center of the drug-addled corpse that is parts of Camden, New Jersey. It looks a bit like the Dickerson Road corridor, at least as it was in about 1999.
I feel like Walt really said it best when he said he contains multitudes on “Song Of Myself, 51.” I feel as a picker of banjos and fiddles and guitars and dulcimers and auto harps; and a blower of jugs and juice harps and harmonicas; and a singer of ballads and lamentations pretty songs; and [an attender of] corn shuckins, frolics, and cotillions, that I am like you, a container of multitudes.
Country and folk, bluegrass and new acoustic music all come together in this week’s edition of our new music and premiere roundup!
First up, country singer-songwriter Dallas Burrow is joined by Ray Wylie Hubbard on a brand new music video for their duo track, “Read ‘Em and Weep,” from Burrow’s upcoming September release. The song was inspired by classic gambling songs, so of course Ray Wylie was the perfect special guest to tap for the track and the country & western-styled video. Also bringing a new music video this week are Americana/folk trio The Last Revel, of Minneapolis. “Static” is about the overwhelm and confusion of new love.
In bluegrass, Chris Jones & the Night Drivers tap Jim Lauderdale for a new track, “How Small of Me.” Despite knowing each other for decades, it’s the first time Jones and Lauderdale have collaborated in the studio. Jones’ labelmates Deanie Richardson & Kimber Ludiker debut another new twin fiddle tune, this time offering their take on a Frank Wakefield classic, “New Camptown Races,” with a mighty backing band.
From experimental string band fringes we have a few stellar selections, as well. Award-winning banjoist Tray Wellington readies a new EP – set for release August 8 – with a performance video of an original song, “Man on the Moon,” continuing his creative relationship and fascination with the earth’s celestial relative. It’s jammy, expressive, and contemplative and shows a blend of many of the different styles of ‘grass he often employs. Mandolinist and composer Ethan Setiawan has new music on the way, too. His next project, Encyclopedia Mandolinnica, arrives mid-August and to celebrate, he’s shared a track featuring Joe K. Walsh called “Mount Holly.”
Finally, you won’t want to miss the return of Thompson the Fox, Tokyo’s quartet of mind-bending pickers who combine jazz, bebop, new acoustic, bluegrass, and so much more. Volume 2 of The Fox In Tiger’s Clothing – entitled TIGER – drops next month, so we’re sharing “Minute Waltz Rag,” the group’s reimagination of Chopin’s quintessential composition that’s ragtime, bluegrass, classical, and jazz altogether. Still, it’s incredibly easy to listen to – and impressive in technique and artfulness, both.
It’s all right here on BGS and, truly, You Gotta Hear This!
Dallas Burrow, “Read ‘Em and Weep” featuring Ray Wylie Hubbard
Artist:Dallas Burrow Hometown: New Braunfels, Texas Song: “Read ‘Em & Weep” featuring Ray Wylie Hubbard Album:The Way The West Was Won Release Date: July 18, 2025 (video); September 26, 2025 (album) Label: Forty Below Records
In Their Words: “This song, which serves as the opening track of the album, is actually a musical sequel to a song I wrote with my good friend Charley Crockett called ‘The Only Game in Town,’ which I wrote all the verses for after he brought me a chorus and a chord progression. In that song’s third verse the narrator tells us, ‘The dealer is [his] friend and the house always wins.’ This song you might say serves as a challenge to its prequel, with the opening verse declaring, ‘I heard the dealer was your friend, I heard you know him well.’ Both, stylistically, were inspired by great gambling songs like ‘Mr. Mudd and Mr. Gold’ by Townes Van Zandt and ‘Dust of the Chase’ by Ray Wylie Hubbard. It was only fitting then that Ray Wylie would sing on this tune. I gave him the whole record to listen to and this was the one he picked out to sing on. It was quite the honor to have him sing the entire second verse, since he’s always been one of my biggest inspirations and heroes. The tune opens with producer Lloyd Maines counting it off and playing a striking harmonic guitar part. As the track continues to build it is further brought to life by Lloyd’s legendary Dobro playing, and Katie Shore’s immaculate fiddle work.” – Dallas Burrow
Chris Jones & the Night Drivers, “How Small of Me” featuring Jim Lauderdale
Artist:Chris Jones & The Night Drivers Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “How Small of Me” Release Date: July 18, 2025 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “Jim Lauderdale and I have been friends for decades now, but this is the first time we have ever sung together on a recording, so I’m really happy about this. Meanwhile I co-wrote the song with John McCutcheon, somebody I first met when I was a teenager, and though more recently, he’s somebody who the band and I have performed with a few times at the Walnut Valley Festival in Kansas, we had never written a song together until last year, and ‘How Small of Me’ is one of our first results.” – Chris Jones
Track Credits: Chris Jones – Acoustic guitar, lead vocal Jim Lauderdale – Harmony vocal Mark Stoffel – Mandolin Grace van’t Hof – Ukelele Jon Weisberger – Bass Tony Creasman – Drums Chris Scruggs – Steel guitar
The Last Revel, “Static”
Artist:The Last Revel Hometown: Minneapolis, Minnesota Song: “Static” Album:Gone For Good Release Date: July 18, 2025 Label: Thirty Tigers
In Their Words: “It’s a simple little song about how overwhelming and confusing love can feel especially in the beginning. It’s about losing yourself and everything you have just to spend time with the only person that seems to be vibrating at the same frantic frequency while everything else seems still and static.” – Lee Henke
Artist:Deanie Richardson & Kimber Ludiker Song: “New Camptown Races” Release Date: July 18, 2025 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “‘New Camptown Races’ is a song that Kimber and I played together last year and it went so well we knew it was one we wanted on this record. I went to a recording from one of my fiddle heroes, Randy Howard, on this. I will admit, I did steal a few licks from Randy on this one. Love that my dear friend is with us on this track.” – Deanie Richardson
“We have long loved Frank Wakefield’s great mandolin tune ‘New Camptown Races,’ which quickly became part of the bluegrass canon when he first recorded it in 1957. We set out to create a twin fiddle reimagining of this classic Bb tune with the spirit of a high-energy late-night jam with phenomenal playing by Tristan Scroggins on mandolin, Kristin Scott Benson on banjo, Cody Kilby on guitar, and Hasee Ciaccio on bass.” – Kimber Ludiker
Ethan Setiawan, “Mount Holly” featuring Joe K. Walsh
(Click to listen)
Artist name:Ethan Setiawan Hometown: Cornish, Maine Song: “Mount Holly” featuring Joe K. Walsh Album:Encyclopedia Mandolinnica Release Date: July 23, 2025 (single); August 15, 2025 (album) Label: Adhyâropa Records
In Their Words: “This one’s for the Fogels, at whose cabin in Vermont I spent a couple of great New Years, and who smoke the most delicious meat at all hours at festivals in the Northeast. I started to work on the tune in 2022 or 2023 up in Vermont and then finished it soon before tracking with Joe in early 2024. I finished it without a mandolin in hand, which lately has been a good exercise in letting my ear rather than my hands guide the composition. I’m playing mandola and Joe is playing octave mandolin, because we had to get in those low mandolins!” – Ethan Setiawan
Thompson the Fox, “Minute Waltz Rag”
Artist:Thompson the Fox Hometown: Tokyo, Japan Song: “Minute Waltz Rag” Album:The Fox In Tiger’s Clothing, Vol.2: TIGER Release Date: August 9, 2025 Label: Prefab Records
In Their Words: “Following our May release of The Fox In Tiger’s Clothing, Vol.1: FOX, we’re excited to announce the upcoming release of its sister album, Vol.2: TIGER, coming out on August 9.
“The album title is a play on two phrases from different cultures: the Japanese proverb, ‘The fox borrowing the tiger’s authority’ and the English idiom, ‘A wolf in sheep’s clothing.’
“While Vol.1: FOX consisted entirely of our original compositions, Vol.2: TIGER is a collection of cover tunes. Ahead of the album’s release, we’ve just shared a music video for ‘Minute Waltz Rag.’ It’s a reimagining of Chopin’s beautiful waltz, which I arranged in two-time for this quartet. We hope you enjoy it!” – Takumi Kodera
Artist:Tray Wellington Hometown: Raleigh, North Carolina Song: Man on the Moon Album:Spatial Awareness (EP) Release Date: July 18, 2025 (single); August 8, 2025 (EP) Label: Free Dirt Records
In Their Words: “‘Man on the Moon’ is one of the most personal songs I’ve ever written. I wanted to capture how easy it is to hide struggle behind a smile and how many of us carry that weight silently. Writing has always helped me process things I hadn’t fully acknowledged and I hope it can do the same for someone else. This track was also one of my favorites for production as it’s one of the songs I feel like we really captured the feelings of the song throughout.” – Tray Wellington
Video Credit: Rob Laughter
Photo Credit: Tray Wellington by Heidi Holloway; Dallas Burrow by Melissa Payne.
Dallas Ugly is not a country band. Except that they are?
More than a decade ago now, college classmates Eli Broxham, Owen Burton, and Libby Weitnauer began playing together as a new acoustic band, bluegrass and old-time chops combined with jazz and jammy virtuosity. Eventually, via COVID pandemic cloistering together, they crafted a collective identity as Dallas Ugly, a vibey and tight alt-country group built around original songs that made a splash with their 2022 debut, Watch Me Learn.
On that album you can hear bluegrass grit, the tenderness of folk and indie songwriting, influences of Southern rock and pop, and dashes of Texas twang – perhaps supplied by confirmation bias thanks to their moniker. On their latest album, See Me Now (released in April), the trio are abandoning any and all claims to Americana and country. But this collection – one of the best roots albums of the year – still listens like so many classic artists and albums at the intersection of indie, country, and the vast musical horizon.
When you ask the Nashville-based band how they’ve landed in this new, borderless, agnostic genre territory, they seem as surprised by their own chosen style markers and aesthetic vocabulary as their audiences. “It’s an accident,” says Weitnauer – with delight. “We don’t know why we sound this way. We’ve been able to loosen up more, build on the experience we’ve gotten just as musicians. … With this iteration, I feel like it shows a full development of our sound.”
In truth, however See Me Now and Dallas Ugly strike your ears, it’s quite a straightforward task to trace their journey through genres. (Though it’s not the most straightforward to discuss!) The trio simply follows each song down their own individual creative rabbit holes, trusting the music and each other to find or carve out sounds that encapsulate the feelings, textures, and stories that they craft together. They don’t lead the songs, the songs lead them. As a result, Dallas Ugly alchemically transform barn burning old-time fiddle, endless country twang, deep honky-tonkin’ pocket, earnest, sentimental songwriting, and pop-informed sweet tooths into smooth, artful, endlessly interesting indie rock.
Dallas Ugly’s brand of roots music – if you can call it that – is downright beautiful. We spoke to the group via phone between tours in May about making the album, claiming genre (or not), and the sometimes passive, sometimes overwrought process of shepherding these songs into the world.
I wanted to start with getting the genre conversation out of the way, as it were. Y’all have been very forward with communicating that this isn’t really a country album; that you don’t really see yourselves as a country band. You call it indie, indie-pop-rock. I hear you as decidedly Americana and country, personally. Obviously you have those indie-pop touches – plus, we know you have string band bones as well – but can you talk a little bit about your relationship to genre and how you intentionally stepped into this much more free, borderless sonic space with this project?
Libby Weitnauer: It’s funny, because as I’ve had more conversations with people since the album’s come out I’m like, we definitely marketed it wrong. [Laughs] The other way we could’ve gone – everyone is like, “Do you ever listen to Sunbelt?” “Do you ever listen to Wilco?” “What about like The Breeders?”
But you asked what were the intentional steps that we made – and I would say there have been no intentional steps towards any genre. Which is why we are having trouble pinning it down, because I think we decided to market it the indie route. Honestly, the Americana world seemingly wants to have nothing to do with our music. [Laughs] So we were like, “Okay, then, I guess it’s not Americana, I guess it’s not country.” Every time we bring it to those people they turn it away.
I would say our relationship with genre is very passive. When we’re making decisions and writing songs, genre isn’t a consideration. It’s always been that way. When we started playing together as the very goofy band that we were before this band, that was a sort of attempt at new acoustic music. It was the same thing, we just make decisions [based on] things that we like, or think we’re supposed to do sometimes, or sound good. Then it comes through this Dallas Ugly Eli-Libby-Owen filter, no matter what.
We’ve honestly tried so hard to fit into a genre. Where we’re like, “Okay! We’ve done it this time. You guys, we made a song that sounds like something else that exists.” Which is a funny thing to aspire to. Just trying to create stuff that we like and then it’s, “Oh, nope, nevermind. There it is. Just as weird as ever.”
Do you feel like the songs are what’s guiding you in that passive way? That you’re just trying to give the songs the treatment they each want or are asking for or deserve? Do you feel like it’s taste? Or is it just how it ends up is how it ends up? What do you think is the process for how it ends up being borderless and amorphous and not quite any one thing?
Owen Burton: Yeah, I think those are all in there. I think it isn’t as if we’re striving when we’re writing, it’s not like we’re intentionally pointing to a specific genre. There’s just things that we don’t realize are so genre-coded that are kind of inescapable about our musical voices. When we are asking how to start a song it’s, “Let’s do a fiddle kick.” It’s not, “Let’s do a country thing.” It’s just, “I feel like a fiddle kick would make sense.” And then, on the other end of that is people being like, “This is a country record now!”
It’s fair enough. But I think with this record, too, [as] I’ve learned with our first album – which we were like, this is a country record – I feel like we learned, in how it was received, how actually regimented the Americana style is. And how we weren’t within certain signifiers that are pretty regimented. Indie rock is way more broad, in terms of what it tolerates stylistically.
So the next one, this one, certainly can fit in that big tent. Now, the way it’s been perceived that way too, [I’ve realized] indie rock’s pretty regimented in ways that I didn’t understand, too. Mostly about singing. I think just none of us sing like indie boys. [Laughs]
LW: Or country voice. That’s the thing, I think what it comes down to is if different people were singing our songs, maybe it would be clearer. But I think, especially Owen and I, we have acquired taste, stinky cheese voices. [Laughs] It’s definitely not for everybody. Eli, obviously he doesn’t sing quite as much, but weirdly I would say Eli has the most familiar voice.
I happen to love stinky cheese.
LW: Exactly! Me too.
How does Justin Francis play into the genre paradigm here as your producer, as somebody who effortlessly walks between those sonic worlds? Can you talk a little bit about working with him and having him in the control room?
OB: He understood what we were going for. When we started, we intentionally controlled less variables going into the studio for this one. It’s not as if we had a strategy meeting about what kind of album this was gonna be before we started, making creative decisions on it. The songs were vaguely written before we went into the studio, but not arranged and not figured out like across the band ahead of time.
I feel like even just that process– I guess that’s a bit of a question, is that more of an Americana process or more of an indie rock process? I see that as more of a rock process; I feel like rock bands often go into the studio with songs not even written and they just write it in the studio. With [Justin] on board, he had all kinds of ideas when we were writing in the studio, little bits of studio vocab that we don’t have ourselves. [He] pushed and pulled in different genre directions, for sure.
LW: Part of the reason that we worked with him is we did these two singles with him, “Big Signs” and “Born Crying” just to try working with another producer and see what happens. I don’t even know that we were really [thinking] we could make an album with him, because honestly, he’s the real deal! We were like, “He’s famous, so he probably won’t make an album with us, but let’s just see what these things will sound like.” It was so effortless and he let us do our thing on those two. I feel like those [songs] are just as unhinged as anything else that we’ve made and he was right there with us with the ideas.
I would say, generally, working with him was really effortless. That’s the word I would use. The whole time, even the pre-production meetings.
Let’s talk about some of the music. My favorite is “Bad Feeling.” I know the lyric may say, “It’s a bad feeling, I don’t like it at all…” but I do like it. I like “Bad Feeling” a lot. I heard you guys play this song live a bunch before the album, too, but can you talk about the origin of it, its writing, how it came together in the studio?
LW: That’s the one song I think on the whole album that we had been performing [before recording]. Maybe “You Can Leave,” but it changed a lot. “Bad Feeling” we had been performing pretty much as it is, for the most part. I’m glad that you like it, because that was the song I was like… not disappointed in, but I had so much trouble breaking out of the live arrangement that we had. We had played it so much that I felt like the track suffered a little bit from how attached we were to the live arrangement.
But the making and the writing of that song, I feel like I wrote it [because] I’d been listening to a lot of Judee Sill. I guess I was inspired by that and was trying to capture how some of her songs, the chords move with the lyrics a lot. I didn’t end up really sounding like her at all, but some of the original harmonies we had for that song, played [off of] some of the harmonies in her music.
I feel like that song is like the epitome of my writing style, which is pretty autobiographical. Every time I try to write like feathery stuff, it sounds really goofy. And so with lyrics, I just try to find the most straightforward way I can say something. Usually that ends up being the most poetic, from my voice.
How do you know when you have a hook or you have the bit of the song that’s gonna be what everybody shouts along with? To me, it doesn’t feel like any of you are writing songs because you think they’re gonna be a hit. But at the same time, when I hear a really hooky song or a really catchy song – like basically this whole album – whether it’s “Bad Feeling” or “Sugar Crash” or “Circumstances” or “See Me Now,” I can picture a “light bulb moment” when you find that hook or line that ends up being the sing along.
LW: When I’m writing, I don’t really consciously think about hooks like this. That being said, a lot of my songs start with either a phrase or a melody. I’ll be on a walk or doing something in the kitchen just singing little thing. Like “Circumstances” – “I put a letter in the mail…” – that just happened in my brain when I was doing something. Then usually I’ll grab onto that and write the song around whatever little melody piece comes to me. I guess what ends up being the hook, a lot of the time, is what comes to me. And then I find myself singing it and I let it take off and do what it’s gonna do.
Eli Broxham: I feel like something that comes up, a question we end up asking ourselves that I’ve heard Libby ask a bunch of times is, “Is this super cheesy?” [All laugh] Which, we definitely ride the line of cheesiness, but at some point, you have to just be like, “I don’t know. I like it. And that’s good enough.” If it’s borderline to me, maybe it’ll be over the line for somebody else, but clearly, within bounds for another listener.
At some point, trust your instincts and be like, “It might be cheesy, but that’s okay.” And yeah, I think melodically is where I have my surest footing [writing hooks]. I still feel as a songwriter, if I hit the mark, it’s maybe by chance or something.
I also want to talk about “See Me Now,” because it’s the title track, because it’s a great song, but also because I feel like it epitomizes the journey y’all have been on, from Watch Me Learn to this album. Not just musically and creatively, but also genre, and also politically and socially. This song is “of the moment” in a really interesting way, because you can listen to it down and it’s a love song and it’s a song about seeing and being seen, but it’s also about perception and, “Is my existence valid?”
All of that is really deeply resonant, but if you zoom out and view the song in the context of the band, it changes its meaning. If you zoom out yet again and you view it in the context of y’all really coming together during COVID to do this project as Dallas Ugly, being friends for more than a decade, it changes the meaning of the song again. It’s a tesseract of a track where you guys are writing in four dimensions – it’s not too intellectual or conceptual, but it has endless depth. How!?
OB: I actually wrote that very quickly, because Elise Leavy was having like a songwriting circle. I hadn’t written a song terribly recently, so I was just gonna write something real quick for this. That was the song I wrote and at the time – this is years ago – I was very into that Kacey Musgraves album, Golden Hour, and the lead track, [“Slow Burn”]. That acoustic intro thing, I was messing around with that, because the chords are really simple, but the voicings are so interesting.
Those two things – “hurry up and write a song” and the somewhat new vocab I had just learned – came together. That first draft of it was soft, crummy – plus those lyrics, it’s hard to say what they’re about, because I wrote them very quick. Sometimes this spiel I give on stage is:
It’s three people meeting each other after some kind of apocalypse. In the universe of the apocalypse, because nobody has anything anymore, it’s very hard to [determine] what status anyone was before the apocalypse. It’s three different kinds of people with different former social status, wishing that people they interacted with could tell what status they used to have. People are very comfortable in their status, I feel like whether it’s high status or low status, people find comfort in both. Personal comfort in your own status and the comfort in feeling like you know how to treat people once you derive their status.
I feel like audiences never understand that spiel and it’s maybe too heady to be worth anything. [Laughs] Maybe that’s also why it feels like there’s so many different reads you could have of that song.
I think the most interesting thing about it – and maybe I’m projecting y’all – is the sentiment, “Can’t you see me now? I want you to see me.” Maybe that’s just the millennial condition. All of us having nostalgia for something that never existed, generationally, and being like, “I need you to see me. I need you to perceive me. But also I’d rather you perceive me from the golden era, from the before times. From when things were right.”
Also the “Can you hear me now?” reference of it all feels very millennial, very of the 2000s in a great way. Again, is this cheesy? No, of course not. Listen to it! But also, yes it is.
OB: Yeah, that’s where we live.
LW: That’s where we live! And I would say, before this, before the version that’s on the album, it had a very different flavor. I can’t even remember how it sounded exactly, but it was definitely more country – almost like country rock – and that was over the line. I’m glad we found [this style] and Justin helped us find that. Just pulling it back to the other side a little bit, because yeah, lyrically and melodically, it’s so solid and awesome. But we had to go to the drawing board a few times to get the setting right for it.
EB: That one is like the musical ideas are blocks that are put in place. I remember when we were doing this – after some of the drawing board stuff that Libby was talking about – but I was listening to that Mac Miller album, Circles – which I think is maybe the best Mac Miller album. I was listening to how the elements didn’t change, they just turned on and off to make the song, which I feel like is pretty common in pop and rap production. But often, especially in this band or in Americana and rock, things tend to sneak in and out and evolve.
But for that song in particular, the bass line just turns on, then turns off for a little part. It turns on and turns off. There’s different parts of different sections, but they are like binary, which I think is an interesting approach – and a first for us, in that sense. Somehow, that takes it out of the realm of cheesy country and accentuates the lyrics in a nice way. Even that final chorus, where it’s just a big pause and then the chorus turns on.
LW: That’s interesting that you say that, ’cause I feel like for my fiddling, that was the approach I took on this whole album. Honestly, until we got to the pre-production meetings I was like, “I don’t even think I’m gonna play fiddle on this album.”
I took more of [an approach like] I’m a sample of a thing, rather than being a fiddle in a band. Like even on “You Can Leave,” which is the more fiddle-y of the tracks, in the verses I’m not doing traditional fills. I’m doing this one rhythmic hook every time this comes around and that’s what I’m playing on this song.
It was the idea of turning things on and off rather than trying to be part of the whole song. And I let myself punctuate things and not feel like I need to play the whole time.
Sister Sadie, one of the most electrifying, interesting, and resonant bands in bluegrass today, have just released their latest album, All Will Be Well, via Mountain Home Music Company. The award-amassing collective of impeccably talented women have once again raised the bar for themselves, offering an LP with limitless star power, heart, and unapologetic grit – musically and otherwise.
Over the years since their origin – a one-off supergroup-style show in 2012 at the World Famous Station Inn in Nashville – Sister Sadie have undergone quite a few metamorphoses. As is the case for many bluegrass groups, where band names may be retained as lineups constantly change, members leaving, returning, and swapping out, the ensemble has seen many a superlative woman picker join or leave their ranks over the last decade plus. Somehow, over these many transitions, the group has emerged with a cogent, cohesive sound – and a brand and sense of identity that remain indelible, whomever they may boast among their members at any given time.
It’s remarkable that this musical identity and their mission statement can be so clear, but is no surprise with stalwarts fiddler Deanie Richardson and banjoist Gena Britt as the sole remaining original members of the group. It’s even more remarkable that this new project, All Will Be Well, truly feels like the most true and one-for-one representation of the band recorded and released to date. No matter what changes may come for this assemblage of women, their perspective – as a band, as songwriters, as collaborators and peers, as first-rate bluegrass pickers – comes more and more into focus. As a result, All Will Be Well shines, tackling generational and familial trauma, highlighting class and social stratifications, uplifting women, femme folks, and the narratives that touch on their lives, all while welcoming and engaging all of their fans, no matter who they are or how they came to love this music.
Most of all, though, this album is pure fun. Redemptive and forward-looking? Yes. Intricate, detail-oriented, and technically on point? For sure. Cerebral, heartfelt, and emotive? That, too. But is it also down-to-earth, danceable, and rowdy? Oh, of course!
Sister Sadie are a bluegrass band, but they’re so much more. The mantle they take up with their music, recordings, and live performances was perhaps lifted in portions from the shoulders of the Chicks, and Alison Krauss, and Lynn Morris, and Ashley McBryde. These songs would feel equally at home on mainstream country radio or your local, once-a-week bluegrass radio show. As driving and barn-burning as they can be, there are as many moments of tenderness, embodied love, tearful compassion, and boundless empathy – for ourselves and for each other. For every sort of “Goodbye Earl” winking moment there are equal touches of “When You Say Nothing At All” and “I Never Wanted To Be That Girl” and “Wrong Road Again.” Whether soaring, blazing, or slowly smoldering, this band moves in and out of each texture with ease.
As for any/all of the all-women groups that have been born of bluegrass, Sister Sadie could have at any point across their lifespan rested on the perceived “novelty” of being a band comprised of all women pickers, singers, and songwriters. Instead, they know firsthand that the reality for women in roots music is one that requires superlative skills, ardent commitment, and a polish and care often not mandatory for the cis, straight, male bands occupying similar niches. Sister Sadie are diamonds forged by such pressure, though, not just rising up to industry expectations, but exceeding them – while finding self expression, originality, and insight in their work. A novelty group this is not. A “mere” supergroup? Not that, either. This is a band, not just a collection of last names and ampersands.
It’s an obvious, forest-for-the-trees sort of statement, but these women are certainly greater than the sum of their parts. With mandolinist Rainy Miatke, guitarists and singer-songwriters Dani Flowers and Jaelee Roberts, who often split frontwoman and lead singer duties, and bassist Katie Blomarz-Kimball currently filling out the band, Richardson and Britt demonstrate time and time again that there are always more women to call who are qualified and interesting and engaging enough to join the ranks of Sister Sadie. And they clearly haven’t even begun to exhaust those resources.
The central messages of All Will Be Well are incredibly apt and well-timed for this particular social and political moment, as well. It’s striking to find these women, as on “Let the Circle Be Broken,” offering and accepting redemption from themselves and each other, instead of any external force or power. Perhaps, in that truth is where they also find their greatest strengths within the music industry, too.
From their GRAMMY nominations to their many (individual and collective) IBMA Awards, this jaw-dropping band truly does not need any external factor to validate their music, their mission, or their existence. It’s how they started, too, a simple pick-up gig at the Station isn’t a particularly ambitious origin story, it’s even passé. Usual. But, from the outset then, the foundation of Sister Sadie hasn’t been one of ladder climbing, belt notching, or industry achievement. It’s been about expressing themselves, making great music, and having a whole hell of a lot of fun.
It’s no wonder, then, that with an album like All Will Be Well, they continue following in the exact trail they’ve blazed for themselves, being, becoming, or striving to arrive at the best version of Sister Sadie possible in each and every present moment, with whomever they find among their ranks. And, above all else, doing it for their own edification and joy before any other purpose. That’s what makes this band a true supergroup. Sister Sadie knows that All Will Be Well, because they are determined to make that reality so.
We are so proud to have Sister Sadie return for their second stint as Artist of the Month. Enjoy our Essential Sister Sadie Playlist below and read an all-skate interview feature with the entire band here. Plus, we’ll be dipping back into the BGS archives for all of the many times we’ve covered and collaborated with this incredible group. So follow along right here on BGS and on social media as we celebrate Sister Sadie for the entire month of July.
With four lead vocalists, seven studio albums, one GRAMMY Award to their name, and countless fans won over, The SteelDrivers have been one of this century’s most consistent and trailblazing bluegrass bands. That longevity can be credited to three things – the strength of their catalog of all-original songs, their collective precision picking, and the family atmosphere the band has cultivated together since forming in 2005.
Despite not joining forces until then, banjoist Richard Bailey says he’s known bandmates Tammy Rogers (fiddle) and Brent Truitt (mandolin from 2012 to present) since they were teenagers. His first run in with Mike Fleming (bass) and Mike Henderson (mandolin 2007 to 2011) came not long after during a college ski trip, with the group remaining close ever since. In the early 2000s Bailey relocated to Nashville from Memphis and reconnected with Henderson, regularly joining him at the Station Inn during Sunday night bluegrass jams and setting the foundation for what would eventually become The SteelDrivers. Then one day Henderson rang him up and was glowing about a young kid he’d just started writing with named Chris Stapleton who was wanting to play a little bluegrass.
“We eventually got together at his house and nobody knew Chris except for Henderson,” Bailey tells BGS. “We rehearsed a few bluegrass standards and then Chris began singing and Tammy, Mike, and I all looked at each other and went, ‘damn!’ I remember asking if the song he sang was an old Stanley Brothers tune and he said that it was actually one that he wrote.”
By that point, Henderson and Stapleton had already been penning songs together for a few years, with one of their most notable co-writes to that point being “Higher Than The Wall” from Patty Loveless on 2003’s On Your Way Home – a full seven years before The SteelDrivers eventually cut it on 2010’s Reckless. With their songwriting prowess already well established, the band opted to lean all the way in, keeping to the pattern of only recording songs crafted by them. Early on that mostly consisted of songs from Stapleton and Henderson, but has extended to all of the band in the years that followed, with Rogers writing the entirety of 2020’s Bad For You and the band’s newest member, Matt Dame, contributing songs for the first time ever on the group’s latest effort, Outrun.
“Starting with our very first record we determined that we were only going to play original music and we’ve never wavered from that,” explains Rogers. “It’s always been when you come to see The SteelDrivers that you’re not going to hear an updated version of ‘Little Cabin Home On The Hill’ or a modern country song done bluegrass style. There’s nothing wrong with any of that, but the whole point of the band originally was two songwriters coming together – Chris Stapleton and Mike Henderson – and everything else grew around that.”
That persistence of sticking with original material doesn’t only extend to The SteelDrivers recorded catalog, though. As Rogers points out, you’ll also be hard-pressed to hear any covers during the band’s live show. Per Bailey, the only such instance came during their televised Grand Ole Opry debut in 2008 when Charlie Daniels joined them on stage for a sing along to Flatt & Scruggs’ “I’m Gonna Sleep With One Eye Open.”
However, the band has regularly employed and worked with writers outside the group to craft songs centered around what Fleming describes as “uneasy listening music where bad things happen to good people.” This includes the likes of the venerable Verlon Thompson (“Booze And Cigarettes”), George Strait, Martina McBride, and Pam Tillis collaborator Leslie Satcher (“Outrun,” “Bad For You”); and German-born Thomm Jutz (“I Choose You,” “Cut You Down”), with whom Rogers has written over 140 songs (and counting).
“We’re fortunate to have always had wonderful songwriters in the band no matter who the membership was,” clarifies Fleming. “As it’s morphed through different CDs and personnel the strength of the songwriting has never wavered. Our goal has always been to serve the song, no matter who is singing it.”
Regardless of who’s been writing – or singing the songs for that matter – the band’s impeccable storytelling and bluesy grit has never faltered, even when lineup changes shook the band to its core. The first of those came in 2010 when Stapleton left to begin pursuing his solo career – a move that has resulted in him becoming not just one of the most well known country singers, but one of the most renowned vocalists of any genre globally. Henderson followed a year later, with Gary Nichols and Truitt stepping in to fill each of their shoes, respectively.
“I would’ve loved it had Stapleton never left the band – I mean who doesn’t want to be in a band with Chris Stapleton?” Rogers continues, “But when he left we had to make the decision of do we keep going or do we stop, because it wasn’t going to continue the same way that it had before. It wasn’t even a choice to me, though – I wanted to keep playing. To me that was better than no SteelDrivers at all.”
With two of their founding members gone, the band set out to prove they could still create bluegrass bangers and it didn’t take long for their efforts to pay off. Five years into their new look lineup The SteelDrivers won their first GRAMMY Award, taking home the honor for Best Bluegrass Album with The Muscle Shoals Recordings at the Academy’s 58th annual gathering in 2015. According to Rogers, the GRAMMY completely changed the band’s trajectory and continues to have a positive impact over a decade later.
“There’s been a lot of discussion in recent years about the validity of the GRAMMYs, but for us the recognition from the Academy has been a game changer,” states Rogers. “There’s a huge difference between being GRAMMY-nominated and a GRAMMY winner. For us, we were suddenly validated and were able to play bigger shows and venues that wouldn’t have considered or booked us prior to winning.”
In addition to validating their decision to keep pushing on, the band’s success post-Stapleton has also proven that they excel at finding new vocalists with their own distinct styles and vibrant storytelling to fill the void. First it was the funky, bluesy, and soulful sensibilities of Nichols. After him came the rock ‘n’ roll energy and piercing holler of Kelvin Damrell – who Rogers described as “the highest pitched singer of anyone we’ve had in the band.” He’s the only Kentuckian other than Stapleton to ever be in the band and sang lead for over three years – including on 2020’s Bad For You – prior to stepping aside in the summer of 2021.
It was then that the band recruited Matt Dame, solidifying the lineup they still have today. While each of the four singers have their own sounds, Rogers says there’s also plenty of characteristics that tie each of their eras together. “We figured out early on that it’s not about finding someone who sounds like Chris, but finding someone with a soulful, gravely, raspy and bluesy quality and letting them put their own spin on things,” says Rogers. “Aside from looking for those attributes we’ve never asked anyone to sing a certain way. Even though they sound similar, within two seconds of listening to a song I can tell whether it’s Kelvin, Chris, Gary, or Matt singing. They’re all distinct in my mind.”
Arguably even more impressive than the band’s success and consistency in sound through its different chapters has been their knack for continuing to make cutting edge bluegrass music with singers not steeped in bluegrass history with voices that generally “don’t fit” the traditional blueprint. From Stapleton on, the band has gravitated toward gritty blues and southern rock more than anything else. They’re comfortable at the confluence of electric and acoustic sounds, with one foot firmly planted in the past and the other stirring up dust and turning heads as it propels string band music into a completely new dimension.
“Chris Stapleton was not a bluegrass singer,” insists Fleming. “He was more of a blues singer, but the arrangements were always with bluegrass instruments. As a result, our propensity was to go toward playing bluegrass, but we never shied away from a song we thought we might not be able to play. For instance, ‘Midnight Train To Memphis’ from our first album was a bluesy rock ‘n’ roll number that Richard Bailey messed around on with on banjo one day. We have these bluegrass instruments, but we’re not confined to exclusively playing that way as long as we’re serving the song.”
Much like they’ve always served the song, The SteelDrivers’ fans have served them well in return, sticking by their side and continuing to buy tickets and albums through the years as the group has weathered changes in their lineup and sound. It’s led to an unprecedented run of success that Rogers jokingly compared to another bluegrass great.
“It’s almost the Ralph Stanley model,” she jokes. “After Carter [Stanley] passed away he had Larry Sparks, Roy Lee Centers, and Keith Whitley join him. It was a great line of singers that followed, all of whom embodied that Carter Stanley sound. We’ve also had several incredible vocalists with their own styles come through the band that we’ve been able to have success with by honing in on a singular sound together.”
The latest person the band brought in to hone in on that sound, Matt Dame, is a longtime Nashville songwriter and session player who joined in 2021 after a referral by friend and esteemed writer Gary Baker (John Michael Montgomery, Alabama, Lonestar). A couple rehearsals followed and by the end of July he was out on the road playing his first shows with the group. Having worked behind the scenes in the music industry for nearly as long as The SteelDrivers had been around, the move to performing in front of large crowds night in and night out was a big adjustment for Dame, but one he quickly found himself falling in love with.
“You do anything for 15 or 20 years and it becomes your comfort zone,” admits Dame. “I really enjoyed the session world, but it’s a lot different. Now I get a realtime reaction to what I do – there’s no stopping to go live again because you were flat. What I’ve loved most from our shows is the crowd singing the songs back to us, which can really carry you along.”
“There’s never a spot where you lose the audience or feel the need to kick into ‘Wagon Wheel’ to get everyone singing again, because the body of original work is so strong. It stands tall on its own,” he continues. “That speaks more to the power of the song than of any one vocalist, which says a lot because the band has had some incredible singers through the years. I’m just hanging on and trying to put my own spin on things.
“We’re all different, but one way we’re all the same is we all can deliver the songs in our own way that’s very believable. It sounds like somebody’s really living what they’re singing, not just going through the motions.” Even having been on the outside looking in for so long, Dame says that it’s hard to ignore the formidable nature of The SteelDrivers’ songwriting catalog, one that he’s thrilled to finally be a part of on Outrun – the band’s first project on the famed Sun Records (and also the label’s first bluegrass album). The record is his second with the band following 2023’s gospel project, Tougher Than Nails, that saw him only singing and playing guitar. Now, on his second go-round, he integrates himself even further, helping to write the songs “On My Way,” “Emma Lee,” and “Rosanna.”
“It was a really cool feather in my hat to be able to write some songs for this album and getting to do it on Sun Records is like the icing on the cake,” he exclaims. “I’m a huge Elvis fan and growing up in Arkansas listened to Johnny Cash all the time, so my eyes lit up when I heard we’d be their first bluegrass album ever.”
In addition to featuring the co-writes from Dame, Outrun also sees the band paying tribute to Henderson, who died unexpectedly from a pulmonary embolism in September 2023 – mere weeks after the release of Tougher Than Nails – with cuts of his songs “Prisoner’s Tears” and “Painted And Poison.” Although he hadn’t played with The SteelDrivers since 2011, his loss shook the band, which Rogers calls him the architect of, along with the entire bluegrass and country worlds.
“We knew we wanted to honor him in some way, which is what kickstarted talks for this new record and led to our shortest cycle between records yet,” confides Rogers. “In addition to recording two of his songs on it we’re also planning to have a slideshow commemorating him and 20 years of the band on some of our tour dates later this year.”
It’s tough enough to survive as a band for two decades when everything is going right, so it speaks volumes for The SteelDrivers making it as long as they have with all the obstacles that have gotten in their way. At the same time, the group’s unrivaled level of talent – both on their respective instruments and with their insatiable songwriting – have more than cemented their place in the bluegrass and American roots music zeitgeist for generations to come. For Dame, it’s a legacy that’s equally intimidating and exciting to be a part of.
“Professionally I’ve grown, because I’m doing something that’s new to me, but also because I’m doing it surrounded by a band where everybody does their parts with excellence,” he reflects. “If you don’t carry your weight it’s really going to be noticeable, which has pushed me to be better with everything that I bring to the group.”
Volume 4 is a beginning and end for Kieran Kane & Rayna Gellert. It’s a beginning in that it’s the duo’s newest release, which means new songs, a new tour cycle, and a new round of interviews. It’s an end – “the end of an era,” as they put it – for Dead Reckoning Records, the label Kane and his bandmates in The Dead Reckoners launched 30 years ago. The independent venture grabbed the attention of other artists whose recordings they released, in addition to The Dead Reckoners’ first and only album, A Night of Reckoning, and the band members’ various other projects.
“Over the 30 years, [The Dead Reckoners] drifted into their own worlds, their own lanes,” says Kane. “Tammy Rogers and the late Mike Henderson started doing The SteelDrivers, Harry Stinson has been with Marty Stuart for years, and Kevin Welch is in Australia. For a long time, I was just putting out my solo records on the label, and then Rayna and I put our records out.
“30 years seemed like a nice, round, anniversary number to give everybody their work back, their masters back, and dissolve the company. It’s been great. I’m quite proud of the work we’ve done over the years and that it’s still a functioning label. We’ve managed to survive all kinds of digital flare-ups and breakthroughs and ways of sharing music. The company makes a little bit of money every year, but it seemed like, ‘Yeah, let’s call it a day.’ I called everyone and everybody was like, ‘That’s fine.’”
Bringing Dead Reckoning Records full circle is sweet rather than bittersweet, says Kane, “in that the label was started by an album of mine [Dead Rekoning, 1995] and thirty years later, on the same date [April 11], we released Volume 4. To me, it serves as bookends for the label.”
Gellert and Kane met at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in San Francisco. Their first collaboration was co-writing for Kane’s Unguarded Moments [2016] and Gellert’s Workin’s Too Hard [2017]. The following year, they released their first duo album, The Ledges, followed by When The Sun Goes Down [2019], and The Flowers That Bloom In Spring [2022]. This year brings Volume 4, which they produced, recorded, and mixed, with Kane on vocals and guitars, Gellert on vocals, guitar, and fiddle, and Kane’s son Lucas on drums.
I thought we’d start by introducing you to readers, but instead of telling us about yourselves, tell us about each other.
Rayna Gellert: Kieran is a multi-instrumentalist and songwriter with a long, awesome career doing all kinds of musical things ever since he was a child. The thing that other musicians immediately say about him is they comment on his sense of groove that seems to be a through line in his musical output. And he’s awesome. He’s the funnest person to write and perform with.
Kieran Kane: Musically, we are so much on the same path, and have been on the same path, for both our individual lines. But out of all the people that I’ve ever worked with, Rayna, in the same way she talks about groove when talking about me, I would have to say the same thing about her, in that it’s just so … I want to say reliable, and that sounds sort of pedestrian, but it is.
It’s like having a drummer and a bass player playing the fiddle, in that the pockets and the grooves are so strong and well established that I can drift away and they’re just there. And it’s all been unusually compatible in writing and playing and performing. We genuinely enjoy doing what we do together. It’s a lot of fun, and it’s creatively fulfilling, and all those things.
Rayna, in an interview with WYSO you mentioned there are differences in your songwriting processes. Could you tell us about those differences and how they work as a duo?
RG: Kieran’s the first person I’ve consistently co-written with. I mostly wrote on my own. I occasionally noodled around with a friend on something, but I had no consistent co-writer. I was very much a newbie to actual co-writing when Kieran and I started writing together.
He approaches songwriting from a completely different angle than I do and that makes it extra fun and adventurous. I’ve always started with some bit of lyric and melody that come at the same time together and I go from there. Kieran usually starts with some kind of instrumental riff that becomes the seed of a structure of something. Lyrics come later for him.
The combination of the way we come at a song is very compatible because it’s different. We bring different strengths to the table. I tend to be super verbose when it comes to lyrics. I spill a lot of stuff out, and he’s a great editor. He is really good at finding the key phrases, figuring out the hook, and creating a structure around that.
My background is in old-time music, so the idea of a long ballad where there’s no chorus and it’s just inspiration that goes on and on and on is totally normal to me. For Kieran, it’s like, “What’s the hook? What’s the chorus? What’s the instrumental riff that’s going to tie the thing together?” And it works together very well.
KK: I agree with that. A lot of times what I’m hearing, along with a song, is a record. So much of what we do is based on an intro, in a way, or, as she said, a little musical hook that’ll tie things down. I’ve almost never sat down with an idea about a song. It’s more like I sit down and start playing banjo or mandolin or guitar until something catches my ear and then a lyric will be a free association to get started.
With us, that’s true to some extent, as well. A lot of times we don’t know what the song is going to be about until we wade into the waters and go, “Oh, it could be this.” It seems to work. Whatever the two different approaches are, it comes together.
How is Volume 4 the next step in your journey? You’ve talked about the songwriting process. When it’s time to record, do the arrangements happen organically?
RG: His view of the song tends to be a little more zoomed out than mine. What he’s saying … he is not just thinking about the song, he’s thinking about the record – I think that’s about arrangement. That’s about, “How are the pieces fitting together here?” It does evolve organically. We always have to decide, “What’s the instrumentation? What feels right for this? Am I playing guitar? Am I playing fiddle?” If he comes up with a riff on an instrument, usually it stays on that instrument. But we’re working with so few pieces that we make a lot of use of space, because that’s one of the biggest colors in our palette.
KK: A way for us to build things in terms of arrangements often – since, as Rayna said, there’s so few pieces – is to eliminate something, like, “We’ll drop out here, which will bring the song down,” because if we start off with the two of us singing and playing at the same time, there’s no place to go, other than to start removing things.
As I’m saying this, I realize that my mission, if there is such a thing, in writing and making records has always been about removing things, making it simpler, and cutting off all the fat, anything that’s unnecessary.
RG: One of the things that’s different about this project is, in a way, we approached the whole album sort of like we would approach a song, as in letting it be what it wanted to be.
On past albums, we approached it more like we were writing a set list for a show, where it’s, “Have we included different instrumentation? Do we have a balance of lead singers? Do we have uptempo and downtempo?” This album is structured more like the way we write a song, which is, “What does this want to be?” Regardless of instrumentation, regardless of who’s singing, regardless of whether we wrote the songs. It evolved into this little sonic package that feels like you go in there and it’s a room you hang out in for the length of the album. To me, that’s a different experience than our past records.
KK: I’ve never thought of it like that. Yeah. We’ve been writing a lot. We wrote three albums, I did an EP that we had written a couple of songs for, and Rayna did an EP that I helped out on a couple of songs and produced. So we’ve done a lot of work in the last eight years, or however it is, that we’ve been doing this. Before Volume 4, there were three albums and two EPs, which is a lot more work than I’ve ever done in that amount of time.
This record, to me, was a little bit more of a grab-back in a way. Rayna was talking about wanting to do a fiddle album at some point and I was like, “Let’s play more fiddle tunes.” So we did that and pulled some older songs that were, as Rayna was saying, “Let’s just do it.” In my mind, it’s almost cleansing in a way to have taken this “just let it be what it wants to be” approach. Now we can move on to something else … and I don’t know what that is.
Tell us about the recording process and gear choices on this album.
RG: We have a very simple home recording setup that we’ve refined over the years. We got some good mics that we like a lot a couple years ago, Soyuz mics. We use those for everything, for instruments and vocals, the same mics. We have four of those. We have a Zoom R16 board that we can either record directly onto or use as an input into Logic for recording. It’s a very mobile rig. We spend our summers in the Adirondacks at a cabin and we do a lot of recording when we’re up there. Some of this album was recorded there and some of it was recorded here in Nashville, in our house. We can take the board with us and do a nice, clean, digital field recording.
KK: It’s a wonderful piece of gear and shockingly inexpensive. As far as instruments and things like that, this record is a departure for me in terms of guitars, because I’ve basically used the same Guild M-20 on every record and every show I’ve done with Rayna, and before that for the last twenty-five years. For some reason, on this record, I picked up a couple of different guitars that I’ve had lying around the house for years. It was like, “Let me try this song on this guitar. Oh, that’s fun.” Whether or not I would do that again, I don’t know, because the guitar I’ve used all those years I love and it’s so reliable.
There’s three different acoustic guitars for me on this record. One is a Martin 00-16 classic, an early-’60s gut-string guitar that I played on “Keep My Heart in Mind.” The other is an early-’60s D-28 that I played on “The Mansion Above.” The other guitar songs are all on the Guild M-20. Rayna played the same guitar that she’s been using, an early D-28.
Last year, I was listening to a lot of ’60s folk music. I was listening to Gordon Lightfoot, Ian & Sylvia, Bob Dylan, and things like that, and hearing these really simple guitars where there’s no real guitar solos or anything like that. “I Can’t Wait” fits into that mold – as does “Keep My Heart in Mind,” and “Imagine That” – in that there’s no solos, but there’s a repetitive musical vein that goes through it all. It’s just two people playing guitars and singing. It’s that simple, which is something that really appeals to me.
Is it accurate to say there’s a connecting thread of faith in some of these songs?
KK: Yeah, I think that maybe is a thread through it.
RG: Not from that specific angle, but we definitely talked about hoping that people, in listening to the album, felt comforted.
KK: “I Can’t Wait,” to me, is very much is about faith – not in a religious way, but in a general sense of hope. As bad as things are right now, I remain hopeful and I keep looking towards the light. I’m aware of the dark, profoundly aware of the dark, but I don’t think that’s the end. I think there’s light as well and there’ll be more light as time goes by.
There are a couple of songs, specifically “Whatcha Gonna Do About It” and “Short Con,” that people could easily interpret as political – and they are. There’s no doubt about that. “Short Con” we look at as written from the standpoint of the Constitution. It’s like, “Why don’t you believe in me now?” There are other songs we have that certainly people have told us, “We’re not interested in your political views.” There’s a few floating around that just turn out … it’s not like we sit down and try and write about politics, or faith, for that matter. It’s just where our mental space is at the time.
You can look at these new songs as being political, but we’ve started thinking about them as being patriotic. It’s patriotic to stand up and say, “No, you can’t do that. You can’t just pull someone out of their car and throw them in a jail in El Salvador or whatever.” That’s not a political statement to me and I think for us at this point, as much as it is a patriotic statement, it’s our duty as citizens to say something. We’re given that right and we’re taking advantage of it.
And then something like “The Mansion Above,” which I wrote fifty years ago, somehow fits in there. There is a thread between those songs. So yeah, I think to see a line through of faith is good.
You’ve mentioned before that you’re doing what you call “three-day-weekend touring.” What are your upcoming “weekend” plans?
RG: Our approach to touring is very chill. We do two or three dates in a row, sometimes just one-offs. That’s our usual mode. I think the most we’ve ever done in a row is four dates. It’s all compact and it’s all about being humane and kind to ourselves.
KK: We have a good time. We have a comfortable car, I do all the driving and Rayna does all the navigating and mans the phone. I like to get onstage and play, but I don’t think either one of us wants to go, “Let’s book a month.” I look at other people’s schedules sometimes and go, “I remember doing things like that,” but I wouldn’t want to do it again.
We are gentle on ourselves. Our performances– we’ve cut that down in the sense that we don’t use any monitors onstage. We sit as close as humanly possible together and still be able to move the instruments around. Sound people really like us because sound people hate monitors. You say, “No monitors,” they rejoice. Doing it that way, if a soundcheck takes more than 15 minutes, we’re in trouble. Two instrument mics, two vocal mics, no monitors. “Can you hear us? Great. We’re done.” It makes life simpler.
RG: So yes, we do have gigs. There’s some stuff for the summer that will be posted on our website and I’m working on fall right now.
Circles have played a huge role in fiddler and singer Morgan Toney‘s life thus far: from drum circles, to talking circles, to the Earth itself (a circle!). In our Basic Folk conversation, Morgan talks about his L’nu (also known as Mi’kmaq) heritage and growing up on what’s now called Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, where his ancestors have lived since time immemorial. He elaborates on the significance of the terms ‘Mi’kmaq’ and ‘Nu,’ explaining the shift in terminology among his people. As a teenager, he discovered his Indigenous heritage and cultural roots from his elders after he moved to Wagmatcook (a First Nations reserve) and learned about how the power of music could shape his life. He shares the story of first hearing Phil Collins at his uncle’s house after school, which inspired him to take up the drums. He soon discovered First Nations drumming by directly learning the songs from elders in talking circles. Morgan also talks about his transition from a shy teenager to a confident musician deeply immersed in both Mi’kmaq and Celtic musical traditions, creating a unique fusion which Morgan calls “Mi’kmaltic.”
We also talk about Morgan’s emotional connection to his community and the importance of music in rediscovering and celebrating his Indigenous heritage. He recounts how his exposure to traditional Mi’kmaq songs and ceremonies as a teenager was a transformative experience that reignited his cultural pride. In music and in our conversation Morgan pays homage to his family members, especially his elders, who played pivotal roles in nurturing his musical talents and helping him embrace his cultural identity. Finally, Morgan reflects on his musical collaborations, including his close partnership with producer Keith Mullins, and the creation of his new album, Heal The Divide. He further explains the innovative process of blending Mi’kmaq and Celtic musical elements, the album’s thematic focus on community and healing, and his aspirations to inspire the younger generation of his community. This was truly an inspiring conversation exploring the intersections of culture, history, and music with a very special musician!
Photo Credit: John Butler
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