Tag: Folk

BGS Top Moments of 2018

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Ah, to truly live in the moment. These past twelve months often felt like myriad moments were perpetually fighting for our attention all at the same… moment. So at those junctures that did allow — or perhaps they mandated or beseeched or coaxed or compelled — us to take pause and truly be present, we found some of our favorite musical landmarks of the year, each one unified by their arresting message: Stop. Inhabit this moment. You’ll be glad you did.

Mandy Barnett Refreshes “The Fool”
A versatile vocalist who’s mostly known in classic country circles, Mandy Barnett made her newest album in Muscle Shoals, trading out the Nashville Sound for a slow-burn vibe that works particularly well on “The Fool.” This cool Lee Hazlewood/Naomi Ford tune has been kicking around since the late ‘50s when Sanford Clark gave it a rockabilly whirl. Since then it’s been covered by stylists such as Don Gibson, Robert Gordon with Link Ray, Elvis Presley, and Mac Wiseman – and like these guys, Barnett’s persuasive phrasing gives a sizzling guitar riff a run for its money. — Craig Shelburne

Mary Gauthier Joins Forces Against an Empathy Crisis

After decades upon decades of structural and systemic discrimination against LGBTQ+ service members in the U.S. armed forces, it might surprise one to encounter a queer, progressive singer-songwriter like Mary Gauthier releasing such a project as Rifles & Rosary Beads — an album populated entirely by songs crafted and co-written by military veterans and Gauthier herself. These songs are as harrowing as they are illuminating. And heartbreaking. And devastating. The beautiful, raw humanity exposed herein was captured simply by sitting across from another human being, no matter who they may be, and allowing oneself to see the other, and be seen. “The way I know how to create empathy is through song,” Gauthier describes in our Shout & Shine Q&A from early 2018. “Not preachy songs, not songs that tell people what to think, but songs that tell the story of what people are going through, so that we can see inside and know how they feel.” Clearly, Gauthier’s own life experiences — and the empathy (or, at times, lack thereof) she has experienced throughout — have enabled her to be a voice and a vessel for the tantamount importance of these soldiers, these stories, and these songs. — Justin Hiltner

Dead Horses Give “Turntable” a Surprising Spin
During this year’s AmericanaFest, I opted to go see only the bands I’d never heard of. Fortunately for me, that included Dead Horses, a Wisconsin band that caught me off-guard with their striking vocal blend and deep songwriting. Sarah Vos interprets a tumultuous upbringing in a way that even a stranger can relate to. At her side is upright bass player Daniel Wolff, propelling the set along with a steady beat. One of their standout songs, “Turntable,” already had millions of spins on Spotify, but it still felt like a discovery to me. That night also served as a polite reminder to check out the newcomers, because you never know. — Craig Shelburne

Bobbie Gentry Bridges the Generations
Bobbie Gentry’s entire catalog — eight albums in just four years — was remastered and repackaged in what may be the best reissue of 2018. The Girl from Chickasaw County spans 1967 breakthrough Ode to Billie Joe to her 1971 swan song Patchwork, each album transporting you to the fondly remembered South of Gentry’s childhood. She doesn’t just sing about growing up in rural Mississippi; she makes music that conjures up the people and the place, the humidity and the fried food, the mosquitos and the music. It’s a sprawling that presents her as a true visionary, one who used pop and country music to craft a world of her own even when the real world — and the music industry in particular — didn’t know what to do with her. — Stephen Deusner

Hawktail Goes With the Flow
It was a strong year for instrumental string band music, with projects as daring as The Hit Points (see below), which arranged classic video game music for a bluegrass ensemble, and as intimate as Simon Chrisman and Wes Corbett’s banjo/dulcimer music. But nobody brought more of today’s top talent and compositional intelligence together than Hawktail. Established as a trio with fiddler Brittany Haas, guitarist Jordan Tice, and bassist Paul Kowert, the friends brought in mandolinist Dominick Leslie to round out both the rhythmic structure and the improvisational daring of the band. The all-original album, Unless, is more about a flowing ensemble sound than a jam showcase, but the picking is state of the art. Recorded in the grandeur of Nashville’s historic Downtown Presbyterian Church, the album meditates and celebrates in equal measure. — Craig Havighurst

The Hit Points Get in the Game
The Hit Points, an ensemble of like-minded bluegrass virtuosos and video game music nerds, built themselves an album concept that, despite possibly being the most counter-intuitive vision for a record, ended up not only being aurally, aesthetically, and mentally astounding, it actually just works. Flawlessly. Fiddler Eli Bishop and banjoist Matt Menefee assembled a group of friends that would be up for the sometimes mind-numbing task of translating video game music from across the eras and consoles into bits and pieces and parts playable by a bluegrass band, bringing in bassist Royal Masat, mandolinist Sierra Hull, and engineer/guitarist Jake Stargel, among others, to deliver us a perfect nostalgia mash-up of bluegrass’ fiery, impeccable picking with the most iconic and familiar video game themes of the past couple of decades. Against the odds and intuition, it’s a truly stunning testament to the beautiful nerdy minds of bluegrass pickers and their common belief that there is no such thing as “biting off more than one can chew.” — Justin Hiltner

Kathy Mattea Rediscovers Her Voice
For the last few years, Kathy Mattea felt worried that her singing voice had essentially abandoned her. However, with medical guidance and patience, her warm alto returned. And it’s worth a nod to Pretty Bird producer Tim O’Brien, who knew how to make it shine. The folk-focused album offers beautiful songs like Dougie McLean’s “This Love Will Carry” and Mary Gauthier’s “Mercy Now,” while the Wood Brothers’ “Chocolate on My Tongue” brings a sweet perspective to looking for the meaning of life. Closing out the album, her reverential reading of Hazel & Alice’s “Pretty Bird” illuminates Mattea’s rediscovered voice with quiet power. –Craig Shelburne

Michigan Rattlers Deliver a Strong Debut
After hearing one track by Michigan Rattlers a year ago, I wondered when more music would be coming – because it gave me the same feeling as when I listened to Reckless Kelly and Turnpike Troubadours for the first time. This Midwestern band’s debut album, Evergreen, arrived in September, and proved to be a consistently compelling and well-written project. Guitarist Graham Young has just a hint of sadness in his voice, although Evergreen is by no means a sad record. With Adam Reed on upright bass and Christian Wilder on piano, the music falls somewhere between a bar band and a songwriter night, which is right where I live. Check out “Didn’t You Know” and “Baseball” for starters. — Craig Shelburne

Ricky Skaggs Shows ‘Em How It’s Done
A new member of the Bluegrass, Country, and National Fiddle Halls of Fame this year, Ricky Skaggs has been recovering from shoulder problems, but you wouldn’t know it from this fantastic performance — three songs performed with three bands, including his own Kentucky Thunder. Recapping a rich — and ongoing! — career, the medley featured several generations of musicians, from old band members like Bruce Bouton (pedal steel guitar) to guitar-picking country superstars (Keith Urban, Brad Paisley) to bluegrassers like Sierra Hull and teenaged fiddler Carson Peters. If the best lessons are taught by example rather than lecture, this one was a graduate level course. – Jon Weisberger

Chris Thile Establishes a New Radio Classic
It’s been two and a half years since mandolin virtuoso Chris Thile took the helm of the long-running public radio show A Prairie Home Companion. But it’s been a year since he fully made it his own, rechristening the program as Live From Here. In these twelve months, Thile’s show has become a powerhouse music showcase for acoustic music and far beyond: a place where St Vincent or Vulfpeck can play the same stage as I’m With Her, Brandi Carlile, and Jeff Tweedy. The host himself churns out a brand new song for each episode (an impressive feat in itself), and surrounds himself with a house band and writing staff that’s a who’s who of modern roots: Chris Eldridge, Sarah Jarosz, Joey Ryan, Brittany Haas, amongst others. It’s as if he’s been doing such a show forever, and something we can only hope will continue long into the future. –Amy Reitnouer Jacobs

Colter Wall Captures the Prairie Wilderness
Of course country music isn’t limited to the American South, but it’s been so well established in that specific locale it sometimes feels as if anything else needs an asterisk. Canadian singer-songwriter Colter Wall sets about erasing that mark with his sophomore album, Songs of the Plains. Telling tales about truck drivers, cowboys, and blue collar types at the mercy of automation, Wall uses traditional country influences to sing of his prairie homeland. Working with Nashville’s Dave Cobb, he blends an array of original songs and covers, each of which provides a formidable stage for his voice. Wall’s baritone growl feels like a barroom throwback, the kind of sound you stumble across at dusk when the jukebox finally falls silent and the guy keeping to himself in the corner finally opens his mouth. I put this on when I want to actually feel Canada’s vast prairie wilderness, and think about the ever-widening world of country music. — Amanda Wicks

The War and Treaty Share Their Love Story
In 2010 Tanya Blount and Michael Trotter fell in love after performing, separately, at a Maryland event known as, yes, the Love Festival. In 2018 many fell in love with the Michigan-based duo, now known as the War and Treaty, with the release of their Buddy Miller-produced debut album, The Healing Tide, and even more so from their concerts. Their boundless joy alone is irresistible, but the songs and performances are elevating. “I’m singing with my wife, songs I wrote for us, and we’re on the road helping bridge humanity in our way,” Michael said in an August BGS profile, Tanya adding, “This project is an act of love.” – Steve Hochman

BGS Top Albums of 2018

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This year, as we revisit the albums that resonated with each of us, we may not find a tidy, overarching message. However, the diversity herein — of style, content, aesthetic, format, genre, perspective, and background — demonstrates that our strength as a musical community, or zoomed-out even further, simply as humans, indeed comes from our differences. To us, these 10 albums are testaments to the beauty, inspiration, and perseverance we found in 2018.

Rayland Baxter, Wide Awake
His career-launching musical epiphanies happened on a retreat in Israel some years ago, so Rayland Baxter’s decision to isolate himself in a contemplative space to write Wide Awake had precedent. The venue this time was an abandoned rubber band factory in rural Kentucky where a friend was installing a new recording studio. In that quiet, Baxter wrote songs about the noisy world beyond the cornfields, with perspective on its tenderness and absurdity. Later in the studio, his posse set the deft verses to enveloping, neo-psychedelic, Americana rock. Social commentary doesn’t have to plod, as the Beatles proved, and Baxter is farming similar terrain with vibrant melodies, saucy beats and a voice that’s entirely his own. – Craig Havighurst

The Dead Tongues, Unsung Passage
I didn’t expect The Dead Tongues (aka Ryan Gustafson, guitarist for Hiss Golden Messenger and Phil Cook) to be my most-listened-to record of the year. But Unsung Passage is an album I find myself returning to again and again. The ten songs form a sort of travelogue for Gustafson, and you can hear the influences and rhythms of other cultures drifting throughout. It’s the rare record that’s both comforting and complex. –Amy Reitnouer Jacobs

Del McCoury Band, Del McCoury Still Sings Bluegrass
Named after his debut record, which was released fifty years prior, Del McCoury Still Sings Bluegrass seems like a painfully obvious, on the nose title for a record, but upon deeper inspection we realize that, because the album was built on his signature ear for songs and his unfaltering trust in his own taste, it is an immediately digestible statement of McCoury’s worldview. At this point in his long, diverse, uniquely successful career, most listeners would give Del a bluegrass authenticity “hall pass,” letting the more innovative, less bluegrass-normative moments herein by without a blink, but Del, from the outset, avoids letting himself fall into that paradigm. He chooses songs because, well, he likes them, and he doesn’t concern himself with what is or isn’t bluegrass, he just creates music that he enjoys to make with people he enjoys making it with. It’s a simple approach that may border on simplistic, but the result is a resoundingly bluegrass album that doesn’t concern itself with the validity of that genre designation at all. Which, after all, is bluegrass to a T. — Justin Hiltner

Jason Eady, I Travel On

Jason Eady, I Travel On
A fixture on the Texas touring scene, Jason Eady offered his most satisfying album yet with I Travel On. First off, he enlisted Rob Ickes and Trey Hensley for these sessions, giving the project a bluegrass groove with plenty of cool Dobro licks and guitar runs. Second, Eady wrote from the perspective of a man with some miles on him – the album title isn’t a coincidence, after all. His expressive country baritone is made for slice-of-life story songs like “Calaveras County” and “She Had to Run.” At other times, Eady looks inward, drawing on themes like mortality, gratitude and contentment. I Travel On may not be the most obvious album for a road trip but it’s certainly a worthwhile one. – Craig Shelburne

Erin Rae, Putting on Airs
Her velvety, maternal vocals and the subtle, understated alt-folk production vibes of Erin Rae’s Putting on Airs might initially disguise the millennial-reckoning being wrought through these songs and their topics; from top to bottom Rae’s brand, her musical identity, defies comparisons with any one era of music making and songwriting. Her talent oozes through her writing, her melodic hooks, and her musical and rhetorical fascinations, which together in this song sequence feel like they epitomize a microcosm that contains all of our generation’s — and this particular historical moment’s — angst, but without feeling simply capitalistic, opportunistic, or “on trend.” Instead, her viewpoint is decidedly personal, giving us a window into her own individual reckonings — with her own identity, with mental health, with family relationships, with being a young southerner in this modern era; the list is potentially endless, determined only by each listener’s willingness to curl up inside these songs and reckon along with Rae. Which is the recommended Putting on Airs listening strategy espoused by this writer. — Justin Hiltner

High Fidelity, Hills And Home
It’s in the nature of bluegrass to forever be casting backward looks at the giants of the music’s early years; nothing wrong with that, but when those who do it get aggressive about how they’re playing “real” bluegrass, well, that’s another story. High Fidelity’s eyes are firmly fixed on the musical past, but they’re also a modern, mixed-gender band who aren’t afraid to let their music do the talking — and what it says is that there’s a lot more variety, not to mention pure joy, in the under-appreciated gems of old than you might think. – Jon Weisberger

Angelique Kidjo, Remain in Light
It’s not simply a remake of the Talking Heads’ 1980 landmark, but a stunning reimagining by the visionary Benin-born artist Kidjo. She doesn’t merely repatriate (er, rematriate) the African influences that fueled TH’s revolutionary stream-of-consciousness masterpiece — which opened the door for many to discover the wealth of those inspirations — she considers and explores the worlds that have emerged in African music in the time since, all brought together via her singular talents and sensibilities. Remain in Light was arguably the album of the year for ’80, and so it may be again for ’18. – Steve Hochman

John Prine, The Tree of Forgiveness
No album this year brought me as much pure joy as John Prine’s latest. His first collection of new material in over a decade —which is way too long — The Tree of Forgiveness shows him in fine form, tossing out clever phrases and humorous asides that add to, rather than distract from, the low-level sadness thrumming through these songs. From the Buddy Holly bop of “I Have Met My Love Today” to the percolating existentialism of “Lonesome Friends of Science,” from the rapscallion reminiscences of “Egg & Daughter Nite, Lincoln, Nebraska, 1967 (Crazy Bone)” to the almost unbearable heartache of “Summer’s End,” every line and every word sounds purposeful and poignant, culminating with “When I Get to Heaven.” Prine sings about nine-mile-long cigarettes and bars filled with everyone you’ve ever loved, and it’s one of the most inviting visions of the afterlife set to tape. I hope he’ll save me a barstool. – Stephen Deusner

Jeff Tweedy, WARM
The album lives up to its name. Following last year’s quieter Together at Last project, Tweedy now hearkens back to his country punk roots from Uncle Tupelo, and makes a perfect accompaniment to his must-read autobiography, Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back). The new music reminds of his strength as a master songwriter and his place as one of the most tender and raw performers of a generation. It might have almost slid under the radar with its release at the end of November, but it definitely belongs on our year-end list. — Chris Jacobs

Marlon Williams, Make Way for Love
Mere seconds into hearing Marlon Williams croon the opening greeting of his song “Hello Miss Lonesome” in 2016, I knew I’d found a euphoric talent. After poring over his debut Dark Child, my greedy ears immediately wanted more, and this year finally brought that much-awaited second helping. On Make Way for Love, Williams moves away from the rootsy Americana that defined his first album, and leans into darker, baroque explorations that nod to Scott Walker and Roy Orbison in equal measure. Exploring heartbreak — from the puerile but pacing “Party Boy,” to the seething “I Know a Jeweller,” to the pitious “Love is a Terrible Thing”— Williams dips into the jagged crevices that naturally appear when the heart cracks wide open. – Amanda Wicks

 

BGS Top Songs of 2018

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Here at the Bluegrass Situation, we’re always eager to hear a new song. This year it’s likely that thousands of them drifted by, each with their own charms. Yet, rather than ranking our favorites, we decided simply to pick 10 tunes that grabbed our attention — listed here in alphabetical order. Take a look.

Rachel Baiman, “Tent City” 
Written with long, tongue-twisting lines and a laconic melody reminiscent of John Hartford’s “Gentle on My Mind,” “Tent City” replaces the former’s voluntary rambler and train yard denizen with a man down on his luck and reflecting on the ease of his descent into homelessness. It’s a strong song, elevated to greatness through spirited, flawlessly idiomatic performances by Baiman and her specially-assembled posse: Justin Hiltner (banjo), Shelby Means (bass), Tristan Scroggins (mandolin) and Molly Tuttle (guitar). “Tent City” isn’t bluegrass-flavored social commentary, it’s a socially conscious and thoroughly bluegrass song. –Jon Weisberger

Birdtalker, “Be Where You Are”
Nashville’s Birdtalker took flight when husband and wife Zack and Dani Green started writing songs more for enjoyment than with career plans. But they’ve got a career now as a breakout band with an intuitive, joyful flavor of folk rock that brings listeners into a comforting fold. “Be Where You Are” is a lushly arranged meditation on staying in the moment, a rebuke to both brooding nostalgia or anxious speculation, not to mention the great screen hole. From getting the reverb just right on the opening guitar figures to the juicy intervals in the vocal harmonies, this is among the most enchanting and centering tracks of the year. –Craig Havighurst

I’m With Her, “Hannah Hunt”
It’s been a big year for I’m With Her, the supergroup comprised of Sara Watkins, Sara Jarosz, and Aoife O’Donovan. Their album was an expert blend of harmonies and modern roots craftsmanship, but it’s this single (recorded at Spotify Studios) that takes their art to a whole other level. Their cover of “Hannah Hunt” will make you forget that the original Vampire Weekend version ever existed. —Amy Reitnouer Jacobs

Loretta Lynn, “I’m Dying for Someone to Live For”
Loretta Lynn and co-writer Shawn Camp go straight to the heartache on “I’m Dying for Someone to Live For,” a highlight of Lynn’s Grammy-nominated album, Wouldn’t It Be Great. By now, the lonesome whippoorwills and the weeping willows in these lyrics are as entrenched in country music history as the Coal Miner’s Daughter herself. Contributing to the pedigree: Lynn recorded the album in Johnny Cash’s former cabin, with John Carter Cash and Loretta’s daughter, Patsy Lynn Russell, handling production. For those days when nothing but a sad country song will do, you can still count on Loretta Lynn. –Craig Shelburne

John Prine, “Summer’s End”
At 72, John Prine is churning out some of the best work of his already genius-level career. Of all the tracks from The Tree of Forgiveness, however, “Summers End” is Pure Prine Perfection. It’ll make you laugh, then cry, then want to listen to it all over again. –Amy Reitnouer Jacobs

Missy Raines, “Swept Away”
Raines and producer/banjoist Alison Brown brought in the strong-women-of-bluegrass cavalry as the backing band for 2018’s International Bluegrass Music Association Song of the Year, showcasing each woman who was first to win in her respective instrumentalist category at IBMA: Becky Buller, Molly Tuttle, Sierra Hull, and Raines and Brown themselves. Still, the song itself supersedes its virtuosic, socially-important trappings. Written and first recorded by bluegrass legend Laurie Lewis, “Swept Away” is a stunning reminder of Lewis’ artistic ingenuity, constantly creating music that all at once sounds unfathomably brand new and comfortingly timeless. Raines tipping her hat to Lewis, in this context, and then to each of her fellow first-women-to-win, is the cherry-on-top of a song that will always be a testament to the amazing women of bluegrass, in whatever form it may take. –Justin Hiltner

Moira Smiley, “Refugee”
Smiley wasn’t merely inspired by news reports to write “Refugee,” a highlight of her sparkling Unzip the Horizon album. The Vermont native drew on her global interactions with people and cultures shaped by migration and refugee experiences — particularly her experiences in refugee camps in Europe as a volunteer with the Expressive Arts Refuge organization. She even enlisted refugee residents of the so-called Calais Jungle and referenced music of medieval expulsions. “So here we are again, in a different, but related era of diaspora,” she told BGS in March. “What can we learn from the past? How can we be compassionate to each other as these big forces are hurting our brothers and sisters?” –Steve Hochman

Stick in the Wheel, “Follow Them True”
This London band may be one of the unruliest acts in the contemporary English folk scene, finding inspiration in centuries-old work songs that speak to present-day issues of class and marrying acoustic instruments with dance production techniques. Perhaps their boldest move yet is the title track to their second album: “Follow Them True” is a new song that sounds old, with a lilting, quietly majestic melody and a set of lyrics that might serve as the band’s mission statement. But it’s less about what Nicola Kearey sings and more about the way she sings it. She filters her voice through an effects pedal that she manipulates in real time, twisting and bending her voice as though the song is echoing across hundreds of years. The effect is both old and new, conjuring the past to point toward the future. –Stephen Deusner

Aaron Lee Tasjan, “If Not Now When”
I saw ALT perform previews of the songs that ultimately came out on Karma For Cheap at Nashville’s Basement East and didn’t realize how much I needed these weird guitar riffs. Led by “If Not Now When,” the recorded version of this album doesn’t disappoint. Tasjan steps away from his more countrified roots and takes it in a more cosmic, gritty direction and the results are glorious. –Chris Jacobs

Anna Vaus, “The Ground”
The first winner of the Miranda Lambert Creative Fund—which the singer-songwriter created to support women in the arts—Anna Vaus promised to be a formidable songwriter. After all, if she garnered Lady Lambert’s approval, she must have a way with words. Vaus’ debut California Kid showcases her exacting lyrical prowess, leaning into honest moments that aren’t exactly pretty, but she saves her best for last. Closing song “The Ground” opens with ponderous guitar while Vaus’ voice stretches her major moment of self-reflection taut. Laden with grace, she lays bare her penchant for messing up a good thing. “Love sure feels like flying on the way down,” she sings, twisting the final moment with a guitar riff that underscores the weight of her realization. “It ain’t the fall that hurts, it’s the ground.” –Amanda Wicks

MIXTAPE: Jonathan Byrd’s Songwriters That Bluegrass Fans Will Love

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Bluegrass is known for hair-raising instrumentals, traditional gospel songs, and harmony singing. People who play bluegrass work hard on their performance and often don’t have the time or skill set to write new songs. However, great original material can set an act apart. Fortunately, we are in a golden age of songwriting. Who is today’s John Hartford or Hazel Dickens? Who is writing music that works in a bluegrass setting and speaks to its audience? Allow me to introduce you to a few songwriters I’ve met at festivals and conferences who have great songs that bluegrass bands, and bluegrass fans, will love. — Jonathan Byrd

“When I Find All of You” – J Wagner

Every J Wagner song is a bluegrass jam waiting to happen. “When I Find All of You” is a pure and simple love song — maybe the hardest song of all to write.

“Desdemona” – Raina Rose

A campfire song if there ever was one, Desdemona brings to mind the magical realist storytelling of John Hartford, a frenetic road trip through the landscape of young love.

“Oklahoma” – Mark Erelli

Mark Erelli is a world to be discovered. This lonesome traveling song is a great fit for a voice and a fiddle and a quiet moment in between barn-burners.

“Graveyard Train” – Wild Ponies

Do I have to say anything about a song called “Graveyard Train?” A good bluegrass band would take this over the edge. Wild Ponies have a bunch of great songs that would work well in the bluegrass genre.

“Primer Gray” – Rod Picott

A song about a man’s love for his car. Turn up the tempo on this one and put it on the racetrack. Rod is another country to be explored.

“The Come Heres & The Been Heres” – Chuck Brodsky

Everybody knows this story. It’s funny and tragic and the God’s honest truth. Chuck is one of the best storytellers working today.

“Coming Down” – Anaïs Mitchell

Simple and perfect. A great song to end the night with, at a festival or around a campfire. Anaïs is a deep well of song, almost entirely unknown in the bluegrass world.

“Natural Child” – Greg Humphreys

One-chord wonder with a great bluesy melody. Jam this one into outer space.

“Bound to Love” – Jess Klein

A beautiful sentiment. This would be beautiful in an acoustic setting.

“Wakey Bakey” – Dennis McGregor

It’s hard to believe that John Hartford didn’t already write this.

“Front Porch to the Moon” – Dennis McGregor

Oh man. The only songwriter I’ve mentioned twice, it’s worth digging into Dennis’s catalog. This is a sentiment that will resonate with anyone who has lived in the country.

“Go Without Fear” – Mary Rocap

It’s hard to find a good new gospel song. Mary is a deeply spiritual writer.

Photo credit: Rodney Bursiel

Kaia Kater’s Banjo Carves a Space and Opens Doors on ‘Grenades’

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Sometimes self-exploration doesn’t yield the answers we seek. For those patient enough to keep prodding, the real truths emerge in the process, rather than the culmination of examining who we are. Kaia Kater learned as much on her third album, Grenades, which stretches across generations, hemispheres, and textures, and left the singer-songwriter “swimming in her own shadow.”

Born in Canada, Kater grew up hearing about her father’s life in Grenada before he fled at age 14 when the United States invaded the small island country in 1983. As a result, a part of her always existed in a land that lay far away. With the banjo as her guiding force on Grenades, Kater strings a tightrope between her Canadian sense of self and her Grenadian heritage, in order to find a balance between those two poles.

Why did it feel like the right time not only to turn inwards, but to seek a connection back through the generations?

I think it was a multitude of things. I’d been two years out of school, and I found I had more time and space. I’d also had more conversations with my dad, and at a certain point he was like, “You’ve got to go back. You can’t keep putting it off. You’ve got to do it.” I came to agree with him. What started this whole thing is last Christmas I interviewed him in the basement of his house about growing up in Grenada and coming to Canada as a refugee.

And at the age of 14.

I know! It’s kind of crazy. I was 24 at the time I was interviewing him, so just to think about where I was at 14 — it’s kind of terrifying to think about becoming an adult that quickly. It’s kind of unbelievable. But he didn’t really talk about it a lot. I think that’s the thing, people do extraordinary things in order to lead very normal lives.

That’s a beautiful way to put it.

Yes, it’s the story of immigration and the story of refugees. I don’t think my dad ever hid his story, but I don’t think he ever thought it was an extraordinary story. He thought it was his path on the way to doing what he wants to.

It’s fantastic, then, that in addition to fitting your own voice into this musical genealogy you were able to include his voice three times on this album.

Those were from those interviews at Christmas. So much of the music and the emotion was born from that conversation that it felt like an imperative for me to include them. They were not only contextualizing the music, but they were also serving as these light posts for a pretty complicated storyline.

You’ve described Grenades as a lifeline to the South, and yet you grew up in the North. North and South have long existed as such stark dichotomies. Do you think, speaking about your identity, reconciliation is possible, or have you come to accept that there will always be a tension?

I do think it’s like being a hyphenated Canadian. I think there’s a certain cognitive dissonance that happens. This album is really great because it’s given me the space and the time to start to talk to more first and second generation Canadians about “What does being Canadian mean?” In comparison to Grenada, which is 95 percent black, Canada is a multi-ethnic place. It is richer for that. We acknowledge the richness that comes with diversity, but I think it also creates these problems of identity.

I have a friend whose parents are Ghanaian. She’s black and she grew up going to a Ghanaian church in Toronto, and then she went back to Ghana after she got her journalism degree. She was faced with this thing of like, “I have Ghanaian roots, but there’s a part of me that…my accent and the words I use are very Canadian.” I feel a little bit all over the place. Even the nature of exploring all these things is how I feel about it, which is like, I haven’t particularly arrived to a conclusion.

Nor should you. That’s the beauty of any creative form—it allows you to keep exploring. Turning to the album itself, you said you wrote the songs across winter and summer?

I started writing this album really in earnest after I’d had that conversation with my dad at Christmas. Then I went to Grenada in April, and obviously it’s very warm and it’s very beautiful, so it did feel, more than the natural course of the seasons in Canada, like I went suddenly from winter — this gray March — to summer. That’s why I feel it as this change between seasons, but also like we’ve been talking about, it’s a change in hemisphere too.

When it came time to stitch those halves together, what was the process like?

I challenged myself to write all original music on this album. I knew that in order to do that, I would have to push myself and get really analytical with my work. Just changing my environment and going to Grenada was a great help because it brought out different words and melodies and expressions. If all the songs were color-coded in my head, and one is blue for winter and yellow for summer, I can see them that way.

Of the arrangements on the entire album the three that most stand out are “Canyonland,” “The Right One,” and “Poets Be Buried.” Speaking of the latter, the beautiful slow-burn brass is exquisite. How did that unfold?

At this point, I should really credit my wonderful producer, Erin Costello. She is an artist herself; she’s actually releasing a record right around the same time as me. Keyboard is her main instrument, so she works mainly in R&B and soul, but she dabbled a lot in electronic music, and has a Master’s in composition. I feel like her musical tastes are really broad, and she really doesn’t shy away from a challenge, which is why I enjoyed working with her. And it’s also nice to be working with a woman.

I was going to say!

So many of them are men, so it’s nice to have a change of energy. She lives in Halifax. We recorded the album in Toronto, and the next day we flew to Halifax with the hard drive and mixed it there. I’d expressed that “Poets Be Buried” needed something more, and so the brass was actually the last musical piece that we added to the entire album before we mixed it. It was amazing. She had these players come in for an afternoon, and she wrote up the parts in 15 minutes. It sounded beautiful. It’s just French horn and trombone.

If you had to define the banjo’s power as an instrument and storyteller, what would it be?

The banjo has a very ancient quality, and I think especially when it’s played percussively like the clawhammer style, it can bring you into this trancelike, dreamlike state. I’ve found that with traditional music a lot, especially in a jam situation. It’s everybody playing the melody and chording all of the time — it’s not solo-based. When you’re in a jam, you get this trancelike quality where you’re playing this A/B pattern 50 or 60 times. I think the banjo lends itself well to this trance of storytelling. It brings me this inner peace that’s pretty indescribable. I think that’s why I was so attracted to it and why I’ve written on it for so many years.

I read that you play two or three banjos, but your grandpa made one for you?

Yeah, I’m looking at it now on my wall.

If we’re talking about generations, and how your new album encompasses all these different stories, that connection to your grandfather brings it to a whole other visceral level.

I hadn’t thought about that; that is a good point. It’s funny, at the risk of sounding too cheesy, it’s been a guiding light in my life. It’s opened the doors to so many things — not only studying in Appalachia, but also writing things that I may have been too scared to say openly. It’s a really beautiful instrument and a powerful one.

In the liner notes, you remark, “Here’s to swimming in your own shadow.” In dealing with your father’s voice and other generations, how did you create the space for your voice in the midst of intertwining these other narratives?

I think I still am. In the same way when we were talking about northern and southern hemispheres, I think that’s an ever-evolving question for me. For a long time, I’ve had an existential anxiety about having two sides to my family who both have very strong people and very strong narratives, and thinking, “Where do I fit in this picture?” That’s why I create albums, so I can give myself the time and space to explore that.

I’ve put Grenades out, and now I’m going to get to know what it’s about. The “swimming in your own shadow” thing is about getting comfortable essentially with being uncomfortable, and with having a lot of conflicting narratives, and trauma that comes from war or from being biracial, or from being a woman in the world, which people are really starting to talk about. It’s my own way of dealing with that. The album is me carving out that space for myself.

Photo credit: Raez Argulla

LISTEN: Daniel Rodriguez, “Johnny”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Daniel Rodriguez
Hometown: In His Van, USA
Song: “Johnny”
Release Date: December 14, 2018 (Single); February 15, 2019 (New Album)

In Their Words: “‘Johnny’ was recorded live with everybody in the same room, so we were able to achieve a big room sound. We fell into a fun Latin groove and went with it. The story in the song follows Johnny, who steps outside the box of society, the neighborhood block, the bounds of pavement, electric wires and cell phone towers. It’s a getting lost is being found kind of song. Featuring Tyler Thompson and Jeff Leonard of Fruition, Darren Garvey of Elephant Revival, Sam Trump of Sidewalk Chalk and Lewi Longmire.” — Daniel Rodriguez

Photo credit: Meleah Shavon Photography

BGS WRAPS: Bob Dylan, ‘Christmas in the Heart’

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

Every year, the winter season is filled with countless new Christmas albums from the latest cavalcade of pop artists. Meanwhile, some legacy acts recycle the holiday classics for an easy paycheck. Of course, there are those timeless records we revisit again and again, with songs so deeply ingrained in our brains they can take us back in just a few short notes — Kenny & Dolly’s Once Upon A Christmas, anyone??

But for me, there is one album that outpaces all of them: Bob Dylan’s Christmas in the Heart.  Maybe it’s the soft gravel of his voice that contrasts the downright cheery disposition of the songs — all supported by Bob’s super-tight backing band. Maybe it’s the fifteen tracks themselves, which range from the most traditional, like “O’ Little Town of Bethlehem” and “Silent Night,” to the absurd — you have not experienced glee until you’ve seen this video of “Must Be Santa.” More than anything, I think it’s the sheer joy that comes across in every note. It’s what Christmas should be all about: silliness and happiness and cheesiness mixed with solemnity and tradition and memory.

Naturally then, to kick off our first-ever BGS Wraps series, we present the album in its entirety. Hopefully it becomes a holiday tradition in your family too.

Canon Fodder: Bob Dylan, ‘Love And Theft’

Posted on by Editor

Halfway through the rollicking “Summer Days,” off his 2001 album, Love And Theft, Bob Dylan sets a romantic scene: a chapel, an altar, wedding bells. “She’s looking into my eyes, she’s a-holdin’ my hand,” he sings, the “worn-out star” chagrined by the attention and affection of this woman. Then he sets the song rolling in a new direction by recounting what might be their vows: “She says, ‘You can’t repeat the past.’ I say, ‘You can’t? What do you mean, you can’t? Of course you can!”

It’s a sly, playful jab at Dylan’s betrothed: Jesus considered the church his bride, and Dylan seems to understand his vast array of fans, the so-called Bobophiles who parse every word for meaning, as his doting helpmeet. Throughout the album and especially on “Summer Days,” she is both a conquest and a conquistador, the one who defines him and the one who assures him he’ll never again reach the vaunted heights of “Desolation Row” or “ Tangled Up in Blue.”

Released on September 11, 2001, Love And Theft is an album about aging, about outliving your usefulness, about the horrors of obsolescence: physical, intellectual, sexual, artistic. In that regard, it’s a fine sequel to and commentary on 1997’s Time Out of Mind, the darker, bluesier, more worried meditation on aging. Time Out of Mind was Dylan’s celebrated comeback, an album as good as anything he’d done before and therefore an album that nobody saw coming. Dylan had spent the previous twenty-plus years as purely a legacy act, an artist chasing a very particular muse throughout the ‘80s and well into the ‘90s, whose albums remain hotly debated by his fans but largely ignored or, worse, derided by everyone else. A return to commercial and creative form by the man who made Saved and Down in the Groove was an intriguing idea, but nothing you’d bet your house on.

Time Out of Mind truly deserves its reputation as one of his finest albums, but Love And Theft is even better. If the former solemnly ponders the grave, if it scrolls through decades of popular music to find the right words and the right melodies with which to evoke that fear and contentment, the latter chortles at all that. It’s perhaps Dylan’s funniest album, full of jokes both highbrow and low, literary and vaudevillian. He makes bad puns (“I’m sitting on my watch so I can be on time”) and invokes John Donne (“For whom does the bell toll for, love? It tolls for you and me”). He’s elbowing his previous self in the ribs; he’s poking a little fun at the idea of death, or at least at our fear of it, or at least our urge to make art of that particular dread. That makes him sound even wilier and wiser, chuckling as he plays checkers with the Grim Reaper. On Love And Theft he knows he’s attained a rarified perspective regarding these universal concerns, so why would you ever want to repeat the past? It’s just another way to ignore the inevitable.

There’s more, of course, to that remembered conversation between Dylan and whoever thinks you can’t repeat the past. Consider that it is paraphrased from that great American novel The Great Gatsby. Gatsby reminisces to his friend and the book’s narrator Nick Carraway: “‘Can’t repeat the past?’ he cried incredulously. ‘Why of course you can!’” It’s a sly allusion, a barb stuck in Dylan’s brain, and even though the novel suggests that Gatsby is deluded — suggests, in fact, that such a deceptive pursuit accompanies great wealth and power — Dylan understands it to be perhaps the essential American compulsion. Or, at least the essential compulsion of pop music, which asks its artists to constantly top themselves or risk obscurity.

Love And Theft is dense with such allusions, an album embedded deeply in the American memory. Every song demands to be annotated and researched; every song gains added depth and meaning when those connections are mapped out. The title itself is lovingly thieved from the book Love & Theft: Blackface Minstrelsy and the American Working Class, by Eric Lott, a professor of English at the University of Virginia.

Beyond that there are references, subtle and obvious alike, to Robert Johnson, Charley Patton, Blind Willie McTell, the Mississippi Sheiks, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, probably but not definitively Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra, some guy named Robert Zimmerman, and so many anonymous Americans who shaped the culture Dylan loves but whose names have been lost to history.

Dylan shuffles through them with no regard for geography or chronology. “It could be 1927 or 1840 or biblical times in a Bob Dylan song, and it is always right now too,” Sean Wilentz writes in his 2010 book Bob Dylan in America, which obsessively and insightfully maps out many of these allusions. “Dylan’s genius rests not simply on his knowledge of all those eras and their sounds and images but also on his ability to write and sing in more than one era at once… But every artist is, to some extent, a thief; the trick is to get away with it by making of it something new. Dylan at his best has the singular ability not only to do this superbly but also to make the present and the past feel like each other.”

Love And Theft often plays like the culmination of Dylan’s fraught relationship to history, one that started as early as his 1962 self-titled, debut album. To listen to Dylan — whether it’s protest Dylan or born-again Dylan or gone-electric Dylan or Rolling Thunder Revue-era Dylan or even 40-years-in-the-wilderness Dylan of the 1980s — is to hear an artist reckoning with his own past and with America’s past. He’s repeating the past almost literally: a quoted phrase here, a stolen riff there. It’s loving, knowing plagiarism, a crazy quilt of sources and codes, a refutation of contemporary recording techniques and music biz practices, all the more subversive (at least in Dylan’s hands) for being outmoded.

Roots as a genre is a fairly new invention, one that can be traced back only a little further than Love And Theft. I place it at the turn of the century, with the shocking popularity of O Brother Where Art Thou? Whether intentional or not — most likely not —Dylan contests much of the music and many of the assumptions on T Bone Burnett’s soundtrack: namely, that the artists of the early twentieth century were somehow more authentic for being acoustic and earnest. Dylan knows they’re racketeers and raconteurs, crafting clever masks and intricate personae, both sophisticated and crude. All artists are liars who tell the truth, seems to be Dylan’s point.

It’s such a heady concept for such a fun album. Besides the rambunctious playing of Dylan’s band—which includes Larry Campbell, Augie Meyers, and Charlie Sexton—the most appealing aspect of Love And Theft is the obvious and often contagious glee with which the notoriously reclusive artist undertakes the project. He has a high old time navigating the jumbled syllables of “Tweedledum & Tweedledee” and bemoaning the Magnolia State on “Mississippi.” He sounds immensely comfortable crooning “Bye and Bye” and “Sugar Baby,” which portend his detour into mid-century pop on Shadows in the Night and Triplicate. He makes a meal of the folksily apocalyptic imagery of “High Water (For Charley Patton).”

Working with so much pop-cultural raw material, Dylan foregrounds the process almost to the point of overshadowing the product. But the small miracle of Love And Theft is that these songs sound like they are forever being written in real time, created and re-created every time he sings them and every time you press play. It is an ongoing collaboration between artist and audience, between Dylan and his ready bride.

WATCH: Drew Michael Blake and The Belfry, “Cut and File”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Drew Michael Blake and The Belfry
Hometown: Parkersburg, West Virginia (Based in Nashville, Tennessee)
Song: “Cut and File”
Album: Blame The Miles Between
Single Release Date: December 7, 2018

In Their Words: “I think, like a lot of other people, I walk around in a delusion and most of the time I don’t really see it. For a long time I was under the impression that everyone knew better than me. I thought the girls I was in love with knew who or what I should be. I thought my peers or my elders knew what I should do better than I did. ‘Cut and File’ is about experiencing a moment of clarity where you see right through those delusions, and start figuring out that those answers can only come from within. When I first started playing in bands in my teens, it was me and my friends in an old barn turning up our amps, sweating through our clothes, and playing rock and roll. I think the feeling and the energy of those early days comes through in this video.” — Drew Michael Blake

Photo credit: Chad Cochran

Rosanne Cash Brings Urgency, Courage to ‘She Remembers Everything’ (2 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

On her new album, She Remembers Everything, Rosanne Cash keeps watching the clock. It’s an album about time slipping away, about the bittersweet realization that you have more time behind you than ahead. “It just wasn’t long enough,” she sings on the hymn-like “Everyone But Me.” “Still it seems too long.” And on “Many Miles to Go” she puts her affairs in order, itemizing the artifacts and inside jokes she shares with John Leventhal, her frequent collaborator, longtime producer, and husband of twenty-three years. With its rambling, almost anxious upbeat tempo, the song celebrates their relationship more than it commiserates its inevitable end: “There aren’t many miles to go and just one promise left to keep.”

However, she didn’t record that song with Leventhal, who produced roughly half the tracks on She Remembers Everything. He was, she says, shy about the song. Instead Cash traveled about as far from her home as she could, all the way from Manhattan to Portland, Oregon, to record with the album’s other producer, Tucker Martine. By disrupting her creative process, she says, “It did break something open in me.”

(Editor’s Note: Read Part 1 of the Bluegrass Situation’s interview with Rosanne Cash here.)

You’ve mentioned that these songs are very autobiographical. How does your relationship with these personal songs change over time? What is it like to revisit them onstage?

I played some of these songs for the first time just recently, and it felt good. I felt very relaxed with them. You know how the truth can unsettle you and scare you, but the truth can also allow you to let your guard down and relax? That’s how I felt. But it’s different every night. Every audience is going to bring something different to what they hear, and hopefully they will bring their own lives to it. They’re not coming to hear about my feelings or about my life. They’re coming to experience their own lives and their own feelings. They’re coming to have things reflected back to them that will be revealing or inspiring or whatever.

That’s the function of art. It’s that kind of service industry. We help you access your life and feelings. It’s not about narcissism. It’s not about me. That takes the fear out of it. These aren’t diaries; they’re songs. There’s craft that went into them. There’s music. There’s a beat and a melody. So I’m not going to be up there naked.

That leads me to another song I wanted to ask about, “Not Many Miles to Go,” which almost sounds like a letter you wrote to your husband.

I have a very tender feeling about that song because I really did write it for John — and to John. When you’re in a long-term relationship, it’s inevitable that one of you is going to leave the other. It’s sad, but it’s worth acknowledging the artifacts of your life together, even if it’s just a Telecaster. So you know when we’re gone, that Telecaster will still be here. Our son will probably play it. I wanted to document those things for us.

I like the idea we keep the beat for each other.

That’s a beautiful idea, and a close couple will do that for each other. When I wrote that line, I was thinking about the actual tempo when I play rhythm guitar for him. We have to remind each other to stay in time. I’ll tell him he’s too slow, or he’ll tell me my timing is off. He used to complain about my meter a lot, and then we did a gig with some other people a few years ago. When he came offstage, John said, “I’m never complaining about your timing again!”

How does he feel about the song? It’s really an intimate conversation in front of the audience.

I think John felt a little shyer about it than I did, but I think he’s gotten past that. And his guitar solo just kills me, especially that real Telecaster sound that he pulls off. It sounds like Clarence White or James Burton. When I wrote the song, it had more of a folk vibe, and then Tucker took it to this really intense place with a lot of energy to the arrangement. That was a bit of genius on Tucker’s part. It’s funny, I couldn’t have done that song with John. I had to do it with Tucker, and then we flew John’s solo into the track.

How did you end up working with Tucker Martine?

I’m a huge Decemberists fan, and he works with them. Then I heard the case/lang/veirs record he produced and I just loved it so much. I’d been thinking that I wanted to break away from John a little bit, because I felt I’d grown so dependent on him. He has very forceful opinions and it’s easy for me to acquiesce to his sensibilities because he’s such a gifted musician. I started thinking, you know, I need to be making those decisions, even if the choices are “wrong.” I need to do that. I called Tucker out of the blue and asked if he’d be interested in working with me. I truly didn’t know what he would say. Maybe I wasn’t his kind of thing.

But he said he’d love to and it was a matter of getting our schedules together. I was nervous, he was nervous — we didn’t know how it was going to work out. But it was this incredible experience, start to finish. I teared up many times, feeling so grateful to be working with him. It did break something open in me. After doing five tracks with Tucker, I came back to work with John and I felt fresh. We wrote some of the best songs I think we’ve ever written, like “Crossing to Jerusalem” and “Everyone But Me.” I had most of the lyrics for “The Undiscovered Country” and he wrote the music for it.

And you got The Decemberists frontman, Colin Meloy, on the record, too.

That was through Tucker. I was really shy about asking him and one day I just asked Tucker if he thought Colin would sing on the record. He thought he might, so he called him and Colin came down to sing on “The Only Thing Worth Fighting For.” While he was there, we snookered him into singing on “Rabbit Hole.”

Overall, on these songs, I get the sense of time running out. This seems to be an album about realizing that time is short and that creates a sense of urgency.

Well, time is running out. It’s an hourglass. It’s less than half-full now, and I feel an urgency about saying whatever else I have left to say. It’s really quite emotional to me. The regrets I have at the end of my life — except for the regrets I have about hurting anyone or mistakes I made as a mother — are going to be about what I didn’t say in my work, in my life. What I held back. So there is some urgency to get that out there, but I feel more liberated than ever because now my thinking is, what’s the point of not doing it or not saying it? This is the life I’ve chosen, to live in a public sphere and to be in this service industry of songwriting and performing. I don’t want to hedge my bets anymore.

Most people would rather not think about the time they have left and what to do with it. I know I’m guilty of that a lot of the time.

It’s painful, so that’s what we do: We push away what we don’t want to consider. Buddhists say death is certain, so how will you live? We push out the first part, and then we push out the second part to the extent that we default on our choices every day. We put the blinders on and think we have forever. I do not exempt myself from that. I do it, too. I say, “I’m going to wait to do that.” No. Can’t do it anymore.

When I heard Leonard Cohen’s You Want It Darker, that gave me a little more courage. Even the title of that Paul McCartney album from a few years ago, Memory Almost Full, struck me too. Paul and Leonard are obviously older than me, but they were signposts in that direction. I notice those things when they’re out in the world. I notice those pieces of poetry and music. I find myself responding to it more and feeling somewhat comforted by the fact that other people my age are doing it as well.

Photo of Rosanne Cash: Michael Lavine
Illustration: Zachary Johnson