MIXTAPE: Rainbow Girls’ ‘HAUNTING’ Inspirations

Hey BGS! Erin from Rainbow Girls here. Our new record, HAUNTING, just came out October 13th and we put together this Mixtape of reference tracks that inspired the writing or making of the songs on our record. We ended up choosing one reference track per song. Got some help from Caitlin and Vanessa for a couple of these and we ended up creating an awesome playlist. Hope you enjoy! – Erin Chapin, Rainbow Girls

“Sadness as a Gift” – Adrianne Lenker (for “sixth grade girlfriend”)

I’ve always been so inspired by Adrianne Lenker’s style of guitar playing. There’s an intricacy and an intimacy that lends itself so perfectly to the lyrics; the guitar and the poetry of the words stand like a power couple, instead of one falling into the background as support. “Sadness as a Gift” is this beautifully poignant song about losing a relationship, but still wanting to hold the memory in your hand like a moth – it just breaks me. – Caitlin

“Let It Be Me” – The Sweet Inspirations (for “paying my tab”)

The Sweet Inspirations’ 1967 version of “Let It Be Me” inspired me to write a song with a similar groove. I heard that simple intro and it immediately grounded me. Griffin Goldsmith from Dawes played drums on our song, “paying my tab,” and he took this reference track and ran with it to the moon and back.

“Cold Little Heart” by Michael Kiwanuka (for “you must not feel the way i do”)

“you must not feel the way i do” was written after we had already started recording for HAUNTING, but we knew it was the single. We had all the vocals and main instruments recorded, but it needed a hook to open the song. I kept demo-ing this weird sound with my voice we were calling the “vocal theremin” – this ghostly, half-human/half-instrument sound. I knew it would sound too crazy for anyone else in the band to get excited about, so I sent them Michael Kiwanuka’s hit, “Cold Little Heart,” to exorcise any doubts. Thanks, Michael.

“Running Down a Dream” – Tom Petty (for “loser”)

Nirvana loomed large when writing the chord progression for “loser,” but it was a Petty classic that kept rearing its head and ultimately snuck its way into the lyrics. “Running Down a Dream” takes us on a journey that winds towards aspiration. The road is wet and laden with obstacles, but it’s the act of surmounting those blocks that makes accessing the dream so much sweeter. – Vanessa

“Song for Prine” – Jordan Smart (for “how to deal”)

Caitlin wrote “how to deal” the day John Prine died. Part of it is a response to our friend Jordan Smart’s “Song for Prine,” which is about all his attempts to see John Prine perform live, which ultimately he never got to do. But life goes on.

“The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot” – Brand New (for “if i saw you now”)

The progression and mood of “if i saw you now” was inspired by Brand New’s “The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot.” Brand New has a way of holding the morose and appalling within their songs that few other artists can capture.

“Ageless Beauty” – Stars (for “ageless beauty, pt ii”)

When we first met and started playing music together in college, “Ageless Beauty” by Stars was on repeat. It was one of the first songs we ever sang together. Our song “ageless beauty, pt ii” reflects on our experience at that time and the beginning of Rainbow Girls.

“Fake As A Dream” – Rainbow Girls (for “sms to the void”)

“Fake as a Dream” is one of our songs, off our record Rolling Dumpster Fire. We had asked our friend Chris Lynch to arrange a string part for it, but what he sent back was so much more. It took the song to another dimension. When we decided that “sms to the void” should be more than an a cappella song, we knew Chris was the person to take the reins. And he did it again – the string arrangements, the piano. It’s both subtle and heartbreakingly gorgeous.

“Last Night” – The Lostines (for “a subtle f u”)

I heard the song “Last Night” by The Lostines and realized there was an entire element of “haunting” missing from our record. Their song opens up with this sweet-yet-spooky melody on an ambiguous keyed instrument and the sound conjures memories of classic ’90s Halloween-esque movies and tv shows like Hocus Pocus, Nightmare Before Christmas, Goosebumps, and Are You Afraid of the Dark. I knew we needed to have a layer like that somewhere on HAUNTING and our song “a subtle f u” won the draw.

“Subterranean Homesick Alien” – Radiohead (for our cover of it)

A cover of one of our favorite Radiohead songs. Alien contact, abduction, insanity. Everything you could ever need from a spooky social commentary.

“motel” – Hot Brother (for “spread me thin”)

We were in the studio recording our song “spread me thin” when we realized that we had 3/4ths of the band Hot Brother recording on the track with us (Nick Cobbett – drums, Ben Berry – bass, Jeremy Lyon – guitar). We decided to ask the 4th (and really first) member, Brittany Powers, to sing on it and that ended up transforming the song into a duet between two women singing about their community. Brittany performs with several other artists in the Bay Area and her voice is an iconic part of the music scene in Northern California. “motel” is the first song off her/Hot Brother’s upcoming record and it is a sheer banger.

“I Want Jesus to Walk With Me” – Mississippi Fred McDowell (for “dead ringer”)

Our song, “dead ringer” is a slide-heavy, minor blues song about being buried alive. It is musically inspired by Mississippi Fred McDowell’s 1959 version of “I Want Jesus to Walk With Me.” The vocal melody parallels the slide guitar’s melody interchangeably throughout the song, creating an eerie, almost trance-like soundscape.

“Cinnamon Tree” – Marty O’Reilly & the Old Soul Orchestra (for “goodnight angel”)

The last track on HAUNTING functions as a sort of secret track, though not-so-secret in the age of streaming platforms. “goodnight angel” is a lullaby we often sing to our friends at the end of long, inebriated nights that was actually a drunken, collective-consciousness co-write with our friend Marty O’Reilly while on tour together in the UK in 2013. We used to play shows together all the time when we first started out and “Cinnamon Tree” was one of our band favs from his first release.


Photo Credit: Kory Thibeault

You Gotta Hear This: New Music From Aaron Burdett, Nic Gareiss, and More

Here’s a flock of brand new songs and videos you gotta hear! This week, our premiere round-up includes Americana, fiddle tunes, percussive dance, good country, string band excellence, and more.

Don’t miss new tracks like “Second Best,” from Americana singer-songwriter and Steep Canyon Rangers vocalist Aaron Burdett, and “China Camp,” a fiddle tune written by Paul Shelasky and performed by Amy Kassir with Jake Eddy and more. Also, Wisconsin’s own Them Coulee Boys drop “I Am Not Sad,” a song that grapples with mental health from their upcoming 2025 album, No Fun In The Chrysalis.

We’ve got some superlative videos this week, as well! Percussive dancer and folk musician Nic Gareiss dances us through a gorgeous, queer rendition of a Gillian Welch song, “Back Turn and Swing,” and alt-folk trio Palmyra have brought a live field recording of “Fried,” a song from their brand new EP, Surprise #1. Meanwhile, Eilen Jewell pays tribute to Loretta Lynn and spotlights the progress and regression of the last 50 years of reproductive rights activism with a cover of “The Pill.”

To wrap us up, we don’t want you to miss the latest AEA Session, premiered in partnership with AEA Ribbon Mics on BGS earlier this week. This edition of the series features Brit Taylor & Adam Chaffins, performing live at Americanafest last month.

It’s all right here on BGS and, certainly, You Gotta Hear This!


Aaron Burdett, “Second Best”

Artist: Aaron Burdett
Hometown: Saluda, North Carolina
Song: “Second Best”
Release Date: October 25, 2024
Label: Organic Records

In Their Words: “You might say ‘Second Best’ was a song 30 years in the making. I’ve had this line from an old David Wilcox song rattling around in my head since the ’90s. It always struck me as a phrase that could be interpreted in many different ways. So I eventually started playing with that idea and bouncing it off various scenes and situations. A year or so ago I landed on the one (or two) that ended up in the recording, along with the original Wilcox line that inspired the chorus. Some songs arrive quickly, and some arrive much more slowly!” – Aaron Burdett

Track Credits:
Aaron Burdett – Vocals, acoustic guitar
Kristin Scott Benson – Banjo
Carley Arrowood – Fiddle
Tristan Scroggins – Mandolin
Jon Weisberger – Upright bass
Wendy Hickman – Harmony vocals
Travis Book – Harmony vocals


Nic Gareiss, “Back Turn and Swing”

Artist: Nic Gareiss
Hometown: Lansing, Michigan
Song: “Back Turn and Swing”
Release Date: October 25, 2024

In Their Words: “When I heard Gillian Welch’s song ‘Back Turn and Swing,’ I was immediately drawn to the way it brings the listener into the scene of a dance event: musicians tuning up, someone cooking potluck food to pass around, the excitement in the air, folks eager to get up onto the floor. The lyrics evoke the feeling of the square and contra dances I grew up attending in the rural Midwest. At the same time, as a non-binary queer person, I feel bodily unease around how the song sets up the dualistic gender of the attendees.

“Many folk dances these days have adopted expansive and inclusive dance calls, like using ‘larks and robins,’ ‘lefts and rights,’ etc. (shoutout to Michigan’s Looking Glass and Ten Pound Fiddle contra dances, Detroit’s queer square dance, Asheville’s Old Farmer’s Ball, and Brooklyn’s Gayli). Yet I’m still compelled to check beforehand that the caller – the authoritarian voice at the front of the hall telling people what to do with their bodies – is onboard with same-sex couples dancing together or trans and genderqueer people expanding these roles. This past summer a partner and I were at a dance when someone in their 20s asked us mid-set, ‘Who is the man?’ This reminded me that there’s still work to do; inclusivity still requires advocacy and allyship to help all feel welcome in the dynamism of the dance floor.

“Speaking of dynamic, as a child I saw John Hartford and was both astonished and inspired by the soundscapes he could create; dance, music, and song all embodied in one person. I aspire towards that dance-as-music in this video, where I added a few lyrics to the last verse.” – Nic Gareiss

Video Credits: Filmed by Blake Hannahson. Audio mixed by Jaron Freeman-Fox.


Eilen Jewell, “The Pill”

Artist: Eilen Jewell
Hometown: Boise, Idaho
Song: “The Pill”
Album: Butcher Holler: A Tribute To Loretta Lynn
Release Date: October 22, 2024 (single); November 15, 2024 (album)
Label: Signature Sounds

In Their Words: “The amazing thing about ‘The Pill’ is that it still feels edgy today, nearly 50 years after its original release. Loretta infused it with so much sassy defiance that, even now, when I sing it live and reach the phrase ‘now I’ve got the pill,’ some fans pump their fists while others clutch their pearls. It still strikes a nerve, a testament both to how effective this song is and how little progress we’ve made in this country in terms of reproductive rights.

“Loretta still holds the prestigious record for the singer of more banned radio hits than all other male country artists in the twentieth century combined. And ‘The Pill’ was the most banned of all of her songs, which is saying a lot. By recording and performing it live, I hope to do my part to spread the word about the importance of public access to family planning as an integral part of a woman’s right to the pursuit of happiness. It’s hard to believe this fight is still going on, but until it’s over I’ll be here for it.” – Eilen Jewell

A note from the artist: A percentage of sales from “The Pill” will be donated to Planned Parenthood.

Video Credits: Bill Hurley at The Fallout Shelter in Norwood, Massachusetts


Amy Kassir, “China Camp”

Artist: Amy Kassir
Hometown: Durham, North Carolina. Currently lives in San Rafael, California.
Song: “China Camp”
Album: Bread and Butter
Release Date: October 25, 2024

In Their Words: “‘China Camp’ is a great tune by the legendary California fiddler Paul Shelasky. I first heard it on the 1983 Good Ol’ Persons record, I Can’t Stand to Ramble, and I’ve been obsessed ever since. While so many tunes on my album are ‘bread and butter’ fiddle tunes I grew up playing in North Carolina, I wanted to include a tune that represents the rich musical legacy of California, which has been my home for the last 10 years. I’m so thankful Paul gave me his blessing to record this tune.

“This recording features Jake Eddy on guitar and banjo, Korey Kassir on mandolin, and Carter Eddy on bass. It’s such an exciting tune to play, and we had a lot of fun bringing it to life.” – Amy Kassir


Palmyra, “Fried”

Artist: Palmyra
Hometown: Richmond, Virginia
Song: “Fried”
Album: Surprise #1 (EP)
Release Date: October 24, 2024
Label: Oh Boy Records

In Their Words: “As we have ventured into playing bigger stages and festivals, our sound has expanded significantly. While the core of Palmyra remains the three of us, we’ve been experimenting with a larger four-piece sound, as heard on the recorded version of ‘Fried’ on our new EP, Surprise #1, with Oh Boy Records. ‘Fried’ is our most ambitious acoustic experiment, starting with a drum set and a hypnotic repetitive guitar lick. Recording the song acoustically with one microphone in a field was a fun way for us to find the core of the tune. It was a challenge to see how many elements we could strip away and still keep the groove. We like to call ‘Fried’ our ‘jam band’ song, and we hope even this field recording gets you on your feet.” – Palmyra

Track Credits:
Written by Sasha Landon, Mānoa Lewis Bell, and Teddy Chipouras.
Sasha Landon – Mandocello, voice
Teddy Chipouras – Guitar, voice
Mānoa Bell – Upright bass, voice
Jake Cochran – Drums

Video Credit: Elliott Crotteau


Them Coulee Boys, “I Am Not Sad”

Artist: Them Coulee Boys
Hometown: Eau Claire, Wisconsin
Song: “I Am Not Sad”
Album: No Fun In The Chrysalis
Release Date: October 29, 2024 (single); February 28, 2025 (album)
Label: Some Fun Records

In Their Words: “‘I Am Not Sad‘ is the last song on the record and captures the theme of accepting change this record focuses on. I’ve struggled with my mental health my whole life, dealing with depression, anxiety, and issues with self worth. I’ve embraced those issues in my songwriting, hoping to shine a light on things that we all go through from time to time. We have plenty of songs that talk about these issues, but this one is the first that accepts them.

“The song is built around the phrase ‘I am not sad anymore, at least not today.’ It’s a celebration of the happiness in the moment, while acknowledging that there’s times when it’s harder. It’s about being thankful for the good times, and letting them stack up on one another for when the bad times come. It’s a declaration, a moment of catharsis, while knowing that it won’t always be like that.

“Sonically it starts sparsely, with elements of the band being added with each verse, like confidence growing in one’s self as you begin to believe. It’s self-assured, with strummed mandolin and piano a backdrop for growth. When the bridge lyrically introduces the idea that these positive feelings might not last, the musical interlude represents the choice to embrace that realization. An ethereal, almost dream-like backdrop sets up the catharsis of the last verse. When the last verse hits, it invites all the good feelings back for a triumphant jam. It’s loud and snarls in the face of the hard times. It’s meant to soar and it does.” – Soren Staff


AEA Sessions: Brit Taylor & Adam Chaffins, Live at AmericanaFest 2024

Artist: Brit Taylor & Adam Chaffins
Hometown: Hindman, Kentucky (Brit), Louisa, Kentucky (Adam); now, both call Nashville home.
Songs: “Little Bit at a Time,” “Holding On Holding Out,” “Trailer Trash,” “The Best We Can Do Is Love,” and “Saint Anthony”

In Their Words: “It was fun playing and talking about new songs on some incredible sounding AEA gear with Brit Taylor on the Bell tone sessions!” – Adam Chaffins

“Brit and Adam’s songs are personal, yet universal. They are warm in person and it’s clear they spend a lot of time together singing, playing, and writing. Their vocals weave and intertwine so effortlessly.” – Julie Tan, AEA Ribbon Mics

More here.


Photo Credit: Aaron Burdett by Mike Duncan; Nic Gareiss by Blake Hannahson.

Chuck Prophet Talks Music, Surfing, and Storytelling with Mark Erelli

Editor’s note: For this episode, we invited our friend Mark Erelli to interview Chuck Prophet. The two are familiar with each other’s work through songwriting together for Mark’s latest album Lay Your Darkness Down (2023). We’re thrilled to welcome Mark back as guest host!

Chuck Prophet has been a mainstay on the indie and Americana music scenes since the 1980s, before either designation was a common part of the rock ‘n’ roll lexicon. Through his guitar work in the seminal psychedelic desert rock band Green On Red, musical collaborations with Kelly Willis, Kim Richey, and Warren Zevon, and a string of over a dozen solo records, Prophet has carved out a respected niche in rock music history with his “California Noir” sound. It’s a streak he probably could have kept riding for the rest of his career, if not for his sudden diagnosis with lymphoma a couple years ago. During his treatment and eventual recovery from cancer, Prophet found solace in his record collection — in particular the vibrant rhythms and danceable energy of Cumbia. He eventually sought out a favorite local band in the genre to jam, and then formally collaborate on Wake The Dead, Prophet’s first new solo album in four years. The project blends his longtime band The Mission Express with members of the Cumbia outfit Quiensave, and the result is equal parts familiar and fresh.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

I have firsthand knowledge of Prophet’s freewheeling collaborative process, having worked with him and his longtime songwriting partner Klipschutz on a song for my 2020 album Blindsided. I once taught with Chuck at a folk festival songwriting school, and was relieved to be able to play before him at the instructor open mic, because no one wants to follow Chuck Prophet. His musical catalog is so deep and broad that it’s both inspiring… and a bit overwhelming. It was a joy to reconnect with him for a wide-ranging conversation about his new album that also touched upon his sense of humor, guitar-playing techniques, surfing culture, and even his favorite Bob Seger song.


Photo Credit: Chuck Prophet by Kory Thibeault; Mark Erelli by Joe Navas

Out Now: The Accidentals

Our next band featured on Out Now is the Accidentals, a group that I met over a decade ago, tucked under the oak trees in Northern Michigan at Interlochen Artist Academy. Interlochen is a hub for music and arts education. Katie Larson and Savannah Buist (founders of the band) attended the academy at the same time I did. I’ve admired their artistry and dedication ever since. I remember listening to Interlochen Public Radio, hearing a song they wrote, and thinking these artists were going somewhere. Spoiler alert… they have already gone everywhere, touring all over the U.S.!

Before they attended Interlochen, Katie and Savannah were already playing together in an orchestra and exploring their musical chemistry. The pair are creative, dedicated individuals, curious souls, skilled instrumentalists, and incredible writers. They built a successful career while still very young, touring and playing festival stages in their teenage years. Both turned down college scholarships to hit the road instead. After high school, they added Michael Dause to the band as their percussionist. In 2023, Michael parted from the band; they now play as a trio again with Katelynn Corll.

The Accidentals just released their latest single, “What a Waste.” It’s an honor to highlight this phenomenal band on Out Now. Learn all about their plans for the future, why they create music, and about their incredibly creative minds in our interview with Katie Larson and Savannah Buist.

You’ve been playing together since high school. What has it been like for you to create, write, record, and travel together for the past decade?

Savannah Buist: All of those processes – creating, writing, recording, and traveling – demand different parts of us, and all of them have changed and grown over the years. Creating and writing used to be a more solitary process, and yet [now] we find ourselves collaborating and co-writing with some of the people who inspired us to become songwriters in the first place. Recording went from being solitary, to with producers, to us becoming engineers and recording many of our own projects, to recently joining forces with producer Mary Bragg for a collaborative record. Traveling together used to mean 250 days on the road, sleepless nights living on the opposite schedule of everyone we loved – and now, we ease into it, take our time with it, and the number of people in the van seats, their names and faces have changed over the years.

But the thing that remains true is the constitution of our friendship and our trust. I lean on Katie more than I’ve ever let myself lean on anybody before. She’s the reason why I constantly challenge myself to do better, not just musically but as a person too. She’s a natural listener; she’s observant and deep-thinking. She’s the kind of person who would make an incredible documentary carefully examining both sides of a complex situation and reaching some inevitable core of truth. It’s been incredible watching her grow and change, too, just like all the processes that we engage in together. I think the growth and change I’ve undergone is just as dramatic and important. It’s what keeps us open to each other and supportive of our many interests and endeavors.

Adding Katelynn Corll to the band a couple years ago was like picking up a golden retriever to tour with. She’s always positive and brings balance to the band with her ability to see the big picture, ask good questions, and amp up the energy on stage. She’s got both our backs all the time. It’s a no-ego dream band reality.

Katie Larson: Some days, 10 years sounds like a lifetime and other days it feels like a drop in the bucket. Think about how much change people go through from their late teens to late 20s, then add in the inevitable ups and downs and major transitions you go through in the music industry. What a privilege to have someone by your side who has known your heart since day one. Not only that, but a friend who’s a true collaborator, business partner, and salsa-making science geek who’s always ready to dive into philosophical rabbit holes and will fiercely have your back no matter what. We take a lot of inspiration from the Indigo Girls, a few years ago we got to watch Ann Powers interview them during Americanafest. They’ve been playing music together for almost 40 years now and are still true friends.

Your early success, including playing at various festivals, is impressive. What were some of the most memorable moments or experiences from those early days of touring?

SB: I’ve kept journals for many years and those have sort of fallen into the digital world via Tour Blogs, which we write weekly on our Patreon. Cataloging our experiences has given us a plethora of perspectives. There are times I look back through those journals and blogs and think to myself, “How are we still alive?” From busted trailers to stolen gear to pedalboards lighting on fire from faulty power, playing in caverns and drained swimming pools and stages so tiny we stood shoulder-to-shoulder trying not to poke each others’ eyes out with our bows; farmer’s markets and people’s dogs and their bookshelves when we crashed at their houses, and the strangers who became family along the way. It’s literally too much to recount, because that’s thousands of memories stacked into some neural Jenga of nostalgia. I will say that the early days are like the later days in that we’ve never stopped learning, and never thought we were incapable of learning more.

KL: As an introverted teen, I remember being shocked by kindness from strangers. It still amazes me, but back then it seemed crazy that music could be a catalyst for people making us a home-cooked meal, letting us stay in their homes, or giving us boxes of books to read on the road. One time in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan a man handed us an entire smoked salmon after our set. On another tour in Colorado, we kept accumulating homemade pumpkin bread wherever we went. It wasn’t just gifts – music was also a fast pass to personal conversations with fans at the merch table or with our hosts who became family.

I remember playing a coveted electronic festival called Electric Forest the summer after we graduated high school. Playing folk rock in our dorky dresses (mine covered in pop art chickens and Sav’s covered in cats), we were probably the biggest outlier on the bill, but our artist badges gave us all access. We could go to any stage and watch Lindsey Stirling and Phantogram and Skrillex perform from behind the curtain. In the artist lounge there was this huge juicer, and the women there made me this juice concoction with beets and apple and fresh garlic, and they laughed and said I was glowing. I couldn’t believe we were there.

What was it like for you to start touring and building a career at such a young age?

SB: It was a lot. We thought we were just having fun playing some music with each other and it took on a life of its own. Sometimes in the early years it felt surreal, like a plane taking off and you’re running down the tarmac trying to get on it. I think having a team early was key. We’ve always had the support of our respective parental units – both our moms and dads are musicians and singers and songwriters, so they understood our ambitions and goals and sought tirelessly to lift us up. Having a parent that understands the industry and was willing to support us full time was a lot of the reason we were able to be full-time musicians from a young age.

My mom took us on a brutal “trial tour” in the summer of 2012 – she booked 30 shows in 27 days with radio shows a lot of those mornings, to convince us to go to college. It didn’t work. It just solidified that Katie and I were compatible on the road. At the end of that tour, Katie and I knew we wanted to do this music thing to the extent of both of us [gave] up scholarships to college. My mom agreed to manage/tour with us and we signed our first deal right out of high school. She buffered a lot of the stigma attached to young females playing in clubs they weren’t old enough to be in and took a lot of the verbal abuse that comes with this industry and recording with people you don’t know very well and we watched her handle it.

We learned to start with respect – even when it isn’t mutual – but stand up for ourselves when necessary. We learned to compromise when we could and if we couldn’t live with it, hold our ground. We were made acutely aware of the power of “core base, fans, supporters, road family” and FAMgrove, the fanclub was born. They have kept us going through all the hardest parts.

KL: It was eye opening for a lot of reasons. We had an amazing support system and we were eager to learn and become better musicians. A lot of artists and people in the industry took us under their wing and I learned so many life lessons from those who treated us with mutual respect. There were times when people assumed we put ourselves on a pedestal and didn’t know how to use our gear or hold our own, because we were young. We learned quickly that being alone in the wrong place at the wrong time could be very dangerous and relied on our tour family to keep each other safe. Contradictions can be true. I think touring made us more independent, and also more dependent on each other. It made us more self confident, and more self-conscious.

You founded a nonprofit organization, Play It Forward, Again and Again, to empower youth and provide better access to instruments, lessons, and mentors. What led you to that kind of work, and do you have plans and hopes to continue? What is your vision?

SB: We do a lot of workshops for kids all over the country – songwriting workshops, improvisational workshops, alternative styles for strings workshops. When we were in high school, a duo called the Moxie Strings came to our school and did a performance playing electric violin and cello. That was so monumental to us; it showed us that it was possible to take those instruments to a contemporary world and succeed and it also showed us that there were women out there making it happen. We started doing workshops for exactly that reason – to perpetuate that cycle of inspiration and encouragement; to allow people of any background to have the opportunity to express themselves via music.

It’s hard to do that when budgets for music programs are typically the first to get slashed. Many schools we traveled to had only a choir or a band program, if any program existed at all. The underprivileged areas we visited often contained extremely talented kids who were naturally gifted, but lacked access to the tools due to financial constraints. Instruments can be incredibly expensive, especially in the orchestral world, and it keeps them from being accessible to kids who could use them for therapeutic purposes, who could change the world with them.

So, that led to us establishing a nonprofit with the goal to get instruments into those kids’ hands. Not only that, but we want to establish a support system for them to get follow-up lessons from a musician local to their area. This allows them not just the tools for self-expression, but also instruction on how to use those tools, too. We wanna connect schools with bands that are touring through and provide funding for the band and school to show kids that it’s possible to make a living doing something you love.

For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?

KL: I’m still figuring out where I identify on the LGBTQ+ spectrum, so one of the most helpful things for me is to talk to friends about their experiences. It allows me to sort through things I resonate with and gives me a safe space for self-reflection. I’m not always the best communicator, but since I was a kid I always thought I had a good understanding of myself. That makes it hard for me to acknowledge that there are still parts of myself I’m learning about. It helps to hear other people I admire doing the same thing at various points in their life. These are a couple articles I’ve read that come to mind: Lucy Dacus on coming out and Amelia Meath of Sylvan Esso talking about her identity.

Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?

SB: I think it’s important to clarify that many artists and bands have LGBTQ+ members without being an “LGBTQ-themed” band, per se. It’s hard for me to definitively know if a band with LGBTQ+ members or an artist who lies somewhere on the LGBTQ+ spectrum wants to be considered an LGBTQ+ artist or band, unless they’re specifically writing songs about their queerness – otherwise it leads to assumptions that I don’t think it’s my place to make.

I think identification can be both empowering and entrapping. We contain multitudes and we are so much more than who we love. It’s a big reason why I don’t always talk about my queerness. That being said, there is an important aspect to identifying with your queerness and resonating with it that creates a safety net for others to be themselves and I am all about that kind of inclusion.

There are artists of the LGBTQ+ community paving the way for inclusivity every day: Ani DiFranco and Brandi Carlile were the firsts for me, then I had a writing session with Maia Sharp and it opened up my world. She was the first person to tell me that I was OK. Then I met Crys Matthews, Heather Mae, Ethel Cain, Spencer LaJoye, and I felt safer talking about it. There is space for queer artists to create art about their queerness and queerness as a whole, and there’s also space for queer artists to create art that’s not about their queerness, at least to themselves. My favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands write all kinds of music, while staying true to themselves – whether they are out of the closet or still deciding how to verbalize how they feel.

What is your ideal vision for your future?

SB: We made a pie chart at the beginning of ’24 and we each decided how much time we wanted to give to each project. My ideal vision for the future is balance. Right now I’m feeling pretty good about playing as a side artist with Lainey Wilson and still sitting in with artists like Ashley McBryde, Hannah Wicklund, Beth Nielsen Chapman, and Kim Richey. Katie and I played strings (and other instruments) and sang on 40+ other albums this year and we loved that. So we’re always down for more session work.

The Accidentals are touring less in ’25 to make room for other projects and that was the plan that came out of the pie chart conversation. We’ll put out a couple albums in ’25 that we’ve been working on for two years, a TIME OUT 3 album (first single just dropped), a children’s album written with Tom Paxton, and a Christmas album with Kaboom Collective Studio Orchestra. We’ll tour those albums, but not much aside from that. We’re also looking at a “Michigan and Again” children’s book deal.

As far as long term, I’m one semester away from my bachelor’s in biology so I’ll likely finish that when time allows. The takeaway from all that is we are in love with the process, the learning, the growing, the becoming. We find gratitude everyday for the opportunity to explore all those things and become the best version of ourselves.


Photo Credit: Jay Gilbert

Writer Ann Powers Discusses Her Acclaimed Joni Mitchell Book, ‘Traveling’

Journalist, author, and cultural critic Ann Powers released her latest book, Traveling: On the Path of Joni Mitchell, in June of this year. A thought leader in pop and pop culture criticism – and an occasional BGS contributor – Powers considers this legendary figure in folk and American music with deliberation and intention. Traveling isn’t merely a biography or a retelling of well-known and oft-repeated Mitchell lore; instead it’s a careful consideration of the artifice and sincerity, publicity and privacy, myth-making and universe-building of this iconic musician, songwriter, and celebrity.

“I wanted to think about how Joni Mitchell became JONI MITCHELL,” Powers relays in her conversation with BGS executive director Amy Reitnouer Jacobs. “How she fought against that in her own life, and how she reinforced the legend as well.”

And how well-timed is this book and conversation, with Mitchell’s mythos at perhaps its lifelong peak? With Brandi Carlile’s assist, Mitchell has been enjoying a “Joni-ssance” of late, with jaw-dropping public appearances over the past couple of years after an extended hiatus and star-studded Joni Jams delighting fans and acolytes from the Gorge in Washington state to Newport Folk Festival in Rhode Island.

Fresh off Mitchell’s headline-grabbing appearances at the Hollywood Bowl on October 19 and 20, we’re sharing our recent conversation with Powers about Traveling, its inception and writing, and how a truer telling of Mitchell’s life and creative journey requires a degree of skepticism – and may just result in becoming an even deeper fan of the one-and-only Joni Mitchell.

Right off the bat, I really connected with your hesitation to write this book, because I find that I have a complicated relationship and love of Joni, and I’ve never been able to put it into words. So when you start your introduction with that exact sentiment, I felt that really deeply.  What was your thought process in committing to the book?

Ann Powers: Well, Amy, you understand more than most the thorny relationship we as writers and as lovers and supporters of music have with not artists in particular, but kind of the edifice around the art, or as Joni herself says, “The star-making machinery.” I’m very aware of how artists exist in one space and then there’s like a room where the artist lives, and in between is this space where a lot of misconceptions can happen. A lot of fetishization can happen. I was kind of trying to walk between those rooms and think about her as a public figure, as a legend.

And then, also what I could know of her from a distance. I say from a distance, because I did not interview her for this book – which is not unusual for biographies, by the way – but I foreground that because I wanted to say, “Look, I’m also a stand-in for maybe not the average Joni fan, but for those of us who are kind of considering these people that we’ve made immortal through our love and adulation.”

I wanted to think about how Joni Mitchell became JONI MITCHELL, how she fought against that in her own life, and how she reinforced the legend as well. That was the strong thread for me and an attraction to the project. My hesitancy was that I wasn’t going to be able to overcome the legend.

You say multiple times in the book how you’re not a biographer, but despite the chronological order, the book felt almost like a guide to being a critical fan. How have you developed as a fan in this writing process? Are you still a fan?

I’m definitely more of a fan than I ever was before. I would count myself among those people who took Joni Mitchell for granted before I was approached to do this book. And part of it, I think, is my self-styled “outsider” status. That’s a weird thing to say, but [I say it] as a misfit or someone who came from punk. When I was at the right age to have my “Joni phase,” my idols were Kate Bush, Debbie Harry, Chrissie Hynde, women who I now realize were deeply influenced by Joni themselves, but at the time who seemed almost like an alternative to her and Dylan and Neil Young.

The ’90s [were] the natural time for me to go through another Joni phase and then I did. I did get to see her at that amazing show at the Fez [in 1995] with Brian Blade. I had some prime Joni moments and definitely was listening more than I had in the past, but that was sort of like that moment when Tori Amos, Sarah McLachlan, PJ Harvey, and so many amazing artists were breaking through the Lilith Fair generation.

And here’s Joni in the press, bad-mouthing them or saying, “I don’t want to have anything to do with them.” So again, I’m like, “Oh, who is this person? Why is this person so hostile?” It’s like all these moments that would have been the one where I stepped onto that path turned me away from it – until much later, when I had an occasion, this book, to go beyond the surface of my fandom. Then I just went completely, fully in. So deep. And every step I took that was closer to her actual music and her actual words, not just her song lyrics, but interviews she’s given or the circumstances of her life, I became more and more of a fan.

In that way, this book is the story of me becoming that defender in the end, even if I’m still a skeptical defender, but I believe that that is something Joni teaches us to be – to yourself and as a skeptical defender of those people she admires.

The funny thing about Joni is that she took every step she could to stay off of that pedestal throughout her career. Sometimes I think her desire to not be encased in amber came from her own anxieties, like her own unhappiness with what fame wrought. It’s a very delicate thing.

This is such an important part of her music and her songs as well, especially an album like The Hissing of Summer Lawns, which is basically a critique of Hollywood. She’s living in Bel Air. She’s hanging out with Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty and the glitterati. She is of the glitterati. But then she’s also the one who runs away, who goes, “I’m living a monk-like existence outside Vancouver for a while.” Or, “I’m getting in my car by myself and driving across the South and using aliases and checking into hotels and hanging out with whoever’s in the lobby.”

This is something she kept doing in order to check herself and check the mechanisms around her and not become complacent with where she was. Same in terms of her collaborators. Instead of just doing what you’re advised to do in the music industry, which is just stick with the formula, she just kept blowing things up. She’s like, “I want to play with these jazz guys. I want to bring in like Brazilian percussionists.” That’s her curiosity, as I say in the book, but it’s also her refusal to be a conventional pop star. She’s always kind of trying to keep that at bay.

There’s something that you mentioned about the women you did look up to. When I think about Kate and Chrissie and Debbie, these women stand on their own; holding their own in a male-dominated scene and being surrounded by male collaborators and bands, but not necessarily lifting up other women. I’m trying to think of a female collaboration that Kate Bush ever did and I can’t think of one. 

Well, when we look historically at the place of women, particularly in rock, there were labels attached to women who primarily collaborated with women – “women’s music,” right? That was lesbian music. And I think there was a lot of fear, and frankly, internalized homophobia, among a lot of women and people in general in the more mainstream music business.

So you didn’t want to be associated with too many women or people might think you don’t like men, you know? Read any interview with a woman star from 1967 to probably like 2020 and you’re going to see that phrase. “I love men,” you know, “I like male energy,” all this stuff. And there’s no shame in liking to work with male collaborators, but it’s amazing how fearful so many women and their teams – the people guiding their careers – were of female collaboration and female affinity. It was like a forbidden zone.

Of course, I also love the Go-Go’s and the Bangles, but girl groups were [their] own kind of zone. They were taking on these personae. These are great musicians, why did they have to dress up like ’50s pin-ups? It’s like they’re saying “Look, don’t worry! We’re real women! We can play instruments, but we can be girls too!” And despite what we think, that’s still so alive and well today. Though I do think there’s been a shift in the mainstream recently with artists like Chappell Roan and boygenius. There’s definitely younger millennials and Gen Z fighting against being confined by gender roles.

I have also noticed that younger artists are more eager to welcome their women heroes on stage and older women are more comfortable embracing it. Olivia Rodrigo is constantly pulling her heroes on stage. Katie Crutchfield from Waxahatchee is like, “Where is Lucinda Williams? Let’s bring her out.” And that was something you actually didn’t see even during the Lilith Fair years. It didn’t happen. You didn’t really see older artists on the lineup.

I loved the line in the book, “A map maker must be open to new routes.” Were there any new routes that surprised you, or unexpected people that came out of the woodwork?

Definitely the whole Florida thing. When I found out she had spent time down there and met Bobby Ingram – who’s since passed away. And, I didn’t really know there was this whole kind of mirror folk scene in Florida to that in New York.

But I also didn’t know about how diverse the early folk revival was. This is something [for which] I give a lot of credit to Dom Flemons. He’s been doing the work on this, but it’s still so under-explored. When Joni started out, she wasn’t just seeing Pete Seeger wannabes. She was also seeing Caribbean musicians and people doing musical theater and jazz rock or jazz folk, and although it was still a predominantly white scene, there were very important nonwhite artists on that scene.

In my early days [of writing], I just wanted to write a book about that. Uncovering the stories of other musicians who we forget when we only talk about Guthrie or Seeger or Dylan or whatever. It’s like, how white and boring can it get? If it’s just that, it’s that same story every time and yet it was so much deeper and richer and more interesting. And it’s so important to understanding Joni’s music, because her music was never pure folk.

Somewhere in the last seven and eight years of putting this book together, Brandi Carlile kickstarted the “Joni-ssance” as you put it. How did that change your process?

I thought Brandi would stop at her Blue concerts [at Carnegie Hall and Walt Disney Concert Hall in 2021], but suddenly it was like, “Oh wait, there’s so much more!” It’s been such an exciting story in and of itself that goes beyond music. It’s really the story of recovery, healing, and having this epic return. So on that level, it’s a like beautiful human story that’s been edifying to watch.

But I made the choice to stand apart [from the Joni Jam concerts] so I could continue to keep my perspective focused. Now with the book out, I can finally just enjoy this woman who gave us so much and is receiving her accolades. There’s a world of elders – and especially women elders – that I want to continually acknowledge. And if this project could be helpful in that, then I’ve done something positive for the world.


Photo Credit: Emily April Allen

Yasmin Williams Shows Her Innovative Guitar Work in These 5 Must-Watch Videos

With only about ten days left in October, we’re spending each available moment we have remaining to continue spotlighting our Artist of the Month, Yasmin Williams. An impressive and innovative guitarist, Williams pulls seemingly impossible compositions, tones, licks, and endless originality from her instruments with ease and artfulness. Her brand new album, Acadia, demonstrates the instrumentalist has reached a new creative plane, one where limitless universes of creativity and collaboration are at her disposal.

Already this month we’ve shared our Essential Yasmin Williams Playlist, we featured an exclusive interview with the guitarist about her new project, and the incredible Jackie Venson – fellow guitarist and musical trailblazer – considered Williams’ approach to their shared instrument in a heartfelt op-ed. Now, we want to cap our AOTM coverage with this quick but mighty primer, a list that will immediately catch up our readers – from the uninitiated to the longtime fans – on exactly why Williams is a once-in-a-generation picker and musician. Check out these 5 must-watch videos from our Artist of the Month, Yasmin Williams.

Tiny Desk (Home) Concert

There’s almost no better way to introduce oneself to a new artist than through a Tiny Desk Concert. Even during the height of the COVID pandemic, when NPR pivoted their hit video series to Tiny Desk (Home) Concerts, the performances still carried the characteristic appeal and charm of performing behind the fabled Tiny Desk. That’s certainly true for Williams’ stunning performance, which features a handful of tracks from her critically-acclaimed 2021 album, Urban Driftwood. Listeners get a tantalizing preview of Williams’ multi-instrumental approach as well, with percussion by her tap shoes and a kalimba fastened to the face of her guitar, too.

“Restless Heart” for NPR

Even before Urban Driftwood became a breakout moment for Williams, she was on the radar of NPR and their Tiny Desk as far back as 2018, when she was a stand-out entrant in their Tiny Desk Contest. Her Night Owl performance of “Restless Heart” – a track from her 2018 debut project, Unwind – showcases still more bespoke techniques Williams employs, transitioning from tapping the fretboard while bowing the strings with a violin or viola bow, then laying the instrument flat in her lap to continue in her signature tapping style. She adds percussion with her knuckles and the heel of her right hand striking the top of the guitar, building an ornate and resplendent track that never sounds solo.

“Mombasa” with Tommy Emmanuel

Who better to collaborate with Williams than Chet Atkins acolyte and “CGP” Tommy Emmanuel? Williams appeared on his 2023 duet album, Accomplice Two, on the track “Mombasa.” They begin with tender guitar and kalimba in duet, before building into full time and loping through the Emmanuel-penned melody, a classic in his repertoire. Williams employs a guitar thumb pick while tapping, complementing Emmanuel’s relatively traditional flatpicking approach. They meld seamlessly, two bold voices on the instrument working in tandem and striking harmony. Before you know it, Williams has switched back to kalimba again, multi-tracking enabling what we know she can do analog, as well.

“Urban Driftwood” Featuring Amadou Kouyate

The title track from her most recent album before the just-released Acadia, “Urban Driftwood” features musician, percussionist, and kora player Amadou Kouyate. This composition feels especially lush, broad, and fully-realized. It has cinematic touches over its languid and relaxed melodic arc, but it’s also trance-like and meditative. You can sense how Williams and her collaborators seek and find a riff, phrase, or lick to lean into and explore all of its textures and variations. Relax, enjoy, and drift away on the musical sea like your own bit of urban driftwood.

“Through the Woods”

Another track from Urban Driftwood, “Through the Woods” demonstrates even more techniques that Williams employs in her music making. This time, she’s once again affixed a kalimba to her guitar top, while using a dulcimer hammer to elicit tones similar to a piano or a harpsichord, striking the strings close to the bridge for a brighter, crisper, more tight tone. She’s donned tap shoes, using a small board beneath her feet to supply even more sounds and percussion. Watching her limbs work with total autonomy and of one accord simultaneously is jaw-dropping. Somehow, she makes all of these complicated approaches to the instrument feel intuitive, organic, and infinitely listenable.

Want more? Watch our BGS exclusive Shout & Shine livestream from 2020 and continue exploring our AOTM coverage of Yasmin Williams here.


Photo Credit: Ebru Yildiz

‘Sweet Critters’ Shows a Deepening of Caleb Caudle’s Point of View

On his new album, Sweet Critters, Caleb Caudle has no desire to reinvent himself. The North Carolina native has spent his career trying to move closer and closer to what is already inside of him. “This well is getting deeper… more nuanced,” he explains. “And I really enjoy that. I’m not trying to be repeat myself, I’m trying to be myself.”

Dedicated to friend and former bandmate Alex McKinney, who recently passed after a battle with cancer, the album rings out with appreciation for the everyday experience of life. With gratitude and grit, Caudle explores both his external and internal world as he continues to travel the hardfought and beautiful path of a touring troubadour.

Reaching Caudle by phone during his headline tour in support of Sweet Critters, he explained that on days off from the road his band likes to rent a spot out in the woods somewhere, hunker down, cook meals, and play music and board games to recharge for the shows ahead. It was during one of these recharge days that he caught up with BGS.

This album was produced by John Paul White, former member of The Civil Wars. How did that come about and what did he bring to the record?

Caleb Caudle: John Paul and I have been buddies for a long time and we had always talked about working together. For this record, our schedules finally synced up and we had the chance to do it. I traveled to Alabama with my road band. It was my first time recording with my live band and that brought something special to the record.

With John, he’s such a great singer and he pushed me harder than anyone has pushed me as far as the vocals on this recording. I think there are things he hears that other folks don’t hear, so I trusted him. I liked that atmosphere of being pushed to go further, and I really enjoyed the process.

You’ve been doing this work for a long time. This is your sixth studio album. Is there anything new, thematically, that you see in this collection, or any new places you tried to reach?

It’s kind of in a similar world to my other albums… you know, it’s love, it’s loss, it’s empathy, it’s addiction, it’s anxiety. I think there’s some more character studies than I have done in the past, which is an exercise I kind of started doing more of on my previous record, Forsythia. At this point, I’m not trying to reinvent myself so much as I’m trying to deepen it all. Some of the habits you create end up just being your style and I think that’s what’s kind of happening at this point in my career.

A lot of the record is about endurance, whether about me or through the eyes of another character – which is usually me, anyway. For example “The Devil’s Voice,” it’s an empathetic look at addiction, because I’ve dealt with that. I try not to judge the characters, I try to stay out of it in a way and let them just tell their stories. Another song, “The Brim,” is a love song that I wrote for my wife, which is also about endurance in a certain way, about endurance in a long relationship.

And then there’s career endurance. I think “Heaven Sometimes” is about that. You know you’re going to have an off night here and there, and this song is about trying to recognize that the art that I’m making is more important than any other money I might make from it and just focusing on that concept.

Sonically, where did you and White want to take this record? As far as production, did you have any specific references you were trying to achieve?

I have been trying to figure this thing out for a while where I’m trying to marry traditional instrumentation with less traditional instrumentation and sound. There’s not a lot of stuff going on in the world of music that I listen to which has vibes of fiddle and old-time string instruments blended with other electric sounds. I’m trying to mix it up and blend it to create something new and that was one of the great things about using my live band for this record. I’ve been able to bring that vision out on the road with me.

Generally, when it comes to production, I just try to stay open-minded and completely available in the moment. I try to go where the music is leading me, and stay out of it a little bit.

Speaking of your live shows, you’ve been on a big headline tour in support of this record. How has that felt?

The songs are already starting to feel more lived-in. We’ve all been playing together long enough where we aren’t really thinking about the songs anymore. We really know the material. So we are doing a bunch of different interlude stuff, and we aren’t really putting borders around anything, which feels really nice.

We are doing our Grand Ole Opry debut in November. I can’t remember not knowing what the Opry was, because everyone around me would listen to it when I was growing up. I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older that there is no one moment that can change the trajectory of your career, but I’ve gotten worse calls! And John Paul is going to come up and sing with me, so I’m excited to share that moment with the people I love.

I absolutely love the Allison Russell and Aoife O’Donovan features on this album! “The Brim” is my favorite track. Can you tell me how those guest appearances came about?

Allison came to an in-store performance I did and we talked afterwards. She was so great. I saw her again over in London and I asked if she wanted to sing on on my record and she said yes, so that was a treat.

With Aoife, I didn’t actually know her, but [she and] John Paul are friends and her voice was perfect for that song. I ended up meeting her at the Long Road Festival and got to thank her for making that recording more beautiful.

Before I let you go, I’d love to know what has been inspiring you lately?

Right now I’m kind of at a spot where this record is my entire existence. My days are: focus on the set, drive back to the AirBnb, and then get up, drive, and do it all over again. As far as art, I really like that new Waxahatchee record, and the new Dave and Gil record… there’s been so much great stuff out lately. We just heard the new Jerry Douglas record and really liked that.

But for me, nature is my number one inspiration and I’m always seeking it out. I like going to cities, but when I’m home I really like being home. I really like the land in North Carolina and when I’m there I feel like I’m back on my axis, I feel centered. It’s really nice and I always find my inspiration.

(Author’s Note: Between our interview and its publication, Hurricane Helene devastated Caudle’s beloved home region in North  Carolina and surrounding areas. We reached out to Caudle, who has been at the forefront of rescue and relief efforts, for comment and for folks who are interested in helping, he wanted to encourage donations to BeLoved Asheville. Find more ways to help Hurricane Helene relief here.)


Photo Credit: Joseph Cash

Jake Blount & Mali Obomsawin’s ‘symbiont’ is a Radical Act of Reclamation

Jake Blount & Mali Obomsawin’s new album symbiont is a dense nest of references across a century of Black and Indigenous music and sound making, worked into the warp and weft of synthesizers and electronic production.

The liner notes detail Obomsawin’s trips to Blount’s apartment in Providence, Rhode Island, where the two would work through music, books, and other texts they had collected, compiling sounds and ideas, building up the whole project’s sound. The album bridges the hyperlocal and the global, across time, in a historically-minded, futurist radical gesture, refusing the silence of official archives and restoring voices lost to colonial violence.

The album was released by Smithsonian Folkways, which has a history of preserving a worldwide range of music, but also industrial sounds, the songs of birds, and the noises of frogs and toads. Obomsawin’s previous band Lula Wiles was also on the label. Folkways is an archive that is institutional though, literally funded by the government, and it is often colonial – they gave money to white officials who collected songs on reservations, in prisons, and among communities where saying no was an economic or social impossibility. The official archivists, given imprimatur by the Smithsonian, and the unofficial archive, compiled by these two musicians who are working personally, across time and space, to commemorate the social and political will of marginalized people, is a difficult balance.

In a conversation over Zoom, Blount makes the archival practice explicit saying that the process “became a way for me to co-opt this thing that I have often felt; [that] archives exist to deny dead Black people our agency and cut off our communal traditions from the community.”

The community here is as small as two people in a room, or in a Zoom call, but also collapses historical pasts, the apocalyptic now, and a possible, hopeful Afro/Indigenous future. When asked about how this album was in conversation with the colonial history, Obomsawin makes the political claim as explicit and as communal as Blount, saying that this album is “in conversation and asserting continuance for our colonized ancestors and our future descendants who have overthrown their colonizers.”

How to do that overthrowing is not an abstract or intellectual consideration here. There are calls for direct action. In one of the album’s spoken word sections, an ancient outside of time and space discusses how humanity cannot be either created or destroyed, but it is like a great river (like Langston Hughes’ river) that the energy flows through.

The material throughout this album is part of that great river, and so it includes texts like Slave Songs of the United States (ed. William Francis Allen, Charles Pickard Ware, and Lucy McKim Garrison) and Indian Melodies by Thomas Commuck, who is described by Obomsawin as a “Native American author, Commuck (Narragansett/Brothertown), [who] began his life in a community heavily influenced by the Methodist Episcopal Church with the tradition of singing shape note hymns.”

The ancestor work here is nuanced as Obomsawin refuses to view Commuck as a simple victim of settler violence, acknowledging the intellectual work of his hymnal, while also acknowledging that his learning the shape note involved an erasure of more traditional forms. Obamsawin’s inclusion of western plains singing on the recordings of Commuck function like Jeremy Dutcher’s album Wolastoqiyik Lintuwakonawa, who traveled to the settler capital of Ottawa to access wax cylinders of the almost extinct songs of his people – cylinders stolen from them. Maggie Paul, an elder and song keeper from Dutcher’s community, told him to bring the songs back. symbiont does something similar.

The songs gathered here are a model of how stories from the Atlantic Triangle and from the expulsion of Indigenous people from their native homelands can be made new. These songs are stories, of stars falling out of the skies, but also of the gathering of community or private devotions. The gathering of the community is a successful part of the project.

On this album, Blount and Obomsawin inherit the hymns of colonization, hymns that were remade by Indigenous and Black writers, performers, and thinkers. On “Mother,” there is an interleaving of singing over drums and synths; a gorgeous version of the hymn “In the Garden” is scarred with feedback, synth interruptions, and technological glitches, emphasizing the shift from male to female pronouns. These formal choices interrupt the edenic expectation of the song’s tradition, while still acknowledging where the text originated from. Jazz and electroacoustic performer Mantana Roberts did similar work with the hymn in her work Coin Coin Chapter 5 – there are always riffs, always new ways of working out old songs.

The expulsion from the garden into new sounds can also be seen in the song “Stars Begin to Fall,” with the jazz stalwart Taylor Ho Bynum. Percussion and gourd banjo undergird Obomsawin’s rich harmonies singing, “When you hear the master fall as he topples from his throne…” There is a profound impact, a direct route to the kind of political work of community.

Obomsawin is in conversation with Blount; Blount and Obomsawin are in conversation with Bynum; Bynum, Obomsawin, and Blount are in conversation with Slave Songs and William Francis Allen, Charles Pickard Ware, and Lucy McKim Garrison. And, the history of the slave song, which originated American popular music. This is an album about the earth, so when “Stars Begin to Fall” talks about horns, Bynum makes his cornet flutter, speed, appear and disappear. He turns that instrument into a bird, with all of the contradictory metaphors of containment and freedom within it.

The river which carries these stories is one which loops, breaks, and returns – it has not one source, but dozens. This borrowing, this community, the pulling out of narratives, the flow, has been blocked.

There are two songs here by Alan Lomax, the folk song collector, whose relationship to the medium has become incredibly vexed. Blount, when asked about what it means to include Lomax in this canon making, his response is as patient, as angry, and as generous as the rest of the record: “I understand that this may be something he did with the best of intentions. I don’t mean to impugn that in any way. I think we are now at a point where we need to start examining. If there’s a solution to release those copyrights. I don’t know legally if that can be done, but something’s got to change, because at the point where you have Black people sampling recordings of our ancestors on their songs and they have to credit John and Alan Lomax as co-writers on that song… I had to credit a white man for my song that I wrote, because he happened to record some other Black people one time.”

This album is a reclaiming, not of authorship, but a collapsing of time and space. It’s an album of new narratives of creations, against copyright, and against Euro-centric narratives of how we imagine folk music to sound like and about what the audience means. This is an album intended for liberation, one in conversation across time and place. Specific time and place are key to the aesthetic and political work of Blount and Obomsawin – work that refuses to ask permission.

When they sing, “Come down ancients and trouble the waters/ Let the saints come in…” on the perfect, revelatory, and haunting track “Come Down Ancients,” the invocation towards the saints is as small as two people in an apartment, as smart as a grad school seminar, and as expansive as centuries of art making, both heard and unheard, censored because it scared or intimidated those who colonized.

That symbiont has no interest in asking permission anymore makes it a most radical act of reclamation.


Photo Credit: Abby Lank

Basic Folk: Liv Greene

Oh, how I’ve longed to talk to Liv Greene. Every once in a while you come across a young artist that seems older and wiser than her 26 years. Liv’s been giving me that impression since I met her in 2019, when she was at Club Passim waiting tables and breaking hearts on the stage at just 21 years. Ok, enough about being young.

Liv’s been writing, studying music, and going to music camps since she was 12. Arguably she’s been studying music all her life with her Americana loving parents, who were filling the house with the sounds of Patty Griffin, Emmylou Harris, and Shawn Colvin, to name a few women in heavy rotation at the Greene house. Being the only of her friends that liked that kind of music, Liv attended many D.C.-area concerts with her mom, taking in the magic of live music at a very tender age. Speaking of tenderness, that’s what Liv Greene is all about and she digs into it in our conversation.

Liv started writing and playing shortly after she was inspired by a Taylor Swift concert. From there, she took off on the instrument and even sought out music education in camps like Miles of Music in New Hampshire. It was at that camp, as well as the arts academy Interlochen High School, where she started meeting peers with similar interests. She found herself living for summers with her music camp friends. Prior to her senior year at Interlochen, Liv was a closeted queer at her all-girls Catholic school mostly writing fictionalized stories into her songs because she could not deal with who she was.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

Liv attended and graduated from The New England Conservatory of Music and released her debut album (produced by Isa Burke) right in time for the pandemic in May of 2020. Shortly after that, she moved to Nashville and has spent the last several years on an intense path of self-discovery. Liv found her community, came out, wrote, and self-produced her new album, Deep Feeler (out October 18). On the album, you can hear the growth she’s experienced and you can hear her thriving in her corner of the Nashville music scene, including indie folk. We talk about all of this, including what it means to have a neurodivergent brain, music production, the roller skating community, and Liv’s favorite Taurus personality traits.


Photo Credit: Joseph Ross Smith

Tim Heidecker on the Battle of Life and Everything ‘Slipping Away’

Sitting in a Nashville hotel room one recent morning, Tim Heidecker is awaiting his Americanafest showcase. It’ll take place later that evening at 3rd & Lindsley. And Heidecker’s dreading the gig. Not because he doesn’t enjoy the act of performance. It’s simply the format in which the show will be set up: solo.

“It’s not my preferred way of presenting my songs,” Heidecker says. “I just came off the road with my band. Playing every night for two weeks. I’m a little road tested and warmed up. But, these songs benefit from other people playing them with me.”

That sense of vulnerability and, perhaps, a slight fear of what may or may not lie just around the corner of the grandiose ether surrounding all of us are core themes at the heart of Heidecker’s latest album, Slipping Away.

Though many may know Heidecker for his comedic brilliance – as part of innovative comedy duo Tim & Eric, on an array of beloved TV shows or across the big screen in major Hollywood films – he’s also been a lifelong singer-songwriter. And a damn fine one, too.

Now 48, Heidecker offers Slipping Away (available October 18 via Bloodshot Records) as a genuine snapshot of a human being wrestling with middle age and the intricacies of daily life. Just like many of us in the same boat of age and awareness.

Sonically, Slipping Away straddles psychedelic alt-country, surf rock, and indie folk. The ethereal attitude and lyrical ethos flows in the same river as Pavement and Wilco, with hints of Guided By Voices and They Might Be Giants felt throughout.

In an era of doom and gloom, Heidecker’s humor and zest are much needed – the notion that sometimes all you can do is laugh in pure amazement at the absurdity of what’s outside your front door.

“They say that Jesus Christ is coming back some day/ But if I were him, I think I would stay,” Heidecker sings during “Bows and Arrows.” “Up in the clouds, hanging out with dad/ Cuz things down here, things are going bad.”

In truth, much like his comedy, Tim Heidecker’s music is aimed at the idea of connectivity. Finding common ground with you and me. And his constant yearning to expose the lunacy and mysteries of one’s existence within the cosmic universe is why we’ve come to turn to Heidecker for comfort and solidarity in uncertain times.

I replayed the album this morning while having coffee with my girlfriend. And, in a good way, I started having existential thoughts. It made me think, “This is an honest snapshot of someone on the cusp of 50, who’s looking at the chaos of their youth in the rearview mirror and looking at the unknowns of growing older through the windshield.”

Tim Heidecker: That’s beautifully put. Can I use that? [Laughs] I mean, yes, I agree with that. It’s funny, you writers, critics and journalists are always better at vocalizing what I’m trying to say than I am. And I appreciate it. These things come from such a subliminal place for me that it’s nice to hear how it’s received or how it’s perceived. A lot of the writing of this record came right after the pandemic. There was this real, palpable feeling of an apocalyptic kind of mentality happening.

It still feels like that every day, though. That’s the world we live in now.

Yeah, for sure. And it was very crisp in 2020, 2021, 2022. In my comedy, I’ve tried a few different times to write shows about that. I’ve had a couple of projects that didn’t go very far, that were sort of about the end of the world. So, it’s been on my mind for a while and I wanted to do a record with that sort of concept or theme. And I started writing songs, letting the record be this way of getting those ideas out of my head.

With the title, Slipping Away, is that a reference to how fast time goes?

Picking the title of a record is always a pain and challenge to crystallize it. But, to me, there’s two meanings. The first half of the record is maybe a little more upbeat and positive and there’s this feeling of being content or being happy. Then, it can also mean things falling apart and disintegrating [in the second half]. There’s Slipping Away Side A and there’s Slipping Away Side B.

There’s also a very ethereal vibe to the album, too, where it’s like a dreamlike state.

Mm-Hmm.

With the song “Hey, Would You Call My Mom for Me,” was that a real encounter you had with somebody?

It was. We were on tour up in Vancouver. They have a big area of Vancouver that’s kind of been surrendered to addicts. They call it “Zombie Town.” I was walking around there and a kid asked me that. It was early in the morning and it took me off guard. I gave him 20 bucks and was like, “Sorry, I can’t.” I just couldn’t get involved. But, I came back to that line of, “Hey, would you call my mom for me?” Especially after the pandemic and living in Los Angeles, seeing a lot of people on the street. I felt like I wanted to capture that moment. Little journalistic songwriting there.

I’ve read that you’re an atheist/agnostic. And I wonder – with the pandemic and just life in general – if you’ve started to have maybe a crisis of faith or identity as you’ve gotten older?

I wouldn’t say crisis.

Recalibration, maybe?

Recalibration is fair. Honestly, I’m fairly firm in my agnosticism. I wouldn’t consider myself an atheist. I think it’s kind of an irrelevant question for me [about] what’s going on outside of reality. But, I’ve started therapy and working on some personal issues, health issues and stuff this past year. I don’t want to say midlife crisis. But, it’s this feeling of like, “Alright, I’ve been kind of coasting on my instincts for a long time. And it’s gotten me to where I am, which is a pretty good place. But, I’d like to figure out how I’m going to spend the rest of my life here – maybe a little happier, a little less anxiety-ridden, easier to be around.”

It’s been a couple years of taking the old car into the shop and getting it adjusted for long-term use. I mean, I’ve been touring with this band for the past couple years. And part of me is like, “Man, love this so much. How many more of these am I going to get to do? How many more of these runs where you’re just on the bus and you’re playing every night?” It takes a lot of work to get to that place where things are going well.

There’s the line on the record – I think it may be my favorite line on the record – [in the song “Something, Somewhere”] that goes, “There is a feeling I get, when things are going good but it’s coming to an end.” You’re at that place where things are working, something you’re working on or a project where you see the end. It’s that end of summer melancholy feeling. And I think you can zoom out and look at your life a little bit that way, too.

I couldn’t find much about your early music years. And I was curious about where music begins for you, and as somebody like yourself who came of age in early 1990s Pennsylvania. Was music just something that was always there?

Yeah. I came from a very musical family. My grandmother was very religious. She could play piano and she could play by ear. So, she could sit at the piano and figure out songs. My mom loved music and my dad was a big classic rock guy. He had a great record collection, then he updated his record collection to tapes as we were driving around in the ’80s. He would play the golden oldies and the best of the Beatles, [those] red and blue compilation [albums] a lot. I was always very performance driven, dressing up and doing shows and playing from as far back as I can remember. We had a piano in the house, and eventually a guitar came around. It was just something my parents really encouraged, I guess. My sister took piano lessons. It was just part of our education. I went to Catholic school, so there was a lot of singing. Just a lot of music around all the time.

Eventually, that led to bands being formed. My cousin had a hardcore punk band. And I gravitated towards those kinds of people who were also into music. I had an uncle who had really great taste in music and turned me on to all kinds of artists in the ’80s and ’90s [like] Billy Bragg. I remember him being a big fan of [Billy]. And it was fairly easy to put a band together. We all wanted to be on TV or make movies or create stuff. But, the band was the thing that you could put together after a good Christmas of getting a practice amp and a starter guitar. Your friend has a drum set and you could go into a basement and make something. We used to rent four-track tape recorders from the music store and make demos.

I hear a lot of influences on Slipping Away – indie rock, folk, alt-country. I hear a lot of stuff, too, that I grew up in the ’90s loving. I hear some Pavement influences. With Pavement, they always came across as a band where you could do whatever you wanted, and a song can be whatever you want it to be – something I always loved about them.

I loved Pavement. In fact, they’re a really important band for me, because when I was in high school my head was really firmly in the classic rock ’60s and ’70s world. I didn’t really connect to anything modern. I didn’t like pop punk music. I mean, it was okay. But, I didn’t really like the hardcore scene, the emo scene. I found it really boring and exhausting to listen to, and I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I didn’t like a lot of hip-hop. Whatever was happening in the early ’90s, I was not connecting with it.

And then I heard [Pavement’s] Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain record. I remember hearing the drumstick in [opening track] “Silence Kid.” And I was really into Exile on Main St. by The Rolling Stones, so it was a connection, a through line from the Stones to Pavement, where it felt like, “Oh, these guys are happening now.” That opened me up to Guided By Voices, The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, Yo La Tengo, and that Matador Records scene. I was like, “Oh, I am of my age now. I’m of my time.” [Laughs]

When you’re touring, is it weird people may have preconceived notions of what to expect and expectations that aren’t accurate?

Yeah. I mean, that’s diminishing a little bit now. I think people are getting the message. There’s still people that are confused. They’re waiting for the punchline to drop. It took me a while to figure out how to behave as a performer when I’m doing my music. I’ve found this little sweet spot, where I can still be funny and I can still be myself. I don’t have to pretend to be this pretentious singer-songwriter, because I’m not. I’m just me. I don’t want to keep it too serious, so I lighten the mood enough where people get a little bit of both – they get the full picture, they get the full version of me.

One of the songs on Slipping Away is “Dad of the Year,” where you sing about how you had all these expectations growing up and conquering the world, as we all do. And now you’re in your late forties and you’re like, “Well, that didn’t really happen. But, in this other way, I’m actually really happy with where I landed.”

For sure. The goal is to get to that place where you’re content and satisfied with wherever you are. And in the way the world is, it’s very hard to not compare yourself to everything else that’s going on, to people you don’t know. Why do people care about Ben Affleck and J. Lo? [Laughs] When I see a picture of them, there’s this intrusive thought of, “Why aren’t they taking pictures of me?” And if you really are honest, I think everybody has varying degrees of that. And that’s the battle of life – to find ways of knowing how to be happy with where you’re at. But, don’t squash ambition, because ambition is very important, too.

To that, it does feel like you’re in a good place right now.

I’m in a great place. I’m in Nashville. I’m excited for the record to come out. I hope people sit with it. Some records you just need to sit down and listen to. I mean, Slipping Away is only 30 minutes. [Laughs] This isn’t coffee shop music.


Photo Credit: Chantal Anderson