Tag: Folk

How “Guidelines” Made Madison Cunningham’s Ace Feel Totally Free

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It is no news that Madison Cunningham is among the top tier of artists and musicians doggedly pursuing their craft; her newest record, Ace, casually echoes this. Soberly confronting a mountain of grief at home and transmuting its impressions through her open-minded, mature songcraft, the record encourages listeners through a seamless track list whose performances take on the form of open letters to its subjects. She treats an album as the dignified platform it once was and should be and this stance feels radical in today’s streaming-focused world.

A most striking feature of Ace (released on October 10, 2025) is the presentation of her vocals in a more expansive and spacious light, putting aside her much-associated – and anticipated – guitar for the piano, a more than suitable vehicle for this new terrain. Cunningham returns to her native instrument, the keys, as a “lost sojourner,” using it to strip away all but the most critical aspects of the record’s narrative, while highlighting its grooves and timbres.

All the songs played on piano started on guitar and later migrated to it. This practice seemingly grew out of her fascination with embracing the uncomfortable, like the open tunings she is known to use in her celebrated approach to the guitar as an instrument to be challenged and played with. From a new-to-her tuning, to the piano, and then to her band, this game of telephone still allowed Cunningham to sound more like herself.

The game doesn’t stop there. At a lair in Woodstock, New York, in the fall of 2024, Madison and her band committed themselves to a few simple principles: No demos. No vocal comps. “Do the thing that feels most musically true and curious.” And, “Don’t give a shit about what people have known you for.” These rules, in many ways, allow the anthropology of the moment in time during which this record was made to speak loudest. It goes without saying that this path is impossible to tread without a rigorous knowledge of oneself, trust in the folks around you, and, most centrally, the chops to back it up. The consequence of these choices is a record with a narrative “spine” throughout, animating what Cunningham likens to a ballet in its transitions – something she has been working toward both in the studio and on the road since her triumphant, full-length debut in 2019, Who Are You Now.

The song “Wake,” a duet with Robin Pecknold of Fleet Foxes, evokes the kaleidoscopic nexus of Alison Krauss & Robert Plant’s Raising Sand, the orchestration of Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, and the cinematic flair of Gustavo Santaolalla on top. More stripped-down performances, such as “Take Two” and “My Full Name,” demonstrate Madison’s subtle confidence as both a devoted curator and a fearless innovator. Woodwinds underscore and bookmark this collection’s ethereal climate, thanks to the work of Jesse Chandler. Taken as a whole, Ace brings the listener into the same trenches Madison found herself in and onward toward truth in the face of its hardships.

BGS reached Madison Cunningham via Zoom in mid-September to discuss Ace, its making, and the guidelines and rules by which she brought these songs into the world.

I noticed that you described the record as “light” when making it, despite its sober depiction of difficult subject matter. Which aspects were light to you?

Madison Cunningham: That’s a great question. The mission for making the record was really clear and all the “guidelines” were set up well in advance, which was something I had never done before. In the past, my process has been more about figuring it out as we go. This time, my band and I were very prepared. I used the touring band that I’ve been with for the last five years, and the deep collaboration and shared language we’ve developed over that time made everything feel so fluid.

We were all “cracked open” in this special way and we laughed the whole time. That’s probably what I mean the most about the record being “light,” how joyful it felt. I didn’t feel much fear while we were making it. I just had a picture of how I wanted it to sound, and it already was sounding like that. That felt like a relief.

Did you feel like you had less to prove in a superficial sense?

I guess there’s always something to prove. I don’t mean to erase the feeling that I had, which was, of course, a certain amount of pressure or wanting it to level up in some way. But, in light of being quite devastated in my personal life, everything else felt so small compared to the mountain I felt like I was climbing at home.

And maybe that was the gift and that’s why everything felt like it. For whatever reason, everything felt like green lights. It just couldn’t have been easier. Also, I’d never had a more fluid relationship with my label; there was no argument about how this was going to happen. It just was like, “Go. Do it.”

How would you describe the guidelines you had in place for this record and how did they differ from your usual process? Also, did playing the piano more for this record affect your writing style, perhaps making it more expansive in some ways?

I started as a kid on piano first and it had a resurgence in my life in the last three years. I fell back in love with it and I enjoyed the feeling of being a lost sojourner on it, just being like, “Oh, I’m finding all these things that I now am – I found a style here that I’m injecting into my guitar playing.” I wanted to play guitar more like a pianist.

One of my guidelines was, “Just don’t give a shit about what people have known you for, what they might expect. Do the thing that feels most musically true and curious.” And that sounds a lot like permission, but it was also a guideline. Another guideline was, “Make sure that there’s emotional delivery over anything that sounds too perfect. And don’t compromise on that.”

The other set of guidelines were between me and my band: we did a lot of rehearsal beforehand, but we didn’t record anything, so there were no demos. That was a huge rule. I also said, “I don’t want to do any vocal comps. I just want to sing the songs live.” That was helpful. It was another way of being like, “Okay, focus, and be in the room for the moment that these songs are being captured.” So, yeah, there was no previous, “Ah, but shit, we gotta out-beat that one demo we made.” Because that slate was so clean, I think everything was clearer.

During the recording process, do you listen to other music for comfort or do you stay entirely within the feedback loop of your own project? I’m also curious if the recording period was a continuous block of time, which would obviously influence your ability to listen to music.

We did record it continuously, and I don’t usually listen to music while I’m making a record. Honestly, destination recordings help so much with that, because you’re just immersed in the physical and spiritual environment of the whole thing. We were up at a lair and it was fall – it was this time last year – and there’s this beautiful hike that allowed you to look over the reservoir and the golden, brown, red leaves. I felt so romantic that whole time. Even if there was something that wasn’t working, I just had such faith it was going to get there.

We also had a crazy sort of work cycle, which was [that] we would start the skeleton of the song in the morning and then we would record until 2:00 AM and finish it. Again, I think because we all had the guidelines, we were like, “We want every song to have woodwinds pretty much, unless it doesn’t call for it, so we’re going to try and flesh it all out in the same day.”

Jesse Chandler did all that. He’s a genius. We would both talk through things we were both hearing, and then he would just play it all. It was like building a puzzle in real time, and it felt so wonderful to be able to see it all and to feel moved by it. We barely did any overdubs. We did another session in LA a month later after those two weeks up at Woodstock and did a few little overdubs, but we had mainly done everything while we were there.

Ace feels like a return to the “record” as a dignified format. In the lead-up to making it, did you think about the songs as individual tracks – as it relates to streaming culture – or did you focus on creating a cohesive narrative for the entire album?

There are so many examples of records that feel like a full statement and we’ve lost that. That feels radical now. I feel like I’ve made records that have been molded to the current format and I was so disinterested in that this time. I am so over the, “Hey, let’s just do what everyone else is doing,” and, “It’s guaranteed to work.” I really mistrust people when they say that to me, and that mistrust has usually been right.

Even if I see the “format” working for someone else, I’m like, “But that’s not me. That’s not my music, so we can’t say that’s the target, that’s the answer.” I was so interested in making the record feel like a ballet and feeling like the transitions were seamless. It was the first record I felt like I made that had a spine that connected the whole thing and I still find such value in that.

To be honest, we also made efforts to make sure that the songs were not too long. They were separated from their instrumental tracks so that it could work for playlisting. We weren’t, like, fully in protest.

When working on a song like “Wake,” where did that start? How different does it look from when you’re playing it on the couch, versus sitting down with Robin [Pecknold] to record it? Could you walk me through how that song got made? I love how active the guitar parts are, the closeness of the vocal harmonies, and how relaxed everything feels in the recording.

MC: I love that. I really appreciate that it comes across that way. That was the goal and the way that it was written. I wrote it with another songwriter named Will Taylor and we were both just playing these counterparts. And that’s where the seamlessness of it kind of took place; on the recording, that’s the direction I wanted it to go in. Then I just added some different flavors.

All those guitar parts you hear were added and layered, but I didn’t do very many takes of them, so that’s how it might feel live. I didn’t get in there and try to overly correct things. I wanted it to breathe. That has to be one of my favorite songs on the record because we wrote it in a Nashville blizzard and it sounds like that. The guitar part sounds like snowflakes falling in different directions to me, and Robin’s voice is just like a warm fire.

Did you record that in Nashville, or did you just write it in Nashville?

Wrote it in Nashville, recorded it in Los Angeles a year later, and we did all of that, everything that you hear, in one day. I recorded the main guitar and sang at the same time and then Robin sang in the other room. And once we figured that out, we added all the guitars, then Daniel Rhine added upright bass, and then we did the foot stomps at the end. And that was the song.

For the guitar-centric people, is “Wake” in an open tuning, and do you mind sharing what that is?

No, I always forget it, but I’m going to pull it up on my “favorite tunings” column.

It is C-G-D-F-A-C, from low to high. It’s basically an open suspended chord and it’s so tricky. At first, you’re like, “There’s no possible way through this tuning.” And that’s the tuning I wrote all the record on. Every guitar here, it’s in that tuning.

Your music contains rhythmic feels that seem to be informed by drums or percussion, outside of the guitar. I know you’ve played percussion – does your drumming experience influence your songwriting on other instruments? Do you workshop things back and forth with your drummer, Kyle [Crane] in this way?

I feel like if I were to show you the original demos of these songs, there was already such a strong, informed rhythmic thing, more than in the past for me. And Kyle, I think he was playing into, “How do I make this feel like we thought of this at the same time? Or, “How can it feel like that?” For example, “Break the Jaw” came out of a band jam. I wrote the lyrics to it, but the feel of the song wasn’t something Kyle tried to figure out after the fact. We were figuring it out in real time and I think that’s why it came out so cool. Everybody put their stamp on it.

The whole process was us trying to figure out the skeleton of rhythm and how to make it feel like it wasn’t fighting with itself.

I’m wondering how you approach sequencing an album. When you consider the interludes, the streaming world, live performance, and recording, are there specific ideas, people, or records that have helped you learn how to think about the flow and energy of a record from start to finish?

Ooh, yeah, I’m sure. Radiohead is a big one for me. I think the sequencing of their records is so specific. Their opening track is always perfect to me and their closing track is always perfect. From the beginning of making this record, before all the songs were written, I knew which was going to be the first and which was going to be the last. And then Robbie Lackritz – who made the record with me – and I spent a lot of time delineating over sequencing.

The story of the record is important. Obviously, the tempo arc, and the keys melded together. The story has a plot, so that was a big thing. I wasn’t trying to write it like that, but from an aerial view, I was like, “Oh yeah, this is how it connects.”

In the song “Take Two,” you mention a fear of writing simple songs. Did this perceived fear influence the guidelines you set for yourself when writing the album? Also, were the initial ideas for the songs primarily written on guitar or piano?

For every song that ended up on piano, it actually started on guitar – with the exception of the instrumental pieces, which were formed from the piano.

For example, “Shore” started on guitar and so did “My Full Name,” but they felt like piano songs to me because I was doing a lot of transposing between instruments to see if the song was good. I would transfer it between instruments and say, “Yeah, it still has a message.” In doing that, I fell in love with “My Full Name” on the piano.

“Take Two” also started on guitar, and I was like, “I don’t like this song very much. I love what it’s saying, but I find it to be so boring.” It was a song that everybody on my team was attached to. When we got to Woodstock, the song came together on the piano before we were going to record it and I was like, “I love this song.” Something made me say, “Hell yeah.”

On a more technical note, I’m curious about the guitar sound for “Skeletree.” It sounds like a low-tuned nylon string guitar with a contact mic. What was it?

Killed it. That’s exactly what it is. There was this big bedroom with a tall ceiling and that’s where we stored the amp. The contact mic was also sitting in a really big room, which contributed to the fairy dust.

Very cool. Were there any other notable guitars on the record that were new to you or were just lying around the studio?

I used a hollow body for the bridge of “Break the Jaw.” I think it might have been a 330 or something. I really love that you can hear a crunchy, kind of reverb thing just break out for a second. I also used my Collings acoustic. I know I had that for a few, but mainly it was just that nylon string that I stuck with. A little bit of the Collings, and then that electric guitar once, for one section of a song, and then all piano after that.

I did play electric bass for “Golden Gate” and “Mummy” too.

Do you ever write on bass or play along with records on bass?

I do, and I wrote “Golden Gate” on bass. That line that you hear at the beginning, it started with that.

Do you have any advice for people who want to feel like they don’t have anything to prove, especially if they are working toward a platform in the process?

I feel like the thing that I’ve learned the most from is, even if you don’t fully have your sound yet, make it a mission to just make music you like the sound of. Even if you haven’t fully found yours yet, you will, by way of learning what it is that you love and what you like coming out of your own body and mouth and fingers.

I think the things that have spoken the most to people is going, “I can tell that you love what you’re doing.” And even though in my earlier years, you could definitely see a lot of comparisons, I needed those because those were the things that made me believe in music and what I was doing. And then I think those faded away and now this record is the first time I’ve ever been like, “This is what I’ve always wanted to make. This sounds like me.” It just took a minute, but I enjoyed the whole ride.

I also feel like I was never not myself. Everything that I did, I felt was a risk in some way or stretched me as an artist. … What I loved the most about making this record was that all of it felt in balance. Finally, my voice was the loudest.

That’s just because I finally, like you said, trusted myself, trusted the process. I knew enough to know that even if something isn’t working the first time, there’s always a second, third, or fourth to try. So, trust your curiosity and do whatever it takes to make sure your curiosity is above the fearful, negative self-talk.

Photo Credit: Sean Stout

Ray LaMontagne After 20 Years of Trouble

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

In the fall of 2004, it seemed like everybody was getting into Trouble. Even with that major label debut album, Ray LaMontagne managed to keep a low personal profile while maintaining the rigorous pace of a promising new artist. Meanwhile, the title track of Trouble got covered by that season’s winner of American Idol and ended up in an inescapable but kinda cute insurance commercial. Other cuts on the album ended up in films such as The Devil Wears Prada, Prime, and She’s the Man. In addition, Zac Brown Band recorded “Jolene” and Kelly Clarkson often performed “Shelter” in her shows (and recently revived it for Kellyoke.)

Now, LaMontagne is bringing Trouble back around for a 20th anniversary remaster and re-release (which dropped this summer) and North American and European tour dates set for 2026. He’ll be singing every song on the record to commemorate the collection two decades after its release.

“It’ll be interesting to see how my spirit reacts to learning these songs again, to going back and listening to them again in that way, to bring it to people again,” LaMontagne tells BGS. “I’m looking forward to it. And I feel like it’s important to do to mark this moment, because these are the songs that brought people to my music in the first place.

“Listening to it again now after all these years, I’m very proud of my younger self, for having the strength of will amidst all the pressures of the music business at the time, and about my writing and the way I wrote, to make the record that I did, and to leave the songs the way I wrote them and not take any advice.”

What was your day-to-day life like before Trouble was released?

Ray LaMontagne: Well, we lived off the grid. I was already married for six or seven years at that point. My two boys were five and three and we lived on a piece of land I bought in Maine. I had built a small cabin on it and we had a hand-dug well that we used for water. We had an outhouse. It was back-to-the-land living and that was just because I couldn’t stand renting. I wanted to have my own piece of ground. But it was really hand to mouth, and we were broke. And that’s putting it mildly. I mean, we were broke, broke, broke. I was working carpentry, sometimes seven days a week, because I would take anything I could get on the weekends just to get a little extra money, because I constantly was trying to improve the cabin. And I never had a car that ran.

You’d made some independent records before Trouble and I’ve read a couple of accounts of how you got your music in front of Chrysalis Music. How did that actually happen?

Someone heard me at a festival and they gave a disc to a college friend who was in the music business. Then he brought it to his boss. I went out and met with Hollywood Records first. I felt that I was in a room with a bunch of cynical people who made me feel kind of gross. I went back home and that guy called and said, “I think they’re gonna offer you a record deal.” And I said, “I don’t want to do it.” He said, “Are you crazy? What do you mean, you don’t want to do it? They’re gonna give you a record deal!” And I was like, “I didn’t like them. They made me feel gross.” So I went back to being a carpenter again, as I was, and went back to my life.

Then it was close to a year later when that guy called me again and said he had gone to a different company. Now he was with a publisher and that was Chrysalis. He said, “I played your stuff for my boss and he really likes your songs and is interested in you as a songwriter. Would you come out and meet my boss?” I talked to my wife about it and then I said, “Okay, I’ll come out.” I went out and I met his boss and played a couple songs in the office. We talked about songwriting and he said, “We want to help you as a songwriter.”

So, they were looking at you as a songwriter rather than as an artist.

And that’s how I got into the studio to make this record, because I was supposed to go in and make demos. What happened was, Ethan [Johns, who produced Trouble] and I met each other for the first time. We’re very different people and we couldn’t quite read each other. Especially at that time, I was very much a closed book, very much an observer. And he’s a type A personality, big ego, big presence, loves to talk – mostly about himself. And I don’t say that critically, I say it with humor! Anyone who knows Ethan will agree with me!

So anyway, it was this strange thing, but I began to realize as we were starting to record demos or talk about songs, that they didn’t really feel like these songs were finished. They thought they were promising. But I was getting a lot of input coming at me very quickly about, “This song doesn’t have a bridge. This song is just two verses. Is that even a song? This song just has four verses and then it ends. Is that a song?” And it was like that right down the line.

The first demo we recorded was “Hold You in My Arms.” We got to a point in the song where Ethan stopped me and said, “This song is just not finished. It needs a bridge.” He started throwing lyrics at me for this bridge and my shield started to go up. I thought, “These lyrics, first of all, aren’t right…” I was resisting and resisting, and he was getting more frustrated with me. He said, “I’m gonna go make a cup of tea. You write a bridge.” So, he went to make a cup of tea and I wrote an instrumental bridge by the time he got back. I said, “It’s just gonna go into an instrumental bridge and then back into the chorus again.” And he said, “OK. I’ve always been told you gotta do this in the moment. So how many points do you think that’s worth?”

I knew nothing about the way these things happen, but in that moment I knew what was going on and I knew why I was there. From that moment on, I was a brick wall. Nothing was changing. I was changing nothing. I’m recording the songs exactly as I had written them and then I’m going home. If you like them and you want to shop them around, great. If you don’t like them, I’m still going home. It doesn’t matter to me, but I’m not playing this game. So that’s what we did. We recorded this record, which is basically the demos the way I wrote them.

How did the recordings go from demos into becoming the Trouble album?

Six months easily passed and the publisher called me and said, “You know, the songs are just… no one wants to sing the songs. No other artists are gravitating towards the songs, but weirdly, record labels are coming forward because they like your voice and they like what they’re hearing, but they like it delivered by you. It works when you sing it, but it’s not working for any other artist.” And that led to the next step of going back and meeting record labels and talking to people about me as a performer, which was not even on my radar.

So it was a whole other challenge. It was like me against my biggest fear. I was much more interested in being a songwriter at that time. So, that’s how it happened. Slowly, and one step at a time, and one thing led to another, and led to another. But again, that’s why, when I hear these songs at this point in my life, listening to it again for the first time, it really hits me, just where that 28- or 29-year-old guy had that strength of will to know at a gut level that what I was doing had value. Just me being me had some value and I wanted to protect that. And it just makes me very proud of him.

It’s interesting to hear that no other artists wanted to record your songs, because when this record came out, a lot of people were singing these songs. What’s the personal reward for you as a songwriter when someone does take one of these songs from the album and makes it their own?

I really like that. It always makes me happy. I think any songwriter would be happy if even one song gets covered by someone else. You feel lucky if one song you wrote even makes it into people’s lives in some meaningful way. If you’re a songwriter and that happens to you once, you’re grateful. I mean, it’s just the truth of it. It’s like any other art form. It’s not easy, and it either will work or it won’t work, because music is a complex language. … It’s probably the same with painters, with dancers, with writers. You just don’t know if it’s going to connect to people, or if people are going to understand what you’re saying, or if it’s going to speak to them in a real way, speak to their spirit in some way. So I’m very grateful. I’m so glad that there are people in the world, all over the world, who understand my language.

Something that struck me about this record, then and now, is that dynamic in your voice. At what point did you become aware of that range, that you could go loud when it when you needed to?

I don’t really know. I feel like I learned to sing just by doing it. There’s some truth to this, that I really didn’t know how to sing even when I went in to make the record. But I was learning by doing it. I had gotten to a certain point where I knew when I was singing incorrectly because I would be uncomfortable or something would hurt in my throat. And I knew that that wasn’t the right way to do it. At some point, I realized you had to really breathe and sing from your gut.

In 2004, before streaming and social media, how did you find an audience?

It was just live shows. I mean, I toured a lot. A lot. And in the beginning, even being signed, I was still just like anyone. I was in a rental car, just me and my guitar, a box of harmonicas, and getting myself from one gate to the next. Those early shows, again, it’s no different than anyone. It’s two or three people and the next year you go back and there’s 20 people and the next year you go back, there’s a hundred people. When people connect to what you’re doing, they will tell their friends about it, and they’ll bring them the next time you come around. But there’s nothing anyone can do outside of yourself to make that happen. It either works – people connect to what you’re doing, to your performance, to the music, and then they’ll tell their friends – or it doesn’t work. But being signed to a record label doesn’t mean anything. It just means they’re investing and they’re gambling. And if you build a career for yourself, then they win that bet, and if you don’t, then they move on.

I’ve read that you saw Townes Van Zandt play a show in the mid ‘90s and I wondered how much of an influence did he have on your writing and your musical direction for Trouble?

I don’t think he had a real heavy influence. I wouldn’t say that, especially at that time. It was too early. I just remember being really moved by watching him play, for a few different reasons. It’s kind of tragic in some ways. He was right at the end, but I could hear the poetry in the songs. That’s what moved me the most, to hear a song and be so close to somebody, eight feet away from him, and hear “Pancho and Lefty.” That story was completely immersive and took me somewhere else. That was really the most powerful thing I took from that particular night. He transported me. That’s powerful. Music can be really powerful if you’re receptive.

To me, your song “Narrow Escape” feels like a spiritual brother to “Pancho and Lefty.”

Yeah, I’m sure it is. I mean, it’s my take on a story song of this kind. They’re very different stories, but I’m sure that’s my “Pancho and Lefty.”

There’s a reference to “Liula” in that song and I noticed that fictional town shows up again, now, as the name of your own record company. So, are you fully independent these days?

I am, yeah. I still have all my same team around me, but I’m making records on my own and releasing them on my own. That’s a natural progression, too, in the way the music business has changed. It was a very different business when I entered it and at this point, especially for me, there’s no reason to be with a publisher or a record label at all. I left my publisher a long time ago, 10 years ago probably, and the record label followed.

I did want to ask about the illustration on the cover of Trouble. It’s not a picture of you. It’s this beautiful image from Jason Holley. What was it about that image that worked for you?

I just thought it was poetic. I saw the poetry in it. You can take lots of different things from that image, but it’s also just a powerful image. And of course, I have always been reticent to have my photograph taken, or to use my photos anywhere. Which, you know, we all have these things. If you’re comfortable doing it, that’s great. If you’re not comfortable, you should feel you have the right to say no.

Other than seeing you in concert, I don’t know that I really saw your face that much back then, when Trouble was out.

I remember telling my manager, “I want to be like the Lone Ranger. I don’t need to be seen and to be known. Just leave them with the music. And that’s it.” You can imagine how that went over. It was really, really difficult, and there were a lot of frustrated people, I’m sure, at the record label and with management. It frustrated a lot of people because they felt like I missed a lot of opportunities that I could have otherwise had. I knew that at the time as well.

But I’ve always felt like I know who I am. I could say no to a magazine cover back then because I know that that’s going to be a day out of my life where I’m going to be miserable, and it’s going to make me uncomfortable. … I’ve never felt like anyone in the press or who had a camera really cares about you as a person. They’re not sensitive to you, and your well-being doesn’t matter to them. They’re just doing their job. And whatever they capture there, they choose what they want. If you have your head in your hands, if you’re doing this, if you’re looking miserable. That’s power and they’re going to use it.

So, I turned down all of that stuff. You lose that opportunity, but I felt, well, I’ll lose that opportunity, true, but you know what? I’ve got a show tomorrow night, and I’m going to sing my ass off, and people are going to feel it. And if they feel it, they’ll come back next time. That’s what’s important, to build a career that is sustainable. And to do that, you need people to fill the seats. If they don’t come out to see you live, you have no career. That’s all there is to it. So that’s the most important thing. And that was then, and it still is.

Photo Credit: Brian Stowell

“Ohana Means Family”
to Ohana Music, Too

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

When Ohana Music founder Louis Wu says, “Ohana means family,” it’s not hyperbole; it’s the tenet upon which the company was built.

“On an unspoken level it drives everything, including staff, dealer interactions, customers, and products,” says Chris Wu, who oversees the ukulele company’s operations and product marketing.

The Ohana story, which is also Louis Wu’s story, is an inspiring journey of determination and accomplished goals. Wu grew up in Hong Kong and relocated to the U.S. after high school to study engineering. In 2006, after twenty years in his chosen field, he decided on a career change, primarily to spend more time with his wife and two young children. That priority – family – became and remains the basis of Ohana.

Chris Wu was 10 years old when his father launched Ohana. He spent his teen summers alongside his father “doing a little work here and there.” In 2018, after college and a career in accounting, he says, “Things fell into place where it made sense to come onboard full-time.”

From Louis Wu’s Long Beach, California, garage to a 6000-square-foot warehouse, Ohana’s slow and steady growth has taken them from a small business serving one customer at a time to leaders in their field with both their expansive product line and custom shop.

“I have to give full credit to Louis as the visionary leader of the company since day one,” says Wu. “He knows how a company should and needs to be run. Myself and all the staff are here to support that vision, and that really drives the growth. As a team, we’re improving internally every day, and that has been life-changing. It’s wonderful seeing our employees grow in what they do and in their passion for their jobs.”

Ohana’s international reach stems from the dedication of a surprisingly small workforce. “We’ve never had more than ten people at one time,” says Wu. “It is a small company, but the size helps our operation run smoothly and efficiently.”

Ohana ukuleles are available across a spectrum of styles and price points, from beginner models to pro series. Built overseas, the instruments are individually inspected in Long Beach to ensure flawless playability. “At the core, again, we view our customers as family, and we don’t want family to end up with subpar instruments,” says Wu. “Every instrument is given a full inspection and proper setup before it goes to our worldwide dealers. This does affect our output, our capacity, per day, week, month, or year, but that is the way it should be done. We’ve always been proud to do things that way.

“When you receive your Ohana ukulele, you can rest assured that you can take it out of the box and start playing. At the end of the day, being able to connect people to their instruments and spread the joy of music – it feels like introducing another family member to something we love, something we know they will love, and that will work for them.

“As a disclaimer, I will say that there are manufacturers who offer things that we do not, for example, plastic or carbon fiber instruments. Those materials can take a beating on long journeys or camping trips, if you need an instrument to meet those needs. Those ukuleles have their place, but we stay away from making them.

“We focus on sound, acoustics, wood choice, and the quality of the instrument you’re getting right off the bat. Between our 150 to 200 different models, there’s something for everyone. When you buy an Ohana ukulele, you know there is love behind it. Our team has set it up with you, our family, in mind. We want you to have a good instrument, plain and simple, for the right price and the right value. With our custom shop we’ve expanded that range while still keeping the value, the quality setup. We’re just covering a larger market.”


Ohana Music founder Louis Wu peruses the Ohana showroom.

All Ohana tonewoods are sustainably sourced. Most popular, says Wu, are redwood variations from the Pacific Northwest, which feature prominently in limited-edition models. They also source Hawaiian Acacia Koa, Canadian Engelmann spruce, and mahogany, cedar, and other wood sets from local harvesting companies. “We take our time to go through which sets look and sound the best, but are also in compliance with CITES,” he says. “Anything on that list, we won’t touch.”

Ohana Ukuleles will celebrate their twentieth anniversary in 2026. The lead-up to that milestone began unofficially this year at the 2025 NAMM Show with the introduction of their Custom Shop electric tenor and baritone ukuleles.

“Louis and our master luthier, Brad Kahabka, go all out when it comes to planning and executing things that come from the custom shop,” says Wu. “After building acoustic instruments and getting the shop going, it was a question of ‘What’s next?’ We made simple custom instruments, more elaborate custom instruments, and we even built one with wood from The Tree. We had explored the whole range of acoustic instruments and electric was the natural progression. We were excited to enter the market with electric instruments this year. That’s really been our focus for 2025.”

This month, Ohana debuts their Custom Electric Bass, also built by Brad Kahabka. The new instrument, which the company describes as “a counterpart” to their OBU-22 short-scale acoustic-electric bass, features a solid mahogany body, maple top, custom pickups, cutaway design, and 28-inch scale.


The brand new Ohana Custom Shop Electric Bass, which launched this month.

“We’re super excited to bring the first 28-inch-scale bass to market,” says Wu. “There are short-scale basses out there, but after trying different scales, Brad and Louis wanted something portable that we could make here in the shop. We wanted to come to market with this middle ground that still gives you the proper electric bass sound, but is more affordable and still does a lot.”

NAMM 2026 will mark the official kickoff of Ohana’s 20-year celebration, with other events and activities planned for the coming months. “We’ve been thinking about how we want to expand the family brand, ways we can look at to differentiate ourselves,” says Wu. “We’ve been successful in trying that out with our custom electric instruments, which can be additionally customized with different finishes, tuners, and other features. I think the future is in offering options to buyers and customers. We’re looking forward to exploring that more and offering some exciting things for our 20th anniversary.”

Once a wildly popular, then somewhat more niche, instrument – and, to some generations, an accouterment for tiptoeing through tulips – only to regain and increase its “cool factor” during the 2000s, the ukulele continues riding the crest of its popularity. (What could punch the uke’s “hip card” more than Taylor Swift…?)

“They call this the ‘third resurgence,’ this explosion of attention and rise in the number of ukulele players,” says Wu. “The pattern of history is that, in the last century, there were a couple of other rises and falls in popularity and maybe that’s the natural lifecycle of any instrument.

“What really pushed it along this time was the import side – specifically, affordable instruments made overseas, usually in China, but now also in Vietnam and Indonesia. You can pick up a ukulele for anywhere from under a hundred dollars to a few hundred. Making the instrument accessible that way, people took a new interest in ukuleles and stuck with them. There are also companies with longer histories that kept the torch going, and they, too, are part of this resurgence. Ohana began in 2006 and we’re proud to be a part of it.

“It’s been a community effort to get the instrument back on its feet and it’s staying popular. Music is somewhat recession-proof, at least on the stringed instrument side. Throughout COVID, also, people needed music and the ukulele community was able to provide that.”

Ohana keeps eyes and ears on the changing wants and needs of their growing family of customers. “The stereotype of a ukulele player was someone maybe a little older, or retired, or a person with disposable income and the time to play and collect different instruments,” says Wu. “Now, however, we have a younger demographic that is eager to get out there and explore. They see ukuleles all over TikTok, and that’s something we can’t ignore.

“We see patterns, we get feedback from our dealers and customers, and we also see that people of all ages like the baritone ukuleles, the larger instruments. Or they’re developing tastes for certain features: beveled edges, slotted headstocks, armrests, cutaways, different pickups. The options and combinations are endless.

“All of this plays a factor in our innovation, coming up with new combinations and new instruments that people are after. Going back to the baritone, for example, what used to be a one percent demand for that size instrument is now ten percent or more. That number doesn’t sound large on its own, but it is a significant jump. We keep a pulse on what’s out there, what people like or dislike, and we innovate based on that.”

One of Chris Wu’s personal and professional goals is to further expand upon the relationship between bluegrass and ukuleles. “I’ve learned a lot from our bluegrass players, including local players,” he says. “I don’t have a background in bluegrass, but I’ve learned from watching them play bluegrass on ukuleles how much can be created musically from that and in combination with other instruments as well.

“One of our new team members, who helps us with social media, played in a bluegrass band. Watching them go at it was just amazing, and I would really love to explore more of that. Ohana makes banjoleles, and we tried our hands once at a resonator ukulele. It might be time to bring that back. Who knows? As a company, I think bluegrass is something we could tap into.”

@ohanaukuleles @Bernadette from Bernadette Teaches Music demos the Ohana BK-70-8 Baritone from the More Than Four series! #baritone #baritoneukulele #multistring #morethanfour #ukulele ♬ original sound – ohanaukuleles

Integral to Ohana’s legacy and footprint as they enter their third decade is their philanthropic work and community involvement, including ongoing assistance with music programs following the Los Angeles wildfires of 2025.

“As often as we’re able, we love supporting the ukulele community far and wide,” says Wu. “It’s not such a big world, once you’re in it, and it is closely knit. Brands, manufacturers, artists – everyone knows each other, and it becomes even closer when organizations need our support. We do that whenever we can. It’s one of the crucial foundational things that Louis has always worked for with Ohana.

“A lot of times it’s local – schools and, lately, libraries that have started ukulele programs or clubs. We’ve partnered multiple times with the Los Angeles Public Library System as individual libraries have started programs. We provide support and ukuleles.

“A couple of years ago, after the unfortunate wildfires in Maui, one of our music store dealers on the island contacted us about helping rebuild school music programs. We shipped two large pallets of ukuleles to them. We’ve also partnered with Four Strings At A Time, a ukulele nonprofit in Hawaii, to help their local schools. On the continental U.S. side, there’s Ukulele Kids Club, which provides music therapy to children and also instruments to children in hospitals.

“As small as the ukulele community can feel sometimes, especially compared to the guitar community, there are still endless ways that people need support. It’s a blessing and an honor to be able to provide that to them.”

As Ohana moves into the fourth quarter of 2025, prepares for holiday sales, looks ahead to NAMM 2026, and plans its upcoming anniversary, Wu reflects on the year-to-date as “interesting, especially with the tariffs. Everyone has responded a little bit differently, but everyone has also been hanging in there, as much as I can speak for our music stores, our retailers, and the players,” he says.

“We’re looking forward to next year for new things, exciting things. It’s been interesting, but we’ve been getting through it and that’s all we can ask for.”


Ohana Vintage Line, 39 Series.

All images courtesy of Ohana Music. Lead image: Ohana O’Nina and Pineapple models lounge on the beach. 

You Gotta Hear This: New Music From Brit Taylor, Benson, and More

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

We’re back with another excellent edition of our weekly roundup of new music, fresh videos, and sneak previews of tracks to yet to come.

Bluegrass power couple Benson – Wayne Benson and Kristin Scott Benson – call on Zack Arnold of Rhonda Vincent & the Rage for their new single, “Bully of the Town,” which drops today. You may recognize the track, which is usually performed as an instrumental, but its unique chord progression shines with Arnold’s vocal as the somewhat unexpected cherry on top. Also in a bluegrass space – bluegrass saxophone, of course – Eddie Barbash continues his mini-series with us of classic bluegrass and old-time fiddle tunes rendered superlatively, as only he could, on sax. This time, we’re sharing his new performance video of “Tennessee Mountain Fox Chase,” shot at Larkspur Conservation in Westmoreland, Tennessee. We can’t get enough solo saxophone fiddle tunes!

From the bottom of the globe, progressive New Zealand string band You, Me, Everybody returns to the pages of BGS with a new music video. “The Rest of Us” is a contemplative, introspective song set to sparkling newgrass that’s about leadership, abandonment, and rising above – if you can. From country, our friend Brit Taylor also debuts a new music video this week for “All For Sale,” her most recent single that released just last month. The new video, which only features a short cameo by Taylor, a new momma, is a fun-fueled yard sale spurred by heartbreak and readiness for a blank, clean slate.

To round out our collection this week, legendary blues master Robert Finley is celebrating a brand new album via Easy Eye Sound today, so of course we’re highlighting a track from Hallelujah! Don’t Let the Devil Fool Ya to mark the special day. “Can’t Take My Joy” is an infectious song with a perennial message that Finley holds at the core of his values system – you really can’t steal his joy. And, with music like this in our weekly roundup, you won’t be taking our joy, either!

It’s all right here on BGS and, just like every week before this one, You Gotta Hear This.

Eddie Barbash, “Tennessee Mountain Fox Chase”

Artist: Eddie Barbash
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Tennessee Mountain Fox Chase”
Album: Larkspur
Release Date: November 28, 2025 (The album will be released one song at a time with the last track coming out Nov. 28.)

In Their Words: “This song was recorded during a spring sun shower on the porch swing at Larkspur Conservation’s cabin headquarters. A barn swallow was nesting in the rafters just over my head and I was inspired by all of the bird songs around me to improvise this introduction.

“I learned the tune late one night from Ric Robertson after a party/concert in his Washington Heights apartment in NYC. I believe he learned it from Nate Leath and my version is also inspired by his recording. I decided to slow it down a bit and give it a lazier, swingier feel that just feels so good to play on the saxophone.” – Eddie Barbash

Video Credits: Shot and edited by Jeremy Stanley. 

(Editor’s Note: Watch the first video in our mini-series with Eddie Barbash here.)

Benson, “Bully of the Town”

Artist: Benson
Hometown: Boiling Springs, South Carolina
Song: “Bully of the Town”
Release Date: October 10, 2025
Label: Mountain Home Music Company

In Their Words: “I’ve always loved to play this song and didn’t even know it had lyrics for years. The chord progression is just different enough to make it work either way.” – Wayne Benson

“‘Bully of the Town’ is a good example of a song that wasn’t originally a part of the bluegrass genre, but is versatile enough that you can play it many different ways and it sounds like it belonged there all along. Wayne and I are pickers first and this arrangement is really built around being able to play around this fun chord progression, but the vocals are the icing on the cake, because prior to this cut, people typically played it as an instrumental. A lot of people don’t even know it has words, so adding vocals differentiates it and we got a young gun to sing it! Zack Arnold, from Rhonda Vincent & the Rage, did such a great job. He delivers it with a lot of energy, power, and a spirit that accompanies youthful musicianship. He really added excitement to an already-grooving track.” – Kristin Scott Benson

Track Credits:
Wayne Benson – Mandolin
Kristin Scott Benson – Banjo
Cody Kilby – Acoustic guitar
Kevin McKinnon – Bass
Zack Arnold – Lead Vocal

Robert Finley, “Can’t Take My Joy”

Artist: Robert Finley
Hometown: Bernice, Louisiana
Song: “Can’t Take My Joy”
Album: Hallelujah! Don’t Let the Devil Fool Ya
Release Date: October 10, 2025
Label: Easy Eye Sound

In Their Words: “There’s an old saying that I used to hear folks say, ‘There’s joy in the world, can’t take it away.’ Joy is something that can’t be measured by man and can’t be controlled by man. That’s why I say, ‘You can’t take my joy.’ You can take everything else, but you can’t take that. You can take my freedom and I can still be happy. Though there are problems, there is still a way to look beyond the faults and accept the good things in life. Joy is something that no man has the power to give and no man has the power to take away.” – Robert Finley

Brit Taylor, “All For Sale”

Artist: Brit Taylor
Hometown: Hindman, Kentucky
Song: “All For Sale”
Release Date: September 5, 2025 (song); October 9, 2025 (video)
Label: RidgeTone Records/Thirty Tigers

In Their Words: “We wrote this song like a script. There’s so much imagery in the song that it just seemed natural for the video to follow the lyrics. I decided only to make a quick cameo in the video and let my friends be the stars of the show! While it seems counterintuitive to what the rest of the industry is currently doing, it felt right to me. After all, the song isn’t about me, it’s about a story that wants to be told. And, honestly, my friends should probably move to Hollywood, because they really nailed their parts!” – Brit Taylor

Video Credits:
Robert Chavers – Producer, director, cinematographer
Steve Voss – Director
Solar Cabin – Production company

You, Me, Everybody, “The Rest Of Us”

Artist: You, Me, Everybody
Hometown: Ngāruawāhia, New Zealand
Song: “The Rest of Us”
Release Date: October 10, 2025
Label: Southern Sky Records

In Their Words: “I woke up with the melody and the lyric in the chorus, ‘If you’re the one who’s going to give up, what are the rest of us doing here tonight?’ And as much as the melody kept hooking me in, it took a while to find an angle for a song that could only really be about leadership. Even though it’s from the perspective of the people who are left when a leader abandons them, I was writing this with an awareness of how I felt I was letting people down at a time when I wasn’t following through on a commitment I had made. That’s why it’s less about blame and more about the heartbreak of watching someone lose faith in something they’d once worked so hard for.” – Kim Bonnington

Video Credits: Produced and edited by Kim Bonnington. Filmed by Ethan Bryant.

Photo Credit: Brit Taylor by Sammy Hearn; Benson by Sandlin Gaither.

A Musical, The Porch on Windy Hill, Tells an Impactful Story with Bluegrass and Old-Time

Posted on by Justin Hiltner
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A fantastic new off-Broadway play, titled The Porch on Windy Hill: A New Play with Old Music, has been performed across the U.S. in Vermont, Pennsylvania, and Illinois, before landing at Urban Stages on West 30th Street in New York City where it’s currently playing until October 12, 2025. Written by Sherry Stregack Lutken, Lisa Helmi Johanson, Morgan Morse, and David M. Lutken, and directed by Sherry Lutken, The Porch on Windy Hill was born during the pandemic, when Sherry Lutken found herself having extensive conversations with one of her closest childhood friends, one who happens to be biracial, about their personal perspective and experiences. Sherry Lutken’s formal idea coalesced around April 2021 and the first full performance took place that September in Ivoryton, Connecticut.

The show centers on Mira, a biracial Korean-American classical violinist, and her boyfriend Beckett, a Ph.D. student passionate about the history and connections of folk music in America, as the couple leave their isolated apartment in Brooklyn and head for the lively pickin’ parties and folk festivals in Atlanta, Georgia. When their navigations and a fussy van engine take them on a detour into the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, a pit stop leads to a run-in with Mira’s estranged white grandfather Edgar, and Mira and Beck both find more than they bargained for. The encounter goes on to change the three characters in incredibly profound ways.

The music serves as a beautiful and powerful reflection of the many emotions that run high throughout the play, as well as a story-rich catalyst that fills in the blanks of who these people are, what they know and don’t know about one another, and, of course, why Mira and her grandfather grew apart after being so close during her childhood.

The boldness of The Porch on Windy Hill comes from its many contrasts and complements. The story unfolds entirely on the front porch of Edgar’s North Carolina home, which sits in the shadow of an unseen Mount Mitchell. David Lutken, Morgan Morse, and Tora Nogami Alexander – who play Edgar, Beckett, and Mira respectively – move in, about, and out of the setting in very natural ways. A tension rises between Mira and Edgar for most of the first half and the confined space only heightens the impact of the actors’ moods on the audience. The discomfort, though, isn’t just social anxiety. The core narrative mysteries and tensions of Porch are tied to its real world relatability around the ways different folks view race, politics, and in this story especially, folk music.

The first half of the play is also music-heavy, with an abundance of different folk tunes showcasing Lutken, Morgan, and Alexander’s skills on a potpourri of instruments from banjo to guitar to violin to the Chinese erhu, to dulcimer – an instrument that’s key to the story and one special aspect of the cross-generational bond between Mira, her mother, and Edgar. Over the course of the show, Edgar’s home becomes part pickin’ stage and part time capsule for Mira and Edgar to rekindle their long-lost connection. This isn’t without its thorny moments, which peak at the revelation that Mira and Edgar’s estrangement comes from trauma she experienced as a child when her cousin cruelly called her a racial slur, only for her grandfather to turn a blind eye to the incident. The subsequent chasm that formed left Mira and Edgar unsure of how to even begin addressing their discomfort, before their musical connection – and a bit of moonshine – helped to clear the air and start to mend decades-old wounds.

The Porch on Windy Hill isn’t about safe spaces. It isn’t about breaking into folk song to comedically cut the tension, and it isn’t about being a modern PSA for Asian-Americans. But what it does do is give its audiences a reminder of what it means to share space with people who don’t hold a carbon copy of one’s own views. It also gives permission to express anger, hurt, and confusion over the unique pain that comes with discrimination and ignorance of others’ lived experiences.

These characters think, react, question, demand, and forgive in wholly believable fashion. The Porch on Windy Hill gets and keeps you invested. From the first time Mira, Beck, and Edgar play “Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane” together to the moment Mira walks off saying, “Kamsahamnida” – “thank you” in Korean – to Edgar, before he goes inside to finally call Mira’s parents. It’s everything a stellar musical is: thought provoking, entertaining, emotionally stirring, and something that imparts a feeling of growth. The depth of personal stories that hold The Porch together make this play ideal for partnering with the legacy-laden nature of folk music.

David Lutken, Sherry Lutken, Morgan Morse, and Tora Nogami Alexander jumped on a group call and spoke with BGS about the multi-layered nuance behind The Porch on Windy Hill and how all the aspects of the play, from the conflicts to the specificity of the music utilized – even the story behind one made up fiddle convention! – had meaning and purpose to enhance the impact of the characters and the story.

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What drove the decision to set Porch on the Windy Hill in the mountains of North Carolina, as opposed to another part of Appalachia or even a completely different part of the U.S.?

David M. Lutken: [Porch on The Windy Hill] could be set in many different parts of the United States, but [choosing North Carolina] had to do with several things. The music that I have been most familiar with all my life kind of emanates from a little bit of bottleneck down in the southeastern United States. And also it had to do with the specific instrument – the dulcimer – being something that comes from the Appalachian region, even though its earlier ancestors come from different places as well.

But it had to do with that, with instrumentation, the draw of the entire Appalachian region of the United States, and the metaphor in the show of Mount Mitchell and the highest point in all of the Appalachian region of the United States and all of those things stated there. I have to say, the fact that North Carolina is a decidedly “purple” place these days also has to do with it, particularly Western North Carolina, where you have places like Asheville that are very, very liberal, surrounded by counties that are very conservative, which happens in many other parts of the United States. But all of those things together I would say, pointed me [toward choosing North Carolina as the play’s setting.]

Morgan Morse: I’ll add one last very silly reason that influenced our decision, which is just geography. We have this couple, which is traveling from the East Coast, and they’re on their way to Atlanta, [Georgia], and that’s their next goal. So in general, we were also looking to find a location that sat pretty nicely between those two places.

(L to R) Morgan Morse, Tora Nogami Alexander, and David M. Lutken perform ‘The Porch on Windy Hill.’ Photo by Ben Hider.

When it came to determining how the music of the show would not only link the characters and the scenes together but also keep them together, how did you discern the balance of realism, optimism, idealism, and cynicism in the pickin’ performance scenes – particularly the early ones when Mira hesitates to participate – especially given how uncertain and outright tense the characters’ interactions become over the course of the play?

Tora Nogami Alexander: That is the most difficult part of the play and that is the thing that we focused on the most, with me being sort of the new addition to this version of this play. We practiced a lot of this music before we really dug into how the performance would translate. And so, as we were in the real meat of the rehearsals, [director] Sherry [Lutken] was really, really helpful in crafting the balance of the emotional baggage that Mira has and that everybody has within the play.

For me, what’s awesome about doing this play and what’s really fun for me, is that I do think I discover something new every time I do it. Every night, I really listen to my partners and we all listen to each other. It might change every day – how certain things hit us, how we process things. The bones are there but it’s been really interesting to try and tightrope that every night because it is a little bit different every single night, which is exciting and cool. Working with Sherry, she was so helpful in translating it because she’s watching the play and so she’s able to give us tools to help tell a story in a way that people can understand.

MM: Because there are so many emotions sitting under the surface in the first act, especially the first half of the first act, you want to strike a balance of making sure that it’s coming through without feeling like you’re overselling everything that’s happening underneath. So, throughout the results of that – Tora said “tightrope,” that was a word that we used a lot during rehearsals – especially for the character of Mira, she is figuring out what she wants from this situation and she’s figuring out how comfortable she is, how much she wants to engage. It’s something that Tora [does] so beautifully and it’s so fun to watch every night to see exactly how [the emotions] are hitting her and how she translates that to the way she plays [her violin].

DML: Well, the interesting part to me has been Tora’s ability to convey things musically. We set out to make a musical play where the music is a part of the dialogue and the ability to express vulnerability and frustration and a spectrum of emotions without opening your mouth, just playing violin, or even the erhu, or the other things that we all play. But particularly for Miss Alexander, I think that’s a unique talent of hers, and a unique thing to this show, particularly the first half of the first act. That’s a big part of what is happening with the music; it’s [songs] that certainly [Morse and Alexander] are familiar with, and they’re having to play them in a really weird situation.

You all mention in another interview that you wanted music that was “intrinsic rather than performative.” That the songs “aren’t decorative.” That said, the folk songs selected for Porch On The Windy Hill seem like they aren’t exclusive in their ability to convey or heighten the specific emotions desired in a scene. As such, what is it about the songs in the play that make each of them essential in a way other folk songs are not?

MM: On one hand, I can tell you all the reasons why these particular songs ended up there. And I do think that they work very well and they serve very specific purposes. At the same time, you’re kind of right that there are a billion other folk songs that could also fit into those slots. To me, that’s actually the amazing thing: American folk songs cover so many themes and some of them are universal themes and that’s what was so cool about putting these songs into the show.

There’s consideration like, “We need a fast song here.” “We need a slow song here.” “We need a song with this particular mood.” “Okay, we want to break up the flow of things by having an instrumental, what instrumental can we have?” So there’s those kinds of nuts and bolts and there’s the little ways in which, even though these songs were not written for the show, they still managed to reference and inform the action within their lyrics as well, because we’re singing about these universal things like love and loss and family and travel and childhood.

The question is, “What’s going to move these characters in this moment?” Whether that’s moving them emotionally or moving them forward story-wise. And sometimes it’s something like the history or the context of this song that can lead to a really interesting conversation. There’s a couple moments like that in the show, where the history of the song [being played] then becomes a catalyst for conversation between the characters and that leads to explorations of the themes of the show in that discussion because they’re all intertwined: the music, the country, and all those various things.

At a certain point, Beck abruptly recalls from where he recognized Edgar’s name. It was on a specific live recording of the 1972 Charlestown Fiddlers’ Convention, where Edgar is credited as performing with the likes of Roscoe Holcomb, Ola Belle Reed, Lily May Ledford. What was the inspiration behind this fictional recording and why select Holcomb, Reed, and Ledford as the artists meant to be Edgar’s connection to the real world?

DLM: I had met Bascom Lamar Lunsford on a couple of occasions when I was a boy and went to the Asheville Folk Festival regularly in the late 1960s. The others, Roscoe Holcomb and Ola Belle Reed, I will confess they had partly to do with Edgar’s politics. I was trying to keep Edgar a bit ambiguous in his set-in-his-ways old guy [personality] and make him a little bit more open-minded.

The particular selections we chose for the fictional Charlestown Fiddler’s Convention of 1972 were to try to make something that sounded real and give it a little bit of a historical novel perspective, and also to raise Edgar’s banjo playing – elevate it greater than mine could ever be – and to make it so that he would have been in on something like that if it indeed had existed. And with West Virginia being a little bit different from Virginia in its history, and also the history of music there, we just tried to pile on the old-time music references without skewing too much in one direction or the other. In terms of picking for the Bill Monroe Bean Blossom Festival or the Newport Folk Festival, if you know what I mean. So it was really just to put all of that together in a little bit of a historical novel sense and also to paint things with a little bit of an open minded brush.

Over the course of scene five to scene seven, the show moves from the American folk song, “Mole in the Ground,” to the Korean children’s mountain rabbit folk song, “Santokki (산토끼),” and finally the murder ballad “Pretty Polly,” which brings the unique sound of the Chinese erhu from the former into the latter and prompts a conversation about musical traditionalism – which instruments “fit” in a pickin’ party and which don’t.

What are your thoughts on Edgar’s view on the sounds that belong at a pickin’ party or jam? Furthermore, what do each of you think of as the central quality that makes something “folk” music and, in what way do you think people who may share Edgar’s view might be persuaded to consider a wider scope of sonic acceptance?

DLM: Well, I wish you had been at our last post-show hootenanny. Morgan, Tora, Hubby Jenkins of the Carolina Chocolate Drops, and a couple other folks were there and we all did a version of [Chappell Roan’s] “Pink Pony Club.”

It’s instrumentation, it’s sonic qualities of what’s going on, and it’s also the people who are doing it that are all part of how music becomes what it is. I personally am all for the erhu and the tuba and the bagpipes at a hootenanny all playing “Pink Pony Club,” because, it’s as Louis Armstrong said, “All music is folk music. I don’t see no horses listening to it.”

MM: I’m very much in the same boat. And it’s a very, for lack of a better term, fiddly question because it’s another one of these moments where it’s like, “Okay, [Edgar’s] got an open-minded streak about him but he still has limitations, you know?” Like, “Don’t bring an electric guitar, don’t play stuff out of your computer.” So there’s that technological line, which I think you could make an interesting argument for in this day and age, that this technological line maybe shouldn’t exist as much as it does.

You can make the argument that the kind of musicians who could really be considered to be making folk music at this point, and who definitely share a lot in common with the evolution of American folk music, are those who write hip-hop and rap. It’s the same kind of communal development where all of these different people are getting together for essentially, jams, where they’re taking things that they know and they’re remixing them, they’re learning from each other, and advancing with each other. So, you know, I’d be curious to have somebody come in with a little turntable to a hootenanny one time – that could be fun!

TNA: Folk music has to do with people and folk music exists everywhere, not just here. So yes, you know, mixing it up doesn’t seem too crazy to me, since organically it’s what would happen as our world gets more globalized.

Tora Nogami Alexander and Morgan Morse perform an intimate moment during ‘The Porch on Windy Hill.’ Photo by Ben Hider.

When Edgar, Beck, and Mira all exchange heated words with each other and Mira eventually picks up her mother’s dulcimer to play “My Horses Ain’t Hungry,” she’s obviously coming down from a tense and vulnerable place. What combination of emotions is Mira leaning into when she turns to the dulcimer and this song for a short reprieve and, as an actor, what kinds of thoughts and/or experiences are you calling upon to bring out the expression Mira is feeling at that moment?

TNA: In that moment, I think a lot about Elmira, [Mira’s grandmother]. I think a lot about her grandmother and the relationship of her grandmother and Mira’s mother. And I think about that relationship a lot during that song. For me, I think that moment is basically when all the shit blows up, it sucks, and Mira’s in this place where she’s finally alone and working through what happened. But [she’s] also realizing, through this song – one that was her mom’s favorite song and that maybe Mira learned from her grandma – that [it] wonderfully encapsulates the whole story. That [Mira’s] mom needed to get out of North Carolina and she chose the life she did for whatever reason. For me, that moment is sort of thinking about the mom-and-grandma relationship, how they got there. That also is why it leads to Mira calling her mom. She’s thinking through this song and then realizing that she needs to tell someone about it, someone who understands, and that would be her mom.

Sherry Lutken: I think for me, sort of what we talked about is that the dulcimer is the embodiment, in some ways, of Elmira – this sort of ghostly figure that hangs over the play and is there and ever present. They keep talking about her, they keep going back to her. That moment is very much about the matriarchy.

Mira’s surrounded by men the entire show and so the dulcimer and that line of women – of her mother, her grandmother, and the women before who are the reason for Mira’s birth – they mean that emotionally. That’s what I think Tora captures so beautifully and what that moment really embodies, that need to reach out to her mother even though she doesn’t really know what to say, even though she’s in a moment of flux, and even though she knows it’s going to be an upsetting thing. Still, she wants to talk. She’s not gonna let her mother evade the subject anymore. And she’s not gonna let Edgar avoid talking about it anymore – it’s time. That’s a wonderful moment of decisiveness. We get to see Mira’s decisiveness and this is a moment of the emotion really informing what she does next and the choices that she makes in the moment.

Given that the polarization of the U.S. has only become more aggravated since Porch On The Windy Hill was first performed in 2021, how much and in what ways would you say the impact of the story’s vision for self-reflection, forgiveness, and understanding has been affected?

DLM: When we were talking on opening night, Lisa’s [Helmi Johanson] husband was there with us at the party and he said it was ironic that what was written in 2021 has now become a period piece in several ways, because things have changed.

SL: Our relationship to the pandemic and to that time has changed. It’s amazing how quickly we forget that when we were in it, we thought we would never get out of it. We would never get to move forward because we were all stuck and it felt like forever. And now everything has changed. I think the thing for me is that, yes, the play rings differently now, but it’s still such a universal story. I think everyone can see themselves in each one of these characters in some small way, if they’re open to it. I think the play lends itself to self-reflection and also what we still want is the idea that there is hope and that there is a possibility of seeing each other’s humanity.

MM: I completely agree. I think it’s very easy right now to feel like there is no hope and that the wounds are just too deep. And whether it’s realistic or not, whether or not you think it’s idealistic or not, I think the thing that’s wonderful about the show is that it does open up a space where reconciliation is possible. Growth is possible. Forgiveness is possible. Owning up to your mistakes is possible, which is something that we’re missing a lot right now.

That and I think being really willing to admit that one is wrong and to take accountability for those things as well. I think stories like Porch on the Windy Hill do exist in the world and also I want more of them to exist in our world. So it’s a wish for how I think the world is in some ways and very much for how I wish the world could be.

The Porch on Windy Hill is showing off-Broadway at Urban Stages through October 12, 2025. Tickets and more information are available here. The official cast recording is available now via Bandcamp.

All photos courtesy of The Porch on Windy Hill and shot by Ben Hider.

BGS 5+5: We Met In June

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: We Met In June
Hometown: Currently living in Sogndal, Norway
Latest Album: Going Home (released September 19, 2025)

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

I remember my dad and I driving through Minnesota when I was about eight years old. He had bought Fleetwood Mac’s collection CD so we’d have something to listen to and we played it over and over again. I became completely obsessed and that’s when I found a deep interest in music. I knew I wanted to do what Stevie Nicks and Christine McVie were doing. – Sara

I think I was around seven when I saw the music video for “The Final Countdown” by Europe and I thought the guitar solo by John Norum was the coolest thing ever. I remember thinking, “I want to do that someday!” I’ve also always looked up to my dad, who’s a great guitar player. He was the one who introduced me to acoustic music and bluegrass, which has been the greatest gift. – Gjest

Genre is dead (long live genre!), but how would you describe the genres and styles your music inhabits?

We’d say it’s a blend of singer-songwriter, folk, Americana, and pop. Some journalists in Norway have called our music “Nordicana,” which is basically a Nordic take on Americana. We’re inspired by a lot of ’70s music like Fleetwood Mac, Jackson Browne, Crosby, Stills & Nash, and we also love Kacey Musgraves and the whole Nashville country-pop scene.

On top of that, we listen to a lot of acoustic music like Alison Krauss & Union Station, Gillian Welch, Nickel Creek, Molly Tuttle, etc. Our acoustic guitar playing is very influenced by those bands and the sound on our new record is a dreamy mixture of acoustic guitars, sometimes mandolin and banjo, plus drums, bass, keyboards, and synths. – Gjest

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do they impact your work?

Living on the west coast of Norway surrounded by mountains and fjords has given us a strong bond with nature – it’s part of our everyday life. I start every morning with a walk to clear my head and get some fresh air. It always seems to lift my mood a bit. – Sara

And then there’s the weather – we get a lot of cold, rainy days here, which makes it easier and more natural to stay inside and play music, write, and practice. We’ve been to Nashville, for example, and it’s hard to understand how people get anything done in that heat! – Gjest

If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?

I’d probably be a veterinarian. It used to be my dream before We Met In June. In Norway it’s really difficult to get into veterinary school and I’ve actually applied every year since high school just to see if I’d get in. This summer, for the first time, I was accepted – and I have to admit, it hurt a little bit to turn down the spot. [Laughs] – Sara

I honestly have no idea. As a kid, I thought excavators were the coolest thing, but I probably wouldn’t be good at anything else. I’m just glad I get to do music. – Gjest

What’s one question you wish interviewers would stop asking you?

We appreciate all questions, but there’s one that always comes up: “What’s it like being a couple and working so closely together?”

We get why people are curious, but for us it feels completely natural to spend so much time together. And, honestly, if you’re going to work that closely with someone, why not do it with your favorite person in the world? Of course it’s not without challenges, like any partnership, but most of the time it’s an advantage. That said, we could definitely be better at taking breaks – it’s music 24/7! – Sara

Photo Credit: David Zadig

Jack Schneider’s
Songs of Hope and Healing

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Six years ago, I found myself in the hospital for a period of a few weeks with a mystery illness, unsure of whether or not I would make it out alive. I did survive, of course; but the experience changed me fundamentally. It brought me closer to many of my heroes, both living and dead, who have walked before me, people who know a whole lot more about life and its passing than I do. As near-death experiences do for many, it led me to live differently, cherishing each present moment and honoring life’s transitory nature rather than fearing it. Retrospectively, it was a gift, because it helped me to realize that I have been fortunate to have been given a free life and my hope is to use my experience of healing to help others heal too.

My new album, Streets Of September, marks my reflection upon the anniversary of that life-altering event. It is a collection of songs that, to me, honor the beauty of being alive and the magic of alchemizing grief into something beautiful, created out of thin air in the moment we have before us. It is an ode to brevity and the wonder that can be found there: to be appreciated for a moment before being washed away.

As I have navigated the path of healing myself, these songs have served as anchors during some of the darkest of times. They are beacons of light I’ve looked to when I was uncertain of how to shift my consciousness from a place of grief to one of hope. We are all growing and healing one day at a time, and everyone else’s reality is as real to them as our own is to us. Wherever this music may find you, my hope is that there may be something here to give you the courage to press on, to continue on your journey, whatever it may be. – Jack Schneider

“Looking For Space” – John Denver

I first discovered this song when I was in middle school. That was a dark time for me. I felt different and yearned for a place to belong, wondering if it was something that even existed. This song helped me to look inward, to find peace in the home within my heart. As I continue to grow up I keep coming back to it. It reminds me to stay true to that journey, to open myself up to the space of my soul. It’s not about arriving at that place. Ultimately, it is about the continuous practice of aiming for something that we know we will never reach within our consciousness, but that the growing is what makes us who we are, stronger and more resilient, committed to the path as it disappears, which is how we can tell that it is the right one.

“Secret Of Life” – James Taylor

My parents took me to see James Taylor perform a solo acoustic show when I was nine years old. He played this song and the idea of the “secret of life” stuck out to me. At that age I barely knew what living meant. I’m still not sure I do. But coming back to that song now, having survived a near-death experience, it has more depth than I ever could have understood before. Our task in being truly present and grounded is through the power of the now and “enjoying the passing of time.” No matter how dark or difficult the road gets, nothing is forever, and if we can remember to shift our awareness and accept the unfolding of things in the time that they are meant to unfold, we can surrender to the joy of living and experience the full extent of our aliveness.

“Sweet Seasons” – Carole King

When I was growing up, my mom had an art studio in our house that she used to paint in. Every now and then I’d get to go hang out with her in there and we’d listen to music together. My mom put this song on a lot back in those days and hearing it reminds me of those special memories, of being encouraged to connect deeply with my creative energy. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose/ And most times you choose between the two…”

The older I get, the more I realize that we really do get to choose how we show up to the present. The hope is to be able to embrace the passing seasons as they come and go and find the beauty in watching life flow.

“I Got A Name” – Jim Croce

Jim Croce was one of my first musical heroes. I can’t remember how I found my way to his music, but his songs sound as if they always existed. I especially love this one, largely because of the last line of the chorus, “Moving ahead so life won’t pass me by.” Healing is not a linear journey and the dark times are necessary to help build and reveal our character. Time continues to pass and it is in the forward motion that we find ourselves connected to the magic of life, continuing to be reborn every time we open our eyes.

“That Lucky Old Sun” – Big Mama Thornton

A favorite song of mine and my favorite version of it. Perfect in every way.

“Shine A Light” – Rolling Stones

This was my grandmother’s favorite song. At her request, we played it at her funeral. She used to quote the lyric all the time, “May every song be your favorite tune.”

“If You Want To Sing Out, Sing Out” – Cat Stevens

My dad first showed me this song, and I’ve always loved the simplicity of its message.

“Go Wherever You Wanna Go” – Patty Griffin

I remember listening to this song leaving home, on my way to college. I cried so hard. The possibilities of the future were endless. And with that came the necessity to accept the changes happening around me and within me and the loss of the grounding presence of my family and the home I knew. I was bound to chase my dreams with tremendous uncertainty, hunger, and hope.

“One Of These Days” – Emmylou Harris

I love the line in the chorus of this song “ I won’t have this urge to go all bottled up inside.” Writing and singing songs is my outlet for processing my emotions, but I often struggle to create the space to bring them to light in my day to day life. Growing is recognizing where or who you hope to someday be, and then each day waking up and striving towards that dream, one moment at a time.

“Good Again” – Sunshine Grocery

“For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business” – T.S. Eliot.

“Bells Of Harlem” – Dave Rawlings Machine

A song of hope and redemption, capturing the essence of the kind of clarity that comes through after a season of darkness. The sun rises again. “A little joy, at long last.”

“Pilgrim” – Steve Earle

I was fortunate to have been at the Grand Ole Opry a couple weeks ago when Steve Earle was inducted. After becoming a member, he chose to play this song. Emmylou Harris, Vince Gill, Don Schlitz, and Connie Smith sang it with him. It was such a special moment, and I am grateful to have witnessed that kind of history. We don’t know where our journeys will lead us, but the path is homeward.

Photo Credit: Annie Loughead

You Gotta Hear This: New Music From Eddie Barbash, Caitlin Canty, and More

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

You know what Friday means! New music, new songs, new videos – and of course, You Gotta Hear This.

Let’s begin with some Good Country from Idaho’s own Colby Acuff. His new album, Enjoy the Ride, is out today and we’re enjoying the ride ourselves with a lyric video for the title track from his excellent collection of country that’s both traditional and forward-looking born from beyond the continental divide. Singer-songwriter Kashena Sampson brings us a song from her brand new album, Ghost Of Me, that we find at the intersection of vibey Americana and contemplative indie. “Thick As Thieves” is a daydream in a song about teenage years, friendship, and holding onto – if you can – the ineffable magic of youth.

One of our longtime friends, Caitlin Canty, released her new album, Night Owl Envies the Mourning Dove, yesterday. Based in Vermont, the singer-songwriter crafts music that rests comfortably between folk, bluegrass, string band, and Americana sounds. To celebrate her new album, she’s shared a special live performance video of “Don’t Worry About Nothing,” inspired by parenthood, our frenetic day-to-day, and giving up control – and worry – whenever we can. Speaking of string band music, Damn Tall Buildings, a Brooklyn-based group playing on the fringes of bluegrass, old-time, and swing, have a brand new video for “Turkish Airlines,” a funny and all-too-relatable track they describe as portraying the haze of travel dreams, the desire to be seen, and late-night self-reflection.

And don’t miss your essential dose of bluegrass saxophone, as one of the foremost purveyors of the form, Eddie Barbash, begins a BGS mini-series sharing videos of solo performances of traditional fiddle tunes on sax. To begin, check out his rendition of “Forked Deer,” which Barbash picked up from Sierra Hull while touring with Cory Wong. If you aren’t familiar with Barbash, you may be surprised how perfect fiddle tunes can feel on saxophone. If you are already familiar, you’ll love getting to hear him offer his takes on these classic melodies. More sax-fiddle tunes are coming soon.

There’s a little something for everyone in this week’s roundup, as usual. We hope you enjoy, because You Gotta Hear This!

Colby Acuff, “Enjoy The Ride”

Artist: Colby Acuff
Hometown: Coeur d’Alene, Idaho
Song: “Enjoy The Ride”
Album: Enjoy The Ride
Release Date: October 3, 2025

In Their Words: “The title track of this project does not pull any punches. This song sets up the world where this story takes place. Like most of my songs, it takes place in the real world. In the plains of Oklahoma, the mountains of Idaho, or the heat of the desert. This record is for real people. People that we talked to on the streets and truly got a look into who they are. This song is meant to represent the people of this country for what it is. I hope people love this one as much as I do.” – Colby Acuff

Eddie Barbash, “Forked Deer”

Artist: Eddie Barbash
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Forked Deer”
Album: Larkspur
Release Date: November 28, 2025 (The album will be released one song at a time with the last track coming out Nov. 28.)

In Their Words: “This performance was recorded in a dry streambed at the Larkspur Conservation natural burial ground in northern Tennessee. I learned ‘Forked Deer’ from Sierra Hull while we were on tour with Cory Wong. The harmonic lift in the B part is what makes the tune for me. Modulating to the 5 is a tried-and-true move at least as old as the Baroque. In my playing I tried to capture what I love most about bluegrass – the fast and hard-driving, yet still light and bouncy, groove and the thrilling rhythmic and melodic variations. To achieve the bluegrass backbeat, I made generous use of one of my favorite bowing techniques that I learned from Alex Hargreaves called the ‘Georgia shuffle bow.'” – Eddie Barbash

Video Credits: Shot and edited by Jeremy Stanley.

Caitlin Canty, “Don’t Worry About Nothing”

Artist: Caitlin Canty
Hometown: Danby, Vermont
Song: “Don’t Worry About Nothing”
Album: Night Owl Envies the Mourning Dove
Release Date: October 2, 2025

In Their Words: “I started writing this song to my son when his Magna-Tiles castle came crashing down in a spectacular heap. It felt like what was happening at that time to my view of the wider world. This song helps me wind down from worrying about what doesn’t matter so much and focus my powers on fighting for what does matter. It’s written from my own unshakeable mom’s point of view – I love how she sees the world and walks through it with a smile, even on the darkest days. I’m so looking forward to touring Night Owl Envies the Mourning Dove and playing this song each night with my full band! ” – Caitlin Canty

Video Credits: Filmed and edited by Brian Carroll. Mixed by Dave Sinko.

Damn Tall Buildings, “Turkish Airlines”

Artist: Damn Tall Buildings
Hometown: Brooklyn, New York
Song: “Turkish Airlines”
Album: The Universe Is Hungry
Release Date: October 8, 2025 (single); October 24, 2025 (album)

In Their Words: “We are honored to share this single from our fourth upcoming studio LP with BGS! ‘Turkish Airlines’ explores the sensation of being loved, but not being sure which version of you someone is loving. We’re always evolving and changing as humans, and this song floats through the uncertainty that can be triggered by that truth. We had a blast crafting this track to portray the haze of travel dreams, the desire to be seen through the complexity, and late-night self-reflection. Through creative experimentation in the recording and production of the track, we were able to bring a bit of studio magic to this song that we hope will become a DTB classic. Hit us up on the socials to let us know what you think!. Thanks for listening, see y’all on the road.” – Damn Tall Buildings

Kashena Sampson, “Thick As Thieves”

Artist: Kashena Sampson
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Thick As Thieves”
Album: Ghost Of Me
Release Date: October 3, 2025

In Their Words: “I wrote this song for my best friend, Sulayla. It’s a daydream about our teenage years growing up in Las Vegas. It’s about those carefree days when the world felt full of endless possibilities. The song came to me after a conversation we had, realizing that adulthood isn’t quite what we imagined and wishing we could go back to those golden moments. Driving through the desert in my old Ford Explorer, listening to the Beatles and feeling like anything was possible.” – Kashena Sampson

Track Credits:
Kashena Sampson – Vocals, songwriter
Jolana Sampson – Songwriter
B.L. Reed – Guitar
Tom Myers – Drums
Jon Estes – Bass

Photo Credit: Eddie Barbash by Jeremy Stanley; Caitlin Canty by Brian Carroll.

Basic Folk: Kathleen Edwards

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Kathleen Edwards claims that she’s now a pretty frequent crier after not crying for the first 30 years of her life. One reason for this change is the connectedness she has been feeling since leaving music and starting her coffee shop, Quitters. In our Basic Folk conversation, Edwards tears up talking about the cover of her new album Billionaire, which was shot by a former Quitters employee, Riley. Riley – along with a fellow employee Amanda – traveled to Nashville in 2019 to watch Kathleen perform. The event was a pinnacle moment in her adult life, especially because, sadly, Amanda has since passed away.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

Kathleen also discusses her folk music roots, which began during her days at a bucolic childhood summer camp where her counselor suggested that she could make a career out of writing and performing songs. She gives a hat tip to Ani DiFranco, who she cites as a major influence musically and personally. Through Ani’s example, she learned that success in the music business meant being self-reliant.

Edwards talks about overcoming clinical depression, her decision to take a hiatus from music to open Quitters coffee shop, and how that period impacted her life and career. She delves into the making of the new album, highlighting the contributions of Jason Isbell and other collaborators to the project. Throughout our chat, Kathleen emphasizes the importance of authenticity, self-reliance, and the role of humor and vulnerability in her music – and life.

Photo Credit: Lead image by Kate York; alternate images by Mike Dunn.

Who Will Sing for Mipso? All of Us

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The last time Mipso were our Artist of the Month it was 2023, in the run-up to their release of Book of Fools. At that time, I wrote our article unveiling the group as our artists-of-honor with the central conceit of that writing a straightforward but relatively groundbreaking plank in the band’s foundational mission as musicians:

“…[Mipso] aren’t defined by their ambitions; and their ambitions don’t seem to ever be conflated with conquering anything. Instead, this is a band building something.”

Over 13 years, six studio albums, hundreds of millions of streams, and more than 1200 shows, that fact remained true. No matter the shifting sands of their music making, industry successes, and the natural ebb and flow of more than a decade touring and creating together – even in moments of uncertainty, growing pains, and stress – it was always clear, at every juncture, that this band wasn’t just trying to climb industry and corporate ladders toward success. They were building something, not just building towards something.

A few months ago, the group of Wood Robinson, Libby Rodenbough, Jacob Sharp, and Joseph Terrell announced their Farewell For Now Tour and a deliberate and intentional stepping away from the band that was the gravitational center of their lives from their college days into their 30s. Fans and peers around the globe were devastated and saddened. But, with that stalwart keystone at the center of their artistry, it was immediately clear Mipso aren’t abandoning anything. Or walking away from something that will wither, wilt, or die away without them. The “something” they’ve been building has, gratefully, been built to last without themselves or their egos at its core. Their songs, their mission, and their impact are structurally sound, unwavering in the face of the purposeful uncertainty of the band’s next new era.


Mipso perform with Sean Trischka on drums and percussion and special guest fiddler Stephanie Coleman in NYC during their Farewell For Now Tour. Photo by Elliot Crotteau.

Mipso’s final studio recording, the gutting, emotional, and convicting “Singing Song” (released in August) wasn’t originally meant to be such a well-fitting final track from the group. But, whether coincidentally, fatefully, or aptly, it finds in its crosshairs the exact pathway through which Mipso’s legacy can and will live on with or without the band acting as their own life support system.

“Singing Song” imagines a not so far-fetched reality in which songbirds are going extinct in the accelerating climate crisis and humans are assigned birdsongs to help keep alive by singing, refusing to let their avian melodies die, go silent, or be forgotten. It becomes the role of the community itself to hold memories, together, and move into the future with our pasts to help guide and inform of what’s to come.

This is what Mipso have built for us. And they have built it for the eons. Their music will live on in each of us, as we carry their melodies – “Louise” and “Carolina Rolling By” and “People Change” and “Coming Down the Mountain” and so many more – with us into our collective uncertain future. Mipso were never building a mine or a factory or a quarry by which they could extract all the resources they could from us. No, they built us a home. Joist by joist, shingle by shingle. And now, though they may be moving out for a time, we’ve all been invited to maintain this idyllic Carolina mountain shack they’ve gifted to us.

A parting such as this begs the question, “Who will sing for Mipso?” but the answer is immediately obvious and indelible: All of us. Because this band, this impeccable string folk foursome, has never been solely about the people who make it up. It’s always been a community far greater than the simple sum of its parts or only made up of the folks on stage.

Midway through their Farewell For Now Tour, BGS connected with Mipso via Zoom for an in-depth round-table discussion about their decisions to put the band “on the shelf” for a little while. Our conversation was full of intention, nostalgia, and a remarkable variety of ways to look into the future for redemption and renewal.

I wanted to start by having y’all talk a little bit about how you feel about how your mission as a group – prioritizing art and community and building something instead of going somewhere – has informed this decision to pause the band. Whether it’s been stated overtly or has been the undercurrent behind what you’ve all done, that mission is clearly informing this decision as well. 

I think some people see this farewell as a switch being turned off and a new thing happening after an old thing goes, but I don’t see it that way at all. I see this as an extension of what you have always been doing, being intentional and deliberate with the group and its purposes. So I wonder what your reactions might be to that, or if you have thoughts about that as we’re talking about this next era that you’re entering together?

Libby Rodenbough: Yeah, I agree with that. I feel like what we’re trying to do here is protect intentionality rather than letting this slow creep of unintentionality take over what we’re doing. It almost feels like that’s the natural inertia of the world, to let anxiety run things for you.

I see this as trying to protect the preciousness of how we’ve done it for so long from an anxious orientation, which I really feel is just like the way the world wants you to think about everything.

Joseph Terrell: That was a beautiful way to put it, Justin. Thank you. And also thanks for being one of our friends and pals and loved ones in this corner of the world for so long. I appreciate the way you’ve just explained us to us. That’s actually very helpful.

I think there are all kinds of “supposed tos” that we allow to rule our lives and tell us what to do next. And this decision, I think, for us to put the band on the shelf for a while is very much a deliberate decision that comes from years of conversation. It’s an attempt to do what we really want to do, on purpose, based on our love for each other and what we’ve built together – as opposed to what’s expected of us or what we are “supposed to do.”

Jacob Sharp: I think there were moments where we did make decisions based on what we thought we should do. We had the benefit of being able to trust each other when we heard from one or many people that it didn’t feel right. Like, we flirted with Nashville, we flirted with content creation and all these things that people are telling us you need to lean into in the industry, you need to lean into online.

There’s an element of this decision right now, of us having realized that something that used to feel really good and obvious was less so in the current version of it. Looking around, I’ve said in different ways that it’s like it’s a blessing to feel full and to be content with that.

All of us are very full on what we’ve been able to do and how we’ve been able to do it. And as we, over the last year and a half, talked about this in different ways and tried different things, it was easy to imagine how it would be irreversibly not good if we kept going down the path that didn’t involve us – in some of this vision that you’re recognizing that has been in different ways at our core throughout.

Wood Robinson: I think that, as we’ve let this decision percolate over [time], we’ve thought through this idea of putting it on the shelf for a little while – probably the first time we genuinely talked about it was on our Europe tour from hell, and there have been many different feelings at many different times. …

You might as well have a really fulfilling and intentional process of arriving at a conclusion that you actually feel good about. And the beautiful thing about music is that it isn’t as if we’re going away. Everyone has links to our entire 15 years of music making on their phones at any time.

@mipsomusic everything about it takes a little luck #farewellfornow #folkmusic #acoustic ♬ original sound – mipso

When you remove the impetus of an end goal, it immediately becomes so clear that none of this is a zero-sum game, right? None of this is black and white or binary – “We’re done now. We can’t ever do that again.” … These songs, this catalog, this thing that you’ve created together, it has a life that isn’t dependent on all of you continuing to do this the same way that you’ve always done it. And that longevity, that we’re foregrounding right now, I think that is gonna be built on that same foundation of intention.

WR: I’m currently working in conservation and over this past weekend I drove down from Salt Lake City to Zion [National Park], around it, and then back, which was a lot of driving. That’s neither here nor there. I’m very used to that. But I re-listened to the most recent season of Scene On Radio about capitalism. My favorite episode of that is really talking about that [Donella] Meadows book from the ‘70s, The Limits to Growth. It was a very poignant moment of thinking [about how] the growth virus infects everything.

If the only way of thinking of a future for any entity is for it to grow indefinitely, even if you don’t know what it’s supposed to grow into, that’s cancer. If the primary goal of a group is to make music together, is to make beautiful art together, putting it away for a while does nothing to impede that. Maybe the growth mindset really infects that. I was chewing on that when I finished the series and it weighed heavy, but it also reinforced my feeling really good about this decision.

LR: I don’t know if it’s coincidental, Wood, or if we talked about it, but I just finished that season of Scene On Radio as well and I loved that episode. It makes you wonder then, what’s the alternative to growth? To infinite growth.

I feel like the world shows us that it’s death and rebirth. Like death is the natural way for things to go. I think we have a culture that – in a way [is] not unrelated to this cancerous growth mindset – is really afraid of death. Really afraid of talking about death, thinking about death, having rituals about death. Not to be like dramatic or morbid about what we’re doing, but death happens in the natural world every fall.

It’s not necessarily tragic and it’s not world-ending. Conversely, it’s essential for life. I think that saying goodbye to something – I said this at one of our shows in this first little run – but saying goodbye to something is a really good practice, because it’s how I want to go through my life, generally. It’s how I want to relate to life itself, too. That death is part of what makes things beautiful and meaningful.

I didn’t even need to say what I was gonna say, ’cause you just said it! [Laughs] How helpful it is to think about infinite growth as being unsustainable through the lens of nature and ecosystems – what an excellent model. Looking out the windows, stepping outside, literally grounding ourselves in our natural surroundings shows us how stasis, maintenance, renewal, all of those things are equally productive as working 40, 70, 80 hours a week and driving thousands of miles. Just “being” is a lesson that we can all learn.

This connection, the death and renewal of nature and the seasons, it’s making me think of “Singing Song” and it’s making me think of the contours of “Singing Song” being about nature, about environment, and about the Rachel Carson of it all. But also how the song applies to where y’all are at with Mipso at this stage.

Talking about the infinite growth mindset and how it’s pretty well antithetical to how the earth actually works and how we all work as biological beings, the way that y’all draw on nature and the environment to convey the message of “Singing Song” feels so apropos. Can you talk about the song a little bit and can you talk about how, for y’all, if it bumps into or up against any of these things we’re already talking about here?

WR: Obviously, “Singing Song” is about a not-quite-hypothetical world in which all of the birds die and everyone is tasked with singing the song of a bird so that their memory lives on as a ghost among us forever and ever. It wasn’t intended to be quite so on the nose to be the last song that we released before we went away and people were tasked with singing our memories forever and ever. But it really worked out to be a little on the nose there.

I think that there is a real beauty in memory and in the fact that every person is just a little spirit that enters the world and then leaves. Then there are little wisps of that spirit in memories, in people that continued after them until those people’s memories go away. That impermanence becomes permanent in a very poetic way. We haven’t really talked so much outwardly about how that song really worked out well for this moment, but I think that in the context of what we’re talking about now, the conclusion of something, gives it a lot more meaning.

Sometimes I think about how I really love the Marvel universe because it never ends. [Laughs] That feels like a drug to me. I don’t like that I like that. But the world just keeps on building and building and it feels like there’s no intention, because it can’t be let to rest. The reason that it can’t be let to rest is the very growth that we’re talking about.

And sometimes I think about bands who keep on being on tour for 60 years playing the same songs and that just can’t not be sad to me. Always wanting to relive the moments of the past that somehow, like a little bit of morphine, give us meaning in a moment.

JT: I think, at our best, we were doing something we’ve done together that is beautiful in its uniqueness, four people making something that we couldn’t have made on our own together. I’m really proud of us that we’ve never phoned-in the live shows. While it’s easy to be cynical about the music industry part of stuff nowadays, I don’t think we’ve ever been cynical about music making. I really don’t think it’s a stretch to say that concerts, at their best – not just ours – but the spaces that we can create with other people live together in a room, human bodies sweating together. It really is a sacred thing.

Partly this is us being able to say, “Hey, this has been so special and I love you guys and I love what we’ve built. And we wanna do other stuff for a while now.” That attitude has allowed this tour, I think, to be a place where we can really be appreciative and grateful.

We did a few acoustic shows on the last run, just the four of us on stage, and it was really fun. We haven’t done that in a while. We’re standing close together and we’re listening to each other. I like playing with all kinds of people and I love [that] every time I play with new musicians, I’ll learn something. But also, with these four people together, I have this kind of home feeling of just rightness and intuition that I really love. I’m glad we’re able to celebrate that.

“Singing Song” also makes me think of “Who Will Sing For Me?” and the idea of, “Who will sing for Mipso?” Who will carry on the songs of Mipso now? It’s such an easy question to answer, because so many of these songs are so important to so many people.

This tour is a bit of a family reunion, you guys have had some really great special guests, you’ve had and will have some really great openers. You talked a little bit about that feeling of home, never wanting to phone it in for the live shows, and doing the acoustic sets – how has it felt on the Farewell For Now Tour so far? How are audience reactions and what are the takeaways for y’all as you are going through this tour?

LR: It makes me think about how I feel ambivalent about the idea of having a wedding, but if I was gonna have one – I’m single by the way [Laughs] – but if I was gonna have one, I think a lot of the motivation would be to get people together. So, in some ways, I see this tour as just an occasion. It’s an occasion for getting together, an occasion for thinking about the past together. And it’s been an occasion for me to look through all my old photos and try to make sense of my many overlapping memories of tours, of the same cities in geographic regions, and certainly an occasion to get our friends together and play songs.

When you’re doing tours interminably, it doesn’t feel like you can really make an ask of people as easily. But if you’re like, “Hey, this is maybe the last time we’re ever gonna play,” it’s kind of a trump card on people’s schedules. [Laughs] In the same way as getting married, we at least maintain the fiction that it only happens once in every life.

JS: One funny thing, Justin, was we have known this was coming for a long time and our fans have, too. We announced it a number of months ago, but night one of each of these shows is really specific. Like, to what city and what venue we’re playing. There’s a reason.

Night one [of the tour] was in Seattle, a place that we all really love and have had great times at Tractor Tavern, one of our favorite venues. We came out loose, joking, irreverent. And our fans were so sad. Not all of them, but they were having this moment of sadness. It was one funny thing that we have talked about in the intervening days, is we need to try and rectify the difference between where our emotional space is and where certain crowds are, because there is an element of this where it’s a gift to ourselves and also we hope it’s a gift for our fans.

‘Cause we know what it feels like or what it would feel like to know you weren’t gonna see your potentially favorite band again. If we are that for anybody, we want them to have this moment to commune one more time with us and the other people in their community that connect with the music and with the songs themselves.

It’s been funny to feel this emotional responsibility of occupying both the reality of where we’re at with it emotionally and also where we might imagine other people are – both in the music and the presence and how we talk about it. But it is that nature of it being, to Joseph’s point, the sacred space that we’ve gotten to occupy together a lot more than we could have ever imagined. It is like this final gift that we’re giving to ourselves of getting to do it within a very definite and intentional manner for this final month.

Maybe I’m putting carts before horses – never done that before in my life – but as you guys are looking to the future, what is Mipso potentially gonna look like over the next 13 years? Is it maybe going to be like Nickel Creek or Bonny Light Horseman or boygenius? We get a record cycle maybe once every few years, a sold-out tour. 

As you are looking to the future, do you have any sort of sense of what the models are that you’re looking at or what sort of rhythm you might picture as a best case scenario for how Mipso might be a part of your individual constellations of creativity as you move forward? Have you had any discussions about that?

JS: Yeah, we don’t know. I think the point of taking a break is to be able to see that question clearly, because when you’re so in-the-rhythm as we were, it was a given that there was always another tour and it was a given that you prioritize Mipso creatively, timewise. That was the spoken and unspoken contract for the majority of our adult lives.

I think of it now as like Mipso became this drug, like our phones do. I want to be rewired from that, I want to be away from it long enough that I can know why I’m picking up the phone, why I’m picking up the Mipso, why I’m thinking about these songs. And for that answer and the meaning behind it to be the “why” of if we would ever do it again.

But of course, it’s funny, as soon as you announce a farewell tour promoters are like, “Great, can we add something next weekend? What about this festival next year? Here’s a reunion tour.” We think we need a pretty long break to know if and why we would do it again.

JT: I’m proud of us for not having figured that out yet, because it wouldn’t be a true stepping away if we had that plan in place.

The one idea I do [love] is that if we get The Onlies and like Palmyra and a couple of other groups that, on a rotating basis over the next 10 years, we can always have an active Mipso going made up of some of them and they could just kinda keep it going on the road without us.

WR: Yeah, I feel like if we had an answer to that [question] it would be destroying the point of the tour itself, at least for my own part. I think the point is to be open to it, but not planning anything. I don’t think that any of us are absolutely adamant that we never play music together as the four of us in a public setting again. To say that we’re putting it away, but we’re actually gonna start a festival next summer, would feel disingenuous to the people that are having strong emotions about it right now.

LR: I would say honest openness – an honest relationship with the lack of control that we have over the future – that’s becoming central to my life. Philosophy has become central over the last few years. It’s not only that I like being open, I do like the feeling of it. I like relinquishing control, but I also believe that it is true. And I also believe that a great deal of unhappiness comes from people trying to exert control over things they have no control over. They wanna control outcomes. That’s not possible. I don’t think that’s a human ability. So I think we’re really trying to love our humanness and not try to impose superpowers that we don’t have.


Mipso take a bow after the close of their NYC stop on their Farewell For Now Tour. Photo by Elliot Crotteau.

I know all of you have been working on other projects, other music – other projects in your lives that aren’t music as well. As we’re thinking about what’s next, as we put Mipso away for a little while, what’s filling you up? What’s exciting you? When you wake up in the morning, what is the thing that you’re ready to pour yourself into, bring to the world, and have that energy reflected back at you – in the same way as when you were getting Mipso up and running and started?

LR: I think, when I wake up here at Rare Bird [Farm], where I have a cabin where I live on my own, I usually don’t have to do anything first thing in the morning. I just start strumming the guitar and singing lines. It just feels like there will never be an end to the pleasure of doing that.

And I think I might even love it more now that I’m not thinking about an album cycle at all. It’s very motivating to me to just think all I’m doing, like the whole cycle, is contained in this moment. Something filtering through me and I sing it and it goes out into the ether.

JT: [To Jacob and Wood] Come on, you guys have really obvious answers to this.

JS: Okay, Wood and I both have wives that are pregnant, Justin!

Oh my god, congratulations! We’re gonna get Mipso second gen.

JS: Thank you!

Yeah, what’s next? My year has been so defined by change – unexpected, forced, and then chosen – that I’m excited for stability and for building a home in my former home, North Carolina, again, but in a very different way. And for the first time ever to not be looking at multiple years of calendars filled with tours and the ideas of tours.

I’m welcoming all the insecurities that have already started to creep up because of that. And I’m looking forward to finding answers about how I’m different than maybe I thought I was in the absence of this ecosystem, this rhythm of life, and with the baby in tow and how that changes the type of music I wanna make. And with whom.

I imagine letting the moss grow over the rolling stone that is not rolling anymore. Like what a novel feeling. We’ll watch it grow.

LR: That sounds so soft.

Wait, what is my identity if I’m not traveling constantly? If I don’t live in airports and hotels? Will people care about me? Will I be remembered? And then, you see the little inchworm on the moss and you’re like, “Oh, that’s all that matters anyway.”

JS: Yeah, you don’t have to answer those questions when you’re always filling the space with something else. I’m eager for some answers in that space.

JT: I was just outside while you’re asking that question – I’ve never had a dog before. I’ve never lived with an animal that I took care of. I love her so much. My other three bandmates have all done that, been through that phase a little bit more than I have. But I just moved back to North Carolina, too, and I’m feeling a little bit of that homey warmth. I’m so excited to plant some persimmon trees and to finish building this house that I’ve been working on for a few years.

That really does get me so excited to wake up and work on that. That’s the place that I can make music and have people over and really feel at home. It’s a version of that homey life that we haven’t really had as much of an opportunity to do for whatever, 12 years.

WR: I’m in a similar space to Jacob with there being a crazy amount of changes. But one thing that I have really come to terms with, that I recognize about myself, is that I really like being exhausted at the end of the day from a lot of work. From a lot of either physical or emotional work that feels like I made not forward motion in the sense of going for growth like I said, but forward motion.

So in conservation [work] I feel very fulfilled, because there is a tangible aspect of protection and feeling like I’m fighting a deliberate and pronounced fight for the future of that. Hopefully my kid inherits that. I always knew that I liked being tired at the end of the day, but I’m really excited to recognize a sort of routine that is within a smaller world than Mipso inhabited, but with a real, pronounced, and just fight that I’m fighting within it.

I feel a lot of gratitude right now for getting to be a small, small star in the constellation of Mipso in so many different ways over the years. And honestly, it will always be one of the things I’m most proud of to be misattributed as a Mipso member in 2017 by the Raleigh News & Observer. Huge moment for us all. [Laughs] That’s going on my bio for the rest of my life!

JS: Justin, I would say likewise to you. Now that we’re actively in the present nostalgia of saying goodbye to different cities and songs and motions together, the thing that’s hardest for me to imagine fully saying goodbye to is the built-in excuse of seeing this wide community that’s spread across the world. That we’ve built together with frequency and getting catch-ups on your life and hearing reflections on how you understand things that have happened to us that you’ve heard about or seen in the music or the shows.

That’s something I value so much and you’ve been a treasured part of that, so thank you. I really appreciate that.

JT: Totally. Thank you, Justin. One of our most trusted narrators over the last many years. Thank you for playing that role for others.

Photo Credit: Photos courtesy of Mipso, shot by Elliot Crotteau.