BGS Wraps: Carolina Story, “New Year’s Eve”

Artist: Carolina Story
Song: “New Year’s Eve”
Release Date: October 23, 2020

In Their Words: “All of our favorite Christmas songs are those of Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby, Sinatra and Judy Garland lamenting the mistakes, hardships and trials of that given year and looking ahead to a fresh start. ‘New Year’s Eve’ has always been one of our favorite holidays, and I would say that we consider it an extension of Christmas. We came at it from that angle and wanted to write more of a broader ‘holiday’ song that people could grasp onto and find some hope and joy in during these uncertain times. We’ve all been through a lot with a global pandemic, social and racial justice issues and all of the uncertainty being confronted. We imagined the countdown from ten just before the stroke of midnight on this upcoming New Year’s Eve as 2020 fades away and all of the thoughts that will be running wildly through the minds of people all over the world. We wanted to write the song envisioning all of us standing by the fire in one big living room at that moment, choosing to move forward together.” — Ben Roberts, Carolina Story


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BGS Wraps: Colin & Caroline, “It Isn’t Even Christmas Yet”

Artist: Colin & Caroline
Single: “It Isn’t Even Christmas Yet”
Release Date: December 4, 2020

In Their Words: “For the two of us, the holidays have always carried with them fond memories of childhood, and growing up within our families. For me [Caroline], this meant sitting on the steps with my two brothers as Nat King Cole and Sinatra’s holiday songs filled our house, and waiting patiently to run downstairs on Christmas morning. For Colin, it meant reading ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve with his family (a tradition that still stands today)… There’s a certain nostalgia that we feel around Christmas time that is reflective of our own relationship as well as our individual upbringings. We recognize that this isn’t the case for everyone surrounding the holidays, and that we’re lucky to feel this way. 2020 has been one of the most uncertain and difficult years our world has seen in a long time, and through our Christmas music, we want to spread a message of hope, and bring our listeners a sense of comfort, joy, and some extra love during perhaps the most important holiday season yet.” — Colin & Caroline


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’70s Music Meets the White House in ‘Jimmy Carter: Rock & Roll President’

In 1978, during a concert on the White House lawn, legendary jazz trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie put the leader of the free world on the spot. President Jimmy Carter, formerly a peanut farmer in his home state of Georgia, had requested “Salt Peanuts,” a rambunctious tune that had been a hit for Gillespie back in the 1940s, but the musician said he’d only play it if Carter himself sang the lyrics. That’s not a hard job: There are only two words, “Salt peanuts,” repeated over and over, in a fast, staccato exclamation.

Carter gamely obliged and took his place onstage among the jazz greats, wearing not an official suit but a more casual outfit of unbelted slacks and a shirt-sleeve shirt. No musician himself, the President gave it his best shot, but could barely keep up with the veteran players. The song ended in laughter, but it was no joke. Instead, it revealed not only Carter’s sense of humor about himself—a rarity among politicians—but also his abiding love of music. Even as he’s flubbing such a basic vocal, he looks like he’s having the time of his life up there.

That impromptu performance is a key scene in the persuasive and often joyous new documentary Jimmy Carter: Rock & Roll President, which redeems the 39th President by examining his accomplishments in office through his relationship to music. The words stagflation and malaise are never mentioned, nor is there any appearance by an angry rabbit — all issues that have long obscured Carter’s legacy. A naval submarine officer turned politician who farmed peanuts on the side, he served in the Georgia State Senate through the 1960s before running successfully for governor in 1970.

Six years later he ran for president, right at the heyday of southern rock and outlaw country, when the entire nation seemed to be fascinated by the South. Artists like Gregg Allman, Ronnie Van Zant, and Willie Nelson saw in Carter more than a little of themselves: Southern men who didn’t fit the old hick stereotype, who might have called themselves rednecks, but rejected the hostilities and prejudices and buzzcuts associated with that figure.

And Carter was a real fan of the music they were making at that time. They not only befriended but endorsed him, playing fundraisers along the campaign trail and later visiting him in Washington, DC. Willie Nelson was famous for sneaking up to the roof of the White House to smoke pot and Rock & Roll President reveals that it was Carter’s son Chip and not some security guard who joined him. These were not family-friendly pop stars like the Osmonds or the Partridge Family, but countercultural figures who could very easily have hindered a candidate by tying him to drugs or sex or rebellion. Rather than undercut Carter’s gravity or mission, they helped portray him as an outsider who could clean up the mess made by Nixon and Watergate.

As the documentary makes clear, however, this wasn’t just politics as usual. There was no strategy behind Carter’s partnership with these southern musicians. Instead, it came about more organically, a happy accident stemming from his clear love for the music. He and several other talking heads say as much in the film, but the most convincing evidence is visual. Rock & Roll President is filled with archival footage of the President watching and listening to a wide array of music — not just rock, but folk, jazz, gospel, and country — and at every concert he’s there singing along and smiling his big, toothy smile. Rather than playing up a focus-group-approved reaction, he lets his guard down and projects something resembling pure joy. At 95, Carter remains an imposing and presidential presence. Yet, especially when he’s recalling a particular concert or simply putting a Dylan record on the turntable, that unselfconscious smile returns, its hint of mischief intact.

Rock & Roll President includes interviews with a range of artists, some of whom are still identified as progressives (Rosanne Cash, Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan) and others who have swayed further right over the years (Larry Gatlin). But they all respond to Carter’s calls for bipartisanship, his moral leadership, his steady demeanor in office, and of course his musical knowledge. Over time many of his accomplishments have been dismissed, undone, or simply swept under the rug, but the documentary connects some of them — his handling of the historic peace treaty between Egypt and the United Arab Emirates, for example — to Carter’s Christian faith and the principles he found in music.

There are, of course, holes in the story Rock & Roll President presents, but Carter’s idealism is refreshing especially at a moment when politics has become ugly, divisive, and cynical to the point of nihilism. He comes across as a folk hero: embraced by the people and too honest for politics. “There was so much about the story that is timeless, in terms of messaging,” says director Mary Wharton. “During filming and production, there were all these things that would happen in the news that resonated with the stories that were being told in the film. Things like Carter’s role in the Civil Rights movement continue to be more and more relevant.”

She and producer Chris Farrell spent three years researching and filming the documentary, which included two trips down to Plains, Georgia, to speak to the former peanut farmer himself. For our latest Roots on Screen column, BGS spoke to the duo while they were in Massachusetts for the Berkshire International Film Festival, where Rock & Roll President played at a drive-in theater — just like it was ’76 all over again.

BGS: In the film, Carter seems to be very unselfconsciously enjoying himself around this music whenever there’s live footage. What was he like to deal with?

Chris Farrell: He’s in his mid-90s, first of all. He’s a former President. He’s a naval guy. He’s pretty stern, and even in his advanced age, he’s still pretty imposing. He shows up to the interview and sits down and he’s very serious. But within the first three to four minutes, he realizes this is not the typical interview. We want to talk about his love for music, what music meant to him, and how he used music in his personal and political life. I’ll never forget — that smile just showed up, and you can see it in the interview.

Mary Wharton: We were told that President Carter was a very punctual man and that we needed to be ready when he walked in the door. They said he’s not very patient in terms of waiting around for you to get ready for him. He’s a very exacting person who does not suffer fools. And why should he? But it was obvious that he had enjoyed talking about this stuff, and that he had a lot of fun with it. I think he genuinely enjoyed sharing this part of his life that he had never really been asked about before.

Was he the first president to use music this way? How unprecedented was it to have endorsements from this kind of countercultural creative class?

MW: JFK got the endorsement of Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack. I don’t know if they were doing campaign benefits for JFK or not — I never researched that — and the only other thing I could point to is Nixon inviting Elvis to the White House, because Elvis wanted to be made a sheriff or something along those lines. But that didn’t seem like anybody endorsing anything…

CF: And Johnny Cash, remember? Nixon tried to co-opt Johnny Cash and it didn’t work. Again, the interesting thing was: This was not marketing necessarily for them. As the film shows, from his very early childhood, music was massive in Carter’s life. It was very, very important to him, and that’s why it made a natural component to his campaign. It wasn’t like some campaign manager said, “Hey, listen, boss, just trust us on this. You know, if you hang out with these guys, you’re gonna get endorsements and people are going to like you.” He genuinely loves music, all music, and he really, really felt a strong relationship and bond with these guys, and that’s what made them willing to endorse him.

Willie Nelson, Emmylou Harris and Jimmy Carter

And these weren’t just any old musicians either. They were Southern musicians who seemed to be redefining how the South was being depicted. The Allmans and Skynyrd were popular right when you’re having movies like Walking Tall and Deliverance, and suddenly there are new ways of thinking about the South.

CF: Mary and I are both from the South — and not terribly far away from where Jimmy Carter is from. We’re both from North Florida. Even though we were young when he was elected — I was ten, Mary is slightly younger than me — we spent the ’70s in the South and we remember that it was changing. As Chuck Leavell says very well in the film, and Rosanne Cash says extremely well, things were going in the right direction, and Carter personified that attempt to move us along not only in the South but the country as a whole. Unfortunately, a lot of those issues we were making progress on then, it feels like we’ve gone backwards on, whether that’s civil rights, women’s rights, a whole host of issues.

Looking back, many of the artists associated with that movement are now seen to be very conservative, while Carter was and remains very progressive. It’s interesting to see footage of him sharing a stage with Charlie Daniels.

MW: Charlie Daniels [became] very conservative. But he was more affiliated with Carter and was onstage at his campaign rallies. He did a lot to support Carter at the time, then had a bit of a change of heart during the Reagan administration. Larry Gatlin is another one who’s in our film who is now very conservative. At the time, though, he did support Carter. He saw that Carter was a good man, and he believed in him. The country was a little less polarized back then. As John Wayne says in that clip in the film, he’s a staunch Republican and was known for being “the opposition.” But he makes clear he’s a member of the “loyal opposition.” He saw that Carter was president and said he would support him as best he could. We as Americans may not always agree on every issue, but we need to figure out how we can work together to come up with some kind of compromise that we can all live with. We’ve gotten to a point where that doesn’t even exist anymore.

CF: That’s ultimately the point of the movie: that Carter was able to use music to bring people together. We have so many examples of how music broke down barriers and brought people together, unified people — and would it be nice to think that, somehow, that can happen again.

MW: We had an early screening of a rough cut in New York, just some friends of mine and the editor. We just needed to get some feedback from some outsiders, and there was this one woman in the group who had a very visceral reaction to the Charlie Daniels piece of music in the film. Charlie Daniels is playing at this campaign rally in 1980 where the Ku Klux Klan showed up and were counter-protesting and demonstrating outside the rally. Carter stood up to them and essentially called them cowards for hiding behind white sheets. Charlie Daniels got up on the stage and performed, and that was why we wanted to play that music. This woman so associated the music of Charlie Daniels with many of the beliefs that the KKK espouses. She saw Southerners as automatically racist, and that’s a common misperception. I’ve heard people say, “Oh, you’re from the South, but you’re not a racist. What made you change your mind?”

CW: One of the most beautiful examples of that is the jazz on the White House lawn. There’s the sheer brilliance of those musicians and how Carter brought them all together and how he honored the genre. Carter said part of the reason that jazz had not been recognized over the years was racism. He was able to talk about racism in a way that eludes so many politicians. They find it a difficult topic to deal with, but he tackled it head on. That’s one of those scenes where you really get the essence of Jimmy Carter, where he really shows moral courage and moral leadership.

What I find remarkable is that he’s able to connect that to his Christian faith, which is another issue that people seem to have misperceptions about. Christianity is usually associated with a very specific political stance.

CF: The best example of that in our movie, I think, is the Gregg Allman story, because, to me, that’s the essence of Carter. He didn’t judge Gregg Allman, and he didn’t think he needed to forgive Gregg for something, because he knew it wasn’t his place to forgive him. It was his place to be compassionate and be there for his friend in his time of need. I consider myself Christian. I’m an Episcopalian, and to me that’s what Christianity is all about. It’s about love. It’s about compassion. And I think that he really does exhibit those attributes.

Carter seems to be thought of as a failed president who really came into his own after he left the White House. But the film argues that the traits we associate with his humanitarian efforts were the same traits that guided his presidency and the same traits he found in the music he loved.

MW: The thing we wanted to do with Carter was look at him through this different lens of his relationship with music, and perhaps that might make people reconsider their ideas about his presidency. Jim Free [formerly special assistant on congressional affairs], who’s so great in the film, got angry when he talked about how people saw Carter as a bad president. On both sides of the aisle, people will say, “He was a terrible president, but I love what he’s done post-presidency.” And that would just make Jim angry. He said, “If you like what he’s done post-presidency, then take another look at what he accomplished during his administration because he was about the same things. He wasn’t always successful, because the presidency is not a dictatorship. It’s not a monarchy. You can’t just decide what you want to happen and then, lo and behold, it happens. You have to work with Congress. What Carter was able to accomplish puts him on the right side of history.

CW: If people would go back and look at the record — and we could have done this with the movie, but we decided not to go down this path, because Stu Eizenstat wrote a 900-page book about this — they’d see that Carter had an enormous amount of legislation, some really groundbreaking legislation. He’s one of the most efficient and effective presidents in history, in that regard. Nile Rodgers rightly says that Carter got the short end of the stick somehow. Hopefully, upon further reflection and examination, people will hold him in higher stead. And he loves music and understands that it has this incredible power to bring us joy, to bring us together, and to remind us that we’re more alike than we are different. We all want to dance to a good song.


Lede photo, Jimmy Carter and Rosalynn Carter photo, Jimmy Carter on stage photo, and Jimmy Carter interview photo: courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment; Photos with Willie Nelson and Emmylou Harris, and photo with Dolly Parton, from Carter Presidential Library.

BGS 5+5: Stephen Mougin

Artist: Stephen Mougin
Hometown: Ashfield, Massachusetts
Latest album: Ordinary Soul
Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Mojo

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

2006 was my first trip to Telluride with the Sam Bush Band. It was all “larger than life” from the ride in, to the amazing town, to the incredible lineup, to the unbelievable stage/sound/light crew. I remember walking out on stage (which is quite tall), getting set up, then looking out at the mountains just as the sun was setting. It was so breathtaking and surreal that I didn’t even notice the audience for at least three or four songs. Telluride is a special place and Planet Bluegrass makes it even better!

What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc — inform your music?

I was interested in shooting some interview videos for our record label so I purchased my first DSLR, learned about photography exposure, lighting, etc. and began my journey as a videographer. I really enjoy street, landscape, and architectural photography while I’m out on tour as a method to practice, and it makes for nice memories when I’m home. Our videography has grown to include music videos which I direct, shoot, and edit. There’s so much similarity between video light/color and audio frequencies/instruments, I feel like my visual understanding has informed my audio engineering and overall musicality.

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

My pal Thayer Washer (a Nashville musician who toured with Connie & Babe and the Backwoods Boys in his younger years) wanted to take me bass fishing as a thank you for working on a project for him. Little did I know it would remain a fun, calming hobby, pushed forward with the addition of a jon boat and trolling motor. When I fish, I don’t think about ANYTHING other than where to cast, which lure, what rod technique to use, and where they might be. It is a necessary brain cleanse. I’m a workaholic and I often feel guilty for taking a few hours to go, but feel so much better when I do.

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

My two favorite singers are Frank Sinatra and Lester Flatt. I’d love to share a meal with both of them (can you imagine THAT conversation?) and I’d picture it as some sort of surf-and-turf involving large shrimp, a slab of steak, and a baked potato with a large dollop of butter. Though that’s not really my favorite meal, it seems like what those guys might eat (maybe Lester would pass on the shrimp…). We’d chat about memorable gigs and I’d have a thousand questions from vocal delivery to the hardships of touring in their time.

How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?

As a voice teacher, I often encourage students to “get inside the song” by pretending to be the character. Dabbling in musical theater in my youth, followed by my classical voice training, naturally set the footprint for this particular technique. When I sing, I have a movie playing behind my eyeballs which helps me feel the truth in the song (even if it’s not “MY” truth). I’ve spent so much time working on song personalities, there’s really no “ME” in it… except that “I” am the character (if I’m doing my job well). The direct answer to your question lies in the particular songs one chooses to sing!


Photo credit: Elliott Lopes

The Show On The Road – Steve Poltz

This week on The Show On The Road, we feature a conversation with a Canadian-born paraparetic prince of pop-folk singers, who has jumped through more gauntlets of the modern music industry than almost anyone in his three plus decades of making records, Steve Poltz.

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Poltz first hit the scene with the San Diego-based underground punk-folk favorites The Rugburns, then as an accidental hitmaker and MTV video heartthrob with collaborator and friend Jewel, and then as a wild-haired, two hundred shows a year internationally revered solo act. He’s put out a baker’s dozen of whacked-out, deceptively sensitive, and fearlessly personal albums that have won him devoted audiences from his ancestral home in Nova Scotia to the dance party dives of California to massive festivals across Australia and beyond.

 As we are still quite separated during the pandemic, host Z. Lupetin called up Poltz in Nashville to discuss the long and twisty road Poltz has travelled — jumping from his inspired, most-recent album Shine On back to his childhood in swinging Palm Springs (where he met Elvis and Sinatra), to making $100,000 music videos for his ill-fated major label debut in ’98, to nearly dying on stage after substance abuse problems and never-say-no-to-a-gig exhaustion took its toll.
 
We now find him in a more peaceful, purposeful existence, where he is newly married and enjoying making music at home (government orders!) for the first time in decades.

3×3: Blank Range on Frank Sinatra, Palo Santo, and Non-Superfluous Suburbs

Artist: Grant Gustafson (of Blank Range)
Hometown: Nashville, TN
Latest Album: Marooned with the Treasure
Personal Nicknames: We call Jon Childers a myriad of names e.g. Childabeest, Childeezy, Deezy … working on new permutations.

 

#NameThatRanger #tbt

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Who is the most surprising artist in current rotation in your iTunes/Spotify?

Frank Sinatra hasn’t been in my rotation ever before. I think it seemed like a cliché or something, but a friend played the album The World We Knew for me the other day and the first few songs really caught my attention. Amazing arrangements and really striking, dramatic songs. A good reminder that, a lot of the time, people are iconic for a reason.

If you were a candle, what scent would you be?

I wouldn’t be a candle. I would be white sage wrapped around a stick of palo santo. A therapeutic scent that we’ve made into our signature in the van.

What literary character or story do you most relate to?

The good pig in Animal Farm.

What’s your favorite word?

I had a friend immediately respond with “rhythm” once, when asked this question. I guess I’ve never decided for myself so, here goes, matemáticas is beautiful, but that is lost in English. Maybe “superfluous” is my favorite word.

What’s your best physical attribute?

I’m told I have expressive eyebrows, but I’d like to think it’s my flexible ankles.

Which is your favorite Revival — Creedence Clearwater, Dustbowl, Elephant, Jamestown, New Grass, Tent, or -ists?

CCR is the best feeling.

Banjo, mando, or dobro?

I was at one point mesmerized by Bill Monroe, but I think it was the high harmony on those old recordings that was so disarming — mandolin.

Are you more a thinking or feeling type?

I think I’m a romantic who is perpetually trying to exercise rational thinking.

Urban or rural?

Suburbs, best of both worlds. Like Sinatra, iconic for a reason.


Photo credit: Don VanCleave

3X3: Peridot on the ’40s, FOMO, and Frank Sinatra

Artist: Peridot
Hometown: Los Angeles, CA
Latest Album: Peridot
Rejected Band Names: One time, a producer told us we should change our band name to “Hillary’s Unicorn” or “Hillary and the Man” — both were appropriately discarded. 

If you could go back (or forward) to live in any decade, when would you choose? 

Definitely the ’70s — but I would also say the tail end of the ’60s, as well — so let’s say 1965-1975. Also the late 1930s/early 1940s when Sinatra was getting started and dance orchestras were the thing.

Who would be your dream co-writer?

Tom Petty, John Mayer, or Ray LaMontagne.

If a song started playing every time you entered the room, what would you want it to be?

It’s a tie between “Gimme Some Lovin” by the Spencer Davis Group or “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys. The best song for leaving the room would definitely be Frank Sinatra’s version of “I’ll Be Seeing You.”

What is the one thing you can’t survive without on tour?

It’s a tie between good coffee and a real pillow. 

What are you most afraid of? 

I have major FOMO — “Fear of missing out”

Who is your celebrity crush? 

Sting 

Pickles or olives? 

Pickles 

Plane, train, or automobile? 

Plane — depends on the airline. Train — depends on the country. Drive — depends on how many people are in the car and how long the trip is. For now, we’ll say plane. 

Which is worse — rainy days or Mondays? 

Mondays

Counsel of Elders: John Cohen on Never Giving Up the Search

In 1959, John Cohen went searching for something. Were you to ask him at the time, before he headed south toward Kentucky from New York by way of bus, he might’ve responded that it had to do with a sound. But underneath that sonic exploration lay an interest in weightier connections beyond what he’d heard pour out of his family’s speakers when his mother or his father dropped the needle on a new Frank Sinatra LP. Cohen was looking for a connection.

Over the course of his long and varied career, Cohen has been a musician, a filmmaker, a photographer, and more, but at the heart of those titles — and the identities they color — exists a desire to cull the past for its most earnest and forgotten correspondences. As if the banjo playing of Roscoe Holcomb or the traditional songs Cohen performed with his band the New Lost City Ramblers in the 1950s and 1960s, and more recently with the Down Hill Strugglers, contained an integral message to be cared for and passed on. It’s an appreciation for the past that has led some to describe him as a documentarian or a historian or even a preservationist, but any such qualifier only strikes Cohen as being too stiff for the living things they contain.

Cohen will be performing with the Brooklyn-based old-time string band the Down Hill Strugglers at the Brooklyn Folk Festival beginning April 28. He joins a host of traditional and world sounds that have shaped him and continue to inform his listening aesthetic to this day. The search, after all, is never finished.

You’ve mentioned before how you wanted to differentiate yourself from your parents and the standards they listened to at the time — like Frank Sinatra — and, later, the collegiate trend within the folk revival. How did class factor into your taste?

My grandparents were immigrants. My parents were children of immigrants in New York City and, in the process of distancing themselves from their parents’ orthodox Russian Jewish background, they let us kids run wild in American culture. We lived in working class Queens, a place called Sunnyside, but around my 10th birthday, they changed classes and went down to the suburbs and took me with them. And I became middle-class.

By the end of my years in high school, I felt something was wrong and I became an open revolt against that. Music was an important part of my realization of what a cocoon the suburbs were. When I heard Woody Guthrie — this is 1948 I’m talking about — and the Carter Family and Uncle Dave Macon, well, it just opened my horizons. It showed me things about America that I had never even heard of. Here I was listening to Lead Belly when I came home from high school, while everyone else was listening to Frank Sinatra. I was on a very different track, and it’s been that for the next 70 years.

Authenticity is such a loaded word, and yet it seems like you were turned off of the pageantry and production that surrounded popular music at the time. What were you pursuing in this kind of sound?

It completed the picture. The middle class, the Frank Sinatra, the comfortable life, and even the things around rock ‘n’ roll, which are really beautiful and exciting but pretty safe … and then suddenly to see this other side to things. That put the two together and made a much bigger picture. I spent many years making films and photographs in Peru, and it’s even more profound there because the culture is so different. Everything is so different than what we’re raised on here in America. I’m not a universal man, but I have this sense of seeing things from many sides at once. I’m satisfied that I got to that place.

Now we have the Internet and infinite discovery at our fingertips, but you really had to go searching, especially with regards to music.

Eli Smith, a dear friend of mine who presents the Brooklyn Folk Festival, gave me an iPod a couple of years ago loaded with 15,000 tunes, but they’re mostly old blues, old hillbilly music, traditional music, and music from all around the world. I just can’t believe how much joy it gives me, and it’s not exactly “joy” because I put it on shuffle. One moment I’m listening to a Ukrainian orchestra and then, in the next moment, an old bluegrass band. In my mind, I’m constantly asking, “What is it about this music that can make me feel so good about each of them, or what do they have in common?” There’s a certain age to the music, to the singing, a certain vigor that you don’t find in every day life.

A certain connectivity?

Yeah, I mean I could go into ethnomusicology terms, but that’s just a structure around it. It’s a feeling, an intensity. There’s a wonderful writer and musician named Julius Lester and, during the Vietnam War, he went up to North Vietnam and said at midnight they were at the edge of the river waiting for a ferryboat to come and get them across. A ferryboat was just one man in a little boat with an oar, and [Lester] said that man was singing and it sounded just like Clarence Ashley, who was an Appalachian singer from the 1920s. To hear that, it explains it. The same feeling, the same ache to the voice, the same explanation of a life.

These subjects are universal. You’ve described yourself as an artist not a documentarian, and — as a thought experiment — if you put those two identities on the same spectrum, I wonder if you won’t fall somewhere in the middle, like a preservationist, if that’s not too staunch of a term.

It is. It reminds me of formaldehyde. Walter Evans, a wonderful photographer, he used the phrase, “Well, I work in a documentary style,” which means it looks like what people think a documentary is, but that doesn’t mean that it really is. The other thing that I find all over the place is that the word “interpretation” comes in more. I look objectively. I take a photograph: It’s a lens, it’s a film, it’s a fact. But by the time I finish with it, it’s an interpretation. In a way, it holds true for my music, too. I don’t consider myself to be an original musician. The origins are somewhere else, and I’m constantly interpreting those origins. That’s the way I have to look at it.

Yes, but you’re also interested in sticking to the instrumental and melodic foundation. There’s an inclination to preserve there.

I use that as the tools with which I work, but I admire so much and I’m so moved by some of the inventive old sounds that it’s my attempt to get at that. Of course, I can never be them — I can never be Clarence Ashley — but I can reach for it, as long as I don’t lose sight of the original. And very often when I sing or perform, I’ll refer to the source … and it’s not for historical reasons or anything; it just helps me get through the song.

A seeking instinct led you to Kentucky, and the idea of seeking has shifted in recent decades. Have we lost anything?

With the Internet and a lot of phonograph records, you can get the illusion that you’re with someone else and still be sitting on your sofa. But the real trick is to get up off the sofa and get out the door and go somewhere else. And don’t go as a tourist. Tourism is one of the biggest industries in the whole world right now, but that’s because people are looking for something beyond themselves. They don’t know how to approach it. I mean, I went down looking for banjo recordings.

Door-to-door, no less.

More gas station to gas station. And once the folks start retuning the banjo, it opens up their memories of songs they hadn’t played in years or sounds that they don’t play regularly. It’s like a continual opening up of very special things when you have something that you’re after.

New Lost City Ramblers at Newport Folk Festival

I look at the Internet and obviously someone could “seek” by searching, but you lose that face-to-face connectivity.

Oh yeah, and all the questions like, “Where am I going to eat?” When you go somewhere else, you gotta ask those questions yourself, unless you stay on the main path all the time. One of the things about my approach to music — and it’s not just me alone — is when you hear something that you wanna get at and you try to play it, you’re engaging in a very different way. You have to listen again; you have to listen closely. That’s another form of engagement. I guess it’s about seeking the experience of making music or participating in it rather than just listening to it.

What excites you about the Brooklyn Folk Festival?

It’s a reflection of all the things I’ve been talking about. It’s a great opportunity to see these people in person and hear the music in person, but again, you’re not sitting in your living room with your headphones on. You’re there.

Like you said, opening up the experience.

Yeah, the depth of variety of music … it’s like that iPod. It’s loaded with stuff from all over the place and strong because it’s been curated: They selected one group rather than another. And it goes back in time, as well as being contemporary.

Years ago, in 1961, we formed an organization called the Friends of Old-Time Music and our purpose, for the first time, was to bring traditional performers from the countryside into the city and give them solo concerts. It was the first time we had tried that. Very often, you have a traditional American singer come and be a guest on a Pete Seeger show or a festival or something. Here we were putting on full concerts and that kind of set things in motion in this direction.

Nowadays we’re enjoying the culmination of that exposure.

When my band the New Lost City Ramblers started in 1958, we tried to get at that music: The music that wasn’t being heard, we tried to perform it. We were showing that city kids or urban kids or kids from another tradition could really involve themselves in performing this music, and I’m so proud, after all these years, to see the size of the string bands. There’re festivals and there’re gatherings; it’s all over the place. How many young men and young women study violin and then they change their mind and they play fiddle music? They’re off and running.


Lede photo: John Cohen with Doc Watson and Mississippi John Hurt. All photos courtesy of John Cohen.

The Paycheck Is Blowin’ in the Wind: A Brief History of Bob Dylan in Commercials

When Bob Dylan began recording in 1962, he quickly became the poster boy for the "anti-establishment" — a totem around which disenchanted and disenfranchised baby boomers could rally their rebellion. His unadorned, unencumbered voice was the voice of every man. His poetry the rallying cry of political unrest, his songs simple but powerful, his personality both rebellious and thoughtful. He was, to put it simply, a sort of Woody Guthrie for the Age of Aquarius.

To this day, people young and old staunchly defend his legacy. Fans in their 50s and 60s stand up for him with vehemence (though his work may not always warrant such passion) while young people co-opt his style (though some may not understand exactly why). It’s all because, in the minds of many, Robert Allen Zimmerman remains an icon of the anti-establishment.

While Dylan's musical genius is undeniable — his singular dedication to his singular path admirable — the illusion that he’s some sort of icon of anti-corporate purity is a case of idealistic people whistling in the wind to scare away the wolves. The truth is: Bob Dylan's never hesitated to take payment from the very establishment against which he has railed. Back as far as '65, Dylan aligned himself with Albert Grossman, the bellicose ombudsman of Dylan's business affairs during the ‘60s and early ‘70s. He was the first of his sort to refer to his charges as "artists." In concert with that lofty definition, Grossman never hesitated to extract as much money as he could on behalf of his client’s “artistry.”

Dylan’s alliance with Grossman was dissolved in the early ‘70s, in an adversarial fashion, as Dylan accused his manager of “skimming the cream from the top of the milk can” (as Guthrie might have said). But, 40 years hence, Dylan still finds meaning in the capitalistic Gospel of Grossman. He’s chosen to be a somewhat peripatetic pitch man for a strangely disparate selection of products, from sexy underwear to luxury cars.

Witness Exhibit A, his recent appearance in IBM’s commercial for its Watson computer (an event journalist Paul Walsh charmingly referred to as “Tangled Up in Big Blue”).

According to IBM spokeswoman Laurie Friedman (as quoted by Walsh), the company actually did use the Watson computer to analyze 320 Dylan songs, adding an element of truth to the singer’s bemused “conversation” with the computer. What IBM didn’t do was listen to Dylan’s tragically horrific album of Sinatra covers or have another look at 2001: A Space Odyssey. Had they done so, they probably wouldn’t have outfitted Watson with a voice that sounds like HAL and programmed him to sing those mockingly Sinatra-esque doo-be-doo-be-doos.

“Let Asia build your phone and Switzerland make your watch,” Zimmy says in Exhibit B, a 60-second long ode to American ingenuity in the form of a 2004 Super Bowl commercial for Chrysler. Though less odd and unsettling than his IBM commercial, it leaves one markedly more dyspeptic. For IBM, Bob seemed distracted, but here he offers a poetic reading — presented as his own poetry — in the name of economic aspiration.

Chrysler was the first, but it wouldn’t prove to be the last car company who would pay Dylan to back down their driveway. In ‘07, Bob pimped for Cadillac, a markedly more bourgeoisie brand than Chrysler. Though more tight-lipped than he was with Chrysler, the message is essentially the same.

Dylan presaged his sit down with HAL (er, Watson) when he went to bat for Apple a few years prior. While it definitely hawks all the musical “i’s” the company could cram into 30 seconds, this one’s a touch more tolerable than the rest: He was, after all, pitching a new album in the process. (And Modern Times was easily one of his recent best.)

Like owning a lot of rental properties, Dylan made money while he was sleeping with his 2009 Pepsi deal. For those who cling to the fraying threads of his counterculture heroics, this one has to be the most appalling. Not only does he capitalize on his name, he does it by offering up imagery from the past — when he really was something of a rebel — and pinning it to a company that makes liquid candy.

Did we say the Pepsi commercial was the “most appalling”? We lied. His infamous appearance in a commercial for Victoria’s Secret ranks as Zimmy’s most appalling foray into commercials. It’s not that we have anything against Victoria’s Secret, in particular, or pretty girls, in general. But we do get creeped out by the sight of a grizzled 74-year-old grandfather leering at a 22-year old girl in her underwear. There’s no paycheck in the world that excuses such a bombastic exhibition of bad taste.

Even though this brief history of Dylan's relationship with advertising portrays the artist in question as a corporate shill, the end of the story is this: Dylan seemingly doesn't give a damn. His enigmatic career bends and curves at his will, and those of us who dissent simply don’t understand. Frank Sinatra cover songs? Check. Dyed blonde emo hair for a movie? Check. Fat paycheck from Chrysler? Check. Dylan does whatever the hell he pleases. So maybe he really is anti-establishment; he just has the luxury of paying for said lifestyle through the same means Don Draper did.


Photo: Bob Dylan as he appears in his Chrysler commercial