(Editor’s Note: No Skips is a brand new feature from BGS that asks artists, songwriters, musicians, and industry professionals what albums they regard as perfect, with every track a masterpiece – i.e., No Skips!
For the first edition of the column, songwriter-artist-musician Adam Wright highlights Mark Knopfler’s seminal album, Shangri-La, as we look ahead to Wright’s own upcoming project, Nature of Necessity, coming later this year.)
There are only a few times in your creative life when someone’s work hits you so hard it rearranges your artistic DNA. I could probably count those moments for me on one hand.
Shangri-La was a big one. It told me that you can write away from the outside understanding of things. That you can start from the inside of your own knowledge and continue inward. It also taught me that you can write about anything you find interesting. That being understood is not as important as whether or not you’ve put something down worthy of working out for whomever decides to try to understand it. And that there are so many things to write about that are not falling in and out of love. (People probably could have stopped writing love songs in 1950 and we still would have too many.)
The depth and perspective of the storytelling, the crafted excellence of the writing and the sublimely tasteful musicianship make it, to me, Knopfler’s masterpiece. He’s done this on all of his albums, they all include brilliant gems of songs, but Shangri-La is just perfection from top to bottom. – Adam Wright
“5:15 AM” (Track 1)
Like all of the songs on this album, “5:15 AM” is exquisitely written and recorded. It is the story of a coal miner on his way home from the night shift discovering a murder victim who turns out to be involved with organized crime. It is chock-full of lingo and references to specifics about gambling machines, nightclubs, and lots of mining terms. The way Mark weaves all of this language into lyricism and brings it back to the tragic lives of the coal miners at the end is exceptional and beautiful writing. The recording is gorgeous and still somehow earthy as dirt. Just a masterclass in songcraft.
“Boom, Like That” (Track 2)
“Boom, Like That” is about the rise of Ray Kroc from a milkshake salesman to a fast food emperor. Like “5:15 AM,” there are plenty of specific references in this one. “Going to San Bernardino, ring a ding ding. Milkshake mixes, that’s my thing now.” You’re in the middle of the beginning of a story right off the bat. I love songs from the character’s perspective and few writers do that as well as Knopfler.
The movie The Founder was filmed in my hometown of Newnan, Georgia. I noticed the town when I saw it, so I looked it up and read a bit about the filming. While the song was inspired by the book about Kroc, I’d read the movie was actually inspired by the song. Even if the song weren’t so well-written, the riff at the end of the chorus is enough to keep any guitar player happily busy for days.
“All That Matters” (Track 11)
Much of Shangri-La is written from the perspective of the characters in its songs. The title track and “All That Matters” seem to be more personal. “All That Matters” is just a sweet, simple song from a father to his children. Again, beautifully written and pretty as porcelain. It has some surprising chordal and melodic turns in the B section to juxtapose the nursery rhymey-ness of the verses. Just perfect. And a nice respite from the mostly cynical tone of much of the album.
“Stand Up Guy” (Track 12)
“Brew the coffee in a bucket/ Double straight man and banjo/ If you don’t got the snake oil/ Buster, you don’t got a show.”
Again, you’re right smack dab in the middle of someone’s story. This time it’s a musician in a group of traveling, Victorian-era pitchmen. They apparently have teamed up with “the Doctor” who peddles snake oil medicine to townspeople and does it well enough to keep them fed on beefsteak and whiskey. Just wonderfully interesting, both lyrically and musically.
If you wanted to become a very good songwriter (or musician or producer, for that matter), you could only study Shangri-La for years and get a very long way toward the goal. I’ve been mining this album for inspiration for twenty years. It always gives me something more.
Growing up in rural Georgia, Jontavious Willis discovered blues through a YouTube video of Muddy Waters and immediately immersed himself in the genre. At 14, he began playing acoustic guitar, he started gigging as a college student, and released his first album, Blues Metamorphosis, in 2016. Two years later, he opened on the TajMo tour with Taj Mahal and Keb’ Mo’. They co-produced his GRAMMY-nominated second album, Spectacular Class.
Offered the opportunity to record his new album, West Georgia Blues, in Nashville, Willis’s response was a resounding “No.” Tracking in his home state was non-negotiable, as that DNA was critical to his vision and sound. “Georgia was a big part of the story and I wasn’t going to fold on that,” he says. “I wasn’t going to let up.”
The singer-songwriter-guitarist and his musicians gathered for ten days at Capricorn Studios in Macon. Willis produced while engineer-guitarist John Atkinson mixed (and contributed guitar work on “A Lift Is All I Need”). They tracked some 200 songs, 80 of them usable, says Willis, and pared those down to the 15 that became his third album.
Willis’s fingerpicking style is rich in tradition and, as he’ll tell you, contemporary because it exists – now. With that, being featured alongside bluegrass and country music on a website such as this is a perfect fit, as he explained during his recent interview with BGS.
What were your goals going into this record?
Jontavious Willis: My goal was to show growth and stay away from carbon copies of other songs. I hear it all the time – you take a song and change a few words around, but it’s still B.B. King, it’s still Robert Johnson. I tried to make each song its own and if I did take from other folks, I did it my own way.
We get so wrapped up in saying, “Oh, I can play old music, so let’s stay there,” that we forget to create. I wanted to show my writing ability, my producing ability, and I wanted to show a difference. I’m glad I put space in between the albums to really show growth. Since the album’s complete, I’ve been getting great reception. But beyond that, I made an album I can listen to from beginning to end.
You didn’t feel that way with your other albums?
The first one, I knew I was green, but I had to put something out there. I’m always happy in the beginning. Then, when you listen to it long enough, you’re like, “I should have did this and this.” But I really can listen to this one. Truly, honestly, the first one, I wasn’t as good a player. The second one, I wasn’t playing at my full capacity or with blues players. I was playing with session musicians. This one, I played with people that knew the references to blues.
You’re a blues musician being interviewed by BGS, a bluegrass website, with a country music “sister” website, Good Country. That might seem like a big jump to some people, but the genres have common threads. Music historian that you are, could you address those connections?
Music was the most integrated pastime, prior to the big record labels coming in and separating them. One of the first integrated groups was actually in Georgia, called the Georgia Yellow Hammers. It featured a fiddle player named Andrew Baxter.
When some people think of country, they think of a particular sound. When I think of country, I think of rural. A lot of people say “simplistic,” because it sounds so peaceful and melodic, but it can be some of the hardest music ever. When I think of the intertwining of country music, I think about the early pioneers, like the first star of the Grand Ole Opry, DeFord Bailey, a Black fellow that played harmonica. Hank Williams learned from Tee Tot, [Rufus Payne]. Johnny Cash spent a lot of time with Gus Cannon and Furry Lewis and old blues folks like that. You can go on and on. A lot of the repertoire of blues artists isn’t just blues. Some of it could be classified as country.
Over time, with new talent, genres expand and change and self-proclaimed “purists” get ruffled. As an artist with deep roots in traditional and contemporary music, what are your thoughts?
I’m kind of with them and not with them. The reason I say this is because I feel like it is good to identify things sonically. When I listen to classical music, I think about what makes it classical. When I listen to jazz, I think about what makes it jazz. The same with blues, because what I’m seeing now is that blues have been overtaken by rock, and I don’t like that, because rock is not blues. It’s definitely a sub-genre or even a whole ’nother genre of blues, but it’s not interchangeable. A lot of the audience the rockers had kind of melted over into the blues, and a lot of people didn’t learn the blues from the front. A lot of ’em came through the back door, through these rockers and other big bands.
So I feel like it is good to identify what it is, but also understand that music changes. But call it what it is. If I’m playing blues-rock, I’m not playing natural blues. If I’m playing contemporary gospel, I’m not playing traditional gospel. The guys that made these beautiful songs that sold millions of copies — they didn’t get money for it. They didn’t get their due. It’s time for folks to stand by the genre of music they do and tell folks what it is.
Let’s talk about those sub-genres and what they mean, if anything.
It’s hard to really define the categories. With blues, they chop it in two main categories, at least for the GRAMMYs: contemporary and traditional. Contemporary means you’re keeping with the times. So by me living and writing music, that is being contemporary. Traditional means I’m a part of the tradition. So I can be traditional and contemporary at the same time. It is not one or the other. It’s a safe room for both.
Scholars made these terms up. Black folk wasn’t calling their music Delta blues or Piedmont blues until they heard so many folks saying it. Then they started saying it. But nowadays, those terms don’t mean nothing unless you’re from those places. I’m from Piedmont, so I’m a Piedmont player by default. I even went one step further to say I play West Georgia blues. What is West Georgia blues? I don’t know. I’m from West Georgia and I’m playing the blues in West Georgia. I can say that’s my style. A lot of people say Delta blues. Delta blues is a region, not necessarily a style. I can name three artists from the Delta that don’t sound alike. It varies from musician to musician.
It’s nicer for the listeners to think it’s categories, so you can navigate your way. But it also pigeonholes the artists and doesn’t really showcase the music and what it is. This is freeform music that people created. The record industry had a big hold on all of it, and that’s how they separated bluegrass from blues and country music. So I think you have to be a purist in a sense to maintain. If not, everything could spill over into everything, which is a good idea, but in essence, you want to identify the different sounds and nuances.
How does Georgia – its music, its history, and your history – inform your music?
Every state has salt-and-sugar history. I grew up in a predominantly Black town. Greenville, Georgia, is 70 or 80 percent Black. We’ve got a rich gospel history, and Georgia overall has Buddy Moss, Blind Willie McTell, on and on. So being in Georgia, always loving history, and always being around my family definitely shaped my music, the good and the bad. That’s what life is about, the good and the bad. Most of all, my hometown shaped me, more so than the famous people.
The blues people from Georgia definitely shaped my music. I was always aware of the other folks, like Little Richard, James Brown, Ray Charles, and Otis Redding, but they didn’t shape me. I listened to the old blues players and it was a great awakening for me to realize that Georgia has blues, because if you listen to a lot of folks, you’ll only think that it’s in Illinois and Mississippi. But the first studio in the South was in Atlanta in 1923. Everybody had to come to Georgia to record.
I know the United States has got twisted history, and that’s part of the blues. The blues is free Black people speaking their mind and saying how they feel, not always being political but just being true to themselves. To me, Georgia is family, struggle, prosperity, farming, food, life. It’s everything. I’ve been to a lot of places in the world, in Europe, to 46 of the 50 states, and ain’t no place like home. I’m looking at it now – the contrast of this dark green and light blue and these hills. You can’t beat that, man. Georgia’s everything to me.
What was it about blues that spoke to you as a 12-year-old? What has or hasn’t changed?
When I was a kid, I was singing gospel music about going to heaven and wasn’t I thinking about dying! A lot of those blues guys started out young. They were teenagers. Helen Humes, Buddy Moss, Josh White … Robert Johnson was 27 when he died, so he had to be singing the blues when he was young.
I’ve loved the blues since I was 12 years old, two years before I started playing guitar. I was at the age where I could appreciate it. The blues makes you think. Technically, some of those sounds aren’t supposed to be happening. Some of the stuff don’t make musical sense because lot of these folks aren’t trained musicians. But the stuff they put out – I can listen to it because it’s relatable to me. They talk in the way I understand. They sing in the way I understand, and man, it can just do something good to me. I don’t know what it is, but Jesus, it’s so good!
Running has been a way for me to balance the highs and lows of the music industry. It gives me time to process my thoughts and decisions, and it’s also the perfect time for me to discover new music. In a chaotic world, running helps clear my mind and give me better energy throughout my day. I like to change up what I listen to, but below are a few of my go-to favorites. – Old Sea Brigade
“Starburster” – Fontaines D.C.
This was one of those songs that instantly grabbed me the moment I heard it. When I’m out running, I like to find songs where the beat is consistent. I think the scarcity of the instrumentation lets the drums and vocals just put you in a trance. It’s a perfect pace setter to start out your run.
“Midnight Rider” – Allman Brothers Band
Though I live in Sweden now most of the year, this song always brings back memories of growing up in Georgia. My mom’s from a small town in south Georgia called Brunswick and to get there from Atlanta (where I grew up), we’d always stop for a while in Macon, GA, home to the Allman Brothers. Every time I hear this song I oddly feel nostalgic for those blistering hot July drives through south Georgia to visit my grandparents. It’s a nice memory of home when I’m on a run through the streets of Gothenburg.
“New Noise” – Refused
Switching gears here… but I grew up playing in heavy bands and Refused were a pivotal band to me within hardcore music. I think this is the perfect mid-run song to help kick in those endorphins.
“You Think I Ain’t Worth A Dollar, But I Feel Like A Millionaire” – Queens of the Stone Age
A lot of times when I’m running, I like to daydream I’m the drummer in a heavy band. There’s definitely been a number of occasions where I’m air-drumming to this one on a run. Hopefully, no one has that on video.
“Seventeen” – Sharon Van Etten
The lyrics to this song hit me with every line. Such a beautiful song with an equally magnificent production. The driving drums make it perfect for a run.
“Centurion” – King Buffalo
This song hits so hard, plus I love a good stoner rock jam. Fun one to run to.
“Run To Your Mama” – Goat
I love the Black Sabbath feel here and the consistent guitar rhythm. Sets a nice pace for running
“Under The Pressure (Live)” – The War on Drugs
I like to time this to be one of the last songs of my run. When the guitar solo hits at the end, it’s absolutely amazing. What an incredible live band.
“Punk Rock Loser” – Viagra Boys
I love this band. I was a little late to the party, but this was one of the first songs I heard from them.
“Broken Man” – St. Vincent
I’m obsessed with St. Vincent’s production on this one. I love how drastic the new instruments are introduced here.
Artist:Grace Pettis Hometown: From Mentone, Alabama and Decatur, Georgia. Currently living in Nashville, Tennessee. Spent my formative musical years in Austin, Texas. Latest Album:Down To The Letter (out June 14)
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): I was Gracie Pettis ’til age 8 or so. When I was in the 5th grade, I made everyone call me “Bob,” because I thought it would be hilarious to be a 10-year-old girl named Bob. My Nobody’s Girl bandmate BettySoo calls me “Graceface” sometimes. I really tried to get my first band to go by “The Bluebirds.” Nobody was into it but me. I wanted Nobody’s Girl to be “The Starlings,” but it didn’t stick. I’ve got a thing for bird band names, including a really good one I’m holding on to, because I might use it one day. Robby Hecht and I think “Dessert Island” would be a great band name. (That’s a recent favorite from a long list of possibilities Robby has going on his phone.)
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
When I was 24, I was in the Kerrville New Folk songwriting contest. I’d been dreaming of going to Kerrville and getting into the contest since I was a kid, because my dad Pierce Pettis was a winner back in ’87. I remember being so incredibly nervous before playing. I was wondering if the judges would like my songs, if I’d be able to hit all the high notes, etc. And then when I was actually up there on the stage, I had this moment of clarity, where I realized that everyone in the audience was on my side. As in, everyone there was hoping and expecting that I’d be great. They were ready for me to be really good; in fact, they wanted me to succeed, not to fail.
Something about that realization – that the audience is not my enemy – helped me relax. And over the course of a few days, I realized that the other “contestants” were actually the friends I was making that would last me for the rest of my musical life. The word “contest” implies competition. But what I understood in that moment was that music is a collective and collaborative act. The audience and the performer are in it together; everybody wants it to be a great experience. And we artists are a tight knit community. We write together, play together, stay on each other’s couches. Music can be an ecosystem, and not a battle.
What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?
I like to watch a little comfort TV on my phone while I’m curling my hair and putting on my makeup. Popular choices have included Star Trek, The West Wing, and Late Night with Stephen Colbert. It really helps me zen out and relax. That hour before the gig – when you’ve got a million thoughts in your head about the set list, and remembering the sound person’s name, and setting up merch, and making sure you put those names on the guest list – it’s really nice to get to sink into a familiar routine. Curling hair, putting on mascara, etc. It sounds silly, but that time is really important to me.
When I’m playing and traveling with friends, I like to have a “human” moment before the gig – just a second to check in with each other. Maybe tell a few jokes, have a bite to eat, or share how we’re feeling (physically, emotionally, etc.) before we have to be “on” with an audience. It’s easy to forget to check in with each other in the busy hustle of the pre-show and post-show check list.
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
“Make it mean something.” As in, the song, my day, the show, my life. I want the things I make and the time I spend on the planet to mean something, firstly to me, and also to others. I actually wrote that mission statement into a song (“Mean Something”), which I recorded on my album Working Woman (2021). It’s great to have a song that’s also a mission statement. I sing it a lot during sound checks and during shows, when there are obstacles getting in the way of me being able to center myself and be present in the moment. Maybe the sound system is not cooperating. Maybe there’s a disrespectful person in the crowd. Maybe it’s a noisy bar and the game is on the TV overhead. Maybe I’m sick, or tired, or just in a bad mood. “Mean Something” helps me remember why I’m on the planet and here in the room that I’m in. It connects me with my purpose, gratitude, and joy.
If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?
When I was a very little kid, I also wanted to be an artist – as in a painter or illustrator. I wanted to write books too. Later, in middle school, I briefly wanted to be a school counselor, but dismissed the idea because I didn’t want to be in the same office every day, five days a week. In high school, I was into the idea of being a truck driver. The whole world is your office and your view changes every day. And you can eat as much junk food as you want and use those cool portable devices that plug into your truck engine. Little stoves and TVs. I love gadgets like that. And I love the idea of listening to audiobooks for hours on end. My music job is pretty similar to truck driving, really. I do a lot of driving, and loading and unloading of gear. More junk food than I would like. And a lot of audiobooks.
What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?
I’ve always been a really big Jennifer Lopez fan. When I was a guest on my bandmate BettySoo’s virtual show during the pandemic, we were asked to play “guilty pleasure covers.” I covered “Love Don’t Cost a Thing.” I maintain that it’s a jam.
Knowing how 2020 and the years that followed would unfold, the dynamism of Katie Pruitt‘s debut record is even more awe-inspiring. Expectations introduced the Nashville-via-Georgia singer-songwriter alongside her deepest aches and most intimate struggles as an openly queer individual raised as part of a devout Roman Catholic family in the conservative South. It would go on to earn a GRAMMY-nomination and ample praise for her lyricism, empowered performances, arranging, and instinct for production. In short, it’s undeniable that Pruitt set quite the high bar of expectations for herself and the music she would choose to share next.
Four years later, Pruitt has unveiled Mantras. While flashes of brilliance from a familiar autobiographical lens inform and inspire the 11 track recording, these aren’t simply more straightforward, memoir-style anecdotes. The truths and experiences Pruitt shares on Mantras feel more revealing than Expectations, as this time, Pruitt’s lens looks decidedly more inward at what she has lived through, reflected on, and learned from since writing her last album.
Not only is Mantras‘ thought process largely internal in nature, but each song leads to paths, stories, and developments that have yet to be fully resolved – if ever they will. The album showcases a great deal of inspiring perseverance in the self-contained conclusions of songs like “Self-Sabotage” and “Worst Case Scenario” and more generally, it unveils a journey of self-healing from start to finish.
However, while Mantras ultimately provides reassurance, peace, and closure, the takeaway isn’t meant to be one of permanent resolution or rigid perspective around anything Pruitt has seemingly conquered in each song. Like the recapitulating nature of a mantra, she is mindful of being continuously attentive and compassionate towards her inner struggles, rather than seeing them as singular moments of adversity.
Speaking with her by phone, BGS shared an insightful conversation with Pruitt about how her focus on inner-healing shaped the sound of Mantras, how her perspective around disagreement and connection has changed, how she cultivates inner strength, and much more.
How was it navigating the presence of expectations for Mantras, considering your intent to move away from a focus on external validation?
Katie Pruitt: On the first album, I was dodging different expectations, you know? I was dodging expectations of my parents or of how people in my hometown saw me and who I am now. I sort of accidentally set high expectations for this next record. I felt like I was competing against myself in a lot of ways and I really had to find moments to just surrender, come back to center, and just focus on the fun feeling in the present moment and talk about that, instead talking about things that I think people want me to say. I needed to focus on what I needed to say, which is maybe different than what other people expected or wanted to hear on this album.
Knowing this album is an expression of personal growth and a journey of sorts for you, what does it feel like to just now be talking about these songs after holding onto them for so long?
Coincidentally, I feel like everything on Mantras is lining up with my life as it’s coming out.
With me talking about my parents selling my childhood home [in “Naive Again”], yeah, my parents are selling my childhood home as we speak. And when I finished a lot of the songs about my partner slowly checking out and leaving, maybe a week after I turned in the record, we broke up. So I’m still experiencing a lot of these things in my life. It’s kind of a first for me, because when Expectations came out, I had kind of already patched things up with my parents and there were things in my personal life were kind of resolved. But then I was having to dive back into those issues every day on stage or whenever I sang those songs. This is different, honestly. It kind of feels good to be able to deal with what’s going on in my life with the songs in real time.
You’ve talked about building “the tracks from the ground up as opposed to cutting everything live, which gave so much more room to let the songs evolve and become what they needed to be.” What does that mean for you and what did those moments of full realization for the music feel like for you, and producers Collin Pastore and Jake Finch?
Jake and Collin’s workflow is very quick. And that was a challenge for me, but I felt like we challenged each other in the right ways. They move very fast and I was like, “Wait a second. Let’s take a look at this. Let’s sit with it for a second and make sure we like it.”
I think having the option [to record parts individually] instead of having all this pressure to be in the studio with a full band and having everyone play the right parts at the right time, was nice for us – to just build one part at a time and ask ourselves, “Is this correct? Does this fit?” And if it doesn’t, we’d say, “We can always mute it.” … There’s not necessarily a wrong answer. We’re just trying to evoke a feeling and if we feel it then other people will too.
What brought you together with Christian Wiman’s work, ultimately inspiring you to writing the album title track?
I was listening to this poetry podcast, [Poetry Unbound], I was really into that during the pandemic and that was obviously a tough time for a lot of people, [creating] a lot of points of contention, especially around beliefs and belief systems. I just felt like, my parents believe different things than me and my friends started to believe different things than me. So that poem, [“All My Friends,”] just really resonated as this “A-ha!” moment.
At the very end of the poem [Wiman] says something like, “My beautiful, credible friends.” In the first part of the poem, you almost feel like he isn’t mocking them, but like, he’s kind of poking fun at how many rabbit holes there are to go down, as far as spirituality goes or, finding yourself goes. Then at the end, he’s like, “And all of them are credible, all of them are valid.” And that really struck a chord for me and I just think that’s a really powerful statement.
Given the open and accepting mindset you impart through “All My Friends” and its juxtaposition with the piercing, personal insights you share in “White Lies, White Jesus, and You,” where would you say religion, particularly Christianity and Catholicism, exists for you now, compared to when you were writing Expectations?
I really try to make clear to my parents or to some of my friends who are still Christian, that [the song] is talking about people who take the Bible and abuse it for their own benefit – whether that be political or just to justify shitty behavior on their end, like saying, “Oh, well, it says that gay people aren’t allowed in heaven. So I’m allowed to say this.”
That’s the part of [Christianity] that really turns me off to it in general. And that’s a shame, because the dude in the Bible, Jesus, the version that I have kind of come to discover as I’ve gotten older, is a pretty progressive dude. And I don’t mean that in the political sense. I mean, in the sense of he’s accepting of everyone no matter what their background is. Like, Jesus himself never says anything about gay people. He’s friends with kind of some sketchy characters if you were going to look at it through a lens of today. So that’s the Jesus that I wish I were taught more about when I was growing up. I think “White Lies, White Jesus and You” was a way for me to process the [version of] Jesus that I have experienced as a closeted gay kid and how the ways that version hurt me and put that in the past and put that behind me.
In what way would you say your journey of self-healing helped you to stop seeing religion as having the power to dictate your worth?
I let go of religion dictating my self-worth a while ago. But then I let other things [take its place]. I used to seek external validation from the church or from my parents or from older mentors in my life. I let that go as I became a young adult and then I started giving other things power to do that. Like success and relationships. I let those things dictate my worth. But then I started delving into the power that intrinsic happiness has.
We really fully don’t have control over what happens in our life. We have some control, but very little. And if your worth can come from within, then those moving parts of life have less control over you or less effect on you … once I learned that, I was able to focus more heavily on, “Let’s have this voice in my head be kind and then I can go from there.” Just me practicing being kind to myself first kind of put this armor up around me and it helps me navigate the world.
What’s changed about your songwriting process since you’ve taken on more personal strength and inner compassion?
For a long time, when my inner voice was more critical and cutthroat and editorial, I couldn’t really write. I wasn’t able to get the thoughts just out of my head and onto the paper, which is the first step you know? Then you have something to work from when you’re able to just say what you feel. But I was just so scared to write a bad song that I wouldn’t write anything. And I think that’s the worst mistake you can make. There’s no harm in writing a bad song.
I think that it’s just about setting the bar, taking a chill pill and [remembering], “Oh yeah, songwriting is fun, songwriting should be fun.” It should be a way for me to get an outlet, a way for me to get this out of my head and look at it. So removing the critical voice is huge. And that was connected to therapy and to me slowly learning how to be kind to myself and slowly learning how to just enjoy writing songs again.
Where, with whom, or in what, do you find your hope and strength to persevere when life feels overwhelming or your inner reserves are running low?
The past or other people’s experiences really help me. I read a lot of Patti Smith and sometimes I’ll just open to a random page and it’ll be the piece of advice that I needed. So definitely words and art and poetry. Another thing would be when I’m feeling, “Okay, all hope is lost,” I have this urge to just run to nature and I just go to the mountains or go sit by a river for a long amount of time and think and meditate and try to put my problems and my fears and everything into perspective. I think, “Well, I’m on this planet right now and I’m sitting by a river. How cool is that?” Just kind of zooming out and not zooming in so closely – that helps me. And like, just good friends and just laughing and having buddies that you know you have a drink with or dinner with and just fuckin’ laughing about the crazy things that have gone wrong. Like, laughter is huge. I know it’s like, “Oh, laughter is medicine,” but it literally is.
Mary Bragg crafts music with beauty and pain, vulnerability and authenticity, and raw emotions. Mary played Queerfest 2022 at The Basement East in Nashville. Tonight, January 23, 2024, she will be back on stage at The Basement to celebrate her new single, “Only So Much You Can Do.”
In addition to being a phenomenal songwriter and vocalist, Mary is also a producer. In 2022, she earned a Master of Arts in Songwriting and Production from Berklee NYC, elevating her skills to the next level. Her self-titled album centers around self-discovery with tender lyrics that touch on love, loss, and self-esteem. Mary writes compelling music filled with nostalgia and honesty. We’re delighted to feature this incredible artist, Mary Bragg.
What would you say is your current state of mind?
Mary Bragg: Wow, what a way to start the conversation; I love it. My current state of mind is as follows: Grateful – for my life, my love, my work. Steady – managing a wonderfully robust docket of creative work while continuing to establish balance in my everyday life and internal dialogue. Excited – always, about a song. Several actually, new ones, ever percolating.
When I co-write, songs typically arrive at a near-complete form pretty quickly, but when I write alone, I’m much more patient with the process. I move through the world keeping my antennae up, looking for a way back into a lyric I’m working on that gets me in the gut. I’m obsessed with it.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
Being a touring musician is a funny thing, because touring life is very, very different than home life. I’ll frame the “perfect day” for you on the road beginning at 2 or 3 p.m., when we load in and have a perfect soundcheck with a killer engineer. Doors at 6. Show at 7. (Did I mention I love early shows?). Merch table mayhem at 9. Cocktail at 10. In bed by 11:30, sleep until 8. Drive, fly, etc. to the next town, repeat.
At home, I’m an early bird. Up by 6:30 or 7, coffee, eggs, journal, write, attempting to avoid technology for a few hours. 11 a.m. workout. Afternoon – back to work – emails galore, phone calls, Zooms, everything. I wear a lot of hats (artist, writer, producer, occasional teacher), so there’s a lot of juggling to do. By 7 p.m. I force myself to stop working; my darling fiancé, by this point has probably created a ridiculously beautiful meal for us. I used to think I was a good cook until I met her. She blows me away every time she prepares a meal for us. It’s the best. And I’m a great dishwasher. Watch a little TV after dinner (okay sometimes during), and hit the sack by 10 p.m., otherwise I turn into a pumpkin on the couch.
Why do you create music? And what’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
The process is exhilarating – as a writer, the actual singing and playing in a small room, making music and hearing it travel through a space is one of my favorite things. No audience, just the song in a room. Hearing your thoughts as you’re framing them in melodic form is a bit of a head trip that has its own immediate reward. In the studio, there’s a whole other bag of satisfying tricks to uncover and of course performing live has its own rewards as well, mostly connecting with other people who feel what you feel. And, on the road I’m able to focus more on the enjoyment of singing; pushing my voice to try new things on the fly is incredibly fun. Up until that moment of live-show-exhilaration, I’m so focused on the writing and producing, but by the time I take it to the stage, I can really let go and dig back in to the music itself.
Could you tell us about your single that came out today?
Ah, my new single! “Only So Much You Can Do” is about chasing joy in the company of another person. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that New York Times article about the secret to happiness – and how relationships are the key to it. We are pack people; we need each other; we need other human beings around us in order to be our best, happiest selves. Friends plus community plus honesty equals joy. I wrote this song with my dear friend, Bill Demain, during the pandemic over Zoom; we craved connection again, waited eagerly for it to return. Now that we’re out from under it, the song is a nice reminder to spend time – actual face time – with your people; it sure does a lot of good.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Rufus Wainwright, The Indigo Girls, Brandi Carlile, Aaron Lee Tasjan, Jobi Riccio, Liv Greene.
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?
Well, I’m a person who is a songwriter and artist who is also bisexual living in a world that, at the moment, likes to extend a great to deal of judgment, disdain, disapproval, and harm to people in the LGBTQ+ family. Most of the time I feel as happy as the next person, then I’m reminded of the threats to our community, to my own family, and I remember how important it is to speak my experience, write through my own pain, and sing about the things that break my heart.
I think every human being deserves to tell their story, express their feelings, and be heard. If I can do that – tell my own story of coming out, leaning in to love while experiencing deep, simultaneous loss, then reclaiming joy and autonomy – maybe some additional jolt of kindness, empathy, and love will be injected into the world.
In 2021, you moved from Nashville to New York City to pursue a Master of Arts in Songwriting and Production at Berklee NYC. How did this educational pursuit impact your creative process and the way you approach your work today?
It’s funny – getting a masters degree might suggest you’re taking your work very seriously, going deeper on process and theoretical approaches to your craft. While I did very much feel that way during the program, by the end of it I felt a newfound sense of taking myself less seriously. I wanted to reconnect with a sense of lightness, play, curiosity, remembering that songs are a gift, that humans have so much in common, and we all just need to be acknowledging those commonalities more frequently and willfully. The more I can get to the heart of those feelings, and sharing them, the better.
Also, at the end of my thesis defense, one of my professors said to me, “Remember who you are.” It was such a nice thing to hear, because I do know who I am, what I stand for, and what I want to do with my life. All I have to do when I get distracted, spin out, or lose track of my focus is remember who I am.
Your latest album addresses the universal themes of self-love, acceptance, discovery, loss, beauty, and pain. How did you personally grapple with these concepts during your own transformative journey, especially in the context of your relationships and coming out to your family?
Woof, the grappling was tough, but my gut was clear: I knew who I loved, what that meant for my place in a world that is obsessed with classifications, and how hard it would be for some people that I love deeply to accept.
I was raised in a huge, very conservative Christian family in South Georgia and coming out to them was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I love them so much, they love me so much, but many of them feel quite strongly that I’m, you name it, “living in sin,” “going to hell,” “choosing a ‘lifestyle’ that is wrong.” What I know in my bones is that none of that is true. The love I have for my partner and soon-to-be wife is as real and deep as any hetero relationship I’ve ever had or witnessed. Standing firm in that belief while also trying to hold on to relationships in my family that I don’t want to lose is pretty tough, but I’m grateful that my gut speaks very loudly and I have no interest in tamping it down.
Over his entire Grammy-nominated career, Brent Cobb has made no secret of being guided by a “Southern Star” – a rootsy creative beacon shining high above and seeming to point straight down on his South Georgia home.
A native of the Peach state, Cobb has staked a claim on the organic side of country, with acclaimed projects like Shine On a Rainy Day, Providence Canyon, and even the 2022 gospel set, And Now, Let’s Turn to Page…. Each one paints a loving portrait of Southern life, looking far beyond the cliches for inspiration. But with his new album Southern Star, those pictures are more vivid (and more Southern) than ever.
Finding easy-going wisdom and big-picture beauty in the simple minutiae of everyday life, Southern Star is engrossed in all things Georgia. Ten tender tracks were recorded in Macon, using Georgian musicians and embracing the sonic history of the region. That means a warm, humid mix of back-porch country and rural R&B, with funky (but feather soft) bass lines and a casual vocal drawl, as Cobb invites listeners in to his personal world – a world full of unexpected contrasts, and undeniable human wonder.
Speaking with BGS from that South Georgia home on a sunny fall day – perhaps the last one of the lawn-mowing season, he says – the humble and homegrown singer-songwriter explains what makes his Southern Star shine so bright.
Every artist or songwriter goes through phases of how they think about their role. What’s important to you these days?
Brent Cobb: It really hasn’t changed a whole lot. I know that doesn’t sound good, but I always try to still focus on my roots of where I’m from, and I try to still be universally personal, personally universal. … I think there’s something so poetic about specifically the American South and rural life, but also something that if you do it right, anybody anywhere can relate to it. So that’s really what I try to do. I try to make music that my kids can enjoy and that my grandma could enjoy, and everybody in between.
Tell me a little bit about Southern Star, the imagery of that title, specifically. I mean, is this kind of a play on the idea of a North Star guiding you?
Partly, yeah. You always learn growing up, if you get lost out there, you look for the Northern Star, it’ll guide you and give you direction. But I’m from South Georgia, so I look for the Southern Star. [Laughs] … So partly that. Then there was also my buddy ‘Rowdy’ Jason Cope, who was the founding member of The Steel Woods and played electric guitar for Jamey Johnson from 2008 until 2014 or so. He’s no longer with us [Cope passed away at age 42 in 2021, after suffering “severe complications from diabetes”]. But during those days he lived about 45 minutes outside Nashville, and I’d go down there to his place and we’d go to this little bar and it was a pretty seedy little spot where we’d hang out, it was called the Southern Star.
Plus, I often thought about my buddy as someone who sort of behind the scenes had a lot of influence on a lot of people, but they may not even be aware of it. He never got to be a superstar, but if nothing else he was a Southern star. And I feel that same way about myself sometimes. So there are a couple different meanings behind it. … I miss him every day.
The other part of this album is what seems like a love letter to Georgia – and maybe just the whole region. It can be easy to misunderstand the Southern people and the area, and you’ve called it kind of a melting pot, right? What’s so inspiring to you about Georgia?
I think it’s because, well, first of all the American South as a whole, there would be no music as we know it if not for the American South. And that comes with its blessings and the curses, and it wouldn’t be the same place without those things also. Specifically Macon is the home of Otis Redding and Little Richard, and then you have Ray Charles from right down the road, and then right up the road you got James Brown, and then of course the Allman Brothers. There’s so many endless artists that have influenced the whole world.
But then even just as day-to-day life, where I’m from, every school I went to, we’re all mixed in together down here. We’re living and praying and learning and working all together. It’s easy to be on the outside and look in, and go, ‘Man, the South, what a terrible place.’ And there are some terrible things that still happen to this day, and historically that are terrible, but for the most part we’re all living and working and eating and breathing together. You don’t hear about that side of the South so much. But I think that’s why the music from here is so influencing and so profound – it isn’t just one way. And you got people that obviously have had to struggle and people who still struggle to this day, but that’s where the good shit comes from. That’s where the great art comes from, for better or worse.
I read that this was your first self-produced record. Did it have a different vibe working that way, or did the sound come out any different?
Luckily I was able to use a couple of my friends as guinea pigs, so I got a little comfortable in the producer’s seat [on previous projects]. But more than anything I believe first of all, to make a great album, you need great songs, and then you can record them any way you want to record them. If it’s a great song, it’s a great song no matter what.
… I think the second most important part of making a great album is the drums and percussion. Once you have those two things, you can really leave it at that and it’s going to be great. Folks can sing along and might want to dance a little bit. You’re going to be fine.
Then you need a little funky bass part. And, being from that area of the music I heard my whole life – soul music and gospel music, it all has keys. So I knew I had to have some keys and organ on there. I don’t know that it was much different [from other records], except for this time I had nearly 20 years of experience.
“It’s a Start” is such an interesting track. On the surface, it’s just about simple things. But it seems to kind of point at a bigger truth, right? Where’d that come from?
Well, I appreciate you noticing that, because it’s with intent. I try to do that with most all of my songs – like I said earlier, to make something personal, make it universal. What is the core of that emotion or that experience? And vice versa, universally personal. That song particularly, I wanted to throw everybody off and not give that song a double meaning.
Really, why’s that?
I feel like sometimes I’m stuck in between two worlds. Sometimes I feel like people only think ‘Oh, there’s Brent writing another album about Georgia.’ And then I feel like some people go, ‘What is the deeper meaning here?’ Most of the time there is one for me, but that song is really about nothing and intentionally, it’s about exactly what it says.
People can get real meta about certain songwriters, but I just think that’s a mark of a really good artist.
Yeah I’m not ever complaining as long as anybody’s listening for any reason. I do think it’s funny though. Sometimes I feel like other songwriters may get the benefit of the doubt, like it’ll be a really on-the-nose double meaning, just real obvious that, “Oh, okay, you meant to give it this undercurrent.” Then other songwriters, sometimes I feel like including myself, they do not get that benefit. They only get the doubt. [Laughs]
Call me a simple man – I am. There should always be a little something extra in there if someone’s looking for it. But I also think a songwriter should do their best to craft it so that it can be enjoyed at face value.
“Shade Tree” seems like a fitting way to end things, then. It wraps the record up with a peaceful, soothing scene. Where did that come from?
Well, my sister and I had started that song two years probably before I even knew that I was going to make an album. My sister is such a wonderful singer and she’s got a lot of soul in her voice, but like me, she has a kid. It’s hard to just sit down and write a song together. Well, then I get studio time booked and I wanted to finish that song because I thought it really defined Southern Star as a way of life in the South – there was a pecan tree in my grandma’s backyard, so after church and after Sunday dinner, the whole family would hang out under it in the shade tree. A lot of things happened [under that tree] …
The day before going in the studio, I went over to my sister’s house and I had dropped my kids off at school, and we drank some coffee on her back porch amongst some pine trees. Then my wife, she threw in some lines and it became a family affair. And yeah, it seemed fitting.
The whole thing seems like it has so much personal meaning. What do you hope people take away from this one?
More than anything I always hope, like I’ve said, that it’s universally personal. I hope that anybody will be able to take away from it whatever they feel. And if nothing else, I hope they can just enjoy it in the background.
If the rest of Grammy-nominated Brent Cobb’s first self-produced album is like its debut single, “Southern Star,” it’ll be sweet as molasses. To celebrate the upcoming release of the record by the same name, Cobb released the music video for “Southern Star” last week.
The track features Cobb’s honeyed vocals, a vintage tone on the keys, straightforward acoustic strumming, and a light percussion touch. Cobb sings of being a drifter, of feeling lost at sea, but of always having a place to return to — a bright point to move toward no matter what. The video shows Cobb cooking up Southern greens and features shots of the artists who brought the music to life.
“You know how when you’re growing up, you’re told that if you ever get lost out there, look for the northern star to help find direction back home? Well, I’m from Georgia,” Cobb said in a statement. “So, I always look for the southern star. This album, the songs, the sounds… it’s all a product of where I’m from both musically and environmentally.”
Southern Star will be Cobb’s fifth studio album and follows releases like his 2022 debut gospel record, And Now Let’s Turn To Page…. Rolling Stone called him “an enlightened figure, blessed with the gift of finding purpose and meaning in the smallest of details,” and we concur.
The new record is a love letter to Southern roots and the state of Georgia, and drops September 22 via Ol’ Buddy Records/Thirty Tigers.
Artist:Adam Klein Hometown: ATL-via-Athens, Georgia Song: “Bright Rails Shine” Album:Holidays in United States Release Date: April 7, 2023 Label: Cowboy Angel Music
In Their Words: “For more than a few years I’d had some three-word phrase I’ve already forgotten tied to the brief melody the words ‘bright rails shine’ are sung to, and out of nowhere during the process of writing songs for the album the ‘bright rails’ lyric came to mind and blended with that melody. Then it was off to the races (over the course of some weeks) on a mystique-filled travelogue in my mind upon the rails of the varied expanse of America in hopes of writing an ode to the promise of this great land and its people.
“The song was originally recorded by Will Robertson at his Gallop Studios in Atlanta, and he’s on upright bass. Bret Hartley played some gorgeous swell-filled electric guitar and Colin Agnew’s drums have a bounce that’s somewhere between a train chug and a gallop. We recorded together live and it felt good. Then to lift it up, Bronson Tew further produced, mixed, and mastered the song (along with the rest of the album). Jay Gonzalez added some high, light piano and a spacey organ sound he called a ‘Gypsy Grinder,’ or something of the sort, which added a really unique tone.
“I couldn’t imagine ending the album with any other song. Holidays is a bit of an intense ride and these songs challenge us in a way. But ‘Bright Rails’ reminds us of what we can be, what we have to lose, and leads us off gently into a place of age-old hope and promise. It’s as good a place to start as finish, I think, so I’m pleased it can be shared here and help usher in the record on the brink of the album release. The lyric video was created by filmmaker Jeff Shipman, my good friend and longtime collaborator.” — Adam Klein
Artist:John McCutcheon Hometown: Smoke Rise, Georgia Song: “The First Ones” Album:Leap! Release Date: September 2, 2022 Label: Appalsongs
In Their Words: “My wife Carmen and I have a little cabin in the north Georgia mountains, a writing retreat. It stands on land that is, historically, belonging to the Tsalaguwetiyi, the Eastern Cherokee Nation. One day I sat on the porch and wondered at the very first humans to come to this particular land. I later learned that the camp of Chief Whitepath, the leader of the people that settled there, was just below our cabin. I guess we both found shelter, peace, and home in the same spot.
“This is one that I did not record in my home studio, but rather when I came up to mix at Bias Studios in Virginia. I played all the instruments on this one, so I laid down the guitar, sang, and then added the autoharp at the end. I went all Carter Family on this one, as the melody is a little reminiscent of ‘When First Unto This Country,’ a traditional song I know. I played for many years with Janette Carter, the daughter of AP and Sara Carter of the original Carter Family, so that approach to a song is built into my musical DNA. Being as it was a song about finding a sense of ‘home’ in a place, it seemed a natural place to go for this one.” — John McCutcheon
Photo Credit: Eric Petersen
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