That Ain’t Bluegrass: Flatt Lonesome

Artist: Flatt Lonesome
Song: “Where Do You Go” (originally by Glen Campbell)
Album: Silence in These Walls

Where did you first hear this song?

Charli Robertson: I actually found this song on one of those days where I was just driving around, running some errands, riding around town. When I’m home, I kind of just ride around — it’s funny how you get out of the van and you want to immediately get back in the car, when you’re home. I was on a Glen Campbell kick, so I went back to all the really old albums. I listened to several of his songs and then this one came on and, as soon as I heard the first line, I knew I loved this song. Glen Campbell could sing the phonebook and make you want to sing it, he is such a good singer — the lyrics in his songs are simple, but so good.

What do you think makes it a good song for a bluegrass band?

I always said, from the first time I heard this song, that the lyrics and the song itself are so good that anybody of any genre could listen to it and appreciate it. Not only that, but you can do as little with the song or as much with the song as you want to do. You could make it a huge song with tons of instruments outside of bluegrass, or you could do it very acoustic and still make it sound good, as well. I just thought it would work. I hope that people enjoy it as much as I have.

How did you take it from Glen Campbell’s version and arrange it to be within Flatt Lonesome’s aesthetic?

This song was a little bit harder because of the range of the song — it’s got a huge range. Paul [Harrigill], our banjo player, he’s really good at that stuff, so I told him to check it out, see what he thought about an arrangement. I’m pretty sure Glen Campbell modulates like three times, which we couldn’t do because of the high harmony and the low harmony; it just wouldn’t be possible. It’s pretty impressive that Glen does that. We just got together, sang it in a few different keys, and sang through it a few different ways. We always know what works for us. We’ve been singing together forever, for as long as we’ve been breathing, so we usually know pretty quickly what works.

Bluegrass has always had this tradition of reworking and revamping popular songs — Bill Monroe, Flatt & Scruggs, Reno & Smiley all did this — why do you think this is still present in the genre?

I think that people love to be able to do songs that they have always loved, their own way. I have always loved to pick a song that I love and put my own spin on it. To do a big song, a very well known song from a big artist, I think it still needs to acknowledge the song the way that artist did it, but with enough of a unique spin on it that it’s not copying the person who did it.

You cannot recreate a song exactly the same. We’ve done this several times, with Dwight Yoakam’s “You’re the One,” and we do “Ramblin’ Fever” on stage, a Merle Haggard song. These are people are our heroes, and we will always want to do their material. Even if we don’t record it, we want to do it on stage. As long as you’re still appreciating the song the way someone else did it, and not completely changing it, it’s always cool to be able to do that. I think the fans appreciate it, too, because it’s a song they’re familiar with and something that they’ve heard before.

What’s your favorite thing about performing “Where Do You Go?”

As soon as I heard it, I knew I’d like to perform it live. I like to sing songs that are real songs. The lyrics are simple and real. I like to sing songs that the crowd can listen to one time and get it. I love the vocals. I like how I get a little bit of a solo and then it’s a trio. Any song that has a lot of harmony, I’m going to like it. I like a lot of things about it! I like the double guitar — I like pretty much everything about it. It’s going to be a favorite of mine for awhile.

Now you know that ain’t bluegrass, right?

I do know! How dare us, right? [Laughs] On our last album, there are some different things — a lot of people don’t even like it if there isn’t a banjo. I think that acoustic music can be a lot of different things. One of the reasons that I love bluegrass music is because it’s acoustic, and you can do so much with it. Real fans, people that love this music, will appreciate a very toned-down song with just guitar and a bass. For the few fans that you might lose for doing something a little different, you’ll gain more. I would encourage artists to just do what they love to do. We still have banjo. We play banjo in every set. It’s full of it. But for the one song that it’s not in, we will probably always get, “That’s not bluegrass!” But that’s okay! It really is okay for there to be a song without banjo, because we want to give the song what the song needs and it may not need a banjo. We’re fine with that.

MIXTAPE: Kacy & Clayton’s Traditional Folk Favorites

The traditional folk realm spans several countries and numerous styles. But Canadian folk duo Kacy & Clayton know their way around the terrain. That’s why we asked them to gather up a bundle of their favorites. Taking a break from promoting their new album, The Siren’s Song, Clayton answered the call.

Bob Wills & the Texas Playboys — “Ida Red”

This song has its origins in the country square dancing tradition. Bob Wills & the Texas Playboys recorded it in 1938, with the lead vocal provided by Tommy Duncan. I once read that Tommy Duncan got his job with the Texas Playboys through a series of auditions that eliminated 64 contenders down to two — Tommy Duncan and a cross-eyed man who sound just like him. Subsequently, Duncan got the job.

Bert Jansch — “The Waggoner’s Lad”

The first track on the first Bert Jansch album I heard (Jack Orion). That plunky, buzzy guitar sound you hear in the left speaker has had a lasting impression on my own playing. It was only a couple years ago that I learned John Renbourn was the one playing guitar and Bert’s on the banjo.

Steeleye Span — “The Lowlands of Holland”

Gay Woods sings this Scottish tune on Steeleye Span’s 1970 debut album, Hark! The Village Wait. It is a dramatic story of a young lady mourning the death of her husband who died in the navy.

Henry Thomas — “Arkansas”

Something about Henry Thomas’s guitar style has always mystified me. I never tire of hearing him plunk away on bass runs and slap out those big thumb strums on every beat.

The Stanley Brothers — “Mother Left Me Her Bible”

The Stanley Brothers at their very best. Carter on the soaring lead vocal, Ralph taking the tenor, and George Shuffler singing baritone and picking the guitar triplets. I don’t know how many songs they recorded about their mother, but I think it’s around 11.

Willie O’Winsbury — “Anne Briggs”

I find this song very peculiar. The king meets the boy who impregnated his daughter out of wedlock: “And it is no wonder,” said the king, “that my daughter’s love you did win. If I was a woman as I am a man, my bedfellow you would have been.”

Ron Kane & Skip Gorman — “If Your Saddle Is Good and Tight”

Despite growing up on a cow ranch and seeing working cowboys regularly, I’ve never been too keen on riding and roping myself. However, our friend Mike Tod (Calgary, AB) turned me onto the music of Carl T. Sprague, the Original Singing Cowboy, and I’ve since developed an obsession with cowboy songs. I love the humorous side of this old song and the style in which Ron Kane sings it.

Davy Graham — “Mustapha”

Davy Graham is my favourite, and certainly the most influential British acoustic guitar player of the 1960s. I’m not sure where he sourced this song, but I know it has roots in both the Mediterranean and Middle East.

Cilla Fisher — “Blue Bleezin’ Blind Drunk”

Topic Records included this on their 70th anniversary compilation, Three Score and Ten. The title got my attention, and Cilla Fisher’s intense diction and phrasing had me hanging on every line.

Peter Bellamy — “A-Roving on a Winter’s Night”

Peter Bellamy is undoubtedly my favourite singer of traditional material. Though he typically sang songs from his home county of Norfolk, he learned “A-Roving on a Winter’s Night” from a Doc Watson recording. Bellamy’s version of the song is a rewarding homecoming to Britain, after a couple centuries of transformation in the Appalachians.  

The Balfa Brothers — “‘Tit galop pour Mamou”

I love Cajun things and I love these guys.

Nic Jones — “Bonny Light Horseman”

Nic Jones is a master of melody and phrase. His guitar playing and singing are so perfectly unified, hearing him is like being struck by a tidal wave of musicality.

Incredible String Band — “Black Jack Davy”

The origins of this folk song can be traced back to Greece in the 4th century B.C. My favourite version of the last few centuries was made in 1970 by the Incredible String Band.

Jean Ritchie — “False Sir John”

The plain, innocent voice of Jean Ritchie perfectly explains the scandal of this European tale.

The Green River Boys featuring Glen Campbell — “Brown’s Ferry Blues”

For a good part of last year, “Witchita Lineman” was the song my alarm clock played. That Bass VI solo really fired me up for the day. Before his days of international celebrity, Glen Campbell made a couple unsuccessful bluegrass records for Capitol. This song’s from his debut LP, Big Bluegrass Special.

Shirley Collins & the Albion Country Band — “Poor Murdered Woman”

A straightforward re-telling of hunters searching through bushes with their dogs and coming across a woman’s decomposing body.

Glen Campbell’s Final Coda: An Interview with Carl Jackson

In the wake of his Alzheimer’s diagnosis in 2011, country legend Glen Campbell embarked on a Goodbye Tour, released a documentary film titled I’ll Be Me, and — in true Rhinestone Cowboy fashion — went back into the studio. The result is his final album, Adiós, out earlier this month. Produced by long-time friend and banjo player, Carl Jackson, alongside Campbell’s wife and children, Adiós is a collection of Campbell’s favorite songs and the career touchstones that he hadn’t gotten around to recording in the past. Highlights abound at every sonic turn, from Campbell’s children harmonizing on “Postcard from Paris” and his rendition of Bob Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” to his duet with Willie Nelson on Nelson’s classic “Funny How Time Slips Away,” Vince Gill’s feature on the Roger Miller tune “Am I All Alone (Or Is It Only Me),” and Campbell and Jackson’s interplay on “Everybody’s Talkin’,” which the two performed together on the Sonny & Cher Show in 1973. The constant through line is Campbell’s signature croon.

While his memory and ability to play guitar were already deteriorating by the time these sessions began, he channeled the songs with the help of Jackson, who printed out the lyrics in large print and walked him through the process line by line. Wrought with heart and grit, Adiós is a celebration that solidifies Campbell’s legacy and serves as a testament to the essence of the Rhinestone Cowboy: his voice. “[Glen’s] in Nashville now and he’s very well taken care of at a wonderful facility and he can’t communicate, but you go see him and he still sings,” Jackson says. “He still sings. It was his life. You can’t understand what he’s saying, the lyrics, you know, because he can’t communicate, but the tone is there. It’s an amazing thing. He’ll never stop singing, I don’t believe.”

You first met Glen and joined the band when you were 18 years old. Those are formative years, your late teens and 20s. Would you say that you came into your own while on tour with Glen? What did you learn from him?

It certainly continued, the growing up process. I had been with Jim and Jesse since I was 14, so I had a lot of experience from being out on the road already. But going with Glen, gosh, it was one of the greatest things that could have ever happened to me. He was such a great entertainer, singer, guitarist — just the best. I mean, I always tell people he’s absolutely the best singer I’ve ever heard in my life, just amazing talent, and on top of that, such a good person, such a good man. Glen and I became family almost instantly. I mean, it was just a mutual respect and love for each other that carried on all through all of these years. I traveled the road with Glen for 12 years, from 1972 to 1984, but that friendship and love has continued on all these years. And to get to do this final project with him just means more to me than I know how to say, really.

But yes, it was a very formative time and a great time. We were all over the world together, playing music literally all over the world, and I tell people — and this is true also — Glen featured me on every show we ever did. I mean he would bring me out front: He actually would leave the stage and introduce me, and he would always say, “Here’s the world’s greatest banjo player.” Whether that was true or not, I did my best to live up to it at the time. He was so good to me and he put me in front of millions of people, and it just meant the world to me, and I’ll always treasure those times. I could go on and on, obviously, about those times, so I’m gonna leave it at that.

Let’s talk about “Arkansas Farmboy.” That’s one that you wrote back on one of those tours, right, that you were on with Glen?

Well, it was during that time. I wrote it some time in the mid- to late-70s while I was with Glen. I mean, we went overseas many, many, many times, but I believe it was on a flight to Australia. I know we were over the Pacific Ocean. I know that. Glen told me a story about his grandaddy teaching him how to play “In the Pines” on a $5 Sears and Roebuck guitar. And I just thought that was the coolest thing that he remembered that precisely and I just got to thinking about how that little $5 guitar led to an absolute fortune and worldwide fame and stardom — just from one little $5 guitar. And it gave me the idea for the song and the title, “Arkansas Farmboy,” that just was kind of natural. That just kind of fell out because that’s what Glen was and is, to this day. I mean, Glen never left his country roots and his down-home upbringing. He never left that. He was Glen Campbell, country boy. I mean, you met him and he was the same, always. He treated everybody the same whether it was somebody waiting on us at a restaurant or if it was the Queen of England. It didn’t matter. He treated everybody with the same respect and love. He’s just the greatest.

What was the timeline for recording this record?

It was done over a period of time. It was after the Goodbye Tour. It was pretty well after when some people thought it was pretty impossible to get anything from Glen. But he wanted to do it so much and it was, again, that love and family thing made this possible. There was so much trust and love between me and Glen. Honestly, and I don’t say it — I don’t want it to come out in any boastful manner at all ’cause that’s not what I’m saying. There was just so much love and respect in the room, and Glen trusted me so much that I believe I was able to get things out of him that probably couldn’t have been done by anybody else and it was with joy. I mean, we laughed so much in the studio and had so much fun that it was just, I don’t know, I treasure it. And I know Glen did, too, at the time and as long as he possibly could remember it. I know he would be proud right now. I know he would. And that means more to me than anything. I wanted Glen to go out absolutely on a mountain — you know, on a high.

You just hit on this a little bit, but what was the atmosphere in the studio like during recording? Was it joyful or somber, or both?

There was no somberness, and I say that honestly. I mean, he was smiling and laughing and making jokes about himself like he always did and, if he forgot something, he just laughed about it and we did it again. He had to read the lyrics, sometimes one line at a time, but it didn’t change that perfect pitch that he retained through everything and that perfect sense of timing and that beautiful tone of his voice. The thing that went first was him being able to remember lyrics. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t sing a song straight through and remember everything. He couldn’t play guitar anymore straight through a song. But I was able to get it and because I knew him so well, I knew his phrasing. And also, the fact that he was familiar — as familiar as he could be — with the songs that we did. These were songs that he loved his whole life, so they were ingrained in his mind still, as much as anything could possibly be, if that makes any sense. So we purposefully sat together and found songs that he truly wanted to record that he had never gotten to record before.

I love the snippet of Roger [Miller] before “Am I All Alone.” Where did that recording come from? Is it from a cassette that Glen has?

Yes, that was a cassette that Kim, Glen’s wife, she had kept that all these years. Roger played that for Glen the first time he heard it at Roger’s house in Santa Fe, New Mexico, over 30 years ago. Kim had kept the tape and she gave it to me, and we thought it would be a really cool idea just to let Roger introduce the song that way, because that’s literally the first time Glen had ever heard the song and he remembered it all these years and always loved it, but just never got around to cutting it before. So it was just one of those things, “Hey, we have to do this song!” You know, he’d pick up his guitar all through the years and sing a little bit of that song. And there were others like that — “A Thing Called Love” and “She Thinks I Still Care” and “Don’t Think Twice.” He rarely picked up a guitar without playing some of those licks off of “Don’t Think Twice.”

That’s my favorite Dylan song. I like what y’all did with the beginning.

It lent from Jerry Reed’s version. Jerry showed Glen that lick on the guitar that he put on his version of it, and then Glen showed it to me and passed it on. Glen showed it to [his daughter] Ashley. It’s carried on down through the years, so we kind of leaned on Jerry’s version there a little bit because that’s the version that Glen loved so much, so I kind of did the guitar solo stuff similar to Jerry’s version.

What was it like having Willie [Nelson] in the studio?

[Laughs] Well, I’ve been blessed to work with Willie several times over the years but, as always, it was fun. It’s fun to be together with him. I mean, he keeps things light and joyful, jokingly. Willie’s one of those troopers — one of those guys that that’s all he’s ever done and he loves it so much. I mean, he really wanted to be a part of it. When he heard that I had cut the song and he heard the version that I had cut, he was happy to be a part of it, and I just thought it would be a really cool idea because Glen, again, sang that song for so many years and he never cut it. We would sing it on stage. I mean, we would do it on stage a lot, when I was with him, and he would just occasionally bring it out, just, “Hey, let’s do ‘Funny How Time Slips Away,'” and he’d just start singing it. So it was, again, kind of a natural to do. And I had played some of the early stuff I had when I cut the tracks, I played them for Buddy Cannon, who’s a friend of mine and Willie’s producer, and he said, “Man, I’ve gotta play this for Willie. He’s gonna love it!” And I said, “Well, do you reckon that Willie would wanna play on it and sing on it a little bit?” He said, “Aw, man, I’ll bet he would.” And sure enough, when Willie heard it, he loved it and so it was a joy. You asked me how it was: It was a joy.

You also had Vince Gill as a guest on the record. Did he come into the studio to record or was that done at a later time?

Well, there’s so much history there, too, with me and Vince together. That was a natural thing, too, and I’ll tell you how that happened: Vince and I have worked together so much over the years. We did the Angel Band record together with Emmylou [Harris]. Gosh, I sang on “Oh, Carolina” — a couple things on Vince’s very first EP, when he got his first deal on RCA. I mean, we go back a long way. We’ve been friends a long time and, pretty much every project I do, I always ask Vince if he wants to be a part of it. And so, I was over at his house and we actually were working on the Orthophonic Joy project that I produced — the tribute to The Bristol Sessions. We were working on that, and I told him that I was gonna do this stuff on Glen, and we got to talking and it came up that he had never, as many people as Vince had got to sing with, he had never gotten the opportunity to sing with Glen. I said, “Well, buddy, I’m gonna give you the opportunity to sing with Glen.” So I made sure that I saved a part for Vince to do, and he told me it was just one of the thrills of his life to get to sing with Glen Campbell. So I wanted to make that happen not only for Glen, but also for Vince. And plus, nobody can sing it better than Vince anyway.

It really did fulfill a dream for Vince, too, and I certainly wanted it to happen. And he’s a dear friend, so that one was easy. I took it over to Vince’s house. We didn’t do it at the same time, obviously. We overdubbed it at Vince’s house, but I am happy it happened and, once again, I know that one of these days, when Glen is listening from up above, he’ll be very proud of that, very happy that we did that.

When it came to incorporating Glen’s children, how did you land on “Postcard from Paris” and that particular line for them?

First of all, it’s another great Jimmy Webb song that Glen absolutely loved and I absolutely loved. I was familiar with the song from Jimmy’s record. He did a record produced by Linda Ronstadt years ago called Suspending Disbelief and it had that song on it and it had “Just Like Always” on it and it had “It Won’t Bring Her Back” on it. Several of those songs, I was very familiar with and, of course, Glen loved the songs, too, so again, they were natural things to do. And “Postcard from Paris” was a very special song.

When we were cutting it, I didn’t think so much about the line, “Wish you were here,” as it kind of related to Glen’s condition. I mean, we didn’t cut it because of that. We just cut it because it was a great song. But then, after I cut it, I got to thinking, “Well, gosh, this would be a great one to have Ashley and Cal and Shannon sing harmony on.” And then, specifically, that line — it just makes it so emotional to hear because we do all still wish he was here. But that didn’t even come into anybody’s mind, when we picked the song, and neither did “Adiós.”

“Adiós” is just a great Jimmy Webb song that Glen and I love. He had never cut it before, and we decided to cut it, but we didn’t even think about it being the last song on the last album. That wasn’t a thought. Things like that just kind of fell into place and it seemed a natural thing to do then. When Universal picked up the album, I mean, I have to honestly tell you, I thought the album would be called Arkansas Farmboy. But when Universal picked the album up and decided they wanted to put it out and promote it, they immediately went to Adiós. And I’m like, “Well, okay, I understand that. I understand what you’re saying.” We didn’t even think that way, at first. I know I jumped from “Postcard from Paris” to “Adiós,” but it was a similar situation where those lines in “Postcard from Paris,” we didn’t do the song on purpose to pull at people’s hearts but, after the fact, it certainly pulled at people’s hearts.

Listening back, taking into consideration the circumstances, there’s a lot of dual meaning on this record. Even “Ain’t It Funny How Time Slips Away.”

I’m just like you, honey, when I listen to it now, I’m like, “Oh my gosh, listen to what that’s saying!” “Everybody’s Talkin'” is the same thing. We didn’t think about that. That was just a song that Glen loved and we were going through songs. I’m not ashamed of it at all, but I just feel like God’s hand is on the project and on Glen. The whole thing just came together, I truly believe, in the way that it was supposed to. Glen Campbell is just the best, and I mean that with all my heart. He’s the best singer that I’ve ever heard and I mean that technically, as well as just beautiful to my ear. His voice always was — and I realize people can have different things that they like and I’m sure there are people that would argue, “Oh, he’s the best” — but I’m talking not just how pleasing his voice was, but how great he was technically. I tell people to go find me a bad note on YouTube and I’ll pay ya for it. I mean, the guy, he was amazing. We cut live shows over in England, where we did a live TV show with a full orchestra and us as the main band — we did ’em live in front of a live audience to tape and I listen to ’em now and they literally sound like they’ve been tuned. The guy was amazing as a singer. Just perfection. And I know I could go on and on, but I could never say enough about him and about just how great he was. And I wanted people to still see that and still realize that, and I hope this album does that.

It truly is a gift.

To this point, every review I’ve seen and every interview I’ve done, people are so kind about this record and so, the word “gift” has been used so many times and that means the world to me because that’s exactly what we intended and what we wanted to give the world. We wanted to give ’em Glen Campbell — here he is just like always, once again. People tell me that, “Oh, he’s singing so great,” and I’m like, “Yeah, just like always!”

Glen Campbell, ‘Adiós’

There are two milestones in the career of a songwriter that stand out from the rest: the first album and the last. Everything from birth on builds into that debut opus — how you have lived, how you breathe, how you have figured out your unique place in the universe thus far. But, at the end, things look different. Maybe you’re wiser, but you’re worn, too. If you’re lucky enough to make it to the point where you can declare decidedly, before letting the inevitable have its way, that a collection of songs will be your final message, it’s a moment to not only make your last mark but, also, to simply say “goodbye.” It’s what Glen Campbell, the Rhinestone Cowboy, is doing on his last LP, Adiós.

“I’ll miss the blood red sunset, but I’ll miss you the most,” sings country legend Campbell on the title track, as he succumbs to the debilitating effects of a battle with Alzheimer’s disease. His voice sounds aged but still holds gorgeous, quivering notes; and, somehow, it’s a goodbye that doesn’t wallow in the morose. Maybe Campbell knows just how special it is to have these final moments, these final albums, to look back and say goodbye. But here’s the thing: Music is never really a goodbye. Though it’s his last LP, it could very well be someone’s first — the first notes of a Campbell record they ever hear, or the first album they buy. “Adiós” could even be the song that someone listens to as they bid farewell to a first love, a first school, a first kiss, before the rest of their life unfolds. It might be Campbell’s “Adiós,” but perhaps the eternal nature of music makes bidding goodbye its own special breed of even sweeter sorrow.    

Canon Fodder: John Hartford, ‘Aereo-Plain’

In September 2016, I did an interview with banjo player and producer Alison Brown for the now-dormant Producers column, and she told me a little bit about her studio in Nashville. Compass Records is headquartered there now, but 40 years ago, it was known as Hillbilly Central, where numerous outlaw and outlier country albums were recorded. “If I’d known John Hartford recorded Aereo Plain here, I would have been even more intimidated than I already was,” she confessed. “You could set the bar so high for yourself thinking about the other music that’s been recorded in the room, but, at the end of the day, you just have to look at it as there’s great energy in the room, great vibes in the walls, and you have to tap into that.”

I had to admit I didn’t know the album or much about the man. I knew the name, but that had more to do with the namesake music festival near my home than with any of his actual music. With minimal research, I learned that he was most famous for writing the song “Gentle on My Mind,” a late ’60s hit for Glen Campbell that was covered by everyone from Dean Martin to Aretha Franklin to R.E.M. to (most recently) Alison Krauss to (most strangely) Leonard Nimoy. I learned that Hartford was influential in the Newgrass trend of the ‘70s, and I learned that two of his songs had been included on the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack, the Big Bang of roots music in the 21st century. I learned that he was an accomplished multi-instrumentalist who clashed with celebrity of any kind. He died of non-Hodgkin lymphoma in 2001.

It’s always instructive to fill in these odd gaps in your musical knowledge, and the experience got me thinking about the roots canon, if there is such a thing. It’s a broad term that covers a wide range of styles and traditions and formats, from old-time field recordings to blues and gospel performances to the latest folk and country album releases to bluegrass classes in Appalachia. It’s almost impossible to connect all the dots, but it’s interesting to think about: Which record should every roots fan know about? What would a canon tell us about roots music in the 21st century? What would it say about American traditional music at a time when the entire notion of America is up for grabs?

Those questions became the foundation for this new column called Canon Fodder, so named because I like obvious puns. Each month we’ll examine a new album by an influential artist and explore its impact across generations. Hopefully this will allow us to approach some old artists in new ways, to hear familiar songs with fresh ears. If you have any nominations for albums to consider in this column, please leave them in the comments section below. I can’t promise we’ll get to each and every one of them, but I’ll definitely add it to the list.

In the meantime, it seems worthwhile to kick things off with Aereo-Plain. Brown is right: It does sound intimidatingly magnificent. There are only a few instruments on these songs, but they’re mic’d beautifully to capture the minute grain of Hartford’s banjo and the vibrations of every string on the strummed guitar. Even the goofball vocals at the end of “Boogie” — sung low and phlegmatic, as though making fun of the song that just played — are recorded lovingly and carefully, as though every mucus rumble were important. What makes the album remarkable isn’t so much the sound of the instruments, but the way they interact with one another. They’re alternately genial and hostile toward one another, supportive and undermining. The banjo plays a practical joke on the guitar; the guitar reciprocates. Especially on “Symphony Hall Rag” Hartford evokes a parallax quality in the production, with the rhythm guitar so deep in the background of the song that it sounds out of focus, which makes the song sound slightly askew.

Actually, all of Aereo-Plain sounds slightly askew … most of all Hartford himself. He comes across as something of a mad hatter on these songs — a Frank Zappa parodist for the roots set, pushing bluegrass as a countercultural force. He understands there’s power in wackiness and, even more than Pete Seeger, he believes the banjo can be a weapon against capitalism, complacency, the mainstream, the music industry, electrified instruments, or even conventional song structures. “With a Vamp in the Middle” is a meta song about itself: “I wrote this song with a vamp in the middle,” Hartford declares, but he never really gets to that vamp. He just keeps playing and singing.

If loneliness pervades these songs, it’s largely an effect of the times, an inescapable by-product of living in America during the early 1970s, when the hippie dream was curdling into something of a nightmare of violence and regress. Nixon was already a crook, but hadn’t been impeached yet. Altamont had killed the ‘60s, but the ‘70s hadn’t quite defined itself yet (at least not in America; in England, glam was already starting to define the era). Singer/songwriters like James Taylor and Cat Stevens were starting to make inroads into the mainstream, but no sound or movement defined the pop or country landscape.

Hartford sees not a land of promise or possibility, but a society gone to seed, eaten alive by progress: “It looks like an electric shaver now where the courthouse used to be,” he sings on “Steamboat Whistle Blues.” “The grass is all synthetic, and we don’t know for sure about the food.” It’s not that he wasn’t made for these times; it’s that the times aren’t made for human beings. “We’ll all sit down at the city dump and talk about the good old days,” but it’s the way he sings “city dump” that makes you think the phrase is redundant. He may decry the commodification of country & western on “Tear Down the Grand Ole Opry,” but Hartford understands that music may be our last connection to a more fulfilling past, and Hartford is content to sit down there among the refuse just pickin’ and strummin’ and singin’ and fiddlin’ while Rome burns.

These songs long for a return to the American pastoral, an escape from the pressures of progress and politics to a pre-industrial ideal and, for that reason, the album sounds alarmingly current. “Sittin’ on a 747 just a-watchin’ them clouds roll by. Can’t tell if it’s sunshine or if it’s rain, rain, rain,” he sings on the title track, his voice rising into a comical falsetto. “Rather be a-sittin’ in a deck chair high up over Kansas City on a genuine ol’ fashioned authentic steam-powered aereo plane.” It’s a dream and a mission statement — one that knows the very idea is an innocent impossibility.

Perhaps Hartford knew, or perhaps he didn’t know, that tinkerers and inventors had been trying to build such a contraption since the 1840s, when an aerial steam carriage was patented by the British inventors William Samuel Henson and John Stringfellow. Even before the Wright Brothers went airborne at Kitty Hawk, they had managed to fly a small craft on a steam engine, but they couldn’t reconcile the power of the steam with the weight of the engine. It was folly, and maybe that’s why Hartford longs for the freedom of such a fantastical vehicle. There’s power in folly, an unbridled joy in whimsy that sounds like an intense form of dissidence and defiance.

LISTEN: Eric McEntee, ‘Say It’s Not Over’

Artist: Eric McEntee
Hometown: Los Angeles, CA
Song: “Say It’s Not Over”
Album: Time Looked Away
Release Date: Summer 2017
Label: Pacific Union

In Their Words: “This is the second song I ever recorded. I was working as a valet in Silverlake, often with a guitar in hand, when someone offered to record me. As much as I would have liked to have written it, ‘Say It’s Not Over’ is a cover of Val Stöecklein. The song and its background exemplifies a lot of things I love and hope will shine through on the full-length: for one, mining songwriters who seemed to have been overlooked in their day, despite their incredible songwriting ability and craft.

‘Say It’s Not Over’ carries an introduction to one such writer — Val Stöecklein and his LP, Grey Life, from 1969. Under different circumstances, ‘Say It’s Not Over’ may have been a signature song for Val. Rumor has it, the song was on its way to Glen Campbell, but unfortunately the song and the album fell through the cracks. There are so many stories like this surrounding songwriters. To paraphrase William Faulkner, ‘The past is never done. It’s not even past.'” — Eric McEntee


Photo credit: Kaela Vecchia Zeitz

The Essential Bobbie Gentry Playlist

Bobbie Gentry was born Roberta Lee Streeter on this day — July 27, 1944 — in Chickasaw County, MS. She was left by her mother and father at a very young age to be raised by her grandparents and, as legend has it, her grandma traded an old milk cow for a piano so Gentry could learn to play. At 13, she moved to Arcadia, CA, to live with her mom and, at 18, headed to Los Angeles where she started singing and working as a model under the name "Bobbie Gentry." In 1964, she made her singing debut on two duets with the rockabilly singer Jody Reynolds — "Requiem for Love" and "Stranger in the Mirror."

It didn’t take long for Gentry’s deep, sultry voice and earthy appeal to garner the attention of the major labels and, in 1967, she made a splash with her first album, Ode to Billie Joe. The first single was "Mississippi Delta" but, on the flip side, the soon-to-be-classic story of Billie Joe McAllister and the Tallahatchie Bridge became the DJs' song of choice. Despite '60s-era questions of what was thrown from the bridge that day — and why Billie Joe committed suicide — "Ode to Billie Joe" was a bonafide smash, topping the Billboard singles chart for a month, landing at the top of the year-end chart, selling three million copies, and later being named one of the greatest songs of all time by countless magazines and pollsters.

Gentry never found another tune that matched the success of "Ode to Billie Joe" but, over the course of several years she wrote and performed some of the most universally satisfying country music of the late '60s and early '70s. As a groundbreaking artist — who was one of the first women in country music in write and produce her own records — she’s influenced countless contemporary artists, from Joe Henry to Beth Orton. Today, we say “happy birthday” to Bobbie Gentry with this Essential Playlist of some of her best songs.


Life magazine photo of Bobbie Gentry crossing the Tallahatchie Bridge in Money, MS, in 1967. The bridge collapsed in 1972.

Squared Roots: Ryan Beaver Hails a Hero in Kris Kristofferson

Of all the country music legends in the world, there’s something truly special about Kris Kristofferson. He was — and is — a walking paradox. Gentle, yet rugged, poetic, but grounded, his personal spirit always pervaded his professional pursuits, bringing with it an air of wonder that reflected the sly, seemingly kind knowingness of his eyes. Whether on his solo songwriting or his Highwaymen collaborations, Kristofferson’s inscrutable gift will forever be enshrined in songs like “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down,” “Jesus Was a Capricorn,” “Me and Bobby McGee,” and “Lovin’ Her Was Easier (Than Anything I’ll Ever Do Again).”

Up-and-comer Ryan Beaver knows a hero when he hears one, and Kristofferson tops his list … so much so that his new RX LP includes an ode simply titled “Kristofferson” (replete with an intro of “Jesus Was a Capricorn”). In it, he frames the paradox in lines like, “You can’t hide a poet’s broken heart in rolled up sleeves” as he traces the life and soul of a man he deeply admires.

Scholar, soldier, songwriter, pilot, actor … they just don’t make them like Kristofferson anymore, do they?

No, they don’t and I don’t know if there ever will be another like him. He was a renaissance man and his legacy shows that.

Even after he left the Army, he split his time between pitching songs in Nashville and flying helicopters in South Louisiana. Can you imagine taking all of that on?

Ha! No, I can’t. That makes me feel like the different hats I balance aren’t too hard when comparing what I do to that schedule.

Because he had a master’s in English literature and a fondness for poetry, it might seem natural to expect a less earthy, everyman style of storytelling from him. What do you hear in his lyrics that reflects the sort of classical side of his nature?

The ability to be poetic but also relate to the common man is an exceptional gift and something I struggle with myself. It’s a true sign of integrity to the song while hitting the human heart with life experiences anyone can get.

You captured his spirit pretty well in the song you wrote about him. What sparked that?

Jessi Alexander, Jon Randall, and I got together one day to write and just started talking about Kris and his career. We could’ve easily talked about music all day, but somehow that led to us talking about moving to Nashville. We talked about how it can be such a tough town, at times, but wouldn’t change it for anything. The song really just blossomed from there. I think there is a little of all of us in that song, and it’s a tip of the hat to the great Kristofferson, as well.

It was such an honor to hear that the family asked Jessi to sing our song to kick off the recent Kristofferson Tribute. It really doesn’t get any better than that.

“Thank you and good night!”

[Laughs] Yeah. Exactly.

What would you say is the quintessential Kristofferson tune? And why?

“Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down” is the song for me. Who can’t relate to that feeling of hurting from the events of a big Saturday night and the abrupt Sunday morning sunrise reminder we all have from time to time? The lyrics hit me so hard: “Well, I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hang my head that didn’t hurt” … so great. It slays from the first line of the song.

With him, Glen Campbell, Merle Haggard, George Jones … what’s been your experience of watching these legends drift away?

It’s bittersweet. I feel grateful to be able to study the lives/careers of these great musicians and sad to see them go. They’re legends for a reason. Their legacy lives on through the amazing body of work they leave behind. What a blessing to get to know someone through their songs? I feel like I understand the complexity of these people with each album they made along the way. I’m reminded of the saying “Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.”

Apparently, he has claimed that he wants the opening stanza of Leonard Cohen’s “Bird on the Wire” on his tombstone: “Like a bird on the wire / Like a drunk in a midnight choir / I have tried in my way to be free.” If you had to pick some of his lyrics for your tombstone or, let’s say, your Twitter bio, what would they be?

I love what he said in the song “Jesus Was a Capricorn”: “If you can’t find somebody else, help yourself to me.” It’s the idea that I can carry the burden for others. It’s a selfless line and also relates to the story of Jesus taking on others’ sin.


Ryan Beaver photo courtesy of the artist. Kris Kristofferson photo courtesy of the public domain.

BGS Class of 2015: Songs

What an overwhelmingly fantastic year for roots music! We couldn't fit all the greatness into our album list, so we picked another 21 of our favorite songs.

Anderson East, Delilah, "Find 'Em, Fool 'Em, and Forget 'Em"


A song from the heart of Southern soul music, AndersonEast found this little George Jackson/Rick Hall gem hiding down in Muscle Shoals and made it his own.

Brandi Carlile, The Firewatcher's Daughter, "The Stranger at My Door"

While "The Eye" would be the obviously outstanding song to pick, this little ditty is sneakily special and captures so much of what is great about Brandi Carlile.

Dave Rawlings Machine, Nashville Obsolete, "The Weekend"


It's always a good year when we get new music from Dave Rawlings Machine, and this opening track from Nashville Obsolete expresses a sentiment we can likely all relate to: hitting the weekend like a freight.

David Ramirez, Fables, "Harder to Lie"


This is one of those tunes that absolutely rocks you back on your heels with its unabashed forthrightness. Good luck getting past it to hear the rest of the record.

Drew Holcomb, Medicine, "American Beauty"


Drew Holcomb captured lightning in a bottle with "American Beauty" — a love song for anyone who has had to let go sooner than they wanted.

Glen Campbell, I'll Be Me, "I'm Not Gonna Miss You"


One of Campbell's final recordings, "I'm Not Gonna Miss You" may, at first listen, sound like a kiss-off to a former lover, but it was actually inspired by the legendary songwriter's ongoing battle with Alzheimer's, a fact that makes the depth of the lyrics and quality of the song all the more impressive.

HoneyHoney, 3, "Big Man"


Never did a song about the death of a "Big Man" sound so sweet. Suzanne Santo's voice is just about perfect … and the fiddle-laced song ain't too shabby, either.

Indigo Girls, One Lost Day, "Fishtails"


Amy Ray crafted some mighty fine tunes for the latest Indigo Girls' record, including this stunner that shows how powerful a well-placed horn part can be.

JD McPherson, Let the Good Times Roll, "Head Over Heels"


This Oklahoma boy knows how to rock ’n’ roll! Under the production guidance of Mark Neill, “Head Over Heels” sounds like the Flamingos went on an extended acid trip. Vibrato Fender dreams oscillate behind McPherson’s crooning, a chorus of handclaps, and a tack piano from Hell. Oh yeah, it’ll make you dance, too.

Julien Baker, Sprained Ankle, "Sprained Ankle"


“Wish I could write songs about anything other than death,” Julien Baker sings within the first seconds of this crippling ballad, led by an electric guitar and tritone anxiety. Having grown up in Memphis, the songwriter has the lyrical talent of a serious Delta blues player, but her music is darker and more daring than much of what Tennessee knows.

Kacey Musgraves, Pageant Material, "Good Ol' Boys Club"


Less outwardly biting than the album’s title track, this cut from Pageant Material stands out in a year dominated by a ridiculous question: Just where do women belong in the salad that is country music? Plus, that inside baseball slap-in-the-face to Big Machine is pretty rad.

LP, Muddy Waters, "Muddy Waters"


LP really knocked this darkly plodding one out of the park. Elements of it echo back to her pop past, but her bluesy roots are also showing.

Mavis Staples, Your Good Fortune, "Fight"


A collaboration with Son Little, this groovy track from Mavis Staples' EP snaps and snakes, using gospel-inspired backing vocals to drive it all home.

Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats, S/T, "S.O.B."


Ladies and germs, Nathaniel Rateliff has finally arrived. The Midwestern singer was bound to hit a new level of popularity with each year that passed — but that moment never seemed to arrive. That is, until Rateliff traded folk music for soul. Now you simply can’t escape that "S.O.B." This Stax-approved prison pen jam gets in its licks early, and washes it down with dirty bourbon.

Rayland Baxter, Imaginary Man, "Freakin Me Out"


We’re all losing our minds … some of us are just more freaked out by it than others. Rayland Baxter provides the sing-along anthem for those of us on the “more” end of the spectrum.

Rhiannon Giddens, Tomorrow Is My Turn, "Black Is the Color"


Rhiannon Giddens is known for her work with the Carolina Chocolate Drops, but she is also a formidable solo artist. This cover of an Appalachian folk tune — the excellent accompanying video for which was shot at historic Fisk University — shows off all Giddens has to offer: her soulful voice, knack for finding a groove, and ear for interpretation.

Russell Moore and IIIrd Tyme Out, It's About Tyme, "Brown County Red"


This Kyle Burnett-penned tune is filled with danger, bootlegin’, and cold-blooded murder on the banks of the Ohio River. When a moonshiner emerges from his secret corn liquor corner, he has an unfortunate run-in with the law, killing dead a few deputies. It’s the bluegrass equivalent to Juice. Kid just can’t stop killing! The best part about “Brown County Red,” is that it’s cast upon a major key backdrop. Surreal does not begin to describe it.

Ryan Culwell, Flatlands, "Flatlands"


Hailing from the great expanse of nothingness known as the Panhandle of Texas, Ryan Culwell speaks fondly of his childhood home and its understated beauty. “Take me back where I can see miles of dirt in front of me,” he sings. It’s something every God-fearing Midwesterner/Southerner knows to be true: Life is easier in the heat and emptiness of the flatlands … but we left them anyway.

Sufjan Stevens, Carrie & Lowell, "The Only Thing"


The sonic equivalent of David Foster Wallace’s “Good Old Neon,” the important distinction being that Stevens’ narrator sees Perseus twinkling in the clear night sky just in time to correct the steering wheel. 

The Weather Station, Loyalty, "Way It Is, Way It Could Be"


From the mind of Canadian songwriter Tamara Lindeman comes this tune, “Way It Is, Way It Could Be” — a meditation on the other side of the fence. The place where the grass always seems to be greenest. The song, off the fabulous Loyalty, has the snowy imagery of an Edith Wharton novel and the leary suspicion of Virginia Woolf. Lindeman sings in falsetto equanimity: “Was it a look in your eye? I wasn’t sure. The way it is and the way it could be both are.” Painted with images of frozen Quebec, this opening track sets the mood for the Weather Station’s best album yet.

Wilco, Star Wars, "Random Name Generator"


Wilco’s surprise album also had a few surprise hits, like “Random Name Generator.” Like the song’s “flame creator” protagonist, this tune packs plenty of dirt and burn. “I think I miss my family I found,” Jeff Tweedy laments, resigning himself as a father who simply names things. It is one of recent Wilco’s most affecting songs.

For more musical goodness, check out the full Class of 2015. Follow the playlist on Spotify and add your own favorite songs to it:

8 Netflix Documentaries to Stream in Your Post-Turkey Coma

Thanksgiving approacheth and, if you haven't already planned out exactly what you're going to binge watch after you binge eat, you better get to adding to that queue ASAP before the carb coma kicks in. Allow us to help you out a bit by providing a handful of our favorite documentaries currently streaming on Netflix.

Chef's Table

Go behind-the-scenes with some of the world's most acclaimed chefs in this original series from Netflix. That is, if you can handle a show about food after you've eaten your body weight in stuffing.

How to Grow a Band

Join Chris Thile and the Punch Brothers in the early stages of their days together as a band. Chock full of performance footage and clips of the guys writing and recording, this is a must-see for any Punch Brothers fan.

How We Got to Now with Steven Johnson

Do you ever wonder how we went from cave-dwelling knuckle-draggers to tiny house-building iPhone zombies? This series from PBS and BBC 2 shines a light on a handful of the great ideas that got us there.

Glen Campbell: I'll Be Me

We don't really need to explain why you need to watch this one. It's Glen Campbell. Just do it.

Hey Bartender

In case you didn't know, bartending is not an easy job. Go behind the bar with some of the world's top mixologists as they mix and serve some seriously amazing cocktails.

Muscle Shoals

One of the best music documentaries to come out in a long time, Muscle Shoals looks at the history of one of the best must towns in, well, ever. 

The Battered Bastards of Baseball

If you like your baseball a little more ragtag and a little less 'roid rage, you'll love this portrait of a now-defunct minor league team in Portland, OR.

Austin to Boston

What's life on the road really like for touring musicians? Find out in this documentary, which follows Ben Howard, Nathaniel Rateliff, and more across the United States.


Lede photo credit: keirstenmarie / Foter.com / CC BY