Tag: gospel

Mixtape: Jackie Greene & Band’s Soul and Funk

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This is a playlist about the new band’s favorite soul and funk music at the moment. We’re a diverse group of musicians with different tastes and backgrounds, and these are genres we all like and listen to together while rehearsing and recording.

Jackie Greene (Lead):

Sly & the Family Stone – “You Can Make It If You Try”
Who doesn’t love Sly? This is the funkiest circus I’ve ever heard.

Lee Dorsey – “Neighbor’s Daughter”
Sort of an obscure record, The New Lee Dorsey has a bunch of Allen Toussaint songs and all of them are awesome, but I always really liked this one.

Bill Withers – “Ruby Lee”
One of the baddest, rawest grooves ever. The album +’Justments is one of my favorite albums of all time.

Ben Rubin (Bass):

Marvin Gaye – “Got to Give It Up (Pt. 1)”
I love this song because the pocket is so deep and sparse and Marvin lays on top so sweet (yes I meant that figuratively and literally).

Prince – “Sign ‘O’ the Times”
I love this song, because to me it represents some of Prince’s best work. When the song came out, it was so ahead of the times in terms of lyricism AND production.

Megan Coleman (Percussion):

Aretha Franklin – “Day Dreaming”
The groove and musicality of this song legit brings tears to my eyes. Also, I’m a sucker for a good ole fashioned love song.

Michael Jackson – “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough”
I mean…how beautiful is he in this music video? This was one of the first songs I fell in love with as a child and it will always hold a special place in my heart.

Jon “Smoke” Lucas (Drummer):

D’Angelo – “Playa Playa”
This is the intro to the era that captured my soul at 12 years of age. The sound, feel, and performance of this record is priceless! All-time favorite of mine…

Nathan Dale (Guitar):

Otis Redding – “Ole Man Trouble”
I wore out both sides of my The Dock of the Bay cassette during the summer of ’92. “Ole Man Trouble” was the last song before the auto-reverse tape deck flipped back to side 1. The song hooked me every time. There is some kind of magic happening between Cropper’s guitar parts and Otis’s painful vocal delivery. Otis opened the door to soul music for me.

Prince – “Sign ‘O’ the Times”
Prince’s brew of pop craftsmanship is something I was never embarrassed to admit I loved. His blend of funk, soul, blues, and R&B along with the addictive hooks is a perfect kind of music to me. The genius of his artistry is captured brilliantly in “Sign ‘O’ the Times.” Its sparse musical approach keeps the funk but leaves room for the lyric’s heavy topics of the 1980s.

Alex Kettler (guitar tech)

Lettuce – “Phyllis”
It’s a simple groove that opens up to a plethora of synths and horns. The song keeps progressing while always lightly grasping the main line until it goes full-circle.

Photo credit: Michael Weintrob. Pictured front: Jackie Greene; Back row (L-R): Nathan Dale (guitar), Jon “Smoke” Lucas (drums), Shannon Sanders (musical director, organs), Megan Coleman (percussion), Ben Rubin (bass).

The War and Treaty Bring Their Love to ‘Healing Tide’

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More often than not, it seems, the telling of the story of the War and Treaty begins with the war, specifically a piano in the basement of one of Saddam Hussein’s palaces. It is a tantalizing tale, and we’ll get to that.

But this time, let’s start with the Treaty: the moment Michael Trotter Jr. and Tanya Blount first met and two formidable talents took hold in life and in music.

“We have probably two different accounts,” Michael says by phone from Nashville, Tanya audible in the background, laughing as she agrees with the prediction.

Spoiler alert: There is to be much laughter in the ensuing chat, from giggles to hearty peals, and much weighing in from whoever doesn’t have hold of the receiver. And some tears and choking up too. It’s a real delight, everything up-front and on the table, just as anyone who has seen them perform would expect, and every bit of it captured in their new debut album, Healing Tide, a wonder of gospel-soul-country-rock-folk carried on their from-the-heart vocals, both of them capable of gale-force belting and whispered-breeze tenderness, sometimes, somehow, both at once.

It’s a love story through and through, evidenced in song titles along: “Love Like There’s No Tomorrow” (the album’s foot-stomping gospel invocation), “Are You Ready to Love Me?,” (swampy Southern soul), “Here Is Where the Loving Is” (fiddles and guitars and Emmylou Harris!) among them. And a belief that love is contagious, that it can repair the world — the boisterous title song (a bit of Ike and Tina and a lot of Delaney & Bonnie, perhaps), the steamed-windows twinkle of “Jeep Cherokee Laredo.” And in “One and the Same” they have given us unity anthem for the ages. All of the ages. And in album-closing “Little New Bern,” Michael wrote a vivid ode to Tanya’s large, loving family and the former plantation land where it began and at which all the cousins still gather with her grandparents (73 years of marriage!) every summer.

But back to that meeting: “I remember going to Laurel Lakes Park for an event, the Love Festival, Aug. 28, 2010,” he says of a day of music in Laurel, Maryland, near where each lived at the time, at which they were both scheduled to perform. “I was led under this awning and I saw this most beautiful woman I ever saw in my life.”

A “wow” is heard in the background, as if she’s never heard this before.

“And she did what any beautiful woman would have done with a slouch like me. She ignored me,” he says. “We introduced ourselves and she thought nothing of me. I thought everything of her. So I got on stage and performed, and then after I saw this woman running across the field in heels toward the stage, and it was her. She just wanted to know about my songwriting. The rest is history.”

Tanya grabs the phone: “He’s kinda telling the truth,” she allows. “Mine is the part where he says I ignored him. I was out there with some friends and a young lady working with me at the festival kind of whisked me away and said, ‘I want you to meet Michael.’ Which kind of came as he said it. It may come off as I was ignoring him. But I wasn’t. I was trying to do two things at once.”

As to her reaction to his songs, well, on that she agrees wholeheartedly.

“Oh my goodness! I lost my mind!” she says. “After he finished performing I ran over and bought six of the CDs he had and was a crazy person handing them out to people — ‘This is the best thing I’ve heard!’ He was amazing.”

And then?

“We exchanged numbers — and he would have a different account here,” Tanya says. “He lost my number! Threw it in the trash can. So I proceeded to call him and ask him if he could write songs for my brother and I. We were working on a project. I invited him over to the house. He wrote 10 songs in about two hours. He had songs ready, came over and sang them to me and we became friends, inseparable friends. And after I had a birthday party, that was September of 2010, and from there, the next day, we never separated. He moved into my house the next day.”

Michael’s take?

“You know? That’s accurate.”

Okay, then. Now let’s skip ahead to March this year, when the couple, having made their home in Albion, Michigan, found themselves in Nashville, being produced by Buddy Miller at his house — “We wanted to give Buddy Miller a chance to be discovered,” Michael says, barely containing silly giggles. “Just wanted to help him out” — and surrounded by such stellar musicians as drummer Brady Blade, fiddler Sam Bush, pedal steel and banjo player Russ Pahl and multi-instrumentalist Jim Hoke, realizing the love-filled vision they’d been honing tirelessly in the intervening years.

Oh, and there’s Emmylou Harris climbing the porch stairs, not only to add her voice to “Here Is Where the Loving Is At,” but to deliver a batch of birthday brownies to Michael one day.

“Another lady who might need to be discovered,” Michael says, not succeeding at holding back the giggles, before adding, “Everyone knows her for her singing, but people don’t know she makes the BEST BROWNIES EVER.”

The sound is a realization of an array of influences and passions, some shared ones including Aretha Franklin, Ella Fitzgerald, Nat King Cole, the gospel icons the Gaither Singers and James Cleveland. A big influence when they started performing together, Michael says, was the Civil Wars — he sheepishly notes running into that act’s John Paul White and, tongue-tied, blurting out that his act was called the Civil Wars. But what the War and Treaty draw on together is distinctly their musical DNA.

“We really have different backgrounds,” Tanya says. “My mom was from Panama. I grew up listening to Calypso and opera. My dad was from New Bern, North Carolina, and we also listened to Christian music, gospel, but also secular music — Whitney Houston. A plethora of sounds growing up. My dad loved western, so some country songs. We would have a guitar player in church, or sometimes just foot-stomping and clapping. ‘Love Like There’s No Tomorrow’ comes from that. Michael comes from a Seventh Day Adventist background and grew up listening to incredible harmonies and some of his writing comes out of that. His uncle Zilbert Trotter plays organ like no one I ever heard before. We took all that and married it together and it came together with the help of Buddy Miller as a beautiful piece of art.”

Though they’d made a well-received EP, Down to the River, spawning some viral videos to match the word-of-mouth from their dynamic concert performances, this was a whole other world for them, with new expectations, intimidating ones.

“When you get those musicians in the room, they know that no matter what accolades they have, they say, ‘Lead us,’” Michael says. “I had to learn to lead. Buddy Miller is not going to let you escape that responsibility. You come in and have a vision, he’s going to hold you to it. He’s a sweet man, but he has a way to make sure you stay authentic. He’s not going to do take 17, take 18. We did two takes of everything. We had it in the first one. Did the second one because Buddy felt guilty that we had it in the first one.”

He continues, “They all wanted to see where I wanted to go — show us what you’ve got. The intimidation factor was sky high. I don’t consider myself of the caliber of those giants, but then you have to believe you belong there. I remember playing my minor 7ths and diminished chords and this and that and they were laughing, had to explain to me what I was doing. Russ Pahl said, ‘How does it feel to have millions of dollars of education, and never gone to school a day in your life?’ I said, ‘Feels pretty good, Russ.’ He popped me on the head with a wad of paper and walked away.”

The closest he had ever gotten to a music education was under the most unusual circumstances, which brings us back to Saddam’s piano. Michael, having enlisted in the Army in 2003, was sent to Iraq, scared and unprepared. He found himself in a platoon stationed in one of Hussein’s abandoned palaces. A captain heard him sing, heard the inspirational power of his voice and took him to the basement where there was a piano and told him to go at it, learn to play, make music. Not long after, the captain was killed and Michael was asked to sing at his service, the first time he ever sang a song he wrote in public.

But as he talks here, that wasn’t the part of the Iraq story he wanted to tell.

“No one knows this,” he confides. “This is special. I was singing in Baghdad once, and it was probably two in the morning, singing to the troops. And they were singing and clapping with me. And one of the soldiers on guard duty said, ‘You all gotta come see this!’ And when I looked over the gate, the Iraqis with their tea were sitting down at the gate, listening to me sing. And they were clapping and patting their thighs with me. That’s the power of music, the power of songwriting. The war stopped for at least 30 minutes.”

That’s the kind of thing he remembers as his and Tanya’s life accelerates, as success builds and the demands grow — not least being having to spend more time away from their child.

“I’ve cried on the road and broken down,” Michael says. “We travel with our son, but time has now come where we have to leave him with someone for two or three weeks at a time, all for the call of the mission and honoring our life.”

That mission. That call.

“I’m singing with my wife, songs I wrote for us, and we’re on the road and helping bridge humanity in our way. Toughest thing we have to deal with is leaving our son. But no one’s calling us derogatory words.”

He cites a couple of rough epithets that in past have been hurled at many from various directions.

“No one is doing that. There are no signs that you have to drink from the black water fountain. That’s not happening,” he says. “We are blessed that we have not faced it that way. We have a multi-cultural band that reminds folks of what we have overcome. I’m not here to promote the black race or white race, but am genuinely invested in unifying the human race. I do believe there ain’t no better thing in life. I’m almost coming to tears just thinking about if Dr. King’s dream can be a reality daily. We make sure at every concert that everyone hugs each other and tells each other they matter, black or white, foreign or domestic. We are all human beings.”

As the song says, with equal grace and power, we are all “One and the Same.”

Tanya puts it simply and profoundly: “This project is an act of love.”

Photo credit: David McClister

The Heritage of New Orleans’ Jazz Fest

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Three hundred years ago just about now — May 7, 1718, so legend has it — representatives of the riches-minded colonial French Mississippi Company decided that a malaria-infested swamp in the crescent bend near the base of the river for which it was named would make a great place for a port settlement. Nouvelle-Orléans they called it.

Thanks to them, over the course of the next couple of weekends, not too far from that original settlement, you can find a spot where, depending on how the breezes are blowing, you will be able to hear five, six, maybe seven kinds of music all at once. This is music representing cultures from all over the world — from Haiti, from Mali, from Cuba, from Brazil, from Nova Scotia, from the bayous and prairies just a few hours away, and from Congo Square on the edge of that former swamp. Music originated by escaped slaves, by French refugees booted out of Eastern Canada, by Irish dockworkers, by free people of color and landed aristocrats, by Baptist celebrants and Catholic congregants and European Jewish immigrants. Oh, and of the indigenous tribes who were there long before the Europeans. Blues, gospel, country, rock, salsa, merengue, Celtic, hip-hop, bounce, rara, R&B, Cajun, zydeco, klezmer, funk, brass bands’ Mardi Gras Indian chants, and real Indians’ pow-wow chants. And jazz, of course, both traditional and modern, just for a start.

And while you’re standing there, in that same spot, you can savor the irresistible aromas of cuisine from just as many traditions, all blended together in ways that have come to be associated with this place, which we now know as New Orleans … though that’s a different story … or a different part of the same story, perhaps.

That spot is in the middle of the Louisiana Fairgrounds which, part of the year, is a horse-racing track, but for the last weekend in April and first in May, has for decades been the site of the famed New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. And this year, the event is marking the city’s tricentennial with a valiant attempt to showcase and celebrate all of the many cultures that made this city like nowhere else in North America, really nowhere else in the world. Technically, that’s always been part of the mission of what people refer to as JazzFest — its baker’s dozen of stages spread around the grounds hosting artists with connections to that heritage.

This year, that specific mission will be concentrated in a tent very near that mid-Fairgrounds spot. Most years, a Cultural Exchange Pavilion has hosted music, art, crafts, and workshops devoted to a particular country or culture with historic ties to New Orleans. Cuba was spotlighted last year, Belize in 2016, and Haiti, Mali, Brazil, and Native America among others featured in recent years. For the tricentennial, all of that is being squeezed into the pavilion, an ambitious, but fitting focus.

The late, great singer Ernie K-Doe was fond of saying that, while he wasn’t positive, he was pretty sure “all music came from New Orleans.” Hyperbole from a man who called himself the Emperor of the Universe? Well, a little, maybe. A more accurate statement might be that pretty much all music came to, and through, New Orleans. Heck, after hosting its first documented opera performance in 1796, the city was known as “the Opera Capital of North America” through the next century. And, if you roll your eyes when JazzFest announces its big name artist headliners — a crop this year including Aerosmith, Sting, Beck, Rod Stewart, Lionel Richie, and LL Cool J — well, how many of them would be making the music they make, if not for the powerful influences of music tied to the heritage of New Orleans and the surrounding region?

It was all pretty much in place, even before the city’s single centennial, as cultural historian Ned Sublette notes in the introduction to his definitive 2005 account of those first 100 years, The World That Made New Orleans.

“New Orleans was the product of complex struggles among competing international forces,” he wrote. “It’s easy to perceive New Orleans’ apartness from the rest of the United States, and much writing about the city understandably treats it as an eccentric, peculiar place. But I prefer to see it in its wider context. A writer in 1812 called it ‘the great mart of all wealth of the Western world.’ By that time, New Orleans was a hub of commerce and communication that connected the Mississippi watershed, the Gulf Rim, the Atlantic seaboard, the Caribbean Rim, Western Europe (especially France and Spain), and various areas of West and Central Africa.”

And with all of that came music, gene-splicing and mutating through the years, from the drumming, dancing, and singing of slaves, given Sundays off, gathering in what became known as Congo Square (in what is now Louis Armstrong Park, just across Rampart from the French Quarter) to the backstreets and brothels of the Storyville district down the street where Buddy Bolden and Armstrong played their horns and Jelly Roll Morton worked the sounds of Latin America — “the Spanish tinge” — into roiling piano adventures through the collision of rhythm & blues and country-blues in the years just after World War II that brought about the birthing of rock ’n’ roll in Cosimo Matassa’s J&M Studios right on the other side of Rampart.

As Sublette put it: “The distance between rocking the city in 1819 and [Roy Brown’s] ‘Good Rocking Tonight’ in 1947 was about a block.”

At the same time, that distance is a trip around the world. This year, it’s all in one little tent.

A few highlights of note from the Cultural Exchange Pavilion lineup:

Sidi Touré — The guitarist, singer, and songwriter from Bamako, Mali, is one of the leading figures in modern Songhaï blues, roots of which became American blues and its variations via slaves brought across the Atlantic and, in turn, influenced by American blues and rock.

The Cajun/Acadienne Connection — A special collaboration between descendants of French settlers relocated to the Louisiana bayou prairies after being booted out of Eastern Canada by the conquering British in1755, and descendants of those who managed to stay in Canada. The former is represented by the Savoy Family Band, Marc and Ann Savoy standing among the leading forces in the revival of once-oppressed Cajun music and culture joined by sons Joel and Wilson, who have brought their own vitality to the form. The latter comes via Vishtèn, a young trio from the resilient Francophone community on Easter Canada’s Prince Edward Island which mixes French Acadian and Celtic influences with overt nods to their Louisiana “cousins.”

Cynthia Girtley’s Tribute to Mahalia Jackson — The formidable Girtley, who bills herself as “New Orleans Gospel Diva” offers her homage to New Orleans’ (and the world’s) Queen of Gospel and force in the Civil Rights Movement who, two years before her death, was a surprise performer at the very first JazzFest in 1970 in Congo Square, singing “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” with the Eureka Brass Band, followed by a formal concert the next night in the adjacent Municipal Auditorium, which now bears her name.

Tribute to Jelly Roll Morton with special guest Henry Butler — New Orleans-born Butler has long been one of the leading keepers of the flame of the city’s great piano traditions, an heir to such greats as Prof. Longhair and James Booker. Here, he is featured in a set honoring Morton who, if not the inventor of jazz (as he was wont to boast himself), was one of its key innovators and promoters in its formative years.

Jupiter & Okwess — Hailing from the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s capital Kinshasa, dynamic singer Jupiter Bokondji and his forceful band have become an international force in modern Congolese music, as it’s taken to the global road recently, gripping audiences at festivals and clubs alike in Europe and North America.

Kermit Ruffins’ Tribute to Louis Armstrong — Trumpeter and singer Ruffins became a star as a teen, helping lead a new generation of NOLA street musicians with the Rebirth Brass Band in the ‘90s, and has continued as a local favorite through his solo career (plus wider exposure via featured spots in HBO’s Treme, among other things). His love for and debt to the one-and-only Satchmo has always been a core presence in his playing and gravelly, good-natured vocal approach.

Leyla McCalla — The cellist, banjoist, and singer emerged in the second version of the Carolina Chocolate Drops alongside Rhiannon Giddens. Settling in New Orleans and starting a family, she’s dug deep into Haitian and Creole roots in her colorfully wide-ranging solo albums, showing herself a visionary, talented artist in her own right.

The East Pointers — Another young trio from Canada’s Prince Edward Island, this group draws more on the British-Celtic traditions, but with the distinct character of its home. Their latest album, What We Leave Behind, explores the sadness of young people leaving the island to seek work and wider horizons elsewhere.

Lakou Mizik — This Port-au-Prince group has been called the Buena Vista All Stars of Haiti, as it was formed after the devastating 2010 earthquake around a vibrant core of Haitian musical elders joining with rising youngsters. Their 2017 JazzFest performance was one of the year’s highlights.

Photo of Congo Square courtesy of New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival

Practicing What You Preach: A Conversation with Courtney Marie Andrews

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Courtney Marie Andrews has a wish for the world, as large swaths of it hold tight to the isolating practice that is hatred: Be kind. It’s a simple thought, but a complex action, and the inspiration behind Andrews’ new album, May Your Kindness Remain. The title track — like “Irene” from her 2016 breakthrough album, Honest Life — is advice-heavy, but the central tenet is an important one. Bad things will continue to upend your life. Don’t just stay strong in the face of it, stay kind. To emphasize that point, Andrews interlaces her new album with new influences, namely soul, gospel, and blues. As a result, the song resounds like the culmination of an especially fiery sermon — an organ accentuates the folk-rock through-line, while a choir backs Andrews’ expansive vocals.

Where Honest Life found Andrews reckoning with the sacrifices she’d made to pursue her craft, May Your Kindness Remain broadens that vantage point. Andrews culls perspectives from those she met on the road — a place where she has spent the majority of her time since she began touring, nigh on a decade ago — interlacing new characters, settings, and experiences under the umbrella of her voice. The ballad-esque “Rough Around the Edges” puts a name to a feeling — as minimal as malaise, as maximal as depression — that often exists in the shadows, while “Border” reminds listeners to withhold judgment and extend empathy instead. Andrews also pushes her vocal limits, stretching her voice to gospel’s high altar on “May Your Kindness Remain,” and returning it to earth on the sequined-stage country affair “Kindness of Strangers.” Preaching the gospel of kindness may seem like a departure from Honest Life, but Andrews proves there’s much to be gained from stepping outside her supposed stylistic lane. Her emotive voice and illustrative lyricism make her a necessary minister in these modern times.

Depression is a huge topic right now, especially in light of issues like gun control and the opioid crisis, but it continues to carry a stigma. How do we move beyond that kind of shaming?

I think it starts with talking about the issue and also just being open about it. I feel like, of course, there are a lot of things that need to change within the government, like aiding these sorts of things and taking it seriously. People talk about it a lot, but nobody actually makes any changes toward putting money toward research facilities to help guide those problems. My grandmother committed suicide, and the reason that she did is because it was around the time when she was basically a guinea pig for mental illness.

Oh, wow. Was she in and out of a lot of facilities?

Yeah, exactly, and they were giving her way too many pills and shock treatment and that sort of thing. I look at the path which we’ve come from, and it’s gotten better, but it’s been so long. It’s been 40 or 50 years since that happened — we really haven’t made any improvements. I mean we have, it’s just been small. It’s not very much for that long of a period.

Definitely. There’s still a persistent problem of patients not seeming to understand their own bodies. Not to criticize all doctors, but patients still seem to lack authoritative subjectivity over their experience.

Yeah, or that it’s not real because it’s hard to measure, if you can’t see it or feel it, and so many doctors — I, as well, don’t want to criticize all doctors — don’t have the time to really explore what’s the matter. I think it’s multiple things that need to change. Just day to day, one of the themes of the record — kindness, that sort of thing — I feel everybody is capable of changing, but also there are larger obstacles that lie within medicinal fields and the government, as well.

Absolutely. “Rough Around the Edges” is such a powerful way to put it, but it also peels back that layer of otherness. Where did that phrase come from?

That song definitely came from that phrase. When I was bartending a couple years ago, I saw a couple guys at the bar that are these old-timer type guys and not always appropriate, and I thought, “You know, they’re kind of just rough around the edges.” It was that lightbulb moment where I was just like, “Oh man, that is a perfect way to describe somebody who isn’t perfect and maybe knows it sometimes and wants to explain it to their partner.” It is sort of a way of describing depression, as well.

Right, and as you were saying earlier, since it’s so hard to properly convey this experience to someone, it creates a picture that gets us closer to a stronger level of communication.

Yeah, that’s my preferred way of telling.

There was an element of journalism that came to mind with this album — it was mainly the idea that you are reporting from the front lines, so to speak. It got me thinking about whether songwriting could be a new form of journalism by sharing stories that aren’t being covered or circulated in the mainstream press and, in turn, helping us build empathy toward difference.

Especially with this record, I feel like I grabbed from many different stories, and, yeah, it is sort of like journalism. I think songwriters are empathizers for the world, and sometimes a songwriter offers insight and empathy that maybe somebody who is a journalist might not achieve just because they’re trying to get a story as tried and true as possible. They need a story to grasp readers, whereas songs need a feeling to grab listeners. At the end of the day, I guess I’m a short story writer.

You produced your last album because you said you couldn’t find anybody you could trust. What led you to Mark Howard, besides the fact that he’s worked with all the greats?

Well, that’s what sort of led me to him. I kept seeing his name on records that I loved. I actually had booked some time in the studio that I did Honest Life in, and I just had this gut-wrenching feeling — I went in there two months before we were supposed to record in the studio and I was supposed to produce again — and we made a song, and I was just like, “This is cool, but this isn’t what I want.” My whole purpose, as an artist, is to completely explore and shake things up, and I didn’t get into this to have a formula, a 9-to-5 thing, where I’m like, “This is the sound that is me now, and I’m going to do this every time,” which some people might not like. Change scares them.

Anyway, I was driving in a car with my manager listening to, I think it was World Without Tears by Lucinda Williams, and I was like, “I wonder who produced this.” I saw it was Mark Howard, and we sent him a message, and the next day he replied and, all of a sudden, we were making a record in L.A. I like his non-traditional way of working. It’s very inspired. It’s not very thought-out. Most of the stuff you hear on the record is us playing live in a room without a click. It’s us facing each other. We wanted to create a vibe and a mood, and I didn’t want to make Honest Life 2.0.

You mentioned doing some vocal stretching for this project. What kind of soul or gospel singers inspired you?

I’ve always had those influences. I’m a huge fan of Aretha Franklin, Odetta, and blues singers like Big Mama Thornton, and those ‘70s records that have gospel singers on them. I just never used those influences. I was also going to a blues bar in Seattle where they never had a singer, so I started singing for them because it was fun to use my voice that way. I was naturally interested in using my voice that way.

There’s a definite gospel foundation running throughout the album. How do you think that genre, especially, serves as a call for change?

Well, gospel is rooted in belief in something. I’ve always really connected with the music, even though I’m not religious, by any means. It’s like the gospel of being kind, you know? That’s sort of how I look at it. I guess the gospel of human connection. It’s the lesson I was taught as a kid, and sort of like any gospel, you’re always trying to get back to it.

Lastly, I absolutely adore your song “I’ve Hurt Worse.” I think it’s one of the best “love” songs I’ve heard in some time. Where did it originate?

It’s one of those messed up love songs, I guess. A lot of my family members have a knack for choosing the worst partners, and it’s a sort of sarcastic song. It’s just like, you’re so bad at choosing partners, I’ve hurt worse that I’ll choose you because you’re better than the rest, but you’re still kind of bad.

Right, the element of settling runs throughout it, but it’s not even a bargain.

Unfortunately, it’s almost a self-loathing song. You love who you think you deserve. Well, you don’t feel you deserve much, obviously, because you’re going for these people who are terrible partners. I always wanted to write a funny … I feel like so many people just revert to sad and, as great as sad is, I like to add other elements of the human psyche.

Photo credit: Laura E. Partain

Our Darlings, the Darlings

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Bluegrass isn’t as common on primetime television these days, but a while back, you could find it on plenty of shows: sitcoms, variety shows, talk shows … just about anywhere and everywhere. One of the best-loved bluegrass cameo-makers and recurring characters of this time period were the Darlings, of The Andy Griffith show. They did some great made-for-TV pickin’, as evidenced in these eight clips.

“Salty Dog”

When we are first introduced to the Darlings, we discover a carousing, lovable, somewhat delinquent family whose musical skills get them into and out of trouble. Sheriff Taylor, himself, can’t help from joining in on one or two. Like this one “with romantic in it,” as Charlene puts it.

 

“There Is a Time”

Arguably the most popular song the Darlings ever rendered on the show, “There Is a Time” is strangely poetic and dark for such a silly family, but hell, no one cares about continuity or character development when a song this good is involved. Yes, please shoehorn it in there. (Although, “Wet Shoes in the Sunset” sounds like it would’ve been a good choice, too.)

 

“Dooley”

The Dillards, the real-life band that makes up two-thirds of the Darlings, recorded “Dooley” on their debut release, Back Porch Bluegrass. The background ooos, the banjo capo-ed up real high, and that bouncy tempo altogether perfectly typify bluegrass in the ‘60s. So. Good.

 

“Doug’s Tune”

Andy suggests, “How about ‘Dirty Me, Dirty Me, I’m Disgusted with Myself?” To which the father, Briscoe Darling responds, “Aw, that one makes me cry.” And no matter how often they use this terrible gag it is still funny every single time. It’s striking that Andy isn’t deterred by this funky instrumental (named after Doug Dillard), because it would almost surely bust a jam today.

 

“Ebo Walker”

Can you blame Ebo Walker, though? All anyone should wanna do is sit on the porch and pick all day. That’s what the Darlings do! (Be careful with that hooch, Barney …)

 

“Shady Grove”

How could someone stand up Charlene Darling?! Tsk tsk tsk, Sheriff. But we all got a fine rendering of “Shady Grove” by Charlene, in the meantime, so let’s just count our blessings.

 

“Boil Them Cabbage Down”

Charlene has found a new love, and there are clearly no hard feelings between her and Andy, as they swap verses on this one.

 

“Leaning on the Everlasting Arms”

To round out our little treasure trove of the Darlings’ darling moments, how about a little gospel? And look how nicely all those Darlings clean up.

7 Bluegrass Family Bands You Need to Know

Posted on by Editor

From the Monroe Brothers and the Stanley Brothers to Cherryholmes and Flatt Lonesome, the matching outfits, tight harmonies, and long-lasting careers of family bands are an integral part of what makes bluegrass bluegrass. Here are a few lesser-known, underrated, or too-often-forgotten family bands that you ought to spend some quality time with:

The Dillards

The Dillards (Doug and Rodney Dillard, Dean Webb, and Mitch Jayne) exposed thousands of new fans to bluegrass bands music through their appearances on The Andy Griffith Show as “the Darlings” and even on popular variety shows of the day. They were inducted into the Bluegrass Hall of Fame in 2009.

Want more? Try “There Is a Time” and “What’s Time to a Hog.”

The Cox Family

If the voices of the Cox Family (Sidney, Suzanne, Evelyn, and Willard) sound familiar, it’s because you have almost certainly heard them before — on the Grammy Award-winning O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack. Their close friend, collaborator, producer, and fan Alison Krauss is credited with their discovery; you can hear the obvious influence they have on each other’s music.

Want more? Try their 2015 album, Gone Like the Cotton, that they finished and released 17 years after the project was dropped by their label.

The McCormick Brothers

Based in Gallatin, Tennessee, the McCormick Brothers (William, Haskell, Gerald, Lloyd, and Kelly) were one of the top bluegrass bands in the 1950s, but sadly, they are largely unknown today. After the band began to peter out, Haskell joined Lester Flatt’s Nashville Grass, but the other McCormicks somewhat inexplicably faded from the spotlight.

Want more? Try their 2009 retrospective album, Somewhere in Time.

The White Brothers

The White Brothers (Clarence, Roland, and Eric) were barely adults when they made several guest appearances on The Andy Griffith Show — at least two years before “the Darlings” came along. The brothers played shows as the Country Boys before forming their iconic band, the Kentucky Colonels. Clarence — a Bluegrass Hall of Fame inductee — passed away in 1973, but is still considered one of the most influential flat-picking guitarists of all time. Eric passed in 2012. Roland continues to perform, to this day, after having a lengthy career performing with dozens of artists, from Bill Monroe to the Nashville Bluegrass Band.

Want more? Check out their incredible album, The New Kentucky Colonels: Live in Sweden 1973.

Marshall Family

Bluegrass gospel and family bands go together like a mandolin and a chop. The Marshall Family (Judy, David, Danny, and Ben) have had an undeniable influence on acts such as Alison Krauss, Rhonda Vincent, the Isaacs, and the Cox Family — Judy’s voice, especially. Their career was much, much too short, with only three years between their first recording and their last. The Marshalls exemplify what family band harmonies can and should be.

Want more? Check out the compilation, The Legendary Marshall Family, Vol. 1.

The Lewis Family

“The First Family of Bluegrass Gospel,” the Lewis Family (Pop, Mom, Miggie, James, Esley, Talmadge, Polly, Janis, Little Roy, and Travis) were inducted into the Bluegrass bands’ Hall of Fame in 2006. The group officially retired in 2009 after more than 50 years as a band, collecting countless IBMA, Dove, and SPBGMA awards along the way. Thankfully, Little Roy still performs and tours, because the world isn’t ready to go on without his oddball sense of humor. Have you enjoyed the Lewis Family?!

Want more? Check out “Just One Rose Will Do,” “Honey in the Rock,” and “When I Reach That City.”

The Lonesome Pine Fiddlers

While the Lonesome Pine Fiddlers saw many a lineup change during their existence, they were always underpinned by members of the Cline family (Ireland, Ezra, Curly Ray, and Charlie.) The band performed and recorded for nearly 30 years and, like Bill Monroe’s Blue Grass Boys, they were a vehicle for unknown and up-and-coming musicians getting their start — among them Bobby Osborne, Melvin Goins, and Paul Williams. In 2009, the Lonesome Pine Fiddlers were inducted into the Bluegrass bands’ Hall of Fame.

Want more? Check out “Don’t Forget Me,” “Baby You’re Cheatin’,” and “Windy Mountain.”

3×3: AJ Hobbs on Hot Chicken, Wet Weather, and a Drum Circle of Gods

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

Artist: AJ Hobbs
Hometown: Los Angeles, CA
Latest Album: Too Much Is Never Enough
Personal Nicknames: Mom calls me Adam. Some people still call me Cal King — they never even called me by my name?

 

A photo posted by A.J. Hobbs (@ajhobbsmusic) on

If Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, and Mohammed were in a band together, who would play what?

I gotta be honest, I just see a cacophonous drum circle happening.

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

“Fingers after BBQ”
 
What literary character or story do you most relate to?

The Cat in the Hat. Sometimes you gotta mess shit up to have fun, as long as you clean it up. 

 

A photo posted by A.J. Hobbs (@ajhobbsmusic) on

How many pairs of shoes do you own?
About four pairs of boots, two pairs of hiking shoes, running shoes, dressy shoes for when my friends get married and house slippers nice enough to go to the store in.

What’s your best physical attribute?

My wife says I have striking blue eyes.

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

 

A photo posted by A.J. Hobbs (@ajhobbsmusic) on

Animal, mineral, or vegetable?

We all become minerals eventually. 
 
Rain or shine?

What is rain? 

Mild, medium, or spicy?

I’ve always been a spicy guy, growing up around amazing Mexican food, but Bolton’s in East Nashville turned me into a medium guy. A painful lesson.

Root 66: Cris Jacobs’ Roadside Favorites

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

Name: Cris Jacobs
Latest Project: Dust to Gold
Hometown: Baltimore, MD

Backstage hang: The 8×10, Baltimore, MD. A great club run by great people in my hometown.  I’ve played this club more times than I can count and had some epic back stage hangs. We’ll leave it at that, as to not implicate or incriminate anyone.

Late-night radio: Coast to Coast, 680 AM. A talk radio show where everything from aliens, time travel, vortexes, government conspiracies, UFOs, and the like are discussed.  The deadpan demeanor of the host and the way the guests on the show seem to really believe what they are saying makes me feel like I’d be a fool to doubt any of it.  On those weird, dark, desolate stretches of highway when I’m pulling a solo late-night drive, listening to this show can pass hours at a time without even realizing how tired I am because I’m so transfixed on the discussions.

Tour hobby: Reading. I get super excited to pick out a new book or two to have for the tour. I recently picked some good ones, too. I just finished All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr and Confessions of a Wine-Stained Notebook by Charles Bukowski.

 

A photo posted by Cris Jacobs (@cris_jacobs) on

Record store: Cactus Music, Houston, TX. I did an in-store performance there a few years ago and was relieved to know that there are still stores like that (besides Barnes and Noble) where you can get lost searching through records and books. Took me back to the '90s where one of my favorite activities was going down the rabbit hole of sampling CDs at the music store and discovering new stuff.

Day-off activity: Exercise. A good hike in the mountains or woods, or a good long run. Or, if not, poker. If there’s a casino close by, I can’t say that I won’t not not consider playing a few hands.  So one of those two things. I’m a Gemini.

Driving album: Bill Frisell records provide some of the best soundtracks to highway drivies. Especially if it’s a nice day and a particularly scenic route. Good Dog, Happy Man for day drives, and Blues Dream after the sun goes down.

Breakfast: Mama’s, Mill Valley, CA. For my money, the best benedict I’ve ever had. The homemade hollandaise is orgasmic. It’s the kind of place you plan around, even if it means going out of your way or waking up earlier to make sure you get a good sit down.

 

A photo posted by Cris Jacobs (@cris_jacobs) on

Highway stretch: Doesn’t get much better than Route 1 from L.A. up the coast to Washington. It’s not the usual route for bands, because it’s not meant for trailers, and it’s not a quick route. But I’ve done a few solo tours in a little rented compact car out there and driven it any chance I’ve had. It’s like you instantly feel like Jack Kerouac or something.  

Listening room: The Birchmere, Alexandria, VA. A historic place with a Hall of Fame pedigree. I remember going there as a teenager to see heroes of mine like Doc Watson and Tony Rice. Pristine sound, a cool roadhouse/dinner theatre vibe, and super kind, friendly staff.

Coffeehouse: Stumptown Roasters, Portland, OR. I recorded an album at Jackpot Studios right down the street once, and we thanked Stumptown in the liner notes. You walk in and smell them roasting the beans, and then you get a damn fine cup of coffee. I’m a coffee snob (and addict) and it’s one of my favorites.

Pizza: Anything open after the show.

Root 66: The Isaacs’ Roadside Favorites

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

Name: The Isaacs
Hometown: Hendersonville, TN
Latest Project: Nature's Symphony in 432

Tacos: Pappasito's Cantina in Houston, TX

Pizza: John & Joe's Pizza in Bronx, NY

Burger: In & Out Burgers in California

Coffeehouse:  Peet's in San Francisco, CA

Record Store:  Ernest Tubb Record Shop in Nashville, TN

House Concert: Bonfire in Bill Gaither's backyard in Alexandria , IN

Backstage Hang: Ryman Auditorium with Steven Tyler

Music Festival: MerleFest!

Airport: Nashville!

Car Game: " I Spy"

Day Off Activity: Guys — Golfing; Girls — Shopping

Tour Hobby: Eating at different restaurants

How to Have It Both Ways: Darrell Scott in Conversation with Elizabeth Cook

Posted on by Editor

If you’d happened into the bars where a young Elizabeth Cook and Darrell Scott and various members of their families played hardcore honky-tonk music for working people some decades ago — she in small-town Florida, he wherever his dad had most recently decided they should try to make a go of it — you would have witnessed their immersive education in earthy expression. All these years later, the bodies of work they’ve each built up as singer/songwriters command the respect of a different sort of crowd — theater- and festival-goers attracted to literary sensibilities and more elevated notions of artistry. Scott and Cook, though, have found ways to work the full range of their musical experiences into what they do, including their latest albums, her Exodus of Venus and his Couchville Sessions. They got on the phone with us to compare notes.

I’ve done several of these three-way interviews, and usually the two interviewees haven’t met and I’ll have to make the introductions, but I figured that wouldn’t be necessary in this case.

Darrell Scott: That’s true.

Elizabeth Cook: We go back to the Raffi days. Was it a Raffi track we did? It was some children’s project.

DS: Yeah, I think it was Raffi.

EC: And then you played on the Hey Y’all album [her debut on Warner Bros. Nashville].

DS: Yeah, I think it was one of your first records in town or something, back in the day.

EC: Yeah, 2002.

So this was a country tribute to Raffi?

EC: Yes! It’s been a thousand years. Let me think of what the song was. Did we do “This Little Light of Mine”?

DS: Yeah, that was it. You’ve got a good memory.

The last time I saw you, we were doing a round with Guy Clark, Buddy Miller, and me and you over at the Country Music Hall of Fame.

Darrell Scott

Darrell, I’ve heard the album that you produced for your dad, Wayne Scott, some years back, who really bore a strong sonic resemblance to Hank Williams, and Elizabeth, I’ve heard songs that your mom wrote for you when you were singing as a little girl, that old chestnut “Does My Daddy Love the Bottle?” being one of them. You both spent your formative years in down-home music but eventually found your ways into serious-minded singer/songwriter scenes. How do those seemingly disparate musical worlds and aesthetic values add up in what you do?

EC: Hmm, Darrell?

DS: Well, for me, I kinda feel I’m a giant sponge. I certainly grew up on country music to the full tilt. That’s all that was gonna be on the radio if you’re in the cab of the truck with my dad or my mom. My mom leaned toward, let’s say, Tammy Wynette and Marty Robbins, where my dad was more Hank and Johnny. They met at Merle Haggard, it seemed like. But that was where I started. And then church music gets in there, and it’s Southern Baptist stuff. And my family’s from Kentucky, so it’s got some of that. And then I’ve had the singer/songwriter periods of Joni Mitchell and Jackson Browne and Leonard Cohen and all that stuff, so all that gets thrown in. And I had a jazz-fusion period. And then I went to school and got an English degree.

To me, it’s all game in order to write a song that might want to go more bluesy or more honky-tonk or more confessional. Because I’ve loved so much stuff, it all shows up when it’s time to write something that’s leaning one way or another.

EC: I think that, like Darrell, coming up and hearing the hardcore honky-tonk music, that certainly established the ground base of what would be the rudiments of how I created — the chords that I knew and how they went together. So there’s that part. I didn’t re-emerge into the church scene until I was about 12 years old and we had stopped singing around the bars and stuff as much, and my dad was going through the initial phases of recovery from alcoholism. The Church of God songs were almost rockabilly. It felt like rock ‘n’ roll compared to the honky-tonk music. It was very lively — drums and organs and a lot of rolling around and tambourines. And then I think it took just growing up to realize that I was surrounded by this rich cast of characters and they were all storytellers verbally. None of ‘em wrote songs, but daddy did like to tell stories, and he was a character. And 10 half-siblings and all the people that came in and out of our lives.

After college and being torn over whether to pursue an English lit path or the mathematical business path — and choosing the mathematical business path in a rebellion period — that was almost like a sabbatical from music for me. And I was really trying to establish a different kind of life. But once I got out of that and came to Nashville is when I started learning that there was a Lucinda Williams and getting into deeper catalog Rodney Crowell and Nanci Griffith and Guy Clark, and finding out who Townes Van Zandt was, and hearing Steve Earle. And it was like, “Oh, there’s a sense of poetry that can be applied to this.” So there were the remnants of the musical style and then the sort of observation period, trying to learn and develop the poetry skill set and the storytelling skill set and marry all those things. And that’s still where I feel like I am now, on that path.

Elizabeth Cook

I wonder if either of you have ever found yourself challenging the way people define sophisticated and unsophisticated songwriting, since you’ve been intimately acquainted with this whole range of “highbrow” and “lowbrow” sensibilities and don’t view it as simplistically as some other folks might.

DS: Well, to me, that distinction comes down to the song. If there’s a song that’s tapped on my shoulder that wants to be absolutely simple, wants to speak from a character who has an eighth grade education, I figure my job is to facilitate, so to speak, or just let that song come to life the best I can with what started in the first place, as opposed to me sitting there saying, “Hey, I can’t write this song with that language. I’m gonna have to shift it over somewhere else.” That’s not my job. My job is to follow through with the initial inspiration and, if that inspiration wants to be coming from a farmer or an auto mechanic or a steel mill worker or something like that — and those are folks and characters I know, absolutely — then I’m gonna follow through with that. And the next song might be more poetic or more worldly or something, then my job on that one is to be that way. So I feel the songs sorta tell us what to do, as far as whether it’s sophisticated or a little more jazzy or a little more dark or a little more gospel or a little more anything.

EC: I think so, too. Music can do so many different things, you know? There’s music to boogie to, music to party to. There’s music that’s engaging on a more sophisticated level, and that’s where, to me, the more intricate lyric and storytelling and the more original way that you can say something [come in], even if it’s from a character that maybe you’ve heard speak before. For me, I guess I’m just saying it totally depends.

I’ve really enjoyed lately getting more into trying to find different jumping off points. If I’m wanting to write a song like this song “Evacuation” that’s on the new record about a lady in New Orleans … I decided to just immerse myself in learning about voodoo culture, and in [learning] that terminology and ideas, the story gets a little bit richer. So the process of digging deeper is what’s been exciting to me and a way to try and grow my writing.

As I listened to Exodus of Venus and Couchville Sessions and revisited some of your previous albums, I was thinking about the introspective approach that I’ve heard from other contemporary singer/songwriters, who tend to be up in their heads and disengaged from their bodies. That’s not at all what I get from your work. You can each get really expansive with the stories you tell or the experiences and settings you describe, but always also acknowledge physicality. Is that something that either of you are conscious of?

DS: You go ahead, Elizabeth.

EC: No, you go. We’ve got a little groove going.

DS: I’m conscious, and it’s not really while I’m doing it, but afterward. I look at my work and see that it’s sort of what you described there. Another way of putting it, for me, is linear — I feel like a lot of my writing is linear. I wish I weren’t so literal, to tell you the truth. I see that quality show up a lot in my writing.

You were describing some other type of singer/songwriter — folks who seem more disconnected. I’d love to be more disconnected sometimes. I just don’t get to get there. Not ‘cause I don’t want to. When a song like that does come along, I’m like, “Hallelujah. I got one, at least.” You know? There’s a slight different between a groove and a rut. I appreciate that linear quality in my writing, when the song’s appropriate, but I’d sure like to bust out and find the songs that allow me to not feel like I’m repeating a version of myself. I’d hate to think that I’m repeating myself, but I do see that linear quality in my writing and I’d like to bust it up. If you guys have any ideas how I could do that, let me know.

[All Laugh]

EC: Immerse yourself in voodoo culture.

No, I certainly don’t know. I’ve gone through phases of ideas and theories about it where I’m like, “Well, that’s kind of a cop-out just to write about the moon and the river, because you can totally bullshit your way through that.” I want to write rich stories and make them rhyme. I think that feels more challenging; it feels more interesting. If you can learn to do that well, I almost think it’s more rare than any other. So I follow that path and try to master that and, in doing that, sometimes I feel like, “Well, this is trite, and I wish I had something original to say about the moon and the river.” I think I’m also, like Darrell, trying to figure out how to crack that nut, how to maybe be sometimes a little more metaphorical or whatever you want to call it, and still be original and interesting and sophisticated and all those things that I feel like we’re challenged to do.

Darrell, it’s really interesting to hear you describe your sense of how your writing unfolds as “linear.” I don’t think I would’ve chosen that word. What I’m trying to get at is that your songs often operate on multiple different layers — you make the listener aware of what’s right in front of them, what can be seen with the eye, but also all these subtexts, stuff that’s felt and not said. For example, when I listen to “Waiting For the Clothes to Get Clean,” I see the people in the laundromat, their physicality, but I also feel the complex emotions they’re mired in. What does it take to work all of that in there?

DS: Well, that one came in a number of ways. One was just trying to describe that couple in that song. They obviously have major problems, you know? The whole thing is about a conflict. And they’ve just gone to the laundromat, so it’s an hour-and-a-half, but the shit they throw on each other just in something as simple as washing your clothes, it tells everything about how they don’t have it together. They just live in different worlds, but they’re in the same car, the same laundromat, and share the same bed. So that one, to me, was kind of a character study. Sometimes I’ve been embarrassingly too much like the male in that song, which I despise that part of me. But men … sometimes it takes them a long time to get out of whatever they’ve seen their parents do or whatever their male bravado crap is.

When I say linear, I mean, for example, that songs goes from the beginning of the laundromat experience to them driving back. Literally, it goes from unloading the clothes to now they’re driving back home after the hour-and-a-half or so at the laundromat. So that’s what I mean by linear: This happens, then that happens, then he said that, then she said that.

EC: Sort of like chronologically in time.

DS: That’s right. Yeah.

What goes on in that song, it points to all the psychological stuff between the two characters. So I hear what you’re saying. To me, the linear in that song is that it’s a real crisp timeline.

Elizabeth, you mentioned that you’ve been trying to find different starting points for your songwriting. You’ve always painted really evocative, detailed pictures in your lyrics, but I do pick up on some new elements in this batch of songs. In songs like “Exodus of Venus” and “Slow Pain,” it’s like you’ve pared down your lyric writing to this intense sensory stuff with dark blues shadings. That’s my description of it, but I wonder how you’ve experienced it and what got you there.

EC: You always get that cliché question, “Which comes first, the music or the lyrics?” Those were examples of ones that were initially music-driven out of the gate and the lyrics followed. When I’m writing to an emotion that’s already established in a sound, it’ a little more freeing. There’s a little bit less responsibility on the lyric, if that makes sense. I didn’t have that before, and a lot of that is because of writing with the producer for the record, Dexter Green, who’s a great guitarist and way into tones and pedals and all this stuff. So it’s been a different jumping off point instead of some sort of dense narrative coming out of my journal.

As you’ve been performing this material live, how have you seen people respond to hearing different stuff from you?

EC: I tell you what, I’m really encouraged and relieved, so far. And it’s still early, but we’re pretty much running the board. It’s been very positive. I was worried that it would be, “Well, this isn’t as country. This isn’t as sunshine-y.” But everybody’s been enjoying the exploration of the darker side and what I hope is an evolution to the writing. So far, so good. Only a couple people said, “You’re keeping it country, aren’t ya?” And I’m like, “Well, not really.” I love country music. I love it. But I don’t care if something I’m writing is country or not when I’m writing it. I just don’t care.

I feel like that’s probably a perspective on writing that you could identify with, Darrell.

DS: Yeah, very much. When it’s time to write, it all gets set aside. If we’re doing it right, all the attention goes to this song, this inspiration sitting in front of us. Fantastic, if it’s country. Fantastic, if it doesn’t rhyme. Again, I’m really trying to do what the song is telling me to do. And that may sound a little, you know, like it’s not exactly me writing it; I’m certainly there, but I’m paying attention to the song. Wherever the song is going, I hope to bring whatever I got to the table to help it to come to life. My country music background can sit at the side, if it doesn’t need any of those skills. I don’t feel like I have to interject anything.

Something else I appreciate about each of your music is that you have ways of drawing together the sensual and the spiritual. You have songs that explore the power of physical connection, that don’t beat around the bush about sexual tension. Darrell, your song “Come into This Room” comes to mind. Elizabeth, I heard that kind of power in “Straightjacket Love” or, on the more playful side, in “Yes to Booty.” You each also have a way of grounding bits of spirituality in the body. Through that blurring of lines, are you sort of letting us in on the way you experience the world?

DS: Well, for me, it’s part of that quality of telling the truth in the songs. If we’re sensual beings and if we’re sensual-minded as we walk around the planet — and I am — that has to enter in. So does the spiritual, because that’s how I walk around the world, too. So I try not to be ashamed of that. Depending on our background, you can be taught to hide that, and it’s scary, and you’re sure as hell not supposed to write a song about it. But, to me, that’s just part of the deal of breaking away from the stuff that didn’t work from childhood. Country music worked; I’ll take that. And maybe the Southern Baptist stuff didn’t work so well, or didn’t stick. So I can leave that one behind, but take away the general community of my church background or the general idea of the great gospel songs or the energy of people all feeling it together. To me, I walk around with the sensuality and the spiritual, and it would be no wonder how it would show up in songs. They’re part of what I carry around.

EC: I sort of think it’s inherent, for me, in music period. It’s like music taps into all those things, and that’s why I relate to it. It taps into sensuality. It taps into spirituality. That’s why it’s almost like an awakening when you connect with it. So I think it’s inherent in making music that those things would be present, if you’re truly succeeding in being connected to it. Those things would hopefully, naturally show up. I think that’s probably why.

That’s my best guess.

That’s a good guess.

Illustration by Abby McMillen. Elizabeth Cook photo by Jim McGuire. Darrell Scott photo courtesy of the artist.