Tag: guitar

Shaun Richardson & Seth Taylor, “Chisholm”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

An expansive generation of simply ludicrous flatpickers has rendered bluegrass, old-time, Americana, and folk replete with acoustic guitar virtuosos. Pickers like Jake Stargel, Molly Tuttle, Presley Barker, and Billy Strings each have in common commanding right hands and withering technique. Others, like Jake Workman, Trey Hensley, and Chris Luquette play at incomprehensible, blistering speeds with pristine precision that defies explanation — down to the most infinitesimal note durations. We can clearly see the shredtastic legacies of Clarence White, Tony Rice, Dan Tyminski, and others living on, even if chiefly through their more mathematical, aggressive, and adventurous methods and tones. 

That adventurous aggression might just be why “Chisholm,” a new tune composed by guitarists Shaun Richardson and Seth Taylor, feels like such a calming breath of fresh air. It’s a welcome counterpoint and complement to the repeated face-peeling-off that we all enjoy in this current golden age of flatpicking guitar. Richardson and Taylor are both veterans of Dailey & Vincent’s bluegrass-based rootsy stage show, giving them ample experience in musical code-switching, from fiddle tunes and swinging numbers to country ballads and passionate gospel. Richardson has performed with Michael Martin Murphey as well, and Taylor is a member of the long-running, heady, Americana-tinged bluegrass group Mountain Heart. 

The versatility lent by these diverse experiences gives “Chisholm” a well-traveled, though relaxed, voluminous vibe. The melodies are resonant and tactile, conjuring six-string players and composers such as John Carlini and Beppe Gambetta — with just a dash of Tommy Emmanuel. Jazz complexities are utilized here not in a gratuitous way, but rather anchored in expressiveness and musical dialogue. Richardson and Taylor’s expertise is very clearly centered not on simply displaying prowess, but in musicality. In this calmer, more subdued setting, that dynamic is especially refreshing and subtly striking.

Photo and video shot by James Shipman

Joan Shelley’s Love of Kentucky, Captured in Iceland

Posted on by Editor

Singer/songwriter Joan Shelley’s voice has a warmth and purity that can still the choppiest minds. Her fifth album, Like the River Loves the Sea, is a calm offering in noisy times. She says she didn’t set out to make an album with any kind of theme or message, but she found herself writing songs that often reflected her love of her native Kentucky.

For many years, Shelley chased the idea of leaving Kentucky, maybe relocating to someplace in Europe or a big city on one of the coasts. She grew up on a small farm outside of Louisville, a swarm of animals, siblings, and step-siblings to play with, a creek and woods to play in.

On her song, “The Fading,” Shelley borrows a phrase often attributed to Mark Twain about Kentucky’s sluggish pace of life: “And, oh, Kentucky stays on my mind/ It’s sweet to be five years behind/ That’s where I’ll be when the seas rise/ Holding my dear friends and drinking wine.” And yet when the time came to record this album, Shelley travelled far from Kentucky to Iceland, with frequent collaborators, guitarist, Nathan Salsburg, and producer and guitarist, Jim Elkington.

BGS: How did you end up in Iceland?

Shelley: I have a friend who’s a complete fan of Iceland. It just started to simmer in my imagination. This could be poetically in between Europe and the U.S., this ancient musical tie on the newest earth that’s in the ocean. I was, like, I want to go essentially to a different planet and make a record and see how that air feels and how that environment works.

When you go someplace like that to record, are you bringing all your instruments with you? Or are you letting the place influence the music?

We each brought a guitar. I was like: I’ll use their banjo; I’ll use their drums; we’ll use their tambourines, everything. In Iceland, there was no banjo. We couldn’t find a banjo. So someone had a resonator guitar and I had to retune that to a banjo tuning that I was using for the song, “Coming Down for You.” You know, funny limits that you encounter like that, even though it’s frustrating at the time and you’re kind of panicked, then you feel for the next step. I love that.

So were you running around Iceland looking for a banjo?

We asked musicians who had been there and musicians know musicians. It’s a pretty creative community. There are a lot of artists and songwriters. And a lot of synthesizers and not a lot of banjos. When you talk about a Kentucky-to-Iceland record, like, you’re in this black hole where you cannot find a banjo.

You became interested in music later in your childhood, but you’ve always had a strong connection to the outdoors that’s apparent in a lot of your songs.

Music came later but when I think about my time in nature as a kid, I would always wander off on my own. I remember distinctly sitting under trees and singing to the day, kind of being a little kid and making up melodies.

Were you singing with an instrument?

No, just singing. Like, bird education. Melodies only. No one had instruments. My mom used to and that’s how I found the guitar. It was in the attic.

Tell me about that.

I was a freshman in high school and I wandered up to the attic which had all the good stuff in it and I kind of dusted off my mom’s guitar that she had up there. And there was a chord chart up on the wall too. She was one of those people who would say, “I just want to get better at this someday.” But it was always someday. So I taught myself from the chord chart on the wall.

Do you have a certain go-to guitar when you’re in the process of writing songs? 

I have a Collings guitar which is a pretty fancy bluegrass guitar. It’s good for fingerpicking. I got it from my cousin who passed away. She died really young of cancer. At first I wasn’t taking it anywhere because I didn’t want it to break but then it hit me — no, she’d want to go everywhere! It’s good to be reminded of how lucky I am to have gotten this far and seen what I’ve seen. It’s amazing.

Do you remember when you first heard mountain music or when you first felt like it spoke to you? 

I would say the first song that ripped my stomach out and onto the ground below me was a Dillard Chandler song, a ballad. All his unaccompanied ballads on that Dark Holler record are just gorgeous.

Nathan Salsburg, your collaborator, is also curator of the Alan Lomax archives. Did he help lead you down that well of old-time music?

He exposed me to Dillard Chandler. I wanted to hear the female singers. I was hungry because I know they just don’t get represented in the recordings of the great musicians. When you look at old-time music, and bluegrass too, it’s male-dominated. So I was like, give me everything you got. And he collected some for me to listen to, like Aunt Molly Jackson, Little Jean Ritchie.

What do you hope people take away from this record?

Once I was done editing the songs that would go on the record, I almost called it Haven, because it’s the first song on the record. We need that calm, that haven, whether it’s in terms of relationships or the environment or political noise. I have to remember how to be quiet and lead my thoughts back to being quiet.

Even when I’m talking about love in the songs, there’s a deeper level we can agree on. Let’s get back to the deeper level. At this point in my life, and at this point in our country, this was the record that I was like: I’m going to stop telling myself I’m going to move somewhere. I’m going to be here. I’m making that choice to bring what I love about the rest of the world to Kentucky.

Photo credit: Amber Estes Thieneman

WATCH: Zach & Maggie Are Lonely in Their “Double Grave”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Maybe you have noticed that some holidays just get more musical love than others. Halloween parties are subjected to the same playlist every year: “Monster Mash,” some ominous organ music, “Thriller,” and then an encore of “Monster Mash.” This year, BGS wants to help broaden the musical palette for the spookiest holiday of the year, at least in some small way. 

Nashville-based Americana duo Zach & Maggie’s newest single “Double Grave” is charmingly unnerving, telling the story of a man who waits on his widow to join him in their final resting place. Sweet? Maybe. Spooky? Definitely. The accompanying music video does little to ease the angst of the tune, but it does foster a sense of pity for the widower, even though he ultimately wishes for his partner’s demise.

The pair takes an irreverent approach to a bleak topic, creating a great addition to the stark library of “Halloween music.” Speaking of the new release, singer and guitarist Zach says, “I find it humorous to think about the petty annoyances of everyday life overshadowing something so serious as death. What sort of neurotic behavior would we come up with if death was just an inconvenience?” Just in time for All Hallows, watch the music video for “Double Grave” here.

Photo credit: Electric Peak Creative

Hiss Golden Messenger: Hope, Joy, and ‘Terms of Surrender’

Posted on by Editor

To make his eighth proper album as Hiss Golden Messenger, M.C. Taylor left his adopted hometown of Durham, North Carolina, and went… everywhere? He booked studio time in Nashville, tracked songs in New Orleans, and headed north to upstate New York, where he recorded at the studio owned by The National’s Aaron Dessner. There might have been even more cities in that list, but logistics and time cut his traveling sessions short.

“I wanted to make a record anywhere other than Durham,” he says. “I felt like I needed a change, and it felt like the songs were asking for a change. This is a wandering record. It just felt like the songs were wandering around a little bit. So I felt like maybe I should, too.”

Travel is a major theme of his music, both as inspiration and consequence. Working as a musician means touring; providing for his family means leaving them. Out on the road, however, he finds new reasons to make music. Taylor peppers Hiss Golden Messenger songs with place names, references to home and elsewhere. For Terms of Surrender he decided he needed to make that part of the creative process, which meant recording wherever he landed.

Taylor’s wanderlust extends to the music, too, which draws from a range of roots traditions: psychedelic folk and rural funk, southern soul and classic rock, American primitive guitar and ‘60s frat rock, J.J. Cale and the Staple Singers, Neil Young and composer Harry Partch. The result is a sober but hardly somber album that surveys America at the end of the 2010s, during a moment that is — to say the very least — tumultuous.

BGS: Place always feels so important to your music, so it made me wonder if getting away from a place was as important as getting to a place. Could you have made this record back home in Durham?

Taylor: Yeah, I could have made it in Durham. Definitely. But it would have a very different character. I try not to think of the records as the final form of the songs. I think of them as snapshots of the songs, snapshots in time — a documentation of the tunes as they exist among a certain group of people on a certain day in a certain city. So this particular version of Terms of Surrender is a document of that particular time in my life.

Given that these are wandering songs, and given that you’ve talked about the album coming out of a very hard year, how did that inform the music?

The trials and tribulations I was experiencing are obviously threaded through the songs. Some of that is maybe obvious lyrically, and some of it is a little more coded. It’s something that is obvious only to me. I was dealing with those issues in the composition of the songs, but the making of the record was pretty joyous. Actually, the writing was, too, because it’s always a cathartic experience.

So I can’t really say that I went into the writing of the songs in a tortured place and came out with all the answers. The songs were just a way for me to speak about that stuff, to process it in a way that made me feel like I was evolving emotionally. Not that I was solving my problems, but I was at least beginning to understand what they were. We don’t find an answer in an instant, but we can identify the issue and over time find ways to address it.

To what degree can you talk about the events that informed this album?

It’s a tricky question, because it was something that was part of the fabric of my life for the last year or two. It’s something that comes up in the one-sheet because every record has to have a story, but then when it comes time to talk about it, it’s tough. You never know how much you want to reveal, you know what I mean? I’m a pretty open person but there’s this curtain between all of the stuff that I make public and all the stuff that I keep private.

So I’ll just say that I had some personal problems with someone that I worked very closely with. It felt like over the years they had become an emotionally abusive person. I couldn’t even put a name to the things I was feeling because of that relationship. I thought I had lost my way a little bit. Over time I came to understand what was going on and was able to extricate myself from that relationship. That was important. And then to have all that against the backdrop of the way our country feels right now… it was a lot. I’m a sensitive guy, I guess.

That definitely seems like something that informs these songs, but it’s not a political record. It’s more about living at a certain time when these things are encroaching on your mental health.

And I want to be clear: I’m one of the fortunate ones. I’m a white man in this country. I’m living on Easy Street compared to people of color, queer people, women. But that was a question that came up on the last record, Hallelujah Anyhow. That wasn’t really a political record either, unless you realize that everything is political. The personal is political; the emotional is political. But that record and the new one were made a different times, so the relationship to hope is different.

That’s something I picked up on: this sense of optimism as well as something like joy. That’s not necessarily a word that I associate with this time in history, but it comes through on a lot of these songs.

On Hallelujah Anyhow joy and hope seemed like these bright, sharp things, a nice glinting in the sunlight. They could cut through just about anything. But they work differently on this record, I think, because you realize that we have to work at them every day. If we don’t, they’ll become dull and unwieldy.

And hope and joy are things that I have to work at. Some of these songs are reminders to myself to work at these things that bring me hope and joy. You have to keep that bright thing sharp. It’s like marriage: If you stay in a marriage long enough, you realize that it takes a lot of hard work to keep it going. I’m pretty sure that that’s the way forward for me if I want to survive.

Is it difficult to get into that mindset when you’re writing, to remind yourself of these larger goals?

There are days when I wake up and think, I don’t want to make this music anymore. I don’t want to make any music anymore. This isn’t something that’s making me happy anymore. There’s too much competition, too much saber-rattling, which is all so superfluous to what we all actually do. I guess I’m interested in people who have been making music for a long time, because I want to be in this for the long haul. How does their language change over time? How do they adapt to survive in the world?

You mentioned that you wrote these songs as reminders to yourself. Does that change how you relate to them on the road, when you have to perform them night after night?

That’s why I try to approach records as snapshots. I know the songs are going to change every night, because of the emotional content in them. That changes the phrasing of how I sing certain things. Part of that comes from my emotional understanding of the songs, you know? The other part of that is that my favorite songs are the one I write without totally understanding. Usually I’m not very satisfied with them when I get them down on paper, but eventually I realize that if I live with that dissatisfaction, it’ll becomes something different.

It’s like there’s a hand that is guiding this stuff. It’s not God-like; it’s more an unconscious feeling that it’s okay to feel that way. It’s OK to feel like, “OK, this is as good as I can do right now. I don’t have the time or the emotional capacity right now to make this any better.” And then you just leave it. It’s like planting a seed. It grows even though the words on the page don’t change.

Is there a particular song in your catalog that changed or grown like that?

I would say most of the songs that are in live rotation remain in the set list because there is that element of discovery from day to day or week to week. “Blue Country Mystic” [from 2012’s Poor Moon] is a good one. And there’s one on the new record called “Down at the Uptown,” which is about this dive bar where we all used to hang out in the Mission District in San Francisco. This was many years ago, late ‘90s. It was a formative place for many of us.

I knew that I wanted to write about that time in my life, and I did the best I could. But it felt clunky. I thought, I’m just going to leave these words here and hope that if something better does come along, it’ll be better than what’s on the page now. But the process of singing it in rehearsals has made me realize that no, this is really good. Not a great song, but for me it’s good. It does the thing that I needed it to do.

That one did stand out because it seemed like a very specific reference to a very specific place. I thought it might be in North Carolina, but I was on the wrong side of the country.

I don’t even know if the Uptown is still there. When my friends and I moved to San Francisco in the late ‘90s, we found this bar on the corner of 17th and Capp in the Mission District. It was pretty scuzzy, you know. But the Uptown was this little hidden waystation where all of us learned to drink. There were a lot of promises made at that place, some of which we kept and some of which we didn’t. It was a clubhouse. And the jukebox was very educational. Lots of stuff on there was way above my pay grade. That’s where I heard Patti Smith’s “Horses” for the first time. I’d be lying if I said I loved it immediately. But all of my favorite music is not something that’s immediate.

I was an adult, but I was still a child in a lot of ways. I was out of the punk rock phase of my life — at least musically, not spiritually. I wanted more, but I didn’t know how to do it. It was a time when I was discovering all of the music that has continued to inform my life. So Patti Smith, but also the Silver Jews, Johnny Paycheck, Merle Haggard. All of that stuff was coming into my life at that time, and it was overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

That discovery of oneself is thrilling. It’s exhilarating to find a formative record one day and the very next day it’s another record that brings a similar emotional resonance. It happens less now because I’ve heard more. But every time I have that feeling, it’s wonderful.

That gets at something I’ve been thinking about regarding Hiss Golden Messenger. You’ve got eight albums in ten years, which is very prolific. How do you manage to keep things fresh for yourself?

Just trying to remember why I started doing this in the first place is usually the best way. I try to make sure what I’m doing feels vulnerable and genuine. Whether or not it feels fresh to other people? I don’t know if that’s something that I necessarily feel I should concern myself with. I hope people continue to find things in my music that moves them, because I’m still discovering new things in the music.

Photo credit: Graham Tolbert

Despite Bleak Beginnings, Billy Strings Emerges as a Force in Bluegrass

Posted on by Editor

Get Billy Strings on the phone, and the interaction will probably seem as much like a musical recital as a verbal conversation. He’ll most likely have a guitar in his hands, noodling around on scales or snatches of songs, sometimes as conversational punctuation marks. But mostly, it sounds like he’s thinking out loud with the instrument.

It’s a good time for Strings right now, who earned IBMA Awards last week for New Artist of the Year and Guitar Player of the Year. His very fine second album, Home, is out on Rounder Records. Checking at 50-plus minutes, Home is a wide-ranging album that showcases his remarkable, classic-bluegrass voice and even more remarkable six-string wizardry, confirming his status as one of the top young guns in the field. The album has 14 songs, pretty much every one of them a journey.

We caught up with Strings shortly before he hit the road on what will be a full season of touring across the U.S. this fall.

BGS: Is there ever a day when you DON’T play music?

Strings: Not usually. I do try to play all the time. Sometimes when I’m on the road playing every night, onstage more than two hours, I might feel like I want a little break: “When I get home, I’m not even going to touch it for a couple of days.” Never happens. It only takes about a day to get the itch and feel like I need to practice.

What form does practice usually take?

A little of everything. That right there is just doing some scales all over the neck in different keys. Metronome practice is good and I have not done enough of that lately. That will really whip your ass into shape. Playing along with records, too, or playing fiddle tunes, playing through songs I know and love. Coming up, I did not have these rigid practice regimens. I just played music.

But recently I’ve started getting into it more. I was inspired by the Rocky movies: “Man, he works out for months, running up and down stairs and training so hard for just one gig!” Every night I get in the ring, but I never train, never hit the bag. I need someone like Mickey yelling at me, “C’mon, kid, lemme see that major scale again! Now slip the G run!”

I saw a quote about how you learned to play with bluegrass, but learned to perform when you were in a metal band. What did you take away from your time playing metal?

I grew up watching bluegrass bands in suits and hats, singing and playing into the mic and standing very still. When I was playing in a metal band, we were all over the stage running into each other, spitting and headbanging. I remember I would start a show by running from the back of the stage into the audience, and they’d push me back onstage.

It was just this crazy energy and that was my first performing experience onstage in front of people. I do think bluegrass is more about music, listening to the notes. The metal band, we’d jump around so much it was difficult to play the correct notes. The music may have suffered, but we tried to put on one helluva show and I still sort of bring a little of that.

Your new album is called Home. Is there any significance to that as a title?

I would say there’s a lot. That came from a poem I wrote titled “Home” and turned into a song that was kind of obvious as the opus of the album once we recorded all the songs — the just kind of wild song of the bunch. So I figured we’d name it after that. I’m 26 years old, this is my second album and I’m sort of settling into life as a young adult. Up to now, not knowing what was happening kind of kept me alive.

Now I’m starting to feel a little bit like a grown-up. Also, on the road, we’re always dreaming about getting home. What does it mean to you? Home is something different for everybody — a place, a state of mind, a drink, a meal. When I get home, my friend’s grandpa grows some real good weed outdoors in Michigan soil. Smoking that is home right there. Home sweet home.

“Away From the Mire” is the longest song on the album and it seems like the centerpiece, a real journey. Did you know it was going to go that far when you started recording it?

It was spontaneous. We were recording, working on that one a couple of days and trying to figure out what to do with it. It felt like it needed a big guitar solo because I’m a fan of that. It’s a classic thing that always happened with ‘70s rock and roll bands: great song, verse, chorus, bridge and EPIC solo before it’s over.

A lot of times, me and the band will get into these moments and “Mire” was one of those we sort of landed on where I took my guitar and they followed along. It was not composed at all, just a jam. It did not take too many times through to get it. We were oiled up, had been in the studio a few days, and didn’t have to spend too much time on any of the songs. That whole jam in the middle, it’s all live.

Doc Watson seems like an obvious influence on your playing. Did you ever meet him?

Unfortunately, I never got the chance to meet Doc. I worshiped the man, you know? I started listening to his records and watching VHS tapes when I was 5 or 6 years old. Doc left a huge impression because his music was so alive with such heart and soul. I took my dad to see Doc once, the only time either of us got to see him. It was the Midland Theatre in Newark, Ohio, six hours away, the closest he was coming to us. So I got tickets for my dad, my mom, me and my friend Benji, who drove us there in his truck.

Seeing him in-person was incredible. He played “Shady Grove” and “Way Downtown,” and my mom and my dad and me were all crying because we could not believe that really was Doc right there. I enjoyed the hell out of it. That was in 2010, Doc with David Holt and T. Michael Coleman, and he forgot a lyric here and there but still picked something great. I’ll never forget it as long as I live and I’m so glad I brought my parents.

Growing up listening to Doc was something special, and a mutual love for Doc is a connection I share with my dad. We bond over Doc’s music, play it together and I think we do it justice, a little. He knows so many old Doc songs, the deepest cuts. He’ll pull out one he’s not played in years and remember all the words. He embodies the soul Doc put out there. We really worship Doc around my house. He was, is and always will be the best.

Were there other influential elders?

When I was little, my mom and dad took me to a couple of bluegrass festivals. Larry Sparks and Ralph Stanley made a huge impression. Those guys would walk through a crowd like a hot knife through butter, in their big hats and suits with banjo cases. That was the first time I heard bluegrass on a PA, loud. I’d heard it around the campfire all my life. But hearing Larry Sparks’ band up there with the fiddle and banjo and guitar and harmonies, I knew then what I had to do. I’d already been messing around on guitar. Seeing those dudes, I knew it was serious.

Have you ever thought about what else you might do if not for music?

There was this picture I drew in kindergarten with a thing that said, “When I grow up I want to be a (blank).” I put “bluegrass player” and drew a picture of a guy with a banjo. So there it is. All I need now is the purple pants. I don’t know what else I’d do. I’m not a good mechanic or woodworker and I don’t like painting houses or carrying shingles up a ladder.

And I don’t like somebody wagging their finger in my face telling me what to do. I’m not good at dealing with authority figures. I’ve always had to do it my own way. I never thought music would even be possible as a career so I thought I’d always be a loser. But the last six or seven years have brought the incredible realization I can make it with music and not have to be a bum or drug addict.

Does that account for some of the heavy subjects on the record, like the song about drug overdoses (“Enough to Leave”)?

I always end up talking about this stuff, because it inspires a lot of my songwriting. When I reach down and look for what to write about, I always come up with things I’ve experienced in the past relating to substance abuse or loss or poverty. It’s sad how many people are struggling with all of that. I have a lot of friends who have gone in all sorts of directions, some good but some not. I’m lucky to have gotten out, and it haunts me. I still think about it a lot.

Maybe I’m looking in the rearview mirror too much when I should be looking out the windshield. But back there is what motivated me to get to where I’m at. It’s where I got my drive as a teenager, being around bums and meth-heads. I did not want to end up like that. It was either that, or keep running toward the light and working hard. I got a job in Traverse City, but I was playing gigs and realized, you can make a living that way even if you’re not a star. So that started to happen and I’ve been walking slowly upward ever since, reaching higher goals.

How much of a master plan do you have?

I know what I’m trying to go for, but at the same time I don’t. It’s a transparent vision where I know it’s something large and cool where I want to do good and be successful, but I don’t know what it looks like. I do feel like I’m moving toward dreams. More people are coming out to the shows, I’m able to explore more creatively and musically. That’s success and I feel good about it. I went from playing for tips to clubs and theaters, slowly working my way up. I remember renting minivans at Enterprise and having to sleep in parking lots because we could only afford one hotel room. I even got robbed once like that.

But I’ve always been willing to do whatever it takes to make the dream happen. If I have to stay up all night and drive 16 hours to play music, I’m willing to do it. The thing is, the more we grow as a band, we’re able to make those plans better so we don’t have to kill ourselves — play a few less gigs with a few less hours between them. It feels like it’s working, which I’m happy as hell about. I work hard but it’s so much fun it does not feel like work even though I’m physically exhausted. I’m sore and tired all the time but happy as shit, too. I’m lucky, man, really grateful.

Photo credit (live): Emily Butler; (portraits) Shane Timm

Gig Bag: Pieta Brown

Posted on by Editor

Welcome to Gig Bag, a BGS feature that peeks into the touring essentials of some of our favorite artists. This time around, Pieta Brown shows us what she’s gotta have on the road.

Queen of the road! This guitar goes to all the gigs! It arrived on my doorstep as a gift one day; it’s full of songs. I wish could have many lifetimes to play it.

This beautiful handmade slide is always in my bag. Another gift! Given to me by one of my all-time favorite slide players, Bo Ramsey. I love playing slide and this one works great for me with acoustic or electric guitars.

Another gift from a friend, and my favorite strap. Handmade by Calleen Cordero.

Gold and sparkly capo. And my lucky all-purpose bandanna. My dad always had bandannas around… and often wore them (and often still does!) so they make me think of him.

I always seem to have a few extras. This new penny whistle is gonna see some miles. Hair clip. Incense from my friend Kelly. A feather and a Love Rock (both found on walks) for good luck.

Photo of Pieta Brown: Hannah Ray

LISTEN: Rob Ickes & Trey Hensley, “Born With The Blues”

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Artist: Rob Ickes & Trey Hensley
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Born With The Blues”
Album: World Full of Blues
Release Date: October 4, 2019
Label: Compass Records

In Their Words: “This was a song that we wrote with a good friend of ours, Bobby Starnes, a few years ago and from the moment we finished it we just knew we had to record it on our next album. It always reminds me of a Clint Eastwood Western movie or something … and the percussion and horn section solidify that. This song has been a high point in our set list for a year or so now, as it always gives us some room to improvise and stretch out musically. That’s exactly how we recorded it also … totally live and totally ‘in the moment.’ We thought this was the perfect song to kick off our new album and we hope you all dig it!” — Rob & Trey

Photo credit: Stacie Huckeba

WATCH: Molly Tuttle Plays Clawhammer Guitar on ‘CBS This Morning’

Posted on by Editor

From Newport Folk Festival to network TV, it’s been a huge summer for Molly Tuttle. She’s blazed a trail through modern bluegrass, become one of the most prominent pickers around, and now she’s taking on roots music realms further and further from the string band territory in which she grew up. Feel the rhythm and energy in Tuttle’s national television debut performance  of “Take the Journey,” which showcases her unique frailing, “clawhammer guitar” technique, live from CBS This Morning‘s Saturday Sessions.

Photo credit: Courtesy of CBS

WATCH: Billy Strings, “Taking Water”

Posted on by Editor

Billy Strings is at it again! The Nashville musician is taking bluegrass to new heights with his ferocious flatpicking and classic writing style that connects traditional folk fans to modern roots music lovers. Here’s a sneak peek of his new album, Home. Check out the lyric video for “Taking Water.”

Photo credit: Shane Timm

WATCH: Molly Tuttle, “Light Came In (Power Went Out)”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Can you feel it now…? Flatpicking phenomenon and Americana-by-way-of-bluegrass singer/songwriter Molly Tuttle has released her second music video from her debut full-length album When You’re Ready. “Light Came In (Power Went Out)” was co-written with her longtime friend and collaborator Maya de Vitry, as well as When You’re Ready producer Ryan Hewitt and award-winning songwriter Stephony Smith.

The video, directed by Jason Lee Denton, was shot in a plant shop and greenhouse in Nashville, carrying forward the verdant, tropical theme of the record’s cover art with added pops of light and electricity. “I thought that it would be nice to have the visuals almost be an extension of my album artwork, which also had foliage in the background and kind of a golden glow to it,” Tuttle explains. “That gave the video team the idea to look for a plant store or greenhouse that we could shoot in. Mackenzie [Moore] (art direction) and Aliegh [Shields] (producer) thought of crafting a glitter backdrop, and everyone just kind of worked together to make all the rest fall into place.”

After having spent the majority of her life as a performer, Tuttle finds it particularly gratifying to see her musical visions come to life on screen. “I am a very visual person so seeing how the glow of the lights and the lush backdrops add depth to the song is super rewarding. Getting to create in this way is why I love what I do – it was just a very fun evening spent filming in a cute plant store…”

And if you wondered – yes, Tuttle is a fan of the current houseplant craze that has struck many a millennial home and Instagram account. “I love having plants in my house so much!!!” She admits, “It lifts my mood to have greenery around. I just can’t keep any of them alive because I’m constantly away on tour… This video is what I wished the inside of my house looked like, basically, but in reality I just have a few unhappy succulents.”

Watch “Power Came In (Light Went Out)” right here, on BGS.

Photo courtesy Compass Records