Tag: guitarist

Righteous Babes All Around: Joy Clark in Conversation with Ani DiFranco

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Joy Clark and Ani DiFranco connected over something unexpected: a Christmas song. Slated to perform at the same benefit show in 2022, the two singer-songwriter-guitarists were grouped to take the stage together and needed a holiday tune, ideally an original one. Clark’s “Gumbo Christmas” made it to DiFranco before the show, and the legendary artist and founder of Righteous Babe Records heard a hit. Once the pair synced up, they felt an instant musical kinship, and it wouldn’t be long before DiFranco signed Clark to her label.

Last October, Clark released her critically acclaimed debut album, Tell It to the Wind. Informed by her experience as a side player and imbued with a deep reverence for her craft as a solo artist, the record was one of 2024’s finest releases, announcing Clark as an artist with a keen sense of who she is and what she wants to create. The album sonically pulls from Clark’s roots as a Louisiana native and thematically from her experiences as a Black and queer woman making her way through the world. Highlights include “Lesson,” a bluesy, groovy reminder to keep your head up in the face of struggle, and the record’s vulnerable closing title track.

Before the holiday break, BGS caught up with DiFranco and Clark over Zoom to chat about Clark’s signing to Righteous Babe, her album Tell It to the Wind, and what she and DiFranco admire most in one another – as they prepare to hit the road together on tour next month.

Let’s start by having you share how you met and what drew you to one another.

Joy Clark: Well, it started with a Christmas song. It was 2022, and we were both on a Christmas show. There was a big lineup, with Big Freedia, John Goodman, and a lot of other people. So, they tried to group the performers together and I got grouped with Ani and Dayna Kurtz, and I happen to have a Christmas song called “Gumbo Christmas.” My agent contacted me and said, “Hey, can you make a recording of your song and send it to Ani?” He sent it to Ani and I heard back that it was a hit. She liked the song. So, they grouped us together and we performed it.

Ani DiFranco: It’s a total hit, this song. I mean, I don’t understand why people are not holding hands all over America singing this song right now.

JC: I wrote about my grandmother making gumbo every Christmas, it got to Ani, and I think that’s how I got on the radar.

AD: From my perspective, I’m asked to do a benefit and it’s just tons of New Orleans usual suspects involved, like she said. Then, I found out a little later everybody had to play Christmas songs for this thing. I was thinking I’d just show up and play a song or two of my own. I’m like, “Oh, man, Christmas. What the hell?” So, I’m combing through Christmas songs, and I’m like, “I don’t know.” And then I thought, “Oh, I’ll just write one. I’ll write a Christmas song.” I pounded my head against that wall for a few days and discovered that it’s harder than you think to write a Christmas song that anybody ever wants to hear.

Finally, somebody rescued me by saying, “Well, you know, Joy’s got a Christmas song. Maybe you could sing with Joy Clark.” And in comes this little video of Joy singing. I was like, “Oh, my God, that’s the best. That’s the best.” Now I know how hard it is to write a Christmas song, so my respect for this woman is already right up here for making this sweet, soulful Christmas song. And then [Joy] came and recorded it.

You don’t hear many artists getting signed off a Christmas song or even having that be their entry point to meeting their eventual label. That’s a great story.

AD: It was also just hooking up, you know, in person, doing a little rehearsal at Joy’s house, and then going and doing the gig. We got to hang out. It’s not just like I heard the song somewhere. I got to see firsthand that Joy can play and sing her ass off and was an artist in the world doing her thing. I always say that we’re not really a label with tons of resources that can create something out of nothing, or market somebody into existence or something. But what we can do is support working artists and try to get behind them and help facilitate what they’re already doing.

JC: I think that’s the cool part, because I’ve been a working musician for a long time. And not just being Joy Clark, just writing my songs and performing – I played in a lot of different bands, playing guitar, singing harmony. … I’ve really just been working, been doing the thing. I played as a side person for a long time, which is how you learn. That’s how you learn to just be a musician. I feel like that’s been a gift for me. So, now to be able to just to step out up front and write and put out music, I feel pretty lucky. But it also feels really right.

It sounds like you came into the picture with a fully realized sense of who you are and the kind of music you make and what you want to do. And it sounds like the label is a great home for artists like that, who already have strong senses of self and don’t necessarily need, like you mentioned, Ani, a lot of development and marketing.

AD: Certainly at Righteous Babe, you’re not going to have some pencil pusher telling you what you should do with your songs. The thing about an artist-run label is the artist has to follow their heart. That much is clear at Righteous Babe.

Joy, I’m going back to what you were saying a moment ago about being a side player and the opportunities that provides – or sometimes forces – for you to adapt and learn and be able to do things on the fly. How do you feel that those experiences have shaped your solo work?

JC: There’s pressure in it, but then there’s not really pressure, too, because it’s not about me. I think it allows me to just be and not think about, “What do I look like?” or “How do I feel about this certain thing?” It’s giving somebody else space to do their thing. And that gave me a lot of confidence, actually. It gave me a lot of freedom. … I think that helped me step into my work, because when you do need people, when you do need support, you get both sides of it. I think it’s made me more compassionate. I hope I’m not an ass. I don’t think I’m an asshole. [Laughs] I understand what it is to support somebody’s work.

AD: I can really relate, too. I remember the first time I worked on somebody else’s record that wasn’t my shit, and I was like, “Whoa. This is all the fun of making music without the crushing emotional baggage of exposing your guts and putting yourself up for judgment.” So, I completely hear what you’re saying about how it’s a different experience to make music when you’re not on the hot seat, when it’s not you being judged. I love working on other people’s music for exactly that reason. It’s so freeing emotionally. … And now we’re about to go out to make some live music together. That will be fun times.

I wanted to ask about that. As you get ready to hit the road together, is there anything you can share about your plans, or what you’re looking forward to, in particular, about getting to share a bill with one another?

AD: Another thing that is always in the back of my mind with Righteous Babe, if we’re considering releasing a record, is whether this is an artist we could have the means to help. Somebody came to us with a very different genre of music recently and it was a super cool record, but I just thought, “I don’t know how to get to the right audience and get this project where it needs to go.” But from the minute I met Joy and saw her play and interact with an audience, I thought to myself, “My audience will love this person.” So, that’s always in the back of my mind, like, if we put out a record on Righteous Babe, could we do shows together? That’s a really easy way for me to assemble a bunch of people and then point, “Look at her. Check this out.” I just know that they’ll eat you up, Joy. And I haven’t told you yet, but I was hoping to ask you if we could play a song or two together.

JC: Of course! Just let me know what you want. I’ve already been listening. You know it.

AD: I’ll text them to you.

JC: One thing I’m looking forward to is being on a bus. My dates have been fly, pick up a car, then drive, you know? And it’s not like I have a right hand. It’s me and my guitar, driving. When I’m driving, I can’t do anything.

AD: And it’s exhausting. Most of your energy is zapped when you get to the gig.

JC: Yeah, it’s like, “Can I just sit in the green room? Can I just recover from that?” I’m looking forward to having that tour experience of being on a bus and chatting it up and maybe even writing. We’ll see if I can actually write on the road.

AD: Yeah, you need a certain amount of space just to do that, like your own dressing room and your own hotel room. It’s so hard when you’re just out there driving around, doing all the things. Funnily enough, Joy and I were just at another benefit the other night, both playing a tribute to Irma Thomas, singing Irma Thomas songs and benefiting the New Orleans Musicians’ Clinic. We were joking and I was like, “You got to be careful because once you get on that bus, it’s so hard to get off.”

JC: I can feel that coming. I’m looking forward, too, because I’ve really only seen Ani perform once, at French Quarter Fest in 2023. Now, I get to check out the show night after night.

Ani, you mentioned a moment ago that feeling of knowing that your audience will love Joy’s music. I see a lot of connection points in what both of you do. There’s a lot of vulnerability there, for one – I think you described it as “exposing your guts” earlier, Ani, and that feels true for both of you, at least from my perspective as a listener. What points of connection do you see in one another’s music?

JC: I think Ani is a badass guitarist. I respect that, because it takes a lot to be able to play with the band and then to just be a person on stage with a guitar. I think I really connect with that fingerstyle picking. I prefer fingerstyle because it gives you a lot of different textures and it gives you different choices. Instead of strum – a strum is great, it’s just when you can pick, there are these other things happening. These little flavors and lines that I connect with, because that’s the type of player I am. I don’t have the picks on my fingers, it’s just my fingers. But I think that’s how I connect [to the instrument].

AD: Ditto for me. Keep those naked fingers, because it sounds so much better. I put on these plastic nails, but that’s just because I get so violent with my guitar and I bloody myself if I don’t have them. But the sound is so, so great with the real finger and the real nail. I’m really more of a rhythm player, and I just sort of play by ear, but you can play solos. You know what key we’re in and what the notes are supposed to go with that – all the things that I don’t actually freaking know. [Laughs]

I’m just super impressed with anybody who can legitimately play guitar like you do. There’s knowing how to play or knowing how to sing or this or that, and then there’s knowing how to stand there alone on stage and hold an audience. And Joy can do that, too.

I’m glad y’all brought up each other’s guitar playing, because there’s clearly so much passion and care there for both of you. And I don’t think we ask musicians about their instruments enough. People ask a lot of questions about songwriting and lyrics but not so much about, say, devising chord progressions. How does incorporating guitar into your songs work for each of you?

JC: It’s always different. When I write, there is no one way that it comes. But there is a feeling. There are colors that appear. Sometimes, there are sounds that come out. But one thing that I can say, for me, is that [writing] happens simultaneously with messing around on a guitar. I often sing as I play. I’m not usually writing. I do write, but the core of it is a feeling. If it’s something sentimental, then sentimental lines appear. Sometimes it happens if I’m driving, then I pick up my phone and I hum, and then when I pick up the guitar, I’m flowing. There’s an improvisation that happens and it’s a little bit mysterious. I don’t really understand it. It’s just mystery. But I love chords and I love to pick out cool shit. Then, I just put words to the thing that I’m picking.

AD: I can basically relate to everything you’re saying. Same for me. It’s different all the time. There’s no, like, set process, of course, and each song happens in a different way. But generally, it’s just being able to hang out with your instrument and just be with your guitar, hang out, and process your feelings with it. I miss that myself in life these days. I’m older and at a different point in my road than Joy. And I, many moments, wish I could put myself back where you are, Joy, just embarking on something and being really focused and having that guitar by your side all the time. Now, my kids are in the way most of the time, you know? [Laughs] … But that’s really what it is, having a relationship with the guitar that deepens and deepens. The understanding between you and this instrument deepens, and the guitar starts finishing your sentences.

JC: You can find some really pretty jewels in something that didn’t really feel good [while] writing it. But I want something to grow on me. Maybe it doesn’t fit so perfectly, but in time, “Oh, yeah, that does make sense.”

AD: I feel like that’s what you want for other people, too. It’s not necessarily to always be making songs that are instantly like, “Oh, Skittles! It’s sweet and fruity.” But, something that, maybe, on repeated listens, it takes its time to get under somebody’s skin. Then it really lives there. … What I’ve learned over many years and many albums and hundreds of songs is that, even after you get back to your disillusionment or you sour on something that’s not new anymore, you just have to have faith that somebody out there in the world is still going to have that first experience that you had with it. Somebody is going to feel that way about it, even if it’s not you anymore.

That feels like a lovely place to wrap. Before we sign off, do you have any parting words for one another?

JC: I’m really freaking grateful. I’ve been doing my work and I feel pretty lucky that people want to hear what I have to say. And I feel really lucky to have an album out on Righteous Babe, on your label, Ani. I feel like it’s right. I just turned 40 a couple months ago, and I think it’s pretty fantastic to feel like I’ve just started.

AD: Well, I would say – in a way that’s not weird, in a way that [reflects] that we’re on the same level – that I’m proud of you. It makes me so happy to see you stepping into yourself and your music and stepping out there in the world. You’ve paid a lot of dues and you completely deserve this moment. I can’t wait to see what’s next.

Photo Credit: Joy Clark by Steve Rapport; Ani DiFranco by Shervin Lainez.

Open Mic: Charlie Peacock Pushes Through Chronic Pain on ‘EVERY KIND OF UH-OH’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

With a 40+ year career spanning virtually every aspect of the music business – from performing and songwriting to production, development and even education – Charlie Peacock has battled myriad creative challenges. A standout in the Contemporary Christian format who was also deeply involved in the Americana folk boom of the 2010s (he was even the driving force behind The Civil Wars’ mainstream emergence), no problem seemed too big to handle. But for his new album EVERY KIND OF UH-OH, Peacock had to overcome an obstacle unlike the rest: a rare, debilitating health condition.

Diagnosed with Dysautonomia and Central Sensitization, Peacock has essentially been experiencing a never-ending headache since 2017 – seven grueling years and counting. Needless to say, it has upended the GRAMMY winner’s life, and while some days are better than others, the chronic pain prevented him from music making all together– until a flash of writing in 2023, that is.

Featuring 10 all-new songs penned in a two-week flurry, EVERY KIND OF UH-OH finds Peacock getting back to work, but with fresh appreciation for life’s messy beauty. Co-produced with his son Sam Ashworth, a peaceful mix of dream-folk and gospel match a tender, feathery tenor, as Peacock explores against-the-odds optimism with spirituality, purpose, and humor. In the end, it feels like a veteran songsmith’s statement of revelation; and a set of life lessons delivered with knowledge, not judgement.

Still fighting symptoms on the morning after a party celebrating the album’s arrival, Peacock spoke with BGS about how his life transformed and how it forever changed the way he makes music. Peacock also plans to release his memoir, Roots & Rhythm: A Life in Music in February.

We’re really interested in the way things like creativity and mindfulness and health intersect, so I’m fascinated by your story. Can you just tell me how you’re feeling today – both in a micro sense and in terms of the bigger picture with everything you’ve been through?

Charlie Peacock: Well, just for the background, I have a neurological disorder called Central Sensitization, which is a pain management disorder between the brain and the central nervous system about how pain is managed. So, my brain got tricked into thinking I am in trouble, and it’s sending me pain signals. Basically in the same way that if I scratched my arm on something, that scratch pain is there to tell me, “Hey, there’s something wrong with your arm. You might want to take a look at it.” Well, the brain functions in that way for all our pain management throughout our entire body.

So mine, this disorder that I have is that everyday for almost eight years, I’ve had an intractable headache. I’ve had an eight-year headache basically, and it goes up and down in terms of intensity. Sometimes it’s “You’ve got to go to the hospital” intensity. And most of the time it’s just sort of like a three or a four [on a scale of one to 10]. And I’ve learned to function through various methodologies and mindfulness and various kinds of treatments that I’ve done.

I imagine on top of the physical side of things, it has impacted your creativity. How did this change the way you look at making music?

Well, it got me back in some ways. It got me out of the music business and back into music making.

Really? How so?

At the point when I got sick, I was just turning 60 years old. So I was a 60-year-old man who’d been in the music business for 42 years, who was in writing rooms with 20-somethings. And even though part of my whole thing as a songwriter and a producer is that I’ve stayed relatively current, you’re still a person of your time and your generation. It’s like, could I make a trap song? Absolutely. But will I make one that is convincing to people who listen to trap? Maybe not. …

I was functioning more as the older, experienced sage that comes in and cleans up people’s songs. And so what the illness did was it put me back in that more childlike place of working on my own music and experiencing just the joy of creating, rather than coming in as the expert who’s going to be the song doctor or the producer who’s going to give that artist that extra 23% that makes them commercially viable or something like that. So that has been a real joy. And then of course, as I’ve said many times, it’s like you take care of the music and it takes care of you. That’s been the case just in terms of imagination and creativity during this illness, where it’s been a part of my medicine for sure.

Here we are eight years after the illness started and you’ve got a new record. What changed to bring this music out?

Well, [before] this illness period I had gone to Lipscomb University and created their commercial music program, and then became the head of the School of Music for a year. And it was during that time that I got sick. I was already kind of moving out of the producer-for-hire model and kind of had this education piece that was on my bucket list. So I had gone and done that and then I was just here working, making a lot of music, doing a lot of writing, working on a family, a screenplay for a family story from the 1800s, just doing a bunch of different creative things. …

[After the illness], I just had a willingness to say, “If my music career is over at this point, then I will have been really grateful.” And this memoir is kind the period on the end of the sentence. Then all of a sudden it was like I woke up one morning like “Is that an idea for a song?” It was brewing. So I started working on it and then a few more. And then I asked my son, “Hey, you want to help me finish this song?” I go out to his house and we hang and work on this song. We’re both super excited about it. And then he finally, after hearing more of the music, he was like, “Dad, you got to promise me you’ll take this seriously. Don’t just tell everybody, ‘Hey, I have a new record out on Friday and buy a couple ads on Facebook and call it a day.’ I think you need to actually do an old school release and get a distributor and have them set the record up.”

I said, “I don’t know if I have the energy for that.” But [Sam] said, “Well, I’ll help you.” And so he did help me. Really, the whole family has been a huge help. Sam came alongside me and he co-produced the record and we co-wrote three songs on it. And literally, it’s a 10-song album. Within 14 days. I had all 10 songs written. And it was just one of those times where it was just time to do that. I didn’t know it was, but it was.

Fortunately, I also had some pretty good windows of health that I could [record]. I had some days when I tried to sing where it’s just like, “Man, it’s just not happening.” But I’d wait a few days and get rested up again and go up to the studio and sing, and it would still be there. I was actually surprised myself, some of the range that I was able to sing at still.

Have the songs taken on a new shape for you or a new dimension, topic-wise and thematically?

Well, my great-grandfather was a fiddler in Louisiana and my grandfather from Oklahoma loved to sing all the Okie songs of the era. And I thought, let me just lean into that a little bit. So I would say this record is a little taste of that, especially the instrumentation is pretty much still the same in terms of rootsy guitars and just simple drums and bass and fiddle and pedal steel. And the only difference between this record is I really leaned into the gospel vocal sound. A lot of my friends that have been dominant in Black gospel music. And so that’s a difference. Narrative-wise, I was really trying to do this kind of literary thing that was a mix of plain-speak American roots, with these literary elements, and then also take a spiritual element, but not make it religious, and try to create a narrative that was uniquely American. I think in its influence, it’s almost like reading some of the classic American novelists.

There’s a wonderful mix of storytelling and deeper spirituality, for sure. Thank you, Charlie. I’ll just leave you with the big picture. What do you hope people take away from this record?

I think for me, even listening to the songs and seeing the reaction from folks, what they said afterwards is, “This is a world that I want to enter into. There’s something about what you’re creating on this record, this musical world, and this invitation to come on in that feels really safe and that I will belong here and I’ll be well loved, cared for, not judged – allowed to just be myself.”

And I think that’s what we want. I mean, I think that’s what makes our heart beat, is that we just want to be known totally. We want to be known like the intricacies of our personalities. We don’t want to be known superficially. And I hope there’s something about this music that sends that signal that, yeah, I do too. Come on in and listen and see if you find some of that here.

Photo Credit: Jeremy Cowart

The Travis Book Happy Hour: Trey Hensley

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Trey Hensley is simply the most ferocious acoustic guitar player I’ve ever encountered. His attack and control of the guitar is unrivaled and left me in awe. He is, however, also just about as kind and as humble as an East Tennessee man can be. I had a great time playing music with and getting to know more about this musical titan and I’m really happy to make this podcast available.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • STITCHER • AMAZON • MP3

This episode was recorded live at 185 King Street in Brevard, North Carolina on November 14, 2023.

Timestamps:

0:06 – Soundbyte
0:21 – Introduction
1:25 – Show introduction by Bill K.
2:14 – “Can’t Outrun the Blues”
6:00 – “Can’t Judge a Book”
9:48 – “Brown Eyed Women”
13:40 – Story about “Brown Eyed Women”
15:20 – “Backstreets Off Broadway”
18:15 – Interview w/ Trey
48:40 – “Hold Whatcha Got”
51:30 – “Mama Tried”
53:50 – Outro

Editor’s Note: The Travis Book Happy Hour is hosted by Travis Book of the GRAMMY Award-winning band, The Infamous Stringdusters. The show’s focus is musical collaboration and conversation around matters of being. The podcast includes highlights from Travis’s interviews and music from each live show recorded in Asheville and Brevard, North Carolina.

The Travis Book Happy Hour is brought to you by Thompson Guitars and is presented by Americana Vibes and The Bluegrass Situation as part of the BGS Podcast Network. You can find the Travis Book Happy Hour on Instagram and Facebook and online at thetravisbookhappyhour.com.

Photo Credit: Jeff Fasano

John Smith Explores Life’s Beauty in Tragedy with ‘The Living Kind’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

His name might be a little … beige? But those who know John Smith have long loved the vibrant colors of this gifted guitarist and singer-songwriter’s creative palate – especially the serene sophistication at its core. A unique form of meditative propulsion has endeared Smith to heavyweight collaborators like 3-time Grammy winner Joe Henry and his own fans alike, but with his new album, The Living Kind, Smith paints with a new shade of calm, confident, consciousnesses.

Produced by Henry and driven by Smith’s steamroller of a right hand, The Living Kind seems to have a gravity of its own making – a contemporary folk album that is both spartan and lush, modern and timeless, desolate and dense with the movement of life.

Perhaps that’s due to the subject matter, since it was written as Smith grappled with a season of change and an Alzheimer’s diagnosis that impacted not just his father, but the whole family. Or maybe it came down to the recording style, which found the UK native escaping to Maine with a few vintage guitars in the dead of winter, finding new courage in Henry’s home studio. But no matter the reason, the result is a work of deep reflection – and ultimately deep revelation.

Just after The Living Kind’s release, BGS spoke with Smith about the mix of experiences that led to his cathartic new album, a project that helps convey the beautiful tragedy of living itself.

Thank you for making some time for us to connect, John. To start, I just wonder how you’re feeling about the act of making music these days?

John Smith: I mean, I love music. Music is the good bit. I feel like music is the bit I do for free. The music business itself is tough. It’s in a strange place at the moment and everyone I know is working five times harder for half the money. So I feel that going on tour and playing shows cannot be taken for granted, especially since that moment where it all shut down. It feels like a real privilege to be able to go and do live shows. To make this record with my favorite producer was just a dream come true. The whole thing feels completely satisfying and good to me.

Tell me a little about where these songs came from. I understand they came in sort of a creative burst and you had a lot of tumultuous things going on in life at the time before that. Did this music have an impact on you personally – were you using it to process?

I think the album before [2021’s The Fray] was all about that. It was me writing so I didn’t lose my mind. This album feels more about moving through turmoil and looking behind you, looking at the rear view mirror and seeing a part of your life fade into the distance and recognizing it and keeping your eye on the road ahead. I wrote this as I was emerging from a time of tremendous – well, yeah, I say turmoil again, and the songs came very quickly. Once Joe and I had decided to make a record together, I wrote the songs over the course of the winter of 2022 into ‘23, wrote most of the record in about six weeks.

That’s crazy.

I think the thing is, when you’re writing and you put up your aerial, sometimes you catch a good frequency, you get lucky, and you catch something that falls into your lap.

I noticed that you described this project as an actual song cycle, which is not always so common anymore. What’s the story you feel these songs are really taking people through?

Actually, I think that was a journalist who said that, and it kind of hit me that it was not entirely untrue. The album moves through a series of different moods. It starts in a place of despair with “Candle” – a song about Alzheimer’s and looking after someone and feeling burned out. And it ends with this song “Lily,” which is a kind of evergreen love song about hope and being able to get through something, because you’ve got someone to do it with. And I think the album takes you through various situations of grief and longing and love and hope, and then it ends in a very hopeful place.

You mentioned earlier, “Watching the person you were get left behind.” I mean, is that a scary feeling at this point in life?

Yeah, I think I never seem to have any say in it. Things happen and I move around them. What I’m learning as I get older is just to be more malleable, be more subtle. There’s a line in “The World Turns:” “We’ll be stronger if we soften and yield,” and that’s kind of what I learned over the course of the last five years. I was always someone who would attempt to resist the flow, but I’ve learned that just jumping in and seeing if you don’t drown is probably the best way.

I did want to ask you where your sound is landing on this record. It’s got this very peaceful, but sort of propulsive feeling and it puts me in a good place. I like it a lot. I wonder, does that energy show up in your daily life, or were you sort of getting out of yourself to find this mix of calming but also pushing forward?

That’s a really good question. It’s almost as if you’ve done this before. [Laughs] That’s really good, man. I never thought of that. …

Well, I’m a calm person, but I’m always moving. I’m always thinking of the next thing and always planning and always on it, but I’m generally very calm, and maybe that’s a reflection of me. When I went in, I wanted to record something that sounded like me, but also sounded idiosyncratic to this one recording process.

Most of these songs are driven by the right hand. It’s that propulsive groovy right-hand thing that I do, and I’ve been working on my whole life, really. That is at the center of the mix, and Joe wanted to frame that, then just have other actors walk out onto the stage, do their bit, and then walk off. We wanted to put that front-and-center instead of me being part of the ensemble.

Do you think that’s maybe part of why this one was so satisfying feeling?

I think so. I think that’s largely down to Joe and his recording process. He just put a mic up and asks you to play a song. This felt like the record I’ve been trying to make my whole career, just sometimes you need a beautifully gifted Grammy-winning producer to help you get there.

Fortunately, I’ve played on lots of Joe’s records. I’ve played on four or five of his solo records and a bunch of his productions, so I’m used to that way of working – and as soon as I saw him do it the first time like 13 years ago, I just said, “Right, that’s how I want to record.”

He’s always been very encouraging of me, and tried to get me to do my thing without inhibition. And there was a moment when I was singing the song “Silver Mine.” He looked over and he just kind of winked at me and said, “You’ve done it now, son. You’ve done it.” And it was like, “Yeah, I have actually done it. I’ve managed to sing without inhibition on a record,” which I don’t think I’d ever really done before.

How did the setting of Maine – in the winter – impact what you made?

Well, the idea for the album was born there a year previous. I was on tour in New England in February ’22 and then Joe and I wrote this song early after dinner, went upstairs, made a demo, and then Joe just said to me, “There’s no reason why we shouldn’t make a record here in this house.” And so a year later, I was back there and it was the same icy, snowy, frozen situation from the last February, and I’d had it in mind the whole time I was writing. … I always had those frozen finger lakes where he lives in mind.

So, when I went back, it was exactly as I’d remembered it. The songs suited the place, they suited the setting and the weather, and then it happened. On the second day, the temperature plummeted to -25º Celsius. So we just stayed in, man. We stayed in the house. We looked out the window and we cut the record in four days. It brings a closeness that you can’t manufacture. You can hear that on the record.

Tell me about where “Candle” came from. This is the track that starts the record off, and I know it’s kind of a heavy topic, right?

It is a bit heavy. It’s a song about admitting that something is very wrong and that you have to deal with it, and you have to try not to burn out. In this case, my father suffers from Alzheimer’s. We chose to completely change our lives to move around him and his condition and look after him, and it’s a song about that. I felt there was no point in dressing it up and trying to speak of it in broader strokes, because I know a lot of folk whose parents are suffering dementia of some kind. So I just decided, let’s be straight up about it.

Obviously, the visual metaphor is a candle burning out. You, as a carer, will burn out. But actually, I think really the song is about putting your hands around the candle and trying to just stay warm, enjoy that light as long as you can. The relationship with somebody who has Alzheimer’s just changes every day.

You chose “The Living Kind” as the title track. Why did you feel that was the best way to describe the record?

I don’t know, actually. It’s a bit of an anomaly because it’s such an upbeat song. The record isn’t all that upbeat. … I guess I thought “The Living Kind” sums it up. Rather than becoming complacent in the face of great difficulty or becoming stunned into inaction, it’s about getting on with it and trying to live life as best you can. I think that is what a lot of the record is about.

What do you hope people take away from this?

I just hope it makes listeners feel good. I think at the end of the day, that’s all I can hope for. I believe Bob Dylan when he said that once you release music, it is not your business what people think of it. I hope it makes ‘em feel good.

Photo Credit: Phil Fisk

The Travis Book Happy Hour: Jordan Tice

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

The night Jordan Tice joined me in Brevard for the taping of this episode it was cold, wet, and dark – classic Western North Carolina in late January. We had the garage door behind the stage closed and the lights low. Jordan’s guitar playing, soft-spoken demeanor, and humor made for a wonderfully intimate and enjoyable evening for everyone in the room. Jordan’s a gem and this episode feels like an evening by the fire with a good book, dog curled up at your feet.

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This episode was recorded live at 185 King St. in Brevard, North Carolina on January 31st, 2023. Huge thanks to Jordan Tice.

Timestamps:

0:07 – Soundbyte
0:33 – Introduction
1:48 – Bill K Introduction
2:48 – “Tell Me Mama”
6:07 – “Covers are nice…”
6:24 – “Dayton, Ohio – 1903”
10:30 – “Bachelorette Party”
12:30 – “Why did you name it that?”
13:40 – “Weary Blues”
17:51 – “Matter Of Time”
21:21 – “Bad Little Idea”
25:40 – Interview
43:02 – “Trying To Get To Heaven”
48:33 – “Wild Bill Jones”
52:30 – Outro

Editor’s note: The Travis Book Happy Hour is hosted by Travis Book of the GRAMMY Award-winning band, The Infamous Stringdusters. The show’s focus is musical collaboration and conversation around matters of being. The podcast is the best of the interview and music from the live show recorded in Asheville and Brevard, North Carolina.

The Travis Book Happy Hour Podcast is brought to you by Thompson Guitars and is presented by Americana Vibes and The Bluegrass Situation as part of the BGS Podcast Network. You can find the Travis Book Happy Hour on Instagram and Facebook and online at thetravisbookhappyhour.com.

Photo Credit: Kaitlyn Raitz

Doc Watson’s Musical Legacy Still Inspires

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Doc Watson has been gone for more than a decade, and yet his music and legacy remain more alive and relevant than ever. And thanks to the ongoing MerleFest, which brings a wide-ranging cast from the Americana world to Doc’s North Carolina stomping grounds every April, that’s not going to change anytime soon. We consider the enduring impact of Doc through conversations with some of those who bear his stamp, including Gillian Welch and Jerry Douglas, in this special episode of Carolina Calling.

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Subscribe to Carolina Calling on any and all podcast platforms to follow along as we journey across the Old North State, visiting towns like Durham, Asheville, Shelby, Greensboro, and more.

Music featured in this episode:

Doc Watson – “Sittin’ on Top of the World”
Doc & Merle Watson – “Jimmy’s Texas Blues”
Gillian Welch – “Everything Is Free”
Andrew Marlin – “Erie Fidler”
Doc Watson – “Tom Dooley”
Doc & Merle Watson – “Sheeps In The Meadow / Stoney Fork”
Doc & Merle Watson – “Poor Boy Blues”
Doc Watson – “And Am I Born to Die”
Doc Watson – “My Home’s Across the Blue Ridge Mountains”
Jerry Douglas – “A New Day Medley”
Doc Watson – “The Last Thing On My Mind”

Photo of Doc Watson courtesy of MerleFest

The Travis Book Happy Hour: Andy Falco (Infamous Stringdusters)

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Full disclosure; I’ve played music and stood closer to Andy Falco onstage more than anyone over the last 15 years, maybe ever. As the guitarist for our band The Infamous Stringdusters, he continues to redefine acoustic guitar, blending bluegrass, blues, funk, and rock & roll in a style that defines the sound of the Dusters. His guitar is the most important part of the band. In 2021 he released a solo record, Will of the Way, and in 2023 we released the first volume of our tribute to Jerry Garcia on Americana Vibes. Kind, humorous, focused, and grateful, Andy Falco is a living legend and an absolute treasure.

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This episode was recorded live at The Grey Eagle in Asheville, North Carolina, on August 25, 2021. Huge thanks to Andy Falco.

Timestamps:

0:06 – Soundbyte
0:40 – Introduction
1:56 – “The Thrill Is Gone” / Bill Introduction
3:14 – “Rise Sun”
6:41 – “All the Same”
13:16 – Interview
35:36 – “Holy Rover”
40:24 – “Wings Upon Your Feet”
44:18 – Interview
53:10 – “Birdsong”
1:03:32 – “Stones Unturned”
1:08:19 – Outro

Editor’s note: The Travis Book Happy Hour is hosted by Travis Book of the GRAMMY Award-winning band, The Infamous Stringdusters. The show’s focus is musical collaboration and conversation around matters of being. The podcast is the best of the interview and music from the live show recorded in Asheville and Brevard, North Carolina.

The Travis Book Happy Hour Podcast is brought to you by Thompson Guitars and is presented by Americana Vibes and The Bluegrass Situation as part of the BGS Podcast Network. You can find the Travis Book Happy Hour on Instagram and Facebook and online at thetravisbookhappyhour.com.

Photo Credit: George Trent Grogan

The Travis Book Happy Hour: Beppe Gambetta

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

When the opportunity to host Beppe Gambetta on the Happy Hour came up, I jumped on it. Beppe’s a legend and has a totally unique flatpicking voice. An ambassador for flatpicking around the world and for Italian music in the States, he’s also incredibly charming. Beppe’s a disciple of Doc Watson and this being the year Doc would have turned 100, we chose to present the music of Doc for this particular episode. I rank this among the best interviews I’ve ever conducted (due to Beppe) and after the show we all went to a friend’s house and he cooked us broccoli pasta, and we had a classic Italian midnight dinner party. Funny, kind, disarming, grateful, and driven; my musical world is much richer for the friendship I’ve forged with Beppe and his wife Frederica.

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This podcast is an edited distillation of the full-length happy hour which aired live on March 14, 2023. Huge thanks to Beppe Gambetta, Mike Guggino, and Bennett Sullivan.

Timestamps:

00:06 – Soundbyte
01:08 – Introduction
02:30 – Live introduction
05:30 – “Worried Now” > “Texas Gales” > “Beaumont Rag”
12:07 – Accordion joke
12:26 – “Deep River Blues”
17:05 – “Slow Creek”
22:19 – Happiness monologue
26:45 – “Talk About Suffering”
29:20 – Interview with Beppe Gambetta
51:52 – “I am a Pilgrim”
54:24 – “Tennessee Stud”
59:27 – “St. James Hospital”
1:05:44 – “Way Downtown’
1:11:42 – Outro

Editor’s note: The Travis Book Happy Hour is hosted by Travis Book of the GRAMMY Award-winning band, The Infamous Stringdusters. The show’s focus is musical collaboration and conversation around matters of being. The podcast is the best of the interview and music from the live show recorded in Brevard, North Carolina.

The Travis Book Happy Hour Podcast is brought to you by Thompson Guitars and is presented by Americana Vibes and The Bluegrass Situation as part of the BGS Podcast Network. You can find the Travis Book Happy Hour on Instagram and Facebook and online at thetravisbookhappyhour.com.

Photo Credit: Giovanna Cavallo

The ‘Anarchist Gospel,’ According to Sunny War

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Sunny War’s stunning new album, Anarchist Gospel, is never preachy, because it doesn’t need to be. War’s evocation of both anarchy and gospel in this context is strikingly grounded, blossoming from everyday understandings and interactions with each concept. And deeper still, in these sweeping, grand arrangements built on sturdy bones of fingerstyle, folk-informed right-hand guitar techniques, she indicates actions really do speak louder than words. 

These songs are active. Bold, resplendent, and broad with dense, fully-realized production leading to tender, contemplative, and microscopic moments, War draws from her lived experiences, her days and years navigating poverty, living unhoused, sheltering in abandoned buildings, relying on and offering mutual aid, to direct messages of hope, resilience, resistance, and joy, not just to us, her listeners, but also to herself. 

Perhaps that’s why, in this collection of songs born out of a harrowing and challenging emotional, spiritual, and mental period of Sunny War’s more recent past, there is so much hope in hopelessness, a constant – though sometimes minute – light shimmering at the end of the tunnel. Anarchist Gospel isn’t preaching at us, because she is compassionately, kindly, and tenderly talking to herself. And we all, as listeners, audience members, and fans, are just so fortunate enough to be brought into this internal dialogue, from which we can learn and challenge ourselves, and each other, to make a better world for everyone right now. 

It’s a record whose underpinning moral-to-the-story is never burdensome or heavy, but rather uplifting and soaring, exactly as an Anarchist Gospel ought to be. We began our Cover Story interview connecting with Sunny War at home in Chattanooga over the phone, discussing how anarchy is not simply an academic concept, but a real, everyday practice.

I know that in your life, anarchy isn’t just a concept, it has a very real, concrete application in your day-to-day. I think first of your work with Food Not Bombs and the mutual aid work you’ve done in Los Angeles – and wherever you’ve lived. A lot of people right now, especially in younger generations, have frames of reference for anarchy and collectivism and mutual aid work, but usually in the abstract. As if these concepts can only be for some imagined future. So why is anarchy something you wanted to represent in the album and its title, and what does the concept of anarchy mean in your life?

Sunny War: The album title isn’t really political, to me. I felt like the big choruses [on the album] felt gospel in a way, but it wasn’t religious so I felt like it was Anarchist Gospel. It was really because of the one song, “Whole,” where I just felt like the message of the song was kind of about anarchy, in a way that most people could understand. I guess I’m more of a socialist now, but it’s the same sentiment. I just want people to have what they need. That’s more what anarchy means to me. It seems like it’s government that’s in the way of people getting what they need. 

For me, it’s more personal. When I was homeless, a lot of times we would be living in abandoned buildings and we’d get arrested for that. Anarchy, to me, means, “Why can’t we be here? Nobody else is going to be in here. Why are you keeping us from this?” It feels weird that we don’t get to claim where we live, but other people do. Why do they have more rights to the same places? I don’t know if that’s anarchy, so much as I just think people have a right to everything. 

It feels like there’s this agnosticism to the album, this come-togetherness, as something we can all feel and inhabit without necessarily being called to by a higher power. We really can all realize, whatever our starting points, that all we have is each other.

I’m not against people that need God, or whatever. I’ve been in places where I’ve felt like I wanted to believe in that before, so I can relate to where that comes from. But then, I don’t know… [Laughs] Whether it’s religious or spiritual, I don’t know. 

This sounds like a record where we’re all supposed to be singing along. Part of that is the gospel tones, the title but also in the genre and production style, but part of it is also the messages here. Uplifting people from darkness, hope in hopelessness – so to me, so many moments on this album feel like church! 

I love church! I grew up in church – well, I don’t love church, but I love gospel. I still listen to gospel and I guess I’m being nostalgic, but also it just slaps. That’s just good music. If you like original R&B, it’s the basis of so much of American music. I wish it was a little more, I dunno… I guess I wish it wasn’t religious. [Laughs] Then I’d really be into it. But it’s cool how it is. 

In the moments in this record that feel like they’re at the lowest point, I still hear so much hope. I hear surrender in this album, not the kind that’s giving up, but the kind that feels generative and hopeful – especially in “I Got No Fight” and “Hopeless” and “Higher.”

This record was a lot of me talking to myself. It’s definitely the loneliest I’ve ever been writing something. Every other album I’ve ever made, I was in a relationship. This was different. After me and my ex broke up, I wasn’t even really socializing with my friends, because we had the same friends and I was embarrassed about our break up. I was so bitter, I didn’t want to be around anyone. I felt like I couldn’t be around anyone. I was barely leaving the house, I was isolating myself and got really morbid. I wasn’t turning lights on. [Laughs] I would sit in the dark a lot, I was lighting candles – [Laughing] I don’t really know what was going on, but it was mostly bad, I would drink a lot, and then I’d be like, “I’m drinking too much, I gotta get sober.” It would just repeat over and over again. But I was desperately trying to finish the album, because I was broke. I had the deal with New West, but I still had to produce the album before anything could get rolling. It was just what I had to do, but I was also going insane at the same time, and really angry. 

Do you feel like making the record brought closure to any of that for you? I feel like I can hear a release of tension in this album, but I wonder where that comes from, because so many of the songs, individually, have these big, emotional releases. How does it feel to be at this point, looking back with the clarity you have now?

The second I wrote “I Got No Fight” I remember immediately feeling better. I made the demo, and afterwards it made me feel like I was just having a tantrum. But it was like I had to make the song to really understand what I was going through. After making the demo, I realized, “I am just freaking out, I think I’m having a panic attack.” After hearing this song, it helped me understand like, “This is not real, this is just a temporary feeling.” But I couldn’t really feel anything else until after that. 

I have spent so much time over the past couple years trying to teach myself that the point of feelings is to feel them.

Yeah, but they suck most of the time. [Laughs] I don’t want most of them. 

The line in that song, “Sometimes the end is the only light I see,” might be my favorite line on the record. There’s nihilism and existentialism in it, but it doesn’t feel hopeless or despairing. It’s kind of a cheerful, “Oh right! Nothing matters!” Where did that line come from for you? 

That gets me through the day, a lot. Sometimes I think of life as just a jail sentence and I always think like, “Well, I probably am only going to live fifty more years at the most.” Sometimes that helps me get through the day. [Laughs] I know that that sounds negative, but that can really be uplifting if you chose for it to be!

It feels a lot lighter, to me at least, once you realize that nothing matters. Suddenly you can laugh a little bit more, improvise more – like lately, I’ve been trying to accept that I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m trying to get comfortable with it. In my twenties, I felt like I was trying to make plans all the time, planning so far into the future and just getting disappointed with stuff. It’s better to [recognize] – which is almost like religious people – you’re just powerless. Just try to eat something, drink some water. [Laughs] 

Let’s talk about your guitar playing. I love your right hand so much. I think what’s entrancing about your guitar on this album is that it’s holding these songs together, but not as much as a rhythmic instrument or comping instrument, like in your past records. It’s more textural, to add depth and complexity, but your playing is still so hooky, melodically. Your personality comes through the guitar on top of all of these tracks. How did you accomplish that balance, having the guitar front and center and immediate, but it’s also not necessarily the centerpiece of these songs?

I think it’s because this is the first record where I knew how to use Logic, so my demos were almost full tracks already. I was adding keyboard and bass and programming drums to things before even going into the studio. A lot of the songs are all based on riffs that I’ve had for a while, that I couldn’t figure out how to use. Before, a lot of my other stuff, I was just writing a song. Now, I just collect guitar parts and I try to make them work in something, but I don’t really have a [plan for them, initially.] I’m basing it more off the guitar parts now. 

How do you like the banjo? Is this the first time you had banjo on a record? 

Yeah!

What do you think writing on the banjo leads you to that a guitar or keys or writing on another instrument wouldn’t lead you to?

Anything that’s tuned differently makes me have to think differently about stuff. I still don’t really “get” the banjo, it’s weird because I have had a banjo for over 10 years now, but it still seems like something I’m trying to learn about. I just recently got okay with being like, “I’m just going to make sounds with it.” I’m not going to try to “learn” it. [Laughs] I definitely want to make more songs with the banjo – and maybe even without a guitar, and see what that’s like. Some of my favorite buskers I’ve ever seen are just a singer with a banjo. I think it makes people sing different. I gotta get my banjos out now… 

Guitar culture – guitar shop culture, guitar show culture – it’s such a toxically masculine scene, and it’s so competitive and punishing, that I kind of have realized over the past few years that the people helping me realize I still love the guitar and guitar culture are all women and femmes. Like, Jackie Venson, Molly Tuttle, folks like Celisse and Madison Cunningham, or like Kaki King and Megan McCormick and Joy Clark – I can think of so many guitarists who aren’t just really good, but they’re also pushing the envelope, they’re innovating, and they have really strong perspectives and voices on the instrument, like yourself. So I wanted to ask you about your own relationship with guitar culture and the guitar scene, because as a queer banjo player who loves music, I kinda hate people who love guitar. But I’ve been so grateful that all these women are reminding me I can love guitar and it’s not just a patriarchal, toxically masculine instrument and scene.

I just try to stay out of it. Sometimes at shows, guitar guys talk to me and I just tell them, “I don’t know. I don’t know.” [Laughs] Because I don’t want to get into any discussion about it. I know a lot of people who can really play, but [guitar guys] make it so you have to be kinda crazy, kinda obsessive. And it’s so competitive. That doesn’t sound fun to me. I don’t get how that’s fun anymore. It’s not art, at that point. It’s almost like a sport. Which you can, go ahead and practice scales all day so you can play the fastest, but then a lot of times people can be really technically good, but there’s no soul in it. They’re just trying to cram as many riffs into something as possible. They take all the art out of it, they’re technically playing perfectly, but I don’t feel anything. 

I would much rather be listening to my favorite guitar player, who is Yasmin Williams. It’s not just because of technical ability, but because it’s progressive. I’m like, “That’s outta the box, I don’t know where that’s going.” That’s what I like about it. 

Photo credit: Joshua Black Wilkins

Brooklyn Guitarist Jeremiah Lockwood Delivers ‘A Great Miracle’ for Chanukah

Posted on by Editor

Lamenting a lack of quality Chanukah music has become nearly as much a part of the Jewish winter holiday season as latkes, the delicious potato pancakes served with apple sauce and sour cream.

So excuse us if the arrival of A Great Miracle, Jeremiah Lockwood’s new album of instrumental acoustic guitar performances of Chanukah music, seems if not exactly miraculous, then certainly something holding many marvels: A John Fahey-esque fantasia on the blessing for the lighting of the menorah? The children’s song for the spinning of the dreydl delivered as a Piedmont-style rag? And influences going from Bessarabia to Brooklyn to Bamako?

One question looms, though: What took so long?

“I know!” says Lockwood, a Brooklyn-based musician who has long explored and created crossroads of Jewish music and other traditions. “It seems like it’s so obvious, especially given the role of musicians with Jewish heritage in Americana and the folk revival — especially guitarists. I think there’s a reticence around embracing that aspect of one’s heritage, or that musicians who go that route jump all the way in. For me, it’s the question of ‘How can we articulate multiple faces at the same time and be true to different aspects of oneself?’”

Arguably that has been the quest driving Lockwood’s career, whether mixing Jewish themes with rock and experimental jazz in his band the Sway Machinery, as guitarist in the global mélange Balkan Beat Box, or in his arresting Book of J collaboration with radical artist Jewlia Eisenberg, who died in March.

It’s something he’s also pursued in a parallel academic career. In 2020 he earned a doctorate from Stanford in education and Jewish studies, his thesis revolving around young Jewish cantors influenced by seemingly anachronistic cantorial styles of the early 20th century. He’s now at work on a full book on that topic and has produced an album featuring the young cantors. Currently he’s a research fellow at UCLA School of Music’s Lowell Milken Center for Music of the American Jewish Experience.

This album, released by the Jewish culture endeavor Reboot, is the real fulfillment of all of that. In particular, the collection braids together the foundational impact of the two key mentors of his youth: His grandfather, famed cantor Jacob Konigsberg, and the blues guitarist known as Carolina Slim (a.k.a. Elijah Stanley), a master of Piedmont-style fingerpicking. A Great Miracle is the album Lockwood was born to make.

“For sure,” he says with an enthusiastic laugh. “I mean, on a quite literal level.”

To a great extent, A Great Miracle is modeled on the 1968 re-envisioning of Christmas music, The New Possibility: John Fahey’s Guitar Soli Christmas Album. The Fahey album came into Lockwood’s life as the seasonal go-to for his mother-in-law at family gatherings, his first contact with the musician’s influential and extensive catalog.

“They listened to that every year,” he says. “They were an Irish family that was no longer Catholic. For them the Christmas holiday was a lot about these songs and this particular record, the way he synthesizes the ‘60s perspective on spirituality and religious music, some kind of American concepts related to Easter religions, kind of revering this kind of austerity and sweetness.”

The aesthetic resonated.

“That’s what spoke to me,” he says. “And his style is so similar to the kind of fingerpicking that I do, that it was very easy for me to learn those pieces. Over the years I just kind of picked them up. I’d play the record [on guitar] instead of turning on the stereo. And then I started doing a similar stylistic approach to playing Chanukah pieces.”

Where Fahey famously mixed his deep Delta blues influences (Charley Patton prominently) with, among other things, strains distilled from such post-Romantic composers as Anton Dvorak and Jean Sibelius and Indian raga modalities, Lockwood brings in East Coast blues fingerpicking, cantorial modes and West African guitar styles.

Fahey’s array of hymns and carols was in many ways a rejection of the commercialization of Christmas, though ironically A New Possibility gave him by far the biggest seller of his catalog. Lockwood’s album also, in its own way, involves reckoning and reconciling with the distinctly American Jewish celebration of Chanukah.

“This record kind of goes in two directions,” he says. “One is that it’s about trying to find a foothold in which to participate in the beautiful thing which is Christmas, and also its kind of goofiness. It’s kind of the most commercial experience possible. But it’s our culture just as much as anybody else’s, because we’re American.”

That Christmas Envy is experienced by many American Jews and has shaped the occasion’s profile. Through the ages Chanukah was a minor holiday, only in recent times elevated in importance, largely due to its calendrical proximity to Christmas and a desire to have a comparable celebration for Jewish children. But for Lockwood there is a personal layer.

“The other direction is my usual concerns about my family and the musical legacy from my grandfather, growing up in a cantorial family and what the Chanukah celebration was for us,” he says. “So I have a couple of the intense cantorial pieces I did transcriptions of. And then also it’s playful. There are a lot of kids’ songs and this, in a way, is almost a children’s album.”

The Fahey-inspired modalism of “Al Hanisim” is based on something he learned from his grandfather.

“I think he learned if from Samuel Malavsky, a great cantor who had a family choir with his daughters,” he says. “It has a similar vibe to my family. I love them and apparently my grandfather did too, although he didn’t talk about where he learned things from all the time.”

A second take on “Al Hanisim” references a version by Izhar Cohen, an Israeli pop star of the 1970s.

“This song is sung by American Jews, very commonly,” he says. “Also this has an older story. It’s from the pre-state Palestine, part of the early Zionist push to create Israeli music, create something that represented the identity of the new state. I’m not coming from a Zionist perspective, but that music is part of American Jewish culture. These are the songs that the family sang every year for Hanukkah. The ones that are more American mainstream are the ones that are from Israel, actually, which is ironic. Those were coming from my uncle who was the cantor in a suburban, conservative synagogue.”

There’s also a delightful surprise in the musical approach of “Al Hanisim Izhar Cohen.”

“The guitar sound is a little bit like Doc Watson,” he says. “He has this thing in his pieces where he’s playing kind of in a Travis-picking style, or it might be like ‘Windy and Warm,’ this classic Doc Watson fingerpicking piece.”

Then there are the two odes to the dreydl. First is the rag version of the children’s song “Little Dreydl,” done in the syncopated-gospel style of blues great Reverend Gary Davis. The other, “Dre Dreydl,” opens up a great wealth of the history of American Judaism to which Lockwood is so connected. His version interprets a recording by Moishe Oysher, who was born in Bessarabia (now Moldova) and became a major figure in New York.

“He was a great cantor, a star of Yiddish theater, and one of the great pop stars of Jewish music in the 1940s and ‘50s,” he says. “The mainstream narrative about Jewish American music is that it went into decline or hibernation in the post-Holocaust period. But that’s not completely true. Stars of Yiddish theater were working in the Borscht Belt circuit and making movies. Moishe was in a bunch of movies, and the Oysher family was very important. His sister Fraydele Oysher was also an amazing singer and sang cantorial music. The Oyshers push the story in a different direction about Jewish American music.”

With the two songs that draw on West African influences, Lockwood continues explorations he’s made with the Sway Machinery, which even played at the famed Festival au désert near Timbuktu. On “Mi Yemalel,” his playing pays tribute to the lyricism of the late Malian guitarist Ali Farka Touré. The album’s closer, the familiar sing-along “Chanukah oy Chanukah,” incorporates inspiration from another Malian guitar great, Boubacar Traoré, connecting Lockwood to the emotional core of this project.

“He’s the master of pathos,” he says. “That isn’t a song we associate with that, but it is for me, maybe because it’s the nostalgia of this kind of childhood world that has gone. My grandparents are gone and the source of the wealth that I think of as being Jewish music, where I’m drawing from now, I have to create it myself. And that’s a very sad thing.”

And what would his grandfather, who died in 2007, think of these recordings?

“He appreciated the things I did,” Lockwood says. “But he wasn’t going to change his musical interests to accommodate anybody else. I don’t want to say he wouldn’t like it. But basically he listened to European classical music, opera, art music. And he listened to cantorial music.”

Regardless, Lockwood hopes that he has created something in A Great Miracle to take a place in modern Hanukkah tradition the way Fahey’s album has for Christmas.

“I’m not expecting a hit record off of this or anything,” Lockwood says. “But on the other hand, it’s the kind of record that’s functional, right? It’s made for people to be able to listen to in a very specific context and hopefully it will become a thing that people can turn back to, you know, every year.”

Image Credit: Justin Schein