Tag: guitarist

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

WATCH: Katie Cole, “Short Story Long”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Katie Cole
Hometown: Melbourne, Australia, and lives in Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Short Story Long”
Release Date: October 15, 2021

In Their Words: “I wrote this song hoping to channel some old school Aretha and Otis, but applying a little more rootsy instrumentation. Honestly, it’s the first song I’ve penned where I take back my power in a relationship and call a spade a spade. I’ve had my share of relationships where I have tolerated too much for too long. So being familiar with the phrase of making a long story short, where you cut to the chase, I started thinking, ‘What if I could flip that to a short story long?’ where things get dragged out. Right then I knew this would have to be a fun and sassy song that really contrasts with my more acoustic and sparse songs. Luckily when my producer Howard Willing and I started tracking, he managed to bring in Cheap Trick’s bass player Tom Petersson to play on this song. I am really proud of this one!” — Katie Cole

Photo credit: Dire Image

BGS 5+5: Travis Linville

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Travis Linville
Hometown: Tulsa, Oklahoma
Latest Album: I’m Still Here

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

I get asked this question a whole lot. Influences evolve and change and sometimes even fall off the map. What was a big influence at one time isn’t later and it all goes into the same stew of musical expression. The first few songs I was inspired to learn on guitar were Hank Williams songs, but no way I would say Hank is my biggest influence. As a musician, I could say my personal guitar mentor Joe Settlemires or maybe the deep dive we took into the great Harlem composers like Thelonious Monk. There were several years of my youth where I listened mostly to hip hop and R&B. When I was a dishwasher at a BBQ restaurant the kitchen staff only listened to classic rock radio from the ’70s and that was a big influence at the time.

My favorite artist is probably Bob Dylan, but I think that has to do with things that go beyond songs and music. My grandparents and family played music so I grew up around country music like Ray Price or Lefty Frizzell. I love that era and soaked it all in. The Delta blues and its journey up the river to electricity is the most foundational and arguably America’s biggest musical influence. Motown is a really important influence and I heard all those great songs on the oldies station in my parents car. In 2020 I listened to more lo-fi instrumental beats than anything else. There are a lot of influences and they are all important.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

You may have gathered that I don’t play favorites so I’ll give you two. When I was 21 years old I found myself in Luckenbach, Texas, at the Willie Nelson 4th of July Picnic. I was playing guitar for Claude Gray who was the first person to ever have a hit with a Willie Nelson song. I was a young guitar player working small clubs in Oklahoma and it was just a complete stroke of luck that I found myself on this big stage. At one point while we were playing, the crowd went wild and I realized Willie Nelson was walking out to sing with us. That moment was a beginning for me and at the same time my biggest moment. Years later I was asked to be a part of a Tulsa “all-star” house band backing up several artists on a benefit show. At the end of the night I was on stage with a big group of my best music buddies backing up a sing-along led by Kris Kristofferson doing “Me and Bobbie McGee.” Joy Ely, Arlo Guthrie, Jessi Colter, John Densmore from the Doors and a whole bunch of other legendary folks were up there. That was a special moment.

What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?

If I ever feel like I’m having a tough time writing a song, I take it as a sign that I’m not in the correct frame of mind. Mostly songwriting comes pretty easy. It can be tough deciding when a song is done, but overall I think songwriting isn’t as mysterious as folks would like to think it is. It’s more about doing the work with a free spirit initially and then continuing to tinker, edit, and make it better. Songwriting usually gets tough when you allow your filter to get involved. I think the master key is all about getting rid of your filter and not being afraid to say anything even if it seems cliché, simple, wacky, or plain stupid. The big secret is you just go ahead and say it anyway and then come back and change it later… if it doesn’t grow on you. It’s like a crossword puzzle but with multiple correct answers. So the only hard part is committing to which correct answer you want to use. In the grand scheme of things songs are pretty simple. Anyone could write one, but the reason not everyone does is because most folks won’t allow themselves to go without a filter. That filter is a good thing in daily life, but not in songwriting.

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

Mission statement: “Wow I can’t believe that I’ve been able to keep this guitar guy and ‘making up songs'” thing going as a career for 25 years! I hope I can keep it going.” Additional note to mission statement: The music business isn’t music. Music has nothing to do with business. Someone can make music their business, but they aren’t the same thing. I can play music in my own living room for no one and get just as much enjoyment as playing on a stage in a venue. That wasn’t always true but it definitely is now. I can’t make a living playing in my living room, but I can enjoy it a whole lot. I think too often people talk about “music” strictly within the confines of the people who are in the music business, making records and investing time and money to get their music heard and build a fan base. Music is way, way bigger and more personally important than all that. Music is my love. I’m lucky to have been able to make a go in the music business from an early age. I try to make sure I never get those things mixed up.

How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?

I love this question and this particular subject of songwriting!! … With the exception of the word “hide.” I would say it isn’t hiding as much as it is just writing a song. With nearly every song I write I play with the element of “you,” “me,” “I,” “we,” etc. It’s so important!! I’ll often try a song from a few different perspectives after it’s finished and usually one will be the obvious best choice. There is no hiding in a song. I truly believe that unless the song is painfully literal, what the writer meant or how lyrics apply to the writer’s life should be fully irrelevant to the song itself. The song itself is meant to be listened to with an open mind and heart and in my opinion it should stand alone without reference to “here is the story.” I know that fans of songwriters love these stories, but for me that’s just an opportunity to make up untrue fictional backstories just like I make up songs.

Photo credit: Kris Payne

WATCH: Judith Hill, “Baby, I’m Hollywood!”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Judith Hill
Hometown: North Hollywood, California
Song: “Baby, I’m Hollywood!”
Album: Baby, I’m Hollywood!
Release Date: March 5, 2021
Label: Regime Music Group

In Their Words: “‘Baby, I’m Hollywood’ is a defining statement for me. It sums up all of the drama, love, and pain that surrounds my life as an entertainer. I personify Hollywood as a woman who has become her own rock in spite of a very unstable world. She will take all of the pain and turn into the performance of her life because that’s what she was born to do. The show is not only a spectacle but a service because it puts words, music, lights, and costumes to our secrets and inner battles, giving them a safe place to live.” — Judith Hill

Photo credit: Jeremy Jackson

Marcus King: A “Young Man’s Dream” Come to Life

Posted on by Editor

A first encounter with Marcus King’s voice is nothing short of wondrous. The 23-year-old singer/songwriter/guitarist functions less like a singer and more as conduit for raw emotion, his dynamic, melodic singing grounded in soul, rock and roll and a preternatural sense of musical intuition. To boot, he is also one of our best young guitar-slingers, wowing legends and fans alike with his emotive, inventive take on modern, electric blues music.

On January 17, King released his first solo album, El Dorado. Produced by Dan Auerbach, it marks the first time King has offered a full-length project outside of his critically acclaimed Marcus King Band; accordingly, the project feels particularly intimate and honest, with King reaching new heights as not just a singer and player but as a storyteller and lyricist.

BGS caught up with King as he was getting ready to perform on Jimmy Kimmel Live to chat songwriting, working with Auerbach, and how it feels to strike out on his own.

BGS: It’s only been a couple of days since El Dorado released. What have the last few days been like for you?

MK: Man, it’s been a bit of a circus. But I always liked the circus when I was a kid. So it’s working out fine.

You had a couple of release shows in Nashville on Friday, too. What was it like getting the new music out to people?

It’s fun, man. Those solo acoustic shows can be a little nerve-wracking, just because there’s no one to share with. It’s a lot more vulnerable. I feel a little exposed during those, in a way. But it makes it that much more gratifying, you know?

Was there a particular song or idea you were kicking around that made plotting the album click into place for you?

It all started with “Young Man’s Dream.” We wrote that two years ago, almost to the day. It was right before I was going in to do [the Marcus King Band’s 2018 album,] Carolina Confessions. We already had plans to work with Dave Cobb, which was a surreal experience. Before that, Dan Auerbach reached out and asked if I could come do some writing sessions with him. I jumped at the chance. That’s the first tune we ever wrote together, “Young Man’s Dream.” Then the theme fell into place for this to be a storytelling album, a coming of age story.

Given that you and Dan had written that one song together and felt strongly enough about it to do this entire project, what would you say makes your creative partnership with one another so special and fruitful?

Working with somebody is a really intimate relationship. Writing is really personal. I had never really co-written before, and Dan was really particular about who we brought in to write with me on this record. He and I were able to write together two years ago and continue to do so over the past couple of years. Our friendship and our writing partnership led to a very organic process in the studio. Writing together [for the first time] is really kind of like a first date. It’s a little awkward and you really have to bare your soul and hope you don’t freak anybody out.

To that point, when you are writing, how heavily do you draw from your own life? Are you the kind of writer who puts it all out there or are you more inclined to share your personal experiences through metaphor and more universal stories?

I pull directly from my personal experience, because I feel like that’s what I want to hear from a writer and from my favorite singer/songwriters. I love a good metaphor and all, but I really enjoy the personal experience you can hear behind the words, and their conviction. If I like a song it’s because I feel a personal kinship to that music. On this record, everything we wrote came from personal experience.

With further regard to your songwriting, you’re such a dynamic, melodic singer. When you’re writing the vocal parts of your music, do you tend to have a melody first or a lyric first? Or does it vary song by song?

The melody comes first for me. Especially if I’m working with a keyboard player, like Bobby Wood, who played on the record. He comes up with these really beautiful, gorgeous parts and I’ll just start humming, and hum more and more until it starts to form words. I just allow my soul to fill in the blanks, as to what those notes are trying to say. I’ve found that to be a pretty different way to approach it, but it’s fun.

When you get to the point when you’re ready to record a song – and I know y’all recorded this album particularly quickly, over just three days – when you go to record a song, do you have a note-by-note sense of what you’re going to sing or are you more likely to follow your instinct, particularly with regards to ad-libs and runs?

It’s mostly on the fly. The only time I would ever change it would be if Dan and I thought it should go a little differently. Then I’ll go back and fix it.

I actually ran into someone last night and they complimented me and said there were a lot of well-thought-out [guitar] solos on the record which, to me, is shocking to hear, because I can’t write a guitar solo or a vocal melody. It just comes. It’s a natural thing. To me, that’s against what I know. I was almost offended – I wasn’t actually offended, obviously – but you know that’s my whole approach to the record, to free it up melodically.

You touched on this a minute ago, but you had an incredible roster of players who joined you in the studio while you and Dan were recording. What was your time together like?

The whole reason we work so well together is that their work ethic and mine really align. The only time I have to wake up early is if I’m working on new music or I’m working on something really important to me; otherwise I’m a late riser. On this record, I would get in around nine and all the cats would already be there. They’re all in their late seventies and early eighties, so they all get up at sunrise. They’d already have had their coffee and would just be waiting on me to get there. We’d get to work around 9:30 and go until 9:30, 10 at night.

Given that they’re all such seasoned players, did you give them free reign to write and play their parts, or did you have a firmer sense of what you wanted each player to do?

We had our work tapes of the writing sessions. We’d play the tape for them and they’d write their charts and give us the chart. We’d play the song and that would be the take. Everyone is writing their own parts on the spot, you know? It’s really a beautiful way to record. The stuff that comes out that way is really beautiful. Everyone added their own part and I never had any notes. The only note I had was at the end of “Wildflowers & Wine,” the outro is a little different. I recommended that change. That’s the only little note I had. Otherwise it was all great.

We touched on playing these songs live solo at the beginning of the conversation, but you’ll have your band out with you on the road in support of the album. What are you most looking forward to about playing these new songs live?

I’m excited to showcase it to people in a way that they’ve never heard it before. I always like to talk about the importance of having a studio version and live version. I think having the live version sound exactly like the studio is almost a farce. We stay true to form; we aren’t going like Radiohead with completely different versions. But we add more improvisation and play a bit with the structures of songs. We also have two horn players, so the songs have a different vibe. Why would someone want to leave their home and come all this way to hear it exactly the same? I like to offer up something different, you know?

Photos: Alysse Gafkjen

LISTEN: Daniel Donato, “Always Been a Lover (Stripped)”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Daniel Donato
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Always Been a Lover (Stripped)”
Release Date: December 17, 2019

In Their Words: “Something that I’ve always been tested with as a musician is the fact that I’m very dynamic-based, so depending on the song, I’m letting loose in different ways and I’m holding back in different ways. This was a great opportunity to take this song and fulfill it in an acoustic manner. You know, it goes back to that old Nashville trope, ‘Can you boil it down to an acoustic version and still satisfy?’ And I absolutely feel that it does. It’s like it passed the test.” — Daniel Donato

Photo Credit: Saverio Donato #cosmiccountry

Richard Thompson Lets the Songs Guide ‘13 Rivers’

Posted on by Editor

Richard Thompson’s new album contains 13 tracks and is called 13 Rivers, which suggests an intriguing metaphor regarding music and bodies of water. These are songs as rushing currents, as tributaries cutting through the landscape with unstoppable force; they can be dammed but not contained, their power harnessed but not diminished. Or perhaps they are obstacles to be crossed, either by swimming against dangerous rapids or by devising elaborate feats of engineering. It is any wonder that songs have bridges?

Thompson admits he didn’t think too hard about it. “It’s just a convenient title, and I liked the way it sounds,” he says with a chuckle that sounds both self-deprecating and possibly curious about the idea. “I’m not sure how deep it is or if it stands up to intellectual scrutiny. I guess songs and rivers can be fast or slow, straight or meandering. They have a beginning or end. You should make of it as much as you can. The more you make of it, the better I sound.”

He doesn’t need me or anyone else to make him look smart, but let’s go ahead and make too much out of that metaphor. Thompson’s catalog is full of raging rivers, most with rock rapids and treacherous oxbows, some stretching for miles and miles or years and years. He’s been navigating them for more than half a century, ever since he strummed his first notes as the guitarist and occasional songwriter for the famed London outfit Fairport Convention. That band helped to electrify folk music in the late 1960s, adding drums and Stratocaster to centuries-old rural ballads about maidens and knights, before Thompson went solo to emphasize his own songwriting.

For years he was merely a cult artist in the States, his early records available only as imports, at least until 1980’s Shoot Out the Lights—written, performed, and recorded with his then-wife Linda Thompson—established him as an insightful chronicler of the challenges of commitment and contentment, a songwriter who is neither blandly optimistic nor cynically dismissive, but somewhere right between bitter and sweet.

And, of course, he is a guitar player whose resourcefulness somehow dwarfs his technical virtuosity. A teenager in the late 1960s, he was too young to be as enamored with American blues as other players were, which means he was never a contemporary of Eric Clapton, Jimmy Page, or Jimi Hendrix. Instead his playing is grounded in folk music, aligned with the experiments and excursions of Bert Jansch, John Renbourn, and Davy Graham. Like them, he has significant range, incorporating a range of styles and sounds: African desert rock, urban punk, country & western, Indian ragas. His solos change shape constantly; listening to him play, you never know where he’s going but you know he’s going to get there.

While many of the players listed above have either died or all but retired, Thompson continues to make relevant music in the 2010s, both as a songwriter and as an instrumentalist. “The most important thing is the song—the particular batch of songs you find yourself with. That dictates so much about the way the record sounds,” he says. “The songs are going to tell you how they want to be shaped, how they want to sound in the end. They tell you if they want to be acoustic or electric; they tell you if they want to be simple or complex. If you’re listening to what the songs are saying to you, then making the record should be a fairly easy task.”

The batch of songs that comprises 13 Rivers stemmed from what he calls a “difficult time in my life,” although he declines to discuss the specifics of those difficulties. Still, it’s possible to gauge the general nature of them based on songs like “Rattle Within” and “Shaking the Gates,” which suggest a feisty relationship with the idea of mortality. Writing them, however, is not necessarily a conscious effort to address certain events or predicaments. “It’s a semi-conscious process. You’re not always thinking about the big picture. You’re just kind of floating sometimes. You’re almost allowing yourself to switch off some of your critical faculties in order to write. And once you’ve written it, you think, okay, here’s this song, now what does it mean? But you’re not thinking about that meaning while you’re writing it.”

Take the opening track, “The Storm Won’t Come.” A low, brooding number with a worried vocal and a searing solo, it reverses the typical storm metaphor, casting the thunder and rain as something other than destructive. Especially opening the album, it almost sounds like an invocation by an artist waiting for inspiration to strike like lightning. “That’s not what I had in mind, but that sounds great! I was thinking more than sometimes in life, you can feel stymied and you long for change. Sometimes if you try to change it yourself, it doesn’t work. You have to wait for the world to do it to you,” he says.

One storm arrived just after he had assembled this batch of songs: The producer backed out of the project, leaving Thompson to ponder its fate. Thankfully, pragmatism won out. “I thought, well, the studio is booked, the musicians are booked, we’ve got the material, so I’ll just produce it myself. I’ve done it before. It’s always nice to have the contrast of working with other people, but it can be good to do it yourself. You can get more into the nuts and bolts of what you really intended to find in the songs.”

Perhaps that’s why so many songs have a raw-nerve friction to them, lyrically and musically. After a handful of solo acoustic albums, including 2014’s Still, produced by Jeff Tweedy, Thompson put together a very tight, very agile rock and roll combo to give these songs a jittery energy. He’s worked with bassist Taras Prodaniuk and drummer Michael Jerome for years, “so I know them a bit—what they’re likely to come up with.” They worked quickly in the studio, learning the songs just enough to pound them out but not enough to pound them life out of them. “I try to not get too embedded in learning the song. We just give it a couple of listens at rehearsals,” he says. It’s a way to avoid what Thompson calls “overlearning” the song, to allow room for happy accidents and to keep the possibilities wide open.

When the song goes out into the world, those possibilities shrink dramatically. The song becomes settled, more or less. “What the song is now is public domain. It becomes a kind of public property, and the audience won’t let you change it, even if you want to. I’ve got songs where I’ve snuck in the odd word change, but to change a verse or even a line is just asking for trouble.”

Being the song’s creator doesn’t mean he determines that meaning for anyone else. In fact, his interpretation is only one of so many. “It’s always amazing to hear other people’s ideas of what a song is about. I may have written it as a satirical song or a very pointed song, and people will say, ‘Oh that’s about Bob Dylan’ or something. How did they reach these bizarre conclusions? But I’m glad they can find their own meaning in it.”

Illustration by: Zachary Johnson
Photo by: Tom Bejgrowicz

3×3: Jackie Venson on Hard Drives, Healthy Food, and Plan Bs

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

Artist: Jackie Venson
Hometown: Austin, TX
Latest Album: Jackie Venson Live
Personal Nicknames: JV, Jackie V, Jacks, my family calls me Jacquelyn

 

A photo posted by Jackie Venson (@jackievenson) on

Your house is burning down and you can grab only one thing — what would you save? 
My dog doesn't count because he's got legs and he can run out with me so I'll say my computer. Because there's SO much work on there that would be lost and all of my hard drives are also in my house.

If you weren't a musician, what would you be? 
Unemployed … Just kidding, but not really … I suppose another career I could enjoy would be bartending.

If a song started playing every time you entered the room, what would you want it to be? 
"Teardrop" by Massive Attack

 

A photo posted by Jackie Venson (@jackievenson) on

What is the one thing you can’t survive without on tour? 
Good, healthy food.

If you were a car, what car would you be? 
A Nissan Cube or a KIA Soul

Which King is your favorite: B.B., Billie Jean, Martin Luther? 
Martin Luther

 

A photo posted by Jackie Venson (@jackievenson) on

Vinyl or digital? 
Vinyl

Who is your favorite superhero? 
Iron Man

Summer or Winter? 
Summer

Photo credit: Bob Crockett