Tag: Hank Williams

This Could Be a Golden Year for Lillie Mae

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Brown’s Diner is the kind of hole-in-the-wall that your eyes have to adjust to, after stepping in from a sunny afternoon in Nashville. However, Lillie Mae shines like a beacon in the dim light of the dark booth as she gabs with the staff she’s clearly known for years.

A twenty-year Nashville veteran, her very first business meeting as the youngest member of her former family band, Jypsi, was in this very restaurant. A true road warrior, Lillie Mae and family traversed the country playing bluegrass festivals and churches. On the heels of a censored childhood steeped in traditional music, she graduated to the honky-tonks of Lower Broadway and on to her own burgeoning career as a solo artist now signed to Third Man Records.

Settling in at the beloved burger-and-fries mainstay after three weeks on the road with The Raconteurs, Lillie Mae detailed the process of making her brand new record, Other Girls, with producer Dave Cobb, as well as songwriting inspiration, a crummy golden year, and what works feels like when it doesn’t feel like work.

BGS: Your lyrics leave a lot to the imagination. They weave a story and put you in a setting but they aren’t inculcating anything for the listener. But tell us more about “A Golden Year.”

That one and the last one are my favorites on the album for sure. Basically, my birthday is June 26 so my golden year was a year ago. We were in The Refuge in Appleton, Wisconsin, and we’d played a couple of gigs up there and we were leaving this monastery. It is an amazing place where musicians and artists of all kinds can go and live for free. Food and everything is taken care of. They get government grants and they have a studio. It is an amazing place right on the water.

We were rolling out and I went to do one more look around and my brother was still wrapping up so I was just walking through the hallways. They have a chapel where they do shows and I heard a choir singing “Ahhhs” and I just heard the whole song and I had a guitar in my hands. I rummaged through rooms to find a pen. I sat down on the guitar case and wrote it. It came from somewhere else. It is a perfect example that we are just a vessel. I had been looking forward to my golden year my whole life and then it turned out pretty lousy for me. I was super depressed and down and writing that song was probably the best part of it.

Do you sit down to write or do you mostly write when you are inspired?

You know, mostly when it starts to come through. But if I sit down and pluck on the guitar or something for a minute, I will easily find myself trying to come up with something. I don’t sit down and try to write nearly as often as I should.

Did you have to do any of that for this record as you were putting the songs together?

Nah. There were a couple of things that were not completely finished, like the last song on the record. I was tweaking words until recording. Some stuff was almost there. And every once in a while, if a second verse is not coming, I’ll just repeat the verse, though that’s kind of cheating.

With your ingestion of art being censored in your religious upbringing, there is some open sexuality on this record. Bluegrass, folk, and country have all been known to suppress that. Have you ever come up against censorship from co-creators or folks in the business realm?

Totally. I think a lot of it you can do it to yourself. You can put yourself in a little conservative box easily. But these days, I’ve just lost my care about what people think. It just doesn’t matter. I have a couple of songs that I haven’t been open about what they are about — on the last album, that were written about abortion. Songs that were really heavy to me and I never talked about that. It wasn’t a secret but “Why do we need to talk about this?” because it can mean whatever it means to anyone. But that is coming from a very conservative place of trying to please all ears.

Having these old mindsets of being in old Nashville, I definitely have been more conservative than I truly am. For me to not mute or hide lyrics or not be open about things, it has been a step for me. There is a song on the album called “Crisp & Cold” that was inspired by a friend of mine who is transgender. There is a line in the song that says, “Don’t be scared/Be more.” When you literally have to worry that some people might take your life because of that. It is crazy. There are times when you don’t want to offend anyone but those days are over.

But growing up in bluegrass, we did the circuit. We were always on our way to another festival. My sisters were older than me and were beautiful young women who were experiencing growing out of the whole religious thing. We did Beatles covers back then when I was a little kid and bluegrass snubbed us. To love something so much and to be ousted from it because you’ve developed some fashion sense or something. It sucks to be such a supporter of something and to not have them have your back. But it has changed a lot.

Did you and your siblings grow up listening to any specific artists?

It was super limited, what we were allowed to listen to and we grew up playing full time. We played churches and bluegrass festivals. We had a lot of live influence. As far as what we were allowed to listen to, it was not very much. We’d be allowed to listen to some Del McCoury songs but not all of them because of the content. A lot of Marty Robbins and Hank Williams, but always excluding some stuff because my folks were super strict.

Did you find yourself seeking ways to listen to those excluded songs?

Not me. I’m the youngest in the family and I never did. I’m really bad about that still. I don’t go out and pick out music. If I go to a record store, I have a panic attack. Every single time I end up on the floor in a corner just sitting cross-legged waiting for everyone to check out. I have full-on attacks. Maybe I’ll be better now. It has been a minute since I’ve been in one. I never got joy out of going to buy a record.

I was the youngest and growing up, I never had a choice. I didn’t get to pick where we went or what we listened to or anything. I just listen to what other people are listening to. I really rely on my boyfriend or my brother playing cool music. Unless I hear someone at a gig or a festival, then I’ll pick up their music. Like Natalie Prass. My brother met her at a show a couple of years back and he brought her CD home. And I was like, “Oh my God.” Her music changed me.

Jack White gave me a record player but I didn’t have speakers and I’m technically challenged so I could never figure out how to hook it up. The vehicle I have doesn’t have music. I have very little music on my phone and rarely listen to it. I do think I have Natalie Prass’ record on there. [Laughs]

What was it like working with Dave Cobb on this album?

He was wonderful to work with. He’s a really nice person. The first conversation we had, we talked about some bluegrass bands. I think it was something different for him. I was very nervous as first to go in because I was out of my comfort zone but it was really easy. We went in and recorded a song, took a lunch, and came back and recorded another song. It was a pretty easy process.

How was it out of your comfort zone?

Well, Dave uses his drummer Chris Powell on most of his stuff so for me going in because I’m such a picky asshole, I was nervous about playing with someone I hadn’t played with. I was just nervous it wasn’t going to be my vibe. But it was. It was wonderful. It’s an amazing studio [RCA Studio A] with great sounds and a great crew.

So it was pretty easy once it started?

Totally. After song number one. The first song had two different time signatures the way it was written but it got straightened out to just one. At first, I was like, “What is going to happen here?” It ended up a great thing, but I was a little stubborn at first.

Did that create friction?

No. Not at all. I kept it to myself. I went to the bathroom, cried it out, and came back ready to give it a try.

That’s awesome you trust your producer.

Well, I’d be foolish. Who am I, you know? Here’s a shot to work with some amazing people. If I threw a wrench in it, there are too many people on board. There are too many people invested in me. I owe too many people too many things. There’s a time and a place. Maybe next album. [Laughs]

I’ll get OCD and have little brain freak-outs. One can come across as stubborn, and all I’ve ever tried to do is be opposite of that. I’ve tried hard to be positive and give my all no matter what the project is, but those little OCD things, they can hinder you for sure.

Have you ever made concessions that you regretted making because the art didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to?

If I’ve thought like that, I’ve tried to change my outlook and be like, this is the way it was supposed to be. It (the process of making the album) wasn’t what I had anticipated. I anticipated buckling down. I anticipated really working hard, and then when I wasn’t working hard and it was just coming really easily and naturally, I felt like I wasn’t doing a lot. When you are used to hustling and it comes easy, it feels like something must be wrong.

How do you feel about the release of the new album? What is the period like right before it comes out?

The last couple of weeks [touring with The Raconteurs] were super exciting. It was fun to be out playing the tunes. I wasn’t ready to be done. I enjoyed it a little too much.

I’m pretty level. Just from so many years of getting my hopes up, not even just about music. I used to get so excited about something but I crashed and burned too many times. I don’t allow myself to get excited about much of anything. People will get the wrong impression that I’m not enjoying myself or that I’m not grateful. I’m so thrilled but my expectations are pretty low. I’m excited about it coming out, but if I got dropped tomorrow I think I’d be prepared. Which is not good! [Laughs]

My boyfriend took the pictures for the album campaign. And my sister Scarlett and our friend Amy helped with the photo shoot. It was just us, so it feels super close to home, and I feel really proud of it.

Photo credit: Misael Arriaga

MIXTAPE: Jade Jackson’s Songs for Loneliness

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Loneliness is something I’ve experienced [for] as long as I can remember. Before I fully comprehended its meaning, I became familiar with it in my earliest childhood memories. Finding comfort in what we’re used to, I naturally gravitated toward music that evoked that feeling and when I started writing and creating art, it was my biggest inspiration. – Jade Jackson

Bruce Springsteen – “The River”

Similar stories have been told by artists over the years. But Springsteen’s take on loneliness is untouchable. The harmonica crying in the intro sets the tone for this genius tale of faded love.

Sheryl Crow – “The Difficult Kind”

This song blends loneliness and strength. Owning up, recognizing you’re the reason for your loneliness is tough to face. The pain in her voice along with the electric fiddle combine to tug at your heart as the lyrics capture an honest look inside.

Mojave 3 – “Yer Feet”

This song reminds me of hopelessness, heartache, and the dull pain that foreshadows lost love.

John Fullbright – “High Road”

I remember bursting into tears the first time I heard the climax of this song. The story unfolds beautifully and illustrates true love ending too soon.

Hank Williams – “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry”

Hank Williams spun in our record player more than any other artist growing up. It’s a song I loved when I was young, because of its imagery, and as I grew older I related to it in a whole new way.

Violent Femmes – “Good Feeling”

“Vague sketch of a fantasy
Laughing at the sunrise
Like he’s been up all night
Ooh slippin’ and slidin’
What a good time but now
Have to find a bed
That can take this weight”

Enough said.

Townes Van Zandt – “Waiting Around to Die”

Townes Van Zandt is one of my all-time favorite songwriters, and in my opinion, the king of sad songs. Behind the vocals the guitar picking, drums, and harmonica in this song sound like a drunken heartache. The Be Good Tanyas have a rendition of this song that I find equally despondent.

Johnny Cash – “Hurt”

Trent Reznor’s song “Hurt” covered by Cash takes my breath away. Loneliness often leads to a numbness begging to be broken by self-inflicted pain. This song is a raw tribute to wanting to disappear.

Patsy Cline – “Walkin’ After Midnight”

This is the perfect lonesome song, with its desperation and hopelessness accompanied by pedal steel.

Mazzy Star – “Fade Into You”

I love how poetic these lyrics are. They evoke a yearning for emotional connection; walking through depression wishing to be loved by someone.

Jade Jackson – “Bridges”

I wrote this song during one of my loneliest times of my life.

Jade Jackson – “Loneliness”

This song was inspired by realizing you don’t have to be alone to feel lonely.

Photo credit: Matt Bizer
Editor’s Note: Jade Jackson released her new album, Wilderness, on June 28.

BGS 5+5: Tylor & the Train Robbers

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Artist: Tylor & the Train Robbers
Hometown: Boise, Idaho
Latest album: Best of the Worst Kind

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

It’s so hard to choose just one, I’ve been inspired by so many great songwriters. My first major influence as a kid was Hank Williams Sr. I was introduced to his music through my grandparents record collection and it was a sound I had never heard before. My first songs were heavily infused with his tone. Over the years I’ve drifted from that, but it still serves as an important first step down the songwriting rabbit hole. John Prine was my next big influence and his music has continued to inspire me to this day. I find myself re-listening to his records and finding nuances in his writing that I never noticed before and that to me is the mark of a truly great songwriter.

What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc. inform your music?

I grew up watching a lot of old Western movies with my grandpa, which played a big role in my writing of the track “The Ballad of Black Jack Ketchum” on the new album. The imagery from the films painted the picture for the backdrop of this song. I also pulled inspiration from the language and storytelling style of Louis L’Amour from his classic series of Western novels.

Honestly though, my biggest inspirations come from other musicians. I love listening to all kinds of different music, new and old, to pull ideas from. I feel like the best way to continue being inspired is to listen to more music.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

From an early age, I just remember that whenever I was listening to music I had a strong desire to want to play along and learn the songs. My mom played guitar and sang to me a lot when I was kid, she had always wanted to be a musician, but never pursued it. I found one of my mom’s rusty electric guitars in my house and started to try to teach myself to play, which eventually led to my parents getting me my first acoustic guitar. I pretty much knew right then that this is what I wanted to do and I never really turned back. I was really lucky that my mom was always very supportive of my dream and never tried to talk me out of it.

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

Probably the toughest song I have ever written is actually on our new album. “Storyteller” was written back in 2012 when my grandpa passed away, he was a huge part of my life and we lost him at a pretty early age to illness. I wrote the song to help cope with the loss, but couldn’t completely finish it for over five years after his death. Sometimes I feel like that song and the time it took to write it are a literal representation of the time it took me to grieve.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

For years I had a goal to play The Braun Brother’s Reunion Festival. If you’re not familiar with it, it is an annual Americana music festival in Challis, Idaho, with some of Red Dirt/Americana’s best bands. It’s hosted by the Braun family (Cody and Willy of Reckless Kelly, and Micky and Gary of Micky & the Motorcars). They are Idaho natives who took their music to Texas and have thrived in that scene for many years. I went to the BBR for the first time back when I was 18 years old. It was the first time I had seen that much of the music I loved in one place and from that point on, it was my goal to play it someday.

In 2017, a good friend of mine, Jeff Crosby was playing the festival and he reached out and asked if I wanted to come play a Tom Petty song with him during his set. Of course I said yes! He got me up in front of that crowd and on that stage for the first time. He introduced me to the crowd and told them that we were his favorite Idaho band, which meant a lot. It took us a couple years after that, but this year, 2019, the band and I are on the bill for the festival and we can’t wait!

Mandolin Orange: How Bluegrass Brought Them Closer (Part 2 of 2)

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Because they have developed a fan base that stretches across genres and generations, it isn’t so easy to, ahem, segment Mandolin Orange into one specific category. But throughout a decade of performing together, bluegrass has been a major part of the music created by the duo’s Andrew Marlin and Emily Frantz. In the second part of our BGS cover story, they discuss their biggest bluegrass influences.

Editor’s Note: Read Part One of the BGS Cover Story with Mandolin Orange.

BGS: There’s a real country feel on “Lonely All the Time.” Are you classic country fans?

Andrew: Yeah. It’s not something I dig into, and really break apart, like I do with old-time and bluegrass music, but I think Emily and I both grew up listening to classic country. My dad is a country music fan, and that was a song that inadvertently got written from his perspective, living alone these days. I wanted to do a classic country duet sound for that, and Emily had the idea to do harmony all the way through it, like a George Jones and Melba Montgomery tune.

Emily: I think our road to classic country has been more roundabout. We listen to a lot of bluegrass, and when you listen to a lot of the older country, it’s a lot more acoustic and smaller-sounding, sonically. A lot of it is not very different than standard bluegrass tunes. It feels like that’s a natural path for us to go down with this band.

Andrew: Yeah. I like Hank Williams and early Johnny Cash, where it’s just a small ensemble playing the music.

Who are some of the bluegrass musicians you return to, just for enjoyment?

Emily: Andrew spends a ton of time listening to Bill Monroe, from a place of really digging into mandolin, and I guess for enjoyment too. But for listening pleasure, I would say a lot of the brother duets – the Stanley Brothers, the Louvin Brothers…

Andrew: Yeah, the Stanley Brothers for the songs, too. They were lonely, man. They were lonely dudes! I think the Stanley Brothers had a natural, bluesy feel, and their songs were so heavy and beautiful. Definitely, for songwriting, the Stanley Brothers would be a big influences, especially on our tune, “Suspended in Heaven,” on the new record. But also the Sam Bush and Tony Rice era. I listen to a lot of Sam Bush and Tony Rice, and just keep getting farther and farther into the Sam Bush catalog. I love his energy and what he brings to whatever ensemble he’s playing. It’s cool that he has a documentary out about him now. He’s getting the respect that he is due.

You may never emerge if you dive too deeply in Sam’s catalog. That stuff is so great, and sounds so good at festivals. He’s like the king of festivals.

Yeah, I think that’s because he’s able to maintain what he wants to do musically, but he’s still energetically appealing to mass audiences. That’s a hard to thing to do at a festival and I feel like he does it well.

That festival crowd can be tough. How many festivals have you all played over the last 10 years?

Andrew: We’ve played a bunch of ‘em. And playing quiet music. That can be an intimidating thing sometimes.

How did you overcome that?

Andrew: We shut our eyes and just hope they don’t mind hearing some quiet music. (laughs)

Emily: I think it was actually realizing that there is a place for that at festivals, even though it doesn’t seem like it. We’d get on stage and feel outgunned at the outset, but the more that we talked to people and realized that they appreciated having that in their festival experience, to offset all the crazy jamming going on. Everybody needs to balance out a bit. Once we realized that, we were able to own it a little more and recognize that that could be our role.

Andrew: It’s more like the hangover weed crowd than the late night drunk crowd, I would say.

I want to go back to “Suspended in Heaven.” It does have that Stanley Brothers sound, but it also has that church music sound, in a way. Are you influenced by music of the church?

Emily: Probably more in that we listen to and enjoy the old gospel tunes that are part of the bluegrass repertoire. We both grew up with church music but it wasn’t necessarily this kind of church music.

Andrew: My mom’s mom was the piano player for the church I went to, growing up, and then my mom took over her responsibilities, then my sister took over for a little while. So it’s like three generations of piano players at this church in Afton (North Carolina) that we went to, growing up. I was around a lot of old hymns and old gospel music, and you can’t really separate my mom from gospel music. I think in wanting to pay homage to her, and to her life, it made sense to write a standard old gospel tune. I guess the lyrics are not traditionally leaning but the sound definitely is.

Tell me how you became interested in bluegrass music.

Emily: For me, it was in the very beginning when I was taking Suzuki violin lessons as a kid. Our teachers didn’t give lessons in the summer but they did fiddle camps. I always played by ear but that was my first experience of being encouraged to learn to play by ear and not being forced to read sheet music. So I learned “Old Joe Clark” and “Bile ‘Em Cabbages Down” – all the first fiddle tunes you learn. And gradually I phased completely out of doing anything classical.

I was able to take more fiddle lessons and play in a local bluegrass band around the time I started high school. And learned a ton from the guys I was playing with, about how to sing tenor and what role the fiddle is supposed to play. It’s cool that traditional bluegrass has pretty hard-and-fast rules about what the given instruments are supposed to do, and I’m really glad that I learned that. We don’t play that way ourselves, on our own tunes necessarily, but it’s really fun to jump in and make a bluegrass song sound just like bluegrass-–if you know the rules.

Andrew, how about you?

Andrew: I’d only just started getting into bluegrass when Emily and I met each other, actually. I grew up with country and switched to rock ‘n’ roll, and then from there I fell into a metal zone. I was in a metal duo, actually, before I moved to Chapel Hill. I don’t think there are any recordings of that out there – hopefully not. I credit the Skaggs & Rice record a lot as being that switch for me that flipped me to bluegrass. When I heard that, I was like, ‘Who is this guitar player?” And the way they are singing together, it’s really quality. Especially Ricky Skaggs’ mandolin playing on that record.

So from there, I found out about Norman Blake and David Grisman and John Hartford and of course Sam Bush. I just fell in love with it, and especially the mandolin. So I think when Emily and I first met, I’d only been playing the mandolin for a year or so.

Emily: Andrew didn’t know very many bluegrass tunes. I was more of the source, at that point.

Andrew: She was showing me a bunch of fiddle tunes to learn on the mandolin, which really helped me figure the instrument out. I’m still figuring it out. So I’d say meeting Emily was a big part of my schooling in bluegrass, in a lot of ways.

After ten years of knowing each other, do you have a good intuition about what the other person is thinking?

Emily: I would say yeah, especially musically. I think all those years, too, of playing just the two of us, it becomes like a second language, and you don’t even necessarily realize it’s happening.

Was there a time when you did realize it was happening? Where you thought, “Wow, this is actually pretty good.”

Andrew: It depends on what we thought the other one was saying. (both laugh)

Emily: I remember reading an interview with Gillian Welch a long time ago, when she was talking about playing with a duo, about how it’s so much harder than playing with a full band, but also how it’s so much easier. And a lot of the things that she said about it made me realize how we were communicating, in a way that I didn’t necessarily realize before.

Andrew: I definitely love the spontaneity of playing in a duo, playing with just one other person. It’s really hard to make that split-second decision to vamp on a chord if you forget a lyric, or to extend a solo section, when there are four other people on stage with you. But when it’s just the two of us, we can kind of look at each other and give an eyebrow raise, and it’s like, “Oh yeah, I forgot the lyrics, so….”

Emily: It’s not even visual sometimes, but if somebody misses something, you automatically compensate for it in some way, and it’s not even conscious. I guess that’s probably possible in larger ensembles but it probably takes ten times as long to get there.

Photo credit: Kendall Bailey

LISTEN: Martha Spencer, “My Heart Says Yes”

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Artist: Martha Spencer
Hometown: Whitetop, Virginia
Song: “My Heart Says Yes”
Album: Martha Spencer
Release Date: October 26, 2018

In Their Words: “‘My Heart Says Yes’ features a duet of Frank Rische and myself on guitars and vocals. I guess it would be a love song in the ole-timey vein that talks about the tug of war of the mind – in wanting to stay or go, and caring for someone and realizing you might not be the best for them in the end. And I tried to pay a bit of homage to Hank Williams with the words ‘lost soul on the lost highway.’ It is one of my favorite songs on the album. Frank always does a great job with harmonizing vocally and on the guitar too.” — Martha Spencer

Photo credit: Christy Baird

Joshua Hedley, ‘I Never (Shed a Tear)’

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We all know the world wide web is a wild, weird, and scary place, but who could have predicted that one morning we’d wake up and the country would be enraptured with clips of the “Yodeling Wal-Mart Boy” — an 11-year-old kid howling out Hank Williams in the middle of a budget superstore? It happened last week, in fact, as America grew captivated by the little man’s vocal flips, sending Williams’ version of “Lovesick Blues” soaring up the download chart. Some genre purists claimed that this meant that we’re hungry for classic country. More likely, it just means we love seeing very young people doing very old things.

But classic country music isn’t an “old thing” — and it shouldn’t be treated as such. You just have to listen to Joshua Hedley and his song, “I Never (Shed a Tear),” to see why. In Hedley’s hands, this weep-and-waltz ballad is the exact opposite of the kitsch throwaway of the Yodeling Wal-Mart Boy. In other words, classic twang is not a meme or a funny viral clip, but a thriving, vital musical force. The magic of Hedley is how universal he makes familiar, gorgeous snaps of ’60s Nashville feel vital and current, not through modernization of the sound itself, but lyrics that stay relevant. “I Never (Shed a Tear)” isn’t a throwback, nor is it futuristic. With lines about love lost and let go — and a bit of romantic denial, too — it’s timeless. Try to find that in the aisles of Wal-Mart.

Canon Fodder: Cowboy Junkies, ‘The Trinity Session’

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“Roots” is an impossibly broad term that reasonably encompasses every strain of American music, from folk and country and gospel to bluegrass and blues and rock, from hollers, reels, and jigs to ballads, anthems, and laments. That makes for an incredibly diverse catalog of songs and albums that fall under that heading. Each month Stephen Deusner examines an album that lies either in the center — or more often in the margins — of what might be considered the roots canon … if there even is such a thing.

Let’s get the formalities out of the way first: The Cowboy Junkies’ second album was recorded at the Church of the Holy Trinity in Toronto in November, 1987. The church was initially reluctant to let a secular rock group hold sessions there, so the band broke the ninth commandment and bore false witness: They said they were a gospel act called the Timmins Family Singers and they were recording a holiday radio special. Many of the songs were captured with the band playing around one microphone, with Margo Timmins’ vocals broadcast over the church PA. It took either one day or several days, depending on who’s telling the story.

When fans talk about The Trinity Session, they almost always foreground the circumstances of its recording, as though that setting demonstrates the album’s authenticity — as though authenticity were objectively demonstrable. Overshadowing the music, the story of the album has become the album, and even the band is complicit: In 2007, they celebrated their breakthrough’s 20th anniversary by rebooking the same church, inviting some popular fans inside (including Vic Chesnutt and Ryan Adams), and re-recording the album song for song.

The music gets lost in that tale, so that it becomes easy to ignore the mood that the church itself went so far to create. It obscures the fact that this is an album that dramatically rewrites its folk source material, that conceives of personal and professional troubles (touring, romance, the usual) as the raw material for folk tunes, and considers Elvis Presley and the Velvet Underground to be folk artists. For many listeners (including yours truly), it was their first introduction to the folk process, years before Uncle Tupelo and others were revving up the Appalachian tradition to define alt-country. The Trinity Session is a seminal album, if it can ever escape the church.

The Church of the Holy Trinity did do one important thing: It created a sonic palette for these songs, eschewing the clinical silence of the studio for something with an audible ambience. It’s there in the a cappella opener “Mining for Gold,” a cover of a song by the Canadian folkie James Gordon. As Margo voices the worries of someone whose life is spent underground, you can hear the soft rumble in the background, a thousand small things coalescing into a roomy thrum: distant traffic, footsteps, whispers, birdsong, exhalations and inhalations, the bustle of Toronto just beyond the sanctuary. If you wanted to be romantic, you might say it’s the sound of a ghost in the room, a spectral musician accompanying Margo’s performance. But perhaps it’s something more: The entire world hushed so that the singer can get inside her own head for a few precious moments. That sound is the sound of sanctuary.

Reviewing the album in 1989 for Spin, Erik Davis described it as “a combination of Quaaludes and honey.” In this aural soup, the instruments take on lives of their own. Alan Anton’s bass doesn’t enter through your ear; rather, it already exists in your head. The harmonica leaps out of “I Don’t Get It,” almost like a jump scare in a horror movie. Michael Timmins’ guitar solos seem impossibly delicate, especially on “Dreaming My Dream with You.” His sense of timing makes the music all the more immersive; you lean in to hear his notes. Most of all, it’s the way these sounds collide and combine that reinforce the idea of the Cowboy Junkies as a band, which is crucial. They sway into oncoming traffic on “Walking after Midnight,” they swing delicately on “Blue Moon Revisited,” they jam industrially on “Working on a Building.” The church becomes a place of musical communion.

Margo Timmins sings “Mining for Gold” like the song wasn’t written but passed down through generations, and introduces a compelling strategy the band will deploy on most of the songs that follow: It uses the folk tune as a metaphor for band life. The Cowboy Junkies are miners searching for a rich vein of gold, and they persist despite the dangers such an enterprise entails. She may sing of silicosis (and who else could make that disease sound sing-song-y?), but the travails they face are more spiritual than physical. There is a sly nod to fellow Canadian Neil Young, who famously had “been a miner for a heart of gold,” but there are sly nods to so many performers here: the swaggering sex appeal of Elvis Presley on “Blue Moon Revisited (Song for Elvis),” the horrific isolation of Hank Williams on “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,” the heroic stoicism of Patsy Cline on “Walking after Midnight,” even the unexpected compassion of Lou Reed on “Sweet Jane.”

These artists are the veins they’re mining, which inform the handful of originals on The Trinity Session, in particular “200 Miles.” At first, it plays like a rounder’s anthem or a trucker song, but it becomes not only a description of life in a touring band but a declaration of intent — an explication of why the Timminses might choose a life on the road: “I got Willie on the radio, a dozen things on my mind, and number one is fleshing out these dreams of mine.” It’s no coincidence that they follow that song up with Waylon Jennings’ “Dreaming My Dreams with You.” “I hope that I find what I’m reaching for, the way that it is in my mind.”

The Cowboy Junkies are not only running toward some dream they can only vaguely define. They are also running from something. Death stalks every song on The Trinity Session, whether in the form of black lung or a car collision or some unknown fate that befalls every one of us. “I want to make sense of why we live and die … I don’t get it,” Margo sings on “I Don’t Get It.” And, just in case you think this album is without humor, she remarks grimly, “I ask my friends if they understand, but they just laugh at me and watch another band.” Music is one means by which we might understand life and death — or at least the Junkies hope so.

Are these songs receptacles for the dead and the doomed? Do they contain the ghosts of Hank, Patsy, and Elvis, and now Lou and Waylon? Nearly every artist they cover has died, which means that, 30 years after it established them as one of Canada’s most daring rock acts, The Trinity Session isn’t so much an album as it is a séance — a means by which they can contact and interrogate the dead.

3×3: Jade Bird on Boyfriends, Barbies, and the Bluebird

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Jade Bird
Hometown: London, England
Latest Album: Something American
Personal Nicknames: Jadey … I wish I had something more imaginative … Birdmeister has a ring to it.

If you had to live the life of a character in a song, which song would you choose?

Ooh, great question! Every character seems to have such a bleak ending in the songs I like … I’ve always felt a strange connection to “Look at Miss Ohio.” There’s something about the character’s spirit running from having everything. I suppose any of the girls Ryan Adams or Hank Williams sing about — must be nice to be that doted upon.

Where would you most like to live or visit that you haven’t yet?

Nashville!! Although I’m on my way there soon to play the Bluebird with the incredible Brent Cobb, who I got to know on his tour this side of the Atlantic.

What was the last thing that made you really mad?

If it isn’t a boyfriend … I often get frustrated the most with myself. Generally, not doing the best I can at something really winds me up.

 

Brooklyn First photoshoot of the trip… as you can see it was a serious affair #jazzhands @shervinfoto

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If you had to get a tattoo of someone’s face, who would it be?

Oh wow. I don’t know if I like ANYone that much. If it was do or die, someone with a pretty face, like James Dean or a young Leonardo DiCaprio *swoon*.

Whose career do you admire the most?

Patti Smith or Johnny Cash — both I think are totally authentic through their whole career. The amount of music they put into the world is so inspiring in different ways. Cash’s hundreds of songs and Smith’s real push toward a new sound at that time.

What are you reading right now?

In Cold Blood

 

What a first meal I literally died and went to heaven after this… #newyorknewyork

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Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

Both, I think every artist has a way of being so. I love being on stage more than anything, yet sometimes I very much like to hold up in my room and hide … until food and water is needed … and sunlight. I’m a bit like a plant, really.

What’s your favorite culinary spice?

I can’t cook to save my life, so I’ll go with paprika. On a side note, I don’t like dill .. .or too much coriander — they used to put it on everything in my old school canteen — not good.

What was your favorite childhood toy?

Barbies were definitely leading, at some point, followed closely by a life-sized Siberian husky who I named Shadow. I did used to create an army of my grandma’s ornamental elephants. (You’ve opened a can of worms here!)

Photo credit: Shervin Lainez

Squared Roots: Lindi Ortega on the Resonating Darkness of Townes Van Zandt

Posted on by Editor

Without question, the legacy of Townes Van Zandt looms large in singer/songwriter circles. Legend has it, Van Zandt all but told Bob Dylan to shove off, when Dylan came knocking on his door wanting to write together. Townes was an immense talent who struggled with depression and substance abuse, and still managed to craft some of the most timeless songs in history. Many of those tunes became immortal while he was still around to see them do so — songs like “Pancho & Lefty,” “If I Needed You,” “Tecumseh Valley,” and more have been covered by Willie Nelson, Emmylou Harris, Lyle Lovett, Steve Earle, Nanci Griffith, Jason Isbell, and numerous others.

Another of his most-treasured and poignant compositions is “Waiting Round to Die,” which has found yet another new life in the hands of Lindi Ortega. On her latest EP, Til the Goin’ Gets Gone, Ortega folds the cover in with her originals like it was her own. She felt compelled to do so because discovering Van Zandt’s catalog broke her through a major writer’s block and reinvigorated her passion for music.   

You didn’t grow up with his music, right? So what was your entry point into his catalog?

I read a lot of biographies and I just kept hearing his name. A lot of my country music heroes had mentioned him. I always thought, “What a cool name, Townes Van Zandt.” And it just stuck in my head. I figured, since a lot of my country music heroes were fans of his, I really should check him out. So, one day when I came back from a tour, I decided to listen to his catalog and, you know how it is when you discover music that you hadn’t known about and there’s a whole well of it to listen to. It was a really incredible experience. I fell in love with his music and his songs and his guitar playing.

There’s so much in his too-short life to latch onto.

Yeah.

Were there aspects of his life that drew you in or was it all about the music for you?

It was really more about the music. That was my definitely my entry point, listening to the words of his songs. His lyrics, specifically, spoke to me. I did watch the documentary, Be Here to Love Me, which I found so sad. I’m sure a lot of that internal darkness resonates in his words and music. And I write a lot of songs that are rather dark and lonely and sad, too, so I guess I felt like I related, in some way. But I’m sure I’ll never understand the demons that he had to deal with in his mind. But, I guess the idea is that songs that come from dark places, all of us humans go through moments that are dark and test us. I think we can all relate to songs in that way. Maybe some of us choose not to go there, but I think we can all relate.

You got a gift from him, in a way, right? Because you were ready to walk away and then you thought, “Maybe I have some more in me.”

Yeah. Definitely. I was going through writer’s block and he became a huge inspiration, songwriting-wise, to challenge myself to be a better songwriter and write more story-like songs. That sort of re-invigorated my love for writing music, in some funny way.

You did “Waiting Round to Die” on your new EP. I hear that and “Til the Goin’ Gets Gone” as sibling songs, or cousins, maybe. Do you hear that?

Absolutely. That’s why I chose to do that particular song as a cover. I was grabbling between that one and “Rake,” because I really like that song, too. But I felt exactly like what you said, that it was a sister song to the song I’d written, so it made sense to put that song on the record. I knew it was going to take the little EP to a very dark space, but … [Laughs]

[Laughs] Yeah. You out-sadded Townes Van Zandt!

I mean, it’s a dark, sad song. The lyrics are very dark. There’s no denying that, so there’s no point in me trying to make it anything other than that. [Laughs] I did: I made a very dark and sad EP, but that’s what I needed to do, at the time. I feel like there are moments for that.

In this day and age, I feel a lot of music is kind of escapist. I feel like the general population in pop music and pop-country, people are trying to escape all the horrible things that are happening in the world and all the dark things that may be happening in their own lives. I get the sense that people want to get out and party, so it’s more like a party music thing that’s happening and not very many people are into this whole idea of embracing dark, sad songs.

But I feel like they are still necessary and people still need them in life because, for me, one of the first dark songs I heard was “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” by Hank Williams. When I heard that, it wasn’t like, “Oh, God. Here’s a depressing song!” It was, “Oh, wow. Somebody else feels that same loneliness I feel.” And I felt like I wasn’t alone in my loneliness. That’s why I continue to write songs like that. And I just went there with this EP. It was necessary. I was going through a moment when I was questioning whether I could go on, musically, and I didn’t think I would. I felt sad and disappointed and a little bit devastated, so that’s what came out.

As you just said, the artist’s life is hard enough on its own, then you tack on battles with bipolar disorder and substance abuse with Townes. Was there a lesson or something you found, going into his work, that made you feel you didn’t have it so bad?

For sure. And that’s with a number of musicians I look up to and love who battled with substance abuse problems and depression. I think I read an article once that said creative people often suffer from things like panic attacks and depression and anxiety disorders. For some reason, it seems to go hand-in-hand with people who make beautiful art. Then there’s this whole other side where a lot of people are suffering greatly, but the upside is that we get beautiful songs or beautiful paintings. They help us understand life and the human condition.

So, yeah, it’s really sad to learn about his life and of course there are lessons … I don’t want to have my life end faster than it should. It sort of, in some ways, helps me understand that I need to really appreciate what I do have. There are things I don’t have that might cause me some sadness, but there are a lot of things I do have that I need to appreciate and feel happy about. So it helps me to do that. Some people have a hard time getting to those places because their brains just won’t let them. I’m just so grateful that an artist like Townes Van Zandt, with all of his internal issues, was able to create all of the music that he did. And it’s legendary and classic and will be with us forever. If there’s a ray of light in a sad story, that’s definitely it.

3X3: Amilia K Spicer on the Space-Time Continuum, Bob Dylan’s Throwing Arm, and Whiskey, No Mixers

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

Artist: Amilia K Spicer
Hometown: Backwoods, PA
Latest Album: Wow and Flutter
Personal Nicknames: Spice

What song do you wish you had written?

“The Weight” — then I would be part of every all-star encore and late-night campfire jam.

Who would be in your dream songwriter round?

I think a festival would be best for my dream songwriter soiree. But let’s say we are gathered for the pre-party in my (quite large) living room. Hank Williams, Bruce Springsteen, David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, Dolly Parton, Curtis Mayfield, Prince, Lucinda, Elvis Costello. Lennon and McCartney are in the kitchen right now, with Merle Haggard and Carole King. Not sure what they are up to. Don’t even get me started about the pick-up game going on in the front yard. All I can say is Bob Dylan doesn’t have much of a throwing arm.

If you could only listen to one artist’s discography for the rest of your life, whose would you choose?

Beethoven.

How often do you do laundry?

I just buy new stuff. Nah! I buy VINTAGE stuff.

What was the last movie that you really loved?

Zootopia

If you could re-live one year of your life, which would it be and why?

Never mess with the space-time continuum, man.

What’s your go-to comfort food?

Vegetable soup and popcorn.

Which Whiskey is your favorite — Scotch, Tennessee, Myers, Shivers, or Gentry?

Yes. And, no mixers.

Mustard or mayo?  

Mustard. Spicey. Of course.