Tag: indigo girls

Curiosity and Persistence: Amy Ray Gets Down to Her Roots on ‘Holler’

Posted on by Editor

Amy Ray’s new project, Holler, is the closest thing she’s made to a classic country album in a career that stretches across nearly 30 years. As one-half of the Indigo Girls, she’s won a folk Grammy and toured the world, sharing her musical path with Emily Saliers. But on Holler, Ray retreated to Asheville, North Carolina, with a hand-picked band of musicians who knew how to play country music – and she was eager to record the new music to tape using the studio’s vintage machines.

“For this band in particular, there is a real kind of magic quality to knowing that you can’t go back and change a lot of things,” she says. “So it keeps you on your toes the whole time. You have to be well-rehearsed. And at the same time, you just want to go for it.”

Taking a break from signing vinyl copies of Holler a few days before its release, Ray chatted with the Bluegrass Situation about finding happiness on a clawhammer banjo, discovering a commonality with Connie Britton’s character, Rayna Jaymes on ABC/CMT’s Nashville, and staying curious about the world.

How much did you rehearse this new material before going into the studio?

This unit has been playing together for about almost five years, so that’s like been our rehearsal — just touring. For these songs in particular, we did have some rehearsals, but most of the stuff we had rehearsed or worked on arrangements at my house. Or we would have a gig, like we opened for Tedeschi Trucks here and there, and I would use that as an opportunity to practice the day before. We would get together at the hotel and go to the conference room and work on songs – like at the Microtel or whatever – and do arrangements. It bought us a lot of time.

So the band knew the songs well in advance.

Yep, except for “Dadgum Down,” which was a wildcard, which no one knew. We didn’t even know if we were going to do it. I kept saying, “I have this song I wrote on banjo, but I don’t know what I’m going to do with it,” like a broken record over and over and over again. Jeff Fielder, the guitar player, and Alison Brown, who guested on banjo on the track – those two really came up with what became the arrangement for the song. It turned out to be a really fun experience because I put my banjo down and said, “I’m just going to sing.” But everything else, we had really worked on it and spent a lot of time fine-tuning the arrangements.

So the reference in that song about the sting of the bee — is that a reference to drugs?

It’s everything. The stinging [lyric] was another song I was working on, and I was like, “Oh, these are actually about the same thing.” Which is addiction, and relationships. So it’s like, it’s in the nature of the bee to sting. And it’s in the nature of love, and it’s in the nature of drugs. You can’t get mad at that item, because that’s part of their nature, and it’s also what you’re hungry for.

So it’s meant to be more than one dimension because the song is about wrestling with addiction — addiction to a person, and addiction to drugs, and addiction to anything. I’m always fascinated by that because I have an addictive personality, but also I have a lot of friends in recovery. And I don’t drink anymore, so I know how it is to try and beat that.

I want to ask about your musicianship. How did you get interested in the guitar?

It was just a vehicle to sing with probably. I mean, that’s probably why I’m not a better guitar player, too, because I looked at it as, “I want to write songs, and I want to sing, so I gotta learn how to play something.” I was playing piano, but not very successfully. I was in fifth grade and I got a guitar and took lessons at the Y. I learned like five chords and I could play all the Neil Young songs. So I was like, “This is perfect.”

What was the path to learning the other stringed instruments?

Well, mandolin, I just learned. It was like a natural thing for me, I guess. I was interested. I think I learned it because…. I’m trying to remember why I picked up a mandolin. I think I borrowed somebody’s flatiron mandolin and I liked it a lot. I thought this was cool, these chords. And I never really learned how to play properly, which I really want to do one day. But I was learning more from mountain music, like field recording kind of stuff. So I didn’t really learn the bluegrass style, or any of that. And then banjo is just something to knock around on, I don’t really know how to play.

Yeah, but it makes you happy right?

It makes me happy! It doesn’t matter. I try to play clawhammer and it makes me happy. [Laughs]

I’ve followed your career since that first Indigo Girls record, and you always seem to be doing something new and having something coming up. Where did that work ethic from?

Probably my parents, my family, just the way I was raised — workaholic.

Yeah, but you’ve never really rested on your laurels or waited around for it.

I get bored with laurels, and there’s not enough of them to rest on, either. I like the process as much as the prize. I mean, seriously. So for me it’s like I get bored and I really do want to become better at what I do. I think the only way to do that is to keep doing it. And for Emily and I, persistence was our friend forever. I mean, if we hadn’t worked hard and been persistent, and then had a lot of luck, we wouldn’t have made it.

That reminds me of “Tonight I’m Paying the Rent,” which is about putting in the time. Some gigs are not necessarily feeding your spirituality, but you’re still working, doing what you love. What’s the reward for what you’re telling me about – where you’re working, and traveling, and staying busy?

I don’t know, I’m just proud of it. Because when I do a solo tour and get to the end of it, and been able to play all the gigs, and drive all the miles and everything, I feel proud of it. I don’t know why. The process is fun, and I like the people I’m with. I’m just compelled. I think we are compelled by something, and it probably is fear of mortality and all of those deep things too. But it’s also like, well, it beats us sitting around. And it’s fun to try to do something that’s hard to do, and then be able to do it. It feels good.

Is it a calling for you, do you think, to be up there singing?

Who knows? I mean, I have no idea. It’s all I know, though. It’s all I know how to do. So I don’t know if it’s a calling or like a compulsion. I mean, “Tonight I’m Paying the Rent” really also grew out of needing an attitude check. Emily and I were playing a few of these private party kind of things, and I had such a negative attitude about it because they’re soul-sucking. And you’re just doing it for the money, and we stopped doing them because of that.

But then at the same time, I was watching an episode of Nashville where Rayna has to play a private party for a venture capitalist in California. And of course, the guy that hired her is a big fan, but no one else likes her, or likes country. And she’s out there, and she’s smiling, and no one’s listening. And I was like, I’ve totally been there a million times. Then her attitude about it after the show was like, “We all have bills to pay,” or whatever she says.

And that’s the attitude I have. Like, “Tonight I’m paying the rent.” That’s what that song grew out of. It’s like, “Why be so negative about this thing?” Yeah, maybe it’s not fun, but it beats digging a ditch. And look – you’re actually paying bills. That’s hard to do.

To me, “Didn’t Know a Damn Thing” is about history that you haven’t been taught, that you discover it on your own by seeking it out. Where does your own sense of curiosity come from?

I think that’s probably from my family and growing up with role models that were curious. Even my dad, who was super conservative, was also curious about everything. Even though we disagreed about a lot of things, one thing I know about him is that he was curious, and he would always listen to the other side. All the best teachers I ever had in high school and my favorite youth minister at church were curious and they didn’t mind it when I questioned things either.

And I don’t know why I always felt like I needed to question things. … I think part of that was paranoia. It was like the flip side of curiosity, which is paranoia. And I was like, this can’t be all there is, there’s got to be something else going on. It doesn’t feel right. And when you start feeling those feelings, you know you’ve got to look into it.

Photo credit (color): Carrie Schrader
Photo credit (black-and-white): Ian Fisher

BGS Celebrates Pride 2018

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It’s June! The most rainbowy time of the year! BGS is proud to celebrate Pride this month while the world marks the anniversary of the riots that began the modern LGBTQ+ rights movement, nearly 50 years ago at The Stonewall Inn in New York City, with parades, parties, protests, and loads of glitter.

Queer voices are an integral part of the roots music communities we all love — and they always have been. Let’s revisit some of our favorite pieces and stories that focus on LGBTQ+ identities, music, and perspectives as we raise up this incredibly strong, vibrant, open, and loving community.

 

Last year, we celebrated 30 years of queer goddesses The Indigo Girls by naming them our Artists of the Month. Some of our favorite songwriters — like Angaleena Presley and Becky Warren — paid them tribute as well. The Indigo Girls blazed a trail for openly queer folks to make music loud and proud. Their wide-reaching influence cannot be overstated.

 

Brandi Carlile gave the remaining 10 months of 2018 an impossibly high standard to live up to when she released her most recent record, By the Way, I Forgive You, in February. One song off of the new project, “The Joke,” is poised to become a queer anthem for our generation — and President Obama himself listed it as one of his favorite songs of 2017. It’s one of our favorites ad infinitum.

 

Southwest Virginia natives and old-time, bluegrass, and folk musicians Sam Gleaves & Tyler Hughes are helping to dispel the all too common assumption that rural communities are devoid of LGBTQ+ folks. “When We Love,” a song off of their self-titled, debut duo release made our Class of 2017 list of favorite songs from the year.

 

We were honored and proud to support the first ever Bluegrass Pride last year, partnering with the California Bluegrass Association on a float in the San Francisco Pride Parade. The float ended up winning Best Overall Contingent and brought live bluegrass music to literally hundreds of thousands of potential fans. The icing on the cake is this bluegrass version of Whitney Houston’s “Dance with Somebody” by Front Country and some fabulous friends.

 

Singer/songwriter Mary Gauthier demonstrates the incredible power of empathy on her record Rifles & Rosary Beads, a collection of songs written with veterans of the armed services. It’s an important message for this day and age — one that Gauthier delivers with, once again, empathy.

 

Americana singer/songwriter Becca Mancari may be based in Nashville, but her debut album, Good Woman, released last fall, draws inspiration from well beyond Music City. The critically-acclaimed album can thank its lyric-driven, personality-rich songs for its success — a reminder that living one’s truth and letting that truth shine is always the best plan of action.

 

Country music is for queers too, damnit! Karen Pittelman of Karen & the Sorrows believes that if we edit our own personalities, perspectives, and identities out of our art, it’s a disservice to everyone. Especially given the fact that queer people have have been making all kinds of art and all kinds of music all along.

 

She took home the crown from RuPaul’s Drag Race: All Stars Season 3, but last year, before her return to the iconic reality TV show, drag superstar Trixie Mattel (AKA Brian Firkus) released an album of folk-tinged country songs. This year, she released its follow up. We spoke to Trixie after her first album dropped about how a drag queen can fit into roots music communities.

 

Singer/songwriter and “poster child for intersectionality” Crys Matthews carries on the legacy of Martin Luther King Jr. through her music, writing relevant, hard-hitting, convicting songs that champion social justice and activism.

 

Country artist Sarah Shook is an activist just by being herself, unapologetically. It’s a classic outlaw perspective and a perfect fit for a queer voice in the country realm.

 

Folk legends, GRAMMY winners, producers, and life partners Cathy Fink & Marcy Marxer released their forty-fifth recording, Get Up and Do Right, early last year. It’s no surprise that it has a social justice bent, given that the pair has spent their entire lives and careers on the front lines of the battle for LGBTQ+ rights and women’s rights.

 

Artist and Americana/soul singer Chastity Brown contemplated heartbreak and healing on her latest album, Silhouette of Sirens, released a little over a year ago. To Brown, the personal is political, “Just by me being a bi-racial, half-black, half-white woman living in America right now is political. Just being a person of color, a queer woman of color, for that matter, is freaking political.”

 

Of course, we’ve been proud to highlight diverse and underrepresented identities at the International Bluegrass Music Association’s business conference for the past two years – and continuing this year! The inclusion and diversity movement swept IBMA’s events in Raleigh last year, and we took a look at how and why.

 

And last but certainly least, how could we celebrate Pride without going back to our conversation with the most busted, washed-up, wannabe country star in the universe, Ms. Marlene Twitty-Fargo? As she would holler from stage, “Happy Pride, biscuits! Though I don’t know why all you queers love Charley Pride so much.”

Lede photo by torbakhopper on Foter.com / CC BY-ND

Cary Morin Picks His Piece

Posted on by Editor

“Let there be no question of who’s wrong and who’s right. There should be no compromise. We all stand up and fight in the dawn’s early light,” Cary Morin sings on “Dawn’s Early Light,” written in support of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe during last year’s protest of the Dakota Access Pipeline.

“A friend of mine was doing a show [at Standing Rock with the Indigo Girls] and she had asked me, just in passing, if I would write a song for the Standing Rock movement,” Morin explains. “I felt like there were a lot of people writing songs about that, at that time, and I wanted this one to be a little different and stand out a little bit, so it was really more concentrated on the activism, in general, and not so much Standing Rock, but just the whole idea of people coming together to promote clean water.”

“Dawn’s Early Light” is one of the poignant original songs featured on Morin’s latest album, Cradle to the Grave. In order to lend his perspective, Morin tapped into his experience growing up as a Crow tribal member near the Missouri River in Montana.

“When you think about roots music in America, it’s a culmination of so many things. It’s all the stuff blended together, much like the culture in this country is people from all over the world that end up here and create a unique situation,” Morin explains. “With my Native heritage, I could say that I’m really the only finger-style Crow guy on the entire planet. That’s unique. But we all can say that, to some degree. We all have unique things that make us who we are, and I’m really thankful to have grown up in the area that I did, surrounded by the people that I did.”

Morin came to the guitar by way of the piano, which he first began playing around the age of 10. When he picked up a guitar a couple years later, he was enamored. He played by ear, emulating the sounds he loved from his parents’ and brother’s record collection: Chet Atkins, James Taylor, Cat Stevens and Neil Young.

“I grew up in the ‘70s so, at that time, [there was] no Internet, there was very little TV, mostly radio. And the local music scene was really pretty folky and a lot of bluegrass, so I really grew up in the pursuit of flat-picking and [was influenced by] popular bluegrass bands at the time — David Bromberg, Norman Blake, Tony Rice,” says Morin. “I had really fantastic examples of what the music should be, but then I kind of mashed everything up into a combination of bluegrass and finger-style stuff, mostly from Leo Kottke, which turned into this thing that I do now.”

Morin moved to Colorado just out of high school and formed the Atoll, a world-beat band that he toured with for more than 20 years. “I played electric guitar [in the band], but I continued to mess around with the acoustic guitar,” he says. “Once I stopped doing [the band], my focus was really just acoustic guitar and a lot of practicing — just hours and hours of sitting around and playing. To this day, I try to play quite a lot. I’ve been introduced to open-D tuning by a friend of mine, and it took me about a year to get it going and figure out just the basics of it. But then, once I got it going, I just found it to be really fascinating, and I continue to learn new stuff all the time with that tuning. I just love the way it sounds. There’s a fullness and richness to it that I can’t seem to get out of standard tuning.”

Morin’s reconnection with the acoustic guitar led to the release of his most recent string of solo acoustic albums. Cradle to the Grave is the fourth in the series showcasing his adept fingerpicking style and warm, inviting vocals. An amalgamation of bluegrass, country, rock ’n’ roll, and blues, the album features eight original tunes and three cover songs: Willie Brown’s “Mississippi Blues” and, perhaps more surprisingly, Prince’s “Nothing Compares 2 U” and Phish’s “Back on the Train.”

“Phish is one of my favorite bands … I think that Trey’s playing has just really been inspiring and just the whole feel of the band and the approach they take. There’s so much freedom in what they do, and I used that as an example with my band, when I was rolling around playing clubs and festivals,” Morin explains. “A lot of times we’d play five songs without stopping. We’d just roll from tune to tune, and the whole point of that band was really dance music, just to provide an outlet for people to go out and have fun and dance.”

Morin uses the same ethos in his current performances touring behind his solo efforts.

“As a solo player, I can do whatever I want. I can play in whatever key. I can speed things up or slow it down, or just kind of make things up as I go along. And I really dig that freedom to just do whatever I want on stage,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll try stuff and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But when it does, it’s a great feeling, and then it’s gone forever.”

While solo spontaneity on stage leads to such ephemeral moments, Morin has a solidified team off-stage that serves as his backbone — and they’re not going anywhere. From recording to promotion, it’s an organic, family affair.

“What I like about these four records [is that] the recordings are all done live in the studio with no headphones. I’ll sit and play these songs, and just play and play and play them, and a friend of mine has recorded all these albums,” Morin explains. “We’ve gotten together, I think, a pretty successful team with Maple Street Music and [my wife] promoting the live shows and the recordings, and Rich [Werdes] recording them, and we have the same person that’s been mastering and mixing the CDs, too. It’s just like the perfect combination of people and I like to think that I promote one guy, one guitar. People still are interested in such a thing … I just really enjoy being able to stand on stage by myself being able to do what I do.”

Photo credit: Timothy Duffy

Becky Warren Thanks the Indigo Girls for 30 Years #IG30

Posted on by Editor

Continuing our month-long tribute in celebration of the Indigo Girls’ 30th anniversary, we asked singer/songwriter Becky Warren how she’d like to thank Amy Ray and Emily Saliers. 

It’s pretty much impossible to overstate the importance of the Indigo Girls in my life. I grew up in Atlanta, so when I first heard them in 1990 or so, they became instant heroes — women who wrote amazing songs, played and sang them on great records, and even lived where I lived. I got a guitar in 1991, and theirs were, of course, the first songs I taught myself to play. I spent a lot of time in school feeling awkward and lonely and weird — the kid who was absolutely obsessed with music that most of the other kids weren’t listening to. The Indigo Girls showed me that there was a place in the future where a music nerd girl from Atlanta could fit in great. And they taught me a hell of a lot about songwriting.

More than a decade later, my band (the Great Unknowns) had just finished recording our first album in a basement in Boston when Amy Ray called our guitar player to say she loved the record and wanted to put it out on her Daemon Records label. We immediately agreed and, in 2005, newly married to a guy who had just deployed to Iraq, I went on my first run of shows opening for the Indigo Girls. Amy and Emily were legends for me, and I was amazed to find they were also incredibly kind, down to earth, and full of passion for playing and listening to music. My then-husband’s return from Iraq with PTSD kept me out of the music world for almost seven years — an eternity in the music business. But when I got back to it, Amy was willing to listen to my songs again, and she gave me feedback that bolstered my confidence in a way I badly needed after so much time.

Late last year, I released my first solo album, War Surplus, which explores the impact of PTSD on veterans and their families. I sent Amy an early copy, and she told me she really thought people should hear it. And so it happened that, almost 12 years after my musical journey was interrupted by the Iraq War and its aftermath, I got to go back on tour opening for the Indigo Girls.

My dear friend Mary Bragg (who sings with me here and is a phenomenal Americana artist in her own right) came along on the tour to lend her vocal talents. To build my music career back up to that point, after such a long break, meant the world to me; but the fact that Amy and Emily still believed in me and my songs meant even more. I’m so proud to be an Indigo Girls superfan, so honored to call them friends, and so grateful for everything they’ve done for me. 

Photo credit: David Nardiello

Cory Chisel and Adriel Denae, ‘Just Pleasing You’

Posted on by Editor

It’s Indigo Girls month at the Bluegrass Situation, and it’s hard to talk about that dynamic duo without addressing one of the most potent components of their magic: harmony. It’s one of music’s most primal things — no instruments needed, just voices ringing together in a mysterious pattern that sounds perfect but takes true mastery to actually perfect. Few do it as well as Amy Ray and Emily Saliers, who meld themselves like two bodies of water intersecting, yet somehow retain their own individual clarity along the way. A good harmony is true wizardry to the ears. It really is.

Cory Chisel and Adriel Denae’s debut duets LP, Tell Me True, is dedicated to the magnetism of those harmonies. Romantic partners in life and craft, they blend their vocals in both natural and unexpected combinations, volleying in a seamless game with lyrics that chart their life, love and struggles together. “Just Pleasing You,” a sparse and strikingly beautiful ode to what we leave behind to follow a romance — the good, the ugly, the staggered parts of ourselves — is built on Chisel and Denae’s ability to lace their words around each other in that magical way, teetering together with just some simple guitar to pull it all along. “Just pleasing you, is the last thing I’ll do,” they sing, the melody moving and the key escalating with each breath. Pleasing each other, but our ears, too … true wizardry, indeed.   

The Power of Two: 30 Years of Indigo Girls

Posted on by Editor

Although the earliest traces of Amy Ray and Emily Saliers joining musical forces date back to 1981 — and their original meeting back to 1974 — the Indigo Girls’ debut album, Strange Fire, was released in 1987. To mark the much-beloved duo’s 30th anniversary, we wanted to say “thank you” to Amy and Emily for everything they have given us over the years … the art and the activism, the influences and the inspirations. To do so, we reached out to artists who have walked the trail they blazed, starting with singer/songwriter Mary Gauthier, who penned this wonderful recollection that speaks for so many. (Keep an eye out all month for more artists paying tribute through stories and songs.)  

Lesbian icons. When I was a kid, the mere thought of such a thing was laughable. I was growing up in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, in the 1970s. There were no iconic gay women. Hell, there were no gay women, period. When I began to wonder if I was gay, I went to the library looking for lesbian authors. My research brought me to one book: Radclyffe Hall’s sad book, The Well of Loneliness. I read it, then landed on its predecessor, the bi-monthly mailed-in-a plain-brown-paper-wrapper-lesbian-newsletter, LC (Lesbian Connection). A nod to Hall’s 1928 book, the polite LC personals were called “The Wishing Well.”

LC introduced me to “womyns” music. I loved the great Canadian folk singer Ferron, but as an angst-filled, queer, ’70s teenager from the Deep South, I did not relate to much of the womyns music scene. I didn’t fit in there, either. I found myself listening more to Southern folk singers like John Prine, and other male songwriters whose words I felt close to.

Imagine my surprise when I moved to Boston in my early 20s and heard the Indigo Girls for the first time on WUMB college radio. There was SOMETHING THERE for me, personally — a brand new, yet deeply familiar sound. It resonated. I FELT it. Though I did not know it consciously, a part of me understood: Those voices were gay women from the South, like me. I parked my black Toyota restaurant truck in the driveway, turned the radio up loud, sat there stunned, and listened as the song played out. The sound infiltrated my soul. What was this, some kind of cosmic lesbian musical sorcery? Who were these people? They fucking rocked. The harmonies peeled back layers of scar tissue at my center, exposing a longing in me that I could not name. The song coming out of the radio was called “Strange Fire.” Hearing it for the first time in my truck that evening literally hurt.

I come to you with strange fire
I make an offering of love

The incense of my soil is burned
By the fire in my blood

Those harmonies landed like a déjà vu — utterly familiar, but not at all known. The sound was pointing me to something vital about myself, but I did not know what it was. The alchemy evoked a buried self I had not yet met, the future songwriter in me, entombed in a personal Pompeii, frozen under layers of active addiction. When the song ended, I turned off the radio, clenched the steering wheel, laid my head down, closed my eyes, and cried. I banged both hands on the wheel … harder, then harder still.

I was drunk, stoned, and tired of feeling alone. I had a hole in me that the call to songwriting had once upon a time tried to answer. But the call wasn’t even a memory anymore. I had put my guitar and musical longing aside, buried them both in a past I did not contemplate, and forgot about them. Women who did not (or could not) abide the compulsory rules of gender — the sexualized female appearance tailored to the male gaze — didn’t stand a chance in the real music business, right? I’d grown up, turned away from music. Made peace with 1 Corinthians 13:11: “When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things.”

I was a restaurateur now, a businesswoman, and a CEO. A chef. I established and ran several restaurants. I had what thought I wanted. I was young and successful. But I felt empty. There was money, but it didn’t matter. I’d spent the last decade subconsciously flirting with death. I lived with a gaping hole in the center of my being that I poured booze and dope and romance and success and any other thing I could jam in there to deaden the pain, the sadness of an unlived life. I was lost, careening the wrong way down a one-way street. I did not know how to turn around.

So I worked harder, tried to make more money, and became grandiose. Angry. I demanded that those around me work harder, too. We had to push the limits of what was possible. I was hoping to succeed my way out of the feeling of being lost. Somehow, the sound of that song on the radio saw me and called to me, but I couldn’t understand what it was telling me about myself. I could not make sense of the visceral response it released in my gut, even as the waves of emotion doubled me over.

A few months later, I was arrested for drunk driving. The court sentenced me to mandatory rehab. I got sober. Soon after, I decided to find the source of those magical voices I’d heard on the radio. I called the station, described the song, and the DJ said they called themselves the Indigo Girls. I went to Tower Records and bought the record, Strange Fire.

Amy Ray, Michael Stipe, Natalie Merchant, Woody Harrelson, and Emily Saliers perform for Earth Day in Washington, DC in 1990.

Soon after, I went to see them perform at the Paradise, a Boston rock club. It was 1990. I was a few months clean and sober, and what I saw that night made me dizzy, weak, and queasy. The mostly female audience was screaming the singers’ names, while crying and shouting the words to the songs, as the two women on stage sang smiling, delighting in the raucous, carnival-like excitement. In short, the fans were out of their fucking minds. The scene that night was like the black and white footage of girls screaming for the Beatles in 1964. For the first time ever, I saw women jumping up and down and screaming at the top of their voices for women. It was pandemonium. No Well of Loneliness here, this was a grand public display of woman-loving-woman energy, a giant wave of out-ness that rode the waves of the music being played on stage, blasting through the house speakers. It blew my mind.

I’d been out for years, so it wasn’t the queerness that freaked me out; it was something else. I could not name what was happening inside me, but I left early, after going into the bathroom, afraid I would literally be sick. My knees could barely hold me up. I was only a few months sober. I wasn’t even sure I saw what I had just witnessed. I was utterly confused. I loved the music, the passion, and the songs. What the hell was making me so queasy? I had no idea then that the pain of an unlived life was dropping me to my knees in the not-so-clean stall in the women’s room in the Paradise Rock Club.

I went and saw them play again at the 1991 Newport Folk Festival. I’d listened to the Strange Fire record hundreds of times, and had just bought their self-named second record, Indigo Girls. The record had thrown off a smash radio hit, “Closer to Fine.” The Indigo Girls became Newport headliners the summer I celebrated my first year of sobriety. As a gift to myself, I bought a ticket to the festival.

The skies over Newport, Rhode Island, burst open with rain before the Indigo Girls took the stage, but I didn’t care. I found something to hold over my head. Maybe a stranger loaned me an umbrella? I don’t remember. What I do remember was the absolute joy I felt watching them with a full band, brilliantly and confidently take over the entire universe, as the rain came crashing down and rivers of water raced down the hill, magically splitting along both sides of my little island of safety. I had not felt joy like that since … maybe … ever.

Gone was the upset in my gut, the confusing angst, even though the heightened emotions in the women in the audience at Fort Adams State Park was like the Paradise Rock Club times 10,000. I was becoming one of the singing-along-out-loud fans. There were screaming, crying, lyric-shouting women as far as the eye could see and, this time, it made me smile. Song after song, women running up to the stage in tears reaching for them, while security had to push back the surge, while beautiful young girls threw themselves and their passionate, hysterical love at the women on stage. It was amazing. I was witnessing a seismic shift in American culture, and in myself.

The Indigo Girls went on to rule the Newport Folk Festival in the 1990s, appearing as headliners nine times in 10 years. They were stars and bona fide lesbian icons. I had no way of knowing that, a decade later, I’d be standing up on that very same stage myself. I was just beginning to feel the pull to my own music, to the old guitar that had sat in my closet for so long.

What I did know was that a door had opened. Things were different now, and weren’t going to go back to how it was before. The Indigo Girls had shattered the glass ceiling in music, the ceiling that no “lesbian-looking lesbians” had been able to smash through before them. Soon, lesbian artist after lesbian artist made their way through the opening the Indigos created. I become one of them.

I doubt I would have had the audacity to become a songwriter and take the stage without Amy and Emily laying the groundwork for up-and-coming artists. I owe them a huge debt and a heartfelt thank you. The spirit that flows through their music, and through all good music, contains much-needed truths that can help bring lost souls back home.

In their highest form, songs are vibrations from a higher world, which humans have been given the power to channel. Songs are a gift, an offering, and an open exchange between singer and audience. Songs are emotional electricity and know no sexual preference, gender, race, nationality, or age. Some are more than just sweet melodies or sellable entertainment products. The most meaningful ones are powerful medicines that can connect us to ourselves, each other, and to the divine. They carry emotional truths that burn through time and space, touching something eternal.

The songs of the Indigo Girls pointed me home to me, when I needed it most — a date with destiny, a divine decree. By being authentic, Amy and Emily have pointed millions of other people home, as well. Damn near everyone I know (straight and gay) has an Indigo Girls positive impact story. The world is a better, more inclusive place because of their music. So, I say with great joy, happy 30th anniversary to the Indigo Girls and to Strange Fire. You have done much for many, and we are better because of you and your music.

— Mary Gauthier

Photos courtesy of Indigo Girls

ANNOUNCING: Two New Ways to Hang & Sang

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Last summer, Team BGS noticed that Facebook was really pushing their Live videos. We also saw that our friends Ann Powers and Jewly Hight were doing some casual sessions on Ann’s porch here in Nashville for NPR Music using that medium. So we decided we should give it a whirl. Ani DiFranco was coming to town, and we asked if she’d be our first. We didn’t have a name for it or much of a plan at all, but Ani said yes and City Winery said we could use their lounge. On June 30, 2016, what would become Hangin’ & Sangin’ was born.

Since then, we’ve had Sam Bush, Lori McKenna, Uncle Earl, Indigo Girls, Chely Wright, Colin Hay, Natalie Hemby, Ruby Amanfu, Special Consensus, the Revivalists, Marc Broussard, the McCrary Sisters, Whiskey Myers, Glen Phillips, Mary Gauthier, and a slew of other fantastic artists on the show.

And we’re just getting started.

In the weeks ahead, we’ll be hangin’ with Johnnyswim, Angaleena Presley, Drew Holcomb, John Paul White, Rodney Crowell, Sunny Sweeney, Keb’ Mo’, Gaby Moreno, and so many more of your favorite artists at Hillbilly Central, right off Music Row, in the heart of Nashville. Join us every Friday at 2:30 pm CT on Facebook Live, catch us every Sunday at 6:30 am and Tuesday at 9 pm on WMOT Roots Radio, or listen to the podcast via iTunes any time you like. We’d love to have you hang with us.

 

Special thanks to Alison Brown, Garry West, Gordon Hammond, and everyone at Compass Records for lending us their historic studio. Additional thanks to Jessie Scott, Val Hoeppner, John Walker, Craig Havighurst, and the whole team at WMOT Roots Radio for giving us some air time. And an extra shout out to Josephine Wood for helping get this thing off the ground to begin with. We couldn’t be happier to partner with all of you.

8 Unsucky Roots Songs from the ’80s

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Even for those of us with the most positive of attitudes (or the numbest of memories), it's hard to deny that the '80s were, generally, a cultural suckfest full of bad ideas. Cocaine? Bad idea. Members Only jackets? Really bad idea. Ronald Reagan? Leg Warmers? Hair Bands? All bad ideas. Even the Grateful Dead were infected with some bad ideas during the '80s. (Read: "Touch of Grey.")

But before you sink into despondency over the hard truth about The Decade That Good Taste Forgot, dive into my playlist of eight tunes from the '80s that are rootsy enough to stay close to my heart and awesome enough to get a Spotify spin or two … even in the 21st century. 

The Radiators, "Like Dreamers Do" (from Law of the Fish)
Ed Volman could sing a song (as he proved for 33 years, until he retired and the Radiators disbanded in 2011). He could also come up with a pretty hooky riff on the piano, which is what makes this song so freakin' good. Dare ya not to bob your head and/or shake your buns.

Little Feat, "One Clear Moment" (from Let It Roll)
Hardcore Featheads (Featheads?!) never really did a full sign-off on the so-called Craig Fuller years, but the band still did some great music, including this super funky number (that actually mixes nicely with "Like Dreamers Do").

Omar and the Howlers, "Hard Times in the Land of Plenty" (from Hard Times in the Land of Plenty)
Yes, this record suffers somewhat from the ultra-shimmery production values that exponentially increased the suck-factor of a lot of '80s music but, beyond that flaw, this song rocks hard. It's what Jimmie Vaughan would've sounded like if he'd hung out with AC/DC.

Indigo Girls, "Closer To Fine" (from Indigo Girls)
Damn, what a great year we had listening to this album and singing along to this song. R.E.M. producer Scott Litt was brilliant here as were Fiachna O'Braonain and Liam O'Maonlai of Hothouse Flowers, and Luka Bloom, all of whom sang along.

Hothouse Flowers, "I'm Sorry" (from People)
In case you didn't know it, this is one of the best (and most underrated) albums of the '80s. This is a song that still evokes chills 30-some years later (and it's just the start). Stream the whole deal and immerse yourself in Irish gospel.

Melissa Etheridge, "Like the Way I Do" (from Melissa Etheridge)
Three decades later and Melissa still brings it, still sings like she's 25, and is still supercool. It all started here with a song that came out of the radio like a rebel girl escapes through her bedroom window.

John Mayall, "Chicago Line" (from Chicago Line)
John Mayall was in his mid-50s when he blew this record, thereby proving that playing the blues will insure you keep your swag a whole lot longer than the people with whom you graduated high school. 

R.E.M., "Fall On Me" (from Life's Rich Pageant)
My kid and I argue regularly about what is the best R.E.M. song (and, in tandem, which of their songs is the best example of "pop perfection"). He says "Everybody Hurts" and "Leaving New York." I scoff. I play "Fall On Me" and I win every time.

Photo by DG3YEV (Creative Commons 3.0)

Roots Musicians Rally to Support Standing Rock

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As tensions in North Dakota surrounding the proposed Dakota Access Pipeline have mounted and protest efforts to protect the land from the controversial project have grown over the last several months, many roots musicians have taken to song in support of the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation. Like their Trump-protesting musician pals before them earlier this year, these musicians are using the power of music to raise awareness and vital funds for protest efforts, which continue following the Army Corps of Engineers' announcement that they would not grant permits necessary for completing the pipeline.

One of the largest of these efforts is Songs for Standing Rock, a series of compilations put together by Austin musician and activist Phoebe Hunt. So far, Hunt and her team have released three compilations, all available via a pay-what-you-want page on Bandcamp. All proceeds from sales, with the exception of a 3 percent PayPal processing fee, go to "the creation of permanent sustainable winterized geodesic domes, wood stoves, and fire wood supplies at Standing Rock." Artists featured on the compilations include Elephant Revival, Ana Egge and the Sentimentals, and Hunt herself.

Hunt initially got involved in Standing Rock efforts after hearing of the freezing conditions water protectors were enduring in their efforts to guard the contested land. Living in Austin, though, she wasn't immediately clear how she could make a substantial difference. "I wanted to help, but I was so busy with everything I was doing in my life," she explains. "I was so proud and so happy that they were doing what they were doing, but I couldn't be there … I knew I needed to help and I called my friend Lakshmi and I said, 'What can we do to help?' She said, 'I have this idea that we could get an album together of musicians that would come together to support.' I had an idea of a thousand things that I needed to do in my own life with all of these other projects I'm working on and was trying to direct her in how to do it and then, two days later, I woke up and it was cold in Austin and I was cold and I thought, 'These people are freezing. I have to do something now.' So I put up a Facebook post and I said, 'We're going to put a compilation album together. Anyone interested? We need to help these people. They need firewood. It's freezing. Let's activate.' That one Facebook post got so much response I had to create a graph of all the people who wanted to help."

Hunt put together a meeting that very evening for friends and musicians interested in joining the effort. "We delegated, and we talked through what we could do to help immediately," she says. They decided to use Bandzoogle, which doesn't take a portion of sales once a one-time annual hosting fee has been paid, to distribute the music and started the writing, recording, and curating process soon thereafter. It wasn't long before they had Songs for Standing Rock Vol. 1, a 15-song collection released on Thanksgiving Day. Hunt and her team received such an overwhelming response from their community that they have since released two additional volumes.

Artists getting otherwise involved in the movement include Spirit Family Reunion, who wrote the new song "Goin' Out to Cannonball" to raise money for Sacred Stone Camp, which is located on the Standing Rock Reservation. It's available for purchase through Bandcamp with all proceeds benefitting Sacred Stone Camp.


"This is not limited to protecting clean water and sacred land for the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe," Spirit Family Reunion's Nick Panken, who wrote the song after spending time at Standing Rock, says. "This is not limited to the 17 million people across several states who get their water from the Missouri River. This comes down to protecting values that are vital to our humanity. The Dakota Access Pipeline represents the destruction of these values and, when these values are destroyed, so are we. This is our time to stand with Standing Rock in defense of their values and to learn from Standing Rock in their valuable ways."

The women behind Rising Appalachia, an Asheville-based roots-folk duo comprised of sisters Chloe Smith and Leah Song, also spent time protesting at Standing Rock, hoping to, as Smith describes, "be an ally to the water protectors on a holiday (Thanksgiving) that holds historical weight for many people across this country."

"It will take some time to fully understand and articulate the beauty and rawness that we experienced at Standing Rock, North Dakota, when we arrived on November 22," Song adds. "The sobering prayers and fire-centered leadership, the way that a living indigenous movement embraced and celebrated Thanksgiving in all of its complex historical context, the incredible sense of community and care that was shared amongst strangers and family alike who had all lent their physical bodies to a movement much bigger than a protest. The Standing Rock community, the Oceti Sakowin and RoseBud camps, and the many, many people from far and wide that are standing with this movement to reroute the Dakota Access pipeline are making their voices heard in a peaceful and prayerful way."

While songwriting is a primary outlet for activism for many musicians, some artists have taken to writing op-eds in support of Standing Rock, as well, including a handful who have done so for BGS. Nashville's Korby Lenker wrote an essay for us to accompany his song "Last Man Standing," writing, "Watching the news, I see policemen lined up in riot gear while, behind them, bulldozers carve up land upon which buffalo once roamed. Apart from the specific threat, people are frustrated — I am frustrated — that this is one more example of the government putting corporate interests over the health and well-being of human beings." The Indigo Girls published a call to action urging readers to contact Kelcy Warren, the CEO of Energy Transfer Partners, the company slated to build the pipeline. 

Artists have long been at the forefront of activist movements, and these recent examples from roots musicians are the kinds of efforts that will be especially crucial in coming years when President-elect Trump takes office. Protecting the environment will soon be a more urgent cause than ever, as will the protection of the civil liberties of marginalized groups, and it's up to artists to raise their voices and use their platforms for change.

"We need new models and new leaders to help shepherd us into a more sustainable way of living," Song concludes. "We know that coal and oil will not last forever. Standing Rock is creating that model physically, metaphorically, poetically, and through real non-violent teachings and beliefs to begin to shift our cultural emphasis away from corporate large-scale agendas and into grassroots living and organizing. We have a lot to learn from this movement."

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UPDATED: A Call to Action from the Indigo Girls #NoDAPL (Op-ed)

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As many of you know, there is a critical battle being fought right now in Standing Rock, North Dakota, between Native Americans, their allies who want to protect sacred land and water, and a huge corporation that wants to build an oil pipeline that threatens the Missouri River with leaks and devastating consequences. The name of the company building the pipeline is Energy Transfer Partners, and its CEO is a man named Kelcy Warren.

Kelcy Warren also happens to be a passionate music lover who owns a festival (Cherokee Creek Music Festival) and a record label (Music Road Records) that, among other things, released a Jackson Browne tribute record. Indigo Girls have played the festival and had a song on the tribute record. When we participated in those events, we had no idea about Kelcy Warren’s connection to big oil and its imminent threat to the Standing Rock Sioux. Now we know.

When this connection was brought to our attention, Amy and I wrote a letter to Mr. Warren, voicing our protest over his company’s pipeline (DAPL), and several other artists who had performed at his festival signed the letter in solidarity. We are simply saying that building this pipeline is the wrong thing to do, and its disregard for Native land, water, and rights is in direct conflict with our philosophy as artists and people who care about Indigenous peoples and the environment.

Amy and I, under the guidance of Honor the Earth, have recently been to Standing Rock to play a concert and stand in solidarity with the protectors (not protesters!) there. They are brave, outnumbered by abusive law enforcement, and suffering unfathomable racism, yet they remain firmly committed to opposing this pipeline — not just for themselves, but for all of us.

We wrote to Mr. Warren, asking him to reconsider and stop the pipeline.

Will you join us?

To Email, Call, or Message
Cherokee Creek Music Festival: [email protected] — 214.981.0700 — Facebook
Music Road Records: [email protected] — 512.444.0226 — Facebook

For more information, please visit Honor the Earth.

In gratitude and solidarity with Standing Rock,
Amy Ray and Emily Saliers — Indigo Girls

October 26, 2016

Mr. Kelcy Warren
c/o Cherokee Creek Music Festival
4160 West FM 501
Cherokee, TX 76832

Dear Mr. Warren,

We have played your Cherokee Music Festival and found it to be a compelling gathering of artists and a noble pursuit to help children’s charity organizations across the country. Many of us who have played your festival have invested time and energy into the fight for human rights and environmental justice. For some of us, this mission is the moving force and spiritual foundation of our larger community of musicians, and one of the inspirations to play such rich gatherings as the Cherokee Music Festival. But sadly, we realize that the bucolic setting of your festival and the image it projects is in direct conflict with the proposed Dakota Access Pipeline — a project your company, Energy Transfer Partners, is responsible for spearheading. This pipeline violates the Standing Rock Sioux Nation's treaty rights, endangers the vital Missouri River, and continues the trajectory of genocide against Native Peoples.

Many of us have also participated in projects affiliated with Music Road Records, another company of yours. While this company does a lot to promote incredible music that comes from the roots of our country, many of us, as artists, take offense and are mystified by how someone with such a deep passion for organic and traditional music can own a company that is so blatantly tearing at the heart of the fabric of our American community. The American tradition of music that is so diverse and rich depends on the respect for human rights and that includes environmental justice for Native Peoples that contribute to the great tapestry of this land.

In order to stay true to our music and respect the Native Nations that are united against the Dakota Access Pipeline, we will no longer play your festival or participate in Music Road Records recordings. We implore you to stop the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline and to reconsider your company’s pursuits with regards to the environment and the communities that depend on its well-being.

We stand with Standing Rock, the Standing Rock Sioux, their friends, and allies in protecting their sacred land and water by stopping the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline and all pipelines that threaten massive ecosystems.

UPDATE

Editor's note: Kelcy Warren responded to the letter by trotting out the usual tone deaf oil industry tropes which are handily rebutted with phrases like "There's a difference between treaty territory and reservation land," "Electricity never polluted anyone's drinking water,"  "It's not hard to imagine why 250 years of broken agreements might lead a Native tribe to be skeptical of negotiating with white men," "Oil barron and environmental steward are, in fact, mutually exclusive titles to hold," and so on. Nevertheless, in the spirit of fairness, we present his letter in full:

 

Lede image: Water Protectors prayerfully march across the desecrated sacred sites to stop DAPL construction. Photo by Rob Wilson Photography.