Cover Story: Brittany and Natalie Haas on Sharing Melody, Rhythm, and Space

What changes about the oft championed phenomenon of “family harmonies” when the voices entwined together are not voices at all, but strings, plucked and bowed and fingered? It’s a question that immediately comes to mind as you hear the first notes of Haas, the recent duo album released by sisters, fiddler Brittany Haas and cellist Natalie Haas. It’s also a question that immediately came to mind as we chatted via Zoom last month.

“I feel like I connect more deeply with Brittany than anyone else from a rhythmic standpoint,” Natalie responds after a thoughtful pause. “That’s not so much the family harmony thing, but it does play into everything.”

The familial blend they’ve established as adults – in many ways, Haas is their first deliberate and intentional music making as a pair since their teen years – defies any and all boundaries and language, as they swap melodic hooks and call and respond and toggle between accompanying and leading, adding texture and tenderness or vigor and enthusiasm. Their interplay is as comfortable and cozy as you would expect these two sibling virtuosos to be together, their reunion the not-so-subtle underpinning that makes the entire collection of tunes and sets sparkle.

This is family harmony – and family rhythm – but unspooled, complicated, and set to a new acoustic, Celtic, chambergrass sound that defies categorization. Haas also gently and kindly stands in implied opposition to more masculine, performative, and competitive musicians and groups in similar spaces. It’s a brilliant, crave-able album that showcases how much can be accomplished musically when one’s goal isn’t just the cooperative music one creates, but the space one opens up with another in which you cultivate that cooperative music.

I wanted to start by just asking y’all how long it’s been since you put out music together, or since you’ve been in like a creative space together? How does it feel to be “reunited” in this way?

Natalie Haas: We sort of played together as kids in chamber music groups and youth symphony together. And we went to fiddle camps together – that was how we got excited about maybe doing music as a career. That would sort of continue throughout the year, because the way for us to continue all that excitement and motivation that we got at fiddle camps was for us to play together.

We did the odd gig together as teenagers, like farmers markets, school performances, and that kind of thing. Then we sort of went our separate ways and we’re both very busy doing our own thing, but we took every chance we got when other people would hire both of us to be on their gigs. We always said yes because we just wanted to hang out with each other. So this is like the first time that we’ve done anything like this and it’s pretty exciting.

The way that your musical paths have diverged, they don’t feel like they’re that separate from each other. It feels like the vocabulary that you both draw from is very similar. When you started sitting down to think about doing an album together, what changed about the way that you thought about music separately or together? 

Brittany Haas: That’s a cool question. I think, it all felt kind of new in a way, but also so familiar, you know? Because it’s us. We have made a lot of music together. I think on my side, it was really cool because Nat already had a bunch of tunes. So some of [our collaboration] was just like, schedule based, it was like, “Okay, we know we want to do this thing, because we’ve been getting odd gigs.” It was really like motivated by the fact that we had shows coming up, and that was a reason to be like, “Let’s have new material for that.”

Then we were like, “Here’s our days when we can put together material.” Nat had just done a writing session where she had all this new stuff ready to go. These are the tunes that she’s cranking out and they feel very much like they come from something or some place that is like so near and dear to me, because it’s from our shared fiddle-camp upbringing. That’s like the source, the well, where the tunes come from, even though they’re new and different. It feels like very homey, I guess? The kind of tunes. And then I think we’ve just both grown a lot over the decades as musicians and as arrangers. We like bring more stuff to the table than when we were teenagers.

NH: I should certainly hope so! [Laughs]

That is the goal. [Laughs] That leads really naturally to my next question, which was going to be about material curation, especially because you both have demanding schedules that kept you apart, I’m sure, during the album creation to some degree. What was it actually like when you were like setting aside that time, like you’re talking about, to get together to make the music? What was the curation process like? It’s all originals, but one, yes?

NH: Yes. And yeah, that’s the nice thing about us both being busy is when you set aside a block of time, that’s all you are focused on. Brittany had all these amazing musical ideas and made all of my tunes better the minute she got her hands on them. The arranging process, it was pretty easy, because we’re both, comfortable switching back and forth between roles. I was just amazed at how much we got done in such a short amount of time, both in the arranging process and in the recording process. It all felt very easy. [Laughs]

BH: We did the bulk of it together, I think we had like a week or maybe slightly under a week when we first met to gather the material. And wasn’t that before we even knew we were making a record then?

NH: Oh yeah, that was preparing for a tour. Our first adult sister tour.

BH: No, no, no – second.

NH: Oh, second. Yeah! Because we toured Ireland. Right. We were playing all of these trad tunes, our shared repertoire from our of teenage years. And then for [Haas], we decided to make it all original. For the most part.

BH: Do you remember the moment when we actually said, “Let’s record this”?

NH: Uh… well, I think we toured it first. Then Brittany brings her handheld recorder to all of those gigs and recorded everything. We listened back to it and decided that it was actually pretty good and that we should make something of it. I think we had another tour coming up, of Australia, and we decided it would be fun to have something for people to take away with them.

BH: At that point, we didn’t meet again until a few days before the studio. We had arranged the material and toured it, so we kind of had it under our hands pretty good. And then a long amount of time passed, but during that time it was good to listen back to stuff and decide what we wanted to change.

We had like a couple days of rehearsals and revisions. That was from listening and emailing and saying like, “I have this idea about this. What do you think of that?” Then we had like three days in the studio before it went back to email, because Natalie lives in Spain and we’re also both busy doing stuff. So it was emailing like, “Do you like this take?” and, “Is it okay if I edit out the second B part on this?”

Did you trip into or over any sort of feeling like, “This reminds me of when we were playing together as kids” or did it feel like you were getting back on the bicycle in a way?

BH: I’d say mostly yes. It’s just really easy. I think in other collaborations, people aren’t always so willing to just try anything. We have this basis of, “I love you no matter what, and even though you’re being really annoying and you’re asking me to do something I don’t want to do, I’m still going to do it, because might as well.” It’s an ease of communication, which I think mostly comes from family. [Laughs]

NH: We were never really a band as kids. We did the odd gig, but it was always just for fun. Our parents weren’t pushing us into performing together. So yeah, no bad memories, really, associated with playing together as kids. But we do have the ease of having this shared history of fiddle camps and learning from the same kind of mentors.

BH: Since we’re both like primarily collaborators, this project was like running our own band. As adults we’ve both come into our own and we’ve probably become more opinionated about musical things as a result of that. So it’s fun to meet again where there’s a lot of give and take.

What do you think of the term, “chambergrass?” Is this album chambergrass? Is that even a thing?

BH: I like the term, but I’m not sure it applies here. I also don’t mind it applying here. I guess maybe that wouldn’t have been what I would have gone to, because from my perspective, it just feels so much more Celtic. It’s still in that sort of “past of American music,” that’s more over there in the Celtic Isles. It doesn’t feel very grassy, but I mean, that’s a part of me as a musician. So, it’s not like it’s not in there.

NH: It does feel like chamber music to me. Yeah… I’m not familiar with all of the myriad grass terms. [Laughs]

BH: We grew up going to Valley of the Moon Fiddle Camp, where there were a lot of genres meeting. So the boundaries were very blurred, and both of us having worked with Darol [Anger] from a young age, he’s all about blurring and negating the idea of boundaries. It’s everything, it’s all of that, it’s all the influences and where they’re going. I know the current Celtic world less than Nat does, but it seems like a lot of the forward-thinking, new tunes on stringed instruments are happening in chambergrass, the new acoustic realm, so it’s definitely an influence on both of us.

NH: It does have a Celtic bent, but it is Celtic from an American perspective – because we’re American. I’ve listened to a lot of stuff in the new acoustic realm – like Brittany said, all of our influences are coming out, and it’s hard to define a genre.

BH: I think Nat, for all of her “I don’t totally play bluegrass” sense of self, she can and she does sometimes. Some of the bluesier tunes that she writes lend themselves to that area.

You make very in-the-moment music, there’s a lot of improvisation, there’s a lot of dialogue, and this kind of music can often feel very – it’s silly to say this cause you’re literally performers – but it can often feel very performative and like there’s a lot of hubris in it. I also feel like new acoustic music, newgrass, jamgrass, and that sort of “Let’s jam out together, let’s be in the moment together!” music, it can often feel really masculine and toxic. How do you go about creating this space you’ve made together, to have those moments, to be together and present and making music, but it doesn’t feel like you’re being self-absorbed or self important?

BH: That is something I think about when I’m listening to music – and sometimes when I’m playing it. Sometimes I do feel like I’m uncomfortable, like that’s not something that I want to do. Even though you think that that’s what the music calls for in this moment, it can feel a little bit too masculine.

It’s like, “No, I don’t want to take a really long solo there.” I think I’m embracing that it’s okay to say, “No, I’m not gonna do that.” It’s a tricky one, because a lot of our heroes in that realm of creating this newer music, they’re men, and that nature is informing the music that they’re making and the way that they’re arranging it. It does have that hubris thing built into it. On some level, that is important and it does work well, for stepping into the moment and taking a great solo. You kind of have to have that attitude. But, it’s not necessarily masculine or feminine. Like it doesn’t have to be either one. It could be both.

What we’re trying to do, it’s a little more tune- or melody-based than based on soloing, so it lends itself well to a tight arrangement. That may not be the right term, because it still is loose, there still is a conversation going on. But, if there is a solo it’s pretty short, it’s this little thing we’re going to do to give a breath of fresh air here. It’s not like, “And now, we will rip for 50 more bars!”

“And now everybody look at me!”

BH: Yeah! I think in a duo especially, because we’re very equal and we like sharing, that’s just kind of part of the vibe. Even when Natalie’s filling more of an accompanist role, it’s still such a powerful, interesting sound. It’s so varied that it doesn’t fade into the background. It’s super interesting all the time. It’s like both voices are very equal, even if mine is higher.

NH: It’s interesting because, like Brittany said, a lot of our heroes are men. That’s definitely a generational thing in the Celtic music world, because like, the people that we grew up sort of – I don’t want to use a phrase like “hero worshipping” – that we admired and wanted to copy were mostly men, with a couple very key exceptions. But then, my generation in the Celtic music world is almost exclusively women. There are some men doing it, but it’s very different than the bluegrass thing.

Also like Brittany said, soloing is not as much a part of it. That changes the dynamic a little bit. But it is kind of a melody>accompaniment hierarchy going on. But I wouldn’t say that that’s necessarily a male thing, I don’t know.

As Brittany said before – and I hate to associate this with just feminine energy – but both of us coming from being collaborators in our other projects rather than soloists, per se, you could say that that is the more feminine approach, maybe, to music making. It does feel very equal because the melody playing is getting passed back and forth all the time. And it does feel very conversational, even though the soloing thing is not as prominent as it might be in some other genres.


I think that’s part of why you can listen through y’all’s entire album and it doesn’t feel stale, it doesn’t feel boring, while it also doesn’t feel like it’s trying too hard. It doesn’t feel like you guys have something to prove.

NH: That’s part of the thing with having done it at this point in our lives, it doesn’t feel like we have anything to prove anymore. We’re doing it because we want to, not because we’re trying to prove anything to the world.


Photo Credit: Irene Young

Harmonics with Beth Behrs: Fiona Prine

This week on Harmonics, we kick off our Americana April series with a conversation with Fiona Prine, President of Nashville’s Oh Boy Records, and wife and former manager of the late great songwriter John Prine.

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Fiona and Beth talk about John’s recent posthumous Grammy wins (and Fiona’s experience accepting the award on his behalf) as well as their love story, mental health, growing up in Ireland, her work with non-profit Thistle Farms, and so much more.

Fiona is undoubtedly a well-respected figure in the Nashville community in her own right: As a role model in the music business, as an activist, in fostering community, and in her loving spirit, and as an extremely successful manager and industry professional. She has also been able to keep the spirit of John’s incredible legacy alive a year after his passing.


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LISTEN: Jesse Brewster, “Amber Kinney”

Artist: Jesse Brewster
Hometown: San Francisco, California
Song: “Amber Kinney”
Album: The Lonely Pines
Release Date: March 5, 2021
Label: Crooked Prairie Records

In Their Words: “This is the second song I ever wrote on mandolin as I’m relatively new to the instrument, but I love the different colors it gives me to work with. ‘Amber Kinney’ is set in a fictional town in 19th century Ireland, and is about a mistreated wife who finally gathers the courage to leave, under cover of darkness. Side note, this was largely written late night in the chill of the garage — the only place I could make noise at that hour as I hadn’t finished the studio yet.” — Jesse Brewster


Photo credit: Nino Fernandez

LISTEN: Karen Matheson, “Glory Demon”

Artist: Karen Matheson
Hometown: Oban, Argyll, Scotland
Song: “Glory Demon”
Album: Still Time
Release Date: February 12, 2021
Label: Compass Records

In Their Words: “‘The Glory Demon’ is a phrase taken from Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. It means war. It’s essentially an anti-war song, about how we never seem to learn and how it just goes on and on (life and afterlife) endlessly repeating itself. I thought also about how the phrase might fit the hubris, megalomania and idiocy of certain politicians.” — Karen Matheson


Photo courtesy of Compass Records

5 Uncommon Trad Instruments Played Like You’ve Never Heard

We’re all familiar with the standard bluegrass five-piece band (also a common lineup in old-time or string band music), but there are quite a few second- and third-string instruments — no pun intended — that are rarely invited to join ensembles of guitar, fiddle, upright bass, mandolin, and banjo. Dobro is perhaps first on this short list, but accordion, dulcimer (hammered and mountain), autoharp, washboard, harmonica and dozens of other music and noisemakers could be encountered alongside these acoustic staples.

The five musicians below are awe-inspiringly adept at their instruments, each considered more like afterthoughts or casual embellishments in American roots music, rarely considered centerpieces themselves. But no matter how uncommon they may be at your local jam circle, or around the fire at the campsite, after you’ve been introduced to each of the following, you’ll be craving more unexpected and uncommon sounds in your bluegrass lineups.

From bones to nyckelharpa to Irish harp, here are five uncommon traditional instruments played like you’ve never heard them before:

Simon Chrisman – Hammered Dulcimer

A familiar, towering figure in the West Coast old-time, folk, and DIY roots music scenes, Simon Chrisman is criminally underappreciated on a national or international level. He most recently released a duo album with acclaimed banjoist Wes Corbett, he has been touring and collaborating with the Jeremy Kittel Band, and he’s performed and recorded with the Bee Eaters, Bruce Molsky, Laurie Lewis, and many others. His hammered dulcimer chops exist on a plane above and beyond even the most accomplished players on the trapezoidal instrument, throwing in pop and bebop-inspired runs, reaching down to bend strings by hand to achieve particular semi-tones, bouncing along at a rate only matched by a three-finger banjo player’s rapid-fire sixteenth notes. It’s jaw-dropping, even in Chrisman’s most simple, tender melodies and compositions. This rollicking number, named for Corbett’s beloved cat, is neither simple nor overtly tender, but your jaw will find the floor nonetheless.


Rowan Corbett – Bones

Rowan Corbett is a singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and percussionist best known for his time with seminal modern Black string band, the Carolina Chocolate Drops. Also a longtime member of Baltimore-based acoustic-grunge/world-folk group ilyAIMY and a veteran of Celtic outfit Tinsmith, Corbett is something of a musical chameleon, though it never feels as if he’s just putting on genre costumes to match whatever melodic motif suits the moment. Instead he inhabits each one authentically and wholly. ilyAIMY, for being billed as a folk band, are captivating, passionate, and energetic, perhaps most of all while Corbett fronts the group. But all of his musical moxie across all of his instruments pales when he pulls out the bones — traditional, handheld percussion instruments similar to their more mainstream (if not more vilified) counterpart, the spoons.

It’s no wonder a bio for Corbett begins, “What are those and how does he do that?” Corbett’s percussion skills are precise and technical, laser-like accuracy meshed with generation-blurring soul. During a guest appearance with Rhiannon Giddens at the North Carolina Museum of Art in Raleigh, North Carolina, in September 2019, Corbett brought thousands of listeners gathered on the hillside by the amphitheatre to their feet with his bones and just a couple of bars. This improv/battle video with Greg Adams displays just a taste of Corbett’s prowess on the ancient instrument.


Amy Hakanson – Nyckelharpa

Pandemic aside, if you’ve jammed with an old-time fiddler in the past two years you’ve probably fumbled (if you’re like this writer) or charmingly tripped your way through a Swedish fiddle tune or two. Musicians like Brittany Haas and Molly Tuttle have brought Swedish tunes into their repertoires, birthing dozens of new acolytes of the crooked, wonky, joyful tunes. Many an American fan of Swedish folk traditions were introduced to them by Väsen, a genre-blending, nearly 30-year-old Swedish folk band adored by multiple generations of American musicians, thanks to their status as a favorite band of everyone’s favorite pickers. (Väsen counts Chris Thile, Mike Marshall, Darol Anger, and others among their most vocal proponents and collaborators.)

Nyckelharpa player and scholar Amy Hakanson was first introduced to the instrument by Väsen as well and in 2014 she took her fascination with the heady, engaging music to the source, to study nyckelharpa with Väsen’s Olov Johansson himself at the Eric Sahlström Institute in Tobo, Sweden. Her approach to the instrument — a traditional Swedish, bowed fiddle-like apparatus played with keys — has a storied, timeless air, even as she carefully places the nyckelharpa in modern contexts. This original, “Spiralpolska,” for instance, utilizes a loop machine, ancient droning and modern droning combined.


Sarah Kate Morgan – Mountain Dulcimer

The mountain dulcimer is simple and beautiful in its most common use, a gentle, pedalling rhythm section for languid, introspective folk tunes. Counterintuitively much more common in the hallways and hotel rooms of Folk Alliance International’s conference than IBMA’s or SPGBMA’s gatherings, this writer first encountered Kentuckian Sarah Kate Morgan and her melodic-style dulcimer among the many booths of IBMA’s World of Bluegrass exhibit hall. She was holding her own in an impromptu fiddle jam with mandolins, fiddles, banjos — all instruments much more familiar with picking intricate, free flowing hornpipes and hoedowns. But Morgan doesn’t just strum the dulcimer, capitalizing on its resonant sustain and open tuning, she shreds it. Playing a finely-tuned, impeccably intonated instrument with a radiused fretboard, she courageously and daringly dialogues with whomever accompanies her down every bluegrass and old-time rabbit hole she meets. It’s incredible to watch, not only with the understanding that most mountain dulcimers are treated as an aesthetic afterthought, but also knowing that Morgan’s prowess outpaces just about anybody on any instrument. A truly transcendent musician.


Alannah Thornburgh – Harp

Harp keeps coming up lately! And for good reason. No matter the genre label applied, harp is having a moment. We’ve kept up with Alannah Thornburgh for a few years, featuring her work with Alfi as well as across-the-pond collaborations like this one, with mandolinist (and BGS contributor) Tristan Scroggins. Living in Dublin, Thornburgh plays in the Irish harp tradition, but has toured and traveled extensively in the United States, giving her style a distinctly old-time and fiddle-tune-influenced approach. She takes on the complicated, contextual vocabularies of American old-time music with ease, almost leading listeners to believe that emulating the banjo or mandolin or executing new acoustic compositions or modern reharmonizations of old-time classics is what the harp was designed to do.

An Instagram video of Thornburgh displays a mischievous, winking arrangement of Béla Fleck’s “The over Grown Waltz,” from one of his masterworks, The Bluegrass Sessions: Tales from the Acoustic Planet, Vol. 2. An earworm of a tune well-worn and familiar to any acoustic music fan Generation X and younger, it’s not uncommonly called at some jams, but its hummable melody is secretly, deceptively, subversively complicated. Once again, Thornburgh simply smiles and pushes onward, as if reaching and pulling these intricate licks and banjo phrases seemingly out of thin air on a harp were as everyday an activity as brushing one’s teeth — or a wedding performance of Pachelbel’s Canon in D.

 

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Photo credit: Alannah Thornburgh (left) by Tara McAuley; Amy Hakanson by Amy Hakanson.

Maeve Gilchrist, “The Storm” and “The Calm”

If you aren’t already aware, you should know that the harp is having something of “a moment.” Between pop- and mainstream-adjacent singer-songwriters like Joanna Newsom and Lizzie No who write on harp to traditionalist, Irish and old-time pickers like Alannah Thornburgh, there’s no shortage of non-classical entry points to this often esoteric instrument. Viral TikTok sensations @hannah_harpist and @olivia_harpist (Hannah Stater and Olivia Ter Berg, respectively), whose harp-centered “sounds” have been liked, shared, and reshared by hundreds of thousands of users, are true harp influencers, capitalizing on the growing visibility of the instrument.

Lifelong harpist, singer, composer, and virtuoso Maeve Gilchrist — whose own journey on the instrument began as a child at the feet of her two harpist aunts — knows that this global harp moment is no flash in the pan. She’s performed around the world with DuoDuo, the Silkroad Ensemble, notable instrumentalists such as Yo-Yo Ma, Darol Anger, and Esperanza Spalding, and she was even a featured soloist on the How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World soundtrack.  

Gilchrist’s just-released album of harp compositions, The Harpweaver — named for and inspired by the eponymous work by poet Edna St. Vincent Millay — includes two compositions written for a community school of 107 young harp students in County Laois, Ireland. “The Storm” and “The Calm” were written as part of a suite entitled “White Horses,” which Gilchrist wrote for a harp orchestra of young County Laois girls ages 5 to 18. A native of Scotland and now based in Brooklyn, New York, Gilchrist teaches often in Ireland and the British Isles, building upon the instrument’s deep roots in the folk and Celtic musics of the region. 

“Back in the days,” Gilchrist explains via email, “when a lot of Irish music and culture was being oppressed, the harp was outlawed because of its ability to so powerfully stir the spirit.” In teaching these young girls the harp, Gilchrist is handing down the legacy of its evocative ability to subvert these sorts of moral expectations – especially those projected upon women. “I loved the image of white horses (the waves of the sea) as a metaphor for these girls,” she continues. “So strong and elegant, wielding their harps as modern day peaceful warriors!”

On The Harpweaver, “The Calm” comes after the storm, turning the age-old cliché on its head, further subverting our expectations for an instrument and a genre aesthetic that has too long been relegated to quiet background music in elevators and office spaces. The harp is a tool for so much more, and on The Harpweaver, Gilchrist’s compositions, as well as her efforts to spread the harp to new pupils, acolytes, and fans, demonstrate this clearly, stunningly, and captivatingly. 


Photo credit: J. Goodman

Alex Sturbaum, “Radish in Spring”

There’s an immediately whimsical, transatlantic quality to Alex Sturbaum’s original tune, “Radish in Spring” that feels intuitive, like a long-forgotten melody on a medieval video game’s pause menu or the perfect backing track to a montage scene in a sepia-toned, independent film. The cheerily wonky descending chromaticism feels like a wry, knowing smile, teasing listeners’ ears for expecting the predictable.

A genderfluid musician, educator, composer, and multi-instrumentalist, Sturbaum is full of delightful turns such as this on their new release, Loomings, purposefully and pointedly queering a musical aesthetic that hearkens far back, beyond Appalachia, American shores, and across the sea. The title, a serendipitous reference in a pandemic that has forced many a backyard gardener to embrace homegrown brassicas of all varieties, is a reference to Sturbaum’s partner, Rae, whose pet name is “Radish.” 

“I had to include ‘Radish in Spring’ [on Loomings];” Sturbaum explains via email, “Not just because I love playing the tune, but to honor the person whose love and support has been integral to my journey as a musician and as a person.”

Knowing, sensing this tender tribute allows listeners to untangle even more of the song’s subtly captivating themes — including that prerequisite spiciness we all know, love, and expect from a crisp, icy cold, earthy radish. Sturbaum’s Irish-style button accordion combined with fiddle supplied by Brian Lindsay and bass by Loomings producer Alicia Healey are together a textbook less-is-more approach to instrumental tune-crafting. And, whether metaphorically or literally, they’re a reminder of the beautiful simplicity of a just-after frost, freshly-tended garden bed full of bright, new, homegrown radishes in spring.


Photo credit: Brian Lindsay

WATCH: Cinder Well, “Queen of the Earth, Child of the Skies”

Artist: Cinder Well
Hometown: Santa Cruz, California, but now Ennis, Ireland
Song: “Queen of the Earth, Child of the Skies”
Album: No Summer
Release Date: July 24, 2020
Label: Free Dirt Records

In Their Words: “This tune is an American version of an Irish set dance called ‘The Blackbird.’ I derived my own interpretation from a 1947 field recording of West Virginian fiddler Eden Hammons. Hammons used an interesting fiddle tuning, DDAD, which I also used here. Erynn Marshall draws the connection between the American and Irish versions of this tune in her book Music in the Air Somewhere: The Shifting Borders of West Virginia’s Fiddle and Song Traditions.

“Being from America and living in Ireland, I have been really interested in fiddle tunes that are found in both traditions. When I found this tune, I set out to reimagine it, led by this idea that if this tune has been making its way around the world for hundreds of years, why not keep interpreting it? I aimed to do this with all the songs, both original and traditional on No Summer, to get to the core of them and express them in the most relevant and honest way possible.

“This video was shot in the back room of Lucas’s bar in Ennis, Ireland, amongst empty tables, but where, in a different time, you have a nice quiet pint next to a fire.” — Cinder Well


Photo credit: Jim Ghedi

WATCH: Lisa Lambe, “Dust and Sand”

Artist: Lisa Lambe
Hometown: Dublin, Ireland
Song: “Dust and Sand”
Album: Juniper
Release Date: April 3, 2020
Label: Blue Élan Records

In Their Words: “The inspiration for this song came from a treasured place: Omey Island, a tidal island on the western edge of Connemara County Galway in my homeplace Ireland. From the mainland you can barely see this place. The island is now abandoned but remains a place of devotion with its holy well. It is quiet and beautiful. ‘Dust and Sand’ is an ode to nature. It’s a song that reflects the space in between, and the lyrics are about being in that in-between place. A bit like the now…. Hope it brings you peace and a sense of place.” — Lisa Lambe


Photo credit: Dora Kazmierak

WATCH: Laurie Lewis, “Troubled Times” (Feat. Leah Wollenberg)

Artist: Laurie Lewis
Hometown: Berkeley, California
Song: “Troubled Times”
Album: and Laurie Lewis
Release Date: March 27, 2020

In Their Words: “I wrote ‘Troubled Times’ about twenty years ago, I think, in other troubled times than we are experiencing now. But I never sang the song out in public more than about three times. I honestly feel like I was waiting for the right ‘voice to sing in harmony,’ and when Leah and I started singing together, I think I found my match. I have been friends with her parents (jazz guitarist Mike Wollenberg and artist Jenny Bloomfield) since before she was born, and have known her since then, watching her grow into a fearless jazz violinist and terrific Irish fiddler. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but when I heard her sing a piece of a song sitting around the dinner table one night, my ears really perked up. Maybe it’s because Leah has heard my voice her whole life that she is able to get a positively familial blend. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.” — Laurie Lewis


Photo credit: Jeff Fasano