Tag: jazz

The Best Punch Brothers Instrumentals of All Time

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The traversings of Punch Brothers have soared and surged to even higher heights this week with the release of their seventh studio album. The Unsung Adventures of Punch Brothers emerges as the first in their catalog to feature exclusively instrumental tracks – as well as the first album to feature fiddler Brittany Haas (who joined the group back in 2023).

While The Unsung Adventures is their first entire collection bereft of vocals, Punch Brothers are no stranger to an instrumental. Their nearly two-decades-long discography reveals far more than just a smattering of tunes. From groundbreaking originals to transformed traditionals to Radiohead renderings, Punch Brothers have proven time and time again that even the most illustrious music does not always require lyrics. (Though they can sing pretty well, too…)

Renowned as one of the most virtuosic groups of the century, every musician who has ever played a role in Punch Brothers’ cast contains their own universe of talent. Together, the band’s progressive, genre-fluid nature pairs acuity and improvisation with nearly unfathomable execution. Without the constraints of lyrics, a certain levity ignites their instrumentals – fingers flutter across strings, notes braid together, and impressions invite the listener to emote freely, transcending the limitations of language.

Read along to adventure with us through some of our favorite “unsung” offerings among Punch Brothers’ best instrumentals of all time.

“The Eleventh Reel,” How To Grow A Woman From the Ground (2006)

Predating their official conception as a band, How To Grow A Woman From the Ground (2006) was the first time the initial Punch Brothers configuration recorded together. The then-twentysomething Chris Thile had been scheming a musical project with his prodigious childhood friend Gabe Witcher (fiddle), but the two were unsure of the form it should take.

The decision to toy with a traditional bluegrass setup was consecrated after a fateful all-night jam session at Telluride Bluegrass Festival with banjoist Noam Pikelny. Alongside Greg Garrison (bass) and Chris Eldridge (guitar), the newly minted quintet set out to record an album. Though released under Thile’s name, How To Grow A Woman From the Ground built the framework for Punch Brothers’ legacy to come – an eclectic compilation of both covers and originals that veer beyond the scope of bluegrass, while maintaining fidelity to its instrumental makeup. “The Eleventh Reel,” a Thile original, is a formative example of the group’s brilliant musical synastry.

“Sometimes,” Punch (2008)

In March 2007 at Carnegie Hall, the same quintet performed “The Blind Leaving the Blind” – a four-part, 40-minute opus by Thile chronicling the tumult of his divorce. The ambitious piece became the focal point of the group’s debut album as Punch Brothers. Punch was released in February 2008 by Nonesuch Records, featuring Thile’s four-part suite alongside four additional tracks written with the rest of the band. “Sometimes” is the only instrumental piece on the record and perhaps serves as one of the more accessible compositions among the collection. Punch features lengthy vocal-less interludes throughout the entire album, achieving a cerebral fusion of jazz, bluegrass, classical, and folk.

“Two Hearted,” Antifogmatic (2010)

2010 saw the release of Punch Brothers’ third studio album – the first to feature the illustrious Paul Kowert on bass – two years following Greg Garrison’s departure from the band. Antifogmatic arrived as a ten-track album written collaboratively among the quintet. The special deluxe edition of the release included two bonus discs (and a guide to Punch Brothers’ favorite cocktail recipes for those among the first 250 orders). A second disc was a 4-track instrumental EP and a third was entitled Live from the Lower East Side: It’s p-Bingo Night!, a DVD containing footage of seven songs performed during the band’s residency at The Living Room in NYC. “Two Hearted” could be found on the instrumental EP.

“Kid A,” Who’s Feeling Young Now? (2012)

Though not the first Radiohead cover to appear on one of their albums, Punch Brothers’ rendition of “Kid A” from Who’s Feeling Young Now? is an entirely unique experience. With the original Radiohead rendering couched in electronic weavings, Punch Brothers employ their traditional bluegrass orchestration to alchemize the song into an acoustic instrumental. The result is a translation of the track that holds intimate loyalties and groundbreaking innovations at once – a combination that Punch Brothers have only continued to expound upon throughout their career.

“Squirrel of Possibility,” Ahoy! (2012)

In 2012, Punch Brothers released Ahoy!, a five-track EP of previously unreleased selections from the Who’s Feeling Young Now? recording sessions. A crowd favorite, “Squirrel of Possibility” sets sail on a gorgeous melody, even hinting towards an old-time feel with the conversation between fiddle and banjo. While there are a handful of choice twists and turns, “Squirrel of Possibility” is one of the more straightforward of Punch Brothers original instrumentals.

“Passepied,” The Phosphorescent Blues (2015)

Perhaps their most popular demonstration of their long-nurtured affair with classical music, “Passepied” is a spritely re-rendering of the fourth movement of Claude Debussy’s Suite bergamasque. Released in its original form in 1905 as a piano suite, Punch Brothers ingeniously breathe new life into the piece via bluegrass ensemble on their 2015 album, The Phosphorescent Blues. Clever, playful, and fiercely technical, Punch Brothers’ greatest attributes are on full display.

“The Hops of Guldenberg,” The Wireless (2015)

Punch Brothers cemented a pattern with the release of The Wireless (2015), a five-track EP derived from the sessions responsible for the LP they released earlier that year. Comprised of four original compositions and an Elliot Smith cover, The Wireless packs a punch (no pun intended) with its iconicity. One of many tunes that fall under the Punch Brothers’ motif of titles that harken to alcoholic beverages, “The Hops of Guldenberg” is definitively a highlight of this collection.

“Three Dots and a Dash,” All Ashore (2018)

Following a scheduled hiatus, Punch Brothers reemerged in 2018 with All Ashore, the record that earned them the GRAMMY for Best Folk Album. Much had changed professionally and interpersonally for the group in the interim. Released as a single, “Three Dots and a Dash” was named for a libation – notedly Chris Thile’s cocktail of choice – that becomes something of an onomatopoeia during moments of punctuation in the song’s melody.

“Cattle in the Cane,” Hell on Church Street (2022)

For their sixth studio album, Punch Brothers set out to record their own reimagining of Tony Rice’s beloved 1983 solo album Church Street Blues. Titling it Hell on Church Street, the band had hoped to surprise Rice with the recording, but he passed before its completion.

Speaking about Rice and the album, Punch Brothers relayed, “No record (or musician) has had a greater impact on us, and we felt compelled to cover it in its entirety, with the objective of interacting with it in the same spirit of respect-fueled adventure that Tony brought to each of its pre-existing songs.” Several of those songs are canonical bluegrass instrumentals, including the traditional “Cattle in the Cane” and Bill Monroe’s “Gold Rush” and “Jerusalem Ridge.” Decidedly, the band chose to suspend their listening to Rice’s original album until their version was complete so as to bolster their own creative impulses. The result is a creative and distinctive tribute to one of the greatest legends in bluegrass history.

“New Bike,” The Unsung Adventures of Punch Brothers (2026)

Number ten lands us in the present with the release of The Unsung Adventures of Punch Brothers. The first single and inaugural tune from the album, “New Bike,” is an explosion of excitement and energy, named for the childlike whimsy and glee Thile experienced when “allowed to ride my new Diamondback Topanga mountain bike to the library for the first time when I was 10 years old.” As Brittany Haas’ first recorded feature as a Punch Brother proper, her fiddle glides across the melody and perfectly captures the essence of the band – thoughtful, spirited, and articulate.

“June Apple (poisoned),” The Unsung Adventures of Punch Brothers (2026)

Another tune from The Unsung Adventures, “June Apple (poisoned)” offers up a deconstructed version of a prominent old-time tune. Piecing together disparate tempos and textures, this version invites a dark and cerebral alternative reality to this age-old vernacular fiddle tune. Unafraid of the uncharted, the breadth of their innovations reaches further than ever on this album. With solely instruments as their vehicle, The Unsung Adventures follows the Punch Brothers’ curiosities and impulses through stirring explorations.

Photo Credit: Josh Goleman

The Origins and Evolution of Jamgrass – And Where It Goes From Here

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Whether it’s Bill Monroe, Sam Bush, Sister Sadie, or Billy Strings, bluegrass has always pushed boundaries. At the forefront of that movement sits jamgrass, which brings together a barrage of influences performed with grassy, stringed arrangements and an improvisational sensibility that makes each song and show feel like a living organism – and results in each performance having its own qualities and quirks.

However, despite many tying the origins of jamgrass to ’90s upstarts like Leftover Salmon and Yonder Mountain String Band, its roots actually go back at least a half-century – and in some cases to the very origins of bluegrass music itself.

“When Bill Monroe started the Blue Grass Boys and they came on the Grand Ole Opry with that band, they were so far removed and different from other string bands of that same era even though they had the same instrumentation,” says Bush. “They were light years ahead of all the rest of the music on the Grand Ole Opry in terms of progressiveness and innovation, so in his own way Bill Monroe was a rebel. The Opry audience was just astounded with the way they played, and then when Bill introduced a great fiddler like Chubby Wise and the banjo playing of Earl Scruggs, that’s what kicked what we call bluegrass into gear.”

That same trailblazing spirit of Monroe could also be found in Bush himself several decades later, with the formation of the Bluegrass Alliance and, shortly after, New Grass Revival. The latter went against the grain of traditional bluegrass in nearly every way imaginable, from covers of Jerry Lee Lewis, Bob Marley, and The Beatles to their long hair and the tie-dye they dressed themselves in. All more akin to Deadheads and the hippie movement than bluegrass at the time. Per Bush, the group was inspired by bands that had already deviated from the old-time ways of bluegrass like the Osborne Brothers, Jim & Jesse, the Country Gentlemen, the Dillards, the Greenbriar Boys, Area Code 615, and even John Hartford – who he’d later pay tribute to with his 2022 album Radio John.

That being said, New Grass Revival and the movement they helped spark also held the tradition of bluegrass in as high regard as anyone, even as the band pushed the music in a direction it had never been before. “We always said that if you want to play newgrass, you first have to know how to play bluegrass,” recalls Bush.

The band’s rise gave way to the progressive leaning newgrass movement that saw an influx of outside influences and experimentation flood into the music that Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys made famous, with one of the most notable being Leftover Salmon. Formed in 1989 – the same year New Grass Revival first broke up – in Boulder, Colorado, Salmon brought together acoustic and electric arrangements with percussion to create an offshoot of newgrass they coined “Cajun slamgrass.” The outfit’s hybrid sound was an instant hit, and by the early ’90s the band found itself on the H.O.R.D.E tour with rock and jam bands like Phish, Widespread Panic, Spin Doctors, and Blues Traveler. This further connected the worlds of bluegrass and jam, resulting in what many refer to as the official launch of the jamgrass movement later in the decade when Yonder Mountain String Band burst onto the scene.

In fact, Yonder’s bassist, Ben Kaufmann, recalls attending that H.O.R.D.E tour and credits it for sending him down the rabbit hole of bluegrass. But being from Boston and growing up a Deadhead, he knew that any music he’d go on to create would be radically different from what had come before it.

“We didn’t grow up in the rural South,” explains Kaufmann. “We were suburban kids, which was critical to whatever Yonder ended up achieving. If we weren’t, the band likely would’ve leaned much more traditional. We thought the music of Flatt & Scruggs, Bill Monroe, and the Stanley Brothers were the coolest things ever, even though it was born out of an environment that’s not ours.

“That, combined with the influences of our formative years, helped to mold our own little version of what a bluegrass band could be, even though not everyone thought it was the ‘right’ way to play it. For a while the bluegrass community didn’t want any part of us, which made me realize that if people weren’t going to invite us to their party that we’d create our own, which is exactly what we did.”

From there, Yonder integrated their high-strung and energetic live show even more than the jam band circuit, piecing together the foundations of what would soon become the jamgrass scene in the process. That momentum reached a fever pitch for the band in the late 2000s when the band was headlining bigger rooms than it ever had before and landing opening slots on arena tours with the Dave Matthews Band and Widespread Panic, similar to the gigs New Grass Revival had opening similar venues for Leon Russell in 1979.

Thinking back on that era of the band, Kaufmann says it made him understand the full potential of what jamgrass and bluegrass could achieve if given the opportunity, which he says is now being realized with artists like Billy Strings, Mountain Grass Unit, and others.

“Even in the late aughts when Yonder was at max room capacity and opening these arena shows, we wondered if bluegrass would ever work in rooms this big. And, to our amusement, it did – you just needed to fill the venue with the right people. We didn’t know if that would be us headlining those places one day, but playing those gigs showed us it was something that could happen.

“With that in mind, it’s no surprise to see a young gun like Billy Strings come along and set the world on fire. In the little amount of time we’ve spent together it was obvious that he is a special talent, so observing his rise and all he’s done for this kind of music has been mind-blowing.”

Yonder’s success lit a spark for the jamgrass movement that’s been burning ever since, with countless performers crediting the band for the influence they’ve bestowed upon them. One of those people is Kyle Tuttle, who grew up following the band around on tour in the early 2000s before eventually landing a spot playing in founding member Jeff Austin’s band after Austin departed Yonder in 2014.

“I was just starting to see real bluegrass and already loved the Grateful Dead, so when Yonder Mountain String Band came along and overlapped with those two worlds, it was like a dream come true,” Tuttle explains. “I’d been seeing all these suit-and-tie bands playing straight bluegrass and loved it, but at the same time I was also wondering where I fit into it. Then Yonder pops up and it feels like what I’d been waiting my whole life to discover.”

Tuttle played his first gig with the Jeff Austin Band in 2016 and remained in the group up until the singer’s untimely death in 2019. He went on to perform with the GRAMMY Award-winning Molly Tuttle & Golden Highway from 2021 to early 2025. Now he leads his own collective, the Kyle Tuttle Band, where he intertwines original compositions with traditional bluegrass covers and other off-the-wall influences as he puts his own spin on what jamgrass is.

“It’s a common perspective for people to not want you to mess with their bluegrass and tradition, whereas the jamgrass world tends to be more wide open,” admits Tuttle. “Fans nowadays are ready to hear whatever interesting mashup you create, which makes for a really nice union.”

With how wide open the jamgrass has become, even bands outside its periphery have found their way into the community from time to time. Take Fruition for example, a band that began busking on the streets of Portland over 15 years ago with a mix of string instruments and a poppy folk sound that sits on the far outer reaches of the jamgrass spectrum. Similar to how Yonder struggled to be embraced by the bluegrass community in its early days, Fruition’s Kellen Asebroek said it was the jamgrass community that first embraced and welcomed the band when nobody else would. “There’s no telling where we’d be if they hadn’t welcomed us into their family.”

“I was introduced to [jamgrass] in 2002 before I even knew what it was,” recollects Asebroek. “My uncle was a big Leftover Salmon fan and gave me an audience recording from the ’90s to listen to that left me in awe wondering what the hell it was they were doing. I grew up in more of a punk, reggae and classic rock world, so that was the first time I heard something remotely grassy. It wasn’t until we started Fruition and were busking on the street that people began referring to us as a jamgrass band. That being said, Fruition tends to be on the more structured side, so much so that I wouldn’t even call ourselves a jam band. We’ve always been in a unique place in that world in the sense that the jamgrass community is who took us in as babies and showed us around even though we were on the fringes of it.”

Also on the fringes of jamgrass is Daniel Donato, who began picking country and bluegrass tunes on Nashville’s Broadway strip as a teenager before launching his own project, Cosmic Country, in 2015 after seeing shapeshifting country singer Sturgill Simpson at the Ryman. The sound that grew out of that moment is equal parts Simpson and the Dead, but Donato says that bluegrass legends like Bill Monroe are also critical to what he creates as well, even though he utilizes mostly electric instrumentation.

“Jerry Garcia also had a really sophisticated understanding and appreciation for bluegrass music,” compares Donato. “The arrangements of the Dead were not succinctly bluegrass, but there was a ton of bluegrass influence that went into the way he played, especially with Old & In The Way and the Jerry Garcia Band. My goal has been to tap into a similar feeling, but with a slightly more prominent country twang.”

Someone else who’s spent plenty of time in the jamgrass scene despite not always producing music that would be categorized as such is Sierra Hull. The mandolin prodigy grew up on a heavy dose of traditional bluegrass in East Tennessee, with acts like Blue Highway, the Seldom Scene, and Lonesome River Band being the soundtrack of her youth. While she’s tended to lean more towards “chambergrass” and singer-songwriter styles in her adult life, she also takes plenty of time to let loose and jam, whether it’s stretching out her own material or joining artists like Cory Wong, the String Cheese Incident, Greensky Bluegrass, Béla Fleck, and Sam Bush on stage. The latter of whom she credits – along with luminaries like Peter Rowan and David Grisman – for planting the seeds that later grew to become jamgrass.

“For people like me, [Sam] was such a huge gateway to a lot of these other musicians who were really open-minded about what they played and who they collaborated with,” confides Hull. “Coming from a more traditional background, what I’ve enjoyed most about getting out to these bluegrass and jam festivals [is] mixing it up with folks. I’ve become a fan of jamgrass from seeing it all happen up close, rather than having grown up on albums – which I feel is the case for a lot of fans of jam music. The recorded music is still awesome, but the live shows are where the spirit and energy of jamgrass truly live.”

Hull continued, stressing how despite the current momentum behind jamgrass it’s still a very niche genre that nobody gets into expecting to become famous from it, which makes the heights Billy Strings and others are taking it to that much more mesmerizing.

“There’s something really cool about seeing folks who maybe don’t know who Bill Monroe or Doc Watson is, but they can go to a Billy show and immediately connect to the authenticity of what the music is,” exclaims Hull. “We live in a day and age where people are ripping on their pedals and doing more progressive stuff than they ever have before with string music, but at the same time most all of these bands have their moments where they throw that all away and just play a straight-up bluegrass tune. Seeing people resonate with that is central to what this music is and does.”

Another woman staking out a career in and around jamgrass is Lindsay Lou, who first discovered the subgenre witnessing the early days of Greensky Bluegrass performing in Michigan. Although she’d already been vaguely familiar with Yonder and Leftover Salmon, Lou credits Greensky’s sound and proximity to her as the driving factors for introducing her not just their music, but jamgrass as a whole.

“Greensky was my gateway to the jam world, because we were both part of the same scene,” says Lou. “I started hanging with them and soon found myself at festivals with other like-minded bands that sent me diving into the music of the Grateful Dead and others.”

One of those artists she wound up connecting with was a young Billy Strings, who she’d grow close with and later live across the street from in Nashville. The two would even go on to co-write a number of songs together including “Freedom” and “Nothing’s Working,” which both appeared on Strings’ albums Home and Renewal, as well as the latter appearing on Lou’s Queen Of Time. “It’s been really cool having written songs with Billy and hearing him perform them to arenas packed with 30,000 all singing along.”

“It’s no surprise to me that Billy has brought so many people to jam and bluegrass music in the same way that Yonder and Greensky did for so many before him, including Billy himself,” she stresses. “It’s been so much fun watching a young hippie kid like him take a traditional song to places you never thought it could go due to him embracing the musical conversation that jam music is centered around.”

Someone at the heart of the Billy Strings phenomenon is Jarrod Walker, who’s played mandolin in the Michigander’s band since 2018. Similar to Sam Bush, Walker believes the roots of jamgrass can be traced all the way back to Bill Monroe, due to how he took popular songs of the day and breathed new life into them with stringed arrangements – similar to how modern day jam bands pull from influences far and wide to create something entirely new. And although he credits Sam Bush as being a central figure for the movement, he also holds the Seldom Scene – who recorded an extended version of the Grateful Dead’s “I Know You Rider” (simply called “Rider”) on its 1973 album Act III – in a similarly high regard.

“There have been a smorgasbord of different influences in jamgrass from the very beginning with Irish and English music and gospel and blues – all of it was an integral part of what Bill Monroe originally did,” says Walker. “Then someone like Jerry Garcia comes along and follows Monroe like people would soon be following the Dead, which led to Old & In The Way, continuing the prophecy that’s still playing out to this day.”

But even as that prophecy continues to play out, Walker is amazed by where it’s taken not just the Billy Strings band, but string music as a whole. Having been accustomed to gigging at performance art centers and other smaller, seated venues for most of his pre-Billy picking days, he says that the experience of performing at rock clubs and now arenas with fans going crazy for bluegrass music has been mind-boggling and a phenomenon he’ll never stop being captivated by.

“[Playing arenas] is something none of us saw coming and is a combination of being at the right place at the right time and the contributions of everyone who came before us that paved this path for us to do it,” states Walker. “Billy is also a fantastic musician and student of bluegrass whose love for the music combined with his other influences is emblematic of the cohesion that is core to jamgrass and everything it stands for.”

Like all forms of music, jamgrass is a living, breathing organism that is constantly evolving and bringing new ideas and influences to the table. Whether it’s traditional and progressive bluegrass or rock, blues, punk, soul, country and everything in between, it all has a place in the jamgrass setting and is without a doubt the biggest driving factor of the genre’s success. It truly is a “rising tide lifts all boats” scenario that may have been a long time coming to arrive, but now that it’s here and thriving shows no signs of departing anytime soon.

“It took a long time for listening tastes to catch up with this kind of music and these instruments, but it’s no surprise to me that someone as talented as Billy is having the success he’s having,” declares Bush. “It’s only natural that the music is going to grow, and it’s in a really healthy place right now. But even with the rise of jamgrass you still have good ole Del McCoury leading the pack with his Bill Monroe style of bluegrass, and the same audience that loves jamgrass loves him too.”

Continue exploring our Jamgrass in July coverage here. This content brought to you in partnership with Preston Thompson Guitars.

Photo Credit: Sam Bush courtesy of Crossover Touring; Sierra Hull courtesy of the artist; Ben Kauffman courtesy of Crossover Touring.

Steve Wariner Draws Parallels Between Music and Painting

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

When the world locked down during COVID in 2020, Steve Wariner was determined to use his time productively by dedicating himself to his two passions: guitar and art. That meant a lot of writing, practicing, and painting – and expanding his skills by exploring new areas.

“I told myself that I’m going learn some things, I’m going to go to work,” he says. “Of course I started writing. I’m always writing songs, so the music part of what I do will never go away. I write all the time, and I’m lucky to write with some wonderful co-writers. I wrote with a lot of people by Zoom. That was a weird thing. I did a bunch of that.

“I painted every day and built up a pretty good body of work. I started diving into oils, which I never did much before. I didn’t like how long it takes to dry, and using chemicals with it – turpentine, linseed oil, so forth. But the reasons I was hesitant are the exact reasons I love it now. You can go back and paint a week later, it’s still wet, and you can add things to it.”

He worked diligently with no specific goal in mind, other than broadening his horizons and satisfying his need to create. “I really paint for myself,” he says. “It’s like my songs. I just write, and if they get heard, if they get out there in the world, that’s great. If not, that’s cool too. I write for me, mainly, and same way with painting. I’m lucky that people every now and then hear my songs and cut them, and every now and then I sell paintings.

“I sold a couple pieces last year. And of course, this year at the show we’ve sold some. But it’s not something I’m aspiring to do all the time or make a living doing it. It’s something I do because it’s therapy and something I love. It’s joyful to get out and paint. You get in the zone, too. It’s real easy to get lost in it.

“Rain Out There” by Steve Wariner.

What he didn’t expect was that his time and effort would lead to the aforementioned “show.” Through mutual friends, the staff of the Monthaven Arts & Cultural Center, in Hendersonville, Tennessee, found out about his work and requested a viewing. The result is the Flip Side, a collection of 60 pieces in various mediums. The show opened on June 21 and runs through July 26. On June 25, Wariner performed an intimate concert as part of The Monthaven’s Heritage Music Series, making him the first artist/musician to simultaneously exhibit art and perform onstage.

Music has always been Wariner’s first love. His tremendously successful career is filled with dozens of Top 10 and Number 1 hits and a multitude of industry awards and recognitions. He has also painted throughout most of his life, and sold his first piece, a pencil drawing of a country store, when he was a high school sophomore – his art teacher purchased it for twenty dollars.

He is no stranger to exhibiting his work, and sometimes donating it to the best possible causes. In 2014, he created a fiberglass Basset Hound statue for Old Friends Senior Dog Sanctuary’s fundraising auction. In 2016, he participated in an artists’ exhibit at the Tennessee State Museum.

Between then and now, he has shown his paintings in California and sold numerous pieces, but “never anything on this scale,” he says about The Flip Side. “When this started out, we were talking about 35 to 40 pieces of art, and I thought that was pretty overwhelming. I’ve got tons of art, but Ruth Chase, the curator, and Cheryl Strichik, the executive director of Monthaven, looked at about 89 pieces of my work, total, and wanted to run with 60 pieces for the show.

“It is daunting, the work that goes into doing this. People don’t see that work and I never realized it either, to be quite honest. It’s time-consuming, and it takes a lot to frame and wire and get everything ready. Even placing it on the walls, matching it up, is an art. When you walk into the museum, it’s really nice; it’s got a nice flow to it, how they put it together. I’m really pleased.”

Let’s try something different with this interview, drawing parallels between painting and playing guitar. Let’s start with the tools: selecting the medium, brushes, paper, and so forth and selecting guitars, amps, pedals. The signal chain for each craft.

Steve Wariner: My first thought was watercolors would be like the acoustic guitars. In my guitar collection I have some old Martins and an old Epiphone Broadway that’s more of a jazz kind of guitar. Watercolor is very loose and free and unforgiving. If you mess up with watercolor, you start over because there’s no fixing it, unlike other mediums. I think that’s why a lot of times watercolor is harder than anything.

I think people take acoustic guitar for granted sometimes. If you’re not in that bluegrass or Americana world, where it’s very acoustic-driven, a lot of people think, “Oh, yeah, that’s acoustic.” No. It’s an art unto itself. People that play acoustic really well, the great players like Tony Rice, Mac McAnally, Bryan Sutton, they make it look easy, but it’s not. And that’s watercolor.

An oil painting, let’s say a beautiful English landscape, is like a vintage D’Angelico or Gretsch or some kind of beautiful archtop electric guitar that’s smooth and nice and elegant. That’s what I would equate with an oil painting. If you switch over to an abstract painting, something that’s more hard, that’s very expressive and can be loud, that would be the rock guitars, a Les Paul into a Marshall amp, or a Fender Strat, something very expressive, with a Nobels pedal or any kind of overdrive. That’s the abstract painting.

There are so many parallels with music and art. You start with a blank sheet of paper and you start writing, you start making something out of nothing. You start writing a song and you put a few words on there. On the blank canvas, you start putting a few colors on it and then, “Oh, this looks good with that.” With writing a song, you go, “Oh, that sounds good with that. If I say this, maybe I should…” It’s same with painting. It builds up as you go along.

With music and art, it’s not about what you hear or see. It’s about what you feel. A lot of people don’t understand why they love a painting, and it doesn’t matter; they just love it. A lot of the reasons why are the colors, the values, the way it’s put together, the composition, the harmony of it. In music you talk about tone, harmony, values, space. You hear a song and you love it right away. The song just hits you and it connects with you.

We always hear that tone is in the hands, it’s in the individual player, which is a parallel to painting and the individual painter.

Two people can pick up the same guitar and it sounds different. Two artists will look at the same thing, their paintings look different, and both are beautiful. I really do believe … a little bit of my faith has to come through because I think it’s a God-given talent in a way. You can hone it, like music, and when you love it so much, you’re going to do it. You’re driven to do it. But part of it is a God-given thing. I think you’re just born with it. You can hone it. It can be taught. But a lot of it is natural ability, too, I believe, and it’s something you’ve just got to do.

Does mood affect the choice of medium and, if so, how does that parallel mood and choice of guitar?

It is the mood. Some days I feel like doing a watercolor, and some days I say, “I’ve got a giant canvas out there and I want to just put some paint on it. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, or what or where it’s going to take me, but I’m going to put my old overalls on and paint.”

That’s me with the guitar, too. Some days I go out to my recording studio and, for example, I’ll say, “I feel like doing a Hawaiian song today,” and I’ll get out my Rickenbacker lap steel and start. It’s where the mood takes you. That’s what you feel like doing, and you can dive in and be creative.

You mentioned that with watercolor, you can’t make mistakes. Watercolor is to painting what tape is to recording?

That’s exactly correct. Chet Atkins used to talk about direct-to-disc recording, which means they would have one shot at it. It’s basically being cut into a disc when they record it, and you didn’t want to be the one making a mistake, because if somebody messed up, that’s it. That’s a watercolor painting.

The musicianship in that era was so strong. Their ear training was great because they had to figure everything out. Technology today makes it easy. You can tune it, fix it, slide it, do all these things. Don’t get me wrong – there are some great players today. But tape makes you really on point because if you mess up, it’s over with.

That’s the way it is with watercolor. If you mess up, you have to start over, and that’s what I like about it – the danger thing. I’ve done it before, where you have a beautiful thing going and you have to start over. With oils it’s still wet, so you can wipe it away and go over it, or when it’s dry, just paint over it.

Oil is Pro Tools. You can fix it in the mix.

Totally. Absolutely. The “undo” button makes you bold!

“A Glorious Day in Berkeley” by Steve Wariner.

Do you sometimes sketch first, or do you go directly to paint?

I do both. I keep sketchbooks and I sketch. My wife Caryn and I have a little RV and sometimes we go on road trips. I don’t want to carry all my stuff, so a lot of times I’ll just sketch, make notes on colors, and go back to it later. I also use my phone and iPad sometimes.

Sketching is the demo process, the pre-production.

That’s correct. There’s the demo in my sketchbook, now let’s make a record. Let’s get out the big canvas and make the painting.

Does your music or your guitar playing ever inspire a painting, and conversely, do you sometimes paint something, “hear” it on the canvas, and then it becomes a riff or a melody?

The answer is yes, to the first. I have thought of some guitar pieces, compositions. Both are compositions, but I have thought of that. Sometimes I paint with a certain mood or riff or song in mind, and if I have a name for the music piece, I call it that.

I have a piece in the show called “The Ocean’s A Little Bit Bigger Tonight.” It’s the name of the painting. It sold the other night. It’s a large abstract landscape, but it was inspired by a song I wrote with Bill Anderson called “Two Teardrops.” The first line of the chorus is, “Oh, the ocean’s a little bit bigger tonight, two more teardrops somebody cried…” That song is about the circle of life, and that’s the painting. As I was painting it, I kept thinking you could see the ocean way back in the back. It’s very abstract, but it has a lot of textures.

Bill came to the opening of my show and I showed him that painting. I said, “Bill, it’s like you when we first started writing this,” because he had part of it started and he was saying, “Wariner, you’re going to think I’ve either lost my mind or I’m a genius, I don’t know which, but it’s about two teardrops talking to each other.” The painting is that way. I told Bill, “You may think I’ve lost my mind with this abstract painting, but to me, that’s what it represented: two teardrops.”

Could abstract art be parallel to instrumental music? It’s open to interpretation from the viewer or listener, versus a painting of a specific subject being more like lyrics – even though those things can certainly mean different things to different people, too.

That’s a good way to look at it. It could be instrumental music, or more to me, I think freestyling. When you look at a jazz or bluegrass band, they get to the back half of the song and they’re just passing it around. Everybody’s playing – “Now you play eight bars, now you play eight,” or whatever. They’re freestyling. To me, that’s more what it is. It’s whatever you feel, it’s whatever you are interpreting, and I always loved that.

My first thought is Sam Bush. I love playing with him because with those songs where you do freestyle, I can’t wait for him to get ahold of his eight bars when it’s his turn, because he’s into it all the way. A lot of times that’s what I think an abstract might be, something like that. I like jazz, too, and some of those players get lost in their own world. They’re painting, they’re really layering and throwing some colors on there. It’s about the freedom.

You had to select 60 pieces for this exhibit. Is that parallel to putting together a song list for a show or sequencing an album?

Yes. It came down to that. It was interesting for me and very liberating, because I wasn’t in on making the set list necessarily. My suggestions were there, but that would be the difference. When I play, I make the set list, but they had the curator Ruth Chase, who’s wonderful, and she’s an artist in her own right. She had some great suggestions and great ideas, so she helped me put together the set list.

The curator is the co-producer.

Exactly, and the director is the engineer. She puts the whole thing together. It really is a team, the players.

In addition to your exhibit, something else that’s in the news is 75 years of Telecasters. Would you agree that it’s still the guitar that defines and is associated with country music?

That’s true. Number one, it’s so versatile. Maybe distinct is a better word. The West Coast guys, Roy Nichols, Buck Owens, Merle Haggard … they were certainly using them in Nashville, too, but the Bakersfield records really made the Telecaster, in my mind. It’s an iconic instrument.

James Burton turned me on to the Telecaster, no question. I saw him bending strings when I was a kid. I didn’t know how he was doing it, but I wanted to do it. It was like a magic trick I had to learn. Later we became great friends and we still communicate. He’s the king of the Telecaster, in my opinion. Roy Nichols was a big influence too.

We know you have quite a guitar collection. When did you get your first Tele?

I didn’t own a guitar until I was a sophomore in high school. I learned to play on my dad’s Jazzmaster, which he bought brand new in, I think, 1962. I still have it. Every time I played it, I dreamed and acted like it was a Telecaster. In my mind, it was a Telecaster, even though it didn’t sound or twang like a Telecaster.

When I was a sophomore, I had saved up about 400 bucks and I bought a Telecaster sight-unseen from a catalog. I ordered it from a store in Fort Worth, Texas. It was a ’71 or something like that. They sent it to me and I drove like a maniac to what is now Indianapolis International Airport to pick it up. I had an old 1964 Volkswagen and I blew the engine up going to get that guitar. I left it on the side of the road on [Interstate] 465, called my dad at work, and he came and got me and took me to pick up my guitar. We left my car sitting there for five days. I got my Telecaster and I was absolutely thrilled. That was my first guitar, and it’s now on display in a case at the Musicians Hall of Fame.

With all this talk of guitars and painting and writing, are we going to enjoy new music from you anytime soon?

I’ve got a stockpile of songs that I’ve been writing and going, “Ooh, I like this. I’ll put that over here.” I’ve got probably thirty songs or so that I just love, new ones I’ve written and that I’ve not really pitched around. I don’t have any plans right now. I don’t play them for anybody. I just sit on them. But I’ve thought about getting back in, getting some players together, having some fun, and see what comes out.

In the press release about the exhibit, there’s a quote: “Painting has always been a kind of therapy. It’s my sanctuary and escape.” How do painting and guitar fulfill and heal you therapeutically?

I think any artist will attest that you’ve got to find a place that you can go and just get away, get in a zone. It’s the free time that you’re not thinking about [anything else]. Music does the same thing. If I’m writing a song, I’m concentrating on what the song says. I have to force myself not to write about what I’m trying to escape from. But that’s good, too, to actually talk about it sometimes.

Painting is a place where I can turn my phone off. I’m listening to music in my headphones and I’m painting. I don’t know what time it is and I don’t care. I just go and go. No phones, no bother, nobody worrying you, nothing going on. It’s an escape and it’s great. It’s a really safe, free place.

Photo Credit: David Abbott. 

Reproductions of Steve Wariner’s visual art appear with permission, titles as marked. Images courtesy of the artist.

Dreamy Folk Artist Satya Looks Back and Moves Forward

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The release of a debut album is a momentous accomplishment for an artist. For singer-songwriter Satya, the June 5 arrival of her first full-length, Yellow House, also represents the culmination of a long and emotional journey.

A Bay Area native who recently moved to Los Angeles, Satya initially started writing the songs for this album in early 2020, with the soon-arriving pandemic serving to provide her time to work on her music along with delving into her own journals, where she explored her feelings involving growing up in a household that was both abusive and loving.

The songs on Yellow House certainly reflect this duality of emotions. Her lyrics touch upon moments of madness, darkness, and desertion, while also offering up the possibility of escape and survival. Her singing holds an alluring calmness even as she’s addressing some highly charged topics. The album’s laid-back music, which combines elements of neo-soul, dreamy folk, hushed blues, and smokey jazz, serves to support her subdued vocals, creating an inviting, enveloping sound. The blending of musical styles suits someone who has played in Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium, sung (and lived) in New Orleans, and performed at San Francisco JazzFest and Hardly Strictly Bluegrass back on her Bay Area home turf.

Satya, following some work with another producer, recorded Yellow House back around 2023 with noted blues guitarist/producer Colin Linden (Keb’ Mo’, T Bone Burnett, Bruce Cockburn) at his home studio in Nashville. When she spoke with BGS, she talked about Linden’s important contributions to the record – as well as the significance of covering Lucinda Williams’ “Fruits of My Labor” and the Grateful Dead’s “Box of Rain,” the influence of Mazzy Star, and how the release of Yellow House is both a proud moment and a bittersweet one.

How did this album, Yellow House, come together?

Satya: I started writing this project in 2020. The first song I started with was “Circles.” Then the pandemic hit. I was going through a lot at the time with family stuff. I really started writing a lot of the songs for myself.

It was something that I was working on. Then the years would go by and I would kind of put it down and work on a side project. This one always just felt so personal that I wanted it to feel right, and I wanted it to really capture sonically what I wanted.

Do you feel that your sound evolved from your prior EPs (2022’s Deep Blue and 2020’s Flourish Against Fracture) or is more like a continuation of your earlier work?

This album feels like a continuation of [my] first EP I released, in a way, sonically. … I have other stuff out that definitely feels more like soul- and R&B-forward. This one, I feel like, went back into the folky, more Americana style. I don’t even think it was kind of subconscious. It was just the songs that were happening sounded that way. And I think it definitely captures a sound that I just naturally gravitate towards.

One thing that I really loved about the album was the way your singing and the instrumentation floated harmoniously with each other – and I was wondering how you achieved this airy, lived-in feeling?

That’s a good question. I know what sounds I’m drawn to. I reference Mazzy Star a lot for this project. I’ve always kind of felt listening to her, [Mazzy Star lead singer Hope Sandoval] and listening to that band, there’s a whole world that you get sucked into sonically.

This album really is based off of my past and [is] kind of a world. So, I felt like I wanted to create that same spatial sonic feeling. I think, for me, what draws me into those spaces, I think I’ve just taken notes of other artists that I love. And I love slide guitar a lot. I love the organ. I love the Rhodes. I love things that feel like reverb or taking up space.

I grew up singing in choirs and church. So, being in a wide room and hearing sounds bounce off the wall, I really wanted to make sure that the tracks felt not too airbrushed. I wanted everything to feel very raw and, you know, some things are one take.

Colin also definitely had to remind me, too – because I like to contradict myself – as much as I love everything sounding raw, I’m a]perfectionist. So, if we’re going to do it in one take, I need to do a hundred takes. But he was very good, I think, at kind of sifting through and just like allowing things to be.

How did you get together with Colin Linden as your producer?

I met him like two years before we actually recorded the album. I connected with him through my manager, Phil Green, who used to work with an artist named Fantastic Negrito. And I believe Fantastic Negrito had been working with Colin Linden. So, he was recommended to me. At the time I was living in New Orleans, too. So, I was like, “Okay, Nashville is close.” And I made my way out there.

Actually, one of the songs on the project, “Heaven’s Cry,” we just wrote that day – the first time I met him. Then, a few years later, we brought the album to him.

How big of a contribution did he make on the album?

He is a huge part of how the sound came out, and just like how the album came out. First of all, his studio is like my dream studio. He has a home studio in the back of his house. It’s like separate, through his backyard. It’s beautiful. And he just collects so many vintage, old guitars, mics and equipment.

I really just loved his approach, too, because a lot of these songs I came with were fully written. A lot of [what he did] was just kind of restructuring [the songs] or him taking the lead with rearranging.

We spent a week. I flew out to Nashville. We recorded every day, and it just felt really organic. I think that’s also why I really gravitated towards working with him. I just really loved his approach to music and also just his passion for it.

I don’t like using a lot of auto-tune or things on my voice. I really love performing live and I also love performing with a band – just having the live instrumentation… Colin loves live tracking and bringing in instrumentalists and all of that. So, yeah, I just gravitated towards working with him and it just felt really comfortable.

There was a lot of live tracking during the week you were at his studio?

Yeah, definitely. I brought the vocal stems to him. I had kind of recorded all these songs with a different producer, and then we put it down. So, I brought all the stems with me. Some stuff I already had tracked, but some of the stuff we fully reopened. He’s all over it playing slide guitar. His wife actually was playing organ on a lot of the tracks. We brought in an amazing bassist who is playing upright on some of it and a live drummer. So, we definitely had a lot of live tracking.

How significant was it to have done some work with Colin before getting into the studio with him?

I think I was very used to – especially because of the pandemic – being in my own studio and being kind of isolated with writing, which I think there’s a lot of beauty in, too. But that was the first time in a long time where it was just a full week dedicated to just “the art.” And I think that was really special.

The song “Circles” was the first one that you recorded, and did that song show you a way into the album and led to the songs connecting with each other?

Yeah, definitely. I wrote “Circles” and it just kind of sparked all the other songs – and just the concept, too, I think. “Circles” just opened up the idea; it felt like that song was needed to be next to others. “Circles” definitely felt like, sonically, “Oh, okay, this sound feels really nice.” And I think it kind of creates the world for all the other songs to live in.

The album contains two covers – Lucinda Williams’ “Fruits of My Labor” and the Grateful Dead’s “Box of Rain.” How did they become part of this album?

When I perform covers, I try my best to embody the song or embody the lyrics and tie them to my own feelings.

Well, “Fruits of My Labor” – I loved that song forever and ever. I didn’t plan to have that on the album. It was the first day that I came to Colin’s house. I had been covering that song [since] when I was doing small tours with my band. We were doing an arrangement of it, I played it for Colin, and he was like, “Okay, so we’re tracking that right now!” I was listening to that song so much after the pandemic and her lyrics just really stuck with me.

And then “Box of Rain”… that was another song that I had covered. My grandfather, he loves that song a lot. I grew up listening to it and I just love the lyrics. I wanted to add it on the album too, just because the whole album is around my family. “Box of Rain” really reflects to me just so much beauty, as well, in my family. When I hear that song, it just reminds me of a lot of the joy and a lot of the sweetness. So, I wanted to add that too.

When did this week of recording take place?

I think it was 2023.

So, it has taken some time to get it all done?

Yeah, I took a while for sure. You know, if I lived in Nashville, after that week, I could have gone back and listened to everything. But a lot of it was kind of one and done, so it was a lot of him sending me tons of different forms of the mixes and me writing feedback and going back and forth – getting the project mixed and mastered, and then everything else around it. But, yeah, it was a long time coming.

It must be really an emotional experience to have these songs finally coming out?

Yeah, it definitely is. It feels like a mixture of emotions for sure, because I’ve sat on these songs for so long. I think it’s just like – with a lot of musicians, I’ve heard and I’ve always felt this way – by the time a song is ready to release, I’ve already heard it a thousand times and I wrote it years ago. A lot of these songs were heavier, so they were a way for me to process everything I was feeling. It definitely feels like a release to be able to just finally let it all go and give it away.

I feel like I had to really take a step back when this project was done and just look at my own personal life over the last six years – and how much I think I’ve grown and overcome and a lot of things I feel have healed. It feels like, I think, a lot of things at once. I think I feel very proud and also very bittersweet from that time.

I think that also just writing this project kind of showed me the power in music and art, and how much it can bring, and cultivate so much healing, and connection with other people even. Like the conversations just kind of sparked by sharing these stories have been really special. But at the same time, I’m going to be unwrapping a lot of this stuff forever and I think it will always spiral outward, you know.

Photo Credit: Lola Lankford

Renée Fleming and Béla Fleck in Conversation

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Renée Fleming, Béla Fleck, Appalachia, and an all-star bluegrass band. Though the knee-jerk reaction to this list might be to play “one of these things is not like the other,” there is much more to this premise than meets the eye – and ear.

Fleming is one of the most renowned opera singers of the modern day, but the internationally acclaimed soprano has a long history of musical curiosity and often enthusiastically indulges thereof. From this trait alone, she and Béla Fleck found a resonance within one another, embracing and making music beyond the bounds of their respective claims to fame. This resonance sparked an idea that endured for more than 20 years, culminating in The Fiddle and the Drum, an album of Appalachian songs sung by Fleming and produced by Fleck – one that, more than anything, reveals a journey of familiarity and discovery for both artists.

The pair joined BGS on a phone call to delve into the musical, historical, and personal connective dimensions of this record. The memories shared are rich and many. Some extend as far back as Fleming’s preteen years. Others revive Fleck’s contemplations of how each song might come to life through Fleming’s vocal prowess. Every one of their recollections is imbued with immense mutual respect and awe for each other as well as the album’s many collaborators; it’s clear they both appreciate the gifts each and every person brought to this record.

Our conversation isn’t without painful realities, as the album’s focus on love and loss and war prompts reflections on fights and fatalities happening today. But, ultimately, it’s a conversation colored by a range of emotions and experiences, not unlike the very music of The Fiddle and the Drum itself.

Renée, you’ve spoken extensively about your upbringing and how you formed your relationship with a lot of folk music and folk artists. In that vein, how would you describe the initial perspective you formed about the music of folk, bluegrass, and Appalachia during the younger formative years of your life?

Renée Fleming: I think it was in middle school that they offered a guitar class – which I think is a fantastic way to get kids interested in music, because it’s an instrument you can carry around and you can read tablature pretty easily and pretty quickly. So that got me interested in [music], but also some of the music that I really genuinely liked [and got me interested] came a little later, including my discovery of Joni Mitchell in junior high school and high school. Then I was exposed to it through my family as well, because my grandfather was a fiddler and a drummer, so we had very eclectic tastes in music. I just was constantly exploring. [I] wrote a lot of songs and wrote a lot of music, starting probably when I was 12 years old, and it just branched out from there.

Where did Béla Fleck initially come into the picture for you?

RF: I was already a fan of Béla because of Béla Fleck & the Flecktones. In college, I really started singing jazz with a big band and also with the trio every weekend, so I was a big fan of his [at that time].

Obviously everything worked out the way it was meant to, but you still carry those glimpses into other worlds – folk, jazz, and so on – and it helped somewhat shape where we are now. I think it’s really brought a lot of extra color, showing people that [music] doesn’t have to be so rigid and doesn’t have to be about genres and specific labels and I think that’s something that really shines through with The Fiddle and the Drum.

Béla Fleck: I think we all have a tendency to pigeonhole people and put them into a black-and-white kind of a concept. You know, “They do this, they don’t do that,” but people are nuanced and love all kinds of things, especially when growing up and you’re open, you’re trying things and figuring out where you’re going to land.

I was also a huge fan of Joni Mitchell, and I was a vocal major in school, even though I couldn’t sing worth a darn and was secretly working on the banjo in the closet. But being exposed to classical music in high school – and my stepfather is a cellist, so I was listening to string quartets and stuff when I was a kid. People might be surprised by that, or maybe not, considering the kind of music I like to do, which is very varied. But I think it makes all the sense in the world that all of these other interests make Renée an even better opera singer, if that’s the right thing to call her. But the bigger your world is, the more you can bring to the specific things that you do.

RF: I never heard that you were a voice major before. I love that.

BF: Don’t think I’m gonna sing, because I want to protect you from awful pain, agony, despair.

RF: I don’t believe it.

BF: Nobody ever gave me a voice lesson, but they started me on French horn. I got into my school playing guitar and then it became clear that I wasn’t going to be able to play the French horn. They said, “Listen, you could just go stand in the chorus and still be in the school.”

So they put me back in there, but they needed tenors. I wasn’t a tenor so I just kind of screamed, looked at the music, and tried to figure out what they were singing and sing along. Then, when I got to my final year, they said, “Oh, we found out we’re doing Rhapsody in Blue for the semi-annual concert, and we found a banjo part so you can get out of chorus. If you want to get out of chorus, you can play this banjo part on the final concert.” I was like, “I think I’ll stay in chorus.” I liked it at that point.

Then on the last day of school, the chorus teacher – a woman named Mrs. S, who was an amazing vocal teacher – she had never spent any time with me, but she got me in front of the piano and said, “Stand up straight, sing from your diaphragm!” And she gave me a few quick things she made me do and I was singing like a bird. I was like, “Holy cow, I wish you had given me a lesson when I started at the school. I would actually be able to sing!” She knew exactly what I needed to do. It was remarkable.

Speaking of singing technique, Renée, when you were preparing to record the songs for the album, where on the spectrum of vocal expression did you anticipate needing to steer your voice?

RF: I think it was Béla who kind of clocked that a lot of the songs we were choosing kind of fell in line with [themes of] love and loss – and war, as well.

One of the things that I do, especially when I’m singing outside the classical genre, is I try to avoid an obviously classical sound. That, typically for me, means the upper register. But we worked it in some songs and you just have to be mindful of vibrato. It’s really thinking about style and, for me, that’s the same as when I’m singing on a program of French art song versus an Italian aria. So I may sound the same, but the style is completely different.

What struck me as I listened to the album was just how subtle and yet impactful the differences in how you sing can be. It’s just shaping and forming your voice around the mood that needs to come through. And I visualized that, if your voice was some kind of an entity or something that could be shaped, that you just have this beautiful ability to mold it and manipulate it into exactly the shape and form and size it needs to be to express whatever the music calls for.

RF: I like to record. I like the idea of focusing only on what we hear and not adding so many other elements like you do in a live performance, where it’s also your acting and your movement and how you look and your facial expression. This is a very much more focused activity and we would do many versions of the same song. I left it to Béla to choose which versions he liked. I had almost no complaints about the choices he made.

BF: I loved to hear your voice on all the takes. And then sometimes there would just be a magic moment of, “Oh my god, the song is really happening here. We’ve got to make sure this is part of the final takes.”

I have a frustration when you have something killer that happens in one portion of the take and then the rest of the take isn’t as good. I like to find those magic moments and have them all end up on the record. But I also think for Renée, there’s an unconscious element to being a musician. [To Renée:] You’re inspired by a moment, and sometimes it’s hard to put into words all the things that you’re [doing]. You put the material in front of yourself, you decide [to] embody it, and the music is correct and things are happening in the right way – you just know what to do. And it’s hard to say how you know.

Renée and I worked really, really hard on our craft, but I think the craft is there to serve something that’s a little harder to quantify, which is just what the unconscious – what our bodies and our souls – wants to doubt when it’s time to make the music.

RF: And it has to do with the expression. I’m also thinking of specific pitches and words that relate to the song, but [to Béla:] I was really thrilled to hear how much you could vary what you were playing. Sometimes your harmonies would just come from another world and I’d say, “Wow, that’s so cool. Béla can kind of put in a jazz harmony once in a while.”

BF: You also pushed for that. I remember the first arrangements you said, “I think this could be more interesting.” And then in the moment, I had to come up with a better arrangement, a more interesting arrangement, for the first song on the record [“He’s Gone Away/Storms Are on the Ocean”]. I’m really proud of it. I think if you hadn’t pushed and I hadn’t reacted, we wouldn’t have ended up with that arrangement, which was quite unusual for that song, and then that kind of led the way to being a little bit more open.

It’s funny, when I’m playing with the Flecktones, or Chick Corea, or somebody like those folks, I feel very open harmonically. When I’m playing music that’s more traditional, I’m very careful not to get too harmonic. So, when I discovered this was a safe place to explore a little bit and look for just the right kind of harmonic additions to the basic chords, it was very freeing and inspiring. And of course, getting to work with a great vocalist like Renée… I’ve been a big fan of female vocalists since Joni Mitchell and Joan Baez and Linda Ronstadt and all of these people. I saw that there was a lot of art to working with a great vocalist like that. I was eager to have that opportunity and thankful to get a chance to try and figure out how to make it work from my end.

RF: It’s funny you say that, because I’m a huge fan now of Hazel Dickens, and you said that you had worked with her. Because there’s something so plaintive about the way she sings, it’s like Roscoe Holcomb, too. There’s something– I can’t describe it. It’s authentic and it’s immediate simplicity. I just absolutely love it.

BF: We used to talk about the “ancient tones” in the bluegrass world, and Bill Monroe had this quality. It might not always be perfectly in tune but it didn’t matter. It was just so pure and so powerful. And Hazel has that. It’s like it’s coming from another planet, almost. It’s so deep and powerful the ordinary rules don’t apply. It’s something else.

RF: I agree.

Connecting this topic of the intangible with the themes of the record, how are you both feeling about the album’s thematic focus, given the various experiences of war and loss that are happening in the U.S. and abroad?

BF: What happened was, we had a certain amount of songs we were committed to and we were excited about, and we were looking at quite a large list of additional songs that might finish out the record. That’s when I started looking at the original six songs we had recorded and thought, “You know, there really is a thematic arc.” Some of these songs were not working for me, and I couldn’t explain why until I put my finger on the fact that the six songs that we’d already recorded were telling me a story. When I explained what I was seeing to Renée, she said, “Oh, I see that. That makes all the sense in the world.”

It kind of starts with a romantic relationship that leads to commitment and then the man, in this case, goes off to war and doesn’t make it back. The woman is left on her own, maybe with a child, and then in the end, there’s a rumination about life and the way it goes like this often in the world. So that’s the story arc. Basically, to me, that is about when you make a man your boss, you give yourself up. You give up your beauty. You give up your individuality and all the promise that you could be if you weren’t in that kind of a relationship, you know what I mean? And in a way, the woman in this story is taken advantage of by bigger forces, a war.

Well, this stuff is happening every day, all over the world. And we’re in a big one right now, and there’s a lot of questions as to whether we should be there. Those questions usually come out a few years after the war is over, and everybody will say, “Oh, this was a terrible idea, and here’s why.” You don’t have to be a genius to know that we’re going to be saying the same thing about a lot of these conflicts before long. So to me, it just makes the record have that much more meaning. It’s happening right now, just like it always does – this is what people do. This is what mankind does. And it’s very disappointing that it keeps going back to this place.

RF: [My and Béla’s] generation has been fortunate that, in a way, we’re too young to have really understood what was happening in Vietnam. A lot of this repertoire really relates specifically to Vietnam. But there’s also the Civil War. And every once in a while, things really fall apart. We’re in a period now where the same thing is happening. And it’s really not useful. It’s not going to move the needle for Iranian citizens – it might even make it worse for them. So I just think it’s tragic when leaders feel like the only alternative is war.

BF: Renée also mentioned she wasn’t sure that “Scarlet Tide” would fit with the other songs, but we went ahead and did it because we both loved it. And then when we looked at what we had – again, those first six songs – it made all the sense in the world. The songs were leading us in a direction, one that, unfortunately, mirrored what mankind does.

RF: And my heart goes out also to people in the Ukraine. There are always conflicts happening around the world. There have been so many reasons for these things, it’s shocking that sometimes it’s just [plain] political. I find that really sad.

It certainly has just felt like a very heavy time, for quite a long time. So even though the themes on this album are rather heavy and emphasize a lot of the sadness that’s going on, I think it’s also very cathartic.

BF: It’s funny how in blues and bluegrass, sometimes you’ll sing the most terrible lyrics – little girl and the awful, dreadful snake or a guy killing a woman – and make this very happy, jolly song about it. It’s bizarre! And in blues, a lot of time you’re singing the saddest things, but it’s uplifting somehow to bring them out in the open and treat them maybe in a different way that allows you to experience them differently and work them through in different ways. Some bluegrass songs are really, really sad but they’re so jaunty you don’t quite realize it.

RF: Well, it’s also that we are practicing grief. That’s one of the things that scientists have come up with, that sad songs really help us process and learn how to process actual grief, because we’ll all experience it.

BF: I think also having kids – we’re both parents – but you realize that people process grief in really different ways. Some people don’t show it for a long time, but then it comes out. It’s handled in a lot of different ways.

When you were putting the music together, what kind of unexpected creative sparks came up amongst the two of you and also among the large group of immensely creative artists that are contributing to the album?

BF: I think with music, you can be over prepared because there’s a lot of things that happen very spontaneously when you have musicians of this caliber – people like Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas, Stuart Duncan. Just like Renée colors every take differently, they’re going to do the same. They’re going to be very responsive. Things are going to happen on the floor. Someone’s going to want to stay on the floor in the studio while we’re doing takes, someone’s going to say, “Yeah, I don’t know, that part’s not working for me.” And we’re going to solve it in a matter of seconds and something’s going to work.

It’s a very emotional place to get into when you’re recording, especially songs like this. As we’re all listening to Renée, we’re all inspired by how she’s singing them. They’re different than we’re used to hearing. So we’re playing differently than we’re used to. But we also come up with an arrangement, develop it, and do it a few times so we really think we have something and try not to rush through it. But there’s a tendency for things to really work out very quickly.

So with the producer role that I was in – and Renee didn’t have that experience with these folks, although she has with a lot of other musicians that are improvising musicians – where the parts are not written down and they’re very spontaneous, she was able to ride those waves very well. And whenever she spoke up, she gave me a lot of latitude, a lot of rope. But whenever she spoke up with any comment, it was always dead on the money. It was going to make it better. We listened and we tried to incorporate everything we could to make it her music.

RF: I think also that collaboration, for me– the example I would use is working with a conductor is, at best, very intuitive. You’re reading each other’s signals that you’re giving musically, in terms of dynamics, and it’s never the same way twice. I think that was true in this process as well. And having Béla, who had really created the structure for each of these arrangements, helped to anchor everything.

But to have those other musicians playing – they’re the crème de la crème of Nashville I think, and the singers as well. I mean, the way Dolly Parton was able to add her voice to the track I had already created [“In the Pines”] and just blend in amazingly, but then to also add so much to it. And the same was true for Jerry Douglas. Aoife O’Donovan, I already knew and had worked with her already on a project at the Kennedy Center. I didn’t know Sierra Hull and Sarah Jarosz, who are also just extraordinary musicians and terrific artists. For me, it was really a delight to be working with so many truly great musicians.

I’ve been fortunate to see Béla perform live in other genres with other musicians. [To Béla:] You never do anything easy, because I just wondered at your ability to manage these polyrhythms and changing meters, and then also to keep track of where you are. I mean, it just boggles my mind.

BF: Thanks. I feel like the banjo is like a percussion instrument. Like a tuned percussion instrument, similar to maybe a marimba. The rhythm of things is very fundamental to what makes me tick and what makes the banjo tick, because we don’t have sustain. So everything’s all about where you place the note.

So when they say, if you [lose or] don’t have a sense, your other senses become stronger – I think, as a banjo player, we have certain limitations that are almost like senses we don’t have. We can’t take a note and hold it for a long time. It’s just not possible. So we get better and better at timing and rhythm. If we’re on top of it, and we understand that, then we become rhythmicists.

It’s more challenging for me to do music with a lot of space, because I can’t do it. Banjo won’t do it. So notes will hang in the air for a little while. I can’t sustain like a piano with the whole pedal or things like that, but I find ways to work around it. In this case, I got to play the band. I couldn’t sustain, but I sure know who could. Jerry Douglas, Stuart Duncan, they know how to hold a note and have it mean something. It’s not just a length, it’s a feeling and a depth. So, I know I can step out of the way.

I mean, for a record that you’re kind enough to want my name on the record as an equal, I felt like I was really playing more of a producer role most of the time, and I really enjoyed that opportunity.

As the producer for the album, did you have a vision for the overall sonic profile of the music? Was there a particular way you envisioned blending the typical folk and bluegrass instrumentation with Rénee’s voice before you hit the record button?

BF: I did have the experience of hearing her sing live, doing opera in China. But I also listened to her recordings before taking the project on, because part of me was wondering, “Well, can she do this? Is this going to work?” I listened to some of her recordings and I heard some stuff that she did with Bill Frisell on one of her records, where she used a lower range. It was almost like a different person. I was amazed at how much I loved it. I love hearing her do her opera thing, because it’s the best it can be. It’s just so good. It’s like how I was not a basketball fan, but when Michael Jordan played, I wanted to watch.

I feel like Renée is like that with opera. Even if you don’t know about opera, or the form is strange to you and you’re not sure what you think about it, when you get a chance to hear her, do it. You want to see it. You want to do it, you want to hear it. I knew she was a world-class singer, but I didn’t realize that she had this other gear that was possible for her in her low range. I’m not trying to say that the opera stuff isn’t unbelievable. It’s just in a different language. It’s a different world of music. It’s a role. She plays these roles on every song.

I just didn’t know if she could translate her honest, personal humanity to these songs. And when I heard these Bill Frisell tracks, I went, “She can, she can! And it’s not a bluegrass/country singer doing their thing. It’s a whole different authenticity. I guess I didn’t know at that time that she had it in her family, and that it was music that she’d heard the whole time. So she wasn’t sitting there thinking or singing down to it, “Well, I can do this. This is easy. I do hard stuff.” She wasn’t like that. She was like, “I’m committing. I’m really going to do this thing.” So I was very impressed by her professionalism but also in the way she could summon up the emotion that felt true and authentic.

I think the album will just keep reinforcing to the listening population out there that people should embrace differences, embrace new, and embrace change – and maybe even embrace the unknown.

BF: I think it’s important to remember that it’s not just the idea that’s good or bad, it’s how it’s done. The same idea could be a disaster if it’s not done the right way.

We have something called a mashup, when you take two people that do completely different things and you throw them onto the same song and they alternate doing their thing. To me, that can be fun and enjoyable, but it’s not a true collaboration – where the artists actually have to change, grow, and listen to each other. You have to actually learn things. I look for those kinds of collaborations, where you’re doing something different from what you normally would do in order to play with this person.

But again, and you can talk about politics [in the same framing], too. Sometimes it’s not the thing that they’re doing, it’s the way that they’re doing it that is either good or bad. When you put musicians together from different musical worlds, often we can figure something out. We can work something out.

When I play with musicians from different parts of the world, people get really excited and happy. I do, the other musicians do, and we find a common ground. We find some way to play together. The people around that are there hearing it are uplifted by the idea that, “Hey, you guys worked it out.” And again, that’s what we need to do politically, too. We need to find ways to reach each other and connect with each other and listen to each other. It doesn’t need to be as hard as it feels like it is.

My most uplifting times have been playing with musicians from other cultures or from other musical worlds and finding common ground – finding a way to be yourself, together, and accommodate each other in that aural space.

Photo Credit: Madison Thorn

12 Mandolinists We Know You’ll Love

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The mandolin’s role in music has changed a lot over time and with its steady pace of change comes a constant flow of new players. Nobody plays or interprets music in the same way as anyone else, bringing plenty of new ideas and explorations.

There have been many different eras of mandolin playing in bluegrass. Ranging from the classic Bill Monroe style to David Grisman to Chris Thile – and, lately, a more string band sound is being popularized by players like Andrew Marlin. And of course, there are countless other mandolin eras beyond and in between.

The mandolin has also been used in many other genres besides bluegrass; it lends itself to genres such as Choro, jazz, classical, and pop. The mandolin even fills major arenas. There have been a lot of folks making incredible music on the instrument and though this is just a starting point, here are 12 mandolinists who you might not be familiar with, but we know you’ll love!

Jean-Baptiste “JB” Cardineau

Franco-American mandolin virtuoso Jean-Baptiste “JB” Cardineau is currently Boston-based, having graduated from Berklee College of Music. JB’s mandolin playing delves into many genres such as bluegrass, classical, old-time, and some traditional French music, too. His style is quite adventurous; he dives deep into the old-school Monroe ways, looking towards Frank Wakefield for much inspiration. JB has spent a lot of time touring with different bands, such as the Ruta Beggars, as well as his own project, JB and Cardineau Sin. As well as being an incredible instrumentalist, JB is also a gifted songwriter. Above is one of JB’s original tunes, “Si Tu Vois Ma Mandoline.” This tune blends the more traditional French style with bluegrass influences.

Ian Coury

Raised in Brazil’s capital, Brasília, Ian Coury is a masterful, well-respected 10-string mandolinist currently based in Boston. Growing up playing Choro, Ian pushes the boundaries of the genre, writing original music that has won him “Best Instrumentalist” awards from the National FM Radio Festival (2020) and second place in Brazil’s eFestival (2021). He has shared the stage with renowned musicians such as Hamilton de Holanda and Armandinho. In 2019, Coury enrolled at Berklee College of Music and later earned his master’s degree from the program. Here is Ian playing an original composition entitled “Solando no Limbo” for Mandolin Mondays.

Maddie Witler

Originally from and based in California, Maddie Witler is a phenomenal musician. Primarily known for her mandolin playing, Maddie is also an incredible guitarist and banjoist. Having also attended Berklee College of Music, Maddie was a founding member of the Boston-based bluegrass group the Lonely Heartstring Band. Maddie also used to tour with powerhouse GRAMMY-nominated band Della Mae. In 2022, Maddie released her debut solo album, Astronaut, a truly incredible compilation of all original songs and tunes from Maddie. In this video, Maddie is joined by Jacob Jolliff at Mandolin Camp North shredding on a classic bluegrass tune by Frank Wakefield, “New Camptown Races.”

Jesse Appelman

Jesse Appelman is both a gifted mandolinist and tune writer. Based in California, Jesse frequently tours with the Sam Grisman Project, as well as his own group, Jesse Appelman’s West Coast Stringband Project. His debut album, Where We Go, which was released in February, is a collection of original tunes and select cover songs and was produced by John Mailander. His tunes are mellow yet groovy, capturing anyone listening. This clip is Jesse’s rendition of “The Hills of Isle Au Haut” joined by Eli West and Patrick M’Gonigle.

Ethan Setiawan

An Indiana native who now makes his home in Maine, Ethan Setiawan is an incredible mandolinist and tunesmith. Ethan was the 2014 National Mandolin Champion, and in 2017 was the first place winner of the Rockygrass mandolin contest. He is also a graduate from Berklee College of Music, and has also done some teaching there, too. Ethan has toured with bands like the Acoustic Nomads, Corner House, and currently tours with both his duo Hildaland and his own group, Ethan Setiawan and Fine Ground. He has released a few albums of his instrumental music, Flux (2018), Gambit (2023), and Encyclopedia Mandolinnica (2025). Bringing in elements of bluegrass, classical, jazz, and Scottish music, Ethan makes his own sound and brings his listeners along for the story. Enjoy a recording of Ethan playing his original tune, “Uncrossed.”

Korey Brodsky

Originally from Connecticut and now based in Asheville, North Carolina, Korey Brodsky is both a talented mandolinist and guitarist. Yet another of our mandolinist picks who studied at Berklee College of Music, Korey has toured all over. In 2021, he joined Boston bluegrass band Mile 12 and he’s traveled and recorded with artists such as Jody Stecher, the Tray Wellington Band, Nefesh Mountain, the April Verch Band, and more. Above, Korey plays a beautiful take of a Karl Suessdorf and John Blackburn tune, “Moonlight in Vermont.”

Megan Cody

Originally from Colorado and now living in New York City, Megan Cody is a killer mandolinist as well as an incredible guitarist and singer. Fronting the band the Cody Sisters alongside her younger sister Maddie, Megan’s mandolin approach is playful and thoughtful. Megan tours year round with the Cody Sisters and frequently plays all over New York City. Here is a recording of the Cody Sisters playing a medley of a few songs and tunes.

Casey Campbell

A rare Nashville native, Casey Campbell is a fourth-generation bluegrass musician. An extraordinary mandolinist, Casey has performed with musicians like Bryan Sutton, Chris Stapleton, Vickie Vaughn, Becky Buller – and the list goes on! Casey was the 2017 winner of the IBMA’s Momentum Award for Instrumentalist of the Year. He has a duo mandolin album that was released back in 2017, Mandolin Duets: Volume One, which features Casey playing with various masters of the mandolin. In the video above, Casey is joined by Sam Bush as the two play a Jethro Burns tune in honor of Sam called “Sam’s Bush.”

Michael Prewitt

Originally from Kentucky, Michael Prewitt spent many years touring with the iconic bluegrass band Special Consensus. In 2024, he released his debut album, The Peerless Mountain Sessions, and then followed that up later that year with an incredible album of all original music, Something He Can Handle. Michael currently tours around the country with his own band, Michael Prewitt & CrunchGrass Supreme. The video above features one of Michael’s original songs, “Winnipeg” played by Prewitt with CrunchGrass Supreme.

Thomas Cassell

From Southwest Virginia, Thomas Cassell now resides in Nashville. A a founding member of the band Circus No. 9, he currently tours with the Wood Box Heroes and performs as a sideman with many other groups. Thomas has won many awards – he was the 2021 National Mandolin Champion and in 2020 he won the IBMA’s Momentum Instrumentalist of the Year Award. Thomas fronts his own band as well and has a few of his own albums out, Voyager (2018), What You Need to Prove (2022), The Never-Ending Years (2024), and he has a forthcoming album soon to be released! The video above is of Thomas’ new single, “Ramblin’ Heart,” featuring Tim Stafford. This is the first single off his upcoming album, so stay tuned.

Lauren Price Napier

Based out of Owensboro, Kentucky, Lauren Price Napier is a talented mandolinist and singer who digs deep into Monroe-style mandolin playing. Fronting the traditional bluegrass band the Price Sisters with her twin sister Leanna, Lauren has been nominated for multiple awards from the IBMA, such as Momentum Vocalist and Momentum Instrumentalist of the Year in 2019 and 2020, respectively. Lauren brings her own spin to playing traditional Monroe-style mandolin while also sticking to the roots of the genre. Above is a video of Lauren playing one of her original tunes entitled, “Tuel’s Landing.”

Tristan Scroggins

Tristan Scroggins is a GRAMMY-nominated mandolinist who also won the IBMA’s Momentum Instrumentalist Award in 2017. He spent years touring with his dad’s band, Jeff Scroggins and Colorado, but he also has a duo with violinist Alisa Rose called Scroggins & Rose and recently toured full time with Missy Raines & Allegheny. In 2019, he released an all-instrumental EP featuring his style of mandolin crosspicking called Fancy Boy. Tristan also has an ongoing, multi-volume project with fiddler George Jackson recording 100 of the most popular old-time tunes called Old Time 100. Tristan currently tours with Bronwyn Keith-Hynes. Here, Tristan is joined by fiddler Ellie Hakanson playing a bluegrass tune, “Ashland Breakdown.”

Photo Credit: Lead image (L to R), Jesse Appelman by Giant Eye Photography; Lauren Napier Price by Jay Strausser; Thomas Cassell by Scott Simontacchi.

Survival of the Heart and Survival in Alaska

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

During the Klondike Gold Rush, the Red Onion Saloon in Skagway, Alaska, operated as a thriving brothel and a rare (sometimes) source of autonomy for the women who worked there. More than a century later, Juneau-based singer-songwriter Taylor Dallas Vidic found empowerment at the old bordello too, by offering feminist tours in character as Madam Anya Johnson. Innuendos loosened up tour groups, forging a connection that made them receptive to some serious history lessons – alongside dick jokes.

“What working at the Red Onion did for me was make me feel really comfortable about being a human in front of other humans, and to talk about things that often feel taboo or uncomfortable, and to normalize them,” Vidic says. “It’s translating from making sex jokes to feeling comfortable standing in front of a lot of people and saying, ‘Hey, here’s what it felt like when I broke my heart or when someone else broke my heart.’”

Vidic’s songwriting is warm and vulnerable. She’s equally capable of belting above sultry and coy jazzy tracks, carrying intricate, stripped-down folksongs on her magnanimous voice alone, and building grand theatrical numbers, as well. She does all of it on her debut album, Cat & Mouse, a collection of 13 (mostly) love songs that deliver an expansive, playful representation of what is perhaps humanity’s most perplexing and intoxicating experience. And it’s all rooted in the same multifaceted understanding of shared humanity that Vidic used to bond with strangers on those summer stints in Skagway.

Beyond an exceptional, arresting voice and range, Vidic’s songwriting conveys an acuity of emotion which pushes what is superficially an album of love songs well beyond predictable tropes. “They tell you it takes time, you’ll see/ To remember who you use to be/ Remember how to sit in the quiet/ On your own,” she sings on the album’s opening track, “Falling Out of Love,” which lays out in minute, closely felt detail the experience of returning to self after a breakup:

I’ve learned to fill the space that
I’d kept for only you, dear
I smile at all the faces
Walk past all the places
We used to go
Each breath a little deeper
Each song a little sweeter
Now that the scent of you doesn’t linger on my pillow
Anymore

Heartbreak might be age-old song fodder, but Vidic extends it far beyond breakups to many kinds of aches (loss, longing, unbearable certainty) with an alluring immediacy. In her hands, the simple mechanics of falling in and out of love – or wishing to fall in love, even if just for the evening – become a comforting exercise in self-discovery and relatable human experience.

There’s “In a Song,” about a crush that’s missed its moment. “High,” which yearns for the good parts of a past entanglement. And “In Your Arms,” a cinematic, self-aware disquisition on a relationship’s irreconcilable differences: “I said it’s a big ole world/ The place we could go, the people we’ll see/ Just imagine the strangers we could meet,” Vidic sings, adding: “He said/ My corner’s just fine with me.” By song’s end, Vidic is off on the grand adventures she dreamed for them both, solo.

Part of Vidic’s remarkably evolved approach to love songs derives from practical necessity. Juneau, Alaska – population 32,000 – is small and isolated both from the rest of the country and even the state, by geography; with no roads out of town and flanked by impenetrable mountains, ice fields, and the Gastineau channel, it’s accessible only by boat or plane. Living within those few square miles, it’s impossible to avoid running into an ex regularly. In the same way that Vidic’s ethos accepts humanity’s many facets, so too she’s maintained love and respect for her exes. Indeed, most of them were invited to – and attended – her album release show.

“Finding ways to actively reframe relationships when they have run their course is a matter of survival of the heart. And it would be such a loss to not get to continue to care for the people that I have loved, that have loved me,” Vidic says. “I don’t know if I’m just lucky in that I’ve found people that are willing to do that – even though it is messy and hard at times and a little confusing at times, too, and uncomfortable; we spend so much time with people that we choose to love and we share so much…I really like holding onto those moments.”

Juneau’s geographical limitations and eccentricities crop up on the album in other ways, as well. “I let those mystery boys get me every time/ When the stakes are low I’m better at not losing my mind/ An hour is too far when an airplane is in play,” Vidic sings on “Muse.” Nothing quite as bittersweet as unrequited love, specifically one that’s unwanted.

“Twice a Day,” the album’s opening foray into its folk/Americana B-side, is the only song that doesn’t overtly take place in Alaska, written during a few months in New York City. On it, Vidic, a consummate observer of the world around her, contemplates the near-infinite possibility for human interaction in a big city surrounded by so many more souls than in her hometown: “Maybe I would make you laugh each day/ Maybe when it ended I’d be begging you to stay/ Maybe we’d grow old and see, we’re as happy as we’d ought to be/ But we’re always a platform away.”

First albums are always special. Often, they represent the culmination of years’ worth of a musician’s best and hardest fought work – John Prine’s eponymous debut, Emmylou Harris’ Pieces of the Sky, Guy Clark’s Old No. 1 – and Cat & Mouse is no exception. Written over more than a decade (Vidic penned its oldest song, “Muse,” at 21), the album is, for Vidic, a scrapbook of her life and formative early adulthood.

“I think most people can agree that songs take us back to moments in our lives, be it a playlist that was on the radio a lot when we were in middle school, or that particular song that helped you get over a breakup or a song that makes you think about your parent,” she says. “And these songs do that for me, but they are snapshots of my existence and of the people that I’ve come across.”

From her delivery on stage to the studio production of Cat & Mouse, Vidic also brings the banter and cheek of her madam tour guide gig, as well as the showmanship she’s cultivated as part of burlesque troupe, The Nude & Rude Revue, and through many community arts events she’s helped organize. Leaning into her life’s dualities, Vidic made the album with two distinct sides; Cat, the album’s A-side, is jazzy with a big band sound; Mouse is a stripped-down, folksy, and sparsely-instrumented B-side. It’s a concept that easily could have been sonically incongruous, but both sides flow together through the power of Vidic’s voice, aided by the album’s title track, which she rendered in both styles and delivered at the end of each side, respectively.

Juneau’s geographic isolation can be a mighty impediment for musicians, but it’s also a blessing that breeds collaboration and allows musicians a certain freedom to grow and flourish without the pressures of bigger music cities in the U.S., says Juneau-based musician Andrew Heist. Heist has played in a myriad of bluegrass bands in Alaska over the last 20 years, and lends his scintillating mandolin to “Falling Out of Love.” He also shares stages with Vidic as part of their songwriting group, the Muskeg Collective.

“Without the pressure to get a product out there to build her name in a competitive scene, there’s this community familiarity that is so rare and amazing in Juneau,” Heist says. “It’s sort of like the old soul version of hearing somebody sing, there’s a depth to the way that she brings her music forward.”

Most of Vidic’s songs are exceedingly personal, yet she manages to spin the exquisite pain of heartbreak into something universally relatable, and she’s equally vivid when singing about someone else. Vidic wrote “Wet Tennis Shoes” in part thinking about a friend whose father left when she was too young to remember him. The song effuses not just ache, but a crushing loss of innocence, as well: “Boats made of paper float on the pond/ A little girl playing wonders where you have gone/ You took all the sunshine and made her skies grey.” And though the paper boats do not actually dissolve, the song’s omnipresent drizzle – “Rain on her window/ Rain on her head/ Rain on the rooftop as she lies in bed” – evokes the dissolution even more effectively.

After spending most of the album exploring feelings’ small intricacies, Vidic’s final track before the “Cat & Mouse” reprise is “Stockades,” a showy, declarative pop number about the enormity of falling head over heels. “The Stockades fell/ When he touched my hips/ And he kissed my lips in ways they’ve never been kissed,” she cries before continuing: “Lord knows it took one night to tear this empire down/ The walls we built, they’re falling faster than Jericho to the ground.” Still, kingdoms fall and so do powerful loves; and again by the end of the song, Vidic is reminding herself how to get back up and stand on her own two feet. Now, and always, too.

The strength of Alaskan songwriters’ connections extends beyond helping each other and into the community at large as well. As part of her album crowdfunding (Cat & Mouse was also partially funded by a prestigious local grant), Vidic asked for funds to bring music into the state’s network of nursing homes, a goal inspired by visiting her mother in a long-term care facility and a few concerts she’s already given.

Memorably, Vidic recalls how at a Christmastime performance she stepped offstage to sing among the audience to bring herself into focus for them. Next to a man she’d noticed never uttered a word on previous visits, Vidic sang “Silver Bells.” Part way in, the man joined her, singing along with words he’d learned long ago.

Nursing homes are often undesirable performance locations; they’re sterile, poorly lit, and underfunded, their residents not the most attentive or engaging audience members – yet, Vidic observes, those people deserve live music, joy, and respect, as much as anyone. She plans to rework her stage performance into a version with which to bring music to those spaces where it’s rarely heard, and sorely needed.

“That again brings me back to my time at the Red Onion and finding that shared humanity with strangers, and just feeling like we’re all just human beings doing our best, sharing spaces and trying to find joy and make moments worth living,” Vidic says. “What’s the point without it?”

Photo Credit: Sydney Akagi

Tedeschi Trucks Band Have Done It Again

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

When it comes to entirely enjoyable, technically exquisite modern blues, Southern rock, and jam-band soul albums, Tedeschi Trucks Band have a statistically impossible batting average. Their new LP, Future Soul (released March 20 via Fantasy Records), is yet another “no skips” collection from the megalithic 12-person Americana group fronted by husband-and-wife guitarist Derek Trucks and guitarist-vocalist Susan Tedeschi.

On that strength of their catalog – and their ensemble – TTB have amassed hundreds of millions of streams, won eight Blues Music Awards and one GRAMMY, and a handful of their songs have become regarded as modern standards in the Americana and American roots music songbook.

Future Soul simultaneously feels like a surprising departure and familiar, essential territory for the band. With Mike Elizondo producing and songs and creative input sourced from across the group’s lineup, the set ends up sounding and feeling more acoustic than “usual,” while still reaching roaring crescendos and building it all on dank, wide open grooves. Perhaps those acoustic moments are a substantial contributing factor as well, but the cozy, plush pocket of the album is what gives it a laid-back, relaxed, and floating vibe no matter the track’s genre construction.

Screaming slide, no-holds-barred vocals, and wall-of-sound climaxes can all be found herein, as well. But the collection never thrashes or flails, it’s precise and exacting – as Tedeschi and Trucks are both known to be on their instruments, whether guitar or voice – but it’s certainly not sterile or gated or homogenized, either. It’s another remarkable feat for a group so large that you would almost have to assume, live or in studio, musical mud would be an inevitable byproduct.

But no, TTB seem to have no misses, at least not on Future Soul. It’s clear this group works together in harmony not just because of the down-to-earth and collaborative leadership of Tedeschi and Trucks, but because the artistic and musical responsibilities and ownership – of the songs themselves, of the album, of the makings of each, of “success” for the band – are decentralized and distributed throughout the group. The band has a sound, an art, that is consistently collective in the way it’s received by audiences and listeners because, forgive the obviousness, Tedeschi Trucks Band always work as a collective.

In our BGS conversation with Derek Trucks, the magic and unlikelihood of this creative dynamic and the processes by which the band continues to rack up success after success were on full display. We spoke about how they put together Future Soul as a group effort, the many inputs that went into Trucks fashioning his lyrical guitar style, and what bluegrass means to him personally, to Tedeschi, and the band as a whole. It was a joy-filled, passion-led conversation that again reinforced how this wailin’, rockin’, rollin’ band continues to flout and subvert expectations – and thereby has become so beloved.

Something that jumped out at me from the bio about the new album is that you say, “There’s just not a weak spot on this record.” I have to say, I totally agree. I think it’s remarkable that with a 12-person band and such a diverse catalog of recordings and releases, it really doesn’t seem like there’s any “fat” to trim or any duds to cull.

I have to ask, does it feel as magical on the inside of that process as it seems from the outside? It seems unlikely that y’all would work so well together towards a common goal, artistically, and be able to deliver again and again and again. And I don’t just mean commercially, awards-wise, or for audiences alone. Clearly you’re delivering artistically for yourselves and by your own standards, as well. So, does it feel as unlikely on the inside of that process as it maybe does to us on the outside looking in? [Both laugh]

Derek Trucks: That’s awesome. But it does, man! I mean, not every record you do feels the same way. They’re all their own beasts. For I Am The Moon, it was in a time of great uncertainty. We did four records and it was just kind of a heavy, heavy time – and that record feels like that.

This one felt completely different. The band felt much more confident [and] had been touring for two years straight. We had been playing so much together that when we finally got the core of the group up to our farm in Georgia to do some writing, there were a few songs right out of the gate. Like “Future Soul” and “Who Am I,” where immediately, Sue started singing, Gabe [Dixon] started singing these melodies. I got chills and I was like, “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

You’re always kind of worried about running out of ideas, or running out of runway – like a thing in the back of your head. But I feel like we’re incredibly fortunate where, when we’re together, everyone puts everything they have into it. Then, when we’re not on the road together, everyone’s all doing their own things musically. So, when we come back together, there’s a lot to talk about and a lot of music to remember together.

I think it keeps it really fresh and it keeps it moving forward. I feel like everyone’s out honing their craft when they’re away from this. When they come back, there’s a lot of new ground to cover. So far, we’ve been really, really lucky that way. And there’s a handful of just incredible songwriters in the band, so everybody comes in with two or three ideas. You’ve got a pretty strong record right out of the gate. That’s been something that I think me and Sue are just realizing – we’ve known how amazing that is but, you know, Gabe and Mike [Mattison], they show up with some serious ideas.

Then having Mike [Elizondo, the album’s producer] down, just some outside ears – I think that was really important. Sonically, he was trying some different things that I think inspired the band and made everybody play a little differently. That was exciting.

I was struck by the range of styles and the different genre infusions that y’all have put into this collection. What really stuck out to me, listening down to the project in one fell swoop, is there are still those really big energetic moments – and there are still those “wall of sound” moments that y’all are really known for. But I felt like this album is chill and laid-back in a way; it feels deep in the pocket. Can you talk about capturing those seemingly disconnected energies together?

I think one of the things is that with a band or an artist, I think if you’re maturing properly – we learn sometimes slowly – that you don’t have to force the issue all the time. You can trust things around you a little bit more, and sometimes the groove is enough. Sometimes the chord changes are enough, sometimes the melodies are enough. It doesn’t have to be these epic moments at all times. So when they do come, you’re excited about it and wrings you out. Then you lay them back down, and then you go on another little trip.

I think the band, having played together so much, we’re in a different place that way, where we realize that you don’t have to force the issue on every song. You can go to different spaces, different places. And then, again, having some outside ears – Elizondo really helps with that, too. He helps guide you to places that maybe you wouldn’t have gone naturally, so that’s a fun thing. Then you learn things about yourself musically in the band that you didn’t know before. That’s always a good place to be.

One thing that I’ve been obsessed with about your playing, specifically, ever since I discovered you as a teenager, is how lyrical of a guitar player you are. It jumped out at me from the bio, as well, when you’re talking about “I Got You” and how you’re doing a guitar-voice dialogue instead of guitar-guitar. I think of you as one of the most lyrical guitarists out there. You’re so present and so grounded. So I’ve always wanted to ask you how you’ve cultivated that style – as well as being able to have those moments of pure shreddy, lick-y wailing.

Then hearing that you really wanted to make that connection between voice and guitar on this album made so much sense to me, because I’m always thinking about how you’re a lyrical player. And Susan is, too, and you both dialogue with your instruments, and her voice, often.

Pretty early on I had a few musical epiphanies. One was Allen Woody, who played with Gov’t Mule and the Allman Brothers. When we toured with my solo band, opening for a Gov’t Mule in the early days, he would always turn me on to records. He gave me this CD by this guy named Aubrey Ghent, who was a gospel [steel] player. I put on “Amazing Grace” and I was like, “Wow, what an amazing voice.” And then I heard the pick and I realized that it was this guy playing lap steel! But it sounded like a woman singing. I got chills [over] my whole body, and I was like, “That’s it, that’s the thing.”

I had been listening to a lot of Indian classical music – a lot of vocalists and sarod players. Me and our old [Derek Trucks Band] bass player, Todd Smallie, went to Ali Akbar College of Music in San Rafael, [California] and they would let us sit in on classes. I realized he [Ali Akbar Khan] made all the instrumentalists take vocal classes, because his whole thing was that you should be singing through your instrument. So that made it just really obvious.

Those were a few of the things, and then there was a long time where I just stopped listening to any guitar player. It was only singers and horn players. That was kind of the idea [that] musical ideas can come from anywhere, but you really should be singing the thing. There’s time for all of it, but the stuff that moves me the most is, you know – even hearing Duane Allman on “Blue Sky” or something. It sounds like somebody’s singing, like somebody is walking down the road whistling. I think those are probably the touchstones for me.

Maybe I am projecting a little bit, because I’ve been a bluegrass banjo player my whole life – I started playing when I was seven. But when I think of guitarists, especially who end up reaching the pinnacle – whatever that is – or especially in flatpicking and in bluegrass, there tends to be this homogeneity of style. The people who get to the “very top” end up all sounding like each other. Then you have those folks that really stand out, and it tends to be because they’re using space and using air as much as they’re using 16th notes and 32nd notes. I think, being used to really shreddy flatpicking, that hearing steel or slide or blues guitar or jazz or acoustic jazz, anything plays with sustain and plays with space, I just drink it up.

Beautiful, man. I remember the first time I heard the Stanley Brothers, or Ralph Stanley, and I just remember it hit me in that place where those early blues guys hit me. There was just something about it. That kind of cracked that whole world open for me. I mean, I was always a Tony Rice fan. We have the same birthday, so I thought that was cool.

No way, I didn’t know that.

And I remember being at a MerleFest years ago, I think it was one of the last ones that Doc played. I remember seeing this old Oldsmobile or Cadillac – I don’t know, it seemed like an 1980s or ‘90s car – it pulled up to the stage and I see Tony Rice get out, just dressed to the nines. He pops the trunk, gets his guitar, hits the stage, and then right when that set was over, he was back in that car! I was over there thinking, “What a boss.” It was incredible, man. He went up and just annihilated everybody and got back in his car and drove his ass home. Pretty incredible.

So funny.

The last time we talked to you for the site, you were Artist of the Month in 2019 and you talked about Del McCoury and Jerry Douglas. I know you’ve played DelFest a bunch, you’ve collaborated with Billy Strings – oh, and I was super excited to see Molly Tuttle supporting on a couple dates of your TTB tour in April, too.

Yeah, we’re excited for that. That’s gonna be great.

What does bluegrass mean to you? Obviously, there’s Ralph Stanley, Tony Rice – there are pickers and makers in bluegrass that are infused into what you do, but what does the genre mean to you more broadly? And who in the space right now inspires you, or your musical vocabulary, or what you guys are doing in the band?

When I think of American music, I think of blues, I think of bluegrass, and I think of jazz. I think [those are] the things that we’ve really contributed to the world. To me, those are the cornerstones of it.

We’ve become good friends with Sturgill [Simpson] over the years, and he’s dipped into that [bluegrass] place. When I hear him sing it I’m like, “Oh yep, that’s because he’s from there.” He’s from the heart of it, and it makes me feel the way Ralph Stanley does at times. Even guys like Tyler Childers – and Sue’s a big Sierra Ferrell fan. She loves all those records.

That music, even the current guys, it’s always playing around here. I don’t know, it just feels inspiring to hear. People just get on an acoustic instrument and rip one. You’re like, “Oh yeah! There’s still people that know how to do things!” [Laughs]

That’s the big inspiration I take from it. Because [in the music industry] there’s a lot of cutting corners, and that’s a music that there’s no cutting corners. You gotta put your time in and take your licks or you’re just not gonna get on stage. I appreciate not just the dexterity, but the vocabulary and the heart that goes into it.

And there’s just something about seeing a group around one microphone just doing the dance that I think is always inspiring. We’ve done some shows recently with Sam Grisman, we did a benefit [for Camp Winnarainbow] out in San Francisco. Peter Rowan was on it, and me and Sue, and it was all acoustics. I had an old National, and just getting to play with that group – just the way that group felt. Sitting on a stool with a Dobro, and they were coming and going around the microphone. And then, getting to hang after the show with Peter Rowan and him telling these stories, man. It was just incredibly inspiring. Some of the songs that we got to play with them – that dude [David “Dawg” Grisman] has written some incredible music. That was one of the highlights of last year. It was pretty damn incredible.

There’s a lot of acoustics on this new album, too. I did find myself wondering, and maybe I’m biased, but does the world need a 12-piece bluegrass band? It might! It might! [Laughs]

Man, that sounds pretty fun to me. I mean, it would be a lot less gear to carry on the road! Which would make it more plausible.[Laughs]

If you wanted to speedrun pissing off a fan base, this might be the way to do it.

[Laughs] Yes, alright, we will be thinking about this! I’m gonna go talk to Sue.

This next one is kind of for me, so I thank you in advance for humoring me. But I wanted to talk to you about Jack Pearson. When I first moved to town, I just met this guy out jamming on mandolin at these bluegrass jams. I’d be like, “Man, this guy’s so nice.” He’s a great picker. He’s a great singer. I got a lot of practice playing swing with him at jams in town. Then folks started being like, “Hey, do you know who that is?” Oh my god, I did not know who it was. He was just my bluegrass jam pal. Then I worked at the Station Inn for a few years and I got to work a bunch of his trio shows. I’d die for the solo acoustic sets he’d do on the set break.

Incredible.

If I were to list maybe my top 5 favorite guitarists of all time, I feel like you and Jack would both be on that list. So I wanted to have a little nerdy moment to talk about Jack. [Laughs] Can you talk about his playing and your guys’ friendship? Of course, I see so many connections between your musical vocabularies and that lyrical style we were talking about.

Yeah, man I need to check up on him. It’s been a minute. I need to check in on old Jackie P.

He’s a monster, man. He’s one of the few people that can actually go play in a straight-ahead jazz band, in a bluegrass band, and then the Allman Brothers. I mean, maybe the only person that can actually do it.

I totally agree.

I mean, he played with Jimmy Smith. This dude is like, he’s an absolute monster. And a sweet fella! You can’t say enough good things. When I joined the Allman Brothers, Jack was just leaving. So all the tapes I got, like learning the new versions of the tunes, were Jack Pearson tapes. At the time, Bud Snyder was the sound man. He would mix these tapes for me with Jack really boosted in the mix. I could hear exactly what he was doing to learn these things. I got an intimate take on the way Jack was approaching these Allman tunes. It was so unique.

There’s no one [that] plays like him, and [his playing is] about as smooth as it gets. Sometimes, you watch him play – and I know he plays really light strings and he plays low action – and the way his hands move, I’ve never seen anyone play quite like that. Then he busts out a slide and you’re like, “Holy shit! This dude can do anything!” [Laughs]

I know!

He’s one of the unsung heroes. There’s no doubt about it.

He does this thing – and you do this as well – where you’re able to leverage that really gritty, aggressive, absolutely on-the-razor’s-edge style that comes with blues and Southern rock and Americana. Then at the same time, like you’re saying, with light strings and low action, still has such a deft touch. Yet he has such great attack and precision and cleanliness. He is a great lesson in taste. His taste is impeccable.

Yeah, I think that’s exactly it. I think we forget a lot of the time that most of what we love about music is the musician’s taste. I mean, you got to put in the work – and Jack has obviously done that, that dude is a master. But his taste is really as good as anybody.

I think he’s probably a bigger influence on me than I even realized. Probably because of that early Allman Brothers time for me. I was jumping in at 20 years old, 21 years old. And all of a sudden it’s, “Here’s 60 songs to learn, and rehearsal/tryout is in a few weeks. I was like, “Well, give me those dates.”

I’m stressed just hearing about that.

I mean, luckily most of that music I had listened to my whole life, but I had never bothered to learn any of them. I mean, I knew “One Way Out” and “Statesboro [Blues],” that doesn’t take long. It was all the other shit!

Photo Credit: Chapman Baehler

10 Fiddlers We Know You’ll Love

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

When it comes to fiddlers, we all know that more is more is more.

Lonesome fiddle? Great. Twin fiddle? Even better. Triple fiddle? (Who called Bob Wills?)

But with all this great fiddling, it’s hard to keep up with who is who. We are here to help. It turns out that for all the fiddlers that you may know and love, there are probably 10 more that you haven’t heard of – even if you’ve heard their playing!

Here are some fiddlers making big waves and sawin’ big figure eights who may be flying under your fiddle radar.

Ellie Hakanson

Originally from Portland, Oregon, Ellie Hakanson grew up playing music in her family band. Bluegrass fans will have heard her blazing solos as part of Jeff Scroggins & Colorado, with whom she toured and recorded for five years. She now lives in Nashville, where she plays with Missy Raines & Allegheny and Kristy Cox among many other artists.

Ellie’s fiddling is defined by its traditional bluegrass sound and deep study of the genre. The International Bluegrass Music Association agrees, as Ellie has been nominated for several IBMA Momentum Awards – in 2017 for Instrumentalist of the Year, in 2018 for Vocalist of the Year, and in 2019 for both Vocalist and Instrumentalist of the Year.

Here, she plays “Sally Goodin” with the incredible Michael Cleveland during a workshop at Cowichan Valley Bluegrass Festival in Lake Cowichan, British Columbia, in 2024.

Evan Snoey

Multi-instrumentalist Evan Snoey approaches music with a wide lens. Equally comfortable playing old-time fiddle and jazz saxophone, Snoey’s breadth of musical knowledge finds him playing with everyone from young shredders (like the Litch Brothers) to country artists (like Dylan Gossett). Originally from Seattle, Snoey’s stylistic interests include old-time, bluegrass, Scandinavian, Scottish, swing, jazz, and contemporary improvisational music.

In this video, he performs a medley of tunes – “Busta,” “Sjøvald,” and “Primrose Lass” – with Alex Wilder on piano for the Nashville Contra Dance.

Omar Ruiz-Lopez

Chapel Hill, North Carolina-based fiddler and multi-instrumentalist Omar Ruiz-Lopez may be best known for his work with folk duo Violet Bell. Ruiz-Lopez is currently making a name for himself as a sideman (playing cello, guitar, and fiddle) with artists such as the War and Treaty, Franklin Jonas, Lizzie No, and Langhorne Slim. And he has just announced a crowdfunding campaign for his first record of original music. Born in Panama and raised in Puerto Rico and Florida, Ruiz-Lopez is a bilingual singer-songwriter who brings a cross-cultural perspective to his music.

In the above video clip, Ruiz-Lopez performs “Panavueiro da Rabeca” and “Panariqueño,” an original fiddle tune, accompanied by Jamey Haddad and Clay Ross at Casey Driessen’s Blue Ridge Fiddle Camp in 2025.

Josie Toney

Soon after moving to Nashville, Josie Toney hit the road as part of Sierra Ferrell’s band, which went from a DIY van tour to a bus operation during her tenure. In 2022 she released her solo album, Extra, featuring her songwriting and guitar playing as well as extraordinary fiddle work. Originally from Olympia, Washington, Toney studied at Berklee College of Music before moving to Music City. She now tours with country star Hailey Whitters and appears often around Nashville fronting her own band and picking with others.

In 2022, she was a guest on Cameron DeWhitt’s podcast, Get Up in the Cool, performing a version of “Smith’s Reel” that perfectly shows her style.

Libby Weitnauer

Libby Weitnauer grew up in the shadows of the Great Smoky Mountains and studied classical violin in Chicago before returning to her roots in Tennessee to play old-time and country fiddle. An endlessly curious and evolving musician, she has played for Margo Price and Kelsey Waldon and has performed on Broadway in New York City, as well as founding indie band Dallas Ugly and fronting her own songwriting projects. A solo album is rumored to be on the way.

In this video, she performs “Swannanoa Waltz” for the YouTube channel The Old-Time Fiddler.

Amy Alvey

Old-time expert Amy Alvey is a fiddler from California who focuses on building community wherever she goes. In addition to recording and touring with her duo, Golden Shoals, and her indie solo project Mild Windago, she fronts the string band Hometeam Advantage, hosts a radio show on Middle Tennessee’s WMOT, and has cultivated a weekly old-time jam in Nashville. Amy is an encyclopedia of old-time tunes and sources with a wide range of stylistic ability.

Here, Hometeam Advantage includes George Guthrie (banjo), Charlie Fuertsch (guitar), and Ethan Hawkins (bass) performing “Tanner’s Farm.”

Jamie Fox

Montana-based fiddler (and pilot and aircraft mechanic) Jamie Fox grew up on the Fort Belknap Indian Reservation and is part of the Agniih and Nakoda tribes. Jamie, along with her brothers, learned Métis fiddle styles from traditional players on the reservation such as Old Fatty Morin, as well as Métis fiddlers like Jimmie LaRocque, Mike Page, and Johnny Arcand. She currently tours with her band The Fox Family Fiddlers, and as a solo performer.

This video, uploaded in 2019, showcases three reels in the Métis style performed in Denmark with Malene D. Beck accompanying on piano.

Katie McNally

Scottish fiddler Katie McNally grew up in the Boston area and was mentored by the legendary Hanneke Cassel. Her style is fierce and energetic, drawing inspiration from traditional Scottish and Cape Breton styles – as well as Scottish-American players. Katie records and tours her own music and is also a member of The Pine Tree Flyers with Emily Troll (accordion), Benjamin Foss (guitar), and Neil Pearlman (piano).

In 2024, the Pine Tree Flyers performed “Vidita” together for Seirm during Celtic Connections 2024, taped for BBC Alba. Watch above.

Austin Derryberry

As deeply rooted as they get, old-time fiddler and luthier Austin Derryberry plays with the groove of generations. Originally from Unionville, Tennessee, Derryberry’s duo album with Trenton “Tater” Caruthers focuses on the less well-known fiddling of the Middle Tennessee area. He apprenticed with legendary fiddle maker Jean Horner and now makes and plays fiddle in the region.

In this video, Derryberry is joined by his wife Courtney Derryberry and Greg Reish to perform an Ed Haley version of “Chinese Breakdown” in Ireland for the Westport Folk & Bluegrass Festival in 2023.

Connor Murray

Originally from the Chicago area, Connor Murray Ostrow polished his bluegrass chops studying with Michael Cleveland and he can currently be found gigging all over Nashville and around the country. Connor’s playing is clean and focused, with bluegrass drive and country sensibilities.

A graduate of Belmont University, for his senior recital in 2022 he performed a hot club jazz rendition of a Kenny Baker tune, “Bluegrass in the Backwoods,” illustrating the way his approach to the instrument has cross-pollinated with many styles.

Photo Credits: Lead image (L to R): Ellie Hakanson by Nico Humby; Josie Toney by Natia Cinco; Omar Ruiz-Lopez by Phyllis B Dooney, PHOTOFARM. Alternate image: Ellie Hakanson by Nico Humby.

Bill Frisell Invites All of Us Inside His Guitar Dreams

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The first time Bill Frisell played guitar in front of an audience was typical for the time. It was the summer of 1965 and he was 14. He’d saved up money from a paper route in his Denver-area neighborhood so he could buy his first electric.

“Oh man, I can still just…” He pauses, lost in nostalgic reverie, on a Zoom chat from his now-home in Brooklyn.

“I opened the case and I can just smell it,” he says. “It’s amazing.”

His face bears a beatific smile, his voice a genial, gentle tone – things that he’s known for nearly as much as his astonishing musical talents.

“I got a Fender Mustang and a Fender Deluxe amp,” he continues. “And then my other friend, he got an electric guitar and this other guy across the street played drums. We learned like three songs. And then within a couple of weeks we were playing for a party in somebody’s basement.”

He’s not sure what they played – “probably ‘Louie Louie’ and I don’t know what else.” But the feeling?

“I guess in a way, that’s kind of what I kept on doing,” he says. “Get with my friends, learn a couple of songs and then go play for people. And that’s all I’ve done ever since.”

It’s exactly what he did on a recent Wednesday at the new Blue Note jazz club in Hollywood at the start of a several-week “75th Birthday Celebration” tour, that milestone coming on March 18. The friends joining this night were bassist Luke Bergman and drummer Tim Angulo.

The set was more than three songs, of course, played, as is his frequent style, in a continuous, hour-long stream, moving through originals, jazz standards, and movie score themes, as well as an ethereal “Moon River,” a tremolo-inflected “Shenandoah” and, closing, Burt Bacharach’s ever-timely “What the World Needs Now Is Love.” Wrapping it up was a somber yet hopeful encore of “We Shall Overcome.” Throughout the show, he and his trio-mates play with remarkably fluid connections. The approach could be delicate or heavy, buoyant or somber – or somehow all at once.

And with each note, even amid immeasurable harmonic complexities, melodic sophistication, and the nimble skills he’s gained through the decades, there was that kid from 1965, his beaming smile and twinkling eyes revealing his utter, still-fresh delight.

Frisell approached every measure as fresh territory, ripe for discovery, for exploration, curious where an old melody might reveal something new, reveling in its beauty or finding richness in dissonance he adds. Sometimes he’d play around with a short, simple phrase for a bit, like a new toy. Occasionally he’d fiddle with effects to enhance his pointillistic Telecaster touch (he moved on from the Mustang years ago). He throws in a cluster of sonic fireflies here, some “backwards” sounds there. He even giggled a little once when he hit a bad note.

“It’s weird,” he says in conversation a few days before the concert. “I still feel like I’m just beginning. And I’m not kidding. I mean, I know I’ve been playing for a while, but it’s still that feeling [that] never goes away. I’d be fooling myself if I thought … “

He paused again, looking for the right words.

“You just can’t feel as it you finished anything.”

This all comes through profoundly on his new album, In My Dreams, his 45th (plus many dozens of collaborations, group, film and TV scores and sideman projects), released on February 27. It also features a trio (longtime collaborators Thomas Morgan on bass and Rudy Royston on drums joining him) plus a string trio (violinist Jenny Scheinman, violist Eyvind Kang and cellist Hank Roberts), as well.

The title references an actual dream he had years ago in which a group of mysterious, cloaked figures allowed him to experience things beyond our normal perception. First they showed him colors – intense and beautiful – and then music in which all the things he’s loved, from Nino Rota to Hank Williams to Jimi Hendrix to Thelonious Monk, lived together as one glorious sound.

The album, mostly recorded live in three concerts last summer, shows him pursuing that sound himself, with approaches that might be termed jazz, classical, and folk-Americana braided through originals sometimes tender, sometimes dark and intense. Also included are interpretations of the Duke Ellington/Billy Strayhorn classic “Isfahan,” Stephen Foster’s “Hard Times” and, to close, “Home on the Range.” The latter is previewed earlier in the album with his own fantasia on themes from the song that he calls “Give Me a Home.” And for the title song, fittingly, he created an anxious soundscape inspired in part by Bernard Herrmann’s Alfred Hitchcock scores.

Still, the dream remains a dream for him, something ever out of reach, but ever-alluring.

“I don’t even know when it was, 30 years ago when I had it or more,” he says. “And music in general is always something that you can’t quite…. “

He stops to choose his words again.

“It’s always a little bit past what you can get to,” he says. “But the dream was like that. It’s like, I don’t know if I’ll ever get there, but just keep trying.”

In My Dreams is a hearty grab at that ring, though that very elusiveness is a key part of his art.

“With these people, we’ve been playing together so long,” he says, noting that Royston and the string players all were together on his 2013 album Big Sur. “There’s this thing that started happening quite a while back where, for me, I just love the line between arranging and orchestration and composing. The lines get all sort of blurred. We’re all seeing the same information, like what I write could look like a piano score or something. And we figure out some stuff, but basically everyone is free. The cello doesn’t always play what’s on the bottom and the violin doesn’t always play what’s on the top. And there’s a thing that happens spontaneously amongst them, amongst all of us, dropping out or coming in or switching parts that’s really the exciting part of it for me.

“So it’s like you’re improvising with the whole texture of everything. It’s not like they’re playing some part and then I’m playing a solo on top of it. Ideally it’s like an ongoing conversation amongst all of us. I never want it to be predictable. Hopefully it’s always in a state of uncertainty. I mean, I want it to be strong, but at the same time I want everyone to feel safe that they can fall off the edge, and then we’ll come back and pick it up, because that’s where the good stuff happens.”

That, of course, goes back to the avant-garde settings in the New York downtown scene of the 1980s and ‘90s, where he made a name as part of boundary-pushing sax player John Zorn’s unpredictable jazz-metal ensemble, Naked City. But the sensibility remains core to him even in his frequent trips into folk, Americana, movie scores, and unabashedly romantic pop-rooted material. His 1992 album, Have a Little Faith, a musical portrait of America spanning from Foster and Sousa to Ives and Copland, from Muddy Waters and Sonny Rollins to John Hiatt and Bob Dylan to Madonna, remains a landmark in his vast catalog. And he’s recorded and performed with many Americana singer-songwriters including Paul Simon, Lucinda Williams, Joe Henry, Bonnie Raitt, Buddy Miller, and Shawn Colvin. He simply loves a good song with a good melody.

“I can’t help it,” he says. “I was born in 1951 and I grew up in Colorado, just as television and rock ‘n’ roll were all happening. It’s not a conscious thing. [But] at a certain point, I realized, ‘Wait a minute, I gotta not be afraid to show that that’s where I come from.’ I think when I was younger I was more worried about, ‘Oh, are people going to think this is not cool?’ But then after a point it’s like, well, wait a minute. This is what I am. This is where I came from. And if I’m really honest, I do like that melody. I like when Burt Bacharach wrote a really beautiful song and it’s not corny if you look at it a certain way.

“I think I learned that from the people I thought were the coolest, like Sonny Rollins. He would play songs that he heard when he was a kid, or that he saw in a Broadway show or whatever. And I realized he’s doing that because that’s his experience and his life. So it’s okay for me to play a Beach Boys song or a Beatles song, because that’s what I heard when I was growing up. And ‘Home on the Range,’ I mean, [I] probably heard it when I was in my mother’s womb or something, you know?”

Arguably, the latter is the emotional keystone of In My Dreams, particularly in tandem with his “Give Me a Home” musings on its melodic theme earlier on the album, the strings following him as he steps through and around the familiar melodies, clearly with Copland hovering over.

“I was messing around with ‘Home on the Range,’ I wrote all these different versions and then that particular one, it’s just a phrase from the song, doesn’t even get through the whole song. And then the title.” He laughs.

“When you think of what’s going on in [the world]. I mean, we play ‘Hard Times’ on there, too. It’s like, folks without a home. Where are we now? What is going on around here?”

Those questions come to the fore again on the full “Home on the Range” later. The song starts relatively straightforwardly, but after a couple of minutes it goes into a dark, abstract zone. That is how the album ends.

“I didn’t have that planned out,” he says. “The stuff just happens organically and then we piece it together, and that’s what it is. But then you see how the music reflects the place we’re at. I didn’t have a preconceived idea. It’s always easier after the fact to make a story out of it somehow.”

The story of Bill Frisell, inevitably, touches on his generous, easygoing manner. It seems to be mentioned every time someone talks or writes about him. Does he ever get tired of people saying how nice he is?

He hesitates.

“No,” he says, sheepishly. “I don’t know if I’m really that nice. I try to be a good person, but I don’t know. I mean, there’s a lot going on underneath the surface.”

He laughs, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

“I get upset,” he says. “I have to wake up and look at the news every day and that doesn’t help, you know?”

He pauses one more time.

“But I guess that’s all the more reason for us to try to be good to each other.”

Photo Credit: Marko Mijailovic