When I was asked to put together a Mixtape for BGS, I was on my way from Jazz Fest in New Orleans to a Warrior PATHH/Songwriting With Soldiers post-traumatic growth trip to Southwest Missouri. My mind was making the transition from pure pleasure and celebrating the life of Jimmy Buffett, who was not only universally loved, but was also personally very good to me. He was my songwriting partner for 20 years. My mind was switching from that to creating a blank slate, so that I could listen to six women who served in combat and one woman who served in law-enforcement – and listen to their stories without judgment.
My involvement with Songwriting With Soldiers, and now their affiliate post-traumatic growth program, Warrior PATHH, really comes out of simply being asked to do it. Then once I had done it, I fell in love with the people– the combat veterans, the first responders, men and women. I am most interested in the human connection, the connection between communities who may not run into one another on a day-to-day basis. Being around people who are struggling with trauma and doing everything they can to get better for themselves, their families, their careers, and their friends, it’s nothing short of pure inspiration.
I understand Memorial Day is to honor those who have fallen in the line of duty, specifically in war. But after all these years of working with the people who survived, I cannot help but think of them as well. We also work with the families of the fallen, so I think Memorial Day for me is first and foremost about the fallen, but also about the families left behind and the soldiers who survived, but who were left with the mark of trauma.
This playlist is not a journey through a literal Memorial Day. Study some history, some first-hand reports about the mayhem of war. I could not make a playlist only about those who gave all. In my work and journey through listening and writing with veterans and first responders, I am learning so much about human beings struggling to be better.
That’s what this is about. And that’s how I would like to honor the fallen this Memorial Day: We promise you we are trying to get better. You did not die in vain. I have been given the opportunity to leave myself behind a bit, listen to other people’s stories, and use the gift I have of songwriting for a whole new purpose. And that’s my angle on this playlist. – Will Kimbrough
“Walking in the Valley of the Shadow” – Will Kimbrough
Sometimes we have to carry on, even though holes in our shoes and our clothes are torn. Even though someone doesn’t want us to be here. Sometimes we have to carry on.
“The Ballad of Ira Hayes” – Kate Campbell
Johnny Cash may have the definitive version, of course, but I love Kate’s version so much. She has so much heart.
“The Ballad of Cape Henry” – Todd Snider
This is one that I helped write. Sometimes paying attention to what surrounds you while you’re on the road is real important. Read the historical marker. Look at the land around it. We made this up on that old Virginia shore.
“The War After the War” – Mary Gauthier
Just a perfect song about an imperfect world. People struggling. I played on this record and Mary got me involved with Songwriting With Soldiers. Changed my life. Full stop.
“Buffalo Soldiers” – Bob Marley
As I write this, I’m getting ready to write a song with women combat veterans at a retreat center, in a building named after the Tuskegee Airmen.
“Bubbles Up” – Jimmy Buffett
I cowrote this, using experience I’ve had with combat veterans and first responders. Thinking about post-traumatic growth. And Jimmy brought his experience taking the Navy Diving Course. We wanted to help someone find the surface, the plot, the purpose… when the journey gets long.
“Sam Stone” – John Prine
You have to include “Sam Stone” by John Prine on Memorial Day.
“Bang the Drum Slowly” – Emmylou Harris
Emmylou wrote this for her Dad – a Marine and a POW during the Korean War – with Guy Clark.
“Still Learning How to Fly” – Rodney Crowell
For all the vets I’ve written with!
“Gimme Shelter” – The Rolling Stones
Just saw the Stones at Jazz Fest in New Orleans! Still powerful after 55 years.
“Uncivil War” – Shemekia Copeland
Just a reminder that veterans fought for our freedom to disagree. That’s a big part of our American story. This song, which I cowrote with John Hahn for the great Shemekia Copeland, mourns the divide in our culture. Peace, y’all!
“Anything Helps” – Dean Owens
I wrote this with my friend Dean. He had played a songwriter show at an Austin homeless shelter that was full of veterans. I had bought an American flag lapel pin from a homeless veteran in Nashville. We put our heads together. Sometimes the sacrifice of war comes later, when the veteran is unhoused.
“Angel Flight” – Darden Smith
A great Memorial Day song by the cofounder of Songwriting With Soldiers. Written with the amazing Radney Foster.
“Isolation” – Will Kimbrough
Isolation is a word I hear every time I write with veterans.
“America the Beautiful” – Ray Charles
It really is beautiful. I need to get to work now, but as I look out on the Ozark Mountains in the Tuskegee Airmen building, I can hear Brother Ray Charles sing. And I believe him.
Welcome to the second edition of BGS Bytes! From up and coming artists on TikTok to conversations the biggest artists are having online, we’re here to round up any important things happening online in roots music — so you can save your thumbs a few scrolls!
In no particular order, let’s take a look back at a few notable highlights from bluegrass and country social circles in the last few weeks.
Spotify Stopped Paying Out to Small Artists On Its Platform
Spotify has now changed which tracks are eligible for monetization. Tracks with under 1,000 streams will earn nothing from the streaming giant.
In early April, More Perfect Union reported that Spotify has stopped paying out for artists whose songs don’t top 1,000 streams. While this change won’t impact musicians who top the charts, it reduces profitability for smaller up-and-comers. Of course, this also impacts all genres, not just roots music, a genre that has already historically struggled with a digital era. We might have posted some satirical news about Spotify recently, but this is all too real.
Could there possibly be new music on the way?? I’m With Her posted a reunion photo with all three members: Sara Watkins, Aoife O’Donovan, and Sarah Jarosz, as the golden trio took in the eclipse through solar viewing glasses!
Black Opry Hit Mainstream News Talking About Beyoncé’s New Album
Tanner Davenport, co-director of The Black Opry, spoke with MSNBC in March about the record-breaking album, ‘Cowboy Carter,’ that’s been setting tongues wagging since its debut.
“She has always been country”: Critic on Beyoncé’s “Cowboy Carter”
Tanner Davenport, co-director of The Black Opry, spoke with MSNBC’s @AlexWitt following the release of the music idol’s record-breaking new album. pic.twitter.com/BFubaNCig1
One of the wildest social media videos you’ll see this week features a surprising crew — watch Harrison Ford, Paul McCartney, Will Arnett, Brandi Carlile, Mac McAnally, Jon Bon Jovi, Vince Gill, and Pitbull on stage singing “Margaritvaille” together. That’s not an exhaustive list, of course, so let us know who else you can spot! It’s hard to count all the celebs in this Jimmy Buffet tribute.
Orville Peck Celebrated His New Release With Willie Nelson
If you missed it, Orville Peck recently released a recording and accompanying music video for “Cowboys Are Frequently Secretly Fond of Each Other” with Willie Nelson. The video has already racked up more than half a million views on YouTube! Turns out there must be many a cowboy feeling the vibes Peck and Nelson are putting out.
Viewers Have Been Digging Tyler Childers’ Live Performances on TikTok
A handful of Tyler Childers’ videos have gone viral in the last few weeks, including the above that’s racked up more than 179,000 likes and nearly two million views. Hey, we can’t blame y’all for loving his music, especially when it’s performed live!
With nearly three million views, Gary the Snail’s version of Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” has been taking over TikTok. Just a silly little cover, you’re sure to get a good chuckle, even if you’re not a huge SpongeBob fan.
It’s pretty obvious — a lot happened in March and the beginnings of April! We’ll continue rounding up the hottest social media conversations and goings-on for BGS readers every month — let us know on social media and tag us in a post if you think something deserves to make the next list.
Photo Credit: Jackson Browne, Paul McCartney, Woody Harrelson, and more perform on stage at the Jimmy Buffett tribute on April 11, 2024 shot by Randall Michelson / Live Nation – Hewitt Silva.
Mississippi is well-known for storytellers who craft in multiple mediums. From songwriter-guitar shredder-photographer Marty Stuart, to filmmaker-actor-business owner Morgan Freeman, to author-TV personality-business magnate Oprah Winfrey, the list of multi-hyphenates originating in the state is formidable. Hailing from different parts of the state and from different generations, Charlie Worsham and Mac McAnally are both known as consummate songwriters, instrumentalists, storytellers, singers, producers, and prolific performers.
McAnally frequently jokes that spare time is the chief export of the state of Mississippi, and while hyperbolic, this does underline the fact that it takes time and space to become an expert music creator. Whether Mississippi afforded them both the opportunity to develop their crafts or whether their own obsessions forced them to carve pathways to success for themselves, we’ll never know.
The way the pair speak about playing instruments is reminiscent of the youthful compulsion with which some people describe playing video games or sports. Both Worsham and McAnally started very young. By age 12, Worsham was on the Grand Ole Opry’s hallowed stage. McAnally grew up playing in bars and honky tonks on the Tennessee state line and started playing sessions in Muscle Shoals studios by his early teen years.
In an industry rife with surly personalities, both McAnally and Worsham have reputations of kindness that precede them. It is no coincidence that both of their calendars are fully booked with tours, both solo and in support of other artists and acts, studio work, and various and sundry creative projects.Worsham’s most recent solo release, Compadres, is a who’s who of modern Nashville duet partners; he’s also a current member of Dierks Bentley’s band. McAnally has a fully packed solo tour schedule after losing his long-time collaborator and Coral Reefer Band leader, Jimmy Buffett, just last year and is currently collaborating with Disney on updating the Country Bear Jamboree.
Good Country spoke with Worsham and McAnally from their homes in Nashville. Worsham was making Valentine’s Day memes, preparing for a run of solo shows, and balancing it all with a toddler in the house. McAnally was fresh off a week-long run of shows in Hawaii co-headlining with fellow multi-hyphenate, Jake Shimabukuro, and gearing up for a run of solo shows himself.
The discussion was a mutual admiration society as they are clearly big fans of each other’s work. They talked about their progressions to becoming multi-hyphenates, the benefits of being able to pivot, what their younger selves would think about their careers, and in a Substack-exclusive epilogue, they paid tribute to the fellow multi-hyphenate greats that we lost this past year, Jimmy Buffett and Toby Keith.
As you both became multi-hyphenate creators, were there people in your pasts who either discouraged you from this or encouraged you towards this?
Mac McAnally: Well, I began just by being pretty much fascinated with everything. As far as the multi-instrumentalist part of it, that came from my dad, because he kept the books at an auction and he came home every week with some musical instrument, and it wouldn’t be connected to the last one that he brought. He was just fascinated with music, too, so he would trade up a saxophone one week. He’d have a clarinet the next week, a fiddle the next week. And then drums, which he was kind of glad I didn’t stick with. I was always interested and fascinated by what kind of sounds they made, whether I could help make them or not.
When it became the studio application, I don’t wanna say I was discouraged, but my application in Muscle Shoals was that there wasn’t really a dedicated acoustic guitar player. There was a rhythm section at every studio. Broadway had a rhythm section. Fame had a rhythm section. Muscle Shoals Sound had a rhythm section. Wishbone, where I was working mainly, had a rhythm section. But none of them had a dedicated acoustic player, so it allowed me to go cross-pollinate those different rhythm sections and learn with different producers.
I wouldn’t say I was discouraged, but initially, I was encouraged to be primarily an acoustic player. But I think just because I’m so fascinated with all of it, I was paying attention to all of those jobs; to what the engineers were doing, to what the producers were doing. And then, as I began to have opportunities to do some of those other jobs later on, I certainly believe that having done a few of them gave me more consideration or compassion for everybody that was doing them. I think that it is a good thing to go through life with respect for everybody, and how they’re doing their job. So the more jobs you’ve done, the more you can identify with individual situations of those jobs.
Charlie Worsham: I couldn’t agree more on that last statement. You know, I always have felt that way, and all my favorite people in music are people who have worn different hats over the years, because they have that added perspective and appreciation. And I think it was similar for me, Mac. I was curious. I wasn’t really good at sports, so for me instead of picking up a new sport, it was picking up a new instrument. I was fortunate to have supportive parents who would help me acquire that instrument and acquire a connection to someone who could give me lessons, or a book or video tapes to learn from, or whatever, or just be playing along to records.
That was a big driver for me – and I don’t think anyone ever discouraged me in a similar way. It wasn’t discouragement so much as an encouragement in the other direction, which was because I was a bluegrass kid. There were a handful of people in the bluegrass world who sort of said, “Hey, if you want to be a fiddler, or if you want to be a banjo player, you need to dedicate everything you got to that one instrument,” and I figured out pretty early on I that I was too curious about the full picture, like you said. I wanted to get a little bit of understanding about it all, especially once I got the bug for recording equipment.
I had a chance to come to Nashville when I was 13 and make a bluegrass record. And this guy named Bobby Clark, who played mandolin with Mike Snider at the time, had a 2-inch tape machine in the guest bedroom. I walked in, saw that thing, and I was hooked. It was game over. And so, of course, my new mission became that I had this room full of instruments and I needed a way to record them. That’s what got me into being a songwriter. It all kind of snowballed, because I ran out of fiddle tunes to record. I was like, well, I need to write something now that I’m running out of material to record. By the time I got to Nashville, my motto in those early years was, “Say yes, ‘til you can afford to say no.”
I really wanted to be the big ol’ electric solo rippin’ guitar player. But everybody was an electric guitar player, like you said. A lot of times they needed an acoustic player or the band needed a harmony singer and someone who could play mandolin. So it was a way to always be able to pay the rent. And then, as I got more and more connections, and I guess my stock rose, then I could afford to choose a little bit more what I wanted to do specifically. Looking back, I wouldn’t have wanted to do it any other way, because I love being able to pivot.
I have a question for your 16-year-old selves. What hat do you wear today that you would be most surprised about?
CW: So if 16-year-old us popped into the future and said, “Wow, I didn’t see that coming?” Man! What’s yours, Mac?
MM: I probably didn’t understand what record production was, so it would have seriously surprised my 16-year-old self. A), That there was a job that was really what this is, and B), I wanted to do it. My 16-year-old self just wanted to be a guitar player in a band. At the time I was kind of having to be a piano player in the band, because I knew the notes on the piano and that pretty much disqualified me as a guitar player. Everybody played a little guitar in North Mississippi and almost nobody played the keyboard. If you had a keyboard, you were a keyboard player. I had a Fender Rhodes, which meant I was gonna load it by myself every night and blow my back out by the time I was 20.
I didn’t want to be a singer. I didn’t think I could sing. I wanted to be a guitar player, and I didn’t even want to be the guy playing the solo. I honestly think that’s probably what’s got me so many gigs in bands, because I would always just sit and play rhythm for two hours while somebody jammed over “Down By the River.” I was just trying to make it groove.
My adult self is fueled a little bit by my ignorant teenage self, and like you, I wasn’t necessarily inclined to sports, but I was a big enough guy that they expected me to play football in Belmont, Mississippi. I was blessed by the fact that Belmont, Mississippi did not own a helmet that would go on my head – even in junior high school. My head is huge, and the high school coach took me into the equipment room and said, “Son, see if you get any of these high school helmets on that head of yours. You’re a big boy, and we’d love to have you out on that field.” And I sat and mashed as hard as I could. It looked like Mr. Peanut. I went trotting out on the field, and the coach said, “No, that ain’t on, son.” The face mask was still over my hairline, you know, so I didn’t get to play football.
But a record producer, somebody that is in the service of the music and in the service of helping somebody’s dream come true, I didn’t understand what that job was. I don’t view myself as particularly good at it, but I relish the fact that I get to do that on occasion. I just sort of think of myself as a steward of music. It doesn’t matter which of these hats, which of these hyphens is today’s job. I just like to wake up and go back to bed, having been in the service of music, and I don’t really care what way it is.
CW: It’s interesting, because I think I’m closer in my mindset today, for the first time, to my 16-year-old self than I’ve been since then. In that, like you, I just wanted to be where the music was. I wanted to be involved. By my early twenties, there was a part of me that if I brought my 22-year-old self to the present he’d be going, “Where’s the building you own on Music Row? And where’s your wall full of plaques and all your 10 number ones?” I was pretty fired up by then to go out and change the world and be a star. But at 16, I just wanted to be around the music. I wanted to get to Nashville and be in those rooms. I think that the part of me that’s fueled by gratitude and excitement, that 16-year-old self, would be blown away by how much music I get to make and the people who I get to make it with. And the fact that the liner notes legends that I revered and learned from know me and that people like Vince Gill, who were my ultimate North Star and still are, that they would know me, and even respect what I do, and want me to be around to help.
That early 20s self, who just thought I had to have the number ones and thought I had to have it a certain way, has given way to realizing that it’s unfolded in a much cooler way. Had I had that one hyphen, the guy in the spotlight, and if everything had gone the way I thought I wanted it to go, I would not have gotten the chance to do all these other things. Being a big star means that’s really all you have time to do. I’ve had the chance to be on the tour bus with Vince, with Old Crow Medicine Show, or right now with the Dierks Bentley gig. And I’m still hungry for certain things in the spotlight part of the hyphen, but it’s way cooler now – and I have so much more perspective and gratitude. It comes down to getting to be around the music and getting to witness that miracle of an idea coming to fruition. We’re sort of midwives for creativity.
MM: That’s well said, and I almost bet as many of these multi-hyphenates as you talk to, they are gonna have that in common. I didn’t even desire to get a record deal, but I got a record deal when I was 19 and I had a record on the charts when I was 19. I was just really on a dare out there. I was like, “They’re gonna send me back home within 6 months.” I didn’t have any ambition to be in the middle of the stage at all. And still don’t. It’s Old Testament miracles, daisy-chained together, that I ever got a record deal, because I never even played my songs to my parents. I was so bashful.
But had the record deal been a big blow-up kind of deal, as you said, Charlie, it takes up all your time, and it also can shorten your career.
CW: So true.
MM: You can only take the hard spotlight for a few years and then people kinda want you out of their living room.
Charlie, you’re actually a few decades closer to your 16-year-old self than I am. I still have the mindset of that, and I’m grateful every day, really, that I didn’t blow up when I was 19, because I didn’t have a clue how to handle that. It allowed me to watch a bunch more people, how they do it, how they make records to get to play along with a bunch of people, and, as you said so well, I got to play with heroes of mine that I would never dream to be even shaking hands with. All of that is partly a result of not being a big deal when I was 19.
CW: We do it backward, right? Because I think when people hit about 40, that’s when they’re actually finally prepared to be a big star and they’re at their peak. That’s one of the best pieces of wisdom I’ve been fortunate to glean from Vince in particular, as the great mentor that he is. He’s making the best records he’s ever made now, and that’s my own hope, too, that every 10 years I can be proud of the music I’m making today, and I can look back at the music I made 10 years ago. I’ll still be proud, but also part of me cringes a little bit, because that means I’m growing. That’s the dream really.
MM: I couldn’t say it better.
Can you both talk about what being from Mississippi means to you as music makers and in terms of how you developed as music creators?
CW: The older I get, the more I recognize that you can tell the whole story of America, and particularly American music, through the lens of Mississippi. All the really inspiring parts and all the really scary parts and tragic parts of it, too. It’s all wrapped up there, and somehow, it just seems like the folks who came out of Mississippi with music in their heart did just a bang-up job of documenting all of that.
I think back to when I first acquired an electric guitar. It took me a while. I had the banjo, I had the mandolin, and I was playing all the acoustic and bluegrass instruments. But I still wanted to be Vince Gill or Marty Stuart. And I finally got that electric, and it was B.B. King records that I used to learn first. The reason was I thought, “Oh, he didn’t play that many notes. I’ll figure all this out in no time. One weekend and I’ll be playing like B.B. King.” I very quickly learned, no. He might only be playing one note, but the way that he bends a note is like watching Mozart compose.
Growing up [in Mississippi], there was that factor of seeing Marty Stuart on TV, knowing he grew up where I grew up. Same with B.B. King and Pops Staples. And same with you, Mac. I’ve always looked up to you, as well. If there’s anything I know about Mississippi, I know the only thing bigger than our mosquitoes are our stories. We really know how to tell a story.
MM: It is the truth. I got to run around with Jimmy Buffett for years, he was a Mississippi guy who had done well and I respected him. And the same with all of the blues guys. I wasn’t so much a student of blues, but I knew that the blues essentially came out of our delta. I appreciate and honor the fact that it came out of our soil there.
Our home state is fiftieth in most things. We’re the poorest and the least educated, and the most overweight. We get the number 50 a lot. But I also think that the spirit of community– when everyone’s kind of close to one another because nobody’s that far apart. The poor and middle class are almost everybody. So you kinda know your situation and how everything you do affects everybody you know. It gives you a big picture from a small town. That is a big picture that applies to the whole world. There’s a ripple of good or bad, according to whether you’re doing good or bad, it goes out through your community. That, I think, informs our storytelling nature.
If you had to boil it down today and you could only pick one thing that you do, what would you choose?
CW: Today? There’s a part of me that wants to say, “Play mandolin,” as crazy as that sounds. It’s probably number six on the list of things I do. I learned over the years that being on tour and playing that two hours of music every night doesn’t necessarily mean that you keep your chops, because you’re playing the same two hours of material. And so over the last few years, I’ve sort of set a mission ahead of every tour: I want to pick a music nerd project – and last year it was mandolin. So I try to put in a couple of hours every day out on the road, learning solos I always wanted to learn, or just playing along, or jamming with the other guys in the band.
Since I’m sort of in the middle of a mandolin renaissance, there’s a part of me that would be relieved to just go, “Oh, that’s all I’m gonna do is just go get really good at mandolin right now.” Just because it’s what’s fueling my curiosity and my creativity. I also think it’d be impossible for me to not pick songwriting, especially off the heels of us talking about being from Mississippi and the fact that we’re kind of born into telling stories growing up there.
I process so much of my life and my feelings through writing songs. If I don’t get it out, it builds up and it comes out all sideways. One of my life’s mantras is “I ain’t right if I can’t write.”
But most days, to make a long story short, I just want to play guitar. You give me a guitar and I just want to play, and that’s fine by me.
MM: You could just superimpose my voice on what Charlie said pretty much. I love everything that I do. But I just came home from working every day for a long time and literally, before I took my shoes off, I was playing a guitar. Like you said, Charlie, on tour you play what you already know how to play. You don’t really challenge yourself, because you’re spending two hours just trying to make that show be as good as you can.
But I know that I still want to get better. At a certain age, you also want to maintain. I’ve got arthritis in my hands. I remember my grandmother, who was a musician as well, she crocheted all the time, and she crocheted things that we didn’t need, because she was afraid to stop. She was afraid her hands would lock up if she stopped, so we got sweaters and doilies and blankets and bedspreads. She was really just trying to keep her hands active. There’s an element of that in what I’m doing, too. But it also lights me up. I can’t imagine being separated from a guitar for any long period of time. That’s sort of terrifying.
CW: I brought a guitar on my honeymoon. That tells you how bad it is.
MM: Yeah, I was just all week last week with my buddy Jake Shimabukuro, and he’s blessed by the fact that his passion is the ukulele. He literally doesn’t go to dinner without it. Anytime we get in the van to ride from the airport to the hotel, I make a personal bet with myself whether we get to the first speed bump on the way out of the airport before he’s playing. He’s still just as fired up about it as ever, and that’s inspiring to a 66-year-old. And I hope there’s some 78-year-old that’s looking at me going, “Look at that idiot! He’s playing guitar before he sets his suitcase down!”
Even though you’re in different generations, the modern-day music business is so different from when either of you guys were coming up. And there’s a lot of extra hats that you guys are having to wear. Given that it is a different landscape, do you have advice for people coming up who aspire to do what you two do?
CW: Most of it is stuff I’m passing on secondhand. I’d love to start by saying I believe we are in the best time in my lifetime to go into this world of music with this multi-hyphenate mindset. My dad was a banker and my mom was a teacher, both professions that they held for decades. I grew up with this message from the world that this is kind of how it works, right? You get a job, and you keep that one job, and that’s what your job is. That has kind of gone away. I’m actually particularly grateful now that I never had a plan to stay on one track. Generally music, yes. But I was always prepared to pivot. Looking at where we are now, I think that the ability to pivot is going to be the most important skill someone could have, especially in music going into the future.
I could give you tons of great advice from other people like, never be the best musician in your band, because then you don’t have anything to learn. You’re gonna learn more if you’re the weak link in that band.
But in terms of personal advice that I can give, I think it’s figure out how to have a sustainable and not-so-toxic relationship with your public-facing platform, most of the time that’s going to be through whatever social media is happening. And you can count on that changing. It’s TikTok today. It’ll be something else in a couple of years. But I have found success in finding something that I know I can commit to, that I know I can be consistent with, and that isn’t going to just drain my soul.
You know, the definition of integrity I keep is that the insides match the outside. If it’s guitar nerd stuff, I know there are other guitar nerds out there, and I know that’s something I can always put 10 minutes of my time into. I do believe that our presence online, in so many ways, is becoming the currency of the future. I mean, even for songwriters, even for session players. You know, if someone heard your name twenty years ago, they’d pick up the phone and call a musician they trust and say, “Hey, have you heard about this kid? What are they like? Have you worked with them?” And basically, that was your best shot at getting called by that person. But now they’re more likely to just search you online and look at your YouTube or your Instagram. Iif you’re there and you have a consistent presentation of who you are, they can get to know you really quickly. You also have to keep in mind that it isn’t everything. There are seasons in life where it’s okay to let that go and shut it down and focus on something else. But it is something you kind of have to at least keep on the back burner.
Ultimately, if it ain’t who you really are, it’s just not gonna work long term. And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that if you can’t pull it off long term, it’s not worth doing. Like Mac said earlier in this conversation, being a big star isn’t made for thirty years. You’re not meant to stand in that bright of a light for a long time. The real trick is being able to run the full marathon. With social media, you have to really be careful not to lose your spirit in it.
MM: I have missed my opportunity to take some of your good advice, because social media came too late into my life. I’m probably not ever gonna be anybody that posts a lot, but I will say just in general, whatever the new thing is tomorrow, that was the old thing yesterday.
What I would say to folks starting out is to widen the lens, to dream wider. When you are a teenager, when you’re full of hormones, you tend to dream narrow. There’s so many rewarding aspects of what’s available to us that you don’t know about in your teen years and if you narrow your dreams down to where all bands suck except the one you like, you eliminate not only a lot of career opportunities, but you eliminate a whole bunch of joy that’s just sitting there waiting in the music.
There are just all sorts of payoffs to leaving everything as a possibility. And then, besides that, I would just say, in the context of all success, in all the ways that we measure it and quantify it, if you can just remember that the music is the reward. It is the primary reward. Everything else, as wonderful as everything else is, is secondary to the music itself. Nothing will ever compete with that to me. The things that I’ve gotten to be part of, or play on, or make a little bit better just because I was there, that is the most career reward that I’ll ever have, regardless of how much revenue I ever generate or how many people mistake me for the musician of the year, or whatever songwriting accolades that we get. All of those are great, but they’re secondary to the work. The work is the reward.
CW: That is incredibly profound and true. I relate to that every day these days. It calls to mind for me, too, that when we talk about awards, number ones, or getting big checks in the mail, you don’t often in those kinds of conversations hear people talk about respect. I’ve found that the work is the reward. But to feel the respect of people that you admire and look up to, respect is about as sweet a feeling as anything you could get.
MM: It is awesome
CW: And it’s also kind of a hedge against hard seasons. If you operate with empathy and respect for others, one of the best ways to get respect is to respect other people in the first place.
MM: Absolutely
CW: It is a bit of insurance, I think, against hard times, because it means in your lowest point you got people you can call who are gonna shoot you straight, who are gonna help in any way they can. There are people with big mansions and number ones, and all the things who don’t necessarily have respect, and if I had to pick one or the other, I’d rather have the respect and not have all the rest than have all the rest, and not have respect.
MM: No, that’s correct. And there is no hard turn or dark corner that music can’t get you out of. Not necessarily financial and success-wise, but whatever headspace you’re in, music can turn bad into good. There aren’t many things that do that and we’re connected to one of those. The worst thing that ever happens to you can become a song that makes somebody else’s life better who is going through a similar thing. And they couldn’t articulate it. They couldn’t speak it. But we can help with that and help ourselves at the same time.
Mac McAnally is a highly-decorated and prolific multi-instrumentalist, producer, songwriter, and artist. He tours with Jimmy Buffett’s Coral Reefer Band, plays on countless sessions in Nashville and Muscle Shoals, and produces a number of independent artists, too. But more important to me, he’s my dad. And he’s a great one. On the occasion of the release of his new album, Once in a Lifetime, we discuss guitars, bluegrass, moments of social change, why he covered a Beatles song, and the process of making this record amidst a pandemic. And though I get to talk to him most days of my life, it is heartening to hear him put a fine point on his eternal optimism.
BGS: Growing up, music was constant in the house and one of the most pervasive cover songs you played was “Norwegian Wood.” What do you think it is about that song that sticks in your craw and drew you to record it?
Mac McAnally: As you know, I’ve always loved that song. In the very first line, from a lyric standpoint, “I once had a girl/Or should I say/She once had me,” you can tell any story in the world after that. That is something that I subconsciously try to do and have since the beginning.
Specifically, why I recorded it is because I bought an octave mandolin about four years ago. I did a show with Sarah Jarosz and she had one and let me play it and I thought, “I am going to have to get me one of these.” I always feel like I have to do something to justify the purchase so I play it on as many sessions as I can to try to amortize the cost, but I also came up with this new way to play it that is kind of a cool arrangement that I’ve never heard. I don’t in any way challenge the Beatles version and don’t mean any disrespect; I’m trying to find ways to justify the guilt of buying an octave mandolin.
On almost every record that you’ve made there’s a nod to bluegrass, like “Brand New Broken Heart” on this record. Who are some of your biggest bluegrass influences?
I have to preface this by saying I am a bluegrass fan, I am not a bluegrass player. Anything that I might be doing would just be trying to pay homage to what the greats can do. I’ve gotten to play with some of them, which I count high among the blessings of my life. When I wrote “Brand New Broken Heart,” I envisioned I would someday pitch it to Ricky Skaggs or Dailey & Vincent. I recorded it because I was a lazy song plugger who never pitched it to anybody.
Doc Watson was one of mine and my dad’s heroes. He was sort of my intro to real bluegrass. And all the way through my life, Emmylou Harris. We played her songs in bands when I was a teenager. Bryan Sutton is just frighteningly good. I can’t even fathom what he is doing, let alone try to do it myself. He inspires me to go get a pick out and play differently than I play because I love so much of what he does. And I’m crazy about I’m With Her.
What brought about recording “Changing Channels” for this record?
I have always loved that song. It is the second song that Jimmy (Buffett) and I wrote together. We wrote it in one my favorite places I have ever been. He had a spot down in Thomasville, Georgia, with a big porch. As you know I’m a porch guy. We sat out on the porch and wrote that song. He did a great version of it on Off the See the Lizard and I honestly never imagined myself cutting it but I love to play it. It has worked its way into my shows over the last ten years and his fan base will come up after and ask which one of my records the song is on. They had cash out trying to buy it and I don’t have it. You know better than anybody how terrible of a businessman I am, but eventually enough people tried to buy a version of it that I listened.
You have collected a lot of guitars, and in various ways: some saved from landfills, some gifted, some cast for you by friends and colleagues. How do you pick which guitars make your records?
It is certainly not an exact science but sometimes it is the guitar that the song came out of. The main thing that has always made me select guitars is if I think they have songs in them. I would happen to be holding them and a couple of my stories got mashed with them. In more cases than not, if I wrote a song on a guitar, that’s the one I’ll record. You end up learning over the years. In the same way when you are photographing someone, you learn what the best side of their face is. … A Gibson with dead strings is an awesome rock ‘n’ roll rhythm guitar. A Martin with new strings is an awesome fingerpicking guitar.
We are in a moment of social change. Music has the power to both inspire and record change. You moved to the Shoals in the ‘70s. Thinking back on those early days in the studio, what was it like in those moments?
Playing music in Muscle Shoals was extremely encouraging from the standpoint of equality. They didn’t really think of it in terms of race. Music transcended that. And I love that. And I still love that. I’m standing in Muscle Shoals right now proud to be part of that. You can be encouraged on some levels and discouraged on some levels and I am both of those things. I haven’t in my life ever thought that I was better or worse than anybody else and I look forward to that being a more prevalent vantage point for everyone.
I want to challenge you on that a bit. One of your dear friends and longtime collaborators, Ralph MacDonald, told you that he never felt comfortable coming to Muscle Shoals and we’ve heard from more folks that it wasn’t an inviting place to come collaborate, so a lot of those musicians opted for Detroit or Miami. With that added perspective, does it make you feel differently about the time?
Absolutely, it makes me more aware of the context. As I said, Muscle Shoals would have been advanced in terms of racial relations in the music community in the South. As I look back now, I realize that doesn’t mean it was great. It was just better relative to the surroundings.
Ralph and I, we were like brothers. He told me he would’ve been scared to death of a big red-headed dude from Mississippi. And he was a Black man from Harlem. I could not have imagined that we would connect on as many levels as we did. We both had misconceptions that got better. He was one of my heroes. He was one of the best percussionists that ever played. And I loved him. It is hard to get into racial discussions without stirring stuff up. But we made each other better. Music is one of the best ways to bridge across preconceptions. I think it’ll play a big part of getting us the rest of the way home. ‘Cause we ain’t there yet.
Stirring stuff up is the way we make progress.
That’s true and they are not easy discussions. I don’t think of myself as someone with prejudices, but when I think back, some of the things I laughed at growing up as a kid in Mississippi I’m embarrassed of. And I was mainly laughing because everyone around me was laughing, but when I think of what it was we were laughing at, it is embarrassing. I don’t really want to talk about it, I just want to be a better person, because I know it was wrong. But you are right. Talking about it is better. Air it out.
What does it feel like to release an album in a pandemic?
Well, not speaking ill of either thing, but I hope it is a one-time thing. I hope I never have to try to beat a pandemic album with a second pandemic album. My records are normally made in what I call “the cracks of time.” I make them in the cracks of my schedule because I work full-time as a Coral Reefer, a fair amount of time as a session musician for other people, writing songs for other people and producing other folks. But because of the circumstance of this record, it is really special to me because I got to sit and think about what I felt was important and what was not. I wouldn’t wish a pandemic on the world just to get extra time to make my record. I think maybe next time I’ll just take the time on my own.
Even in your darkest lyrics, there is a balance that shows your shining optimism. We are surrounded by a heavy dose of dark right now. Are you feeling optimistic?
Absolutely. I absolutely am. I wish we weren’t where we are right now and that everyone could see that it is better to find a way to coexist than it is to hate one another. I’m not someone who has any room for hate. As you recall, I don’t even like the word. I’ve probably pestered you about it for your entire life. Actual hate hurts me. We’ve been celebrating the life of John Lewis the last few weeks and John is a great example of figuring out a way to make it better by not hating the people who hated him. I think things are going to get better and I intend to try to help.
Erin McAnally is a regular contributor to The Bluegrass Situation
Country music was made for duets. Not only because those tight, tasty harmonies are a foundational aspect of the music, but also because country accomplishes heartbreak — and every other make and model of love song — better than almost any other genre. (Thought quite possibly better than all other genres.) It just makes sense to have two singers, one to play each role in a lost, soon-to-be-lost, or (rarely) divine, never-perishing romance. But the format isn’t restricted to lovers or their placeholders, it can just as seamlessly fit heroes and acolytes, parents and children, siblings, peers, fellow pot smokers, and on and on.
Take a scroll through these twenty-two country twosomes:
Kenny Rogers & Dolly Parton
We couldn’t have this list without these two. They should be the start, middle, and end of any definitive list of country duos. So we’ll just make the easy choice and kick it all off with Kenny and Dolly — that extra intro about their friendship and the years they’ve known each other? Swoon.
Loretta Lynn & Conway Twitty
After saying what we did about Kenny & Dolly we knew this pair needed to come next — so as to not rile anyone. Out of countless duets we could have chosen, how could any top “You’re The Reason Our Kids Are Ugly?”
Willie Nelson & Ray Charles
For inexplicable reasons people tend to forget Ray Charles’ incredible forays into country. His collaborations with Willie are stunning for the extreme juxtaposition of their voices and styles — they feel and swing so distinctly and differently, but all while perfectly complementary. “Seven Spanish Angels” ranked a very close second to this number in our selection process.
Glen Campbell & John Hartford
The most-recorded song in the history of recording? It’s said “Gentle On My Mind” holds that honor. And goodness gracious of course it does. Here’s its writer and its popularizer and hitmaker together.
Lee Ann Womack & George Strait
Together, Lee Ann and George were beacons of the trad country duet form, especially in the ’90s and early 2000s. This one from the jewel in the crown of Lee Ann’s discography, Call Me Crazy, is crisply modern, but with decidedly timeless vocals.
George Jones & Tammy Wynette
A broken, country fairy tale of a love story, George and Tammy’s relationship was infamously fraught, but damn if that didn’t just make their duets ever more… ethereal. Which doesn’t justify that Tammy Wynette kinda pain, to be sure, but it does remind us that if country can do anything better than all other genres, it can be sad.
Reba McEntire & Linda Davis
One of the best country songs, duets, and music videos EVER MADE. Theatrical and epic and a little silly and downright catchy and Rob Reiner and… we could go on forever.
Tanya Tucker & Delbert McClinton
Tanya is back with a brand new album and its well-deserved level of attention has been helping to re-shine the spotlight on her expansive career. Forty top ten hits across three decades. Who does that? Here she duets with Delbert McClinton on their 1993 hit, “Tell Me About It.”
Alan Jackson & Jimmy Buffett
Hey, if this has to be stuck in our heads for the rest of the month, it should be stuck in yours, too. Fair’s fair. It’s only half past [whatever time it is], but we don’t care.
Johnny Cash & June Carter Cash
One of the most recognizable duos in the history of the genre, immortalized not only in their discography but in a film adaptation of their love as well, Walk the Line. We all know “Jackson” as familiarly as the ABC’s, so here’s a slightly lesser-known beaut. (Keep watching til the last verse for an adorable bit from June.)
Eric Church & Rhiannon Giddens
Country is at its best when it surprises us. This collaboration is certainly, on the surface, unexpected, but the message of the song isn’t the only way these two artists can relate to each other. Over the course of their careers they’ve both fought their way from the fringes to the centers of their respective scenes. More of this, please.
Dolly Parton & Porter Wagoner
Dolly got her start with Porter Wagoner on his television show in the 1960s. They can certainly be credited with pioneering, popularizing, and epitomizing the country duet format. One of her most famous hits, “I Will Always Love You,” was written for Porter as she lamented leaving their act to go totally solo. (We’re a little glad she did.) You can tell they sang this song just a few gajillion times together, give or take.
Pam Tillis & Mel Tillis
Father/daughter duos in country aren’t as common, but they certainly aren’t unheard of. Pam and Mel are a perfect example. (The Kendalls are another.)
Patty Loveless & Ralph Stanley
Patty Loveless received the first ever Ralph Stanley Mountain Music Memorial Legacy Award in 2017 at Ralph’s home festival, Hills of Home, in Wise County, Virginia. Patty and Ralph were longtime friends and collaborators during his lifetime and even through her mainstream country success she referenced bluegrass and Ralph as influences — and she cut a few bluegrass records as well.
Alison Krauss & James Taylor
It’s. Just. Too. Good. Like butter. Like a warm bubble bath. Like floating on a cloud. Two voices that were meant to intertwine.
Charley Pride & Glen Campbell
These two were made to sing Latin-inflected harmonies together, weren’t they? Charley Pride gets overlooked by these sorts of lists all too often. But dang if he didn’t crank out some stellar collaborations, too!
Gram Parsons & Emmylou Harris
“Love Hurts” and boy, if Gram and Emmylou don’t make you believe it heart and soul and body and being. The definitive version of this Boudleaux Bryant song? Perhaps.
Willie Nelson & Merle Haggard
Icons being icons. And friends. And amazingly talented, ceaselessly musical comrades. You love to see it. (We could’ve/should’ve chosen “Pancho & Lefty.” We did not.)
Vince Gill & Amy Grant
There are quite a few reasons why the Ryman Auditorium basically hands this husband and wife duo the keys to the place each December. Basically all of those reasons are evident in this one. It’s fitting that this video came from one of those Christmas shows, too.
Dolly Parton & Sia
Dolly literally outdoes herself, re-recording “Here I Am” for the original soundtrack for her Netflix film, Dumplin’, after she first cut the Top 40 country single in 1971. Clearly she and Sia have much more in common than an affinity for wigs; their soaring, acrobatic voices seem so disparate in style and form until you hear them together. Listen on repeat for the best therapeutic results.
Robert Plant & Alison Krauss
[Insert entire Raising Sand album here, because how could we ever choose?] Lol jk, here’s “Killing the Blues.”
Carrie Underwood & Randy Travis
Cross-generational, meet-your-hero magic right here. Little did we know what was in store for Carrie Underwood then. But the way Randy looks at her up there, you can tell he knows she’s goin’ places.
Name:Jamie McDell Hometown: Mangawhai, New Zealand (currently Toronto-based) Latest album:Extraordinary Girl Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): When I was eleven I was in a rock band called Backfire.
Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?
Jimmy Buffett and John Denver equally, though this obviously requires some context. The majority of my childhood was spent aboard boats, and our largest stint took place in the Mediterranean over a couple of years, starting at the age of seven. We only had two artists’ catalogues onboard in the form of cassette tapes, JB and JD. These were the artists that introduced me to storytelling and surrounded my journey then and for many years following. These were the artists that my Mum and Dad used to cover during boat drinks while I would take note of the three important chords my Dad would strum. As a young adult I’m thankful to many close friends and musicians for broadening my musical tastes but I still find myself feeling most at home amongst John’s stories of the countryside and Jimmy’s tales of the sea, because after all I am also a sailor and I try to incorporate that side of my story into each album I create.
What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?
I’ve seen a few different facets of the industry, not that I’ve been around for too long, but I did begin working with a label in New Zealand when I was the tender age of 16. A lot of the time they actually left me to my own devices in terms of songwriting, in that I was never set up with co-writers (perhaps there aren’t so many where I’m from). As I got older and my team started to chop and change I was soon thrust into the world of writing trips or what I didn’t quite realize were ‘smash hit single’ making trips. I had a few unfortunate experiences in this realm but one particular session in LA felt really wrong.
To be honest the other writers were pretty nice, the song wasn’t awful but it just wasn’t me and I hadn’t learnt the skills necessary to steer the session in a more authentic direction so I forced myself through the entire session with John Denver’s voice in my head asking if this is something he’d be proud of? By the time we got to recording my vocal for the demo, I was singing with tears streaming down my face. Turns out, of course the label I was with then loved the demo and pushed for it to be on the record but I found my strength and it never has seen the light of day. Grateful for that session.
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
I wrote this song the other day, maybe it could work as somewhat of a mission statement:
I dream a lot and I don’t even have the brain you do, dress like a kid, the flowers in my hands like summer too. Born from a sailor, born from a sailor born with hope, or just a hopeful joke. I don’t need a lot to get my body ready for a show, in case you’d like to know. I don’t want to be a hitmaker, I just want to write my songs. There’s no point in words, when they are nowhere bound, just like a flightless bird, forever on the ground.
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
In New Zealand, as it’s a small country, we’re very lucky to be close to the ocean. I spend as much time as possible there, mainly in the form of surfing. I think surfing is the best form of physical activity in the world for clearing the mind and cleansing the soul however this state of peace rarely helps me with songwriting.
I’ve found over the years that my best work comes out of chaos, a common notion I hear. Though ocean sliding doesn’t always fuel the writing fire, I think it does help me navigate the ever-changing road of being an artist, when I’m surfing I feel calm and in control, it’s nice to have one thing. On another note, I’ve just moved to Toronto where there’s absolutely no surfing so I’m hoping this means the songs will be excellent.
How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?
I believe I’ve only done this a couple of times and unintentionally. It’s something I often don’t discover I’ve done till after the song is recorded and I’m on my third listen finally realizing that it’s not you, it’s me. I gave myself a songwriting goal last year: to be more honest. For me this is saying what I mean to say, not considering what my mum or your mum might think, or what’s been done before or what I shouldn’t say, so with that there’s been very little hiding lately. It feels scary, but like I’ve found what I’m good at.
I love songs that have interesting characters in them. One of my favorite questions to ask, when I’m investigating a lyric is, “Who is speaking to whom, and why?” I love it when a song contains a complex idea that changes the way I see the world. — David Wilcox
Paul Simon — “Train in the Distance”
The narrator watches a couple who have the best of intentions, as they try to make a relationship work, but the chorus keeps coming back with this haunting restlessness.
Susannah McCorkle — “The Waters of March”
I think my favorite song is probably the Susannah McCorkle version of “The Waters of March.” How can such a simple song communicate such complexity of how we miss the beauty that is all around us?
Joni Mitchell — “Paprika Plains”
This song contrasts the small scale pursuits of us humans with a giant desert landscape, communicated so beautifully with orchestral music.
James Taylor — “Sugar Trade”
I love the big view of the song “Sugar Trade” which was written by James Taylor and Jimmy Buffett. Start with a specific question about that guy in the boat, as you’re walking the beach. How deep do you want to go to understand the workings of the world?
Randy Newman — “Dixie Flyer”
The Randy Newman song “Dixie Flyer” describes his earliest memories in a way that explains why he has worked his whole life to sing about the issues of race and justice.
Donald Fagen — “The Goodbye Look”
Speaking of childhood memories, the Donald Fagen album The Nightfly is full of thoughts he had as a kid. There are some great characters in the song “The Goodbye Look.” He does a detailed character description of the man with the motor launch for hire — a skinny man with two-tone shoes.
Peter Case — “Blue Distance”
Peter Case made a record called Flying Saucer Blues that has lots of lovely characters. On that CD, there’s a song called “Blue Distance.” Indescribable longing frustratingly pursued in carnal relationships … Hey! My favorite theme.
Annie Gallup — “West Memphis Arkansas”
Another in this category is Annie Gallup’s song “West Memphis Arkansas.” We get the whole story, but the characters are described sparingly with the most meticulous details.
Justin Farren — “Little Blue Dirtbike”
It’s the details that describe the characters so beautifully, as he thinks about his grandfather’s adventures and the mutual shyness that kept them from ever talking.
Peter Mayer — “The Birthday Party”
Bravely communicating across our cultural and religious differences is the subject of this song. I like the version that’s on his live album.
Andy Gullahorn — “Holy Ground”
Andy Gullahorn has a song about Shane Claiborne that’s called “Holy Ground.” I learned how to play it and, after a few days of practice, I could sing it without being moved to tears.
XTC — “Harvest Festival”
The XTC album called Apple Venus is one of my favorite records of all time. Lots of beautiful characters. “Fruit Nut” is a great song, but my favorite for this mix would have to be the song “Harvest Festival.”
Ana Egge — “Dreamer”
Next is Ana Egge with her song “Dreamer” from the album Bright Shadow.
Robinson & Rohe — “The Longest Winter”
And for the last song on this mixtape, Jean Rohe and her husband Liam Robinson singing “The Longest Winter.”
When last the world heard from Hayes Carll, he was stomping and hollering his way through 2011's KMAG YOYO (& Other American Stories). But five years can change a man. Hell, five minutes can change a man who has the heart of a poet that Carll does. That's why, on his new Lovers and Leavers release, he eschews the pomp and circumstance of records past. In their stead, he and producer Joe Henry gently placed honesty and honor, introspection and intention. The result won't rise above a barroom din, but it'll certainly sink into a listener's heart.
Between KMAG and Lovers, a lot has happened in your own life and the world around you. What's the one thing, though, that made the biggest difference in you and your music?
I don't know if there's one thing. I can just say that I changed. [Laughs] A lot happened in a lot of different parts of my life. My personal life had a lot to do with it. My marriage ended. That sort of forced me to take stock of where I was in my life and what was going on, and that influenced everything around me. I turned 40, which felt significant, in a way, in that I'd been living a certain kind of life for a really long time and kind of looked up one day and asked myself, “Is this how I want to live? Is this the kind of artist I want to be?” and just took stock of all that. That all influenced the record that I made.
Outside of that, in the world-at-large, I don't know that it influenced anything that I did, but it feels like people are appreciating an honest, sincere songwriter in a way that … that sounds really boring, but … [Laughs] “I don't know if I want to go to that show. He's honest and sincere. Yuck!” [Laughs]
But there's so much bullshit in the world right now that, when you find something that's a little bit True … capital “t” True …
Yeah. Yeah. Something with some authenticity to it. I do think that goes a long way. And maybe people are responding to it in a way that they haven't of late. I see a lot of writers and singers who are doing really well, and I think people are connecting with how they put their work out into the world.
Jason Isbell pops immediately to mind.
Yeah, absolutely.
Like him on Southeastern, you didn't give yourself a whole lot to hide behind on this one, sonically or lyrically.
That was a real conscious choice. I always had given myself something to hide behind. I always kind of couched my serious moments with humor or with musical pomposity. I never felt comfortable being that exposed. I think it had a lot to do with how I came up playing to crowds … you start out in these bars where, if you didn't get their attention, if you couldn't make them laugh or get them dancing, you didn't get the gig or you got something thrown at you.
So I always had this mix, as a performer and as a writer, that I was aware of both things. I aspired to be Townes [Van Zandt] or [Kris] Kristofferson and be able to capture people in a certain way, but I also felt a real need to make sure that people didn't lose interest. I think I was always a little insecure about whether my words and voice, alone, were enough to keep people there. So I always felt that — whether it was onstage and connecting to them through stories or jokes, or in the music being as super-varied as my limitations would allow.
I've seen you in a few different settings, and a song like “Beaumont” always goes over really well. So I think your fans have been with you on the poet side, as well as on the cowboy side.
Yeah, I've been lucky. I have a pretty broad fan base. I've tried to never pigeon-hole myself. Whether it was playing the Texas country scene or honky-tonks across the country or going over to Europe or playing the listening rooms and folk rooms or working with people outside of my respective genre, I never wanted to feel like, career-wise, that I was stuck somewhere. I always wanted to have options. The job is too cool to go out every night and feel bored or feel like you have to do the same thing every night. So I always wanted to be able to keep that door open.
With this record, I realized that, if I wanted to make a record like this, now was the time … because, if you don't do it and show that side of yourself at some point, then it gets harder and harder for people to accept it. It was where I was at in my life and where I was at creatively, and it just made sense to me. I thought, “Whether anybody likes this or not, it's the record I need to make and it will change where I'm at, and it's reflective of my search for connecting onstage every night and what I want my life to be like.” So, for this moment in time, that was what I needed to do. It feels weird. It feels naked.
The obvious way to look at songs is that they reflect their writer. But you can also turn that lens around, right? Do you sometimes feel like you want to reflect — or maybe even live up to — something you've written?
I think I've, at times, written to a certain audience. I've written mostly just for myself about where I was at, but I've also written individual songs or just a style that I wanted to keep open for myself. I think I've written, at times, for what I wanted my performances to be and what I wanted my career to be.
I love playing honky-tonks. I love having 1,000 people at a rock club going nuts. But I very much value my ability to go play solo in a listening room and have a completely different experience. That's kept me engaged, kept me alive. That's, honestly, how I feel most connected and comfortable as a performer, because I don't need to rely on a bottle of whiskey. I don't need to rely on volume. It's me, a guitar, and these songs. They either hold up or they don't, but I have a much more immediate understanding of whether it's working or not when I'm in a more stripped-down setting.
And to make a record that reflects that … yes, it's emotional and it's creative, but it's also a little bit practical because that's job security, if you know you can always go out and play your songs solo or you know that you can make a pretty simple recording. Those are the records that stand up and become classics for the generations.
A couple of years ago, I realized that, whatever happens — whether I become a big alt-country star or whatever — that I've got a collection of songs and I'll continue to write, and worst case — and it's not all that bad of a case scenario — I can go do house concerts and folk rooms and there will be some group of people that is drawn to that music. I think maybe even more than the financial side, I just wanted to keep that open for myself. And I needed to do it now or it might not ever happen.
I always talked about having a sonically cohesive record that was a songwriter record, that was sparse, and I'd never quite done it. I'd make attempts at it, but then I would cover it up with a joke or some bombastic rock and never just let that stand on its own. I'd always, I guess, been scared to put that out there. Maybe I didn't have faith that that was enough for me, and I needed to prove to myself that it was.
So that's why I'm excited about this record. There's no single on there. It's not going to get any radio play. It's not anything people are going to play at a party. There's nothing to dance to — all these things that I could kind of peg, like, “Okay, I've got that covered and that covered and that covered.” It's sparse and emotional and personal and intimate. But listening to that and not pulling people off in other ways can get you into a headspace, as a listener, that you can't get, necessarily, if you're jumping all over the place. I'm trying to have trust that this can work. So I did it. And, whether anybody likes it or not, I'm proud of the record. That probably doesn't sound like that big a deal to a lot of people, but for me, it was important to be able to take that step, creatively and artistically.
As you were writing, instead of checking off the things you wanted, were you checking in with yourself and checking off the things you didn't want? Like, “Oh, I just habitually took this song there and I need to pull it back.”
I don't know, as I was writing, how conscious I was of that because I wrote a lot of stuff that is completely incompatible with this record. I had a lot of those things that are funny or rocking or even were more subtle but just didn't feel like they were part of this story. There are very few songs I can think of where I sat down and said, “Okay, I'm going to write for this record.” I was just writing.
And they emerged as a group?
Yeah. Themes started showing themselves. I've never been able to sit down and write thematically. I've never had the attention span to stay consistent about it. There were definitely things I was writing about in my life, here, that came out. But there were also songs I'd written before a lot of this happened that sort of fit that narrative and that part of the story, though that was not my goal when I wrote them, initially. But I'd look at them and go, “I thought it was this one thing, but it actually fits really well with what I'm doing here.”
Setting aside music as your own artistic outlet, what role does it play in the Life of Hayes? Friend? Therapist? Pastor?
It's been all of those things — and none of them — at times. It sort of depends when you catch me. Certainly, growing up, it was my teacher, my inspiration. It was my joy. It was this very mystical, foreign thing. I grew up in the suburbs and these people I was listening to, particularly the songwriters — [Bob] Dylan, Kristofferson — they took me to another place, far from where I was, and that was something that I really needed. I struggled to find my identity and an ability to articulate some of the things that I had on my mind. A lot of these guys did all that for me. They gave me some kind of identity. I felt a connection with them. I felt, “These are my people.” And it moved me. I got into Townes. There's music that can affect your life in such a deep and powerful way that everything else seems trivial.
Something I've struggled with a little bit over the years is that I have that connection to writers like that and, then, I have a connection to Chuck Berry and Jimmy Buffett. There are a lot of different elements and that hodgepodge has kind of made up my style, for most of my career. But, yeah, it can turn my day around, for sure, and keep me going.
When I interviewed Lee Ann Womack last year, she commented that sometimes she feels guilty connecting herself to you through recording “Chances Are,” and she thinks, “I hope Hayes doesn't mind that I cut his song.” Various award nominations later, may we assume that you, in fact, do not mind too much?
[Smiles] Yeah, we're talking again now. [Laughs] I was honored that she recorded it.
It's done pretty well for the two of you.
Yeah. To have the life that it's had with the Grammy nominations was completely unexpected for me. It was very cool. It took a lot for it to set in when I got the news. I thought, “Okay. Yeah. Fine.” I had sort of trained myself to not care about these things. I didn't even know when the Grammys were being announced. I had no idea it was a possibility. I have tried to distance myself from needing those things. So, when it happened, I was like, “Oh, yeah. It's no big deal.” Then, as I started getting congratulations from family and friends, and seeing the reaction that this news had on them, I started feeling like, “Oh, this is significant.” And not that it validated me for myself, but it was important to a lot of people who are important to me.
So, anyway, I'm honored that Lee Ann cut it and couldn't have been happier with its life.
So maybe you'll let her have another one at some point?
Yeah. Yeah. Absolutely. I just did a tour with Aubrie [Sellers, Womack's daughter]. Hopefully, Lee Ann and I can play together some day.
I met Lee Ann up in Colorado in Steamboat Springs. There's a little country festival up there. I remember I was sitting in this room, like a suite, and a bunch of my friends were up there playing and picking. I played “Beaumont,” and there was this little person with a hat pulled over, in a chair, legs up in the chair … I had no idea who it was. And she goes, “That's a really cool song.” Or something to that effect. I went, “Thanks … whoever you are …”
[Laughs] “… little hidden troll in a hat.”
[Laughs] Yeah. I didn't put it that way! Then it was, “Hayes, meet Lee Ann.” And we got to do a thing here in Nashville with Sirius XM and [Bobby] Bare, Jr. and Bobby Braddock and Lee Ann, which was super-cool. He played “He Stopped Loving Her Today” and Lee Ann sang “Chances Are.” It was the first time I got to hear it, sitting right next to her.
Photo credit: Jacob Blickenstaff
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