Tag: John Paul White

Where Everything’s Connected: A Conversation with Penny and Sparrow

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Sitting in a Philadelphia hotel room, Andy Baxter and Kyle Jahnke debate their options for lunch. The restaurant needs to be special, because the guys have reason to celebrate. The night before, Penny & Sparrow headlined World Café Live, a hip, roomy venue run by the city’s NPR affiliate. For a duo whose first Philly show — a bar gig somewhere out in Manayunk with seven people in attendance — was only three years ago, Penny & Sparrow have come a long way in a short time. Their rapid climb to headliner status is worthy of commemoration. At the very least, it’s worthy of a killer cheesesteak.

So you’re looking to grab some lunch. When you’re touring through a new town, is it important to eat and shop locally?

Andy Baxter: I look for similar things in most cities we visit — used book stores, comic stores, liquor stores. Those are the things I collect on the road. I have a few wells I always go back to in certain cities, too. I’m looking forward to Ann Arbor, because Vault of Midnight is my favorite comic store in the world.

Which aisle in the liquor store is your favorite?

Kyle Jahnke: We like bourbon. People bring us bourbon at our shows, too.

AB: We started collecting bourbon a few years ago. We usually get a bottle in the green room, and we’ll storehouse it for the entire tour. Then we do a draft at the end of every tour, where we each pick our favorite bottles and take them home. It’s awesome. I’m not gonna lie to you: I’ve replenished my bunker at home many times.

Where did that personal connection with your fans begin?

KJ: For whatever reason, the house show community builds a bed of coals for fans who will travel to come see you. There’s a connectivity there. It’s a really cool environment. We played a lot of those shows at the beginning, when venues weren’t ready to book us. We still play those shows on occasion.

Is that where you began introducing stage banter into your sets? These days, that’s a big part of your show.

AB: It probably started at the house shows, although adding it to our performances wasn’t a concerted thing. Since we want to engage with folks on and off stage, it feels normal to react with the crowd, regardless of how big it is. I love when people talk back. We feed off that interaction as much as we can.

Does the jokes ever fall flat?

KJ: The first time through town, it’s interesting for the crowd. Our songs are pretty weighty, and our banter is not. I think that throws people for a spin. Once they catch the overall pattern of the show, and they realize we’re trying to let people come up for air between heavy songs, they start reacting with us.

How many people are on the road with you these days?

KJ: We’ve got a tour manager who’s a good friend of ours, but we don’t have a front-of-house guy. Especially now that we’re playing bigger rooms, most of the sound guys are really great, and we only have a total of four inputs. It’s not a complex thing. We usually become best friends with the sound engineers, because we only have four channels. They like that.

AB: They’re like, “Oh, thank God. Vocals and an acoustic guitar? This is easy.”

Without drums or electric guitars, you can really hear the natural sound of every place you play, too.

KJ: Definitely. We’ve played all sorts of rooms on this tour. Some are built for acts like us. We show up and get to hear the natural reverb of the space we’re in. Sometimes, you’re playing these boxes that you need to orchestrate and synthetically make it sound the way it needs to. Each one is different.

Before you were headlining your own shows, would you ever find yourselves playing a show with a band that wasn’t nearly as nuanced or quiet as Penny & Sparrow?

KJ: At the beginning of our career, we’d play with local bands. Sometimes it would be in a metal venue, playing with metal bands. That was both bar jarring and very amazing. We got paired once with a world instruments band, too, and there were about 50 instruments onstage.

AB: There was a hammer dulcimer, a rain stick, and a didgeridoo. Like Kyle said, the best pairings are always the metal shows. You’ve got two different groups showing up, and they both tend to like it. We’re the palette cleanser for their group, maybe. We’re happy to be the sherbet for them. We’re just a homemade cucumber water.

Speaking of palette cleaners … are there any non-musical activities that help you clear the noise from your head and make room for new songwriting ideas?

AB: Reading. Just taking in a whole bunch of different voices from other wordsmiths. I love podcasts. I love The Moth. I love audiobooks and short stories. You’re learning different peoples’ word banks and vocabularies. And Kyle’s activity is probably baking.

KJ: No, mine is just being outside or doing non-music things.

 

What led to the creation of your newest album, Wendigo?

AB: We originally started writing this album, thinking we might do a musical of sorts. A dark-themed concert album like Redheaded Stranger, but all from the perspective of Death, like the grim reaper singing the songs. We started doing that and, at the end of the writing, some parts didn’t fit, so we began writing new songs that were inspired by fear. We wanted to figure out if stuff we’re scared of is actually worthy of that fright. I really like comic books and horror stories, so I’m familiar with ideas like the boogeyman and the Loch Ness monster. It’s like immersion therapy. Sometimes, when you a shine a light directly at something that frightens you, you can de-fang it.

We live in a scary world right now. Do you see any political parallels with your songs? Were you writing about the monsters who rule us?

AB: I won’t say that we don’t exist in a scary time right now — that would be really silly — but I’ll also admit that most of these lyrics were written long before the campaign trail was in full hatred mode. It would be disingenuous to say the album was, in any way, inspired by political ramifications. But looking at 2016 and 2017 through the lens of what we’d written was a really eerie thing. The album is all about looking at things that you’re scared of … and now we’re realizing all those things have been doused in gasoline and set on fire.

 

Your band is often compared to the Civil Wars. You worked with John Paul White on Penny & Sparrow’s previous album, which must’ve been inspiring.

KJ: We worked pretty closely with John, starting with the songwriting and moving on to everything else. We’d take him some songs we really loved, and he’d helped mold them. We co-wrote songs from the very beginning with him, too. He was producing it, and he helped us make every musical step along the way.

I see some similarities in the way Kyle and John Paul play the acoustic guitar, too. It’s a very specific thing, being the main instrumentalist in a folk duo.

KJ: He was a huge influence on the way I was playing guitar, every before I met him. Meeting him and learning techniques and seeing how he played, that just increased his influence. I love the rhythm he puts into a guitar. And before they stopped playing together, I spent a lot of time studying how he and Joy [Williams] interacted as a duo onstage, because it takes a lot for two people to fill a room with nothing else than a guitar and two voices.

Let’s get back to that whole “we wanted to write a musical” thing. Is that something you’ll continue pursuing?

AB: I loved musicals growing up, and I still love them now. Thanks to the Internet, I can now see a bootleg version of Hamilton. Years ago, if you couldn’t get to New York to see a Broadway show, you had to watch the Tonys. Kyle loves Broadway, too, and we both particularly love the narrative of Les Mis. Years ago, we started out writing songs from Valjean’s perspective, then we decided to have one thread that ties every record we do together, which is choosing a different character from that show and writing a song from their perspective. We’ll keep dong that until we run out of characters. We’ve dabbled in the idea of doing a musical for a long time now.

KJ: We love the idea of connecting a story and a song. One day, I’d love to go back to the idea and trying to do something similar to it, where everything’s connected and it has a central theme. We just love writing songs, period. We just really like our job. That’s what it comes down to.

Rewriting the Story, Redrawing the Lines: A Conversation with the Secret Sisters

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The Secret Sisters had all the markings of instant success. Their first recording contract came attached with producer Dave Cobb and executive producer T Bone Burnett, and they toured with the likes of Brandi Carlile, Ray LaMontagne, and even Bob Dylan. But those factors, while exciting, weren’t a guarantee. Where music’s history is riddled with instances of surprising discoveries that led to shooting star fame, it’s more heavily peppered with the ones who didn’t make it to the finish line. For every Elvis Presley, there’s the Bobbettes. It seemed that the Secret Sisters, Laura and Lydia Rogers, were destined for some version of the former, but no one anticipated the turn things took after they released their second full-length album, Put Your Needle Down, in 2014. Slow sales caused their record label to drop them, and they soon found themselves underwater, financially and emotionally.

Looking back now on their story, it seems evident they would always turn things around; fate, having dealt them such lucky cards before, wouldn’t let that hand go to waste. At the time, though, that was harder to see. The sisters are back after three years, recently signed with New West Records, and raring to go with their third studio album, You Don’t Own Me Anymore. Produced by good friend Brandi Carlile, the album places its finger on the bruise their adverse experience in the music industry caused and doesn’t let up. “It’s about as personal as it gets,” Laura says.

Having learned a lesson or two over the past eight years, the pair are gritting their teeth but not biting their tongue. As with Sara Bareilles’s 2007 hit, “Love Song,” their title track flippantly states their independence from industry expectations. It’s more than being protective of their music; it’s about being protective of the Secret Sisters, themselves. If the business doesn’t take kindly to determined young women — and this trope has certainly fallen by the wayside as the years have produced firecrackers like Dolly Parton, Jessi Colter, and Miranda Lambert — the Secret Sisters now know the rules to the game. Still, that doesn’t mean their relationship with their music is idyllic. Songs like “Carry Me” and “He’s Fine” express the sacrifice that always follows creative success. For every hit single, there’s a home left empty while they worked on it; for every successful tour, there are two hearts left yearning as the road carries them farther away. These are not new burdens for musicians to carry, but Laura and Lydia wrestle with their meaning in invigorating ways, their harmonies speaking to their weighted and contemplative experiences as much as their lyrics do. Some returns are triumphant, others honest, but rare are the ones that exist in the nexus between those two signifiers: something bruised and brave and becoming..

Music, like many creative forms where people are trying to “make it,” involves its fair share of rags-to-riches stories, but yours involves many twists and turns. What have you learned or what are you learning from your own narrative?

Laura: I feel like I could write a book that probably no one would ever want to read. We’ve transformed so many different times. All of a sudden, we land with this larger-than-life situation, where we have a record deal and we’re touring like crazy with all these artists who are so inspirational and so successful compared to the two of us. Then, to go into this dark phase where literally everything has fallen apart and we aren’t really even sure that we’re going to create music again, and then to be where we are now … it’s so insane. If I had known it would be so up and down, I probably would’ve never went with it. But I’m glad. Even though it’s hard to go through the valleys and exhausting to be on the mountaintop, who it has created out of the two of us is pretty special. I think we’re so grateful to be where we are.

I would imagine there was a sense of security when that deal first came through, but nothing in life is a given, even if certain narratives suggest otherwise.

Laura: From the outside looking in, it seemed like this Cinderella story. All of those things were so great and, at the time, they were huge and important, but they don’t mean anything. They can be taken away. They don’t have the weight to carry you through the turmoil you might endure. You can’t get too comfortable and assume those things will sustain you.

Lydia: Also, at the end of the day, we had to rely on those relationships we had developed in the early days to get back on our feet away. We had to rely on our friends, like Brandi [Carlile], and John Paul White. Ultimately, that’s what got us out of it.

It would seem so easy to look back and say, “Of course, we were always going to make it again.” But in the moment, it’s harder to see. Is there a central take-away you can see yourself applying as you move forward?

Laura: With the first two records, we didn’t control any of it. We just showed up and we sang. We went through this phase of being these sweet, submissive, Southern girls, because that’s what we were raised to be. Moving forward, I think we’ve learned the power of saying “No, thank you.” I don’t want to sound like we’re all of a sudden divas, because we’re still the same people, but I think we have a better sense of our power and what we want and where we’re going, and a lot of that just comes with age. Going through the darkness helped us realize that, too.

That comes across in the album. There are moments of anger that shift into determination, or what the South likes to call “grit.” Where did you find your grit?

Lydia: We kinda had to reach down deep into ourselves. Well, I say that, but I guess we didn’t have to reach too deep. It was all there on the surface. We were hurt, and so we got a lot of that determination within ourselves, but also Brandi instilled that into us, too. She would call us every few months and ask us how we were doing, and she’d give us advice. When we were having bad days, she would remind us why we do what we do, and why we had to keep going. She has been such a good friend to us for a long time now, for seven years or so. She was one of the very first tours we ever did. We were on the road with her and Ray LaMontagne. Ever since then, she has been a big sister to us, and stayed in touch.

Especially during a time when a lot of people were turning their backs on you.

Laura: That’s so true, and I think people’s true colors really show; you start to realize what their motivation is all along. We’ve worked with some kind, amazing people, but the people who checked in on us really proved to us how much they believe in us, as humans and as musicians. Those are the relationships that — thank goodness — we had those handed to us in the early days, because they’re what brought us out of the moment that really could’ve been the end of the Secret Sisters. I think one thing that has happened with these records — and we’re not these over-the-top, outspoken feminist activists; I mean, obviously, we think women need to be revered and respected and equal — but I think one thing we really became aware of is what it means to be a female musician in a world dominated by male musicians and male businessmen who make all the decisions for you, as a woman. We really evolved into knowing our power as women. I hate to even talk about that because I feel like it’s such a hot button issue.

But it happens all the time in the industry!

Lydia: It’s so true, and we never realized it, until we had these conversations with Brandi. Just because of the climate that we all live in and exist in and work in now, it became apparent how many times our gender actually does impact how successful we are or how people talk to us. We do not have it nearly as terribly as many women do, and I’m trying to keep all of that in its proper place, but I think that it’s a tiny sentence in a very long conversation that’s happening right now about what it means to be a woman in a man’s world, and what it means to embrace your power and say what you have to say without being angry or …

Laura: Feisty. There’s an added layer because we’re also Southern. I think the main perception of Southern women is to be submissive and quiet and let the men take charge. That’s still very prevalent in the South, and it’s hard to fake that as Southern women, even being millennials. It’s definitely something we still have to overcome ourselves.

There are so many stereotypes associated with proper and improper behavior for women in the South.

Laura: Oh yes, especially in small towns. I think, for us, it’s a delicate balance, because we come from a very Christian environment, and we come from a very family-oriented Southern environment, and we love and revere it so much, but I think the fine line is figuring out how to be kind and respectful and Southern sweet to everyone, but then also realize when someone isn’t doing right by you because of who you are and the gender that you are. Also, I think that Lydia and I have had to figure out that it’s okay to be sweet and Southern and submissive when it’s necessary, but there are moments when you don’t need to be, and you need to stand up for yourself or you’re going to get plowed over.

It reminds me of another Southern stereotype: the firecracker.

Laura: I wish I could be 50 percent firecracker and 50 percent Southern belle, and I wish I could know exactly when to pull out each.

If you ever find out, let us know.

Laura: It’s so funny that you mentioned firecracker because our grandmother is on the cover of our new record. That’s our paternal grandmother who is now 86. She’s the definition of a firecracker. Hopefully we have a little bit of balance on that record.

What were you trying to invoke after your first two album covers?

Lydia: We were kind of, honestly, tired of putting our faces on the covers. We love our first couple of album covers, but we wanted to put something — like you said — gritty and meaningful, and she’s this really incredible woman who is kind of argumentative, but also kind of sweet and, honestly, everything that we aspire to be. We love that picture because it looks like she just came from a street fight.

Laura: She had just gotten her hair permed for the first time in that picture, but she looks like she had just come from a women’s rally.

I was struck by this sense of sacrifice that keeps coming up throughout the album. You love your music, clearly, but it requires you to give up something you hold dear. So what’s your relationship with music now?

Laura: If I’m being completely honest, it’s a love/hate relationship, a lot of the time. I think I get frustrated sometimes just how incredibly hard you have to work to try and get your music out there and respected, and it seems like a continual battle. You may make a little progress, but then you realize, “Oh, but I’ve still got a really long way to go.” I’m 31 now, and, Lydia, how old are you?

Lydia: I’m 28.

Laura: We had a different trajectory for ourselves, and our timeline hasn’t gone exactly like we thought it would, and we’re in this really interesting phase right now where we’re just trying to figure out what it means to be a complete adult who has responsibilities and a marriage and family relationships and things that really matter, more than music even. My husband has a day job and he works really hard to provide for us, and sometimes — and he doesn’t project it on to me, I project it on to myself — I feel like, “Oh, here I am just chasing a dream.” It’s not the same as working an 8-to-5 job. Because I expected a different life for myself, I’m still adjusting to what it means to continually chase that dream of making great records that I’m really proud of. I’ve had to realize that there’s no end goal; it’s just keep making good records and keep playing great shows, and hopefully be able to pay your bills, and really that’s all you can ask for, and even that feels a little bit extravagant.

Lydia: I’m of the same mindset. I think Laura and I had these expectations, in the beginning, because things were handed to us, and I think we expected things to be on a different level than they are now. We’re having to adjust to the reality that it didn’t go that way, and we have to embrace being musicians wholeheartedly and enjoy the ride, as cliché as that sounds. It’s definitely a sacrifice every single day. It’s working all the time for that hour-and-a-half onstage.

It sometimes can feel like a curse — maybe that’s not the best word — but creative individuals always struggle, even when things are going well.

Lydia: You have to embrace every part of the business. You have to be able to write your songs, and handle your business, and handle your money, and you have to be an entrepreneur. It’s a lot to adjust to in a short amount of time. It was so different eight years ago, when we started.

I can’t even imagine. I know many musicians who have quit because they love the music but they hate the business.

Laura: That’s a constant temptation. Even when things are going extremely well and you have a really great timeline of a record release or a tour, it’s still hard because you think of how many hours you’ve put into it, and if I were putting this many hours into a job at McDonald’s, I would make infinitely more money than I do as a musician. Again, if the money is what you’re in it for, you’re going to be so disappointed. You’re going to have months and years where it’s unbelievable, and you’re going to have months and years where you literally have to ask your parents for help with the mortgage. I’m an example of that. Then again, if you love it, it’s part of who you are.

Lydia: Sorry, we just got really honest.

When you say “it’s part of who you are,” a creative life often means your identity is fused with your work.

Lydia: It’s like showing your diary to someone.

Laura: I think that’s why, when we went through the bad spell, it did such a number on our self-esteem and our confidence and our abilities, because we identity as Secret Sisters. It’s who I am, it’s what I do, people know that it matters to me. When all of a sudden that completely falls apart, and people are asking you, “When are you going to make another record?” and you want to tell them, “I literally can’t afford to pay my bills right now. I can’t even think about making a record.” We’ve had to learn not to place so much of our identity in what we do.

That’s smart.

Laura: You live and die by it. If it goes south, your self-esteem goes with it. So, try not to let that happen in the future.

Photo credit: Stephen Jenkins

ANNOUNCING: Two New Ways to Hang & Sang

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

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

And we’re just getting started.

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

 

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

7 Acts to Catch at SXSW

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When we think of SXSW, we’re reminded of that old saying, “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.” Because if ever there were a festival akin to running a marathon, it’s the massive, 10-day festival/conference/gigantic party that descends upon Austin, Texas, like a badge-wearing plague every March. (This year, it’s March 10 – 19, to be exact.) Although we’d head South to see Vice President Joe Biden alone, this year’s massive music lineup is quite the draw, too. 

With pages and pages of showcasing artists to sift through, choosing just who you want to see may be more exhausting than four back-to-back day parties. We’ve done some of the legwork for you and found a few BGS favorites who are slated to perform.

Nicole Atkins

Nicole Atkins is one of the newest signees to Single Lock Records — the Florence, Alabama-based label run by John Paul White and the Alabama Shakes’ Ben Tanner. Her forthcoming album, Goodnight Rhonda Lee, marries ’50s girl group vibes and vintage soul with modern production a a little bit of twang.

Sammy Brue

Sammy Brue is only 15 years old, but the Ogden, Utah, songwriter has already earned a lot more live experience than a good chunk of his older contemporaries. Now signed to New West Records, the precocious folk singer/songwriter and Justin Townes Earle protégé is prepping a new album for release this summer.

The Kernal

Another Single Lock-er, the Kernal cut his teeth as a sideman for left-of-center country arists like Andrew Combs and Jonny Fritz. His recently released album, Light Country, considers his family legacy — his father played the Grand Ole Opry — as well as how it shaped his identity as a musician.

Andrew Combs

We’re always excited to catch Andrew Combs live, but we’re especially stoked on the heels of his announcement of Canyons of Mind, a new album coming out April 7. Combs’s poetic lyrics and haunting vocals make him one of our favorite songwriters around today.

Max Gomez

Taos, New Mexico, songwiter Max Gomez first got attention when he released his debut album, Rule the World, to critical acclaim in 2013. Now, fresh off a run of dates with the inimitiable Chuck Prophet, he’s preparing to release Me & Joe, a new collection that builds on the Western-tinged storytelling of his first.

Sunny Sweeney

Sunny Sweeney is one of our finest working songwriters, country or otherwise. Her new album, Trophy, is her best work yet, a stunning collection of deeply human songs that reminds us just affecting good music can be. She’s an Austinite, too, so don’t miss this chance to catch her on her home turf.

Valerie June

If psych-soul rocker Valerie June’s singular voice isn’t enough of a draw (and it should be), her nine-piece band ought to get your attention. When June hits SX, she’ll be fresh off the release of her new album, The Order of Time, so keep an ear out for new tunes.

Lede photo by Danny Clinch

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The BGS Sweet 16: More Albums We’re Excited About in 2016

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Amanda Shires: My Piece of Land

Lori McKenna: The BIrd & the Rifle

Ben Glover: The Emigrant

Kelsey Waldon: I've Got a Way

The Coal Men: Pushed to the Side

Brent Cobb: Shine on Rainy Day

Cricket Tell the Weather: Tell the Story Right

River Whyless: We All the Light

— Kelly McCartney

* * *

St. Paul & the Broken Bones: Sea of Noise

Ryley Walker: Golden Sings That Have Been Sung

Haley Bonar: Impossible Dream

Adam Torres: Pearls to Swine

Lydia Loveless: Real

Okkervil River: Away

Angel Olsen: My Woman

Billy Bragg & Joe Henry: Shine a Light: Field Recordings from the Great American Railroad

Amanda Shires: My Piece of Land

Chatham County Line: Autumn

— Stephen Deusner

* * *

St. Paul & the Broken Bones: Sea of Noise

Amanda Shires: My Piece of Land

Ryley Walker: Golden Sings That Have Been Sung

John Paul White: Beulah

National Park Radio: The Great Divide

— Amanda Wicks

* * *

John Paul White: Beulah

St. Paul & the Broken Bones: Sea of Noise

Aaron Lee Tasjan: Silver Tears

Nikki Lane: Highway Queen

Shovels & Rope: Little Seeds

Kelsey Waldon: I've Got a Way

— Marissa R. Moss

* * *

Lori McKenna: The Bird & The Rifle

Kelsey Waldon: I've Got a Way

Butch Walker: Stay Gold

John Paul White: Beulah

Trent Dabbs: The Optimist

American Band: Drive-By Truckers

— Brittney McKenna

BGS Class of 2016: Albums

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Though 2016 took a lot of amazing artists from us, it also gave some bright, new voices a chance to shine through and some familiar, steady ones the opportunity to re-emerge. From Courtney Marie Andrews and Margo Price to Dwight Yoakam and Charles Bradley, the BGS Class of 2016 represents the wonderful and wide spectrum of roots music albums released this year. Though the BGS team votes on our class favorites, aside from the top pick, the albums are listed alphabetically, rather than ranked.

Valedictorian/Prom Queen/Class President: Courtney Marie Andrews, Honest Life

Sometimes, folks encounter something — a piece of art, a landscape, what have you — so beautiful that it's hard to put the experience into words. More often than not, those same folks resort to comparison as the only means of getting their points across. That's probably why you've seen Courtney Marie Andrews compared to Joni Mitchell so many times: Her latest album, Honest Life, while certainly, at times, reminiscent of Our Lady in Blue, is so good that it must be explained with an invocation of one of our greatest living songwriters. And, hey, that's not such a bad spot for Andrews to find herself in, but don't let it fool you: The Seattle-based songwriter — no knocks to Mitchell, of course — is a singular voice, one that can only be understood by being heard. — Brittney McKenna

Best Americana Mother Lode: Amanda Shires, My Piece of Land

Amanda Shires is a pro. Since landing her first major gig at the age of 15, she’s recorded and toured with heavyweights like John Prine and Billy Joe Shaver while forging a career as an artist in her own right. On her latest solo album, My Piece of Land, the singer/songwriter/fiddle extraordinaire stakes her claim. Composed while she was homebound during her final months of pregnancy, the record is a stunning rumination on love, lust, family, and home. Produced by Nashville powerhouse Dave Cobb, each song has space to move and breathe, placing both Shires’ serene vocals and songwriting prowess front and center. — Desiré Moses

Best Album to Sip Whiskey To: Birger Olsen, The Lights Just Buzz

Arriving out of Portland, Oregon, and touting his music as “porch blues,” Birger Olsen flew under the radar in 2016, but his debut album, The Lights Just Buzz, is exactly what anyone craving a glass of whiskey and a moment of reverie will appreciate. With a voice close in tone and style to Tony Joe White and a meandering way with melodies and words, Olsen’s six songs offer listeners an electrifying, if unexpected delivery. It takes him over two minutes to introduce his voice on the album’s first track, “The Telephone Dangles on the Line,” whereas on “Liza” he proclaims his desire in as understated yet romantic a way possible. Olsen may build an onomatopoeic sensation into his title, but it’s a feeling that reverberates throughout his entire album. — Amanda Wicks

Most Likely to Remind You of Someone You Know (And Wish You'd Never See Again): Brandy Clark, Big Day in a Small Town

What Brandy Clark pulled off with Big Day in a Small Town was something special. On one hand, she offered up radio-friendly fare that was as catchy as it comes. On the other, she laid down some stone-cold country cuts that would easily stand up to the classics. To do that, an artist must have a rare strand of talent in their DNA — one that follows the muse but feels the mainstream. Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton … that's the artistic tradition Clark is part of, and it's incredibly exciting to watch her step into that lineage as both a singer and a songwriter. — Kelly McCartney

Most Likely to Make You Crave Biscuits and Gravy: Brent Cobb, Shine on Rainy Day

It's been a banner year for the Cobb family. Producer Dave released his own album, Southern Family, while lending a hand in the studio to artists like Amanda Shires, Lake Street Dive, and Lori McKenna. His cousin Brent had a breakout 2016, too, first earning attention for his Southern Family contribution, "Down Home," shortly followed by heaps of acclaim for his major-label debut Shine on Rainy Day. That acclaim is warranted, as Cobb, who has penned songs for everyone from Luke Bryan to Miranda Lambert, stitches together nuanced portraits of daily life with thoughtful lyrics, simple arrangements and a unique, unassuming voice that's sure to stick with you long after your first listen. — BMc

Best Supergroup Trio Since, Well, Trio: case/lang/veirs

k.d. lang gets the credit for envisioning this illustrious collaboration with Neko Case and Laura Veirs. And, man, what a stroke of creative genius. Across the collection, each woman brings their unique gifts to bear — lang's stunning vocals, Veirs' quirky melodies, and Case's indie sensibilities — the melding of which is so spot-on in "Atomic Number" that it's hard not to linger there for far too long. Further in, though, "Song for Judee," "Blue Fires," "Greens of June," "Down I-5," and more take turns captivating the listener with their always delightful and sometimes devasting timbres. — KMc

Best Perspectives on a Historically Bad Year: Charles Bradley, Changes; Mavis Staples, Livin' on a High Note; William Bell, This Is Where I Live

Soul music has always thrived as a communal medium, one that can speak deftly to individual experiences within much broader social and racial contexts. Its ability to invite empathy and compassion — and even outrage — made albums by Mavis Staples, William Bell, and Charles Bradley sound like wise commentary on tumultuous times. The folk-gospel sound pioneered by the Staple Singers in the 1960s is just as relevant and radical now as it was then, as is the moral nobility that drove their music. Mavis captures that exuberance on her latest, Livin’ on a High Note, singing like social justice was a rejuvenating endeavor — which it really is. Especially on “Take Us Back” and “History Now” (penned by Neko Case), she sounds like the conscience of a nation that really ought to know better.

William Bell is better known as a songwriter than as a recording artist, but penning both “Born Under a Bad Sign” and “You Don’t Miss Your Water” might actually qualify him for sainthood. His latest release, This Is Where I Live, is his best, a collection of carefully crafted and beautifully sung songs that commingle the personal with the public. The title track recounts his days as a teenage hitmaker and the trials that followed, but by the album’s end he’s singing, “People everywhere just want to go home!” and putting his finger right on the very thing that unites us.

At 68, Charles Bradley is the baby of this bunch, but he brings every moment of his hard and remarkable life to bear on his third solo album, the mighty Changes, one of the most unflinchingly candid and unfailingly generous albums of the year. The title track, a cover of the Black Sabbath ballad, was originally intended as a heartbreaking comment on the death of his mother, which means his performance will reduce you to a puddle of tears. And yet, in 2016, the song became bigger than him, bigger than all of us: It sounds like a new national anthem for a country that is still trying to find a way to be truly exceptional. — Stephen Deusner

Most Unexpected Masterpiece: Chely Wright, I Am the Rain

In Chely Wright's country catalog, there are very few signposts pointing toward I Am the Rain. Sure, "Picket Fences" is a great song. Yes, Lifted Off the Ground has some solid moments. But this … this is a whole other ball of wax, right here. Teaming up with Joe Henry, Wright pours her heart and soul into every line and lick on this record, each song ebbing and flowing through a lifetime of pain and purpose. The natural plaintiveness of Wright's voice and the raw vulnerability of her writing both rest so comfortably within this more Americana-tinged sonic space that it's easy to see where she's going from here. — KMc

Best Bluegrass Tribute to Prince You Didn't Know You Needed: Dwight Yoakam, Swimmin' Pools, Movie Stars…

Leave it to a Canadian tuxedo-ed Los Angeleno to bring us one of the year's best bluegrass albums. Culling from decades' worth of deep cuts, Dwight Yoakam reimagined a number of his personal favorites from his own catalog, string-band style. It harkens back to the Kentucky-born artist's roots, and you can practically hear Yoakam's heart aching for the hollers of his hometown of Pikeville in his voice. And, as a small salve on the gaping wound that has been 2016, his simple, mournful cover of Prince's "Purple Rain" is one of only a handful of tributes to one of this year's many fallen soldiers truly worthy of its honoree. — BMc

Most Likely to Please the Traditionalists … and their Kids: The Earls of Leicester, Rattle & Roar

The Earls of Leicester’s Rattle & Roar is a fresh batch of Flatt and Scruggs songs. Started as a tribute to the Foggy Mountain Boys, the Earls have captured attention from festival to festival with their charming get-up of Western colonel ties, button-up shirts, coats, and hats. Fiddle, banjo, and mandolin heavy tunes about ex-convicts and prayers from mom abound as they reel you in. The sound on their sophomore record is that of traditional bluegrassers' dreams. Though the style is Trad and the tunes are oldies, they’ve managed to freshen up the songs to appeal to a new generation of listeners with honky tonk and gospel influences. What’s old always becomes new again. — Josephine Wood

Best Soundtrack for a Road Trip to Literally Anywhere: Hiss Golden Messenger, Heart Like a Levee

For several years now, M.C. Taylor has been balancing family life, a full-time job, and an increasingly popular indie-folk band — Hiss Golden Messenger. Many singer/songwriters have sung about the small compromises and big consequences of that struggle, but few have done so with quite as much fortitude and candor. “Should I walk on the water,” he asks, not quite rhetorically, on “Cracked Windshield,” “with so many people living just above the water line?” Heart Like a Levee is one of those albums where the liveliest songs sound the most burdened and the quietest songs the most jubilant, celebrating the fact that he has something to commiserate. — SD

Most Melodically Devastating Return: John Paul White, Beulah

The question was never whether the Civil Wars’ John Paul White could stand alone without his former partner, Joy Williams. But if ever doubt existed, Beulah served up the answer on a polished silver tray with mint juleps, to boot. White retreated to his native Muscle Shoals, Alabama, after he and Williams went their separate ways in 2014, and has emerged two years later with his second solo album. The titles alone — “Make You Cry,” “Hope I Die,” and “Hate the Way You Love Me” — suggest a dark album, but White’s strong ear for clever riffs and their expansive arrangements balances the lyrics’ brooding moments with melodies that draw upon traditional country, indie folk, and more. There’s an element of the sublime about Beulah, as if White, content from his current position, can look upon life’s more baleful moments and find the beauty within, which he does time and again. — AW

Most Striking New Voice: Kaia Kater, Nine Pin

At just 23 years old, Kaia Kater writes and plays with the virtuosity of an old-time veteran. Born of African-Caribbean descent in Quebec, she moved to West Virginia to tap into the roots of Appalachia and recently graduated from the first Appalachian Studies Program at the area’s Davis and Elkins College. With her low vocal, attention-grabbing cadence, and evocative banjo, Kater delivers stunners like the title track from her latest album, Nine Pin, which begins, “These clothes you gave me don’t fit right. The belt is loose and the noose is tight. Got drunk out looking for a fight. I’m soft and heavy as the night,” proving she’s the voice we need right now. — DM

Most Self-Empowering Kiss-Off: Kelsey Waldon, I've Got a Way

"You can't place a crown on a head of a clown and then hope it turns out to be king," sings Kelsey Waldon on "False King," a devilish track off her sophomore set, I've Got a Way. Waldon may not have written this with president-elect Donald Trump in mind, but, like on many of the Kentucky native's songs, there are layers of meaning and purpose in her smart and witty metaphors. It's that kind of point of view that makes Waldon's writing evergreen — and, layered with heavy steel guitar, jangly telecaster riffs, and plenty of lonesome twang, able to both conjure up '70s Nashville while remaining in her own unique lane. She's all by herself, indeed. — Marissa Moss

Best Couples' Therapy Set to Music: Lori McKenna, The Bird & the Rifle

Prolific and profound songwriter Lori McKenna has captured some of her deepest words of wisdom and stitched it together in a kind of beautiful needlepoint. The Bird & the Rifle is full of poignant lyricism as only a songwriter of McKenna’s caliber can produce, and even while her songs may not explicitly be intended as advice, sage messages exist throughout each one. There’s her warning about loving someone who kills the best part about you in “The Bird & the Rifle” or about not settling for shitty love on “Halfway Home,” or her chiding self-explanatory “Old Men Young Women.” No matter the subject, McKenna’s exacting phrases do what listeners need of music: articulate those experiences that leave us adrift in our own feelings, and help us find a bridge to understanding. — AW

Most Likely to Kick Your Ass, Figuratively and Literally: Lydia Loveless, Real

“My music is not the most optimistic or mood-lightening in the world,” Lydia Loveless explained in a BGS interview earlier this year. “But I do think it’s about that very Midwestern struggle, that everything-is-so-hard attitude.” By embracing this aspect of her neck of the woods — specifically, Columbus, Ohio, which she describes, almost glowingly, as “such a bitter and pessimistic town” — Loveless has found her truest subject and has made one of the toughest, boldest, and most badass singer/songwriter albums of the year. A collection of finely crafted songs about incredibly messy emotions, Real presents her as the rightful heir to that gaggle of flyover roots rockers from the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, dudes like John Mellencamp (minus the regional jingoism) and Tom Petty (not technically Midwestern, but come on), except with more confrontational wit in her lyrics and bite in her vocals. — SD

Most Stunning Debut to Be Snubbed So Broadly by Tone-Deaf Institutions: Margo Price, Midwest Farmer's Daughter

If you can't tell who Margo Price is three minutes into her debut solo LP, Midwest Farmer's Daughter, then you probably still think that Bruce Willis is alive and well at the end of Sixth Sense. As the soft pulsing bassline on the album's opener, "Hands of Time," creeps in and her chilling, powerhouse vocals take stage, it's instantly clear that this is the work of a singular artist who heads back into battle despite her wounds, spinning her heartbreak and misfortune into songs that are as timeless as they are completely au courant. Midwest Farmer's Daughter twangs as hard as it rocks, from barnburners like "About to Find Out" to the ferocious soul-country groove of "Four Years of Chances." Price might lay it all on the line here, but the beauty of this album is that, while we can understand her, we can never, ever, predict her. — MM

Best Musical Chemistry: My Bubba, Big, Bad, Good

This Scandinavian duo commands the stage like none other, bringing a hush over the crowd at Third Man Records’ Blue Room during AmericanaFest to deliver a bedtime lullaby. It’s not that these two dainty gals are screaming for attention; in fact, they barely speak much at all. But their music is lyrically striking — using what they call the “fragile challenge.” Baring it all in their lyrics and vocals, My Bubba puts their fragility on the line on Big, Bad, Good, and it works. Their blend of old country, blues, and bluegrass is particularly entrancing because the production makes it feel like they are singing directly to you. They’ve mastered the use of silences through their use of minimal instrumentation and two seraphic voices in harmony. — JW

Best Way to Soundtrack an Apocalypse: Parker Millsap, The Very Last Day

We didn’t know what a doozie of a year 2016 would be in virtually all categories when Parker Millsap delivered his outstanding, 11-song sophomore release The Very Last Day in March, but it’s safe to say that the 23-year-old’s marrying of complex characters with dark narratives and whooping, guttural twang made the idea of a modern doomsday a hell of a lot more artful. Album standout “Heaven Sent” details the plight of a young gay man coming out to an evangelical father, while Millsap’s take on the African-American spiritual “You Gotta Move” employs his howling vocals over sparse instrumentals to transform the song’s message from one of Godly comfort to one of a creeping, inevitable descent. For an album crafted around the end of days, The Very Last Day is a good indicator that this promising young voice is only just revving up. — DO

Most Likely to Score a Critically Acclaimed Indie Movie: Parsonsfield, Blooming through the Black

Before Massachusetts five-piece Parsonsfield sat down to create September’s Blooming through the Black, they spent a year playing the same music hundreds of times for a theatre production — a practice that reveals itself on the record in tight harmonies and a knack for the understated. Soft vocals and minimal accompaniment on “Don’t Get Excited” underscore a message of simplicity and minimalism. “Hot Air Balloon” simulates the airy, floating sound of its title, sounding like the zoom-out scene of long-fought romantic tale. None of these are songs that sound the same, though, with upbeat numbers like the title track showing off the band’s range and pointing to their capability for a barn-burning live show. — DO

Best Multi-National Incorporation: River Whyless, We All the Light

Opening with an unplugged vocal harmony that quickly layers African-influenced percussion, We All the Light quickly moves from American to World Folk. Not only is the album an upbeat, string-heavy, shimmering beacon of hope musically, but it also boasts lyrics that everyone in the midst of post-election fallout should soak in. As member Daniel Shearin put it, “We are all the light and are trying really hard to put that idea into practice, seeing everybody as equal and being as inclusive as you can.” It’s nice to remember we’re all in this big world together, and River Whyless reaffirms that message, filtered through a world lens. — JW

Most Likely to Go Electric: Sara Watkins, Young in All the Wrong Ways

From the opening strains of the title track, Young in All the Wrong Ways delivers on its promise that Sara Watkins is all grown up, personally and professionally. She also has something to say. A few somethings, actually. With a stronger voice than we've heard from her, both metaphorically and otherwise, Watkins works through the 10-song cycle using that voice in ways alternately cutting and caring, fierce and fragile. Anyone who can listen to tunes like "Without a Word," "The Love That Got Away," and "Like New Year's Day" and yet be unswayed to fan-dom might need to have their pulse checked. This is simply a beautiful record from an ever-evolving, always exciting artist. — KMc

Most Likely To Sweep You Away: Sarah Jarosz, Undercurrent

Although Undercurrent is Sarah Jarosz’s fourth full-length, she’s described it as a record of firsts. It’s the first album the singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist has written while not simultaneously being in school. (She recently graduated with honors from the New England Conservatory of Music.) It’s the first record she’s released without any covers. And it’s her first release since moving to New York, whose surroundings heavily influenced this batch of songs. While the album is wrought with impressive features by the likes of Sara Watkins and Parker Millsap, it’s Jarosz’s smoky alto and ever-adept musicianship that make this record a standout. — DM


Most Likely to Move Your Heart and Hips: St. Paul and the Broken Bones, Sea of Noise

When St. Paul and the Broken Bones danced onto the scene with their 2014 debut Half the City, the band's vintage soul sound felt familiar yet groundbreaking. But as old-school influences become more common in today's up-and-coming performers, the band's sophomore effort called for a bit more depth — and Sea of Noise delivered. Songs like "Brain Matter" and "Waves" pay lyrical mind to violence and political unrest, while songs like "Flow with It (You Got Me Feelin' Like)" are an unmistakeable call to get on your feet and dance. Sea of Noise was just the right combination of body-moving soul goodness and heart-wrenching lyrical testament to elevate the already heavenly St. Paul and his Broken Bones to an even higher calling. — DO

Best Compass for Those Adrift on Music Row: Sturgill Simpson, A Sailor's Guide to Earth

Sturgill Simpson said that his third LP, A Sailor's Guide to Earth, was a gift to his newborn son — an atlas, so to speak, to the world that lay before him. The gift to the rest of us is that Simpson's planet — built by string-scorching country, fiery soul, and perfectly swanky horns courtesy of the Dap-Kings — isn’t one that many of us are lucky enough to belong to. But like his breakthrough, Metamodern Sounds in Country Music, A Sailor's Guide is transformative: Anchored by an oceanic metaphor, it's at times outlaw funk ("Keep It Between the Lines," that's like Waylon Jennings waltzing into 1960s Detroit), sentimental doo-wop ("All Around You"), and balls-to-the-wall bliss ("Call to Arms"). If everyone in Nashville navigated like Simpson, we'd be dealing in tempests, not truck songs. — MM

Best Album to Distract Your Own Dysfunctional Southern Family from Talking About the Election During the Holidays: Various Artists, Southern Family

It says a lot about producer Dave Cobb — the Americana super-producer responsible from major releases from Jason Isbell, Chris Stapleton, and more — that he was able to release Southern Family under his own name (or, technically, as "Various Artists"). Recruiting a who's-who of critically acclaimed country and roots musicians ain't easy, and getting that bunch to fork over great songs for someone else's album is damn near impossible. And, man, are these songs great. Morgane Stapleton's Chris-assisted "You Are My Sunshine" shows that her husband isn't the only one around the house with some serious pipes. Anderson East's "Learning" is one of his best tracks to date. Brandy Clark's "I Cried" is a straight-up stunner. If there are any lame ducks, it's Zac Brown's contribution "Grandma's Garden"; but, hey, with competition from Jason Isbell, Miranda Lambert, and Brent Cobb, the deck wasn't stacked in Brown's favor. — BMc

Photo credit: j.o.h.n. walker via Foter.com / CC BY

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Death Wears a Wedding Ring: Lydia Loveless in Conversation with John Paul White

Posted on by Editor

Like all of us everywhere, Lydia Loveless and John Paul White are in dire need of coffee. It’s early morning on a weekday, and they’re both out on the road: Loveless en route from Houston to a gig in Birmingham; White biding his time in Charlotte, North Carolina, before a show that evening. They’re both far from home, making do with hotel continental breakfasts and fast-food caffeine.

“It’ll probably take me an hour or so to sound somewhat intelligent,” says White. Loveless agrees. “I’m just waking up. I’ll probably be pretty rambling.”

As caveats go, neither is especially believable. Both White and Loveless have released ambitious albums that are confessional but evasive, musically confident yet emotionally messy. Beulah is White’s second solo album, but his first since the dissolution of the Civil Wars, the duo that helped codify roots music for a mainstream audience. Written and recorded in Muscles Shoals, Alabama, where he lives and runs Single Lock Records, his songs range from cowboy-trail folk to swampy blues to pop songs that recall Elliott Smith, yet his lyrics are single-minded in their darkness.

Loveless’s latest, Real, is a similarly harrowing exorcism. Leaving the alt-country of her early albums far behind, the Ohioan adopts a darker, tougher sound, somewhere between the stuck-in-the-city riffs of prime Strokes and the ‘70s pop-rock flare of the early Heartbreakers (Johnny Thunders or Tom Petty — pick one).

Both albums contain so much wit that you can’t imagine either would be at a loss for words.

So, do you two know each other?

[Awkward Silence]

Lydia Loveless: No. I don’t think so.

John Paul White: I don’t believe so. I was afraid to answer.

LL: [Laughs] I’m always afraid to answer that question.

JPW: I’m always concerned someone’s going to say, "You asshole! We’ve met three times." I think we have mutual friends. We run in a lot of the same circles, but I don’t think we’ve ever met. So it’s nice to meet you, Lydia.

LL: Likewise.

Both of you represent smaller music scenes. Not your Brooklyn or Nashville, but the Shoals and Columbus, Ohio. How have those slightly out-of-the-way places shaped your music?

LL: For me, Columbus is such a bitter and pessimistic town, at least in some of the scenes that I run in. There are the really angry punk kids and smelly metal kids, and then, on the other side, there’s this really uplifting attitude — like we’re really going to develop the city and make it great. I have some journalist friends who are very excited about everything. So there’s a balance. But my music is not the most optimistic or mood-lightening in the world. But I do think it’s about that very Midwestern struggle, that everything-is-so-hard attitude.

JPW: My dad used to live up there. He and all of his brothers moved up in the ‘60s to work in the auto plants, and he brought back a lot of stories about that. I won’t say he disliked it or liked it, but he definitely felt that struggle. It didn’t feel uncommon to him, being from the South. In some ways, it was a different kind of struggle, but in other ways, it was the same. You’re just trying to put food on your table. Down here, there’s more an attitude that you shouldn’t have an identity; you should just fit in. Put your head down, nose to the grindstone, hoe your row, and then move on to the next one.

I grew up around a lot of that, but at the same time, in the Muscle Shoals community, you had this sense that you could accomplish something great. You saw a lot of people who were heroes and you heard the great music they made. They made a small-town kid from the Tennessee Valley feel like he could do it, too. So I think that there was a lot of hope when I was growing up: "They did it, so why can’t I?"

Music remains an industry in the Shoals, but it’s less so in Columbus. Did it offer something like escape for you, Lydia?

LL: I think so. I’m a very shy person, and was even more shy as a kid. If you spend a lot of time sitting alone in the woods or walking by yourself lost in thought, music can be a good way to filter a very overactive brain. It also gave me an opportunity to perform with someone else. Any time I was onstage, I had to go to a very different headspace and get outside of my own personality.

JPW: I always hear people talk about playing music or writing songs as a cathartic experience, and I guess that can be true. But it’s such a strange existence we share: We write these songs and we feel them so personally — we open these veins so publicly, and that can be cathartic. But then you have to sing it again the next night and the next night and the next night. So you get to exorcise those demons, but then you have to live with them every single day and night. It’s a weird existence.

LL: It’s definitely not normal. I’ve been thinking about it a lot because our record was made a long time before we started doing this tour. I’m like, "Damn, I feel like I’m as depressed as I was when I was writing these songs," and I realize maybe it’s because I have to sing them every night. You can’t just go through the motions. You have to really feel it, and you’re never going to get over that.

JPW: And people want to see it. They want to feel it, too.

LL: What’s wrong with them?

JPW: They pay to be bummed out. What the hell? But thank God for them. I wouldn’t have a career, if it weren’t for people who are as screwed up as I am.

How do you psych yourself up to sing such harrowing songs?

LL: I don’t know. I get really tired.

JPW: Amen. I have an out for me, at least. I don’t know about you, Lydia — I don’t know how intensely personal everything is that you write. But I tend to make it where it’s not 100 percent about me. There are parts of me in there. I like to get down in there and get as close to the bone as I can, but it isn’t always autobiography. And so I can step into a character and step back out of it sometimes. Otherwise, I don’t know how long I could do it, if it was just a constant shedding of skin every night. I’d be pretty raw after a while.

LL: There’s definitely an element of character to my songs, but I guess, for this particular record, it was more personal. It’s been a new touring experience, especially with the world being so insane and with the political climate so crazy. After a while you’re like, "God, why am I up here screaming about personal things right now?"

It definitely seems like listeners conflate the songwriter with the song.

JPW: Most of my favorite songwriters and artists were always talking through characters — like John Prine, Kris Kristofferson … folks like that. I grew up with a lot of country music, and a lot of the time those artists didn’t write the songs. They lived through them, so it wasn’t necessarily their story, but you believed every word that came out of their mouths. We don’t force our fiction writers to only write about their own personal lives. If they did, they’d run out of stories pretty soon. I feel like what we do is not that far removed.

LL: It’s the difference between doing something with shades of you in it and doing something completely autobiographical. And, I guess, doing something that’s obviously totally phony.

Does that change from one night to the next? Do you find more or less of yourself in these characters over time?

LL: I would say yes. And that’s why I really hate when people are like, "What’s this song about?" And you have to come up with some seven-second explanation. Not only does it change every night for me, but people come up to you every night and say, "Oh, this really helped me through this time." Or, "This has this meaning to me." I don’t want to ruin it for them or myself.

JPW: I agree 1,000 percent. I need to start writing down what people think my songs are about, because that’s so much better than what some of them actually are. And they tell me these elaborate situations they were in and how this song was a perfect way to deal with that trauma. If I had been in that headspace, I would have never written that song. I’d just write something that was too on the nose. I try to write everything vague and blurry so that anybody can step in and be the screwed-up character in the middle of it.

That seems like something that both of you are doing in your songs. Lydia, I read an interview with you about the song “Longer,” which I heard as a break-up song, but which you said was inspired by the death of a friend.

LL: Honestly, it could go either way for me. I don’t want people to be forced to listen to that song and think about death. I’ve broken my rule on a couple of these songs in interviews, just because I get nervous and flustered and said, "IT’S ABOUT THIS!!!!"

JPW: A friend of mine, a mentor of sorts as a songwriter, used to tell me not to put a wedding ring in a song. What he meant is what you’re talking about. If you paint that picture in too much detail, then the song doesn’t leave any room for interpretation. The moment you mention somebody has on a ring, then it’s about a married person or a person who was married or getting married. And you’ve just alienated every single person on earth from the song. All I have to do is take that ring out and now this song works for everyone that hears it. It could be about love and it could be about death.

LL: Death wearing a wedding ring.

JPW: [Laughs] That’s the next album title.

I would think that would make these songs fresh every night. You can live with them long-term and maybe not feel like you’re going through the motions.

LL: For me personally, you have to think about that, but it’s important to not think about those things while you’re writing. Certainly it comes up when you’re touring.

JPW: I tend to just go with whatever feels right at the moment. What I have a problem with is looking at the page and thinking, "Oh God, what are people going to think this means? How much therapy am I going to be offered?" I could go back and change it, but then it just feels watered down. If you’re trying to write the best song you can, then you have to be okay with putting a part of yourself out there. I just hope that people are still listening to those songs by the end of the year.

LL: Or by the end of the song.

JPW: Amen. I don’t sing any songs that I wrote that long ago, to be honest. The stuff I was writing then was completely different. I was pretty obsessed with Jeff Buckley at the time, and that’s probably obvious. Everybody has been obsessed with Jeff Buckley, at some point. I reserve the right not to play songs I don’t want to play.

LL: There are certain songs that I wrote five years ago that I don’t want to play. It’s a different situation because I was learning to write songs when I started making records. That was always what I wanted to do and I just started to do it. So there’s certainly some cringe-worthy material in my catalog. Not everybody puts their 19-year-old decisions out there. You mellow out as a human when you get older.

JPW: I’m older than you are, so I don’t have to worry about the 19-year-old-me stuff. Nobody knows about it and nobody will ever hear it. Thank God.

Do you ever have a chance to go back to those songs?

LL: I try not to revisit too much. Sometimes I’m subjected to it somehow, or sometimes it just comes up. You’re making a record or whatever. Someone will put it on in the room and you just melt into the floor and die of embarrassment.

JPW: In a really small town like the Shoals, I can walk into Best Buy or some place like that and sometimes somebody will think it’s a clever idea to put my music on the stereo. I just turn on my heel and walk right back out. That’s probably not a good sales ploy. For this recent record, I was doing an interview, and they were playing tracks during the interview. It was a weird out-of-body experience, because we’ve been playing them live for so long and we do them so differently. They keep morphing every single night, and there are even lyrics that change. So the album versions sound so innocent now. When I recorded them, I hadn’t been touring for three or four years, so they were all super fresh. They didn’t go through their paces of growing. They were just documented. I’m proud of them, but they’re completely different songs now.

Does that happen to you in Columbus? Can you be a celebrity of sorts in a small city?

LL: I think they know better than to do that. There’s certainly much less anonymity in a smaller town. I would never refer to myself as a celebrity, but there’s definitely some recognition there. I think you get more shit than accolades, when you live in a small town.

JPW: That’s how I grew up. The other side of that is that you have a lot of people pinning their hopes on you. Every time you talk to them, they’re like, "Man, we’re all rooting for you. We’re all living through you. We’re watching and you’re making us proud." Which is awesome, but it’s a lot of accountability.

LL: Yeah, it’s scary. You forget how to have a normal conversation.

JPW: It’s true. You get so laser focused on your career and your job that you have hard time being that small town guy again. Can we just talk about football?

LL: People are like, "You probably don’t want to talk about anything small." But I’d like to talk about anything but how the tour went. "There was beer … We played shows … No one died …"

JPW: I have a really hard time listening to music. I’ve been doing it for so long that I have such a hard time letting go and immersing myself in music like I did when I was younger. I’ve seen how the hotdog gets made. I see all the cracks and I also have a hard time not wondering why they chose to do it like that. "Why didn’t you do this?" It’s hard not to second-guess everything. I do a whole lot more reading and watching movies than I do listening to music.

LL: I think that’s why I like to listen to music that I sound nothing like. People will ask me what I’m listening to and, when I tell them, they’re like, "You don’t sound like that." Yeah, because I don’t want it to get in my head or really ruin music for me.

What kind of stuff are you listening to?

LL: Right now, I’ve been really enjoying that Mitski record. And the Angel Olsen. But I just covered a Justin Bieber song, if that tells you anything about my taste in music.

JPW: My 14-year-old is a huge metal head. I am an extremely proud father because of that. He’s constantly turning me on to new bands, which are all pretty much the same, but still it’s so much fun watching him get so excited about music. It’s amazing to see it meaning so much to him. It’s good for me, as a father, to see that. And I think it’s good for me, as a creator of music, to see how people react to music that’s not their own. That makes me want to do this a whole lot more.

 

To get into more Deep Sh!t, read Jewly Hight's conversation with Erin McKeown and Chastity Brown.

John Paul White photo courtesy of the artist. Lydia Loveless photo by David T. Kindler.

The Singer Is Secondary: An Interview with Dylan LeBlanc

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Singer/songwriter Dylan LeBlanc grew up splitting his time between Louisiana and Alabama, shuffling from his mom's house to his dad's. On the one side was an oppressively religious upbringing; on the other was a music-filled refuge. But, once his teenage years hit, LeBlanc's demons started to outpace all else, and he began a booze- and drug-filled downward spiral — all while crafting two fairly wonderful albums, Paupers Field (2010) and Cast the Same Old Shadow (2012). To write his new Cautionary Tale, LeBlanc climbed out of that hole, stared down those demons, and churned out 10 exquisite songs. He then surrendered himself and his compositions to the mercy of producers John Paul White (The Civil Wars) and Ben Tanner (Alabama Shakes), and the result is nothing short of magnificent.

Paint me a picture of you as a kid … Loner? Book nerd? What was going on for you down in the Southern wilds?

I was kind of a bad kid, actually. [Laughs] I was a bit of a kleptomaniac. I remember, in class, I would be seated away from all the other kids. I had to sit up in the front of the class, facing the chalkboard, away from the classroom because I disrupted class a lot. I would also steal candy from the other kids and I also stole candy from my teacher's desk. I remember that was a real big thing.

Wow.

Yeah. There was one more kid that was also bad and, eventually, he was moved up to there, so it was me and him up there. [Laughs]

[Laughs] What was behind all of that, you little candy thief?

I don't know. I have no idea. I was a bit of a liar, as well. I liked to tell fibs — really crazy fibs that were totally tall tales. Just extravagant. That was when I was really little, like 5 until I was 7 or so. I got a spanking from everybody in my family for the last time I stole the candy. I got a really bad whipping from my mom, and I think my dad drove all the way out there to give me a whipping. My step-dad whipped me. It was crazy. That was the last time I ever stole anything.

Then you had the much-written and talked about late teen years. During that time, what sorts of people did you have around you — were they more protective of you or more enabling?

Well, I didn't have any friends up until I started smoking pot. We didn't come from a lot of money. The school that I went to was mostly wealthy children. And I always had something against people with money. I guess it was because they treated me and my sister kind of badly. We didn't wear expensive clothes. I always wanted to fit in, but I usually just withdrew from all that and played my guitar … in my early teens — we're talking 11, 12, 13, and all through middle school.

I remember, when I was about 15, I met this other kid who played guitar in high school. That was, like, my freshman year of high school. His name was Daniel Goodwill. He played guitar and liked Jimi Hendrix, and he liked Bob Dylan, and he liked the Byrds. He knew a whole lot more about music than I did, and a whole lot more about classic rock. I really liked him and we became best friends. He also smoked pot. I remember, when I started smoking pot, I started getting a whole lot of new friends. [Laughs]

[Laughs] Funny how that works, hey?

It is. It is. You kind of find that you go toward the like-minded people who are similar to you.

With all that in your rear view, where are you today? What are the things you cherish these days? What are the things you're striving to achieve, as a person and an artist?

All around, I'm striving for a balance, today, in every aspect of my life — in my artist's career and my personal life. I've always been extremely up or extremely down, in one aspect or the other. You could just call it extreme, one way or another. Personality-wise, I'm either extremely happy and ready to take over the world or extremely not happy. Some call it manic.

In this day and age, I'm trying to achieve some sort of balance — not get too high, not get too low. Stay somewhere in the middle. I don't drink anymore. Don't do drugs anymore. That helps a lot. [Laughs] And I'm starting to get back to normal, I think. I think.

There's a lot pouring out of you on this record, a lot of speaking truth — and surrendering — to various powers. Which of these songs are proving to be the most healing for you or the best way to get things out?

This record is really about somebody who's in the process of just waking up. I was so naïve or undeveloped or whatever the heck you want to call it … I don't know. But I was really gullible and I lived in a lot of fear for most of my life, up until a few years ago. I had all these people telling me … my mother's side is very religious. I grew up with that whole ideology just pounded on me, all of my life. I carried that religious guilt.

And that really started to weigh on me and, finally, I cracked. I couldn't carry it anymore. There was this big process of un-learning all that shit that people had been putting in my head all those years. It's not their fault, either. It's not like I'm angry at them. That's where they came from. They could not help it, either. They were scared, and they scared the hell out of me. So I had to let all of that go. But that didn't happen until … it was well after my first album had come out. It was like 2012. When my grandfather died, really, is when I started to understand some things. So I started to un-learn a bunch of things.

It's funny what witnessing death and grief and those various processes … it puts a lot of things in perspective. You figure out what's worth fighting for and what's not.

I started asking myself questions like, “Why am I the way that I am?” I just wanted some relief … from myself. I put myself through all this stuff. I keep repeating the same mistake over and over again. I feel bad about it, but I can't do anything about it. I'm not capable of doing anything about it. A lot of people don't understand that. They don't realize that they're not capable of doing anything different until they let go of all these old ideas and all of the shit that they've been dragging with them all their lives.

I completely unraveled, first. That's the first thing that happened. I completely lost my mind. It had been building up and building up and building up. I mean, I lost it. Big time. Like certifiably a nut job. With that, came a large amount of fear, like, “Oh my God. How am I going to get through this life with all this anxiety and all this fear?” I couldn't live with it anymore and I was ready to check out, but I knew I didn't have the courage it would take to check out. All of this crap going through my head. I just decided that I needed to go in another direction altogether. I couldn't live with that guilt anymore. I couldn't stop hurting people. I couldn't stop hurting myself. I don't think everybody's like that. I think it's the level of disturbance which is inside someone.

I think it's probably a matter of degrees, right? That is inside everybody.

Yeah. It is.

It's just how it manifests. And how controllable it is … what tools we have.

Exactly.

So you come out of that and go into these songs. To work with John and Ben on this thing … how important or imperative, maybe, was it for you to have the safe harbor that they were to dock these songs in and get them right?

It was important to me to let somebody else take the reins. It was good for my ego. It was good to humble me. It was good for me on more levels than one. I'm really bad about, especially when it comes to my songs … I want to hover over everything. I want things to sound a certain way. I want to cover them up with this and that. John is a musician who's been doing it for a long time. And Ben has also been doing it for a long time. I needed the objective ears.

I'd worked with Ben for both of my other two records that came out before this one, but it was something that I needed to do and try. It was, “Well, I've tried this and that didn't work.” Neither one of those albums were successful, no matter what the press says about it. I don't know what they're talking about with, “the success of the first two albums.” Paupers Field sold 5,000 copies and Cast the Same Old Shadow is at 1,200, as we're speaking right now. [Laughs] They just did not sell any records and nobody cared.

I knew I couldn't write other than for anybody but me. I'm not that kind of artist. I know that they know what to do with what I do. I liked John, as a songwriter. I liked him because he was very laid-back, but he's also very firm, when he needs to be. I needed that objective ear. And I needed the organization because my thoughts run like crazy, and I want to try this and I want to try that. I needed somebody to mediate the thoughts going through my head. Like, “Dude, we don't need four tracks of pedal steel guitar going on one song. You don't need to layer six guitars. We're not going to try 50 different string parts on one song. This is what we're going to record. And we're going to do it deliberately, and we're going to be very organized. And you're going to sing this where we can understand the words. It doesn't matter how many times you have to sing it. I want a vocal that I can understand every word you're saying.”

Sometimes, I was very resistant, like, “I hate this and I don't see where you're going.” And they'd say, “Look, you asked us to do this. Now you gotta trust us.” It was great. It was great for me. I humbled myself and said, “You're absolutely right. I need to step back and let you do your thing because that's what I asked for.”

Talk about surrendering yourself to a higher power …

Yeah, it's a lot like that. Just letting go. And I did. I totally let go. Everything you hear on that record, it's John Paul and Ben. That's them. They arranged a lot of the parts. I mean, we collectively did, but they had a lot to do with it. Ben's really great at achieving something you want, sonically. I really wanted to stick close to that late '60s/early '70s rhythm section feel and we knew that going in, so it was cool.

Your record and Andrew Combs' record last year … it's my favorite sound to hear. I grew up in the '70s. That's my childhood, my comfort zone. You're my musical mac 'n' cheese, Dylan. [Laughs]

[Laughs] Well, I'm glad to be!

Where do you think your songs originate — do you feel like they come from you …

Absolutely not. I don't know where they come from.

… or through you?

Yeah. Through me. I don't know where they come from. I think it's definitely a gift that you're given … I don't know from what, but there's definitely a creative intelligence out there that's greater than me. I don't know what that is. I don't think it's left up to me whether or not I'm able to create a piece of work that's worth anything. I think that comes from something else. And, if it touches people, it definitely isn't from me.

I heard Merle Haggard say something so cool one time and it was on a documentary. He said that what people don't realize is that the singer is secondary to the song. It's so true, man. The song is where it's at. He said he realized that when this Black child came up to him, touched his face, and started singing his song back to him. He said that was the moment he realized the singer is secondary to the song. That just gave the chills. I just thought that was so right on.

Photos courtesy of the artist

LISTEN: Dylan LeBlanc, ‘Easy Way Out’

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Artist: Dylan LeBlanc
Hometown: Shreveport, LA
Song: "Easy Way Out"
Album: Cautionary Tale
Release Date: January 15
Label: Single Lock Records

In Their Words: "'Easy Way Out' is one of the more personal tracks to me. It's about growing up in the more conservative part of the country and having to find my own way with my own ideas and personal beliefs… after first being run ragged through the mill with others' ideas and beliefs and paying serious mental consequences. It is about investigating things for yourself when others can't give you a solid answer. An answer that doesn't work for you. An answer that doesn't require fear and confusion." — Dylan LeBlanc

Photo credit: Abraham Rowe