Tag: John Prine

As a Songwriter, Adeem the Artist Found Their True North Through John Prine

Posted on by Editor

Adeem the Artist is not afraid to confront the complex realities that some country songwriters would find more convenient to gloss over. A nonbinary musician who lives in Knoxville, Tennessee, with their wife and young child, Adeem is nothing if not honest. Throughout their new album, White Trash Revelry, they have written songs that feel so deeply personal, yet relatable, exposing pain and struggle in nuanced ways that can make a listener reflect in one moment and laugh in the next.

If you won’t take our word for it, perhaps Brandi Carlile’s will hold more weight: “Adeem the Artist is absolutely incredible. One of the best writers in roots music that I’ve ever heard,” she noted on her SiriusXM radio show, Somewhere Over the Radio. On the last night of a tour supporting William Elliot Whitmore at Off Broadway in St. Louis, Adeem captivated the audience, weaving stories and playful banter between original songs. BGS caught up with them before the performance, and they were generously on-brand with their openness and honesty.

BGS: I read the essay you wrote in the liner notes. From that, and listening to the album, I was struck by the range of emotions with which you reflect on childhood. Can you tell me a little bit about the process of writing these songs and reconciling those mixed emotions?

Adeem: The suffering and celebration thing is important to me. There’s a (Kahlil) Gibran line where he says, ‘the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you’re capable of holding.’ That’s something that I’m connected with on this record. They’re not two different things. They’re intrinsically bound.

I mean, this was a frustrating thing for my parents when I was a teenager and a young adult. I was still very plugged into the Christian Church, really passionate about Jesus, and about, you know, building the kingdom of God, and telling ’em they were hypocrites for having a large television and living in a big house and saying like, “You have to give away your money. If you wanna do this, this is what it looks like.” That’s the Christianity that I grew up with. It had a lot of toxic impacts on me, but it is also the reason why I’m who I am. It’s the reason why I care about justice. It’s the reason why I care about equity. It’s the reason why I care about racial equity in country music. The biggest thing for me is to really try to be honest about the experience that I had growing up as a low-income white kid in the rural south.

Tell me a little bit about your songwriting process.

My songwriting process is not exactly rote. I have extensive rules for songwriting, but most of them are kind of unspoken and latent and implicit. I do find the idea that you have to write every day to be a bit obtuse. I think it misses the mark of how much of the experience of writing is sort of adding to your palette. I feel like I’m always working on songs. I just gestate a lot. Louis Hyde talks about the parable of the shoemaker and how you can work and work and work and toil and toil and toil, but sometimes the lightning strikes at night and you wake up and it’s there, it’s done. Your unconscious kind of fulfills the duty of the imagination. I think that’s true. I think about moments that we don’t want to talk about, that we don’t want to address, that we would rather paint over.

I was thinking about the idea of trying to reconcile things as an adult that you learned from your loved ones.

Yeah. I mean, I love Thanksgiving. I like cooking a lot and I like cooking for my friends and the people that I consider family. It’s special to me, and I’ve always loved the Thanksgiving story. You know, my ancestors came over on this big, beautiful boat, and they got here and there were these amazing, interesting indigenous people, and they shared their food with them, and they shared their food back, and then some of them even fell in love and they had this big dinner. It’s beautiful. I think anyone would think it’s beautiful, but it’s just not true. It never happened. The reality is we tried to exterminate them. My ancestors came here and did everything they could to make sure there was no trace of them on the earth, and they survived. Now that’s a special story, but it doesn’t frame my ancestors in the best light.

And I think that what’s important to me is that I figured out that it doesn’t do anyone any good because it assuages us of the responsibility to make things right. That’s the same thing that’s happening with a lot of areas in country music where people are able to rewrite these sort of Thanksgiving stories. What I found was that I would rather tell a story that is still beautiful, that’s still wholesome, that’s not trying to demonize anybody, but is trying to welcome a sort of healing to try and fix the broken pieces.  A lot of country musicians make the choice to tell a lie because they think it’s making things better in some way, and it’s a lie and it’s hurting people in very real ways. I don’t think that telling the truth means I have to sacrifice any compassion or kindness or love for my community or my culture, or my family, my ancestors, my people, nothing. It’s just holding it all.

I want to ask about a song from your last record, Cast Iron Pansexual, in which you address Toby Keith with references to three of his songs, by my count. From “I Wish You Would’ve Been a Cowboy,” it sounds like you were at least somewhat of a fan of Toby Keith. Talk about what it was like to grow up singing along to those songs and then having a sort of epiphany about the lyrics as you got older.

Sure. I mean, for one, I don’t know that I stopped regarding Toby Keith as an excellent songwriter. It’s tough for me to answer that because I went through a really significant change. I grew up in Charlotte. My family’s from the lower Piedmont region, just outside of the city. When I was 12 or 13 years old, we moved to Syracuse, New York. I had been listening to country music but also growing apart from it pretty naturally. I was what some might call “fagish.” I was a bit effeminate. My mom smoked weed and went to metal shows. I got in trouble for swearing in class one time. I didn’t fit in the rural town where I was.

Just all that to say, I felt estranged from it probably before I started interfacing with any of the heaviness of why I was feeling estranged. When I moved to New York it was like, you know, it doesn’t matter what you wear when your accent’s like, (says in a thick southern accent) “Oh, me mama gonna go get the buggy from the grocery.” You know? It’s like I was a good old boy all of a sudden. I was a redneck, which is a really weird thing to interface with. So, country music was something that I shied away from and didn’t think about for a long time.

But as those years went on, [the experiences in New York] became further and further from me. You know, I think about it now, and it’s like, man, I was listening to Garth Brooks sing about how being gay is okay in the ‘90s. Holy shit. You know what I mean? The country music industry became so richly conservative in ways that it wasn’t before, even in the aftermath of 9/11 and with what they did to Natalie Maines, you know? Talk about cancel culture…

Luckily there are many artists out there who have bucked the trend, but there’s certainly a lot of country music that perpetuates misogyny, American exceptionalism, and exalt “the South” in such a way…ideas that you decry in your songs. You touched on it already, but can you talk more about your relationship with country music in general?

There are two things I want to say. The first is a merging of this question, and the last one you asked me, which is, I do want to say I really toiled over whether or not I wanted to release this song (“I Wish You Would’ve Been a Cowboy”). I have jokingly said in the past that it’s because I didn’t want Willie Nelson to be disappointed in me. But the truth is, I don’t know Toby Keith. I don’t know what he’s about. I don’t know how he feels about this. I don’t know if he’s ever thought about it. But most people, when they’re told, “Hey, something you did hurt people,” they’re like, “Well, fuck, I didn’t mean to do that.” I would imagine that he would probably have the same reaction. So, I really hope to have that sort of interaction. I’m not a cancel culture person. I really would like to see people healed in some meaningful way.

My relationship with country music has been estranged until about, I’d say, six or seven years ago. I discovered Roger Alan Wade. He wrote the Jackass theme song, “If You’re Gonna Be Dumb, You Gotta Be Tough,” and “Butt Ugly Slut,” and some other disgusting songs. But he’s written some really stunning poetry. He’s got this song where he describes the West Texas sunset as “spread out like rusted chrome.” It’s really gorgeous. He has such a poetic lens and such a compassionate view at fundamentally broken and lost characters that drew me in. The Mountain Goats are one of my favorite bands, and he seemed to be writing about some of the same riffraff that would cycle a Mountain Goats album.

And through him I got into Guy Clark and John Prine and James McMurtry. John Prine was, in many ways, like coming home. I’d always been really into the marriage of suffering and celebration. That was always kind of like my bag. I think I’m better at it now than I used to be. My mark has been a sort of conglomerate of intense emotional pain interspersed with moments of just chaotic jack-assery and laughter, you know? When I first heard John Prine, it was like a true north. I heard him and I was like, “Oh, he is following something that I’m following. And he’s closer to it.” I felt such a natural kinship with him. And I felt that with a lot of other country musicians too.

On White Trash Revelry, it seemed like you embraced more of a pop-country sound, whereas the prior album felt a lot more folky and subdued. Did that happen organically or was that something you were trying to accomplish in the writing and recording process?

Yeah. I was trying to write some songs. There was a period where I was really into the idea that I might get a publishing deal someday, and I love my family a lot. The idea that I could be able to afford to give my family a good life and not have to be on the road or whatever was like, “Yeah, I would like to do that.” So, I wrote “Baptized in Well Spirits” and “Middle of a Heart.” There are probably four songs on this record that were written pretty strongly…like they were crafted, you know? The intention, when I wrote them, I wanted somebody else to sing them. But then, as this album started taking shape, it became clear they really fit in. So, I don’t know if that’s the direction that I will persist in moving forward or not, you know, incorporating the pop country elements of it. But I like having it on my palette, and I’m not gonna take it off. If it feels right, I’ll keep doing it.

Photo Credit: Shawn Poynter Photography (Top Image)

BGS 5+5: Isaac Hoskins

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Isaac Hoskins
Latest Album: Bender
Hometown: I spent the majority of my formative years in Wellington, Kansas. A small wheat-farming town between Wichita and the Oklahoma state line. I’ve lived in Denton, Texas, for 19 years and I definitely call it home now but Wellington still has a great deal to do with the way I see the world.

Personal nicknames: When I was a kid there was another boy who lived down the street who, for some reason, couldn’t pronounce my name instead called me Izeke (eye-zeek). My mother started calling me Zeke and it stuck. To this day, a lot of people in Kansas call me Zeke.

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

Oh, man! There are so many. I’d imagine that Steve Earle is probably the biggest influence that I’ve had as a songwriter and performer. Obviously, Steve’s music was and continues to be a massive influence but most any other artist that I became a fan of early on was because they were in and around his orbit. The internet was still a pretty new thing, so discovering music that wasn’t on the Top 40 chart was pretty difficult without some sort of road map. Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt, Rodney Crowell, Jerry Jeff Walker, all of the usual suspects came to me after reading Steve’s biography (Hardcore Troubadour). Steve Earle was my gateway drug.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

When I was in junior college I was in a choir that was invited to sing a piece of music entitled The Testament of Freedom at Carnegie Hall. The piece was composed by a man named Randall Thompson and inspired by writings of Thomas Jefferson. It was the spring after the 9/11 attacks and the entire experience was incredibly moving. Both the subject matter and setting were something I’ll never forget. I’m told that Kevin Bacon was there so perhaps I’m one degree closer than most.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

I knew that I wanted to be a musician from a very early age, but given my surroundings I never felt like it was something that was attainable. I attended a music festival in Helotes, Texas, called Jack Ingram’s Real American Music Festival and that was the day that I knew for sure, that was the day that I felt like it was something that I could do. I was watching all of these incredible performers that, up to that point, I had never even heard of. The Bottle Rockets, James McMurtry, Hayes Carll and so many other people were proving to me that you don’t have to be Garth Brooks to make a life in music and I was immediately obsessed.

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

I had the opportunity to talk to Don Schlitz once. He told me, “Write the song you want to hear and you’ll be surprised who wants to hear it too.” I think of that often, so concise, so true. Thanks, Don.

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

I’m a duck hunter, and more often than not, I hunt alone on public land. Hunting on public land means that you’ve got to get there earlier than anyone else if you want to be sure that you have your spot. Most days I’ll begin my walk to the lake at four o’clock which means I’ve got somewhere in the neighborhood of three hours to hike in, find my spot, put my decoys out and get a decent hide before shooting time (30 minutes before sunrise). That time before and during sunrise is my favorite. I use it to think about the people, places and things that matter to me and might also matter to someone else. Watching the day come alive is a spiritual moment for me, every time. Living in the business of making noise, it’s nice to soak up a little silence.

Photo Credit: Peter Salisbury

For Bluegrass Fans, Kentucky Offers a Commonwealth of Tourist Attractions

Posted on by Editor

Kentucky music is currently having a moment, but it’s far from the first time. Before artists like Tyler Childers, Sturgill Simpson, and Chris Stapleton made it big, folks like Bill Monroe, Loretta Lynn, Keith Whitley, Crystal Gayle, Tom T. Hall, Patty Loveless, Ricky Skaggs, Dwight Yoakam, and countless others helped build up the Bluegrass State’s rich musical foundation spanning bluegrass, country music, and more.

With so much talent having originated from Kentucky, there’s no shortage of destinations around the Commonwealth to consume this musical history. From the Mountain Arts Center in Prestonsburg in the southeast to the Muhlenberg Music & History Museum in the west, Lexington’s Red Barn Radio and beyond, every nook, cranny and holler throughout the state is full of destinations beckoning to be explored by music fans. We’ve compiled more than a dozen of these attractions below in an epic road trip that could be called the Kentucky Music Trail.

Central Kentucky

Opened in 2002, the Kentucky Music Hall of Fame & Museum in Mount Vernon features exhibits showcasing talent from throughout the state ranging from country and bluegrass trail blazers like Bill Monroe, Loretta Lynn and Keith Whitley along with Black Stone Cherry, The Kentucky Headhunters and Exile, among others. The museum is open from 10 a.m.-5 p.m. daily with an admission of $10.

 

 

Also sitting on the same 55-acre property is the Renfro Valley Entertainment Center. First opened in 1939, the massive barn features two unique performance halls that host country, gospel and bluegrass music annually from April through December. Additionally, the venue has been the home of Renfro Valley Gatherin’, a syndicated radio program airing on Sunday nights at 9:30 p.m. EST, since 1943. The show is the third oldest continually broadcast radio program in America and the second longest continuously running such program featuring country music, behind only the Grand Ole Opry.

Back inside the Hall of Fame & Museum, one of the most prominent exhibits is one showcasing Woodsongs Old-Time Radio Hour, an internationally syndicated radio program hosted by folk musician Michael Johnathon in front of a live studio audience at the historic Lyric Theatre in Lexington on most Monday nights at 7 p.m. Launched in 1998, the entirely volunteer-run production spotlights musicians across all genres performing their songs and sharing the stories behind them. Now over 1,000 episodes in (and counting), the program has featured artists like Sam Bush, J.D. Crowe, The Black Opry, Riders in the Sky and Billy Strings. Each show also features a “Woodsongs Kid,” helping to encourage and grow the next generation of Kentucky songwriters.

Another radio program based in Lexington and featuring talent from around Kentucky, Appalachia and the southeast with a similar mix of conversation and performance is Red Barn Radio. Founded in the early 2000s at Renfro Valley’s little red barn (from which the show draws its name), co-founder Ed Commons helped lead the show’s move to its current home inside LexArt’s headquarters in downtown Lexington in 2005. The show has taken off since moving there, hosting everyone from Sam Bush to J.D. Crowe, Tom T. Hall, John R. Miller, Arlo McKinley, Sierra Ferrell, Sunday Valley (led by a young Sturgill Simpson) and Tyler Childers. In the case of Childers, his performance on the show became so revered that he ended up releasing it as a live album, Live on Red Barn Radio I & II, in 2016.

Eastern Kentucky

Out east on the campus of Morehead State University you’ll find the Kentucky Center for Traditional Music (KCTM), a school teaching the next generation of bluegrass and old-time musicians the nuances, history and business side of the music. Founded in 2000, the center offers the only Bachelor of Arts in Traditional Music in Kentucky along with a minor in traditional music. It also features an extensive digital archive of Kentucky and Appalachian traditional music, a recording studio, sound-proofed classrooms and rehearsal spaces. Alumni from the school include Linda Jean Stokley and Montana Hobbs of The Local Honeys, current professor and pedal steel player for Nicholas Jamerson, Thomas Albert; Lauren and Leanna Price of The Price Sisters, and current Assistant Director, Archivist, Instructor and member of Tyler Childers’ band, Jesse Wells.

 

 

Just over an hour southeast of the KCTM you’ll find the U.S. 23 Country Music Highway Museum. Located just off of U.S. 23 in Staffordsville just north of Paintsville, the museum features memorabilia from Tyler Childers, Chris Stapleton, Loretta Lynn, The Judds, Patty Loveless, Dwight Yoakam, Billy Ray Cyrus, Tom T. Hall and other artists hailing from the counties that the highway passes through in Eastern Kentucky. The area known as the “Country Music Highway” is distinguished as having the highest number of charting country musicians calling the area home per capita than anywhere else in the world. Admission to the museum is $4.

After another half-hour drive through the area’s Appalachian mountain back roads and hollers you’ll come across Loretta Lynn’s birthplace at Butcher Hollow in the old coal mining community of Van Lear. The humble mountainside cabin features four rooms to explore—one bedroom for Loretta, younger sister Crystal Gayle and her five other siblings; a bedroom for her parents, a tiny kitchen and a cozy dining room—all covered wall to wall in pictures and other collectibles from the Coal Miner’ Daughter’s childhood and life as a musician. Tours are $5 and are typically guided by members of Lynn’s family who still call the holler home.

 

 

About a mile up the road from Lynn’s home you’ll find Webb’s Grocery, a general store constructed by the Consolidated Coal Company in 1918 when Van Lear’s coal output was near its peak. In addition to stocking ice cold Coca Cola, Mallo Cups and other quick bites the shop also is stuffed with tons of pictures of Loretta Lynn and her family including a massive banner reading “Welcome Loretta Lynn.” A journey to Butcher Hollow offers not only an incredible look back on the upbringing of one of country music’s most iconic voices, but also a look back on the mountain towns ravaged by the boom and bust of the coal industry that back in the day helped to power our entire country.

Another 30 minutes south of Van Lear is the Mountain Arts Center (MAC) in Prestonsburg. Opened in 1996, the building features a 1,000-seat concert hall, a state-of-the-art recording studio, loads of rehearsal space and will soon be the home to the TV and radio headquarters of CMH23, an organization dedicated to educating people on the history of artists from the Country Music Highway and giving a platform to up-and-coming musicians from the region. According to Executive Director Joe Campbell, the MAC and CMH23 are also partnering with The Country Network on Live From CMH23, a show that will focus on rising artists from around the state.

 

 

The MAC is also the home of a family variety show called Billie Jean Osborne’s Kentucky Opry, as well as the Kentucky Opry Jr. Pros. (an educational program for aspiring entertainers ages 6 to 18) and the Appalachian Arts & Entertainment Awards. Kentucky Opry alumni include Chris Stapleton’s longtime bassist J.T. Cure, Jesse Wells, Tyler Childers’ piano/keys player Chase Lewis, Brit Taylor, Marleena Vanhoose and Rebecca Lynn Howard.

Western Kentucky

Just under two and a half hours west of Lexington via the Western Kentucky Parkway is Rosine, a small town in Ohio County with its claim to fame being the birthplace of the Father of Bluegrass, Bill Monroe. In the heart of Rosine, you’ll find several landmarks commemorating the artist starting with the Bill Monroe Museum, which houses countless instruments, outfits, fan letters, photos, personal furniture and even Monroe’s personal Cadillac DeVille in a constantly growing and evolving collection. The museum is open Monday-Saturday from 10 a.m.-4 p.m. Admission is $3-5.

 

 

Less than a mile up the road from the museum is the Rosine Barn Jamboree, which hosts free bluegrass jams every Friday night from mid-March through mid-November. A stone’s throw away from the barn sits the Rosine Cemetery, where you can’t miss the grave of Monroe. Featuring an obelisk-style monument and adorned in flowers, Monroe’s grave stands tall over the quaint hillside cemetery as, even in death, he watches over the town that helped to define him. The cemetery also includes several of Monroe’s family members including Birch and Charlie Monroe and Pendleton (Uncle Pen) Vandiver.

Also nearby is Jerusalem Ridge, Bill Monroe’s homeplace. On the compound you can see Monroe and other family member’s childhood homes. Restored in 2001, Bill’s home features guided tours Monday-Saturday from 9 a.m.-4 p.m. and Sundays from 1-4 p.m. The site also features several stages and plays host to the Jerusalem Ridge Bluegrass Celebration, a festival taking place annually in September with some of the region and country’s best traditional bluegrass bands.

Less than an hour west of Rosine in Central City you can learn about icons like John Prine, The Everly Brothers, Merle Travis, Ike Everly, Mose Rager and Kennedy Jones at the Muhlenberg Music & History Museum. In addition to the traditional museum the building features a 1950s era jukebox serving up hits from the aforementioned artists that call Muhlenberg County home along with a towering Everly Brothers monument just outside. It also houses the Kentucky Motorsports Museum.

 

 

Just under an hour north of Central City is the last stop of our Kentucky Music Trail tour at the Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame & Museum along the banks of the Ohio River in Owensboro. The latest jewel of Owensboro’s transformed downtown, the $15.3 million building opened in October 2018 not only houses the museum and hall of fame, but also the 447 seat Woodward Theatre, a gift shop and several private event spaces along with a 1,500-seat outdoor amphitheater to boot.

When it comes to the museum, the biggest of bluegrass fans could easily spend a day diving into everything the facility has to offer. A self-guided audio tour will inform you on the ins and outs of each exhibit, the roots and impact of artists to bluegrass music, the nuances of the music and more, helping to fully immerse and indulge visitors in the music. On display are items from the likes of Rhonda Vincent, Bill Monroe, Billy Strings, Sam Bush, The SteelDrivers’ fiddler Tammy Rogers, Flatt & Scruggs, The Steep Canyon Rangers, J.D. Crowe, Hee Haw, bluegrass’ cinematic coronation O Brother, Where Art Thou? and more.

 

 

Other facilities in the museum include a pickin’ parlor where guests can play on pre-tuned guitars, mandolins, banjos, upright bass and more along with a transcribed and searchable interview database provided in partnership with the University of Kentucky’s Louie B. Nunn Center for Oral History, a massive display honoring banjo maker Jimmy Cox and the Hall of Fame itself. The prestigious space contains 68 plaques honoring those instrumental to bluegrass from its roots to its golden age and everywhere in between. Much like the museum, it offers a tremendous look back at the genre’s roots, where it is now and how it got there.

The same could be said for all of these destinations. I was already in love with my home state prior to visiting all of these places, but after having done so I’ve grown an even greater appreciation for the state, its musical roots and trailblazing artists. I’m confident that you will too upon making the trip for yourself.

A Survivor of Her Dreams, Kelsey Waldon Returns With ‘No Regular Dog’

Posted on by Editor

Kelsey Waldon has a new outlook on life — or at least life as a full-time musician. A native of Monkey’s Eyebrow, Kentucky, she’s charmed audiences all across the country at concert halls and festival stages. But she cut her teeth at plenty of dive bars and honky-tonks along the way, a fact that reveals itself not only in her charismatic, unmistakably country live shows, but also in the independent spirit that courses through her lyrics.

A strong songwriter with the voice and twang to match, Waldon’s musical prowess caught the attention of legendary songwriter John Prine, who signed her to his record label in 2019 — his first signing in a decade and a half — and released the widely acclaimed White Noise, White Lines later that year. This month, she will return with No Regular Dog, her fourth full-length album and her second via Prine’s Oh Boy Records. Brimming with twangy strings, thoughtful imagery, and a tenacious, determined lyrical undertone, the album holds all of Waldon’s usual musical hallmarks. But it also paints the picture of an artist who has grown since her last release; a snapshot of someone who’s stepped back, reconsidered her place in the musical ecosystem, and re-emerged more enthusiastic and clear-eyed than ever.

No Regular Dog was mixed by renowned engineer Trina Shoemaker (“I’m a huge fan,” says Waldon) and produced by Shooter Jennings, who took a highly collaborative approach to the role. “I think Shooter really sees himself much more as a facilitator,” says Waldon. “He felt his job was to stick with my vision but elevate it in any way possible. He really knows how to let the artist be themselves.”

A few days before the release of No Regular Dog, BGS caught up with Waldon about the studio dynamic that molded the album, the life experiences that inspired her, and the daily joys that keep her grounded.

BGS: In the title track, “No Regular Dog,” there’s this great phrase: “survivor of my dreams.” It’s a lyric that could be interpreted a lot of different ways. What did you intend when you wrote it?

Waldon: We wish for so many things. We want them. We work so hard for them. And then, sometimes, we get really lucky from all that hard work and it gets handed to us. At that point, I do think you have to survive it. I don’t mean that in a bad way! Obviously, I’m doing what I love and that’s something I realize is a privilege and a gift. But it comes with its own sacrifices. People always say “livin’ the dream,” and I always joke around and say I’m surviving the dream. [Laughs]

The song was written at a time when we’d been on the road for three months. I was on a plane somewhere, and my poor old manager, who’s one of my best friends now, said something like, “Well, we ain’t no regular dogs.” In my head, I was like, “Yeah. More like a wolf on the kill. We’re going to do this no matter what it takes.”

You work so hard to get to where you are, and then it’s kind of like, “Oh, shit. This is hard.” The road’s not for everybody. But I really wanted it. I wanted it for all the right reasons, and I still do. Especially after taking some distance from my career during the pandemic, I’m finally feeling ready to step into my role. The song is about the idea and the statement that I’m still here. I won’t be put down that easy. I won’t be put down like no regular dog.

You mentioned that some distance from your music career adjusted your perspective. What are some of the things that continue to fill your cup, bring you joy, in between touring or recording?

Well, I’ve always got a pretty lush garden growing. My tomatoes are popping off right now, and we just got a big old mess of greasy beans. I cooked them last night for dinner. Obviously, that’s always brought me joy. I also love this summer heat. I’m one of those people! I really do. I know people hate it, but I love it. I love the bugs at night and everything. That’s bringing me great joy, too. I got to go fishing a little bit, go on some good trips before I left for Europe. And my little cattle dog, Luna, she’s out here on the porch just laying here while I’m talking and that brings me a lot of joy. I love taking care of my chickens out here and being able to spend some time with my partner, Justin. I’ve got a new little niece named PJ, and she is the best. So, aunt life has brought me joy as well.

You recorded this in Los Angeles with Shooter Jennings. How did that come about?

I loved working with Shooter, and that was the first time I’d recorded in Los Angeles — I had done everything in Asheville or in Kentucky thus far. But as soon as I knew I was going to make a new record, I wanted to challenge myself to get out of my immediate bubble and work with someone I didn’t really have any history with. I felt in my gut that I really needed to do that.

Shooter and I met at a Tanya Tucker show in Kansas City at the end of 2019. I was really taken aback that he knew my music. I mean, he was telling me things ​about my songs and I was just kind of like, “OK, he’s actually listened. He’s actually a fan.” I had, of course, heard records he had done. Obviously, I was a big fan of Tanya’s record, and I’d heard that Jaime Wyatt record he had done and I thought it was great. It all felt so natural. We kept in touch. I sent him some voice memos and demos I had done here at the house. It was clear that we were both incredibly excited to make this record. I think he had always kind of wanted to make a deep country record. We both clearly had a common goal and we made it happen.

One of the songs on the record that really stands out to me is the closer, “Progress Again.” What inspired it?

That was one of the only songs on the record that I wrote a while back. I brought it to the studio for White Noise, but it just wasn’t ready yet. But I kept thinking about that song. During the pandemic, I opened up my journal and revisited the tune. I wrote new verses to it. It felt like I was in a different part of my life to finally have the experience I needed to finish it. I mean, everything is progress. I’ve done a lot in my life. I’ve messed up. I’ve had a huge healing time these past couple years — I’ve been off booze for almost two years. There’s a lot that you’re not really able to see when you’re in the thick of things. But being able to look back from a healthy distance, you might realize how many people you were hurting. That you were hurting yourself. “Progress Again” is a little bit about that, but it’s also about accepting that progress is a part of life and just moving on and not dwelling on things. So, you got to learn to let it go and love yourself a little bit.

You say in the song that “there’s hope in persistence.” Has that rung true for you, in your career or otherwise?

Yes, absolutely, in everything I’ve done in life. 100%. Not only in my career, but in my personal life and mental health. It takes a lot of work to turn bad habits into good habits. You have to be consistent, be persistent about it. It’s an everyday thing. But it gets easier, even though it’s still hard. At the end of the day, you’ve got to bet on yourself. You can’t let just one thing fuck it up for you. There’s hope in persistence because something could break through — you just can’t stop.

One of those breakthrough moments for you came a few years ago when you signed with John Prine’s Oh Boy label. You honor him on No Regular Dog with a song written in tribute, “Season’s Ending.” Why was that important to include here?

“Season’s Ending” was the first song that I wrote after John’s death. I couldn’t really do anything for months after that happened. There was so much other death as well. There was a lot of loss; I think it was hard times for a lot of people. I was pretty stricken with grief for a good few months, and I know I’m not the only one. But I finally sat down and that song poured out of me. It was a nod to his song “Summer’s End.” But the seasons were changing and the flowers were blooming and I just started thinking about how everything is cyclical. The song is about coping. Accepting death as a part of life. Maybe everything that dies doesn’t really die. Maybe it comes back. Flowers don’t bloom all year. Some things go dormant, and then they come back. The song was just a way for me to process that. Death is a part of life. John is forever a part of my story, and I’m a part of his legacy as well.

What do you hope this album’s legacy will be—for old fans and new ones?

We’re in really hard times right now, and I hope this album can be a gift to people. I feel like I’m coming to my career with whole new eyes: I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve been able to do, what I can do further, and what kind of energy I want to bring. Mostly, I just hope this album makes people’s lives better. I hope they can see the no regular dog in themselves, and I hope it can bring something good to the world.

Photo Credit: Alysse Gafkjen

From the Yukon to the World, Songwriter Gordie Tentrees Builds Bridges

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Singer-songwriter and guitarist Gordie Tentrees didn’t begin his career as a globe-trotting performer until he moved to a vibrant, supportive music city – that is, Whitehorse, Yukon. In a town of approximately 40,000, there’s long been a bustling musical economy, one that supported Tentrees even before he had released any recordings.

Place – whether rural northern Canada, or the far reaches of New Zealand or western Europe or Australia – informs so much of Tentrees’ writing and music-making, especially on his most recent release, 2021’s Mean Old World. With a global perspective and a local level of care, he unspools big, often daunting political and social questions with humor, intention, and aplomb. Child welfare, Indigenous rights, solidarity, working class issues, and more are packaged in tidy honky-tonking, blues-inflected, string band songs, making these sometimes gargantuan pills that much easier to swallow.

That Tentrees prioritizes community, building bridges, and human connection in his music makes it that much more compelling. He uses his rural, multi-ethnic hometown as an entry point, a doorway, through which he not only brings folks into his own world, but brings his world to them, too. And in doing so, even with an album titled Mean Old World, he reminds us that living on this earth doesn’t always have to be so forbidding, exclusive, and mean. BGS connected with Gordie Tentrees via phone, while he picked up his Indigenous daughter from school on his bicycle, to discuss this recent album.

BGS: I wanted to start by asking you about place. I’ve been obsessed with place these days, especially as it relates to music and music-making. I was struck by the fact that you didn’t begin songwriting or performing until you moved to the Yukon. How did moving there inform your music-making? To me, it feels like there’s a strong sense of place on this record.

Gordie Tentrees: Well, I blame the Yukon – I credit the Yukon as well as blame it [Laughs] – for the path I’m on. It is a good conduit and supportive community that encourages the arts. Writing songs and playing an instrument is something that’s seen as a valued occupation, one that’s sort of embraced and lifted up. It’s not hard to get on the stage here. Early on, when I started playing, I hadn’t even made my first record yet and I was headlining some northern festival stages. [The Yukon] really gives you a chance to get on a stage and expose yourself to audiences like that. I really believe if I had lived anywhere else in Canada or the world I wouldn’t have been given so much time on the stage. 

The other thing is that a lot of people spend their time creating art here and writing songs here – there are a lot of songwriters here. It’s a highly valued thing. I live in a community full of writers and songwriters. That’s really supported and endorsed. You can knock on someone’s door if you want to learn an instrument and they’ll show it to you. There aren’t barriers for those that are aspiring to be songwriters or musicians. It’s quite wonderful. 

At one point, in our little community of 40,000 people – Whitehorse, Yukon, where I live – we even had up to 25 music venues at various points, all happening. One thing about Whitehorse that not many people know is that it has the highest number of musicians per capita that actually make a living from music in Canada. 

As much as the Yukon has informed your music-making, you travel so much and you play so many shows all around the world, so while there’s this strong sense of place in this album, Mean Old World, I do sense that it’s also informed by your travels. “Danke” clearly references this. How has the cross-pollination of the Yukon and your travels created the musical aesthetic you have now?

I think that’s attributed to what I do, as far as being a performer and musician. I get to go to different parts [of the world] because I’m not just a songwriter and play various instruments. For example, if I play in English-speaking countries they like the songs and the stories. Countries where English is a second, third, fourth language they rely more on melody and stuff like that, so if you have a show that sort of hits people both ways, it allows you to travel as much as I have. Which I really sort of figured out early on, you can play in all these different markets and do different things because you’re not just a one-trick pony. 

As far as playing different genres, there are so many genres of music here in the Yukon; it goes from jazz, blues, and hip-hop to funk music. I get often put into a country festival, bluegrass festival, or a folk festival as the guy who’s kind of on the edge of all those things. But it also touches on all those things. That’s allowed me to travel all over the place and sort of steal genres from all of the artists that have inspired me, whether it’s Southern and Delta blues music or Eastern Romanian dirges.

We are The Bluegrass Situation, so I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you about the bluegrass influences I hear on Mean Old World. I wonder where they stem from for you? It sounds like that type of rural bluegrass that is genre-less and draws from many influences.

Because I’m a guitar player, I’m drawn to flatpicking. I went, “Okay, bluegrass, this genre is like high-speed chess.” Like high speed math along with jazz. We have a local bluegrass festival up here so it’s all around. String band music is quite popular up here. Where I live in the Yukon you’re exposed to it from the jazz scene to the bluegrass scene. If you know music from those genres at all, that’s sort of enveloped and absorbed by the people who live here. 

I wanted to ask you about the stories that went into “Mean Old World” and “Every Child,” not only your own experience in foster care, but also your experience of raising your Indigenous daughter and how that’s informed these songs. Partially because I think these are really heavy sort of big topics, but the way you approach them feels very grounded and very real.

It was all inspired by one song that I wrote, the title track, “Mean Old World.” The song was really about the best interests of every child, which I believe are health, safety, and happiness. Regardless of your background, politics, or the current state of the world, I think those are the most important things. That song is inspired by that, following my journey as a foster child from a broken home and going through the social services system and then also becoming a foster parent to our daughter six years ago. We had no idea [what we were doing], it was a really educational experience. Where I live in the Yukon, 50 percent of the community is Indigenous. I’m not Indigenous, my background is actually Irish. We’re very lucky that we’re educated and exposed to these experiences and our families and our communities – Indigenous or non-Indigenous – are affected by it. So we come together and support each other. 

Through my daughter, being a parent of a female is one thing. It’s difficult for females in this world, [especially] one with brown skin. I think I keep it really simple and I think about what she faces every day and how she would get passed over or looked upon as a child that might need more work or more time, even if she was ahead of everybody else, because of the color of her skin and because of her background. Once that’s in your home, and you’ve experienced that, it’s pretty alarming! At the same time, we’re so grateful that we’ve had this experience and have realized that as parents we are here to bridge the gap between my daughter and her birth parents and her birth family. To build that human capacity to bridge that space that’s been created due to trauma. 

You also bring a lot of lightness – levity, humor, and joy – into your music-making. Why is that important to you in the context of these kind of bigger, sometimes daunting topics? 

When I was a kid, humor was a defensive coping mechanism to get through all the darkness. There were always pretty dark situations that were absurd, and if you could bring some light to it, it always made it easier to deal with. I felt like I was a witness and a passenger to my broken childhood and an observer. I watched it all and would kind of make light-hearted jokes about it even though it was painful, to get through it. I find that humor is my constant companion, also recognizing that even though I use it a lot I still have to deal with some of the reasons that I use it.

One of my favorite writers from early on was John Prine. I heard him in my house when I was a kid, and the way he can use heavy subjects: “There’s a hole in Daddy’s arm where all the money goes.” Everything from that ranging to, “Swears like a sailor when she shaves her legs.” That kind of humor in his songs is something as a kid that I grew up knowing was possible. You can use humor for these heavy subjects. I have a song on my last record called “Dead Beat Dad.” I felt it was ahead of its time because it shocked the audience, at least until I had them in my hand. I would shock them, a little jolt. Just to push them, give them a little poke. Now that song, those taboos are more behind us now. I want to take people down those roads, but I also want to bring them back, usually with humor. 

The quality of the music, being that sort of honky-tonk country meets a back porch jam, really communicates that your priority is establishing these relationships with your audiences so you can have these bigger conversations.

A lot of my audience is a rural audience, teaching, sharing with them that yes, you can grow up in those places and it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay. You’re going to grow and it’s never too late to learn. It’s just never too late. Once you stop learning, that’s when we’re all in trouble. I’ll have these conversations, most of my audience is rural communities and they’ll expect me to do this hillbilly, honky-tonk, “hold my beer while I kiss your wife” nonsense and I can open the door with that and then they’ll be like, “Wait a minute, he’s not singing about beer, he’s singing about… Whoa!” I love having that effect. I love going through that doorway. 

I recognize my role when I go around night to night in whatever country it is, I realize I walk in and I can lift, change, alter a lot of people’s lives in a short amount of time. I can do it over and over again, repeatedly, and I get to go to bed at night and go, “Wow. That felt pretty good.” I’m really enjoying it. I’m enjoying it more now than I have in the sixteen years I’ve been doing this. I feel really grateful that there’s a place for me – I feel like there’s more of a place for me now than there’s ever been. I’m just so lucky. I get to be a small helper in a larger community.  

Photo credit: GBP Creative

BGS 5+5: Teddy and the Rough Riders

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Teddy and the Rough Riders
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Latest Album: Teddy and the Rough Riders
Personal nicknames: TRR, Teddy

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

Well, since there are way too many artists who have had singular, exceptional influences on us, I’ll have to just pick one amongst many! But someone special that comes to mind for me is Bill Monroe. For me he took the song formula to the moon, maybe from speeding up Jimmie Rodgers and other traditionals to breakneck speeds, and singing as high as humanly possible. To me he breaks through bluegrass. As a creator he made these simple, beautiful melodies that can be felt beyond genre, as he certainly was in his day.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

Growing up in Nashville there was a plethora of rock house shows and gatherings. One in particular I was around 15 years old when I saw this band Jeff the Brotherhood, and they just had this stripped-down, two-piece, driving minimalist rock sound. The scene around them was exploding and I truly felt like I got to be a part of it right then and there. That made me believe I could actually play music. It took our buddy Carter setting up a honky-tonk night every Sunday 7-9 at Santa’s Pub in 2011 to be fully convinced to play real country music, though!

What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?

Jack and I love to rehearse singing together before a big show. I play mandolin and sing the high harmony, and Jack plays guitar and sings lower. But we do a huge Louvin Brothers routine, kind of doing the high lonesome, blood harmony thing. It’s just great practice and lets us all warm up solidly and relieve stress before a show.

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

Nashville is surrounded by great hikes. We go to Sewanee, Tennessee, where a good many friends have family cabins out there. That will put a song in your mind, it’s a pretty special place. We all go out to Percy Priest Lake together and listen to music and sit in the sun and swim. We have access to canoes and a lot of our friends are good at efficiently camping. I definitely write songs about those experiences all the time.

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

In Nashville there’s an exceptional Southern-style meat-and-three called Arnold’s Country Kitchen. Well, naturally we go there a good bit, but before his death, and for longer than I know probably, John Prine would go there every Thursday before a writing session and get the meatloaf. We’d go and see him ride in his huge black Escalade and go to town. So to me, John Prine and a big ole meatloaf and three sides from Arnold’s is the stuff of legend!

Photo Credit: Monica Murray

MIXTAPE: David Newbould’s Songs for Sinking In / Digging Out

Posted on by Editor

I found myself digging into my comfort music throughout ’20-’21. It felt like a hard time to be adventurous. These songs are from so many records I’ve spent so music time with, and which surely informed my new album, Power Up! (out June 10). It also features a few of the great folks we lost during this period. — David Newbould

Thin Lizzy – “Try a Little Harder”

I probably listened to more Thin Lizzy over the last two years than I did to any other artist. They have so many songs I wish I could just crawl up inside of and never come out. This song is at the top of the list. Phil Lynott just had everything to me. He wrote the life he lived. He somehow enhanced it but never sugarcoated it, and in the end it was all too real. This song feels like it could be one of the defining songs of the 1970s but it was an unreleased B-side. “When all those dark days came rolling in I didn’t know whether to stop or begin / To try a little harder…”

Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros – “Get Down Moses”

I love the rawness of this track, the gang vocals, the reggae telecaster, and the way Joe always sang with the passion of a thousand rock ‘n’ roll ambassadors rolled into one electric folksinger body. I wrote a song years ago called “One Track Heart,” based on a line I heard Pete Townsend say. Supposedly when he heard Joe Strummer died (of a heart defect), he said, “Well that makes sense, his heart was always too big.” I’ve come back to this excellent posthumous album over and over throughout the years, starting with this track. It always fills my heart and makes me miss him.

Gregg Allman – “These Days”

Gregg Allman’s voice will always be comfort food to me. I remember putting this on during one of the first days of lockdown setting in and feeling, “Somewhere, sometime, a different world existed, and maybe if I just keep listening to the music from it, it will exist once again.” I’m not sure about the second part yet, but it sure felt good listening to songs like this over and over again. A perfect version of an already perfect Jackson Browne song.

Bob Dylan – “Pressing On”

I’m not a religious person, but the performance of this song is powerful enough to make me believe in a different dimension. It’s one of Bob’s most impassioned studio vocals ever, and how to not love Jim Keltner and the incredible band and backup singers on this album? “Shake the dust off of your feet, don’t look back / Nothing now can hold you down, nothing that you lack.” To me there is no more defiant Bob Dylan than religious-era Bob Dylan. I see him standing on the hull of a ship, saying, “This is it, friends. Get on board with me or don’t. I really don’t care…but here’s why you should.” It took me years to get to this album because of all the critics I would read saying how bad it was. I’m pissed at every one of them for that and I’ve never listened to any of them ever again. How can people hold a job in which they are so wrong so much of the time?

Black Sabbath – “Wheels of Confusion”

This is one of the saddest and most soulful guitar lines to open a song ever. This band was all heart on record. Heart and drugs. Like Phil Lynott, they wrote the life they lived. Fortunately, they all made it out the other side. I feel that on all their records, particularly the original band. This was the first album of theirs I bought, when I was 14. It was so dark and groovy, and really spoke to me. Bill Ward’s drumming gets something close to funky at a certain point, while Ozzy sings Geezer Butler’s lyrics about being a 22-year-old multimillionaire prone to depression who was something close to homeless a couple of years prior. Hard to resist.

The Rolling Stones – “Ventilator Blues”

One of my favorite songs ever, off an album that just keeps sounding better and better with every decade. From the slide guitar opening riff, to Charlie… When I put on Rolling Stones vinyl through my old handed-down Celestion speakers and turn it up, Charlie’s drums do something physically to me. There is movement and life in those spaces that make everything groove and shake. And a snare that makes my eye twitch. Like so many of the greatest Stones songs, seemingly simple but deceptively complex in the layers, colors, and fluid relationships between all the instruments. Like jazz, but with four chords and in (usually) 4/4 time. I truly believe this specialized blend of simplicity and complexity is their secret weapon.

Patti Smith Group – “Ain’t It Strange”

Just another all-hands-on-deck tidal wave performance from a band truly locked in to what makes them great. Patti Smith has such a way with melody and cadence, and can belt the shit out of a lyric, too. Damn! Radio Ethiopia is the one for me. I love the humble raking guitar chords that open the song that hint at the thunder to follow. I also have a weakness for songs in A minor, the official key of the 1970s.

Bruce Springsteen – “Youngstown”

Bruce is one of the most empathetic songwriters ever. The amount of research he puts into some of his songs when he really swings for those fences — songs like “Youngstown,” “Nebraska,” “Highway Patrolman” — he does such a thorough job of inhabiting the character, I find it very moving and inspiring. I was stuck in this song for days and days, and finally stole some of the chords and melodies and out of it came the song “Peeler Park.” I couldn’t stop myself. I had to change a chord or two so that it wasn’t out-and-out theft. Sorry, Bruce.

Steve Earle – “Taneytown”

See above! God, I feel everything inside of this troubled boy in the song. It’s so fierce and gut wrenching, and just a masterclass in empathetic songwriting by one of the best at it. Brutal vocal delivery to match. Also it’s in A Minor.

James McMurtry – “Rachel’s Song”

See above again! Few people’s work can put an unsuspecting lump in my throat on a regular basis like James McMurtry. He gives you just enough detail, and yet it’s so much. This song makes my heart hurt for this person, this single mother trying to keep her life in order for the sake of her son. And then she pauses to fixate on the snowflakes dancing outside the window. I know where it’s going every time, but I still get a chill when it does. Another song that does that to me is “If I Were You” by Chris Knight. Every time, I shudder. The power of songs like these haunts me.

Jerry Jeff Walker – “Long Afternoons”

When my wife was pregnant with our son, we would walk through the park and I would listen to this song and think, “I want our life to end up like how this song feels.” There are so many beautiful lines, and the lazy and relaxed pace of the guitar and vocal is something Jerry Jeff really had figured out. Music like this has a way of making me nostalgic for a place I wasn’t even really a part of. But that’s the power of great music and art right there. Paul Siebel wrote this song. We lost both of them over the last 2 years.

Gary Stewart – “An Empty Glass”

The most vulnerable, honest, and painful country singer I’ve ever heard is Gary Stewart. His voice is not shy at all but has so much open vulnerability to it, and his songs match the instrument to a “T.” This song paints such a picture in my mind. End of night, blurry bottles, random people, helpless inability to stop drinking the emptiness away. Deep deep pain that started as early as the character can remember. Once again, the mark of a great record is to make you feel the life of the character in the song — from the instrumentation to the production, lyrics, and of course the performance of the singer. Gary Stewart was a master.

Nellen Dryden – “Tullahoma”

This song just feels like pure freedom to me. It was cut 100% live and just bounces up and down the open highway, singing in search of a new life that surely awaits. It’s so infectious, and the playing and Nellen’s vocal feel so effortless. I also love songs that do the thing where the verse and chorus are the same chord progression, but still completely different parts. It’s a hard trick to pull off! “Everyday People” is another great example of this. Great song here. Check out Nellen, y’all.

Pete Townshend – “Slit Skirts”

Pete has a gift of taking the truly uncomfortable and making it truly powerful, examining it in truly epic pieces of rock. The time changes and chord progressions here are from heaven. Yet he’s singing about people hitting middle age, dreaming of the clothes they once wore, of the feelings they could once stir up in their lover, and crystallizes it with a line like, “can’t pretend that getting old never hurts.” Ouch! It’s just so good, it’s always impossible for me not to feel what he’s feeling, no matter where you are in your own life. He’s an original. I have leaned on his music a lot over the years.

The Wailers – “It Hurts to Be Alone”

This is another song I return to again and again and again. When I first heard this, I was with someone in a very painful situation in a very painful room, and it felt like time suddenly stopped. When the song ended I asked if we could put it on repeat, and lo and behold time just kept stopping. I love songs that can take you right back to both the moment you first heard them, and also somehow into the moment they were recorded. The vitality of this record. The voices in this song just explode out of the speaker, and the chords and lyrics are so incredibly deep. And oh that guitar (Ernest Ranglin)!

Dave Alvin – “Border Radio”

This is another song where time once again stopped as I first heard it. There are some artists you come across later than you ought to have, and when you do, you think, “Where the hell have you been my whole life?” Dave Alvin is one such artist for me, and it all started with hearing this song on the radio. It’s a perfect recording harkening back to a very specific era, and it’s a perfect song. During The Twilight Zone-esque 2020/2021, I just wanted crutches that I already knew made me feel right. Ideal or not, it’s just how it happened for me.

John Prine – “When I Get to Heaven”

One of the most frustrating and sad losses. Mr. Prine was a beautiful man who wrote about our world and life through every unique lens under the sun, and somehow had a way to make you still feel OK about it. Then he got taken down by the stupidest thing imaginable. But what joy he brought, how much perspective he helped us see through, and what a sendoff he left us. This, the last song on his last album, this spoken-word ragtime jig about going to heaven. It can’t help but make you laugh and cry at the same time. Thank you, John.

Photo Credit: Ryan Knaack

Ian Noe’s Musical Inspiration Begins With the Sounds and Characters of Kentucky

Posted on by Editor

Kentucky musician Ian Noe is a writer of experience and an experienced writer. An appreciation for the people, places, and moods in his hometown of Beattyville – first introduced with striking emotional depth on Noe’s 2019 debut, Between the Country – remains a narrative cornerstone on River Fools and Mountain Saints. Yet this new collection reveals more self-assuredness around his artistic decisions.

Not limiting himself to the acoustic folk framework leaned upon for Between the Country, Noe (pronounced “NOH”) and producer Andrija Tokic broadened the scope of which instruments would best support Noe’s stories this time around. One of the most notable shifts in tonal prominence comes via the electric guitar. Heard in the latter halves of songs like “Burning Down the Prairie” and “P.O.W. Blues,” the electric guitar is more than just present. It holds a central role, giving Noe’s songwriting a sonic swagger and a heavier musical temperament. Additional coloration and emotional influence atypical of his rootsy musicality comes by way of a French horn solo and the surprising flash of reverse-phased piano heard on “One More Night.”

All this being said, for Noe, the foundation for a song doesn’t start with an instrument, or even a memorable personal story. Instead, his songwriting fire often ignites with a hook and a particular set of chords. While the stories shared on River Fools and Mountain Saints present an intriguing peek into the human condition, what gives this album its most unexpected and fascinating layer of substance is Noe’s approach to composition and production. It’s one thing to verbally recount a directly lived or socially common experience. It’s another matter entirely to determine the path a melody takes – or how that melody ought to be transformed in size, space, dynamics, or sonic shape – based on the pursuit of reflecting one’s own perceptions of an experience.

The very sounds and sonic character of River Fools and Mountain Saints were chosen in such a way that they too can serve as a window into how Noe sees the world, giving the album a whole new autobiographical quality.

BGS: What kind of awareness did you have of bluegrass when you were young and getting into music? What do you remember about the impression that style made on you at the time?

Noe: I got my bluegrass fix from my grandma. I took a lot of road trips with her and it was Ralph Stanley. It was Bill Monroe. It was mainly those two. But she was a huge Ralph Stanley fan. I’d say it definitely made up a good 40 percent of what I was hearing when I was first coming up. I mean, the first thing that made me want to really play was Chuck Berry, specifically “Johnny B. Goode” – it’s the first song I ever learned how to play. Hank Williams’ “I Saw the Light” was number two, and with “The Wildwood Flower” I learned how to pick.

I was on that for a long, long time, until I got into John Prine. You want to talk about a song that has definitely been captured by the bluegrass world, it’s definitely his song “Paradise,” which has an amazing bluegrass feel to it. So I’d say after I figured out that I wasn’t going to be able to play like Chuck Berry, which was my first big letdown around the age of 6 or 7 – my fingers just wasn’t big enough to play that those famous leads, those famous licks … that’s when I started getting into Bob Dylan’s Bringing It All Back Home, which was the first album I ever bought and I ever owned. I just started getting really into people who could write their own songs and move me in that way.

Much of River Fools and Mountain Saints conveys its stories through character narratives. How did you create and subsequently shape the characters in these songs?

With each song, I was really trying to make it so when you took any one of these songs off this album and set it aside, that it could stand on its own. I definitely use “river” and “mountain” a lot on this whole thing, obviously. But I did want to make it to where they stood alone. Some of the songs just came, and some of them I had to work on for a second. But the very first thing that I had was the album title itself, before I even had a song like “River Fool” or “Mountain Saint.” That was a blessing because if I can get a good title, then I can see something in it, you know? I can see a vision in it, to where I’m able to put it together.

And I like character songs anyways. I found it pretty fun to work on. It was fun to work on a song like “Ballad of a Retired Man.” And as much as I wanted to make the characters of each song stand alone, I did the same thing with the music. “P.O.W. Blues” is a lot different from “River Fool” or “Ballad of a Retired Man.” So, I didn’t concern myself too much with, “Well, is this going to be too rockin’ to go with ‘River Fool’?” I just wanted to make sure that each song stood alone.

That’s quite the fine line to walk. On one hand, any track can thrive on its own, but they fit together so seamlessly that you have this cohesive flow, both narratively and musically.

Yeah, and you might have just a short little melody – not even a bridge, not a chorus, nothing – and you remember that. It’s not always easy. I mean, this album originally wasn’t even gonna be called River Fools and Mountain Saints. I had a whole completely different album recorded and shelved – it just wasn’t doing it for me. It wasn’t any of these songs; it was a whole bunch of different stuff. But this title just came to me and I was like, “That’s good enough to stick on the front of the cover. So, I think I can do something.” And that’s the little formula that I’ve made up. Even if nobody else gets it, and even if it’s not a real thing, it helps me finish the [music].

How did you and/or Andrija Tokic discern some of the production decisions to reflect your vision of life in Kentucky?

It’s whatever I thought those characters or those places sounded like. … A song like “River Fool” is gonna sound like that because that’s what somebody sitting around a river sounds like to me. If I had to guess what that sounded like, that’s what it would be. The real openness of a song like “Ballad of a Retired Man” leaves you enough space to when you produce it like that, that you can really feel something about it, and the lyrics connect with that type of production because you want it to have air to breathe. And especially in a song like that where the lyrics suit that mood.

The music is just however I think it’s supposed to sound and that’s just how I’m going to do it. Like, even though the little drone-ness of a song like “Appalachia Haze” – that’s, to me, what a rainy day in Kentucky sounds like. That’s the way I hear it. So that’s why I produced it that way.

On “’The Road May Flood,” I was trying to capture a sound like when you see old cars, like maybe mid ‘70s, at a grocery store. Pictures of those older days – especially in Eastern Kentucky or any place like that. That’s what I thought something like that would sound like. I just take the picture of whatever the song is, and I have to look at the picture, and I think, “What does that sound like?” I try to get as close to that as I can. Luckily, I enjoy sound effects. I didn’t get to use as many on this album as I did on Between the Country but sound effects are important. Like in the beginning of “Strip Job Blues,” you hear that truck going. I always knew that song was going to be closer to a bluegrass style – the same with “River Fool.” I stick the character in my head and I have to figure out what he, or she, or they sound like.

What would you say makes the spirit of Kentucky unique from other rural, community-driven places in the U.S.?

I’m not so sure if it is as unique as what you might think as far as lived experience, you know? I can only speak for me growing up there, and loving growing up in Eastern Kentucky, and just honestly always having a life full of music and loving where you grow up and come from, and the people you live around. It’s not that hard to write about when it’s like that. But I’m not so sure that wouldn’t be that different from any other rural place.

As you were talking about being transported to somewhere you’ve never been, I felt the exact same way the first time I heard Neil Young sing “Helpless.” “There’s a town in North Ontario …” I’ve never been to North Ontario. Still haven’t. But it sounded like someplace that I was familiar with and he made you feel like you do. So, it was important for me to get a feeling like that, specifically out of the song “River Fool,” which I’m pretty sure is my favorite song on this album.

But you know, struggles are struggles. They really are, no matter where you’re at. I just try to put the happiness and the bad times in the literal geography of where I’m from, which is the mountains. That’s kind of how I think about it. Let’s take these day-to-day lives, and the stuff that you know, and let’s stick it around all this geography and let’s weave all this stuff together because it goes hand in hand as far as I’m concerned.

Photo Credit: David McClister

BGS 5+5: Teddy Grossman

Posted on by Editor

Artist Name: Teddy Grossman
Hometown: Philadelphia; based in Los Angeles
New Album: Soon Come

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

John Prine. John’s music has been a fixture in my life ever since childhood, and has provided a lot of comfort and guidance throughout the years. He had a Buddha-like humor and lightness, and of course could turn a phrase with devastating beauty and truth. A true master. His last record Tree of Forgiveness is among my favorites, and kept me company during a pretty lonely time during my first year in LA. The last time I saw him live was right before the pandemic and his passing, in October 2019. He was as lively as ever — literally dancing on the floor by the end of his set. Will never forget it.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

Hearing Stevie Wonder for the first time is one that stands out. I have this profound memory of my dad playing me “Isn’t She Lovely” in sixth grade, and something inside me changed. It was the first time I remember music lighting me up, tapping into this inner sacred core that little else in this world does.

What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?

“Soon Come” probably. I knew it was going to be the album name before it was actually a completed song, so the stakes were unfairly high.

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

Meatloaf and George Jones.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

My favorite moments on stage are usually the ones that I have very little memory of. Pure presence in the moment, and flies by in a flash. An emotional blackout of sorts in the best kind of way. The last show I played — Rock N Roll Church at Eagle Rock Presbyterian (LA) — definitely comes to mind. It was right before things shut down again, and was a celebration of the incredibly vibrant Los Angeles singer-songwriter community. It was glorious.

Photo Credit: Steph Port

LISTEN: Bob Davoli, “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Bob Davoli
Hometown: Lincoln, Massachusetts
Song: “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness”
Album: Hello Out There
Release Date: April 8, 2022
Label: Gutbrain Records

In Their Words: “John narrated his poignant vignettes with a plain-spoken and plaintive voice — and his imagery was so compelling that you could clearly see his characters in your mind’s eye. He had an innate knack for finding just the right words to sculpt his stories and illuminate the essence of the emotions he seeks to convey. He wrote from his gut and aimed for your heart because that’s where most people live! His writing epitomizes the power and beauty of simplicity.

“‘Speed of the Sound of Loneliness’ exemplifies how keen was John Prine’s imagination. Using imagery, he cleverly juxtaposed a phenomenon, the speed of sound, with an emotion, angst. He was going through a relationship breakup, and he happened to see on the cover of TIME Magazine the person who broke the speed of sound on the ground with a stretched face (exaggeration, of course, by TIME Magazine) resulting from the force of gravity; stretched is how Prine’s heart felt!” — Bob Davoli

Bob Davoli · Speed Of The Sound Of Loneliness

Photo Credit: Lynn DeLisi