I left home (a sleepy market town in middle England) the day after high school finished and traveled around the world with just a guitar and a backpack. I paid my way by teaching English and singing songs in cafes. Five years, 36 countries, and two unfinished degrees later, I moved to Canada to marry a girl I’d once met at a party in Beijing and started my new career as a street performer.
Since then, I’ve played about 3000 gigs, from street corners to stadiums, successfully avoided getting a real job, and raised three amazing ginger kids. I love meeting and singing with people of all walks of life, especially the ordinary, humble folks who are often overlooked. I’m not really interested in finding a niche or a scene ā I’m much more keen on finding ways to bridge the gaps between them.
One thing we all have in common is hard times and a need to hold on to hope through our grief and disappointment. Songs have always helped me, and do that, and I feel that I’m not alone. These tunes have inspired and comforted me over the years, and a couple of my own can do the same for you. ā Martin Kerr
“Love More, Care Less” ā Martin Kerr
I recorded this live in one take, because it’s a song about honesty and acceptance, and because there’s already enough airbrushing and auto-tuning in the world. ‘Love more, care less’ is how I’m trying to live my life now.
“Better, Still” ā 100 mile house
This gem of a song beautifully encapsulates the feeling of being a young couple trying to find your place in a senseless world. 100 mile house have disbanded now, and they never got the recognition they deserved, but to me this song is timeless.
“Sometimes” ā James
I still remember the first time I heard this song, wedged into the middle seat of an old car with new friends on a dark country road in northern England as the rain poured down. It’s an ecstatic, defiant celebration of song, storms, death, and the meaning of life.
“Big Bird In A Small Cage” ā Patrick Watson
The softness of this song’s beginning is so inviting. It grows, line by line, with new instruments and harmonies, the song spreading its wings like the bird in the title. I love a song that grows and lifts and takes you on an unexpected journey. Plus, it’s my wife’s favorite, so I always get extra points for playing it.
“Re: Stacks” ā Bon Iver
Usually I favor narrative songwriting with a clear story. But this abstract work of genius somehow immerses me in a world, a heart, and a feeling without making any outward sense. It’s the perfect end to a mind-blowing album, carrying the listener from anguish through acceptance to a new day.
“Feather On The Clyde” ā Passenger
Passenger was a street performer when he made this record, busking on the streets of Sydney to pay for the recording and sleeping on the studio couch at night. I love the vulnerability and honesty in this simple song with its intricate fingerpicking that ebbs and flows like the titular river. I remember listening to this 20 times in a row on a long flight home and resolving to allow myself to be carried by the flow of life like the feather he sings about.
“A Case of You” ā Joni Mitchell
Possibly the greatest vocal performance on any record ever. I’ve always wanted to cover this song, but never felt I could do it justice. Joni paints vivid pictures of heartbreak with her words and illuminates them with the glow of her perfect voice over a lonely dulcimer. The peak of confessional singer-songwriting. I listened to it endlessly in my first apartment in Beijing when I owned nothing but a sofa, a discman, and a handful of pirated CDs bought from the street market.
“Fast Car” ā Tracy Chapman
I love that this song was rediscovered by a new generation recently, but the original version can never be beaten. As a 5-year-old hearing this for the first time, I’m not sure I understood the whole story at first, but I pored over the lyrics on the back of the vinyl dust-cover in my sisters room until I knew every word and every note of this young woman’s story from half the world away. The lift into the chorus captures the bittersweet exhilaration of escaping something that was once beautiful, but now has turned dark and needs to be left behind.
“Can’t Unsee It” ā Martin Kerr
Unspeakable things are happening in the world at the moment and we’re told to look the other way, to pretend it’s not happening. I made this song to try and express the grief in my heart at witnessing the genocide in Gaza, while being powerless to stop it. The melody is inspired by “Here Comes The Sun,” in the hope that there could yet be some light at the end of this long darkness for the children of war.
“Guiding Light” ā Foy Vance
My parents used to sing me to sleep with old Scots lullabies that I only half understood. Foy Vance manages to bridge the gap between Gaelic traditions and the modern world in his music and this song gives me a timeless feeling of home and belonging.
“Innocence and Sadness” ā Dermot Kennedy
Hearing Dermot sing this solo for a whole stadium every night was magical. I got to open for him on his cross-Canada tour last year and it was unforgettable. His songs are so nostalgic and so fresh at the same time, ancient and modern, so personal yet universal. I try to reach for that in my own songwriting and performing.
“Farewell And Goodnight” ā Smashing Pumpkins
I used to fall asleep to this song every night when I was 16 and 17, when I was trying to figure out who I was, where I belonged, and why the girls I fell for never fell for me. Listening now I can hear it starts with a brush on a snare drum, but I always thought it was the waves lapping on the shore. The song is a calm and wistful end to a chaotic album full of angst and confusion (Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness). I think it taught me the value of simplicity and comfort, of contrast and context. I can still hear the click of the stop mechanism that would almost wake me up as the tape ended on my cheap plastic boombox.
Coming early 2025, I will be releasing a live concert film of my new record, Real Life Thing. The film runs like a play of sorts, including different set changes and moods for each song as we run down the entire track list of the album. To me, live performance is the reason for making music. Itās the best way for me to tap into something deep in myself with those that have come out to do the same. Itās also the way that I make my trade as a human; I think live performance already brings an honest and vulnerable energy since it is our livelihood.
Songs evolve each time theyāre performed live and each instrument reflects a current mood. Itās an endless mixed bag of potential outcomes. So much of a performance is pulled from all of the energies involved ā the crowd, the band, the venue and the ghosts that live there, the time of year, etc. Itās the most exciting part of music to me and thatās why I decided to make my playlist all live performances of some of my favorite songs. ā Sam Blasucci
“If I Was Your Girlfriend” Live In Utrecht (2020 Remaster) ā Prince
I could have made this entire playlist just live Prince recordings that blow my mind, but that might only be fun for me. I especially love this version because itās a song he wrote as his alter ego persona Camilla, who sang it on the album (Prince pitched his voice up to sound higher). But in this version, you just get Prince in Europe with his natural voice and itās one of my favorite recordings of his ever.
“Hey Thatās No Way to Say Goodbye” Live in London ā Leonard Cohen
I think this is Leonard Cohenās best album of any, live or in the studio. He was better and better with age. This is the cute version of Leonard as an old man finally, singing this song in the way it feels like it should have always been sung. Of any live performance on this list, this is the one I would have loved to see most in person.
“LA FAMA” Live en el Palau Sant Jordi ā RosalĆa
Some live versions I think are better than the studio versions and this is one of those cases, although I love the studio versions of all the MOTOMAMI songs. When RosalĆa released this on the deluxe version of the album, it gave the song another side and clicked with me even more.
“Hunter” (Live) ā Bjƶrk
If the purpose of a live performance is to tap in to something, Bjƶrk never missed. Sheās the hunter.
“Knock On Wood” Live; 2005 Mix; 2016 Remaster ā David Bowie
This is my favorite era of David Bowie (Cracked Actor). I especially love his vocal performance in this version. Itās not easy to cover a classic song like this and have it feel tastefully ramped up, but I think he brought it and crushed it.
“Voices Inside (Everything Is Everything)” ā Donny Hathaway
Willie Weeks may be my favorite bass player and his solo section toward the end of this is widely known as one of the coolest bass moments, and with good reason. I suppose it shouldnāt be that hard to tap in when Donny Hathaway is leading the band.
“17 Days” Piano & A Microphone 1983 Version ā Prince
When you can strip it all down to a single instrument and a voice and come through with so much power and spirit, that must be the true peak of live performance. When there is nothing else in the pot, all the secret parts of the music come out and make magic.
“Hot Burrito #2” Live at Lafayetteās Music Room ā Big Star
I always thought Alex Chilton had some similarities with Gram Parsons. They sort of sing in a similar way and they both show so much emotion in their songs. I think thatās why he could make this version hit so hard. Chilton is at the top of my list of guitar players as well, and this song is a reason why.
“Ventura” Live 2003/The Fillmore, San Francisco ā Lucinda Williams
This was recorded on my birthday in 2003. Although I was in 3rd grade and not in attendance for the show, Iād like to think I helped with the vibes. This one sounds like November in SF to me. Another amazing thing about live performance is capturing the energy surrounding the show.
“Woman of Heart and Mind” Live at Universal Amphitheatre, Los Angeles, CA, 8/14-17, 1974 ā Joni Mitchell
Another version that I prefer to the studio cut. The sound of the night and the live acoustic guitar; Joniās semi-confrontational and conversational writing style seem to be designed for an in-person type of listening.
“Angel Eyes” Live In Toronto/1975 ā Jim Hall
Jim Hall is another one of my favorite guitar players. I learned about this song years ago on tour in Colorado and it has ever since remained one of my favorites.
“Stay a Little Longer” Live at Harrahās Casino, Lake Tahoe, NV April 1978 ā Willie Nelson
This feels like a good burning ender to this playlist, although it is the very opening of the concert it was taken from. Willieās recipe is 3x the speed of the original, a couple out of control solos, and likely some exotic mood modifiers.
2024 served up a treasure trove of great music books ā too many to encapsulate in a concise way. However, it’s still worth a try! So, here is a look at some notable books (in no particular order) that should hold an appeal to the BGS community. This bakerās dozen hopefully provides a diverse and interesting sampling of what has been published over the past year.
There are biographies of superstars like Joni Mitchell and Dolly Parton alongside important if underappreciated figures, such as guitarist Jesse Ed Davis and the Blind Boys of Alabama. Look into the lives of bluegrass icons Tony Rice and John Hartford led by those that knew them while Joan Baez, Lucinda Williams, and Alice Randall each released memoirs that told their life stories in fascinating ways.
There are books here, too, that examine sub-genres like the world of busking and the outlaw country movement, as well as scenes from the musical history of Greenwich Village and the story of a little-known but significant music project that was part of FDR’s New Deal.
Thereās a little something for everyone, whether for your holiday shopping list, your winter break stack of books āto be read,ā to use up those bookstore gift cards, or for your 2025 resolution to sit down and read more.
2024 was a big year for Joni Mitchell, with her captivating appearance at the GRAMMY Awards representing another major milestone on her amazing recuperation from her 2015 brain aneurysm. NPR music critic (and occasional BGS contributor) Ann Powers extensively examines the many sides of Joni Mitchell in this stimulating and provocative book. Powers makes it clear from the get-go that she isnāt a biographer and compares her work here to being like a mapmaker. It makes total sense then that Powers entitled the book Traveling. The word not only references Mitchellās tune āAll I Want,ā but it also reflects the numerous paths that Mitchell has traveled down during her long, storied career ā a journey Powers incisively and insightfully explores over the course of some 400-some pages.
Dolly Partonās White Limozeen by Steacy Easton (Bloomsbury)
Steacy Easton followed up their Tammy Wynette biography, Why Tammy Matters,Ā by tackling an even larger female country music icon: Dolly Parton. Part of the acclaimed 33 1/3 book series, this compact tome focuses on Partonās popular 1989 album White Limozeen. Easton views it as a pivotal work for Parton as it represented a triumphant rebound from her roundly disappointing 1987 release, Rainbow. Besides delving into how the Ricky Skaggs-produced White Limozeen found Dolly returning more to her country roots from the more pop-oriented Rainbow, Easton also uses her album as something like a prism to look at Dollyās wildly successful career and her iconic persona.
Don’t Tell Anybody the Secrets I Told You: A Memoir by Lucinda Williams (Crown)
Fans of Lucinda Williamsā songs may think they know her through her lyrics, which are often drawn from Luās own experiences. Williamsā memoir, however, reveals more about her extraordinary life than even her deeply felt lyrics have expressed. The book is especially strong in covering her quite turbulent childhood involving her father Miller Williams (a poet/professor long in search of tenure) and her mother, Lucille, who suffered from manic depression. Fittingly, Williams prefaces her book by listing the many places where she lived (a dozen before she was 18) which reflects her rootless childhood and set her up for a home in the Americana music pantheon. While the title suggests a racy tell-all, the book feels more like having the great pleasure of listening to Lucinda intimately tell stories from her life ā what more could you ask for?
Washita Love Child: The Rise of Indigenous Rock Star Jesse Ed Davis by Douglas K. Miller (Liveright)
Jesse Ed Davis is a name that probably is not familiar to most music fans. Lovers of ’70s rock might recognize his name as a guitarist who worked with the likes of Taj Mahal, Eric Clapton, Neil Diamond, Ringo Starr, John Lennon, and George Harrison (Davis performed at the fabled Concert For Bangladesh). Those who know him from those gigs, however, might not even know that Davis was a rare Native American in the rock ānā roll world. He only really made his Indigenous heritage prominent when he teamed with Native American poet/activist John Trudell during the ’80s in the Graffiti Band. Sadly, Davisā career was derailed due to alcohol and drug abuse, which also led to his death in 1988 at the age of 48. In this vividly told biography, Douglas K. Miller, a professor of Native American History at Oklahoma State University, turns a spotlight on this ground-breaking and underappreciated musician.
Down On The Corner: Adventures in Busking & Street Music by Cary Baker (Jawbone Press)
For his debut book, longtime publicist and journalist Cary Baker turned to a lifelong music interest of his: street musicians. Early on in this book, he relates the transformative moment when, as a teenager, he was taken by his father to Chicagoās famous Maxwell Street where he saw bluesman Blind Arvella Gray perform on the street. This experience not only led to his first journalism work, but it also launched a love for street music. His enlightening book, which is broadly divided geographically, profiles buskers from across America and Europe. Down On The Corner is populated with colorful characters like Bongo Joe, Tubby Skinny, and Wild Man Fischer along with well-known musicians, such as the Old Crow Medicine Show, Rambling Jack Elliott, Billy Bragg, Fantastic Negrito, and Peter Case, who share tales about playing on the streets.
My own memories of John Hartford are of him playing on Glen Campbell’s TV show. He seemed so cool and laidback ā and he could play banjo with lightning-fast virtuosity. Happily, Bob Carlin has more interesting memories about the legendary musician, and he comes to this book from a pretty unique perspective. Carlin first met Hartford when he interviewed him in the mid-1980s for the radio program Fresh Air. Carlin (himself an award-winning banjoist) later performed with Hartford and even became his de facto road manager. In his book, he deftly balances his background as a journalist and position as a longtime friend in telling the story of Hartford, who was a true crossover star bluegrass musician of his time.
Talkin’ Greenwich Village: The Heady Rise and Slow Fall of America’s Bohemian Music Capital by David Browne (Hachette Books)
As its title plainly states, Talkinā Greenwich Village discusses the renowned area of New York City that has been a center for bohemian arts culture for decades. The book can be described as a ābiographyā of both the people (Dave Van Ronk plays a prominent role throughout this story) and the places (particularly the clubs, such as the Bottom Line, Kennyās Castaways, Gerdeās Folk City, and the Bitter End) that populated the Villageās music scene from 1957-2004. (Browne here basically concentrates on the West Village.) The author of books on the Grateful Dead, CSN&Y, and Sonic Youth, Browne does a masterful job at bringing this neighborhood to life during its many eras. The Village holds a special place in Browneās heart; he discovered the neighborhood as an undergrad at NYU just as the new folk scene of the early ’80s was brewing. His passion shines through in his storytelling.
My Black Country: A Journey Through Country Musicās Black Past, Present, and Future By Alice Randall (Simon & Schuster)
You may have already heard about Alice Randall and her book right here, on BGS and Good Country. My Black Country has received great acclaim (NPR listed the book among its āBooks We Loveā for 2024) and justifiably so. An author, professor, and songwriter, Randall tapped all her talents in creating this inspiring work that addresses her life story and investigates the history of Black country music, which she traces back nearly a hundred years to when DeFord Bailey performed on Nashvilleās WSM radio station. It should be noted, too, that this isnāt just a Nashville-centered book; it explores Black country music made all across America. Besides enjoying Randallās literary creation, you can also enjoy her songwriting craft too; Oh Boy Records released an eponymous compilation of Randall-penned tunes interpreted by such artists as Rhiannon Giddens, Allison Russell, Valerie June, and Leyla McCalla. (Of which, Giddens’ performance of “The Ballad of Sally Anne” is nominated for a GRAMMY for Best American Roots Performance.)
Spirit of the Century: Our Own Story by The Blind Boys of Alabama & Preston Lauterbach (Hachette Books)
The Blind Boys of Alabama are a remarkable story. Remarkable in the sense that the vocal group came into existence around 1940 at the Alabama Institute for the Negro Deaf and Blind and made their way out into the world through the gospel music circuit. And it is remarkable, too, that the Blind Boys of Alabama not only remain a group today (they describe themselves as the ālongest running group in American musicā), but they have earned five GRAMMYs (and a Lifetime Achievement Award) as well as an NEA National Heritage Fellowship. Preston Lauterbach (author of books like Beale Street Dynasty and The Chitlinā Circuit) has done an eloquent job weaving together stories from band members and other musical colleagues, and turning them into this absorbing biography.
Willie, Waylon and the Boys: the Ultimate Outlaw Country Primer by Brian Fairbanks (Hachette Books)
This book is something of a biographical combo platter. The first nine chapters concentrate on the “Mount Rushmore” of outlaw country: Willie, Waylon, Johnny, and Kris. Those 240 pages are packed with colorful tales of the foursome, whether on their own or together as the Highwaymen. At that point, the book pivots and explores outlaw countryās legacy in the form of the alternative country scene that was burgeoning during the ’90s, as the Highwaymen were ending their run (their third, final, and least successful album came out in 1995). Fans of alt-country and ānew outlawā artists might wish for a deeper dive into this scene. The chapter on āThe New Highwaymenā (built upon the idea of guys like Chris Stapleton, Jason Isbell, Ryan Bingham, and Sturgill Simpson as a new outlaw quartet) feels a bit too speculative. Fairbanks, however, is on stronger footing with his āHighwaywomenā chapter, which looks at the actual supergroup collaboration of the Highwomen, featuring Brandi Carlile, Natalie Hemby, Maren Morris, and Amanda Shires that, among other things, countered the male dominance of the original outlaw movement.
A Chance to Harmonize: How FDRās Hidden Music Unit Sought to Save America from the Great DepressionāOne Song at a Time By Sheryl Kaskowitz (Pegasus)
This is a book for history buffs who love music ā and vice versa. Author Sheryl Kaskowitz (who previously wrote a book on the history of the song āGod Bless Americaā) has dug up the story on a little-known music unit that was part of the New Deal. This U.S. government program led by Charles Seeger (yes, the father of Pete) sent out musician/agents (noted American ethnomusicologist Sidney Robertson was one prime participant) to gather up folk songs around the country. The goal was to use these songs to build community spirit at homestead communities launched by federal government under the auspices of the Resettlement Administration. The projects were considered radical and controversial back then and, consequently, were very short-lived. Fortunately, however, more than 800 songs were recorded and have been stored away in the Library of Congress.
When You See My Mother, Ask Her to Dance by Joan Baez (David R. Godine)
Joan Baez spent over 60 years making music and touring. While she has basically retired from music, Baez hasnāt put an end to expressing her creativity. In 2023, she released a book of drawings and in 2024, she published this book of poetry. There are at least a couple of notable aspects to this poetry project. Baez has long been known more for being an interpreter of songs rather than a songwriter, so it is intriguing to see more of her writer side expressed in this collection. Also, she has struggled with dissociative identity disorder (AKA multiple personality disorder, a topic addressed in the powerful documentary Joan Baez:I Am A Noise). Baez candidly states in the Authorās Notes that some of the poems are āare heavily influenced by, or in effect written by, some of the inner authors,ā adding intriguing layers to her creative process ā which she displays through the pieces collected in this book.
Journalist, author, and cultural critic Ann Powers released her latest book,Ā Traveling: On the Path of Joni Mitchell, in June of this year. A thought leader in pop and pop culture criticism ā and an occasional BGS contributor ā Powers considers this legendary figure in folk and American music with deliberation and intention.Ā Traveling isn’t merely a biography or a retelling of well-known and oft-repeated Mitchell lore; instead it’s a careful consideration of the artifice and sincerity, publicity and privacy, myth-making and universe-building of this iconic musician, songwriter, and celebrity.
“I wanted to think about how Joni Mitchell became JONI MITCHELL,” Powers relays in her conversation with BGS executive director Amy Reitnouer Jacobs. “How she fought against that in her own life, and how she reinforced the legend as well.”
And how well-timed is this book and conversation, with Mitchell’s mythos at perhaps its lifelong peak? With Brandi Carlile’s assist, Mitchell has been enjoying a “Joni-ssance” of late, with jaw-dropping public appearances over the past couple of years after an extended hiatus and star-studded Joni Jams delighting fans and acolytes from the Gorge in Washington state to Newport Folk Festival in Rhode Island.
Fresh off Mitchell’s headline-grabbing appearances at the Hollywood Bowl on October 19 and 20, we’re sharing our recent conversation with Powers about Traveling, its inception and writing, and how a truer telling of Mitchell’s life and creative journey requires a degree of skepticism ā and may just result in becoming an even deeper fan of the one-and-only Joni Mitchell.
Right off the bat, I really connected with your hesitation to write this book, because I find that I have a complicated relationship and love of Joni, and I’ve never been able to put it into words. So when you start your introduction with that exact sentiment, I felt that really deeply.Ā What was your thought process in committing to the book?
Ann Powers: Well, Amy, you understand more than most the thorny relationship we as writers and as lovers and supporters of music have with not artists in particular, but kind of the edifice around the art, or as Joni herself says, “The star-making machinery.” I’m very aware of how artists exist in one space and then there’s like a room where the artist lives, and in between is this space where a lot of misconceptions can happen. A lot of fetishization can happen. I was kind of trying to walk between those rooms and think about her as a public figure, as a legend.
And then, also what I could know of her from a distance. I say from a distance, because I did not interview her for this book ā which is not unusual for biographies, by the way ā but I foreground that because I wanted to say, “Look, I’m also a stand-in for maybe not the average Joni fan, but for those of us who are kind of considering these people that we’ve made immortal through our love and adulation.”
I wanted to think about how Joni Mitchell became JONI MITCHELL, how she fought against that in her own life, and how she reinforced the legend as well. That was the strong thread for me and an attraction to the project. My hesitancy was that I wasn’t going to be able to overcome the legend.
You say multiple times in the book how you’re not a biographer, but despite the chronological order, the book felt almost like a guide to being a critical fan. How have you developed as a fan in this writing process? Are you still a fan?
I’m definitely more of a fan than I ever was before. I would count myself among those people who took Joni Mitchell for granted before I was approached to do this book. And part of it, I think, is my self-styled “outsider” status. That’s a weird thing to say, but [I say it] as a misfit or someone who came from punk. When I was at the right age to have my āJoni phase,ā my idols were Kate Bush, Debbie Harry, Chrissie Hynde, women who I now realize were deeply influenced by Joni themselves, but at the time who seemed almost like an alternative to her and Dylan and Neil Young.
The ’90s [were] the natural time for me to go through another Joni phase and then I did. I did get to see her at that amazing show at the Fez [in 1995] with Brian Blade. I had some prime Joni moments and definitely was listening more than I had in the past, but that was sort of like that moment when Tori Amos, Sarah McLachlan, PJ Harvey, and so many amazing artists were breaking through the Lilith Fair generation.
And here’s Joni in the press, bad-mouthing them or saying, “I don’t want to have anything to do with them.” So again, I’m like, “Oh, who is this person? Why is this person so hostile?” It’s like all these moments that would have been the one where I stepped onto that path turned me away from it ā until much later, when I had an occasion, this book, to go beyond the surface of my fandom. Then I just went completely, fully in. So deep. And every step I took that was closer to her actual music and her actual words, not just her song lyrics, but interviews she’s given or the circumstances of her life, I became more and more of a fan.
In that way, this book is the story of me becoming that defender in the end, even if I’m still a skeptical defender, but I believe that that is something Joni teaches us to be ā to yourself and as a skeptical defender of those people she admires.
The funny thing about Joni is that she took every step she could to stay off of that pedestal throughout her career. Sometimes I think her desire to not be encased in amber came from her own anxieties, like her own unhappiness with what fame wrought. It’s a very delicate thing.
This is such an important part of her music and her songs as well, especially an album like TheHissing of Summer Lawns, which is basically a critique of Hollywood. She’s living in Bel Air. She’s hanging out with Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty and the glitterati. She is of the glitterati. But then she’s also the one who runs away, who goes, āI’m living a monk-like existence outside Vancouver for a while.ā Or, āI’m getting in my car by myself and driving across the South and using aliases and checking into hotels and hanging out with whoever’s in the lobby.ā
This is something she kept doing in order to check herself and check the mechanisms around her and not become complacent with where she was. Same in terms of her collaborators. Instead of just doing what you’re advised to do in the music industry, which is just stick with the formula, she just kept blowing things up. She’s like, “I want to play with these jazz guys. I want to bring in like Brazilian percussionists.” That’s her curiosity, as I say in the book, but it’s also her refusal to be a conventional pop star. She’s always kind of trying to keep that at bay.
There’s something that you mentioned about the women you did look up to. When I think about Kate and Chrissie and Debbie, these women stand on their own; holding their own in a male-dominated scene and being surrounded by male collaborators and bands, but not necessarily lifting up other women. Iām trying to think of a female collaboration that Kate Bush ever did and I can’t think of one.Ā
Well, when we look historically at the place of women, particularly in rock, there were labels attached to women who primarily collaborated with women ā “women’s music,” right? That was lesbian music. And I think there was a lot of fear, and frankly, internalized homophobia, among a lot of women and people in general in the more mainstream music business.
So you didn’t want to be associated with too many women or people might think you don’t like men, you know? Read any interview with a woman star from 1967 to probably like 2020 and you’re going to see that phrase. “I love men,” you know, “I like male energy,” all this stuff. And thereās no shame in liking to work with male collaborators, but it’s amazing how fearful so many women and their teams ā the people guiding their careers ā were of female collaboration and female affinity. It was like a forbidden zone.
Of course, I also love the Go-Go’s and the Bangles, but girl groups were [their] own kind of zone. They were taking on these personae. These are great musicians, why did they have to dress up like ’50s pin-ups? Itās like theyāre saying āLook, don’t worry! Weāre real women! We can play instruments, but we can be girls too!ā And despite what we think, that’s still so alive and well today. Though I do think there’s been a shift in the mainstream recently with artists like Chappell Roan and boygenius. There’s definitely younger millennials and Gen Z fighting against being confined by gender roles.
I have also noticed that younger artists are more eager to welcome their women heroes on stage and older women are more comfortable embracing it. Olivia Rodrigo is constantly pulling her heroes on stage. Katie Crutchfield from Waxahatchee is like, āWhere is Lucinda Williams? Let’s bring her out.ā And that was something you actually didn’t see even during the Lilith Fair years. It didn’t happen. You didnāt really see older artists on the lineup.
I loved the line in the book, āA map maker must be open to new routes.ā Were there any new routes that surprised you, or unexpected people that came out of the woodwork?
Definitely the whole Florida thing. When I found out she had spent time down there and met Bobby Ingram ā who’s since passed away. And, I didn’t really know there was this whole kind of mirror folk scene in Florida to that in New York.
But I also didn’t know about how diverse the early folk revival was. This is something [for which] I give a lot of credit to Dom Flemons. He’s been doing the work on this, but itās still so under-explored. When Joni started out, she wasn’t just seeing Pete Seeger wannabes. She was also seeing Caribbean musicians and people doing musical theater and jazz rock or jazz folk, and although it was still a predominantly white scene, there were very important nonwhite artists on that scene.
In my early days [of writing], I just wanted to write a book about that. Uncovering the stories of other musicians who we forget when we only talk about Guthrie or Seeger or Dylan or whatever. Itās like, how white and boring can it get? If it’s just that, it’s that same story every time and yet it was so much deeper and richer and more interesting. And it’s so important to understanding Joni’s music, because her music was never pure folk.
Somewhere in the last seven and eight years of putting this book together, Brandi Carlile kickstarted the āJoni-ssanceā as you put it. How did that change your process?
I thought Brandi would stop at her Blue concerts [at Carnegie Hall and Walt Disney Concert Hall in 2021], but suddenly it was like, “Oh wait, there’s so much more!” Itās been such an exciting story in and of itself that goes beyond music. It’s really the story of recovery, healing, and having this epic return. So on that level, it’s a like beautiful human story that’s been edifying to watch.
But I made the choice to stand apart [from the Joni Jam concerts] so I could continue to keep my perspective focused. Now with the book out, I can finally just enjoy this woman who gave us so much and is receiving her accolades. There’s a world of elders ā and especially women elders ā that I want to continually acknowledge. And if this project could be helpful in that, then Iāve done something positive for the world.
Much like the songs on his latest album Pathways, the sounds swirling around Canadian singer-songwriter Julian Taylor on our recent phone call for BGS were also filled with curiosity, emotion, and the subtle, intrinsic tones of a modern world unfolding.
Walking the streets of his native Toronto, the introspective depths of Taylorās voice and pure sentiments radiated in conversation were only complemented by the organized chaos of an international city in motion. Honking of taxi cabs at clustered intersections; the thrust of train cars on the underground subway; other conversations of varying degrees of volume in passing. And Taylor himself.
āDonāt the grass look greener on the other side/ but be careful of what you wish for could get left behind,ā Taylor weaves through āAināt Life Strange.ā āI see where I went wrong and all I could have done. Thereās a fine line between a broken and beautiful mind.ā
Those lyrics in particular speak to the long, arduous, yet bountiful road for Taylor. At 46, heās spent his entire adult life in pursuit of creative fulfillment and stability in an often haphazard industry. In his tenure, Taylorās seen the high-water mark and complete collapse of the music business ā and then some.
Co-founder of 1990s Canadian alt-rock act Staggered Crossing, Taylor found himself in big meetings with even bigger record label executives. The band was signed by Warner Music Canada and earned some limited success before being dropped by the label not long after their debut album hit the streets.
From there, it became a DIY ethos at the heart of Staggered Crossing. But, after a handful of albums and plateauing popularity, the group split in 2007, ultimately leaving Taylor out on his own. But, he trudged ahead, even if he was unsure of his next move, whether personally or professionally.
Frustrated and burned out by the music industry, Taylor circled back to a beloved bar of his, the Dora Keogh Irish Pub in the Danforth neighborhood of Toronto. There he summoned the courage and energy to start an open mic night. With a stripped-down set of simply Taylor and his guitar, he quickly found this new path of intent and purpose for the music within him.
From there, itās been this ongoing journey of self and of song for Julian Taylor. What has resulted is this soothing voice of determination and compassion pushing steadfast into this latest chapter of his sound and scope.
I was recently in Toronto for the first time and it felt like one of the most culturally and sonically diverse cities Iāve ever come across.
Julian Taylor: Yeah, definitely. Itās been that way ever since I was a kid. It was a real small town when I was born, but itās just grown exponentially. The music thing has been extremely positive. People really do support each other and everything. Like, it doesn’t really matter where you’re coming from.
What does it mean to be a songwriter from Ontario and greater Canada? I mean, you have some of the best of the best. Gordon Lightfoot, Gord Downie, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen. The list goes on.
It’s an honor. I’m happy to be from here. You have the rich heritage that I have and the rich musical landscape that we grew up with. A lot of people donāt really know that so many of these artists, like the people that you’ve mentioned, are Canadian. We’ve had such an incredible influence on the world. I think a lot of that has to do with the cultural mosaic and landscape we live in. I mean, it is not easy to tour this country. And we sort of grind our teeth here a lot of the time. So, when you do that, it makes you a little bit more appreciative of any sort of accolades or any sort of impact that you may have on the world.
When I was reading your backstory, you must have been a teenager when you started Staggered Crossing.
Yeah, I was pretty young. When we first got signed, it was at the tail end of, I guess, what you would want to call the high-water mark. We didn’t get to really experience that. We experienced the very last little bit of it. And then the entire industry changed. I’ve seen it change so many times in my career. And I started when I was 16.
What was it that kept you going after Staggered Crossing broke up? Was it just this idea that, āHell or high water, this is what I’m going to, no matter whatā?
Part of that was it. The other part of it was encouragement. The fact that any of my songs resonated with anybody really was the main point. You’re like, āI’m going to do this no matter what, because this is my calling and this is my passion, this is my purpose.ā But, when you have those things validated by other people? That’s just a huge gift. The fact that people would continue to book me and play my stuff on the radio or people would come to shows and tell me that my music meant something to them. With that kind of encouragement, it’s really hard to stop going.
With Staggered Crossing being signed and going through the motions of very large corporations, what were some of the things you took away from that experience you applied to your solo career?
I think it all happened afterwards, really. Not during that period of time, because afterwards we had to fend for ourselves. But, it was the first time that the do-it-yourself mentality was put into place. We didn’t even know what DIY was. I just ended up doing it because I wanted to get my music out there. I wanted to keep touring, to continue to create records. So, I did anything and everything I could to keep that happening. I learned a lot about the business, about promotions, marketing, and distribution. Basically, everything a label would do for an artist, I learned how to do it alongside my friends and we kept on pushing ahead. It was hard and also easy at the same time, because it was something I wanted to do. It certainly tired me out at one point in time. I was so disenchanted with music that I stopped and then I came back with a brand-new sort of outlook on it.
What does it mean to be at this juncture of your career and still be just as curious, and always mining for the next song, as ever?
That’s a good question, man. It’s really about the job and the task at hand. And the job is to document the human condition through my experiences. World domination is still on the back burner. [Laughs] As an artist, itās about putting in the work and that work is really hard to do. It’s emotionally exhausting. It’s physically exhausting. But, at the end of the day, when you look at yourself in the mirror and think about it, āI’ve written these beautiful songs and they’ve brought beauty to people’s lives.ā And these performances have brought beauty to both of our lives ā not just theirs, but to mine. It’s a two-way street.
Where does that work ethic come from within you?
Maybe it’s the Jamaican side of me. [Laughs] It’s definitely a family thing. My family on both sides have worked so hard. My mom’s side of the family has sacrificed and worked so hard. And my dad’s side, who migrated [to Canada]. On my mom’s side, we were here to begin with. And my dad’s side, they came here with not a lot to go on, and discrimination and things like that. They worked their asses off and always told me I would have to work 150 percent harder than anybody else because of my background.
And have you?
From a very young age.
Do you find they were correct with that assessment?
Yeah, theyāre still correct about that. And, I don’t really know how and when that’s going to change. There are more opportunities reported to people now that are minorities, but the reality of having to work that much harder is still a truism. That’s unfortunate. But, you know what? I dare to ask anybody from the minority to say that something hasn’t benefited them from that work ethic.
As you were trying to move forward after Staggered Crossing, you started this open mic at a bar in Danforth. Were you kind of circling back to where it all began and recalibrating things?
Yeah. I used to work at that same Irish pub in the Danforth. I was a bus boy and also a server. One day, some old guy came in and he was just so rude to me, so racist. And I thought to myself, āWhat am I doing? I’ve got to do something about this.ā That was the catalyst that got me back into performing music. The proprietors of that establishment offered the open stage to me on that Monday to help me get going again. They’re some of the greatest friends I’ve got in this world. And it was funny because, after Staggered Crossing, I just couldn’t go on. I had tried so hard to āmake itā and it was such an uphill battle. Pushing a boulder up a hill. I gave up and needed some time. And then when the open stage came back, it was a community thing. I rallied around people and they rallied around me. And it’s still a musical community out here in the city. It all comes down to community.
Why did you title the album Pathways?
Pathways felt like a journey. Itās been so long getting here, you know? I’ve got 12 studio records in my name and a couple of live records. I’ve toured extensively for the last 20 years. And this felt like a record that I needed to go inward, rather than outward. Some of my records are very contemplative of the outside world. And this one, I was contemplating my inside world ā what was in my head, my heart and soul. Trying to battle through some of the things that go on in everyday life decisions and choices I’ve made. The pressure of the last two records and creating a new record was on me. I was feeling that and decided Pathways was a really good metaphor for where I was headed, where I’ve gone, where I’ve been. I’m not sure where it’s going to take me next, but it just felt like a nice walk in a cool breeze.
Since the 2020 shutdown, there’s been, thankfully, a lot more conversation in the music industry about mental health and physical wellness. Does that play into where you’re at right now?
It does, yeah. I think about it every day. It’s really hard to make it as a musician. And it’s really hard to be a human in this world. I’ll be the first to admit that I go through a lot of stuff in my head. I’ve never been diagnosed with a mental illness, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I have something. I feel it a lot, the pressure to keep making a living, so that I can keep a roof over my head and my family fed. I could walk away from music if I had to, but I don’t want to. I don’t know if that would make me happy or not.
But, when it comes to fiscal responsibility, that’s a lot of stress. And then, there’s the stress social media puts on us, where you get attacked for no reason by people who don’t even know you. Sure, there’s a lot of praise going on, but there’s a lot of the other stuff, too. And now everything’s sort of been put into the musician’s hands. Itās a bit of a mental dilemma. I’ve lost a lot of people this year and that was part of that as well. You know, it’s life. People think people in the public eye or musicians putting themselves out there have rhino skin and they’re superhuman ā but we’re not.
Iām honored to create a playlist for BGS. Iāll share a Mixtape inspired by the theme of time and celebrating the here and now. I grew up in Virginia by the water and my musical life has been influenced by the seasons and the tides. Life (so far) has been a counterpoint of going with my gut and enjoying the moment while also considering intention and the bigger picture. But Iāve learned that I am more in touch with myself as an artist when I can remain in the present. The songs Iāve selected tend to resonate with my intuitive sense of joy and unconditional love ā that deeply rooted part of ourselves that is free and unburdened.
I grew up on the water, so I love going with the flow and being taken for a ride. But Iāve got that philosophical side, where Iām also asking, “Where is this leading?” This song is meant to capture that moment of joy somewhere in the middle; that elevated feeling of loving the lightness of not knowing whatās around the bend and not necessarily trying to create a specific outcome.
“Itās a Great Day to Be Alive” ā Darrell Scott
This song brings back great memories of living in Colorado and seeing Darrell Scott singing this one at music festivals out west. His song quickly became an anthem for savoring the present: āItās a great day to be alive, the sunās still shining when I close my eyes.ā
“Sailin’ Shoes” ā Sam Bush
This one is another anthem on the bluegrass festival scene. Itās about cutting loose and feeling liberated. When Sam Bush goes into his signature chop to kick it off, fans start to cheer like wild and dance in recognition. The freeing and soaring feeling of sailing ā we definitely feel that when John Cowan joins in with his soaring vocals. As the lyric expresses, āEveryone will clap and cheer when you put on your sailing shoesā¦ā Sam sings and plays it with abandon and you canāt help it but smile (or dance!) when you listen to this classic Little Feat cover.
“All I Want” ā Joni Mitchell
āApplause applause, life is our cause.ā Joniās lyric speaks volumes about her expression of letting go. She sings about that feeling of dancing and unleashing herself in a dive bar, falling in love, and letting the best in herself emerge by forgetting about herself for a moment. āI want to have fun, I want to shine like the sun… I want to make you feel free.ā
“Time in a Bottle” ā Jim Croce
āIād save every day like a treasure and then, again I would spend them with you.ā This classic is a poignant reminder about the essence of time and what seems to have mattered most at the end. Croce sings about savoring time with a loved one and realizing that the metaphorical box of wishes and dreams can only be answered by memories of time spent with a loved one.
“Nick Of Time” ā Bonnie Raitt
This song brings back powerful memories from the ’90s, when Bonnie Raitt received well-deserved acclaim as an artist after years of hard work as a blues musician. The message of time passing and realizing that we have almost missed a great life experience-but found that fruition in the nick of time-resonated with a wider audience. Her relaxed and soulful vocals portray the hopeful message in a calming way.
“Days Like This” ā Van Morrison
In his relaxed and soulful way, Morrison sings about those rare worry-free days when the pieces effortlessly come together in a satisfying way: āWhen all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit, thereāll be days like this.ā
“Catās in the Cradle” ā Harry Chapin
This classic may be a tear-jerker, but itās also a celebration of time. Weāre reminded by Chapin to spend meaningful time with our loved ones now and not to wait for a speculative future time when our āscheduleā is free. The lasting image of an adult son whoās now too busy for his dad ā after spending years as a small child asking his dad to spend time together ā is a powerful reminder about lifeās priorities.
“Thunderclouds Of Love” ā Tony Rice
Classic, powerful Tony Rice at his finest. This description of a thunderbolt moment can light up any heart, and Tonyās guitar solo takes us there with flashy, bluesy fireworks. Jimmy Headrickās lyrics set the scene for Tonyās soulful and punchy baritone vocals: āI have been praying four nights on end for someone who could make me live again, and all at once from the darkness of my heart they came to light.ā
“Alabama Pines” ā Jason Isbell
This one snuck onto this list, because it always brings me into the present moment. Isbellās writing and singing is just that good. Whatever you were thinking about or worrying about, it all tends to go out the window. Suddenly youāre driving in Alabama and seeing all of the imagery he describes, feeling all of the emotions he expresses.
“Help Me Make It Through the Night” ā Kris Kristofferson
Kristoffersonās is my favorite version of this classic and Iāll admit that he also happens to be my celebrity crush. While heās portraying relishing this moment, this night, I think many women are wondering if he really needs to ask for help with that cause? In all seriousness, he does pull us into the present with his poignant lyric: āYesterday is dead and gone, and tomorrowās out of sight.ā
“Duckās Eye” ā Charles Butler
Banjoist Charles Butler is one of my favorite composers and this tune pulls me into an effortless feeling of gliding over an oceanic vastness. The call and response melodies bring the listener into a trance-like state, and the simple melody pulls the listener to that perfectly placed āeyeā of the composition, echoing the David Lynch reference of Butlerās inspiration.
“Make Hay While the Moon Shines” ā Rebecca Frazier
When I wrote this song with Bob Minner and Jon Weisberger, we wanted to express the feeling of unleashing ourselves and savoring the moment once the moon rises. Weāve all been told to āmake hay while the sun shines,ā but itās just as important to put down our work and allow ourselves to be free and true to our inner selves.
Forget the information age, we live in the age of hyper-stimulation. There seems to be less space to think ā or to feel ā than at any other point in human history, and music is not immune to that more-of-everything-all-at-once trap. But Andrew Combsā sixth album Dream PicturesĀ is your chance to take a break.
An acclaimed singer-songwriter with over a decade of work bridging country, folk, and pop songcraft, Combs is all too familiar with life on the run. He spent years trading his health and sanity for the precarious life of a traveling musician, but lately heās been on a different program.
Born from quiet evenings of creative refuge, secluded in his garage after the kids went to bed, Dream Pictures finds Combs getting off the artistic treadmill and focusing on a sustainable life ā one that includes a family and creative outlets not tied to a marketing calendar.
The result is a calming, relaxed fusion of roots pop and electronic folk, full of confessional character sketches and golden-hour contemplations that may require some slowing down to appreciate ā but are well worth the effort. Basically, itās the opposite of TikTok, and Combs spent one peaceful morning chatting with BGS about where it all came from.
Itās been about a dozen years since your debut album ā how are you feeling about creativity as a job these days?
Andrew Combs: I feel more at ease and more creative and productive than I really ever have and I think that probably has a lot to do with just my schedule and having kids. I have no time to just sit around, so I don’t get caught in these periods of writer’s block or anything. I just don’t have time to do that.
Ok, that sounds pretty good!
Yeah, and I feel good. But I mean, the music industry is so fucked ā especially for an artist at a lower level like myself. It’s just really hard. I’ve given up in a lot of ways trying to make a full money-making career out of it. I work a part-time job and I paint as well and I’ve decided that I want to do stuff that I want to do. That’s kept me going, and I’m actually happier than ever not being on the road all the time. I’m just doing things when they make sense and not looking at it as I have to go out on the road to make money.
That’s interesting. A lot of artists say that they do their best songwriting in periods of turmoil, but Dream Pictures feels very peaceful.
Yeah, I’d say the overall thesis statement about what the record is about is being content. And not to sound too “woo woo,” but just live in the moment and appreciate what is there around you. A year or two ago, I could easily fall into looking at Instagram and thinking “I should be doing that.” But for this record, I wrote all these songs in the evening after the kids went to bed in that sort of wind-down [stage]. ā¦ I kind of liken it to the golden hour of a summer night, just that quiet and calm time when my wife and I can interact as humans and adults and I can go to the garage and do my thing.
It is peaceful, but also patient. I was thinking like, “This is the opposite of TikTok,” and I mean that in a good way.
[Laughs] I actually chose this record to sign up on TikTok and try and put stuff on there and I’m just so lost. It’s so overwhelming when you open the thing, just like, “Bam!”
Likewise, back when you first started putting out records, Americana seemed like it was really exploding and growing, with a lot of new artists coming out. I’m just wondering, do you feel like the roots music scene has evolved in the last decade or so?
I don’t know if it’s evolved or de-volved. It seems like it’s just sort of an all-encompassing net for stuff that doesn’t work other places ā which is great, and the cream of the crop is still amazing, but I do feel like there’s a lot of “genericana” going on. It’s just like I got a little bored with it and my origin into making music was electronic music, and then I drifted towards songwriting and Guy Clark, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne, and Townes Van Zandt, that kind of stuff. I still really think songs are important and words are important, but Iām also more interested in exploring different melodic things and the sonic quality of recording. I guess for a selfish reason, it’s just to keep me interested.
I can hear that mix of electronica and songwriting on Dream Pictures. You recorded everything with your friend Dom [Billett], what do you like most about how it came out?
We didn’t know we were starting a record. Dom ā who has played with me live a lot and done a lot of recording with me, but never produced something with me ā over COVID he built out his studio and got a tape machine, and he was like, “I’m just trying to figure this thing out. Do you have any songs that we can try?” The first song that I brought was “Your Eyes and Me,” and that ends up being one of my favorites. You can really hear the progression of him learning the tape machine ā¦ because by the end, it just sounds like a good recording. So I like that. I also feel like Dom’s friendship shows, at least to me. We also had our friend Spencer Cullum record some pedal steel, and it’s just us three. I like collaborating ā but I really like collaborating when it’s a core group.
I read that “Eventide” was dedicated to your wife. Are you writing a lot of songs about family these days? What are you feeling inspired by?
Mostly right now, it’s about that contentment and mindfulness. I think it’s important for me to get out as well as I think it’s a worthwhile message to be spreading. There are also songs on the new record that another journalist I talked to ā and he meant it in a really a nice way ā he said they’re “low-stakes songwriting.” Songs that are about love, or heartbreak. Those kind of songs I’ve been writing for a long time. And Iām still able to harken back to my 20s and go through those feelings. I can still feel them like they were yesterday. But it probably helps to not be in despair and look back with a clear head.
Tell me a little bit about “Mary Gold.” It has a nice, delightful little bounce to it, and I love that lo-fi pop feel. What’s that one about?
That’s just a love song, kind of a “low-stakes songwriting” song. Just a feeling of this girl who doesn’t know how special she is, but in the eyes of the beholder is special. Lyrically, I think there’s some good stuff in there, but I was really focusing on that bounce you’re talking about. That ’70s pop feel, I felt like the record could use something like that. A lot of the songs are really subtle and soft and serious.
I dig the premise of “I’m Fine” ā and the falsetto hook. Is that about trying to convince yourself you’re fine? Or is that more of that feeling when somebody asks “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”
I mean, I think it’s the latter. That’s the only song I co-wrote on this record and I’ve had it for a long time. The guy I wrote it with, Burton Collins is his name, we wrote again around when I was making the record and that song was good, but it just didn’t quite fit. So I just went back through stuff we had done in the past and was like, “Let me fiddle around with that one for a bit.” It ended up being fun.
What do you like about Dream Pictures as a title? Is that a central theme for the record, or just a cool title?
Well, I originally wanted to call it Eventide, but there’s a guitar-pedal company called Eventide and all my friends were like, “Oh, the pedal?” And I was like, “No, the time of evening.” [Laughs] They were like, “I didn’t know that’s what that meant.” So then Dream Pictures stood out, and the idea of that golden hour, in-between time of chaos and peace, which can also be associated with sleep. I feel like a lot of my song ideas and painting ideas come from that time period of just falling asleep or just waking up.
Big picture, what do you hope folks take away from this one? What are you looking for in the next 10 years?
Well, I hope people find a bit of peace and quiet with the record, and I hope it’s enjoyable. It’s sort of selfish, but I’m just happy to put it out there and get a piece of me out there. I don’t know what the future holds. I could say I’m going to make a synth pop record right now, but it could turn out to be something totally different, so I really don’t know. I’m just going to keep writing and being creative and enjoying my time here on earth.
(Editor’s Note: To mark the occasion of Bonny Light Horseman’s brand new double LP, Keep Me On Your Mind/See You Free ā which were released in June ā we invite our readers to be as flies on the wall during a special exclusive interview, an entertaining and joyful conversation between the members of this folk supergroup, Eric D. Johnson, Josh Kaufman, and AnaĆÆs Mitchell.Ā
Read about the band’s memories of their first gigs played for money, about popular bands they don’t really “get,” and so much more below. Plus, dig into their deep and broad discography ā together and separately ā with our in-depth exploration of their catalog of recordings here.)
Eric D. Johnson:Ā We totally love each other a lot and we spend a lot of time together and we talk about everything, and I know everything about you guys, pretty much. I got some deep shit on you guys!
But, one question that I didn’t know the answer to, because I have a really funny answer for it is, what was the first show that you ever played where you got paid money? Do you remember?Ā
AnaĆÆs Mitchell: Oh wow!
EDJ: Can you guys remember that?Ā
Josh Kaufman: I can remember. I don’t know if it was the very first, but it was certainly early. I played a yogurt shop in Port Jeff. I definitely played a lot of Grateful Dead songs. I think I played āPeggy-Oā and like āFriend of the Devil.ā I may have tried an ambitious solo acoustic version of āSt. Stephen.ā
EDJ: Tell me more though, was it a band? Was it you solo? And did you go just under the name Josh Kaufman?Ā
JK: Just me. I don’t know if I was even booked. I don’t know. I may have just shown up.Ā
EDJ: And what was the yogurt shop?
JK: I can’t remember the name of it either. I feel like I have a couple of friends that definitely would remember and definitely were there. That was the ā90s, that was the era of the yogurt shop. It was basically a cafe, but let’s face it, it was a yogurt shop. I don’t know what I got paid, but I did get paid. I was probably 16; at a yogurt shop playing Grateful Dead songs for money.Ā
AM: I want to see you then, Josh!Ā
EDJ: I totally want to see him! I want to find the bootleg of that show. How did you get hooked up with the yogurt gig?Ā
JK: Well, I was kind of in bed with big yogurtā
EDJ: You’re a big deal going way backā
JK: Going way back now! Well, how did I know about [it]? I think my friend Kevin Jones worked there. I think this is what happened. My friend Kevin Jones worked there, who you guys will meet when we play in California, because he just moved to the Bay Area. He’s going to come to our show. I think they were looking to up their game [at the yogurt shop]. And he was like, āLet’s see what happens. Let’s bring in a professional.ā It must have been such a hot mess.Ā
EDJ: I bet you were good from the jump. That’s my guess.Ā
JK: Thatās generous.Ā
EDJ: AnaĆÆs, what about you?
AM: I think the first time I made money for music was [when I was] 18 years old and I took a gap year. I was going to go to school, but I took a gap year and then I moved to Boston. You guys know this. I know you know this about me.Ā
JK: You were a waitress.Ā
AM: I was a waitress. Right. At this diner and then later as a waitress at this Cajun/Mexican place, which really sucked. It was in Central Square and I remember I had that job, because I quit it when I realized that I could make money playing in the subway. I could make equal money to what I made as a waitress. Basically, I would go down āĀ I want to say that I played an Ovation Guitar. I’m sorry. [Laughs]
EDJ: Classic! Love this. I’m just gonna say: Ovation Guitar; yogurt shop. Just as visuals.Ā
AM: Totally. [Laughs] I love this. They go together.Ā
JK: You can actually eat yogurt out of an Ovation Guitar.Ā
EDJ: They are designed for eating yogurt out of ā in the ā90s!
AM: I had a little portable [amp], my first amp. I just started playing electric on tour with you guys, but that’s not my first amp. My first amp was a little Crate amp. Do you know what those are? It was bright yellow. And it was cool. For plugging in your Ovation Guitar when you played in the subway, they were amazing.
So I did that. And the cool thing was I was really just getting going. I had written maybe a handful of songs ā that I’ve repressed [since]. Like they were really not good, but if you’re playing in the subway, the audience turns over every 10 minutes. I played the same songs. I would just play them again and again. It was mostly my new songs that I had written. And I think I played a couple of folk songs that I learned from the Rise Up Singing folk music bible.Ā
EDJ: But were people like throwing in money? What was your haul? Not because I care that much about money, but I’m just asking, is this your first profesh gig? Do you have your case? Do you have a little hat box?
AM: You got your case open and you put a couple dollars in there. You put like a five [dollar bill] to show people that. You don’t put coins, because then that’s what people put. I actually can’t remember,Ā with inflation, like, what was that? I want to say I would go down there forĀ an hour or two and make fifty to a hundred bucks.Ā
JK: Oh, that’s really good. That sounds really good to me.Ā
AM: That’s why I quit my waitressing job! I was like, this sucks. I’m just gonna do this.Ā
EDJ: You’re 18, what is that, the year 2000?Ā
AM: Or somethingā¦ it was ā99. Yes.
EDJ: Okay, sick. With inflation, I think that’s good. I think you did really well
AM: I might be misremembering, might be adjusting for inflation [wrong] in my memory.Ā
JK: I think I got paid, by the yogurt shop, like $46 or something like that, which when I think about it now itās almost like the tooth fairy or something. I think somebody just felt bad for me. They’re like, āThis is 36, 46 bucks, just take it, go.ā You know that, āHere’s some gas money.āĀ
EDJ: I like that it was $46.Ā
JK: I don’t think it was $50. I think I’d remember it if it was $50. That would have seemed like a lot of money to me. I will say, the guitar I was playing, Eric, and AnaĆÆs, would have been the same guitar that I still play ā the Guild that we made our records with and that Eric played on our recent tour.
AM: I spent some time with that guy.
Eric, I want to hear your story.Ā
EDJ: I got you gonna beat financially by a couple bucks. When I was like 17, my friend Steve and I decided I was going to join Steve’s band just as a singer, but I was too scared to just sing and stand there. I did not know how to play guitar. So, I got a crash course in guitar from Steve. Steve came to one of our shows last summer, I think, or two summers ago when we opened up for [Bruce] Hornsby.
Steve gave me a crash course in guitar, but I didn’t really know how to apply guitar chords to cover songs, you know? I was like, āI guess I’m going to have to write.ā I immediately became a songwriter, because I was too dumb to learn how to play a Pink Floyd song or something like that.Ā
All of a sudden we became this folk duo that played a mix of covers and originals, as I was learning chords. I learned how to play some covers. I think āRippleā by the Grateful Dead was the first ā speaking of Grateful Dead, Josh. We played at this cafe in our little downtown of our funny little suburb called Caffe Trieste. It was actually really cool. It was very ā90s. When I remember it, it smelled like clove cigarettes in there and herbal tea. It was literally a coffee house, like from the old times where you smoke cigarettes and drink coffee at night and watch music. Iām not saying it was like Greenwich Village or something like that, but it was cool.
We would play there, but for no money. That was kind of like open mics and stuff like that. We played āTangerineā by Led Zeppelin and we played āRippleā by the Grateful Dead. I think we played āWish You Were Here.ā And then we played sort of a smattering of my originals, which were terrible.Ā
But, I was at home [one day] and this is in 1993. My mom was like, āYou have a phone call.ā And it was some lady and she says, āMy daughter, Katie, she’s turning fourteen and she’s a huge fan of your music. And will you play her birthday party?ā And I was like, āWhat?ā We don’t have a band or like fans or anything like that. But apparently this girl had seen us at a school assembly ā where all we played was the Cheers theme ā and she’s turning fourteen. I was like, āWhat type of money do you usually get for things like this?ā But I sort of fumbled and before I could finish and name a price, she was like, āWould $150 be good?ā
That was like an unfathomable amount of money. But she also wanted us to play two sets and play for like literally two hours in their living room. We had about 20 minutes worth of material.We went to the house. Her dad owned an automobile dealership, so the house was nice. It was a room full of thirteen and fourteen year old, she was a freshman and we were seniors. I just remember that. So maybe she was turning fifteen.
When we walked in, it was like Beatlemania. They like, screamed and stuff. There were parents, friends, and stuff who were there and they were kind of these wealthy people. My house was very unsophisticated and it felt like we had sort of stepped into this sophisticated realm of our like dumb little suburb. These were the elites! We played our show, only we had not learned more songs in order to play. So we did the AnaĆÆs thing, but without the audience turnover. We just played things over again. And they asked us to play āRocky Raccoonā by the Beatles. Then there was a set break and we had no more songs. We went out to Steve’s Jeep and got super high and then came back in and just played literally the same set again and doubled up on āRocky Raccoon.ā We played it four times in one night.
AnaĆÆs Mitchell: What were you wearing? Did you dress up?Ā
EDJ: I’m sure I was wearing something weird. I had a very schizophrenic style at the time. It was the ā90s! I would wear plaid ā60s golf pants, but I had this shirt that was a bread truck delivery shirt that had the name āByronā on it like a name tag. My hair looked like Jason Priestley from 90210. I hadn’t honed my style yet, but I’m sure I just tried to dress up cool.
It was quite a first taste.Ā
AM: That’s amazing. You might be the only band to play āRocky Raccoonā four times in a show.Ā
JK: The Beatles never played it one time in a show, I donāt think. So you beat the Beatles.
EDJ: Someone asked me this question recently ā and you don’t have to answer with a modern band, because it could be more controversial ā but what’s a band that’s iconic, that people love, that you’re like, āNot thatā¦ā
JK: Oh, Annie has a list of these they’re called like, unimpeachable bands that she doesn’t want to listen to. That she wants to impeach.Ā
AM: I want to know her list!Ā
JK: For instance, I think the Stones are on there. She’s like, āI mean, sure, the Stones are great or whatever, but I don’t want to listen to them.ā
EDJ: For the Situation readers, by the way, this is Annie, Josh’s wife [weāre talking about]. Annie Nero.
JK: Yeah! But, for my ownā¦ let me think about that for a second.Ā
AM: I have one, maybe. Maybe it’s going to be the same.Ā
EDJ: Mine’s a little bit The Smiths ā I actually think that the band sounds great. It’s sort of like The Doors, for me, where I’m not as into the front person [as I am the band], and I have to believe in the front person.
My other one is that I love Bob Dylan, but he’s like my 18th favorite songwriter. Itās still really high up there in the pantheon of songwriters, but probably a very low ranking as far as Dylan goes. I know Dylan’s a big one for you, Josh, but for me I have seventeen others I put above him. That’s an arbitrary number, but yeah.Ā
AM: I was gonna say Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. Iād be interested in hearing Annieās whole list, ’cause I do wanna say, I feel like itās a gendered thing. I’m not even gonna be eloquent about it, but I do think we have deified certain male artisan bands.Ā
Where it’s like, āAren’t you into this?ā And I’m like, āActually no.ā But I sort of feel like they’re unimpeachable. Like I’m supposed to be like, āOh yeah, CSNY!!ā But my feelings are complex about CSNY, because I love Neil Young and I love Graham Nash. I think it’s really David Crosby ā rest in peace ā that like, for somehow I’m [hung up on]. I read about how he produced the first Joni Mitchell record and, for me, Joni’s like the top of the totem. Reading about their dynamic, back in the day [is troubling.]
Everyone loved Crosby. She had to kind of be like, āOh my God, it’s Cros!ā You know, but she was Joni Mitchell! I couldn’t really feel that stuff. Yeah, that’s gonna be my band. It’s frustrating.Ā
Sorry, we canceled. [Laughs]
EDJ: No, I think CSNY is a reasonable one!
JK: I was gonna say The Who, honestly. The Who are awesome and everything and certainly there’s ā60s garage [rock] stuff that’s fun and everything.Ā
EDJ: I think it’s okay to throw fire at those guys. Dylan can take it and be pissed. They can fucking take it!
JK: I guess I feel like that’s lazy of me.Ā
I think AnaĆÆsā comment about this sort of Mount Rushmore of at the time, early 20s baby boomer white men [was well made]. When they were very young with guitars, for some reason, we’ve decided that those guys are the best.
EDJ: It’s like the Rolling Stone magazine ātop 40 cool guysā list. It’s like a mural at a guitar center in suburban Atlanta that you stopped at on tour.
But also AnaĆÆs, sidebar, in my seventeen songwriters above Dylan, Joni Mitchell is my number one, soā¦
JK: She’s at the top of my list for sure, but I think in the top zone. I don’t know if they’re like tiered necessarily, because since it is art and stuff, it does sort of depend on the opening that I have for it on any given day to enter my heart.
AM: I got a couple more. You guys, this is going to be wild. Well, maybe not. I mean, you guys know me pretty well, because it’s some of these things, the music is undeniable and has shaped other music, but it’s not for me, you know? I would put the Beatles in that category.
JK: Ā I was waiting for you to say that!
AM: I would put both [CSNY and the Beatles] in there. And I sort of appreciate it when I hear it. Like when I hear it coming out of someone’s car or on the radio or whatever, but I will never put that music on myself.Ā
EDJ: I feel like with Beatles, if it didn’t catch you at a certain moment it’s a tough, massive thing to dig into. I didn’t get into Joni until I was 30, and it was like one of the pivotal musical moments of my life.
That’s not to say, āI think you have to be 38 to get into Joni,ā but I think for whatever reason, she’s so deep and cool and crazy that I think it took me having a little life behind me to sort of understand what it was about. Someone who had seen clouds from both sides now, like at that point, it hit me like super hard.
I think Beatles, talk about iconography and stuff like that! It’s like, I totally get it. But I can’t. I love the Beatles. It exists in my musical and our band’s musical DNA. I’m never not thinking about like a McCartney melody.
AM: I had some grand thought while you were just saying that, about when you encounter music and when it speaks to you. Because yes, if you’re fourteen, if you’re fifteen discovering Ani DiFranco as I was. She became like my whole raison d’etre, but then for someone discovering her later, at a different time in their life or whatever, it’s different. You had to be a certain age to get the Joni.Ā
And, I wanted to talk about the Grateful Dead because, like the Beatles, I might’ve put them in [this category] if we had spoken a different time, but now I know and love you guys. I sort of became like a late-blooming deadhead, because of your love for the dead. I really got into it andĀ really into the lyrics. I genuinely, really appreciate that music now, in a way that I didn’t like, ten years ago. Part of that is because I love you guys.
I kind of love how your love for people then transfers to your love for the things that they love. And that then becomes a thing that you love.Ā
JK: I totally feel that. I’m not going to name any names here, because I feel like it could be misconstrued, but I do feel like I remember early on going out and opening up for bands with friends and at the beginning of it having already made up my mind about this music or something. But then, getting to know these people intimately over the course of a month and having these accelerated friendships as a result of being around each other every day and sort of falling for what they’re doing a little bit. Or maybe, at least being way more open to it than I ever would have been just hearing it on the radio or hearing it in a friend’s car.
So much music [from] growing up I associate with people that I love, for sure. Getting into Bob Dylan ācause I love my dad. At a young age like, āThis guy’s obsessed with this guy!ā And I guess I’m kind of obsessed with this guy who’s into this guy.Ā
A funny one for me is They Might Be Giants. I love the songwriting of They Might Be Giants and I love that band so much, but I wouldn’t expect one of you guys to get into it now if you weren’t into it when you were fourteen. You know what I mean?Ā
EDJ: I love the point you made Josh, about touring with bands or something, especially in the indie rock days, where you’re really like up in each other’s grills. You bond in a kind of a different way. ā¦
You guys, we have four minutes left. What are your top three favorite foods, Josh.Ā
JK: My top three favorite foods, umā¦ Today I would say, I like Szechuan Chinese food. I like Greek food. And I like Italian food. You know, all the classic Northern Italian things and all the Roman pasta stuff. I mean, who am I kidding, right?Ā
I’m going genres, not dishes, because for me, it’s definitely more about a palette than it is about a specific [dish]. You know, grilled fish and lemon and tomatoes and cucumbers. If I want something in that zone, then I want Greek food. If I want spicy, zingy Szechuan peppercorn, it doesn’t really matter what it is, it could be like shrimp or tofu or chicken, or it could just be string beans. I just get in the mood and go in that direction.Ā
EDJ: AnaĆÆs, what do you got?Ā
AM: I just got so hungry when you described the fish with the lemon and then the tomatoes, Josh. Now that’s what I want. All right. The first thing I’m going to say is Josh’s food. I want not what you just said, but food that Josh Kaufman cooks. I would like the fluffy eggs that you make sometimes. And also one time you whipped up a chicken soup. Do you remember that? You just whipped it up so fast and it was the best chicken soup I’ve ever had.Ā
JK: Oh, I love that. That’s so sweet. I love cooking for you guys.
AM:Ā I also love and I recently hadā do you remember the place Wang’s in Park Slope? It’s kind of like fried chicken, Southern stuff, but then also is it Korean?Ā
JK: Korean fried chicken? I think, right?
AM: I had something like that with Ramona, my older daughter recently, and I was like, āOh my God, this is very delicious.ā
Eric, you tell us yours.Ā
EDJ: Oysters, shrimp cocktail, nachosā¦ uh, buffalo wings. And that’s it. Love you guys.
AM: Love you.Ā
EDJ: Love you. Hopefully it’s all turned out awesome and we have so many cool things to talk about. I’ll see yous on Thursday night!
Artist:JEMS Hometown: Los Angeles, California Latest Album:Back Around Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Wild Valley Dream Weavers, lots of others!
Which artist has influenced you the most ā and how?
I grew up with Joni Mitchell. For every season of life, her music feels like the soundtrack. I find myself returning to songs and finding new meanings as my scope continues to broaden and deepen. Her voice is unapologetically her own and I am so inspired by her journey. ā Emily
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
When my dad played me the song “Eleanor Rigby” I had a major lightbulb moment. I donāt think I had realized how powerful music as storytelling was until then. I mustāve been 8 or 9 and my imagination burst wide open. ā Jess
Probably when I started playing the songs I was writing as a kid for my Dad. He was both kind and critical in ways that confirmed that I wanted to work on and share my songs with not just him, but everyone. ā Sarah Margaret
Genre is dead (long live genre!), but how would you describe the genres and styles your music inhabits?
We each have distinct vocal timbres and have been influenced by the genres we grew up listening to, from jazz and soul to indie rock to classical and film scores to folk and Americana. That diversity adds a richness to our blend and has influenced how we approach melody, harmony, and storytelling. As a trio, we live in the folk world, but lean into many other lanes depending on the instrumentation and production of each song.
If you didnāt work in music, what would you do instead?
Iād be a hairdresser. I cut and color hair for fun/therapy and I truly love it. Although I donāt know if Iād love it as much if I had to do itā¦Ā ā Jess
Iād be a private chef. I love going to farmerās markets, learning from local farmers and artisans, and expressing myself through food. Maybe itās the French in me! ā Emily
A marine biologist, or boat captain, or something that lets me be in and around the ocean all the time. ā Sarah Margaret
If you were a color, what shade would you be ā and why?
Gold! Iād donāt know why, but Iāve just always felt like the sunshine. ā Jess
Olive green. Iād like to be as warm, relaxing, and grounded as that color! ā Sarah Margaret
Soon after Earl Scruggs and Lester Flatt ended their partnership and their band The Foggy Mountain Boys in 1969, Earl created The Earl Scruggs Revue with his sons. They recorded for a major label, Columbia, and toured regularly until 1980, disbanding in 1982. This is the story of how I came to see, hear and take extensive notes about their 1975 concert at the University of Maine.
In 1969 I was living in St. Johnās, Newfoundland, working at Memorial Universityās folklore department where I taught a yearly course, Introduction to Folk Song. I knew that bluegrass drew from folk traditions in the U.S. Southeast, for I had been playing bluegrass and writing about it for a decade. But I could tell my students little about the Canadian milieu. So, in the early ā70s I began research in Canadaās Maritime provinces of Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, and New Brunswick
In August 1974, I moved to New Brunswick for a yearās sabbatical. My research project was a study of regional and local relationships between country music and folk music traditions. I did extensive fieldwork ā interviews and documenting events, collecting music.
That fall, I met a singer-collector of country records and song folios, a perfect example of the kind of folk-country connection I was studying. I recorded several hours of his songs and began contemplating publishing them in an album.
I thought at once of Rounder, a new record company that had been publishing innovative roots albums. Iād met the Rounders ā Ken Irwin, Bill Nowlin and Marian Leighton, a music collective ā at an American Folklore Society meeting. They knew me as a writer about and collector of bluegrass.
Early in the new year I arranged to visit them. In February 1975, I set out in the family pickup with my ten-year-old daughter Lisa from our farmhouse in Pleasant Villa, New Brunswick to Brooksville, Maine, where we visited relatives. Lisa stayed with them while I drove further south to Somerville, Massachusetts, to visit the Rounders.
David Menconi, in his new book, Oh, Didnāt They Ramble (U of NC Press), describes well the scene at the Rounder collectiveās big old Somerville house, with their newly flourishing roots music record company. We discussed projects, they took me down to the basement to see their mail order records inventory, and I came back to Brooksville with a load of LPs and lots of news about the contemporary bluegrass world.
Brooksville is a little over an hour away from Orono, site of the University of Maine, where my friend, Edward D. āSandyā Ives, lived. Sandy was a great writer, a folklorist whoād studied and published books about 19th century singer-songmakers in Maine and the Maritimes. I was looking forward to discussing my ongoing research with him. After I returned from visiting the Rounders, we drove up to Orono to see Sandy and his wife, Bobby.
When we got to Orono, a young friend and former student of mine at Memorial, Lisa Feldman, was staying with the Ives. It was she who alerted us about the Earl Scruggs Revue concert and went along with us to it.
In St. Johnās, I regularly bought new bluegrass albums by mail order from County Sales. I donāt recall paying much attention to the Revue then. County didnāt carry their albums.
Revue albums were not easy to find in Newfoundland. Working on a Flatt & Scruggs discography and, admiring Scruggsā banjo artistry, I wanted to hear his contemporary work. I bought all the Revue albums I could find. By the fall of 1974, when I moved to New Brunswick for the sabbatical, Iād gotten seven.
Those records were in storage back in Newfoundland for the year, but Iād brought my stereo set along and by December Iād found a new Revue album, Rocking Across the Country (Columbia KC 32943). There was nice Dobro on it by Josh Graves and one great instrumental composed by Earl, āSilver Eagleā ā named, presumably, for the bandās bus.
During that year I was doing field research at music events and venues ā bars, jamborees, concerts, jams ā and had developed a system of documenting them. I carried a 3″ by 5″ notebook (spiral binding, ruled pages) and took notes. This was with me all the time and so it just seemed like an easy thing to take notes as usual at this concert.
What follows are my notes from that February 7, 1975, concert, written up from my notebook when I returned to Pleasant Villa the following week.
Friday, February 7, 1975 Orono, Maine Report on Earl Scruggs Revue Concert at the University of Maine, Orono.
Tickets were $3.50. I went with Sandy Ives, and we were joined at the concert by Lisa Feldman and by [Sandyās wife] Bobby and [their daughter] Sarah Ives and [my daughter] Lisa R., who had all gone to see a Robin Hood movie. The concert was sponsored by the student union and represented a slight departure from previous concerts of this type in that instead of bringing high-powered ānameā outfits on which a lot of money had been lost, they were now trying slightly less expensive acts. The concert committee was dominated by frat boys who didnāt know about music, according to Lisa [F.].
Site of the event was the basketball gym. Folding chairs were placed on the court, and wooden bleachers were placed around the side (these might have been permanent, but seemed moveable… small point). There were balcony seats on both sides and at one end, the end over the doors through which we entered. At the other end a stage was set up. Dominated by big columns and horns on either side ā your typical rock concert setup. Sandy and I took seats on the left side of the bleachers (as you face the stage), about three rows up and we were about 2/3 to 3/4 of the way back from the stage toward the entry doors. Directly ahead of us in the middle of the floor was a raised platform on which the controls for the sound were set, along with a chair or two for the operator(s?). Behind this, higher and close to the back, was another platform with the lights. During the concert the colors were constantly being changed and moved about from tune to tune by a light man who must have known something about the Scruggs show in advance.
The audience consisted of college students almost exclusively. I didnāt see any old-time Martha White fans or country music types. Dress was Leviās and hippie mufti ā knit caps, ragged but interesting coats, vests, long dresses, patches, etc. There was a lot of smoking going on and some drinking. Before the show a long-haired young man who represented the powers that be got up and told the audience that there was no smoking and no drinking and that if they were caught, they would be ejected from the show by the campus police. In addition he said that, if you must smoke, then donāt get caught. But also, he said, please donāt put out your butts on the floor of the basketball court ā a lot were last time, and the University is threatening to not let them have concerts if this continues. Burden of the speech: Here are the ground rules, donāt get caught, play it cool.
The campus police were cruising up and down the aisles dressed in dark blue uniforms with dark blue shirts and black ties with dark blue Stetsons. Something like Civil War Union Army officers in movies. And they were looking very serious and hawk-like.
The warm-up act was introduced, as a group from Boston, “Beckett.” The group consisted of Phil B. (missed his last name, [Buller]), who came on playing a D28 guitar and a harmonica, Steve Delaney, playing an electric bass, and Jaime Michaels, who played a D18 Martin guitar and did the emcee and lead singing in the first few numbers. Later they all switched around, with each doing some lead singing and some emceeing. I took notes in the darkened auditorium with a fancy movie criticās pen that [then wife] Ann had given me — lights up in the dark, illuminating oneās pad. As it were.
The first song was “CLEAR BLUE SKY.” There were a few catcalls from the balcony and a rather tentative feeling from the audience. A whiff of authentic marijuana smoke drifted my way during this (and subsequent songs), and I could see people lighting up in various places. Later, the folks next to me surreptitiously passed a bottle (beer, I think) around. At the end of the first song, the Beckett emcee made a sly crack about “Maine Mounties” and from there the show built — they had the audience with them.
Next song was “SOMETHING NEW.” As all this was going on, the cops were cruising up and down the aisles, occasionally throwing people out, but generally arriving on the scene after the cigarette had been extinguished. They were on the lookout for tell-tale lights, and one time one went by us while I was jotting down a note with my fancy pen. He gave me a hard look and some of the people around me had a good giggle about that.
Next song, [“WE ARE FREE”]. These guys werenāt musically bad, but I could not really get into their music. The harmony singing was kind of Crosby/Stills/Nash and actually a bit weak; the instrumental aspect of it was bland. A note here says āharelip,ā but when you wait ten days before writing up your notes you forget the jokes, I guess. Next one of the boys took up an Ovation guitar ā this was Phil B., and the song was “LAST TUESDAY MORNING.” Then Jaimie mentioned that they were from Virginia and that they considered it an honor to be appearing with the Earl Scruggs Revue. Then they did “TENNESSEE.” Next, “IāLL TRY IF YOUāLL TRY.” Most of their songs were their own compositions, I guess. I didnāt recognize any of the above; the names in brackets are ones they didnāt announce that I guessed at from the words. Now Phil took up the Ovation again Steve took an electric guitar and they did a song they had written while in Pittsburgh, [“STOLE AWAY”]. Using the same instrumentation, which, incidentally, sounded better than the acoustics ā that is, the electric came over with much more tone ā they did “PERFECT HONEY.”
Now another instrument switch with Phil taking up an old Gibson J50 guitar and Steve going back to the bass. The song was introduced as a “folk songā for reasons which eluded me at the time. It was “SEARCHING,” but not the Coastersā smash hit. With the same instrumentation, they then launched into a song written either by or about some friends in Boston, “COUNTY LINE.” Then, as their final tune, a song they introduced as being by Joni Mitchell and needing no introduction (?). It was well received by the audience, and they got an encore.
They came on and did a song which they introduced as a real old one by that old bluesman Eric Von Schmidt (time flies ā I remember Rolf Cahn telling me in 1959 that he’d been picking with a really good kid in Boston who even did some slide guitar, a kid named Rick Von Schmidt). Song was “AINāT NOBODYāS BUSINESS BUT YOU OWN,” and they did it well. Kids in the front of the audience got up and started waving their hands in the air, literally surrendering to the music. For the second encore, it was another Von Schmidt tune, “GRIZZLY BEAR (SOLID GONE).”
Another intermission, punctuated by further entreaties by the same fellow. By this point, the cops were less in evidence although during the second half they did eject several people sitting around me.
Enter the Earl Scruggs Revue, who plug in and pick away at once on “NASHVILLE SKYLINE RAG.” Across the front of the stage are three microphones; at my left stands Stevie Scruggs, who plays rhythm guitar (a Gallagher) most of the evening, except for one banjo tune. Next to him is Randy, who is bent over his Gallagher guitar, doing the lead work. Characteristically I guess you never see his face when heās picking, he’s looking at the fingers and anyhow is surrounded by hair. Later, in various numbers which I didnāt note, he plays a bright red Gibson electric with twin cutouts and a thin (hollow?) body, which has a very mellow tone.
Next to him, in stage center, is Earl. Earlās Mastertone is electrified with some sort of pickup inside, a Barkus-Berry or FRAP of some kind I guess. This surprised me, as did the fact that he was wearing the instrument much lower than when he played with Flatt. He was not bopping around as much as the boys (who, in turn, were not bopping around as much as many or most rock groups), but he was looking very relaxed, had the old smile of yore, and did move when he played more than I remember from the Martha White days. On the right and, rather standing back was poker-faced Gary, who played bass and did the lead singing. When there was any part singing done, Earl and Randy took the center mic, Steve the left-hand one, and, behind them Jody Maphis took his vocal parts on a separate mike over the drums. To my right behind and to the right of Gary, was a piano where Jack Lee the pianist sat. This is the same guy on the cover of the Rockin’ Across the Country album. [This is not correct. The guy on the cover of Rockinā is Shane Keister, who is listed on the album cover as ākeyboard instruments.ā]
My first impression was one of tightness, in the sense that the band was really together and tight. And although I canāt say I like Earl’s banjo sound as well with the volts surging through it, it was sounding like a banjo and Earl did get quite a few tonal nuances from it without the visible aid of a tone control. Randy was as good as the recordings led me to expect, however, he frequently seemed to be āgrandstandingā it, by playing freak-out type rock licks way up the neck which were spectacular and, effective in terms of inciting the audience, but which were as far as I was concerned not as nice musically as the well thought out stuff he did or does on record. So I was a bit disappointed in Randy.
My reaction to Earl was just the opposite. He has sounded a bit stiff and mechanical on the records I have heard (and I got āem all, Jack), but tonight he was nicely in the groove and seemed to have some very interesting new ideas, especially rhythmic variations, which I hadnāt heard before. He really seemed to be enjoying himself, too. After this tune, the members were introduced and they went right into “I SHALL BE RELEASED,” following which, Earl introduced the next song as an old “shouting type number,” “PAUL AND SILAS.”
Garyās singing is o.k., it fits the music and sells the songs to the rock programmed audience. Doesnāt bother me, doesnāt excite me; seems to be better in person than on record, and better on recent record than on older records. Earl next says this is an old number he used to play at square dances back when they only had one instrument, and he says, “Weāll show you what it was like to do it alone and then weāll show you why I was so glad when someone else came by with their instruments to help me out.” He doesnāt announce it, but itās “SALLY GOODIN.” Intro and arrangement are as on the Kansas State album. They really get rolling (and rocking) on this one, with Earl and Randy engaging in some nice banjo-guitar call-response stuff. The audience responds here as it does again and again later on to the faster tunes, by standing up and waving their hands, shouting, etc. Following this, Earl mentions the Kansas State album by saying that the next tune is on it, an old Jimmie Rodgers tune, “T FOR TEXAS.” Next, Randy is to pick a fiddle tune on the guitar, and it turns out to be “BLACK MOUNTAIN BLUES.”
The next tune, an instrumental, was a [Blues in F] and then, coming without an announcement was “MOST LIKELY YOU GO YOUR WAY (AND IāLL GO MINE),” which has a nice arrangement with some good banjo work by Earl. The next song is introduced by Gary as one which dad wrote about the place in North Carolina where he grew up, “FLINT HILL SPECIAL.” Gary takes a harmonica break on this one.
Then, a novelty item — Randy and Jody play a tune written by Elizabeth Cotten (Earl is talking ā I was gassed that he gave the tune proper credit, this really shows the kind of considerate and thoughtful person I like to think he is), on one guitar! Here Jody gets up front, from behind his drums, and he & Randy stand near the center of the stage and Randy does the right hand (the guitar, a Gallagher is hung from around his neck) and Jody does the left. Then, while Jody does the simple left hand, Randy does some fancy up the neck left hand stuff too, making it into a very interesting and rather complex piece of music. They also gag it up a bit, swinging the guitar back and forth at the end, in time to a leg-swinging rock dance step thing. Nice job, boys. “FREIGHT TRAIN” was the tune, of course.
Now one of the boys (Gary?) introduces Earl doing an old Carter Family tune on the guitar. This is “YOU ARE MY FLOWER,” which Gary sings and my impression was that the sound not as nice and delicate as on the recordings of that that Earl did a few years back. Next itās Stevieās turn ā he does “EARLāS BREAKDOWN” on Earlās banjo and itās very hard to hear, giving me the impression that he hasnāt mastered the tune that well or that in any case hasnāt worked out tone production and control on the electrified instrument the way his father has. The next tune I noted only as [“FATHER TOLD ME”] and Iām at a loss to identify it from their recordings. Then, of course, the song which “Daddy wrote for a television series,” “THE BALLAD OF JED CLAMPETT” done as an instrumental. Followed by Randyās guitar version of “ORANGE BLOSSOM SPECIAL,” which is a crowd rouser/etc.
Next comes Garyās interesting song “EVERYBODY WANTS TO GO TO HEAVEN (NOBODY WANTS TO DIE),” which features in this performance a slide banjo sequence by Earl, in which heās picking along, then takes his left hand off the fingerboard, reaching into his pocket (I think, what?!) and pulling out a slide and doing a couple bars of that kinda stuff. Grandstanding, but fun, and the audience canāt miss it. “STEP IT UP AND GO” is next and then “one that Dad wrote in 1949 and in 1968 they used it for the theme to a movie called Bonnie and Clyde,” “FOGGY MOUNTAIN BREAKDOWN,” which is the final number and leaves āem screaming for more so they do: “CAROLINA BOOGIE,” which has some nice call-response parts and leads to a second encore in which they do “BUGLE CALL RAG,” “LITTLE MAGGIE” (bless her soul).
The audience wants more but the lights are turned on.
(Editor’s Note: Neil Rosenberg’s Bluegrass Memoirs on the Earl Scruggs Revue will be continued.)
Author’s Note: For a contrasting review see Hub Nitchie, āPull the Plug, Earl” in Banjo Newsletter II:6 (April 1975), p. 13.
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