“Love Is Listening,” and Other Lessons Mipso Has Learned Over 10+ Years Together

Mipso’s new album, Book of Fools, pushes and pulls away from and toward the band’s sense of home, musically and geographically. There is a kinetic energy in this collaboration that is only achieved from years (10, to be precise) of hard-won work and the evolution of four people who choose each other. Though their sonic palate has shifted from earlier folk and bluegrass influences, this is less of a sea change and more a showcase of transformation and exploration amongst a group that has purposely allowed itself the space to shift. 

Speaking with members Wood Robinson, Libby Rodenbough, Jacob Sharp, and Joseph Terrell is a fresh reminder that a band, no matter how harmonious their music may be, consists of individual humans with their own needs, their own ideas of home, and their own personal evolutions. Bands that survive and thrive through the grueling work of creation to commerce are those that carve out the space for people to move and change and shapeshift. 

BGS reached Wood and Jacob via Zoom in their homes – in Salt Lake City and Los Angeles, respectively – and some days later spoke with Libby and Joseph on the phone from a van in Virginia at the start of their tour.

BGS: You all clearly have so much reverence for North Carolina as home base but you’ve also shifted around a lot, geographically. How have the changes of being rooted in one place, but then shifting around affected the music and how you operate as a band?

Jacob Sharp: There was a moment there where we all intentionally spread all across the country, all four in different locations. But the Triangle is home. Almost always, even when tours don’t start in the Southeast, we meet there to regroup and rehearse before we hit the road. And it is pretty obvious that whether we are there or not, North Carolina is the centerpiece spiritually and musically, too. We look behind and see our music and a lot of our search over the first couple of albums was peeling back the layers of what we thought we were supposed to be, being from North Carolina and playing acoustic instruments. Since then it has been about taking away things and adding things that actually feel more like us. These last two albums especially feel like we are honing in on that side of it. What is the North Carolina that we are a product of and that we hope we are creating? What is the new North Carolina? It is less about reinterpreting the past. 

Wood Robinson: Life kind of inevitably draws you away from the place you are originally from, where you identify as your home. Even though I live in Utah and Jacob lives in California, we still feel like North Carolina is the home that will always be home. Fortunately for me, I still get to go home about six times a year. But spreading out doesn’t make our logistical lives easier. 

Joseph Terrell: It’s frustrating. I wish we lived in the same place. We’d be able to play more. We’d be able to write and practice more. But what it has given us is the ability to take time and get together really seriously and for it to feel like summer camp when writing or touring. 

Libby, particularly with the song “East” off this record, I was thinking about this question and how that plays into it. How have the geographical shifts affected the music for you?

Libby Rodenbough: What’s important about the geographical changes is less about where anyone went and more that we’ve had some separation in our personal lives, which has certainly been useful, but logistically complicated. Getting together for tours or during COVID was pretty difficult. In terms of what the overall course of our lives has been over the last decade, it was pretty important that we feel like our lives can have twists and turns and changes and that the band could accommodate that. Symbolically, what it means is just as important as the actual physical space between us. 

Jacob, I had the pleasure of speaking with you earlier in the year for BGS to talk about the state of touring in 2023. I wanted to hear from you all about any differences you foresee in touring this new record from past record cycles, or if you feel like it is going to be similar. 

WR: We haven’t done more than 10 days at a time on the road in about a year and a half. We are all very excited about it. Before then, we had all reached a point where it just felt like going to work. Which is fine, most people do it every day, but this new tour is really exciting. We are playing a lot of really cool rooms. And for the first time in a long time, we are really trying to be intentional about every little thing. Artistically it is really exciting. Logistically, not much has changed. It is still going to be difficult. It is still going to be trying on relationships like it always has been. And there is no panacea for making it work financially other than the grind but you do all of it in spite of those realities. You find a way. 

JS: It is funny, because I can imagine ways for touring to be easier, but I can’t imagine doing it because it wouldn’t feel right ethically or artistically. There was a while when we weren’t really aware we were making all those decisions for the same reasons when we were saying “No” to certain things, or looking in a different direction than what was being presented as the high growth strategy. Now it is very clear to us what we are willing to do and what we are not willing to do. 

JT: I just had some boiled peanuts from a gas station in Virginia.

LR: So basically nothing has changed. 

One thing that is different for us is that we are doing an acoustic pre-show event where people can pay extra money and spend more personal time with us. We’ve been noticing a lot of bands doing this and I think it is mainly because it has been harder and riskier, post-COVID, to tour. Not that tours were ever not risky. It is to pad out the tour budgets, but we are looking forward to it because it is giving more personal contact to the touring experience and helps us to feel like we are doing something new and alive every night. When you only just leave the green room to go to the stage and back again, it can be harder for it to feel that way.

JT: It is really hitting home for me more in the past couple of years that this system of touring and music making and profit generation around music is fundamentally not designed to benefit the artists. Our very first album release show in October of 2013 was, to this day, the most physical media we ever sold at a show. It didn’t make us a ton of money, but it paid for the record. It was easy to see; you make a thing that people want and they come and buy it and they have a good time together and that’s part of how you do it again. We paid ourselves back. It is so much more difficult to do that now. 

LR: It is true on a general, larger scale, culturally, that everyone deserves to be able to live in the richest country in the history of the world. It’s logically obvious that that is possible. I’m not trying to propose an alternative economy myself, but it is obvious that we could do what we are doing and be comfortable and everyone could and should. That’s morally true.

There is a palpable sonic evolution on this record. What are some of your current influences as a band or as individuals (that can mean musical, literary, visual arts) that played into the shift?

WR: All of us are kind of obsessed with Kim Stanley Robinson. He’s the most important science fiction author of our time. He is not only dystopian but he also is very utopian within his visualizations of the future. You have to see the bad in the world we see today while simultaneously imagining how it can be infinitely better. 

Right, otherwise what’s it for?

WR: And I think the process of making music is inherently hopeful. You have to find the light at the end of the tunnel. 

JS: We all really like Big Thief and take a lot of comfort in how they eschew the industry and the model. It hasn’t cost them anything on the success side. That’s definitely a band whose music and the way they center themselves ethically within their career, we really look up to them. 

LR: Another book that I’ve been thinking a lot about for the last three years is The Dawn of Everything by David Graeber and David Wengrow. It is a review of the last decade or so of advancements in understanding early human civilizations. It is a very hopeful book. It is a great time in history to be cynical, but that book allows you zoom out and remember the truth, which is that the things that are fucked up about now are not necessary or essential to human life. And it could work in a totally different way in the future and that’s really essential to believe. I would say that was an influence on some of the songs I wrote for this record, like “The Numbers” and “Book of Fools.” 

JT: I’ve been thinking a lot about the feeling of playing together when something is really happening, not when you are just reciting your line but when something emergent and effervescent is taking place. In the last year or so I’ve been heavy into The Band, The Fairport Convention, and The Grateful Dead. Those are some bands that do this beautiful dance of communication on stage. 


You’ve just passed the decade mark of being a band this last year. And this is in an age when so many bands fall apart because of the economic realities of music or interpersonal relationships, the extreme hardships of touring… What is the glue that keeps you together, or if you want to frame it this way, what advice would you give to bands that haven’t been around for a decade?

JS: We are acutely aware of how hard it is right now to keep it on the rails. It is something that we talk about. It is a part of the ride. We’ve made some mistakes, but the one thing that hasn’t been a mistake is that we are always willing to slow down to make room for how someone has changed and how you need time to understand that. To have ignored it would have been the end. It is crazy that we get to do this. Four really good friends continuing to find ways to share our music with each other and then to share it with this global community that we’ve built. It is so wild that it exists.

WR: I think that also, you have a limited number of years of being “Yes men.” Every “Yes” is at a cost. My worst days on the road have always been ones that end in a show where I’m not thinking about the music I’m making. And if everything else in life is getting in the way of the main thing that you are supposed to have absolute, unbridled joy in doing, then it is worth re-evaluating. I think we are at a high point now of really being able to cherish those moments together. 

LR: Just like in any kind of relationship, there are certain rewards that you can only experience after years and years and years go by. I remember reading this Joni Mitchell quote about why she likes to have long-term relationships as opposed to an endless string of short affairs. She talks about how falling in love at the onset is more about falling in love with yourself. But as time goes on, you learn to actually love another person. Loving another person is a long-term pursuit, foundationally.

The work of the four of us loving each other has been some of the hardest work of my life and then some of the most rewarding. There is a lot of freedom in quitting things. Growing up I felt a pressure to never quit. That was a bad thing because it made it harder for me to understand my own internal compass. I think people should leave situations that are causing them harm, for sure. But another equal and different truth is that if you can find a way to still have enough space for yourself, working alongside people long-term is a beautiful possibility in life that not everybody gets to do. 

JT: The main ingredient of love is listening and it has made me a better person to listen to these friends of mine for a long time. That is also what I love about being on stage with people that I know so well. All of us have lived a decade of huge changes in our lives. It’s one of the best things you can do with your life and the hours of the day, is to listen to somebody else. 

(Editor’s Note: Continue your exploration of our Artist of the Month, Mipso, here.)


Photo Credit: Calli Westra

Artist of the Month: Mipso

If one were to chart North Carolina string band Mipso’s career over the past decade on a line graph, you’d see a steadily rising, ever-growing musical output and an ever-burgeoning audience for their brand of grounded-yet-dreamy folk pop. This journey through roots music has paralleled their peers – bands and artists like Watchhouse, Billy Strings, Molly Tuttle, and Della Mae – but they’ve outlasted more than a few similar ensembles that have fallen to the wayside over those years. Strikingly, even while enjoying near constant growth since they coalesced in 2012, the band has eschewed higher echelons of the Americana star-scape, choosing instead to scale their business and their art intentionally and deliberately.

Theirs is a sound and musical aesthetic ready for the “big time” – they’ve garnered hundreds of millions of streams – but Mipso (made up of Wood Robinson, Libby Rodenbough, Jacob Sharp, and Joseph Terrell) seem very happy with where they’ve landed since their consecutive popular and critically-acclaimed releases Coming Down the Mountain (2017), Edges Run (2018), and 2020’s Mipso. Each album saw the group gain traction, gain fans, and gain notoriety. Still, they aren’t defined by their ambitions; and their ambitions don’t seem to ever be conflated with conquering anything. Instead, this is a band building something.

Mipso’s sixth studio album, Book of Fools (due out August 25), certainly speaks to this phenomenon. The group feels perfectly at home with one another; they’re a chosen-family band – together, they’ve been through their college days, their road-dogging era, their “I think this might not just be a pipe dream…” successes, landing with a crystalline point of view that’s expansive, complicated, and rich, but doesn’t feel like it has anything to prove. There’s no desperation here – to claw back pre-COVID reality, to tour arenas, to brand and merchandise their way to an empire. As songwriter, guitarist, and singer Joseph Terrell puts it in a press release, “Book of Fools feels more relaxed, more confident, more us – like we’re wearing our favorite clothes and telling our favorite story and it feels exciting again.”

“The Numbers,” the second single from Book of Fools, winks to this measured, black-and-white view of their own jobs and careers – versus “real jobs,” let’s say – and the economic access that’s never been a hallmark of either roots music or the generation to which Mipso’s members belong. By prioritizing building art and community over bottom line, Mipso demonstrate a class consciousness that places themselves and their music in alignment with workers, laborers, and the every-person, making the message behind “The Numbers” palpably genuine.

“I looked around at this cruel place where we live,” Libby Rodenbough explained via press release, describing the U.S. and the stock market, “And I felt forlorn that the NASDAQ offers anybody any kind of comfort. How do I know things are bad? Because I feel it, and I see it.”

Who are “The Numbers” supposed to comfort? And what exactly are they supposed to indicate? Mipso utilize their post-modern string band trappings – in a similar fashion to Nickel Creek or Crooked Still – to explore these ideas in ways that the forebears of bluegrass and old-time did as well, in their own time and within the social and political issues of their own days.

Genre-wise, Mipso may have traveled a great distance from their bluegrassy early days as a string band quartet dripping with North Carolinian roots music traditions, but again their journey, in this regard especially, does not feel overtly aspirational. These are not sounds and production values adopted in order to sell out bigger rooms or fill bigger stages. The music of Book of Fools  (and really any LP in their catalog since Dark Holler Pop) is as intentional as the messages within it, so one can feel and enjoy the old-timey touches that underpin these fully-realized sonic landscapes.

Mipso hasn’t lost touch. They haven’t lost sight of how real the stakes are outside of their own experiences – and within them. While they may not be building a business model reliant on “sheds” and arenas and radio hits and dynamic ticket pricing to be “successful,” you can feel the gratitude they have for their own daily lives and careers, even while they apply critical lenses through which to talk about the social and political issues they and their community face.

It’s exciting, encouraging, and energizing, to appreciate an album that isn’t merely a rung on a career ladder, but is meant to be its own constituent journey – both for Mipso and their listeners. Book of Fools speaks to a trajectory that is neither predictable nor totally quantifiable and isn’t merely about consumption or facilitating an ever-deepening appetite for consumption. That this could be said about almost any release by this prolific foursome speaks to exactly why we’re so pleased to name Mipso our August Artist of the Month.

Watch for our Artist of the Month feature to come later in August and for now, enjoy our Essential Mipso Playlist.


Photo Credit: Calli Westra

WATCH: Joseph Terrell, “Tallest House of Cards” (feat. Charly Lowry)

Artist: Joseph Terrell
Hometown: Durham, NC
Song: “Tallest House of Cards” (featuring Charly Lowry)
Album: Good For Nothing Howl
Release Date: May 5, 2023
Label: Sleepy Cat Records

In Their Words: “Charly Lowry is one of my favorite singers in North Carolina. I love her voice and her presence and I really admire how rooted she is in her community in Eastern North Carolina (AKA “down east” AKA the most interesting part of the state with the most swamps and collard greens per capita). We met up in Pembroke, NC at Charly’s bar, Credentials Social Club, and she helped me record a beautiful version of this song from my album … thanks to Charly for bringing it to life. Directed by my great buddies Sandra Davidson and Cameron Laws, we made a day trip out of it, got Mexican at Charly’s favorite spot beforehand, and then Cook Out milkshakes afterward (banana pudding). It was a pleasure all around.

“‘Tallest House of Cards’ is about some great duos who burned hot and bright for a little while. You know Bonnie & Clyde, Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers. Y’all maybe don’t know the story of Charles Mason & Jeremiah Dixon, the surveyors who drew the famous line, but they were a wild pairing, too. I’ve got some other verses (Bert & Ernie, Siegfried & Roy) that I might bust out live.” – Joseph Terrell


Video directed by Sandra Katharine Davidson and Cameron Elizabeth Laws

Photo Credit: Joseph Blankinship

WATCH: Mipso Get Experimental With “Let a Little Light In”

Mipso’s sixth full-length release, simply called Mipso, marks an adventurous, exploratory turn for the group’s sound. Up until their most recent couple of projects the North Carolina four-piece’s music usually dwelt in the string band realm, but as this music video for “Let a Little Light In” will attest, the new self-titled album features more experimental textures and atmospheres. In the video, the members of Mipso revisit nostalgic memories that have a marked fuzziness and that strange cocktail of joy and sadness about them.

On YouTube, singer-fiddler Libby Rodenbough posted, “It was really tempting to take this song in a kind of familiar bluesy direction, but we fought the temptation and tried to take into a weirder, quirkier zone.” Mipso is a unique step for the group, following very much in the footsteps of this single. In a press release, the band calls it their “most sonically adventurous and lyrically rich work to date, each moment charged with the tension between textural effervescence and an underlying despair about the modern world.” Watch “Let a Little Light In” below.


Photo credit: D.L. Anderson

The Show on the Road – Mipso

This week, we feature one of the leading roots-pop bands working today: Mipso. An affable and endlessly-creative quartet formed in Chapel Hill, NC, they are made up of fiddle player Libby Rodenbough, mandolinist Jacob Sharp, guitarist Joseph Terrell, and bassist Wood Robinson.


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Despite the anxious mood of their swing-state home base, it’s quite an exciting time for Mipso. Host Z. Lupetin was able to catch up with Libby and Jacob (via Zoom of course) to discuss their lushly orchestrated, self-titled record which just dropped last week; and if you walk down 8th Avenue in Nashville this week, you might catch a billboard with their sheepish grins large in the sky.

How did they get here? It’s hard to find a group where every member can effortlessly sing lead and write genre-bending songs that fit seamlessly on six acclaimed albums — and counting — in under ten years. Earlier standout records like the breakout Dark Holler Pop, produced by fellow North Carolinian Andrew Marlin of Mandolin Orange, and Edges Run, which features a veritable online hit in the broken-voiced, emotional “People Change,” show how Mipso appeals not only to folk fest-loving moms and dads, but also their edgier kids, who appreciate their subversive turns of phrase and playful gender-ambiguous, neon-tinted wardrobe.

As Z. found out during his conversation with Libby and Jacob, the band nearly broke up after a series of grueling 150-shows-a-year runs, a scary car wreck, and the pressure of putting out Edges Run for their rapidly growing fanbase. The forced slower pace of this last year and a half has been a gift in several ways — allowing the group to catch their breath and hole up to write more collaboratively than ever. The shimmering sonic backdrop that gifted producer and musician Sandro Perri was able to bring to the Mipso sessions at Echo Mountain studio in Asheville really makes the songs feel like they could exist in any era.

You wouldn’t be alone if you heard the connection between the honey-hooked newest record with the timeless, mellow-with-a-hint-of-menace hits of the 1970s (looking at you James Taylor and Carly Simon). Songs like “Never Knew You Were Gone” show off Terrell’s gift for gently asking the deepest questions, like where he might go when he transitions to the other side in a “silvery fire,” or the sardonically nostalgic “Let A Little Light In,” which wonders if the soft-focused images we have of the peaceful, boomtime 1990s (when Mipso was growing up) could use some real scrutiny. Rodenbough’s silky fiddle work stars throughout –and her courageous, vulnerable lead vocal on “Your Body” may be the most memorable moment on the new work.

Stick around to the end of the episode to hear mandolinist Jacob Sharp introduce his favorite contribution, “Just Want To Be Loved.”


Photo credit: D.L. Anderson

BGS Long Reads of the Week // April 17

We’ve so enjoyed looking back into the BGS archives with you every week for some of our favorite reporting, videos, interviews, and more. If you haven’t yet, follow our #longreadoftheday series on social media [on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram] and as always, we’ll put all of our picks together right here at the end of each week.

Our long reads this week are pioneering, longsuffering, triumphant, innovative, and so much more.

Old, New, Borrowed, and Blue: A Conversation with Sam Bush

April 13 just so happens to be the birthday of this bluegrass pioneer, a man who has had an incredible impact on the genre over the course of his lifelong career. So of course we started off the week in long reads with this 2016 interview with Sam Bush, written by Mipso guitarist and vocalist, Joseph Terrell. Sam talks New Grass Revival, Bluegrass Alliance, the future of mandolin, and so much more. It’s worth a read, birthday or not! Happy Birthday, Sam! [Read more]


Canon Fodder: Loretta Lynn, Van Lear Rose

It just so happens, we’re featuring two birthday long reads in a row! On Tuesday this week we wished country legend Loretta Lynn a very happy birthday with a revisit to an archived edition of Canon Fodder on Van Lear Rose, her 2004 critically-acclaimed collaborative album made with Jack White. Lynn has changed and innovated upon country music in many more ways than one, and she continues to do so as her career goes on! Just like with Van Lear Rose. [Read more about the album]


Eric Gibson’s Family Shares Autism Story in New Film

We love a two-fer. With this look back into the archives, you get a film choice for tonight or this weekend, too. The Madness & the Mandolin is a documentary following the many challenges and breakthroughs of Kelley Gibson’s (son of The Gibson Brothers’ Eric Gibson) journey and evolution with autism. The film explores methods like exercise, meditation, reading, and music as tools that, combined, can often be the most powerful treatment. We spoke to the project’s producer/director Dr. Sean Ackerman last year. 

The Madness & the Mandolin is available to rent on Amazon Prime. [Read the interview]


Like Father, Like Sons: Del McCoury & the Travelin’ McCourys

2019 was a banner year for The Del McCoury Band and The Travelin’ McCourys, Del celebrated his 80th birthday, his Opry anniversary, and DelFest conquered the mid-Atlantic once again. While 2020 is certainly off to a rockier start, the entire bluegrass world — and roots music altogether, too — are so glad to still have this legend of bluegrass making music, laughing a lot, and killing the hair game. At BGS, we’re grateful we got a chance to chat with Del backstage at the Opry last year. [Read more]


Rose Maddox: The Remarkable Hillbilly Singer Who Made Bluegrass History

She’s not in the Country Music Hall of Fame or the Bluegrass Hall of Fame, and Hollywood has never adapted her story for any sized screen. She’s certainly more than deserving of the former — regarding the latter, you’ll just have to read our feature to see why Rose Maddox deserves to be canonized and then some for her myriad contributions to country, bluegrass, and every other genre in between. [Read about this musical pioneer]


 

Feeding Pigeons and Eating Pizza with Mipso

It’s a mellow Fall afternoon in Carrboro, NC, shortly before the early-evening hustle to get home. A lot of students make up the little town’s population thanks to the adjacent town of Chapel Hill and the University of North Carolina, but Carrboro is also a home to artists and other creatives — its cheap living, easy-going attitude, and compact layout make it an attractive spot to set up camp.

The roots music upstarts in Mipso call Chapel Hill home, though they hang out more in Carrboro. Singer/mandolin player Jacob Sharp sits in a small brewery downtown, as the band’s new record, Old Time Reverie, pours out of the speakers. Sharp is quick to admit it’s weird, but that’s one of the perils of the area’s tight-knit music community — it’s as common to hear locals’ tunes playing on shop stereos as anything else.

But this is hardly the most exciting thing going on for Sharp and his cohorts at the time: The day before, the newly released Billboard charts featured Old Time Reverie at the top of its bluegrass listing, at number 20 on its folk chart, and number 23 on its Heatseekers chart. The band spent the previous 24 hours fielding dozens of phone calls about the feat, but they didn’t see it as a big deal. For Mipso, the chart numbers were merely a passing recognition of something the band has already put years of hard work into, and its members hope that Old Time Reverie will help push them along even further toward a sustainable, long-term music career together. Guitarist Joseph Terrell, bassist Wood Robinson, and fiddler Libby Rodenbough join Sharp to discuss the band’s work up to this point and what they hope lies down the road.

Joseph, you mentioned in another interview that bluegrass was a big tent, and I think we’ve all talked about that together, at some point. Could you talk about that a little more and how y’all fit into that?

Joseph Terrell: I think there are a lot of great young artists that we’ve gotten to know, touring over the last couple of years. We have great respect for some of the early bluegrass guys like Bill Monroe and the Bluegrass Boys, Flatt & Scruggs, and the Stanley Brothers, but don’t feel like loving them and respecting them and playing music that feels informed by them necessarily means playing music that sounds exactly note-for-note like them.

Jacob Sharp: Within the context of the charts, it’s funny, because we’re also on the folk one, which is probably how I think more people would understand this album if they hadn’t seen the tags beforehand. I would think it’s a little more naturally under that point. I think it’s cool for Billboard to put it up on a couple, and I think it’s good for bluegrass that — as a genre and as a home — it’s become broad enough to sneak over there because, previously, that probably wasn’t as much the case. There were enough bands that pulled heavily enough from bluegrass to get cross-catch, but I don’t think any of us would really say this is a bluegrass album or that we’re a bluegrass band. But we’ll totally take being on the charts, and we love learning from that place and being a part of that community.

JT: I think it’s interesting from the charts' perspective, too, because the folk charts have Jason Isbell and Ryan Adams’ 1989 album. And that’s rock ‘n’ roll. They’re all a bit blurry, I think, right now. And I can imagine traditional bluegrass people saying, “Wait a second: If you’re not going to use this as a bluegrass chart, then why have it? If you’re going to broaden it to be acoustic music, then call it acoustic music, not bluegrass.” So I can understand how the terms get frustrating when you try to really understand what they mean.

You’ve spent a lot of the last year on the road. How has that been? Do you feel like you've gotten into the swing of it now?

JT: It’s definitely been a big adjustment. We live in Chapel Hill, but to say we live anywhere is kind of a stretch. At some point in a touring musician’s life, when you’ve been a musician for a long time and traveling a lot — for example, like we were talking about earlier, when you wake up on a Tuesday in the middle of Iowa in February, you have that sense of, “How did I get here? Where am I going? What am I doing?”

JS: That question of “How did I get here, where am I going” is in both senses — like, “Where was I yesterday? How did I actually arrive in this location? And what happened over the last two-and-a-half years of my life that I thought this was rational? What major glitches in logic have I found?”

JT: There are great things, too. We’re all grateful for having gotten to know so much of the country. I think that sounds like you’re trying to find a way to make it sound good, but genuinely, it’s been super cool.

Before you hit the road, how much of the Old Time Reverie was done? How did you fit recording and writing into your touring schedule?

Wood Robinson: The songs were pretty much written before we got in the studio in December of last year. We had a week there, and another week in early January, and a final week in early February between the Northeast run and the Midwest run. It was basically all done before the breadth of the year happened.

JS: When we were touring in 2014 — Summer and Fall — that was really our transition into full-time touring. We had carved out time. We wanted to understand the motions of touring before getting into the studio.

Libby Rodenbough: There were very discrete sections. We had to very intentionally set aside time for recording, and it was very scheduled. I know some people who record as they’re on the road, and they do a few days here and leave for a few weeks, and do a few days here. For us it was like, “This is now studio time,” and then back to the road again after that.

Many contemporary folksy bands style themselves to be sort of old-timey looking, and y’all definitely don’t do that. Has that been a really conscious choice?

LR: It is not really that important, and I don’t think that we spend so much time thinking about it. But it is kind of tricky to negotiate that. I find myself wondering sometimes if I’m playing too much into a stereotype. I think, even though we dress in regular 21st-century clothing, it’s also kind of influenced by our general aesthetic tastes. It’s not a mistake that we’re all from this area, and we all listen to some acoustic music, and we like leather boots. We like rural-influenced-type clothing — it’s not like we’re dressing up like cowboys all the time, but we have those inclinations.

 I think it has to do with family history, but also, in our lives, we’re drawn to many things like that. I studied a lot of folklore in school, and I’m drawn to the traditions of the South — musically and culturally, generally, and also aesthetically. So I think that’s part of the way we dress, for sure. But you don’t want to be too thematized in a band in a certain genre. And I think that has to do, too, with the fact that we don’t want to be pigeonholed as playing a particular type of music exclusively. And if we were to dress a certain way and have a banjo in our band — there are certain cues you can give your audience, and we don’t want to give them those cues.

JS: I think style, like everything else you do from day to day, the more you do it, the more you think about it in more nuanced and critical ways. Going into this album process, we were thinking about the imagery of the cover and the clothes we were wearing in a different way than we had previously. Libby thinks about that stuff a lot, individually, and we thought about that stuff, collectively. This time, we worked with Dear Hearts, from Durham.

LR: I think it is worth noting for someone like me — who spends way too much time and way too much money on clothing anyway — I would be doing this regardless of whether or not I was a performer. It’s just a passion of mine. But when you get to be onstage and wear some of this stuff, there is some semblance of justification for it, which makes me feel better about myself. I would say it’s one of the perks of being a performer that, if I buy, for example, gold sequin pants, I can be like, “Well, this is for the stage! This is just a business purchase.” I don’t write it off, but I do buy some things like that with a very slight sense of justification, and I appreciate that.

JT: An example for me is, I recently saw a band performing with a microphone that was as big as a dinner plate. I said to the other guys that I thought that it was a real failure of the microphone that it amplified the voice well, but it distracted from the performance completely. If I wore gold sequin pants, and someone left the concert and all they thought about was my gold sequin pants, I think that would be a failure of my style. I want people to leave our concerts thinking about music and thinking about our songs. That being said, it starts to make sense to be thinking about how your clothes play a role in what people think about you. I don’t think it’s wrong to wear something you think is cool, but we’re not David Bowie exactly.

LR: We are the David Bowie of bluegrass.

What do you see for yourselves in the next year-plus?

LR: I think a lot of what we see is the same … but more. The same … but better. Probably hitting a lot of the same areas and doing a similar level of touring, in terms of how many days on the road, but hopefully better gigs and better attendance and cooler venues. The things that we see happening already — the people that we’re meeting, the bands we’re getting to play with and stuff — leads me to believe that that will happen. It feels like we’re headed in the right direction.

JS: It’s a funny thing to be learning about. You start to understand it in these cycles that are, like, 16 months in the future. This album was done in January, the songs are just now new to the stage but they’re old songs to us. We’re excited to get into the studio, but we understand that when that happens sometime later next year, there’s no way it can come out before February of 2017. You start to understand stuff in a weird world, these chapters that kind of have a slow roll.

LR: Somebody asked me recently, “Is it full-time?” I thought, it’s way more than full-time. It’s full life. It’s what I think about all the time. When we’re on the road, it’s pretty hard to fit anything else into your brain that isn’t band-related. I would love to have the time and, thus, the brain space to remember the other parts of who I am. I love being invested in the band, but I think it can get a little too much and, if we’re looking at longevity as a group, I think that actually depends on having some individual focuses that are far afield.

WR: There are only so many years you can tour 180 shows, which translates to, like, 220 days a year. You just can’t. You physically reach a wall, and we’re young enough to maybe prolong that wall a little bit further down the road. But it feels good to be consciously making changes in that regard.

Do you find it difficult having to balance thinking about all these long-term things with being present in everyday life?

WR: The one thing that catches up with me — it is my life, so it’s relevant and it isn’t just business. But, often times, when I call a friend, I don’t want to talk about music. And that’s impossible if that person is in music. It feels fake or something like that, sometimes, when you’re talking about your career, because it feels like you’re having a business talk about your hopes and dreams and stuff like that when you’re talking to a friend you’ve had for years. It subconsciously happens. You’re not actively trying to push your career on other people, but that is basically everything we do, so that is what’s been going on.

LR: And you get used to conversations that are kind of about you, and they’re uncomfortable, a lot of the times. There are a lot of conversations after shows, where you’re trying to learn how to gracefully reply to a lot of compliments that start to feel kind of meaningless. I find that when I return to talking to a friend who doesn’t give a shit that I play shows, it’s refreshing but also kind of disconcerting. I sort of snap out of a fog I’ve been in on tour. And, when you have those moments, you realize a certain kind of unreality or different reality that you’re in when you’re on tour. But sometimes it’s not other people imposing it on you. You can’t get yourself to stop talking about work. I’m in my own head, fighting with myself, like, “Stop talking about the band,” but I can’t think of anything else, because it’s all I do and think about most of the time.


Photos by Katie Chow for BGS

Old, New, Borrowed, and Blue: A Conversation with Sam Bush

I first heard Sam Bush in the early 2000s — I was 11 or 12, probably — when my dad brought home Glamour & Grits. The CD jacket was a minor epiphany. Here was this wildcat-looking guy wearing big, black shades and a cheetah print headband. In his hand was a busted old Gibson mandolin. Not a Les Paul. Not a Strat. A mandolin. Something in my tiny little music-obsessed mind said "DOES NOT COMPUTE."

From there, I found New Grass Revival, the genre-expanding string band founded in the early '70s. I started with On the Boulevard, featuring R&B expatriate John Cowan and a very cute-looking banjo player named Béla Fleck, and moved on to Fly Through the Country, where Sam’s Duane Allman-inflected slide mandolin solos gave my pubescent mind something else to struggle to categorize. Through my teenage years spent banging on guitars in garage bands, it was Sam Bush who kept me holding out hope that there could be something interesting — something cool — in the otherwise hokey genre my dad loved called bluegrass.

Though I wasn't around to witness the string band world of the '70s, I’ve learned to revere those heady days. All my heroes were buddies: There was John Hartford, the hip eccentric with steamboat stories; Norman Blake was the traditionalist who looked more like a train conductor with his wire-rimmed glasses and worn-out shoes; and Tony Rice landed somewhere near Richard Petty on the redneck scale and mostly dressed like a lounge singer, but he and David Grisman had dominant 9th chords, goddammit, and they weren’t afraid to use them. Sam Bush, on the other hand — Kentucky-born mandolin-toter though he may have been — was cut from a different cloth. He was rock 'n' roll, 100 proof, who managed both to piss off Bill Monroe (“Stick to the fiddle, son”) and to introduce the Big Mon’s licks to a new generation.

I got to talk with Sam this week about his new record, Storyman. We touched on his songwriting process, festivals in the 1970s, and the future of his instrument of choice: the mandolin. These days, 46 years into his career, he’s often praised with patriarchal titles — Father of Newgrass, King of Telluride — but while he embraces his role as elder statesman, I got the sense that he mostly thinks about playing music, discovering new records, and writing songs with new friends or old heroes — for a man in his fifth decade of professional music making, he still brings to the stage a surprisingly joyful, boyish energy. In fact, if you see him off stage at a festival, he’s probably jogging to another set, mandolin case in hand, floppy curls bouncing above his unmistakable grin. He’s still loving it, even after all these years.

I’m struck that Storyman really showcases a band. It’s not just a backing band, but a band band.

Absolutely, yep. And that’s my love. That was my first wish as I tried to accomplish this singer/songwriter record. Really, my favorite musicians I get to play with are those four guys. We’re all in a band together.

That’s cool. It’s a pretty eclectic batch of tunes.

We did a couple of different treatments on this one, with an out-and-out country shuffle song on the duet with Emmylou [Harris], and then a Jimmie Rodgers kind of song with the one Guy [Clark] and I wrote, "Carcinoma Blues." Within our group, keeping it all acoustic, that seemed to be another thread to follow. Because I love to play electric music and to mix the two, but these songs were all definitely acoustic-style songs to me, so in that way, the obvious choice was our band.

Guy Clark and Emmylou Harris are a couple of my favorite songwriters. What was it like writing songs with those two?

Guy was the most masterful songwriter I’d ever worked with. With Guy, it’s kind of like the way he made his guitars: simple, to the point, not one wasted chisel. He liked his guitars plain and unadorned, just like his songs. And with Emmylou, you know, I played in her band for five years, so she’s taken on the role of big sister for me. For us to write together and sing together, it’s really a comforting feeling.

So there’s the country-style song, “Handmics Killed Country Music,” with Emmylou, and there’s even a little reggae thrown in there on “Everything Is Possible.”

Yeah, that tune with Deborah Holland! Steward Copeland and Stanley Clark and Deborah Holland, the three of them were in a band called Animal Logic. She’s a tremendous talent. So Deborah and I wrote this tune a number of years ago, and she had these real positive lyrics already going, so we said, we need to make this a Bob Marley-sounding song. So we put it together.

Funny you mention Bob Marley. When I was a kid, my dad’s two favorite bands were New Grass Revival and the Wailers. And you guys played Marley tunes, so I grew up thinking that combination of newgrass and reggae wasn’t weird at all. But sometimes people talk about you as if you dip your toes into separate styles — a little bit of reggae, a little bit of country, a little bluegrass — as if the genres are a buffet line. Do you think of those divisions when you’re arranging or writing a tune?

I don’t think about the genre divisions when we’re actually sitting and arranging. And that’s fine with our band, because there are different areas we can play in, so we’re fortunate that we can just think about the song. The way these songs were written kind of dictated the arrangements.

How was the recording process?

Really, we just went into the studio down in Florida, and the way the banjo and mandolin solos sound, that’s the way we played it that day. Boy, when you think of it, Scott Vestal is kind of the star of the record to me. He just plays so beautifully. His parts, his banjo picking is just perfect to me. I never suggest anything for him to play, and Stephen Mougin the same way. As Stephen and I were writing “Play by Your Own Rules,” we were trying to find a little fiddle tune-style melody to go with the lyrics. Those kinds of songs really turn me on. I guess we’ve got a couple of those on the record, that one and the one called “Bowling Green.”

Your hometown, right? Tell me about that one, “Bowling Green.”

On that one, Jon Randall came over to the house one day and he already had most of the first verse written, which was about my mom and dad, of all things. [Laughs] He had me and Lynn in tears. I said, "Well, hell, let’s finish that one." In that one, we specifically mention a couple of fiddle tunes. My dad, man, he loved the fiddle. God, he couldn’t have enough fiddle. His favorite tune in life was "Tennessee Wagner" and he just called it “The Wagner.” He loved fiddle contests, and all the Texans would come up to the fiddle contests and they would add an extra chord to the song. So my dad would say, “I don’t want to hear that 'Texas Wagner.' I want to hear the one from Tennessee!” So that’s why the song says, “He loved to saw 'the Wagner' / The one from Tennessee.”

That’s cool that it’s an homage, not just to those fiddle tunes, but to the music in your family.

Yeah, and that song’s true, you know. We would work in the tobacco fields and come in for the midday meal, which wasn’t lunch — it was dinner. And then at night, it wasn’t dinner — it was …

Supper!

[Laughs] Supper, that’s right. So we’d come in for dinner and we’d play a tune or two. It’s all true. Then we’d listen to the Opry. It’s just like the scene out of Coal Miner’s Daughter. We’d sit around and listen to the Opry on Friday and Saturday nights, gathered around that radio. My dad would just sit and wait for somebody to play a fiddle tune.

You know, I grew up with a lot of music, including some bluegrass, but I’m still pretty new to the insider’s bluegrass world. I’ve been to the last few IBMAs, since they’ve been held in Raleigh, and it’s always cool to see the mix of bluegrass communities that come out of the woodwork. From the real dyed-in-the-wool traditionalists from Southwest Virginia, to the Colorado folks with Grateful Dead T-shirts on …

Yeah, and that’s been true for all of my professional life, which started in 1970 when I got out of high school. That Spring, before I graduated, I went to the Union Grove Fiddle Festival, and that was the first time I found hippies out in the field playing. They were called the New Deal String Band from Chapel Hill. They were a little older than me, and I made pals with them. Of course, there were old-time traditionalists. You had the hippies and rednecks, the young people and old people. And that’s the great thing about acoustic music, bluegrass, old-time, folk music — the music was the tie-in. It isn’t just for one age group. I’m hoping this record is that way, too. It’s not for one age group.

I’ve heard Union Grove was a wild time back then. A lot of folks think of ’71 at Camp Springs, too, as a real watershed moment when you and Tony played with the Bluegrass Alliance. Now it’s been 45 years. Did you know it was a big deal at the time?

No, we were just trying to stay in tune! Camp Springs in ’71 — now looking back I know that, right around that very weekend, a lot of things turned around in bluegrass. Tony Rice’s last performance with the Bluegrass Alliance was that weekend. Tony was leaving our band to join J.D. Crowe’s band. That was a big turnaround in bluegrass music when Tony went on with Crowe. And the reason J.D. Crowe’s band had a vacancy is cause Doyle Lawson left Crowe to join the Country Gentlemen. And the reason there was a vacancy in that band was because Jimmy Gaudreau left the Country Gentlemen to form the Second Generation with Eddie Adcock. I mean, four bands turned around within a month.

And then, within two months, the Bluegrass Alliance became Newgrass Revival. Probably within the next year, they started getting the Seldom Scene going in D.C. And you still had the New Deal String Band over in Chapel Hill. And the Osborne Brothers, to me, were just outrageously great then. They were totally the kings of progressive bluegrass-style music. So those early '70s were really important. But right off the bat, it was obvious to me that bluegrass-style music wasn’t for one age group. It wasn’t for one type of person. And it doesn’t revolve around trends. It revolves around people learning to play and sing.

Talking about trends and tradition reminds me of Nick Forster’s speech at IBMA last year, where he said something like, “I love the Earls of Leicester, but we should realize that we gave our Grammy to a cover band …” What do you think about that? Too much homage being paid to the traditional stuff?

You know, I think bluegrass-style music has been in a good spot for a while now. Unfortunately, we just lost Ralph Stanley. I was privileged to see the Stanley Brothers in ’65, and, when I first saw Ralph, I knew I was seeing an incredible musical force, and he always has been. And he sure will be missed. But we still have some of the greats. The next great king of bluegrass for me is Del McCoury, and boy is it resting in great hands. And, of course, the Travelin' McCourys are a force — and then you think of Sierra Hull, and way on the top of the scale, the Punch Brothers, and then over on the West Coast, David Grisman has the David Grisman sextet, and then on the rock 'n' roll side, you’ve got the Sam Bush Band. We all give a nod to old-time bluegrass all the time. Too numerous to name them all because they’re all great — and anybody younger than 50, I think of them as the young bands! Within the world of bluegrass, the variety is pretty healthy I think.

I just saw Sierra play with the McCourys at DelFest, and, man, she’s great. I’ve seen you a few times now at Tony Williamson’s Mando Mania workshop at Merlefest. I take it you’re feeling good about the future of the mandolin?

Oh, the future of the mandolin is really rolling right along. Tony Williamson does such a great job with Mando Mania because, every year, he introduces me to a new, young player that I haven’t met. So Tony’s the one out there with his ear to the ground paying attention to all the young mandolin pickers, and, once again, he brings someone new that I haven’t met before that I’m always knocked out with.

As far as mandolin itself, I hesitate to start naming mandolin players because I’m a fan of all the young pickers. Now, with the advancement of people like Adam Steffey and Chris Thile, and now Sierra Hull — I see her as kind of having learned from Chris and Adam — the bar is being raised. I’m fascinated by the things they can play. I’m just glad to be in there somewhere!

You think [Bill] Monroe’s style is going to stick around alongside all the modern stuff?

As far as Monroe style, you know, that’s alive and well very much in the hands of Ronnie McCoury, Roland White, and especially Mike Compton. I really believe there will be people that always will want to play like Bill Monroe. Actually, it’ll be interesting: I think in the next 20 years we may see more people playing like Monroe than we have lately. The same way that guitarists love to dig up stuff from Muddy Waters and Elmore James and Skip James, you know, Freddy King and Albert and B.B. King. The way guitarists are honoring them, I have wondered if there might be a resurgence in Bill’s style, the same way that all banjo players want to play like Earl Scruggs.

Thinking of all the distinct styles of heroes like Scruggs or Monroe — you know, the first name guys, Doc [Watson], J.D. [Crowe], Clarence [White] — they sound now like they came up with their own style out of whole cloth.

Yeah, true.

A lot of young folks nowadays — and I mean friends of mine, great pickers — are coming out of programs like Berklee. Do you think there’s anything lost with the more conservatory-style instruction?

No, I think it’s just a different way to look at it. Once again, it sure hasn’t hurt Sierra Hull to go to Berklee for a couple years. You know what, great musicians come from both areas, whether you were schooled or simply learned by ear and are following the traditions. What’s the old joke? “Can you read music?" "No, not enough to hurt my playing.” Or, "How do you get an electric guitar player to shut up in the studio?"

Show him some sheet music?

[Laughs] To me, I mean, I chose to start playing after graduating from high school. I chose to move to Louisville from Bowling Green, Kentucky, and I started playing five or six nights a week in a bluegrass band. I was either going to go to college and play violin or do that. And I chose the more improvisational side. Of course, they’re both valid, but for myself, I believe I chose correctly. I tell you what — nothing will make you tighter than five nights a week playing in a bluegrass band. You spend a number of months in the wintertime doing that, when you hit your first festival, you are ready. You have done your homework. It was that way with New Grass Revival. When we recorded our first album, we were playing so much that, when we hit the studio for our first record, I know we did the whole thing in three days. We knew those songs — bam! — like the back of our hands. We were ready to go.

Any new stuff outside of bluegrass you’re digging these days?

You know, my listening tastes are pretty eclectic, I guess. Let’s see, what am I into these days? John McLaughlin’s new record called Black Light. The new Eric Clapton record called I Still Do has got some really great stuff on it. There’s a record called D-Stringz, and it’s Stanley Clarke on bass, Biréli Lagrène on guitar, and Jean-Luc Ponty on violin. And then, on the other side of the coin, I’ve been looking for this Country Gentlemen record on Mercury called Folk Session Inside forever … for I don’t know how long. Lynn and I walked in a great record store in Louisville, Kentucky, called Matt Anthony Records, and there it was — for eight dollars. [Laughs]

Man, that’s a good feeling.

So I finally just got Folk Session Inside — I’d had a tape of it, of course, but I’d never owned the record. Just when I least expected it, I was walking out of the store with that Country Gentlemen record and I was totally thrilled.


Photo credit: Shelley Swanger