Tag: leon bridges

Texas, Townes, and the Truth

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

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In advance of the release of Vincent Neil Emerson’s latest, critically-acclaimed album, The Golden Crystal Kingdom – which dropped on November 10 – BGS moderated a conversation between VNE and his friend and peer, country & western singer-songwriter and song-interpreter Charley Crockett.

Both artists cut their teeth in music venues in Texas a decade ago. In our conversation, they tell the story of how they came to know each other and discuss ways they protect each other within the business. They talk about covering and cutting each other’s songs and the importance of telling their truths.

Emerson’s new album, produced by Shooter Jennings, veers his sound toward warm ’60s rock and folk influences. He opens up to Charley and BGS about its creation process and what is on the horizon for him.

Charley Crockett: What’s up, Vincent?

Vincent Neil Emerson: What’s up, my boy?

CC: Another day, another dollar.

BGS: Tell me where you both are in the world right now.

VNE: I’m in Asheville, North Carolina, right now, at an Airbnb.

CC: I’m up here in San Luis Valley in Southern Colorado.

Both really nice places to be in the fall.

VNE: You ain’t wrong.

Can you give us a little bit of context about your relationship, where you know each other from, and how long you have been working together?

VNE: Charley, you wanna go?

CC: Oh man, I always tell that story; I wanna hear it from you.

VNE: I met Charley in Deep Ellum. We were playing around town, playing a lot of shows around there and Fort Worth. That was over 10 years ago, maybe?

CC: I was trying to think about it this morning. I think it had to be ’13 or ’14.

VNE: That’s crazy, man.

CC: He remembers it being at Adair Saloon; I remember it being at the Freeman. It really don’t matter, ’cause I’m sure it was both places.

VNE: I’m sure we went and had a drink at Adairs or something like that.

CC: I remember I walked up on him and said, “I like all them Justin Townes Earle songs.” And he said, “I only played one.” I always liked what he was doing, and he used to play solo and do the guitar pools up at Magnolia Motor Lounge all the time. He’d be up there smoking a cigarette, picking through them songs like Townes Van Zandt, and I thought, “Oh lord have mercy, this boy is a force to be reckoned with.”

VNE: Man, I felt the same way as soon as I heard you, brother. I remember a couple of nights I saw you at the Freeman with this band. You had a bunch of guys up on that tiny little stage, and you were just ripping through all these songs, taking all these old honky tonk songs and flipping them on their head and turning them into blues and vice versa. I always thought that was so cool, man.

CC: I don’t remember that well, but I guess you’re right. In those days, every gig we played for both me and Vincent, we ended up getting booked by the same folks, or they were all standing together in some bar, no matter if it was Ft. Worth or Nashville or Los Angeles. One way or another, all them same business folks been standing pretty close to me and Vincent. And that’s the truth.

Well, that’s convenient if you like to work together, I guess. Charley, do you have questions you want to dig in on?

CC: You know, Erin, I don’t even know what the hell we are doing?

Let’s talk about the release of Vincent’s new album.

CC: Well, let me just do this then. Everything he’s been putting out with Shooter [Jennings], like everything else he’s ever done…If you sit there looking at Vincent and he surprises you, it’s like, “Oh damn, I didn’t know old boy was gonna do that.” The very next thing he does, it just happens again — every single time. I remember when he was playing “7 Come 11” way before anybody gave a damn about him and was looking out for his interests or his career. He had all them songs in his pocket way before anybody had ideas or designs on him and his business. I’ve said for a long time that “7 Come 11” is one of the best folk songs written out of Texas in 20 years. Remember Central Track, Vincent?

VNE: Yeah, they did a lot of write-ups on music.

CC: I will never forget that stuff when you did that record and what you were doing live. Erin, he was playing for 50 bucks and a case of Lone Star in them dive bars in Fort Worth, you know? He was living in a 10×10 room. He was hardly ever even standing inside of the damn joint.

A handful of us showed up at the same time, and we are all moving on our own paths, but we’ve all stayed pretty close, or we damn sure weave it together quite a bit even if we get way out there, you know, in the territories, we always come back to each other. I think I met Leon Bridges right around the same time that I met Vincent. I met him in Deep Ellum, too. There is a guy who plays guitar with me now named Alexis Sanchez. He had a band back then, and he was playing at Club Dada there for some little festival, and Leon Bridges was standing there in a trench coat and a bowler hat. I venture to guess that me and Leon and Vincent met each other damn near about the same time. There were a lot of other folks like that. Ten years later, especially for some Texas guys, you know, we’ve all grown a lot, and I think we have always supported each other and loved each others’ music. That’s only grown, and Vincent is standing there as one of the premier, original, authentic talents to come out of Texas since the turn of the damn century. I’m not blowing smoke. I’m just stating what is already happening.

VNE: Man, that is high praise. I appreciate you sayin’ that, Charley.

CC: Well, they want all this shit to write about it, but that’s just the truth. He was playing in Fort Worth and like I said, playing for all that low money. They were calling him Lefty. Why did they call you Lefty? I figured it was because you had a black eye or something.

VNE: Yeah, I had my left eye knocked out of the socket one time, and the nickname stuck for a while.

CC: I remember they wrote about you pretty salaciously there in the Fort Worth Weekly. I know a thing or two about that myself.

VNE: I would say it was because they were trying to sell papers, but it was a free publication.

CC: Shit, they are selling advertisements. I think the Dallas Observer is still doing that to me.

He was playing them bars, we were playing them bars. I don’t know which one of us is which, but more often than not, he sure seems like if I’m Waylon, he’s Willie. I have felt like that for a long time. You could change the names. I think about this stuff a lot. The business folks, it is always hard to tell what they are doing, but you can be sure they are rolling dice and betting and gambling on folks. It ends up being, a guy like Vincent that somebody like me can lean on a lot more. We can trust those guys, and I’m real happy with who I’m working with, and I’m sure Vincent is, too. It is the other artists living life for the song that gets us through. I know I feel like that about Vincent, and I feel like that about a lot of other guys I don’t know as well as him.

Kind of like Johnny Cash said, “We are all family, even though some of us barely know each other.” I think it is because we can see each other and know we are in the same boat and in that way, care more for each other than other people would. I think it is pretty serious. It is life and death.

VNE: That’s a good feeling to not feel so alone in that way and have people out there and doing things similar to you. They probably think a lot of the same thoughts. Me and you are good buddies, Charley, and I feel that way, too. I feel like some guys out there like Tyler Childers – I really respect him, and I feel like he is in the same boat as us. I’m not as well known as you guys, but I think none of that really matters. I think what it comes down to is that we are all songwriters trying to make our own stories happen and be true to ourselves and honest to the world. I think that the reason we can relate to each other is the same reason the fans can relate. Honesty will cut through anything and bring people together.

CC: One way or another, them folks we are selling tickets to, they know.

VNE: You can’t fake the funk, I guess.

CC: Eventually, it comes through. Speaking of Tyler Childers, we ended up on the same plane flying from Nashville to Austin recently… I was there for the Country Music Hall of Fame induction and I didn’t want to go. I get real antisocial and want to hide out from everybody and shit, and I went to Nashville kicking and screaming. Tanya Tucker was getting inducted to the Hall of Fame with a couple of other people. Patty Loveless and Bob McDill, who I wasn’t that familiar with. I had thought that he’d written the Jimmy C. Newman song, “Louisiana Saturday Night”, which I know real well. To be honest with you, it is the only reason I agreed to go out there, ’cause I love singing that song. I made a lot of money writing songs off of that song, so I figured I owed whoever the songwriter was. Long story short, there in the last week, I found out it was a different “Louisiana Saturday Night,” regularly mistakenly attributed to Bob McDill cause he wrote a totally separate song called “Louisiana Saturday Night” that Mel McDaniel had a big hit with, and that’s the one that goes,

“Well, you get down the fiddle and you get down the bow
Kick off your shoes and you throw ’em on the floor
Dance in the kitchen ’til the mornin’ light
Louisiana Saturday night”

That was a big ol hit, right Vincent? He did “Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On,” and a bunch of shit like that that I just didn’t realize. My naive, ignorant ass goes up there to Nashville kicking and screaming, and that’s how I feel. A horse gets led to water or something like that. I saw Tanya get inducted. I damn near built my career off of my version of “Jamestown Ferry” when I was younger, and I realized that she had blazed that trail for me, and I had not shown her enough respect. I really hadn’t. Same thing with Bob McDill. All those songs he wrote and the advice he gave in his speech, and my dumbass could really shut up and pay attention to these folks.

Then I ran into Tyler going from there. He was flying to Austin to do a John Prine tribute. That’s how it is. When I see Tyler, I’m on a plane. When I see Vincent, it is at Monterey Fairgrounds. We are ships passing in the night. All these guys like Tyler, Colter [Wall], Leon, Vincent. Whenever I see them, they got a big light around them, and it is shining. You just want it to keep shining for them, and for myself, to keep it going,

I don’t know exactly where you want to go with this, Erin, but I’m excited about this record. Shooter was telling me about your songs and offered to send them and I was like, “No, I ain’t gonna do that. I wanna be like everyone else.” I wanna watch this thing get rolled out, and I wanna be excited. I’m looking forward to going through the songs.

Vincent, can you tell us about working with Shooter on this record?

VNE: I met Shooter a few times. Me and Charley were at this festival in Iowa hanging out, and Shooter came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. I’d met him before at another festival but I’d never talked to him. He turned me around and said, “Hey man, I really like that thing you did with Rodney Crowell.” He paid me a lot of compliments, and since then, we talked, and when it came time to make another record, Shooter was the first guy I thought of. I thought it would be such a cool idea to work with him on an album. One thing about him is he really is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and he is a genuine fan of music. He’s trying to make cool things happen. I’m so lucky I got to work with him on it. That is the big takeaway from the whole thing for me was making a real good friend like that and meeting someone who gets me excited about songwriting and about making an album and making music in general.

Since Charley cut “7 Come 11” and you cut one of Charley’s songs for this record, can you talk about what prompted “Time of the Cottonwood Trees” winding up in this pile of songs?

VNE: Oh man – that song. Me and you were on tour together for three months, was it last summer? We did a bunch of dates, and we were on the road a long time, and I was listening to Charley do that song every night. It was a brand new song that hadn’t come out on his record yet. I got to hear him sing that song every night by himself, and I just think it is one of the best songs I’ve ever heard. It is one of my favorites from you, Charley. I think it is a fine example of songwriting. When it came time to make this album, I always wanted to pay tribute to you and cut one of your songs on a record because you cut “7 Come 11.” That really ties back into that whole Willie and Waylon and all those old timers who cut each others’ songs and lifted each other up like that. I just wanted to pay tribute to you, and that’s why I put it on the album.

CC: Shit, I appreciate it. I’ll be excited to get the check in the mail. You surprised the hell out of me with that one, you really did. I’ve always wanted people to cut my songs. Sometimes, I think I’d be better off that way. I have so many. I’ve always cut a lot of songs that weren’t mine, probably about half of them. And I got about a 250-song catalog of published shit. I would guess about 40-50% are songs I didn’t write. I feel like I’ve caught a lot of heat for that. People have an idea about me that I never wrote a single song. I think that’s because we live in an era where, like what Vincent was talking about, where all those folks back in the day, across genres, and it wasn’t just country it was pop, folk, soul, R&B. It was everything. Everyone was cutting each other’s songs. I just really think that to write a great song, you have to learn great songs from other people.

You have to watch out for these publishers these days. They’ll just put any piece of junk out as long as they’ve got control over it. They figured out they can make money selling junk. If you can make more money than ever before selling junk and you aren’t principled, and you aren’t that close to the music, well, they don’t see the reason not to do it that way. I think it feels like a renaissance.

VNE: Specifically in the genre of country music, there is a lot of junk out there. I don’t want to put anyone down. Most of the time, I just try to ignore whatever I don’t like. I think that’s the best way to go about it. I think there is room at the table for everybody, whatever you are into. I just think it is so cool that Sturgill and Charley and Colter and Tyler, all these other guys that are out here putting out real, honest-to-goodness songwriter songs. And not just that, but real country music. It doesn’t matter if it is your song or someone else’s; if you are telling that story honestly, I think that’s great. I’ve always appreciated you for that, Charley. I think you are a great interpreter of songs, and I think you are an even better songwriter, man.

CC: Damn, I’m glad I talked to y’all this morning. I feel better.

I’m glad that we are talking about cutting songs because that is such a huge part of country music, interpreting other people’s songs or reinterpreting a song. It feels like that art was lost in the past 20 years or so and it is having a resurgence. I’m excited that you guys are at the forefront of that, because great songs have more than one life. And it is an opportunity for songwriters to make more money.

VNE: I think it is one of the greatest compliments that a songwriter could receive – to have an artist who they love and respect cut one of their songs.

CC: There is no question about that. That is the best feeling.

VNE: It is, cause you know that your songs has legs and can go places that you can’t, which is a great feeling.

CC: It really is. It is such a political world, and it is so divided. There is a lot of pressure on people that you step out there into the great mirror of society, and the more out there in front of the public that you get, there is a mirror that starts projecting on you, and it is tough to deal with. It is hard to know what to do, but the thing about it is – being able to write honest songs and tell the truth in your writing; that is the most rewarding feeling. That is why I always look forward to what Vincent is doing. There aren’t a whole lot of people that I anticipate their new works as much as him, if anybody really. That’s the whole deal. You look over, and he’s writing better and better, and it makes me want to write better, too.

Speaking of, Vincent, can you talk a bit about your writing process for this record?

VNE: I kind of pieced together songs over time. Sometimes they jump out real fast; sometimes it takes a while. And thanks for saying that Charley, brother. Damn.

CC: I’ve been saying it for 10 years.

VNE: That’s kept me going a lot of times and I don’t think you realize that. These songs – damn, what was I saying?

CC: You were saying sometimes they come quick, sometimes they come slow.

VNE: I’m very influenced by the music that I’m listening to and that is why I try to be real careful about what I listen to. I think it is like if I’m making a smoothie. I gotta put certain ingredients in my brain, and it comes out me on the other end, hopefully. I was listening to a lot of Neil Young and Steven Stills and David Crosby. A lot of the ’60s rock and roll and a lot of Bob Dylan stuff. That’s just where I was in my headspace, so I was taking in all that. I try to put it all together to make it my own. That’s where I was at when I was making this album.

By the way, I’m excited about this rodeo we are playing together, Charley.

CC: Which one is that?

VNE: The National Finals in Las Vegas.

CC: Oh shit yeah! At the Virgin Theater there? Yeah man, I’m excited about it, too. Thanks for doing it.

VNE: Thanks for having me on.

CC: When it comes to money and shit like that, just any time, whatever you gotta do to make it work cause I wanna keep playing with you as much as we can and build up. I’ve played in some arenas recently, and I really don’t like it. I don’t know if country music belongs in arenas. And I just mean opening. I can’t sell tickets to no damn arena. And I take a cue from Colter cause he and Tyler and them boys, they could be in arenas all day long if they wanted to be. I would rather play rodeos and municipal auditoriums and really special theaters and stack ‘em up. I think we need to get a goddamned Dripping Springs reunion tour going. A real one.

VNE: Man, that’d be great.

CC: You know what I mean, just do some of our own shit. My aunt and uncle and a bunch of people who haven’t been out to see me play in a long time are coming out to Vegas. I used to live with my uncle when I was a kid in Louisiana and Mississippi and shit. He’s gonna flip his shit when he sees you.

VNE: I can’t wait, man, I’ve heard so many stories about him.

CC: He’s wild. We gonna show these folks what country music actually sounds like. They might not be able to tell who is left or right. Nahhh I’m just kidding it is a bunch of cool people.

Thank y’all for letting me be a part of this. I’m just happy to help out or talk about this. I’m real excited about the album for real. The imagery in your writing, man, it’s like everything you write is getting more and more vivid. You paint such a picture. I’ll stop blowing smoke up your ass.

I’m gonna get back on the trail and Vincent, I’ll talk to you soon.

VNE: Thank you for doing this brother, I appreciate you.

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Photo Credit: Vincent Neil Emerson by Thomas Crabtree; Charley Crockett by Bobby Cochran

BGS Celebrates Black History Month (Part 2 of 2)

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

We invite our readers to celebrate Black History Month as we always do, by denoting that celebrating Black contributions in bluegrass, country, and old-time — and roots music as a whole — requires centering Black creators, artists, musicians, and perspectives in our community daily, not just in February.

Over the past year we’ve recommitted ourselves to fully incorporating Black Voices into everything we do and we hope that our readers and listeners, our followers and fans, and our family of artists constantly celebrate, acknowledge, and pay credit to Blackness and Black folks, who we have to thank for everything we love about American roots music.

Following a look back on our BGS Artists of the Month, Cover Story, and Shout & Shine subjects, we close our listicle celebration of Black History Month this year with a sampling of some of the most popular features, premieres, music videos, Friends & Neighbors posts, and 5+5 interviews that have featured Black, African American, and otherwise Afro-centric music. We are so grateful for the ongoing, vital contributions of Black artists, writers, creators, and journalists to American roots music and we’re proud to pay credit exactly where it’s due, in this small way.

Black history is American roots music history and all of these incredible folks certainly prove that point.

An edition of our Roots on Screen column featured an interview with Branford Marsalis and dove into his soundtrack for the new Netflix film based on August Wilson’s 1982 play, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.

Bona fide soul man Jerry “Swamp Dogg” Williams took us behind the scenes of his album, Sorry You Couldn’t Make It, showing humorous, casual, candid moments from the project’s creation — and giving us all the opportunity to be there, even though we “couldn’t make it.”

Sabine McCalla simply blew us away with her Western AF video session of an original, “Baby, Please Don’t Go,” last year, and we were ecstatic to include her on the BGS Stage lineup for Cabin Fever Fest last weekend, too.

Joy Oladokun’s vision and determination, and her unrelenting trust in both, paid off on a texturally varied second album, in defense of my own happiness (vol. 1), a self-produced exercise in vulnerability and subject of a feature interview. Oladokun will perform a few of her folk-pop songs as part of our Yamaha Guitars + BGS Spotlight Showcase during Folk Alliance’s virtual Folk Unlocked conference this week, as well.

The preeminent hip-hop-meets-bluegrass band, Gangstagrass, stopped by for a 5+5 and to plug their latest, No Time for Enemies. Gangstagrass were another excellent addition to our Cabin Fever Fest lineup and we look forward to being able to catch them in-person again, soon.

To mark Juneteenth 2020, we published a thoughtful round up of new movement music, a sort of patchwork soundtrack for protest, struggle, civil rights, and progress including songs by Leon Bridges, Chastity Brown, Kam Franklin (listen above), and more.

We were ecstatic to feature Valerie June, Rhiannon Giddens & Francesco Turrisi, Ben Harper, and Yola during our five-episode virtual online variety show, Whiskey Sour Happy Hour, last spring. The show raised over $50,000 for COVID-19 relief — through MusiCares and personal protective equipment via Direct Relief. WSHH season 2? We want that to happen, too! Stay tuned.

Pianist Matt Rollings’ collaboration with Americana-soul duo The War & Treaty was — UNDERSTANDABLY — a mini viral hit, taking off on our social media channels.

Rhiannon Giddens also powerfully and captivatingly warned all of us not to call her names with a new song recently: “The framework in the song is a love affair, but it can happen in any kind of connection,” she explained in a press release. “The real story was accepting my inner strength and refusing to continue being gaslit and held back; and refusing to keep sacrificing my mental health for the sake of anything or anyone.”

We visited once again with now mononymous Kenyan songwriter, Ondara, whose pandemic album, Folk n’ Roll Vol. 1: Tales of Isolation, kept many of us company during sheltering in place.

Speaking of which, Crys Matthews and Heather Mae didn’t let guidelines around social distancing keep them down, as evidenced on “Six Feet Apart.”

Our country-soul queen, Yola, wowed all of us with a Tiny Desk (Home) Concert and some acoustic renderings of her resplendent countrypolitan songs.

As did veteran bluesman Don Bryant, who after a lifelong career writing and recording earned his first Grammy nomination in 2020 for You Make Me Feel, a record that is nothing less than a physical incarnation of rhythm and blues. His Tiny Desk (Home) Concert is entrancing.

Selwyn Birchwood rightly reminded blues fans that it isn’t all sad; in fact, if you aren’t partying to the blues you’re doing it wrong. Just listen to “I Got Drunk, Laid and Stoned” to find out.

Leigh Nash and Ruby Amanfu joined forces on a Congressman John Lewis-inspired number entitled “Good Trouble” just last week, a perfect song to mark Black History Month.

Last year, to mark Women’s History Month (coming up again in March!) we spotlighted the huge influence and contributions of Elizabeth “Libba” Cotten, a folk singer and picker famous for playing her guitar left-handed — and upside down and “backwards!” Though Cotten spent most of her adult life working as a housekeeper, her original folksongs and her idiosyncratic picking style still inspire bluegrass, old-time, and blues musicians alike.

Country singer-songwriter Miko Marks returns this year with new music for the first time in thirteen years, after effectively being shut out of Music City and its country music machine because of her Blackness. A recent single release reclaims “Hard Times,” a song composed by Stephen Foster, who was an American songbook stalwart and folk music legend who performed in minstrel shows and in blackface.

Chris Pierce challenges his listeners with a new song this month, “American Silence,” because as he puts it, “It’s important to not give up on reaching out to those who have stayed silent for too long about the issues that affect those around us all.” A timely reminder to all of us — especially those of us who are allies and accomplices — as we approach the one-year anniversary of this most recent racial reckoning in the United States.

And finally, to close this gargantuan list — which is still just the tip of the iceberg of Black music in bluegrass, country, and Americana — we’ll leave you with a relative newcomer in country-soul and Americana, Annie Mack. Mack’s gorgeous blend of genres and styles is anchored by her powerful and tender voice and we were glad to be stopped in our tracks by her debut EP, Testify. 

Editor’s Note: Read part one of our Black History Month collection here.

Photo credit (L to R): Chris Pierce by Mathieu Bitton; Elizabeth Cotten; Annie Mack by Shelly Mosman.

MIXTAPE: Daniel Rodriguez’s Songs of Authenticity

Posted on by Editor

I love all types of music and song. How beautiful a thing to hear the invisible insides of someone shared outwardly. A culmination of dynamic forces, experiences and sensibilities dialed into pulsating, Pythagorean waveforms, giving color to the space in between. The only catch is we have to trust what we’re hearing is authentic. Whether it’s the tonal intention of a singer or the specific touch of an instrumentalist, the song has to move me in some way or else I’m changing the station. Authenticity is subjective to each listener where no authority exists, though goosebumps, tears, movement, lofty notions and inspiration have always been my litmus tests to playing something thrice or more.

Here’s a list of songs that have moved me in some way worthy of mention. Also, if you’re so moved, check out my album Sojourn of Burning Sun out on August 28. — Daniel Rodriguez

Bill Monroe – “Uncle Pen”

From what I hear, this song is Bill giving gratitude and paying tribute to his actual uncle, Pen [James Pendleton Vandiver]. Pen played the fiddle at family gatherings and inspired Bill to join the musical world. The song structure of “Uncle Pen,” though only a few chords, is kind of complex. It’s a jubilant song with a great melody and has those goosebumping, Appalachian harmonies that Bill and his band often showcased. Probably what I like most about the song is that it appears to skip a beat before the head of each verse. It happens during a G run directly after the chorus that impossibly lands at the head of the next section. Simple genius.

Gregory Alan Isakov – “Amsterdam”

I like pretty much all of Gregory’s songs and his recordings. Catching his band live or him solo is a remarkable experience. I’m lucky to call him a longtime friend and I keep my fandom of his music separate from that. Gregory paints imagery that is most times not specific, which leaves you, as a listener, more in an abstract state of mind. Yet he threads a powerful emotion throughout, which his voice and arrangements unavoidably invoke. He uses imagery of a woman often, which comes across as more a mythical character of the sacred feminine, rather than one of a romantic endeavor. This is apparent in “Amsterdam”: “That howling wind, she’s waving hi, her other hand’s in mine.” The song ascends towards the end in some epic way when Greg moves his voice up an octave and sings “Churches and trains, they all look the same to me now / They shoot you some place, while we ache to come home somehow.” Goosebumps to follow.

Bruce Springsteen – “Youngstown”

The Boss has never failed to paint us the pictures of the struggling American working class. Our popular culture seems to only highlight the celebrities and billionaires, and yet The Boss celebrates and sheds light on the untold stories of the common man, the backbone of our culture. His stories are always rich with the American story, full of its hypocrisies and triumphs. “Youngstown” paints a very real picture of the uphill and endless bogging down of industry and war. The arrangement has a suiting Americana feel, stripped down and intimate. The pedal steel and fiddle give an eerie voice to the emotion of the character in the story who sings, “My sweet Jenny, I’m sinking down, here darling in Youngstown.”

John Prine – “Lake Marie”

When John Prine passed on earlier this year I cried constantly for three days. I’ve been lucky enough to catch him live more than a few times at festivals that we both played. The authenticity in his delivery has healing properties that only a few possess. John touches on all the hidden sadnesses and joys of humanity, and gives color to the seemingly opaque hidden corners of the human condition. “Lake Marie” is a special song with all the ingredients: New love, tenured love, relationship struggles and cold-blooded murder. John delivers this story in a very light-hearted and humorous way. He speaks the verses and accentuates certain parts, which become vital to the song’s DNA. The chorus is maybe the best chorus ever written, beautiful and joyous, juxtaposed with a very brutal and tragic story.

Levon Helm – “The Mountain” (written by Steve Earle)

Just like any song that Levon sings of someone else’s, he makes it his own. That is very much the case with “The Mountain” by Steve Earle. Steve recorded a great version of this song with Del McCoury, but my favorite version is the one Levon sings. It’s about the coal industry brutalizing the natural wonder of a homeplace. Removing mountaintops from where once majestic mountains stood. Filling in swimming holes that you once could cool off from the summer’s heat within its cool mountain runoff. Levon brings you there to those mountains, and he takes you to that swimming hole, and then he shows you the pain of it being no more.

Gillian Welch – “Everything is Free”

When speaking of Gillian’s songs it would be prudent to also mention David Rawlings. The line is blurred when trying to understand who wrote what — and it’s fitting that their voices in harmony become an entity of grace and grit that is alive and well. “Everything Is Free” is a song that hits home for the majority of musicians and artists who are at large suffering in an age where the fruits of their labors are taken for granted. This is certainly reflected by our culture, which would ironically feel the worth of music in its absence. In regards to this, Gillian sings: “If there’s something that you wanna hear you can sing it yourself.”

Leon Bridges – “River”

I’m not a religious person, but I am spiritual. Even though Leon uses biblical terminology in this beautiful song of yearning, and being cleansed from your sins — it’s the intention of the song that shines through and transcends all the negative connotations that might come with organized religion. It’s the true Christian values that are evoked here, of actively wanting to become a better person. It sounds like it was recorded live around one mic in a big room and really captures a beautiful moment of music.

Bob Dylan – “Murder Most Foul”

Bob is my favorite artist and songwriter. I love all the phases of his expression. I don’t subscribe to picking a favorite era or compare everything he creates to what he produced in the 1960s. This brings us to “Murder Most Foul,” a recent release of his. It is a nearly seventeen-minute song that talks about the day and days that followed the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Bob beautifully describes this tragic and heightened moment in history, giving us a stream of consciousness of images peripherally and directly happening around the time of the assassination. The production of this song is very minimal which allows the lyrics to be absorbed and breathe.

Mandolin Orange – “Wildfire”

Growing up and residing in the hills of North Carolina, Mandolin Orange has lived and been more than aware of the culture that exists below the Mason-Dixon Line. Not buying into the rhetoric of those holding on to the nostalgia of the Confederacy, Mandolin Orange gives a historical and psychological look at the wildfire that unfortunately still is fueled today. “Wildfire” is a bit of medicine to us all, and carries a hope that some who might need the medicine most. Listen to this song that is served in the musical genre of its commonplace.

The Del McCoury Band – “Hot Wired” (written by Shawn Camp)

This song is a hoot. It’s very well-written, witty and might even spark a belly laugh or two. It talks about all the things the author’s girlfriend is capable of hot-wiring. My favorite lyric is “She might hot wire your Chevy, she might hot wire your Ford / And if she ever gets to Heaven she might hot wire the Lord.” Del breaks the bluegrass rules on this song and introduces an electric guitar after singing about his girlfriend hot-wiring his acoustic guitar to play like the “doggone Rolling Stones.”

Billie Holiday – “Strange Fruit” (written by Abel Meeropol)

This song is so powerful. Billie Holiday recorded it in 1939. The emotion and dynamics of her timing are delivered in a powerful and haunting way. The fruit that hangs from the trees is not fruit at all. [The song’s titular analogy references lynchings of Black folks.] It is perplexing to me that humanity can stoop so low to such an evil as to think one is inferior to another, where murder is rationalized within such a vitriolic mindset. In this specific case it is rationalized within the minds of pale complexion below the Mason-Dixon line. How those trees still stand and the fruit still hangs, though embedded within policy, social structures, the psychology of an unexamined people and history books with whole chapters missing. Music and song throughout time has been utilized to pass stories down and convey emotions. This is a song that passes down and conveys a traumatic truth; its shockwaves still crash on the shores of our everyday.

Josh Ritter – “Girl in the War”

This is one of my favorite songs. I’ve had the fortunate opportunity to play a bunch of shows with Josh and actually back him up on this song with my old band. I’ve heard him say in an interview that this song is about America. I’ll take his word for it. I’m not quite sure what the song is about myself, but I do know it’s a goosebumper. The recording of the song is stunning and I sure do like to play this song around the fire at gatherings.

Photo credit: Jesse Borrell

New Movement Music: A Black American Soundtrack of Struggle and Protest

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

For Black Americans, this day, Juneteenth, has long been a celebration of the momentous historical event of emancipation from slavery — and the nearly two and a half years it took for that news to reach all enslaved peoples in this country. Juneteenth is belatedly gaining wider recognition and arrives at a time of reckoning with systemic patterns of white supremacy, especially police brutality, that remain deeply entrenched.

Like many waves of national protest before it, the uprising in the wake of the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade and many others has spurred the creation of its own soundtrack, and the following list spotlights the contributions of seven roots-savvy, Black music makers. Some draw on lessons learned from how songs gave spiritual succor to those on the front lines of the 1960s Civil Rights struggle, with righteously raised fists and declarations of passion and purpose. Others opt for expression that feels far more personalized or particular, articulating an adamantly complex range of emotions and letting profoundly unsettled, and unsettling, questions hang in the air. All of them are fleshing out their own vivid, timely incarnations of movement music.

Leon Bridges specializes in sophisticated soul, sometimes artfully retro in presentation and other times landing at the thoroughly contemporary end of that musical lineage. His new song “Sweeter” is an example of the latter, two minutes and 50 seconds during which his buttery vocals glide over a lean drum machine pattern, delicate, gospel-dusted bits of guitar, keyboard, piano and bass and Terrace Martin’s saxophone figures. Bridges’ words land with the devastated finality of a black man whose life is leaving his body, taken from him by police. “I thought we moved on from the darker days,” he sings, his cadence fluttery and tone ruminative. “Did the words of the King disappear in the air, like a butterfly?” The blame-laying next line arrives in a burst: “Somebody should hand you a felony.”

Then, Bridges elongates his phrasing with righteous indignation, before steadying himself to spell out the loss: “‘Cause you stole from me/my chance to be.” The elegance he chose gives his performance subtly striking, emotional heft. “From adolescence we are taught how to conduct ourselves when we encounter police to avoid the consequences of being racially profiled,” Bridges wrote in a statement. “I have been numb for too long, calloused when it came to the issues of police brutality. The death of George Floyd was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. It was the first time I wept for a man I never met. I am George Floyd, my brothers are George Floyd, and my sisters are George Floyd. I cannot and will not be silent any longer. Just as Abel’s blood was crying out to God, George Floyd is crying out to me.”

Chastity Brown has been honing her ability to create space for emotional resistance within her songs for a while now. She draws on the pointed, confessional potential of folk and soul and the digital texturing techniques of contemporary pop and hip-hop, while depicting the patient pursuit and safekeeping of self-knowledge as a sign of strength — one that differs wildly from the sort of dominance modeled by systemic power.

In her new song “Golden,” created on her iPad in her garage studio and shared with the world this week, Brown sounds willfully unhurried singing over a skittery programmed beat: “I’ve got joy, even when I’m a target/If ya think that’s political, don’t get me started/You know I’m golden and I flaunt it.” That savoring of selfhood is in striking contrast to the furious question she circles around during the chorus: “Why have I got to be angry?”

In the artist notes accompanying the song, Brown explained that she began writing it when her nephew was beaten by four white cops while walking home in Harlem, mere weeks before George Floyd died in her adopted hometown. “This collective trauma that black, indigenous, immigrant, and queer/trans folk feel is real,” she spelled out. “It’s every god damn day. Yet, we still thrive and flourish in our nature beauty, we still have swag and songs for days. We still have wild and wondrous imaginations like we are all the children of Octavia [Butler]. …This is for me, my people, and the UPRISING to defund police here in Minneapolis and thereby set a new standard for how communities want to be protected.”

Shemekia Copeland, one of the brightest stars in contemporary blues, has been deliberate for years about broadening her repertoire and approach to encompass countrified styles, singer-songwriter song sources and statement-making folk and soul sensibilities and, in the process, positioning herself in the midst of roots music discourse. That’s the insightful perspective she brings to her just-released “Uncivil War,” whose string band style accompaniment boasts the contributions of Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas.

Coming from Copeland, and delivered with measured, dignified vibrato, the simple flipping of the name of the nation’s most notorious war to “uncivil” slyly strips a veneer of respectability from the racist and romanticized Lost Cause religion. She strikes a tone of weary but resolute optimism throughout. “It’s not just a song,” she clarified in a statement. “I’m trying to put the ‘united’ back in the United States. Like many people, I miss the days when we treated each other better. For me, this country’s all about people with differences coming together to be part of something we all love. That’s what really makes America beautiful.”

Kam Franklin, on her own and with her Houston horn band The Suffers, has the wide-ranging musical instincts, imagination, nerve, and ear for earthy verisimilitude to make big statements while zeroing in on small interactions. A couple of weeks back, she posted a brand new, self-recorded song fragment to SoundCloud, a platform well suited to off-the-cuff expression, and with it, this comment: “I saw a photo of Breonna Taylor with her homegirls earlier today, and it gutted me. I won’t forget her. I wrote this birthday song for her, her friends that wondered where she was before the news came out, and everyone that loved her.”

Titled “Happy Birthday Breonna,” it’s a pensive, sinuous bit of ‘70s soul that drives home the fact that Taylor was ripped from a web of close relationships. The first, and only verse, lands like a voicemail from a friend who grew worried when she couldn’t reach Taylor. Franklin’s graceful trills and softly insistent phrasing have an understatement that suggests fretful preoccupation. Then she moves into a point-counterpoint refrain, murmuring birthday wishes to Taylor in her breathy upper register and making a devastating declaration beneath: “You should be here.”

Singer-guitarist and actor Celisse Henderson began work on writing, recording, and filming a video for her song “FREEDOM” four years ago, following the slayings of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling, and watched as black deaths and protest momentum multiplied before she finally completed and released her project earlier this month.

In a message on her website, Henderson explained, “I, along with millions of people, watched video footage of these unarmed black men losing their lives in the most horrific ways. The truth that these unjust deaths revealed about our country, including the systemic failings of our criminal justice system, became my personal call-to-action. Then the 2016 election night happened, and the results added a whole new layer to the purpose of this song and project. Now, almost four years later, too little has been done, and the story remains the same. With the horrific and unjust killings of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd weighing heavily on our hearts and minds, it is time to release ‘FREEDOM’ as a rallying cry and a call to action to stand up and fight for our freedom.”

Historic footage of the March on Washington that opens the clip is a reminder of the buoying role that spirituals played in the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, and serves the narrative function of positioning Henderson to measure the too-meager progress for Black Americans since. The track is gospel-schooled and hard-rocking, powered by a thunderous, syncopated drum pattern and grinding electric guitar attack. With gospel fervor and a touch of theatrical flourish, Henderson summons a spirit of urgency and extends a broad welcome to all who are affected or disturbed by injustice.

Joy Oladokun, a Nigerian-American singer-songwriter who’s quietly carving out her place in Nashville’s professional songwriting community with introspective, melancholy warmth, steered a co-writing appointment with Natalie Hemby toward an expression of grief. The result was “Who Do I Turn To?” a naked airing of fear and distrust.

Oladokun’s reedy, plaintive performance is accompanied only by minimal piano chords. She spends the chorus adding up horrifying realizations that lead her to a resounding question: “If I can’t save myself/If it’s all black and white/If I can’t call for help/in the middle of the night/If I can’t turn to god/If I can’t turn to you/Who do I turn to?” Her voice subtly catches on the word “help,” as though knowing that life-giving protection is unavailable to her constricts her breath. Oladokun underscored the importance of the chorus lyrics to an interviewer: “[I]t’s illustrating that I don’t trust the police since I’m black. I don’t trust the police enough to know that they would think I’m not robbing my own home. I don’t think a lot of people understand what that is like. The feeling sucks.” In a separate statement she summarized her intent: “I wanted to write a firsthand account of how I feel and the question black people like me ask when this happens over and over again while nothing changes. I want it out now to help an already traumatized people cope, heal, and put words to their struggle.”

Wyatt Waddell, a young Chicago music-maker who’s been expertly, wittily, and self-sufficiently arranging home recordings of classic covers and singer-songwriter soul originals for the past few years, wrote “FIGHT!” as an anthem of admiration and uplift for young, Black Americans putting their bodies on the line in the streets and facing off against police force to agitate for change. “This song is me looking at what’s happening and what I’d tell the people protesting,” he specified in a statement. “I had to look outside of myself at what’s going on and how people are being affected. Hearing people’s fears, anxieties, and watching everything happening on TV really helped me write the song. I hope that it can be an anthem for my people as they’re fighting for a better America.”

Waddell begins with gospel-style repetition, creating a call-and-response pattern made up of his own layered vocals over a churchly foot stomp and hand clap groove: “There’s already so much pain/So much pain/So much pain/There’s already so much pain/And there ain’t nothin’ else we can do.” It seems like he could be building up to a confession of helplessness; instead, his funky refrain is bolstered by a sense of resolve and inevitability: “Nothin’ to do but fight.”

Photo credit: (L to R) Shemekia Copeland by Mike White; Chastity Brown by Wale Agboola; Leon Bridges by Jack McKain.

MIXTAPE: Penny & Sparrow’s Songs Begging to Be Covered

Posted on by Editor

From Joe Cocker covering The Beatles, Bon Iver covering Bonnie Raitt, Glen Hansard covering The Pixies, and many, many more, WE LOVE COVER SONGS. In fact, one of the most commonly had tour van conversations is “What should we cover next?” (And we deliberate that almost daily.) The art of taking someone else’s song and making it your own is difficult and praise-worthy. … THUS, when The Bluegrass Situation asked us to cultivate a playlist, we knew exactly where to go. So here it is, dear friend!! A list of songs — in our opinion — that are begging to be covered.” — Andy Baxter and Kyle Jahnke, Penny and Sparrow

Eagles – “New Kid in Town”

Like a lot of Eagles tunes, “New Kid in Town” manages to have emotional depth WITH a hook that’s catchy as hell. Not a lot of folks can do that. They did it over and over again. It reminds me of “Fun Times in Babylon” and for that reason I must have Father John Misty cover this as soon as possible. Please make that happen for me, FJM. You would sound delightful. (Andy)

Willie Nelson – “Buddy”

This song was on Parks and Recreation and it made the reconciliation of Leslie and Ron one of the most iconic scenes in TV history. For the month after, I listened to it over and over and over again. After 30 days of it I started to imagine who I wanted to hear cover it. I landed on one of two extremely recognizable (and lovely) voices: Ashley Monroe or Anaïs Mitchell. Please Universe, hear my cry. (Andy)

John Denver – “Sunshine on My Shoulders”

I would love to hear this covered by someone like Daniel Caesar. The melody with some R&B voicing would sound insane. (Kyle)

Miya Folick – “Thingamajig”

This song is admittedly new for me and (before it came along) it had been more than a year since a song made me cry on first listen. This one undid me. Eight straight listens and now I might die unless I hear I’M WITH HER cover this damn song in three-part harmony. (Andy)

Ace of Base – “Don’t Turn Around”

I love a good ‘80s/’90s jam saddened by some sad indie folk. Thinking if James Vincent McMorrow took this and pitched it to his gorgeous falsetto I would listen on every rainy morning and cry just a little. Maybe give it to Jason Isbell and let him turn it into an Americana masterpiece. (Kyle)

Alvvays – “Archie, Marry Me”

A friend of ours called this song a “We’ll be young forever” anthem. It toes some strange line between the grunge pop of “Cherry Bomb” and the new age sad rock of Phoebe Bridgers. I love it and really really wanna hear a slickly crooned version by Sam Smith. Take all my money Sam, just get it done. (Andy)

George Strait – “Lovesick Blues”

I love the yodeling in this one. Basically I want Miley Cyrus to imitate Dolly Parton imitating a ‘90s George Strait. I love this track. (Kyle)

Slim Whitman – “Rose Marie”

This one feels unfairly unknown. How this song got lost in the shuffle of history is beyond us but I damn sure wanna hear The Kernal or Robert Ellis do a version! (Andy)

All-4-One – “So Much in Love”

This could either be an Ariana Grande acapella jam, or in my wildest dreams a Simon & Garfunkel reunion where they folk harmonize it to perfection and the world is happy since they are friends again and that’s all I really want. (Kyle)

Anaïs Mitchell – “He Did”

Lyrically this song is masterful and angst ridden and haunting. As I think about it now, it would be an incredibly tall order to cover this monster, but I genuinely think a blues/soul rendition could be badass. The lyrics of the song mourn and bleed and I kinda wanna hear Cedric Burnside or Leon Bridges take it on. (Andy)

Cutting Crew – “(I Just) Died In Your Arms”

GIVE ME HAIM SINGING THIS SONG AND IT WILL BE THE RESURRECTION OF AN ‘80S POP RELIC!!!! It would also stream millions of times in a matter of days. It’s a jam and they’re the maestros I wanna hear introduce it to the next generation. (Andy)

Photo credit: Noah Tidmore

Pete Seeger: Listening from the Rafters (Part 1 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

Pete Seeger would have turned 100 this month, but he fit well over a century’s worth of impact into the ninety-four years he had. His accomplishments as an activist, musician, folklorist, and organizer have long been numerous enough to fill an anthology—and this month, Smithsonian Folkways has finally released one, complete with six CDs, a 200-page book, and twenty previously unreleased recordings.

The release, Pete Seeger: The Smithsonian Folkways Collection, is just one way to celebrate his centennial. Fans and admirers have also marked the occasion with “Spirit of Seeger” concerts nationwide, and a special set at this summer’s Newport Folk Festival, an event where Seeger’s impact is perhaps most evident.

But Pete’s legacy is about more than a single release or celebration. Jay Sweet, executive producer at Newport Folk and a friend to Seeger, says the late folk music icon wouldn’t want any fanfare for his birthday—he’d rather see a new generation put that energy towards helping others. Here, in the first of a two-part interview, Sweet recalls conversations and memories with Seeger and discusses the way Pete’s egalitarian spirit and fiery pursuit of truth continues to propel the Newport Folk Festival forward.

BGS: You met Pete for the first time after he was a well-established icon in the American folk scene. What was that like for you?

Sweet: They say to be careful when you meet your heroes. For me, with Pete, it was the exact opposite, and it was mostly because he wasn’t Mister Positive. When I met him in his late eighties, he was a bit of a curmudgeon. I actually really liked that. He was feisty, he was disgruntled with the state of everything that was happening in the world, and he was questioning why the younger generations weren’t doing more. I think he kind of considered them soft, and I liked that he was calling it like it was.

Did that attitude reveal itself more as you grew closer over the years?

A story that I love happened few years after I met him, at Newport the first time I brought the Decemberists there. I was really excited to see them—they were going to do a funny reenactment of Dylan Goes Electric, including Pete with an axe. (I’d even told them it’d have to be kind of tongue-in-cheek, because, y’know, uh, Pete’s here.) But during the set, I get this security guard running up to me: “We’ve lost Pete. You told us to keep an eye on Mr. Seeger. We don’t know where he is.” Then, immediately, there’s another security guard running up to me. “There’s somebody in the scaffolding up on stage left, thirty-five feet up in the air. We’ve asked him to come down, but the music has started and we don’t want to interrupt the band on stage. What do we do?”

So I go, and I look, and lo and behold—in his Wranglers and a purple-pink button-down work shirt, with his little hat—was Pete Seeger at ninety-plus, thirty-five feet up in the air, looking down at the Decemberists. I remember being terrified, thinking, Well, the best thing to do is to not scare him, to wait til he comes down. There were no stairs or anything, he had just climbed.

So when he got down, I was like, Pete… what?! And he said, “I was so sick of people asking me to take pictures with them and sign autographs. You told me that this band had a lot of good stuff—that their music was based in old-time sea shanties, had all these metaphors, took from these old tales. And I was fascinated. I had to see it. And they’re fantastic!” And I just remember thinking, I know Newport is onto something when Pete Seeger is climbing the scaffolding to be left alone, just to see good music.

I’ve heard that it was actually Pete’s idea, decades ago, to pay all of the performers the same fee to play—$50. And I know that’s not how it works now, but—

It’s pretty close! [Laughs]

What elements of that spirit are still around?

Well, we perhaps overpay up-and-coming artists — those who need it, really, in order to be able to take the dog-crap offers they get all over the place and still survive. If we don’t overpay them, we give them the opportunity to collaborate with somebody that is gonna help their star shine a little brighter, give them a platform to succeed. With anybody bigger than that, we basically ask to take a zero, or even more than a zero, away from their normal asking fee. And then we make a donation in their name to something that they believe in.

And the reason that works is because there’s an understanding. You can look at, say, the Avett Brothers, who I booked three or four times before they ever headlined. Hozier — his very first, basically, gig, in the United States? It was Newport. Courtney Barnett and Leon Bridges and Margo Price, all these amazing people that came to Newport before they became the names that you might recognize. We need to support the hell out of them, and not just for altruistic reasons. Bands like the Avett Brothers and Wilco and Hozier and the Alabama Shakes and My Morning Jacket, you don’t get those bands to come back year after year if you didn’t support them when nobody else did.

And I think that is all about that $50 model, and a general understanding of it. Fleet Foxes’ Robin [Pecknold] said it really well on a PBS special: He said, when we first came here, they didn’t pay us much, but we hadn’t proven ourselves. Then I think they paid us the exact same amount when we came back to Newport to headline. The interviewer was confounded by that, he asked — why? And [Robin] essentially said, “Because now there’s another band that Jay needs to book. They’re the Fleet Foxes from ten years ago, and they need that help. Me playing it, it’s a giving back.”

And that? It’s very rare. But it comes from the spirit of Pete saying that regardless of whether you’re Bob Dylan at the height of his popularity or church singers from Appalachia, you’re getting fifty bucks. That we’re-all-in-this-together mentality comes from that fifty dollars. And if during my tenure, if the whole thing is as close as I can get to the ideal of Pete Seeger, the better off the festival will be.

What were some of your last interactions with Pete, and how do they affect the way you move forward with Newport?

My last conversations with Pete were much more interesting than my first ones, in some respects. One is that he said to me, “Jay, if you’re not upsetting someone, you’re doing it wrong.” That’s a mantra I keep with me — a what-would-Pete-say kind of thing. That’s what makes Newport, this festival that Pete basically co-founded with George Wein, iconic in American music and around the world, even though it’s so small—why its name gets continuously mentioned in the same breath as the Glastonberrys and Bonnaroos and Coachellas. I remember him saying, “You’ve gotta keep challenging the ears of our audience. Unless you’re upsetting a certain faction, you’re doing it wrong. Take the opportunity.”

About four months before he died, he asked me, “How are you going to keep booking people that speak truth to power, speak on the human condition? Who is doing that now?” I said, “Well, at this point Pete, it’s hip-hop.” I sent him some lyrics—just lyrics at first, no music—and he wrote back and said, “These are fascinating. Does any of this stuff get radio play?” And I was like “Actually, no. It’s somewhat like when you started the festival.” Because when people like Pete and Joan Baez and others had lyrical messages that, due to the lingering effects of McCarthyism, were not “fit for radio,” Newport was created out of that blacklisting.

Pete figured, if I can’t get my message to the masses via these mediums, I’m just gonna do it in person, all over the country and all over the world. I’ll take it to union halls and VFWs and town assemblies, and whatever it is—gymnasiums at public schools. The festival was basically just a massive culmination of the grassroots effort to play for the island of misfits. So I think there was a lot of connection there, for him, with hip-hop—Kendrick Lamar, Chance the Rapper. It was fascinating to me. But white Pete was alive, we could never bring that to fruition for him. Bring somebody to Newport in a free rhyme, just a beat and somebody freestyling. I think he actually would have climbed that scaffolding again: “Leave me alone—I want to go see this truth.”

Illustration: Zachary Johnson
Editor’s Note: Read the second part of our interview with Jay Sweet.

Bourbon and Beyond Music Lineup Revealed

Posted on by Editor

Bourbon & Beyond, the world’s largest bourbon festival, will return to Louisville, Kentucky, on September 20-22, expanding to three days full of incredible music, unique culinary events, and unmatched experiences from the region’s best distilleries at the new Highland Festival Grounds At Kentucky Expo Center.

In total, more than 45 artists will play on three stages, including Alison Krauss, Del McCoury Band, Lukas Nelson & Promise Of The Real, and Margo Price. The bluegrass stage will be curated by the genre’s leading authority, The Bluegrass Situation. The BGS lineup includes Greensky Bluegrass, Mipso, Amythyst Kiah, The Travelin’ McCourys, Cedric Burnside, Ben Sollee, Dustbowl Revival, Lil Smokies, Front Country, with more to be announced.

The event will be headlined by Foo Fighters, Robert Plant And The Sensational Space Shifters (returning after originally being scheduled to appear in 2018) and the Zac Brown Band. Additional acts include John Fogerty, Daryl Hall & John Oates, and many others.

Bourbon & Beyond exclusive VIP packages, General Admission tickets, camping and hotel packages, as well as special event tickets, go on sale Friday, March 15 at 12:00 PM EDT.

The current music lineup for Bourbon & Beyond is as follows (subject to change):

Friday, September 20:
Foo Fighters, John Fogerty, Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats, The Flaming Lips, +LIVE+, Joan Jett & The Blackhearts, Lukas Nelson & Promise Of The Real, Greensky Bluegrass, Blackberry Smoke, Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Pearl, Mipso, Amythyst Kiah

Saturday, September 21:
Robert Plant And The Sensational Space Shifters, Daryl Hall & John Oates, Trey Anastasio Band, Alison Krauss, Grace Potter, Squeeze, Jenny Lewis, Del McCoury Band, Samantha Fish, The White Buffalo, Maggie Rose, Patrick Droney, The Travelin’ McCourys, Cedric Burnside, Ben Sollee

Sunday, September 22:
Zac Brown Band, ZZ Top, Leon Bridges, Edward Sharpe And The Magnetic Zeros, Kurt Vile And The Violators, Margo Price, Little Steven And The Disciples Of Soul, Edie Brickell & New Bohemians, White Reaper, Whiskey Myers, Southern Avenue, Caroline Jones, Dustbowl Revival, The Lil Smokies, Front Country

MIXTAPE: Wood & Wire’s Grammy-Nominated Faves

Posted on by Editor

Welcome to our guide to The Grammys! You may (or may not) be surprised to learn that our musical tastes span far beyond the beautiful world of bluegrass music. Below you’ll find some of our favorite tracks from the Bluegrass category along with many other tracks from various nominees. This took us a while and was nearly impossible to narrow down. We could have easily made this list a lot longer. For now, enjoy some highlights and we’ll see you in L.A.! — Tony Kamel, Wood & Wire

(Editor’s Note: Wood & Wire’s North of Despair is nominated for a Grammy in the Best Bluegrass Album category.)

The Travelin’ McCourys – “Southbound”

We’ve been fortunate to get to play some shows with these guys over the last few years. They’re great people and awesome bluegrass pickers but this album showcases their versatility beyond just bluegrass while remaining undeniably true to the bluegrass style.

Kacey Musgraves – “Slow Burn”

Kacey received four nominations, including Album of the Year, for her album Golden Hour. Whether you consider it country or not it doesn’t really matter. From front to back the album is absolutely flawless.

Kendrick Lamar & SZA – “All the Stars”

This song is so catchy and so good you’ll want to start it over again once it ends. It also has landed four nominations including Record of the Year.

Brandi Carlile – “The Joke”

A poignant and powerful song by an incredible singer/songwriter. Don’t stop with this song because the entire album is amazing.

Zedd, Maren Morris & Grey – “The Middle”

Are you someone who doesn’t listen to pop songs that much? Forget about all of that and give this song a listen. It’s a perfect pop song.

Marcus Miller: “Trip Trap”

Bassist Marcus Miller is the Boss, the GOAT and a very bad boy. His unbelievable album Laid Black (up for best Contemporary Instrumental Album) is Marcus in peak form, start to finish. Don’t take our word for it, listen to the opening (live) track “Trip Trap.” You’ll find that Marcus is talking to you on that bass. Turn it up.

Mike Barnett: “Mary and the Soldier”

When we saw this title on Mike’s album, we were eager to listen to his interpretation. His fiddle playing is so tasteful, and his arrangement is so musical, we truly feel that the purity and passion of this traditional music has been understood, matched and advanced. And who better to sing than Tim O’Brien? Mike joins us in the Best Bluegrass Album category with his record, Portraits in Fiddles.

Margo Price (Feat. Willie Nelson) – “Learning to Lose”

By now, you all know who Margo Price is. It’s funny that she’s up for Best New Artist considering how long she’s been doing her thing–and what a wonderful thing it is. Willie Nelson is also up for a few and we figured it would be nice to share this beautiful song they recorded together, featuring a classic Willie guitar solo on his beloved classical guitar Trigger.

Julian Lage – “Splendor Riot”

Known for his guitar chops and background in jazz this album is truly unique. At times country or R&B it also sometimes sounds like a rockin’ indie album…Only instrumental.

Childish Gambino – “This is America”

The song alone is a monumental work and a powerful commentary on American society. It is also nominated for best music video for a good reason. Go watch the video.

Cedric Burnside – “Death Bell Blues”

Start to finish, this record is incredible. This guy has channeled some of the absolute greats in his delivery and recording style, including his father (blues drummer Calvin Jackson) and grandfather (the great R.L. Burnside). But make no mistake, Cedric has his own groove and own style. Benton County Relic is up for Best Traditional Blues Record and man it’s a doozie.

Special Consensus (w/ 10 String Symphony, Alison Brown, & John Hartford) – “Squirrel Hunters”

Greg Cahill and crew really crafted a gem of a record with Rivers & Roads. It’s chock full of some of the best playing we’ve heard. However, it’s hard to resist choosing this version of one of our favorite fiddle tunes, in which the band (plus our friends Rachel Baiman & Christian Sedlemeyer, as well as Alison Brown) built the recording around a previously unreleased track of our one of our favorite musicians of all time, John Hartford. Just awesome to hear it brought to life this way.

Sister Sadie – “Raleigh’s Ride”

Aside from being amazing singers, these ladies sure can pick. This is one kick-ass instrumental! We’re thrilled to share this category with them.

Los Texmaniacs – “Mexico Americano”

Shout out to some of our fellow Austinites. This heartfelt song speaks for itself. Their record Cruzando Brothers is up for Best Regional Mexican Music Album and it’s awesome.

Lady Gaga – “Shallow”

Not much to say here. We love Lady Gaga. Quite the vocal performance.

Brad Mehldau Trio – “De-Dah”

This trio has achieved acclaim in the jazz world and beyond for their compositions and performances. Though Brad himself is nominated for his solo on this song the band is jammin’ right there with him the entire time.

Punch Brothers – “All Ashore”

Of course Punch Brothers are amazing musicians but what’s more impressive is their limitless ability to take the bluegrass quintet to new realms.

Post Malone – “Psycho”

Post Malone grew up in Grapevine, Texas, and released his first major hit on SoundCloud. This is his second album which showcases his vast blending of musical styles and influences.

Others that we love: Mary Gauthier, Loretta Lynn, John Prine, Fantastic Negrito, Travis Scott, St. Vincent, Loretta Lynn, Leon Bridges, The Wood Brothers… so, so many more.

Nicole Atkins and the Last-Call Lullabye

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She knew the session would be worth documenting, but at the time, Nicole Atkins didn’t realize that the cover of Goodnight, Rhonda Lee would be a shot of her soaking up one of the most difficult songs she’s ever written.

On the night they recorded the string parts for “Colors,” Atkins invited Griffin Lotz — a longtime friend of the Jersey native and a Rolling Stone photographer — to hang around the studio and take a few pictures of her and the guys in action. At one point, Lotz trained his lens on Atkins listening back to the somber strings that accompany her dusky voice and Robert Ellis on the piano. Atkins’s eyes recall the Atlantic waves that wash upon the shore that shaped her, a stunning aquamarine of mirthful reflection that turns tempestuous when the climate calls for it. In Lotz’s photo, the tide is calm: Captivated, and with eyes as big as her headphones, Atkins considers the parts she sang for the string players on the sad ballad that states, in simple, certain terms, that drinking had consumed her life.

“I can see exactly where I was when I wrote that song,” she says of “Colors,” which she and Ellis had recorded in one take in the fitting gloom of a lightless studio. Atkins had just left New Jersey for Nashville with her tour manager husband, Ryan; she had been struggling with sobriety and had gone through a rough relapse when she found herself lonely in their new city and he told her he was heading out to work a two-month jaunt. On top of that, she’d hit a wall on the creative front, and the combination of unlucky breaks had her steeping in despondence. “I was writing tons of songs,” she says. “We were shopping around demos, because we had no money to make a record, and I just had no idea what we were gonna do, you know? It was just months and months of not getting any phone calls, at all, about songs that I thought were good, and a record I thought was, you know, cohesive.”

She decided to go to New York for a few days, as her old friends from college and frequent tour buddies, the Avett Brothers, invited her to their gig at Madison Square Garden, and Margo Price had encouraged her to come along for her Saturday Night Live performance that same weekend. “I just thought, ‘Dude, everybody has stuff to do except for me,’” she recalls. “I was like, ‘I’M QUITTING MUSIC.’ And then I drank a bottle of dark rum and called everyone I knew, and I was like, ‘I’m just gonna write a musical. Fuck this.’”

One of those calls was to Jim Sclavunos, drummer of the Bad Seeds, who stepped out from a photo shoot with Nick Cave to answer the phone and assure her that quitting simply wasn’t something she was “allowed” to do. Another was to Ryan. “I obviously had to tell my husband the next day that we couldn’t have booze in the house, and it was just freaking me out,” she says. The melody for “Colors” came later, when she was sad, tired, and singing lines of the song into her phone on a train platform on her way to the airport in Newark: “Everywhere I go, the only things I see are glowing brown and green. The bottle’s gonna kill me.” That’s when she set the backbone for Goodnight, Rhonda Lee, an album named for Atkins’s drunk alter-ego: This is her sober record, one that thrives off hard-won clarity throughout, but “Colors” is a breakthrough so simple, painful, and pure that it serves as the album’s anchor. It’s a reminder that the toughest trouble can teach us things, though its lessons — to pour out the poison; to wean off a person or substance you can’t quit — are difficult to learn or even discuss.

“I think there’s a lot of shame that comes with being a woman, and being a musician, and being an alcoholic,” she says. “There’s a lot of embarrassment to feel; it’s not pretty or cute to talk about. There are a lot of sober women in music, but I don’t know if a lot talk of them about it — the only one I can think of is Bonnie Raitt. I write about my life on every record. This was just what was going on, and I couldn’t really write about anything else. Being in and out of sobriety for two years was just totally taking over my life. It was all I could think about. It’s weird: You know when they’re like, ‘It gets better, it gets easier, and you’ll have a day when you don’t even think about booze.’ I couldn’t imagine that because, even in long stretches of sobriety, it was like, ‘I’ll just have one.’” She did get there — at Bonnaroo, where she didn’t even think about the open bar, of all places — and reaching that internal summit was illuminating. “I thought, ‘Now, I have all this room in my brain just to think of music and my husband when he comes home.’ It was such a good feeling, that I wasn’t constantly like, ‘I’m so fucked. How am I going to be unfucked?’”

Those “other things” flooding her grey matter include intricate arrangements and some of the most challenging compositions she’s written yet, as Goodnight, Rhonda Lee is as much an instrumental triumph as it is a lyrical one. In addition to Ellis and Sclavuno, Atkins sat down with a number of esteemed pals — including Chris Isaak and Binky Griptite of the Dap-Kings — to hone in on exactly what she wanted to sing and how she wanted to sing it. Thanks to these collaborations and the brassy guidance of Nile City Sound, the Fort Worth-based production team behind the timeless quality of Leon Bridges’s Coming Home, the result capitalizes on the wry grit of her New York-honed chops; her unadulterated adoration of Lee Hazelwood, Roy Orbison, and classic soul; and the alt-country framework that informed her first forays into songwriting. Though her marriage is wonderful and she’s open to compulsively unpacking her relationship with alcohol in songs like “Colors” and the album’s title track, Atkins found inspiration in painful memories of broken romance, the kind of stuff most people are eager to leave in the haze of a blackout-peppered past. One instance took the shape of “A Little Crazy,” the grand, lonely cowgirl call Atkins and Isaak wrote in an hour after he suggested that she revisit a relationship that went wrong instead of the one going right.

“He was like, ‘You’re happily married — but remember the guy you dated when we toured? Let’s write about that,’” she says. “A lot of [Goodnight, Rhonda Lee] was written about a past relationship. I wanted to own a lot of things instead of saying, ‘This is terrible and I’m a victim.’ After that one particular breakup, I was fucking nuts. I had no control of my emotions whatsoever. I was willing to degrade everything I believed in just to have that comfort back.”

And thus we have Goodnight, Rhonda Lee instead of Goodbye. By dusting off the conversations, opening heartwounds of the past, and keeping those tidal eyes of hers open, Atkins is able to mine the hurt, humiliation, and disappointment they caused for musical gold, just as she does while working through her sobriety with the tape rolling.

“There are aspects of Rhonda Lee that are still kind of there that I’m kind of grateful for. I didn’t get sober and become a giant square,” she laughs. “It’s more so being in a place where you feel confident and better about yourself, that you’re able to hold certain situations that were painful and have some empathy for the people involved in those situations — including yourself.”

‘Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats’

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The ghost of Sam Cooke seems a little restless these days. Back in June, soul-man-of-the-moment Leon Bridges resurrected the smooth side of Sam with his debut set, Coming Home. This month, Missouri-raised folkmeister Nathaniel Rateliff and his band, the Night Sweats, reincarnate the dirtier side of the original Soul Stirrer with this set of 11 songs that tug at the heart of rhythm and blues.

It’s only appropriate Rateliff and his crew of sweaty men would drop this bundle of wax on the venerable Stax imprint, as the singer channels not only Sam Cooke, but just about every major vibe that’s been built below the Mason-Dixon line. Rateliff gathers the gospel and drowns it in the grits and gravy on the foot-pounding first song, “I Need Never Get Old,” shuffles down the dark alleys of Memphis with “Howling at Nothing,” and thumps the tub of rock 'n' roll with “Trying So Hard Not to Know.” There’s a street corner swing to the lovely four-part harmonizer “I’ve Been Falling”; “Look It Here” has the same four-on-the-floor as the album’s opener; and the oddly named “S.O.B.” riffs vocal riffs straight from the Baptist Church of Birmingham.

Everything here is drenched in reverb and mixed at a distance, as if you’re standing in the middle of a house party and the players are hanging out in a bunch of different rooms. It’s a strange experience at first but, after a cut or two, it all begins to make sense. The end result is a top-quality cadre of rough and tumble tunes that speak to the archangel but rock like the devil.