Coming early 2025, I will be releasing a live concert film of my new record, Real Life Thing. The film runs like a play of sorts, including different set changes and moods for each song as we run down the entire track list of the album. To me, live performance is the reason for making music. It’s the best way for me to tap into something deep in myself with those that have come out to do the same. It’s also the way that I make my trade as a human; I think live performance already brings an honest and vulnerable energy since it is our livelihood.
Songs evolve each time they’re performed live and each instrument reflects a current mood. It’s an endless mixed bag of potential outcomes. So much of a performance is pulled from all of the energies involved – the crowd, the band, the venue and the ghosts that live there, the time of year, etc. It’s the most exciting part of music to me and that’s why I decided to make my playlist all live performances of some of my favorite songs. – Sam Blasucci
“If I Was Your Girlfriend” Live In Utrecht (2020 Remaster) – Prince
I could have made this entire playlist just live Prince recordings that blow my mind, but that might only be fun for me. I especially love this version because it’s a song he wrote as his alter ego persona Camilla, who sang it on the album (Prince pitched his voice up to sound higher). But in this version, you just get Prince in Europe with his natural voice and it’s one of my favorite recordings of his ever.
“Hey That’s No Way to Say Goodbye” Live in London – Leonard Cohen
I think this is Leonard Cohen’s best album of any, live or in the studio. He was better and better with age. This is the cute version of Leonard as an old man finally, singing this song in the way it feels like it should have always been sung. Of any live performance on this list, this is the one I would have loved to see most in person.
“LA FAMA” Live en el Palau Sant Jordi – Rosalía
Some live versions I think are better than the studio versions and this is one of those cases, although I love the studio versions of all the MOTOMAMI songs. When Rosalía released this on the deluxe version of the album, it gave the song another side and clicked with me even more.
“Hunter” (Live) – Björk
If the purpose of a live performance is to tap in to something, Björk never missed. She’s the hunter.
“Knock On Wood” Live; 2005 Mix; 2016 Remaster – David Bowie
This is my favorite era of David Bowie (Cracked Actor). I especially love his vocal performance in this version. It’s not easy to cover a classic song like this and have it feel tastefully ramped up, but I think he brought it and crushed it.
“Voices Inside (Everything Is Everything)” – Donny Hathaway
Willie Weeks may be my favorite bass player and his solo section toward the end of this is widely known as one of the coolest bass moments, and with good reason. I suppose it shouldn’t be that hard to tap in when Donny Hathaway is leading the band.
“17 Days” Piano & A Microphone 1983 Version – Prince
When you can strip it all down to a single instrument and a voice and come through with so much power and spirit, that must be the true peak of live performance. When there is nothing else in the pot, all the secret parts of the music come out and make magic.
“Hot Burrito #2” Live at Lafayette’s Music Room – Big Star
I always thought Alex Chilton had some similarities with Gram Parsons. They sort of sing in a similar way and they both show so much emotion in their songs. I think that’s why he could make this version hit so hard. Chilton is at the top of my list of guitar players as well, and this song is a reason why.
“Ventura” Live 2003/The Fillmore, San Francisco – Lucinda Williams
This was recorded on my birthday in 2003. Although I was in 3rd grade and not in attendance for the show, I’d like to think I helped with the vibes. This one sounds like November in SF to me. Another amazing thing about live performance is capturing the energy surrounding the show.
“Woman of Heart and Mind” Live at Universal Amphitheatre, Los Angeles, CA, 8/14-17, 1974 – Joni Mitchell
Another version that I prefer to the studio cut. The sound of the night and the live acoustic guitar; Joni’s semi-confrontational and conversational writing style seem to be designed for an in-person type of listening.
“Angel Eyes” Live In Toronto/1975 – Jim Hall
Jim Hall is another one of my favorite guitar players. I learned about this song years ago on tour in Colorado and it has ever since remained one of my favorites.
“Stay a Little Longer” Live at Harrah’s Casino, Lake Tahoe, NV April 1978 – Willie Nelson
This feels like a good burning ender to this playlist, although it is the very opening of the concert it was taken from. Willie’s recipe is 3x the speed of the original, a couple out of control solos, and likely some exotic mood modifiers.
Much like the songs on his latest album Pathways, the sounds swirling around Canadian singer-songwriter Julian Taylor on our recent phone call for BGS were also filled with curiosity, emotion, and the subtle, intrinsic tones of a modern world unfolding.
Walking the streets of his native Toronto, the introspective depths of Taylor’s voice and pure sentiments radiated in conversation were only complemented by the organized chaos of an international city in motion. Honking of taxi cabs at clustered intersections; the thrust of train cars on the underground subway; other conversations of varying degrees of volume in passing. And Taylor himself.
“Don’t the grass look greener on the other side/ but be careful of what you wish for could get left behind,” Taylor weaves through “Ain’t Life Strange.” “I see where I went wrong and all I could have done. There’s a fine line between a broken and beautiful mind.”
Those lyrics in particular speak to the long, arduous, yet bountiful road for Taylor. At 46, he’s spent his entire adult life in pursuit of creative fulfillment and stability in an often haphazard industry. In his tenure, Taylor’s seen the high-water mark and complete collapse of the music business – and then some.
Co-founder of 1990s Canadian alt-rock act Staggered Crossing, Taylor found himself in big meetings with even bigger record label executives. The band was signed by Warner Music Canada and earned some limited success before being dropped by the label not long after their debut album hit the streets.
From there, it became a DIY ethos at the heart of Staggered Crossing. But, after a handful of albums and plateauing popularity, the group split in 2007, ultimately leaving Taylor out on his own. But, he trudged ahead, even if he was unsure of his next move, whether personally or professionally.
Frustrated and burned out by the music industry, Taylor circled back to a beloved bar of his, the Dora Keogh Irish Pub in the Danforth neighborhood of Toronto. There he summoned the courage and energy to start an open mic night. With a stripped-down set of simply Taylor and his guitar, he quickly found this new path of intent and purpose for the music within him.
From there, it’s been this ongoing journey of self and of song for Julian Taylor. What has resulted is this soothing voice of determination and compassion pushing steadfast into this latest chapter of his sound and scope.
I was recently in Toronto for the first time and it felt like one of the most culturally and sonically diverse cities I’ve ever come across.
Julian Taylor: Yeah, definitely. It’s been that way ever since I was a kid. It was a real small town when I was born, but it’s just grown exponentially. The music thing has been extremely positive. People really do support each other and everything. Like, it doesn’t really matter where you’re coming from.
What does it mean to be a songwriter from Ontario and greater Canada? I mean, you have some of the best of the best. Gordon Lightfoot, Gord Downie, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen. The list goes on.
It’s an honor. I’m happy to be from here. You have the rich heritage that I have and the rich musical landscape that we grew up with. A lot of people don’t really know that so many of these artists, like the people that you’ve mentioned, are Canadian. We’ve had such an incredible influence on the world. I think a lot of that has to do with the cultural mosaic and landscape we live in. I mean, it is not easy to tour this country. And we sort of grind our teeth here a lot of the time. So, when you do that, it makes you a little bit more appreciative of any sort of accolades or any sort of impact that you may have on the world.
When I was reading your backstory, you must have been a teenager when you started Staggered Crossing.
Yeah, I was pretty young. When we first got signed, it was at the tail end of, I guess, what you would want to call the high-water mark. We didn’t get to really experience that. We experienced the very last little bit of it. And then the entire industry changed. I’ve seen it change so many times in my career. And I started when I was 16.
What was it that kept you going after Staggered Crossing broke up? Was it just this idea that, “Hell or high water, this is what I’m going to, no matter what”?
Part of that was it. The other part of it was encouragement. The fact that any of my songs resonated with anybody really was the main point. You’re like, “I’m going to do this no matter what, because this is my calling and this is my passion, this is my purpose.” But, when you have those things validated by other people? That’s just a huge gift. The fact that people would continue to book me and play my stuff on the radio or people would come to shows and tell me that my music meant something to them. With that kind of encouragement, it’s really hard to stop going.
With Staggered Crossing being signed and going through the motions of very large corporations, what were some of the things you took away from that experience you applied to your solo career?
I think it all happened afterwards, really. Not during that period of time, because afterwards we had to fend for ourselves. But, it was the first time that the do-it-yourself mentality was put into place. We didn’t even know what DIY was. I just ended up doing it because I wanted to get my music out there. I wanted to keep touring, to continue to create records. So, I did anything and everything I could to keep that happening. I learned a lot about the business, about promotions, marketing, and distribution. Basically, everything a label would do for an artist, I learned how to do it alongside my friends and we kept on pushing ahead. It was hard and also easy at the same time, because it was something I wanted to do. It certainly tired me out at one point in time. I was so disenchanted with music that I stopped and then I came back with a brand-new sort of outlook on it.
What does it mean to be at this juncture of your career and still be just as curious, and always mining for the next song, as ever?
That’s a good question, man. It’s really about the job and the task at hand. And the job is to document the human condition through my experiences. World domination is still on the back burner. [Laughs] As an artist, it’s about putting in the work and that work is really hard to do. It’s emotionally exhausting. It’s physically exhausting. But, at the end of the day, when you look at yourself in the mirror and think about it, “I’ve written these beautiful songs and they’ve brought beauty to people’s lives.” And these performances have brought beauty to both of our lives – not just theirs, but to mine. It’s a two-way street.
Where does that work ethic come from within you?
Maybe it’s the Jamaican side of me. [Laughs] It’s definitely a family thing. My family on both sides have worked so hard. My mom’s side of the family has sacrificed and worked so hard. And my dad’s side, who migrated [to Canada]. On my mom’s side, we were here to begin with. And my dad’s side, they came here with not a lot to go on, and discrimination and things like that. They worked their asses off and always told me I would have to work 150 percent harder than anybody else because of my background.
And have you?
From a very young age.
Do you find they were correct with that assessment?
Yeah, they’re still correct about that. And, I don’t really know how and when that’s going to change. There are more opportunities reported to people now that are minorities, but the reality of having to work that much harder is still a truism. That’s unfortunate. But, you know what? I dare to ask anybody from the minority to say that something hasn’t benefited them from that work ethic.
As you were trying to move forward after Staggered Crossing, you started this open mic at a bar in Danforth. Were you kind of circling back to where it all began and recalibrating things?
Yeah. I used to work at that same Irish pub in the Danforth. I was a bus boy and also a server. One day, some old guy came in and he was just so rude to me, so racist. And I thought to myself, “What am I doing? I’ve got to do something about this.” That was the catalyst that got me back into performing music. The proprietors of that establishment offered the open stage to me on that Monday to help me get going again. They’re some of the greatest friends I’ve got in this world. And it was funny because, after Staggered Crossing, I just couldn’t go on. I had tried so hard to “make it” and it was such an uphill battle. Pushing a boulder up a hill. I gave up and needed some time. And then when the open stage came back, it was a community thing. I rallied around people and they rallied around me. And it’s still a musical community out here in the city. It all comes down to community.
Why did you title the album Pathways?
Pathways felt like a journey. It’s been so long getting here, you know? I’ve got 12 studio records in my name and a couple of live records. I’ve toured extensively for the last 20 years. And this felt like a record that I needed to go inward, rather than outward. Some of my records are very contemplative of the outside world. And this one, I was contemplating my inside world – what was in my head, my heart and soul. Trying to battle through some of the things that go on in everyday life decisions and choices I’ve made. The pressure of the last two records and creating a new record was on me. I was feeling that and decided Pathways was a really good metaphor for where I was headed, where I’ve gone, where I’ve been. I’m not sure where it’s going to take me next, but it just felt like a nice walk in a cool breeze.
Since the 2020 shutdown, there’s been, thankfully, a lot more conversation in the music industry about mental health and physical wellness. Does that play into where you’re at right now?
It does, yeah. I think about it every day. It’s really hard to make it as a musician. And it’s really hard to be a human in this world. I’ll be the first to admit that I go through a lot of stuff in my head. I’ve never been diagnosed with a mental illness, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I have something. I feel it a lot, the pressure to keep making a living, so that I can keep a roof over my head and my family fed. I could walk away from music if I had to, but I don’t want to. I don’t know if that would make me happy or not.
But, when it comes to fiscal responsibility, that’s a lot of stress. And then, there’s the stress social media puts on us, where you get attacked for no reason by people who don’t even know you. Sure, there’s a lot of praise going on, but there’s a lot of the other stuff, too. And now everything’s sort of been put into the musician’s hands. It’s a bit of a mental dilemma. I’ve lost a lot of people this year and that was part of that as well. You know, it’s life. People think people in the public eye or musicians putting themselves out there have rhino skin and they’re superhuman — but we’re not.
I consider myself to be amongst the luckiest of music lovers. Growing up, I saw some of the most incredible roots artists from backstage while holding my Jack Russell terrier and playing with my cousins. When I was 8 years old, my grandfather Warren started a free bluegrass festival in San Francisco called Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. These artists shaped me since they were the first ones I watched perform, but the connection went on to become even deeper. When my grandfather passed away in 2011 I started performing music, and the larger community of Hardly Strictly was where I found my encouragers and mentors.
This is a compilation of the artists who I heard from and listened to as a child, and those whose songs I learned when I first became a musician. –ISMAY (AKA Avery Hellman)
“Dark Turn of Mind” – Gillian Welch
Just after high school I spent time working on some small homesteads with a farm labor trade for room and board. This was the same time that The Harrow & the Harvest by Gillian Welch came out – a literary masterpiece. Every time I listen to this record it reminds me of those homesteads and my borrowed car with a faulty battery. It brings me back to the day I arrived late to a new farm in West Virginia while my roommate was still sleeping and how odd it felt to be in a house with a stranger. I got up in the morning to make sourdough toast with an egg wondering what that person who was asleep in the loft of that ’80s wood cabin would think of me.
“Concrete And Barbed Wire” – Lucinda Williams
In the ’90s I was fortunate that my mom had great music taste. She took us around in a magenta suburban car and played Lucinda Williams. She said us kids used to sing along with silly accents to the words “concrete and barbed wire.” It took me another 20 years to fully appreciate Lucinda Williams and the masterful lyricist she is. Over the last four years, I’ve been working on a documentary about her, and it’s been so rewarding, because Lucinda’s music is the kind that gets better the more you know it.
“Dallas” – The Flatlanders
My grandfather was not a professional musician for most of his life, but in the final years he played in a bluegrass band with his friend Jimmie Dale Gilmore. What a kind man Jimmie is, with a voice that reminds me of a dove fluttering away. Because of this relationship he had with my grandfather, I heard about this record Jimmie made with his band The Flatlanders that was lost for 40 years. It was raw and made me feel like I was under a tin roof in Texas. It’s said that this tape helped mark the birth of alt-country.
“The Times They Are A-Changin'” – Odetta
A few years ago I was asked to perform at an event that compared and contrasted Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen. I’m more of a Cohen person, so I had more trouble finding a Dylan song that felt like it would fit my feel. That was when I came upon this remarkable Odetta cover and I was inspired. She changed the whole feel of the song to make it her own. In 2008, she performed at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass just two months before she passed away, it was one of the final times she ever performed.
“St. James Hospital” – Doc Watson
I know that most people know Doc for his flatpicking, but I’ve always been much more drawn to the fingerpicking style of guitar in general. “St. James Hospital” feels like a fascinating departure from the more well known Doc Watson performances, and I love hearing him playing in a less linear fashion. This shows he can do it all. In the music that I’ve recorded I sometimes feel a bit out-of-the-norm and nowhere-to-belong, but this song feels similar to one I recorded called “A Song in Praise of Sonoma Mountain.” Hearing “St. James Hospital” makes me feel less out-on-a-limb in roots music.
“Permanent” – Kenneth Pattengale & Joey Ryan (The Milk Carton Kids)
As I started playing music I found this record by The Milk Carton Kids before they had that name, and played under Kenneth Pattengale & Joey Ryan. Listening to this song now, it is still unreal that it was all recorded live at a concert. It was deeply inspiring to see artists like Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings generating a new live sound that was somehow very modern and yet felt like a continuation of original folk music. As if the ’80s and ’90s had never happened! What a gift. Then, seeing The Milk Carton Kids take that torch and carry it on was so exciting for me as a 19 year old.
“Boulder to Birmingham” – Emmylou Harris
I listen to Emmylou every year on Sunday night at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. Her silver hair and steadiness feel beyond time. I can’t believe she is still here, with that same strong presence since I was just 8 years old. As a performer she has a strong sense of worthiness to the audience, a sense of mutual respect for the relationship between listener and performer. I hope that I can hold just a bit of her steadiness within myself.
“Restless” – Alison Krauss & Union Station
I was in 6th grade and didn’t much enjoy recess out on the playground. I brought my CDs over to an empty classroom, and sat in the back listening to Alison Krauss & Union Station. Sometimes I’d show these CDs to my friends. This was before I figured out that it was cooler to be listening to rock music. But I loved that music, and the songs were amongst the first I tried to learn in singing lessons.
“The Silver Dagger” – Old Crow Medicine Show
Old Crow Medicine Show was playing at Hardly Strictly as they rose up in mainstream culture. I appreciate the edge that this recording preserves. There’s even a moment where it sounds like someone might have dropped something or hit their instrument on another (01:35). I wish more recordings kept imperfections preserved within them.
“Pretty Bird” – Hazel Dickens
Part of the reason that my grandfather started Hardly Strictly Bluegrass was because of his love of Hazel Dickens. They were from very different backgrounds, but they became friends and saw the common humanity in one another through music. She played every year until she died. This is my favorite song of hers. What is beautiful to me about Hazel’s take on bluegrass is the imperfections and raw emotion. She brought her whole self to the song.
“Harlem River Blues” – Justin Townes Earle
I can still picture Justin on the stage with his impeccably curated suits. Back around 2018, I opened a show for him in Santa Cruz, California. He drove up to the venue in a red convertible, which I thought was the coolest thing ever. Just a guy and his ride. He was very kind to me and I wish I had more chances to see him play again. May his music never fade away.
“Tiniest Lights” – Angel Olsen
When I was 20, I went into a record shop in Ohio. The guy there said they only really carry more obscure records. No problem, I thought, I was here for Captain Beefheart and PJ Harvey. But when I asked, he said those artists were too well known. He pointed me towards Angel Olsen and I heard something in songwriting I had never heard before. My world opened up, and I knew there was so much more that was possible after listening to “Tiniest Lights.” She performed at Hardly Strictly in 2015 and her voice was as real and penetrating as the recordings.
“If I Needed You” – Lyle Lovett
What’s better than Lyle Lovett playing a Townes Van Zandt song?? We listened to Lyle a bunch when I was a kid. No, I’m not from Texas, but I do love those Texas songwriters.
“Long Ride Home” – Patty Griffin
The first time I performed at Hardly Strictly (although somewhat tangentially) was at an artist after party. I chose this song, because it had a fun fancy guitar line I could play with my beginner fingers. Someone who was performing came up and said they thought I was talented. I think that might have changed my life right there. It was the first time anyone had come up to me and said I was good enough to do this as a job, not to mention amongst professional musicians.
“Are You Sure” – Willie Nelson
Willie played Hardly Strictly in 2003 and I remember that big black bus sitting behind the main stage. I can’t even imagine the thrill of the audience members, his fans are as dedicated as they come. I heard this song at a recently released film that is fantastic called To Leslie.
“Little Bird of Heaven” – Reeltime Travellers
This band was part of that wave of old-time style artists that came at the same time as Hardly Strictly. The vocals are so unexpected, but real and honest. One of their band members became a mentor of mine and helped me get my start in the music business and I am forever grateful.
“Essay Man” and “The Golden Palomino” – ISMAY
These are two songs from my latest release, Desert Pavement, that would never have happened if it weren’t for Hardly Strictly. I am trying to find my way with my own version of folk, and can’t help but be inspired at what a rich trove of artists I have to draw from.
(Editor’s Note: Cellist, composer, and creator Leyla McCalla brings us a conversation as guest contributor with singer and community activist Barbara Dane – in celebration of her 96th birthday on May 12.)
I felt an immediate connection to Barbara Dane when I heard her voice. I first learned of Dane while developing music for a FreshScore – a commissioned piece written to a film in the public domain to be performed at the Freshgrass festival back in 2018. I had just given birth to my twins and I found myself researching songs to use in my score. During that time, I came across a civil rights era song called “Freedom Is a Constant Struggle” that Dane had released with a group called the Chambers Brothers in 1966. I fell in love with the recording – the performance was powerful and poignant; the message was so direct.
Some songs just make you want to learn them. Freedom is a constant struggle. A perfect and ever true statement. It inspired me to write a song I called “Trying to Be Free” that became one of the songs in my FreshScore. I dug further into Barbara Dane’s catalogue and found a song that she had written called “I Hate the Capitalist System.” This felt very in line with the themes in my (at that time) yet-to-be-released third album, The Capitalist Blues. This is the epitome of the “folk process,” a phrase I jokingly use when talking about songwriting. You think you’ve found a unique idea, only to find that the idea has existed since time immemorial. The road that is paved with gold keeps on getting mined, refilled, and recycled and on and on.
Years ago, a friend suggested that I check out the song “Dodinin” by Atis Indepandan – a group of Haitian artists living in exile in New York City from the brutal Duvalier dictatorship in Haiti. The album is considered a classic within the Haitian diasporic community. When I was doing research for Breaking the Thermometer – the album I made inspired by Radio Haiti and the legacy of its journalists – I found myself more deeply exploring the songs. I’ve never been more grateful that Smithsonian Folkways has downloadable liner notes on their website! And beyond that, I was grateful that the liner notes were so thorough; it included essays on the political context of the music as well as Kreyol and English Translations of the songs. The songs spoke to the struggles of the times and longing for home of Haitians in exile. It is hands down one of my favorite pieces of art ever made. I knew I had to include Dodinin on the record.
Fast forward to the release of the album, Barbara Dane’s son, Pablo Menendez, emailed me. He was curious about whether I was aware of his mother’s legacy and if I knew that the album was originally released on Paredon Records, the label that Dane cofounded with her husband, Irwin Silber. Paredon Records was not a typical label; all of their releases highlighted the political struggles of people from all over the world with a mission to uplift movements and voices of opposition to oppression. He also mentioned that I should read her newly released autobiography, This Bell Still Rings, and I immediately ordered it and began to read her fascinating life story. I was even more amazed when I looked at the inner flap of the hardcover and saw that my name was mentioned as one of the inheritors of her legacy! It was a very life affirming surprise. How did I not know?!
I worry that we are living in a time of tragic disconnection. As musicians, we are constantly being pushed towards releasing a steady stream of “content” to get more views and more likes, more money, and more recognition. But, often times that comes at the expense of our health. I mention this because I feel that more people in our musical community should be aware of the music, ideas, and ethos of Barbara Dane. She is someone who has always centered the needs of the community, locally and globally. She doggedly worked to understand the causes behind the stratification of our society and gracefully occupied so many roles to be able to use her creativity for the greatest good for herself, her family, and others. As a mother of three myself, I was very curious about how she did it! Whether you realize it or not, we need Barbara Dane right now – if nothing else, to remind us of our essential power when we center community care.
Reading her memoir and seeing that Dane’s 96th birthday was coming up (it was May 12, 2023), I felt inspired to do something to mark her birthday. I remember thinking to myself, “Let’s celebrate our heroes while they are still here!” I released a cover of her song “Freedom Is a Constant Struggle” alongside a cohort of collaborators from my adopted home of New Orleans. My manager suggested that perhaps we could arrange an email interview and I was ecstatic when Dane graciously replied with a yes.
I am incredibly pleased to share the interview with you here on BGS and I hope it will inspire you all to think more about the potential we all have to take better care of each other. This bell still rings!
Leyla McCalla: I have been reading your new autobiography, This Bell Still Rings. What does this title mean to you and what do you want readers to understand from it?
Barbara Dane: The title is taken from a lyric by Leonard Cohen which I will quote for you:
Ring the bell that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There’s a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in
What I’d like readers to take from that is that the imperfections in things are what offer possibilities for learning and growth.
How did your early experiences of blending music and activism shape your career? Was there any particular moment where you felt that this would be your life’s work?
I never thought of myself as having a “career,” I guess my professional work grew out of the need to put food on the table. As far as blending music and activism, early on it became clear that my voice was a valuable tool for my community work. I was lucky enough to be exposed to movements like People’s Songs that allowed me to see the possibilities at a young age. The artists that influenced me the most in this regard during my formative years were Paul Robeson and Pete Seeger.
Who do you cite as some of your earliest teachers and/or influences to your musical approach?
Early on I was exposed to the music of Billie Holiday and Louis Jordon and of course the big bands so popular in the 1940s, like Ellington, Basie, and Glenn Miller. Earl Robinson’s famous “Ballad for Americans” was foundational. And definitely such giants as Paul Robeson, Leadbelly, Pete Seeger, and Malvina Reynolds, and later, the blues women of the 1920s and 30s: Bessie Smith, Ida Cox, Ma Rainey, and Sippie Wallace. And of course there was my beloved Mama Yancey.
Your vocal phrasing is incomparably gorgeous; it feels both so natural and so intentional. When did you realize that you had a natural gift and was your craft something that you worked on intentionally, or something that came naturally, or both?
Listening to Louis and Billie taught me that you don’t have to stick to the bar lines. I was more comfortable with the conversational feel of their phrasing. Once you understood the structure of the piece, you can be free within it. So no, I never worked on it and none of it was intentional. My intention has always been to be completely in the song and let its emotions and meanings lead me.
You opened a music venue in 1961 called Sugar Hill. It sounds awfully stressful to run a music venue while raising small children! Can you share more about how that came to be and that time in your life?
Actually, on the contrary, the whole idea of opening the club in our hometown, was it that it would allow me to spend more time with my family instead of always being out on tour. Running the club was a joy and gave me the opportunity to introduce some of the old timers who had more to give to a new audience that was just beginning to become interested in the blues.
Who were the Chambers Brothers and how did you come to collaborate with them?
They were four talented brothers, recently migrated from Mississippi to LA, who had formed a gospel group and were looking for ways to broaden their audience. I first met them in 1960 when I invited them up to the stage at the Ash Grove to join me in singing some of the songs that were emerging from the civil rights movement.
You were the first U.S. artist to tour in Cuba after its revolution. What was the impact of that experience on your life?
Going to Cuba in 1966 changed my life. I was energized by the optimism of the Cuban people as they engaged in building a new and more equitable way of life. For the first time I felt identified with the direction society was moving in, whereas at home I was always in the opposition.
Paredon Records is the label you founded with your husband Irwin Silber in 1969. What made you want to start a record label and produce albums?
In 1967, I attended Cuba’s Encuentro de Canción Protesta where I met singers from all over the world who were deeply committed to struggles for peace and justice. When I returned home, I felt the urgent need to expose the U.S. public to the significant and timely music I heard there. First I experimented with translating and singing some of the songs myself, but I soon realized it would make more sense to present the original voices. So I decided to launch a record label. Irwin had skills to bring to the table from his years of experience in publishing, and with his support, I produced and curated over 50 LPs of liberation music from the U.S. and around the world. Eventually, to ensure the collection’s availability in perpetuity, we donated it to Smithsonian Folkways.
You’ve toured internationally, including Franco-era Spain, Marcos’ Philippines under martial law, and North Vietnam under the threat of American bombs. What inspired these tours and why did you feel they were important places to bring your music?
With my international work I carried a message of peace and anti-imperialism, representing the sentiments of peace-loving Americans.
I’m also a mother of three and I find myself in awe of how much you were able to accomplish in your life while also raising your three children. How did you balance your musical life, activism and child rearing? Do you have advice for artist parents on how to navigate it all?
Be sure to include your children in all aspects of your life and help them learn to be independent. Trust and respect them. Make sure your partner is willing and able to actively do their share of the parenting.
Sometimes it seems that peace and justice are impossible to achieve. What would you say to people who feel that they do not have the power to make a difference?
As expressed in Beverly Grant’s moving song, “Together, we can move mountains. Alone, we can’t move at all!”
Photos courtesy of Leyla McCalla (by Laura E. Partain) and Barbara Dane.
At your average live music event on the folk and bluegrass circuit, the stage isn’t the only place where great performances are happening. There’s the campfire and parking lot picking scene at the big outdoor festivals, of course. But a lot of it goes on out of sight backstage, too, when musicians who don’t often see each other come together to play with and for each other. A close approximation to listening in on that is Mighty Poplar (Free Dirt Records), the self-titled first album by the group of the same name.
The bluegrass world’s newest supergroup, Mighty Poplar is a five-piece band centered around three virtuoso players from the Punch Brothers orbit — banjo player Noam Pikelny, guitarist Chris “Critter” Eldridge and original Punch Brothers bassist Greg Garrison, currently in the band Leftover Salmon. Out front as primary vocalist is Watchhouse mandolinist Andrew Marlin, with well-traveled fiddler Alex Hargreaves (currently knocking ’em dead in Billy Strings’ touring band) filling out the lineup. Over the years, various subsets of this quintet would cross paths out on the road and jam, generally falling back on the old numbers everyone knew as a common language. That’s how Mighty Poplar began to coalesce.
“There’s a pretty complex web of relationships between all five of us that began with a lot of hanging out,” says Pikelny. “There’s this beautiful thing about bluegrass, the amazing music and all the shared songs. There’s a great social component that can exist with the music if you let it, and it became a reason to get together and have fun.”
While none of Mighty Poplar’s members come from acts you’d really call “bluegrass,” you could say they’re all at least bluegrass-adjacent. And none of them have ever come down as top-dead-center old-school bluegrass as on Mighty Poplar. The album’s 10-song tracklist draws material from A.P. Carter, Bob Dylan, John Hartford and Leonard Cohen, with songs made famous by the likes of Hazel & Alice, Uncle Dave Macon and Bill Monroe fiddler Kenny Baker.
Monroe, the Father of Bluegrass, also figures into the proceedings in terms of inspiration for the ensemble’s name. Proposing Mighty Poplar as a moniker was Marlin, someone who definitely knows his way around names involving wordplay (witness the original name of Watchhouse: Mandolin Orange).
“I was listening to a Bill Monroe and Doc Watson live recording where they were about to kick off ‘What Would You Give in Exchange for Your Soul?’” Marlin recalls. “Bill said he and Charlie recorded it in ’19-and-36’ in Charlotte and it had been ‘mighty poplar down through the Carolinas.’ We had a huge text thread already going about band names, where my phone was always going BING at 2:30 a.m. So many names we considered, but everybody thought Mighty Poplar was a good awning to stand under.”
While Mighty Poplar is only now coming out in the spring of 2023, the album has actually been in the can for a couple of years. It might never have happened without the Coronavirus pandemic shutdown of 2020-21, which took everyone’s regular bands off the road for an extended period of time.
In isolation, everyone felt drawn toward bluegrass as the musical equivalent of comfort food. So they took this on as a pandemic project, convening with engineer Sean Sullivan at Nashville’s Tractor Shed for a brisk three-day session in October of 2020.
“There was a sense that we were getting away with murder, traveling across the country and podding up while everything was closed up,” says Pikelny. “There were logistical hurdles and we had three days, so we had one shot to get it all at once. So we worked out as much as we could ahead of time, even the sequence. The concept, if there was one, was that this was the closest thing to a real-deal, traditional, classic bluegrass project any of us have done in a long time, maybe ever.”
As lead vocalist on six of the album’s 10 songs, Marlin is the primary out-front voice of Mighty Poplar. But he felt like he had to step up his game on the instrumental side, to keep up with his bandmates.
“It was intimidating, but not because those guys are intimidating,” Marlin says. “As a musician, I’ve had to figure out how to feel like I can express myself in front of people I look up to. But that’s on me for projecting my own shit onto them, because they don’t wear that. So ‘Grey Eagle,’ an instrumental fiddle tune Alex brought forth, I was kind of sweating that one in the studio. That kicked off at 150 beats per minute and everybody else is just looking around, casually exploring the nooks and crannies of the tempo while I’m popping a vein and kind of being drug behind the horse. But I managed to keep it together. Ultimately all those guys still love a great song as much as anyone. There’s something about simple songs that leave it up to the player to bring whatever they want. I love it when the song’s not telling you how to play it, and I feel lucky that they were down to explore that approach.”
Song choice was pretty casual, mostly in favor of material from a bit off the beaten path. Even with a Hall of Fame list of songwriters, they focused on less-well-known songs from the repertoire of each — Dylan’s take on the A.P. Carter tune “Blackjack Davy” rather than “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” or Hartford’s Mark Twang riverboat song “Let Him Go On Mama” rather than “Gentle On My Mind.”
“It all happened pretty organically,” says Eldridge. “In the initial text volley about what to do, there were a lot of songs we would’ve been happy to cut. It’s hard to say why we landed on these particular songs other than that they felt right. I would not say there was an overarching concept beyond good songs that felt right.”
While they considered including some originals, ultimately they decided to stick with covers, mostly of older vintage (the most recent song on it is Montana singer/songwriter Martha Scanlan’s “Up on the Divide,” from 2012). In that way, Pikelny looks at Mighty Poplar as a classic folk record.
“In other genres, people might call this a ‘covers album,’” says Pikelny. “But if you record solo Bach compositions, that’s not ‘Bach covers.’ It’s repertoire, reinterpretations of classics to pass down. It was born of a desire, almost a need for all of us, to gather around a bluegrass project. And it was such a joyous process. It felt like coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas and being around family you’ve not seen in a while, in the home you grew up in with a turkey in the oven. It was that kind of comfort, the warm fuzzy feelings of gatherings like that.”
It went so well, in fact, that they were in no hurry to get around to the detail work of mixing and mastering the record after they finished tracking. Pikelny says they felt almost paranoid about not wanting to touch it, for fear of messing up a good thing.
“We’ve been sitting on this for so long because it felt like such a special session,” Eldridge says. “So effortless and deeply joyful. Magical, even. We didn’t want to let it go because it felt like all we could do was ruin it. But I kept coming back to it, listening now and then and thinking, ‘I really like this. We have to share it, plus it’s a good excuse for us to get together again.’ It’s ironic that we’ve not actually played it live yet, and we’re already kind of getting the next batch together.”
Indeed, Mighty Poplar’s first real touring commences in May. With Hargreaves busy playing arena-sized venues with Strings for the foreseeable future, John Mailander will stand in for him on the first leg of touring. And all the principles are cautiously optimistic that Mighty Poplar’s first album won’t be its last. Pikelny likens their hoped-for trajectory to Tony Rice and J.D. Crowe’s Bluegrass Album Band, which periodically convened to make albums and tours through the 1980s and into the ’90s.
“Bluegrass Album Band was never a full-time group for any of those guys, it was a very sustainable side project whose records served as homecomings,” says Pikelny. “They’d go off to do whatever else and then come back for another edition. It’s a celebration of our love for bluegrass. As long as it stays as effortless as this felt, I think we’ll keep doing it when we can.”
Richard Thompson’s memoir, Beeswing: Losing My Way and Finding My Voice 1967 – 1975 (now out in paperback) is a page-turner of a read about a legend at the dawn of British folk rock. Thompson details his early days with Fairport Convention, one of the most influential folk bands of all time. He writes how they strived to be different and sought out then-unknown songwriters like Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen while adapting a modern sound for traditional British folk songs, some that were over 500 years old. He recounts tragedy when the band suffered a huge loss: the 1969 car accident that killed their drummer, Martin Lamble and Richard Thompson’s girlfriend of just two weeks, Jeannie Franklyn. He writes about their first experiences in America: rolling around Los Angeles with the likes of John Bonham and Janis Joplin and their triumphant debut at The Philadelphia Folk Festival.
RT was game to get into anything I threw at him: talk about experiencing such excruciating grief at a young age, what British fortitude means to him, did he ever really get to know his parents, being outwardly calm and inwardly chaotic. There’s a chapter in the book where he details some session work he did in between the time he left Fairport Convention in 1971 and his solo work and work with his then-wife, Linda Thompson. I had a blast looking up all these albums on YouTube, especially Lal and Mike Waterson’s Bright Phoebus from 1972. Very fun music and fun that RT is playing on it! I highly recommend his memoir and hold out my hopes that there may be a part two in his future. I think there is much left to write: his days after the very public breakup with Linda, establishing himself as a solo act and then coming back to work with his extended family in the group Thompson in 2014 on the album Family. Richard’s got a busy summer ahead of him with a couple of cruises and the tenth anniversary of his writing camp, Frets and Refrains. I’m grateful he was able to make some time for us on Basic Folk!
Artist:Joshua Dylan Balis Hometown: Dallas, Texas Latest Album:We’re On Fire Personal nicknames: My Mom calls me by my middle name — Dylan — and everyone else calls me Josh. I’ve run through a few band names in the past. I wanted to start a group called Simple Machines when I was younger. I was also in a band called Windomere named after my street in Dallas and we actually recorded an entire album that’s still sitting on the shelf at State Fair Records.
Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?
I’ll probably spend my life going back and forth between Dylan, Cohen and Thom Yorke. Sometimes I enjoy their interviews as much as their music. I turn to Dylan for the words, Cohen for the craft, and Yorke for his melody. They are the giants whose shoulders I want to stand on.
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
iTunes debuted when I was 10 years old and I remember my dad spending weeks downloading a lifetime collection of CDs. He would burn me compilation CDs that had everything from The Strokes, to Coldplay, and The White Stripes. I remember laying on my back in my bed and listening to Is This It by The Strokes on repeat. I knew the entire album as a song — the length between each track, instrumental breaks — I was completely transfixed. I knew then I’d spend my life hopelessly devoted to music.
What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?
I spent a long time on a track called “Coming of Age” for this record. The chord changes in the bridge and the guitarmonies in the solo took a while for me to get right. I’d heard them in my head at a taco shop in Dallas before work one day and snuck into a closet to sing them into a voice memo. I spent the next week in Pro Tools trying to transcribe it.
What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?
A cup of coffee and some solitude before the studio is big for me. I don’t listen to any music and I don’t play any of the songs I’m going to record. I want my mind fresh and my subconscious untapped. Same before a show. I’ll play through the set on an acoustic guitar early in the morning and then I’ll do things to keep my mind off of the performance. Go for a run, read something. Anything that pushes me toward my center so I’m sharp when I hit the stage.
What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?
When I was 19 years old I was having a crisis of conscience. My peers were going off to school and I had zero interest. I knew I wanted to play music but I was almost afraid to admit it. I didn’t want to hear anyone tell me to be practical or that it wasn’t realistic. My uncle must have sensed what was on my mind because he asked me out to dinner to talk. He’d spent his 20s playing rock ‘n’ roll before going into business where he’d had a lot of success. He told me time was something you couldn’t get back and that through all of his years, the ones spent doing what he loved were the years he enjoyed the most. He encouraged me to follow my heart and that’s what I did.
Chris Thile found solace during the pandemic in a church — more specifically, a remodeled one that now houses Future-Past recording studio in Hudson, New York, where he and his family were temporarily living in the summer of 2020. “I went in there to look at the space and instantly felt so at home,” Thile said upon announcing his new album, Laysongs. “I loved the amount of sound around the sound. I had two sonic collaborators on this record: the tremendous engineer Jody Elff and that church.”
With a suggestion from Nonesuch Records’ Chairman Emeritus Bob Hurwitz to make a record that was both spiritual and a snapshot of the pandemic, Thile decided to pursue the idea, putting together six originals and three covers with only his voice and his mandolin. In April, he introduced the project with the lead single, “Laysong.” As he noted, “It is a lifelong obsession of mine, even post-Christianity, what the impact of that kind of devotion to any organized religion is.”
Laysongs offers the three-part “Salt (in the Wounds) of the Earth,” which was inspired by C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters; a song Thile wrote about Dionysus; a performance of the fourth movement of Béla Bartók’s Sonata for Solo Violin; “God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot” based on Buffy Sainte-Marie’s adaptation of a Leonard Cohen poem; a cover of bluegrass legend Hazel Dickens’ “Won’t You Come and Sing for Me;” and an original instrumental loosely modeled after the Prelude from J.S. Bach’s Partita for Solo Violin in E Major. Thile’s wife, actor Claire Coffee, serves as co-producer.
It’s the latest creative endeavor from the MacArthur Fellow, whose exceptional career spans far beyond his solo work. From Nickel Creek and Punch Brothers to a pair of Goat Rodeo albums and the much-missed Live From Here series, Thile remains one of acoustic music’s most visible figures. You can read part one of our Artist of the Month interview here. Read part two here. Meanwhile, enjoy our BGS Essentials playlist, a tip-of-the-iceberg hint at the remarkable breadth of this masterful musician.
Artist:Matt Urmy Hometown: New York City Album:South of the Sky
Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?
If I had to choose one person who has had the widest impact on me and the way I approach my work, I would probably have to say, Cowboy Jack Clement. Jack was someone that I was able to get close to personally, which allowed me to be imprinted by him in a deeper way than just connecting to his art. He was also a businessman and producer, like myself, so he came at things from more than one perspective. … He was an all-around “content creator” before that term was ever even used.
For instance, Jack was vlogging before vlogging existed, he was vlogging before the internet existed! In the times I spent recording in his studio, sitting in his office and talking about art, business and life over coffee and cigarettes, or performing alongside him here in Nashville, I absorbed as much as I could from him. He had such a wide lens perspective on creativity, finding your voice, and being true to your vision. Our paths crossing was a real revelation for me.
What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc. — inform your music?
All of the above. And not just those, but business (which I consider an art form), the healing arts, and nature all have an impact on my creative process. I find myself inspired every single day (to varying degrees) by things I experience personally, things the people in my life experience and tell me about, things I see on the news or in movies… and I just allow myself to feel those feelings and then toss it on my creative compost heap to breakdown and become part of the soil that I garden in, artistically speaking.
When it comes to those other forms of expression specifically, the way they inform my process is on two levels: 1. the direct inspiration they provide (feelings, thoughts, etc.) and 2. the way they inform craft and/or process. For instance, sculpting really has informed the way I view the craft and process of songwriting. There are techniques that I can draw from and apply to my forms of expression. So, I may see someone dancing, and be moved to go home and create, but also I may learn something that inspires a new technical approach to the craft itself. I hope that makes sense.
What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?
Ritual factors into my creative process across the board. One ritual is to make sure that I write at least one or two lines every day. In the studio, one ritual might be something like listening to a specific type of music or sound source before starting to work on something, just to clear the mind before beginning a session. Or, before a show, nursing a shot of tequila or mezcal for an hour or so before the show, so I slowly feel the effects of the spirit in my body before taking the stage. I find that my rituals change over time. I do believe they are important, but also that they are extremely personal. an artist has to find rituals that resonate with them and their unique processes for whatever situation they are in.
Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?
This is fun to think about. I think I would have to go with French cooking and Leonard Cohen. I choose French cooking, not just because I love it, but because it’s traditionally served over many courses, slowing the meal down and drawing things out. I choose Leonard Cohen because he was an artist who also wrote poetry, like myself, and was an artist who publicly savored drawing the creative process out over long periods of time. I would like to imagine that dinner and a bottle of wine with Leonard Cohen would yield a memorable conversation that would be an art form unto itself. I guess I’ll have to wait for another lifetime to have the chance to find out. Bummer.
How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?
I don’t think this ever really happens to me. The reason for that is that I don’t think I’ve ever written a song that was 100% informed by my own life. Obviously, everything that I write is heavily influenced by my personal experience… however, I find that experiences or pieces of information from the outside world always find their way into my work. For example, if a dear friend is going through something in their life, witnessing them work through their life creates feelings that intertwine with my personal story. The result of this is that I don’t ever feel as if I need to hide. All of my songs are made up of elements from my personal experience, as well as things I encounter in the world around me. It actually makes me feel more connected to other people and the world around me.
Artist:The Steel Wheels Hometown: Harrisonburg, Virginia Latest album:Everyone a Song, Volume 1 Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Trent Wagner and The Steel Wagler
Answers by Trent Wagler
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
I remember a festival finale performance of “The Weight” in northern Alberta where we were thrust (last minute) into leading the song. Isn’t “The Weight” some sort of Canadian anthem? I don’t know, we felt a little like impostors, but it became even more hilarious when a whole bunch of volunteers and other musicians hopped on stage and we were given conflicting accounts of who was singing what verses. In the end Michael Franti surprised us by appearing on the drum kit and singing a verse that included a little change of lyrics name-checking the festival. It was memorable.
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
When I was about 9 years old, I played Duffy the Fluffy in a small church Christmas play called Baa, Baa, Bethlehem. I slicked my hair back and wore sunglasses and sang a song that went, “Duffy the Fluffy is who I’m gonna be, come to the city you’ll be waiting to see me.” And the rest of the sheep sang, “Get a job, baa baa baa, baa, baa baa baa baa baa.” But I had a guitar strapped around my neck and I sang with confidence. Wait, maybe THAT was my favorite memory from being on stage!
What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?
In the studio, I always tape a sheet of paper on the wall with the title of each song we are recording. On that paper, we keep a running list of notes, ideas, or whatever that song still needs. It’s helpful to have a visual representation of notes, and when things are dragging along, there’s a sense of accomplishment to crossing off each note. When the song is finished, it’s ceremoniously taped on a different wall.
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
I try to ride bike everyday. Recently, I’ve been most excited about gravel road rides, a bit easier than mountain biking, but with a similar feeling of distance from civilization. I love the way riding a bike gives you respect for a mountain. The bicycle also turns you into a different kind of an animal. Sometimes a mule, sometimes a bird, but I usually feel transformed after a good bike ride. And the whole process, of getting away, being in nature, and riding is a great reset for my creativity. I live in the Shenandoah Valley and the beauty of the landscape finds a way into my writing all the time. There is a reason that rivers and mountains are cliché metaphors, because there is an undeniable depth and power to them.
Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?
It seems like I should say I’d eat a fistful of cigarettes and a barrel of red wine and listen to Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen, but I can’t think of a better pairing than Brandi Carlile and some wild-caught salmon. There are musicians that garner praise from critics and others that have an easy-listening popular songs for the masses, but very few thread the needle like Brandi Carlile. She might be the only music my wife, 16-year-old daughter, and I can all passionately agree on. You know how salmon looks like it’s just a layer of pure pink muscle? Brandi’s songs are all muscle.
Photo credit: Josh Saul
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