Earlier this week, on Wednesday, June 18, GRAMMY winner and MacArthur “Genius” Rhiannon Giddens brought American Tunes – a star-studded edition of her Old-Time Revue – to the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, California. The evening featured a vast array of American roots music spanning eras and genres, from old-time and cajun to bluegrass and blues, Americana and folk, all brilliantly interconnected by Giddens’ masterful curation.
Taking the stage in front of the 18,000 capacity venue, Rhiannon welcomed the audience to her front porch – probably the biggest front porch ever – before kicking off the evening with Dirk Powell, her powerful vocals echoing the Bowl. After welcoming the audience, BGS’ own Ed Helms has on hand to introduce Our Native Daughters, Giddens’ female quartet supergroup featuring Amythyst Kiah, Allison Russell, and Leyla McCalla (instrumental backing by Russell’s Rainbow Coalition band filled out the songs, making them feel lush and all the more powerful).
After a brief intermission, it was time for another roots supergroup: this time with Steve Martin and Alison Brown. Both were in fine form: Alison as expert as ever on the five string banjo, and Steve doing as close to a solo comedy set as we’ve seen in years. It was a portion of the show who’s only fault was that it felt much too short. But there was still plenty of music to come…
Helms returned to the stage with Rhiannon for an a capella duet before picking up the banjo and joining her Old-Time Revue. Finally, we were back on that massive front porch. For the final portion of the evening, Rhiannon, Dirk, and the rest of the band (Dirk Powell, Amelia Powell, Jason Sypher, Demeanor) made a very large group of strangers feel like we were home. And in the immortal words of Paul Simon with which Giddens closed the show “We [came] in the age’s most uncertain hours // To sing an American Tune.”
Below, enjoy our BGS exclusive photos from American Tunes.
Dirk Powell and Rhiannon Giddens kick off American Tunes at the Hollywood Bowl while the sun sets in the west.
Rhiannon Giddens and Our Native Daughters joined by members of Allison Russell's Rainbow Coalition. (L to R:) Amythyst Kiah, Megan McCormick, Allison Russell, Rhiannon Giddens, Megan Coleman, Leyla McCalla, Ganessa James.
A roots music supergroup, Our Native Daughters sparkle at the Hollywood Bowl.
Our Native Daughters and the Rainbow Coalition take a bow.
BGS co-founder, actor/comedian Ed Helms, welcomes the audience to American Tunes.
Alison Brown Band takes the stage. (L to R:) Tristan Scroggins, Robbie Fulks, Brown, Garry West, Christian Sedelmeyer.
Actor, comedian, playwright, and banjoist extraordinaire Steve Martin was on hand for American Tunes, as well.
Steve Martin leads Alison Brown and band through a tune.
Singer-songwriter Robbie Fulks steps to the microphone with Steven Martin, Alison Brown, and more.
Actor, comedian, playwright, and banjoist extraordinaire Steve Martin was on hand for American Tunes, as well.
The evening's spearhead, Rhiannon Giddens, joins Steve Martin, Alison Brown, and band for a number.
The American Tunes audience fills up the hillside at the Hollywood Bowl.
Rhiannon Giddens' Old-Time Revue, featuring (L to R) Amelia Powell, Dirk Powell, Jason Sypher, Demeanor (Justin Harrington), Giddens, and Justin Robinson.
Ed Helms and Rhiannon Giddens in duet.
Rhiannon Giddens' Old-Time Revue beneath the lights of the Hollywood Bowl.
Ed Helms joins Rhiannon Giddens and band on stage for "Clinch Mountain Backstep."
A rapt audience for American Tunes and Rhiannon Giddens' Old-Time Revue.
Now that summer is finally here and I’m about to embark on tour to support the release of my new album, I’m dreaming about idyllic summer pastimes, driving with the windows down, and crossing my fingers that I can force the band to have ice cream on the beach at least once. My new album, Afterglow, celebrates the rebuilding of self and who we become in the wake of life’s big cosmic shifts. The album has an ethereal, playful energy unlike any other record I’ve ever put out and it feels fitting that it’s being released in June (a Gemini baby!).
I never went to summer camp. My best fantasies about it fall somewhere between Wet Hot American Summer, The Parent Trap, and the tales my best friend spun while sitting on top of her sparkly pink trunk, freshly home in the late summer of 1999. In my dream scenario here, I am in an old school bunk with the most amazing women and songwriters four walls can hold; can you imagine what the moonlit campfire harmonies would sound like?! – Anna Vogelzang
“Limelight” – Tune-Yards
This song has the best groove of the summer; I cannot stop listening to it. “We all get free in the family” –Merrill is an incredible soul and I want to be around her fierceness all the time.
“The Light” – Anna Vogelzang
Of all the songs on the new record, this one is the most groove-forward. When I think about summer I think about wanting to move and groove, and this song makes me move every time I play it (or hear it!).
“Night Still Comes” – Neko Case
If I puked up some sonnets, would you call me a miracle?
Neko Case is one of my musical heroes and this song is so singable. That transition from intro to tempo, the way the background vocals fill the spaces – it all feels like dancing on a warm night.
“(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” – Aretha Franklin
The clip of Aretha playing this song at the Kennedy Center just resurfaced on my algorithm. Watching Carole King watch Aretha sing is such an incredible joy bomb and brought tears to my eyes, even though I’ve seen the clip a million times.
“Can I Talk My Shit?” – Vagabon
I love Vagabon’s melodies so much; I started hearing about her around town when I lived in LA and have been soaking up each album since. This “honestly I’m ready to go” hook is so dreamy.
“True Blue” – boygenius
“You said you wanted to feel alive so we went to the beach…” There are so many songs I love on this record, but this one is all summer, all the time. Belting out harmonies on this near-perfect chorus while driving along Lake Michigan is something everyone should try at least once.
“Baby I’m Sorry” – mmeadows, Monica Martin
I’m obsessed with this new song from two of my all-time favorite singers. I know from experience that Moni is down to belt it out late into the night and the production on this entire track is so killer, I can’t get enough.
“The Returner” – Allison Russell
When Alli does this song live with her Rainbow Coalition, it’s otherworldly. I had the joy of jumping on stage with them for this tune at Thalia Hall and the energetic power of singing out, “If you think you’re alone, hold on, I’m comin’” cannot be denied.
“Make It Hot” – Mirah
I have been in love with Mirah since I saw her sing in a basement of a neighboring college almost 20 years ago. I love the descending chord progression on this chorus so much and arriving at the outro feels like a moment of pure triumph.
“not a lot, just forever” – Adrianne Lenker
I got to hear Adrianne play this song at a campfire hang at Kerrville once and it felt like a spell being cast – her specific song sorcery is unmatched.
“We the Common (For Valerie Bolden)” – Thao
I am a forever Thao stan and could’ve chosen so many different songs of hers, but this one’s chorus is so goddamn catchy and such a great sing-along moment (and all while speaking truth to power).
“Scaled to Survive” – Leyla McCalla
Summer laid out for us in a groove! This guitar tone, the percussion groove, and Leyla’s heavenly voice create the perfect summer storm. I love Leyla and have such a deep respect for her artistry.
“Ancient Light” – I’m With Her
Another mixed meter groove-forward campfire jam. I love this song, especially the breakdown, but really I’m loving the whole new album so much. These ladies are such a great hang and I would love their hilarity and power trio vibes in our cabin party!
“California” – Joni Mitchell
There is no song hero greater than Joni, and there is no song that feels more like summer to me than California. The opener might as well be today: “They won’t give peace a chance; that was just a dream some of us had.” On days where I really miss LA, I find myself humming this tune without even realizing it.
“King & Queen” –Anna Vogelzang
This track opens Afterglow and is a totally casual ode to toxic relationships – and really hits how good it feels when you realize you’ve outgrown someone, or something, and finally leave them in the dust. It’s giving running on the beach and into the sunset.
Though an uncommon encounter in the roots music scene, the BGS team will always applaud a roots, folk, bluegrass, or old-time cello moment. With velvety, rich tones and a unique percussive capacity, the cello deepens the flavor of every tune it encounters. While not considered a traditional bluegrass instrument, it carries an ancestry boasting many folk interweavings – and its proximity to both the upright bass and fiddle grant it a certain amount of creative leverage while integrating into roots music.
The cello’s undefined yet familiar positionality allows cellists an unconventional playing ground for innovation; without the same distinctly canonized roots traditions as say, the fiddle or the banjo, cellists can access a broadened range of textures and styles.
This list, though it is by no means comprehensive and is curated in no particular order, pays tribute to some of our favorite cellists in a variety of roots music contexts.
Leyla McCalla
A prolific multi-instrumentalist and multilingual singer, Leyla McCalla’s impact on the roots music scene continues to be nothing short of profound. An alumna of the GRAMMY-winning Black string band the Carolina Chocolate Drops and founding member of Our Native Daughters (alongside Allison Russell, Rhiannon Giddens, and Amythyst Kiah), McCalla also has five solo releases under her belt. She is the daughter of two Haitian immigrants and activists and her work is widely informed by Afrofuturist thinkers and Afro-diasporic musical influences. The 2022 recipient of the People’s Voice Award by Folk Alliance international, McCalla’s work has been recognized time and again for her deep commitment to ancestral study and social change.
Ever seen a cellist perform standing up? If you have, they’ve probably heard of Mike Block. Among the inaugural wave of cellists to perform using a strap, Block was the first cellist to ever perform standing at Carnegie Hall and he did so using his own patented creation, the Block Strap.
Sonically, Block has also explored an expanded range of motion, as he is well known for his cross-cultural collaborations. While BGS fans may know him best from the Mike Block trio, his acoustic string band with Joe K. Walsh and Zachariah Hickman, Block also tours with an electric trio called Biribà Union, a duo with Indian tabla player Sandeep Das, a six-piece American/African fusion band, and the Silk Road Ensemble, a collective formerly spearheaded by fellow cello luminary Yo-Yo Ma. Block, astoundingly, has also released 20 albums of his own music, in addition to recording, performing, and arranging for other musical giants such as Miley Cyrus, Elton John, Raffi, and more.
Yo-Yo Ma
Perhaps one of the most renowned cello players of all time, Yo-Yo Ma is widely recognized for his feats in classical music. His discography includes over 120 albums (19 of which earned GRAMMYs), both paying tribute to the classical Western canon and forging revolutionary cross-cultural connections. One of our personal favorite examples here at BGS is Ma’s participation in the Goat Rodeo Sessions, a stellar 2011 collection of classical and Appalachian entwinements featuring Ma, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer, and Chris Thile, with vocals from Aoife O’Donovan showcased as well. The result is nothing short of breathtaking – truly an original fusion of soundscapes that remained unparalleled until the supergroup’s release of their sequel album, Not Our First Goat Rodeo (2020).
Hailing from Milwaukee, Wisconsin and now based in Nashville, cellist Monique Ross is one half of the dynamic sibling duo SistaStrings. She and her sister, Chauntee Ross (violin), blend their classical training with gospel, R&B, and folk influences to yield music that once again proves the age-old wisdom that there is nothing quite like sibling synastry. The pair’s vocal and instrumental prowess enrapture with both distinctive emotive execution and precise relationality. Both also perform as members of Brandi Carlile’s touring band and Carlile will serve as the producer for their upcoming project currently in the works.
Find more Monique Ross and SistaStrings here and here.
Larissa Maestro
Larissa Maestro is a Filipinx multi-hyphenate talent based out of Nashville, Tennessee. Named “Instrumentalist of the Year” at the 2022 Americana Music Awards, Maestro was the first cellist and the first member of the AAPI community to receive that honor. A composer and activist as well as a musician, Maestro arranges chamber music, co-founded a community orchestra (The Nashville Concerto Orchestra), and often fundraises for non-profit organizations through their craft.
Maestro’s ability to weave lush string arrangements into a vast array of genres positions them as a highly coveted collaborator, having worked alongside the likes of Hozier, Margo Price, Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, Ms. Lauryn Hill, John Legend, Allison Russell, and more as well as fronting and collaborating with various projects and bands.
Natalie Haas
Known for her impeccable traditional cello playing, Natalie Haas keeps centuries of Celtic traditions ablaze. She and Scottish fiddler Alasdair Fraser have toured together for twenty-three years, reviving and reimagining the tradition of cello/fiddle duets, popular in 18th and 19th century Scottish dance music. Though historically these duets featured a droning cello and melodic fiddle, Haas’s curiosity coupled with her virtuosity explore the cello as a dynamic instrument, capable of harmony, melody, percussion, and every blended iteration thereof. As Peter Winter once said, “Natalie basically wrote the book on the cello’s place in Celtic music.”
Ben Sollee is a Kentucky-based cellist and activist whose interdisciplinary work seeks to connect and elevate his communities. His most recent solo album, The Long Haul, interpolates both American influences and inspirations from the global south to deliver a dynamic album that, in part, processes the many griefs he faced during COVID’s inaugural years while maintaining a buoyant sense of resilience and growth. In addition to his innovative cello playing, Sollee works as a composer, having scored several films and the podcast “Unreformed.” Sollee has also recently helped spearhead a non-profit called Canopy to support local Kentucky businesses mindful of having a positive social and environmental impact on their community.
A pioneer for glimmers of cello in the modern American roots landscape, Nancy Blake is a cross-genre hero. Nancy began her relationship to the instrument at age 12 and grew up playing cello in the Nashville Youth Symphony. On a fortuitous day in 1972, her band Natchez Trace opened up for prolific picker Norman Blake. The two eventually married, and Nancy aptly fused her cello playing into Norman’s musical landscape. She also picked up several other more traditional roots instruments, such as guitar, fiddle, and upright bass, appearing on many of Norman’s releases throughout his career.
Joy Adams
Dr. Joy Adams is a versatile multi-instrumentalist, vocalist, composer, songwriter, and educator from Washington state who currently resides in Denver. While you may know her best from her extensive touring with Nataniel Rateliff, Darol Anger, and the all-women powerhouse group Big Richard, she has accrued a sprawling list of collaborators throughout her career. From recording on the Emmy award-winning soundtrack of The Queen’s Gambit to performing with the likes of Chick Corea, Kenny Loggins, Ben Folds, Waxahatchee, and more, Adams weaves energetic innovations into each of her collaborations.
Like many of our favorite cellists, Casey Murray is a talented educator in addition to their performance and compositional ventures. A Berklee grad based in the luscious roots scene of Boston, Murray finds much inspiration in blending Celtic, old-time, folk, classical, and improvisational sensibilities – like in their work with forward-looking string band Corner House. They particularly enjoy providing musical accompaniment for contra dances around the New England area, an exercise of their keen attunement to the rhythmic possibilities the cello has to offer.
Of course, even with ten incredible entries, our list of roots cellists barely scratches the surface of this vibrant community in folk, bluegrass, and beyond. With plenty of examples – like Rushad Eggleston, Nathaniel Smith, Kaitlyn Raitz, and many more – still to pull from, we’re already prepping a Part II to our roots cello exploration. Who would you include?
Photo Credit: Ben Sollee courtesy of Big Hassle; Leyla McCalla by Noé Cugny; Yo-Yo Ma by Austin Mann.
It’s 2024 recap time on Basic Folk! Cindy & Lizzie dive into a most special year-end reflection, featuring highlights from our honest conversations with folk musicians. We revisit the top episode of the year, Anna Tivel & Jeffrey Martin’s insightful discussion on navigating artistic challenges and living a simple life. Cindy shares her favorite episode featuring her co-host Lizzie No talking about her career-defining album, Halfsies (our 250th episode!). In turn, Lizzie’s favorite honest convo came from Leyla McCalla onboard the Cayamo cruise. We sat in the ship lounge and dug in with Leyla about the “folk process” and her thoughts on cruising, as a Haitian-American, as we ported in Hispaniola aboard a luxury cruise line. (Spoiler: it is complex!)
Basic Folk also checks in with friend Jontavious Willis about his biggest lesson of 2024 and what defining success as an independent artist looks like as he has just released his latest, West Georgia Blues. We also welcome Rose Cousins’ heartfelt words on embracing change as she prepares to release her next record, Conditions of Love – Vol. 1 (out March 14, 2025). As the episode ends, Lizzie leaves us with some words of wisdom:
“We are at a time of year where your body wants to be doing less. We’ve just survived a chaos clown show of violence in the election. Our culture is shifting rapidly. It’s okay if the things that used to work for you don’t work anymore. You’re allowed to start over. You’re allowed to try new things. You’re allowed to tell people in your life, ‘I’ve changed.’ You’re allowed to listen to new artists. You’re allowed to change how you dress. You can do it all. 2025 is a new year and you have freedom. And that’s my blessing to you.” – Lizzie No
Photo Credit: Lizzie No by Cole Nielsen; Rose Cousins by Lindsay Duncan; Leyla McCalla by Chris Scheurich; Jontavious Willis courtesy of the artist; Anna Tivel by Cody Onthank; Jeffrey Martin courtesy of the artist.
Singer-songwriter Amythyst Kiah enjoys ignoring conventional wisdom and challenging notions she considers at best outdated and at worse reactionary and restrictive, regarding what music she should choose or what subjects she should address as an artist. But at the same time, she has never wanted anyone to label or pigeonhole her approach. Since 2010, Kiah has been steadily touring and recording, both solo and with other artists whose music also cuts across multiple thematic and idiomatic boundaries.
Kiah has a prominent, robust voice and is an outstanding guitarist and banjo player. A Chattanooga native and East Tennessee State University graduate, family and community ties are a major part of her life. Kiah’s father used to be her tour manager and she credits his influence (he also was a percussionist in a touring band during the ’70s) as well as that of her late mother (a vocalist in her hometown church choir) in shaping a performance style that is equal parts edgy and disciplined, adventurous but never chaotic or unruly.
After teaching herself to play guitar while attending a creative arts high school, Kiah would subsequently complete the Bluegrass, Old Time, and Country Music Studies program at ETSU and join the school’s marquee old-time band. Her array of activities since 2010 have included releasing the LP Dig In (cut at the ETSU Recording lab in 2013); the five-song EP Chest of Glass (recorded in Johnson City in 2016); and the critically praised Wary + Strange. Wary + Strange was done in Nashville for Rounder and was finally released in 2021 after going through three different producers over a three-year period before finally settling on Tony Berg. It addressed a lot of things in Kiah’s life that were difficult, notably the loss of her mother to suicide.
Conceptually, Kiah’s growth as a vocalist and songwriter is evident from the opening moments of her brand new album, Still + Bright, to its concluding refrain. Whether it’s the extensive lyrical quest for spiritual and personal growth unveiled with vigor in “Play God and Destroy The World,” or the search for peace of mind discussed in “S P A C E,” Kiah’s powerful vocals and insightful lyrics reveal a portrait of an artist willing to acknowledge uncertainty, yet able to find a sense of belonging and salvation through taking the journey.
Musically, the production incorporates a host of sounds, everything from mandolins and fiddles to crisp, crackling guitar lines – plus memorable guest vocals like S.G. Goodman on “Play God” and Kiah’s consistently poignant, stirring lead vocals. The new album, her third solo project, was already generating lavish praise before its release. It will no doubt continue to garner critical support as well as possible mentions on numerous best-of-the-year lists for Americana, folk, and country releases.
Kiah also has her share of high profile covers and collaborations. The most notable among them include being featured vocalist on Moby’s 2021 single “Natural Blues” and doing a cover of Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart” in 2022. But perhaps the most celebrated was appearing along with Rhiannon Giddens, Leyla McCalla, and Allison Russell in the supergroup, Our Native Daughters. Sadly, despite being a pioneering all-Black women’s group, Our Native Daughters’ music hasn’t found its way onto the airwaves at urban contemporary radio. But their LP, Songs of Our Native Daughters, was a critical and commercial hit within the Americana and roots music community. Kiah’s composition on the album, “Black Myself,” earned a 2020 GRAMMY nomination for Best American Roots Song.
All this set the stage for Still + Bright. Kiah performed some of its songs during a visit to Nashville for Americanafest 2024; she will be returning to Music City for a highly anticipated appearance on the Grand Ole Opry on December 10. She spoke at length with BGS about her new LP, the recording process, touring, and her love for science fiction, among other things.
Congratulations on the response to Still + Bright.
Amythyst Kiah: Thanks so much. I really wanted to do some different things on this album, show another side in terms of my personality. It was very important for me to say and express certain emotions on Wary + Strange and say some things that needed to be said. I did some of that with Still + Bright, but I also wanted to do some lighter things, some fun things, present other aspects of my life, and reflect more humor, more joy. I’m very happy with how it turned out and the mix of things that we covered and presented.
How was the experience recording in Nashville and how much did having Butch Walker aboard as a producer affect the recording?
Butch was and is so wonderful. Whenever I’d suggest something to him he’d just say, “OK, let’s try it and see what happens.” He was so open to everything and at the same time he knew when to step in and say, “Why don’t you try it this way?” or “Why not add this element to it?” He was so much more like a good friend and buddy than just a hired gun-type producer. When I came to town for this most recent date and asked him about playing, he not only said sure, he showed up and joined right in. It’s been such a treat working with him, a great personal and professional experience.
You describe your sound as “Southern Gothic.” Have you found that the Americana format works for you in terms of getting the necessary promotion and exposure for your music?
It’s really the ideal format, because it does fit so many different styles and types of music. One of the real problems with radio now, especially commercial radio, is that everything is rigidly categorized. If you aren’t doing a very specific thing production-wise, the content and quality don’t matter. With Americana I’ve been welcome to do and try whatever I think fits and whatever I think I want to do musically. I can’t tell you how much creative freedom that gives you as a performer. You’re not writing to fit what someone else thinks might work. You’re free to have your music unfold and develop organically, the way that you hear it.
One thing that really annoys me is that there’s a sizable audience segment out there that very well might relate to your music if they got to hear it, but for a variety of reasons they won’t. Does the restrictiveness of marketing sometimes bother you?
I want to credit the people at Rounder with doing the best job that they can in terms of getting my music out to different and diverse audiences. All I’ll say about that issue is I’ve found that when people get a chance to hear my music and songs, they’ve been universally positive. That’s all that I can do as a performer is present them to the best of my ability. Certainly I’d love to get all types of listeners; I think Rounder works on that as well.
You’ve chosen to remain in Johnson City. How would you describe the music scene there and are there any thoughts about possibly making a move to Nashville?
There’s a lot more of a music scene here than you might think and a lot of that is due to the presence of the university. But there’s an active singer-songwriter scene here. There’s a jazz and blues scene. Certainly it’s not as large as some other places, but it works well for me. I’ve been able to do a lot of playing in clubs when I’m home and also do some songwriting and collaborations with other artists around town. I’m quite satisfied with being here. That doesn’t mean at some time down the line I might not think about coming to Nashville. I really enjoy recording and playing there. Of course from what I hear about the cost of living, that’s a concern. Right now I have no plans to make that move.
One of your non-musical passions is science fiction. Who are some of your favorites?
Interesting that you bring that up. I’m a fan of H.P. Lovecraft from the standpoint of his creativity in depicting horror and fantasy. Now I’ve certainly also become aware of the problematic areas and that gets into the whole discussion of, can you effectively separate the artist and their work from things in their character that are less than desirable, to put it mildly. Clearly, there are things in the Lovecraft legacy that are totally anathema to me, in terms of my identity and all the things I espouse and believe. Do I find some value and get some joy from his writing from a technical perspective? Yes.
Octavia Butler is someone I’m just now beginning to really do a serious examination of and I’m very intrigued and delighted by what I’m seeing so far, especially in regards to how she sees the future and issues of race, class and gender. The Matrix series remains a favorite of mine as well.
You’re about to get back on the road. Does touring still remain something that’s exciting or has the thrill faded with time?
No, as a performer the interaction with the live audience is what drives you and keeps you going. Now I won’t deny that there’s a grind aspect, when you’ve been on the road for several days in a row or for months. But the chance to see new places and play your music for fresh faces and new audiences is an invigorating challenge. It’s really what you get into songwriting and singing to do, much more so than the dollars and cents of it. While no one would deny that you’ve also got to take care of business, it’s the exhilaration of performing that’s the ultimate reason for writing songs and making music. You get a reaction from audiences that you can’t get in the studio.
Singer-songwriter Leyla McCalla and her band (bassist Pete Olynciw, drummer Shawn Meyers, and guitarist Nahum Zdybel) join us onboard Cayamo to go through their incredible, righteous and fun new record Sun Without the Heat. It is a Leyla McCalla solo album, but no solo artist is an island! Once we saw Leyla perform with her band, with whom she has collaborated for the past six years, we had to get the whole collaborative outfit in on the interview.
The sounds on the album are inspired by Afrobeat, Haitian music, folk music, indie music, Americana music, Brazilian tropicalismo, amongst others. Leyla calls it, “A record that is playful and full of joy while holding the pain and tension of transformation.” McCalla’s liberatory politics find their way into the record, evidenced by the title – which comes from a Frederick Douglass speech given six years before the Emancipation Proclamation. Leyla explores her cultural heritage while reflecting the African diaspora using elements of Afrofuturism. She’s leaning into a concept that challenges women in music (particularly women of color) of how to free herself from labor that should not be hers, and fighting for her right to be joyful in her creative expression.
When asked about how these new songs feel through the lens of somatic experience, Leyla says the new music feels different and that she’s let go of the idea of perfectionism as a single mom of three kids. A lot of the record was informed by different authors she’s read recently like adrienne maree brown (Pleasure Activism) and Susan Raffo (Liberated To the Bone). Leyla’s really changing the game in Americana, when it comes to incorporating the academic into truly bitchin’ music.
Sidenote: we really loved hanging out with this crew at sea on Cayamo. They had great vibes, good laughs, and also very good outfits. Lizzie even recruited Pete to play bass in an impromptu trio while on board. More good times with Leyla and band, please!
Sun Without the Heat is Leyla McCalla’s fifth solo album, but it is different from past efforts and she brings the listener through the transformative process with her. Produced by Maryam Qudus at Dockside Studio in Louisiana, McCalla dug into her personal history, primary sources from Amistad Research Center at Tulane University’s archives, world musical influences, and her creative trust in her long time bandmates to bring forth a bright, kinetic, and meditative project.
The studio, nestled along the Vermilion Bayou, offered an insular, bucolic setting for the nine days McCalla and band were recording; a place where friends and children could visit and local fishermen provided fresh catch for dinner. Qudus’ direction provided McCalla with space and vision to piece together her research and personal edification, while her relationship with her band allowed a deeply creative process to unfold. McCalla spoke wistfully about the experience, “It was very luxurious to have that kind of space. And it’s just really a very nurturing environment.”
Traditionally a cellist, on this project, McCalla explores her relationship with the guitar. She delves into West African and Brazilian polyrhythms flowing underneath lyrics that, at times, feel like a repetitive prayer or mantra. She balances the seemingly unanswerable aspects of life with the sometimes illusive, but simple notion that many contradictory feelings can be true at once.
BGS spoke with McCalla via Zoom from her home in New Orleans earlier this month. McCalla discussed the experience of researching, writing, and recording, her relationship with fans and supporters, creative freedom, and trusting the process.
I’ve been listening to all your music the past couple of days and I’ve noticed that the sonic palette of this album is somewhat of a shift for you. It seems like there’s a transformation theme running through it, both lyrically and musically, and it seems like even in the process of recording it. So I wanna talk about that on multiple levels, but can we start with the process for this? It sounds like you went into the woodshed and didn’t come out until the record was done.
Leyla McCalla: This is an album that was mostly finished in the studio. I had a pre-production session with Maryam Qudus, who produced the record. It was also just this really crazy time in my life. I was on tour a lot and coordinating with kids’ schedules. We really only had 36 hours of workshopping songs. Maryam was really amazing at being like, “Okay, let’s play with this idea, and come up with a verse and a chorus.” So I think we came out of that pre-production session with about 7 different demos that were just these rough sketches and we sent them all around to the band. When we went into the studio, everyone contributed what they were hearing to the songs. I’ve been working with my band now for about six years. I think that we have developed fluidity in our process of coming up with parts and talking about music. And so I knew that I had these sort of vague notions of delving into psychedelia and Afrofuturism and mining, this incredible music from Africa, ultimately. I think that that’s been a consistent through line in all my work is connecting my music through the ancestral lines of the sounds themselves.
I played a lot more guitar on this record than any other record. For me, it was really about delving into the songwriting and figuring out what I wanted to say. I’d been doing a lot of reading of Black feminist thinkers, and contemporary thinkers like Adrienne Maree Brown, Alexis Pauline Gumbs, and Octavia Butler. I think this record for me was really about, “How am I going to survive life? What does it mean to be resilient? What does it mean to transform and change? And give myself the space to grieve and also to hope and to dream.” There are a lot of things that I was meditating on when I wrote these songs.
I remember feeling very vulnerable, because I was really going back into this more beginner’s mind. I’ve never gone into the studio and been like, “I don’t know what it’s gonna sound like on the other side.” I’ve always had the band pretty well rehearsed and gone in. This time it was like, “These are the things that are emerging in real-time.”
Did you feel nervous about it? It seems like you have a lot of trust with your band, which is a great starting point. And you had the 36 hours of workshopping and all the ideas that you came up with. But were there nerves about it walking in to record?
Oh, yeah. It was not nerves about, “Can I trust my bandmates to be awesome?” It was more nerves of, “Do I suck?” Which is classic imposter syndrome that artists have as part of the process of writing. You get an idea. It’s a good idea. You question whether it’s a good idea.
I’m trying to do a new thing. I’m trying to break new ground in my creative life and in my sonic expression. Within that, I think that there’s a lot of room for self-doubt. That’s why for this album it was critical to have the support of my bandmates and of Maryam, who didn’t have that kind of attachment to any of the songs. They were just there to help execute what I wanted. I think this album really has strengthened my trust in my songwriting and in my creative process. And just knowing that you don’t always have to know what’s gonna happen to know that it’ll be good.
Absolutely. I was just going to say when you said it was a sort of meditative for you, I think that really comes across, lyrically and sonically. There are these phrases that you repeat that are meditative and it seems like you’re asking questions, you’re answering the ones you can, and you’re submitting to the ones that you can’t. What you are saying you wanted to happen comes across.
Yeah, I think so. I think that there is, on a spiritual level, deep healing for me in writing these songs. I was calling that in. I was navigating single motherhood, divorce, breakups, and big deaths in my family. It was like, “How do I call myself back to myself, what is gonna guide me through that?” I think for me, doing a lot of sort of ancestral healing work and meditating on the the gifts and the things that I’ve inherited from my ancestors, those made their way into the songs.
Speaking of process, you mentioned in your liner notes that you are grateful for creative freedom on this project. And I’d love to know what creative freedom looks like for you and how it impacts your work. And maybe what a lack of creative freedom has felt like in the past for you.
I think creative freedom, for me, was kind of twofold. I have a label that is mostly doing stuff outside of the commercial realm. Obviously, we’re part of the music industry, but I never felt like I needed to make a particular album. I felt like the question from the label was, “What kind of album do you want to make? What is coming through right now for you? What do you want to say?” Being able to come from that place is very different than, “Try to take over this part of the market,” or something. It’s a lot more empowering experience. Also, not being afraid to go in different directions. Not being afraid to use weird pedals on my guitars, experiment with synths, have a freaking psychedelic freak out, or have piano on the songs or organ. It was just sort of intuitive, “Yes, this belongs.” And not feeling like anyone was going to disapprove of that.
I never felt that there was a particular agenda outside of the agenda that I wanted to fulfill. That has been a really empowering experience for me, coming off of my previous record where it was like, “Okay, these are these ancient rhythms that are Haitian and African, and this is a mapping of where Haitian people come from.” I felt empowered by that, but in a very different way, almost like I wanted to serve this music. For this record it felt like, “Okay, how can this process really serve me and serve my creative genesis?” Returning back to like a more beginner’s mind, “What are the things that really I love about music? What are the things that make me wanna write songs?”
I didn’t have as much of a mind for that with Breaking the Thermometer, because it had been such a longstanding collaboration that I had been working on for five years with a crew of theater makers and different musicians and then going into the studio.
I always felt like that project was like a garden of weeds that are growing out of control. It could be a book. It could be a theater project. It could be a dance piece. I explored the intersection of all those things together. Whereas this was like, “Okay, I’m just returning back to this one format. We’re making an album.”
It meant connecting with some of my earliest influences. That’s why I went back to listening to a lot of artists from the tropicalismo movement in Brazil, in the ’60s and ’70s. There was all this experimentation with traditional music forms and rock and roll and psychedelia. I love that music. There’s something about it that just really speaks deeply to me. And I think that it’s also because of my generation, who I am, and where I am. I’m drawn to things that are out of the box. And I’m also drawn to really solid groove and feel and deep emotional content. I never had an agenda other than to figure out what I want to sound like and being able to have that space. A lot of these songs were about like, “How do I get out of my own way?”
When you started thinking about making this record did you know that you’d be playing more guitar than cello? Did you write on guitar? What was the relationship with that instrument like?
I was writing a lot on guitar. I wasn’t like, “I’m gonna play guitar and not cello.” I didn’t have an agenda in that way. I really wanted to explore different shapes in my fingers and try different rhythmic structures. Guitar is exciting for me in that way. I’ve done a lot of finger-picking in my work and there’s plenty of that on this record. But I’m like, “What about this inflection? What about this texture? And what about this feel? What does that conjure?” That was really fun for me.
Fun was also really central to the process. I was like, “I want to heal, I want to be creative, I want to expand my sonic palette, and I also want to have fun.” I do this work to have fun. I don’t do this work to be the “king of the capitalists” or something. I want to have a good experience with it and find it enriching. I feel like the guitar is the ultimate symbol of liberation and freedom. It has a different meaning to me than the cello. With cello, I know the notes. I am thinking about technique and I have to think about how I’m holding my body. Guitar is just like, “This is who I am.”
For sure. Partly because the guitar is so mobile. You can walk off into the woods with it.
Yeah, totally. You should see me walk through an airport. I’m carrying my guitar, my banjo, and my cello, and I’m always like, ”Man, life would be so much easier without this cello.” But it’s such a powerful thing. When I’m playing cello, it feels totally like, “Wow, this is also home.”
Cello moves so much air. It can completely change the vibration of a room.
Totally. I always tell my bandmates, “Oh, we gotta be careful with that cello. It’s like melting a dark piece of chocolate on stage.”
I think a lot about sense of place and how a place can affect the creative process. Since you were sort of in a “lock-in” at Dockside Studio, I want to know if that studio and that place had an effect on this record.
Oh, yeah. Dockside is an incredible place. There’s a house with a pool and then a whole other house with a studio. The grounds are beautiful and well-kept. You’re right by the river.
There was a sense of deep relaxation for me there, because it is kind of separate. If it were in the middle of a city, there would be so much more distraction. But because there isn’t, I felt like it really helped me to focus and to tune in. We burnt candles there every day. We were calling in a lot of spirits and support. I did a lot of just sitting by the river and writing and reading in order to write.
And Maryam is amazing. If it had just been me producing the record, it would have been way more disorganized. Maryam was amazing at being like, “Okay, Leyla, we don’t need you in the studio right now. What we really need from you is to go and write.” I feel like I do best in those sorts of relationships, when someone is gently nudging me in the direction of what’s gonna be most productive for me. I was really able to get to a place of being productive and feeling quiet enough to actually hear whatever was coming through. If we had made the record anywhere else, it would have probably sounded completely different. We are all pretty well versed in the different styles of Louisianan music, so we kept thinking, “What is this sound that we’re coming up with?” And we were like, “This is Louisiana tropicalia.” It’s a fun construct.
Tell me a bit about what your relationship is like with fans and supporters of your music and the impact that they might have on your creations or your career.
For my first record, I did a Kickstarter campaign and I asked for $5,000, because I didn’t know how expensive it is to make albums. I ended up making over $20k. That whole process of doing the Kickstarter was such a boon to my career. At that point, I had been touring with the Carolina Chocolate Drops. No one really knew who I was, but I realized that there was support and space for me to be doing these projects that combine research and intellectual pursuits with making music. That’s the line that I have been toeing this whole time. And it is incredible, over the years, the number of connections that I have made from pursuing two things at once and growing this academic life within my body of work as a recording artist.
People have brought me, over the years, limited edition Langston Hughes, Haitian Creole poetry from the 1800s, translations of Zora Neale Hurston books that are in French or German. Those are the kinds of connections that feel so sustaining creatively for me and really enriching. The music industry is so inundated with artists, and everyone’s trying to stand out. That kind of symbiosis, I think, is really critical not only to me as an artist but to me seeking support.
That’s wonderful. There’s something sort of clinical about the traditional record label rollout of material in the past, but now it feels like, because of social media, because of things like Kickstarter and house shows, a wall has broken down.
Totally. And I feel people really connect to that, even sometimes more than the actual songs. Which may be problematic in one way. Everything is kind of about more of this “cult of personality” thing. Not that I’m super invested in developing that, but I do feel like the fan base is invested in me as a person, and wants to want to support the music as a result of that.
Can you talk a little bit about the collaboration with the Rivers Institute and the Amistad Research Center at Tulane, and how that might have informed this project, or what you’re working on in general?
I was invited by the Rivers Institute to be their first music fellow. They have this incredible artist-in-residence program that is in concert with the Amistad Research Center at Tulane University, which is an incredible archive of stuff from all over the South, particularly Louisiana Black culture. There are so many oral history interviews. I discovered writers that I didn’t know about, particularly a guy named Tom Dent, who feels like he’s kind of like the Langston Hughes of Louisiana.
I’ve always known how important archives and libraries are, but it’s just so much information. There’s a woman named Jade Flint who works there who helped me. She was like, “What are you interested in?” I’m like, “I like poetry. I like organizers. I like movement work.” I found myself down this path of discovering letters that Fannie Lou Hamer had written to her best friend. She was from the Delta in Mississippi and in the ’60s was really active in registering Black voters at the height of Jim Crow. She was attacked. She was beaten really badly for that. She just kept on fighting her whole life for Black people to have the right to vote and for political participation for Black people at a time where that came at a great cost to her mental, emotional, and physical health.
There’s an organization called Core New Orleans, which actually did a lot of COVID testing during the pandemic, but they were also working on voter registrations. I was reading their pamphlets that were like, “This is how you deal with potentially violent situations. This is how you approach people about trying to get them to vote.” I was doing that and concurrently reading things about emergent strategy and pleasure activism and comparing notes like, “These are the activists of yesteryear and the organizing principles.”
And then I was reading Adrienne Maree Brown’s books. She’s like, “You’re gonna need to masturbate before reading this chapter, because otherwise you won’t be connected with your pleasure center. That is essential to this activist work.” You could see this sea change in the attitude about what is actually going to aid our collective liberation the most.
During this time, my grandfather passed away and he [had] started a Socialist Haitian newspaper called Haiti Progress. Both of my parents are activists. I’ve been immersed in a lot organizing and activist stuff my whole life like going to protests throughout my childhood, especially regarding Haitian immigrants and human rights issues in the United States.
All of these things just really filled me with this feeling of, “Wow! It’s taken so much bravery to be able to fight the good fight and keep these conversations moving forward.” I think we still have a long way to go. I did a lot of reflecting on that. And that song, “I Want to Believe,” was written during that residency. It’s a simple song, but I wanted to write something that was almost a song that could be sung at a protest, something that was not quite gospel and not quite protest music, somewhere in the middle.
I love a library, I love an archivist, and I love being in that space and finding things that feel like a secret. How you process that as a person in the present, feeling the history in the present, and how it comes across – that is reflected in your lyrics. We have access to so much information today, but that information is very much filtered by these multinational corporations. There’s search engine optimization and all that, and we can’t really dig down until you go into a place like that where those regional details exist, like in an archive or library.
It just is incredible to me, because there’s so much to keep track of. And you know, even the different categories like oral histories or audio interviews or drafts of books or poems. There are unpublished pieces that may only be read by five people every year. Those five people then know about this thing and can share it with their community, and make work from it, or include it in their research papers. There’s there’s endless ways to see the world and then filter this information.
I feel like my job as a musician is looking for those bits of information that feel like the diamond in the rough, like the thing that I’ve been looking for my whole life. That’s really the chase. It really keeps me in the archives.
Can you talk specifically about the title track, “Sun Without the Heat?” In your liner notes, you dedicate the song to Susan Raffo and Frederick Douglass. I’d love to know more about that.
Susan Rafo released a book called Liberated to the Bone: Histories. Bodies. Futures. I went down this rabbit hole of progressive thought. Her book is written for healers, people working within the medical industrial complex, and anyone who’s engaged in healing work, whether that be on a community level or on a one-on-one basis. I read that book, and it was really fortifying for me.
She has this theory of the original wounds of our society, which are the genocide of Indigenous peoples and the enslavement of African people through the transatlantic slave trade. It’s about our inability to grapple with the harm that has been perpetuated and is being perpetuated from those original wounds. It is holding us back from larger systemic change. There’s a chapter where she references a speech that Frederick Douglass gave in 1857 to a room full of white abolitionists. He said, “You want the crops without the plow. You want the rain without the thunder. You want the ocean without the roar of its waters.” I was immediately like, “Those are song lyrics.” I just heard it immediately. Those were just such beautiful words and and phrases and concepts, and I kept on singing that.
It occurred to me, “You can’t have the sun without the heat.” I was like, “There are only three phrases, and I need that one other thing.” I was also thinking about how so many of these songs to me are about transformation, and are about what change really requires of us. And it felt like those phrases spoke so well to that theme.
I read a book called Undrowned by Alexis Pauline Ghums. It’s a Black feminist study of marine mammals off the coast of South Carolina and Georgia and the things that we can learn from them about survival, resiliency, living on this planet, and our inherent connection to nature — you know, how to thrive on this seemingly unsustainable planet. It is also about our connections to each other and community.
For a long time, I think in my own personal life I was like, “I just can’t help but feel like I’m drowning.” But I didn’t want to just make a record about that feeling. I wanted to make a record about getting through that feeling: about breaking through the overwhelm.
Since her solo debut in 2014, Vari-Colored Songs: a Tribute to Langston Hughes, multi-instrumentalist, composer, songwriter, and thought leader Leyla McCalla has routinely and consistently expanded her own sonic universe. But these have not been gratuitous or ambitious artistic reinventions. Instead, the cellist and multi-instrumentalist intentionally and organically brings in new and exciting textures, influences, stories, cultural touch points, and text paintings into her work. On April 12, she’ll continue in a similar vein, once again broadening her own endless musical horizons with a brand new record, Sun Without the Heat, available via ANTI-.
After Vari-Colored Songs, a collection of thoughtful, dense, and engaging adapted Hughes poems, Haitian folk, and originals, the critically acclaimed and “fan favorite” collection, A day for the hunter, a day for the prey (2016), brought in still more French, Haitian Creole, and bilingual material, underpinned by string band sounds that recalled her days performing and recording with the Carolina Chocolate Drops – but with many iconoclastic wrinkles and touches uniquely her own. At no point has there seemed to be any floundering or self doubt, musically and otherwise, in McCalla’s releases, but still their progression points to a growing confidence, an indelible sense of self, and an unwavering commitment to telling often untold stories. Time and again, she plumbs the depths of her own soul, her family, her lineage to discover and honor narratives regularly left in the shadows.
Sun Without the Heat certainly finds McCalla – who is based in New Orleans – covering exciting, tantalizing new ground that neither feels entirely new or, again, like any sort of attempt at frivolous reinvention. Instead, this album is a re-distillation of the personal journey – whether inward or outward – that McCalla has invited us to join her on since Vari-Colored Songs. Over 10 tracks, Sun Without the Heat is fiery while inviting, with limitless sparks and an intractable gravity. Building on her Haitian roots, which remained front-and-center in 2019’s incredible TheCapitalist Blues and also anchored her theatrical sort-of-concept album, Breaking the Thermometer (2022), on Sun Without the Heat McCalla again subverts antiquated ideas around “world music” and global folk by grounding Afrobeat, Ethiopian music theory, Brazilian Tropicalismo, and more in her American folk and string band expertise.
The result, like on TheCapitalist Blues and Breaking the Thermometer, is as charming as it is dense, crave-able and nutritious, entirely one-of-a-kind while obviously interconnected with so many constituent musical traditions. There are clearly lessons learned and perspectives gained from her time collaborating with supergroup Our Native Daughters – with Amythyst Kiah, Allison Russell, and Rhiannon Giddens – here, too. On the new album, with her arm-length resumé at her disposal, McCalla remains the industrial-strength adhesive holding together all of these seemingly disparate parts. Sun Without the Heat’s current singles, “Scaled to Survive” (listen above), “Tree,” and “Love We Had” are a perfect aural triptych to demonstrate McCalla’s deft combination of inputs to create a singular output.
It’s nearly impossible to overstate the impact the Carolina Chocolate Drops and its now legendary alumni have had on American roots music and global folk. Giddens, Dom Flemons, Rowan Corbett, Justin Robinson, and more each continue to increase their audiences’ scope of understanding well after their time in the Grammy Award-winning group. But the niche McCalla has carved out and built a home for herself within since branching out from the band is truly her own.
Sun Without the Heat is timeless while Afrofuturist, essential but never essentialist. This is folk music crafted in the spirit of folk musician activists the world over since time immemorial. When you listen to McCalla, whether Sun Without the Heat or Capitalist Blues, or any of her five studio albums, you can rest assured what you’re hearing is truly idiosyncratic, while she never lets her listeners mistakenly assume she and she alone is the sole arbiter of these sounds, genres, and traditions. It’s a deft balancing act that perhaps only she can execute with such ease and such entrancing music.
All month long, we’ll be celebrating Sun Without the Heat and Leyla McCalla as our Artist of the Month. Enjoy our Essential Leyla McCalla Playlist below and stay tuned for our AOTM interview to come later in April.
(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.
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Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and security features of the website. These cookies do not store any personal information.
Any cookies that may not be particularly necessary for the website to function and is used specifically to collect user personal data via analytics, ads, other embedded contents are termed as non-necessary cookies. It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website.