Sage Christie (formerly known as Siena Christie), is a modern folk artist known for their pure voice and captivating story songs. In both 2022 and 2023, Sage was a finalist at the Kerrville New Folk Songwriting Contest. They also won a handful of other songwriting contests including the Great River Folk Festival songwriting contest in 2021, Portlands Folk Fest Song Contest in 2022, and the Walnut Valley Festival NewSong Showcase in 2023.
Sage has spent much of their time in the past year touring the Southeast, Midwest, and Pacific Northwest. When they’re not on the road, they’re now based in Asheville, North Carolina. They moved to Asheville last year, eager to connect with Appalachian music, folk traditions, and the vibrant local arts community.
Our interview covers their dreams to tour full time and their ideal day on the road filled with beautiful landscapes, new towns, and deep connections with both good friends and strangers. We also explore their passion for music, their favorite LGBTQ+ artists, and their experience as a nonbinary artist navigating a recent name change.
Why do you create music?
Sage Christie: I don’t. Music creates me.
Okay, but for serious, I don’t really know; I just always have. I can’t go a day without making up pieces of songs in my head. That’s been true since I was 5 years old.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
I might be slightly biased, because I’ve seen these people in person (and they absolutely wowed me off my feet), but I would definitely include Olive Klug, Emily the Band, Spencer LaJoye, and Flamy Grant on that list.
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
Listening to Jimmy Somerville, the Communards, and Bronski Beat helped me get through high school. I was deeply moved by Jimmy’s heartbreaking songs about searching for belonging as a queer person. But I couldn’t explain why I was so particularly entranced and comforted by the music of a gay man, since, at the time, I thought I was a bisexual cis girl. The better I get to know myself, as a masc-leaning enby, the more sense it makes. To anyone who’s in the closet or questioning: you don’t have to know who you are today. You don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t feel safe. Your feelings are a hundred percent valid and okay. You matter, and you are enough.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
In September, I plan to release an LP called Little Deaths, a storybook concept album that traces the arc of a short-lived romance from start to finish. I have always been fascinated with fairytales, so I decided to write one myself. I feel like I grew up a lot while writing it. This album is basically me trying to explain love and death to myself like I’m in kindergarten. Once Little Deaths comes out, I’ll be celebrating its release with a two-week tour, visiting Chicago, Eureka Springs, Arkansas, St. Louis, and some other cool places as well.
You’ve been touring all over the Southeast, the Midwest, and the Pacific Northwest. What’s that been like for you to organize these tours and be on the road so much as an independent artist?
Touring is my favorite thing ever. I love traveling, seeing new places, making new friends and fans, and playing shows night after night. Booking tours is a lot of work – from researching and contacting venues, to planning safe tour routes and lodging, to promoting the shows and practicing for them – but the payoff so far has been amazing. If I could tour full time, I would. That’s a dream for the future.
Tell us about your recent move to Asheville, North Carolina. What drew you there and how are you liking it so far?
I knew I wanted to move to the southeast U.S. because of the rich Appalachian music heritage and continuing folk traditions here. Leaving the Northwest was tough emotionally, because most of my family and friends still live there, but luckily, they’ve all been supportive of my decision to chase my own adventure. Now that I’m in Asheville, I’m inspired by the community of songwriters, poets, and visual artists that has welcomed me with open arms. To be fair, I’ve only been here half a year, but so far, as a creative person and as a queer person, I feel like Appalachia is a good home for me.
How has your recent name change influenced your personal and professional identity?
I changed my name to Sage recently. I was born with the first name Siena, and it always felt like someone else’s beautiful name. Naming myself Sage has felt like an empowering step in my journey as a queer and self-defining person. Many fans and venues still know me as Siena Christie, so I’m doing my best to spread the message about my new name.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
Being on tour with dear friends and partners. Driving through gorgeous natural areas and towns I’ve never been in. Playing a backyard concert with string lights and fireflies and stars and lemonade. Getting to cry and laugh with people I’ve just met because of music. Staying up late with friends eating chilaquiles while watching planes go by. Seeing my loved ones’ shoulders relax and eyes sparkle.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
A year ago, a good friend said, “You’re kind, to a fault. You should be more mean to people.” That might sound weird, but it’s helped me realize that failing to put on my own “oxygen mask” first actually hurts people – not just myself, but ones I love. Listening more closely to my own suffering has made me a better listener in general.
In the press release for their 2024 album Anniversary, Adeem the Artist, the non-binary, self-described “cast iron pansexual” singer-songwriter, mentions that the album is queer country – as a genre, not simply as music made by queer people, but as a whole new thing. They also mention recording and creating with their child, their partner, and their tour manager, in a week off from touring in semi-rural Texas. The album is a deeply moving, hauntingly specific, and profoundly sophisticated look at the interweavings of family and a (literally) hostile landscape.
This is queer country – queer as a sexuality and gender and musical identity, but also as an indication of being a little askew, not really fitting plumb, as a political and personal identity. Here, a genre, Adeem notes, is a way of working against expectations or histories:
“Country music is important to me, because it’s so much tied into the dirt of where I grew up. It feels like a place I can comfortably speak from, in the authority of my testimony as a Southerner and a child of Confederates. That’s my responsibility, my calling. That’s why I’m making country records right now. It’s where I need to be, to be processing the things I’m processing.”
One of the ways of keeping safe in this landscape, while acknowledging and trying to make amends, is to move inwards, to lean on the “cast iron” of “cast iron pansexual.” This album moves from the outside – a world that is toxic and violent – toward one that is domestic. In the coruscating rock breakdown of “Plot of Land,” with its minute-long, Tom Petty quoting coda, Adeem sings:
And the politicians cast their lies like street craps, And they sweep up every time So baby I’m gonna find us a plot of land With a little home to put a family in …
The plot of land is a long term plan, but there are moments in this record where you can see possibilities – of a loving home, of a rock and roll life, of a genderqueer Southern utopia, of the perfect dive bar meetup – falling out of an ambitious set of recordings. The too muchness of the album can be understood given it was made in a week, in a hostile place.
Adeem talks about how they made “Nightmare” in Texas, incorporating all the elements in their surroundings including “Isley’s laughter [their daughter], Kyle’s gentle presence [their tour manager], Hannah’s bouncing energy [their wife] as she pitche[d] hymns we could reference irreverently. That week away from the internet and the news cycle was a little insulation bubble that gave us so much room to breathe and feel safe. I don’t think this song could’ve been delivered with a different midwife.”
The midwife analogy is especially relevant to understanding some of these songs, particularly “Carry You Down,” where Adeem writes gorgeously about having and raising babies. The song is so gentle, so respectful of the autonomy of the child, but also filled with the details of domestic life that have become rare in country lately. In an album about adult pleasures and pains, it is a rest song, about carrying a child down the stairs when they ask to be carried, even if that interrupts “chorin’,” doing dishes or work in the garden.
If “Carry You Down” is a waltz, then “The Socialite Blues” is a romp about “staying up to the break of dawn/ making out of tune songs with you” – another kind of domestic, with “out of tune” its own kind of queerness. These songs have a sweetness, a refuge from harm, a way to escape not outside, but within.
The invocation of “out of tune songs” is a euphemism, but there are spaces on the album where Adeem is explicit about desire, as explicit as a country song has ever been, like in “Nancy,” which expresses exactly how difficult it is to fuck while on pharmaceuticals; or “One Night Stand,” about relationships that happen between last call and sunrise, but whose memory might, out of mercy and grace, stay on for “a lifetime of nights with him;” or “Part and Parcel,” where they sing, in gentle but urgent tones:
Take it all apart, it’s part & parcel I came here with a strange and honest feeling Chase all of these contradicting versions Childhood perversions, & dreams that never steered Let them drive a little while so that I can disappear
Those “contradicting versions” include being a child from the South, so the history here is not only personal, but social and political. There is a cluster of artists working out the history of the South right now – Justin Hiltner’s “1992,” Miko Marks’ Race Records,Willi Carlisle’s recitations of the failures of Appalachian and rural drug work, the entire career of Jake Xerxes Fussell, all of the ancestor work in Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter. It might seem like Adeem’s work is personal, but all of this historical work flows from the personal to the corporate, an understanding of history that includes both last week and last century, trauma and joy twisting into a complex homecoming.
Homecoming for Adeem also includes the history of Knoxville, Tennessee; on the album’s last song “White Mule, Black Man,” they begin by asking if it’s too much to do one more, but after the end of the track, it’s clear that nothing could be more proper. Here, Adeem telling stories of the South, from Confederation onward, means taking racial politics seriously.
In almost exactly three minutes, they tell the story of a white mob rioting after a foiled lynching, the eventual coverup of that lynching, and the layers of myth-making and storytelling to prevent the truth from being revealed. Moving from talking to singing, somewhere between Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There Is” and Dylan’s “The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll,” the story in this final song laments, “But if the Tennessee River runs red with blood/ ‘Til the city runs white again/ Well, a white mule’s curse means more round here/ Than the last words muttered by murdered Black men.”
Adeem has been blunt like this before, tearing down the charnel houses of violent American racism and its myths, and this song is a deepening and extending of that practice. By ending the album on this note of violence, not as a lecture but as a moral accounting, that history work is ensuring that everyone is seen and known, their family is known, and the origins of their family’s prosperity is known.
Such knowledge is the necessary, sometimes haunting, sometimes delightful, attraction of Adeem as a person and “the Artist” – earning that sobriquet.
Izzy Heltai is an indie-folk artist whose songs touch on themes like growing older, feeling lost, and finding yourself – his music resonates with many people. Izzy played the first Queerfest event, a virtual festival in 2021 hosted in partnership with Club Passim. His latest single, “My Best Friend Sam,” came out on April 25.
Izzy has a debut New York headline show coming up. If you’re in the area, be sure to check out his show at Union Pool in Brooklyn on Friday, June 21. Our Out Now conversation covers work-life balance (a large theme in his new single), his favorite LGBTQ+ artists, and his current state of mind. We’re so excited to highlight this phenomenal artist, Izzy Heltai!
Your lyrics cover themes that many people can relate to such as being anxious, growing older, self-esteem, feeling lost, etc. Do you write with the listener in mind for the relatability of these topics? Are you mostly thinking of your own experiences and emotions? Or are you considering both during the creative process?
Izzy Heltai: I think a lot of what I experience is universal. I think as we get older we all deal with issues of identity, anxiety, a sense of feeling lost, etc. I don’t really think about writing, or creating, for the purpose of being relatable. I think inherently what I write about is relatable, but the only way I can keep it authentic is by simply saying exactly what I’ve experienced. I don’t claim to know, or want to tell other people what they’ve gone through, all I can do is talk about what I experience.
Your single that came out last month, “My Best Friend Sam,” includes the lyrics, “I’ve wasted close to a decade chasing dreams and expectations / I wanna leave, I wanna stop everything / I wanna be hanging out with my best friend Sam.” How are you balancing a demanding career in the music industry with taking time for yourself and personal relationships?
Honestly, it’s been tough. This work exists in oscillations of highs and lows. One day it can feel like you have everything at the tips of your fingertips and the next day it can feel like everything’s falling apart. I’m trying to block out a lot of that. I’m trying to focus on what makes me happy about all of this, creating music with my friends, playing shows and connecting with people.
Recently, I’ve just been focusing on being in one place. Trying to be present, spending time with people I love, working on my next body of work and doing things throughout the day that make me feel the most present I can be. Reading, riding my bike, climbing, and writing songs.
What is your current state of mind?
If I’m honest, it isn’t the best it’s ever been. I broke my hip about a year ago and some things changed in my life that I had a hard time adjusting to. I’ve been refocusing recently and just putting energy into making things I love. Working on new songs I’m really proud of, investing in my friendships, riding my bike a lot, climbing with my friends. Things that make me feel grounded and most myself!
What’s your ideal vision for your future?
I love making my music, I love my friends here in Nashville and my routine, but I also love touring. Touring and playing shows, connecting with people, seeing new things, is such a big part of this for me. My ideal future consists of a balance between a routine at home, bike rides, yoga, rock climbing, writing and creating my next body of work, and a consistent sustainable touring schedule.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
This one’s easy. A sunny hot day, a very long bike ride, and cooking with my friends.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
I make music, because at one point I was a lonely, confused kid, and for some reason this was the way I processed the world. I’ll always make music regardless of who’s paying attention, but it’s easy to lose sight of that sometimes. I’m fully aware, with my identity, if my music reaches a certain level of success it has the power to really impact a marginalized population quite powerfully. I think my music becomes much more than “just for me,” because of that.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Lucky and honored to call her a close friend, Katie Pruitt is absolutely at the top of that list. Leith Ross, Ethel Cain, and Chappell Roan are other favorites of mine.
Sadie Gustafson-Zook is a detailed songwriter, pulling together collages of images and ideas and stitching them into melodies and lyrics. I met Sadie in 2019 at Club Passim, a renowned folk venue in Cambridge, Massachusetts known for promoting generations of great folk music. I was studying in Boston at the time, surrounded by incredible developing artists. Sadie was one of them, alongside Liv Greene,Jobi Riccio (featured before on Out Now), and Olivia Barton, another queer artist who came through the Club Passim folk scene and is now gaining traction.
We are excited to share our interview with Sadie the same week she releases the incredible new album, Where I Wanna Be (available May 10). Their thoughtful writing, pure voice, and creative guitar lines are sure to impress. Many of the songs on the album have a lullaby-like feel enhanced by Sadie’s soft voice and soothing melodies.
This month, Sadie is touring the Midwest with Brittany Ann Tranbaugh, who we also featured on Out Now earlier this year. They are powerful songwriters and performers alone, but seeing both artists in one show is a treat that you don’t want to miss! If you’re in the area, be sure to catch their tour through Wisconsin, Minnesota, Michigan, and Indiana.
What’s your ideal vision for your future?
Sadie Gustafson-Zook: Ideally, I would be able to keep doing what I’m doing, but slightly more of it. I think my music offers something special and I would like for more people to hear it. At the same time, I really do like living at least part of the time as a normal person who is in their house and has a cat and is a part of their local community’s life – so maintaining a sense of balance is definitely something I’m passionate about.
Right now, my ideal vision would be to play 100+ fun gigs per year (I’m not really interested in gigging for the sake of the grind – I mostly want to have a good time and hang out with people I love); continue teaching privately and at music camps (I’ve been really lucky to be able to do this at Kerrville’s Song School, Kentucky Music Week, and this summer I’ll be at Ossipee Valley’s String Camp); spend a lot of time in nature and with my family; and keep absorbing so I have things to write about.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
I create music because I think it’s fun to sing and play instruments and I like writing about my own life in a way that other people can relate to. Personally, I like being able to organize my thoughts into a nugget that is shaped like a song and that helps me sort out my emotions. And then socially, I love having the opportunity to share those songs and feel a broader sense of connection with people around me – and people who I don’t know! So, I think the process and the outcome are both things I really enjoy.
Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?
In college, I was a voice major and I spent four years singing operatic arias. I didn’t initially think this was what I was going to spend my college years doing, but once I started singing in such a big and full-body way, I had a really fun time experimenting with the extremes of what sounds my body was capable of producing. But when I performed these songs written by classical composers I didn’t feel very connected to the essence of the music. I sang it for myself, because it was fun (and probably also because I wanted people to pay attention to me), but I wasn’t assuming that my performance would touch something deep in someone else.
Since then, I have shifted towards writing and performing original music. I enjoy writing songs that are fun to sing and I write based on what I’m going through and what I need to talk about. Ironically, this feels like a more communal act than performing music that someone else wrote. I have the greatest chance of connecting with an audience over a shared experience if I’m speaking directly from my own experience, and ultimately my biggest goal is connection.
You shared about maintaining a sense of balance between being in the music industry and living in a home, with your pet, surrounded by community. Many artists and music-industry professionals have a challenging time with this. How have you built a sense of balance between these things? Do you have any words of advice for others working through the same challenges?
I’m very privileged to have an affordable living situation right now thanks to moving back to my hometown in the Midwest and having my parents as landlords. This freedom has made it possible for me to pay my bills exclusively with music-related work, which helps keep morale high in the music department. So I just want to preface everything else I say with the acknowledgement that it’s a lot easier to feel balanced when I’m not constantly worrying about money. While my situation is a privilege, I also know that not everyone would want to leave their music city hub and move in across the street from their parents in Indiana! Ha!
In terms of time balance, I’ve been testing out the way it feels to have music plans that take me away from home for one(ish) week each month, with some longer exceptions in the summer. That has been a nice way to not get too antsy at home, while also giving myself time to do more administrative work and be present in my town between tours. My first year of living in Goshen, I was pretty lonely and spent most of my time online, which honestly was horrible. I was really craving more in-person connections, so this year I’ve been digging into local activities as well as being really intentional about seeing my songwriter friends’ shows when they’re in a nearby city. Even when I don’t feel like leaving my house or driving a few hours away to see someone, I’m almost always happy that I did.
Your music is so descriptive, thoughtful, and well-crafted. What was the process like for you to write these 10 songs on the new album?
Thank you! The majority of these songs were written when I was living in Nashville in the spring of 2022 and then also when I was traveling around, sleeping in my car that summer. I had just had a breakup in Seattle and had to figure out where I wanted to live and between those two major changes I had a lot of processing to do! I also was spending a lot more time alone than I was used to and I felt like I had a lot of pent up creativity that came out really fast. Then there are also a few songs that I wrote once I was starting to feel a bit more settled in my hometown, as memories from my past kind of overlaid on top of my newer understanding of myself. Those came out more like steady drips throughout the end of 2022 and into 2023.
What inspired you to write Where I Wanna Be? What does the album mean to you and what do you hope others will take away from this collection of songs?
Although the album is called Where I Wanna Be, thematically the songs are more about who I wanna be and what I need to change in order to be that person. When someone asks, “How are you?” it’s easier to talk about geographical location (“I’ve been traveling a lot!”) as a substitute for emotional location (“I’ve been feeling really ungrounded”), especially when everything is in flux.
Each song, in its own way, speaks to who I want to be; I want to be someone who is free and expansive, who knows what makes me happy, whose identity reflects who I know myself to be, who is a part of a team/community, who doesn’t give my power away, who is consistently and historically queer, who trusts myself, who speaks up for myself and takes accountability, who feels at home in my geographical location, and someone who maintains a sense of curiosity in the midst of uncertainty. And that’s basically the whole album.
I think that’s why the album feels so intimate. Though I wrote this collection of songs for my own processing, I know that a lot of people go through this process for themselves, so I’m happy to lend my own experience to folks who might find it helpful.
The title track of the album, “Where I Wanna Be,” includes the lyric, “Every year I drive around, scope out the towns, thinking is this where I wanna be found.” I am curious if you feel a sense of the “grass is greener” in another town? I feel like this is a huge theme, especially among young adults, the idea that we may feel more fulfilled in another place.
Even if I daydream about moving, I find that I feel pretty aware of what I’m missing out on (in a positive and a negative way), and that helps with not over idealizing certain places. I know about the realities of living in Boston, or Brooklyn, or Nashville, or the PNW, and so all things considered, I’ve chosen to live where I am and visit those other places.
Sometimes I still daydream about living somewhere else, but mostly what I find myself imagining are the different communities I could be a part of. I’ve gotten little windows into different communities through meeting people at festivals and conferences, which are mysterious liminal spaces where people who live in different places gather together. They don’t represent an actual location where I could live permanently. And I think it’s helpful for me to remember that when I start feeling like I should move. Likely I’m imagining somewhere that doesn’t currently exist. Not that we couldn’t start an artist commune, though.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
God, more like who isn’t LGBTQ+! [Laughs]
Spencer LaJoye, Flamy Grant, Jean Rohe, Liv Greene, Jobi Riccio, Singer & the Songwriter, Cloudbelly, Lindsay Foote, Olivia Barton, Joy Clark, Allison de Groot & Tatiana Hargraves, Olive Klug, Jane O’Neill, Brittany Ann Tranbaugh, Elisabeth Pixley-Fink, Adrienne Lenker, Taylor Ashton, Eliza Edens, Rachael Kilgour, Emily King, Judee Sill, and tons of obviously bisexual woman performers who aren’t publicly out.
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
Although I’m bisexual, reading the Lesbian Masterdoc was very helpful as a way to sort through my past, draw connections between memories and feelings, and generally deconstruct the idea that being straight was the only option for me (compulsory heterosexuality). I also really loved reading Katie Heaney’s book, Would You Rather, and The Fixed Stars by Molly Wizenberg. (In addition to following every cute queer person I found on Instagram.)
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?
I often feel like performers are treated kind of like inspirational court jesters, where we’re being the weird, thoughtful, creative ones, and the normal people come to shows to live vicariously through us. Honestly, it’s pretty similar to how queer people break boxes and live expansively just by being ourselves (except that queer stories are often suppressed and not amplified). So, if I have the opportunity to have a platform and the power to influence my audience, I want to take that responsibility seriously and show up as my fullest self so they can see that it’s possible for them as well. I love being a queer musician and knowing that by just being myself, I might be helping audience members learn more about themselves as well.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
In 2016, I was attending the Rocky Mountain Song School and was a part of a partnered songwriting class where each participant told their partner a story from their life and then the partner would use that story as a songwriting prompt. My songwriting partner told me about his career trajectory and how someone advised him to get an entry-level job at the local venue that he wanted to play. So he got a job as a busboy at this venue and then progressively worked his way up, eventually becoming tight with the booker until he was selling out shows with his name on the marquee.
Although he wasn’t giving advice per se, I kept this story in mind when I moved to Boston after college and I got a job working at the box office of Club Passim. Regardless of career prospects, I think it’s a really good idea, for community building purposes, to become a regular wherever you want people to know you. For me, in working at Passim, I was hanging out there all the time and it was inevitable that I met a ton of super cool people who are doing really great things and now I feel pretty well-connected.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
This year is a big one for me! I’m (obviously) releasing this new album, Where I Wanna Be, and I actually have another recorded project scheduled for the fall! Tour-wise, I have been upping my booking game and will be touring around the Midwest in May with Brittany Ann Tranbaugh (we’ll likely be around Wisconsin and Minnesota when this article is published), the West coast in October with Jean Rohe, and the Northeast in November, and a lot of other spots in between! I’ll be teaching at a few songwriting and music camps as well, which I love to do. So I think it’ll be a great year!
This week, we’re excited to feature Joh Chase in Out Now. Joh is an artist from Seattle, Washington now rooted in Los Angeles, California. They’ve spent the past two decades developing their craft as a songwriter and performer and they’ve opened for artists like Noah Gunderson and David Bazan. Joh’s music steps outside the lines of any single genre and blends influences of blues, folk, pop, and indie rock.
Joh Chase’s brand new album, SOLO, was released today. It features diverse sounds, intimate lyrics, and an exploration of love, loss, self-discovery, and independence. Our conversation touches on why they create music, their greatest fear, and their process of self-funding tours and crowdfunding albums.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
I create music because I am lucky to have claimed music as something that I do. I just do music as much as humanly possible, because it makes me feel alive and helps me know who I am and how much I love the world and life and others. Both the outcome and the process are satisfying. The payoffs for showing up always feel rewarding, but the long game reward of gaining muscle memory around showing up when it feels like the last thing you wanna do, is its own kind of reward.
Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?
I’m very “Oliver Sacks” about music. I unabashedly create music for selfish reasons – coping, pleasure, and connection. And then I love playing music for people or hearing the music of others because everyone has a “secret public song space” in their bodies and minds and they want to be there as much as possible.
Your songs cover a wide range of genres with traces of blues, pop, folk, and indie rock influences. How do you navigate genre diversity while maintaining a cohesive sound throughout the album?
I think the genre diversity and how that comes across in the different sounds is a reflection of the kinds of music I used to make and the sounds that have stuck with me throughout the years. Using the baritone saxophone, finding a way to express some soul music as well as some Americana licks amongst folky tunes indie folk/rock sounds are endemic to my musical expression. Over the years people have said, “Oh your voice would sound good singing… country, bluegrass, blues, soul…” and in this record I found a way to fit the genres to my voice, a bit. The surprising Flaming Lips-sounding party that is “Daniel” or the more jammy “Smoother” with its less Western sounding scale, are consequences of me feeling 100% happy with creating and releasing music that genre melds, as opposed to making sure I stay in some sort of shape, genre-wise.
The lead single, “Avalanche,” is both explosive and personal. What is the inspiration and significance of this track?
I honestly cannot remember the exactitude of where or when I wrote “Avalanche.” It was in the same set of songs as “Gone” when I first wrote it, but I can’t remember that session as well as I can remember the writing of “Gone.” The song centers itself around the powerful polarity of belonging and loss. Love is not just the “hot fire sex flame” of pop bangers, but also the unexpected mountain shelf of love that you didn’t know you had until it was gone.
This album, SOLO, reflects your do-it-yourself perspective as an artist. Could you share the challenges and rewards of self-funding tours and crowdfunding projects?
One of my favorite books that I was reading around the time that I decided to do the crowd funding that led to this record is the book Real Artists Don’t Starve. The book inspired me to go back to school while I was making this record. The record business is tough and very uncontrollable, but I will never stop making music. So it’s not a question of “do I want to keep making music”, but rather how and at which costs? I think some artists or bands are in a place where they feel comfortable sharing the financials of their music business with fans and some do not for many valid reasons. I feel comfortable sharing with my fans, I need $x to do this, will you help me make it happen. It’s much more acceptable now to have folks follow your Patreon or Substack or subscriptions than it was, so I feel grateful that there are things like Kickstarter and Patreon etc.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
Eating a Berliner from Black Forest Bakery in Los Feliz with my coffee, going home to the studio and making music or playing out with my band.
What’s your ideal vision for your future?
I’m sitting behind some tape machine or TEAC-2A, coming up with my next record and building more beautiful songs. I’m walking my dog and going to queer line dancing and the LA women’s soccer games with my city and then touring and meeting wonderful people and getting to play music for them. Definitely going back to Europe for more shows – I’d really love to do that.
What is your greatest fear?
My dog dying when I’m on tour.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
Get pet insurance.
What is your current state of mind?
I’m so deeply excited about playing these new songs for people this year and for people to hear this record. I couldn’t sleep last night after doing my taxes, ’cause I was so buzzed from the band rehearsal.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Brittany Ann Tranbaugh. Brennan Wedl. Bitch. Melissa Ferrick. Perfume Genius. Hand Habits. Sasami. Rhett Madson. Rachel Mazer. Ryan Cassatta. Brittany Howard. Sinead O’Connor. Jonnie Reinhart. Hurray for the Riff Raff.
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
Willie Nelson’s “He Was A Friend of Mine” – I think struggling to come out of the closet or living in it or the aftermath of coming out revolves around loss of community and friendships. Nelson’s version of this song helps me still deal with some of the sadness around that loss. I was lucky enough to get sober and it was through the 12 step community that I met lovely, strong, vulnerable queers in LA who showed me the beauty and joy of what it’s like to be out and to be sturdy in your own way. I’m also spoiled with LA’s LGBT center – it’s an incredible organization with so many resources and events. Find the queers you want to be when you grow up. And then be the queer you want to be when you grow up.
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?
I think it means that my music gets to be a safe LGBTQ+ place. That my shows and my music centers the queer experience.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
After touring this summer to promote the record on the West Coast, I’ll head east later in the year and jump into some Folk Alliance conferences. No release plans on the radar yet after SOLO.
How do you find a balance between the business and artistic aspects involved in your career as a musician?
I honestly don’t totally know. It’s intuitive and chaotic and intentional and has been part of my personality or my way of life for so long, now, that I don’t know if I can pinpoint one precise center of gravity. I have to protect my creative time, nurture my playfulness in life, let myself ditch friends or ditch overworking or ditch over-cleaning to let those creative moments remind me of who I am. I am lucky to have a manager, a team at Kill Rock Stars and friends who support me and my music. Inside of community, the glaring nature of the music industry is dulled out quite a bit.
Knowing how 2020 and the years that followed would unfold, the dynamism of Katie Pruitt‘s debut record is even more awe-inspiring. Expectations introduced the Nashville-via-Georgia singer-songwriter alongside her deepest aches and most intimate struggles as an openly queer individual raised as part of a devout Roman Catholic family in the conservative South. It would go on to earn a GRAMMY-nomination and ample praise for her lyricism, empowered performances, arranging, and instinct for production. In short, it’s undeniable that Pruitt set quite the high bar of expectations for herself and the music she would choose to share next.
Four years later, Pruitt has unveiled Mantras. While flashes of brilliance from a familiar autobiographical lens inform and inspire the 11 track recording, these aren’t simply more straightforward, memoir-style anecdotes. The truths and experiences Pruitt shares on Mantras feel more revealing than Expectations, as this time, Pruitt’s lens looks decidedly more inward at what she has lived through, reflected on, and learned from since writing her last album.
Not only is Mantras‘ thought process largely internal in nature, but each song leads to paths, stories, and developments that have yet to be fully resolved – if ever they will. The album showcases a great deal of inspiring perseverance in the self-contained conclusions of songs like “Self-Sabotage” and “Worst Case Scenario” and more generally, it unveils a journey of self-healing from start to finish.
However, while Mantras ultimately provides reassurance, peace, and closure, the takeaway isn’t meant to be one of permanent resolution or rigid perspective around anything Pruitt has seemingly conquered in each song. Like the recapitulating nature of a mantra, she is mindful of being continuously attentive and compassionate towards her inner struggles, rather than seeing them as singular moments of adversity.
Speaking with her by phone, BGS shared an insightful conversation with Pruitt about how her focus on inner-healing shaped the sound of Mantras, how her perspective around disagreement and connection has changed, how she cultivates inner strength, and much more.
How was it navigating the presence of expectations for Mantras, considering your intent to move away from a focus on external validation?
Katie Pruitt: On the first album, I was dodging different expectations, you know? I was dodging expectations of my parents or of how people in my hometown saw me and who I am now. I sort of accidentally set high expectations for this next record. I felt like I was competing against myself in a lot of ways and I really had to find moments to just surrender, come back to center, and just focus on the fun feeling in the present moment and talk about that, instead talking about things that I think people want me to say. I needed to focus on what I needed to say, which is maybe different than what other people expected or wanted to hear on this album.
Knowing this album is an expression of personal growth and a journey of sorts for you, what does it feel like to just now be talking about these songs after holding onto them for so long?
Coincidentally, I feel like everything on Mantras is lining up with my life as it’s coming out.
With me talking about my parents selling my childhood home [in “Naive Again”], yeah, my parents are selling my childhood home as we speak. And when I finished a lot of the songs about my partner slowly checking out and leaving, maybe a week after I turned in the record, we broke up. So I’m still experiencing a lot of these things in my life. It’s kind of a first for me, because when Expectations came out, I had kind of already patched things up with my parents and there were things in my personal life were kind of resolved. But then I was having to dive back into those issues every day on stage or whenever I sang those songs. This is different, honestly. It kind of feels good to be able to deal with what’s going on in my life with the songs in real time.
You’ve talked about building “the tracks from the ground up as opposed to cutting everything live, which gave so much more room to let the songs evolve and become what they needed to be.” What does that mean for you and what did those moments of full realization for the music feel like for you, and producers Collin Pastore and Jake Finch?
Jake and Collin’s workflow is very quick. And that was a challenge for me, but I felt like we challenged each other in the right ways. They move very fast and I was like, “Wait a second. Let’s take a look at this. Let’s sit with it for a second and make sure we like it.”
I think having the option [to record parts individually] instead of having all this pressure to be in the studio with a full band and having everyone play the right parts at the right time, was nice for us – to just build one part at a time and ask ourselves, “Is this correct? Does this fit?” And if it doesn’t, we’d say, “We can always mute it.” … There’s not necessarily a wrong answer. We’re just trying to evoke a feeling and if we feel it then other people will too.
What brought you together with Christian Wiman’s work, ultimately inspiring you to writing the album title track?
I was listening to this poetry podcast, [Poetry Unbound], I was really into that during the pandemic and that was obviously a tough time for a lot of people, [creating] a lot of points of contention, especially around beliefs and belief systems. I just felt like, my parents believe different things than me and my friends started to believe different things than me. So that poem, [“All My Friends,”] just really resonated as this “A-ha!” moment.
At the very end of the poem [Wiman] says something like, “My beautiful, credible friends.” In the first part of the poem, you almost feel like he isn’t mocking them, but like, he’s kind of poking fun at how many rabbit holes there are to go down, as far as spirituality goes or, finding yourself goes. Then at the end, he’s like, “And all of them are credible, all of them are valid.” And that really struck a chord for me and I just think that’s a really powerful statement.
Given the open and accepting mindset you impart through “All My Friends” and its juxtaposition with the piercing, personal insights you share in “White Lies, White Jesus, and You,” where would you say religion, particularly Christianity and Catholicism, exists for you now, compared to when you were writing Expectations?
I really try to make clear to my parents or to some of my friends who are still Christian, that [the song] is talking about people who take the Bible and abuse it for their own benefit – whether that be political or just to justify shitty behavior on their end, like saying, “Oh, well, it says that gay people aren’t allowed in heaven. So I’m allowed to say this.”
That’s the part of [Christianity] that really turns me off to it in general. And that’s a shame, because the dude in the Bible, Jesus, the version that I have kind of come to discover as I’ve gotten older, is a pretty progressive dude. And I don’t mean that in the political sense. I mean, in the sense of he’s accepting of everyone no matter what their background is. Like, Jesus himself never says anything about gay people. He’s friends with kind of some sketchy characters if you were going to look at it through a lens of today. So that’s the Jesus that I wish I were taught more about when I was growing up. I think “White Lies, White Jesus and You” was a way for me to process the [version of] Jesus that I have experienced as a closeted gay kid and how the ways that version hurt me and put that in the past and put that behind me.
In what way would you say your journey of self-healing helped you to stop seeing religion as having the power to dictate your worth?
I let go of religion dictating my self-worth a while ago. But then I let other things [take its place]. I used to seek external validation from the church or from my parents or from older mentors in my life. I let that go as I became a young adult and then I started giving other things power to do that. Like success and relationships. I let those things dictate my worth. But then I started delving into the power that intrinsic happiness has.
We really fully don’t have control over what happens in our life. We have some control, but very little. And if your worth can come from within, then those moving parts of life have less control over you or less effect on you … once I learned that, I was able to focus more heavily on, “Let’s have this voice in my head be kind and then I can go from there.” Just me practicing being kind to myself first kind of put this armor up around me and it helps me navigate the world.
What’s changed about your songwriting process since you’ve taken on more personal strength and inner compassion?
For a long time, when my inner voice was more critical and cutthroat and editorial, I couldn’t really write. I wasn’t able to get the thoughts just out of my head and onto the paper, which is the first step you know? Then you have something to work from when you’re able to just say what you feel. But I was just so scared to write a bad song that I wouldn’t write anything. And I think that’s the worst mistake you can make. There’s no harm in writing a bad song.
I think that it’s just about setting the bar, taking a chill pill and [remembering], “Oh yeah, songwriting is fun, songwriting should be fun.” It should be a way for me to get an outlet, a way for me to get this out of my head and look at it. So removing the critical voice is huge. And that was connected to therapy and to me slowly learning how to be kind to myself and slowly learning how to just enjoy writing songs again.
Where, with whom, or in what, do you find your hope and strength to persevere when life feels overwhelming or your inner reserves are running low?
The past or other people’s experiences really help me. I read a lot of Patti Smith and sometimes I’ll just open to a random page and it’ll be the piece of advice that I needed. So definitely words and art and poetry. Another thing would be when I’m feeling, “Okay, all hope is lost,” I have this urge to just run to nature and I just go to the mountains or go sit by a river for a long amount of time and think and meditate and try to put my problems and my fears and everything into perspective. I think, “Well, I’m on this planet right now and I’m sitting by a river. How cool is that?” Just kind of zooming out and not zooming in so closely – that helps me. And like, just good friends and just laughing and having buddies that you know you have a drink with or dinner with and just fuckin’ laughing about the crazy things that have gone wrong. Like, laughter is huge. I know it’s like, “Oh, laughter is medicine,” but it literally is.
Lillan and I spoke together on a panel presented by Bluegrass Pride in 2023 at Folk Alliance International. The panel examined on a systemic level how the music industry can adopt more socially sustainable models of business, especially for folks who have been historically marginalized. Lillian works hard to promote inclusivity. They are a pillar of the queer music industry, a gem of a human being, and someone who isn’t often found on stage, but holds up the community from behind the curtain.
What is your greatest fear?
My greatest fear is having my intentions misunderstood. Being responsible for others and making decisions on their behalf can be nerve-wracking, and I like my reasoning to be clear.
What is your current state of mind?
Anticipatory! I feel I should state that my mother died earlier this year, so my “current state of mind” fluctuates regularly. In a year, there is so much to celebrate and mourn that I find myself generally in a state of anticipation of the next moment.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
My current ability to balance work/life can come down to the hour, as my personal and professional lives blend 7 days a week. A “perfect day” is when I’m able to accomplish what is needed professionally without sacrificing my personal relationships. Ideally, I’m awake before the sun, there are only a few tasks/meetings to accomplish, there’s at least 5 bouts of big laughter, and some time spent outside in the fresh air.
Why do you work in the music industry?
I can’t imagine being anywhere else. I find those who work in the music industry are a more serious type of authentic and genuine. Working from behind the scenes, I’m lucky enough to meet new people regularly. From the big smoke shows to hometown heroes, I find music lovers prefer to be unapologetically themselves. Which is interesting and entertaining most of the time!
When working on a project, what’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
The planning process is most satisfying and I enjoy the outcome more if I’ve helped execute. The process of taking a few ideas and elements, and building them into a project, can be magical for me.
You are the Chair of the Board for Bluegrass Pride. What drew you to getting involved with BGP? What do you like most about it? Are there any new projects that you’re excited about?
Yes, I’ve been Chair of Bluegrass Pride for a little over a year. I had been a board member and found I had more interest than my regular term. I enjoy developing programs and maintaining welcoming events for LGBT+ musicians. I’m most excited about our Rainbow Book initiative, which seeks to create a network of vetted venues to play and homes to stay. We launched the application process in early fall of 2023.
What has it been like for you to hold a behind-the-scenes role supporting queer music?
Being behind-the-scenes supporting LGBT and queer music allows me to revel in my own queer joy, which often takes a backseat to how I’m often perceived. When I’m able to fulfill these supportive roles, I feel more connected to the community.
In 2022, you won the IBMA Momentum Award for Industry Involvement. You are someone who is extremely involved. Could you share with us some of the great work you’re doing that led to this recognition?
My job by day is CEO and Co-Owner of Elderly Instruments, where I manage the overall business. It’s Elderly’s consistency that allows me to assist in other events and businesses in the U.S. I co-direct Midwest Banjo Camp, Midwest Ukulele Camp, and The Banjo Gathering. Aside from Bluegrass Pride, I sit on the boards of the International Bluegrass Music Association’s Foundation – where I am a committee member of The Arnold Shultz Fund – and the Rhapsody Project.
Aren’t Fridays the best day of the week? And no, not just because of the five-day work week, but really because it’s New Music Friday, of course!
This week, we’re featuring premieres like a thoughtful and introspective number from singer-songwriter Aisha Badru, a Bonnie Raitt cover from husband-and-wife bluegrass duo Benson with Keith Garrett lending lead vocals, a thoughtful track about cyclical national, cultural, and romantic traumas from Jessye DeSilva, and Lynne Hanson brings a new song about how some folks are just plain rotten.
There’s a little bit of everything for every kind of roots music fan, and if we do say so ourselves, You Gotta Hear This!
Aisha Badru, “Life to Live”
Artist:Aisha Badru Hometown: Yonkers, New York Song: “Life to Live” Label: Nettwerk Music Group
In Their Words: “‘Life To Live’ is a song deeply rooted in my personal journey. It explores the importance of introspection and understanding what truly brings us joy and fulfillment. For me, that meant leaving the traditional path of college to pursue music, even if it wasn’t initially supported by my family. This song isn’t just about following our dreams, it’s about the growth and self-discovery that happens along the way.” – Aisha Badru
Benson, “Louise”
Artist:Benson Hometown: Boiling Springs, South Carolina Song: “Louise” Release Date: March 22, 2024 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words:“We’ve always been big fans of Keith Garrett. He’s got such a warm vocal tone and always chooses a great way of delivering the song. We were excited to have him sing a couple and felt really lucky that he said yes.” – Kristin Scott Benson
“Back in the early 1990s, I heard Bonnie Raitt’s album, Luck of the Draw. After becoming a fan and going back to her earlier projects, I came across a live video with her version of ‘Louise.’ I always thought it would make a fun bluegrass song because of the chord progression and I think Keith and Dustin sang it great.” – Wayne Benson
Track Credits: Wayne Benson – Mandolin Kristin Scott Benson – Banjo Cody Kilby – Acoustic guitar Tony Creasman – Drums Kevin McKinnon – Bass Keith Garrett – Lead vocal Dustin Pyrtle – Harmony vocals
Jessye DeSilva, “Gallows Tree”
Artist name:Jessye DeSilva Hometown: Boston, Massachusetts Song: “Gallows Tree” Release Date: March 22, 2024
In Their Words: “‘Gallows Tree’ is all about the ghosts of our traumas and our misdeeds and what happens when we leave things unsaid. In the U.S. particularly, I think there is a sickening and cyclical nature to the things we repress and rebrand in denial. White couples rent plantations as backdrops for their quaint country weddings where Black bodies were broken not so long ago. We refuse to learn from the mistakes of our parents and remain complicit in the face of brutal inhumanity. In ‘Gallows Tree,’ a pastoral scene of a romantic picnic is painted, where two lovers sip iced tea on a blanket beneath the shade of a tree, while something simmers unspoken just beneath the surface. This could easily be a song about love left to dry with the years, but the lovers are all of us who remain reticent with hearts tight as fists. And now a tire swings gently from the gallows tree.” – Jessye DeSilva
Track Credits: Music and lyrics by Jessye DeSilva and Alex Calabrese. Jessye DeSilva – Vocals, piano Alex Calabrese – Acoustic guitar, background vocals Joe Dunn – Producer, bass, electric guitar, banjo, percussion programming
Lynne Hanson, “Outlaw Lover”
Artist:Lynne Hanson Hometown: Ottawa, Ontario, Canada Song: “Outlaw Lover” Album:Just A Poet Release Date: March 22, 2024 (single); May 24, 2024 (album) Label: Panda Cave Records
In Their Words: “Some people are just rotten to the core. For this song, I really wanted to paint a picture of the ultimate heartbreak artist, someone callous and uncaring who leaves a trail of victims in their wake. The kind of person your mother warned you to stay away from.
“It was a lot of fun to arrange this song in the studio. We chose an almost hypnotic groove to really give it a sexy, black-leather swagger, and the song hits its bad attitude crescendo with the nasty fuzz of Blair Michael Hogan’s guitar solo. I actually wrote this song by starting with the lyrics first, which is the opposite of my normal songwriting process. It was a real challenge to come up with the music, and I had three versions of the song before I finally settled on this one.” – Lynne Hanson
Track Credits: Written by Lynne Hanson.
Lynne Hanson – lead vocal Jim Bryson – acoustic guitar, electric guitars, piano, organ, mellotron Blair Michael Hogan – electric guitar, slide guitar Philippe Charbonneau – bass Marshall Bureau – drums
Jim Bryson – recording engineer Recorded at Fixed Hinge Studios, Stittsville, Ontario. Produced by Jim Bryson. Mastered by Phil Shaw Bova, Bova Lab Studio, Ottawa, Ontario. Mixed by Jim Bryson, Fixed Hinge Studios.
Photo Credit: Aisha Badru by Jeffery Trapani; Benson by Sandlin Gaither.
Despite her well-earned reputation as one of Nashville’s strongest songwriters and nuanced singers, Brandy Clark had gotten used to not hearing her name called at Grammy Awards ceremonies. Two years ago, her friend Brandi Carlile decided to do something about that. Carlile produced Clark’s fourth studio album, Brandy Clark, which earned five of the six nominations she got this year, upping her tally to 17 — one of which turned into her first win. Clark was honored for Best Americana Performance for “Dear Insecurity,” a duet with Carlile. After her win, Clark told a backstage interviewer, “Brandi is the reason why I made this record and why this song is what it is.”
But as Clark explained in an earlier BGS interview, the catalyst for that collaboration — her most personal, affecting work yet — was one of those Grammys she didn’t win.
So how did Brandi’s involvement come about?
Brandy Clark: The label wanted me to record two more songs for a deluxe version of Your Life is a Record. I had made that record with Jay Joyce, and he couldn’t do it. Tracy Gershon, a mutual friend of Brandi and I, said, “What if Brandi produced?” And Brandi was willing to do it. It was a really good experience, mostly because Brandi really follows her gut instinct, which is so amazing. I tend to overthink. And then “Same Devil,” which was part of that, ended up nominated at the next Grammys. We didn’t win, and she leaned over to me and said I looked really devastated. I didn’t remember feeling particularly devastated, but she said I just looked really sad, so she said, “Hey, buddy, we’ll get one. I’d love to do a whole record with you.” I was like, “Really?” And she said, “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I think these things through when I get involved in a project; I think about the artwork, I think about everything. I’d see it as your return to the Northwest, because I’m from the Northwest.”
It was such a different experience for me, because Brandi’s an artist. I think producers lead with whatever their original instrument is; if they were a guitar player, they lead with that. If they were a songwriter, they lead with that. I’ve never worked with a producer that could sing to me what they heard, and also keep me from over-singing. And she wanted as many live vocals as possible. That was different for me. And she really challenged me to get to the heart of who I am as an artist. No producer’s ever asked me to make lyric changes; she said, “I just want to believe that you believe everything you’re saying.”
What’s an example of a lyric she asked you to change?
“Buried;” the second verse used to start out, “I’ll read ‘Lonesome Dove,’ I’ll start doing yoga,” and she said, “I don’t like that yoga line.” I was thinking, “I don’t care if you like it or not.” That was my first [reaction]. I said, “Why not?” She’s like, “Well, I just don’t believe that you do yoga.” I said, “I don’t.” She’s like, “Then it shouldn’t be in the song.” And she was right.
You do heartbreak songs so extraordinarily well. Even the ones that aren’t sometimes feel like heartbreak songs, because they’re so full of emotion. “Dear Insecurity” — to hear that coming from the perspective of two women who are both stars now, and yet it’s so believable — it’s not like two women just singing “Oh, yeah, we’re insecure,” you really believe it. That’s what’s so striking about all of your songwriting, but to be able to do that, and do it well, and to know that it doesn’t matter how big you get, you still experience that …
Oh, I have massive insecurities. I think everybody does. That’s why I think that song hits; to be human is to be insecure. And the more willing you are to admit those insecurities, the less they rule you. That song came from— I had gotten my feelings hurt. A really great friend of mine says insecurity is the ugliest human emotion; it’s what makes people do mean things. So I was trying to remember that on the way to my writing appointment that morning, because I wanted to get into a good headspace to write with someone I had never written with. When I was sitting in the car, I started to think about my own insecurities, and the things that they have messed up along the way for me. I thought, “Wouldn’t that be something, to write a letter to insecurity?”
Why did you and Brandi choose to duet on that song?
Well, going in, I never heard that song as a duet. The first day we were in the studio, she said, “What do you think about ‘Dear Insecurity’ being a duet?” I loved the idea; I heard it as a duet with a guy, because men have insecurities just like women do. She really wanted Lucinda Williams. Because we hadn’t secured anybody yet, she said, “I’ll sing the scratch [vocal], and then we’ll see about getting Lucinda in here.” So she started to sing, and we really got lost in it.
Brandi had also been pretty adamant that she didn’t want to be a feature on this record, because of producing it, and because we had done that other feature, [“Same Devil”]. She just didn’t want it to look like she was trying to get featured. But when it was going down, I could just feel this magic happening. When I listened to the board mix, I thought, “Oh, God, what am I going to do? I don’t want to hear anybody but her on this now.” I loved the way that our voices battled each other and melded together. So I said the next day, “Brandi, I really want it to be you.” And she was like, “Oh, that’s all you had to say.” It was perfect because we have similar insecurities. We’re around the same age, both gay, like, there’s insecurities in that. We’re very similar, and very different. And it just worked.
In what other ways did she influence or impact this album?
There were a couple of things that I’ll take with me forever. When she was asking me to make lyric changes, that really bothered me. It felt disrespectful to the co-writers to do that on the fly, and I told her that. I said, “These songs, none of them were just slapped together, because I don’t write that way.” No offense to anyone who does, I just have to put a lot of thought into songs for ’em to be good. And it took other people to write these songs that I respect and that put their heart and soul into this, too. And I like to be in service to the song. And she said, “Well, I understand that. I think this time, you need to be in service to the artist.” It put me in a different space as an artist than I’ve ever been in. I always come at things as a songwriter first. This record, I came at it as an artist first.
The other thing – and I’m so glad that I asked her this question, and that she answered it the way she did, because it makes me think differently; I’ve never worked with a producer on a record that I was a co-writer with. So they’re always, to me, the last writer on the songs. The positive is that they’re making choices based on what they feel when they hear them the first time, like a listener. …I always give a producer probably 18 to 24 songs, then I’m just too close to pick the 10 or 12. So she picked the songs that she thought should be on this record. When she gave me her list of what she really wanted us to dive into, I said, “Why did you choose those 10?” And she said, “Well, they were all great songs; but I chose the songs that I felt like you wrote in your bedroom.” That was such a great thing… it reminded me that when all of us picked up a guitar or pad of paper the first time, it wasn’t to impress anybody. It was to just get some emotion out that we could only get out through song.
There’s another song on here, “She Smoked in the House,” that I wrote about my grandma that I never thought would be on any record. I thought I was just writing it for me. People have responded so strongly to that song, it just helps me know I need to double down on me and what I’m feeling, instead of what I think people want to hear. That sounds really simple, but it’s easy to forget that if we’re feeling something, other people are gonna feel it. And if we’re not, nobody’s gonna feel it.
You once told me your mission was to write a classic like “Crazy.” While listening to this album and Shucked [the Broadway musical for which she and Shane McAnally co-wrote the music and lyrics], it occurred to me that you have. A song like “Friends,” that’s gonna be sung at thousands of weddings and graduations, and “Take Mine” and “Up Above the Clouds” and these other tracks… I kept thinking of the great Randy Newman tearjerker songs in Pixar films.
I’ve always thought “Up Above the Clouds” should be in one of those.
Totally! Are you working on that?
Yes. It makes me feel amazing that you feel like I have written a classic song like that. I’m going to hang on to that today, and then I’m going to let it go. Because what keeps me hungry as a songwriter is to think I haven’t.
You mentioned you might do something else with Brandi. Are you already talking about that?
No, but we clearly work well together and people like what we do. She’s a little bit like Shane for me; I feel like the sum of our parts is greater than two people.
I love that you’re all part of this connected group of people, especially women. I remember Allison Russell crediting Brandi with elevating her family out of poverty, and to be able to do that for so many people …
That’s a testament to Brandi. She’s on top of the world and she’s choosing to elevate other people; she said to me when she approached me about this, “You deserve to be in the same spot as me on festival posters. That’s what I want.” A lot of people have a scarcity mindset. She has an abundant mindset and wants to raise up the music of other people that inspires her. That inspires me to do the same.
My trajectory is on a really great path right now. And then I look to someone like her and think, “OK, where do I pay it forward? Where do I lift someone else up?” Because it’s really easy when you’re just grinding and trying to get your own star to rise, to not look around and think, “Oh, how can I help someone else?” But she really inspires me to do that.
Carmen Dianne is unlike any artist you’ve heard before. Her vocals are powerful, her lyrics and melodies are engaging, and her stage presence and unique instrumentation will leave you wondering if you’re witnessing just learned talent or also a little bit of magic. Carmen is one of an extremely small number of artists who accompany themselves on electric bass while they sing. This is especially challenging, because bass lines often vary greatly from the rhythms of a song’s melody. This coordination is a remarkable act of multitasking. Artists have to be incredibly proficient both as a vocalist and a bassist to pull this off. And Carmen, drawing inspiration from Esperanza Spalding – a well-known singer-songwriter who accompanies herself on upright and electric bass – does so with mastery.
Carmen is an artist I’ve been promoting for years. She took the stage at Queerfest 2022 and absolutely blew the audience away with her phenomenal performance. I’m excited to have Carmen at our show this Saturday, February 24, at Dee’s Country Cocktail Lounge in Nashville. In addition to Carmen’s set, this show features two other phenomenal LGBTQ+ identifying artists that we’ve also featured in Out Now, Brittany Ann Tranbaugh, and Liv Greene
What’s your ideal vision for your future?
Carmen Dianne: My ideal vision for the future is to make a living creating and singing fun, meaningful, and honest music for people like me. I have a hard time answering this question, because I don’t ever want to ask for too much or seem ungrateful since I feel like I’m living my dream already, but I’ve been trying to focus on dreaming bigger lately. But if I can share my biggest dreams without jinxing them, I want to write hit songs that make LGBT people feel at home, make Black people from Podunk, Wherever, USA feel seen, make a way for female musicians in male rooms, and make the kind of music that I hope Whitney Houston would have made had she been allowed to fully be who she was. And a Grammy — a Grammy would be nice too.
What is your greatest fear?
My greatest fear is never reaching my potential or wasting my time!
What is your current state of mind?
I’ve been seeing a lot of angel numbers lately and I’ve just been feeling a big shift coming, and now I feel like it’s finally here. Right now I’m dealing with a time of transition that’s making me focus on transforming into a better version of myself. And it’s really hard. I always feel tired, and it’s hard reminding myself that every little bit I do is enough for that day.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
A perfect day for me would look like waking up with the sun, putting on some tea and free writing and setting my intentions for the day, working on music admin stuff like promo and content strategy for a new song rollout while I play with my dog, go to lunch with friends, having a co-write with friends, maybe going to a yoga or pilates class, and going to a gig in the evening before going out to a bar with friends.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
The process of writing is more satisfying for me than the outcome, many times over. The process of writing helps me to process my emotions and helps me to find the truth in how I’m feeling. You can’t really ever get closure from another person, but you can always give yourself closure by writing the end to your own story.
Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?
When I write music, I’m thinking about two things: One, how I feel, and two, how it’ll make others feel. I’m deliberate about making songs that feel like a warm hug for people like me who just aren’t welcomed in all spaces.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
The best advice I have ever gotten was not to give a fuck what anybody else thinks and to be yourself as recklessly and unapologetically as you can. I met SZA in an airport once (pre-Ctrl) and she told me that. The love yourself recklessly part is from a bellydancer I interviewed for a human-interest article named Portia Lange.
What has it been like for you to watch Nashville change and become more inclusive over the years?
With the changes Nashville has seen in the last few years, it’s just felt like a whole new world has opened up to me. This is not the same Nashville I grew up in where my 4th grade language arts short stories were handed back with no grade, because the teacher didn’t believe a Black child could have written them. This isn’t the Nashville that kicked me out of the gifted program, because a Black child couldn’t have made that presentation on nebulae. Nor is it the Nashville that has told me they love me but don’t approve of me, that I can sit in the church building, but I won’t ever belong. It’s a Nashville that recognizes nuance and recognizes the person inside. And I’m forever grateful for that.
You are one of few artists who play bass guitar while they sing, and do both incredibly well. How did you develop this style/set up?
I absolutely idolized Esperanza Spalding. So, I’ve always thought playing bass and singing and writing songs was the coolest thing somebody could do. How I actually got good at it is a different story. For me, learning to play and sing bass was a little different than learning to play and sing piano. Piano comes more naturally, because you’re playing the same rhythm that you’re singing, but with bass, the rhythm of the bass line often weaves in and out that of the melody. So you’ve got to learn how to split your brain in two. Fortunately for me, as someone with ADHD, splitting my attention is something I’m very skilled in. I often play bass and watch TV at the same time, and that strengthens my ability to multi-task.
You have a phenomenal, distinct voice and you have so much control over it. What has your journey been to become such a proficient vocalist?Do you still dedicate a lot of time to developing that practice?
Thank you, Sara!!! I think a huge part of my vocal control comes from growing up in a very traditional, some might say orthodox, denomination of Christianity called the Church of Christ. In addition to believing it is the only one and true church, the Church of Christ also does not believe in using instruments during worship. Although its emphasis on tradition and outright refusal of any modernity in instrumentation, decoration, and lifestyle of course comes with its caveats, what’s nice about it is that songs from the 1880s are preserved and performed exactly as they were back in the day. The Church of Christ shaped my voice, it shaped my worldview, and it also shaped my knowledge and understanding of music.
The Black Church of Christ, specifically, tends to sing many of the same songs and spirituals that we did during slavery. It was hard growing up in the Church of Christ for a number of reasons, but I will always be grateful for the understanding of American musical history that it gave me. Without it, I would not be able to meander my way around gospel, blues, country and R&B the way I do, because all of these genres comes back to a cappella voicings and progressions that were born right alongside our country and paint a sonic history of who we are.
And as far as becoming a proficient vocalist beyond that, I just sing every day and put my heart into it every day. I don’t carve out time for singing, because it comes out of me when it wants to and because I love it, that’s often. And that’s all. Now, I’m working more on my showmanship when getting out from behind the bass, and that involves a lot of singing with a hairbrush in the mirror the same way it did when I was a little girl. Nothing really changes too much, and that’s a good thing.
Photo courtesy of Queerfest.
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