Folk Singer Sam Lee Instills Hope and Inspires Action With ‘Songdreaming’

Sam Lee’s musical career grew out of his environmental activism, from the Mercury-winning album, Old Wow, to his ongoing conservation project Singing with Nightingales. The British folk star’s fourth album, songdreaming, released earlier this year, is his most creative venture yet. It’s a manifesto for reconnection with nature constructed from luscious, haunting reinterpretation of the songs of the UK’s Traveller communities.

Its title comes from the summer retreats Lee leads that bring people together to connect to their land and ancestry through song: “Singing to the land happens across the world in Indigenous communities that still have their relationship to nature very much intact,” says Lee. “It’s ceremony, it’s devotional work, it’s prayer.”

We spoke to Lee about songdreaming, how he sources material, queerness, connection to nature, and much more.

Sam, your music is usually based on traditional folk song, but these songs go far further from the source material than you’ve ever taken them before.

I had done a little bit of original writing on Old Wow, but this is an album where almost everything is written by me, some to the point where there’s no semblance of the primary folk song left. And that was a big risk, because I’m quite shy when it comes to thinking of myself as a songwriter. It’s not like I’m a seasoned Johnny Flynn or Anaïs Mitchell. It’s not my training, and I’m a very reluctant writer, because I failed English at school. I’ve always had a great sense of inadequacy.

What prompted you to step out of your comfort zone?

It actually came about in an unusual way – the songs were originally commissioned for a movie, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. It was an adaptation of a much-loved book about a man who walks the entire length of the UK, a portrait of our connection to the land and the healing power of passage-making. I was already a great fan of its director, Hettie Macdonald – her first movie, Beautiful Thing, was seminal for me when it came out in 1996 – so I was really excited to be involved.

We arranged and wrote lots of songs to capture the mood of the film and some were used, but there were all these, dare I say, leftovers? Being the resourceful, waste-not-want-not type, I said, “Well, these all have something in them that is powerful.”

What was your writing process?

I don’t have one particular method, but the way I work is a bit like the way I interact with nature. I’m a forager for sonic and lyrical opportunity, seeing relationships within words in the way that I see relationships within the ecosystem. You start to find what Simon Armitage, Britain’s beloved poet laureate, will call the “neon” moments, things that suddenly shine.

Can you give an example?

Absolutely. “McCrimmon,” the third song on the album, is a ballad I learned from my late mentor Stanley Robertson, who was a Scottish Traveller. There’s a lyric in the original which is, “no more, no more,” but I heard it as “in awe, in awe.” Suddenly a whole song about the state of awe appeared.

There’s another track which is a love song between a fair maid and a plowboy – I recalibrated and reframed it, so it’s a more complicated relationship between species that are in a state of separation. The folk songs say everything already. I’m like someone taking a Shakespeare play, resetting it, maybe adapting some of the language, like West Side Story from Romeo and Juliet.

Which of the songs came easiest?

“Green Mossy Banks,” which is actually about pilgrimage, was so easy to write. It was like, “Oh my god, I’ve been wanting to write this song forever.” And they didn’t even use it in the film!

What is it in that song that you had been longing to express?

The story of the film paints this wonderful portrait of free passage – there’s never a moment where it deals with trespass or permissions or this idea of private land. No barbed wire fences, or angry landowners going, “What do you think you’re doing here?” One could walk from Devon to the borders of Scotland and never have any issue.

But there is no person in England who goes on a country walk and isn’t affected by our punitive, archaic, and utterly unequal private ownership laws. That’s why I was a founder member of the Right to Roam movement. For all its avoidance of politics, “Green Mossy Banks” is a deeply political song. Social and ecological injustice is at the roots of so much of our international crisis.

Is the UK not quite a good place to walk compared to, say the US? The English have ancient rights of way that allow them to walk across private land, whereas try it in the US and you might get shot…

Absolutely. But where does the US get their notion of land rights from? They were inherited as an enhanced version of British law at a time when, in England, if you were caught poaching a hare or something, that’s it, you had your hands cut off, or you were hanged, or sent to Australia.

On the music video for “Green Mossy Banks” we see you surrounded by various mesmerising English landscapes.

It’s a combination of many of the pilgrimages that I’ve made with Chris Park, a druid, and Charlotte Pulver, an apothecary. At cardinal points of the year – the solstices, the equinoxes – we lead communal pilgrimages to places like Stonehenge, or the South Downs.

Are there any songs on the album that were inspired by specific places?

“Meeting is a Pleasant Place” is very much about the Dartmoor landscape, down to the very tor that we filmed the video on. The exact location shall remain nameless, because it’s one of the few tors that exist in a forest, as opposed to Dartmoor’s sheep-wrecked landscape of denuded grassland. It’s deep in beech and oak forests, which makes it especially stunning.

And the song itself came out of a Devon Gypsy folk tune.

Yes, and it contains this rather mystical language that had become something of a mantra to me. “Meeting is a Pleasant Place/ Between my love and I/ I’ll go down to Yonder’s Valley, it’s there I’ll sit and sing…” It’s bad English, but at the same time so powerful in its ambiguity. It could be a love song between two people, but in that Gypsy corruption of the words, suddenly it speaks about something so much bigger. So then I wrote my three verses as a love song to the land.

The appearance of the Trans Voices choir on the chorus turns it into something epic and anthemic…

It’s English folk gospel, as I call it. ILĀ, who runs Trans Voices, is an old friend and when the choir was set up I said I’ve got loads of songs that I’d like to speak to the queerness of land. Folk song often tends towards the heteronormative, and I want to break that down.

In the liner notes you also talk about the queerness of nature, what do you mean by that?

When you look at relationships within the natural world, sexual or otherwise, what you see is massive diversity in roles and identities. In the fungi world, for instance, there are hundreds and hundreds of genders, working collaboratively in community. Humans, too, need to start to recalibrate the way we behave in nature. So much of our subjugation and exploitation of nature has come through a male-dominated worldview and it’s not working.

One of the species you have a great connection with is the nightingale – as well as singing with them in secret woodland gigs every year, you recently wrote a book about their threatened extinction.

Yes, and when I’m with them, for seven weeks each spring, I get this sense of what is it like to be in a relationship that’s falling apart. That heartbreak, saying farewell, and knowing that it has a time limit to it. That’s what inspired the opening track, “Bushes and Briars.” It was the first folk song Ralph Vaughan Williams ever collected, and it’s a lament of a man and a woman who are separating. As somebody who spends a lot of time in bushes and briars trying to keep a relationship with a bird going extinct happening, that’s a space that is very familiar to me.

Coming from a background of singing acoustically, outdoors, how do you work up the big, dense sounds that populate your albums?

I do my writing with James Keay, who plays piano in the band. We both want a richness of sound, so that what are often very repetitive lines and melodies can take the listener on journeys through different emotional states. It’s about trying to paint as big a painting as possible.

As well as strings and horns and pipes, you’ve added a more pan-global feel with a Syrian Qanun, and a Swedish Nykelharpa.

We wanted to create textures that gave a sense of both the ancient and the unusual. I’d never used a Qanun in an arrangement before, though I have used dulcimers before on almost every album, which are part of the same family.

Maya Youssef, Britain’s best-known Qanun player, features on the one folk song that you haven’t changed, “Black Dog and Sheep Crook,” about a shepherd being thrown over by his lover because he’s “just” a shepherd.

I’ve kept its truth and entirety – it just felt so wonderful bringing the tragedy and the melancholy of the Qanun into that song.

So often in this album you’re grieving our detachment from and devaluing of the natural world. But the spirit and purpose of the music, as you describe it, is also to re-establish those connections. What are your current priorities for climate activism?

At the moment, there’s a big campaign to get young people voting, and voting for nature, in the UK. Hope for me is always about having a plan. And there are many brilliant plans out there. It’s about overcoming apathy and resistance and reawakening people to what we have to lose.

I can’t speak to what I think the outcomes will be, I think that’s a dangerous thing to do. But I hope that the album has as many opportunities to instill hope and beauty as there are moments of doom and tragedy.


Photo courtesy of the artist.

Out Now: Great Aunt

Great Aunt is an Australian folk duo composed of Megan Bird and Chelsea Allen. For a small outfit, they showcase a wide array of instruments – including mandolin, resonator guitar, acoustic guitar, double bass, percussive instruments, and vocals – with detailed harmonic arrangements.

Their music is groovy, with a foot-stomping feel as the base underlying relatable lyrics and stories, primarily drawing from Appalachian folk, bluegrass, and gospel music. Great Aunt is a duo with an impressive log of tours, festival shows, and releases that they’ve independently managed. Their most recent single, “What’s A Girl To Do Now,” covers issues around body image, identity, gender, safety, and equality.

We are eagerly awaiting the release of their debut full-length album, It’s All Downhill From Here, expected later this year. In the meantime, we are honored to highlight this incredible duo from all the way down in Australia, Great Aunt.

You just released “What’s A Girl To Do Now?” This powerful song addresses the struggles that women face around being “woman enough” – body image, identity, and more. Could you share more about the inspiration and meaning behind this song?

We started writing it when a lot of awful things were happening to women in our parliament that no man was ever held accountable for. We then spent a lot of time reflecting from our own place of privilege, as we watched First Nations women dying in [state] custody and the trans community being politicized and targeted by extreme acts of violence. We wanted to acknowledge how discrimination and acts of violence against women further intensifies at the intersections of race and gender. There’s a lot of work to do to support each other and fight for equity, where everyone feels safe, included, and as valued as any other woman. Space is infinite, there’s a place for all of us, except TERFs maybe.

You’re planning to release your debut full-length album, It’s All Downhill From Here, later this year. What has that process been like for you? What might listeners expect to hear from this much-anticipated release?

A diverse range of folk songs and a lot of personal stories to tell. We’ve been recording and mixing it ourselves with a vision to have some common themes throughout the album. Our main goal is to remain honest and sincere, and to try and translate that into the album.

As independent artists, what has the process been like for you to secure so many festival placements and shows? How do you balance the creative side of being artists with the business needs to book shows, attend conferences, and promote your music? 

We are fiercely independent! The balance is often skewed towards the business side of things with the amount of touring we’ve accomplished in the last 12 months, including three U.S. tours. The admin feels never ending, to say the least, but we both divide and conquer with festival applications, booking tours, and the PR side of things. We even do our own artwork!

Now that we’ve put in the effort, we’re starting to get invited to festivals and events around the world, which is really exciting. This year we’re balancing it in favor of writing and recording, while we start booking our next U.S. tour for 2025!

What’s your ideal vision for your future?

In the short sighted future – to continue touring the U.S., Australia, and abroad.

More importantly, we want to continue to embrace and help grow this music community so we can all thrive. We know that without the help of this community we really wouldn’t have had the incredible experiences we’ve had, so we will continue to pay it forward however we can.

What is your greatest fear?

We fear for all of us. That things don’t get better and we never find our way as humans. The feeling of being unable to make an impact or calling for change and it falls on deaf ears, is the crossroads a lot of us have been at for a while now. We see this as key as western countries enter the next round of elections.

What is your current state of mind?

Burnout and worry, yet still optimistic? Right now we make sure we find pockets of joy, away from our devices and the news.

What would a “perfect day” look like for you?

Starting off with a big pot of coffee… or two. Then sitting in our pajamas together, in our home studio, writing and recording music throughout the day, maybe sneak in a video game or two. Then we head to a show. It doesn’t matter if we or someone else we admire is on the stage, but it’s a room full of friends and heartfelt stories.

Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?

It’s a form of communication and expression that is a part of both of us. Creating or writing music is a constant process of growth and exploration. When we “finish” writing a song, record it down, and release it, it still continues to grow and evolve as we perform it.

Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?

Our songs start from personal experience, a reflection of something from our lives. While we don’t write music with an audience, we do hope that someone out there listening to it feels less alone, and can hold onto that connection.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?

That a career in music is a long journey.

Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?

Some of the best music out there right now is queer music, and the list is forever growing. Adeem the Artist, Jessye DeSilva, Wiley Gaby, Crys Matthews, Brittany Ann Tranbaugh, Julie Nolen, and the beacon of light that is Allison Russell! Oh my!

We also adore Flamy Grant, Karen & the Sorrows, Amythyst Kiah, Jake Blount, and some local Australian favs are Charlotte Le Lievre, Little Wise, the Double Dole String Band, Kerryn Fields, Hana and Jessie-Lee’s Bad Habits, This Way North, and the Tuck Shop Ladies.

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?

I, [Megan], was lucky enough to attend this place called Rock’n’Roll High School in Melbourne. It was a place started by Stephanie Bourke, an icon in Australian music. She created a safe space for young women, non-binary, and queer folks to start bands and taught us how to navigate the industry. On reflection, I distinctly remember I felt safe to be myself and finally found a place of belonging, where my queerness or size wasn’t singled out as an issue to fix. It was a significant turning point for me, and it came at the perfect time.

I came out when I was a young teen, and was fighting to live every day. I had the support of my family, but was constantly abused at school and even the school itself told my parents I didn’t belong. It nearly had a devastating impact. Please. Hold on. Find a space that makes you feel alive. Find people and community that don’t question or challenge your identity, and let you just be, that is your family. If you haven’t found it yet, please don’t give up. When you do find these people, the feeling of liberation will overwhelm you with joy. Great Aunt loves you, we’re rooting for you.

What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?

Being a musician helped me process and get comfortable within my own skin when trying to understand my own identity. We’re queer women, our music is written from our perspective, and our songs are literal stories from our lives, so it’s inherently queer music. We don’t underestimate the importance of visibility and allyship. It’s critical for us that our music is a safe space for everyone.

What has it been like for you as Australian artists touring in the US?

As folk music has such deep seated roots within American culture, we are always humbled by the breadth of the music community in the U.S. and how welcoming and supportive they have been to us. We reflect on how lucky we are to be able to do this, and the listening rooms we’ve played that have been full to the brim with people we now call friends. There’s no music scene like it.

What are your release and touring plans for the next year?

There’ll be a couple of U.S. tours, that’s for sure. Once we have this album out, we’re already thinking about another release to follow shortly after, and really want to make the most of a slightly quieter tour schedule this year.


Photo courtesy of the artist.

Out Now is presented in partnership with our friends at Queerfest. Learn more about this Nashville-based queer-centered event and collective here.

Out Now: Sage Christie

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.


Photo courtesy of Sage Christie.

Adeem the Artist’s ‘Anniversary’ is a Complex, Deeply Moving Homecoming

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.


Photo Credit: Hannah Bingham

Out Now: Izzy Heltai

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.


Photo Credit: Cait Frances

Out Now: Sadie Gustafson-Zook

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!


Photo Credit: Morgan Hoogland

Out Now: Joh Chase

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.


Photo Credit: Shervin Lainez

Katie Pruitt on ‘Mantras’ and Letting Go of Control

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.


Photo Credit: Alysse Gafkjen

Out Now: Lillian Werbin

If you’ve met Lillian Werbin before, you know that they possess a radiant energy and a deep love for community while working tirelessly to create a more inclusive music industry. Lillian is a behind-the-scenes star of the queer music industry. They are the Chair of the Board for Bluegrass Pride, they volunteer to support LGBTQ+ events, and they sit on the boards of International Bluegrass Music Association’s Foundation and the Rhapsody Project. In addition to all of this, they are the co-owner of Elderly Instruments and co-direct Midwest Banjo Camp, Midwest Ukulele Camp, and The Banjo Gathering

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.


Photo courtesy of Lillian Werbin.

You Gotta Hear This: New Music From Aisha Badru, Benson, and More

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.