Tag: lindsay lou

On a recent afternoon, Paul Hoffman is standing in a parking lot in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Lead singer/mandolinist for Greensky Bluegrass, Hoffman is pacing around the backstage lot before the gig at XL Live that evening deep in reflection about questions posed over the phone – the core of which focus on the upcoming 25th anniversary of the groundbreaking jamgrass outfit. A while back, in the depths of rural New Hampshire, I interviewed Hoffman for another project and I asked him just what the original intent was behind Greensky Bluegrass.

“To play heavy metal music on acoustic instruments,” he replied, a sly grin emerging across his face.

Now, 25 years since its inception, Greensky Bluegrass has adhered directly to Hoffman’s sentiments. These days, the group has become a marquee live act, one which uses its string instruments to transcend all genres of music, whether bluegrass or blues, rock or country, funk or soul – or even heavy metal.

Case-in-point, the ensemble’s latest album, XXV, is not only an ode to a quarter-century of passion, purpose, and performance, but also a mile marker by which Greensky Bluegrass can measure their own road to the “here and now” – this realm where the passage of time doesn’t necessarily matter, only fleeting moments onstage with the ones you love do.

XXV brings together many of those dear friends and collaborators of Greensky – Sam Bush, Billy Strings, Lindsay Lou, Nathaniel Rateliff, Aoife O’Donovan, Holly Bowling, Ivan Neville, Natalie Cressman, and Jennifer Hartswick. Each of these special guests represent chapters of the band’s continued journey to something – somewhere, anywhere – that kind and curious folks congregate in the name of fellowship, compassion, and sonic joy.

With the starting line of Greensky Bluegrass being an impromptu Halloween gig in 2000 in Kalamazoo, Michigan, other pivotal dots pop up quickly along the way. Like the inevitable camaraderie between the group and other Michigan artists like Strings and Lou, who came up in the same scene and have supported each other ever since. Or, like Sam Bush himself – Bluegrass Hall of Famer and the symbolic face of the Telluride Bluegrass Festival – being featured on the project, reminding how the Telluride stage brought Greensky Bluegrass into the national spotlight when they won its famed band contest in 2006.

For Greensky, the friendships made along the way brought endless opportunities to play alongside one another at a show, a festival, or late-night jam. Opportunities that would always be too good to pass up – don’t forget, fun is the original point, and should remain so.

XXV is also a fresh snapshot of Greensky Bluegrass. The songs are pulled from across the entire timeline of the outfit, from their early days in Kalamazoo to the mountains of Colorado. From the bright lights of Nashville to the backroads of Southern Appalachia. From the blue skies of Anytown, U.S.A., to the sandy beaches of some international destination.

After 25 years, what remains is a band of genuine souls where gratitude is only matched by hunger and curiosity for what resides just around the next corner. Greensky Bluegrass, decades later, remain ready to surprise the listener and to carry on the pure intent that emerged those many years ago.

Now that this album’s coming out, whether consciously or subconsciously, the celebration of 25 years is currently underway. What’s been kind of rolling through your mind?

Hoffman: Primarily gratitude. I’d be remiss to not be grateful that we’ve been able to [do this for 25 years]. It’s a celebration, truly. It feels so cool. We’re doing [the anniversary shows] in our hometown and playing the [Wings Event Center in Kalamazoo] for the first time, which we’ve talked about since we were a very young band. And, you know, something interesting I’ve learned is how excited people are about this retrospective project. In true Greensky fashion, it’s this unique, hybrid idea. Like, “What if we did this? What if it took this turn? What if we recorded this and revamped this?”

We didn’t just make a new record, we stopped to reflect and commemorate in a way that was meaningful to us. And it seems like it’s translating. It’s not even out yet. It’s a unique perspective on gratitude that maybe I didn’t expect. [For XXV], I don’t want to say that it was easy or something. Because we did it pretty quickly and we didn’t have to write any material and we didn’t have to make huge choices about how to present it, because there already is an arrangement and an idea. But, in some cases, we did things differently because we could and we were not beholden to some authority on how it needs to go.

[The recording process] was so casual and creative in this really innocent way – “Let’s just record this and see what happens.” And we just kept recording stuff. We didn’t even know what we were going to do next. Every moment is monumental in some way or another, but 25 years is nothing to scoff at. And this all was birthed from, “What could we do?” With making new music and new albums, there’s a pressure to create something better than we’ve ever done. Or genuine to the brand we’ve created and to ourselves, but also exploratory enough [and] a departure from the norm enough that it’s new and exciting. It feels like such a relief to do [XXV], to approach creating new material from a different perspective.

How did you decide on the guests?

I wanted to find guests that celebrate our story, that are close to us and collaborators and such, but also elevated the material in some meaningful way. And there were real pleasant surprises along the way there.

What did it mean to have Billy and Lindsay on the record, seeing as all of you emerged from the same scene in Kalamazoo and have always supported each other?

I mean, to say that it was sort of obvious and natural is probably an understatement. We joked about why we chose “Reverend,” because Billy plays it [live]. But, I also feel it’s an important song. And for me as a writer, it’s kind of a landmark in my journey as a creative. But again, even though I knew [Billy] would crush it on the guitar solo, some of the phrasing choices he makes are subtly different than mine – I love it. And, man, I can’t stress enough, what a gift [“Reverend” is]. I wrote that song almost 20 years ago. It means something different to me now, and it has throughout my life singing that song.

You’ve always been a very sonically elusive band. Was that by design or just how things evolved?

I think that we just have a spirit to not be limited. So, if we want to emulate all the things we love – and we’d love a diverse amount of things, musical things – we honor the acoustic nature of our heritage as a band, but we want so much more. We want [things] to keep us interested and engaged. We’ve allowed ourselves that creative freedom to try anything. And we think we’ve jumped the shark many times. [Laughs]

With getting older, you also start having different perspectives on what you were creating and how you want to present it.

Yeah. You know, art is timeless in some ways, because you can change your opinion about it or the way you relate to it as you mature.

When you had mentioned that you guys “jumped the shark many times,” I think that’s one of the things I appreciate about Greensky – you’re not afraid to just take a leap.

It’s one of my favorite things about musicians I admire, too, are the ones that I watch struggle to either challenge themselves, push themselves, push their boundaries, or convey a message with emotion that’s challenging, you know? If you’re willing to make a mistake, if you’re willing to truly find the line of your capacity, you have to be willing to cross it to know where it is. I’ve always said – in my later maturity – that I wonder if I’ve crossed it too many times, and in sort of a noble quest with noble intentions. [Laughs]

That’s something I love about Billy’s playing a lot. Despite being one of the greatest guitar players I’ve ever seen, I’ve watched him up there grasping for things and struggling. Struggle doesn’t always have to have a negative [connotation]. To not struggle would be complicit and boring.

The upcoming Halloween shows in Kalamazoo are the official 25th anniversary of when the stars aligned, when you, Mike [Bont], and Dave [Bruzza] played together as Greensky for the first time.

When you started asking the question, my brain went to right about now, [25 years ago]. We met [a few] weeks before Halloween. I was a college freshman and I went to this bar called the Blue Dolphin, where there was a bluegrass open mic. I saw Dave and Bont play and approached them after the thing and was like, “Hey, I just bought a mandolin,” that I’d gotten in late August before moving to college. So, I’d only had it for four or five weeks.

I didn’t know what the hell I was doing at all or what bluegrass even was. I bought the mandolin because of David Grisman, who’s so bluegrass-adjacent that I didn’t know who Bill Monroe was. I knew “Shady Grove.” [All of] which is still just a remarkable thing for me to think about. Like, what hell would my life have been had I not made that choice [to play mandolin]? What a bizarre twist of fate and then here we are 25 years later.

So, you guys met and you said, “Let’s jam”?

Yeah. A couple days later, I showed up at Bont’s house for a rehearsal. Him and Dave would just get together and pick. They were both learning bluegrass. Everything was so casual and just for fun. They would have band practices where we would get together and learn songs and stuff. And I just showed up for the next one and then didn’t go away.

What was the name of that [open mic] band?

Greensky Bluegrass. They were already playing as Greensky Bluegrass, which was named by a friend of Dave’s that played mandolin with him a little bit for fun. It was a joke in jest, “Wouldn’t it be funny to have a bluegrass band named Greensky Bluegrass?”

I don’t think I ever knew that you guys were called Greensky before the official [2000] Halloween show.

Well, I mean, what is “official” is interesting to think about. They were already [Greensky]. It wasn’t their first open mic, either. So, the first time the three of us [“officially”] played was the Halloween show. But, I think I joined them at open mics for a week or two or something [before Halloween]. And Halloween was a party. There was a poster made for fun or something. We were on the bill. Dave was in another band called Seeds & Stems. It was a house party in a house that Dave lived in. [Laughs] A pretty wild party, if I may say so.

So, it was billed as Greensky Bluegrass?

“Billed” is still kind of generous. But, yeah, we played a set in the basement and in the living room. I think the living room upstairs was just acoustic and then the jam band played downstairs in the basement, like colleges do, you know? A couple days later, we played a show at a venue in town, Club Soda in Kalamazoo, that was kind of a legendary rock club through the ‘90s and stuff. It was small, but we played there on a triple bill November 5 or something, [just] days later. And that one, I [still] have the poster. I think that was our first paid show.

Were you doing covers or did [Dave and Mike] have originals, too?

They were playing just bluegrass standards for the most part. It’s funny, that [first] night [I met] Dave, he gave me CDs – Seldom Scene, Live at The Cellar Door, a Rounder Records bluegrass compilation, and a Bill Monroe live show. And [he] was like, “Listen to these. See you on Tuesday at Bont’s house.”

In hindsight, man, to be 18 and have that kind of freedom, you know what I mean? I’ve been recently jamming on electric guitar at my house by myself for fun. And I’ve been thinking, “I wonder if I could find some dads around to start a band with for just fun.” And that experience is so foreign to me now, because I’m so immersed in this thing that’s become my life.

Looking back on it, you kind of jumped into the deep end pretty quickly.

I didn’t take a mandolin lesson until COVID. [Laughs] I was self-taught, because I already knew how to play the guitar – “knew how to,” I use that a little loosely, too. Took some [music theory] classes in high school and college and I’m sort of classically trained. But, I was able to teach myself my own instrument for a really long time. I should have sooner harnessed the strength of learning from another, because when I took a lesson during COVID from a friend, I was like, “I should’ve done this a lot sooner.” [Laughs]

You know, so much of what I was learning in those early days was how to express myself as a writer and find my voice. That stuff always superseded my need for technical prowess. I think we all kind of share that sentiment, all five of us – how to present this passion piece is more important than how to do it. We took on this every-other-week gig and stuff like that [in Kalamazoo]. And the commitment to go play shows for the same crowd every other week inspired us to grow, because we needed to. We had that jam band sensibility of satiating the fans. What can we do next week that’ll keep people excited? What can we do that’s new? How can we make this better?

When you look back, you can see where the dots connect. But, when it’s happening in real time, you don’t realize what the domino effect is, where all of a sudden you’ve found yourself in this band that you’re still in 25 years later.

Yeah. I was 18 [when we started the band]. I’ve lived with Dave and Bont for 25 years of my life. I didn’t even live with my parents that long. [Laughs] I’ve spent 200+ days of [every] year of my life with those two guys for 25 years, and the other ones for many years, as well. It’s kind of wild. It’s so cool that we created this project, [which has become] just a celebration of our relationship and that’s so much more important than what it has become. We care about each other and we genuinely have a lot of aligned goals, artistically and personally. We’re still grinding for it, and I’m grateful for what we have.

I think we’ve been very successful. I feel less “grinding” now and more, “Let’s just go and have some fun and play some shows.” Play where people want us to play and not measure our success by how many tickets we sell. And I’m starting to learn that more now. It took 25 years for me to figure out that what we have is great. We’ve got something cool, let’s just keep doing it.

And that’s got to be a nice place to get to, because you don’t get to 25 years by accident. The fact the original three members are still there is amazing, because that story is not that common in the grand scheme of things in this industry.

Even in our culture. It’s not even [common] in business partnerships, families, friendships. And the reality of that – that I’m learning with age – is that relationships change and everything shouldn’t be measured by the testament of time. I want to find value in a moment that is for the sake of “now” and not some transactional [thing]. Like, if I’m nice to you “now,” then we’ll have this friendship that serves us both and we’ll be there for each other. All that kind of stuff is great, but I want to live in the moment.

I think what’s remarkable is that we’ve stayed together, because we’ve all grown and changed in similar ways and our journeys have aligned the whole time, or for the most of the time. We’ve veered away from each other and back to each other many times. But, when one of us has wanted something different, we’ve all kind of shared that desire. In a way, we’ve been able to all be very sincere to ourselves and grow and change together.

I don’t mean to speculate what other bands are like or anything like that, but I don’t have a lot of relationships in my life that have lasted this long. And not just people, but to things like food or activities I enjoy. The only thing maybe is the way I’ve worn my hair for 30 years. [Laughs] When we grow, our tastes change for all things. But, my [creative, intrinsic] tastes for these four other men have not changed.

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Photo Credit: Dylan Langille