Thirty years ago, Rosanne Cash experienced an all-encompassing transformation. She had just left Nashville, her major label record deal and her marriage. She was living in New York and found herself falling in love with her producer, the guitarist John Leventhal. Her previous album Interiors had set the stage for the new Rosanne. With her landmark album, The Wheel, Cash and Leventhal came together to work on a brand new sound for the artist, who had a well established career in mainstream country along with multiple #1 radio hits. She blew it all up for love! Cash had been unhappy and was yearning to live a life of authenticity in her music and her personal life. Three decades later, she’s reissued The Wheel and is ready to TALK ABOUT IT.
In our conversation, Rosanne addresses the inner critic and how she’s come to harness its power for good in the editing process. She took a painting class, where she painted a picture of her inner critic and has never looked back. After her divorce, she struggled with motherhood: being a good mom and trying not to ruin her kids’ lives. She looks back now with regrets and guilt as most mothers do. Her saving grace is that she was not a normal mom. Her oldest daughter assures her that she would not want a normal mom. We also talk about John’s upcoming solo debut album and why the two have established their own record label. Rosanne Cash is a treasure and I very much appreciated this deep dive into such a pivotal moment in her career and life!
Long before the world fell in love with the music of Iron & Wine, and even before he knew that he wanted a career in music, Sam Beam knew that he loved making things. His parents, who didn’t necessarily understand their artsy kid but wanted to support him, kept Sam well-supplied in drawing paper and art supplies so that his imagination could run free. Sam knew that he was different from other kids but that didn’t bother him. In his early days of making music, Sam obsessively honed his skills as a producer so that he could present the most polished songs possible. It wasn’t until later that he realized that live performance was just as important a part of his craft. Following his own curiosity has enabled Sam to remain intellectually energized throughout two decades of touring and releasing music.
One thing you might not know about Iron & Wine is that he has worked with the same manager for his entire career. When he met Howard Greynolds, Sam’s music career was just beginning to take off. Howard quickly proved that he cared more about the music than about getting money and credit. Their relationship has deepened and evolved over the years as Iron & Wine has become one of the most beloved singer-songwriters in folk music, and the music industry has reinvented itself in the age of streaming.
Iron & Wine is notoriously private and mysterious, but that might be about to change with the release of Who Can See Forever, a meditative documentary. The project started as a concert film but the director, Josh Sliffe, was able to convince Sam to sit for a series of interviews reflecting on his life, his work, parenthood, creativity, craft, and legacy. Those conversations find Sam looking back but mostly looking forward with curiosity and acceptance.
(Editor’s Note: This interview first appeared in full on Basic Folk. Listen on BGS or wherever you get podcasts. The following has been lightly edited for flow and clarity.)
Jobi Riccio has only begun to scratch the surface of what they have to offer on their debut album, Whiplash. The songwriting is centered around self discovery and mourning past lives, laid alongside super-smart country and pop melodies. Our hero grew up an outdoor kid amongst the woods of Red Rocks Parks Amphitheatre in Colorado.
A strong bluegrass community encircled her playing from a very young age in a way that encouraged her to pursue music as a career. She spent time in Boston attending Berklee College of Music, nestled in the folk community centered around the historic venue Club Passim. March 2020 hit. Jobi had to leave her newfound community and found herself back in her childhood bedroom.
While wrestling with all the complications of finding herself and her place in the world, they were letting go of their childhood and the sense of grounding that came with it. Eventually, they made their way to Asheville, North Carolina to work on Whiplash.
In the studio, she took her time making the album and discovered that indeed, she had a strong sense of vision for the music. The trust of her collaborators allowed her to trust in herself and create an album that is turning heads and making Jobi Riccio one of the most exciting young songwriters of 2023.
BGS: Thank you so much for being on Basic Folk.
Jobi Riccio: Thank you for having me.
Alright, let’s start. I wanted to talk about identity and give you the opportunity to talk about your identity, like how do you identify pronouns, orientation, any of that stuff that we want to address.
JR: Yeah, I use she/they pronouns. I identify as queer and identity has been something that feels like it’s been important and very complicated for me. It feels like something that I have spoken about and made a part of my career, and now I’m kind of feeling, a little bit, like it’s become too much of a focus in my career, actually.
It’s funny, because I was listening to your other podcast that [you do], I can’t remember–
Yes! I was like, you’ll know the person to plug – and I’m so sorry to Why We Write.
It’s based on actually something that Lizzie No was saying. I just really resonated with something that she said, which was it’s about who is asking those questions of me. It can feel like a fine line. It’s kind of “cool” right now to be a queer artist or a Black artist or an artist of color in the folk space.
When you’re with your community, that feels one way, or with people who are truly great. And then when you’re with people who it just seems like they need to check that box. It’s so obvious and it’s so painful and it feels like a betrayal of yourself. And [Lizzie] put it a lot more eloquently than all that, but if we’re really going down the discussion of identity, it’s important to me that I am open with my identity, but I also feel like there have been times where it’s been so hyper-focused on. In a way that it’s like, “Did you even listen to any of my songs or did you know what I mean?”
I really enjoyed that answer. Doing these interviews, sometimes I feel like I’m gonna ask and I think that the interview is gonna go one way or a question is gonna go one way and it goes the complete opposite way. I just get to enjoy the ride.
You are from Morrison, Colorado, which is outside of Denver – the same place as Red Rocks Parks and Amphitheatre. You were an outdoor kid. How do you think your early experience in nature has impacted the person you became?
I think that it’s something that I really value and need and it’s a processing tool for me, being out in nature. It’s almost equivalent to songwriting and writing in my journal. It’s honestly super hard here in Nashville, because I don’t feel like I can get that, in the way that I used to be able to walk to a hiking trail five minutes from my house. I was absolutely supremely spoiled with outdoor access as a kid. [I didn’t] know any better. Like, there’s going to come a time where you’re going to live somewhere the nearest mountains are two and a half hours away. That is rough. It’s something I have to really intentionally build into my life now.
I think that nature heavily informs me as a person. Musically, I feel like it shows up in my lyrics [and] images from home, talking about coyotes and cactus and etc. I feel like it’s so intrinsic to who I am as a person.
So nature ruined you.
For real. The nature ruined me. Colorado ruined me.
There has always been this strong draw to music for you – country radio, your parents and sister’s collection of music, and also making music on your own. Can you set the scene for what music looked like in your house? And when did you get a grasp on your own taste in music?
My parents definitely – we had like a home stereo and a big collection of CDs and I spent a lot of time just sort of putzing around my house as a little kid, opening cabinets, and looking at things and opening the encyclopedia and reading. I don’t know if anyone else feels like a really intrinsic part of childhood was just looking at things.
The CD collection in like, a big wicker basket was definitely a huge one for me. They felt like little gifts. I could open up the CD and then there was this extra thing I could pull out and there were liner notes and lyrics and I could read along. That was really big for me, because I was always really interested in lyrics.
My dad’s a huge Bruce Springsteen fan. We love the Boss and sometimes we can’t understand the Boss. And like, his lyrics are wonderful, too. I really feel like that was pretty formative to me, looking through my parents’ CDs and my sister’s CDs as well. My oldest sister had like a clear, hot pink, very early 2000s lockbox thing that she kept her CDs in. I very vividly remember going into her room and stealing CDs – The Killers, Coldplay, A Rush of Blood to the Head was a big one for me, Sheryl Crow, Tuesday Night Music Club, Yellow Ocean Avenue. Then like Emmylou Harris, Bruce Springsteen, Linda Ronstadt, the Eagles, James Taylor.
There is a strong bluegrass community where you’re from. You found it at an early age, playing mandolin when you were like eight or nine years old. Since then you’ve sought out musical community, so what did you learn from that first musical community?
The bluegrass community was a big part of feeling supported for me in music. I was always a kid who sang and was like, the girl with a good voice in like my elementary school class or whatever, but I didn’t see myself as a musician until I really started playing mandolin. I had a teacher and he was super supportive and was like, “You’re really great at instruments, too.”
I feel like the bluegrass community in my hometown took me seriously even though I was a little kid running around at RockyGrass – and by “a little kid” I mean 16. I didn’t go to my first bluegrass festival until I was a teenager. I would go and sit and jam with adults and be taken seriously. I really looked up to [those who were] offering their support to me, that was immeasurable to [growing] my own self confidence at that age.
I mean, I was so insecure at like 15, 16. The first year I ever went to RockyGrass, which sort of became my home festival, I didn’t even go out and play with anyone. I just sat in my camper with my mom, because I was so scared and so nervous and having trouble with confidence. The next year, I was out like playing every night ’til like 2 or 3 a.m.
That’s a huge shift!
Yeah. I feel like community and music– I mean, no musician is an island. We’re nothing without the musicians who came before us and those who’ve supported us. Sometimes I look back on that time and wonder if I hadn’t gotten that nod in that jam from that older kid who was really good, who I thought was awesome; or from that artist who I worshipped, who told me I had a beautiful voice; or I had shared one of my songs with them, and they were encouraging of me writing. I wonder if I would have taken it this far?
Then I got to be in a really beautiful community space working at Club Passim in college, too. That also further helped bolster my confidence, especially playing solo. Because – as you know, as also somebody who worked there in a much different capacity – it’s very much like a solo listening room, singer-songwriter space.
I play solo [a lot] now on tour, because I can’t afford to bring out a band. I feel like I really garnered some valuable skills watching other people like Mark Erelli and Lori McKenna play solo at Passim and also having to do that myself, learning how to speak about the songs I had written and not be painfully awkward, but doing that in the loving embrace of that room.
You’ve talked about Sheryl Crow and The Chicks as having a huge impact on you. You picked up the mandolin after you first heard Nickel Creek – can you talk more about the influence Chris Thile and Sara and Sean Watkins had on you?
So, I first heard Nickel Creek on the radio on KBCO, which is like the AAA station.
Hell yeah, that’s a huge station. That’s where AAA was born!
Where AAA was born, famously, yes! That was my local radio station that I listened to as a kid. And they would play “Smoothie Song” by Nickel Creek. This was around the same time that I heard the Home album by The Chicks. I was listening to Top 40 country music and also hearing mandolin here and there. It’s so strange, because I don’t play the mandolin anymore. It’s just something I’m not interested in now – it makes me almost kind of sad to think of how this was such a big part of my life.
Then I really pivoted – and it’s like, I’ll never say never, but yeah, I started playing mandolin when I was 15, I wanted to play mandolin when I was about eight or nine years old, because that was when we got Why Should the Fire Die on CD as a family. When I started opening up the CD and reading the booklet and listening – that album is so cool, because there’s a little bit of almost a pop-punk thing to some of the songs, like “Somebody More Like You.” That was so of-the-time and I loved it. I couldn’t get enough of that.
Being introduced to this new palette of instruments that I really hadn’t heard played in this way. I was familiar with bluegrass to some extent, but it like bluegrass for me and my like angsty little 12-year-old self. And, you know, everybody’s angsty selves at any age. That struck such a chord in me…
And Pavement’s super emo! “Spit On a Stranger,” right?
Yeah, that’s it.
I loved that album, too. They were all older than me, but I didn’t really know that either because, like, they’re pretty young on the CD case. They’re probably [around] my older sister’s age, who is now 28. They’re not that close in age to me, but I did feel a kindred-ness that I feel like a lot of roots artists talk about, hearing them and the Chicks and being like, “Oh, this is cool! This is of the moment.” They’re incorporating sounds that we like from other genres, which is really what I think I’m trying to get with the whole pop-punk thing, though I know that can be kind of a “dirty” word, like pop country. I don’t think it should be, I don’t think any genre word should be.
And I definitely had like a three month period where I was like, “I’m in love with Chris Thile. I’m going to marry him.” That was a little, you know, short lived, but it was strong. His high, angelic voice really spoke to my prepubescent soul.
That’s so sweet.
You’re like, “I don’t know what to say about that!”
Thank you for sharing. No, it turns out it was Sara Watkins the whole time!
After two decades in The Infamous Stringdusters, the Grammy-award winning neo-bluegrass band, Travis Book releases his rock Americana debut: Love and Other Strange Emotions. That’s not to say that Book, who thrives on collaboration, got here on his own. The Colorado musician (now residing in Western North Carolina), was raised by parents who went out their way to ensure that young Travis respected music and had access to instruments. His mother bought him his first bass guitar and his dad allowed him to buy Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ Blood Sugar Sex Magik (even though it had a parental advisory sticker on the cover). As Travis went off to college in Durango, Colorado, he found a supportive and vibrant bluegrass scene where he encountered future members of Greensky Bluegrass (Anders Beck), Leftover Salmon (Andy Thorn) and the Jon Stickley Trio. Those musicians would form their first bluegrass band Broke Mountain Bluegrass Band, which has just reissued a remastered version of their album Cabin in the Hills.
In our conversation, Travis talks about his brief time in Nashville, after he auditioned for The Stringdusters and got the gig as their upright bass player and vocalist. Spoiler alert: he felt very intimidated. We get into why he loves collaborations so much and has chosen to create his variety show turned podcast, The Travis Book Happy Hour, into an engine for unique performances with guests like Lindsay Lou, Jim Lauderdale, Sierra Hull and many more. The Happy Hour, which started in Spring 2020, was first set without an audience, which made Travis let go of his attachment to their reaction using wisdom borrowed from Eastern philosophy. He also explains how he is romantic, yet practical in everything he works to accomplish. Travis is a literal ray of positivity, so if you’re having a bad day, I promise that this conversation’s gonna lift you up in a seriously not-cornball way. TRAVIS!
Former trumpet player and anxious adventurer Caroline Cotter had been constantly on the move performing hundreds of live shows since 2015. At the dawn of the pandemic she had a full album in the can and ready to go. When the world shut down, so did she. She set her songs to the side and didn’t pick up her guitar for a long while. She left her city of Portland, Maine and headed even farther north to the Acadia region and reconnected with nature: i.e. hugging as many trees and rocks and one woman can. Also during that time, she had the opportunity to sit with her shelved album. She discovered something amazing in that stillness: She, along with co-producer Alec Spiegelman, had made a fucking bomb record. She went forward with release plans, blew up her Kickstarter goal and finally gave us her third album, Gently as I Go, this past August.
In our conversation, Caroline talks about what she’s like to work with in the studio (hint: she is not a relaxed and calm dreamboat) as well as her relationship to rest. As someone who has struggled with anxiety, she did not take to rest naturally, however, she’s cultivated a yoga and meditation practice in order to maintain calm. We also dig into her history: talking about how the ocean has remained a constant in her relationship to home. Growing up in Rhode Island, she and her siblings all took piano lessons. Heading to college, she majored in art with a minor in Spanish. She has a reputation for being a globe-trotter, which began in her travels to Thailand, Spain and Portugal as an international educator. She quit her day-job in 2015 to pursue music with a basically nonexistent fanbase. These days, Caroline’s fans are many and they are dedicated. You don’t find many independent musicians with such a devoted crowd as Caroline: they buy her music, they attend her shows, they put her up when she’s in town. So hello all you Cotter-Kickers, hope this conversation does your favorite songwriter justice.
Jobi Riccio has only begun to scratch the surface of what they have to offer on their debut album, Whiplash. The songwriting is centered around self-discovery and mourning past lives, laid alongside super smart country and pop melodies. Our hero grew up an outdoor kid amongst the woods of Red Rocks Parks and Amphitheatre in Colorado. A strong bluegrass community encircled her playing from a very young age, in a way that encouraged her to pursue music as a career. She spent time in Boston attending Berklee College of Music nestled in the folk community centered around the historic venue, Club Passim. Then March 2020 hit.
Jobi left her new community and found herself back in her childhood bedroom. She was “wrestling with all the complications of finding herself and her place in the world while letting go of her childhood and the sense of grounding that came with it.” Eventually, they made their way to Asheville, North Carolina to work on Whiplash. In the studio, she took her time making the album and discovered that, indeed, she had a strong sense of vision for the music. The trust of her collaborators allowed her to trust in herself and create an album that is turning heads and making Jobi Riccio one of the most exciting young songwriters of 2023. I loved talking to them about their origin, time in Boston and their continuing musical journey. Can’t wait for you to hear her new album!
Curiosity, luck, and drive are three words that revolve around singer-songwriter Billy Keane. He was born with all three traits and they are the hallmark of his music, especially his new album Oh, These Days. The seven song cycle was written during the pandemic and right after some very big life changes: He got divorced, quit alcohol and split with his band, The Whiskey Treaty Roadshow. Billy approached his healing process with an extreme curiosity and a need for simple living. For the last several years, he’s been cultivating a simple space to ignite creativity in the Western Massachusetts town of Lenox, where he owns land and a small cottage.
In our conversation, Billy talks about his roots in spirituality and his early devotion to music. Keane was born in Australia while his father was working as a minister there. The family moved to Connecticut when he was two years old. He left his hometown at 18 for college, but then left for Seattle to work in commercial deep-sea diving. From there, he made his way to Western Mass, where he found himself working at James Taylor’s studio. James and his wife Kim quickly realized that Billy was a talented musician and turned into key figures and big-time supporters. Oh, These Days, Billy’s second album, is truly a meditation on the human experience met with an insatiable love for life and rebirth.
Bluegrass hero and former weird kid Alice Gerrard strongly believes that traditional music is connected to everyday life. She has said: “When you listen to traditional music you have such a sense of this connectedness of this person’s life. It comes out of the earth.” She was first exposed to folk music while attending Antioch College. Jeremy Foster (her boyfriend at the time, who would become her first husband) introduced her to The Harry Smith Anthology of American Folk Music. Upon listening, she became hooked and more drawn to lonesome and rough folk songs versus pristine vocalists. That mentality of keeping her performance untarnished and imperfect has followed her ever since.
After she and Jeremy moved to Washington D.C., she became acquainted with Hazel Dickens. She considered Hazel a mentor figure and studied her musicality. The two would record four albums together as the seminal duo Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard. The two did not speak for many years after they split in the late ’70s. The breakup was messy and hard for both, particularly Hazel. Years later, they reconciled and would perform and were close until Hazel’s death in 2011. Nowadays, Alice, who lives in Durham, North Carolina, has begun digitizing her huge photo archive for a book as well as performing with younger generations of traditional musicians. People like Tatiana Hargreaves, Reed Stutz and Phil Cook are regulars on her stage. They also contribute to her new album, Sun to Sun. Alice digs in talking about her unorthodox parenting style (which is no secret), imperfectionism, appreciating memory and the fantastic new record.
This week we have a Basic Folk hero returning to the pod! Tré Burt is back today, going track by track through his new album, Traffic Fiction. I am a longtime fan of Tré’s music, and this new release on Oh Boy Records is my favorite of his records so far. It combines what fans have come to love about Tré’s writing and unmistakable vocal performances with a new infusion of soul and Motown-inspired styles. The soulful grooves of Traffic Fiction are souvenirs of Tré’s close relationship with his grandfather, who recently passed away. Tré recalls listening to his pops’ favorite records and invites us into his family’s musical lineage.
The heart of the album are field recordings that Tré made of his grandfather while he was still alive. Just two people, talking about music, talking about life, encouraging one another. The simple moments that mean the most when somebody is gone. And they give us insight into one of the greatest triumphs of Traffic Fiction, which is the transformation of melancholy into dancing. You can’t help but move your body when you hear this music, even as Tré deals with profound loss. He reminds us that being an Important Artist is not incompatible with having fun. And isn’t that what great Black artists do? Tell you the story of a tragedy in a way that somehow makes you feel joyful?
Welcome to Folk Debate Club, our occasional crossover series with fellow folk-pod Why We Write! Today, to discuss Your Career vs. Your Soul, we welcome our panel of guests: music journalist and Why We Write host, Kim Ruehl, Isa Burke (Lula Wiles, Aoife O’Donovan), musician and Basic Folk guest host Lizzie No, yours truly, Cindy Howes, boss of Basic Folk and a very warm welcome to Kenneth Pattengale and Joey Ryan of The Milk Carton Kids.
I’d like to think that the act of “selling out” ebbs and flows with the passing of time. As the earning power of the folk musician changes, so does the allowance of what is perceived as abandoning your principles for the almighty dollar. That doesn’t mean that it always feels great. Choices musicians have to make to further their careers can be exhausting and detrimental to their art. How do you strike that balance at the intersection of art and commerce in the folk music world?
Photo Credit: Sam Kassirer (Isa Burke); John Gillespie (Lizzie No); Rich Amory (Kim Ruehl); David McClister (The Milk Carton Kids)
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