Tag: Lucinda Williams

A One-of-a-Kind Conversation with Jonny Fritz

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It is deeply joyful sitting with Jonny Fritz at a restaurant he suggested (Pollos Puebla #1) in an area of Los Angeles he’s an expert on (Pasadena/Altadena border) and talking about subjects he thinks about a lot, ranging from rebirthing ceremonies to alimony to how…“different” Nashville is now. He’s keenly honest about his life, his work, and his thoughts about any question thrown his way. Nothing is out of line or off limits. Nothing is filtered by a publicist or an agenda. It is off the cuff and real and wild.

We met over grilled chicken, rice, and beans to discuss his newest work, Debbie Downers (Woodwinds), a reimagining of the original 2025 album Debbie Downers. The conversation unfolded much like the album, with unexpected turns and humor that expose raw nerves about an unfriendly music industry, the beauty of PG Tips, the subtlety of serving a song, and the goal of taking a ride on the wave of a sliced open above-ground pool.

Well, let’s talk about Woodwinds. I’m a huge woodwind fan. How’d this come about?

Jonny Fritz: Oh, yeah? Me too. I love woodwinds. I’ve always loved them. I think they’re so great.

It’s so expensive making a record. It’s just stupid, you know? For example, the last record I made, Sweet Creep, I made it pretty cheap. I think it cost about 12,000 bucks. But ATO Records had an option on it so they could pick it up. They bought Dad Country, the record before that, for 5,000 bucks. It cost me five grand to make. “We’ll pay you five grand for it.” All right, fine. And then, hidden in the contract – or at least hidden to me – they got the option on the next one. Same deal. So when I made Sweet Creep they picked up the option. So for $5,000, they got this record that cost me $12k. I was like, “Jesus, man, this business is so rough.” And I just knew it was going to be something similar with the next one.

By this one, Debbie Downers, I thought, “What do I really want to do?” I might as well just do what I want, because there’s nothing worse than having something be expensive and unsatisfactory. I just decided I really wanted to make the record over and over and over again. I have a bunch of different visions for how it should go and I wouldn’t call any of them the one.

The Woodwinds one was something I’ve always just wanted to do. So I’m pretty pleased with it. I got this amazing guy in Highland Park who does film and TV stuff. There’s not a lot of work going on right now, so he was willing to do it. And the first couple of arrangements that he came up with, I was just giddy. I couldn’t believe how cool it was.

Were there any revelations for you? When you heard them in that arrangement, was there anything that shocked you about it?

Hmm… Yeah, some of the versions with the woodwinds really lent themselves to the winds better than any other version. I wrote this song called “Have You Seen Her.” I wrote it coming off of anesthesia. I was out of my mind. I got a hip replacement at UCLA 10 years ago. You know, coming off anesthesia affects people in weird ways. I’m one of them. It really got me, I wrote this song and I felt like it was the most brilliant thing.

It was so embarrassing. I wrote everybody who I knew who was high up at Rolling Stone, and all the Newport Folk Festival team, and all their PR team. I mean, I wrote everybody. And I wrote these really incoherent emails. I haven’t actually looked at them in a long time. I looked at them right after I wrote them and I was so ashamed. But I wrote all these emails being like, “You’re gonna want to get Scarlett Johansson down here. I need to perform this for her. And you need to get Joaquin [Phoenix] here, too.”

I’m not a social climber, but there was something in me that was like, “You need to make some moves. Call out a lifeline.” I was so ashamed of it for so long, because it was one of the most embarrassing moments in my life, for sure.

All of that to say, I didn’t want to play it or record it. I had to overcome it, admit it, and start talking about it. When I heard it with the woodwinds, I was blown away.

Years ago, I worked with Chris Crofton on a comedy event at Third Man Records that involved a compilation of found video footage that was submitted. There were so many submissions of people coming out of anesthesia, and I remember Chris immediately going, “No, that isn’t funny.” It really isn’t; you aren’t in your right mind.

God bless that man. He always knows exactly what the fuck is up. He is driven by pure heart and knows exactly where his morals should be. He’s incorruptible.

Do you spend a lot of time on social media? What is your relationship to it as a creator?

Pretty passive. I like social media. I feel like I’m kind of floating above social media. By like eight feet, just kind of looking down at it. Like, “What are you guys doing? That’s insane.” Then I dive into it to interact, and then just kind of get out of it. I get a little hooked on it for sure, but I hear about the addictions and the stuff that people fall for, and just like the amount of engagement. But it’s like engagement versus quality of life. I get so much fulfillment from everything else. I like playing with it. I always have fun with it, but I try not to let it get sticky.

Well, one of my favorite social media posts in the past bit is the one with your kiddo singing “Tea Man.”

Oh, wasn’t that so sweet?

So sweet.

She’s 6.5 now. She was like 2.5 then. And I just was like, I can’t post this. It felt so…I don’t know…

Personal?

It was personal, but I didn’t have a problem with that. I definitely want to protect her, you know? But that’s not her anymore. She doesn’t even look like that. She’s like doubled since that song came out. But then I was like, “Oh, fuck yeah, I’m posting this!” There was no risk of seeing her in public and recognizing that she’s the girl from the video.

Are you a tea man? In real life?

I got a PG Tips tattoo. I really like tea. I drink enough tea to float a canoe every day.

Really? All caffeinated?

Usually. Well, when I’m on tour, yeah. I get so tired. I can’t really mess with coffee. It just makes me so jittery. But I can just drink tea all day.

Are you an equal opportunist, or is it mostly black tea?

Oh, I like it all. Really like it all, but I love the black stuff, though. I think it happened when I was on tour 10 years ago with Josh Hedley. We were in England somewhere on a train, and they came down the lane with a steaming cart and it was £1 for a cup of tea. I don’t have an addictive personality. I don’t care about alcohol or anything. But I felt like, “Oh, I’m in trouble.” Just sitting on a cold, rainy train going through England with a cup of PG Tips.

It reminded me of something I heard about Andy Warhol. Although I’m not a big fan, I don’t know much about the guy. But what I do know about him is that one thing that made me really like him. I heard that he doused his whole world in a certain scent for a season. For example, in the summer of ‘63, he would just cover everything with lavender oil. And then come winter, it would be a totally different scent. And you’d put lavender away, and it’d be bergamot. So then the sense memory of whatever happened around that time would be so strongly connected to that scent that you could be completely brought back. And I really love that.

I think there’s something to it with the tea thing, because that tour was really big for me. It was a fantastic time. It was a really, really wonderful, lovely tour, and drinking PG Tips like that, I just got into English culture too. Everywhere you go, somebody’s like, “Well, you want a cup of tea?” Like, yes, I fucking do. I decided I’m never turning down a cup of tea. And I never have since.

Tell me about writing “Hot Chicken Condos” with Jordan [Lehning] and Skylar [Wilson]. I deeply connect with that song because I also left Tennessee, and for many of the reasons you list in the song.

Yeah, that was the point. Everybody who really gets this place will really understand these things, even like Pit Bull puppies in parking lots.

And humidity.

Fucking unrelenting humidity.

Were those things you were storing? How did that song come about?

God, why I love writing with Jordan and Skyler is because they don’t bring any ego to the write. They don’t fucking care. They’re just such good vibes. I’m really pretty neurotic about writing and also I’m pretty protective of my words, too. When I get into the writing space, I’m just so sensitive about what’s being said. So if somebody says or suggests the wrong thing, I can quickly be like, “This is the wrong association.” I can be a little trigger-happy.

But with Jordan and Skylar, they’re always just like, “Just play what you got.” And they usually edit everything that I have. With that song, one of the lyrics was “Mustard in the corner of his tiny little mouth.” And Jordan said, “Why don’t you say, ‘Mustard cracking in the corner of his tiny little mouth?'” And it was perfect. Mark Twain said the difference between the right word and almost the right word was the difference between lightning and the lightning bug.

It’s so true.

I got to hang out with Guy Clark once in Nashville, and it was like one of the best moments of my Nashville career. I was going through really bad writer’s block. And I asked him, “Do you ever get stuck?” And he said, “Yeah… Do you ever write with other people?” And I told him, “I don’t like the idea of giving somebody 50% of the song just because they’re sitting in the same room.” He leaned over and he goes, “Well, you never would have fucking wrote it if they weren’t sitting there.”

I was like, “Damn, old man schooled me.” Because so much of writing, I feel like, is picking up on something else that’s happening. And who’s to say you don’t owe somebody credit just because they’re sitting there?

The other thing that Jordan suggested for [“Hot Chicken Condos”], which was so right on, was that he asked me how high I could go on the Tennessee part. I told him I could go falsetto, and he told me to try it. I hit it and he said, “That’s it.” He took an idea of a song and made it a song. I just so appreciate those guys.

I just feel it is like a pedal steel player who plays about eight notes per song. That’s the best player in town, ‘cause all the other players are nonstop. Same with fiddle. Take Josh Hedley. The guy just stands there most of the time, then he pulls out something incredible, and he sets it back down. He doesn’t overplay. If you don’t overwrite and you don’t overplay, those are heavy attributes.

Those are both things to do in service of the song, not in service of self.

Absolutely. You know who I saw last night was Erin Rae. Kevin Morby and I were standing next to each other, just like, ”Oh my god, she’s so good.” One of the most amazing things about her is that she underplays the guitar. She’s playing the whole time, but if you really focus on how much she is actually playing, it is barely. It’s just enough to fill in where she’s not singing and she works the mic so well.

All those things are so important, but nobody teaches them, you know? You have to kind of know it. It’s innate, right?

Or you got to learn it trial by fire. And you have to be playing with players who know what they are doing to learn that.

Yeah. That’s right. Sometimes people are technically good, but they just don’t stop noodling, and it sucks.

You took a long hiatus from music, huh?

I did. I took nine years between records. I didn’t mean to. And I didn’t actually think that I was doing it. I was playing shows here and there. I blame it on real estate. I got into real estate because my heart got broken from music so many times from wanting to do better. Wanting to succeed more. Really, really caring what people said and thought and comparing myself. All the things you really shouldn’t do ever in any aspect of life. I mean, if you did that in a relationship, then your therapist would be like, “That’s your problem. Stop. Don’t do that.”

I couldn’t get out of it. I just felt so bad about how it was going. And I know what I’m doing is not for everybody, and it’s not gonna take off. But I love what I do. I’m not putting myself down, but I just knew my ambition was a lot faster than everybody’s interests. It was just wearing on me and I needed to do something that’s purely about money and doesn’t have anything to do with creativity, because I’m just getting my feelings hurt. And I got polyps in my vocal cords. I was touring too much. It just wasn’t going well.

So I thought, “I’m just going to pivot. I’ll still do shows and if somebody asks me to do something, I’ll do it. I love music.” I stopped prioritizing writing. I stopped prioritizing recording, and then the pandemic happened, and I had a kid, and real estate took off, and I looked up, and it was 9 years. It really was like, “Oh, crap, how did that happen?” It shocked me.

What’s your writing process like typically? Do you write everywhere?

I write everywhere. I use my voice memos a lot. I really love just making up new country songs and fake country songs – like, really bad ones. I find that if I can get them out, I can expand upon them or delete them and move on.

I was writing with Skylar [Wilson] one time and we were trying to write a song called “Remember the Alimony?” We wrote for hours and hours and it was a stupid song and it didn’t go anywhere. It went, “I’m just a poor man. All I eat is beans and write checks to my ex, one and only. I rolled the dice, but I lost my wife. But I remember the alimony.” So stupid. God. But we were writing all day and just hanging out, and neither of us thought to finish it. It just didn’t work. But then I got home and I had like 6 other song ideas that went on Sweet Creep. It’s that muscle thing that everybody talks about.

I’m also a pleasure seeker to the nth degree. If things aren’t fun, I just drop them so quick. I’m really bad about that. So I just make sure that it’s really fun and get the idea out quickly. I try to stay hovering above it, just stay light. Because as soon as I dig into it, that’s when I’m like, “Oh, my God, right. I don’t know how to do this.” Just keep it fun and it will grow. But I like to write all the time, every day.

Do you wake up and do it?

It is in the shower, on the way to school, washing dishes. You know, when you have a great idea and no way to write it down.

Soapy hands! Sometimes it happens when there’s an absence of anything else and those ideas pop up.

I have to really protect myself when I’m diving in. I wash all the dishes, do all the laundry, sweep up a bit, and make sure no one is going to ask me for anything. I’m really self-conscious about that. If nobody is home, I’m going to the basement and putting on Ken Burns’ Civil War, and I turn the radio on at low levels where it is just kind of humming. I drink a tremendous amount of caffeine. That’s my favorite.

But it is intense. I can get really emotionally rocky after diving in pretty deep.

I was thinking about Roger Miller when you were talking about the “Alimony” song. I’m drawn to that kind of writing because you can get really dark while staying very light.

People think that the meat is deep, but the nerves are on the surface. There’s meat down there, but it’s dead. I feel like the most cutting and incredible songs kind of sound like an email to an old friend. My favorite Lucinda Williams songs all sound like they were written to a buddy.

Or she’s talking to somebody over tea.

So true. And John Prine, too. Everyone’s like, “How did they do it?” They just did it. They’re just talking.

Will you play any live shows with the woodwinds?

Yes, actually, April 14, we’re doing a free show at Zebulon. It’s going to be good. I have this giant golf ball, it’s like a concession stand, and I’m bringing that to the show. The whole point of it is to give away free tea. It’s my tea ball. The tea is free, just buy a house from me!

What will the live configuration look like? How many players will you have?

Four, but they play multiple winds. It’s the players on the record. They’re such pros. They’re all symphony kids.

There’s something about stripping it down to just woodwinds; it’s so cinematic. It takes you directly to the meat and it makes you lighter when it is time, as music does for film. It helps direct your emotional experience.

I like that. I’ve always loved demos of songs. Sometimes I just want to hear someone play the songs, not the record. Or just hear someone sing it. As close to the song as I can get, I’m most happy. I love a cappella stuff. Sometimes the most powerful way to arrange a song is to remove everything.

With winds, too, it’s nice because that’s pretty much it. There’s the vocal and then there’s some wind behind it. I love that.

At the top of my notes that I took while listening to the record, I have the words “jello rebirth” scribbled down regarding the song “Polished Turd.” Can you tell me more about that concept?

For this record, it was a bit of a cynical and fatalistic career thought, but I wanted to make a record of real estate songs. The whole idea behind it was that people would hear it and would say, “This sucks.” And my reply can be, “Yes. That’s what happens when you give up on your dreams.” Music really suffers when you just write about what you’re doing. It’s like this martyrdom thing.

You know the three D’s in real estate are like death, diapers, and divorce – all the things that make people sell their homes. So I wrote one that went, “Death, diapers, and divorce. And the lottery, of course.”

During the pandemic, I had this fantasy of buying someone an above-ground pool. Have you heard of rebirthing ceremonies?

No.

Oh, rebirthing ceremonies are a thing. A fucking thing. People simulate a mother’s vagina in like a mega fucked up Christian ceremony. They make you relive your birth so you can be reborn and let go of all your childhood traumas. They have a gelatinous vagina and people push themselves through it. So anyway, I got that in my mind and thought, “What the hell is this world?” But I could see that for real estate, like a used car salesman going, “We are doing rebirthing ceremonies, come on down!”

And I have always wanted to slide through the tsunami of an above-ground pool that gets sliced open.

Yeah, that does look fun.

Right, who hasn’t wanted to do that? But then I want to turn it into jello. And then I thought maybe I should do that for my clients or have a commercial about it. I could cut a slice in the pool with a katana sword, then they’d ride in slow motion through the incision of the above-ground pool, I could hand them the keys, and they’d be reborn into home ownership. Follow me?

Yep.

That is a song very near and dear to me, but it is a hard one to explain. What was your experience with it?

Well my first thought was that wherever it was coming from and whatever it meant, you have thought a lot about it.

Fair enough, that’s true.

Photo Credit: Bobbi Rich

Check Out Lucinda’s, a Bustlin’ NYC Honky Tonk

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Editor’s Note: Enjoy our tour of New York City honky-tonk, juke joint, and cocktail lounge Lucinda’s as a special postlogue to our Artist of the Month coverage of Lucinda Williams during March 2026.)

It’s the first springtime Sunday in Manhattan and after a bitter winter, the East Village is humming with human activity. Around the corner from the throng of Tompkins Square Park, where Girl Scouts hawk cookies and roller hockey players clatter their sticks and skates, tumbles of acoustic guitar spill from a storefront, attracting curious passers-by. Some folks pause and lean toward the open windows, and a few cross the threshold to meet wafts of fresh popcorn. Welcome to Lucinda’s.

The bar’s tin ceiling interior is catnip to music history aficionados and Americana-kitsch collectors alike, the walls hung with poster prints, vintage memorabilia, and velvet paintings (among them Kitty Wells, Robert Johnson, and Elvis Presley shaking hands with Jesus Christ). There’s a jukebox ready to sling beloved feels-good-to-feel-bad hits, and peanut figurines with Jimmy Carter grinning and holding court over the liquor. These accoutrements all play second fiddle to the spot’s main attraction: live music meant for casual socializing every day of the week.

This robust programming – along with some of the bar’s most prized decorative items – is the work of Kelley Swindall, a musician and New Yorker of 20 years who grew up in Stone Mountain, Georgia. She takes pride in a large round aluminum Coca-Cola sign, an item on “permanent loan” from her family and one of several wall-hung nods to Georgia’s most lucrative liquid export. She’s more proud of filling a void in New York City nightlife. “There’s a lot of Southern people in the city that went to SEC schools that want to have some Southern culture again, like college football, or listening to music that they love and don’t normally hear in New York,” Swindall says.

Though the city has a handful of country-themed, sometimes Western-leaning bars – Williamsburg’s hootin-hollerin Skinny Dennis, the self-explanatory Honky Tonkin’ in Queens, the West Village’s Tex-Mex-y Cowgirl – Swindall wanted to develop a place to celebrate the early country, blues, folk, and other vernacular music that shaped generations of American song. She yearned for the sort of places she knew growing up and got to know as a touring musician, rooms where casual live music fosters socializing instead of hampering it. “That’s what the juke joints and honky-tonks were back in the day – it was live music as the soundtrack of the evening, but you were hanging out, drinking, dancing, and socializing,” Swindall says.

Swindall found a business partner in Laura McCarthy, who has a storied history of her own at 169 Avenue A running prior venues Brownies and Coney Island Baby. The pair found a namesake and patron saint of sorts in Lucinda Williams, with whom they connected through mutual friends. Williams agreed to endorse the place, her multi-stranded artistry anchoring the team’s vision for honoring the deep musical roots of the American South. She christened the stage with a set as part of the bar’s opening-night festivities last July.

On a Saturday night, Lucinda’s is rollicking, packed front to back with revelers before some New Yorkers have even gone to dinner. There’s college basketball on one TV, and The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas on the other. I want to mill around and make conversation, but the bar is thick with boisterous, overlapping shouts converging with mid-1990s Tim McGraw and Shania Twain songs that radiate in my bones.

The mission of Lucinda’s is evidently working. With my elbows pinned to my sides, I chat with Emily from Texas and two girls who rolled up for one of several birthday gatherings in progress. After his friend paws at my unattended leftover garlic knots, Gavin, an Irish ex-pat and country music fan, tells me it’s his first time at Lucinda’s after hearing about it on TikTok. “We were in the neighborhood, and we wanted to come in. We already had plans somewhere else, and we made it our business to come back here,” he says, enthralled with the room’s unique decor. I don’t get a chance to ask his thoughts on the Dolly Parton or Johnny Cash bathrooms before he peels off with drinks in each hand.

Spirits are high, but by Lucinda’s standards, the fun has barely started: a few musicians are shouldering their way through to the corner stage. Nightly music programming is a staple at Lucinda’s, which Swindall accomplishes with standing residencies and open mics alongside other ticketed events. There’s a loose structure week to week; weekends are for the big sing-along bands, Sunday evenings are for classic country, and bluegrass and some old-time are on Tuesdays. “I was an artist first, and I still am, so I wanted to focus on the kind of music that I’m into,” Swindall says, adding that Thursday night is for two-stepping.

The Sunday open mics are a binding force to Lucinda’s operating concepts. Sign-ups start at 1 p.m. every Sunday, running through the afternoon until another outfit takes the stage for the evening. There are some gentle guidelines (no covers, no backing tracks), aimed toward bringing a pleasant and equitable atmosphere to the gatherings. Swindall prioritizes the artists’ experiences at these weekly forays, remembering open mics as essential to her relationship-building and development as a young musician.

“It’s more important to have people able to come in and play their songs, everyone listen, rather than have a thriving bar culture that day,” she says. Drawing further on her artist’s perspective, Swindall fosters the open mic knowing the challenges of getting a foothold in bigger booking circuits. “A lot of places, they don’t want to book you unless you can bring a crowd or you can show them live footage. It’s really great to give people an avenue to get comfortable on stage and get feedback for their songs,” Swindall says.

Moreover, the shindigs help Swindall expand her pool for her month-to-month bookings, strengthening the network of relationships that are essential to the arts-forward community that McCarthy and Swindall hope to nourish.

Almost a full year in, Swindall is eyeing a steady growth pattern. She worked her way up to music every night of the week and now sometimes has two shows a night; she’s starting to entertain ideas for a small festival. “From a bar point of view, there’s so much to do,” she says.

The space isn’t zoned for a kitchen, but Swindall wants to figure out some kind of food element; in the meantime, patrons can bring in takeout or ask a bartender nicely for a Moon Pie, a bag of Zapp’s chips, or a bowl of popcorn. Swindall will stay busy as she aims to make Lucinda’s even more of a place for the “all” in “y’all.”

Stop in, sit down, shake loose. Connect with a song, or maybe a stranger.

All photos by BGS Staff.

Explore our Artist of the Month coverage of Lucinda Williams here.

Welcome to Meels’ Critter Country

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

There are plenty of country subgenres out there, but quickly rising up-and-comer Meels has carved out a unique new niche. The California-born singer-songwriter calls her sound “critter country,” a fitting term for her playful but grounded brand of country-leaning roots music, which takes cues from folk of the ‘60s and ‘70s, traditional bluegrass, and classic country a la Loretta Lynn or Willie Nelson.

On her recently released new project, Across the Raccoon Strait, Meels takes listeners on a colorful, far-reaching tour of critter country and in the process announces herself as a fresh, genuinely exciting new voice in the broader roots music ecosystem.

Folks are taking notice – Meels is one of the first handful of artists signed to the newly rebirthed Lost Highway Records, with a legacy of artists like Lucinda Williams, Lyle Lovett, and Johnny Cash, as well as another left-of-center singer-songwriter, Kacey Musgraves, who was announced as the first official signee when the label relaunched last year. Meels has shared stages with artists like Molly Tuttle and Old Crow Medicine Show, and will appear with Margo Price, Carter Faith, and Nitty Gritty Dirt Band this spring.

Below, BGS catches up with Meels about songwriting, “critter country” and signing to Lost Highway.

In the lead-up to releasing Across the Raccoon Strait you shared that this batch of music feels truest, holistically, to who you are as an artist. Can you elaborate on that? What do you think enabled you to express yourself so fully?

Meels: As a writer and a producer and a songwriter and a singer, I really trust my gut and just follow the wave. With these songs, it was just me doing that. A few summers ago, before I made the project, I dove deep into the country classics – like Loretta Lynn and Marty Robbins and Dolly Parton. I got super inspired, the floodgates opened, and I just started writing like crazy. I grew up on a lot of ‘60s and ‘70s folk and my uncle is actually a bluegrass musician. He gigged around town where he lives in upstate New York. So I was already introduced to that world, but I took a deep dive and felt really inspired. The project just kind of poured out of me.

Would it be fair to say you found some unexpected connection points or overlap in those genres – the bluegrass and folk you grew up with, then the classic country you dove into?

Oh, totally. I also was trying out my own take on all of these genres and, again, trusting my gut with production and with the songwriting, to find a space within the genres that felt right for me as an artist.

You describe your music as “critter country,” which I just love. And that seems to encompass more than just your sound, as you’ve developed this really strong visual aesthetic in your videos and artwork, too. How did the concept “critter country” first come to you?

That came naturally, too. I grew up surrounded by a ton of critters in the woods in Northern California and found myself using animals as metaphors for my life. I went to NYU for music, and I took a branding class. I remember all of my peers were coming up with all these cool names for their genre. The teacher was like, “Oh, come up with a name specific to your genre and who you are as an artist.” I was still figuring out who I was as an artist in college and when I was looking through my lyrics and finding all of these “critter” similarities, I was like, “You know what? Critter country, that has such a nice ring to it.”

Take me back to the early days of making Across the Raccoon Strait. Was there a moment or idea that kicked off the creative process for you?

I think it was probably “Out West.” That track, in itself, encompasses the whole idea of the EP. I wrote it in New York when I was still living there and I’d just decided that I was moving back to California, back to my roots. I was just so excited about the idea of moving back out to the West Coast that the song came ripping out of me in my New York apartment. So that was a catalyst for me. I wrote most of these songs – that are about California and about home, actually – in New York when I was in a state of longing for home.

Did having that physical distance from your California home, and maybe the benefit of hindsight, help you write those songs?

I think so. My whole life, I have felt the most creative when I’m in California. New York is very overstimulating and there’s a lot going on all the time. I feel like, when I was living there, I was very much just absorbing everything that I could, but I wasn’t really writing so much until I was like, “Yeah, I’m gonna move back.” Then all of the sudden, I just started writing like crazy.

Something that stands out in your songwriting is how freely you use humor in your lyrics. You tackle some tough subjects, but never shy away from playfulness and to me it makes the stories feel more realistic, because in real life our experiences are often mixed bags. Are you consciously trying to inject some lightheartedness into your writing or does it just happen that way for you?

I don’t know. I do find myself making little jokes in my songs all the time. For example, in “The Wizard” I’m writing about a heavier topic: my struggles with OCD for my whole life. But I’m writing about it in a way that I’m not trying to hide anything. I’m just trying to put it in a way that’s maybe a little more digestible, and a little silly and a little funny, to help myself work through it a little more. And maybe to make it more digestible for my audience, too. Maybe I use humor as a way to cope.

“The Wizard” really does nail that balance of sharing something difficult and vulnerable while giving a little wink and nod to the listener.

I love a wink and a nod.

Speaking of that song, when you do get into vulnerable territory in your writing, do you ever feel fear or hesitation? And if you do, how do you engage with those voices?

To be honest, I feel like when I’m songwriting I’m at my most fearless. Since I was young, it’s been my way to put it all out on the table and not be afraid. I think me writing in these little critter metaphors, or using humor – maybe that’s my fear talking, I don’t know – but when I’m writing I just want to lay it all out on the table. It’s my one true release, so I try to do it without fear.

It sounds like you had a fantastic group of collaborators working with you in the studio. What was your time together like?

It was so wonderful. We recorded at a studio in Oakland called Tiny Telephone [owned by John Vanderslice]. They actually had old telephones that worked all over the studio. And they had everything you could want and more to play with and to get creative with. The space itself was incredible. We had an incredible engineer named Danielle, and she was also so important in the creative process, you know, running the vocal through this weird flanger and making moves that were so creative and so unique and so cool.

I also co-produced it with Peter [Groenwald] and Mark [Campbell], who made my first record with me, so that felt really comfortable and really safe. I knew nothing was off the table. I could bring up any idea, no matter how stupid I thought it was, and we would try it. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But we had such a good, natural flow in the studio. I brought a lot of friends, too, to play in the band, which was just really great.

You can hear the looseness and camaraderie in the music, in a way that I’d assume can’t be replicated without having close relationships with the players.

I’d always wanted to track a whole record live to tape. And we did that with Across the Raccoon Strait. We didn’t use any click [tracks]. It was just like, “Let’s get this next one tight, guys, let’s go.” We were all having a lot of fun with it.

When I’m in the studio, making music is such a collaborative thing. Even if it’s my song, every musician that I bring in is going to bring something unique. I really love to let them loose and let them rip. We can pull back where we want, but everybody in there plays an instrumental – no pun intended – role in making the music great.

This is also the first project you’ve done as one of the initial signees to the newly relaunched Lost Highway Records. How did you get hooked up with them and what does it mean to you to work with such an historic and impactful label?

This record has opened a lot of doors for me. I made it a little over a year ago and I was like, “I’m gonna quit my day job.” I was living with my grandma in Pasadena. She’s 86 and she’s so cool. “Marsha June” was actually written about her. So, I was basically like, “I’m just gonna give this thing a go.”

I sent this record around to literally anybody that would listen to it. I would send it to venues, because I’d just moved to LA. I was like, “Hey, I haven’t played a lot of LA gigs. Here’s my new record. You want to book me?” I was just kind of fearless about that, too. Some artists are so precious with the new stuff and don’t want to send it around. But I was sending these songs around before they were even mastered.

Eventually, I started working with a manager, I started working with an agent, and then I got a lawyer and did the whole thing. I talked to a lot of great labels, but when I met with Lost Highway I knew that it was the right direction. I’m so, so happy that I’m working with them. It really does feel like a family. It’s such a close-knit team and everybody really cares. … So many of my favorite artists have put music out through Lost Highway. Its legacy just runs so deep. I’m the hugest Johnny Cash fan in the world – and a Willie Nelson fan, and Lucinda Williams. It’s kind of absurd to me that my name could be looped in with all of those other names.

Photo Credit: Jim Hughes

10 Sonically Diverse Covers of Lucinda Williams Songs

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Befitting Lucinda Williams’ stature as one of the greatest songwriters of modern times, she might be the most covered artist this side of Bob Dylan (who, as far as I can tell, might be the only major artist never to have covered one of her songs).

From “Are You Alright?” to “You Can’t Rule Me” and all points in between, Williams’ catalog is broad, deep, and multivalent, with lavish emotional content to dig into. Truly, the woman’s body of work contains multitudes.

Where she’s coming from is no mystery, because Williams has always been generous about showing off her own influences and idols. She has covered too many other artists’ songs to count, by the likes of Dylan, Nick Drake, Howlin’ Wolf, and more. She has also done multiple tribute albums in her Lu’s Jukebox series, covering the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Tom Petty, and even Christmas songs, among others.

There’s almost too much to choose from, but here is a small sampling of what other artists have done with Williams’ songs over the years – focused more on stylistic departures than faithful readings.

“Passionate Kisses” – Saintseneca (2014)

It’s hardly surprising that a great deal of this list of covers will come from 1988’s breakthrough album Lucinda Williams, starting with this forthright statement of purpose. The obvious “Passionate Kisses” cover choice would be Mary Chapin Carpenter’s 1993 hit version, which put both women on the map. But let’s go more left-field with the sprawling, atmospheric grandeur of the cover by Ohio indie-folk band Saintseneca. It’s never sounded more wide-open cinematic, to the point that I kind of can’t believe no one has put it onscreen yet. Cue opening credits.

“Bus To Baton Rouge” – Amos Lee (2023)

This Philadelphia-born soul man thinks enough of the Williams oeuvre to have covered 12 of her songs for an album, Honeysuckle Switches: The Songs of Lucinda Williams. Williams’ original appeared as the penultimate track of her 2001 release, Essence. The lyrics yield up the title phrase of Lee’s tribute LP, and it makes a stunning album-closer here.

“Side of the Road” – Ben Folds (2005)

In Williams’ hands, “Side of the Road” conveys stoic resolve on her 1988 self-titled joint. North Carolina native virtuoso Ben Folds transposes it to winsome piano pop for his 2005 solo album Songs For Goldfish, and the transition works beautifully.

“Change the Locks” – Tom Petty (1996)

Originally titled “Changed the Locks” on her eponymous album, this is in the conversation for Williams’ greatest songs. Her version coursed with undercurrents of the sort of domestic violence that would inspire a woman to, well, change her locks. So it’s interesting that so many men have taken a crack at this song in the decades since, including Silos, Vampire Weekend, Rostam, and Elvis Costello. But maybe best of all is Tom Petty, who recorded it for the soundtrack to 1996’s She’s The One, getting the defiance just right.

“Joy” – Bettye LaVette (2005)

As good as all of Williams’ records have been, it wasn’t until 1998’s GRAMMY-winning Car Wheels on a Gravel Road that she finally got herself a gold record. “Joy” was a high point, equal parts angry and exuberant. Still, powerhouse soul woman Bettye LaVette took it to a whole new level with a swamp-blues rendition on her 2005 comeback LP, I’ve Got My Own Hell to Raise.

“Abandoned” – The Lemonheads (2019)

While The Lemonheads’ troubled leader Evan Dando is a decidedly problematic figure, there’s no denying his taste in covers. The Lemonheads have released two volumes of cover collections with good, bad, and ugly songs by everyone from Townes Van Zandt and Yo La Tengo to Florida Georgia Line and GG Allin. From 2019, Varshons 2 also features a fuzz-toned version of Williams’ very forlorn “Abandoned” (yet another Lucinda Williams song).

“Concrete And Barbed Wire” – Bella White (2022)

There has always been a stateliness to the Car Wheels on a Gravel Road track “Concrete And Barbed Wire,” which was in Canadian songbird Bella White’s onstage setlist years before she released a studio version on 2024’s Five For Silver. The song’s waltz tempo makes a perfect fit for bluegrass – recorded live at the Green Mountain Bluegrass and Roots Fest in Vermont.

“Metal Firecracker” – Mary Lou Lord (2015)

Everybody’s favorite busker, Mary Lou Lord is best-known for solo deconstructions of songs from the indie-rock canon. But on her 2015 LP Backstreet Angels, Lord goes full-band indie-rock for “Metal Firecracker” (which Williams originally cut on Car Wheels on a Gravel Road). Lord sounds dreamy to Williams’ earthiness – but both versions come down to, “All I ask, don’t tell anybody the secrets I told you.”

“People Talkin’” – Hurray For the Riff Raff (2012)

Maybe the acid test of a song’s worthiness is how well it holds up if stripped all the way down to voice and quiet strumming. As if there could be any doubt, Williams’ “People Talkin’” (from 2003’s World Without Tears) is superb in this guitar-and-fiddle version that Hurray For the Riff Raff recorded in a London kitchen for an edition of “notes from mt. pleasant.”

“Fruits of My Labor” – Waxahatchee (2021)

“Fruits of My Labor” seems like a song that’s still going to be played around campfires a century from now. Its structure and vibe bear passing resemblance to that classic spiritual, “A Change Is Gonna Come,” and it’s been covered numerous times since first appearing on Williams’ 2003 LP World Without Tears – fine, fine versions by Margaret Glaspy, Mia Dyson, and Rostam, among others. But Waxahatchee (Alabama-born Katie Crutchfield) gets closest to the song’s soul with her cover from 2021’s Saint Cloud +3 album.

“The Last Time” – Lucinda Williams (2021)

We’ll break the format here at the end and give Williams herself the last word, showing everyone how one pays proper cover homage. From her 2021 tribute LP, You Are Cordially Invited…A Tribute to the Rolling Stones, “The Last Time” is a song with a long and winding road behind it. Originated by the Blind Boys of Alabama, it was famously covered by the Staple Singers in 1961. Four years later, the Stones fit it with a snarling lead-guitar hook that took it out of church – and here Williams moves it right on over to the honky-tonk.

Continue exploring our Artist of the Month coverage of Lucinda Williams here.

Photo Credit: Mark Seliger

Lucinda Williams: A Folk Singer’s Heart and A Rock Star’s Swagger

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

With a folk singer’s heart and a rock star’s swagger, Lucinda Williams gets it right on World’s Gone Wrong. Produced by Ray Kennedy and Tom Overby and released January 23, 2026, the topical album shows no love for the current president; instead, Williams turns to the musicians in her band, R&B legend Mavis Staples, and even a Bob Marley classic to put her own beliefs front and center.

As protesters take to the streets across America, Williams is reaching people where they live by maintaining an impressive tour schedule, just as she’s done for the last four or five decades.

BGS caught up with Williams for an Artist of the Month interview by phone, in motion and outspoken.

First off, I just want to say I love the electric guitar on this record.

Lucinda Williams: Yeah, I’ve got two of the best in my band, Doug Pettibone and Marc Ford. Marc was in the Black Crowes before and Doug’s been with me for a while. The two of them just play off of each other. They’re really great when you see the band live.

Thanks for saying that. I’ll pass that on! I’ve always managed to find really good guitar players to work with me. It’s important to me, having a good guitar sound in the band, both live and on the record.

This record’s got that live energy, which is hard to capture on an album. What were the sessions like putting this album together?

Wow! You’ve said all the right stuff that I want to hear! I love you! [Laughs] But like you said, it’s hard to get the recording to reflect that. That’s why I’m so excited that came across, but I always record live for the most part. … We’re all situated in that part of the studio where we’re recording, but the vocals are isolated, just for the sake of convenience, so we don’t have to worry about the [tracking band] bleeding in, in case there’s a mistake. But it has that live feel, because we’re not putting down certain things and then coming in later. The drummer is not coming in separately and putting the drum track down, that kind of thing. We’re putting down the basic track all at the same time, together.

I would be playing guitar normally, but since I had my stroke about five years ago, I’m struggling with it. That hasn’t come back all the way yet, unfortunately. Which makes it even more challenging, because normally I would set up the vibe and the feel on acoustic rhythm guitar, and then the guys would follow me and fall in behind me. So, now one of the other guitar players has to fill in for me. And even though they’re both great guitar players, nobody’s going to do a rhythm thing exactly like I do. That’s a little bit of a challenge right now, but we managed to pull it off somehow.

You’ve had so many musicians that have worked with you over the years. When it’s time to hire somebody in the studio or in your band, what qualities are you looking for?

Probably just being aware of different styles of music. I can’t read or write music, so for me to have to discuss something to another musician, I usually use a reference of another artist. And I might say, “I want to play this song kind of like Clifton Chenier,” like a zydeco thing. And if they don’t know who that is, it’s hard for me to describe it musically. So, the easiest and best way is just [bringing up] the sound of another style of music and using an artist to describe that.

What was on your mind as you were writing the song, “The World’s Gone Wrong”?

Well, what do you think? What’s going on right now, every single damn day. There’s some other crazy piece of news surrounding the so-called King of the United States. Or he wants to be king. He wants to name the Kennedy Center after himself. That stuff builds up in your mind, and after a while it’s therapeutic to sit down and write a song about it. Just get it out of your system. … I just remember, every single day there’d be something on the news, in the newspaper, on TV or somewhere online. You couldn’t get away from it. It was pervasive. It was just on my mind a lot, of course, and still is.

This might be venturing out a little bit, but it seemed like a love song too, because these two people in the song are leaning on each other.

Yeah, I’m glad you brought that up. I’m glad you saw that in there. I think it’s an interesting way of dealing with the political unrest, by painting a picture of a regular, everyday couple and what they’re going through. So you can express it that way.

I’ll shift it over to “Low Life,” because I feel like I’m sitting at that bar with you when I listen to that song. And I also like those bars where you can be anonymous and no one really knows you. When you’re out on tour, do you look for places like that?

Yeah, the guys and me will look for a cool little place to maybe go hang out after the show. It’s hard to find one, though, where they won’t know who we are, because then they’ll want to come up and talk and stuff. A lot of times the guys will go somewhere and I’ll be like, “I want to go! Take me! Take me!” And they’ll go, “Lu, you’re not going to want to go, because it’s going to be swamped with fans and everybody’s going to want to talk to you,” and all that. Then I get all disappointed because I can’t go. [Laughs] So I’d just stay on the bus.

We end up hanging out on the bus more often than not. That becomes our little bar. I like to fraternize with the band guys after we do a show. I like to bond with them a little bit on the tour bus.

I noticed you’re going on the road with the band Heart in March. When that offer came through, what made you think, “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Well, turns out they were fans of my music, which I wasn’t aware of, and I guess their people reached out to my people… or my person [laughs] and wanted to take me out with them. Ann and Nancy Wilson are just two of the nicest people ever, real down to earth. We went out and already did some shows with them not too long ago. It seemed like with their fans and my fans, there was kind of an overlap there. It seemed to work musically as a bill.

I don’t think enough has been said about Nancy’s playing. I caught a documentary a while back on the music scene in Seattle back in the day, and with Heart a lot of people don’t realize they were there then, right when Nirvana was around. They were a little bit different, but I hadn’t realized how proficient Nancy was on the electric guitar and I was just sitting there watching it like, “Oh my God!” And Ann’s voice – they’ve got what it takes, that’s for sure.

You’re back out on the road, you’ve got this new album, and I’m sure there are a lot of other things in the works. What are you enjoying most about this stage of your career?

Being able to go out and do shows with artists like Heart. I got to go out and do shows with a tour featuring Bob Dylan and Van Morrison. I got to go out and do shows with the Allman Brothers. I’ve met so many fantastic, legendary artists over the years who like my music. And some might be a surprise. I was surprised, actually.

Like, Joey Ramone was a fan. David Byrne is a fan. Robert Plant is a big fan and I’ve done quite a few shows with him. So that’s been a big boost. Those probably have been the highlights of my career, being able to connect with those kinds of artists. The people I listened to when I was starting out and looked up to.

It was interesting to hear you include “So Much Trouble in the World” on this record. What did you like most about Bob Marley’s original version of that song?

First of all, I feel like that song was ahead of his time and it still rings true today. It’s still so fresh and could have been written yesterday. It’s still relevant. People still love the song. It’s got a great melody. Nobody can do it like Bob Marley did, though. I was a little self-conscious about that when we cut that song, because I was thinking, “What are people going to think? Me covering a Bob Marley song?” Like, “What does she think she’s doing?” But it’s a great song to play live. And like I said, it’s so much about what’s going on right now.

Having Mavis Staples on that recording is such a treat. What did she bring to the track?

She just added a whole extra level of soul, and thought, and everything. And we didn’t tell her what to sing or how to do anything. We didn’t give her parts to do or anything like that. We just showed her where the vocal booth was. You know, “Here’s the microphone,” turn it on, and she just let it rip. We’re so grateful to have her on there. And every single person I’ve done an interview with has mentioned her. Like, “What’s this about Mavis Staples on the record? How did you get her in the studio?” and all this. Everybody’s so excited to hear her on there.

I also wanted to ask you about “Too Far to Turn Around.” It feels like something we could sing at a protest march, but it’s kind of like a meditation, too.

Yeah. Thank you so much. I love hearing you say that, because that’s what I had in mind when I was writing it. Exactly that. I was thinking about songs like “We Shall Overcome” and everybody singing it together and holding hands. Because I experienced that myself back in the ‘60s. When I was a teenager, I used to go to all these marches and demonstrations. And music was the thing that kind of brought people together back then.

Those kinds of songs like “We Shall Overcome” were being sung and Bob Dylan was writing all those amazing protest songs like “Masters of War,” which I used to sing. I’d get my guitar, go to these things, and sometimes they’d ask me to sing. I’d do those kinds of songs, like Joan Baez and all. I mean, there was just a gamut of great folk singers. That’s what they used to call us! I kind of wish that would come back. Just call it folk music. The people’s music.

Continue exploring our Artist of the Month coverage of Lucinda Williams here.

Photo Credit: Mark Seliger

Artist of the Month: Lucinda Williams

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Among the 78 bands performing for thousands of fans at San Francisco’s 25th annual Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, our nation’s foremost Americana festival, in October of 2025, one of the largest audiences had gathered for Lucinda Williams. She took the main stage in the afternoon clad in a leather suit, studs on the hem of her pants. The groove from the band and her lyrics landed with resonant pounding, like the drop of a heavy set of books on a table. After more than 50 years of performing, her sound still hits.

Lucinda Williams grasped brilliance in 1998 with Car Wheels On A Gravel Road, but this was not some isolated incident. She has pursued the craft of album-making expertly for her entire career, and fans flock to her because there is always something more to scratch up. The singularity of her writing rings at a higher frequency today in our shallow digitized world. I see her current position in our culture to be similar to that of poet-songwriter Leonard Cohen in his final chapter. When she sings, we listeners get to grasp at something real, and we crave what Lucinda offers; intimate corporeal love, the palette of Southern backroads alongside broken-down juke joints, honest bewilderment at the state of the world while still loving it.

When I was 26, I set out on a road trip to trace Lucinda’s origins. Being a songwriter, I wanted to determine what I could do to strive and bloom, like she did. So I left California driving my 1995 Ford F-250. From Texas to Tennessee, I dug up characters from Lucinda’s early days. I was most interested in finding people who had worked with her in the beginning of her career.

In Jackson, Mississippi, I spent a day at Malaco Studios where Lucinda made her first record Ramblin’ On My Mind. While listening to outtakes, I happened upon the first-ever originals she recorded but never released. In those reel-to-reel tapes that had been sitting untouched in a concrete vault, I heard a voice from four decades ago that was clear and bold. Wolf Stephenson was the engineer from that session and he told me that in 1978 Lucinda was a resolute and present woman: “[In] day-to-day life, she was just as footloose and like she was on stage. And really there wasn’t much difference in sitting here talking [with her] or being on stage, very natural.”

In Austin, Texas, I was shocked to learn that well-known guitarist Charlie Sexton had played with Lucinda when he was just 11 and she was 26. At the Hole in the Wall where a booker once cancelled Lucinda’s gig because there were “too many girl singers that month,” Charlie and I discussed how he has learned from Lucinda as a writer. He reflected on his early impressions of her and told me, “…There’s no doubt that Lucinda was always going to be unique… I mean, she’s like a regional writer in a way… she’s the Flannery O’Connor of that era of singer-songwriter.”

Lucinda’s parents raised her in an extraordinary community. Her father Miller Williams was a professor, a translator, and a poet. He and his wife were descendants of humble traveling Methodist ministers with meager finances, but by the time their first daughter Lucinda was a teen, the family sat in the company of Nobel Prize-winning authors. Miller’s genuine passion for literature gave him the conviction to invite figures like Charles Bukowski and indeed Flannery O’Connor into his circle of friends and acquaintances. He hosted literary parties in the family’s Arkansas home. After drinks were served, Miller read some of his new poems out loud, and a young Lucinda sat and strummed her latest songs. Writers of the highest caliber listened at attention. Some of these writers gave Lucinda feedback. Perhaps just as important was that these writers also imparted genuine encouragement to Lucinda and told her that in spite of all of the suffering and uncertainties involved in being an artist, it was still a worthwhile pursuit in life.

Along my road trip I also discovered how committed Lucinda has been to her art over the decades. I spoke at length with some of the musicians and engineers that worked on Car Wheels On A Gravel Road. I learned from Lucinda’s recollections that when you have that itching worry that a sound just isn’t right on an album, you have to wrestle with the process to find the right timbre, the right soundscape that will thrill you. I found that a songwriter has to embrace change, even if they’re unsure of the career consequences. I found that artists can’t just make the same album over and over again. Well… they can, but they probably shouldn’t. A songwriter has to keep seeking out that sound, that story that pulls at their soul’s musical corners, like Lucinda did.

Lucinda’s latest release, World’s Gone Wrong, is a continuation of the directness I’ve known her for. She conveys her truth with her language of simplicity. So often in our era, bathed in a slurry of news and trends, opinions from artists can feel glued-on. But that’s not the case with Lucinda. She conveys her frustrations with the state of the world from a genuine and honest place and, when she sings, I believe her. As with so much of her writing, in her latest album I feel like I’m reading a book, inhabiting the imagined place of the viewer and the subject.

The characters in Lucinda’s songs are alive, bleeding, imperfect, and desirously wanting. We benefit from the chance to continue paying attention to the words she writes.

If you’d like to learn all about how I retraced the roots of Lucinda Williams, check out Finding Lucinda, my podcast released in partnership with the BGS Podcast Network. You can also watch the documentary film Finding Lucinda on AppleTV, Youtube and more.

Stay tuned as BGS and Good Country celebrate Lucinda Williams as Artist of the Month throughout March. Enjoy our Essential Lucinda Williams playlist below and check out an exclusive interview with Williams here. Plus, we’ll be diving into the BGS archives for all things Lu and exploring our favorite covers of her songs by other artists, too. Follow along right here on BGS and on social media for more.

Photo Credit: Mark Seliger

Brennen Leigh’s Modern Retro Country

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Brennen Leigh says she’s been a goner for country music since she was a teenager. But when it comes to her discography, she hasn’t been gone for long. Don’t You Ever Give Up On Love (released October 3) is the musician’s fourth album in five years, and it continues a creative streak that matches her love of traditional country arrangements with clever, well-crafted songwriting.

Recorded in Dayton, Texas, where Leigh now lives, Don’t You Ever Give Up On Love is a mostly up-tempo collection that should appeal to anyone who loves country from its golden eras. Catching up with Good Country, Leigh talks about the turning point in her love of country, her fondness for bluegrass, and how she really feels about one of Nashville’s most famous phrases.

I was curious about the title track, “Don’t You Ever Give Up On Love.” It’s got such a positive feel. Why did you choose that one to put on the cover of your record?

Brennen Leigh: I love the title of it, for one, and for two, I wrote that with a dear friend named Elijah Ocean. He’s a great writer and a player and we kind of came up through the mud together, I’ll say. He told me, “I just was thinking about you as I was writing it.” And not even about me singing it, but me as a person. He sent me the first verse – and I’m a procrastinator and I won’t read people’s texts and I won’t return phone calls – but he knows I love him, he doesn’t care. That’s how songwriters are. But about a month later, when I finally went and listened to it, I said, “Elijah, I hope you haven’t finished that, because I would love to participate.” He said, “Yeah, of course, that’s why I sent it to you.”

So I finished it. And it’s just two verses. That’s the whole song. I love that thing about songwriting, and specifically country music, where it’s just a quick statement and out. So many of the best songs are just a verse and a chorus, or even just a verse. We wrote it in the midst of recording this album and then we recorded it down in Dayton. And it’s like, well, that’s an obvious choice for the album, because it is so positive. I really like performing it.

It’s encouraging, too. Have you had a good response from the crowd with that song?

Yeah, I’ve had a lot of positive feedback from people. On the surface, it’s a love song and it’s a relationship record, but to me, it’s really more of a “Don’t ever give up on yourself” message. Because people come and go, sadly, in our lives, and for me, it’s more a story of resilience.

I think it’s similar to the song “Dumpster Diving,” where it gets the point across in a pretty cool way. You filmed that video for “Dumpster Diving” at the Sagebrush in Austin, right?

We did, and it was hot! It was like 90 degrees in April or something. We brought one of our favorite videographers, Oceanna, down from Nashville, and I just kind of threw her into this situation in Austin, but she rolled with it. She really has a wonderful eye. And we dressed me up and put me in a dumpster. [Laughs]

Then some of the other videos for this project look like ‘60s Nashville country. I love the vintage eyeglasses and that cool yellow-and-orange shirt in the “You’re Finally Hurting” video.

Those are my real glasses! [Laughs] I really have a prescription in them to drive with. And the thing specifically about the “Tell Me” video was that we wanted to make it look like we were the Nashville A-Team in the ‘60s. We were just going to work, like country business casual or Western business casual. Like, how an Anita Kerr or Chet Atkins would show up to work in kind of fancy dress, but casual. Read their charts, put the song down, and smoke a cigarette. You know, we weren’t smoking, but that’s kind of the idea.

“Tell Me” is a simple title, but that song says a lot. What was on your mind as you wrote it?

I was imagining calling somebody in a sweaty panic, like, “Oh, I heard something, I’ve got this feeling, and I need you to confirm my suspicions.” And not getting the answer that you want, but sort of trying to demand this answer. I love country songs that are one-sided conversations. There are so many good ones throughout history. For some reason, the one that is popping into my head is “I Met a Friend of Yours Today.” You’re feeling like a little bit of a psycho, like you’re losing your mind a little bit, and you confront somebody. That’s the sort of song that that is.

People often say country is “three chords and the truth.” Do you like that phrase?

I do like it, but I think in a way it’s not 100 percent accurate. We’re splitting hairs here, but for me, a lot of my writing is at least semi-fictional. Maybe I’m doing myself a disservice as an artist by saying that. But fans want to believe, and I think the listener wants to believe, that this is my story, and this came from me tossing in desperation on my bed and grabbing my notebook.

Well, you know, I’m a songwriter and it’s my job to make up stories. While this record has some truth on it, some of these stories are just straight made up! That doesn’t mean that there’s not feeling behind them, or that I haven’t experienced something similar, but I’m also a private enough person that I’m not going to just air things of a certain nature for the public. I do have lines that I won’t cross. Now, I’ll say some of these are true, word for word, and some of them are not. But that’s what imagination is for.

I think the song is not for me, it’s for the listener. So, if somebody gleaned something that they feel personally in one of these songs, I love that. And probably, as a Western swing person at heart, I should say we have a few more than three chords. But I do really appreciate and love that sentiment of like, “This is just no BS, I’m gonna sing this.” I mean, I like that saying, and I think at its heart, it’s pretty true.

How old were you when country music kind of sparked your interest?

I grew up hearing it around the house, but I was maybe 14 before I went headlong into it.

Was there a song or an artist that pulled you in?

There was one summer when my brother and I were already budding musicians. We were already playing gigs. He was heavily into Robert Johnson. I had gotten into that stuff, too, and I liked oldies. I liked ‘50s and ‘60s rock and roll and soul music, like Buddy Holly and Bessie Smith, and I liked some show tunes. We got into country one summer, courtesy of our parents’ record collection.

Then we got a free ticket – via donating a canned good to the radio station – to see Dwight Yoakam. I think I was turning 15, and I kind of flipped my lid. It was our county fair in Fargo, North Dakota and it was probably September or August – and it was probably 40 degrees. I stood there for that whole concert and went, “Wow!!” [Laughs] Then one friend gave me a box set of Hank Williams and that was huge. I already had heard him, but that Bear Family box set is like six or eight discs. I dubbed it onto tapes and that’s all I listened to.

Somebody else gave me a Smithsonian Folkways set that had Bill Monroe on it and it had Lucinda Williams on it, because it was more of a folk label. It was like, “Wow, there’s all these tentacles to country music.” And my family was into it, too. So, I was pretty well immersed, except geographically. I wasn’t around any live music, but I was around a lot of good recorded music.

Are you a fan of bluegrass?

Oh, yeah! Very much, and I grew up with it. My favorite guitar player is Norman Blake. I get asked all the time, “When’s your bluegrass record?” I would love to do something. I just need to get the songs together, because the bluegrass community, they’re the best fans in the world. Bluegrass fans are so loyal, and they know what they like and they don’t care what you look like. It’s a great culture and it’s diverse, and that’s a beautiful thing. So, yeah, that’ll happen.

You know, I wish there were two of me and I had double time. I’ve been loving East Nash Grass and Thunder & Rain. I love the Kody Norris Show. They’re so poised and so good. I’ve been feeling the influence to do something with bluegrass again, because it’s been a long time.

We can maybe wrap it up with this. What are you looking forward to the most coming up?

I just got off a three-week album release tour that was great fun. Before that, I was everywhere. [Laughs] So, to be completely honest, I’m looking forward to being home for a bit. But I’m also working on another project that’s even weirder than all the other ones I’ve ever done. I don’t want to say too much about it, but it feels like a spiritually important album for me to do. I’ve also got some songs in the can with my other band, Wonder Women of Country. We have a couple singles we’ve recorded and I think we’re going to be out together some next year, too.

You’re so collaborative and you’re not just off doing your own thing. It’s like a luxury to have such a great, rich community around you.

Well, thank you. And it is a luxury. Honestly that’s how I’ve gotten by and kept it sane, because I know it’s not about me. I know it’s about the art, and the art can be more fun than when you involve others sometime. Also, I’ve noticed a lot of the good things that have happened in my career are because I’ve worked with other people on musical collaborations. It’s just so much stronger together.

Photo Credit: Lyza Renee

Finding Lucinda: Episode 13

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

In this episode of the podcast, Ismay sits down with Finding Lucinda director Joel Fendelman. They discuss how Joel approached the making of the documentary and concepts like developing the language of a film to build trust with the audience, the artist’s experience of not being where you thought you should be at a certain age – including how to constructively confront that – and the idea of trusting others in collaborations. They also talk about how there is overlap in the craft of filmmaking and music-making, including ideas like contrasts and consistency.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

With roots in Miami, Austin, and New York City, Fendelman has written, produced, and directed a number of award-winning narrative and documentary films. An award-winning filmmaker, he is dedicated to telling stories that reveal the underlying connections between us all. His documentary Man on Fire received an IDA Documentary Award and premiered nationally on PBS’s Independent Lens (2018–19 season). He went on to direct North Putnam, which won the Indiana Spotlight Award at the Heartland International Film Festival. In 2016, his short film Game Night premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival and won Best Super Short at the Savannah Film Festival. His second narrative feature, Remittance, earned multiple festival awards, including Best Actress and Best Screenplay at the Brooklyn Film Festival, and is distributed worldwide. His debut feature, David (2011), won the Ecumenical Prize at the Montreal World Film Festival. His most recent short film, The Spiritual Advisor, is premiering at DOC NYC 2025 and is being distributed by Rolling Stone Films.

Produced in partnership with BGS and distributed through the BGS Podcast Network, Finding Lucinda expands on the themes of Ismay’s eponymous documentary film, exploring artistic influence, creative resilience, and the impact of Williams’ music. New episodes are released twice a month. Listen right here on BGS or wherever you get podcasts.

Finding Lucinda, the documentary film that inspired and instigated the podcast, is now available to purchase, rent, or stream via video on demand. (Watch the film, listen to the soundtrack, or find a screening near you here.) Both the film and podcast showcase never-before-heard archival material, intimate conversations, and a visual journey through the literal and figurative landscapes that molded Lucinda’s songwriting.

Credits:
Produced, recorded, and mixed by Avery Hellman for Neanderthal Records, LLC.
Music by Ismay,
Special thanks to: Rose Bush, Liz McBee, Mick Hellman, Jonathan McHugh, Sydney Lane, Jacqueline Sabec, Rosemary Carroll, Lucinda Williams, and Tom Overby

Find more information on Finding Lucinda here. Find our full Finding Lucinda episode archive here.

Watch Finding Lucinda, listen to the soundtrack, or find a screening near you here.

Finding Lucinda: Episode 12

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

After the conclusion of their journey, Ismay tours the nation with screenings of Finding Lucinda, inviting local artists to play Lucinda Williams songs in the round. Following a show at Chico Women’s Club in California, Ismay interviews Chuck Prophet, a celebrated musician who co-produced the film. The pair discuss the origins of the project, what surprised them about making this documentary, and how Lucinda has influenced their songwriting and careers. They also discuss Chuck’s time opening for Lucinda in the early 2000s.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

Produced in partnership with BGS and distributed through the BGS Podcast Network, Finding Lucinda expands on the themes of Ismay’s eponymous documentary film, exploring artistic influence, creative resilience, and the impact of Williams’ music. New episodes are released twice a month. Listen right here on BGS or wherever you get podcasts.

Finding Lucinda, the documentary film that inspired and instigated the podcast, is now available to purchase, rent, or stream via video on demand. (Watch the film, listen to the soundtrack, or find a screening near you here.) Both the film and podcast showcase never-before-heard archival material, intimate conversations, and a visual journey through the literal and figurative landscapes that molded Lucinda’s songwriting.

Credits:
Produced, recorded, and mixed by Avery Hellman for Neanderthal Records, LLC.
Special thanks to: Rick Anderson, Gavin Jones, Joel Fendelman, Rose Bush, Liz McBee, Mick Hellman, Chuck Prophet, Jonathan McHugh, Sydney Lane, Jacqueline Sabec, Rosemary Carroll, Lucinda Williams & Tom Overby.

Photo Credit: Peter Dervin

Find more information on Finding Lucinda here. Find our full Finding Lucinda episode archive here.

Watch Finding Lucinda, listen to the soundtrack, or find a screening near you here.

Tending to Fires,
Getting to Truth

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

New days and clean slates keep coming for singer-songwriter Caitlin Canty. She is sharpening her skills, raising a family, and continuing to build a body of work that reflects resilience, quiet strength, and resolute honesty. Her new record, Night Owl Envies the Mourning Dove, is a testament to her evolving artistry – an album that turns natural solitude, domestic change, and hard-earned wisdom into a collection of songs that sound both grounded in the earth and untethered from time.

Canty was born in Proctor, Vermont, in 1982 and grew up surrounded by rural landscapes and the gentle rhythms of small-town life. Raised by a schoolteacher mother and a housepainter father, she found song in ordinary moments – singing in chorus and playing trombone in school before receiving her first guitar and VHS-tape lessons at age 17. After earning a biology degree from Williams College she moved to New York City, where she worked for the Emmy-nominated series Live from the Artists Den while pursuing music on her own terms.

Her early releases – including Golden Hour (2012) and the breakout Reckless Skyline (2015) – drew acclaim for her “casually devastating voice” and “hauntingly urgent” Americana ballads. She won the Telluride Troubadour songwriting competition in 2015 and began touring extensively across the U.S. and Europe, collaborating with artists like Peter Bradley Adams and Jamey Johnson, and earning praise from Rolling Stone, NPR, and No Depression for her gritty lyricism and radiant poise.

In recent years, she and her husband, musician Noam Pikelny, moved back to Vermont, settling on a mountaintop near her childhood home. There, Canty continues to record, tour, and write – with the same battered 1939 Recording King guitar that has accompanied her throughout her career.

One of the album’s most tender tracks, “Don’t Worry About Nothing,” carries the voice of a mother consoling and encouraging against the endless churn of small anxieties. It is at once lullaby, sermon, and reminder: that one bad thing does not mean the whole world has collapsed.

“There is a mom’s voice and perspective to focus and worry about the things that do matter,” Canty explained. “But also how little worries and little jealousies can work against us… Tornadoes, awful things, [they] remind you how short life is and what’s actually important.”

The song’s origins stretch back to a small mishap – her young son’s toy castle tumbling down – but its weight comes from deeper, darker places. In March 2020, a tornado tore through her East Nashville neighborhood, missing her home by mere yards. Not long after, the pandemic upended the world. The castle was a metaphor, she realized, for the way everything can crash at once, yet perspective offers a way forward.

For Canty, who released Reckless Skyline a decade ago, the test of time has reshaped her relationship to both music and ambition. “My real goal is to be writing more and better songs,” she said. “My real goal is to be connecting with more people through those songs, playing with musicians that I adore, and getting on good stages. Not worrying about courting people, but to do right by the music.”

Doing right by the music has meant widening her scope. Night Owl Envies the Mourning Dove reaches for longevity, not trends. It sits comfortably in a lineage of songwriters who, like Canty, trust the songs to outlive themselves. “I look to musicians who have had longer careers, like Dolly Parton,” she said. “She is singing songs that she wrote in her 20s. There are so many who have a gorgeous output of songs that are their lifelong friends. It’s not about when they were written or how people liked them then.”

Canty doesn’t wait around for the muse. To her, waiting for inspiration is “a fool’s errand.” She compares songs to photographs – fleeting impressions that must be captured before they fade. “You take a picture and you remember it as notable and beautiful and there is something about it that makes you want to share it. That type of inspiration sparks a song. It happens countless times a day.”

But the challenge, she says, is to honor the purity of that first flash. “You are lucky if you have the time from start to finish to complete the song and make the world go away. The fewer co-writers the better, including myself. If you open it up again in two weeks, or a year, you have different eyes… and that brings too many people and opinions into the room rather than one solid voice.”

Some of her most recent songs arrived in just such a spark – like during a violent rainstorm in Vermont. Alone in her cabin as thunder cracked over the mountains, Canty felt a song arrive like lightning. Hungry, shivering, and unable to leave, she turned to the page. “That’s when it is about honoring your craft and keeping your calluses hard,” she said. “Writing songs and tending to those fires.”

Much of the new album reflects Canty’s sense of place. After years of calling Nashville home, in Vermont the woods, weather, and solitude shape her work. Songs like “Electric Guitar” hum with what she calls “domestic noise” – the sound of home life creeping into the music. “Examining what home means is another strong thread in a lot of these songs,” she said. “There is a lot of domestic noise in ‘Electric Guitar’ of a life settled and tied to the home front.”

The landscape also plays a role. Birds, trees, and storms become metaphors for transformation and survival, grounding her reflections on motherhood and the passage of time.

Every songwriter brings along artists who came before them and for Canty, one such artist is Lucinda William and her landmark album, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road. Canty first heard it in college while working as a server to make ends meet. Living in a big house with wide kitchen windows, she found herself singing along to those raw, unvarnished songs. “The sound, the songwriting, the singing – it all was a high-water mark for me,” Canty recalled. “It had the mystery of how something so simple could be so powerful. Why is this message of another person hitting my heart and staying embedded? How do I do that?”

Since Reckless Skyline, Canty has been described as gentle, quiet, restrained. But she resists those labels. “I don’t think that that is what this record is,” she said. “There might be fingerpicked and more solitary numbers, but a lot of the songs are more electric and grittier, and closer maybe to Reckless Skyline or Car Wheels in that regard.”

There’s grit beneath the quiet, steel beneath the lull. That mix – of softness and resolve – has become her artistic fingerprint. At the core of her music lies a devotion to truth.

“I could never act,” Canty admitted. “As a kid, I loved band and singing. Music is getting to truth and getting yourself out of the way of a song. If it’s the truth, then I feel comfortable singing it.”

That truth may be wrapped in storms or in stillness, in the clatter of home or in the electric hum of a live stage. But it is always there – steady, unpretentious, and deeply human.

With Night Owl Envies the Mourning Dove, Caitlin Canty has crafted more than an album – it is a meditation on resilience, a love letter to songwriting itself, and a statement of intent. She is not chasing spotlights or trends, but tending her fires, shaping her craft, and writing songs that might someday be her lifelong friends.

“My real goal,” she repeats, “is to be writing more and better songs… to do right by the music.”

For Canty, that’s enough. And for those who listen, it is everything.

Photo Credit: Noah Altshuler