Kieran Kane & Rayna Gellert Let Their Music “Be What It Wants to Be”

Volume 4 is a beginning and end for Kieran Kane & Rayna Gellert. It’s a beginning in that it’s the duo’s newest release, which means new songs, a new tour cycle, and a new round of interviews. It’s an end – “the end of an era,” as they put it – for Dead Reckoning Records, the label Kane and his bandmates in The Dead Reckoners launched 30 years ago. The independent venture grabbed the attention of other artists whose recordings they released, in addition to The Dead Reckoners’ first and only album, A Night of Reckoning, and the band members’ various other projects.

“Over the 30 years, [The Dead Reckoners] drifted into their own worlds, their own lanes,” says Kane. “Tammy Rogers and the late Mike Henderson started doing The SteelDrivers, Harry Stinson has been with Marty Stuart for years, and Kevin Welch is in Australia. For a long time, I was just putting out my solo records on the label, and then Rayna and I put our records out.

“30 years seemed like a nice, round, anniversary number to give everybody their work back, their masters back, and dissolve the company. It’s been great. I’m quite proud of the work we’ve done over the years and that it’s still a functioning label. We’ve managed to survive all kinds of digital flare-ups and breakthroughs and ways of sharing music. The company makes a little bit of money every year, but it seemed like, ‘Yeah, let’s call it a day.’ I called everyone and everybody was like, ‘That’s fine.’”

Bringing Dead Reckoning Records full circle is sweet rather than bittersweet, says Kane, “in that the label was started by an album of mine [Dead Rekoning, 1995] and thirty years later, on the same date [April 11], we released Volume 4. To me, it serves as bookends for the label.”

Gellert and Kane met at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in San Francisco. Their first collaboration was co-writing for Kane’s Unguarded Moments [2016] and Gellert’s Workin’s Too Hard [2017]. The following year, they released their first duo album, The Ledges, followed by When The Sun Goes Down [2019], and The Flowers That Bloom In Spring [2022]. This year brings Volume 4, which they produced, recorded, and mixed, with Kane on vocals and guitars, Gellert on vocals, guitar, and fiddle, and Kane’s son Lucas on drums.

I thought we’d start by introducing you to readers, but instead of telling us about yourselves, tell us about each other.

Rayna Gellert: Kieran is a multi-instrumentalist and songwriter with a long, awesome career doing all kinds of musical things ever since he was a child. The thing that other musicians immediately say about him is they comment on his sense of groove that seems to be a through line in his musical output. And he’s awesome. He’s the funnest person to write and perform with.

Kieran Kane: Musically, we are so much on the same path, and have been on the same path, for both our individual lines. But out of all the people that I’ve ever worked with, Rayna, in the same way she talks about groove when talking about me, I would have to say the same thing about her, in that it’s just so … I want to say reliable, and that sounds sort of pedestrian, but it is.

It’s like having a drummer and a bass player playing the fiddle, in that the pockets and the grooves are so strong and well established that I can drift away and they’re just there. And it’s all been unusually compatible in writing and playing and performing. We genuinely enjoy doing what we do together. It’s a lot of fun, and it’s creatively fulfilling, and all those things.

Rayna, in an interview with WYSO you mentioned there are differences in your songwriting processes. Could you tell us about those differences and how they work as a duo?

RG: Kieran’s the first person I’ve consistently co-written with. I mostly wrote on my own. I occasionally noodled around with a friend on something, but I had no consistent co-writer. I was very much a newbie to actual co-writing when Kieran and I started writing together.

He approaches songwriting from a completely different angle than I do and that makes it extra fun and adventurous. I’ve always started with some bit of lyric and melody that come at the same time together and I go from there. Kieran usually starts with some kind of instrumental riff that becomes the seed of a structure of something. Lyrics come later for him.

The combination of the way we come at a song is very compatible because it’s different. We bring different strengths to the table. I tend to be super verbose when it comes to lyrics. I spill a lot of stuff out, and he’s a great editor. He is really good at finding the key phrases, figuring out the hook, and creating a structure around that.

My background is in old-time music, so the idea of a long ballad where there’s no chorus and it’s just inspiration that goes on and on and on is totally normal to me. For Kieran, it’s like, “What’s the hook? What’s the chorus? What’s the instrumental riff that’s going to tie the thing together?” And it works together very well.

KK: I agree with that. A lot of times what I’m hearing, along with a song, is a record. So much of what we do is based on an intro, in a way, or, as she said, a little musical hook that’ll tie things down. I’ve almost never sat down with an idea about a song. It’s more like I sit down and start playing banjo or mandolin or guitar until something catches my ear and then a lyric will be a free association to get started.

With us, that’s true to some extent, as well. A lot of times we don’t know what the song is going to be about until we wade into the waters and go, “Oh, it could be this.” It seems to work. Whatever the two different approaches are, it comes together.

How is Volume 4 the next step in your journey? You’ve talked about the songwriting process. When it’s time to record, do the arrangements happen organically?

RG: His view of the song tends to be a little more zoomed out than mine. What he’s saying … he is not just thinking about the song, he’s thinking about the record – I think that’s about arrangement. That’s about, “How are the pieces fitting together here?”
It does evolve organically. We always have to decide, “What’s the instrumentation? What feels right for this? Am I playing guitar? Am I playing fiddle?” If he comes up with a riff on an instrument, usually it stays on that instrument. But we’re working with so few pieces that we make a lot of use of space, because that’s one of the biggest colors in our palette.

KK: A way for us to build things in terms of arrangements often – since, as Rayna said, there’s so few pieces – is to eliminate something, like, “We’ll drop out here, which will bring the song down,” because if we start off with the two of us singing and playing at the same time, there’s no place to go, other than to start removing things.

As I’m saying this, I realize that my mission, if there is such a thing, in writing and making records has always been about removing things, making it simpler, and cutting off all the fat, anything that’s unnecessary.

RG: One of the things that’s different about this project is, in a way, we approached the whole album sort of like we would approach a song, as in letting it be what it wanted to be.

On past albums, we approached it more like we were writing a set list for a show, where it’s, “Have we included different instrumentation? Do we have a balance of lead singers? Do we have uptempo and downtempo?” This album is structured more like the way we write a song, which is, “What does this want to be?” Regardless of instrumentation, regardless of who’s singing, regardless of whether we wrote the songs. It evolved into this little sonic package that feels like you go in there and it’s a room you hang out in for the length of the album. To me, that’s a different experience than our past records.

KK: I’ve never thought of it like that. Yeah. We’ve been writing a lot. We wrote three albums, I did an EP that we had written a couple of songs for, and Rayna did an EP that I helped out on a couple of songs and produced. So we’ve done a lot of work in the last eight years, or however it is, that we’ve been doing this. Before Volume 4, there were three albums and two EPs, which is a lot more work than I’ve ever done in that amount of time.

This record, to me, was a little bit more of a grab-back in a way. Rayna was talking about wanting to do a fiddle album at some point and I was like, “Let’s play more fiddle tunes.” So we did that and pulled some older songs that were, as Rayna was saying, “Let’s just do it.” In my mind, it’s almost cleansing in a way to have taken this “just let it be what it wants to be” approach. Now we can move on to something else … and I don’t know what that is.

Tell us about the recording process and gear choices on this album.

RG: We have a very simple home recording setup that we’ve refined over the years. We got some good mics that we like a lot a couple years ago, Soyuz mics. We use those for everything, for instruments and vocals, the same mics. We have four of those.
We have a Zoom R16 board that we can either record directly onto or use as an input into Logic for recording. It’s a very mobile rig. We spend our summers in the Adirondacks at a cabin and we do a lot of recording when we’re up there. Some of this album was recorded there and some of it was recorded here in Nashville, in our house. We can take the board with us and do a nice, clean, digital field recording.

KK: It’s a wonderful piece of gear and shockingly inexpensive. As far as instruments and things like that, this record is a departure for me in terms of guitars, because I’ve basically used the same Guild M-20 on every record and every show I’ve done with Rayna, and before that for the last twenty-five years. For some reason, on this record, I picked up a couple of different guitars that I’ve had lying around the house for years. It was like, “Let me try this song on this guitar. Oh, that’s fun.” Whether or not I would do that again, I don’t know, because the guitar I’ve used all those years I love and it’s so reliable.

There’s three different acoustic guitars for me on this record. One is a Martin 00-16 classic, an early-’60s gut-string guitar that I played on “Keep My Heart in Mind.” The other is an early-’60s D-28 that I played on “The Mansion Above.” The other guitar songs are all on the Guild M-20. Rayna played the same guitar that she’s been using, an early D-28.

Last year, I was listening to a lot of ’60s folk music. I was listening to Gordon Lightfoot, Ian & Sylvia, Bob Dylan, and things like that, and hearing these really simple guitars where there’s no real guitar solos or anything like that. “I Can’t Wait” fits into that mold – as does “Keep My Heart in Mind,” and “Imagine That” – in that there’s no solos, but there’s a repetitive musical vein that goes through it all. It’s just two people playing guitars and singing. It’s that simple, which is something that really appeals to me.

Is it accurate to say there’s a connecting thread of faith in some of these songs?

KK: Yeah, I think that maybe is a thread through it.

RG: Not from that specific angle, but we definitely talked about hoping that people, in listening to the album, felt comforted.

KK: “I Can’t Wait,” to me, is very much is about faith – not in a religious way, but in a general sense of hope. As bad as things are right now, I remain hopeful and I keep looking towards the light. I’m aware of the dark, profoundly aware of the dark, but I don’t think that’s the end. I think there’s light as well and there’ll be more light as time goes by.

There are a couple of songs, specifically “Whatcha Gonna Do About It” and “Short Con,” that people could easily interpret as political – and they are. There’s no doubt about that. “Short Con” we look at as written from the standpoint of the Constitution. It’s like, “Why don’t you believe in me now?” There are other songs we have that certainly people have told us, “We’re not interested in your political views.” There’s a few floating around that just turn out … it’s not like we sit down and try and write about politics, or faith, for that matter. It’s just where our mental space is at the time.

You can look at these new songs as being political, but we’ve started thinking about them as being patriotic. It’s patriotic to stand up and say, “No, you can’t do that. You can’t just pull someone out of their car and throw them in a jail in El Salvador or whatever.” That’s not a political statement to me and I think for us at this point, as much as it is a patriotic statement, it’s our duty as citizens to say something. We’re given that right and we’re taking advantage of it.

And then something like “The Mansion Above,” which I wrote fifty years ago, somehow fits in there. There is a thread between those songs. So yeah, I think to see a line through of faith is good.

You’ve mentioned before that you’re doing what you call “three-day-weekend touring.” What are your upcoming “weekend” plans?

RG: Our approach to touring is very chill. We do two or three dates in a row, sometimes just one-offs. That’s our usual mode. I think the most we’ve ever done in a row is four dates. It’s all compact and it’s all about being humane and kind to ourselves.

KK: We have a good time. We have a comfortable car, I do all the driving and Rayna does all the navigating and mans the phone. I like to get onstage and play, but I don’t think either one of us wants to go, “Let’s book a month.” I look at other people’s schedules sometimes and go, “I remember doing things like that,” but I wouldn’t want to do it again.

We are gentle on ourselves. Our performances– we’ve cut that down in the sense that we don’t use any monitors onstage. We sit as close as humanly possible together and still be able to move the instruments around. Sound people really like us because sound people hate monitors. You say, “No monitors,” they rejoice. Doing it that way, if a soundcheck takes more than 15 minutes, we’re in trouble. Two instrument mics, two vocal mics, no monitors. “Can you hear us? Great. We’re done.” It makes life simpler.

RG: So yes, we do have gigs. There’s some stuff for the summer that will be posted on our website and I’m working on fall right now.

KK: And we are open to offers.

RG: Yes, we’re always happy to hear from venues!


Photo courtesy of the artist.

Bluegrass Memoirs: The First Canadian Bluegrass Festival (Part 2)

[Editor’s note: Read part one of Neil’s Memoir on the First Canadian Bluegrass Festival here.]

On Wednesday, August 2, 1972, after an overnight ferry voyage, I arrived in North Sydney, Nova Scotia. A four-hour drive brought me to Fred and Audrey Isenor’s mobile home in Lantz, 50 km (30 miles) north of Halifax. It was just after 7 pm, and they already had company, including gospel singer Lloyd Boyd, known as “The Radio Ranger,” and Charlie Fullerton, a dobroist and bassist whose sound system was to be used at the Jamboree.

Other friends of Fred’s dropped in that evening – men and women active in the local country music scene who shared his interest in bluegrass. I was the center of attention, the imported expert on the eve of Nova Scotia’s first homegrown bluegrass event. In my diary I noted:

Immediately I was quizzed on my knowledge of instruments, principally, D- series 45 style Martins but other things as well. Fred’s F-5 pulled out, my F-4 and Mastertone looked at.

Owning a prewar Gibson or Martin was a mark of serious interest in bluegrass. The big fancy Martin D-45 was the top of that guitar-maker’s line. Only 90-some were made from the early ‘30s to 1942; these were owned by famous country stars, including bluegrass great Red Smiley. In the late ‘60s Martin began making the D-45 again. Lloyd had one. 

I noted another visitor: 

Carl Dalrymple, a C&W bassist and guitarist about to go on the road with his sister-in-law [Joyce Seamone] who has a number one Canadian Country hit, “Testing, One, Two, Three,” came [by]. He’s a D-45 owner, too.

Carl’s son Gary, then three years old, already introduced by his father to bluegrass, became one of the second generation of musicians nurtured at the Festival which grew out of the coming Friday’s Jamboree. In 1993 Gary, a mandolinist, joined The Spinney Brothers, one of Nova Scotia’s most successful bands. I was honored to have them play during my 2014 induction into IBMA’s Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame.

By the early ‘70s, bluegrass in the Maritimes had been embraced by the young, working-class, rural country musicians who formed most of the “spread out” Canadian bluegrass community Vic Mullen had told me about. This night at the Isenors’ was my introduction to a new world of musical friends and acquaintances.

As the evening wore on, the focus shifted from instruments to music making. We jammed; I noted:

We played lots of gospel songs, few bluegrass standards, I did requests for Peggy [Warner, a budding banjo picker]. Tempos were slow generally.

This was not like bluegrass jams I’d experienced during the 1960s working and hanging out at Bean Blossom. In a sense, it was a step back in time for me. In my college years, fifteen years before, I’d first learned about bluegrass through recordings. It was a distant thing.

Then I moved to Indiana, met Monroe at Bean Blossom. By the time I moved to Canada the festival movement had attracted new audiences. Mid-’60s youth had embraced folk music; that drew some of them into bluegrass — the beginning of a process of gentrification that I’ve written about in Bluegrass Generation (pp.240-42). In 1972, this hadn’t happened yet in Atlantic Canada. 

The next afternoon, Thursday the 3rd, Fred took me into Halifax. Knowing I was a professor of folklore, he wanted to show me a new shop in town, the Halifax Folklore Centre. He introduced me to the owners, the Dorwards, who, I noted:

Looked at my F4 (fret wire needed, if they are to do a fret job). I got the J&J instrumental LP. Lots of blues records. Fred and Tom Dorward, the owner, get on well.

I don’t recall much talk about the Jamboree. Months later, Fred confided to me that in promoting the event, they’d failed to connect with the Halifax university students who were into folk music. Dorward would play a role in that regard at the Festival, which grew out of the Jamboree. Next, I noted:

…we went to CBC to see about placing ads, and then to an electronics distributor for a mike.

Later I added to this note:

…a local fiddler who was supposed to play in Friday’s festival — Russ Topple — had unexpectedly gone to the U.S. (Wheeling) so when we stopped at the CBC … Fred put my name on the ad as visiting banjo picker. Everyone knows that I worked with Monroe, most think that means as a banjo picker. Lots of questions about the banjo (“old Mastertone”) etc.

After supper we went to farmer John Moxom’s place out in the country at Hardwoodlands, the festival site, about 14 km (8.7 mi) east of Lantz, to help Charlie Fullerton set up his sound system. I noted:

Farmer J.M. has built outdoor covered stage about the size of and dimensions of that at Roanoke. On 4 posts 6’ high; 18’x10’ floor with covered sides (except for the last 4’ at front). Roof slopes from 10’ at the front to 7’ at the back. Rough steps off the left corner rear. We end up setting speakers on Fred’s ’66 Chrysler roof beside the stage for separation. See map of festival site on the following page.

 

A hand-drawn map of the layout of the first Canadian bluegrass festival. Excerpt from Rosenberg’s personal journals.

 

The evening ended with a rehearsal at the home of Don and Joyce Peck, Fred’s bandmates. I noted:

Charlie subbed on bass for Fred’s partner (in his Lantz music store, Country Music Sales), Bruce Beeler, who works as a chef on the CN RR.

After dinner the next day (Friday the 4th), Fred and I returned to his home after visiting more of his musical friends, to find The County Line Bluegrass Boys had arrived. They would be playing at Jamboree that evening. They were from Lunenburg County, down on Nova Scotia’s South Shore. I noted:

The mandolin player and the banjo player (Mel Sarty) are the central figures in the group — first got into Bluegrass when they were 11-12 years old in the early sixties, when a relative bought the Bluegrass Gentlemen LP by chance. Have learned entirely by records. … They do quite a bit of four-part singing. 

Vic Mullen, Nova Scotia’s best-known bluegrass musician, was the emcee that evening at the Jamboree. The audience was mainly in cars, parked in front of the stage. Applause came in the form of honks and flashed lights. Three Nova Scotia bands appeared.

The Pecks with Fred and Bruce on bass opened. Vic and I helped add a bluegrass touch to their sound with fiddle and banjo. A number of other singers and pickers joined us for guest appearances. Next came the County Line Bluegrass Boys. 

The Boutilier Brothers closed the show. They came from a musical family; their grandfather was a well-known old-time fiddler in the region, and the two oldest brothers, Bill and Larry, began their professional career with their father, also a noted fiddler. They were inducted into the Nova Scotia Country Music Hall of Fame in 1999.

By the early 1960s they were singing brother duets and appearing with Vic Mullen on banjo. With the help of Mullen, they made four LPs (all had “Bluegrass” in their title) on the Rodeo label between 1963 and 1967, by which time a third brother, Ken, had replaced Vic on banjo. The brothers had retired several years before, but came out of retirement specially for the Jamboree. 

When Fred and Vic surveyed the results of the Jamboree, they decided to try another the following year. This time they would announce it as “the second annual BLUEGRASS FESTIVAL at Hardwoodlands, N.S., July 27, 1973.” The Boutiliers and the Country Line Bluegrass Boys appeared again; more widely advertised, it was successful and drew enough bluegrass enthusiasts that in 1974 Fred and Vic brought Tom Dorward into their planning and began working on a two-day event.

 

John Moxom, Neil Rosenberg, Vic Mullen and Fred Isenor at Hardwoodlands, N.S., July 1973

 

For the next five years, I traveled to the Festival annually from Newfoundland to help Fred and the gang, running instrumental workshops, emceeing, and appearing with our St. John’s-based band, Crooked Stovepipe.

As the Festival took off, young musicians began appearing. Eventually a fourth generation of Boutiliers became involved. In the 1980s these young pickers added Vic Mullen to their band, and, with his encouragement, took on his old band name, calling themselves Birch Mountain Bluegrass Band. In 2001, 2002, and 2004 they won the East Coast Music Association’s “Bluegrass Album of the Year” award.

Another second-generation band developed out of the County Line Bluegrass Boys. In 1973 banjoist Mel Sarty’s brother Gordon joined the band as bassist and in the 1980s he and his three daughters created a new band, Exit 13. Lead vocalist, songwriter, and banjoist Elaine Sarty fronted the group. They won the ECMA “Bluegrass Album of the Year” in 1997 and 1998. Here’s a profile of the band that appeared in the ‘90s on a national prime time CBC show, “On The Road Again.

This, of course, was all to come! I knew nothing of the Jamboree’s bluegrass festival future when I left the Isenor home on Saturday August 5, 1972, continuing my research trip. Heading west on the Trans-Canada Highway, a half-day’s drive brought me to Woodstock, New Brunwick, near the Maine border. There I visited a student and her family who’d invited me to see the Don Messer Jubilee at Old Home Week, Woodstock’s annual fair.

The event was held in a large building in Connell Park, the fair site. It had three components: the Jubilee concert, a fiddle contest, and a dance.

The concert followed the format of Messer’s television broadcasts, with fiddle tunes prominently featured along with songs by the band’s remaining vocalist Marg Osburne. Her singing partner, Charlie Chamberlain, had died less than a month before. This was one of the Jubilee’s last public performances; Messer would pass in March 1973.

The fiddle contest, which Messer judged, was won by Mac Brogan, a fiddler from Chipman, NB. Here’s a sample of his fiddling, very much in the Don Messer style, from his 1984 album:

Finally, chairs were cleared away and Messer and the Jubilee orchestra played for dancers. Although Messer continued on the fiddle, several of the other musicians switched to wind instruments. The music was mainly a sentimental reprise of popular songs from the big band era that they’d played for dancers during their salad days in the ’40s and ’50s.

After the dance I introduced myself to Mac Brogan, telling him I was interested in researching old-time and country music in Canada and asking if he would be willing to talk to me some time for an interview. He consented and gave me his address. It would be over a year before I’d have time to do the interview, but this, along with my conversations with Fred and Vic, marked the start of what would become a decade of studying the connections between country and folk music in the Maritimes.

On Monday the 7th I was off again, heading into New England, en route to southern bluegrass scenes.


Rosenberg is an author, scholar, historian, banjo player, Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame inductee, and co-chair of the IBMA Foundation’s Arnold Shultz Fund.

Photo of Neil V. Rosenberg by Terri Thomson Rosenberg, all other photos by Neil V. Rosenberg. 

Edited by Justin Hiltner

Interviewed by His Daughter, Mac McAnally Recounts a ‘Lifetime’ in Music

Mac McAnally is a highly-decorated and prolific multi-instrumentalist, producer, songwriter, and artist. He tours with Jimmy Buffett’s Coral Reefer Band, plays on countless sessions in Nashville and Muscle Shoals, and produces a number of independent artists, too. But more important to me, he’s my dad. And he’s a great one. On the occasion of the release of his new album, Once in a Lifetime, we discuss guitars, bluegrass, moments of social change, why he covered a Beatles song, and the process of making this record amidst a pandemic. And though I get to talk to him most days of my life, it is heartening to hear him put a fine point on his eternal optimism.

BGS: Growing up, music was constant in the house and one of the most pervasive cover songs you played was “Norwegian Wood.” What do you think it is about that song that sticks in your craw and drew you to record it?

Mac McAnally: As you know, I’ve always loved that song. In the very first line, from a lyric standpoint, “I once had a girl/Or should I say/She once had me,” you can tell any story in the world after that. That is something that I subconsciously try to do and have since the beginning.

Specifically, why I recorded it is because I bought an octave mandolin about four years ago. I did a show with Sarah Jarosz and she had one and let me play it and I thought, “I am going to have to get me one of these.” I always feel like I have to do something to justify the purchase so I play it on as many sessions as I can to try to amortize the cost, but I also came up with this new way to play it that is kind of a cool arrangement that I’ve never heard. I don’t in any way challenge the Beatles version and don’t mean any disrespect; I’m trying to find ways to justify the guilt of buying an octave mandolin.

On almost every record that you’ve made there’s a nod to bluegrass, like “Brand New Broken Heart” on this record. Who are some of your biggest bluegrass influences?

I have to preface this by saying I am a bluegrass fan, I am not a bluegrass player. Anything that I might be doing would just be trying to pay homage to what the greats can do. I’ve gotten to play with some of them, which I count high among the blessings of my life. When I wrote “Brand New Broken Heart,” I envisioned I would someday pitch it to Ricky Skaggs or Dailey & Vincent. I recorded it because I was a lazy song plugger who never pitched it to anybody.

Doc Watson was one of mine and my dad’s heroes. He was sort of my intro to real bluegrass. And all the way through my life, Emmylou Harris. We played her songs in bands when I was a teenager. Bryan Sutton is just frighteningly good. I can’t even fathom what he is doing, let alone try to do it myself. He inspires me to go get a pick out and play differently than I play because I love so much of what he does. And I’m crazy about I’m With Her.

What brought about recording “Changing Channels” for this record?

I have always loved that song. It is the second song that Jimmy (Buffett) and I wrote together. We wrote it in one my favorite places I have ever been. He had a spot down in Thomasville, Georgia, with a big porch. As you know I’m a porch guy. We sat out on the porch and wrote that song. He did a great version of it on Off the See the Lizard and I honestly never imagined myself cutting it but I love to play it. It has worked its way into my shows over the last ten years and his fan base will come up after and ask which one of my records the song is on. They had cash out trying to buy it and I don’t have it. You know better than anybody how terrible of a businessman I am, but eventually enough people tried to buy a version of it that I listened.

You have collected a lot of guitars, and in various ways: some saved from landfills, some gifted, some cast for you by friends and colleagues. How do you pick which guitars make your records?

It is certainly not an exact science but sometimes it is the guitar that the song came out of. The main thing that has always made me select guitars is if I think they have songs in them. I would happen to be holding them and a couple of my stories got mashed with them. In more cases than not, if I wrote a song on a guitar, that’s the one I’ll record. You end up learning over the years. In the same way when you are photographing someone, you learn what the best side of their face is. … A Gibson with dead strings is an awesome rock ‘n’ roll rhythm guitar. A Martin with new strings is an awesome fingerpicking guitar.

We are in a moment of social change. Music has the power to both inspire and record change. You moved to the Shoals in the ‘70s. Thinking back on those early days in the studio, what was it like in those moments?

Playing music in Muscle Shoals was extremely encouraging from the standpoint of equality. They didn’t really think of it in terms of race. Music transcended that. And I love that. And I still love that. I’m standing in Muscle Shoals right now proud to be part of that. You can be encouraged on some levels and discouraged on some levels and I am both of those things. I haven’t in my life ever thought that I was better or worse than anybody else and I look forward to that being a more prevalent vantage point for everyone.

I want to challenge you on that a bit. One of your dear friends and longtime collaborators, Ralph MacDonald, told you that he never felt comfortable coming to Muscle Shoals and we’ve heard from more folks that it wasn’t an inviting place to come collaborate, so a lot of those musicians opted for Detroit or Miami. With that added perspective, does it make you feel differently about the time?

Absolutely, it makes me more aware of the context. As I said, Muscle Shoals would have been advanced in terms of racial relations in the music community in the South. As I look back now, I realize that doesn’t mean it was great. It was just better relative to the surroundings.

Ralph and I, we were like brothers. He told me he would’ve been scared to death of a big red-headed dude from Mississippi. And he was a Black man from Harlem. I could not have imagined that we would connect on as many levels as we did. We both had misconceptions that got better. He was one of my heroes. He was one of the best percussionists that ever played. And I loved him. It is hard to get into racial discussions without stirring stuff up. But we made each other better. Music is one of the best ways to bridge across preconceptions. I think it’ll play a big part of getting us the rest of the way home. ‘Cause we ain’t there yet.

Stirring stuff up is the way we make progress.

That’s true and they are not easy discussions. I don’t think of myself as someone with prejudices, but when I think back, some of the things I laughed at growing up as a kid in Mississippi I’m embarrassed of. And I was mainly laughing because everyone around me was laughing, but when I think of what it was we were laughing at, it is embarrassing. I don’t really want to talk about it, I just want to be a better person, because I know it was wrong. But you are right. Talking about it is better. Air it out.

What does it feel like to release an album in a pandemic?

Well, not speaking ill of either thing, but I hope it is a one-time thing. I hope I never have to try to beat a pandemic album with a second pandemic album. My records are normally made in what I call “the cracks of time.” I make them in the cracks of my schedule because I work full-time as a Coral Reefer, a fair amount of time as a session musician for other people, writing songs for other people and producing other folks. But because of the circumstance of this record, it is really special to me because I got to sit and think about what I felt was important and what was not. I wouldn’t wish a pandemic on the world just to get extra time to make my record. I think maybe next time I’ll just take the time on my own.

Even in your darkest lyrics, there is a balance that shows your shining optimism. We are surrounded by a heavy dose of dark right now. Are you feeling optimistic?

Absolutely. I absolutely am. I wish we weren’t where we are right now and that everyone could see that it is better to find a way to coexist than it is to hate one another. I’m not someone who has any room for hate. As you recall, I don’t even like the word. I’ve probably pestered you about it for your entire life. Actual hate hurts me. We’ve been celebrating the life of John Lewis the last few weeks and John is a great example of figuring out a way to make it better by not hating the people who hated him. I think things are going to get better and I intend to try to help.


Erin McAnally is a regular contributor to The Bluegrass Situation

Photo Credit: Jeff Fasano

Stay On Your Ass: BGS Picks to Ease Your Boredom (We Hope)

Remember when we used to actually try to get our readers to go out and support live music? LOL. It’s not “Get Off Your Ass,” anymore, it’s, “Y’all stay put if you know what’s good for you!” At least, for the time being.

Each week, we round up a few of our favorite tunes, events, livestreams, and content from the BGS archives that will hopefully help make your isolation pass faster and with a little bit more joy.

Did we miss something? (We probably did.) Let us know in the comments or on social media!

The Whiskey Sour Happy Hour

Did you hear!? We’ve teamed up with our pal Ed Helms, the Americana Music Association, TX Whiskey, Allbirds, and a pantheon of incredible musicians, friends, and buddies for four weeks of online variety shows! Proceeds from the Whiskey Sour Happy Hour will benefit MusiCares’ COVID-19 relief fund and PPE supplies through Direct Relief. Lee Ann Womack, Billy Strings, Madison Cunningham, Aubrie Sellers, and some surprise guests, too. Our debut show goes up at 5pm PDT / 8pm EDT on April 22 right here on BGS, on our Facebook page, and our YouTube channel. We hope you’ll join us and donate! More information here.


The Lumineers, Together at Home

Wesley Schultz represented The Lumineers at the end of March on #TogetherAtHome, a livestream campaign that has seen performances from so many artists, including Coldplay, Jack Johnson, and Hozier. Originally performed for fans on Instagram Live, Schultz sang a selection of songs from the Lumineers discography, adding covers of Springsteen and the Felice Brothers. This showing is part of the #TogetherAtHome daily concert series, but the campaign is building up to its fruition on April 18th. Global Citizen has organized an international broadcast and digital special with the express intent of supporting healthcare workers and the World Health Organization. The centerpiece event will be called One World: Together At Home and will be hosted by television’s best, Jimmy Kimmel, Jimmy Fallon, and Stephen Colbert. For more info on the broadcast event, visit globalcitizen.org, and until then, enjoy this installment of the daily concert series given by The Lumineers.


Martin Guitar Presents Jam in Place

Everybody loves playing Martin Guitars, so of course nearly everybody who’s ever picked one up is playing Martin’s livestream series, Jam in Place. In the past couple of weeks they’ve featured performances from Kelsey Waldon, Charlie Worsham, John Oates, Tenille Townes, and many more. On the docket for the rest of this week: Son Little and Amythyst Kiah. Martin’s website explains that the series’ lineup is full for the “foreseeable future,” so stay tuned for many more jams!

You can watch Jam in Place on Martin’s Facebook page.


Is It Time for a Bluegrass Cocktail? Yes. It. Is. 

A while back we had a mouth-watering series of Bluegrass Cocktails, fancy libations for at-home mixology that referenced and drew inspiration from classic bluegrass songs. We scoured the archives for as simple and quarantine-friendly a recipe as possible to give you: the Molly & Tenbrooks. Whiskey (it calls for Irish, but we trust your judgement and your liquor reserves), honey simple, lime, bitters, and mint — done. Cherry for garnish, if you have one, you fancy lil bartender you. We highly recommend this horse race-in-a-glass. Perfect to pair with your Stay On Your Ass activity of choice. Get the full recipe.


Justin Hiltner and Jonny Therrien contributed to this article.

Joe Henry Surrenders to the Song

Joe Henry is sitting and chatting in the living room of his vintage, Spanish-style home in Pasadena, California. The subject of the note that starts off his new album, The Gospel According to Water, comes up. He looks over his left shoulder and points to the corner.

“It’s that guitar right there,” he says. “It’s an all-mahogany Martin from 1922. It was the first guitar they made that was created for steel strings.”

Seeing this small, plain instrument, it seems impossible that it was from this that he conjured the note in question, a sound deep yet brittle, intimately resonant. It’s at once ancient and fully present in the now. And it’s a sound that serves as something of a motif throughout the marvelously moving, affectingly poetic cycle of songs. It was a sound from a specific source that was echoing in his head when he sat in the Los Angeles studio of his longtime friend, recording engineer Husky Huskold, to set a new batch of songs on tape.

“I played him one song from Lightnin’ Hopkins,” he says. The song was “Mama and Papa Hopkins,” a 1959 recording from the point of view of young Lightnin’ getting his feuding parents to see the good they share.

“It was just vocal and acoustic guitar. And Lightnin’ is mostly singing to a single string that he’s playing. And yet the way it’s recorded, it’s so heavy. There’s such a sense of ominous space. And I said, ‘Look. I know I’m not him. I’m never going to be Lightnin’ Hopkins. But listen to what’s going on here. There’s something that’s making this so visceral in a way that I want to hear. Even if this is just demos, I want to hear a sense of drama.’”

You’d think Henry, who just turned 59 last week, would have had more than enough drama. A week before Thanksgiving 2018, he’d been diagnosed with prostate cancer, which had metastasized to his skeletal system. (He is in remission now and feeling hearty.) When he went in to record, it was a week before Father’s Day. All but two of the songs had been written in an unexpected rush of expression that started at Valentine’s Day. He specifically references those poignant holidays when giving the timeline.

As he plucked that first note for “Famine Walk” (one of two songs on the album written during a two-month writing residency at a small art college on the west coast of Ireland, before the cancer diagnosis), he had no idea it would be how he opened the album. He had no idea he was making an album.

He just wanted to get these songs down while they seemed fresh, and that’s all he thought he was doing in the course of two quick days of recording with his son, as well as reeds player Levon Henry, pianist Patrick Warren and guitarist John Smith sitting in on some of the songs, and with David Piltch playing bass on “Book of Common Prayer.” At the end of the second day, he went home to listen to the recordings, sitting in his office with his wife Melanie Ciccone, Levon, and a friend. Only then did he really hear what he had.

“We just listened to the whole thing,” he says. “And it was so obvious to me and to everybody in the room listening back that it felt fully realized. I mean, it’s raw. It’s really spare. But emotionally speaking, I heard it and thought, ‘I don’t know if I’ll get closer to the intention of these songs.”

The only thing added later was the background vocals of Allison Russell and JT Nero, AKA Birds of Chicago, on the songs “In Time for Tomorrow” and “The Fact of Love.” He would have added his longtime drummer Jay Bellerose to some of this, but when he sent the tracks to him, Bellerose responded with a simple voicemail: “Um, not on your life.” His drummer’s instincts of when not to play, though extreme here, were exactly right.

In its sense of space, The Gospel According to Water is a perfect portrayal of the experiences that brought it about, mystifying and mystical in as personal a way as can be. At times it’s as elliptical and elastic as the engagingly playful folk-jazz that’s been a signature of his last several albums. But here that portrayal is stripped down to its essence.

At the center is the natural fragility of Henry’s voice as he lingers over key words and phrases in ways that can be enchanting and startling, sometimes both at once. While it’s instantly recognizable to anyone familiar with his work, it stands apart not only from his previous 14 solo albums, but also from his many production credits: for New Orleans titan Allen Toussaint’s final works (including the 2006 The River in Reverse, a collaboration with Elvis Costello following the city’s devastating flood), Bonnie Raitt, Rosanne Cash, Bettye LaVette, the Milk Carton Kids, Joan Baez’s most recent album Whistle Down the Wind, and Rhiannon Giddens’ and Francesco Turrisi’s stunning there is no Other.

But he winces at this being considered his “cancer album.” He even considered trying to avoid the topic in interviews and promotion of the release. But ultimately he opted for openness.

“Whether it’s fair or not, it’s going to happen,” he says. “I lost a little bit of sleep over that, wondering how I can mitigate that. And then I just realized that I can’t now, more than I ever could, control how people respond to the music — if they respond at all — and rein that in… People are going to hear it like that, and there’s not much I can do about it. It’s an aspect of how this record happened and what it is.”

Indeed, as the music made its way out to the world, friends and fans alike started sending him notes, almost all mentioning his health issues. He came to accept that for the good intentions, too.

“I just believe in the songs enough,” he says. “They’re already moving out into the world without me. They’re going to have to make their own way. They’re going to have to straighten their own teeth, find their own job. I can only do so much and when I go out and perform these songs, I may or may not at times offer any framing context about how the songs occurred or when they occurred.”

He references a comment made many years ago by his mentor T Bone Burnett, who produced Henry’s 1990 album Shuffletown, when discussing his Christian faith in regards to his art. Burnett said that while some sing about the light, he sings about what he sees illuminated by the light. Henry addressed that, in his own way, when he first played a few of the songs in public, in a concert at the Los Angeles’s Largo theater.

“Part of my preamble was to say, ‘Look, I know I’m holding this shoehorn that would help you into the tight fit of a big batch of new songs. And if I have one reluctance to hand this shoehorn over it’s because I don’t want you to think, from what I’m about to say, that where a song comes from is what a song is,’” he says. “A song is not where it comes from. Just because my particular health crisis has invited me to receive these songs in a particular sort of way, that is not what the songs are.”

He thinks back to being with Toussaint, doing interviews right after New Orleans was flooded in 2005, his home among the many destroyed. In interview after interview, Henry saw Toussaint refuse to deliver the “heartbreak” stories journalists craved. Finally, when pushed by a CNN interviewer, he made his point.

“He said, ‘You have to understand something: More than a drowning, this was a baptism,’” Henry recalls. “And talk about something that silenced the room, myself included. I’ve thought about this so many times since this occurrence for me, the fact that Allen wasn’t in denial about what had just happened. He just had the ability to see, that his vision didn’t stop with this trauma. He was seeing beyond.”


Some of that is elusive on the album, found in shadows cast by the metaphorical light. The song “Orson Welles” is a good example, with its arresting chorus: “You provide the terms of my surrender, I’ll provide the war.” He’s still mystified how that one came about, the words written as he and Melanie flew from Burbank to San Francisco.

“That’s just something I found falling off my hand,” he says. “I open my notebook and I literally watched my hand write ‘Orson Welles’ at the top of the page. And I didn’t know what Orson had to do with anything. It’s just one of those moments where it felt spring-loaded. I didn’t believe I was writing about Orson, but I believe that somehow his specter was kind of directing, gesturing me on to something, somewhere I needed to go in that moment. And I just followed, because, you know, who wouldn’t?”

He found himself thinking about a part of Citizen Kane in which Welles’ title character wants his newspaper to have headlines from a conflict in South America that is petering out, so he cables his correspondent there, “You provide the prose poems, I’ll provide the war.” (In real life, William Randolph Hearst instructed his staff, “You furnish the pictures, I’ll provide the war.”)

For Henry it took a different turn, though, with the idea of surrender — certainly tied to his health situation, and the ultimate lack of power over it, but extending far beyond that.

“I feel like I’ve written about surrender a good bit,” he says. “And I don’t mean surrender in terms of resignation, I kind of mean surrender in terms of radical acceptance, which is empowering, which is motivating, as opposed to the idea of collapse.”

Two titles stand out, though, for the clear view of the basics of life, the perspective brought by such things as loss, age, kids growing up and facing mortality. “The Fact of Love” is pretty much self-explanatory, but “Salt and Sugar” really captures it. “Everything is salt and sugar now,” he sings, boiling it down to things that make life possible and meaningful — though too much of either can kill you.

He explains that he and Melanie have been doing some “decluttering” in recent years, having left the large house in which they raised their two kids, and moving twice to subsequently smaller places. But the song definitely shows what he’s seen from the light brought by his health.

“It’s paring things down to salt and sugar,” he says. “Everything. What matters? How do you make a record? How do you express what you want to say? Who do you spend your time with? What do you spend your days doing? All that.”

He recounts many of the changes in his life in recent years, the moves, the attachments and the letting go of attachments. Finally, he sums it up in a way that gets to the heart of what he has done with The Gospel According to Water, and it’s just as on-point as that note he plucked to start the album.

“I mean, just, you know, occupy life.”


Photo Credit: Jacob Blickenstaff

3×3: Alan Getto on the Bayou, the Banjo, and the Meaning of Be

Artist: Alan Getto
Hometown: Manchester, NH
Latest Album: All Different Times
Personal Nicknames: Ghetto

Who is the most surprising artist in current rotation in your iTunes/Spotify?

Gotta say Queens of the Stone Age. Their new single, “The Way You Used to Do,” is definitely surprising (in a good way). Didn’t see a big-band, swing song coming — no regular swing song, of course; it’s QOTSA.

If you were a candle, what scent would you be?

If you stick your nose in the sound hole of an old Martin guitar — that scent.

What literary character or story do you most relate to?

Well, I recently read Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment and I still have Raskolnikov on my mind. Not so much that I relate to him (which is a safe thing to say, due to the crime he commits), but empathy (which might not be any safer) for his moral frustrations and sympathy for his fate.

 

Burn test. It works. #cedar #albumart done by @hauntingleah #staytuned (the unveiling soon)

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What’s your favorite word?

“Be.” I like what it means.

What’s your best physical attribute?

I suppose my eyes — they’re blue — as that’s what I get complimented on the most. Dark hair with blue eyes, I think, is a somewhat uncommon combo.

Which is your favorite Revival — Creedence Clearwater, Dustbowl, Elephant, Jamestown, New Grass, Tent, or -ists?

Creedence. One of my first favorite bands. My mom is from Louisiana so, in a way, I feel like I was “Born on the Bayou.”

 

My version of #burningman That was the real #monet 

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Banjo, mando, or dobro?

I dabble with banjo, but gotta say mando. I feel like the mando has, more than any other instrument in recent years, really pushed the boundaries of lead-playing and musicianship. Chris Thile also might have something to do with that.

Are you more a thinking or feeling type?

Most people would say thinking, but I think (hehe) that’s just what you see first. I at least value feeling more.

Urban or rural?

Ohhhh, you’re going to have to listen to my upcoming LP, Versus, for an adequate answer — “both” just won’t cut it, and I refuse to choose one or the other.

Gig Bag: The Sadies

Welcome to Gig Bag, a BGS feature that peeks into the touring essentials of some of our favorite artists. This time around, we look at what the Sadies have to have handy when they’re out on the road.

Alt-country veterans the Sadies are no stranger to the road. Formed in the ’90s and getting their start as the backing band for Neko Case, the Toronto band has since become a favorite of fans of all kinds of genres thanks to their unparalleled ability to switch styles and sounds with ease. Last month, the band released a new album, Northern Passages, an 11-song LP that’s been on heavy rotation here at the BGS. Below, the band shares their favorite instruments and items to have out on tour.

1962 Gretsch: A 1962 Gretch that Travis recevied as a gift from his Aunt Beth’s father. R.I.P.

Dallas’s B Bender: It gives our band the option of having the B-string go from major to minor, creating a pedal-steel sounding effect we use quite a bit.

Anne Murray jacket: A jacket Sean breaks out for especially leisurely occasions and must-have for Anne Murray fans.

1985 Martin D-28: Belonging to Travis, it’s a must for stage but also before and after gigs to write or learn songs or just party jams.


Lede photo by Rick White. All other photos by the Sadies.

Root 66: The Linemen’s Roadside Favorites

Names: Kevin Johnson and Jonathan Gregg (of the Linemen)
Hometowns: Van Buren, AR / New York, NY
Latest Project: The LinemenClose the Place Down

BBQ: 
KJ: Jones BBQ, Marianna, AR — More than a bit off the beaten path, serving BBQ like no other for over 100 years.
JG: Hard Eight, Stephenville, TX — In the middle of cowboy country … the exterior serving area is along the side of the building, with a long counter where a guy with a cleaver will cut you sausage by the yard, ribs, chicken, brisket, and two-inch-thick pork chops that they then dip in butter. Nuff said.

Roadhouse: 
KJ: The Sunset Grille, Annandale, VA — This has to be my choice, even though it closed in 2012. Beer in pitchers, bikers, and Bill Kirchen tearing it up. Cannot be topped.
JG: Blue Moon Saloon, Lafayette, LA — A venue and boarding house all in one in this magical, sultry little outpost. That extra drink is never a problem when you're playing about 30 feet as the crow flies from where you're going to sleep.

Coffeehouse: 
KJ: Red Emma's, Baltimore, MD — The ultimate leftist coffee hang. Not recommended for Trump apologists.
JG: Heine Bros., Louisville, KY — Great joe and a good place to while away some hours, which also connects to Carmichael's, an excellent bookstore.

Dive Bar:
KJ: Mount Washington Tavern, Baltimore, MD — Open after the apocalypse. With mediocre pizza that tastes amazing when consumed at 1 am.
JG: Nick-a-Nees, Providence, RI — In a town with a storied history of dive bars, this place has the vibes and a very game audience to go with the fine music they present. Check out Mark Cutler when he plays there.

Record Store:
KJ: The True Vine, Baltimore, MD — The end of the line for vinyl geeks. If you recognize what they're spinning when you come in, you may be offered a job.
JG: Amoeba, Berkeley, CA — One of a dying breed, a veritable bazaar of waxings of all vintages. You could spend hours.

Gear Shop:
KJ: Appalachian Bluegrass, Frederick, MD — Was told by multiple "certified" repairmen over a 12-year period that my 1969 Martin D35 was beyond repair. These guys said, "It will be ready next Wednesday." And it was.
JG: Guitar Emporium, Louisville, KY — Good stuff at good prices, run by cool cats in a cool town.

 

Taco truck across the street from 2A in Manhattan. The best in the city. #masterofnone #tacotruck #treehouse2a

A photo posted by The Linemen (@thelinemen_official) on

Listening Room:
KJ: The Village Vanguard, NYC — Want to know exactly what it was like when Coltrane played there in 1962? It's still exactly the same. Drinks only.
JG: Tom Clark's Treehouse at 2A, NYC — TC's labor of love is one of the hippest scenes in Manhattan on Sunday nights. Great sound, great bands, wonderful host, and no cover.

House Concert:
KJ: Club 603, Baltimore — Have seen everyone from Vandaveer to the Bottle Rockets in this intimate, acoustically perfect safe haven for greatness.
JG: Boudin Dan's, Peace Dale, RI — Dan and his wife are incredibly gracious and dedicated to presenting music in the most agreeable way for both the artist and the audience. I wish there were hundreds more like them.

Highway Stretch:
KJ: I-40 from Memphis to Little Rock — Feel what is beyond the emptiness.
JG: Blue Ridge Parkway, NC — Breathtaking. Just don't drive a vehicle with a commercial logo on it or a kindly trooper will steer you to the next exit.

Car Game:
KJ: Make Jonathan like Hall & Oates deep tracks.
JG: Making Kevin laugh. Since I don't drive, I have to make myself useful somehow.

Day Off Activity:
KJ: Back Alley Dice in nearest back alley.
JG: Practicing. They don't call it "playing" for nothing.

Driving Album:
KJ: Freedy Johnston, Can You Fly?
JG: NRBQ, At Yankee Stadium — There is no mood that America's most underrated band can't improve, "any old time …"

3×3: essence on House Fires, Wonder Women, and the Vastness of Blue

Artist: essence
Hometown: San Francisco, CA
Latest Album: Black Wings
Rejected Band Names: Foolsgoldiggers 

 

A photo posted by essence (@essencemusic) on

Your house is burning down and you can grab only one thing — what would you save? 
My father's 1929 Martin guitar. That's the guitar he gave me when I was 15. My first guitar. The guitar I learned on. (That burning down house thing really happened, by the way. Twice. In 1989 and in 2012. That guitar survived both fires.)

If you weren't a musician, what would you be?
I always wanted to be an astronaut.

If a song started playing every time you entered the room, what would you want it to be?  
"Here Comes the Sun" by George Harrison.

 

A photo posted by essence (@essencemusic) on

What is the one thing you can’t survive without on tour?
My iPhone. Sad but true.

If you were an instrument, which one would you be? 
A dobro guitar. All curvy and warm.

Who is your favorite superhero? 
Wonder Woman, of course! Cause she likes to be in charge.

 

A photo posted by essence (@essencemusic) on

Vinyl or digital? 
VINYL, hands down.

Which primary color is the best — blue, yellow, or red? 
Blue is vast, like the ocean and the sky. Blue is emotion. Blue was the color of my father's eyes.

Summer or Winter? 
Summer — long days, warm nights, adventures in nature, camping, and swimming in the river.

3×3: Carey Ott on Fela Kuti, Chuck Norris, and the Necessity of Oxygen

Artist:  Carey Ott
Hometown: Ottawa, IL
Latest Album: Nocona
Personal Nicknames: Otter

 

#thedayafterhalloween

A photo posted by Carey Ott (@careyott) on

Your house is burning down and you can grab only one thing — what would you save?
My 1961 Martin 0018

If you weren't a musician, what would you be?
Chef

If a song started playing every time you entered the room, what would you want it to be?
Fela Kuti — "Gentleman," or anything by Tony Bennett

 

Backlit screens can never replace my love and appreciation of the real thing. #ilovebooks #putdownthephone

A photo posted by Carey Ott (@careyott) on

What is the one thing you can’t survive without on tour?
Oxygen

If you were an instrument, which one would you be?
Oboe

Who is your favorite superhero?
Chuck Norris

Vinyl or digital?
Do you really have to ask? Vinyl.

Which primary color is the best — blue, yellow, or red?
Red

Summer or Winter?
Winter