Anna Tivel Makes Poetry in Music From Poetry in Nature

There is something woodsy and nature-rooted about Anna Tivel’s songwriting. It calls to mind mountain hiking, tall pines, mushroom foraging. The clink of a water bottle against a caribiner. The gentle tiptoe sound of dew dropping from treetops. Maybe it’s Oregon that’s seeped into her bones. Maybe it’s just the way her intrinsic poeticism steers things.

Listening to Tivel’s music tends to conjure the words of other writers. Consider some of the final lines from Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer:

“Solitude is only a human presumption. Every quiet step is thunder to beetle life underfoot; every choice is a world made new for the chosen.”

Or, consider the poetry of Wendell Berry or Mary Oliver or Andrea Gibson. Each seemed to have plucked their pieces from shrubs and vines – or at least from the air around their foliage. Indeed, some of these names came up in our recent conversation with Tivel about her new album, Animal Poem, which drops August 29 on Fluff & Gravy Records.

Much like a walk through the woods, Animal Poem offers listeners a pathway toward retaining their humanity in a world that can feel inhumane. Though Tivel notes she began writing this album two years ago, she was conscious of the shifting geopolitical landscape and the way the chaos in the news might – or might not – echo into people’s private lives.

In the end, she suggests that life is mostly made of small moments between people who are guided by love and who are trying to understand one another. Those are the moments of dissonance where our commonalities have the best chance of prevailing. To hear Tivel tell it, that is the basis of her job as both poet and songwriter.

With so much going on in the world geopolitically, so many people are struggling with how to make art and why to make art and, of course, feeling compelled to continue to make art. But there’s this existential part of it that I feel like you’re addressing on this album. Maybe also in the creation of this album, which I’m guessing was recorded well before what’s happening today, and will be different from what will be happening when we publish it.

So, when you think about this album now, and what you were working through with these songs in that moment, how has it aged in your mind?

Anna Tivel: That’s funny, I was thinking today how, in this particular year so far, I’m having trouble [writing songs]. I’m having a lot of trouble finding the core of what I mean. I always feel like writing is this search for something a little beyond your understanding. You’re just moving through the world kind of trying to express what you see and what you’re learning and what you’re reaching for. And I’ve been finding, in this particular moment, it’s just so loud and it’s so tangled. I’m writing a lot of angry things that I will never play, [about] not understanding and not even knowing what to reach for to try to understand.

This album was all written like two years ago now, in a state of the world not dissimilar from this one. I was reading a lot of Wendell Berry and just thinking about big, overarching systems and how impossible it is for those to stay about people. [I was thinking] about the earth and kind of thinking about how these smaller communities … function and how things ripple outward. But, the really small things, like your family or your neighborhood. Power lies in these very mundane but magical lives we’re living. How we’re touching the person across the street from us or how we’re figuring out our own hearts, and how powerful that is in the overarching, huge system that [can] become very inhumane so easily.

I think there’s a lot of that there – a lot of love and immense, wild power. All these things are coming out of the technological wavelength that we’re on. And then things like love [that] just can’t be snuffed out.

As you were talking about what we’re reaching for, and the small things, I kept thinking about this image at the end of this record, in the song “Meantime.” The swing set that nobody used and this family that, maybe there was abuse, but the dad built the swing set. Nobody went out to play on it, and they left, and the swing was still there, blowing in the wind.

A swing doesn’t know what it’s reaching, but it’s always there to lift you. What a beautiful thesis that it is for this record, coming as it does, at the end. Can you talk a little bit about that song, “Meantime,” and your decision to place it second to last? Does it feel to you like that’s what this record was reaching toward? I’m always interested in how sequencing tells the story.

Sometimes [sequencing] is really just meaning-based, or it’s sort of sonically based. I really liked the idea of this record kind of starting with this song that expands as much as the whole country. And then going all the way down to the last song, [which] is just very quiet, about love between two people, or what it is to build the language of love with the people nearest to you. I like there to be some kind of journey on a record, where you’re taken through different stories and different lives, for there to be some sort of arc.“Meantime,” to me, feels [like] that’s what I’m trying to say, but it takes place in a very small image. It’s one neighbor. There’s always a lot of neighbors in my music. [I’m a] very voyeuristic neighbor, probably.

There’s this feeling on the record, I think, that we hold all these things and we’re contributing to all these things – such pain and also such beauty. And we’re all sort of trying to separate ourselves from each other [and] from these big forces.

You can recognize yourself in everything, both the good and the bad. But inside of me is so much love and there’s so much cruelty and so much confusion. And becoming part of a family or a community – or a global community – it’s almost like the deeper you [go,] the more you recognize that you are just like everybody. You hold all those things and they hold all those things, even if they feel ugly or small or huge or powerful, they’re in there.

You’re reminding me of the poem by the late, brilliant Andrea Gibson. When I first heard their line, I actually thought of you. And then listening to this album, it came back to me.

The line is, “Do you know how many beautiful things can be seen in a single second?” It’s from the poem, “In the Chemo Room…” It’s thoughts from chemo, which is such a hopeless, awful thing, theoretically. And yet, all of Andrea’s work is so full of hope. I feel like that is so true to what this album conjured for me. I’m wondering if you have any kind of relationship with their poetry or if you were even aware of that parallel.

Yeah, I wish. I wanna take it in, because my good friends in Portland were just telling me to go read their work. I haven’t yet, but I resonate a lot with that. Like, you can just look all around you and see horror upon horror. [But] we are stunningly alive. Full of love and mystery, all at the same time. You’d die if you couldn’t hold that. You can kind of lean in either direction, or you can kind of like just sit there in all directions at once. That’s the journey of the whole thing.

While I’m bringing up poets, you mentioned Wendell Berry. One of my other favorite lines is from him: “Be joyful though you’ve considered all the facts,” Right? Like, this whole idea that we are animals among animals on this planet. Everything’s brutal – and there’s joy. And there’s love, you know. This is such a vital part of what every poet says, right?

There’s a song on here called “Animal Poem,” but the fact that you chose that phrase as the title of the album seemed to resonate. What was it about, to you, to choose those two words as the title of this project?

It’s exactly that. I feel very much like I want to be another being on the earth [who is] trying to express all those things at once, that everybody’s feeling, going through, and finding ways to say to each other.

There’s so many ways that we hold the word “animal”: Wild, untethered, maybe dangerous, maybe instinct[ive], maybe disturbing. … A poem is such an intentional, beautiful way to capture a small part of being. I like the idea that maybe this whole thing is just [us] running around confused, trying to find a little beauty, in what often appears to be utter chaos.

But where is the line, in your mind, between poetry and music? Is there any difference? Is it something intrinsic to the piece? Or, how do you decide what gets music added and what stays a poem?

Yeah, maybe I just think it all comes from the same place – the raw urge to express something. The way that music, or any art form, allows you to express it a little more honestly, because it’s not so straightforward.

When you can live outside the exact facts and use all the colors and the sensory details and emotion of a thing, sometimes that feels more true than being like, “Ted went to the store and bought an egg.” You know? There’s all the other things that happened in that moment that informed the way Ted’s heart was moving, that can be more readily got-at with art. There’s all these ways that people do that.

Ted’s egg was actually quite an experience for him.

Yeah, I mean, why did he go for just one egg? That’s my question.

There’s only one egg left. Poor Ted.

Logistically, when it came to making this record, you noted that it was a group of people in a room just kind of playing together. Was there rehearsal? How many times did everybody else hear these songs? And what was the creative process in that circle?

It was really free. I loved making this record. It felt, to me, like a bunch of freedom. Hearts in a room, just having our thing.
Some of us had toured together a little bit, so we played some of these songs in various ways. Some were new. We sort of just sat and played together for a day or two beforehand. We tried really hard not to make parts. [We were] really trying to at least get comfortable with the forms, so you know where the bridge lives, so it doesn’t surprise you. But [we didn’t do] so much that people settled into things.

Then we just sat in a circle. We didn’t wear headphones, which I loved, and we put my voice through a little monitor in the middle of the room. I’m fairly quiet, so everyone could at least hear the words. We mixed ourselves and just played music in the room together. There was no turning yourself up in the headphones or adding reverb. It just was what it was.

That felt really free. It felt like we forgot we were making a record. Just trying to feel the thing in the moment. I love this group of people. I’ve done a lot of touring with [them] over the years. [I’ve] known them a long time and really respect their musicality, but also their spirits.


Photo courtesy of the artist.

A Simple Daily Practice Brought About Liv Greene’s ‘Deep Feeler’

For Liv Greene, music is all about showing up.

The Nashville-based singer-songwriter just released her sophomore record, Deep Feeler, in mid-October and she wrote and recorded the LP guided by a simple but powerful ethos: Show up for the craft of songwriting and it will show up for you, too. In Greene’s case, that looked like committing to a daily writing practice and finding external sources of accountability – like writers’ groups and online communities – as well as learning to work through days when access to her writerly brain felt blocked.

“A lot of the songs came out of just showing up for the practice, like, ‘Okay, what is there to play with today?’” she tells BGS, calling from her home in Nashville. “‘What’s coming out of my brain today?’”

Though some days only yielded frustration, Greene soon found herself with an album’s worth of material, the bulk of which draws heavily from a concurrent stretch of curiosity-fueled introspection, during which she considered her life as a queer person as well as the quirks and habits that make her who she is.

Greene recorded Deep Feeler at Nashville’s famed Woodland Studios, the East Nashville outpost that serves as home base for David Rawlings and Gillian Welch. She and GRAMMY Award-winning engineer Matt Andrews co-produced the LP, pulling together an ace band that includes acclaimed singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Sarah Jarosz, whom Greene considers a musical hero. Highlights on the record include “Flowers,” a gentle and optimistic celebration of treating oneself with love and care, and “Wild Geese,” which draws inspiration from the late poet Mary Oliver.

Below, BGS catches up with Greene about her daily writing ritual, her experience producing Deep Feeler, and her decision to take a gamble on her artistic vision.

You just released a new record, Deep Feeler. What can you share about the project’s origins and how you conceived its initial vision?

Liv Greene: Most of the songs came out of a dedication to showing up for the craft, whether or not I had an idea when I sat down. I was almost forcing myself to write, but in a way that felt like cultivating a more consistent writing practice. Given that it was during the pandemic, it makes a lot of sense that many of these songs came out of that time. I had a few things to hold me accountable, too. There was a writers’ group I was part of, where I was writing a song a week for the first half of 2021, and a songwriting workshop where I wrote “Flowers.” I also led some workshops myself and participated in the exercises I’d give my students. After moving to Nashville, I wrote “Deep Feeler” and “Wild Geese,” and then the rest of the album took shape from there.

I love the idea of showing up for the craft. It’s not easy to sit down and write when you don’t have an idea at the ready. How did you begin those sessions? Do you have a ritual that helps you shift into that writer headspace?

When I’m in a writing season – which I’m always trying to get back to, though sometimes it’s just not the time, if I’m busier with other parts of my career – it’s usually marked by time with my instrument, just improvising. I’m most inspired by windows or outdoor spaces. Sitting on a porch or in my room looking out the window, just a lot of improvisation. That’s really the core of my songwriting: spending time seeing, maybe speaking in tongues, seeing what comes out in terms of gibberish, and then noticing what starts to stick. There’s something to that diligent practice of making things up consistently, even if you hate what you make up.

Tell me about choosing “Deep Feeler” as the title track. What does feeling deeply represent for you?

The album concept came out of a self-aware period of recognizing patterns in my life and seeing that I was the common denominator. I was in a lot of situationships. While the heart of this record is about the heartache and missteps of my early 20s, I hope it resonates with people beyond that scope. I’d come out, accepted myself, and allowed myself to feel desire and joy and all of these deep romantic feelings for the first time. This record is a lot of me sitting with myself and embracing the way I’m wired, trying to find a healthier self-awareness around it. I’m working on drawing boundaries with myself, but also being proud of my wiring and how it makes me a good storyteller and a good romantic.

As I was preparing to talk to you, I found a quote from you about making this record that really stuck with me. You said, “Now, rather than an escape from myself, songwriting is communion with myself.” Could you elaborate on that?

When I started writing songs in middle and high school, I was at an all-girls Catholic high school. I went to Catholic school most of my life. Being queer, I didn’t feel like I had much representation in my world, so I felt pretty lonely in high school. I didn’t have much of a musical community in D.C., where I grew up. Guitar was always my escape. I’d come home from school, play for hours, and write. As I got older, I had to form a bit more emotional intelligence and really sit with the person I wanted to be. I realized I couldn’t keep running away from parts of myself and that those parts were actually wonderful and something I should embrace. Songwriting became a different vessel for me to explore myself, rather than viewing it academically, as a hobby, or in a scholarly way.

You got to set up shop at Woodland Studios to record the album. Woodland is such a beloved part of Nashville’s music community, and it sounds like you had an excellent roster of musicians in the studio with you. What did being in that environment open up for you creatively?

The core of the record was made in one day in July at Woodland and it was just myself, bass, and drums – no headphones, live in two adjoining rooms, live onto tape. It was very high-pressure. We did six songs that day and just fired them off, trying to keep the authenticity of a live performance at the heart of the record. The studio days were some of the scariest of my professional life, but in a good way.

There were so many nights beforehand where I’d get the Sunday scaries and think, “Oh my God. Sarah Jarosz, who’s a hero of mine, is going to come to the studio tomorrow, and I’m producing. What if we don’t have time to do everything we need to?” It was an immense amount of pressure to be in the producer’s chair for my own project. But musicians put a lot of money into their records because it’s expensive to record. So I viewed the record as, like, “Okay, this is sort of like grad school.” Friends had asked me to produce their stuff before and I’d said no because I didn’t have the experience. Now, it’s baptism by fire, and I’m my own guinea pig.

You have some shows coming up, including a couple here in Nashville. Have you gotten to play much of this material live yet, or is that still to come?

Some of the core songs on the record have been in my set list for a while, at least around town; friends already know all the words to “Wild Geese” and some other “hits” from the record. But yeah, especially the B-side songs, a lot of those will be pretty new to my live show. I’m excited to hopefully do a lot more touring in the next year and see how the songs are landing out in the world. I haven’t really gotten to do that. My last record was a pandemic record and I never really toured it, so I’m really excited for the record to come out soon and then to get out there, meet people, and reconnect with those who resonate with it.

Are you still engaging in your daily writing practice? Do you have other new material on the horizon?

I’m hoping to go into the studio again soon to do a couple of songs. I’m just taking my time getting to know different producers around Nashville. I think this winter is going to be about doing one song here and one song there. I feel like I’m about halfway toward another record, so I’m getting excited to be in the studio again. It’s my favorite place to be.


Photo Credit: Joseph Ross Smith

BGS 5+5: Lyle de Vitry

Artist: Lyle de Vitry
Hometown: Originally Lancaster, Pennsylvania, but I now live in Asheville, North Carolina.
Latest Album: Door Within A Dream
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): I have a lot of nicknames in my family. Pan, Chi, Fluffy Bundun, Lymees, Lyman are a few classics.

Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?

Nick Drake has been a long time favorite and he’s certainly one of my biggest influences. When I was about 14 or 15, I remember diving deep into his records and being so completely blown away by his guitar playing. I had never heard anyone play like that, and it opened up a whole world for me. At that point I wasn’t writing my own music, but I learned some of Nick’s songs and began exploring his tunings, which, to me, were so wonderfully strange and emotionally evocative.

When I started writing my own songs I would often use some of these tunings, as well as some other open tunings I picked up along the way from other artists. Eventually, I began inventing some of my own tunings, which is something I’m not sure I would have been as likely to do had I not delved so deeply into Nick’s work. Playing a guitar in an unfamiliar tuning helps me to get into that childlike, playful state where I’m making discoveries and delighting in them. Like trying ice cream for the first time or leaping into your first icy cold river. In those moments, there is no time or space to feel self-conscious – for your full attention is fixated on this new joyful experience.

I tend to be drawn to artists who sing more softly. In addition to Nick Drake, some of my greatest influences and inspirations include Jose Gonzalez, Sufjan Stevens and, in more recent years, Adrianne Lenker. It’s funny though, I actually have a really big voice when I want to use it – and at one point was considering pursuing a professional career in opera. We’ll see, I might decide to open up my voice a bit more as the years go by and I continue to develop my style. It won’t be opera, but I’m just excited about experimenting with the way I sing, volume level, vibrato, tone, range, etc.

What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?

When writing a song, I try my best to write lyrics that could stand alone as a poem. If I’m feeling stuck, I try reading some of my favorite poetry. Mary Oliver, Wendell Berry, and translations of the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke all come to mind.

I’ve always especially loved the work of Mary Oliver. She wrote a lot while walking through the woods and observing the world around her – always practicing looking with as much reverence as she could muster. I try to slow down and notice things like she did. It’s really a practice of awe and amazement – and often with regard to things that appear simple at first glance or that I might take for granted. Or that I just wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t waited a little longer and been more patient.

Along with poetry, visual art is another art form that plays a big part in my creative life as a songwriter. Sometimes when I’m experiencing a creative block, I’ll go into a period of just focusing on making really colorful and vibrant abstract visual art. It helps me get out of the self-judgment loop, and I find myself getting back to that kid that’s inside, playing with shapes and color just because it’s fun and not because I hope anyone will think it’s any good. And then I can take that mindset back with me when I return to my songs.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

I remember singing my song, “To Be Adored,” for a close friend shortly after I had written it. When I looked up after finishing, he was smiling at me ear to ear and had tears streaming down his face. This same thing happened a few other times with other people – and I began to realize that I could really touch others with my music on a deep emotional level. I’ve always loved music with nostalgic and maybe even sad undertones, and so a lot of the music I make has this kind of feeling. The thing is, “sad” music always made me feel kind of… good? From the beginning, I think I knew I wanted to make sounds that could help people heal in some way, or at least serve as a form of comfort. When I started seeing the impact my music was having on people in real time, I knew I wanted to continue writing and sharing – with the hope that I too could be a healer and could help make the world a little more beautiful.

If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?

I would probably be a visual artist/art teacher. Making art has always been one of my favorite things to do – and, as I mentioned, it still sometimes plays a role in my creative practice at times. I’m often thinking about bigger paintings, murals, or other visual projects I want to be making, but usually I’m spending my free time playing music these days. I keep thinking about getting into wood block printmaking though and I just ordered some carving tools – albeit with the intention of creating some merch!

I do have a part-time day job assembling and setting up banjos for Pisgah Banjo here in Asheville – but it’s the most music-related day job I’ve ever had. When I’m done setting up a banjo part of my job is playing it to make sure the set up feels good, which I always enjoy. I also do a bit of private music teaching.

What would a perfect day as an artist and creator look like to you?

I usually need a lot of uninterrupted solo time to really get into a creative flow. It’s also super helpful when I can put my computer and phone away for the day and replace them with poetry books and/or nature walks. And as much as I love being out in nature, I must admit I would still want to retain my creature comforts. I’m envisioning waking up in a cozy cabin close to a lake, stream, or river. I’d come to consciousness feeling well-rested, listening to the sounds of insects and birds and the laughter of the water. Maybe it’s raining softly on the roof? But then the sun comes out, and it’s a perfect 75 degree day, breezy. I’d give myself ample time to rest and take breaks throughout the day, swim, exercise, cook, and eat delicious food… sign me up!


Photo Credit: Rita Kovtun

LISTEN: Peter Mulvey & SistaStrings, “Soft Animal”

Artist: Peter Mulvey & SistaStrings
Hometown: Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Song: “Soft Animal”
Album: Love Is the Only Thing
Release Date: August 12, 2022
Label: Righteous Babe Records

In Their Words: “The title and first line of ‘Soft Animal’ are lifted from Mary Oliver’s transcendent poem ‘The Wild Geese.’ The rest of this love song, which I wrote while falling in love with the woman who would become the prow of the little boat that is our family, navigating through all the stormy waters of recent years, hews closely to Mary Oliver’s sentiment, ‘You only need to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.’ The whole song is full of shoulders, and eyes, lips, hands, ears, hips, as well as the fleeting things that arise from our bodies: footsteps, shadows, despair, laughter, anger, belief. This love song is the truest version of love I could manage, and I will (and did) stake my whole life on it.” — Peter Mulvey

Yellow Couch Management · 02. Soft Animal MSTRL2

Photo Credit: Amos Perrine

BGS 5+5: Blitzen Trapper

Artist: Blitzen Trapper
Hometown: Portland, Oregon
Latest album: Holy Smokes Future Jokes
Release Date: September 25, 2020

Answers provided by Eric Earley

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

Michael Stipe was my favorite songwriter as a kid, his lyrics were so strange and uncanny. I’m thinking of Reckoning and Murmur, some of the most anachronistic lyrical content ever. There were no lyric sheets or online lookups back then so I was always trying to figure out what he was saying. His songs always had the feeling of a riddle or a magical text, the imagery was dreamlike and over the years I’ve tried to emulate that in certain ways. Tom Waits was a large influence later in my twenties, his bizarre comical lyrical storytelling and character voices were inspiring, I’m thinking of Rain Dogs in particular.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

There isn’t any favorite, lots of weird amazing ones for sure, playing “Heard It Thru the Grapevine” with Stephen Malkmus trading weird, collapsing solos with Stephen as he made up the words because we were too lazy to learn the lyrics. I think we were in Cleveland, but I could be wrong. Playing Big Star’s “Feel” with Jody Stephens on drums and Mike Mills on backing vocals in Austin, Texas, that was surreal.

What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc — inform your music?

Most of my favorite songs have literary origins, whether it’s a particular Cormac McCarthy novel like Blood Meridian (“Black River Killer”) or a general religious text like the Bardo Thodol (the new record is based largely on this book). Biblical imagery has made its way into countless songs I’ve written as a result of childhood influences and pervasive cultural resonances. I’ve also started writing a lot of songs from reading specific poets, using their wordplay to inspire different turns of phrase. Seamus Heaney, Mary Oliver, to name a couple, I’ve also used Finnegan’s Wake and Gravity’s Rainbow to generate wordplay and imagery.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

I’ve been playing music since I was a child, so being a musician was never really a choice. I didn’t think of it as a career for a long time. I went to college for physics and math, studied painting, learned classical fingerstyle, became a sous chef. Finally in my late twenties I decided to drop everything and play music, mostly because all the songs I was writing were keeping me up at night, but I didn’t have any vision for the business part of it. Spent seven years playing unattended shows in Portland. Got a record deal off a random song on Myspace and suddenly was touring and making money.

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

Experimentation is the only way to realize the vision of reality you want to hear, so never grow static in style or voice, always move forward, never sit still sonically. Don’t write angry, only from a place of emptiness without sentimentality, nostalgia without regret. Don’t try to please anyone, only follow your instincts.


Photo credit: Jason Quigley