Counsel of Elders: Robert Cray on Speaking from the Soul

Robert Cray’s voice betrays a sense of electrified giddiness as he talks about recording with Hi Rhythm, the house band from famed Memphis label Hi Records that joined him on his latest project, Robert Cray & Hi Rhythm. For a musician who has performed with Eric Clapton, John Lee Hooker, and Stevie Ray Vaughan, it seems like “star struck” wouldn’t be an issue, but to hear Cray tell it, his latest LP was an experience unto itself. Whether describing listening to organist Charles Hodges replicate the “wah-wah” sound he perfected for Al Green, or standing in Royal Studies amidst all that history, or tapping into the groove that almost magically envelopes Memphis, there’s an expansive warmth — almost a sense of awe — that comes across as he talks about working with the infamous studio band. To say it was a “once in a lifetime” moment underscores the project’s timing, since he will receive the Lifetime Achievement Award for Performance from the Americana Music Association this year while Hi Rhythm will be honored with the Lifetime Achievement Award for Instrumentalist.

Although Cray is known for his emotive blues licks, he’s been exploring his soul influences in recent years. Robert Cray & Hi Rhythm continues what he began in 2014 with In My Soul (recorded with the Robert Cray Band). The latter charted his appreciation for the classic soul coming out of labels like Stax and Chess, and studios like Muscle Shoals; the former leans into the nexus of blues, soul, and even funk in order to explore where his guitar can guide those sounds. Besides covering Tony Joe White’s “Aspen, Colorado” and “Don’t Steal My Love,” Cray penned several new songs for the project, including the frank but tender “The Way We Are” and the politically charged “Just How Low.” Though he doesn’t point specific fingers with the latter, the opening bars of “Hail to the Chief” and the chorus make clear his message: “One never knows just how low someone might go.” He doesn’t shy away from speaking his mind about the current president, even if he knows how that’s gone for musicians in the past. An earnest and open songwriter, Cray’s partnership with Hi Rhythm continues the genre’s tradition of embedding necessary messages within its enchanting grooves and, in turn, reveals yet another piece of his soul.

Did you ever think, when you first started out, that you had 20 albums in you?

No, I didn’t go that far. All I knew was I wanted to play music. Everybody, as a youngster playing music, wants to make a record, but you never see any further past a first record.

What’s it like on the other end of that perspective now?

Well, the whole thing still remains a lot of fun. I enjoy doing what we do, and with all the records under our belts … we’re making a living at it and we’re still here.

This latest project recorded with the Hi Records house band is so special. Soul music, and especially the kind of soul music that label released, has long featured a potent message. How have you seen it shift or develop since the ‘60s and ‘70s?

It’s kinda hard to describe. Working with those guys from Hi Records, it’s been instilled in them. I’ve been a big fan of their music for the longest time. Everybody has more music appreciation even outside what they do, and then when you put the right people together — which was the case when Steve [Jordan] put us together — we were able to do what we love. It was pretty cool.

One of the songs, in particular — “Just How Low” — sounds as though you’re addressing Trump, even though you never mention his name. At the very least, you’re addressing this kind of divisive mentality that has once again become so prominent. Why did you want to take aim at that specifically?

Just the tone of everything that’s going on these days. It’s a dramatic shift from where we once were and with President Obama being in office. We haven’t had anybody that’s so out in the open with his disdain for government, different people, different cultures, all of that. We spend a lot of time on the road, trying to keep up with what’s going on, and we see how it is for people outside of our country, and how they feel about it, as well. So, yeah, it was just a natural thing. This wasn’t the first time that we’ve addressed political issues. We’ve gone back to even when the Iraq War started and talked about that on both sides of the issue, and then on behalf of military personnel.

It’s interesting that you choose this way to approach it, though. Because, in recent years, between William Bell and Don Bryant, the message they’re sharing about changing times advocates for peace. I love that music — don’t get me wrong — but I like that you take a more stringent tone.

Right. Well, my only issue with this song is, every day there’s something new. I gotta keep writing verses to this song. People are on the fence about going the way we went only because of what happened to Dixie Chicks years ago, and everybody is worried about their fan base. They just want to stay in line, but, you know, if you don’t address the issue, it doesn’t get addressed.

I can see why Steve Jordan has described you as an “honest soul” because it is a bit of a risk to come out and so blatantly share a specific perspective that might scare away portions of your fan base.

Well, thank you, Steve. But you have to, you just have to. There’s no dancing.

I appreciate that, as a listener. Some people talk about the special feeling Muscle Shoals and Memphis exude. Where do you think that special energy comes from?

I’d like to consider Memphis the hub of American music. When you think about rock ‘n’ roll, the blues, it’s such a big part. We have different areas, too: You’ve got country coming out of Nashville, and the jazz that came out of New Orleans. But I think, overall, Memphis is the hub. Without the blues, you wouldn’t have rock ‘n’ roll. It’s just there.

So how did you tap into it for this session?

I didn’t need any coaxing. I met some of the guys from Hi Rhythm in the past just briefly, but have always had a love for the music. I had the opportunity to work with Steve — this being our fifth project. Steve is the supreme organizer, and he has a way of making everyone feel really comfortable in the studio. When we work with Steve, one of the first things we do is, he gets behind the drum kit and just starts playing. No song. Everybody’s got their instrument and we’re just playing. And that groove will go on 20-25 minutes, until everybody feels really good. Just to be creative, just to make things happen. Then he goes, “Let’s do one of these tunes,” so we’ll start playing one of the tunes, and we’ll do the same thing for 15-20 minutes, and Steve’ll yell out, “Let’s cut it.” Everybody’s loose, and it’s really cool.

That’s fascinating. I’ve always loved this idea that places hold their history — in both good and bad ways — but here the fact that you could step into Royal Studios surely lent something to that groove.

Yes, and that’s what I should mention, as well. Another part of the whole “feel” thing is being in Royal Studios. You walk into the place and you see pictures of Willie Mitchell, of course, and you see pictures of Al Green, and you see old tape boxes with Ann Peebles’ name on it, and you have the whole Mitchell family bringing in food. It’s just a “Welcome to the family” kind of feel. It was really warming to be there.

That comes across in the tracks that you were able to capture together. There’s a family reunion kind of feel. So now, in addition to your original tracks, you chose to cover Bill Withers and Tony Joe White, but then you also recorded with White. You’re getting all these Tennessee titans together! What was that like?

That was great. Steve’s wife, Meegan Voss, sent me the song “Aspen,” and I listened to it, and said, “This is really cool.” So when we got around to the song, Steve called him, and Tony Joe had just come from Australia or New Zealand, but he wanted to be the studio, so his son drove him over from the other side of the state. He showed up and he was so happy to be there, and he was like family, too. Everybody has a total respect for him. We just had a good time. He’s a wonderful human being.

There was another time that we did this program in Nashville, Songwriters & Storytellers or something like that, for PBS. I remember Keb’ Mo’ being there and a bunch of other people, but Tony Joe was there, and we each did songs. I’d do a song, then Keb would do one, then Tony Joe would do one. Everybody was pretty cool, until he broke out “Rainy Night in Georgia.” I think everybody wanted to walk out after that. He was the sweetest guy in the world. That’s when we first met.

And now here you are recording together! Your song “Way We Are” captures the beauty of staying with someone. Besides age and perspective, how has writing a love song changed for you over the years?

You can only write a love song if you’ve experienced love. I sat down and was thinking about the relationship that my wife and I have. We have our ways. Everybody has their ways. But the relationship works. I’m stubborn sometimes, and she’s stubborn sometimes, but at the end of the day, that’s who we are, and we acknowledge that. It came out that way.

I love it. Also, congratulations on receiving the Lifetime Achievement Award for Performance at AmericanaFest this year.

I’m looking forward to, once again, having the opportunity to work with Hi Rhythm. We’ve done three or four gigs, and it’s always a special treat. I love watching Charles Hodges play his organ! I always think back to the days when I was listening to Al Green, and I heard him going “Whaa-o” across the organ, and he does that all the time. I’m always smiles. I have a really good time with it.


Photo credit: Ronnie Booze

MIXTAPE: Amy Black’s Memphis Mood

I didn’t know it until recently, but man, I love Memphis. After touring for two years on an album I did in Muscle Shoals, I decided it was time to move on to a next project, and Memphis was the obvious choice. In order to soak up the music of Soulsville, I dove in deep, visiting the city, hanging with the locals, touring the studios, and listening to everything I could get my hands on that was recorded in Memphis back in the booming Stax, Hi, Sun, and Ardent days. I knew most of the staples, but there were so many more artists and songs to discover. I was in music heaven. What I experienced informed my songwriting for the project, as well as the covers I would select for the album and my live show. My fourth album, Memphis, features some of the architects of the infectious Memphis sound that I just can’t get enough of. This Mixtape is a sampling of the music I discovered on my Memphis journey. It’s got the Memphis grit, heart, and soul. Get ready. It will make you want to shout, dance, sway, shake and sing! — Amy Black

Otis Redding  — “My Lover’s Prayer”

Otis. The superstar of Stax Records. Do you know how much we love you and miss you? Your spirit comes through in every one of your songs. I love this ballad. Even though you don’t “go off” on the same level as some of the other songs, we feel your emotion, your desperation to make things right. Gets me every time.

Ann Peebles — “I Pity the Fool”

How did I miss Ann Peebles? I knew “I Can’t Stand the Rain,” but there is so much more to her. Now here’s a singer who can move from gentle to fierce without blinking. On “I Pity the Fool,” her line “look at the people” feels like a gut punch. A good gut punch. Ann Peebles, there’s no one who can “sock it to me” like you can.

O.V. Wright — “Blind, Crippled, and Crazy”

I love, love, love me some Al Green, and we will talk about that, but fellow Hi Records artist O.V., now he’s got his own thing going on. He brings it every time. He’s got that Memphis grit in his voice. He sings with urgency. He makes you sit up and listen — and believe every word. “Blind, Crippled, and Crazy” is a killer example of this. It love it so much, I start every show with it.

Carla Thomas — “B-A-B-Y” 

Carla Thomas of Stax Records … if Ann Peebles has the growl, Carla’s got the purr. Her smooth voice and upbeat songs just make you happy, especially this favorite number. I was glad to hear “B-A-B-Y” is in the new Baby Driver movie. What a sweet, groovy song. I got my very own baby niece this last year (my first one) and this is her song. I sing it to her all the time and we dance to it. I’ll keep doing that until she begs me to quit out of embarrassment.

Jackie Brenston and His Delta Cats — “Rocket 88”

Going old school here. There’s a whole lot of history behind this one, so look it up. A few key points: Sam Phillips recorded it; many say it was the first recording of a rock ‘n’ roll song; the band and song were really Ike Turner’s but Jackie got the credit; oh, and that fuzzy guitar sound was a new thing. Something about a dropped amplifier? What I can tell you for certain is when one does this song live in 2017, people still go crazy over it. Long live rock ‘n’ roll!

Jerry Lee Lewis — “Night Train to Memphis”

Great to play these two back-to-back. This is song is absolutely infectious. Just stand still and don’t dance to it: I double dog dare you. I end the show with this one and usually go Pentecostal. It can’t be helped.

The Staples Singers  — “City in the Sky”

Okay, now we are talking. Mavis, you are MY girl. No one else can have you. Okay, I’ll share. Seriously, Mavis is one of my greatest musical and spiritual inspirations. I’m so grateful for her and her family and all the positivity and honesty they have put out into the world for decades. Mavis is still going strong at 78! Love this song. What a great message and a great groove. XOXO

Al Green — “Old Time Lovin’”

This Hi Records superstar just oozes soul. That Hi groove and all that feeling. Sexiest music available (and yes, I know about Barry White). If “Old Time Lovin” doesn’t get you in the mood, you might need to see a doctor.

Bobby “Blue” Bland  –“I Wouldn’t Treat a Dog (the Way You Treated Me)”

I didn’t grow up listening to the blues or being exposed to this kind of music at all. You could think it’s sad or that I had some pretty excellent music to discover as an adult — I go with that latter line of thinking. To discover Bobby “Blue” Bland in my 40s was just the right time. I love this man’s full catalog. He is oh so smooth (they say “Frank Sinatra of the blues”) but can bring that Memphis grit in a heartbeat. Love this song. It’s groovy and is sure fun to do live.

William Bell — “You Don’t Miss Your Water”

A classic from the ballad master of Stax, William Bell. This is a beautiful song. It’s simple and stunning. More from William below. (He is still making music … and winning Grammys.)

Albert King — “Walking the Backstreets and Crying”

This is Memphis. We’ve got to have some serious blues on this playlist. This Albert King version of a song originally recorded by Little Milton stopped me in my tracks the first time I heard it. The drama. Bring it, Albert. And those Memphis horns blaring in the background. Yes!

Big Star — “September Gurls”

As I write about these songs, I’m listening to them. I have a huge smile on my face right now. Does Big Star do that to you, too? Just make you happy? Just make you want to dance around the room? That’s what they do for me. It’s not soul music, but it gets to my soul. Having the chance to hang with Big Star drummer Jody Stephens at Ardent while mixing my record also made me smile. What a guy. What a band.

The Bo-Keys — “High Roller”

Quintessential Memphis. These guys are keeping that amazing Memphis sound alive and well. I had the pleasure of working with Bo-Keys leader Scott Bomar as my producer for the new album. I came to him because I love the sound that he gets. This song is a perfect example. So good!

William Bell — “Poison in the Well”

We are back to William Bell. He’s the only person who gets two songs. I just can’t help it. He’s 77 years old and making a comeback. But to those who have always loved him, he didn’t go anywhere. I’m digging his new Grammy-winning album and I gotta share. I’ve been rocking out to this song all summer in the tour van. Enjoy!

Don Bryant — “What Kind of Love”

Speaking of comebacks … Don Bryant is the husband of Ann Peebles and wrote many of her hits, but he’s also a amazing singer. He’s been singing gospel for years, but this summer released a new soul/R&B album that Scott Bomar produced. He’s touring with the Bo-Keys and killing it.

North Mississippi Allstars — “Meet Me in the City”

The Dickinson family is legendary in Memphis. Jim was one heck of a musician and producer, and his kids — Luther and Cody — are following in his footsteps. Glad there’s a next gen of Dickinsons to bring us more great music.

Valerie June — “Wanna Be on Your Mind”

Valerie June calls Memphis home. She’s described her sound as “organic moonshine roots” (found that on Wikipedia). While it’s not classic Memphis soul or blues, both are certainly influences, along with folk, gospel, country, Appalachian, and bluegrass … otherwise known as Americana music! This is one of my favorites from her debut album, Pushing Against a Stone.

City Champs — “The Set-Up”

Joe Restivo is a killer guitar player. Al Gamble slays on the organ. George Sluppick is wicked on the drums. Put these guys together, and you have the excellent Memphis trio, City Champs. Treat yo’ self and listen to this song and many others. These fellas played on my Memphis album. Yes, I’m a lucky lady.

Amy Lavere — “Killing Him”

I remember the first time I heard of Memphis-based singer/songwriter and bass player Amy Lavere. An industry guy played me a murder ballad of hers and said, “If you want to do a murder ballad, this is the way to do it.” I talked to him today and he stands by that. She worked with the late great Jim Dickinson on the album this track is from, Anchors and Anvils. Fun fact: Amy played Wanda Jackson in Walk the Line. How freaking cool is that?

John Paul Keith — “We Got All Night”

I’ve had the pleasure of seeing John Paul play live several time in Memphis and got to hang out while he was doing some recording at Scott Bomar’s studio. His music is a sweet and soulful mix of rock ‘n’ roll, country, rockabilly. Dig it. He plays a lot in Memphis. Make sure to catch him next time you are in town!

John Nemeth — “Three Times a Fool”

From Idaho to California to Memphis. That was John’s path. Definitely a great move resulting in some excellent music. He won the Blues Music Award for “soul blues male artist of the year” in 2014 and has recorded several albums in Memphis. He also plays a mean blues harp. Next time you are in Memphis, check out his killer side project called the Love Light Orchestra. Big band. Big sound. Big time.

Amy Black — “The Blackest Cloud”

Yes, I have to put one of my songs on this playlist. But I did put it at the end, so there’s that. I picked producer Scott Bomar’s favorite song, “The Blackest Cloud,” for your listening pleasure. It’s a mix of old and new and features HORNS. If you like what you hear, stream the full album on Spotify. Okay, advertisement over.

Bruno Mars and Mark Ronson — “Uptown Funk”

You made it this far. I’m going to either reward you or punish you. It’s all based on your perspective. I love the song “Uptown Funk.” What’s not to love? And the coolest part is that it was recorded at Royal Studios, the historic spot where all of the Hi Records artists recorded with the Hi Rhythm section. Boo Mitchell (heir of famed producer Willie Mitchell) is running the studio and following in Willie’s footsteps as a producer and engineer. They are celebrating its 60th year right now in 2017. What a great testimony to how relevant Memphis is to today’s music scene!

<hr>

Photo credit: Stacie Huckeba

Counsel of Elders: Don Bryant on Second Chances

What’s the time limit on second chances? Don Bryant is learning that it really can take a lifetime, or at least a few decades. Since the 1960s, the Hi Records songwriter has been putting pen to paper for other people’s voices. Label owner Willie Mitchell recognized his talent and tapped Bryant to help keep churning out the hits in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, contributing to the catalogues of the “5” Royales (“I Got to Know”), O.V. Wright (“I Can’t Take It”), and Etta James (“A Love Vibration”). And then, of course, there were his many collaborations with Hi Records signee Ann Peebles. The two co-wrote their most famous single, “I Can’t Stand the Rain,” one year before they married in 1974. But Bryant also has a talent for singing and, at 75 years old, he’s getting the chance to showcase his own voice.

Bryant released his second album, Don’t Give Up On Love, this year via Fat Possum Records. It follows his 1969 release, Precious Soul. If 48 years seems like a long time to go in between projects, it only allowed Bryant to marinate. He never stopped writing, and he certainly never stopped singing. He simply chose less public platforms to share those two gifts. For his latest project, Bryant reunited with Hi Records players, like drummer Howard Grimes and organist Charles Hodges. Their resultant joy cannot be contained. Each song plays like old friends having an absolute ball together. “I couldn’t have scripted it no better,” Bryant says. “That’s why I’m embracing it so much and enjoying it so much.” Besides covering O.V. Wright’s “A Nickel and a Nail,” and recording his version of the song he originally wrote for the “5” Royales, “I Got to Know,” he touches on subjects including love, jealousy, cheating, and what lies beyond. On “How Do I Get There,” Bryant digs into his gospel side, growling runs and all, to pose a rhetorical question: If the afterlife is really paradise, then what do I have to do now to get to then? The song feels plucked from his best session writing days at Hi Records, offering listeners a transporting and transformative experience. Don’t Give Up On Love, then, is less an album about second chances, and more a celebration of restitution. If patience is a virtue, then Bryant’s virtuosity has yielded a soulful answer.

People have been describing your new album as a second chance, but it feels closer to restoration.

It does, because I never stopped singing. I was doing some gospel things, and getting in touch with my spiritual side. Music and singing have always been my life, since I was a small kid, so I’ve been enjoying it, even if I just sing to myself. And write songs. I’ve been writing, too! I enjoy putting down demos for myself. I never know what’s going to happen with them, but just put ‘em down because they’re there.

In a way, it’s like practicing. You do it enough and, eventually, you’re called up to the big stage.

Look at that! Who would’ve known?

What is the soul man’s role in the 21st century?

I feel that there are still a lot of people that love the music and enjoy the music, but we’re not getting a lot of [soul] right now. That was one of the main reasons I embraced doing this album. Some people had confidence in saying, “Hey, it might work.” There are so many people that still love the R&B field and, according to the crowds that I’ve performed before, it seems like they love it just as they did then.

The soul man has been an uplifting force throughout history, but there’s often an important message that accompanies that presence, which you’ve been able to tap into. And we need it more than ever!

Oh, yes. I think that was one of the reasons I was writing those songs [on Don’t Give Up on Love]. I feel that we need them. I had no idea how I would be able to get them done, or what have you, but they keep coming. I got to write them down.

Does it happen in one go for you, or do you have to come back to the table a few times?

Sometimes I do, because sometimes I only get a title. Then it takes time to examine that title and the different ways it’s been said. Is it possible to say the same thing in a different way and get a great feel on it?

Was “How Do I Get There” an instance of getting a title first?

Well, to tell you the truth, it was one of those writing spells that I had. When I’m in one of those situations, and the title or something comes to me — I don’t know if it’s an automatic thing — I start searching what I’ve heard, what I’ve seen, what have you, to add to this equation to be able to write a song that will reach more people. I’ve talked to people about that situation, and a lot of them had questions. The question was the main thing: How do I get there? When the title hit me, I just started looking for different directions to go in, and once I gathered it in my head, it didn’t take me long to write the song.

It’s gorgeous. It’s funny how beautiful things sometimes come so quickly.

That is so true. And I’m so glad and thankful that it’s still happening to me. It don’t take much to just get off into something. Even with the songs that I wrote for the new album — Scott Bomar told me, “Hey, we need to write some for this new album” — the light came on! Everywhere I went, I started hearing things. Bands playing and maybe a phrase they used would trigger something in my mind. It’s a beautiful feeling.

It’s got to be. I think there’s a certain kind of receptivity writers have, so how do you keep yourself open to ideas? It’s easy to get tired and stressed out, and you’ve certainly experienced personal tribulation.

Well, that’s my free space. You know what I’m saying?

Yeah, a place to work it out.

I can be there and, at that moment, regardless of how long it lasts, the rest of the [stressful] things are not taking advantage of me. I can sit it on the shelf for a minute and get off into something that I enjoy doing, and it compensates for all those rough times that you think about.

You need that outlet, otherwise it would all be rough times.

Definitely so. And to me that’s always been one of my outlets, to be overly involved in writing songs. Sometimes I might write two or three different versions of a song before I’m finished with it, and then put the chords to it and, the majority of the time, the chords and everything come along while I’m doing it. It’s just a beautiful feeling.

So what happens to that second or third version?

I hold on to it! There’s something in there that I might be able to use on another song. I don’t ever throw it away. I’ve got a catalog of unfinished songs.

If you ever wanted to release those …

Stop putting ideas in my head! It’s beautiful, though; I enjoy it. There are some things that I need to get off my mind.

You’ve mentioned how you wrote this album with Ann in the back of your mind and it’s dedicated to her. Turning to your song, “Don’t Give Up On Love,” it’s a striking number coming at a time when it’s harder for people — especially in my generation — to invest in one another. They want things to come fast and easy.

[Singing] “When I fall in love, it will be forever.” We’ve had a beautiful life; we’ve enjoyed each other. It’s had its ups and downs, but we’ve really enjoyed each other. She was there in the studio with me, and she was boosting me along and giving me ideas when I was recording the album. It was very important to me. You don’t find it all the time, and everybody don’t find it, and I’m thankful that I found it.

That is such a blessing.

It’s a blessing. I’m trying my best to hold on! And then there’s just so much, even after all these years. Everybody’s going to have problems. There are ways of getting beyond problems without a whole lot of commotion. You learn these things as you get on in life. I want to apply these things rather than move in the other direction.

Was there ever a single piece of advice you received that helped you in your relationship?

Yeah. “Don’t give up on love.” [Laughs] That’s the main thing. Love eliminates a whole lot of stuff. A lot of different things happened: I seen a lot of my brothers and sisters give up because this happened and that happened, and they didn’t want to go no further. But, I mean, in life, things are going to happen that you don’t like. I don’t care whether you’re in love or out of love, sometimes you just have to brace it and go on because that’s not the end.

It can seem like it, in that moment.

It can, but hey, “This too shall pass.” I can say [Ann and I] still enjoyin’ each other because we got so much in common. The music thing we got it in common, the way we came up — the big families. I think there were 11 in her family and 10 in my family. It took time for us to find those things out.

Of course. It’s a process, years in the making.

And through it, we were able to help each other.

What prompted you to cover O. V. Wright’s “A Nickel and a Nail”?

I don’t know. That has been one of my favorite songs, ever since he recorded it. I love it, and I used to just walk around singing it. It brought back memories of when that was going on as a kid, with a nickel and a nail, and the other kids around. [Laughs] You could jiggle that nickel and a nail and they’d think you had some money in your pocket. [The song] said a whole lot to me. I don’t how much it said to other people, but it said it a lot to me. And O.V. had such a voice, it was hard to duplicate his voice.

Were you trying to duplicate him or find your own way?

It was a mixture of both. There were some phrases he did that I don’t think nobody else could’ve done any better.

Speaking of memories, when you were recording with Charles Hodges and Howard Grimes, what did that unearth?

Well, I’ll tell you what, it was just like being back home again. Everybody had such a joyous mood to be able to come back together and do it again.

You can hear it on the album!

It was great. Everybody enjoyed it. Me, most so, because I’m standing there saying, “Hey, this is me.” I’m really getting another opportunity to do this and I’m so thankful that I’m able to do it. It’s time for me to enjoy it: Embrace it and enjoy it.

I love that. It seems there are not many opportunities to really be yourself in a public way.

That’s so true. This is me. It’s been me for a whole lot of years. I don’t know if there’s anyway to top it, but we will see.

You’ve set the barometer for yourself.

I’m not worried about that. I’m just sitting here and working on enjoying that one right now.


Photo credit: Matt White

The Producers: Scott Bomar

Specializing in gritty, stomping R&B jams reminiscent of Stax and Hi Records, Scott Bomar has become synonymous with the revitalized Memphis sound — the guy you call if you want to sound like 1967 by way of 2017. For him, the sweet soul music that put the Bluff City on the map is a kind of American roots music, as traditional and as important as folk or bluegrass.

He’s been a local fixture for two decades now, first in a raft of local bands, including surf-rock greats Impala, and later working with local film director Craig Brewer on Hustle & Flow and Black Snake Moan. He played bass for such local legends as Carla Thomas, Eddie Floyd, and William Bell. Eventually, he opened his own studio, Electraphonic Recording, in downtown Memphis, where he has recorded records with the Bo-Keys (featuring Stax alumni), the City Champs, and Cyndi Lauper. More recently, he co-helmed the new album by Hi Records songwriter Don Bryant, most famous for “I Can’t Stand the Rain,” a 1973 hit for his wife Ann Peebles.

An expert on local music, he’s not beholden to Memphis history or any soul revival trend. “I’m definitely not interested in re-creating the past,” he says. “I’m influenced by it, but I’m not looking to completely replicate something. I like doing new songs.”

How did you get into producing?

I’ve always lived in Memphis. I’m a lifelong Memphian. There’s just music everywhere here. You can’t go anywhere and not hear music — whether it’s blues, soul, rockabilly, country, gospel, jazz. It’s everywhere. When I was really young, I would hear songs on AM radio. This would have been the late ‘70s or early ‘80s, and there was a country station called WMC 79 that would play the latest country songs with some Sun Records and ‘50s hits mixed in. There was something about that Sun stuff. I didn’t know it was made in Memphis, at the time, but when I would hear Elvis or Jerry Lee or Charlie Rich, that music just jumped out of the speakers. The same goes for stuff like “Soul Finger” by the Bar-Kays and “Knock on Wood” by Eddie Floyd and “Green Onions” by Booker T & the MGs.

I asked my mother and she knew a little bit about Stax Records, and she would tell me, “Oh yeah, that was recorded here.” My dad was a little older. He grew up in the rockabilly era, so he knew about the Sun stuff. It connected the dots in music and, when I as in high school, friends of mine would go down to Mississippi to Junior Kimbrough’s juke joint. I started going to blues festivals and was exposed to all the North Mississippi stuff like R.L. Burnside and Frank Frost & the Jelly Roll Kings. Albert King was still playing back then. I started playing in bands and we would be recording in these studios where I would encounter the ghosts of this past Memphis musical history. I started meeting people and connecting more dots and getting really passionate about local music. There would be certain artists and I would think, “Why has no one made a record with this artist? Why hasn’t anybody brought this artist to Memphis to do a show?” I was producing live concerts — not on a big scale, but on a smaller scale — and that led to me producing records.

Does that give you a chance to work at studios around town?

I’ve had the good fortune to get to work with some really great producers and engineers in Memphis. I worked over at Royal with Willie Mitchell. I did some records at Sam Phillips Studio with Roland Janes. One of the first places I ever worked was Easley Recording with Doug Easley. I just picked up a little bit from everybody. I’ve never worked at Sun, but I’ve recorded there. I’ve done a lot of work over at Ardent over the years. I’ve worked at all of them in one way or another, and I still work at all of them, even though I have my own studio. I still do like to do things at other places. I work everywhere.

Tell me about the Don Bryant record. He seems like such an interesting story: someone who had a lot of success in the ‘70s, then took nearly four decades to really establish himself as a solo artist.

Don was a little nervous about it. There are a lot of artists who’ve spent decades on the road singing in smoky clubs, and they’ve blown their voices. But Don hasn’t. He hasn’t lost anything. He sang in the ‘50s and ‘60s, but after that, he was primarily doing songwriting and singing in church, so his voice is very well-preserved. But he was a little nervous about making a record. I was like, “Man, you just don’t realize how great you sound.” After we recorded the first song for the record, we played it back for him and he was, “Okay, I’m good. I got this.”

Bruce Watson from Fat Possum and I produced that record together. I’m a big fan of the records he did with R.L. Burnside, Junior Kimbrough, and T Model Ford. Those records were big influences on me. He definitely pushed the project and the aesthetic in some directions that maybe I wouldn’t have gone down myself, but it was always comfortable. It was great having another set of ears on that project, which is similar to other records I’ve done, like the Bo-Keys, but those are usually just me doing all of the production. It was nice to have someone else to bounce things off of.

So you’re the sole producer on most of your projects.

That’s true. And, quite often, I’m not even working with a label. Usually, the artist has done a crowd-funding thing or the artist has their own label, so there’s not that third party with an investment and an opinion. I know a lot of people — and probably a lot of producers — complain about labels, but my experience, for the most part, is that it’s helpful having an outside voice to keep everybody focused. When everybody’s on the same page, it’s a beautiful thing.

If you look at the golden era of record-making, one of the things that made it so great was how collaborative the process was and how many people were involved. You had a team of people: songwriters, arrangers, producers, A&R people. For my records, I like to have a team of people. Mark Franklin has been a constant collaborator. He plays trumpet in the Bo-Keys, but he’s also a great arranger. He does a lot of the arranging work on the records that I do. I tend to use a lot of the same musicians, although it varies a little bit from project to project. We’ve all worked together enough that we know each other really well and get some good work done.

What does the process look like on the front end? What kinds of conversations are you having with artists before you even get into the studio?

The first thing is, I listen to the kinds of records the artist really wants to make. That’s the first conversation, the artist telling me, “This is where I am in my career. This is what my last record was, and now I want to make a record that does this and sounds like this.” I listen to what their goals are and, if there’s a label involved, I talk to them and see what they’re looking for. And then I’m listening to the material the artist already has — the songs they have written so far. Maybe they have all their songs together, but sometimes they’re not 100 percent there with some of them. So I’ll bring in some other songwriters, if that’s needed. But most of the early stages are about figuring out what the record’s going to sound like.

How does that inform the sessions?

I like the artist to be as comfortable as possible. That’s always my goal. I don’t know that all producers agree with me there. I think some producers try to make the artist uncomfortable and think they’ll get something different or new. But I like the artist to be comfortable, so when they come in the studio, they’re not distracted by anything. The only thing on their mind is making the record. There’s no stress. The less you’re thinking about the outside world the better.

That’s the beauty of the recording studio: it’s the one place where time seems to stand still. It’s probably why I like it so much and why I spend so much time in the studio. I get lost in it, and it’s a whole other world to me when I’m in there. Most of the artists I work with, I think they feel that, too. Of course you don’t want to waste time, either. I’ve worked at a lot of different studios, but when people come to Electraphonic to record, they talk about how comfortable it feels. It’s not a fancy studio, but it’s got good energy.

You’re in a neighborhood in Memphis that has a lot of history, as well.

I’ve been down here nearly 10 years. It’s really changed. It was the same for a long time, but the past year, it’s changed more than ever. It’s getting a lot more developed, so now there are a million bars and restaurants that people can walk to from the studio, which is really nice. Before, I was on the far end of it. It was more of an industrial area. You could go up a little bit and be at Ernestine & Hazel’s or the Arcade, but where I am, it’s more industrial. Most of the businesses down here are open during the day, but when it’s closing time, it’s been kind of a ghost town. Not anymore. There’s a brewery next to the studio now. There’s a new bar across the street.

You obviously produce a lot of artists who come from Memphis, but you seem to work with some who come to Memphis wanting that Memphis sound, like Cyndi Lauper.

Well, I enjoy working with artists no matter where they’re from, but I’d say more than half of the work I do is with artists from outside Memphis. They’ll hear something I’ve done, get interested in that sound, and reach out to me. That’s always fun to do that because you get to see your town and its music through someone else’s eyes, which always gives you a fresh perspective. You’re kind of like a tour guide through this musical world. And the artists always leave happy.

Memphis Blues, the Cyndi Lauper record, was definitely one of the most memorable projects I’ve ever worked on and I believe I’ll ever work on. It’s pretty amazing all the guests we had on that record. We were making the record on my one-inch eight-track tape machine. My goal was to keep it on tape the entire time and not have to ever hit the computer. Another thing I remember when we were working out the details of that record, I said that, if you want to make a record with guests on it, they should come to us and perform live with you. It shouldn’t be one of these albums where you’re emailing session files and all over the world for people to paste their parts on. It would feel like it’s pasted on. Everyday it was another new and amazing artist coming in. Ann Peebles came in. Kenny Brown, who played guitar with R.L. Burnside, came in. It was magic hearing Allen Toussaint play piano in the studio. B.B. King was the only artist who didn’t come into the studio. I had to go to him to get the performance.

There were several Memphis records by established artists that came out around the same time, but Memphis Blues stood out because it really knew its history. It wasn’t just painted on.

We spent an extraordinary amount of time on pre-production for that record. I can’t remember how many songs were on that record — 10 or 12, I don’t remember. But she and I probably went through 75 to 100 songs. She spent a tremendous amount of time on research. She really put her time in and didn’t do anything halfway. We worked well because of that.

How is that process different when you’re working with somebody like the City Champs or the Bo-Keys?

It’s actually a very similar process. I go through a lot of material, and we collectively decide on the best material for the project, and then come up with a plan to execute the material. Maybe “execute” isn’t the right word. “Record” might be better, although some people might say I execute it. It’s all about coming up with the best approach and getting the best musicians for the material. That’s another big part of it, just listening to the songs and figuring out which guitar player or which keyboard player would be good.

I have the good fortune to work with some great horn players. I mentioned Mark Franklin earlier. On the Don Bryant record, it was Kirk Smothers along with Art Edmundson playing the saxophone, tenor or baritone depending on the song. They’re both in the Greg Allman Band and have played with Bobby Blue Bland. Kirk has played with everybody, you name it — Ike Turner, even Don Rickles. They’re great players, so you really have to go out of your way to mess up recording them. Typically, I’ll record the horns with one microphone. I know some engineers use multiple mics, but I learned how to record horns from Willie Mitchell and I still do it that way.

How important is gear to capturing that Memphis sound? Could you get that particular feel on a computer?

For me, it’s a big part of it. Over the years, I’ve studied the recordings I really like, how they were made and what kind of equipment they were using, what kind of mics and how they were doing reverb and all those things. And I’ve put together a collection of equipment that I think of as my paintbrushes — a palette of certain things that I know I can go to and get a certain sound out of. I work at a lot of other studios, but I know my own equipment so well. I have that one-inch eight-track that definitely has a particular sound. It’s the same model that Stax was using. Muscle Shoals Sound had one. FAME had one. American Studios had one. It’s the quintessential 1967 to 1970 tape machine, which is my favorite era of recorded music.

That format really forces you to work in a certain way. When you only have eight tracks, you have to arrange your song before you record it. You have to to know what you’re going to do before you do it. It changes the process a little bit, but I think that’s why the older records sound so good: They spent a long time working on the music. Along with the sound of the machine, those limitations are a big part of the records I’ve done.

You’ve worked with a good mix of artists, as well — veterans as well as new artists.

I like doing both. It’s funny: You would think that there would be a big difference between the two. But they’re really similar. The younger artists, they’ve never done this before, but they have a lot of passion and are ready to make their mark on the world. The artists who’ve had a career, they feel the same way. They’ve done good stuff in the past but are ready to show people they still have it. Wherever they are in their career, a good artist is always looking to prove a point.

Rev. Sekou on the Past, the Present, and the Protest

As a pastor, theologian, author, filmmaker, and community organizer, Rev. Osagyefo Uhuru Sekou has dedicated his life’s work to social justice. He’s given lectures and speeches around the world and trained thousands of people in the tactics of nonviolent protest. Now, he’s lending his passion for activism to a popular form of protest: music. His forthcoming record, In Times Like These, is out May 5 on Thirty Tigers, and features brothers Luther and Cody Dickinson of the North Mississippi Allstars. The fact that the Dickinson brothers’ moniker is a nod to the music of their home state makes their pairing with Sekou all the more fitting. Sekou was born in St. Louis but raised in Arkansas, where he was immersed in the South’s deep blues and gospel tradition. In Times Like These pays as much homage to place as it does to time.

“I recorded the album, in part, to keep track of the best of the blues tradition,” Sekou says. “It’s what I was raised on. It is the nature of the musical tradition that produced me, and so I’m just trying to honor the ways in which that music comes to speak to the best of ourselves.”

By working through a deep-rooted musical heritage, Sekou uses the language of the past to inform the present, serving up a direct response to the current political climate. “We recorded this album a few weeks after the election and so, given the spirit of the moment, the sense of depression, almost desperation that many people were feeling, I wanted to keep track of that music and that musical tradition that has preserved the people,” Sekou explains.

The album is a life raft of sorts, keeping everyone afloat who is all too familiar with that sinking feeling. “[The album seeks] to acknowledge the blues but not let the blues have the last word,” he says.

Sekou has been communicating with the blues his whole life.

“My biological grandfather played with B.B. King, Albert King, and Louis Jordan,” he recalls. “In the South, they would sweep the yard and put a piano on the porch and [my grandfather] would play and they’d sing and dance and drink all night.” Sekou never met his grandfather, who died in 1955, long before he was born, but he remembers hearing the blues in the gambling house where he worked for his uncle, counting money. While recording In Times Like These, Sekou took a break from the Dickinsons’ Zebra Ranch Studio in Coldwater, Mississippi, and made a trek home to Zent, Arkansas.

“I got a chance to go home and stand at my grandmother’s grave, the place that made me, and talk to my 93-year-old aunt and see my cousins and to be in the space and with the people who built out the capacity of who I am by tearing off the best pieces of themselves and sewing it into a quilt that still covers and warms me to this day,” he says.

Sekou channeled that energy back at the studio on the song “Old Time Religion.” “It was midnight, and we had been going for about 16 hours, and I had been to my grandmother’s grave and my grandfather’s grave and, in our tradition, we have this thing called devotional service, which is distinct from praise and worship,” he explains. “It’s what old country folks would do. And so I just did old-time religion music, which is essentially what I heard growing up in terms of a devotional service on Sunday morning.”

In order to achieve this sound, Sekou was working with a slew of musicians who had their own strong musical ties. Luther and Cody Dickinson’s father, the late Jim Dickinson, recorded with the Rolling Stones, Aretha Franklin, and Bob Dylan. For the sessions, they recruited pedal and slide steel guitarist AJ Ghent, Rev. Charles Hodges on the Hammond B3, who is most recognized for his collaborations with Al Green, and others.

“In addition to trying to respond to the contemporary political moment, there’s something else at stake: Everybody was at least one or two generations — if not three generations — deep in the music so there are literally four generations of musicians on this album,” Sekou explains. “And so it was amazing, you know, in that they have the music in their bones, which I think comes through on the record.”

The album’s first single, “Resist,” is a tribute to Standing Rock and revolves around a mantra: “We want freedom and we want it now.” Elsewhere on the record, a cover of Bob Marley’s “Burnin’ and Lootin’” stems from Sekou’s time in Ferguson, Missouri, protesting the shooting of Michael Brown.

“I’ve helped train about 5,000 people around the country in civil disobedience, non-violence, and we trained well over a thousand in Ferguson. And we kept telling them to trust the process, trust the system, it’s gonna work out,” he recalls. “There were military forces occupying Ferguson and they were tear gassing us night after night and it was essentially a war zone. And on the night of the non-indictment, as soon as they said they weren’t going to indict the officer, all hell broke loose, and I was trying to get to a studio that had been set up and I had my staff with me and they wouldn’t let my staff in. And, at this point, there’s gun shots, buildings are burning, there’s tear gas everywhere, and they were saying, ‘We’ll let you in, but we can’t let your staff in for security reasons.’ And so I refused to do the interview and I was just in the middle of the riots. I refused to go into the compound. And so it’s me kind of capturing what I’m seeing with the tear gas and the buildings on fire and feeling as though I have failed and I had lied to the young folks by telling them that the system would work on their behalf.”

In the wake of these experiences, Sekou, who went to college on a vocal performance scholarship, looked toward the music for release. “At the existential level, I am my freest,” Sekou says. “And so, hopefully, that freedom I feel is communicated through the music.”

Melissa Etheridge: The Rock ‘n’ Soul of Self-Respect

Melissa Etheridge is closing in on three decades since her first full-length of original material was released and, over the years, she’s represented something distinct to many different kinds of fans. Most know her for her music, with well-loved hits like “I’m the Only One” and the Grammy Award-winning “Come to My Window.” To other fans, her public battle with breast cancer and resilient spirit are an inspiration through illness and hardship. Beyond that, Etheridge’s outspoken and unwavering dedication to human rights causes and the LGBTQ community has made her an icon and an articulate voice for the causes and issues that affect people every single day.

But before Etheridge was on the national stage, it wasn’t always about her own words, songs, lyrics, and melodies. “I’ve always played other people’s music,” says Etheridge with a laugh, recalling a string of cover bands and her earliest gigs. “I learned by playing other people’s music, from country to rock ‘n’ roll to R&B.”

That affinity for the classics has been made apparent plenty of times throughout her career — check her jaw-dropping rendition of Janis Joplin’s “Piece of My Heart” for evidence that Etheridge can slay a cover song — and when she was approached by Concord Records to take a crack at the Stax catalog on her latest studio release, Etheridge jumped at the opportunity. Her forthcoming full-length album, MEmphis Rock and Soul, is a 12-song compilation that covers Stax songs originally recorded by icons like Otis Redding, the Staple Singers, and Rufus Thomas, and it zeroes in on the music that inspired her own.

“Stax, as far as I am concerned, it’s the soul, it’s the birthplace of rock ‘n’ roll,” she says. “I’ve seen film of Janis Joplin watching Otis Redding in concert, and then she moves and sings just like him at Woodstock. The artists that inspired me were inspired by Stax, so this is going back to my serious roots.”

Where does one even begin when the Stax catalog is your playground? Etheridge was left with 200 tracks to choose from after she’d gone through and selected her favorites. Slowly, she picked them apart and narrowed it down to 100, then 50 songs, and finally she got down to the 20 numbers that she brought into the studio. “The main criteria was how I felt inside when I listened,” she says.

“Some of them were inspiring. I mean, ‘Try a Little Tenderness’ is great, but it’s been done a million times, and I didn’t feel like I could give anything newer to it. I tried ‘Knock on Wood,’ and that one just didn’t read, didn’t flesh out. Then, there are even a couple that no one’s heard of that I found. I just loved the beat, loved the whole thing, and thought, ‘Okay, I’m just going to put my rock ‘n’ roll spin on it.’”

The Etheridge you hear on MEmphis Rock and Soul embodies the unrestrained passion that so many artists have found in these songs before her. Maybe it’s the ghosts of Royal Studios coming back for one more encore — after all, the Memphis spot where Etheridge recorded the album was hallowed ground for the likes of Al Green and Chuck Berry, and it was started by Willie Mitchell, whose son Boo Mitchell produced the record with Etheridge.

“Without Boo, this project would not have happened,” says Etheridge. “He was the first one there and the last one to leave every day, and the respect he has for the music, for his father, for his father’s legacy, for Vaughan and Lowe … It’s a real family down there.”

Much is added to MEmphis Rock and Soul beyond Etheridge’s recognizable vocals — astute listeners will catch the sounds of the Hodges Brothers and many other Memphis music legends in the background of the soulful tracks — but Etheridge found herself taking on greater roles than she’d bargained for, too. Take the enthusiastic “Hold On, I’m Coming” — the first single from the forthcoming album and one of her favorite numbers from the compilation. “For the longest time, I was looking for someone to sing it with me. I kept thinking, ‘It’s a duet. It’s a duet. I’m going to ask this person, that person,’” she says. Things didn’t pan out, but she brought the song into the studio on one of the final days of recording. “I thought, ‘Well, I’m just going to put the pedal to the metal and just hit this thing as hard as I can. Make it as rock.’”

Jumping into the recognizable number by herself, Etheridge railed through the song with all of the noisy edge she’d hoped for, zeroing in on her own unique take on the song while preserving the energy that made it a hit in the first place. The vocal that made the final mix was the live one they recorded right then in the studio, and you can hear Etheridge beam as she relives the recording process. “It was just such a great experience, with these musicians there. They’ve seen so much. They’ve played on so much,” she says. “They took me in. I have such great respect and love for all of them.”

Respect comes up a lot in conversation with Etheridge, but her rendition of the Staple Singers’ “Respect Yourself” might be the most soulful embodiment of the virtue.

“I decided to go into Respect Yourself and take the heart of the meaning, and the purpose behind the song,” she says, citing Black Lives Matter and the nationwide push for change and equality as catalysts for her lyrical direction. She called fellow songwriter Priscilla Renee with the intention of maintaining the sense of urgency and the call to action that inspired so many in the ‘70s, but modifying the original lyrics for today’s social and political climate. With the weight of her activism to guide her, Etheridge makes for a compelling voice behind so many numbers that served as a soundtrack for the nation’s civil rights movement.

“I’m 55 years old, and I’ve seen some things,” she says. “I do understand one thing, and that is that I can’t change the world, or I can’t ask the world to change, unless I come from a place inside myself. I can’t ask for respect from the world unless I respect myself. I can’t ask for the world to love unless I love myself. When I do — when I love myself, when I have a deep respect for myself as a human being and as a member of society, when I respect who I am truthfully — every inch of me — then I can truly look at my neighbor with respect, and they will see what respect is. They will see it in me.”

On MEmphis Rock and Soul, Etheridge owns this mantra with a reverence for the musicians who came before her that reveals itself in her respect for her own tastes, interpretations, and talents. It’s easy to belabor the places we’d like to see a bit more respect — on the Internet, in the schoolyard, on the political stage — but it’s got to start somewhere. Why not with a little rock ‘n’ soul?

 

Enjoy thoughtful female singer/songwriters? Read our Artist of the Month feature on Mary Chapin Carpenter.


Lede illustration by Cat Ferraz.

How I Got to Memphis: Cory Branan in Conversation with Coco Hames

Cory Branan and Coco Hames lived in Nashville for years, had mutual friends, moved in the same singer/songwriter circles, released records, played shows, lived life, but somehow managed never to actually meet each other. “We would have absolutely met, if I’d ever left my house for five years,” Branan says, somewhat apologetically. “I just never go out when I get off the road. I stay at home and just look at the wife and child.”

“I never go out,” says Hames. “People are always trying to get me to go to some new bar, and I’m like, ‘I live in bars! I would rather put on some soft pants and stay at home and read.’”

Their homebodiness is well-earned, even if it’s not the only thing they have in common. Both have been road warriors for the better part of the 21st century, Branan as a solo artist and Hames as the frontwoman for the garage-pop outfit the Ettes. He writes witty, roguish songs full of concrete details and wry observations, like John Prine — if he was really into vintage synths and classic rock. Hames’s songs are minimal and smart, eccentric and rambunctious, as though she’s triangulating the spot where the Ramones, Josie & the Pussycats, and Tammy Wynette overlap.

Plus, they’ve both just released what may be their best albums to date. After the Ettes made an amicable split, she went solo with a self-titled record that shows more range and acuity, toggling between a torch song like “I Do Love You” and a country lament like “Tennessee Hollow.” On Adios, Branan writes movingly about the deaths of his father and grandparents and the ongoing trials of small town heroes like the heroine of “Blacksburg” and anyone sentenced to live in “Walls, MS.”

Neither of you live in Nashville anymore. These days, you don’t leave the house in Memphis, Tennessee.

CH: I’ll just tell you: I fell in love, got married. That’s what brought me to Memphis. I left Nashville and moved here a couple years ago, and I love everything about it. I’m very happy here. Actually, in a little bit, I’m going to go see my friend Margo Price at Minglewood Hall. I don’t know if you know her, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

CB: I met Margo, yeah, just a couple times. I’ve been back in Memphis for a whopping two week altogether. Nashville priced us out. We found a cheap place in Memphis, and it was just decided. We got the truck the day we decided to move, and we loaded up. We moved the next day, returned the truck the next day. I told my wife, “Well, it’s a new place, baby. I’ll see you in two months.” She’s already painted the whole place. She’s got it on lockdown. She’s good at moving.

Memphis has great history, but Nashville is still such a big industry city. Did it feel strange to leave that behind?

CH: I have put my foot in my mouth more than once, for more than one city. I’ve lived in New York and L.A. and London and Madrid and Nashville and Austin and Memphis. I always say something stupid about one of those cities, but I don’t really mean it. Nowhere is really home for me anyway, so it’s not really hard for me to leave. I opened a record store in Nashville, but it was getting really expensive. And my husband was visiting me, and I said to him, “What do you do when you’re an adult and you fall in love with somebody and you want to be with them?” He said, “Well, you know, you move to Memphis or I could move to Nashville.” I’m like, “I’ll move to Memphis.” So it wasn’t super weird. It’s a cool place and there’s a lot going on, but nothing I miss too much, to be honest.

CB: What record store did you have?

CH: It’s called Fond Object, and it was up in Riverside Village on the east side.

CB: I didn’t know that was your place. I’ve been up there a few times. I played behind it one time.

CH: Did you get to meet my goats and my pig?

CB: Yes. My son was fascinated. He wanted to take one home.

CH: When I was leaving, I knew it was in capable hands, so I signed off on it and gave it to my bandmates. I think they lost their lease and moved downtown.

CB: I liked living there, but it’s all the same, honestly. Mainly Memphis means geographical ease. There’s a reason FedEx is in Memphis. It has access to Chicago and New Orleans, and it’s so close to Atlanta. When I lived in Austin, you can get in to Mexico before you can get out of Texas. I do well in three or four cities in Texas. L.A., you wouldn’t think it, but it’s pretty isolated. I’m spoiled from being in Memphis. It’s really easy to tour out of. You can do two-week runs in any direction, as opposed to California, where it’s an ordeal going anywhere but the West Coast.

When I lived in Memphis, there a big Memphis-Nashville competition that everybody in Memphis knew about and nobody in Nashville had any clue about.

CB: Exactly. They didn’t know they were in the fight. I’m happy to be from Memphis, but it does give you a little bit of a chip on the shoulder. There’s no scene here. It’s splintered and fractured. There are great musicians who never leave. You can go see somebody who’s amazing, but they’re not touring very much. On the other hand, there’s never anyone in the crowd that can help you. There’s never a producer, never a publisher that’s going to offer to help your career. Nashville has that element. I didn’t enjoy that element. If you’re playing to a stubborn Memphis crowd, it burns off the chaff. If you’re not alive for it or you don’t love it, they’re going to expose you.

CH: Nashville is a hard place to feel comfortable, because I don’t think they’re really interested in anything, which feels very sad and lonely. I’d rather you dislike me than try to chat me up about who we both know. That’s the worst part of what I do. I’m not very schmoozy. I’m probably the least schmoozy person. There are plenty of people to pay for that sort of thing, but I’m not crazy about it.

CB: Don’t get me wrong — there are great things about Nashville and there are shit things about Memphis. It’s a rough town, and there’s a huge gap between the haves and the have-nots. They’re refurbishing downtown, but I don’t know if they’re working a bit on education. Nashville, on the other hand, has no infrastructure for the massive number of people that are moving there, but the city itself is a little more thirsty. They’ll go out to a show: “Oh, I don’t know what it is. Let’s go check it out.” Memphis, they need to know that their buddy is going to be there. But you can be at a party and the guitar will not come out. Unlike Nashville. Some asshole’s always pulling out an acoustic guitar in Nashville. That’s the best way to kill a party right there.

CH: That’s my cue to leave.

I wanted to ask you two about Memphis and Nashville because I feel like place figures very prominently into your songwriting. There are lots of place names in your lyrics, along with a sense of travel and movement.

CH: Cory, you can go first because you’re from here. I’m from Florida, so place has always been something I was trying to get away from.

CB: Really?

CH: I don’t know. It’s more in my record collection than it is outside my window. It’s cooler to be from Mississippi.

CB: That’s the thing. I grew up in a damn suburb. I was a little hoodrat. My grandparents had a farm, but my old man worked at FedEx. He moved us up to the last town in Mississippi, so I was just as much a suburban kid as anybody else. I grew up with the music in the church. Gospel has blues roots, maybe a little more prominent than your typical Southern Baptist reading out of the hymnal. It swings a little more. It depends on where I’m playing whether people consider me country or not. When I’m out opening rock shows or something, as soon as I open my mouth and they hear the accent, they’re like, “Oh, he’s country.” You can’t wash it off. Everything I do, it’s filtered through that lens.

But my music is all over the place. I don’t really play a particular genre. I tend to stay away from a lot of things that I love — old blues, the Piedmont stuff, that’s all scripture for me. Maybe some of the finger picking works its way in, but I don’t really play the blues or anything. I just stay away from that stuff. There’s more of a white suburban thing to me, I think. My music is more about Big Star or the Replacements. That’s sort of blues music, in a way. I’ve always said there’s a reason why Johnny Cash fans are Clash fans and Clash fans are Johnny Cash fans.

Stylistically, both of your albums are all over the map. You get a lot of different sounds and genres, but they all make sense as part of this larger musical personality that you project.

CB: Probably the last record [2014’s The No-Hit Wonder] is the closest I’ve gotten to a consistent sound. I hammered it out really fast, and they just happened to be a bunch of roots-based songs. I’m always about whatever the song sort of wants, and I don’t think as an album, as a whole. I try to structure it later, as far as the pacing of it and what songs go where. I definitely play that loose. Frankly, my obscurity lets me do that. I would probably have a bit more of a career if I didn’t change it up so much. I was on tour with Lucero, and [frontman] Ben [Nichols] was listening to Adios and he said, “Why don’t you do a full album with this kind of song and then another whole album of this kind of song?” I was like, “Because it bores me, and I don’t get to do enough albums to do that.” It takes two-and-a half-years to get a new record through the red tape.

CH: That’s true. At my level, whatever that is, I can do whatever I want, so I do whatever I want. When I was in the Ettes, it was very formulaic without me really knowing it. I was writing for this specific group of people, so of course I kept doing the same thing. There are people who are very sweet and love my band, and I’m sure they want all the songs to be just like that. But with this solo record, I wrote all the songs and let them go wherever they went. It’s all over the place. The whole point was to try these new things, and hopefully I did a good job with them.

That seems most prominent on “I Do Love You,” which reminds me of Dusty Springfield. That’s a nice thing to hear between a country song and a garage song.

CB: I get that same vibe off that one.

CH: I was trying to go for something epic, because I wrote it about my husband. I wanted an epic love story and big feelings. When I was singing it in the studio, I had my arms up like Eva Perón. I’d never really sung like that before. I just assumed I could do it. No one was telling me I couldn’t, so why not?

You’re both writing songs about real people in your lives. That songs about your husband. There are some songs about your dad and your grandparents on Adios.

CB: The one about my father, I wrote that one right after he died, and I never played it out. It seemed a little too specific. I like songs to be useful for other people. I never want to be like, “Oh, look at my pain.” But my wife told me to just shut up, play it out a few times, and see if anybody responds. She was right, as always. Since it seemed to be useful for other people, I went ahead and cut it. But usually, the closer it is to me, the more I will cast it with other characters and other situations. I’ll take all that grief and mourning or even joy and cast it into another storyline. But “The Vow” was very specifically about my dad and it seemed like it worked out all right.

CH: What do you mean? You try to put that sort of emotion or experience away from yourself? You try to insert maybe like a “he” or a “she” where it might be a “me”?

CB: That’s part of it. Also, I’m just not a fan of diary writers. When he died, I did put out a record after that [The No-Hit Wonder], and there was a song on there called “All I Got and Gone.” It’s about a guy in New Orleans and a woman, and there’s a note that he found, but you don’t know if it’s a suicide note or a “Dear John” letter. I was mourning, but I put that feeling in a completely different scenario. That song for me was like, “Okay, here we go. I got this out of me.” But no one would ever connect that, you know? I don’t tend to write with any sort of precision, while I’m still in the whirlwind. I like to get perspective on things and, if I’m going to try to do the old man justice, it’s hard to get a whole human being in a three-minute song.

CH: Yeah. Especially with something like that, do you ever feel like it’s too … I’m going through something that happened recently, and it means so much to me that it feels cheap to approach it where I’m going to put it into song. A lot of people write like that. That’s part of how they get it out, but to me, it’s so precious to me that I can’t distill it.

CB: I know exactly what you’re talking about there. Added on to all of this is that I wanted to do right by the old man and not be maudlin. I didn’t want to manipulate emotions. It’s hard to earn the genuine feeling of “Okay, this was a solid person, a human being.” The second verse is talking about how he gave shit advice. It’s got humor in there, because the old man was funny. But he was also very stoic and his advice usually amounted to, “Don’t do it.”

I Do Love You” is obviously a very different song, but the approach is similar in that you’re writing about a real person and trying to capture that complex relationship in three minutes of music.

CH: I think everybody has had the feelings in that song. I hope everybody has. But I very rarely feel ready to immediately turn my observations or my feelings about important things into a song. It’s not something that I usually need to do, and so I don’t do it. But something that affects your life so strongly, maybe it’s okay not to write about it as a way to understand it, because it’s so big that I don’t think it’s fair for me to understand it yet. So I wait. If something strikes me or I get drunk and write a bunch of stupid lines and one of them is good, maybe it will spur something useful. That’s the most I can do and, if it comes back around and still stands up, if I still know what I was talking about, then it can make me say more.

CB: I won’t mention anybody’s name, but there is an artist I really love and respect. They got successful and found a good relationship, and then they trashed it on purpose, because they thought that’s the only one they could create. It’s the whole tortured artist myth. John Prine has my favorite quote on that: “I’d rather have a hot dog than a song.” Take the joy. You can have both the joy and the song. People say to me, “You’re a relatively sane human being now that you’ve settled down and stopped acting like an asshole, and you have kids, so how do you write when you’re happy?” Well, I know it’s all fleeting. I know all the good stuff is only here for a little bit. My fears and dreams, they go deeper and darker now that I have kids and I’m living for other people. I have no problem writing sad songs, but I take the happy while it’s there.

CH: I don’t like to see somebody who’s a wreck up on stage. I’ll be there. I’ll support them, but really I’m like, “You should take a break, man.” Because I’m not that way. If everything was going wrong and I was unwell, then I couldn’t write. I’d be so depleted and sad and wouldn’t see the point of any of it. I’m a super happy camper right now, but don’t worry, sad things will keep happening — probably as soon as I hang up the phone.


Cory Branan photo by Joshua Black Wilkins. Coco Hames photo by Rachel Briggs.

LISTEN: Southern Avenue, ’80 Miles from Memphis’

Artist: Southern Avenue
Hometown: Memphis, TN
Song: “80 Miles from Memphis”
Album: Southern Avenue
Release Date: February 24, 2017
Label: Stax Records, a division of Concord Music Group

In Their Words: “’80 Miles From Memphis’ is a song about my journey — how I left everyone I loved behind and set to chase my dream. I wrote this song coming back to Memphis from a show we had in Clarksdale, Mississippi. That lonely feeling got to me, and I felt like I had to express it with a song.” — Ori Naftaly


Photo credit: David McClister

ROOT 66: Cereus Bright’s Roadside Favorites

Touring artists spend so much of their time on the road that they, inevitably, find all the best places to eat, drink, shop, and relax. Want to know where to find the best burger, beer, boots, or bunks? Ask a musician. Better yet, let us ask them for you.

Artist: Cereus Bright
Hometown: Knoxville, TN
Latest Project: Excuses
Release Date: July 29

Pizza: Art of Pizza in Chicago, IL. We have a few pizza snobs in the group, so any pizza experience that leaves everyone happy is a win. Their slices are pretty much a whole pizza in and of themselves.

Highway “Health” Food: Panera. It’s hard to eat “healthy” on the road. When we have a chance, we try to aim for a Panera. A salad a week keeps the doctor away, right?

Highway Fast Food: Chick-fil-a. When we have to jump off the interstate and eat something fast, Chick-fil-a is one of those places we look up. Plus, no matter where you are, there are few things better than starting your day off with a chicken biscuit.

Coffeehouse: Blue Bottle in Brooklyn, NY. Not only does Blue Bottle make incredible coffee, but they also ship it to us every two weeks so, needless to say, they are a big part of our coffee life.

 

A photo posted by Cereus Bright (@cereusbright) on

Bar: The Libertine in Green Bay, WI. Most nights, our alcohol consumption consists of the cheapest beer possible, but when we go to Green Bay, we get to live like kings. Let’s just say that my last drink consisted of some kind of whiskey magic topped with a partially burned cinnamon stick. Tony, the owner of the Libertine, is the man and he invites us to the bar after all our Green Bay shows. It’s worth whatever distance it takes for you to go there. So good.

Gear Shop: Chicago Music Exchange in Chicago, IL. It’s one of those spots we always try to hit when we’re in the area. One time, Tyler accidentally knocked down the whole front window display, so we owe them a blood debt now.

Listening Room: Sixth & I in Washington, D.C. Last Fall, we got to go out with the Oh Hellos and play the Sixth & I, which is a giant sanctuary of a historic church. Never have we gotten to play for that many people, and it still feel as intimate as a small venue. It was a powerful experience.

House Concert: We are in the middle of a tour right now, playing shows in non-traditional venues like houses, warehouses, and co-working spaces. We use a website called Closeup.fm that lets us facilitate those nights better than anything else we’ve ever used. We love Closeup and their passion for creating those intimate shows. 

Backstage Hang: Iron City in Birmingham, AL. It’s rare that an opening band gets the red carpet treatment, but we did at Iron City. They fed us well, it was so comfortable and clean, they even did our laundry. It was a little taste of the celebrity life, and we’ll never forget it!

Music Festival: Mile of Music in Appleton, WI. We first got invited to play Mile of Music because a few friends vetted us. What started as just another festival has turned into a second home. It’s rare that any place on the road feels as good as Appleton — even more so a festival. The staff, volunteers, and attenders of Mile of Music are some of the best you’ll find.

Least Favorite Highway Stretch: I40 from Memphis to Knoxville. It’s usually the first or last stretch of highway we see before or after home. It’s just so, so, so boring. One of those six-hour straight-aways that feels like it never ends. 

Radio Station: Spotify. I wish we could say we listen regularly to tons of radio stations, but we don’t anymore. Plus, our antenna has seen better days. We are big fans of Spotify. You can find a playlist for just about anything these days. We’ve all discovered really good music through it!

 

A photo posted by Cereus Bright (@cereusbright) on

Day Off Activity: Swimming. Although not everyone feels this way (looking at you Evan), most of us love a good swim. If we are, by chance, staying at a hotel with a pool or have a day off with a body of water semi-close, you better believe we’ll try to swim in it.

Tour Hobby: YouTube. The Internet is a terrible and wonderful place. Whether it’s awful covers, Tim & Eric videos, or Wife Swap clips, YouTube is usually at least a little part of every drive.

Driving Album: Voodoo by D’Angelo. It’s one of those albums that will always have more for you each time you listen. The dude’s so damn talented.

Most Memorable Show: Bluegrass Underground in McMinnville, Tennessee. We got the opportunity to open for honeyhoney years ago, as one of our first shows. If you don’t know about Bluegrass Underground, it’s a venue 350 feet underground in a giant cave. It’s one of the most unique, wild places we ever got to play. Definitely worth a trip to catch a show there!

Squared Roots: Luther Dickinson Carries the Torch for Jim Dickinson

Jim Dickinson was a musician’s musician who worked with everyone from Bob Dylan to the Replacements to Sam & Dave. One of his earliest gigs was in the Dixie Flyers, a group much like the cats in Muscle Shoals who backed a multitude of great soul artists on big hits. But, on the advice of Duane Allman, Dickinson jumped ship in 1971 to go it alone. Though he made a few solo records — and various band records, as well — what Dickinson will likely be remembered for is his work as a side player and producer. Whether toiling alongside Ry Cooder or the Cramps, Dickinson always brought a little bit of Memphis with him.

He also passed that same Memphis mojo on to his sons, Luther and Cody. The two have spent the past 20 years as the North Mississippi Allstars, at least when Luther wasn't playing with the Black Crowes, producing records for Otha Turner, or working on solo records, like his recently released Blues and Ballads: A Folksinger's Songbook, Vol. 1 & 2 which finds him carrying on his dad's song collecting tradition.

I'm excited to talk to someone who has first-hand knowledge of the subject at hand. Usually, we're just speculating about “Why do you think Bobbie Gentry slinked away into obscurity?” or whatever. So … your dad was born in Little Rock, grew up in Chicago and Memphis. That's some blues cred, right there.

Yeah!

But he was so much more than just the blues. Did his passions run just as wide, or did he have a secret favorite style that he kept to himself?

You know, he was a song collector. When we were young and he started to teach us — because we were so interested, he said, “Okay, I gotta teach 'em.” He didn't force it on us. He started teaching us his repertoire and each song was a wildly different genre. But it all fell under roots music. There would be a Texas swing song into an R&B ballad to a country-honky tonk number to a blues song or a folk song or a jazz song that we were all struggling to get through. He just loved songs. And he really loved words. He was of a generation that really had its formative years without television, listening to the radio shows. Also, his vision was really bad, and he learned how to memorize what he heard because it was so hard for him to read. He just really had a way with words.

He was just a baby in Chicago … I think he was nine when he moved to Memphis. But growing up in Memphis — for a kid searching for, pre-rock 'n' roll … he'd hear some dixieland or some boogie-woogie that would have that feeling that the whole generation was reaching for. I think this is true of people from all walks of life: You can be a politician or a doctor or an athlete but, in that generation, the American cultures were really reaching for each other and music brought them together. Like on WDIA in Memphis, that's where he heard some R&B and some gospel, then found blues.

In the '60s blues revival, when the blues masters who were living in the South were rediscovered, that really changed everything. At this point, this is post-rock 'n' roll because the rock 'n' roll heyday was really short: Elvis went to the Army. Chuck Berry went to jail. Jerry Lee Lewis went to England. Carl Perkins had the crash. It was a really short explosion, but then folk music came and the song collecting came.

But, then … and this is what was so amazing … just the cultural phenomenon of North and South … the young music lovers from the North, they had the perspective to literally drive to the South and find the blues men and pluck them out of obscurity, rediscover them. Dad, you know, he'd listened to the records, he'd been to the library, he'd read about these men. And, through no fault of his own as a kid, the segregation was such that it took the musicians from the North to come down, to cross those lines. That's a beautiful thing, that perspective. Once that happened, that's when, in Memphis in the mid '60s, there's Furry Lewis, there's Sleepy John Estes, there's Bukka White, there's Reverend Robert Wilkins, there's Fred McDowell. It was unbelievable.

And, in Memphis, dad's generation … they weren't hippies. They were bohemians. They were behind the times. They didn't really like the hippies. They were a little bit older. When the art community and the blues men discovered each other in Memphis, a good time was had by all. [Laughs]

[Laughs] That's part of what I love about his career. He came up with the Dixie Flyers playing on all those great soul tracks with big artists. But he also championed underdogs, and found those folks who were either up-and-coming or somehow lost in the shuffle. He didn't just go for the gold. He really went for the music.

It's true. I think he felt like a bit of an outsider himself. That's part of how he perceived himself which becomes part of how you're perceived. But he left Memphis and went to college in Texas. He was so afraid of the draft, so he ended up going to Baylor because there was no ROTC. [Laughs] He didn't want ROTC. He didn't want fraternities. But he had to go to college to keep from getting drafted, so he went to Texas. When he came back, all of a sudden, he sees what is to become Stax. It took him a while to catch up.

His concept of “Memphis music” was that it was a group of outcasts making music in the middle of the night. And it goes back to Sam Phillips, really, because he was so ahead of his time. Sam Phillips and Dewey Phillips … Dewey Phillips was a disc jockey who would play any genre of music and that's, really, where that comes from. In dad's book that we're just now working on a deal for, he talks about how Dewey Phillips addressed his audience on the radio as “good people.” It was, “Hey, good people.” It wasn't a Black audience. It wasn't a white audience. It was just good people, and he would play any type of music — blues next to Hank Williams next to gospel.

But Sam Phillips, man … he was really searching for something and he pushed these people to invent rock 'n' roll. He discovered Howlin' Wolf in 1951. In Memphis, to enable the African-American artists like that is so heavy. Sam said discovering Wolf was more important to him than discovering Elvis. So, he recorded the blues catalog. But then, he found the young white kids and everyone searching for a new sound and he's turning them onto the catalog … it's the oral tradition. That's the American roots art — the oral tradition of the lyrics. He was searching for what became rock 'n' roll. He was trying to bring the cultures together to make a new thing.

And your dad was deep in all of that with a bunch of different bands. It seems like being just a side player wasn't quite enough for him.

Ohhhh … that was his favorite! He loved that.

Was it? So, when it was all said and done, was the level of success and respect he achieved enough for him? Or did he have bigger ambitions that never quite materialized?

Well, he was so happy to have played with the Rolling Stones on “Wild Horses.” He definitely wished that he could have toured with them. But, he did play on “Wild Horses,” and he loved it. He was also so thrilled when he did Time Out of Mind with Bob Dylan because that was one of his ambitions that he fulfilled. And it was so fulfilling. He would say, “A lot of things in life disappoint. Bob Dylan is not one of them.” He was thrilled. In typical Dylan form … dad was standing in the parking lot one day, smoking a joint, and Bob wandered over and said, “Hey, man, you know Sleepy John Estes, right? How do you make that C-chord, man? How do you play that lick in 'Drop Down Mama'?” [Laughs] So they hit it off!

Of all the many projects he played on, what's your favorite — the one that you always go back to or the one that you can't get over the fact that it's your dad on it?

Oh, man. Wow. [Pauses] You know, the Ry Cooder records, Boomer's Story and Into the Purple Valley, are really, really cornerstones. It's that whole idea of … I mentioned song collectors and the idea of repertoire in roots music — meaning anything from blues to country to gospel to jazz to anything under the umbrella — and reinterpreting it. With his band, they would improvise and play the music so loosely and unrehearsed and aggressively interpretive, they thought of playing roots music as jazz. So, that's one thing.

But the Ry Cooder records … Cooder was a song collector, but he had that California twist. He had the whole of Hollywood musicians and instruments in the palm of his hand. He could get the best musicians playing the most exotic instruments with a phone call. When Cooder recognized dad for who he was and what he knew and was capable of in the recording studio and hired him as a producer, they really made some great folk-rock records that still … there's just nothing like them.

What was interesting for us … we grew up learning Furry Lewis and Bukka White and Sleepy John Estes from our father and his friends. And his friends' sons all became musicians. The scene was so strong. Their band was Mudboy and the Neutrons. Our band is Sons of Mudboy and we keep the repertoire alive. The repertoire is what has to be protected and carried on. It can be interpreted however you like — that's the freedom. It's just about the melodies and the poetry.

The blues was something secondhand to us. We learned it through our parents. But, then, in the early '90s, I discovered Otha Turner and his family. And that was a lovely thing. But they played fife and drum music. Then, Kenny Brown, who was our friend and was a guitar player. But THEN, when I finally heard R.L. Burnside and went to Junior Kimbrough's Juke Joint, it was multi-generational, electrified country-blues in my backyard.

R.L. Burnside took me under his wing and took me on the road. He and Kenny showed me the ropes in '97, and we've been touring ever since. He literally took me out of town. [Laughs] I'd never been anywhere before. What blew dad's mind was that the blues exchange happened again. He didn't think that his sons would be able to learn and play with real blues men.

It just keeps going.

Yeah. You know what's something else? There was a period of time when they all passed away and we were all recovering. Everyone — the blues men, our father, his friends. It's just part of growing up and regaining your feet. I like writing songs about people, championing them as folk heroes in my art. Because Stagger Lee and Casey Jones were men who walked the earth, once upon a time. It was the songs that made them legends, so you sing the legend. [Laughs]

[Laughs] Exactly. Larger than life. Let 'em live on.

Exactly! The repertoire and the new songs about them.

So when I came home to the Hill Country Picnic, which is when everybody in Mississippi gets together, I couldn't believe there was this whole group of young kids playing with Gary Burnside, Dave Kimbrough, Duwayne Burnside … driving them around and letting them borrow their equipment, giving them lunch money. These kids, they didn't know R.L. and Junior. But, to them, Gary, Dave, and Duwayne are R.L. and Junior. It's happening again!


Luther Dickinson photo by Don VanCleave. Jim Dickinson photo by