Tag: metal

Rapt Reflects On Life’s Many Endings With ‘Until the Light Takes Us’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Jacob Ware is a bit of a weirdo. Known onstage these days as Rapt, the singer-songwriter has a way of coming up with an album title and writing the entire record around a central sentiment. His fifth studio album – titled Until the Light Takes Us – serves as a direct response to a 2008 heavy metal documentary of the same name.

“I just thought, Until the Light Takes Us is such an evocative title. A few people have commented on that over the years as being unhinged – that I come up with the album name first and then write the album,” he says, adding that the documentary details “all the horrible shit in the ’90s of the black metal scene in Norway.”

From the gentle trickle of one-minute opener “Over Aged Borders” to the dreamy “Fields of Juniper,” Rapt’s latest album drenches in the notion of endings and existence. Heartbreak. Death. Suffocating blackness. Each song, as heavy as it might be, seems to coat the album with both dark and light – stemming from his confrontation with the end. 

Rapt’s delicately-spun indie-folk is awash in luminescent piano, aching between flaky layers of acoustic guitar. Ware finds himself scattering like a tumble weed, squeezed somewhere between the throaty ache of Carrie Elkin and scratchy pangs of yearning (akin to Bonny Light Horseman in their rawest form). His head swims in thoughts of death, leading his writing to root around in the afterlife. It’s a far cry from his heavy metal days, a sharp red underline to this chapter of his life. “I’m always slightly aware of mortality because I’ve had a lot of health issues, in my teenage years and early twenties, like epilepsy. It’s wild. It pulls the rug out from under your life daily, and you don’t know when the next seizures come in,” he says.

“I haven’t had a seizure for eight years now, so I’m blessed. But that shapes you on a subconscious level,” he adds. “It sets up your foundation to be ready for the next thing to happen. In a way, the next thing that happens is an end of something, so I think my subconscious has always thought about the finality of things. That’s probably where that sort of writing interest has come from. In a way, every single song I’ve ever written is about that. I don’t really know how to move away from that.”

Hopping on a Zoom call, Ware spoke with BGS about the afterlife, how the album grew, and the varied creative fulfillment compared to heavy metal music.

Does writing around a title help you stay focused on what you want the album to be?

Rapt: I think so. I’ve definitely done this where I write that phrase and put it up around wherever I’m living. Even if I’m not listening to music, I’ll walk past the album title a few times a day. The edge of my wardrobe is visible and the title I’m responding to now is written on it. One of the last things I look at at night and one of the first things I wake up to in the morning is… I don’t want to reveal it.

[Until the Light Takes Us] is not a breakup record by any means. I’ve noticed a few bits of press here and there, which may have lent it to being that, but it absolutely isn’t that. I feel like a completely different person to my music. I don’t relate to my own music. I would say it’s an album of endings, really. More so than a sort of breakup album. By the time I’ve finished one thing, something else is usually well on its way. And it’s always been like that for me.

What is your feeling about the afterlife?

I tried to look into religions a few years ago, but I have no faith system. I was brought up in a house without a faith system. It’s very hard for someone to start to believe in something unless it was in their very formative years from a caregiver. I expressed it in the title track. I’ve always thought that the afterlife is a sort of peaceful black. I have a sneaky suspicion that the afterlife is a hell of a lot like what it was like before we were born. I quite like to imagine this sort of sizzle reel, where you hang out with your highlights. That’s what I hope is going on.

Science doesn’t ask, science doesn’t answer everything. There are things that science gets pretty fucking close. But there are things that science can’t touch. I try and be mindful of that; I would call myself an agnostic. I think being 100 percent atheist is actually ignorant. We don’t know – we’re 99.9 percent sure. There’s just that 0.1 percent that I think is worth thinking about sometimes.

That’s touched on in the title track. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know that I’ll see my neighbor and my loved ones. I like to think that there’s a highlight reel. And that’s it, really. I’m talking about this as if I planned to write it. I didn’t. It’s the only successful time I’ve ever managed to just write something without thinking about it and letting my subconscious go. I cannot just open my subconscious.

I find lyric writing takes me months. The title track probably took a year to write. Very occasionally, I can get half a song written in an afternoon, but that happens about once every three years. The song “Until the Light Takes Us” is quite insular, and it’s almost says everything that you could say within a song about the afterlife.

“Until the Light Takes Us” is one of the seven-minute songs on the album. Did you have that intention or did it sort of grow by itself?

I just think I couldn’t make it any shorter. I don’t think I really tried to fight it being seven minutes, but I’m sure that there’s been a longer version of it. I just whittled it down and down, until I couldn’t whittle it down without doing it disservice. And I knew it would suffer for that. I just think that song is destined to be heard when it’s needed.

With endings, there’s always grief. Does that grief still linger with you or has songwriting helped you exorcise that?

That’s hard to answer for me, because I don’t recognize the human that wrote a lot of the songs. I think it might be an epilepsy thing. The medication I take for epilepsy gives me very odd memory and I remember weird little things. I have no memory of so much of my life, and I mean that in the present, as well. The word “remember,” if I really think about that, it’s just like a blur of things. I don’t remember things vividly.

One big thing for me is I cannot paint images in my head. If I shut my eyes and try and picture my best friend’s facial features or a partner’s facial features, or even a fucking apple, at best it’s a Van Gogh-looking painting, so I think it’s quite hard for me to answer that question.

I’m sure it does happen on a subconscious level. I’m sure I do successfully process things through creativity, but it doesn’t help that much. I’ve still got my shit in my head, but a lot of the record is very positive for me. I had depression up until my mid-twenties. I don’t have it anymore. I just don’t. I think life is a beautiful thing. And I think there’s a lot of positive in the record. I think it’s a very odd record in that it’s not… I don’t think it’s depressing and negative. “Until the Light Takes Us” is a positive song. It starts and ends with a letter to myself.

That song is about growing apart from someone because you bonded with them through a shared depression and when one of you isn’t depressed anymore, that bond breaks. That’s what that song is about. But all of this is hindsight. I wrote this in 2022 to 2023. So this all feels very considered and fucking artistic and it’s not. I’m just looking back and trying to work out what the fuck was I was thinking.

Now that you’ve been sitting with the album for a while, what is your takeaway from the creative process?

I guess, just to trust my instincts. I didn’t write it consciously… I think, in a way, I never cared about this record, because I had a lot of stuff going on in my personal life. This was just me keeping the engine going creatively, and then I turned around one day and had a record done. I didn’t know what it was about at the time. I sat on it for a year until I was ready to release it. My biggest takeaway is probably just I don’t fucking care anymore. Just don’t overthink it. If I had to give a tagline to that question: I’m too old to make it as a fucking fresh-faced person and I’m too young to be wise.

I’m right in the middle and when you’re stuck in the middle, you either quit or you just don’t care anymore. And I think I’m in the “don’t care anymore” phase. I’m not going anywhere. The only other takeaway is that I’m not going to do an album for a while. I never thought I’d say that, but I’m going to just do singles for the next two years. I say that, but I’m excited. It feels liberating. When you’re in album land, you’re there at least a year and a half. It’s interesting. I think that might change my writing a bit because I’m not trying to fit a song into a collection of songs.

With your past work being metal, how does the creative fulfillment differ from your current style?

I think metal is very good for connecting with people’s frustrations in life. And it’s good anger management shit. When you’re playing some real heavy fucking music and you slow it right down and you get a groove going, then you look up and the audience are like throwing each other around the room. There’s something cool about that. I think the biggest difference with metal is that the ceiling is a lot lower and reachable with metal. And I think there’s something really special about that.

My biggest thing I enjoy is my audience is far wider in this genre. Metal is very male-dominated and you get used to just looking up mostly at a room full of dudes, beards, and black shirts head banging long hair. And that’s great. That’s a beautiful thing. But I think I slightly prefer the more diverse crowd that I’ve played to. My last thing is also the age thing. There’s a huge age range in the people that turn up at the shows I play now. And that’s a really beautiful thing as well. In France, I had a very elderly lady come up to me and she said, “‘Fields of Juniper’ made me think about something I’ve not thought about in 50 years.” If there’s a reason to keep going, then that’s it.

Photo Credit: David Nix

BGS 5+5: Lily Kershaw

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Lily Kershaw
Hometown: Los Angeles, California
Latest Album: Pain & More
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): My family calls me Lou or Lulu

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

Hearing Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence” for the first time. I was 8, in the back seat of my parents car, and the world just stopped. I wanted to write like them.

What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?

The toughest time I’ve ever had writing a song was on a song of mine called “Depreshmode.” I initially wrote it in less than 30 minutes, but it ended up taking me 18 hours (I tallied!) to get it into its final shape. About halfway through those 18 hours I thought something inside me had broken. I was like, “Am I ever going to write again?” I did, of course, write again and I am super happy with and proud of the final shape of “Depreshmode.”

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

Just finish the song. You can always go back and edit. You can go back and edit for 18 hours if you want, but you can’t edit something that doesn’t exist. So just finish it.

Does pineapple really belong on pizza?

Yes, but not with ham. If you’re going to add pineapple to pizza, let it be the only topping. Now I want pizza!

What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?

I really love the song “Mary On A Cross” by Ghost. It was my most-played song a couple years ago. I was also surprised to find this out! I kind of think of it as rock opera, but the internet has called their music things like black metal and doom metal. I think most people, myself included, would be surprised to know how much I love it!

Photo Credit: Cort Wilson

BGS 5+5: Kiely Connell

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Kiely Connell
Hometown: Hammond, Indiana
Latest Album: My Own Company

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

When I got to play The Chicago Theater. I grew up in the region my whole life and things like that feel so far out of reach. The last show I saw at Chicago Theater before I played on that stage was Iggy Pop! If you would’ve told me back then that 5 years later I’d be standing on that stage I would not have believed you.

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

Reading is always a huge help for me. I’m a big fan of Neil Gaiman, and Anne Sexton, and sometimes just being still and reading something they wrote can help inspire me to write something different. I feel the same way about film. A month ago I was watching that new movie, The Iron Claw, and I was taken aback by all of the memories and feelings that came flooding in. That film is way heavier than I anticipated.

I’m also a lover of visual art and one of my favorite artists is a man they call “The Master of Macabre,” Ivan Albright. I first saw his work at the Art Institute of Chicago and I was just awestruck. I’m not sure I’ve ever been drawn to a painting as much as I was drawn to his painting titled “Into the World There Came a Soul Called Ida.”

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

I started writing songs at the end of high school, but it wasn’t until college in my dorm room when I realized this was what I was meant to do. The support I got from my peers was unbelievable. Any time I played an open mic the entire theater department would show up just to hear me play three songs. I learned that I could take everything I love about theater and apply it to my music.

What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?

I love doom metal AKA “stoner rock.” I’ve seen the band Pentagram multiple times and I even have a photo with the lead singer Bobby Liebling. I talk about the band on my phone fairly often to the point where my phone started auto-correcting the word “like” to “Liebling.”

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

I’d want to have a greasy spoon diner breakfast with Tom Waits. Ideally there would be plenty of classic retro diner décor and bottomless cups of coffee, so he’d have all the fuel necessary to indulge me with a detailed history of his greatest endeavors. The 2003 film, Coffee and Cigarettes, gave us a taste, but I’d still like to experience it one on one in person.

Photo Credit: Alysse Gafkjen

Cody & Shannon Canada on Only Vans with Bri Bagwell

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

(Editor’s Note: BGS is proud to announce the addition of Only Vans with Bri Bagwell to the BGS Podcast Network! Read more about our newest podcast coming on board here.)

In the latest episode of Only Vans, Texas country artist and host Bri Bagwell chats with friend, mentor, and famed lead singer of Cross Canadian Ragweed, Cody Canada and his wife/manager Shannon in the bus, covering a wide variety of topics like racial injustice, partying, the metal music scene, and shifting priorities after having kids.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

Find Cody’s music, tour dates, and merchandise here.

Only Vans would like to thank CH Lonestar Promo for being the best merch company in all the land!

Intro music: “Free Man” by Bri Bagwell
Outro music: “Elle” by Cody Canada & The Departed

 

From Death Metal to a Fishing Boat, How Billy Strings Finds Renewal (Part 2 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

Billy Strings has had his foot on the gas since he was a teenager, bringing his prolific picking to hundreds of shows around the country each year and winning over a throng of devoted fans in the process. His bluegrass bona fides may be obvious from the outset — he’s quick to cite such greats as Bill Monroe, Doc Watson, and the Stanley Brothers as some of his first musical influences, and no honest spectator could deny his talent on the guitar and mandolin — but astute listeners will also note elements of rock, jam bands, and even heavy metal in his performances, especially as Strings bounds around the stage.

The Nashville-based, Michigan-raised musician’s latest album, Renewal, comes on the heels of an exceptional year: His Rounder Records debut, Home, won the 2020 Grammy award for Best Bluegrass Album. And even as much of the music industry was grounded from touring, his innovative approach to livestreams and digital performances moved the Pollstar Awards to dub him the Breakthrough Artist of the Pandemic. But that breakthrough was more than a decade in the making, and the forces that shaped Strings as a prodigious young picker are still at work today, pushing him creatively in the studio and on stage as well as calming him at home between gigs. Here, in the second half of our BGS Artist of the Month interview, Strings tells us about his upbringing, his latest influences, and the way he unwinds between shows.

Editor’s Note: Read the first part of our interview with Billy Strings.

BGS: Tell me about where you grew up. How do you see its impact on your work today?

Billy Strings: I was born in Lansing, Michigan on October 3, which is my grandpa’s birthday. My mother, who lived in Kentucky at the time, had gone up to Lansing to visit her dad on his birthday, and that’s when I decided to show up. [Laughs] So that’s why I was named Billy as well, because that was my grandpa’s name — I was his little birthday gift.

We lived in Morehead, Kentucky, for a couple of years before coming back home to Michigan, where I really grew up. I grew up in a little town called Muir, population 600. My dad is an incredible guitar player, so he taught me how to play. He was always showing me music when I was a little kid: Doc Watson, Bill Monroe, Lester Flatt, Earl Scruggs, Jimmy Martin, Larry Sparks, and stuff like that — a lot of good bluegrass. We’d hang out at this little campground and play music next to the river by the fire. That was my childhood, man, just sitting there picking by the river.

It was real good until I got to be a teenager and started to turn sour. I had to run off and figure out a new life. I took what my dad taught me when I was a little kid, and all of a sudden I realized that bluegrass is actually pretty sweet and people love this shit — that maybe I could do something with this; that it’s not just something that I do with my dad that I should be halfway embarrassed about.

Who are the artists that you feel really inspired by right now? And are those different than the ones that you feel like you were listening to a lot when you were a kid?

For the most part, it’s still Doc Watson — he’s the main nerve — and Bill Monroe, and Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, Ralph Stanley and Carter Stanley, the Stanley Brothers. But I listen to a lot of different shit. I listen to death metal, and lately, I’ve been getting into this music from Mali that Béla Fleck was showing me — some really amazing stuff. And Memphis trap: I’ve been listening to Young Dolph a bunch. There’s just an energy to it. I grew up around crack houses. I’ve seen that shit that they’re rapping about. It just gets me hyped: He’s talking about coming out of nothing and becoming a self-made millionaire. I listen to it before the shows sometimes to get myself hyped up.

You played in rock bands in high school — groups with music that might not sound a lot like what you’re doing today. Is there any lesson or anything from that time that you feel like you still turn to or still apply to the music that you make?

Yeah, performing live. I never learned how to perform in a bluegrass band. I learned how to perform in a metal band. I learned music by playing bluegrass when I was a little kid, but by the time I was doing it on stage it was in a metal band — we were headbanging and running all over the place — and I still can’t help but get into the music like that. I can’t just stand there and play.

You have been in Nashville now for a little while. Has anything that has surprised you about it, good or bad?

I really love Nashville. A lot of your favorite musicians, that’s where they live. You’ll see your favorite singer in the grocery store. I get calls for sessions, and it’s from people who I grew up listening to and who I’ve idolized for my whole life. Like Béla Fleck’s record just came out, and I played a handful of songs on that. I was so honored to play with David Grisman, and Chris Thile, Sam Bush, Stuart Duncan, and Edgar Meyer — all these cats that are just… well, I don’t feel like I’m really in that league. It really was an honor. And there’ve been several things like that! I went from listening to these cats on a record to being on a first-name basis with them… texting and being friends. It’s a trip.

What’s one thing that’s brought you joy recently?

Fishing. I love bass fishing. I grew up doing that with my dad as well, but I didn’t do it for a long time because I was so busy. When the pandemic hit, I started fishing again. I go out there in rain or shine. I just like it for the solitude. Last night, I was in front of thousands of people, and to come home and go out on my boat and be alone in nature — to check out the blue herons and the fucking ospreys, eagles, fish, everything doing its thing — it’s brought me a lot of joy, brought me down to Earth. I put my boat in at 5 o’clock in the morning when the sun is just coming up. I like being out there alone at that time of day. It’s just good for my mind.

And yet it’s so clear from your performances that interacting with listeners gives you a certain joy, too. What are the forms of feedback that you value most from your audience when you’re playing live?

Sometimes when we finish a solo, everybody starts cheering real loud, the whole place gets real loud. That feels good. But sometimes I look out there and I look around and I see individual people and I literally play to them. Last night, we played in Montana and I was looking around and there was this one dude just standing there with his beer just completely still. I didn’t even know if he was enjoying it or not. So I just walked up to the front of the stage and stared directly at him and I just started playing right to him. [Laughs] So he started laughing, and then he took a drink of his beer and started bobbing his head a little bit. I think he just started getting into it by the end of the show.

I’ll look for things like that. The audience is really in control of how I’m feeling up there. Sometimes, when they’re just on fire, I can’t help but have a good time. They feed us the energy, and we give it back to them. It’s reciprocal.

Photo credit: Jesse Faatz

Billy Strings Draws a Line in the Sand with Sobriety, Not Bluegrass (Part 1 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

From carving out a name for himself on the road as a teenager to winning a Grammy for Best Bluegrass Album (2019’s standout Home), the prodigious 29-year-old guitar player Billy Strings has cultivated a devoted following and collected an impressive list of accomplishments along the way. His latest Rounder Records release, Renewal, capitalizes on the confidence and artistic growth those experiences have delivered, with experimental new instrumentation, contemplative lyricism, and trademark picking. Produced by Jonathan Wilson (Roger Waters, Father John Misty), the sixteen-track opus offers a glimpse at an artist who is continuously rediscovering himself.

“I’m going through a part in my life where I’m looking through the windshield instead of in the rearview,” he says. “I think of a new day, the morning light, a spider molting, or a snake shedding its skin: It’s a renewal.” In the first of our two part BGS Artist of the Month interview, we caught up with Billy Strings about those new beginnings — on the stage, in the studio, and in his day-to-day life.

BGS: Renewal is mostly acoustic, but it pulls from a lot of different sources of inspiration — and not all of those are necessarily bluegrass. Is there any particular moment on the record where you noticed the influence of a genre that may be unexpected to some listeners?

Billy Strings: “Hide and Seek” is a song that maybe draws more from my influence of playing in metal bands — trying to write a song that’s more like a metal song, but with acoustic instruments… using odd time signatures, diminished chords, and avoiding the major scale. I grew up listening to a lot of death metal, and a lot of that music is just not verse-chorus-bridge, verse-chorus-outro. The songs are like 10 different parts. They’re hyper-composed, and that stuff’s sort of neat.

Was there anything that you did in the studio that took you out of your comfort zone?

I mean, I wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it was different playing synthesizers and different instruments hands-on. I think I gained a little confidence when I won that Grammy — the next time I went into the studio, I was the one calling the shots: “Hey, do you have a triangle? Let’s all come together and do a singalong.” I was the one coming up with the creative ideas and feeling confident in myself to do that. On “Heartbeat of America,” I’m playing some old synthesizer, playing with the pitch wheel and stuff. That shit’s fun.

“Hellbender” stands out as a reasonably upbeat, fun song when you’re listening to it, but the lyrics are… kind of dark. What was going on in your head when you were writing that?

That song’s about a real bad headache and a real bad hangover — being lost in the demons of alcohol, not knowing where to stop, saying, “Fuck it, I’m going to drink until the night’s over.” I haven’t drank in over five years: I haven’t had a sip of alcohol because I had a real bad headache one day. So it’s not really about me, but I wouldn’t really call it a fictional song either. I have been there and done that: woken up like that. It’s about a guy who can’t freakin’ stop.

“Know It All” on the new album talks about learning from your mistakes. Has there been any kind of a difficult learning experience that you feel shaped you as an artist?

Well, maybe that headache I was talking about.

Oh yeah?

One day we had this awesome gig. A lot of people showed up, and we sold a bunch of merch, and I thought we were fucking rock stars. I had been up all night and drinking beer and liquor and a bunch of shit. We got to the bar after and I was all, “Old Fashioneds! Get one for everybody, on me!” I was raring and tearing. But the next day, we barely made it to our gig, because I was puking every 10 minutes. We made it there in time to set up our stuff and play — we had to set up our gear in front of the audience. This was at a time where my career was really starting to take off, and I saw that as an opportunity to draw a line in the sand.

How so?

I think it’s about being conscious of my surroundings, being aware of the vibe that people are giving, and also being aware of the vibe that I’m putting off. I don’t want to be a drunk asshole when some fan comes up to me and says, “Hey man I really enjoyed the show.” I want to be there. I want to be able to say, “Thank you, man. Thank you for coming. I fucking appreciate it.” I just came off four gigs back-to-back. We played Spokane, Washington; Portland, Oregon; Seattle; and then somewhere in Montana. And right now I’m on my way to Salt Lake City. I can’t do that if I’m drinking. It’s all I can do to take care of myself. There’s no time for that shit.

You won Breakthrough Artist of the Pandemic from Pollstar —probably the first time anybody was awarded something like that. What motivated you to try new things when you lost your outlet on stage? Was there anything that struck you as a special moment even remotely connecting with your fans?

I’ve been doing this since I was 19 and I went on my first tour across the country. It’s all I’ve really known, just keeping this going. I’ve been “striking while the iron’s hot” for 10 years. [Laughs] So when all of a sudden I don’t have anything to do, it’s like, “Well shit. We need to keep doing something to engage the fans. We can’t just stop.” We started doing little streams at my house, and then that moved to doing a streaming tour around venues and stuff, and then eventually the whole Capitol Theater run, which was six nights, including this whole experiment where we tried to interact with our fans through telekinesis. That was really special. Even though there wasn’t anybody there, it felt like we were really connected with the audience.

You are out there day in and day out, and I’ve also seen you talk candidly about having anxiety and nerves before going on stage. Is there anything in particular that you do to manage that?

I mean, it’s been a journey. I hit the road when I was 19, playing 200 gigs a year, and for a while there, I was invincible, untouchable. I thought I could drive the van, sell the merch, book the hotels, settle up at the end of the night, write the songs, perform the shows, do everything. It was all on my shoulders. But I hit a wall where all of a sudden, instead of being confident, strong, and untouchable, I was fragile and scared of the world. Anxiety really fucked me up. I started having these crippling panic attacks where my whole body would go into convulsions.

I’m not trying to be a tough guy. I’m trying to be an honest guy. It’s uncomfortable for me to pretend like I’m feeling any way that I’m not, so if I’m angry, sad, anxious, mad? You’re going to know it because I don’t want to hide that shit. I’ve been going to therapy ever since 2019 and it’s helped me a bunch. I had a lot of trauma from my childhood that I had to sort out so I could keep moving forward and stop looking back. That’s what Renewal is all about.

Editor’s Note: Read part two of our Artist of the Month interview here.

Photo credit: Jesse Faatz

Guitarist Yasmin Williams’ Techniques Are Second Only to Her Songs

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Guitarists spend lifetimes — often gleefully, sometimes manically, or at times frustratingly — finessing techniques, especially with their picking hand. Entire careers can be made or broken by the idiosyncrasies of one picker’s striking and sounding strings. Fingerstyle guitarist and composer Yasmin Williams has mastered myriad forms of right-hand styles, each complicated enough for multiple lifetimes’ worth of study. But she doesn’t merely alternate techniques between pieces; to a transcendentally perplexing degree she effortlessly alternates her entire picking hand approach mid-song.

On her 2021 release, Urban Driftwood, a collection of thoughtful, dynamic, and engaging instrumentals written for fingerstyle guitar and harp guitar, Williams makes many of these technique-swaps while the compositions charge forward, each one earning tailor-made right-hand approaches. As a result, the songs don’t feel encumbered when Williams, mid-melody, goes from right hand fingerstyle to bowing her strings with a cello bow, or plunking out notes on a kalimba taped to her guitar’s face, now positioned laying across her lap. She utilizes hand percussion and tap shoes to fill out arrangements, interposing Afro-descended instruments from around the world into her compositions, and she picks up, puts down, and readjusts her stable of musical tools in realtime — as a foley sound effect artist, prop master, or choreographer might. 

In guitar-centered communities — which are, it’s worth pointing out, largely white, straight, and male — where the overwrought, complicated, and mind-bending are regarded as the highest value currencies, you might expect the intricacies of Williams’ compositions, and the physicality of these impressive, visually striking techniques, to be the entire point of the music. But, as Williams explains in our interview and demonstrates indelibly in her Shout & Shine livestream performance — which will air on BGS on March 31 at 4pm PDT / 7pm EDT  (watch above) — the acrobatics of her playing are merely a means to an end. While entrancing, each fresh, inventive way Williams creates a dialogue with her instrument is merely a tool for her to execute each individual song, as close to how she hears it in her head as possible.

We began our conversation discussing this phenomenon and how it’s an active, deliberate choice on the part of Williams to serve her own songs.

BGS: There isn’t nearly as much variation in right hand or picking techniques in bluegrass and old-time as you use – tap, lap tapping, fingerstyle, harp guitar, I’ve even seen you bowing your guitar. So many of these contemporary guitar styles that you switch back and forth between are so different from each other, so what ties them all together for you? What does it feel like when you’re thinking about switching between these styles?

YW: I don’t really think about it much at all! Unless it’s logistically for a live performance, like, “Oh, I need to put my bow here, I need to put my kalimba here.” That [stage choreography] is really the only context in which I think about it. These different techniques, I just use them for whatever the song requires. They’re more like compositional tools. It’s more like I’m trying to find the sound that’s in my head or I’m trying to find a sound that’s different from [how] my guitar [already sounds], something to supplement whatever I’m writing. It’s not really like, “I want to make a lap tapping song!” It’s not conscious like that. These techniques are kind of my inventions and I only really come up with them to well, finish the song, basically. 

I’ve never really been technique-forward – yeah, guitar culture is very nerdy and I’ve never been very into that, at least in terms of the techniques, I don’t usually care what people are doing. [Laughs] I care more about the result. However you choose to get there is cool, too! But I don’t really scout other people’s techniques or anything. 

It makes me think of Elizabeth Cotten, who you have mentioned in past performances and interviews as an influence of yours. She was left-handed and played “upside down and backwards,” playing the guitar the way she needed to play it. 

[Laughs] Yes! She just figured it out, she was determined! Elizabeth Cotten and Jimi Hendrix kind of served the same purpose for me. They’re both extremely unique, I love that about them, and they really didn’t care about how they were “supposed” to do things, they weren’t bogged down by tradition. Elizabeth Cotten, I love her because, somewhat obviously, she’s a Black woman who plays guitar fingerstyle, which is very cool — and banjo, too. How she played, I can’t figure it out! It’s fun to figure out and to watch, but it’s even cooler to not watch her play and just listen. All of her tunes are so catchy. She’s great, I’d love to be as great of a songwriter as her one day, hopefully.

Some of the songs on Urban Driftwood feel so huge and expansive, but some feel so introspective and meditative, despite the fact that most tracks have very similar, stripped down, simple instrumentation and arrangements. It’s not a lot of production and arranging. How do you accomplish that dynamic range? What is your own dialogue with your instrument like during the creative process, during recording and writing?

That’s a really interesting question! But, I don’t know! [Laughs] Sorry to say that, but I really need to think more about this. 

Some songs, I definitely did want to be more introspective, like “I Wonder.” That was definitely one I wanted to be very intimate. And I did think about, in a live setting, how I wanted the song to feel more quiet and more intimate than other arrangements. “Swift Breeze” is another one I wanted to have an edgier sound. I don’t really think about it, I guess I’m just extremely tunnel-visioned. At the time of writing or recording a song I only think about what the song needs. Whatever that particular song that I’m working on in that moment needs. I didn’t think about live performance at all until after the album was already out and finished, which was probably not the best idea, [Laughs] I’m kind of regretting it now, but I’m working it out. 

I did think about the arrangement for “Urban Driftwood” a lot. I didn’t want to use tons of overdubs or multi-tracks on many of the songs [on the album], because I don’t really “believe” in it, I guess. That one, I wanted it to sound expansive, but also I wanted it to be able to work in a more intimate setting, too. But even so, I’m not really thinking about it that much.

The guitar, when you take it out of the context of the average player’s experience — which is usually playing with a pick and using three or four chords — when you remove it from that context so many new and exciting ideas have to start flowing, like when you pick up a bow instead of a pick. What is your experimentation like when you’re composing/writing?

I tend to repeat things I like over and over again. I can do that for hours. [Laughs] It’s a bit of a mess, it’s not the most efficient way to write something, but I can make up a melodic line that I really like and play it for hours and hours and hours. Other things will start to form while I’m playing that. Then I’ll record it, or write it down in notation, whatever I need to do to remember it. That process can go on for months before I even finish a song. 

I love experimenting. I love finding new, different things to use. Like a hammered dulcimer hammer or a bow or tap shoes, which are something else I use. Those were another example of problem solving. Now I’m into pedals a lot more so I’m experimenting with those, too. There are tons of great pedals out there, so it can be pretty difficult. It’s another world on its own! I’ve always been an experimental player, ever since I started playing. 

Who are you listening to now who inspires you? And who – you already mentioned Jimi Hendrix and Elizabeth Cotten – do you look to and who influences you from past generations? 

I kind of want to go back to where I’m from [in Northern Virginia], Chuck Brown is an influence — maybe not directly, I don’t really model my playing after his at all. He’s a guitar player from the D.C. area, he plays go-go music, a kind of regional style of music here. I’ve always loved him, from when I was a kid. 

Libba Cotten, obviously, is a huge influence. I wish I had known about her when I was younger. I think I could’ve saved a lot of time by not trying to be something I was never going to be. I really wanted to be a shredding, metal-type guitarist. I think that’s what I associated the guitar with–

Is that where the tapping came in? 

Yeah! 

That’s amazing. There are a lot of post-metal pickers in bluegrass! We have quite a few. 

[Laughs] I mean, I used to play Guitar Hero and that had so many rock songs and metal songs on it and tapping stuff. A bit of southern rock, too. But it was really rock- and male-centered and it would’ve been great to find Elizabeth Cotten sooner. That would’ve been great. I still like Paul Gilbert, I still like Buckethead, all of them, but it definitely would’ve been better if I had found Libba Cotten or Sister Rosetta Tharpe or Algia Mae Hinton sooner. 

Ah! I love Algia Mae, when you mentioned tap shoes earlier I immediately thought of her and the tradition of buck dancing and clogging connected to finger-picking. 

I know! I didn’t know anything about that until recently! I didn’t really know anything about that until the past couple of years, I’ve definitely gone down the rabbit hole of all of that now, though.

I guess I am listening to more guitar music these days than I ever have before. When I first started playing I didn’t really listen to any, because I didn’t really like it, the fingerstyle stuff and the technical stuff. Whatever you want to call it. But now, it’s great. There are a lot of contemporary players I really enjoy, I love Daniel Bachman’s stuff. [The band] The Americans have cool stuff. Chuck Johnson and Sarah Louise. There are a lot more people releasing music that isn’t just a derivative of what already exists in the guitar canon or in traditional guitar scenes. 

This topic has come up recently — in my interview with Jackie Venson and also with Sunny War — but more and more when I find myself engaging with contemporary guitar music, it’s made by women. To a degree, I think the music women are making in fingerstyle guitar and in “guitar culture” right now is just not what you hear like… in the halls at NAMM. As a queer person, I think I avoid guitar culture a lot because it feels so toxically masculine. Do you feel that, too?

Yeah, I feel that now that I’m in the scene more. When I released my first album — and before that, when I was just learning and coming up — I didn’t feel anything like that, because I think I just ignored it. I didn’t really care. (I still don’t really care.) [Laughs] There are nicer sections in the guitar world as well as more “competitive” or kind of douchey sections. [Laughs again] Like the guy who will turn my amp on, cause he thinks I can’t turn it on. That happens a lot. 

Looking ahead to the future, with vaccines rolling out and it feeling like we’re at this transition point from pre-COVID to the beginning of post-COVID — and you’re gaining so much momentum with this record even during the shutdown — what are you looking ahead to? And what does this transition from “before times” to “after times” feel like to you? 

I’m actually kind of thankful for it. It’s giving me time to reflect — not only on the album’s success, but it’s giving me time to not worry about shows. I can plan and build a team around me and become more “professional” [to be ready] when touring does start up and venues do start opening again. 

Creatively and musically I am all OVER the place! [Laughs] I’m writing a piece for a berimbau group called Projeto Arcomusical, the berimbau is an old, Afro-Brazilian instrument. I’m really excited for that, I can finally use my college degree and be a composer for once. I’m working with another group, based in NYC, called Contemporaneous, arranging songs from my new album for a summer concert, which is fun. I’m working on new music, trying to write more harp guitar stuff, playing my twelve-string guitar more. My head’s all over the place, really. 

I definitely feel a sort of rejuvenation now that I’ve gotten past the “WTF is going to happen?” Now I’m just like, “Whatever happens happens,” and I’ve gotta make new music!

Photo credit: Kim Atkins Photography

BGS 5+5: Arlo McKinley

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Arlo McKinley
Hometown: Norwood, Ohio
Latest Album: Die Midwestern (Oh Boy Records)
Rejected Band Names: Hatchet Wounds, Black Locust Inn, Thousand Dollar Car

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

With so many influences I could name, I always go back to Blaze Foley. His ability to put so much feeling and emotion into a simple song without ever taking himself so seriously. He always influenced me in my writing, and has been a reminder to always be myself.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

I would have to say that performing and knowing that one of my heroes, John Prine, had taken the time out of his day in the middle of the week to come see me play would probably top the list. He came to watch the band play at the High Watt in Nashville. That was a night I’ll never forget.

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

I read a lot when not listening to or writing music. Charles Bukowski, Hunter S. Thompson, Greil Marcus, Ted Chiang and many others. Ted Chiang writes very smart, socially-conscious science fiction that really stands out to me. I highly recommend checking him out if you haven’t already.

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

That would have to be growing up in the Baptist church. Seeing that music could be so much more to people than just a sound and evoke real emotions in people appealed to me in a way that is hard to put into words. Along with that I grew up constantly surrounded by so many kinds of music that my family would be listening to. Country, punk, bluegrass, folk, metal, hip-hop, etc. It’s the only thing that I ever thought that I should be doing so I’d say the simple answer is, from the moment I discovered music I knew that’s what I wanted to do with my life.

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

It would be to keep pushing myself to grow as a musician, always pushing myself to never create the same album twice. It would be to also keep creating music that people can correlate to their own lives in one way or another.

Photo credit: David McClister

Despite Bleak Beginnings, Billy Strings Emerges as a Force in Bluegrass

Posted on by Editor

Get Billy Strings on the phone, and the interaction will probably seem as much like a musical recital as a verbal conversation. He’ll most likely have a guitar in his hands, noodling around on scales or snatches of songs, sometimes as conversational punctuation marks. But mostly, it sounds like he’s thinking out loud with the instrument.

It’s a good time for Strings right now, who earned IBMA Awards last week for New Artist of the Year and Guitar Player of the Year. His very fine second album, Home, is out on Rounder Records. Checking at 50-plus minutes, Home is a wide-ranging album that showcases his remarkable, classic-bluegrass voice and even more remarkable six-string wizardry, confirming his status as one of the top young guns in the field. The album has 14 songs, pretty much every one of them a journey.

We caught up with Strings shortly before he hit the road on what will be a full season of touring across the U.S. this fall.

BGS: Is there ever a day when you DON’T play music?

Strings: Not usually. I do try to play all the time. Sometimes when I’m on the road playing every night, onstage more than two hours, I might feel like I want a little break: “When I get home, I’m not even going to touch it for a couple of days.” Never happens. It only takes about a day to get the itch and feel like I need to practice.

What form does practice usually take?

A little of everything. That right there is just doing some scales all over the neck in different keys. Metronome practice is good and I have not done enough of that lately. That will really whip your ass into shape. Playing along with records, too, or playing fiddle tunes, playing through songs I know and love. Coming up, I did not have these rigid practice regimens. I just played music.

But recently I’ve started getting into it more. I was inspired by the Rocky movies: “Man, he works out for months, running up and down stairs and training so hard for just one gig!” Every night I get in the ring, but I never train, never hit the bag. I need someone like Mickey yelling at me, “C’mon, kid, lemme see that major scale again! Now slip the G run!”

I saw a quote about how you learned to play with bluegrass, but learned to perform when you were in a metal band. What did you take away from your time playing metal?

I grew up watching bluegrass bands in suits and hats, singing and playing into the mic and standing very still. When I was playing in a metal band, we were all over the stage running into each other, spitting and headbanging. I remember I would start a show by running from the back of the stage into the audience, and they’d push me back onstage.

It was just this crazy energy and that was my first performing experience onstage in front of people. I do think bluegrass is more about music, listening to the notes. The metal band, we’d jump around so much it was difficult to play the correct notes. The music may have suffered, but we tried to put on one helluva show and I still sort of bring a little of that.

Your new album is called Home. Is there any significance to that as a title?

I would say there’s a lot. That came from a poem I wrote titled “Home” and turned into a song that was kind of obvious as the opus of the album once we recorded all the songs — the just kind of wild song of the bunch. So I figured we’d name it after that. I’m 26 years old, this is my second album and I’m sort of settling into life as a young adult. Up to now, not knowing what was happening kind of kept me alive.

Now I’m starting to feel a little bit like a grown-up. Also, on the road, we’re always dreaming about getting home. What does it mean to you? Home is something different for everybody — a place, a state of mind, a drink, a meal. When I get home, my friend’s grandpa grows some real good weed outdoors in Michigan soil. Smoking that is home right there. Home sweet home.

“Away From the Mire” is the longest song on the album and it seems like the centerpiece, a real journey. Did you know it was going to go that far when you started recording it?

It was spontaneous. We were recording, working on that one a couple of days and trying to figure out what to do with it. It felt like it needed a big guitar solo because I’m a fan of that. It’s a classic thing that always happened with ‘70s rock and roll bands: great song, verse, chorus, bridge and EPIC solo before it’s over.

A lot of times, me and the band will get into these moments and “Mire” was one of those we sort of landed on where I took my guitar and they followed along. It was not composed at all, just a jam. It did not take too many times through to get it. We were oiled up, had been in the studio a few days, and didn’t have to spend too much time on any of the songs. That whole jam in the middle, it’s all live.

Doc Watson seems like an obvious influence on your playing. Did you ever meet him?

Unfortunately, I never got the chance to meet Doc. I worshiped the man, you know? I started listening to his records and watching VHS tapes when I was 5 or 6 years old. Doc left a huge impression because his music was so alive with such heart and soul. I took my dad to see Doc once, the only time either of us got to see him. It was the Midland Theatre in Newark, Ohio, six hours away, the closest he was coming to us. So I got tickets for my dad, my mom, me and my friend Benji, who drove us there in his truck.

Seeing him in-person was incredible. He played “Shady Grove” and “Way Downtown,” and my mom and my dad and me were all crying because we could not believe that really was Doc right there. I enjoyed the hell out of it. That was in 2010, Doc with David Holt and T. Michael Coleman, and he forgot a lyric here and there but still picked something great. I’ll never forget it as long as I live and I’m so glad I brought my parents.

Growing up listening to Doc was something special, and a mutual love for Doc is a connection I share with my dad. We bond over Doc’s music, play it together and I think we do it justice, a little. He knows so many old Doc songs, the deepest cuts. He’ll pull out one he’s not played in years and remember all the words. He embodies the soul Doc put out there. We really worship Doc around my house. He was, is and always will be the best.

Were there other influential elders?

When I was little, my mom and dad took me to a couple of bluegrass festivals. Larry Sparks and Ralph Stanley made a huge impression. Those guys would walk through a crowd like a hot knife through butter, in their big hats and suits with banjo cases. That was the first time I heard bluegrass on a PA, loud. I’d heard it around the campfire all my life. But hearing Larry Sparks’ band up there with the fiddle and banjo and guitar and harmonies, I knew then what I had to do. I’d already been messing around on guitar. Seeing those dudes, I knew it was serious.

Have you ever thought about what else you might do if not for music?

There was this picture I drew in kindergarten with a thing that said, “When I grow up I want to be a (blank).” I put “bluegrass player” and drew a picture of a guy with a banjo. So there it is. All I need now is the purple pants. I don’t know what else I’d do. I’m not a good mechanic or woodworker and I don’t like painting houses or carrying shingles up a ladder.

And I don’t like somebody wagging their finger in my face telling me what to do. I’m not good at dealing with authority figures. I’ve always had to do it my own way. I never thought music would even be possible as a career so I thought I’d always be a loser. But the last six or seven years have brought the incredible realization I can make it with music and not have to be a bum or drug addict.

Does that account for some of the heavy subjects on the record, like the song about drug overdoses (“Enough to Leave”)?

I always end up talking about this stuff, because it inspires a lot of my songwriting. When I reach down and look for what to write about, I always come up with things I’ve experienced in the past relating to substance abuse or loss or poverty. It’s sad how many people are struggling with all of that. I have a lot of friends who have gone in all sorts of directions, some good but some not. I’m lucky to have gotten out, and it haunts me. I still think about it a lot.

Maybe I’m looking in the rearview mirror too much when I should be looking out the windshield. But back there is what motivated me to get to where I’m at. It’s where I got my drive as a teenager, being around bums and meth-heads. I did not want to end up like that. It was either that, or keep running toward the light and working hard. I got a job in Traverse City, but I was playing gigs and realized, you can make a living that way even if you’re not a star. So that started to happen and I’ve been walking slowly upward ever since, reaching higher goals.

How much of a master plan do you have?

I know what I’m trying to go for, but at the same time I don’t. It’s a transparent vision where I know it’s something large and cool where I want to do good and be successful, but I don’t know what it looks like. I do feel like I’m moving toward dreams. More people are coming out to the shows, I’m able to explore more creatively and musically. That’s success and I feel good about it. I went from playing for tips to clubs and theaters, slowly working my way up. I remember renting minivans at Enterprise and having to sleep in parking lots because we could only afford one hotel room. I even got robbed once like that.

But I’ve always been willing to do whatever it takes to make the dream happen. If I have to stay up all night and drive 16 hours to play music, I’m willing to do it. The thing is, the more we grow as a band, we’re able to make those plans better so we don’t have to kill ourselves — play a few less gigs with a few less hours between them. It feels like it’s working, which I’m happy as hell about. I work hard but it’s so much fun it does not feel like work even though I’m physically exhausted. I’m sore and tired all the time but happy as shit, too. I’m lucky, man, really grateful.

Photo credit (live): Emily Butler; (portraits) Shane Timm