Tag: Michigan

Greensky Bluegrass Capture the Live Jam on ‘All For Money’

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With their progressive mindset and undying faith in the power of the jam, the electrifying live shows put on by Greensky Bluegrass have captivated roots and rock fans alike for nearly two decades – but the Midwestern five piece has always been more than a group of gifted musicians. Layered, thought-provoking songcraft is also a big part of their DNA, and with their new album, All For Money, those two worlds come together like never before.

This month, the band – composed of mandolin player and primary songwriter Paul Hoffman, guitarist Dave Bruzza, banjo picker Michael Arlen Bont, Dobro player Anders Beck, and bassist Mike Devol – embarked on a milestone tour of listening halls that are well suited to showcase both sides of the Greensky Bluegrass double helix, and according to Hoffman, that everything-at-once approach is the next step of their journey.

“We don’t have any grandiose dreams or visions of things we haven’t accomplished,” he says, “and I think it’s been that way for the last 10 years. Being able to go out and play the right venue in all the right towns where we can put on a big show and present everything we do … it’s about getting that to happen everywhere now.”

BGS: You guys were inspired early on by The Grateful Dead, and I hear that improvisational spirit on the new album. Do you feel like All For Money is a return to your roots?

Paul Hoffman: We talk about this album being a lot more like a show than previous records because for us, [studio work and being onstage are] kind of two separate art forms. … With this record we went for the show aspect right from the get-go. It’s a little loose, and a little improvised, and we’ve succeeded with that more and more on every record – finding ways to capture that live spirit but still utilize all the tools available to us in the studio. Like for example, maybe there’s a place where there’s two mandolins at once. We couldn’t do that live, but if it sounds cool on the record, let’s do it.

Tell me about recording in Asheville. What kind of vibe do you guys get there?

We love that town. In the young days of the band we thought we should move there and maybe it would spark our career. We didn’t, and it was probably for the best, but the studio is really cool. It’s like an old church and it’s got a lot of room to work in. All our early records were done in Michigan in this studio that’s really small, and you don’t need a big room or an extra room downstairs with a ping pong table and video games and a kitchen and three couches. You don’t need any of those luxuries, but as soon as we went to [the studio,] Echo Mountain, to record the last record, it was like “Man, this is nice” … and now we probably do need them. [Laughs]

Digging into the live show versus studio album idea, you have a couple of really lengthy songs here. “Courage for the Road” is over nine minutes long, and I get that in a live setting, but why stretch it out for the album?

I think sometimes we’ve found that our fans are separate. Some of them are live music aficionados and don’t really enjoy listening to the records, and some people who like our records come to the show and are like “Why are all these songs so long and psychedelic?” I think there’s a part of us that figures those things don’t need to be separate, and maybe if we did a bit more from both sides of the equation, there’s something there for everybody.

The goal for that song is for it to remain interesting the whole time, and when I listen to it I feel like I’m listening to a well-mixed, well-recorded, live jam. It was so organic with how it happened that it kind of had to be left alone, and I think that translates to the listener as live energy. That’s the thing you sacrifice in the studio if you start overdubbing too much, and that’s when some people complain. What they’re really complaining about is that it loses some of that honest energy and integrity, so those jams should preserve that.

Tell me about the inspiration behind that song. Is this literally about being on the road, or more of a relationship thing?

It’s all of the things. I like to write about multiple things at the same time, and I think it helps. People are gonna read into it how they want anyway. So I’ll often start talking about something and then realize I’m talking about something else, too. It works really well as a simple song about being on tour, but it also works as a song about being in love with someone and not being able to let go, or being obsessed with something for the wrong reasons.

Why might you need some courage for being on the road?

It’s a lonely place sometimes, and that in itself is a paradox. You’re surrounded by people who love you every night, but then the lights go down and the crowd goes home and you’re all alone again. It’s hard to even have an argument for feeling lonely on tour when so many people are coming to see us and support us, but they are real things. And even in general, when you make that commitment to quit your job and leave your family for six weeks at a time, and maybe come home with little to show for it, it’s hard for musicians to keep sticking it out.

Tell me about the song “All For Money” and the interlude in the middle. When you were writing it, were you thinking, “It would be cool to do two minutes of jamming right here”?

Sometimes it comes up in the moment, but with that song it was real intentional. I wanted to explore this idea of the pressure of success and the whole “Be careful what you wish for” kind of thing. Back in the day when we were playing in a bar and all we had to do was win over some fans, in hindsight that’s almost easier than living up to the expectations of all these fans now, who travel and spend money to see us all the time.

They see us a lot so it’s like you’ve got to come up with new tricks and something happened in the last couple of years where it was like the pressure built up. That’s not to say it was too much or that we don’t love it, but it occurred to me that there was a real paradox of success happening where it was like “Man, this is hard!” Sometimes we joke around like “Why don’t they stop following us?!” … Which is absolutely not what we want.

So there’s a joke there, or at least a duality to be explored, and I wanted to set the song up in a way that it’s supposed to get creepy or disorienting, and to make you feel uncomfortable. I talk about being supported but surrounded, contained but captured, and then it comes around to that triumphant chorus that’s all about the love and the songs creating emotion and camaraderie. It goes on this journey of joking around and all these lies we were told in the beginning, and then it gets scary and uncomfortable on purpose. It’s almost supposed to be discomforting, more than a jam.

I love your lyrics, because as you explained there are lots of layers and you’re not afraid to question yourself. What were you trying to get at with “Do It Alone”?

I was trying to touch on this angst-y, rock and roll thing. I wanted something that had an anthem vibe, something a crowd would cheer along with, and again I was thinking about a couple of different things at once. One moment I’ll be thinking about a friend of mine who’s in love with a girl who doesn’t love him anymore, and the next I’m like “Man, I miss my dog.” [Laughs] Sometimes really specific lyrics about really different things can help you get some insight into that other thing.

Photo credit: Dylan Langille/ontheDL Photo

Whitey Morgan Won’t Settle on ‘Hard Times and White Lines’

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Few bands deserve the sometimes-dubious title of “Outlaw Country” like Whitey Morgan and the 78’s. But after nearly 15 years of non-stop touring and boozy, honky-tonk rocking, the words of Rodney Crowell’s prescient “I Ain’t Living Long Like This” are starting to hit close to home.

With the Flint, Michigan-based band’s gritty fourth album, Hard Times and White Lines, Morgan takes a step back to examine his own fast-living ways — doing so with the same hard-edged-but-classic country sound and unflinching honesty his fans have come to expect. Alongside Rust Belt ballads like “What Am I Supposed to Do,” Ray Price-inspired two-steppers like “Around Here” and a trouble-brewing cover of ZZ Top’s “Just Got Paid,” Morgan and company offer some candid thoughts on the lifestyle they’ve become known for.

I can tell the album title speaks to your reality as an artist. But it’s interesting that your first album was called Honky Tonks and Cheap Motels, and now we’re at Hard Times and White Lines. After all these years, does it feel like nothing has changed?

The only thing that’s really changed is that the crowds are bigger and I can pay my bills on time. … But I’m glad we’ve done it the way we did. I can’t imagine having it any other way. I know too many people who get it handed to them, like they get an opening slot on a tour and they think they’ve got the world by the balls. Well, then all of a sudden the record label shelves their album because maybe it’s not that great, and this artist doesn’t know how to tour on his own because he’s never done it and doesn’t even know how to book a fucking hotel room because they’re used to having everything done for them, and now what? … I know that if it ever gets to the point where I have to go back to doing everything myself, I can do it, because I have done it.

You have the reputation of being an outlaw band, and fans have always loved the songs about drinking, drugging and staying out all night. But you’re not a kid anymore, and in fact you have a son now. Is your approach to that subject matter any different?

Definitely. It’s more of a reflective view than a “This is happening right now” thing. But I don’t think I’m ever gonna settle down to the point of some of these other guys who get old and they don’t allow any beer backstage at their shows, or no one in the band is allowed to smoke any weed before they play. I don’t imagine I’ll ever have that starchy of a shirt, because that’s when shit gets boring. The reputation was well-deserved in the old days, and it still is to some extent. I mean I go out there and a lot of the bigger bands we play with, they’re that way. Meanwhile I’m sitting here drinking three or four whiskeys before I play still, and to me that’s taming it down.

“Honky Tonk Hell” starts off the album, and to me it’s got this epic “Devil Went Down to Georgia” meets “Hotel California” feel. What’s it like to be stuck in a honky-tonk hell?

It’s like that line: “A man can get caught up.” I was caught up for a time, between the drinking and drugging and girls, and it’s almost like this place you keep getting sucked back into every night, whether it’s on the road or not. There’s guys who go to the same bar every night of their lives and they don’t play music or have anything to do with that world, and it’s kind of a take on that.

Anybody who has been to Nashville recently knows that we have a ton of hotels now. But I don’t think many of the tourists or bachelorette parties are familiar with The Fiddler’s Inn. You wrote a song about it, so could you explain for them what that place is like?

Yeah, The Fiddlers Inn is a lot different from most other places in Nashville now. It’s just an old travel lodge with lots of rooms, and it’s over there by the Grand Ole Opry House and the mall, all that shit, but it was there before all that. Just a classic old American roadside motel.

I don’t really know too much about it but I stayed there because me and my buddy Ward Davis were gonna try to write a song. I was staying at this other hotel that was kind of bullshit, so I said “I want to go over to Music City Bar and Grill tonight, because the Music City Playboys are playing” – they’re one of the best fucking bands in town that play on a regular basis. So we were drinking at Music City and already half in the bag, probably more, and we made this plan to write but kept procrastinating all day like “Ah, my notes are kind of empty right now.” We went over there and finally sat down with the guitars, and I just had this idea — “What if we wrote about this exact thing?”

The first line is about a guy sitting in a hotel room and he came here to write, but he can’t think of anything. And then the next verse is about what’s going on down the hall. We could have written a verse for every room because there are a million stories that happen every night at those places. Everybody’s on a different path, everybody’s coming from a different place.

You made your debut at the Ryman Auditorium this past year, and just thinking about where you guys came from, that’s a pretty big honky-tonk. What did it mean for you to be on that stage?

The first time I came to Nashville was probably 20 years ago, and like everybody says, it was a much different town back then. We’d go down and stay for a few days if we were playing a show, and sometimes we’d just go down to hang out because Broadway was still cool back then. There were at least five good bars where you could go hear real country music every day of the week, not just Sunday morning or whatever.

A lot of nights I would get drunk and disappear from the group, and just go sit on those front steps [of the Ryman]. [Playing there] was always something I wanted to happen, and I told myself I would never open for anybody there. I wanted the first time I was on that stage to be because the people were there to see me and my band. … It was an amazing night, and it went by so fast, but I tried to make as many memories as I could. I walked around before the show and just sat in different pews while it was empty just to see the different vantage points, because I had never even been in the building before. I never wanted to go inside until it was my day. I’m happy, but I don’t know if we’ll ever play there again. I’d almost rather just leave it one-and-done, and let that be my memory of the place.

I know your grandfather taught you about music and he meant a lot to you. And I read that he was also a guy who liked a drink at the local honky-tonk, but eventually gave it up. Do you see yourself following in his footsteps?

I mean, I imagine I can’t go on drinking forever if I want to continue putting on decent shows and have at least somewhat decent health. I’m gonna have to stop this shit eventually, but it’s probably not happening any time soon. I’m enjoying the fact I can still drink a bit and keep it together, and I’ve been singing and playing guitar better because I’ve been drinking less, but there are few things that I enjoy more than a good glass of whiskey and hanging out with my buddies. It just turns some shit on in my brain that nothing else turns on.

Photo Credit: Michael Mesfoto

Bringing It All Back Home: A Conversation With Luke Winslow-King

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Luke Winslow-King has been drawn to the blues since he was a kid growing up in Cadillac, Michigan. At 14 years old, his namesake blues band was playing clubs and festivals around the Midwest. Whatever he lacked in life experience, he made up for it with prodigious guitar work and an easy stage presence. Yet any lingering innocence would have eventually fallen away following 15 years of living in New Orleans, spiked with a couple of international tours.

Now in his mid-30s, Winslow-King’s pedigree in the blues is far more defined after enduring a divorce, the loss of his father, a couple of friendships falling apart, and the deaths of more than a few musical influences. In other words, he’s no longer just a boy with the blues. In fact Blue Mesa is Winslow-King’s first new album since he moved back to Cadillac from New Orleans last year. Considering what he’s been though, his writing offers a streak of hard-won optimism in songs like “Better for Knowing You” and “After the Rain,” elevating Blue Mesa beyond just another breakup record.

At what point during the making of this record did you move back to Michigan?

It probably was right after we recorded it that I moved to Michigan. I went on tour for three months, so I didn’t live anywhere. Then I moved to Michigan after the tour. I was in transition at that time. I’ve spent the better part of 15 years in New Orleans. Some of that time was spent in New York or on the road, but I’ve been in New Orleans pretty solid since 2001 or 2002. I learned a lot; the city has been great to me. It’s been an incredible place to get my career started. I’ll enjoy going back there soon, but I’m just ready for something else right now.

Was there a moment where you said, “All right, I’m changing”?

Yeah. I went through a divorce there and did some editing as far as my friend group goes. Now I just want to be in a place with nature and family so I can focus on my career in a different way. When I’m home, I’m off. When I’m on the road, I’m on the road. In New Orleans, you come off the road and you’re in this music scene where you’re playing every night or every other night when you’re home. It’s nice, man. I’ve been enjoying fishing, and bowling, and canoeing, and cross country skiing. It feels real to be back home. I’m enjoying it.

Has that helped your creative mindset?

I think so. I’m feeling less pressured to write and do business and just being like, “You know what? This is my life.” I’m going to follow it through and do the best I can. If people like it, cool. If they don’t, then someone else will. just keeping at it and trying to keep it real rather than force anything. I think that’s how the record comes off a little too. I quit telling the band what to do and just let them do what they do best. If I didn’t like it I would tell them but usually I was just like, “Sure. Sounds great, let’s go for it.” I think there’s a certain breath of freedom in it.

You’ve got a lot of tasteful playing on this record. How did you learn the skill of not overplaying or just ripping through your songs?

Just listening, and years of playing, and learning how to speak through the guitar. The guitar doesn’t necessarily have to sound like a guitar. You can speak a language through it or sing through it. My guitarist Roberto Luti, who is not touring with us because he’s back in Italy, is my guitar maestro. He is our unicorn for gathering the spirit and learning how to be very tasteful and minimalist on a guitar. I’ve learned a lot watching him too.

How did the Italian recording sessions for this album come about?

Well, we were hitting the road pretty hard in Europe this summer for eight weeks or something like that. We had a five-day break in the middle of it and we were in Italy anyway. Roberto is from there, so he knew people who owned a really nice studio. It ended up being this cool getaway up in the mountains in Tuscany. We had the tunes ready enough. We had to rehearse a little to get ready for the session but the tunes were at that perfect point where they weren’t over-rehearsed.

We caught a really cool moment, which is really important in a session. We were comfortable with each other and the material. We all needed a break, but we were still excited about the music. Everyone was laid-back. This is the first album where I’ve kept all my live vocals. Usually I go back and do an overdub session, which a lot of people do, but it felt nice to be like, “This is natural and real.” All the takes on the solos and guitars are live. There are keyboard overdubs and edits here and there, but it’s mostly all live.

It makes sense to do it that way, rather than get it so perfect that it’s too polished.

There’s a sweet spot – you obviously have to know the songs well enough. I’m a huge Bob Dylan fan and listen to records like Desire. You can tell the rhythm section has maybe never heard the song before. It makes for an awesome recording. Everyone is on their toes.

You had a blues band when you were a teenager in Michigan, right?

Yeah. I grew up in northern Michigan and I started the Winslow-King Blues Band when I was 13. We played a few music festivals. My parents used to go see me play at bars on the weekend. I’ve come back to a sound that’s a lot more similar to what I was playing when I was 14 years old, which is like an electric trio with a Stratocaster playing blues. The difference is I’ve lived between then. I’ve explored folk music. I had classical string quartets on my first album. New Orleans jazz was mixed in there for a while. I tried jazz, a lot of different styles.

Now I’m playing original music that I can stand by. There’s a lot more diversity in it, of course, but it feels good to come full circle and be back to my roots. A lot of my friends back home were like, “When are you going to rock again? I remember when you were young you used to rock.” Even my dad was like, “I liked it when you rocked.” I’m back to that, so it feels good.

I wonder what that’s like for people who remember you as a teenager, and now you’re back home as an adult. They have to reevaluate you and you have to reevaluate them at this stage. Has that been the case for you?

Well, that’s what’s so great about going home and being back with your old family and friends. It’s a very understanding reevaluation. You are who you are. The friendships go beyond whatever music you’re playing or what notes you’re playing. I’m glad to be back home and have salt-of-the-earth friends. My best friend was a logger and now is a sand miner; my other best friend is a fishing guide and snow plow truck driver in the winter. It’s cool to have friends who are concerned with normal daily life. You can go fishing and hang out and not have everyone be into cool music everywhere you go.

This album has very cinematic moments too. A lot of it felt like it could be placed in movies on the closing credits. Are there soundtracks or composers that you consider primary influences?

Yeah. I’m a huge Ry Cooder fan. That’s one of his things that he’s been known for and made a career out of. I’m also a big fan of Neil Young’s soundtrack for the Dead Man movie. I’ve always really liked that and listen to that in the van sometimes. I went to school for classical music and I’ve always loved great classical music. I also love Clint Eastwood. I’ve been watching a lot of Clint Eastwood and Sergio Leone movies and hearing that stuff too. It’s not necessarily stylistically what I want to do but I love how evocative some of those sounds are and how much they bring the listener to the setting. It would be cool to be able to do that in my own way with my music.

Are there any filmmakers other than Clint Eastwood that have affected the way you see your art?

I’ve watched all five Rocky movies and all the Rambo movies this winter, I’m embarrassed to say.

No, don’t be embarrassed. Rocky won an Oscar.

Chris Davis, my drummer, is a huge, huge Rocky fan. We just went to Philly and ran the stairs while we were there. Honestly we’re in this Stallone phase. Roberto, our Italian guitarist, always says ‘Stallone-ay’ which we love. Honestly, Rocky is a really inspiring movie. I appreciate that Stallone did that movie on a shoestring budget and was inspired to make it himself. Right now Rocky has been what I’m all about. It’s that underdog mentality. Even though everyone makes fun of Stallone and it is so cheesy, and some of the acting is so terrible, there’s a really beautiful sentiment in that movie about going the distance.

 

Photos by Victor Alonso