Tag: Missouri

Willi Carlisle Is a Lyric Poet In the Most Classical Sense

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The first time I saw Willi Carlisle was in Buffalo, New York, in the tiny basement of an old protestant church that Ani DiFranco bought. There couldn’t have been more than thirty or so people there – a queer couple or two holding hands, a mom and a dad plus their kid, a cluster of 20-year-olds too hip for their own good. I see twenty or so shows a year – neighborhood guitar pulls, little club gigs, shows in big theaters, and every so often an arena. Willi was world class, one of the best I’ve seen. He told stories in between the songs, tracing an anti-Vietnam song well into the 17th century, or talking about Mexican ballads and the power of the concertina, or about how a hometown story is both archetypal and plain, universal and contained to a very specific time and place.

As the Buffalo concert suggested, Carlisle is at his best when limning complex networks of historical figures, news, what is called “traditional music,” contemporary poetics, and the natural world. He is a lyric poet, in the most classical sense.

This fact could be seen especially in a track from his new album Critterland, “Two-Headed Lamb.” It’s an adaptation of a Laura Gilpin poem, which Carlisle translates and extends. I’ve always thought that the poem was a bit too glib, a bit too self-assured of its own moral ending.

Carlisle talks about the whole cycle of growth, how it is not a singular freak birth in a generic field, but how the freakish quality of a two-headed calf and the weirdness of that birth functions within a cycle: The farmer who finds it, persimmons growing out of season, a coyote picking at the corpse of a ewe, even “robins singing in an old growth tree.” As a creator, the song becomes an act of interpretation – a poem becomes a song, a song not quite a cover, a critique of a poem that might not work, but the working of the poem depends on an audience.

When asked about the poem, Carlisle responds:

As I explored Gilpin’s poem with friends and strangers, it’s been no surprise that “Two-Headed Calf” seems well-known in both rural and trans communities and their significant cross-section. And why not? It’s a poem about a creature too beautiful for this world, [whose] magisterial dimorphism and tragic death conjures real-world magic. Someone born feeling as if they have no gender, two genders, the wrong gender, might feel this magic themselves. So would someone who’s pulled an ailing calf from the womb of their beloved milk cow with a rope or their bare hands.

That’s a generous reading, a reading done in community – one that expands what an audience could mean, one that is as cyclical and as wide as open as could be. It’s generous to Gilpin, as well.

This whole act of semi-translation also explains the concept of Critterland, which Carlisle describes in our wide ranging conversation as a place where “…we have to dismantle the house, make something different. I think what we inherit (our bodies, songs, tools, houses) makes us the living proof of the suffering of our forebears. We’ve got their noses, their colonial holdings, their drinking problems.”

In a culture, we take and hold onto what is useful for us and the results of that taking we try to build more carefully.

In the list of animals that Willi names in the title track – “Yeah, the sparrow on the wing taught mе to find you/ And the opossum knows his own mind more than I do” – there is hope in being able to craft houses and buildings like the scuttling of everyday creatures. If the possum and the sparrow can (and may I add, the racoon, the crow, the squirrel, every city or country creature) then we can, too. Which is why the best of Carlisle’s songs are ones which mention small spaces – a mother singing “In the Sweet By and By” in the kitchen, or the devastating song “The Arrangements,” with its complex, sometimes compassionate, sometimes ruthless processing of a father who drank too much and loved too little, or in “The Great Depression,” a verse that limns Carlisle’s ancestors:

From the needle-prickin’ mothers who were never taught to read
To the barefoot hungry soldiers that enlisted at 16
Oh in my dumb debasement, I still find great relief
That on the lam and on the dole they counted themselves free…

Those are local examples, small, and there is some argument within them. Like some great folk singers, Carlisle’s sense of local spaces, his skill at deep readings of landscape, is a primary example of his excellence. I think of him as an Arkansas singer, but he has to earn a living – part of that possum life. Carlisle travels constantly, touring half the year or more to make enough money to be somewhere he feels home.

He explains it thusly: “One of the hard facts about touring so hard is that I haven’t really lived in Arkansas for more than a few months a year in six or seven years now. Hell, currently I’m living in southwest Missouri, just over the border. I don’t feel excluded from my life back home, usually, when I’m on tour. “

It’s another network, a cycle of creation, and intimacy. In a song called “Higher Lonesome,” is there something monastic there? Setting up lonely feelings to a higher power? Is he quoting the 1950s Texas technicolor film? Is it a song about drinking?

It’s all of those things and none of those things. He mentions his community and where they are in the world:

…By the time the ride is over, I’m sure I’ll ask to ride again
See the snowfall in Wyoming, strung out on Johno’s coke
Keep a mailbox in Nebraska, so I know the Lord knows
She can write a letter once a year and say that we’re still close
I can put my cents on Benjamin hear the songs he wrote…

The privacy of this song marks the depth and complexity of another, the last work on the record “The Money Grows On Trees.” It’s a 10-minute recitation, a story told in intense, Appalachian Gothic detail, about corruption and a young drug dealer gone wrong.

If any texts could be considered lonely, even in the midst of Carlisle’s careful noting of connections, these are. For example, when in another song, he sings to a “Jaybird” – another of those scuttering creatures, that eats off what is left. He says to the jaybird, that “he’s doing just fine, his head is a wreck and his chest is on fire.” This line, with neither denial nor irony, is a kind of Beckettian notice about continuing on despite the ongoing, struggling moments.

The whole album speaks of a (dis)regulation of feelings, slipping into the natural ebbs and flows of the titular Critterland so the work can continue. In the album, and in his live shows, a cobbling together happens as a kind of hope, but a hard-won kind.

Or, to give Carlisle the last word:

I don’t believe in despair – it would make me hate things, and I cannot bear to do that. So, alas, that means the only other option is the hard one: hope. Here in the first world we have unimaginable resources and power, so much more than we need. We could, realistically, reduce climate change, enshrine human dignity, end global poverty, and celebrate untold freedoms in our lifetimes. Why wouldn’t we? I’m naive, surely. Maybe I’m an idiot, and maybe I’m just obsessed with getting “what’s mine.” Music is a business, after all.

The work is the thing – to pay the mortgage, to tell stories that need to be told, to adapt stories that have been forgotten, to cry or laugh, to mourn, to change people’s minds politically, to seduce or to be seduced.

Carlisle’s practice, in an aching two-step, does this with tradition. There’s a reason why he’s a square dance caller, and there’s a reason why, for him, the dance goes on.

Photo Credit: Jackie Clarkson

When You Listen the Land Speaks

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Editor’s Note: Sign up here to receive Good Country issues when they launch, direct to your email inbox via Substack.)

An often nameless, faceless character present in all country music is land. In a genre commonly referred to as country & western, land is a constant presence, whether foreground or background, evoked or painted, longed-for or spurned. Another nameless, faceless character that comes hand-in-hand with country and its relationship to land is colonialism – white supremacy, genocide, and imperialism advanced by music that claims to simply center nostalgia, rurality, and an “old fashioned” way of doing things.

This kind of revisionist history in country music – a sanitization of this nation’s past and present, in order to fit into widespread myths, around which this genre and our national identity is built – is no less pernicious simply because it is common and pervasive. It’s important to not only acknowledge country’s relationship with land, but to also attempt to deconstruct the ways that these roots genres perpetuate colonialist ideals and norms.

Can Good Country exist if it must deny the history of the land it professes to love? Can Good Country exist if it must deny that there would be no “country & western” without Indigenous people? These are questions that we feel are essential to ask, right out of the gate, even if their answers are not so simple. Good Country hopes to be a place that can represent all kinds of country music, but it cannot do that if we accept, uninterrogated and unexamined, that country’s relationship to the land must be good, moral, wholesome, and just.

At the heart of the second edition of Counterpublic – an artistic activation described on its website as “a civic exhibition that weaves contemporary art into the life of St. Louis for three months every three years…” – just south of downtown and the towering Gateway Arch, sits Sugarloaf Mound. From April to July 2023, Counterpublic included twenty-five public art installations at a variety of locations, including Sugarloaf Mound, a sacred site for the Osage People and the last intact mound in the city. In earlier eras, the area was home to many thousands of Indigenous people – and the largest city in what would become the United States, Cahokia.

Adjacent to Sugarloaf Mound was the first Counterpublic installation and site, a collaborative piece that wove together sculpture, land, and music by mother-and-son artistic duo, Anita and Nokosee Fields. Anita Fields (Osage/Muscogee) is a fine artist who works in many media, but especially clay and textiles. Nokosee Fields (Osage/Cherokee/Muscogee) is a critically-acclaimed and in-demand old-time fiddler, equally at home in country and Americana as in old-time and string band traditions, and with a great deal of expertise on Indigenous fiddlers and Indigenous fiddling.

Their piece, WayBack, which was curated by Risa Puleo, is synopsized as such:

“Created in collaboration with her son Nokosee Fields (Osage/Cherokee/Muscogee), Anita Fields’s (Osage/Muscogee) WayBack invites visitors to gather in physical relation to each other, to Sugarloaf Mound, and to Osage ancestors, history, and legacy. When the Osage Nation purchased part of Sugarloaf Mound in 2007, the sacred site was reabsorbed into the Nation through the auspices of property, extending Osage territory from the site of their displacement in Oklahoma back to their ancestral homeland. Atop this site, forty platforms are installed, modeled after those found at Osage events in Oklahoma. Each platform is embellished with ribbons that reference Osage cosmologies of balance between sky, water, and earth. Nokosee Fields’s composition for wind instruments invites further consideration of the earth from which the mound was constructed, the sky that unfolds above the platforms, the sound of the Mississippi River on the banks below the quarry and the wind that flows through the surrounding trees that transform first into breath. After the exhibition, the platforms will travel from St. Louis to Tulsa where they will be distributed to Osage community members completing the link between the current home of the Osage Nation and its ancestral homelands.”

“Middle Waters,” the labyrinthine composition by Nokosee that acted as soundtrack for the installation, its platforms, and the adjacent mound (listen via the Counterpublic site here), perfectly illustrates how adept country music – and its textures, styles, and traditions – can be at capturing the ineffable, spiritual qualities of land and our relationships with it. Fiddle, field recordings, wind instruments, voices, and more intermingle in a piece that feels as organic and grounded as Anita’s sculptures.

Now, after the installation’s closing, each of the forty platforms constructed by Anita and displayed at the Counterpublic site will be moved to what’s now called Oklahoma, to be distributed to members of the Osage community and to have a continued life, further illustrating how art, music, and land gain all of their meaning from the communities that interact with and rely on them.

On the occasion of Good Country’s inaugural issue, we spoke to Anita & Nokosee Fields about WayBack, “Middle Waters,” the Counterpublic exhibition, and how humans, land, music, and art intersect and combine.

Could you just take me into the inspiration and the conception of WayBack and how you started working together and collaborating on the piece, not only with each other, but also with the land and with the site? Um, maybe Anita, do you want to start?

Anita Fields: Sure. Over two years ago now I was contacted by Risa Puelo, who was one of the curators chosen for the Counterpublic triennial in St. Louis. [Risa] asked if I would like to join and explained their purpose, what they were doing, and what their groundwork was for the triennial. She said, “I know your whole family are artists, so if you would like to invite somebody from your family to participate with you, that would be absolutely fine.”

But let’s begin with what their goal was, and that was to talk about the difficult histories of a place. St. Louis is certainly one of those. The reason that I was asked to join was that, for the Osage People, St. Louis, Missouri – and even further than that – is our ancestral homeland. It’s a large area, including St. Louis, Missouri, Arkansas, and even further than that in the beginning, migration from almost the East Coast to the Ohio Valley, to where our written and documented history begins in Missouri. So that was our homeland and there are documented villages there, still, and lots of history there, because after Lewis and Clark’s expedition we held the trade there. After Lewis and Clark, we started interacting real heavily and marrying with the French, partially because the French were trying to hold onto political power through the fur trade.

That is our history there [in St. Louis]. And then of course came displacement. A series of treaties started moving us out of that area, ‘til we came into Kansas. We had a reservation there and then we sold that reservation and with that money we bought what is our reservation today from the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma. That’s it in a nutshell, and of course it’s way more complicated than that.

Nokosee and I don’t live in close proximity to one another, so I was like, “Oh my gosh, is this going to be able to work over the phone and Zoom? That’s going to be kind of difficult!” Then an opportunity arrived for me to go to Bogliasco, Italy for a month-long residency. I asked if I could bring a collaborator, and that’s where we landed for a month – on the Mediterranean, in this beautiful, beautiful, beautiful place, on the coast of Italy, not very far from Genoa. We schemed and dreamed and planned. And it was very difficult trying to arrive at a place where we were both happy.

Nokosee, I wonder how, as a songwriter and composer, you began approaching this? How did you take your musical vision and dovetail it with the physical vision, with the sculpture, and with the place? What was the process like as you sat down in Italy to start creating together?

Nokosee Fields: When we were both in Italy, I had a little field recording kit that I had been using. I would just roam around the grounds recording things. There’s the ocean right there, there are all these really intense waves happening, a lot of sounds to be had. There was also a poet, Robin Robertson, who was a fellow there at the foundation and I asked if he wanted to do any collaborating, because we had a lot of time there – it was a testament to the importance of having space and time to have creative thoughts. Which, I feel it’s really rare. For a lot of artists, you have to hustle a lot. We were there for one month, I was getting very regular sleep, I was eating three nourishing meals a day, and getting some exercise. And again, it’s also in this beautiful location, and we were surrounded by really smart artists. It was just a very stimulating, nourishing, and calm environment. I was able to actually have some visions and clarity. And I was able to indulge a lot of things – where, you know, most of the time I’m just barely piecing things together to make money or to pay rent.

It began with [Robertson] reciting a poem, then I started layering him reciting this poem with the waves and different sounds from around the grounds, manipulating them. I like the idea of using really intricate, small, detailed, fine sounds – using a really sensitive mic – and then turning that into something else. Or, pitching it, layering it on top of people’s voices or singing, or maybe something a little more recognizable.

For me, the space and time to have all of that creative flow happening – it took what felt like a month of just space to finally get somewhere with something. It was eye opening, a testament to needing space and time, because we kinda flip-flopped back and forth on what we were gonna do. I wouldn’t say we were struggling, it was just that we were in this new place and jet lagged. Our project was not hands-on, because it was just all conceptual, so it was a little difficult to land on something.

I do want to talk about the site, because – obviously I’ve only seen the photos – there’s an interesting juxtaposition of this kind of dreamlike soundscape for the piece with “Middle Waters” and then the site itself feeling somewhat shoehorned into modernity. You have the river there you have the highway here and of course there’s a billboard incorporated into the piece, as well. Anita, can you talk about how you wanted to play around with that juxtaposition with this sacred site that now is somewhat entrapped by modernity and by settler culture?

AF: There’s always a backstory surrounding my work, and how I came to be. I was born on the reservation and spent a lot of time with my grandmother, who was full blood, and I’ve chosen to be very close to my culture, even as an adult. As much as I could, I did what my grandmother did for me for my children, to make sure they have a place there, [in my culture]. In my own work, as I became older and older, I would be inspired by things that come from our worldview, which is a very complex worldview, but it’s very beautiful.

We still have those values. As a modern person, those values are still in place – you know, where I’m from. You can witness them in how we interact with one another, a lot of times. I think that is a very beautiful thing to know that what my ancestors left for us you can still recognize. A lot of my work surrounds that kind of thought, that there is another way of looking at the world that is not just a tunnel vision of, “We’re all like this and we’re going to go to the mall forever.”

And that’s our worldview; it’s way deeper than that. Through art, that’s a beautiful place to be able to tap into those kinds of thoughts and values. So I wanted, because that is our original homeland and that is such an important site, I wanted to be able to bring in this sense that we’re reclaiming that space again, marking it as ours, and [saying] this is who we are. I want people to know this is who we are.

Those wooden platforms are actually found throughout [our culture]. I’ll describe it to you this way, because this is the way I write about it: They have been around for a very long time. My earliest memories of them are when I was a young person, a young girl going around with my grandmother, and I would see them outside of large Osage homes or outside of our dances.
At camps, people have family camps, and these platforms would be there and you’d see older people putting their blanket down and sitting on it and then maybe somebody giving them a glass of lemonade or a Coke. And then they’d light up a cigarette and they’d be just visiting and laughing away with a relative or a friend.

And it always looked very calming and peaceful to me. Those are the kind of memories too that I often tap into. But it’s also much deeper than that. What I was seeing there was, yes peaceful and calming, that was happening, but I was also witnessing survivors who had gone through a lot just for us to be able to be here. There are always these links.

What better place to be able to bring those [platforms], because that is the place that we had to survive from, to move from St. Louis. I’m always interested in giving people a glimpse into who we are. It’s not my job to talk about ceremony or rituals or any of that kind of thing. But I want people, again, with that thought in mind, I want people to know who we are and that there’s a different way of looking at the world and it comes from very complex, intelligent thinking and is based on observing nature and the cosmos. These values and these systems are still here for us today.

With the platforms, we started by going to Google Maps, downloading maps and images, and the site was kind of big, so it wasn’t working with one platform. And we just kept going, “Guys, that platform is gonna drown in that big space!” It’s beautiful to be able to work with a great curator because between our conversations with all of us we decided, if the money can be found, maybe we can have more – it began there. That is how those arrived and then we topped them with designs that are familiar to us as Osage People. We painted those on there, designs that are used in our ribbon work clothing – which comes directly out of our interaction with the French, when we started trading for ribbons and needles and threads and thimbles and that kind of thing. This kind of interaction with the French and our time there totally changed our culture forever.

…You know, with working with clay as long as I have, one of the things I feel very deeply about is that the earth holds memory. That has been revealed to me, just because of how clay is made over time. I’m certain it holds the memories of who was there, wherever in the world.

I mean, in Italy, a couple of times when we would travel to these places and then we would read about the history, I felt that there, too. No matter where you’re at there are always the similarities to what has happened in history – “the conqueror” and “the conquered” – these stories are all threaded together and similar. I couldn’t see WayBack without sound in any way, shape, or form. It just wouldn’t have the punch that I was looking for.

I did want to ask, where are we at in the lifespan of the piece? I know that the plan is to distribute the platforms to Osage community members back around Tulsa. I just wonder where you’re at in that process?

AF: Yes, it was temporary and as soon as Counterpublic closed, I think it was within two weeks, they were picked up and shipped back to Tulsa to the [Tulsa Arts] Fellowship. The Fellowship is storing them for me. Then I got a call from the First Americans Museum in Oklahoma City, which is I think in its second year. They have a beautiful courtyard plaza and they have built a mound-like area where you can witness the solstices. The curator was at the Counterpublic closing and she said, “I want to bring these to First Americans Museum, what’s the plan for these as soon as this is over?” Well they took half of them and then half of them stayed here, displayed at a place called Guthrie Green in Tulsa for about a week. Yesterday, the ones from First Americans Art Museum were delivered to the Osage Nation. I want to distribute them to the Osage community. In my mind I’m like, “What am I going to do with 40 platforms when they return? What’s going to happen with these and who owns them?” And actually that was [curator Risa Puleo’s] suggestion: Is there any way these could be returned to the Osage community?

People are excited about it, those that know about it. Not a whole lot of people know. I’m trying to keep it [quiet] ‘til I get it all figured out, but they’re excited about it. I’m excited about it, too, because that is another way to make art accessible. To bring it back to where you come from. Because those folks are totally my inspiration, and I say this at every turn, whenever I have the opportunity. You’re my inspiration. Your grandmother, my grandmother, every interaction I’ve seen throughout my life. This is my inspiration.

Nokosee, I wonder, do you see a similar way of bringing “Middle Waters” to the people? Do you see a lifespan for that piece beyond this installation? Or do you think it’s a moment in time and it’s onto the next work?

NF: Yeah, I think it’s just a moment in time. I might edit it, but I’m pretty pleased with it. If anything, it’s more of a reason to want to do more sound installations, sound art kind of things. I’ve been wanting to transition to that kind of work. As much as I’ve enjoyed touring – and I’ll probably do it for as long as I can – I find it to be pretty taxing. It’s tons of fun, but I think I need something that’s a little more cerebral, a little more isolated, a little more supported, and also a place for my voice and creativity. I feel like I’m kind of waking up from an obsession where I just got into traditional American music, traditional fiddle. Now that I’m steeped in that world and I feel like I’m really a part of it, I also feel like there’s a lot of it I just don’t really care for.

This sounds really uppity, but making traditional fiddle music feels kind of separate from [country], it’s just melody. I like the foundational aspects of music and the research and tone, things like that. And I like it because it’s not really tied to lyrics, it’s not putting on a type of personality, like lyrical content [does].

That, to me, is often just perpetuating settler mythology about old-time music. There are a lot of things that could be said about old-time music that are also problematic. Instrumental music is where I really jive and get into stuff, but I’ve also had to constantly interface and participate in lots of country music or lyrical music that has content that, to me, just feels like propaganda with really rudimentary, basic understandings of the land.

It feels like a type of erasure. It’s just kind of designed that way – maybe not maliciously – but it’s just so deeply woven into how things work in this country. …I find a lot of country music today, a lot of the younger, popular stuff, it feels like it’s about convincing white people that they’re white or something. There’s this pseudo-woke take on country music, which I think is fine, it’s just not radical enough for me or something. It’s like it’s just enough for people to kind of maybe get their outlaw fix.

It still doesn’t work for me and I still find it very rudimentary and actually not very confrontational or very deep, as far as what’s actually going on in the world or on this continent.

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Lead Image: Anita & Nokosee Fields via Counterpublic.
Image of Anita Fields: Courtesy of the Artist.

Headline text from Anna Tsouhlarakis, “The Native Guide Project: STL.” Billboard and digital signage. Curator: New Red Order. Counterpublic 2023, Sugarloaf Mound Site.

LISTEN: The HillBenders, “Take On The World (Give ‘Em Hell!)”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: The HillBenders
Hometown: Springfield, Missouri
Song: “Take On The World (Give ‘Em Hell!)”
Release Date: September 29, 2023

In Their Words: “‘Take On The World (Give ‘Em Hell!)’ embodies the age-old tale of a directionless, troubled soul. We’ve all been there in one way or another. Maybe doing things you ought not be doing just for the excitement of doing it. But then comes along someone that shows you how much more there is to life. It’s almost like you’ve turned into a completely different person after falling in love with them. Like you’re under some sort of spell of theirs. And all of a sudden, all that trouble doesn’t seem as fun anymore. How long it lasts is maybe for another song.” – Mark Cassidy, banjo

“The tune was recorded at Red Rock Studios in Saylorsburg, Pennsylvania, while having a rare day off on tour. Primarily used to record jazz music, the studio had a beautifully organic design nestled in the quiet rural countryside. We asked Jeremey Garrett (of the Infamous Stringdusters) if he would lay some fiddle down on the song and he cut some buttery tracks at his studio, including a twin fiddle part that made the final mix. Jeremy is a great cat and his involvement really elevated the song as a whole. Since adding our new drummer, John Anderson, we have explored all sorts of new musical possibilities — but it was nice to return to our bluegrass roots on this number.” – Jim Rea, guitar

Photo Credit: Robert Crook

LISTEN: Kenny Foster, “Said to Somebody”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Kenny Foster
Hometown: Joplin, Missouri
Song: “Said to Somebody”
Album: Somewhere in Middle America
Release Date: October 21, 2022

In Their Words: “The first time I played this tune at The Listening Room, someone came up afterwards and said: ‘That song ‘Said to Somebody’… hope you’re ready to sing that one every night for the rest of your life.’ As a songwriter, that was about the highest compliment I’d ever received. I’m a huge fan of stark, unabashed honesty, and find that at the core of most of our human turmoil is someone not saying what they really mean. Falsity, or even silence, is a poor foundation to build relationships, communities, and ideas on, and I kinda just wanted to encourage people (myself included) to say the thing, do the thing and be the type of person who takes a chance at being kind or vulnerable for the betterment of themselves and others. This song encapsulates a lot of those human moments where we knew what we wanted to say or what we should have said, and chose something else instead. We gotta stop this shit. Life’s too short. Say what you mean. And if you change your mind later, or find out you were wrong, you better say that, too. It’s okay to learn and change, and grow. We need to find a way to normalize repentance. It’s human. It’s important.” — Kenny Foster

Kenny Foster | Somewhere in Middle America · Said to Somebody

Photo Credit: RORSHAK

LISTEN: Cedar Hill, “Smilin'”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Cedar Hill
Hometown: Dexter, Missouri
Song: “Smilin’”
Album: New Chapter
Release Date: February 8, 2022
Label: Mountain Fever Records

In Their Words: “The first time I heard ‘Smilin’,’ I knew I wanted to record it. In fact, I thought it needed to be recorded because the message needed to be heard. Songs, especially in the bluegrass genre, quite often carry life lessons and or meaningful messages. Often a simple sincere gesture can be more effective than many words to change a person’s outlook or perspective. I can think of no better time to put the message this song delivers into practice. There are many times when a sincere smile is just what the doctor ordered. Or as the song says, just what the ‘Preacher’ ordered.” — Frank Ray, Cedar Hill

Mountain Fever Music Group · Smilin’

Photo Credit: Kady Carter

WATCH: Tristan Scroggins, “Seneca Square Dance”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Tristan Scroggins
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Seneca Square Dance”
Album: One-Ring Circus
Release Date: October 15, 2021

In Their Words: “The Seneca are a group of Indigenous Iroquoian-speaking people who historically lived south of Lake Ontario. Many were moved to Oklahoma after the War of 1812 which might explain why this tune has been traced to the Southwestern Missouri/Oklahoma area. I learned this tune from Molly Tuttle and we would play it together a lot. Its simple melody makes it easy to experiment with different harmonies and picking techniques. I had already experimented with a solo arrangement of this tune for mandolin, but when I started playing tenor banjo I was really excited about the possibilities that the extra sustain of the banjo presented. This particular arrangement utilizes crosspicking techniques to present melody and rhythm at the same time similar to three-finger banjo playing.” — Tristan Scroggins

Photo credit: Natia Cinco

BGS 5+5: River Kittens

Posted on by Editor

Artist: River Kittens (Mattie Schell and Allie Vogler)
Hometown: St. Louis, Missouri
Newest Album: Soaking Wet

What’s your favorite memory of being on stage?

Well, I have been performing since I was a kid… and there have certainly been some amazing highlights I’ll never forget as an adult (playing Allman Family Revival at the Beacon Theater for one!), but I think the most special for me was a community theater production of The Music Man when I was probably 11 years old. I played Winthrop (a boy part of course… the bowl cut helped), my mom played Mrs. Paroo, my dad played Marcellus Washburn, even my sister and Aunt Janet were in the show. I look back in those memories and think, “Wow, our family was like half of that musical! How cool!” It was a cool thing to share as a family and really made me fall in love with musical theater, which really shaped so much about the kind of performer I have become. Long live Broadway! 😂 — Mattie

One time we were playing this four-hour gig and we were just kinda getting through our songs. It was hot and we felt like we were background music. I was definitely in an auto pilot state. But this lady in the audience starts laughing. She’s laughing at one of our funnier songs, “Dressing on the Side.” It was her first time hearing it and she was cracking up to our lyrics, while I was just deadpan playing the song trying to get through it. Her hilarious reaction quickly brought me back to reality and had me laughing real hard during the rest of the song, and show. Just by laughing she was able to pull me out of a funk and my song probably pulled her out of one too. It was a really genuine, hilarious moment and a good reminder to enjoy playing my songs that I’ve played a thousand times for the people who haven’t heard them before.

Also gotta mention the time I put a praying mantis on my microphone (Missouri outdoor gig) and I went to sing in it and he charged at my face and tried to get me. That was hilarious. — Allie

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

There is nothing better than playing music outdoors. It just feels right. I think I come from a long line of porch-sitting musicians. I know my great-grandfather used to play and dance on the front porch with my grandma and her nine siblings. I have a huge family and we have a gathering called June Jam every year on some farmland in Illinois. Friends and family come from all over and we camp out and potluck and jam into the wee hours of the morning. It’s my favorite time of year. I bought a kayak a few years ago and paddle the Mississippi River quite often. The Mississippi has influenced a lot of my songwriting. I’ve lost friends to that river, I’ve had some of the most memorable family moments on that river, I’ve had countless jams along that river, but it never ceases to fill me with wonder and awe to be out there in the middle of it. It’s incredibly inspiring. — Mattie

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

This is a hard one, but I’ll have to say Paul McCartney. His melodies have been ingrained in my head since childhood. I’m a huge fan of all of his projects and his personality in general. He is such a prolific musician and everything he writes makes me really feel something. RAM is definitely a favorite album. And he just seems so fun loving from all the interviews I’ve seen on the internet. — Allie

Well, although this is a question I get often, it’s always a tough one to answer. It honestly depends on what year it was. Haha But for the sake of brevity, I’ll say The Band. I really dove into their catalog in my early 20s and haven’t seen music the same since. My Uncle Wayne (another huge influence who happened to give me my first mandolin) lent me a copy of Levon’s book This Wheel’s on Fire and it resonated with me and really inspired me. The Band was a group that had some serious talent and killer songwriting that just grabs you, but they never took themselves too seriously. That mentality is always a goal of mine because music should always be fun, especially when it’s good. — Mattie

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

I’m working on something for my grandmother, and I have been for a while. She always wanted me to sing, and I want to write the perfect song for her. I do know that when the words come, they’ll pour. There’s a lot of imaginary walls in songwriting, for me anyway. I gotta either climb them or let them fall down, and honestly the lyrics are better when the walls fall down. They’re more like floodgates. — Allie

I wrote a tune based off of a local legend in the area I’m from on the Mississippi River. There is an old house in Alton, Illinois, that was part of the Underground Railroad and it has a massive widow’s peak. There’s a story of the wife of a river boat captain who watched him sail off and when he never returned, she waited for him in that widow’s peak until the day she died. It took me ten years to write that song, because I wanted it to be a little haunting and do the story justice. But then I thought, “What the hell was she waiting for?” So I changed the story up a bit. I wanted better for this woman, I didn’t want her to wait around, I wanted her to take action. I gave her a much happier, purposeful ending and that’s when I was able to finish writing. — Mattie

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

I’ll go get some street tacos and a beer with just about anybody but if I get to choose, I’m takin’ Randy Newman out for crawfish, oysters, and Sandinistas. Then we’re hitting the piano bars. — Allie

Photo courtesy of Big Hassle

BGS 5+5: Riley Downing

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Artist: Riley Downing
Hometown: Kansas City, MO
Latest album: Start It Over

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

It is hard to pick just one artist that has influenced me the most. I am a fan of all kinds of music and genres as well as underdog musicians, current and long since lost in time. It might sound cliché, but if I had to pick one who influenced me the most it’s gonna be Woody Guthrie. If it weren’t for finding Woody Guthrie in high school, I never would have started to appreciate folk, blues, and roots music that made me think the same way that punk rock did at the time. I also never would have ventured out to Okemah, Oklahoma for the Woody Guthrie Folk Festival when I was 18 and met the guys that eventually would form the Deslondes. Woody is an American hero who tried to save the world with a song that gave people hope, morals, an education, a good laugh, and thoughts to chew on to get them through lean times. Woody, as simple as some of his music seems, was much, much more than just a musician. I never stop finding more and more meaning and inspiration from his life’s work. I always loved his copyright law, too. He basically said, warning, if you sing these songs you might just be a friend of mine, which I do and I am.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

I have a lot of good memories of being on stage, whether late at night in a small club or a backyard or opening up for and getting to hear some of my favorite musicians every night. But I will never forget the first time we got to play the New Orleans Jazz Festival. That was kind of an epitome of all the hard work and hard traveling the band had done in the previous years all leading up to that one moment. It felt good to be accepted and supported by the New Orleans music community all those years and finally playing the biggest show you can really get down there. It was a surreal honor and never stopped being or feeling like it.

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

The first moment I knew I wanted to be a musician was probably when I learned how to finally tune the guitar. Ha ha. I got my first electric when I was 13 and would just smash my fingers all over the strings and thought to myself, this almost sounds like I’m shredding. I thought all strings must have different sounds and tried out different kinds until my cousin finally showed me how to tune the guitar. Then came the power chords and once I was able to put a few together, I knew I needed to write words over them and attempt to sing them even though I didn’t know how to do that either. I did it anyway. Then came the buddies who also wanted to play music as well as different instruments and the realization that this is what we really love to do. I have been hooked ever since and honestly the process of doing that and the joy I get from it hasn’t changed much.

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

The elements of nature that I spend the most time in that affect my work are in the rolling hills of Missouri. I love small town life, sitting in the sun fishing all day, or on a back deck BBQing and taking my time driving slow through the backroads that I don’t have to look up GPS, or listening to music or just making up songs and singing a line over and over until I have to stop and write it down. It is true, there is no place like home. I traveled all over the US and world, wide-eyed and wondering where I should end up, but Missouri is home and I always feel a great weight lifted off my shoulders when I’m there. Even when I’m not there I can always write a song that takes me back. I am sad I missed morel mushroom season this year though, but hopefully that means there will be more to find next year.

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

Food and music do go hand and hand. If I had to make a pairing it would be a small BBQ festival that all my friends bands could come play at and ‘lightheartedly’ compete for who does it right. My Alabama buddies will tell you it’s all about the white sauce and my North Carolina friends will argue that it’s all about the hot pepper vinegar or Carolina Gold sauce. I grew up with a BBQ squirt bottle in my hand and it’s one of my favorite pastimes and meals. Whenever people ask me where to get the best BBQ in Kansas City I have a hard time answering that question because the answer is at my house. I’m not sure who invented the red sauce but I first had it in South Carolina and pick it up any chance I get. I am loyal to KC, but South Carolina definitely gives us a run for our money. KC is spoiled though with wide variety of BBQ sauces and seasoning selections at grocery/hardware stores. I have almost successfully left or sent a bottle of Head Country, an affordable Oklahoma dry rub, to all of my friends’ houses all over the US so when I visit it’s always within reach.

Photo credit: Joshua Black Wilkins

WATCH: Nate Fredrick, “Paducah”

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Artist: Nate Fredrick
Hometown: Springfield, Missouri
Song: “Paducah”
Album: Different Shade of Blue
Release Date: February 26, 2021
Label: Wanda Recordings/Queue Records

In Their Words: “Since moving to Nashville in 2015, Paducah, Kentucky, has been a point of reference on trips home to Springfield, Missouri. I knew if I could make it to Paducah, I was going to make it home. At times I wasn’t sure where home was for me and had an odd feeling of leaving home from both directions. It felt like a highway purgatory and I began to question where home really was.” — Nate Fredrick

Photo credit: Brooke Stevens

LISTEN: Ian Fisher, “Winterwind”

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Artist: Ian Fisher
Hometown: Ste. Genevieve, Missouri
Song: “Winterwind”
Album: American Standards
Release Date: February 19, 2021

In Their Words: “My hometown of Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, is a four-and-a-half hour drive from Nashville. My pilgrimages there were always made more romantic by snaking alone in a car down the country roads along the Mississippi. A winter or two ago, I had the radio off listening to the wind rush around with my left hand hanging out of my open window like a wing and this song came to me. I fumbled between the seats and found a broken pen and a crumbled gas receipt. I pressed both firm to my steering wheel and wrote the bulk of this song at 55 mph nearing Paducah.” — Ian Fisher

Photo credit: Andreas Jakwerth