Caroline Spence in Conversation With Lori McKenna

Caroline Spence and Lori McKenna are both lauded for writing songs that cut straight to the heart. In conversation, it’s clear they also share admiration and a generosity of spirit, offering insight into how a life built around family can both coexist with and deepen a life in music. The two met with BGS via Zoom to discuss Spence’s new record, Heart Go Wild, produced by Peter Groenwald, Mark Campbell, and Spence herself.

As Spence charts her first year of motherhood, McKenna reflects on building a catalog of piercingly honest songs while raising five children of her own. Together, they explore the mysteries of publishing, the influence of mentors like Mary Gauthier, and the butterfly effect of one songwriter’s choices on another’s path.

Their exchange drifts from songwriting craft to the role of co-writers in self-discovery into the bigger questions of life: how family and creativity intertwine, how community ripples outward, and how songs become offerings that carry meaning long after they leave the writer’s hands.

What emerges is a portrait of two artists at different points along similar paths, each proving that family life and creative life are not competing forces, but intertwined sources of inspiration and strength.

I know you two have a lot to talk about, but I’d love to start, if we can, with how you know each other? Did you know of each other musically first, and then how did you come to know each other personally?

Lori McKenna: I think the first time we met might have been at breakfast that time?

Caroline Spence: Right. I think that was another Bluegrass Situation connection. I think that was the first time I met you.

I had a good friend from summer camp and we would often trade mixes. She put one of your songs on a CD for me. I had already found Patty Griffin and was having my singer-songwriter love affair. That led me to The Kitchen Tapes, which led me to everything else. And I distinctly remember when Faith Hill cut “Stealing Kisses” and I thought, “Wait, that’s how that works?” I didn’t know what publishing was. I didn’t know how music worked in that way and that became a new little baby dream of mine that I carried with me: to write a song that was good enough that maybe somebody else would want to sing it. I feel like I would not be aware of the job that I have had I not found you, Lori.

LM: That is really cool. I remember not knowing anything about publishing, how it works and all that stuff, too. And I still feel like I know just a tiny bit more.

CS: I know, totally. It’s still a mystery.

LM: We were at a wedding over the weekend and my son Chris, who’s a writer in town, has his first single that he co-wrote that’s going to radio. So we were singing songs and at the end of the night, my brother was like, “Chris sold the song!” I’m like, “It’s not called selling the song.” He’s like, “Well, how does it work?” Nobody knows.

CS: Yeah, nobody knows. They just stream it now into the abyss.

LM: The only reason I knew anything was because of Mary Gauthier. I did know people who had moved to Nashville before Mary, but because I’m in the Boston area, they came back saying, “Yep, it’s very different.” It is very different in Nashville. I didn’t know anyone who had stayed before Mary, you know? I love being inspired by other people. I love it that that’s how life works, that you see someone else do something, and you’re like, “Wait! I can do that! At least I can try!”

CS: I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, the butterfly effect, and how that happens within our community. Like, if Mary hadn’t done this, then this wouldn’t have happened for you, and if you hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t have known about this, and I’ve been thinking about that as I’ve been in this creative community for a decade now. There’s so much stuff that you never know your little ripple is doing.

LM: The ripple is such a good word. It’s such a ripple, isn’t it? It’s crazy. We’re really lucky. I know you just had a baby, but the number of people that come up to me and ask, “How did you do this with kids?” Nobody told me that I couldn’t. I know stories of other artists that someone’s told, “You can’t do this and have a family at the same time.” I’ve heard those stories, but nobody ever told me that.

It didn’t seem impossible at the time. But now my son Chris has a baby. I look at them and I’m like, “Wait, how does anybody do that ever? How does anybody have a baby?”

CS: Man, some days it really feels that way. Most days it feels that way. No one ever said that to me either, but those are absolutely the cultural messages you absorb. There are certain gigs I might not get because of my familial obligations, but you just make your choices. And I’m not building my life around what I “might get.” I want to build my life around what I know I want to have. I just feel like all of that is gonna feed your person. You can’t starve yourself of these big, beautiful growth opportunities for some sort of potential. My life is bigger than my career, and I would like it to be as big as possible.

LM: And it’s crazy, right?

CS: Yeah, it’s nuts. Absolutely nuts. The fact that I got a shower this morning is a big win.

LM: Well, that and the fact you’re putting a record out!

CS: Yeah, yeah, and the record!

LM: You did good.

CS: It’s a little bit cuckoo, but it’s been done for a while. A lot of the heavy lifting was done even before I was pregnant, so that was an accidentally smart idea and we’ve just had to be strategic about everything else. I feel like there’ll be a lot of people who assume this is a record about marriage and family, which it’s not. I’m sure I will have that, but this feels like a record that’s more about the chaos before I decided I could do all that.

LM: From the minute I knew who you were, I’ve always loved the way that you express your feelings in such a way that makes other people be like, “Oh! I’ve felt like that! This song makes me realize that I’m not alone in feeling that.”

There’s something in the way that you write that is like arms are reaching out, but they’re also like, “I know you feel this way, too and it’s okay that we all feel this way.” I feel like that’s why music exists. For someone pulling over their car and being like, “Oh my god, okay, I’m not gonna die today because I just heard the song!” It is the biggest reason, the service of songwriting, as Mary Gauthier says. You don’t do it consciously, but it just is your way of doing it. It just seems so innate in the way you write.

CS: That’s so kind and means a lot to me, because that’s really how I feel about it. It’s been a progression. I started writing because I needed to get these hard things out when I was a younger person and as I started putting those out there, I would have conversations where someone would say, “I feel that way, too.” That kind of cemented in me to keep writing from that place, because that’s what music did, and still does for me.

What is personal is universal. I feel like someone smart said that before I did, but it’s so true. And Mary’s perspective of songs as a service resonates so deeply with me. There’s a quote I read when I was doing The Artist Way a few years ago that says, “The artist has to be humble, for he is essentially a channel.” To let the divine in, whatever it is, to flow through you, you have to get small and get in your humanity.

And when I’m feeling really in my head and when I don’t want to perform or I’m feeling self-critical, I think about what I’m doing as an offering, and it makes me feel better and more inside what I’m trying to do.

LM: I love the offering.

CS: People want to feel understood. As a listener, you want to find your soundtrack for your hard time or your good time.

LM: Well, congratulations on doing all this, because the record’s beautiful, as usual. You co-produced this whole thing, right? Did you always co-produce? Because this record seems, and I hate to use the word “rockier,” but it feels like it moves a little bit more. Was that intentional?

CS: I think a lot of that might sort of be a songwriting change for me. I feel like I’ve gotten better at translating what I’m hearing into the actual thing, so I think that’s a skill I’ve slowly developed from my slow folk songs for years.

LM: The transition is so beautiful. With the song “Soft Animal,” if I wrote that song, it would be just the slowest. It wouldn’t move the way [it does].

CS: It totally started on the page, too. It was very much like a poem. Sometimes I sit down to a piece of writing, if I’m going through my ideas, and if something’s sort of dead on the page, I’ll just start playing. That one was one where it sort of just came out that way. The clash of “Soft Animal” to something that felt really thrashy, the irony of that felt celebratory to me, and it was fun. That’s one of my favorites production-wise on the record.

LM: Oh, that’s great. When I work with a producer, you can tell. You can listen to the record and know that this is definitely different. But there’s been this really consistent line with you the whole time, which is kind of remarkable when you think about how much you’ve changed in life and as a person over the years. There’s this vibe that really just comes through where you can tell that you are a big piece of the production of everything.

CS: Thank you for saying that. That was actually a dealbreaker thing for me for this record, that I would only work with people who would give me a production credit, because I felt like over the years – and not to discredit the people who are credited as producers on my albums – but because of who they are as producers, it was collaborative, and there were times when I was making sure that my vision got to the finish line in spite of their initial instincts. I didn’t know it mattered to me until maybe I’d read some press that would bring that person’s name into it and it made me feel a certain way.

Producers are important because I think it’s really helpful to get outside of yourself and your own instincts, and to be challenged. But sometimes what’s helpful is to be challenged, and then you know exactly how firmly you feel about something.

For this record, I really wanted to know that it was collaborative from the jump. That felt incredible, and I worked with two people who had the best energy and a healthy sense of ego, and it was just really fun.

LM: That’s awesome. You come through. I’m exactly the opposite, because I can’t stand being in the studio.

CS: I understand that as well.

LM: I don’t know how you do it, because I literally only hear the song and what it sounds like when I sit at my kitchen table and sing it. People kept telling me over the years that I’d start to hear parts. So I am a person who needs producers… I’m just like, “Here are the songs.”

CS: Yeah, I’ve done that so many times, I’ve given a pile of songs and been like, “I don’t know what I made. What’s speaking to you?”

LM: Well, this morning I was listening to the album again, and I thought, “Oh, she’s gonna produce other people’s records someday.”

CS: That’s very kind and, honestly, a thought I hadn’t really had for myself, but I really did enjoy it. I think if I ever do that, it’s gonna be because of the experience I just had with these people that built up my confidence in that space. It was a lot of fun.

LM: You have this beautiful voice. I have an unpretty voice and you have a very pretty voice that you know how to use really well. You can say the hard things with that beautifully well-orchestrated production and then your beautiful voice, and it still makes you feel all the feels, versus I always feel like no matter what I sing, it’s gonna sound sad.

CS: I feel like a lot of the time I try to be like, “I’m not so sweet,” and grit up the production or avoid certain songs. I was self-conscious about it, which I think may be some internalized misogyny, because I have such a high female voice.

Speaking of songs being of service, babies and children come out singing, you know? It’s such a natural thing to do. We’re meant to do it. It’s joyous; it’s a release. And knowing the way it feels in my body to perform or really sing has changed the way I perceive my own voice.

LM: It is the first thing anybody knows how to do.

CS: Your voice has this wisdom to it. It kind of doesn’t matter what you’re singing; it sounds like you believe what you’re saying and you trust what you’re saying. You have this earnestness to your voice. If you were singing “Red Solo Cup” I’d be like, “That song means a lot to me.”

LM: I actually was at a round at the Bluebird [Cafe] with the Warren Brothers a couple of weeks ago, and they sang “Red Solo Cup.” I am so jealous of songs like that, because I could never write them.

In terms of writing for you, how have things changed since the baby?

CS: I haven’t had the same amount of headspace. My publisher held a sync camp and my mom came to town to help. I wrote for days straight and that felt really good to get back at it. As far as writing by myself, that’s just now kind of coming back.

LM: Is your son enjoying you playing the guitar?

CS: It’s a pacifying thing. I could put him in his playpen if I want to and mess around on guitar, and he’s super happy to listen. The other day, I was practicing for this Springsteen cover night that I got asked to do and I just started kind of riffing around. The flow started and that felt really good. I was like, “Oh, okay, it’s still in there.” I just hadn’t had the circumstances to put myself in the position where I’m visited by that energy. Being in creative spaces with others has been really nice right now, too, to slowly rebuild.

LM: When my kids were little, I actually wrote a lot. They all shared a bedroom and, after dinner, my husband would work on the house while I tried to sing them songs – sometimes terrible ones – or make up songs while they fell asleep. That routine gave me more time to write than I expected.

Two of my kids are songwriters now, though at the time they probably went to sleep just to get away from me singing the same line over and over. But honestly, if I hadn’t had that hour and a half every night with them, I don’t think I would have learned how to write. I wasn’t planning to be a musician. My children gave me the time and space to discover that.

By the time I had five kids, I started doing open mics. I never would have had the courage to get up there if I didn’t have my kids. They were my world, so if people didn’t like what I did on stage, I could always just go home and sing in the living room with them. That gave me the confidence to try.

CS: That balance is so important and it’s hard to reverse-engineer for people. If you move somewhere completely career-focused, you can get lost in that and miss the balance of family and partnership. I feel like any sense of longevity in life or career needs that.

For me, I’ve realized that to be a happy, well-rounded person – good partner, good friend – I need a rich family and personal life. Otherwise, my career just eats me alive. I think the reason you’ve been able to sustain your career and create a catalog of songs full of humanity is that you’ve always had that balance.

LM: Exactly. And it’s not just a woman’s thing. I know men who do it, too. But when you put family first, you have to say no to some things. You can’t always do that week-long tour, for example. But the things you say no to fade away; you don’t remember them. You only remember what you did. Instead, you stayed home and sat in the backyard with your kids and that’s the summer you wrote that one song that you’re still singing years later.

Love is supposed to be the thing you surrender to. It just opens up the universe wider. I’ve seen it happen again and again; even songwriters who know exactly what they want in their twenties, after falling in love or having a child, the world opens up in new ways.

CS: That’s making me emotional. That’s exactly where I am right now. I feel like my life is starting in a really good way. My career feels like it is starting over again. It is making me recalibrate how I want to show up in the world. And it’s freeing to have my compass aligned around my family. It feels like a new beginning. It’s really beautiful.

LM: That’s exactly it. Parenthood gives you a stream of love you hadn’t experienced before and it changes everything creatively. For me, it didn’t really happen until my fifth child, but it always happens. The universe shows up when you do something hard, like having a baby. I remember putting out a record in May, right around the birth of my son, David. By Thanksgiving, I had Faith Hill cuts. It’s like the universe says, “We should remind her that she gets to keep doing this.”

CS: That really resonates.

LM: I always listen to the last song on a record first.

CS: I love that because some of my favorite songs on your records are the last songs.

LM: When I heard “Where the Light Gets Through,” that song is such an offering, such a service. I don’t know if you want to talk about where that song came from, but years from now you are still going to have people tapping you on the shoulder saying “thank you” for that song.

CS: We’d made the record basically and we couldn’t figure out the last one. I said to the producers, “What if we write this one together?” Mark and Peter started building the track. I was going through ideas and I’d been writing a lot about my brother-in-law’s passing away. It just so happened that something I’d written fit almost exactly word for word and we shaped it from there. It couldn’t have just been me on that record, because it needed to feel lighter than I wanted it to.

LM: I know exactly what you are talking about. That’s why I love co-writing. You get perspectives that you could never create alone. Sometimes you can’t do it by yourself, and the song only exists because of that.

I’ve had that experience with Liz [Rose] and Hillary [Lindsey]. I had a song I’d been trying to write for a month by myself and I was so mad I couldn’t. I showed it to them and Liz was writing and singing it immediately. Hillary was like, “Do you know this song?”

CS: Do you feel like that is possible because you know each other so well that they can meet you where your brain is?

LM: Absolutely. And that’s another thing I love about co-writing. You fall in love with each other so quickly in the room. And when you trust yourself with someone, you can say the dumbest thing and it might turn into the smartest thing. I rarely sit with someone who doesn’t make me feel like I can speak my mind. With Liz and Hillary, Liz can read my mind and Hillary is like a musical and emotional genius. They both are.

Parenthood also gives you that focus. You don’t have all the time in the world, so you go straight to the point.

CS: I’ve heard many parents say they become more productive because they have to think differently about time and energy. I feel that now, with my baby being a little more self-sufficient.

LM: Exactly. And think of all the things you can do since having a kid! You weren’t opening drawers with your feet before, were you! Well, I love what you do, and I was genuinely happy when I heard you were pregnant. It’s a good thing for artists to step into family life.

CS: There’s a class of women my age choosing to have families now, balancing careers – it feels like a statement in all the best ways.

LM: Parenthood changes your perspective. You look back and wonder how you managed everything, but the flow and the creative life meet you there. You make the things you have to make because that’s what we’re here for.

CS: Man, there’s a lot of stuff I needed to hear today that you just spouted out. Thank you for spending time with this record.

LM: Congratulations. The record is so good. I hope the biggest challenge with it is all the things you have to say no to.

CS: And I won’t remember them, like you said.


Explore more of our Artist of the Month content on Caroline Spence here.

Photo Credit: Caroline Walker Evans

Brit Taylor’s New Momma Playlist

Sitting here in my baby’s room, feeling her kick in my belly while looking around at the dusty pink painted walls, baby owl wallpaper, refurbished 1960s furniture, a painting from her great grandmother on one wall, and her name – shared by two other great grandmothers – on the other wall, I’ve never been more certain that I’m exactly where I am meant to be in my life at this moment. Beulah Anne Chaffins. We love her so much already.

Like so many women in the music industry, I put off having a family thinking when my career takes off, then I’ll have my family. But “takes off” is so subjective, especially when you’re constantly moving the finish line for yourself. Earlier this year, I realized that if I kept waiting, I could literally wait myself forever out of the opportunity to have a family. I’m about to play Bourbon & Beyond, the biggest festival I’ve ever played, and I will be almost 8 months pregnant. It’s funny that this is actually the most outlaw thing I’ve ever done.

I didn’t grow up in a musical family. “Playing music” to my parents meant turning on the radio. I’m really excited to bring my daughter into a world of music. My husband, Adam Chaffins, and I do everything together. We garden, take care of our animals, travel, tour, write songs, and make records together. Beulah Anne already lights up when she hears us sing and play. I can feel her ball up in my belly, close to my guitar, and kick and turn as her daddy sings.

I put together a playlist of songs that I believe will be great to play for Beulah Anne when she finally gets here! It’s full of uplifting songs that don’t make us want to beat our heads against the wall. I know, I know, that will come eventually when she’s able to choose, but maybe if we start by instilling good taste early, it won’t be so bad? Wishful thinking? Maybe! – Brit Taylor

“Oo-De-Lally” – Roger Miller

Should be on any children’s playlist.

“Little Green Apples” – Bobbie Gentry & Glen Campbell

This wasn’t meant to be a kid’s song, but it is such a great love song and the melody is so simple and easy to remember. Adam and I love singing this one together.

“The Big Rock Candy Mountain” – Harry McClintock

The O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack is one of my favorite albums. There’s something about the old timey sound of this one that makes me feel like we’ve travelled back in time when things were just more simple.

“Didn’t Leave Nobody but the Baby” – Gillian Welch, Alison Krauss, and Emmylou Harris

This is from the same soundtrack. I can see myself singing this one to baby Beulah, trying to get her to sleep. Maybe I’ll leave out a line or two!

“You’ve Got a Friend in Me” – Randy Newman

An amazing way to let your kid know they’re not alone. I love this one by Randy Newman from Toy Story.

“Here Comes The Sun” – the Beatles

Could put anyone in a good mood.

“You Are My Sunshine” – Norman Blake

There’s so many great versions of this song, but I love this one by Norman Blake on the O Brother soundtrack. The Dobro gets me.

“(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear” – Elvis

This is a requirement for any children’s playlist I make. My daddy would play this one for me – along with every other Elvis song ever recorded.

“Build Me Up Buttercup” – The Foundations

Another one my Dad would play and sing to me. I remember loving this one and naming one of our dogs Buttercup!

“I Love” – Tom T. Hall

Tom T Hall was a poet and also from my hometown of Hindman, Kentucky. I love this one from his children’s record.

“Love is Like A Butterfly” – Dolly Parton

This has such a whimsical vibe! I love having this one in the mix. It transports you to a fairytale land.

“What A Wonderful World” – Louis Armstrong

I want Beulah Anne to always be able to see the beautiful things in the world. I don’t want her to be afraid of it. Perspective is key and songs like this can do just that.

“God Only Knows” – The Beach Boys

Adam and I sang this song on a Valentine’s Day livestream when he surprised me by proposing! My answer was a big fat “yes,” obviously. I can see us singing and dancing to this one with Beulah in our arms!

“(They Long to Be) Close To You” – The Carpenters

I always loved the Carpenters when I was little. My mom would play them for me. Especially at Christmas. Karen Carpenter’s voice is like a warm hug. There’s just something dreamy about this song, and I love the lyrics.

“Top Of The World” – The Carpenters

I want Beulah Anne to have a positive outlook on life. I want to instill positive self-talk, so when she hears her inner voice it’s encouraging instead of scary or mean. I hope starting her off on music like this will help her always feel more like she’s on top of the world instead of down in the gutter, even in the hard times of life.

“Ol’ Blue” – Willie Nelson

A must. Beulah’s first dog will be our dog, Blue, so this one was definitely a sure bet.


All photos by Natia Cinco.

Swedish Singer-Songwriter Sarah Klang Brings ‘Beautiful Woman’ Stateside

I meet Swedish performer and singer-songwriter Sarah Klang in the glorious maximalist backstage area at Nashville’s the Blue Room before her first-ever Music City show in mid-January. She’s cozy on the couch, a tin of pouched nicotine by her side, a hippo skull on the coffee table in front of us, and her brand new album, Beautiful Woman (out February 7) on our minds. The first thing I notice – besides her beautiful tattoos and the shimmering gemstone stud on one of her teeth – is her gaudy and gorgeous red-white-and-blue acrylic nails. Complete with rhinestones and glitter.

To Klang, the country aesthetic is the “coolest,” and in her part of the world she’s seen as something of a country queen. Her work across her discography varies greatly in genres and sonics, including folk, indie, pop, Americana, and so much more. But Beautiful Woman, which was produced by Eric D. Johnson (Fruit Bats, Bonny Light Horseman) doesn’t feel like Klang is just putting on rootsiness because it’s “cool” or “in” or trending. These are sonic spaces she knows well and strides through with ease.

Beautiful Woman boasts bold and brash moments that feel like Adele covering The SteelDrivers alongside tender story songs that could have almost been pulled from the catalogs of country queens this side of the Atlantic like Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton. Danceable tracks, finger-picked ballads, and honest lyrics speak to impactful issues of motherhood, agency, feminism, embodiment – and so much more – but still feel light and joyful, leaning forward in the beat and finding hope in the melancholic.

Catching her debut Nashville performance at the Blue Room felt a bit momentous, though Klang seemed remarkably chill and relaxed, on and off stage. She and collaborator Theo Stocks (who also helps record and produce her projects) performed in duet, with lush reverbs and simple backing percussion tracks to a rapt audience. An audience who knew they were lucky to have Klang on this “side of the pond.”

Before the show, we dove into Beautiful Woman, speaking about the death of genre, choosing your own joy, always wanting more banjos, and so much more.

Do you see what you do as roots music? How do you place your own music within roots or folk or Americana? Your music has so many things – it’s got moments of grandeur, it’s got moments of subtlety, it’s got indie, it’s got pop, it’s got a little bit of everything. But I wonder how you identify it.

Sarah Klang: That’s sort of a really hard question. I always feel it’s a little bit like I don’t really know the genres. So, mostly when I put out my albums, afterwards people will review them and they will tell me what genre it is and I will be like, “Yeah, yeah! Mhmm, that’s what it is.” Because I don’t really think about it.

I mean, I listen to so much– random indie, folk, Americana, all those things that you mentioned. And I’m introduced to iconic classical things mainly through Theo [Stocks], my guitarist that I make albums with, and also Eric [D. Johnson]. Like a very normal thing in the studio would be that they would say, “Oh, this is very Kris Kristofferson-ish.” And I would be like, “Could you play it for me?” And then they play the song, and I’m like, “Okay!”

I don’t really have a special aim for where I’m going, because I don’t have any roots in anything. Really. I know what I like. I know the feeling [of what] I’m after. I guess the sentimental [and the] bittersweet, those always end up in some sort of Americana thing.

If it’s not the genre, or style, or the aesthetic that you’re going for – or that you’re following – it sounds to me like you’re following the songs themselves and the feeling you’re trying to evoke.

Yes. I mean, it’s just like an imprinted thing in my brain, “What sounds do I like?” It has always been like that, really. I don’t really play any instruments anymore. I used to play the guitar and the piano, but now I don’t. We’ve been here [in Nashville] for seven days and had sessions every day and Theo knows very well how to describe [the sounds]. He’s kind of like my interpreter. How do you say it? My interpreter? When it comes to melodies and shorts [takes], because someone at the session could play me a bit and I’ll be like “Hmmm?” And Theo will say, “It’s the last short. She doesn’t want that last short. Let’s go with that instead.” He understands.

I think I just have quite a small range of melodies that I like. I mean, my songs are kind of similar, how they are made. The aesthetic of country music has always felt like that’s the only way to go. That’s the only aesthetic that really looks cool, you know? When I started to dress up in country-ish things in Sweden, people were like, “Okay, well she makes country music.” That’s how far they would go. So in Sweden I’m often categorized and called the country queen of Sweden. I get a little bit nervous about that, because I know so little about country music and you know that everybody has such strong opinions about it.


What’s funny to me is even with how strong of opinions people have about country and what it is, it’s always in the eye of the beholder.

I’ve obviously been listening a lot – maybe not classic country, whatever that is – but I mean, I’ve been listening to Kurt Vile, Kevin Morby, Sharon Van Etten, you know, those very big country rock people for a long time. I think that is my biggest influence, really. Then we take that and Theo and Eric on this album, who are just very nerdy in music, they put their spin on it.

But for me, it’s not important to me. Where this album lands, in which genre – I couldn’t care less. But, I think that’s why I started having a western aesthetic. ‘Cause it’s the coolest part, I think. I was like, “Okay, I’m gonna start a solo project. Where do I want to be? What’s cool?”

That, probably. [Laughs]

You’re talking about collaborating with Theo and Eric and it sounds like having that trust and having that rapport is really important to getting the music where you wanted to get it. When I listen through and I hear the banjo moments and the really rootsy and Americana moments, trying to connect the dots, how much of that came from Eric producing?

I asked for that specifically! I mean, if it were up to me, I would say, “More banjo! Put banjo on everything!” ‘Cause that makes everything a jam.

But the boys are more tasteful when it comes to that. When [Eric] played, I think I asked him to try and play on like every song – and not because I wanted to be a “diddly doo” out there, but just because that’s my vibe. I mean, when someone plays on a banjo, there is nothing more tearjerking.

Of course, “Last Forever” jumped out at me for that quality. That was the track from Beautiful Woman that we premiered on BGS. I think it’s my favorite song on the record. But there are so many moments that feel like you’re a genre shapeshifter. And I think that that’s the time we’re in too, genre’s dead. Even while we get more and more and more genre names every year, it feels like genre’s dead.

For me, it’s probably a good thing that it is. That I’m not locked in a genre. I don’t think I’m ever gonna have to be like, “Okay guys, I’m breaking free from this [genre.]” I don’t have to do like a Miley Cyrus thing – “look at my new clothes!” – because I wear everything and that’s nice because I think I’m gonna keep on producing albums as long as I can, and I would like to not be stuck if I were to start feeling this [genre] is boring.

I mean, I’m a huge house fan. I love dance music. When I was a teenager, I mostly listened to weird party drinking music from the UK. I always wanted to make a club album. So, hopefully I could just like sneak over there. When the time’s right. [Laughs]

Another song that jumped out at me as feeling really rootsy is “Childhood.” Not only because of the aesthetic of the song, but the storytelling of it and the nostalgia in it. Something about it feels kind of theatrical to me, too, and I think country is so theatrical.

Yeah, it’s very dramatic. I think when I’m making a song, I feel like “more is more” and if you are going in a certain direction, just go all-in and don’t cringe. Because then it’s just going to end up in some halfway world.

For me, with “Childhood” I was like, “Oh, is this song too nice? Is it too sweet?” Like, no! It’s great. It’s a great song. You just have to go all the way with the feelings. Because then if you don’t, I don’t think you’re going to reach the point you wanted to reach.

Many of my melodies, when I write, I ask myself or Theo or Eric, “Is this too pop-y? Does it sound too much like yada yada yada? Is this a rip off?” And they’re, “Let’s go for it!” You just go straight into that vibe and feeling.

Our music goes all the way into the feeling without hesitating if it might be too much. If you are driving your car, you want to listen to Tom Petty. And he wasn’t like, “Oh, I’m gonna write a song that is making people feel free… but it can’t be too much!” [Laughs]

“I want a driving song, but for 35 miles an hour.”

No! [Laughs] Pedal to the metal.

The overarching concepts that the album is talking about, I think what some people, especially in the U.S., would think these are deep topics – feminism, womanhood, gender and gender roles. But I found it interesting that even with these subjects, the music still feels joyful, it feels like it’s looking forward, it feels like it leans forward – in the beat, literally and figuratively. But, it doesn’t feel like cotton candy, and it doesn’t feel like you’re minimizing anything. Can you talk a little bit about that?

I mean, that makes me so happy that you felt that way. I’ve done interviews about this album in Sweden, with women, and they’re like, “Sarah, you do know that you are a beautiful woman now, right? And I’m like, that’s not the fucking point! As if I were singing it, meaning that that was the point. Maybe I thought when I was younger that that was a goal, but it’s not now.

I just want to write whatever comes to mind, and since English is not my first language, I have to write it very straight and simple. Like, “This is what happened, period.” I don’t really have the energy or time to hide the message. That is not my thing. Some people are great with that, leaving clues. I just write words – it’s also like, I’m busy I need to write the lyrics now! [Laughs]

I always ask my friend when I’ve done an album, “What is the catchphrase for this album? What would you say now when you heard it?” So, for VIRGO she was like, “This is your sex album.” And Mercedes, “This is your pregnancy album, obviously.” But this one, she was like, “I think this is a celebration of girlhood, period.” And I was like, “Yep, that’s perfect.” I’ll just use that. Because I obviously just collect songs. Over a period of time, and then I feel, well now it’s done. And I don’t write an album after a theme.

One of the things I love about the album is that it ends on “I Have Everything.” I like that that’s the way that you’re putting a punctuation mark on the album. Right now, I’m really worn out by attention economies, consumption, consumerism, and like, “buying our happiness.” I was really struck by that song. I love having it at the end; it feels like you are not just talking to us, your listeners, but you’re also talking to yourself. So I wanted to ask you about the song and about the placement of it in the sequence.

I think I wrote it to myself. Like, “Listen! Stop being a complete asshole all the time!” It’s annoying, but I’ve learned – and it’s nice, but it’s hard to talk about it without it sounding so cringey and boring – but the only thing that makes you happy is to take walks outside, be with your family, eat right, and take care of yourself. And that is boring, but it’s the truth. I always felt that people who said, “I wake up every morning and tell myself five things that I’m grateful for–” and I’m like, “Okay… that’s weird.” [Laughs]

If you do that, you will probably feel better. If you are nice to people around you, you will probably feel better. If you’re nice to yourself. I mean, grown up people have been telling me [this] all my life. During my 20s, through periods where I was just unhinged and didn’t feel right. They were like, “Well, maybe if you took a little better care of yourself and didn’t party so much and spent time with your family, you would feel better.” And I was like, “Listen, it’s more than that.”

Yeah, like I am so deep. [Laughs] My traumas are so deep! You have no idea! I’m a fuck up. And then, turns out you’re not. That’s a nice thing about getting a little bit older, you just know, “I’m gonna be fine.” And it’s also my responsibility to make that happen.

Every time somebody had ever told me that “joy is a choice” and “happiness is a choice,” I didn’t realize at first that what they meant was joy or happiness that you construct for yourself isn’t fake.

No! And it doesn’t undermine your sad parts. Like, that is always going to be there. Don’t worry. I think so many of us are just melancholic people. I mean, people have had worse experiences than I’ve had and are so chill and so fine.

I think happiness is definitely something you can work on and give to yourself, and it’s not like a miracle.


Photo Credit: Fredrika Eriksson

Ruth Moody on Canadian Roots Music, Parenthood, and Being a ‘Wanderer’

Ruth Moody has a singular voice, whether she’s joining the soaring three-part harmonies of the Wailin’ Jennys, or carving her own path on her new solo album, Wanderer (released May 17.) The project was almost a decade in the making and finds Moody betting on herself as a songwriter, co-producer, and now-label head for her own Blue Muse Records. The album is parallel to Moody’s own journey at continuing to define herself, with its emphasis on confronting the past and carving away detritus that is no longer needed.

Moody splits her time between Nashville and Vancouver Island. The pull between her sense of place, as well as her identities as artist, wife, and mother, characterize Wanderer. The album was recorded at the legendary Sound Emporium in Nashville and was co-produced with Dan Knobler (Allison Russell, Lake Street Dive) and mixed by Tucker Martine (My Morning Jacket, First Aid Kit, The Decemberists).

As discussed below, Moody waited until the time was right to bring her favorite musicians together for the record: her partner Sam Howard, who plays upright bass and provides backing vocals; her older brother Richard Moody; The Wailin’ Jennys’ touring band member Anthony da Costa (guitars); Jason Burger (drums); Kai Welch (keyboards); Russ Pahl (pedal steel); Adrian Dolan (string arrangements); and duet partner Joey Landreth (on “The Spell of the Lilac Bloom”). Moody’s patient commitment to executing Wanderer the way she wanted to shows in its transcendent arrangements.

In our BGS interview, Moody discusses how she establishes her sense of self amidst the competing demands in her life, the factors that give Canadian roots music their own special quality, and the lessons she’s learned from doing Wanderer exactly the way she intended to.

What do you think it is about Canadian roots music in particular? It does have a different feel than roots music in the States.

Ruth Moody: You know, I’ve been asked this question for so long. It’s a very valid question, because I think there is something, but it’s really hard to have a clear answer. In Canada there’s such a range of geography and music culture. You can’t really pin it to one thing.

I grew up in Winnipeg and the winters are so harsh that I think music and art are one of the things that get people through. It’s something you can do in the winter. I also think that there’s something about the landscape and the winter that creates a certain work ethic because you’re so small against the elements, really. So consciously or subconsciously, that enters into the picture for people. And so I think people tend to work hard and really apply themselves. And when it comes to touring, especially if you’re from Winnipeg, it takes some effort to get to the next town. It’s a six-hour drive before you get to the next major town. So I think right from the start, young musicians know they have to go out in the world to tour and get their music out.

We’re pretty diverse and we’re also influenced by so many different cultures and types of music. So I think there is a very exploratory aspect to Canadian music. And a lot of cross-pollination between genres and scenes. We are very lucky to have government support for the arts and I think that helps artists thrive, obviously, but it also helps to create music communities and bring artists together in collaborative situations.

Well, it’s always good to start an interview out by asking you to speak for your entire country! But Wanderer focuses on the idea of home, and I know you’ve lived many different places. Did I read that you grew up in Australia?

I was born in Australia, and my parents are Australian, but they came back to Canada when I was only a year old. I grew up in Winnipeg, but, as an adult, I’ve moved around a ton and that was what inspired the title track. I’ve been touring for over 25 years at this point. “Wanderer” is a love song that I wrote for my partner, because he helped me have that feeling of home for the first time in my adult life.

There are a number of songs about young love and new love on the album. Was there something that was making you reminisce about those times in your life?

These songs were all written across a long time-span – over 10 years really – since my last record. So the songs come from different stages and sides of love, right into motherhood. Some songs deal with heartbreak too and some are more reflective about the past. During the pandemic, I was reflecting a lot about how we internalize the messages we receive from society, how as a woman I took on the expectations of others and how that has affected my life. I was looking back, looking for clues, curious about where fear comes from, where strength and resilience come from. How we learn how to be our authentic selves when there are so many outside pressures and confusing messages. “Seventeen” isn’t about that, at all, but it ended up coming out of that period of reminiscing. It’s a song that came from my own experiences but that is essentially about being in love and not being ready or able to face it or express it, which I think is probably a pretty common experience.

These are all things I’m thinking about a lot now that I have a child, too, because they become very relevant. You’re trying to model behaviors for a young person and it really makes you face yourself. You have to look at why you do and say certain things and what you want to teach and how you want to be.

Speaking of wandering, I read that you split your time between Nashville and Vancouver Island.

I just got back from British Columbia, and I’ll be back in BC in the summer, so yes, I’m back and forth. I tour a lot, so I try to get home to BC when I’m already out traveling. But I work a lot in Nashville and so does my partner, so we’re still figuring that out.

Do you feel you are different when you are in these two different places?

Definitely. That’s been a real theme becoming a mother, really. Suddenly, you’re responsible for another human life. You have to let go of a lot of ways that you used to do things and prioritize what matters. I’m always shifting modes.

When I’m on tour, I operate in a certain way. When I’m in BC, I’m close to my parents and that brings out certain things. When I’m on my own, I have a bit more freedom to maybe be my creative self and when I’m in parenting mode, that goes out the window. Additionally, a partnership requires a lot of work and time, too. There are a lot of different parts of life that I’m juggling. But it keeps it interesting.

This isn’t meant to be a conversation about being a musician and motherhood and “having it all,” but it is a big theme of the record!

It has been a big theme of my life of late. Actually, I wanted to make this record about eight years ago and then I put it on hold, because I wasn’t able to line up all the musicians I wanted involved. I thought, “I’ll do it next year.” And then I had my son and I just didn’t know that motherhood would be such an all-consuming thing. It doesn’t have to be – and everyone’s different!

I really want to do a good job at everything that I do, and so I found it hard [to balance everything.] I felt like I wasn’t doing a good enough job at being a parent and I wasn’t doing a good enough job at performing. That was really hard on me. And I think now, with this new way of looking at things, I’m just being easier on myself and thinking to myself, “Maybe I was enough. Maybe we can’t be perfect at every single thing.” Maybe we don’t have to attempt to be perfect at everything.

First and foremost I think that any woman should have the choice to [balance motherhood and work] in the way she wants to do it. I am still figuring out how to juggle everything – especially since for this record, I decided to put it out on my own label. It’s really exciting and I think will be really rewarding, but it is a ton of work and the learning curve is quite steep.

Wanderer is your fourth solo album. Do you feel this process is different than when you’re working with another artist or with The Wailin’ Jennys?

It is different. The Jennys – I mean, we’ve been together for so long and we have a certain way of working. We’re talking about making a new record, which is really exciting. It’ll be different, because it’s been a while and we’re all changing all the time, you know? That feels like it will be an exciting new experience.

But it is of course different working on my own, especially in this case, because I co-produced this record. When you’re on your own, you draw on a different part of your brain and even your heart. Wanderer is a really personal collection of songs. With the Jennys, we tend to maybe gravitate towards songs that call for three part harmony, so they end up being a bit more anthemic. With these really personal, intimate songs, I connect to them in a different way.

What lessons do you feel like you can take away now that you’ve finished making Wanderer that you want to take with you on your next project?

I’ve learned so much in doing this. Because it took so long to make it and these songs were waiting in the wings for so long, it felt really important for me to make it. The stakes felt high, because it had been so long in the making.

Now that it’s done and I’m putting it out, I am really excited and proud of it. I want to just keep releasing expectations and I’m very excited to dig into creative work again.


Photo Credit: Jacqueline Justice

Rosanne Cash Is Not a Regular Mom (Basic Folk)

Thirty years ago, Rosanne Cash experienced an all-encompassing transformation. She had just left Nashville, her major label record deal and her marriage. She was living in New York and found herself falling in love with her producer, the guitarist John Leventhal. Her previous album Interiors had set the stage for the new Rosanne. With her landmark album, The Wheel, Cash and Leventhal came together to work on a brand new sound for the artist, who had a well established career in mainstream country along with multiple #1 radio hits. She blew it all up for love! Cash had been unhappy and was yearning to live a life of authenticity in her music and her personal life. Three decades later, she’s reissued The Wheel and is ready to TALK ABOUT IT.

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In our conversation, Rosanne addresses the inner critic and how she’s come to harness its power for good in the editing process. She took a painting class, where she painted a picture of her inner critic and has never looked back. After her divorce, she struggled with motherhood: being a good mom and trying not to ruin her kids’ lives. She looks back now with regrets and guilt as most mothers do. Her saving grace is that she was not a normal mom. Her oldest daughter assures her that she would not want a normal mom. We also talk about John’s upcoming solo debut album and why the two have established their own record label. Rosanne Cash is a treasure and I very much appreciated this deep dive into such a pivotal moment in her career and life!


Photo Credit: Pamela Springsteen

LISTEN: Nora Jane Struthers, “Life Of A Dream”

Artist: Nora Jane Struthers
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Life Of A Dream”
Album: Back To Cast Iron
Release Date: October 27, 2023

In Their Words: “Co-written with my husband Joe Overton, this song is an inquiry into our own dreams and how our season of life shapes and reshapes those dreams. I think the pandemic gave most people a new perspective on their dreams… in many cases redefining them. My dream of building a family has taken a front seat for the past few years and as I think about what this song means to me right now, I realize that I am standing on a precipice: We are planning our final embryo transfer and if it takes, that means 3.5 more years of living in baby-world. If it doesn’t, we’re only a few years away from having two kids in school and all of the ‘free’ time that comes along with that. What will I do if I am in fact leveling-up and out of the baby-mom season of my life? Pour all my day-light hour energy into writing? Can I refocus on touring on weekends and summers? What is the dream now?” – Nora Jane Struthers


Photo Credit: Bree Marie Fish

On ‘Quiet Flame,’ Caitlin Canty Finds Truth and Hope in the Middle

Caitlin Canty is in the middle — in the middle of moving houses (behind her when we connected on Zoom this spring is a Jenga tower of bankers boxes) and in the middle of prepping an album release, which we’re in the middle of talking about when she isn’t in the middle of pushing a pair of overeager dogs from her lap (“These dogs!”), all of which is taking place in the middle of her toddler’s nap.

The moving, the music, and the motherhood are taking place in the middle of her life (Canty turned forty-one in January) and the middle of her career: Quiet Flame, her latest record, is her fourth.

Oceans of ink have been spilled on beginnings and endings, on best new artists, and lifetime achievements. We rarely think about the middle, write about it, or sing about it. But Caitlin Canty does.

Quiet Flame is a dispatch from — and a celebration of — the middle; it is a testament to the in-between, to the precious spaces between day and night, birth and death, here and home. It is also a rallying cry, a call not to run from middle moments, but to revel in them. “Breakneck boy goes speeding by / In a hell-bent race to some finish line,” Canty sings on the album’s opening track, “Blue Sky Moon.” “I ain’t going with him… Gonna take my time in the middle of the road.”

This is a new message for Canty, one that asks the listener not to “get up before the road pulls you under,” as Canty sang on 2015’s Reckless Skyline, but to accept the road as it is, accept that it may pull us under, and enjoy the ride. “If the pandemic and [2020 Nashville] tornado taught me anything,” Canty says, “It’s all the things I thought I could control are out of my control. The natural world is beautiful. It’s also terrifying,” she exclaims with a half laugh, “it can just crush you in a second.” (That tornado missed her house by thirty feet.)

This new vision, however, hasn’t diminished Canty’s optimism. With a heightened sense of all that is lost and lose-able, Canty offers not less hope, but more. “Let it roll, let it ride / Let your sweet heart open wide,” she sings on “Pull the Moon.”

“I let go of a lot of things I thought were my fault, or my responsibility, things I thought I could do everything about, or take care of, or succeed at,” she explains. “And what I found was an ability to be happy in devastating moments in time. Even when it gets dark and troubled, to find a way not to ignore that — to address it — but to stay buoyant.”

It is this clear-sighted courage — what amounts to Canty’s profound musical and lyrical authenticity — that not only sets Canty apart, but draws so many of the acoustic world’s greatest artists into her corner. “Caitlin just has such a magnificent view of the world,” Grammy Award-winning guitarist and Quiet Flame producer Chris Eldridge says. “It’s so strong and true and clear and honest. You just believe it.”

Among those drawn to Canty’s vision — to her clarity, honesty, believability — are some of the greatest artists in contemporary music, making the Quiet Flame band a bona-fide acoustic supergroup: on banjo, mandolin, and harmony vocals you have singer-songwriter Sarah Jarosz (another Grammy winner); on bass, Paul Kowert of Punch Brothers and Hawktail (yet another Grammy winner); and on fiddle, Brittany Haas (also of Hawktail and the newest member of Punch Brothers), who is widely considered the greatest fiddler of her generation.

“Every artist has a vision,” Kowert says, “But I specifically would say I believe Caitlin. I believe her about what she’s seeing in the songs.”

“There’s such conviction,” Haas adds. “It’s so clearly from the heart.”

For Jarosz, Canty’s super-distinction is the totality of her authenticity and an unusual ability for Canty to “sound like herself” in every domain of her artistry. “Her ability to be herself within her songs has always been very obvious to me, before I even knew her,” Jarosz says. “My favorite singers sound like themselves when they’re talking — their singing voice is a genuine extension of them, their personality. Tim O’Brien has that, Gillian Welch has that, Caitlin has that. It’s almost like Caitlin’s voice is so true —it’s like it’s not an option for her to be anyone but herself. And the songs are also that way.”

The songs of Quiet Flame mark not only a musical achievement, but an achievement of spirit. “It takes a very self-assured, fully realized human being to be able to make a record that’s this exposed,” Jarosz continues. “The record takes its time. It takes a very mature musician — and person — to have the courage to let these songs unfold the way they do.”

It is no small feat that Canty manages to make this deliberately slow journey, this taking our time in the middle of the road, so arresting. Such is a testament, of course, to the music as music; to Canty’s voice (“Caitlin, in her way, is as good a singer as exists,” Eldridge says); to her effortless melodic sensibility; to what Haas calls the unusual “variety and diversity of what [her] songs are like, what they allow and make room for texturally.” It is also a testament to the production vision of Eldridge, who Canty calls the perfect “co-pilot,” and to his attention to the “big picture.”

Each member of Canty’s band offers a tour de force on their instruments. In Canty’s words, Kowert is a “Multi-instrumentalist on his instrument… essential, the strongest foundation… my favorite bass player I’ve ever played with”; Haas is a “Flamethrower! Her fiddle is an electric guitar! It’s grit and mournfulness — not sad, defiant; not sorrowful, defiant”; Jarosz is “Just insanely good — insanely good singer, insanely beautiful instrumentalist — the most solid partner; she held it down!”

In turn, the band is quick to praise the rare musical freedom Canty affords them. “She makes so much space for other musicians in her music,” Haas says. “She’s really good at being like, ‘I hired you to be you,’ instead of, ‘I want you to do this very specific thing that involves only playing these four notes.’”

The result? The band gets to see their true selves in the work — even their best selves. “‘Odds of Getting Even’ is one of my favorite performances I’ve ever played,” Kowert remarks. “My playing on that song is really exemplary of something that I am uniquely able to do, which is bowing the bass that way, driving the rhythm with the bow.” Multi-instrumentalist Noam Pikelny (still another Grammy winner), who is featured on “I Don’t Think of You,” says much the same: “[It’s] easily one of my favorite examples of my playing captured on record.”

Most of all, however, the success of Quiet Flame’s slow burn is owed to the trust Canty engenders in her audience. It is a trust natural to Canty, but made all the more affecting by her decision, for the first time in her career, to make an entirely acoustic record. “Intimacy is just kind of baked into the nature of acoustic music,” Eldridge explains. “You just intuitively understand that what you’re hearing is what can happen in somebody’s living room. So when you commit to doing a string band record, you’re committing to a certain kind of intimacy. It casts the artist, and the songs, in a different light—in a light that asks the listener to lean in a little bit more, asks the listener to be a part of a moment.”

It is with the listener leaning in close, grounded in the moment with Quiet Flame, that Canty offers a vision both audacious and convincing, that she shares the unmistakable and unshakeable sense that all will be well; that even in the face of so many black holes, we too will be okay; that we, like Canty, will arrive “by the highway home” – a lyric after Robert Frost.

“They all told me love could feel this way,” she sings. “I never thought I would see the day.”

It is the peculiar gift of Caitlin Canty that when she says love can feel “this way” – or even that “nothing’s gone, only changed” – one can’t help but think she’s right.

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(See our full post on Caitlin Canty’s episode of Basic Folk here.) 


Photo Credit: David McClister

WATCH: Bre Kennedy, “Before I Have A Daughter”

Artist: Bre Kennedy
Hometown: Nashville
Song: “Before I Have a Daughter”
Release Date: September 23, 2022
Label: Nettwerk

In Their Words: “‘Before I Have A Daughter’ is a really special song to me. It’s the next single off my upcoming EP that I’m releasing in the next few months. I wrote this song with one of my absolute favorite songwriters, Lori McKenna, during our first conversation upon meeting and writing together. A simple ‘getting to know each other’ chat led to a question, ‘Do you have kids?’ To which I responded, ‘Not yet … before I have a daughter …’ and this song helped me process that phrase. This is a coming-of-age song for me about growing up and into the woman I am, about finding acceptance and beauty in the mess of life and about celebrating how far I’ve come through my failures and growth to acknowledge that in my desire to want to make a good life for my future self … I have already started making one.” — Bre Kennedy


Photo Credit: Tabitha Turner

Basic Folk – Edie Carey

Edie Carey’s last solo full length album was in 2010 (holy smokes!) so we are more than ready to dig into her new record, The Veil, encompassing themes like motherhood, infertility, love, being a lady while raising a girl and all the things that make you cry in your cereal.

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Edie first appeared on Basic Folk in episode 18 and if you haven’t, you should listen. Not only does she talk about her history, but she very openly details her experience with infertility, including winning her son in a raffle (TLDR: her husband won a free IVF treatment at an infertility conference, which then turned into their son Luca). In this conversation, Edie and I go track by track on her new album, which is a JOY because #1 I love Edie’s songs and #2 I love Edie. A winning combo.

These days, Edie is residing in Colorado Springs, working with area musicians, touring occasionally (when COVID is not raging) and raising her two young kids. Something that’s extraordinary about Edie is that she is not afraid of saying things out loud that most people are. She experienced burn-out after her first baby was born, longed for her pre-baby life, and felt guilty about it. The good news is that she turns emotions like this into fully formed songs where people can see themselves through her experience, and then be okay with talking about hard things. Enjoy this conversation – Edie is so fun and inspiring!


Photo Credit: Steve Willis

WATCH: Katie Callahan, “Lullaby”

Artist: Katie Callahan
Hometown: I grew up in Honolulu, Hawaii, but currently live in Baltimore, Maryland.
Song: “Lullaby”
Album: The Water Comes Back
Release Date: October 22, 2021.

In Their Words: “‘Lullaby’ was written on the edge of the pandemic, before any of us could’ve imagined the way parenting and work and school and home could be enmeshed so completely. I’m the default parent in our home, and as our time in quarantine wore on, the need for me to have projects and goals and work became more and more evident, and this song became a bit of a meditation for me. It reminded me to be kind to myself and name the courage in those trying to pursue their creativity in the margins of these days that feel both ordinary and overwhelming.

“A friend from my Catholic middle school days, Erin Bagwell, is a filmmaker, and we’d reconnected a few years back. Her latest film (Year One) chronicles her first year of motherhood and her journey with postpartum depression, and I felt like ‘Lullaby’ fit right into her narrative. I shared the song with her and we began constructing the idea for this video: a clearly timestamped snapshot of people doing their best to care for those around them — in work, in the home, wherever — and finding moments of peace, clarity, and purpose in the margins. It’s the arc of a day, at once complicated and simple, an affirmation for those — like me — who need to be reminded that pursuing purpose is courageous, and no matter how anxious the moment, peace is in those quiet, still times of mothering ourselves to bits.” — Katie Callahan


Photo credit: Quinn Struke