Playlists are the new Mixtape – and who doesn’t love a good Mixtape? With the release of my brand new album, The Sound of Muscle Shoals, recorded at legendary FAME Studios in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, I thought it would be cool to highlight not only a few of the most important – albeit ubiquitous – classic songs, but more importantly some of the rare gems from the legendary Muscle Shoals canon. For a nerd like me, to be able to have personal access to reach out to guys like Norbert Putnam and David Hood and ask, “Where was this recorded?” is a surreal and cherished thing. I had no idea that Leon Russell’s “Stranger in a Stranger Land” was recorded down there– just amazing.
For this list, I didn’t want to put just the usual suspects on it, but how could you do a Muscle Shoals playlist and not include the song that launched Aretha’s career, “I Never Loved a Man”? For me, everybody on this list is owed some more attention, but the big three that jump out to me that should be way more well known, in my opinion, are Candi Staton, George Jackson, and Arthur Conley. Enjoy! – Mike Farris
“You Left the Water Running” – Otis Redding
Written by the great Dan Penn along with Rick Hall and Oscar Franks. I believe this may be the only record the Big O recorded at FAME – Rick Hall had merely asked Otis to sing the demo for an upcoming Wilson Pickett session – as this predates Otis’ ascension the King of Soul. This is one of the many great songs Dan Penn had a hand in, by the way.
“I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)” – Aretha Franklin
A must for any Shoals playlist. The song that launched the Queen of Soul!
“Stranger in a Strange Land” – Leon Russell
I actually had no idea “Stranger” was recorded with the Swamper crew. There was a lot of confusion online about this one, but in the sometimes surreal nature of the music business, I realized that I could just text the great David Hood and simply ask him about it, which is nice. And he did, in fact, confirm it was recorded at Muscle Shoals Sound.
“Mustang Sally” – Wilson Pickett
Another must-have. I always imagined being in the studio watching everyone’s expressions on their faces while WP sang. It had to have been unreal. Also, this groove is DEEEP!
“Ease On” – Mike Farris
I tried to demo this song a few times, but it never came close to what I was hearing. From the moment we stepped out on the floor with all the FAME guys in FAME Studios’ legendary Studio A, I knew this song was being delivered to the right guys. It’s everything I imagined it to be and then some…
“You Better Move On” – Arthur Alexander
Arthur Alexander gave Rick Hall and FAME Studios their first hit record with “You Better Move On” and he was just getting started.
“Heart on a String” – Candi Staton
Candi is one of the greatest R&B singers, period. I could literally fill this playlist with all of the great Candi Staton songs.
“You Got a Lot to Like” – George Jackson
George Jackson was one of the most prolific and important writers in the Southern R&B and rock and roll world, make no mistake, but he was also a great artist in my opinion. This one highlights his great vocal ability.
“I’m Your Puppet” – James & Bobby Purify
A great song by the great Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham. In addition to being an all-around damn fine composition, “I’m Your Puppet” has to be one of the hardest hittin’ mid-tempo grooves of all time.
“When a Man Loves a Woman” – Percy Sledge
I once asked Spooner Oldham and the late Jimmie Johnson why they chose to use a Farfisa instead of a Hammond organ on “When a Man Loves a Woman.” I would actually throw these questions out knowing full well that it would spark a long, meandering, completely engaging conversation with them that could and would take you all over town and back before finally coming back around to what would typically be a simple answer. This question was no different. The answer, given by Jimmie and agreed upon by Spooner was, “We used the Farfisa because that was all we had.”
“I’ll Take You There” – The Staples Singers
Produced by Al Bell, possibly the biggest hit by The Staples features an iconic shoutout by Mavis to the legendary “Swamper,” David Hood, on bass. Jimbo Hart pays homage to his hero, David, on “Learning to Love,” from my new album, The Sound Of Muscle Shoals, which I am forever grateful for.
“Loves Me Like a Rock” – Paul Simon
One of my favorite songs growing up. I clearly remember hearing this song play over WCDT 1510-AM radio station in my hometown as a kid and being completely taken with the backing vocals of the great gospel group, The Dixie Hummingbirds.
“Sweet Soul Music” – Arthur Conley
Classic soul swing-dance groove with one of the most explosive and iconic horn intros of all time! Soon as they heard that intro in the control room, you just know that they knew they had a hit on their hands.
“I Worship the Ground You Walk On” – Jimmy Hughes
Jimmy Hughes at his best with a very underrated classic
“This Love of Mine” – Arthur Conley
Incredible number with an amazing arrangement by the one of the greatest soul singers of all time, Arthur Conley.
“Before There Was You & I” – Mike Farris
I had the verses and chorus when I showed up at FAME. What I didn’t have was the B section for the solo break and the outro, which the great Will McFarlane came up with. It made the song
“Lovin’ the Easy Way” – Candi Staton
This has to be one of the steamiest, sexiest songs ever.
Most people know Patterson Hood as the frontman (really one of two frontmen) for the long-running rock band Drive-By Truckers. Had they come up in the 1970s instead of the ‘90s, the Truckers would have been mentioned in the same breath as bands like Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Allman Brothers Band. Led by Hood and fellow singer-guitarist Mike Cooley, they play kickass Southern rock — but the caveat is that this is intelligent kickass Southern rock. And much of the band’s sensibility is informed by Hood’s unique youth. He grew up in Alabama, but was raised by liberal parents (his dad is legendary Muscle Shoals bassist David Hood). As Patterson says, “Dualities have always been an obsession of mine and to some extent [of] the band itself.”
Over the years, Hood has also kept a solo career going on the side. But his new album, Exploding Trees & Airplane Screams, is unique for a couple of reasons. For one thing, it’s his first solo record in 12 years. For another, it’s a somewhat different beast, musically, from most of his albums – both with and without the Truckers. There’s considerably less guitar-based rock and roll, and other instruments, such as piano and even woodwinds, have been pushed more to the fore.
This is still very much a Patterson Hood disc. You can’t miss his distinct, gravelly vocals. His storytelling – often stories of what it was like to come of age in 1970s Alabama – retains a sharp eye for detail and the aforementioned dualities. There’s a lot of pathos in Hood’s writing, but there’s always some humor as well. Exploding Trees features appearances from the Truckers’ Brad Morgan and Jay Gonzalez (on drums and keyboards, respectively), not to mention Lydia Loveless (on the heartbreaking “A Werewolf and a Girl”), Steve Berlin, and producer Chris Funk, among others.
Good Country recently had the pleasure of catching up with Patterson Hood.
You’ve been very prolific with the Truckers, but Exploding Trees & Airplane Screams is your first solo album in more than a decade. Why a solo album now?
Patterson Hood: That’s a great question. The reason, I guess, is that I’ve been super busy with the band. The Truckers have been in a really good place for over a decade now. So I wasn’t particularly eager to do a side project just for the sake of doin’ one.
But [with] every album, there’s always a couple of songs that somehow get lost in the shuffle. Particularly after the record comes out – they turn out to be great tracks on the record, but they never get played live. So they are kind of forgotten songs that I care a lot about. I kind of started a file some years back for those songs. It’s not that the band can’t play them; the band played the shit out of ‘em. [It’s] more just the way our shows are, the flow of the show, the rooms we play. You know, the emphasis live often gets put on a certain level of rock, for lack of a better way of puttin’ it. There are songs that might be a little more introverted. So I’ve had a stack of those songs that were sitting there.
And I also, about 10 years ago, became friends with [producer] Chris Funk. We would play together from time to time, usually in the Northwest, because we both live in Portland. We had this cool chemistry. So for a long time, we’ve been talking about making a record together. And during the lockdown – when I was stuck and couldn’t go anywhere or do anything – I spent a lotta time up in my music room. I wasn’t really able to write a lot during lockdown, because my brain was just not functioning very well. I was very depressed. It didn’t make for good songs. But I could go back and go through song fragments and hone in on things. I could really edit like crazy! So I spent a lotta time working on those songs – instead of thinking in terms of what I would do in a rock band format, what I would do in not a rock band format. You know, like “I could hear woodwinds on this song!” Things like that.
We cut it pretty quick. But I spent a long time working on it before we recorded it, you know? Including Funk telling me a few months before we went in, “I hope you’re practicing that piano, because I want you to play it on the record.” I’m like, “No, that wasn’t the plan. The plan was to have someone who can actually play the damn thing!” I’m thankful, because if he hadn’t kicked my ass, I probably wouldn’t have played piano, to be honest. It forced me out of my comfort zone, which I think was as much the point as anything for him. I think he wanted to keep me in a state of perpetual terror! [Laughs]
I had been wondering if that was you playing most of the piano, whether it was Jay Gonzalez or someone else?
I played a lot of it. I mean, I’m not playing all of it; Jay’s definitely playin’ on it. And I think Funk and I both play piano on one song. Funk played a lotta synthesizers. Jay’s playing some old vintage weirdo keyboards that have names that I can’t even remember. Phil Cook played that organ part on “The Forks of Cypress” too. But as far as the songs that seem to be built around a simple piano part – that tends to be me. That’s what I play: simple piano parts! [Laughs] I’m not Randy Newman.
Can I ask you about a few of the specific tracks? I understand that “Exploding Trees” was based on an actual event.
Yeah. It was kind of like a meteorological phenomenon, I guess. It was in my hometown in February of 1994. It was right before my 30th birthday [and] right before I moved to Athens, Georgia. The weather had been warm and it rained a lot for a couple of weeks. It just rained and rained, you know? Borderline flood conditions. There’s a lot of pine trees, particularly in my home area. And they all got completely waterlogged by all the rain and with the warm temperatures.
Then there was this sudden freeze; the temperature dropped like 40 degrees in a couple of hours. And all the water in those trees froze. Particularly those pine trees – I guess they splinter easier anyway. The trees basically exploded all over town, kind of at the same time. Thousands of fucking trees! I mean, flattening cars, buildings, people. It was really awful. … And I had been out of town. I had ironically visited Athens a couple of nights before for the very first time – which directly led to me living there shortly after. I was driving back home as it happened; I basically drove right into the middle of it. I was trying to get to my grandmother’s house to check on her. I got to the house and there were, like, pieces of trees that had gone through the roof. And I couldn’t find her anywhere. [It turns out] she was fine. She was at a neighbor’s house.
I love the line “beauty queens in hospital gowns.”
Right. Well, one of the worst injuries of this storm was a girl I knew. I worked at a restaurant with her. She had just won Miss UNA, the beauty pageant, and was like two weeks away from going to compete for Miss Alabama. Lovely, lovely young woman. Very sweet – super Christian. And an oak tree fell on her car, with her in it. And it knocked her head down into her body cavity. It completely pulverized her neck and back – but she lived! She’s a quadriplegic [now, but] that accident led to [that line].
Oh God. That’s awful.
It feels like there’s a theme on a few songs of reckoning – coming to terms with past events, maybe.
Sure. Or trying to make sense of things. “Miss Coldiron’s Oldsmobile” – I was too young when that was happening to really wrap my head around what all of that meant. But as an adult, you can go, “Okay. She was being gaslighted, you know?” Every time she would ask for money, she’d get reminded of the mental hospital she had spent some time in. Things like that. It was pretty fucking insidious.
“The Van Pelt Parties” – you know, that was some of my first experiences with drinking and how adults partied. I was a little kid, sneaking booze from the punchbowl. I was the only kid at the party and we would go every year. And the older I got, the drunker I got. And the grownups were too drunk to notice! [Laughs]
Was Van Pelt a part of Alabama?
They were a family. He was a college professor, she was a schoolteacher. Their daughter was a painter who had been my babysitter. And my parents were right in the middle of their ages – kind of ended up becoming friends with all of them, with the daughter and the parents. So they were a big presence in my life growing up. You know, I loved ‘em. Their daughter, who’d been my babysitter, taught me a lot of cool stuff. She turned me on to some cool music. I actually have a painting she made after tripping on acid at a Doobie Brothers concert!
Maybe it was because we were young, but I think the ’70s had a much cooler vibe than the present.
Well, about anything’s better than [now]. I hate saying this so bad because I’m not prone to romanticizing the past; I’ve always rebelled against glory days. But right now sucks! The level of fucking misinformation and just the insanity right now is so insidious. It’s hard right now not to feel a certain amount of nostalgia for any time in the past.
You and Mike Cooley have been playing together for almost 40 years or more. And other members of the Truckers have come and gone. But the drummer, Brad Morgan, has been with you guys forever and we don’t hear a lot about him. Tell me a little about Brad and what he brings to the band.
The band wouldn’t exist without Brad. Brad was the glue that kept all this crazy shit together all these years. You know, he’s that guy that’s really even-keeled. And he brought that to the table at times when the band was far too tumultuous and emotional for our own good. We call him Easy B. There’s a golden rule in the band and that’s “Don’t piss off Easy B!” Because if you’re fucking up enough to where Easy B gets mad at you, you are fucking up! And you don’t want the phone call from Easy B! He doesn’t get mad often so if he’s mad, there’s a good reason for it and you better take heed. He’s also a colossal drummer. He so often takes such a subtle approach to things that people don’t realize what a bad-ass drummer he is.
I know you have some solo dates lined up. What can people look forward to when you’re touring with this album? I assume it’ll be a little different than a Truckers show?
Yeah! Very different. But at the same time, it’s the same universe. [Lydia Loveless] is in the band that’s touring this record. She’s gonna open the show and she’s gonna play bass and sing harmonies in my band.
I think anyone who’s into the Truckers – if they can tolerate my voice, they’ll probably like this too. [Laughs] If you’re there for the big frontal assault and guitars and sweat and spit that comes with a Truckers show, it’s very different. Although I’m not ruling out those things happening, too. But it’s a quieter show. It’s gonna be built around these songs, with some other stuff that stylistically or thematically works with this. And it’s cool.
The mercurial husband/wife duo The War and Treaty are now riding a wave of success with an outstanding new LP, Plus One. Their fourth album, it’s out today, Valentine’s Day, on Mercury Nashville. They are also about to embark on a 30-city tour in March.
Two words recur throughout any conversation with Michael and Tanya Trotter, as they did during our extensive phone interview: Authenticity and collaboration.
“We titled it Plus One, because it’s really all about collaboration,” Michael said, getting things started. “That’s really been the key for us, especially since we came to Nashville and began working with the country community. They have been so open and willing to work with us, to listen and to hear what we have to say when we’re writing or when we’re in the studio.”
“For us, it’s really always important that we be true to who we are and what we do,” added Tanya. “That’s really been what we strive to do and the audiences really seem to enjoy it.”
Indeed, the pair earned multiple standing ovations during the opening night of a recent three-night engagement at the Schermerhorn Symphony Center in Nashville. Backed by the Nashville Symphony Orchestra, they went through a powerhouse nearly 90-minute performance, doing both fresh material from Plus One along with tunes from their earlier LPs such as the masterful “Blank Page,” as well as the glorious “Can I Get an Amen,” and a host of other numbers. They even performed a trio of Ashford & Simpson compositions, among them “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” and “Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing.”
“Working with the Symphony was really inspiring, but it was also different for us,” Michael said. “They were so great and we just had to make sure that we were on pace in terms of timing and keeping things going.”
“They were really fantastic,” added Tanya. “They really give you a lot of energy and they were so great playing behind us.”
It’s been quite a ride for the Trotters ever since their debut album, Love Affair, was released. Prior to that, from 2003 to 2007, Michael was in the United States Army. He was a Private First Class assigned to the 1st Battalion, 6th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Brigade, 1st Armored Division and served in Iraq and Germany. During his deployment, his unit was encamped in one of Saddam Hussein’s private palaces, which had a piano in its basement. Michael learned how to play the instrument when his company commander, Captain Robert Scheetz, encouraged him to toy around with the piano knowing he had a passion for singing. Scheetz was killed on a mission shortly after, and Michael wrote his first song in Scheetz’s honor and sang it at his memorial. He then began performing at the services of other fallen soldiers.
When they began working together the couple were initially known as Trotter & Blount. A year later, with their new name the War and Treaty, they released an EP, Down to the River, which was a superb combination of multiple idiomatic references. It had blues and soul feeling in the lead vocals and harmonies, the intensity of gospel in the performances, and the storytelling charm and acumen of country in its lyrical treatments.
Yet, it also identified the one characteristic about the War and Treaty’s music that has proven perplexing. Because they are so naturally eclectic in terms of musical choice and performance style, they were immediately embraced by the Americana audience. Later they were subsequently welcomed by the country market. But they’ve never been able to generate much momentum or traction within the urban contemporary (what was once termed the soul or Black) market. Despite having a sound as soulful as it gets, and being deeply entrenched in traditional Black music (both popular and secular), that market has been slow, at best, to recognize and welcome their music.
“Well, we know who our tribe is and we accept that,” Tanya said. “Certainly we want to reach as many people as we can, and we clearly want to have our songs played on those stations. But we also understand how the industry and marketplace work, and those are things we have no control over.”
“I’ll say this, when we go to our concerts, we have all types of fans,” Michael added. “They’re across the board, old, young, Black, White, Latino, just people who love good music. We really stress being authentic and staying true to what we do and love. That’s all you can do. But I will add that if these stations would play our songs – [and] play songs by people like Kane Brown, Mickey Guyton, Jimmie Allen – I think they’d find a receptive audience, because there’s an authenticity and feeling there that transcends things, yet also is very much a part of the Black experience.”
That’s been the mission since their 2018 debut release, Healing Tide. They quickly became a sensation in Nashville with their second LP, 2020’s Hearts Town, which included a dynamic collaboration with the great Emmylou Harris on the single “Five More Minutes.”
Two years later they were signed to UMG Nashville. Their first effort for the label, Lover’s Game, was in 2023. That same year, they graced a Top 20 hit, “Hey Driver,” a collaboration with Zach Bryan. It led to them being the first Black duo to be nominated for both the Country Music Association and Academy of Country Music’s Duo of the Year awards. It was also an indication that they had been accepted into country’s inner circle, something that hasn’t always been the case with Black performers.
“From the beginning we’ve never received anything other than respect, kindness, and first-class treatment from the country community,” Michael said. “I know that there are some other acts out there who can’t say that, but that’s really been true for how we’ve been treated.”
“Oh yes, everyone’s been so wonderful,” adds Tanya. “I can’t say enough about how great we’ve been treated and what a thrill it’s been working with people like Emmylou Harris, Chris Stapleton, Zach Bryan.”
That theme of joining forces and working together permeates the War and Treaty’s latest, Plus One.
It’s an 18-song masterpiece recorded at the legendary FAME studios in Muscle Shoals and co-produced by the Trotters along with A-list names like John Shanks, Jesse Frasure, and Jonathan Singleton. There’s a host of notable numbers, among them the poetic and inspirational “Love Like Whiskey,” co-written with Miranda Lambert; “Drink From Me” which also spotlights guitarist Billy Strings; as well as the aforementioned “Can I Get an Amen,” “Called You By Your Name,” and “Carried Away.”
Frasure, Strings, and Jonathan Singleton are among the other contributing writers, but much of the material was co-penned by the Trotters. “Some of these go back a ways, while others are recent,” Michael explained. “We really had about 50 songs by the time we finished and we had to cut it down.”
“I think we’ve got the best of the ones,” added Tanya.
With a biopic now in the works that chronicles their storybook rise to fame, the War and Treaty are looking ahead to the tour and future projects. There’s actually one thing they haven’t done yet that they’d like to do.
“We want to do a bluegrass album some day,” Michael says, in conclusion. “We think there’s a lot of material in those old mountain songs, both the gospel and the secular, and we’d like to try our hands at doing them our way. ”
“I think our fans would be delighted,” added Tanya. “They really enjoy some of the other older type material we do, and I think there’s a lot of good material there that really fits what the War and Treaty’s all about, doing strong and good songs our way.”
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Based in northern Alabama with deep, organic ties to so many sounds and styles of the “Americana Music Triangle,” the Secret Sisters have built a musical brand on a distinct iteration of Southern gothic songwriting steeped in familial harmonies. Their music is grounded, but broad, specific but infinitely relatable.
Over the course of five studio albums released since 2010 – including 2020’s Grammy-nominated Saturn Return, which was produced by Brandi Carlile – the sisters, Laura Rogers and Lydia (Rogers) Slagle, have strayed very little from the sounds that first entranced audiences all across the South and around the country more than 14 years ago. Still, while they occupy a distinct and confident sonic aesthetic, their catalog never reads as tired, weary, or redundant. Mind, Man, Medicine, their latest record, was released on March 29 and while it listens like classic, iconoclastic Secret Sisters, it also registers as brand new, vital, and innovative.
It follows that two women proud to be Southerners and proud to be from Alabama would not feel limited by maintaining a stylistic brand that is rooted in one particular vein. At times, their songs remind of the Civil Wars but without affectation, of Shovels & Rope but with a more quiet and genuine anger, and of so many other Americana duos – Gillian & Dave, the Milk Carton Kids, War & Pierce – where the focal point is two voices and creatives in dialogue, collective music. But the indelible throughline, that centering “vein,” is simply being true to themselves.
Mind, Man, Medicine, among the siblings’ handful of releases, all at once feels like a comforting and cozy continuation of everything we love about the Secret Sisters rooted in northern Alabama, while also demonstrating the dawn of a new era. In our conversation with Laura and Lydia, we chat about the distinctions between style and redundancies, about compassion and community, about grounding and intention. Throughout, it’s clear that the Secret Sisters know exactly who they are, how they sound, and why they do what they do – even, if not especially, when each of those truths becomes clouded by the intricacies and complications of life.
I wanted to start by asking you about your specific brand of country and Americana. You have always made music that’s mindful, connected to the earth, and connected to your community. It often feels a little witchy and a little gothic, but it also feels like musically wandering down a winding garden path.
That style, that y’all have had present in all of your albums, it feels like it’s so “in” right now. From the new Kacey Musgraves album, Deeper Well, to Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter, there are so many touches in country today that seem like something y’all have been doing for more than a decade. I wanted to see how you felt about this current landscape of Americana and country and how you feel your music relates to or fits into the constellation of this ongoing trend?
Laura Rogers: I have noticed that trend in a lot of ways. It seems like there are artists who are even more successful than we are who reach this point where, like you said, they reground or they just tap into something that’s maybe [been] suppressed by the other music that they’ve made. I don’t necessarily think that that’s a bad thing. I think that every artist has his or her own evolution, as far as what inspires them, whether it’s what they’re listening to or what they’re feeling or just what they want to sing. Some people don’t want to [tap] into their history or their community or their roots in any way.
I can understand that and sympathize with that, it’s just that’s who we are. It isn’t a trend for us. There’s no marketing scheme behind what we’re doing. I’m not implying that other artists who are doing that are just doing it for the moment, but for us, it’s always been [that] we don’t really know any other kind of music to play other than what you hear.
I don’t even know if it’s an intentional mindset. We want to be grounded and rooted and pay tribute to where we’re from. I don’t know if that’s like a conscious decision that we make. I think it just kind of happens naturally for us.
I know what it’s like to go through a journey of growing up and reconnecting to where you’re from and appreciating your history. I think it takes a minute sometimes, as an artist and a writer, to go back to that and see it as a good thing. Maybe other artists who are doing that, it’s probably a sincere moment in their life where they’ve reached a point of, “Hey, I want to go back to something that feels a little more like me.” I love that chapter of certain artists’ careers as much as I love the ones that maybe aren’t as rootsy and connected.
Lydia Slagle: I feel like some of that might be due to the pandemic. I might be taking liberties by saying that, but we were just home for so long and I think that probably grounded a lot of people in that way and made people get more in touch with their roots, musically.
I think you’re right. And you’ve both immediately grabbed onto the thread that I was pulling here, which is that there’s this trajectory that artists really enjoy bringing into their own art of “going back to basics.”
From the beginning of y’all’s career, from the first album, it seems like you always started “back” at the basics. I think what’s so interesting about that is how it never seems limiting to y’all. It feels like there’s always an entire universe for you to explore, even while you’re still remaining so close to that home base. You continue to showcase this sense of grounding and rootedness, highlighting where you’re from and who you are, but there’s still so much to explore.
LS: I think we can’t take credit for a lot of that, because we have had a lot of really great collaborators over the years.
We’ve had really good co-writers and great producers who are willing to stretch our limits of what we knew we were capable of. I think some of it is just our general involvement as artists, but a lot of it is who we work with and the people who play the instruments on the records and who produces them.
LR: I don’t know how Lydia feels, I’m sure she probably feels this to a degree, but it’s an insecurity of mine. I listen to other artists and I think, “Oh, if I could just write a song like that one.” I’m constantly doing that terrible thing that humans do, where I compare what I’m capable of producing to what everyone else is currently producing.
I’m so hard on myself about just wishing that I were better, you know? It’s nice to hear that, even after five records of writing music, that what we [make] is still the essence of who we are, but it isn’t overdone. I think that the fear of mine is like, how many more albums can we do before we have to venture into a crazy genre that we’ve never done before to keep people interested? [Laughs]
Thankfully, five albums in, it seems like people are not weary of what we do. But that is a total insecurity of mine, I hear so many songs and I think, “Man, I’m never going to be able to do that…” But then I also realize that there are people who hear our songs and think that they are works of art in ways that I think that was just a Tuesday afternoon!
LS: It’s also a struggle for me, but when I think of my favorite artists, I don’t get weary of the same stuff. I think of Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings, they don’t really deviate from their original sound and it is just as fresh and exciting for me. Hopefully some people can see our music in the same way.
I think that if we were to just derail and do something completely different, I’m sure that would be exciting, but I’m also sure there would be a part of us that would be like, “What are we doing? What are we trying to prove?” I don’t even know how to describe it, but it would be very hard for us. So, we do what we know and what we like and hopefully people stay on board.
LR: I do think a huge part of it [is that] we’ve had multiple people who have produced things for us and songwriters that we’ve worked with kind of reassure us in this. But, any time we decide to do anything that’s maybe a little bit out of the box for us and that kind of pushes our limits, they always remind us, “What you are is not the sound that you work within, it’s your harmonies together and it’s the way that your voices blend.”
I do think that anytime I feel nervous about new territory or repetitive territory, I just remind myself we are two sisters who grew up singing together, who harmonize together, and for some reason, people really love the way that our voices blend. That seems to be the crux of it. It’s great if that’s framed with interesting sonic landscapes or up-tempo, energetic songs, or sad minor chords. All of those things are interesting, but at the end of the day, if you don’t have that two-part sibling harmony that we are known for– I do think our sound hinges on that, to me.
I don’t ever foresee us having a record where only one of us sings. Period. There’s always going to be both of us, even if we’re both singing in unison together. There’s just something about that. And it’s so much more than what you hear, it’s an energetic thing. You can hear the shared chemistry and energy that happens when two voices that are really, really connected blend together. It doesn’t have to be people who are related to one another, but I think that there’s some unidentifiable, intangible sauce that comes over everything. It’s almost like hypnosis or something.
I think probably every artist that we admire would be like, “Yeah, I have days where I really don’t know what my sound is. I don’t know what my genre is. I don’t know what my style is. I just make it.”
I’m glad that you mention singing in unison, because it was something that really jumped out at me from this record. There’s some tasty ass unison singing on this record! What’s so interesting to me is that you can hear the space in the room between your mouths and the mics – and you can hear that space almost more than the space between your voices, since you’re singing in unison.
LR: Yeah, unison’s hard. I would say for me unison is harder than harmony, getting that blend and making sure that your voices are not rubbing against each other in a way that’s kind of cringy.
LS: We get some of that on the road, I feel like. When we’re performing live and we do unison, there are times when one of us is just maybe a tad sharp or a tad flat and it does not sound like good tasty unison. So finding that perfect sweet spot is a little trickier than you might think.
Shifting gears, I love how y’all always have such a strong sense of place in your music, drawing from Muscle Shoals, drawing from the “Americana Music Triangle.” And I have been obsessed recently with the idea that music always exists in a space, in relationship with place. It feels a bit “forest for the trees” to say it, but without air we wouldn’t have music – without sound waves, without air, without space.
I thought it was so perfect that you start the album with “Space,” it feels like a beautiful, spiritual moment where you’re asking folks to enter a space with you. You’re holding this space with your voices and with your songs, and inviting all of us to enter that space with you.
So I wanted to ask you about that song, writing it, but also deciding that it would be the first in the sequence.
LR: I didn’t even think about that at all! This is what I love about making records, there are always things that you discover about it after it’s out and you’re like, “Oh, I didn’t even consciously decide to do that.”
But it makes so much sense. I never thought about having that song as the opening track of the record and it being an invitation of, “This is a space for you to enter and and it’s a safe place for you to feel.” I never thought about that and I love that you discovered that for us.
LS: I don’t feel like that was so much a conscious decision to frame it as this invitation into our record, but I love that perspective.
As far as sequencing, I think that it was more the production of that song and the sound that we approached it with that was pretty different for us. So we loved starting the record with a completely different sound for us. To let people know this is a little bit different from what you’ve heard in the past.
LR: We wrote that song with Jessie Baylin and Daniel Tashian, so when we got to Daniel’s studio to write with him, I just remember there being instruments all over the floor, all over the walls. It literally was like, come in and pick what you want to use. I’m not an adventurous instrumentalist at all, but he picked up this little tiny guitar that we plugged into this amp and we put this crazy effect on it. We just started strumming on it, and that was kind of the beginning of the song. I don’t even really remember what started the inspiration for that song, but I really feel like, timing-wise, where it landed was just after we had started writing with people after the pandemic. It was finally safe enough to sit in a co-writing situation in person. Coming from that place of the weird and divisive time of COVID, two songs, “Space” and “If The World Was a House,” were really just trying to capture that feeling that we gotta start being better to each other.
I think that there’s a quality in this album that you’re opening a space, you’re inviting folks into it, and then you’re kind of pointing out, “Hey, if the world was a house and that house was on fire, we would all do something about it, right?” I’m not sure if that message would feel as compassionate or as kind or as open if it didn’t come after this sense that you’re inviting us in, we’re on the same level, we’re in this space together. Then you can talk about these ideas and these songs that are challenging us to be in community, to be with each other, to make a better world. It doesn’t feel like you’re preaching.
LS: I hope people listen from that viewpoint. When we wrote that song with Ruston Kelly in Nashville, I think it was the beginning of 2022 when it was just starting to die down a little bit, but people were still very divided on COVID. It was ever present in our minds, so whenever we started writing “If The World Was a House” that day, it just came out. We could not get the words out quickly enough. I think it could have been a 10 minute song if we let it.
LR: “If The World Was a House,” now that I listen to it and process it as a finished product, I just keep thinking about how if you were passing by a neighborhood and there was a literal home on fire, it would not matter to you if they were Republican or Democrat or gay or straight or Christian or atheist or man or woman. It would not matter, you would do something! You would run in, you would call for help. You would make an effort, right?
When I feel the most dismal and depressed about humankind, I keep coming back to the thought that, if it’s really a matter of life and death, you’re going to step up for people. I do truly believe that most people have that sense of, “I got to do something.” I try to remember that it doesn’t matter that we have differences. The differences are always going to be there, but at the end of the day, would you fight for someone? Would you fight for someone who is different from you?
I like to believe that most people would. Once all the dust settles, of all the things that we bicker and separate ourselves over, I really like to think that everybody has a general sense of kindness that they could tap into. Maybe that’s a little naively optimistic, but…
I think that that message is so impactful coming from y’all, knowing that you place yourselves purposefully in your community in Alabama and in these parts of the country that people tend to write off as being “backwards” and not being capable of nuance. The South and rural places are always a scapegoat for the entire country and all of its problems. So, I think that it makes the message in your music so much more impactful, knowing that. You don’t see yourselves as outliers in the place that you’re from, you don’t see yourselves as exceptions to the rule or like you’re the only ones who think like this, who are “enlightened.”
LS: I think there’s more of us than people realize, there’s a lot of us in Alabama and Tennessee and Mississippi – we’re not the only ones. Hopefully we can represent that community of people a little bit better.
Another song I wanted to ask you about before we close is “Planted.” I love birdwatching, I love gardening and I feel like a lesson I learned – and so many of us learned – from COVID is that we need to have roots. We need to have nourishment and we need to be grounded, planted. I hear that song and I hear the love in it – the romantic partnership and the life partnership – but I also hear so much more. I love that I had already written down in my notes that this album is so “rooted” and then I got to “Planted” and I was like, literally!
LS: I think I wrote Planted in like 2015, a while back, and it had been sitting in my GarageBand for years and years. I think that when I first wrote it, it was about a year after I got married and my husband and I were going through a season where we were both traveling a lot, we’re both in artistic careers. So we were sort of rubbing up against each other, being like, “Whose job is more important? Which is more impactful?” I don’t know, we finally ended up in a place where we were like, it doesn’t matter. We’re in this together. We’re rooted together. It doesn’t matter if somebody is on a different trajectory, we’re in this thing together. I sort of tried to approach that song with that perspective, but yeah, I never thought that it would make it onto the record eight years later.
LR: There are songs you have for years and years that you think maybe there’s just not a place for it, and then all of a sudden it’s like, “This is the place!”
I feel like that song is very true to this record, even though it was written years ago about a romantic relationship, you’re completely right about it fitting into the narrative of this record, because I think so much of this record is about finally reaching a place in your life where you’re at peace with what you are and who you are and where you’re from. And, what your history is and what your sound is.
We have reached this point, hallelujah, where we are like, “What you see is what you get.” We are who we are and all we can really offer the world is a healthy, whole, self-satisfied version of ourselves.
We did the thing in our twenties where we said yes to every show opportunity, every appearance we could make, we said yes to everything. It was good in a lot of ways, but it was also just soul sucking, you know? I think one thing that I’ve really struggled with over the years is how I never thought that I was gonna be a professional musician. I’ve always just loved music for its therapy purposes. So it’s been hard for me to have my favorite hobby become a livelihood, because it feels like a lot of times the magic strips away and the comfort mechanism isn’t there anymore, because it’s your job. It’s like, “Well, this is what I do every day. This is how I keep the lights on.” And then it’s not what I want to do after hours. That’s been a hard thing for me to process.
I think that this record, in a nutshell for me, is about coming to a place of still loving what I do. I still want to make art that matters to me and that people respond to, but I do not have to kill myself in the process.
If I want to be home for someone’s birthday, I can say no to [an opportunity] for that. And, I’m finally at a place where I know I can always make money. I can always find a way to make money. But if I am going to sacrifice being home to watch my kid walk across his pre-k graduation stage, that’s not a fair trade for me anymore. Whereas years ago, in my youth – and I guess you would call it maybe ignorance or just immaturity – I would trade those for things that really mattered. Now I realize what I’m going to look back on in my life when I’m an old lady is not, “Did I play every show? Did I fall in bed exhausted? Did I come home and completely dissociate from everything around me, because I was so overstimulated by life on the road?”
I feel so happy to be in a place where music feels healthy again, because sometimes I think it’s easy for it to not feel healthy.
Mississippi is well-known for storytellers who craft in multiple mediums. From songwriter-guitar shredder-photographer Marty Stuart, to filmmaker-actor-business owner Morgan Freeman, to author-TV personality-business magnate Oprah Winfrey, the list of multi-hyphenates originating in the state is formidable. Hailing from different parts of the state and from different generations, Charlie Worsham and Mac McAnally are both known as consummate songwriters, instrumentalists, storytellers, singers, producers, and prolific performers.
McAnally frequently jokes that spare time is the chief export of the state of Mississippi, and while hyperbolic, this does underline the fact that it takes time and space to become an expert music creator. Whether Mississippi afforded them both the opportunity to develop their crafts or whether their own obsessions forced them to carve pathways to success for themselves, we’ll never know.
The way the pair speak about playing instruments is reminiscent of the youthful compulsion with which some people describe playing video games or sports. Both Worsham and McAnally started very young. By age 12, Worsham was on the Grand Ole Opry’s hallowed stage. McAnally grew up playing in bars and honky tonks on the Tennessee state line and started playing sessions in Muscle Shoals studios by his early teen years.
In an industry rife with surly personalities, both McAnally and Worsham have reputations of kindness that precede them. It is no coincidence that both of their calendars are fully booked with tours, both solo and in support of other artists and acts, studio work, and various and sundry creative projects.Worsham’s most recent solo release, Compadres, is a who’s who of modern Nashville duet partners; he’s also a current member of Dierks Bentley’s band. McAnally has a fully packed solo tour schedule after losing his long-time collaborator and Coral Reefer Band leader, Jimmy Buffett, just last year and is currently collaborating with Disney on updating the Country Bear Jamboree.
Good Country spoke with Worsham and McAnally from their homes in Nashville. Worsham was making Valentine’s Day memes, preparing for a run of solo shows, and balancing it all with a toddler in the house. McAnally was fresh off a week-long run of shows in Hawaii co-headlining with fellow multi-hyphenate, Jake Shimabukuro, and gearing up for a run of solo shows himself.
The discussion was a mutual admiration society as they are clearly big fans of each other’s work. They talked about their progressions to becoming multi-hyphenates, the benefits of being able to pivot, what their younger selves would think about their careers, and in a Substack-exclusive epilogue, they paid tribute to the fellow multi-hyphenate greats that we lost this past year, Jimmy Buffett and Toby Keith.
As you both became multi-hyphenate creators, were there people in your pasts who either discouraged you from this or encouraged you towards this?
Mac McAnally: Well, I began just by being pretty much fascinated with everything. As far as the multi-instrumentalist part of it, that came from my dad, because he kept the books at an auction and he came home every week with some musical instrument, and it wouldn’t be connected to the last one that he brought. He was just fascinated with music, too, so he would trade up a saxophone one week. He’d have a clarinet the next week, a fiddle the next week. And then drums, which he was kind of glad I didn’t stick with. I was always interested and fascinated by what kind of sounds they made, whether I could help make them or not.
When it became the studio application, I don’t wanna say I was discouraged, but my application in Muscle Shoals was that there wasn’t really a dedicated acoustic guitar player. There was a rhythm section at every studio. Broadway had a rhythm section. Fame had a rhythm section. Muscle Shoals Sound had a rhythm section. Wishbone, where I was working mainly, had a rhythm section. But none of them had a dedicated acoustic player, so it allowed me to go cross-pollinate those different rhythm sections and learn with different producers.
I wouldn’t say I was discouraged, but initially, I was encouraged to be primarily an acoustic player. But I think just because I’m so fascinated with all of it, I was paying attention to all of those jobs; to what the engineers were doing, to what the producers were doing. And then, as I began to have opportunities to do some of those other jobs later on, I certainly believe that having done a few of them gave me more consideration or compassion for everybody that was doing them. I think that it is a good thing to go through life with respect for everybody, and how they’re doing their job. So the more jobs you’ve done, the more you can identify with individual situations of those jobs.
Charlie Worsham: I couldn’t agree more on that last statement. You know, I always have felt that way, and all my favorite people in music are people who have worn different hats over the years, because they have that added perspective and appreciation. And I think it was similar for me, Mac. I was curious. I wasn’t really good at sports, so for me instead of picking up a new sport, it was picking up a new instrument. I was fortunate to have supportive parents who would help me acquire that instrument and acquire a connection to someone who could give me lessons, or a book or video tapes to learn from, or whatever, or just be playing along to records.
That was a big driver for me – and I don’t think anyone ever discouraged me in a similar way. It wasn’t discouragement so much as an encouragement in the other direction, which was because I was a bluegrass kid. There were a handful of people in the bluegrass world who sort of said, “Hey, if you want to be a fiddler, or if you want to be a banjo player, you need to dedicate everything you got to that one instrument,” and I figured out pretty early on I that I was too curious about the full picture, like you said. I wanted to get a little bit of understanding about it all, especially once I got the bug for recording equipment.
I had a chance to come to Nashville when I was 13 and make a bluegrass record. And this guy named Bobby Clark, who played mandolin with Mike Snider at the time, had a 2-inch tape machine in the guest bedroom. I walked in, saw that thing, and I was hooked. It was game over. And so, of course, my new mission became that I had this room full of instruments and I needed a way to record them. That’s what got me into being a songwriter. It all kind of snowballed, because I ran out of fiddle tunes to record. I was like, well, I need to write something now that I’m running out of material to record. By the time I got to Nashville, my motto in those early years was, “Say yes, ‘til you can afford to say no.”
I really wanted to be the big ol’ electric solo rippin’ guitar player. But everybody was an electric guitar player, like you said. A lot of times they needed an acoustic player or the band needed a harmony singer and someone who could play mandolin. So it was a way to always be able to pay the rent. And then, as I got more and more connections, and I guess my stock rose, then I could afford to choose a little bit more what I wanted to do specifically. Looking back, I wouldn’t have wanted to do it any other way, because I love being able to pivot.
I have a question for your 16-year-old selves. What hat do you wear today that you would be most surprised about?
CW: So if 16-year-old us popped into the future and said, “Wow, I didn’t see that coming?” Man! What’s yours, Mac?
MM: I probably didn’t understand what record production was, so it would have seriously surprised my 16-year-old self. A), That there was a job that was really what this is, and B), I wanted to do it. My 16-year-old self just wanted to be a guitar player in a band. At the time I was kind of having to be a piano player in the band, because I knew the notes on the piano and that pretty much disqualified me as a guitar player. Everybody played a little guitar in North Mississippi and almost nobody played the keyboard. If you had a keyboard, you were a keyboard player. I had a Fender Rhodes, which meant I was gonna load it by myself every night and blow my back out by the time I was 20.
I didn’t want to be a singer. I didn’t think I could sing. I wanted to be a guitar player, and I didn’t even want to be the guy playing the solo. I honestly think that’s probably what’s got me so many gigs in bands, because I would always just sit and play rhythm for two hours while somebody jammed over “Down By the River.” I was just trying to make it groove.
My adult self is fueled a little bit by my ignorant teenage self, and like you, I wasn’t necessarily inclined to sports, but I was a big enough guy that they expected me to play football in Belmont, Mississippi. I was blessed by the fact that Belmont, Mississippi did not own a helmet that would go on my head – even in junior high school. My head is huge, and the high school coach took me into the equipment room and said, “Son, see if you get any of these high school helmets on that head of yours. You’re a big boy, and we’d love to have you out on that field.” And I sat and mashed as hard as I could. It looked like Mr. Peanut. I went trotting out on the field, and the coach said, “No, that ain’t on, son.” The face mask was still over my hairline, you know, so I didn’t get to play football.
But a record producer, somebody that is in the service of the music and in the service of helping somebody’s dream come true, I didn’t understand what that job was. I don’t view myself as particularly good at it, but I relish the fact that I get to do that on occasion. I just sort of think of myself as a steward of music. It doesn’t matter which of these hats, which of these hyphens is today’s job. I just like to wake up and go back to bed, having been in the service of music, and I don’t really care what way it is.
CW: It’s interesting, because I think I’m closer in my mindset today, for the first time, to my 16-year-old self than I’ve been since then. In that, like you, I just wanted to be where the music was. I wanted to be involved. By my early twenties, there was a part of me that if I brought my 22-year-old self to the present he’d be going, “Where’s the building you own on Music Row? And where’s your wall full of plaques and all your 10 number ones?” I was pretty fired up by then to go out and change the world and be a star. But at 16, I just wanted to be around the music. I wanted to get to Nashville and be in those rooms. I think that the part of me that’s fueled by gratitude and excitement, that 16-year-old self, would be blown away by how much music I get to make and the people who I get to make it with. And the fact that the liner notes legends that I revered and learned from know me and that people like Vince Gill, who were my ultimate North Star and still are, that they would know me, and even respect what I do, and want me to be around to help.
That early 20s self, who just thought I had to have the number ones and thought I had to have it a certain way, has given way to realizing that it’s unfolded in a much cooler way. Had I had that one hyphen, the guy in the spotlight, and if everything had gone the way I thought I wanted it to go, I would not have gotten the chance to do all these other things. Being a big star means that’s really all you have time to do. I’ve had the chance to be on the tour bus with Vince, with Old Crow Medicine Show, or right now with the Dierks Bentley gig. And I’m still hungry for certain things in the spotlight part of the hyphen, but it’s way cooler now – and I have so much more perspective and gratitude. It comes down to getting to be around the music and getting to witness that miracle of an idea coming to fruition. We’re sort of midwives for creativity.
MM: That’s well said, and I almost bet as many of these multi-hyphenates as you talk to, they are gonna have that in common. I didn’t even desire to get a record deal, but I got a record deal when I was 19 and I had a record on the charts when I was 19. I was just really on a dare out there. I was like, “They’re gonna send me back home within 6 months.” I didn’t have any ambition to be in the middle of the stage at all. And still don’t. It’s Old Testament miracles, daisy-chained together, that I ever got a record deal, because I never even played my songs to my parents. I was so bashful.
But had the record deal been a big blow-up kind of deal, as you said, Charlie, it takes up all your time, and it also can shorten your career.
CW: So true.
MM: You can only take the hard spotlight for a few years and then people kinda want you out of their living room.
Charlie, you’re actually a few decades closer to your 16-year-old self than I am. I still have the mindset of that, and I’m grateful every day, really, that I didn’t blow up when I was 19, because I didn’t have a clue how to handle that. It allowed me to watch a bunch more people, how they do it, how they make records to get to play along with a bunch of people, and, as you said so well, I got to play with heroes of mine that I would never dream to be even shaking hands with. All of that is partly a result of not being a big deal when I was 19.
CW: We do it backward, right? Because I think when people hit about 40, that’s when they’re actually finally prepared to be a big star and they’re at their peak. That’s one of the best pieces of wisdom I’ve been fortunate to glean from Vince in particular, as the great mentor that he is. He’s making the best records he’s ever made now, and that’s my own hope, too, that every 10 years I can be proud of the music I’m making today, and I can look back at the music I made 10 years ago. I’ll still be proud, but also part of me cringes a little bit, because that means I’m growing. That’s the dream really.
MM: I couldn’t say it better.
Can you both talk about what being from Mississippi means to you as music makers and in terms of how you developed as music creators?
CW: The older I get, the more I recognize that you can tell the whole story of America, and particularly American music, through the lens of Mississippi. All the really inspiring parts and all the really scary parts and tragic parts of it, too. It’s all wrapped up there, and somehow, it just seems like the folks who came out of Mississippi with music in their heart did just a bang-up job of documenting all of that.
I think back to when I first acquired an electric guitar. It took me a while. I had the banjo, I had the mandolin, and I was playing all the acoustic and bluegrass instruments. But I still wanted to be Vince Gill or Marty Stuart. And I finally got that electric, and it was B.B. King records that I used to learn first. The reason was I thought, “Oh, he didn’t play that many notes. I’ll figure all this out in no time. One weekend and I’ll be playing like B.B. King.” I very quickly learned, no. He might only be playing one note, but the way that he bends a note is like watching Mozart compose.
Growing up [in Mississippi], there was that factor of seeing Marty Stuart on TV, knowing he grew up where I grew up. Same with B.B. King and Pops Staples. And same with you, Mac. I’ve always looked up to you, as well. If there’s anything I know about Mississippi, I know the only thing bigger than our mosquitoes are our stories. We really know how to tell a story.
MM: It is the truth. I got to run around with Jimmy Buffett for years, he was a Mississippi guy who had done well and I respected him. And the same with all of the blues guys. I wasn’t so much a student of blues, but I knew that the blues essentially came out of our delta. I appreciate and honor the fact that it came out of our soil there.
Our home state is fiftieth in most things. We’re the poorest and the least educated, and the most overweight. We get the number 50 a lot. But I also think that the spirit of community– when everyone’s kind of close to one another because nobody’s that far apart. The poor and middle class are almost everybody. So you kinda know your situation and how everything you do affects everybody you know. It gives you a big picture from a small town. That is a big picture that applies to the whole world. There’s a ripple of good or bad, according to whether you’re doing good or bad, it goes out through your community. That, I think, informs our storytelling nature.
If you had to boil it down today and you could only pick one thing that you do, what would you choose?
CW: Today? There’s a part of me that wants to say, “Play mandolin,” as crazy as that sounds. It’s probably number six on the list of things I do. I learned over the years that being on tour and playing that two hours of music every night doesn’t necessarily mean that you keep your chops, because you’re playing the same two hours of material. And so over the last few years, I’ve sort of set a mission ahead of every tour: I want to pick a music nerd project – and last year it was mandolin. So I try to put in a couple of hours every day out on the road, learning solos I always wanted to learn, or just playing along, or jamming with the other guys in the band.
Since I’m sort of in the middle of a mandolin renaissance, there’s a part of me that would be relieved to just go, “Oh, that’s all I’m gonna do is just go get really good at mandolin right now.” Just because it’s what’s fueling my curiosity and my creativity. I also think it’d be impossible for me to not pick songwriting, especially off the heels of us talking about being from Mississippi and the fact that we’re kind of born into telling stories growing up there.
I process so much of my life and my feelings through writing songs. If I don’t get it out, it builds up and it comes out all sideways. One of my life’s mantras is “I ain’t right if I can’t write.”
But most days, to make a long story short, I just want to play guitar. You give me a guitar and I just want to play, and that’s fine by me.
MM: You could just superimpose my voice on what Charlie said pretty much. I love everything that I do. But I just came home from working every day for a long time and literally, before I took my shoes off, I was playing a guitar. Like you said, Charlie, on tour you play what you already know how to play. You don’t really challenge yourself, because you’re spending two hours just trying to make that show be as good as you can.
But I know that I still want to get better. At a certain age, you also want to maintain. I’ve got arthritis in my hands. I remember my grandmother, who was a musician as well, she crocheted all the time, and she crocheted things that we didn’t need, because she was afraid to stop. She was afraid her hands would lock up if she stopped, so we got sweaters and doilies and blankets and bedspreads. She was really just trying to keep her hands active. There’s an element of that in what I’m doing, too. But it also lights me up. I can’t imagine being separated from a guitar for any long period of time. That’s sort of terrifying.
CW: I brought a guitar on my honeymoon. That tells you how bad it is.
MM: Yeah, I was just all week last week with my buddy Jake Shimabukuro, and he’s blessed by the fact that his passion is the ukulele. He literally doesn’t go to dinner without it. Anytime we get in the van to ride from the airport to the hotel, I make a personal bet with myself whether we get to the first speed bump on the way out of the airport before he’s playing. He’s still just as fired up about it as ever, and that’s inspiring to a 66-year-old. And I hope there’s some 78-year-old that’s looking at me going, “Look at that idiot! He’s playing guitar before he sets his suitcase down!”
Even though you’re in different generations, the modern-day music business is so different from when either of you guys were coming up. And there’s a lot of extra hats that you guys are having to wear. Given that it is a different landscape, do you have advice for people coming up who aspire to do what you two do?
CW: Most of it is stuff I’m passing on secondhand. I’d love to start by saying I believe we are in the best time in my lifetime to go into this world of music with this multi-hyphenate mindset. My dad was a banker and my mom was a teacher, both professions that they held for decades. I grew up with this message from the world that this is kind of how it works, right? You get a job, and you keep that one job, and that’s what your job is. That has kind of gone away. I’m actually particularly grateful now that I never had a plan to stay on one track. Generally music, yes. But I was always prepared to pivot. Looking at where we are now, I think that the ability to pivot is going to be the most important skill someone could have, especially in music going into the future.
I could give you tons of great advice from other people like, never be the best musician in your band, because then you don’t have anything to learn. You’re gonna learn more if you’re the weak link in that band.
But in terms of personal advice that I can give, I think it’s figure out how to have a sustainable and not-so-toxic relationship with your public-facing platform, most of the time that’s going to be through whatever social media is happening. And you can count on that changing. It’s TikTok today. It’ll be something else in a couple of years. But I have found success in finding something that I know I can commit to, that I know I can be consistent with, and that isn’t going to just drain my soul.
You know, the definition of integrity I keep is that the insides match the outside. If it’s guitar nerd stuff, I know there are other guitar nerds out there, and I know that’s something I can always put 10 minutes of my time into. I do believe that our presence online, in so many ways, is becoming the currency of the future. I mean, even for songwriters, even for session players. You know, if someone heard your name twenty years ago, they’d pick up the phone and call a musician they trust and say, “Hey, have you heard about this kid? What are they like? Have you worked with them?” And basically, that was your best shot at getting called by that person. But now they’re more likely to just search you online and look at your YouTube or your Instagram. Iif you’re there and you have a consistent presentation of who you are, they can get to know you really quickly. You also have to keep in mind that it isn’t everything. There are seasons in life where it’s okay to let that go and shut it down and focus on something else. But it is something you kind of have to at least keep on the back burner.
Ultimately, if it ain’t who you really are, it’s just not gonna work long term. And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that if you can’t pull it off long term, it’s not worth doing. Like Mac said earlier in this conversation, being a big star isn’t made for thirty years. You’re not meant to stand in that bright of a light for a long time. The real trick is being able to run the full marathon. With social media, you have to really be careful not to lose your spirit in it.
MM: I have missed my opportunity to take some of your good advice, because social media came too late into my life. I’m probably not ever gonna be anybody that posts a lot, but I will say just in general, whatever the new thing is tomorrow, that was the old thing yesterday.
What I would say to folks starting out is to widen the lens, to dream wider. When you are a teenager, when you’re full of hormones, you tend to dream narrow. There’s so many rewarding aspects of what’s available to us that you don’t know about in your teen years and if you narrow your dreams down to where all bands suck except the one you like, you eliminate not only a lot of career opportunities, but you eliminate a whole bunch of joy that’s just sitting there waiting in the music.
There are just all sorts of payoffs to leaving everything as a possibility. And then, besides that, I would just say, in the context of all success, in all the ways that we measure it and quantify it, if you can just remember that the music is the reward. It is the primary reward. Everything else, as wonderful as everything else is, is secondary to the music itself. Nothing will ever compete with that to me. The things that I’ve gotten to be part of, or play on, or make a little bit better just because I was there, that is the most career reward that I’ll ever have, regardless of how much revenue I ever generate or how many people mistake me for the musician of the year, or whatever songwriting accolades that we get. All of those are great, but they’re secondary to the work. The work is the reward.
CW: That is incredibly profound and true. I relate to that every day these days. It calls to mind for me, too, that when we talk about awards, number ones, or getting big checks in the mail, you don’t often in those kinds of conversations hear people talk about respect. I’ve found that the work is the reward. But to feel the respect of people that you admire and look up to, respect is about as sweet a feeling as anything you could get.
MM: It is awesome
CW: And it’s also kind of a hedge against hard seasons. If you operate with empathy and respect for others, one of the best ways to get respect is to respect other people in the first place.
MM: Absolutely
CW: It is a bit of insurance, I think, against hard times, because it means in your lowest point you got people you can call who are gonna shoot you straight, who are gonna help in any way they can. There are people with big mansions and number ones, and all the things who don’t necessarily have respect, and if I had to pick one or the other, I’d rather have the respect and not have all the rest than have all the rest, and not have respect.
MM: No, that’s correct. And there is no hard turn or dark corner that music can’t get you out of. Not necessarily financial and success-wise, but whatever headspace you’re in, music can turn bad into good. There aren’t many things that do that and we’re connected to one of those. The worst thing that ever happens to you can become a song that makes somebody else’s life better who is going through a similar thing. And they couldn’t articulate it. They couldn’t speak it. But we can help with that and help ourselves at the same time.
In Their Words: “I see myself as a pessimist by nature, but I somehow ended up with the most delusional optimist to ever orbit the earth. Dillon has shown me that the way we look at things and the stories we tell ourselves, will create our worldview. For me, it’s less about positive thoughts and more about gratitude for the world even with all its flaws that lead to my pessimism. A blue rose (as with most blue flowers) is not something that exists in nature, so it must be painted or bred. In much the same way, life is antecedent to meaning and beauty. ‘Blue Roses’ is an existential take on the beauty of personal meaning and values.” — Heidi Feek
Eighty-one years ago, an icon of American music released a record that has stood the test of time like few other bodies of work. Legendary storyteller and musician Woody Guthrie’s album, Dust Bowl Ballads, is that record, and now Elektra Records has issued an album that celebrates its musical singularity.
Titled Home in this World: Woody Guthrie’s Dust Bowl Ballads, the collection is far more than a restoration, remix, or remastering. Instead, producer Randall Poster tailored a reimagination of the album and rerecorded it with a slew of carefully curated artists such as John Paul White, Colter Wall, and Chris Thile. One of the highlights is “Dust Cain’t Kill Me,” performed by the Secret Sisters. “One of our COVID lockdown highlights was holing up in a hometown studio to record a tribute song to the great American storyteller, Woody Guthrie,” they said. “We loved swampin’ up his folk tune with a little Alabama mud. Hope y’all like it too!”
With such passion at the heart of it, Home in This World brings new life to music that has shaped American culture in the 20th and 21st centuries. An avid fan as well as an experienced music supervisor, Poster cast the artists by drawing on his keen sensibility for film music. “Woody Guthrie’s Dust Bowl Ballads is as relevant as ever,” he stated. “While profiteers exploit our natural resources, there is a growing sensitivity to the harsh farming practices that put our well-being at risk, and a concerted movement toward regenerative agriculture that can reinvigorate the soil and push back on climate change. I asked some of my favorite artists to help render these songs, hoping that this collection will reinforce the enduring power and prescience of Guthrie’s music and reveal the power of song. I tried to think of these songs as the soundtrack to a movie, building a narrative, a story where the world wakes up to the climate threats and unite to combat it successfully. It’s a great movie.”
Artist:Dylan LeBlanc Hometown: Muscle Shoals, Alabama Song: “Gentle on My Mind” Album:Pastimes EP Release Date: June 18, 2021 Label: ATO Records
In Their Words: “I come from a heavy country music background. My father made his living as a writer for the Nashville Machine growing up. My grandfather in the early ’70s in his early thirties was convinced to make payments on a Gibson guitar on consignment at the local music store along with a songbook with the scales and chords and hit songs of the era inside with directions on how to play them. He loved this song and it was heavily played around the house and passed and sang at gatherings and parties where everyone was drinking and laughing and feeling no pain as they say. I love the story of this song about a drifter roaming from place untethered to anyone or anything therefore making the moment of missing his muse more pure. I can relate as I have naturally always wanted to roam from place to place and be free. I love this song so much and it holds a nostalgic and wonderful place in my heart.” — Dylan LeBlanc
This week on The Show On The Road, it’s a rock ‘n’ roll family affair with a special conversation with Devon Allman and Duane Betts, two guitar-slinging sons of the iconic Allman Brothers Band who formed their own soulful supergroup: The Allman Betts Band.
With their 2019 debut record Down To The River, Allman and Betts — who took turns playing alongside their revered dads Gregg and Dickey as teenagers — finally banded together to create a new collection of the soaring slide-guitar-centered, Gulf-coast rock and brawny, road-tested blues that both pays homage to their heady upbringings and forges their own way forward. Even their touring bassist has a familiar name to Allman diehards: Berry Oakley Jr., whose dad was one of the Allman Brothers’ founding members when they formed in 1969 out of Jacksonville, FL.
While many groups were stuck at home licking their wounds as the pandemic shut down most touring options, Devon and Duane’s crew tapped into the nascent drive-in circuit, bringing their spirited 2020 release, Bless Your Heart, to a whole new set of excited fans. Always sticking to their southern roots, they laid down both records at Muscle Shoals Sound Studios with producer Matt Ross-Spang (Jason Isbell, Margo Price, Elvis Presley). While history is always dancing in the margins of the songs, it’s clear on this second offering that they wanted to create stories that didn’t only reflect their roaring live shows.
Standout songs like the soft piano ballad, “Doctor’s Daughter,” show the group roving in new, more nuanced directions — while “Autumn Breeze” is a pulsing slow-burn, but features the effortless twin guitar lines that made their dads’ work so instantly recognizable.
Of course playing in the family business wasn’t always a given for the guys — especially Devon, who only met his hard-touring father Gregg at sixteen. Devon first started hanging out with young Duane (then only twelve) in 1989 on the Allman Brothers’ 20th Anniversary tour. As he describes in the episode, Devon wasn’t sure he wanted to follow in his father’s hard-to-follow footsteps, but once he sat in on “Midnight Rider” and the crowd went crazy? It was off to the races.
This year marks the 50th anniversary of the Allman Brothers’ breakout record Live At The Fillmore East, which I grew up listening to on loop with my father. Though Duane Allman died tragically in a 1971 accident before his namesake was born, and Gregg passed away in 2017, their spirits live on in the Allman Betts Band’s epic live show, which is already gearing up for the tentative 2021 touring season.
Six-String Soldiers, the United States Army Field Band from Washington, D.C., are joining The SteelDrivers in a new, collaborative video for “Long Way Down.” It’s an excerpt from a performance on the military group’s Facebook page.
Staff Sgts. Renée and Joey Bennett from Six-String Soldiers tell BGS, “”We’ve learned so much getting to play with these folks. When you get to play with musicians you look up to and respect so much it makes us up our game, which is a treat in itself. We love the energy, depth, and knowledge that The SteelDrivers bring to the table and their adaptability shines through every time we get to merge our two groups. They are each such stunning musicians and to be able to hear them play, let alone be a part of the action, is just breathtaking. They’re all so fun and we’ve had a great time every time we’ve gotten to play together, be that in person or through a virtual collaboration! Being able to make music while being apart has helped keep our morale up during this time. I already consider that to be part of our job, to keep everyone’s spirits up and to be that support for people after a good day or a bad one. During a tough time this becomes even more needed. We’ve been able to reach 40 million people through our livestreams and we were so honored that The SteelDrivers could collaborate with us and bring some smiles to everyone who has listened!”
The SteelDrivers’ Tammy Rogers remembers her first time working with the ensemble: “I first met the Six-String Soldiers a few years ago when I was booked to record with them down in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. We all hit it off immediately and had such a great time. Fast forward to The SteelDrivers playing at the Birchmere in Alexandria, Virginia, when we asked them to sit in with us for a few songs! We all enjoyed the collaboration so much that this just seemed like a fun project to do together during quarantine! I think it worked!”
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