Tag: Nashville

Tommy Emmanuel’s Fiery Guitar Picking Is Not Just for Musicians, It’s for Everyone

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Tommy Emmanuel is in his happy place: spending a Thursday afternoon at Nashville’s Gruhn Guitars in anticipation of recording a new solo album. “I’m here getting a new pickup system featured in one of my guitars, buying strings, hanging out with the guys, and getting a little Gruhn mojo from the shop,” he says. “The weekend, I’ll spend stringing up and playing my guitars, making decisions about which guitar I’ll use for what song, and stuff like that.”

For the next hour, however, he’s upstairs in the store’s amp room, settled in to discuss his two new albums – the just-released Live at the Sydney Opera House, recorded over the course of two performances in May 2023, and a solo album in the works – along with many other topics. Highlights from that conversation follow.

I was trying to find a starting point for this interview, which is challenging because there are so many. I listened to your January interview with Rick Beato and had a “stopped me in my tracks moment” when you said you spent three days listening to Taylor Swift’s The Tortured Poets Department. I thought, “Tommy Emmanuel is a Swiftie! We’ll start there.”

Tommy Emmanuel: Taylor, as a writer, is definitely a big influence on me. Someone who achieves what she achieves is doing something beyond the norm. Even beyond talent, it’s a spiritual experience, it’s big, and it’s deep, and I like to observe, listen, and learn from people who achieve like that.

You described her songwriting as “crying from the heart.” That stood out because that’s really what music is – it comes from the heart. We always hear that tone is in the hands, but is the heart not at the core of that?

Exactly. I was [writing a new song] and trying to find something that could give me the right melody to say with the chorus what I wanted to say without words, making the melody this cry from the heart. It’s– [sings melody], the chords change underneath, and so there’s movement, but there’s this cry from the heart right in the middle of everything.

Can you tell us more about this new solo album?

Normally, I record here, fly to LA, mix and master it with my friend Marc DeSisto, and I’m the producer. With this album, I’m working here in Nashville with Vance Powell, the busiest guy on the planet. We start on Monday and we’ve got to get it all done in four days.

I have eight new songs, including this piece we’ve been talking about, “A Drowning Heart.” There’s “Black and White to Color,” “Young Travelers” – I’ve got some interesting titles. The songs are different to what I’ve written in the past. There’s a couple of typical fingerpicking tunes that I really like. They’re a little more folk-influenced. The other ones I’ve been talking about are much more ’80s rock and roll style. I have a song called “Scarlett’s World.” The introduction and ending sound a bit like Dire Straits. I did that on purpose, because it’s such a cool sound. That song is inspired by the movie Lucy with Scarlett Johansson. I love that movie. I love her work. My granddaughter is like Scarlett and she is a force of nature. I got the idea to call the song “Scarlett’s World” when I was with her.

I’m enjoying this phase of my life. Whatever page I’ve turned to get to this stage has been worth it, because some songs have come to me in this last six months that I really love playing in my shows. Playing new songs live gets rid of anything that doesn’t need to be there, because sometimes you can write a song, you’re trying to be clever, you’re trying to be creative, you’ve got all these good ideas going, and then you play it for somebody and you realize, “Oh, this part here is not necessary.” You throw it out and get to the meat and potatoes. Forget all the other stuff. Just tell me the story. Take me somewhere. That’s why I like to perform my songs to an audience before I record them. Your instincts are on a hundred. When you walk on stage, your physical and spiritual instincts have risen up and they’re ready to serve you.

Of course, you’ve also just released your live album. You’re known for working without a set list. With such a rich repertoire, how do you sequence your shows, and sequence them so that the performance speaks both to musicians and non-musicians?

That’s so important to me. My music is not for musicians; it’s for everybody. I’m trying to be an all-around artist, entertainer, writer, player, performer. I’m trying to give people a bit of everything. [The show] has to be a journey, a story, entertaining, and when it’s over, I want people to think, “I’ve got to see that again.” There’s a passage in the first Indiana Jones movie that I never forgot. One of the characters says, “What are you going to do now, Indy?” Harrison Ford says, “I don’t know. I’m just making this up as I go along.” That’s me. That’s how I live my life.

Your history with Maton Guitars goes back to your days playing electric guitar. The common trajectory is the player begins on acoustic, and then goes on to electric. True to originality, you did the opposite.

I started on electric. When I was starting to be a songwriter and making my own records, I was mostly writing on electric, 60 to 70 percent, and the rest was acoustic. I started doing solo shows on acoustic and all of a sudden I realized, “Holy smoke, this really works well.” So I started writing more songs to play as a solo acoustic player. It was more pop and rock and roll music, funky, all that sort of stuff.

The record company wanted me to do something we could get on radio, so I made some jazz-oriented records. I got a lot of airplay on jazz stations and that kind of forced me into that direction for a while. It was good, because I learned to write and perform that way. When I moved to Nashville, I wanted to be on the Opry and play the Ryman, so I focused on being more country- and bluegrass-based, which is my roots. My biggest influences when I was a kid, before Chet Atkins, were Jimmie Rogers and Hank Williams. They were my first two loves of music.

What are the biggest challenges of doing what you do the way you do it?

Everything comes down to commitment. How committed am I to be a better player? I often tell people who want to talk about my technique, “I don’t talk about my technique. It’s invisible.” The music is what counts, not how I do it. My abilities fluctuate because I’m a human being. I’m not a robot; I’m not going to be exactly the same every time.

If you want it to be good, to flow, and to be wonderful to watch, then there’s a lot of work ahead. You’re going to have to work so hard to make it that way. I never stop working on my abilities, because it’s so important. My role model, Chet Atkins, worked harder than anybody I’ve ever seen at practicing and making sure that every little detail was so smooth. I will follow that with adding that my age is challenging me as well. There are things I could do twenty years ago that I can’t do today and I have to be okay about that. I have to find new things to replace some of the things that I physically can’t do.

I’ve just come off a five-week tour, which was grueling, long, lots of travel, not a lot of chance to do some serious practice. Every day was like, get to the venue, get my guitar out, start playing, work on some songs that maybe I didn’t play the night before or the night before that, remember some of my other songs that I haven’t been playing, put them in the show, and constantly find ways of making it different and interesting from the night before.

I’ve got to be in good shape physically, mentally, and spiritually to get up there and play my heart out for nearly two hours and throw my whole life into it. I’ve got to eat well, rest well, and have enthusiasm for what I’m doing. I can’t remember a time where I was standing on the side of the stage and thought, “Not this again.” That never has entered my mind. I’m like, “I can’t wait to get out there. I can’t wait to play. I can’t wait to see how this night is going to go and what I’m going to do that’s going to surprise me.”

You’ve told us a bit about your introduction to bluegrass, coming to acoustic guitar from electric, and your passion for jazz. Can you draw a through line between all those genres? How do they shape what you do?

It’s about musical abilities and musical ideas. When I play with Ricky Skaggs, or Molly Tuttle, or anybody, it’s about me fitting into what they do and serving the music as best I can. There’s a bit of bluegrass in everything I play. There’s a bit of blues in everything I play. I don’t feel like I need to be in a box or have a style stapled to me. It’s all music to me.

When I play with Billy Strings, I can hear Doc Watson and Tony Rice, of course, but I can also hear little bits of Stevie Ray Vaughan, B.B. King, George Harrison. You know, we’ve all got it in us. It’s all styles of music together. Bluegrass is such an open-ended thing to me. If I’m playing “Highway 40 Blues” and I take a solo, I don’t necessarily think, “Oh, I’d better tap into Tony Rice.” I just play what I feel at that moment.

A number of musicians have told me that they sometimes get sick of their own playing. Does this ever happen to you, and if so, how do you climb out of that rut?

I get tired of myself sometimes and usually something comes along that lifts my faith in my gift. Right when I think I’ve had enough of me, I need a break, something happens and somebody needs me to play for them, and they remind me, “Don’t forget – you’re here for a reason. You’re here to serve others. When you play, people feel something. They feel happy. So get out of your own head and do it for someone else.”

There are times when you definitely need a break. I just had a week after the tour I finished in Zurich a week ago. I flew into England to be with my grandchildren and my daughters and I didn’t play much. I played a little bit after the girls had gone to bed. I made my dinner, played a little bit, and then watched Netflix and chilled out. It was good. I needed that break.

When your colleagues talk about you, they always describe you as a good guy, a nice guy, a mentor. How much of that comes from the kindness and mentoring you received from Chet Atkins?

I’m just trying to hand on what was handed to me. When you’ve been loved on by a guy like Chet Atkins, you know you’ve been loved. When you’ve been loved on by someone like my mother, who led by example her whole life … what a great soul, a great spirit.

When I moved to the big city when I was young, I was so used to people being almost aggressive towards me, because they thought I was showing off or thinking I was much smarter than them. And it never entered my mind. But they were full of jealousy or fear or whatever, I don’t know. So when I got to the big city and I saw musicians who did things I couldn’t do, when I got to know them, they were so encouraging to me. They were so honest with me. They treated me with a dignity that other people didn’t. And so I just want people to feel good when we play together, because it’s a very honest experience.

Who is your dream artist to work with?

Marty Stuart. What a talent! He’s a free spirit and the kind of guy I like being around. I would love to work with Marty.

You’ve spoken openly about your long battle with addiction. You are in recovery and you’ve also done the work through therapy. What part has guitar played in your recovery journey?

The guitar has always been my go-to thing to help me get through stuff. When I went through my first divorce, we’d been married for 15 years and I thought we were doing great. Everything was wonderful, I’ve got two little daughters, then my wife wanted to separate and then she was with someone else. I had to let her go and I went through a painful divorce.

I was broken beyond measure and my world went upside down. It was during that period that I wrote some of the best music I’ve ever written. It came to help me and gave me something good to focus on. Next thing I know, people are loving the music I’ve written, and I’m out, I’m starting again, I’m off on a new road.

The thing I love [about sobriety] is being clear. I’m present. My love of music and playing in general has grown so much since I’m not ruled by drugs or alcohol. I’m [five years] free and I’m so grateful. What I do now is better, it’s more honest, it’s more real. I don’t feel self-obsessed, self-absorbed, or feel sorry for myself for all the bad things that nearly destroyed me.

I know what addiction is now. I know how to deal with it. It’s finding what the problem is, being willing to talk about it, put the work in, follow the steps, and keep doing the work that has made my life so beautiful and so much better. Sometimes I think, “How the hell did I ever survive that?” I’m guessing that my maker was with me all the way. I’m totally free today, but I don’t take it lightly. It’s living one day at a time, and it’s beautiful.

And finally, what is the difference between playing guitar and being a guitarist?

Being a guitarist is being a gun for hire. Being a guitar player is a way of life. A guitar player is someone who loves to play for people and who loves his instrument deeply.

Photo Credit: Alysse Gafkjen

The Herculean Story Behind Andrea Zonn and John Cowan Becoming The HercuLeons

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Andrea Zonn and John Cowan have been among the hardest-working musicians around Nashville for the past few decades. Zonn has done tons of sessions both for her violin and vocal prowess as well as touring with superstars like Vince Gill, Lyle Lovett, and James Taylor. Cowan, a longtime member of the legendary New Grass Revival, also was a founding member of the country-rock supergroup The Sky Kings, has done solo projects, and currently tours as the Doobie Brothers’ bassist. However, they only really started playing together due to the pandemic. Their collaboration resulted in a band called The HercuLeons, whose debut album Andrea Zonn & John Cowan Are The HercuLeons arrives March 21 on True Lonesome Records.

Darrell Scott, Tom Britt, Greg Morrow, Abraham Parker, Gary Prim, and Reese Wynans represent the primary HercuLeons on the album, while Billy Payne, Michael McDonald, Jonell Mosser, John Hall, and John McFee number among the special guests.

Zonn and Cowan spoke separately to BGS for our feature interview all about their unique collaboration, becoming a band, and the debut album.

When did you two first meet?

Andrea Zonn: I moved to Nashville in 1986 and John I think got here two, three, four years before that. I was already a fan of his, but we met and our paths crossed over the years. Then at some point we got called to sing on a session together. I just love singing with him. We became friends and have been great friends. He’s like a brother to me, actually.

John Cowan: Our lives have been continually entwined because of our musical interests, our mutual respect for each other, and because we would get hired to do backing vocal sessions.

How did this particular collaboration come to be?

JC: Right during the pandemic, Andrea and I had gotten solicited to play on a custom project. It was like, “We’ve got three songs for you.” And we’re like, “Okay.” Well, it turns out they had like nine songs for us and we basically just went from the top of the list all the way to the bottom; we were there like 10 hours.

AZ: Then I was just about to call him on my way home, when he called me and we were both about to say the same thing, which is “God, I love singing with you.” We just decided to sort of become each other’s creative bubble during the pandemic. We were thinking we would do something sort of bluegrass-y with [mandolinist] Ashby Frank, [guitarist] Seth Taylor, and [banjo player] Matt Menefee, which was a blast. So, we did a couple of Facebook Live concerts, which is hysterical because we were playing just to the camera.

JC: These kind of young guns guys – Ashby and Seth and Matt – they’re at that time of their lives where they’re just running full speed. They’re just so impassioned and so full of music that you really can’t get somebody like that to commit to, “Hey, let’s be in a band.” By the time we got around to making this record, the personnel had just switched to basically me and Andrea and then we chose the band that we wanted to make the record with.

How did the record come about?

JC: It happened pretty organically. We were talking about making this record. We weren’t even as far as who’s playing on it, or who’s producing or what it is. But I was driving home from my sister’s house in Indiana back to Nashville one day and I heard Claire Lynch doing this song called “Barbed Wire Boys” and I literally pulled my car over because I thought to myself: “Am I hearing what I [think I’m hearing]?” The words were so unbelievably well-written. It was just stunning. I played it for Andrea and I said, “What do you think of this song? Are you just as stunned by the words as I am?” She said, “Absolutely!”

AZ: It just felt like such a timely message in this song, which is that there’s this generation of strong, stoic men who have this really soft underbelly. It feels like there’s not a place for that right now and there’s a real wistful longing for this gentle strength. We were listening to the song going, “What could we do with this?” We were just looking at it as this single standalone thing. Let’s just record this because we love it. We’ve got time on our hands. And the idea just kept growing. It’s like, “Let’s just figure out a way to make a record like this.” Also, with the pandemic [it was] a weird time to make long-term plans

Wendy Waldman produced the album – how did she get involved?

JC: We got a hold of Wendy Waldman, who’s one of my oldest friends and produced many things I’m involved with. Andrea and I made a vocal guitar demo and sent it to her.

AZ: We decided we wanted to slow down [the song], break it down, and make it more of what Wendy calls, “The prairie orchestra sort of thing.”

JC: She worked on it for us – it’s like she went away in a little hobbit in a village of stuff, she came back to us, and she’d written the most beautiful layers of mandolins and acoustic guitar tuned down low.

AZ: She’s like a shaman the way she creates. It’s like you just see glowing aura is coming out of her when she’s in that space.

The idea to do an album grew from there?

JC: That was the beginning of the record. We had that song and we started pursuing it and it would be about sharing tracks and files back and forth from California, which is where Wendy lived, and that was going swimmingly well.

AZ: Exactly. It was like, “Let’s put something beautiful in the world, because I feel like that’s our responsibility as artists.” Especially during these times we’re living in are so full of devastation and difficult things and people need healing. They need beauty. They need that balance. And so that’s where we come in. So, it just started as just this yearning to create something beautiful. And then it was just so much fun, and the chemistry was there.

The album features only 11 songs and those are mainly covers. Was it hard to decide what songs to record?

AZ: It was brutal actually picking songs, because there are so many beautiful and great songs and we weren’t really all that concerned with where the genre markers are. We just were like, let’s just do stuff we love. We’ve just been feeling our way through it. Things that we really felt like we could sing well together were sort of a consideration. It was such an organic process, and it was not a quick process.

JC: I think we got up to 30 songs that we wanted to have a stab at. We kept culling it down. So, this bushel of songs started to reveal itself to us. We opened it up a lot [like] a basket of fruit and you could see which one was going to make it and which ones might get a little too ripe.

One of the things that immediately stands out is the amazing way you two sing together

AZ: We have a lot of the same influences. You know, I call him “The Powerhouse” and I’m sort of a “Powder Puff” so [we] complement each other. He’s just so intuitive and such a great musician, such a beautiful sense of phrasing, and it’s just very easy to fall into place with him

JC: We know each other’s voice, so there’s some kind of internal resonance that’s going on there that you can’t see or feel or touch… You can’t necessarily write it out on a piece of paper. When two singers sing together like that it’s like Baez and Dylan.

The music is remarkably diverse – a vibrant mix of rock, soul, blues, country, funk, and bluegrass – but the album holds a real cohesiveness. There’s a sense of humanism and empathy that flows through the songs you picked.

JC: That’s just who we are. Andrea and I are the same. We’re the perennial man looking for a spirit greater than all of us to bond us to human beings in the world.

That seems to be spotlighted using your single “Face of Appalachia” (an old Lowell George/John Sebastian tune that Valerie Carter had on her 1977 debut album) to raise awareness for victims of Hurricane Helene. It’s a song that has many connections with both of you, right?

JC: Both Andrea and I became or were friends with Valerie before she passed a couple of years, so there’s a huge emotional connection for both of us.

AZ: We just love the song and we wanted to kind of do our little spin on it. Then when the hurricane hit, it’s like we all felt so powerless to help, so we wanted to raise awareness and direct people to organizations that are actually on the ground doing good work. I mean, John and I love the people, the region, the music that comes from there. It’s just such a meaningful place, you know, and your heart just breaks for what people are going through.

If you had to choose a song that’s a good entry point for listeners, what would it be?

AZ: You have to listen to the whole thing. You just have to suck it up and suffer through it, it’s only 11 songs! “Straight Up” would get their attention. Let’s say that it’s short and sweet and it’s just full of a lot of what we do, except for the slow pretty stuff and there’s a great message in that song.

JC: I might say “Face of Appalachia,” because there are two beautiful lead vocals on there, but they don’t appear to be lead vocals. They just appear as these two people singing together. … There’s so much about that track. How the words fit so well with the arrangement. It has shadows and light as well, but a lot of pathos.

The Gregory Porter song we do called “Take Me to the Alley,” I just think it’s a staggering song. It’s basically talking about how people are lining up all these shining things in front of their houses waiting for God to return and then he shows up and he’s like, “I don’t want to see any of this, take me to the alley, take me where the desperate ones are.”

Photo Credit: Courtesy of the HercuLeons.

Mark Knopfler’s ‘Shangri-La’ Rearranged Adam Wright’s Artistic DNA

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Editor’s Note: No Skips is a brand new feature from BGS that asks artists, songwriters, musicians, and industry professionals what albums they regard as perfect, with every track a masterpiece – i.e., No Skips!

For the first edition of the column, songwriter-artist-musician Adam Wright highlights Mark Knopfler’s seminal album, Shangri-La, as we look ahead to Wright’s own upcoming project, Nature of Necessity, coming later this year.)

There are only a few times in your creative life when someone’s work hits you so hard it rearranges your artistic DNA. I could probably count those moments for me on one hand.

Shangri-La was a big one. It told me that you can write away from the outside understanding of things. That you can start from the inside of your own knowledge and continue inward. It also taught me that you can write about anything you find interesting. That being understood is not as important as whether or not you’ve put something down worthy of working out for whomever decides to try to understand it. And that there are so many things to write about that are not falling in and out of love. (People probably could have stopped writing love songs in 1950 and we still would have too many.)

The depth and perspective of the storytelling, the crafted excellence of the writing and the sublimely tasteful musicianship make it, to me, Knopfler’s masterpiece. He’s done this on all of his albums, they all include brilliant gems of songs, but Shangri-La is just perfection from top to bottom. – Adam Wright

“5:15 AM” (Track 1)

Like all of the songs on this album, “5:15 AM” is exquisitely written and recorded. It is the story of a coal miner on his way home from the night shift discovering a murder victim who turns out to be involved with organized crime. It is chock-full of lingo and references to specifics about gambling machines, nightclubs, and lots of mining terms. The way Mark weaves all of this language into lyricism and brings it back to the tragic lives of the coal miners at the end is exceptional and beautiful writing. The recording is gorgeous and still somehow earthy as dirt. Just a masterclass in songcraft.

“Boom, Like That” (Track 2)

“Boom, Like That” is about the rise of Ray Kroc from a milkshake salesman to a fast food emperor. Like “5:15 AM,” there are plenty of specific references in this one. “Going to San Bernardino, ring a ding ding. Milkshake mixes, that’s my thing now.” You’re in the middle of the beginning of a story right off the bat. I love songs from the character’s perspective and few writers do that as well as Knopfler.

The movie The Founder was filmed in my hometown of Newnan, Georgia. I noticed the town when I saw it, so I looked it up and read a bit about the filming. While the song was inspired by the book about Kroc, I’d read the movie was actually inspired by the song. Even if the song weren’t so well-written, the riff at the end of the chorus is enough to keep any guitar player happily busy for days.

“All That Matters” (Track 11)

Much of Shangri-La is written from the perspective of the characters in its songs. The title track and “All That Matters” seem to be more personal. “All That Matters” is just a sweet, simple song from a father to his children. Again, beautifully written and pretty as porcelain. It has some surprising chordal and melodic turns in the B section to juxtapose the nursery rhymey-ness of the verses. Just perfect. And a nice respite from the mostly cynical tone of much of the album.

“Stand Up Guy” (Track 12)

“Brew the coffee in a bucket/ Double straight man and banjo/ If you don’t got the snake oil/ Buster, you don’t got a show.”

Again, you’re right smack dab in the middle of someone’s story. This time it’s a musician in a group of traveling, Victorian-era pitchmen. They apparently have teamed up with “the Doctor” who peddles snake oil medicine to townspeople and does it well enough to keep them fed on beefsteak and whiskey. Just wonderfully interesting, both lyrically and musically.

If you wanted to become a very good songwriter (or musician or producer, for that matter), you could only study Shangri-La for years and get a very long way toward the goal. I’ve been mining this album for inspiration for twenty years. It always gives me something more.

Photo Credit: Jo Lopez

Ron Pope Chases His Dream On ‘American Man, American Music’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It may look rough around the edges, but Ron Pope’s journey through life encapsulates the American dream. He buffs out those spots, uncovering a hefty dose of humility, wisdom, and empowerment on his 11th studio record — American Man, American Music.

On it, the New Jersey-born, Georgia-raised singer uncovers moments from his childhood (like waking up before school to unload semi trucks) to the present day that have shaped him into the man he is and made his musical dreams a reality. But despite its title, the album is anything but exclusionary. Just like our nation’s diversity, American Man, American Music is a patchwork quilt of sounds, stories and experiences that serve to remind us that we’re all dealing with the same struggles and desires no matter what we look like or where we came from.

“I want to make music that other people can take and put into the moments in their lives,” says Pope. “The goal is that if I’m doing it right they’ll feel less alone. I want to put that back into the universe because I’ve taken so much of it out that it’s part of what buoyed me to get me to this point.”

This manifests itself in heartfelt vignettes centered around his family and recently discovered meaning of “home” on songs like the ode to his wife, “In The Morning With the Coffee On,” as well as “Mama Drove a Mustang,” an homage to his mom’s “let it ride” attitude that he wound up carrying into his own musical pursuits. But he’s also not afraid to get political on songs like “Klonopin Zombies,” a story about losing his grandmother that directly calls out the callousness of the pharmaceutical industry and sees him painfully pleading, “I swear there must be a heaven, ’cause where the hell else would someone like you go?”

Speaking by phone from his Nashville home between a mid-morning job and picking his daughter up from school, Pope spoke with BGS about home, family, platforming the next generation of artists and the experience that make up American Man, American Music.

You duet with Taylor Bickett on “I’m Not The Devil.” What spurred you to bring her aboard for it?

Ron Pope: Lately I’ve been finding so much inspiration in new artists. Growing up you tend to fetishize the stuff that came before you, almost like hero worship. Luckily I’ve come up in an era where so many of my contemporaries are masters, from Jason Isbell to John Moreland, which is really cool. But now I’m at a phase in my life where I’m getting more and more inspired by the artists coming in behind us. I remember first hearing Taylor’s songs, reading her lyrics, and seeing people making posts about sunsets and storms with her songs in them and was blown away. That’s what I love about music – you’re always finding new ways to be inspired.

What are your thoughts on the practice of platforming younger artists and what you stand to benefit from it as well?

If you make records your whole life, it’s going to be an ongoing challenge to find things that keep you engaged and excited about making music. It’s like a game that I’m always playing with myself. I want to find things about music that make me feel the way I did when I was a kid. Sometimes when people imagine an artist, they assume you’re only listening to people who sound like the same handful of songs that they know and that’s it, but I listen to all different sorts of music. Just the other night I was making pasta with my daughter in our kitchen listening to Dean Martin. On any given day I’ll move from that to some Tony Rice, Jason Isbell’s new song, Turnpike Troubadours, people like Taylor on Instagram, and then John Prine. I find inspiration everywhere and love that the music I make still feels fun and exciting because of it.

You just mentioned your daughter. I know family plays a big role on this record, from “In The Morning With the Coffee On,” to “Klonopin Zombies,” “Mama Drove a Mustang,” and others. Mind telling me about how that helps to serve as a through line on this project?

The central message is that we all share so many of the same sorts of experiences. For instance, in “Klonopin Zombies” I’m talking about this point in my life when my grandmother passed away eight days after my grandfather, leaving me wildly devastated. In life, we’re all going to experience powerful loss in that way; it’s just a matter of if it has happened to you yet or not. It’s the nature of living. My goal for doing that was to reach people on a more general level. If you are blessed enough to love people, then one day you will suffer because you lose people.

When I was first starting out, one of the complaints that music industry people would have about my music was that my songs were too specific and didn’t feel general enough, which was weird because for me those are the [kind of] songs that I always felt the most attached to.

Think about the Eagles’ – “Standing on the corner Winslow, Arizona/ Such a fine sight to see/ It’s a girl, my lord, and a flatbed Ford/ Slowin’ down to take a look at me…” or James Taylor’s – “Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone/ Suzanne, the plans they made put an end to you.” You’re in the room, but you don’t know who he’s talking to or why. It’s like, how many times in your life have you watched someone struggle with the expectations people put on them? Even though he’s telling a very personal and very specific story, you’re brought in and it reminds you that there’s a human being on the other end of this.

We got to go to all these places and meet a lot of people, and what I have found as I have done that is most people want the same things – they want opportunities for themselves and for their children. They want to know that they’re safe, and that their kids are safe and are going to get educated. We have a lot more in common than we do that separates us, which can be hard to see when you’re just watching videos of people yelling or complaining about how differently they believe your neighbor is.

How does that idea tie into the album’s title – American Man, American Music?

It’s inherently political to say “I am an American man and this is American music.” It’s inherently political, but I didn’t want to make something to bash people over the head, because it’s hard to write stories that are both protest songs that feel like they matter and are actually good songs. So I decided to, with the exception of “I Gotta Change (Or I’m Gonna Die)” – which is a pretty open rebuke of the pharmaceutical industry expresses my anger towards it about the opioid crisis – I try to speak in more sweeping terms and not focus in on the things that I was angry about, instead focusing more on humanity and openness.

I’m following myself from when I was a child in these stories all the way to this moment in my life. I’m singing about the car my mother drove when I was six years old in “Mama Drove a Mustang,” then I’m singing a little prayer for my family that I wrote while I was out on the road in “The Life In Your Years” or how my wife and I have been together for almost 18 years on “I Pray I’ll Be Seeing You Soon.” It makes me realize that I have lived the American dream.

I’m just a regular person from a blue-collar family born to very good-hearted, well-intentioned teenage parents who didn’t have a lot of resources and did their best with the opportunities that were in front of them. There was no reason to believe at the start of my story that I would end up in this place. All of that is in there because I am an American and I am an American man, and I am making American music, but I don’t mean any of that to be exclusionary. So many people that are using all of those words do so to exclude others and I have lived the American dream and want others to be able to do the same. On this album I wanted to focus on telling great stories that highlighted my journey and my humanity and what it took for me to get to this place where I got to as a way of showing that I don’t think it’s something that we should hold hostage. We should want other people to be able to reach these things in a nation built by immigrants on stolen land.

What does “home” mean to you – both as a physical place and as an idea – in relation to this album?

My mom loved us a lot, but we also moved often, which can be destabilizing. When I got to the point in my life where I was out on the road I almost felt engineered to do it, because I never had a real sense of home growing up. When I went on tour it felt like I was supposed to be there, which made it easy to wake up whether I was in Lincoln, Nebraska; Minneapolis, Milwaukee, Pittsburgh, or Pompano Beach. For a long time I thought you had to live that way to write songs.

At one point I was living in New York and hung out with my wife during a break from the road, who at that point I’d known since we were kids in Georgia, but had never dated. Suddenly everything changed and I started feeling her no matter where I was and yearned to be back in New York. I didn’t feel at ease unless I was with her, before realizing that she had become home for me. I’d never understood that homesick feeling that others get until then.

I feel that even more now with our little girl. It’s different, because my wife chose me and knew what I was and what I wasn’t, whereas we chose to bring our daughter into this world. Because of that I feel an even stronger pull from home than I have in the past because this little girl doesn’t care that I sing songs for people, and at the end of the day she doesn’t need that – she just needs me to be her father. It’s important that I’m able to make a living with my music, but it doesn’t make up for the fact that I wasn’t there to witness her losing her first tooth and other core memories. You have to grapple with that every day if you’re going to do this for a living. At the end of my life, if people say I’m a family man before they say I’m a musician, then I did it right.

What has the process of bringing American Man, American Music to life taught you about yourself?

There are points in the process of making any record where you look at yourself in the mirror and ask “Am I full of shit? Or can I actually land this thing?” The content on this album, what I’m talking about, it felt heavier and deeper than some of what I’ve done in the past. And I hate the idea of taking myself too seriously. At the end of the day, I’m an entertainer; everyone who makes music is supposed to be one, no matter how much they call themselves poets and stare at their expensive loafers oh-so-thoughtfully. Whether you’re Bob Dylan or Jackie Wilson or Tom Waits, at your core, you’re fundamentally the same as a clown or a breakdancer. Your job is to bring people joy, to entertain them. Walking around with this understanding has always made me sort of sick to my stomach whenever I find myself taking any of this noisemaking I do too seriously.

But on this album? I surprised myself. We are making music about serious things and I didn’t feel embarrassed or disgusted by it. It’s serious because it’s supposed to be serious; I’m not being a self-important asshole. Somebody needs to talk about the opioid epidemic and no one else was doing it in a way that I felt satisfied with. I did it because I felt like I had to, not to feed some inflated notion I had of myself as a capital A “artistè.” So I guess I learned that I’m not full of shit. Or at least, not entirely full of shit.

Photo Credit: Blair Clark

Roots Pop Quartet TopHouse Contrast ‘Theory’ With ‘Practice’ on New EP

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

With a self-made story spanning from their founding in Montana down to Nashville and beyond, roots pop quartet TopHouse know the difference between “theory” and “practice” all too well. But with their intriguing new two-part recording project, they might be some of the first to capture that difference in song.

Comprised of Joe Larson (lead vocals/guitar), Jesse Davis (guitar, mandolin), William Cook (violin) and Andy Lafave (piano), the band first released the hopeful, eminently uplifting Theory EP in 2024, and have now followed up with Practice, which dropped on Valentine’s Day (February 14). But what is the difference, really?

Both EPs fuse grass-roots simplicity with an experimental spirit – plus a rush of kinetic Celtic and Appalachian influence, just for good measure. With nearly 10 years behind them, the band have seen periods of unbridled optimism just to get a gritty reality check in the end; their songs live somewhere in the middle. Over 12 tracks in total, they cycle through warm, everyman vocals, spacious sounds, and live-in lyrics, and seem to conclude the concepts aren’t really opposites at all – more like two sides of the same coin

Where Theory is bold, bright and optimistic, Practice might be darker and a bit more reflective. Yet both are part of the broader truth – and both continually feed off of each other. Speaking with BGS ahead of Practice’s release, Larson and Davis explained where the new six-song set comes from and how it contrasts with its Theory companion.

This whole idea I think is pretty ambitious. Why don’t you tell me how the Theory and Practice EPs came about? Where’d that idea come to split this thing into two parts?

Joe Larson: Honestly, it was kind of an accident. I think Jesse and I were just hanging out one day. … We really wanted to do a full-length LP and we probably had, I don’t know, 14 or 15 songs and we were trying to find a common thread and get some idea of what this album might look like, what the concept of it might be. It just felt natural to split them into two lists. We’re like, “Alright, over here these songs are all about ideals and just optimistic worldview and all that. And then you’ve got these other songs about heartbreak and hardship and all that.” We just put ‘em into two lists and went back and forth for what felt like an eternity trying to decide what to do with this information. Eventually we were like, “Well, let’s just do a double thing.”

Do you see Practice as a more pessimistic kind of project? Or is it something different?

Jesse Davis: I wouldn’t say pessimistic. I’d say realistic. I think with Theory being sort of the ideals, maybe Practice is how they land in the real world, and it’s not pessimistic either in the sense that the EP ends with a tinge of hope. We’re big fans of hope here at TopHouse-the-band, LLC, and the EP ends with a little tinge of hope – in sort of a recognition of this cycle of striving for an ideal, falling a bit short, and maybe you fall quite a ways short. But then you pick yourself back up again and it’s almost like it’s a practice in itself.

I think also the two EPs are supposed to go together in the sense that it’s not like you listen to Theory and then you’re like, “All right, now I’m going to listen to what’s actually true and listen to Practice.” They’re supposed to kind of be combined in the sense, “Okay, there’s Practice, but the Theory is just as important to apply to the Practice.” It’s like, “Yeah, the realistic hard nature of the world is going to kick you in the teeth, but there’s a hope that you should bring to all of that, and ideals and standards that can be applied even in the hardest moments.”

JL: You might say that Theory is fake optimism, and Practice is real optimism. [Laughs]

How is the sound evolving on this one. Your fans really love that uplifting mix of rootsy, Celtic/Appalachian stuff. Has the vibe changed at all?

JD: I remember Joe and I had always had in the back of our minds writing a cowboy EP. We’re fans of artists like Colter Wall and I don’t know what you’d call it – maybe new country or underground country, whatever the term is. We just always had a little soft spot for that kind of a tone, I guess. So while we weren’t setting out to do that with this EP, I think it inevitably bled through a bit. It’s funny because sometimes the sound doesn’t line up with the lyrical message, if that makes sense. But when it doesn’t, I think I kind of enjoy that all the more.

Do you feel like your Montana roots still show up in the band? Maybe just in the willingness to think outside the box a little?

JD: I definitely think so, and for me, I think a lot of that has to do with what I’m visualizing. Maybe it’s not necessarily a musical thing so much as just a lyrical thing. But I think maybe the biggest factor with the Montana connection is that I just miss Montana, so a lot of songs point to this idea of going home or having a place. It kind of feels like we’re all wandering around right now, being away from our roots, which I think many people probably know that feeling.

The EP starts on “Meteor” and it’s got this simple, spacious sound. I just wonder, how does the image of a meteor fit in with the overall theme?

JD: It’s definitely metaphorical – or wait, sorry. Technically, it’s a simile, because it features “like” or “as.” [Laughs] It’s definitely the feeling of coming crashing down. It’s one I wrote, just sitting with my acoustic guitar and kind of strumming, and I remember feeling like it was pretty cheesy at the time I was writing it, because it was just catharsis. But sometimes either your tastes grow or things just develop into something a little bit more.

After that you get into a little bit more energy with tracks like “I Don’t Wanna Move On.” Where did that come from?

JD: “I Don’t Wanna Move On” and “Meteor” are almost sister songs in that those were two I wrote. They were written roughly around the same time and I was feeling some kind of way. “Meteor” is simile. There’s a picture to it. But “I Don’t Wanna Move On” is more of the incessant feeling of not wanting to move on. The chorus is not very ornate in its lyricism. It’s literally just that phrase repeated four times. And I feel like that fits the way sometimes an emotion just won’t leave you alone.

You guys mentioned finishing on a hopeful note, and “Falling” is definitely that. A really dreamy, beautiful song about being in awe over the ability to fall in love again, right?

JD: I think a lot of us struggle with periods of – maybe even if it’s not a full-on depression, just like a numbness to the world or just struggling with feeling anything at all. I mean, I know I definitely go through these phases. …“Falling” is about that. You wake up one morning and you’re like, “Oh, I feel my heartbeat again.” I think I wrote that one coming out of one of those seasons and just being just so grateful to get to feel joy or hope. It was funny because it was supposed to be a depressing song and then I finished it and I was like, “Huh, it’s hopeful.” But that’s probably a good thing. [Laughs]

With it being so uplifting, why did you include it on Practice and not Theory?

JD: That was definitely very intentional, because at least to me I think viewing the real-life things in just a doom-and-gloom view is pretty detrimental. And I don’t think that that’s realistic either. I mean, I know we said that Practice is sort of the realistic album where things go wrong, but I think that realism also includes the Theory. Realism includes the things that we strive towards because that is just as much a part of our life as the breakup or the loss or the addiction. The good things in life are just as real as the bad things.

Also, I think fits with the cyclical nature of the two EPs. If you go back to what Theory ends with, it’s a song that kind of descends into questioning things about life and maybe has a bit of a somber attitude to it. And if you were to go straight from that song into Practice, I think the feeling would continue. Then, as you get through Practice, you get to “Falling” and there’s a tinge of hope. If you go back to Theory from there, it begins with a song called “Better is the End,” which is maybe the most forward-thinking, hopeful tune in the whole collection. So maybe I’m connecting dots that aren’t necessarily there, but honestly, the song order sort of fits with the idea of it being cyclical.

JL: Yeah. We’re just trying to get people to listen to the EPs on repeat forever. [Laughs]

Don’t miss TopHouse performing on the BGS Stage at Bourbon & Beyond in Louisville, KY this September.

Photo Credit: Electric Peak Creative

Celebrating Black History Month: DeFord Bailey, Tina Turner, Keb’ Mo’, and More

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

To celebrate Black History Month – and the vital contributions of Black, Afro-, and African American artists and musicians to American roots music – BGS, Good Country, and our friends at Real Roots Radio in southwestern Ohio have partnered once again. This time, we’ll be bringing you weekly collections of a variety of Black roots musicians who have been featured on Real Roots Radio’s airwaves. You can listen to Real Roots Radio online 24/7 or via their FREE app for smartphones or tablets. If you’re based in Ohio, tune in via 100.3 (Xenia, Dayton, Springfield), 106.7 (Wilmington), or 105.5 (Eaton).

American roots music – in any of its many forms – wouldn’t exist today without the culture, stories, skills, and experiences of Black folks. Each week throughout February, we’ll spotlight this simple yet profound fact by diving into the catalogs and careers of some of the most important figures in our genres. For week two of the series, RRR host Daniel Mullins shares songs and stories of Stoney Edwards, Rissi Palmer, Keb’ Mo’, Tina Turner, and DeFord Bailey. Check out the first week of the series here.

We’ll return each Friday through the end of the month to bring you even more music celebrating Black History and the songs and sounds we all hold dear. Plus, you can find a full playlist with more than 100 songs below from dozens and dozens of seminal artists, performers, songwriters, and instrumentalists from every corner of folk, country, bluegrass, old-time, blues, and beyond.

Black history is American roots music history; the two are inseparable. As we celebrate Black History Month and its legacy, we hope you’ll join us in holding up and appreciating the artists who make country, bluegrass, blues, folk, and Americana the incredible and impactful genres that they are today.

Stoney Edwards (1929 – 1997)

If you don’t know the late, great Stoney Edwards’ name, it’s time to fix that – because his story in country is as powerful as the songs he sang.

Born Frenchie Edwards in Seminole Country, Oklahoma, in 1929, Stoney was part African American, Native American, and Irish. The son of sharecroppers, he was a prominent bootlegger in Oklahoma during his younger years. Stoney had dreams of playing the historic Grand Ole Opry. His big break in music would come later in life, in his early 40s, when he was discovered in California singing his honky-tonk style at a benefit for the King of Western Swing, Bob Wills.

Stoney was signed to Capitol Records in the early ’70s and from there he made history. He scored fifteen charting singles, including a pair of Top 20 hits, one of which – his 1973 hit “She’s My Rock” – is still revered as a bona fide country standard later covered by artists like Brenda Lee and George Jones. His songs were deeply authentic, whether he was singing about love, loss, or his own experiences growing up poor and Black in America. He gave a voice to the underdog, often drawing from his own struggles, including battling discrimination and working blue-collar jobs before music. Edwards would also record several songs saluting his country heroes over the years, including “The Jimmie Rodgers Blues,” “Daddy Bluegrass,” and his Top 40 hit, “Hank and Lefty Raised My Country Soul.”

Stoney’s music wasn’t just about catchy melodies; it was about storytelling. His debut single was inspired by a true story. Before he hit it big as a country singer, Stoney was trying to provide for his family working as a forklift operator at a steel refinery in San Francisco. A workplace accident resulted in Edwards being sealed up in a tank and suffering dangerous carbon dioxide poisoning; he endured an extensive two-year recovery, both physically and mentally. During this time, Stoney was struggling to care for his wife and children, so he planned to leave in the middle of the night. However he tripped over one of his daughter’s toys, and it prompted him to stay. In 1970, backed by the virtually unknown Asleep at the Wheel, Stoney Edwards released his debut single, the autobiographical “A Two Dollar Toy.”

While his career didn’t reach the same commercial heights as some of his peers, Stoney Edwards left an indelible mark on country music. He paved the way for greater diversity in the genre and showed that country music is for everyone – no matter where you come from or what you look like. Stoney Edwards passed away from stomach cancer in 1997 at the age of 67.

Suggested Listening:
“She’s My Rock”
“Hank and Lefty Raised My Country Soul”

Rissi Palmer (b. 1981)

She’s a trailblazer in country music, a voice for change, and an artist who refuses to be boxed in – meet Rissi Palmer!

Palmer’s mother passed away when she was just seven years old, but she instilled in her a love for the music of Patsy Cline. Rissi would burst onto the country scene in 2007 with her hit single, “Country Girl,” making history as one of the few Black women to chart on the Billboard country charts. Rissi has built a career on breaking barriers by blending country, soul, and R&B into a sound all her own. She has penned some empowering original songs, helping folks on the margins feel seen, especially her most personal song, “You Were Here,” dealing with the heartbreak of a miscarriage.

Beyond the music, Palmer uses her platform to uplift underrepresented voices in country and roots music. As the host of Color Me Country radio on Apple Music, she spotlights Black, Indigenous, and Latino artists in country music – proving that the genre belongs to everyone. With her powerful voice and unwavering spirit, Rissi Palmer isn’t just making music, she’s making history.

Suggested Listening:
“Leavin’ On Your Mind”
“Seeds”

Keb’ Mo’ (b. 1951)

Keb’ Mo’ is a modern blues legend. Born Kevin Moore, this L.A. native blends Delta blues with folk, soul, and a touch of country. With his smooth vocals and masterful guitar skills, he’s kept the blues alive for over four decades.

Mo’ is heavily influenced by the late Robert Johnson, who preceded Keb’ by about 60 years. Keb’ portrayed Robert Johnson in a 1998 documentary and included two Johnson covers on his breakthrough self-titled album in 1994. He has since won five GRAMMY Awards, collaborated with legends like Bonnie Raitt, Jackson Browne, and Taj Mahal, and performed for multiple U.S. presidents.

Mo’ is embedded in country and Americana music as well, working with cats like Lyle Lovett, Old Crow Medicine Show, John Berry, Alison Brown, Jerry Douglas, and Darius Rucker over the years. He has been quick to share his respect for country and gospel traditions, appearing on the critically acclaimed all-star album, Orthophonic Joy, recreating the magic of the 1927 Bristol Sessions – country music’s big bang.

Whether he’s playing a heartfelt ballad or a foot-stomping blues groove, Keb’ Mo’ keeps the genre fresh and timeless. His music isn’t just about the past – it’s about where the blues is going next. We love his passion for all things American roots music. Fifty years into his remarkable career, Keb’ Mo’ is still one cool cat.

Suggested Listening:
“To The Work”
“Good Strong Woman” featuring Darius Rucker

Tina Turner (1939 – 2023)

She was the Queen of rock ‘n’ roll, but did you know Tina Turner had deep country roots?

Born Anna Mae Bullock, she grew up in Nutbush, Tennessee. Tina recalled picking cotton as a youngster during her hardscrabble rural upbringing. Her musical journey began by singing at church on Sunday mornings. She grew up on country, gospel, and blues. Turner and her husband, Ike (who was abusive towards her) had massive success in R&B and rock and roll, but her first solo record was actually a country album.

In 1974, Turner released her debut LP, Tina Turns The Country On!, introducing herself as a solo act. Featuring top musicians, including Country Music Hall of Famer James Burton on guitar, Tina tackled songs from country greats like Dolly Parton, Kris Kristofferson, and Hank Snow. It would go on to receive a GRAMMY nomination for Best Female R&B Vocal Performance in 1975. Over the years, unreleased songs from this groundbreaking album would be dropped, including her powerful take on “Stand by Your Man.”

However, her most enduring impact on country might be as the inspiration behind one of the outlaw movement’s most popular hits. In 1969, Waylon Jennings was staying at a motel in Fort Worth, Texas, when he saw a newspaper ad about Ike & Tina Turner that intrigued him enough to interrupt Willie Nelson during a poker game so they could write a country classic. The phrase that struck Waylon heralded Turner as “a good hearted woman loving a two-timin’ man.” Sound familiar?

From honky-tonks to stadiums, Tina Turner’s fiery spirit left an unforgettable mark on practically every genre – country, rock, and everything in between.

Suggested Listening:
“Stand By Your Man”
“Good Hearted Woman”

DeFord Bailey (1899 – 1982)

Let’s go back to the early days of country to a name that shaped the Grand Ole Opry, but is often forgotten: DeFord Bailey, “The Harmonica Wizard!”

Born in 1899 in Smith County, Tennessee, Bailey grew up around banjos and fiddles in a musical family, saying that he learned the “Black hillbilly music” tradition. He overcame polio as a child, resulting in his short stature – he was only 4’ 10” tall – but it was through this ordeal that he found his voice in a harmonica. While recovering from the disease, he was bedridden for a year, and learned to mimic the sounds he heard outside on his harmonica: trains, animals, and the rhythms of life.

In 1927, Bailey became one of the first stars of the Grand Ole Opry on Nashville’s WSM, dazzling crowds with hits like “Pan American Blues.” He was actually the first artist introduced after George D. Hay referred to WSM’s Barn Dance as the “Grand Ole Opry” for the first time to poke fun at NBC’s classical Grand Opera. Bailey would also become the first artist to record in Music City. His hits like “Fox Chase,” “John Henry,” and “Evening Prayer Blues” captivated radio audiences, making him one of the Opry’s most popular performers. He would tour with other stars like Roy Acuff, Uncle Dave Macon, The Delmore Brothers, and Bill Monroe, but would often not be allowed to stay in the same hotels or eat at the same restaurants as his white contemporaries due to Jim Crow laws.

In 1941, DeFord Bailey was unceremoniously fired from the Grand Ole Opry under suspicious circumstances. He would make his living shining shoes in Nashville and would not perform on the Opry again until 1974, the first of only a handful of final performances on the radio program which he helped grow during its infancy, before his passing in 1982.

The Grand Ole Opry would eventually work to reconcile its mistreatment of its first Black member, issuing a public apology to the late DeFord Bailey in 2023 with his descendants on hand. Old Crow Medicine Show was there to celebrate the occasion, performing their tribute song to Bailey led by black percussionist Jerry Pentecost, entitled “DeFord Rides Again.”

In 2005, Bailey was rightfully inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame and over 40 years since his passing, he is still recognized as the Harmonica Wizard.

Suggested Listening:
“Pan American Blues”
“Evening Prayer Blues”

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Photo Credit: Stoney Edwards by Universal Music Group; DeFord Bailey courtesy of the Country Music Hall of Fame; Rissi Palmer by Chris Charles.

Drew & Ellie Holcomb Take Us Through Their ‘Memory Bank’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Husband-and-wife indie-folk duo Drew & Ellie Holcomb have been making music together for 20 years. Ellie was a member of Drew Holcomb & the Neighbors when they first collaborated on a record in 2005 (now out of print). That was followed by 2007’s A Million Miles Away, which was then succeeded by something like their breakout, Passenger Seat, in 2008.

Over the years since, they’ve built up the Neighbors – and their cohort of friends, neighbors, fans, and listeners – into a more than tidy little paradise of a musical cul-de-sac, with more than a dozen releases (together and separately) and amassing more than a hundred million streams.

This year, the pair put out their first full-length duo album together, as equal fronting artists with the Neighbors behind them. Memory Bank, released on January 24, looks forward while looking back – a hallmark and through line of the duo, their group, and their creative output across their two-decade career. So many of the songs on Memory Bank seem to speak to the longevity they have – “Rain or Shine,” “Shut Up and Dance,” “Never Gonna Let You Go,” “Bones” – there’s a wisdom and perspective in this album that speaks to the distance they’ve traveled together. As well as denoting the upcoming miles they have yet to cover as partners, parents, and musical collaborators.

With the release of Memory Bank, we thought it was the perfect opportunity to stroll down memory lane with Drew & Ellie Holcomb, to contrast their latest project and the artists they have become now with their early projects and the artists they were then, in our most recent edition of First & Latest.

 I wonder, as you put together this Memory Bank, what memories from 2008 and that first album came up for you? How did that nearly 20-year history of making music filter into this project and its songs?

Drew Holcomb: Honestly, Passenger Seat was not even the first project. There was a record in 2005 called Washed in Blue that Ellie sang on that has been scrubbed from the internet. We put on an album called A Million Miles Away in 2007, which had a bunch of songs like “I Like to Be with Me When I’m With You” and “Hung the Moon” and others. I think the younger version of us was much less confident, in a way. We were flying blind. We hadn’t made a lot of records yet and you don’t know what you’re doing in the studio. We didn’t know what we were doing as songwriters. Ellie was just a member of the band at the time.

Ellie Holcomb: I was a neighbor with benefits. The starkest difference for me between Passenger Seat in 2008 and Memory Bank in 2025 is an open-handedness and a freedom that comes with the death of ego and also with a general posture of curiosity and gratitude.

You are both prolific creators – together and separately – how have you balanced your individual musical identities with your collective work over that time period? Do you find it to be an easy balance or a tricky one?

EH: One of my favorite things about us doing music both together and separately is that there’s a massive amount of respect for each other. The reason it took us 20 years to write and record an album together is because we’ve always honored that artistic and creative space with each other. We write really differently, we create really differently. I think that mutual respect and space that we’ve given each other made space for us to make what we we’ve released into the world now – and I love it.

DH: My only addition is a short answer: No, it’s not an easy balance. It’s very tricky, but it’s worth it.

I think our relationship definitely manifests itself through the music. I think on the one hand, there’s like the aspiration – love songs are often about the love that you hope that you have. So, when you’re young and you’re speaking about when you get older, you’re making a promise to yourself and to each other about the kind of love you hope for. There’s also a bit of the truths of your own personalities make it into songs.

There’s clearly a mission and a message in your music, and I think that’s part of your staying power as artists and part of why over so many releases in so many iterations – as a couple, with the Neighbors, as solo artists, as collaborators on outside projects – your songs continue to resonate with audiences in such an authentic and down to earth way. I wonder how much of that encouragement folks get from your music that you get, yourselves? I can see that being a big part of how you’ve gotten this far and are still moving forward.

EH: I’d say we talk to our kids a lot about what a stage is for and we always tell them that a stage is to bring joy. It’s a shared space where our stories mingle together. Music is a bridge builder. Our mission, if you will, with music is that it would help people connect to their own story and that it would help people connect to everybody else and feel a little less alone. There’s this beautiful quote that says we decorate space with art and we use music to decorate time. We feel so deeply grateful that people have used our songs to decorate like the time and the seasons of their lives, sorrow, joy, road trips, family gatherings, etc.

What will you take with you in your “memory bank” as you move forward, as you stare down the next 17 years of making music together? What do you see as your touchstones – or, alternatively, what do you hope you’ll look back and recall if we were to have this conversation again in 20 more years?

DH: Our memory bank as we move forward in the next 17 years of making music together, we are always trying to keep growing. I didn’t know how to sing harmony until this record. I learned how to sing harmony, not with the intention of making a record, but because I wanted to learn. Ellie’s learning piano with similar intentions. There are always new songs to find.

When you were making and releasing Passenger Seat, where did you see yourself now, all these years later? Was this always the goal? Did it seem like a pipe dream that you’d still be doing this together? Or was it inevitable?

DH: Music was definitely not inevitable. When I started making music, Ellie was a school teacher with no intention of being a professional musician. So we have just taken it a year at a time.

Photo Credit: Courtesy of the artists.

BGS 5+5: Crys Matthews

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Crys Matthews
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Latest Album: Reclamation
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): Papa Bear to my future-wife, Uncle Bear to our youngest nieces, and just Bear to my chosen nephew, River.

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

Without question, the song that took me a while to get ‘right’ is my song “Suit and Tie.” This song was written in response to the drag ban being rolled out in Tennessee. Nashville is my home now, so having a front-row seat to the fallout from that bill definitely weighed on my heart. [The ban] was intentionally loosely worded so that law enforcement could have cause to harangue anyone who they saw fit, even a singer-songwriter like me who happens to dress in suits and ties more often than not.

Gender and gender expression are both deeply, deeply personal – they are nobody’s business and certainly not our government’s business. As a social justice songwriter, I take tremendous care to avoid “speaking for someone” or inadvertently appropriating something that I only meant to appreciate. In “Suit and Tie,” only one of the verses is about me directly and offers my perspective as a Butch-identified lesbian who has been wearing clothes that bucked the patriarchy since I was four years old. The other verses are about a nonbinary person, a femme-identified gay man, and a trans woman.

My friend Holly [Near] once called my songs “truth-telling journalism,” which I took as a badge of honor. The notion of being a faithful steward of the truth means a lot to a PK (preacher’s kid) like me, and so it took me about seven drafts before I felt like I had done that with this song.

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

My mission statement is: To amplify the voices of the unheard, to shed light on the unseen, and to be a steadfast reminder that hope and love are the truest pathways to equity and justice.

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

Unsurprisingly, so much of the best advice I have received during my time on this planet is from my mother. One gem in particular that has seemed more and more profound is, “Babygirl, you better remember whose you are, so you don’t forget who you are.” It was (and still is) her way of reminding me that this industry and this world can try everything in its power to try to change the things about you that make you special, those things that, so often, are the very things that drew them to you in the first place.

You have to be steadfast and secure in who you are at your core. You have to remember your ancestors and your community and the people who knew and loved you before anybody who thought they could help you ‘make it big’ even knew your name. That advice from her is why I have managed to have an actual career that centers my ideals and values. And I think it is why the people in my corner seems to also reflect that ideals and values.

Does pineapple really belong on pizza?

Absolutely not! I keep telling my future-wife that, but she keeps insisting that I’m wrong.

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

Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture” – before I realized I could write songs, I was fairly certain that I was going to be a high school band director. I have a deep love for classical music. I can conduct the 1812 like nobody’s business!

I know some musicians hope they get famous enough to sing the National Anthem at a Super Bowl or play at the GRAMMYs, but I’m just hoping that I get to conduct the 1812 with a philharmonic at least once before I die.

Photo Credit: Emily April Allen

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

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

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

BGS 5+5: Olivia Wolf

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Welcome to another 5+5! Hit play, scroll, and get to know artists, creators, and roots musicians of all sorts with five questions and five songs.)

Artist: Olivia Wolf
Hometown: Leipers Fork, Tennessee
Latest Album: Silver Rounds

Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?

Gillian Welch. She has shown me that lyrics can be both beautiful and dark, honest and true. Her instrumentation is brilliantly simple and to see her play live is to transcend to a different plane.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

We played “The Wild” in Seattle, and I asked if anybody had gone fishing that day. A fella had been out that morning and caught three coho salmon. When the song started he closed his eyes and I knew he was back on the ocean in the breeze and the water. I love to see other people getting to escape through my music.

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

Photography, antiquing and home décor design, cooking, and hosting friends.

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

I love Daft Punk. Especially their song “Something About Us.” They influenced a lot of the cosmic aspect of my album and I greatly admire their lyrics and musicality.

If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?

There is nothing I could do instead, I am married to the music.

Photo Credit: Alysse Gafkjen