Artist:Blue Cactus Hometown: Chapel Hill, North Carolina Latest Album:Believer Personal Nicknames: Steph and Mar
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
“Slow and steady, always be on the rise.” I used to think I wanted to “make it” and I worked so hard at that, that it almost broke me, literally. I had stressed myself to the point that my mental stress had begun to manifest physically as various chronic health issues. I want to be a successful musician, which means for me that I am constantly making the music I want to create and not restricting myself to any specific rules or genre limitations. Once you “make it” there’s really only one place to go from there and so many artists have shared that their least happiest times were when their career was at its peak. I want to always be climbing, up and up, constantly evolving and learning new things about myself and abilities. – Steph
What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?
I’m a perpetual hobbyist at heart and am always dabbling in some form of visual art – from film photography and cyanotype to linocut print-making and botanical dyeing – I find that having these other forms of art keeps me curious and inspired, which in turn feeds my inner-songwriter. When I look at my calendar, so much of my life feels planned out and I savor the mystery and surprise of what the film will reveal when it’s developed or how one print will vary from another when I lift the paper. It’s become essential for me to make art for myself that is separate from the business of making music and it’s taught me to embrace the happy accidents of art and re-framed my relationship with perfectionism. – Steph
Genre is dead (long live genre!), but how would you describe the genres and styles your music inhabits?
We have a deep love and respect for country and folk music, which is a sort of foundation for the music we make. There’s a bit of psychedelia and art rock swirling around, too, which seems to move us toward alt-country and cosmic country. We aspire to create songs that are strong enough to exist in varied genres, they just happen to be delivered in our vernacular. – Mario
If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?
Working in music has meant that I’ve also needed some other work to help pay the bills and I’ve been very fortunate to have been an instructor at a local outdoor nature program near our home in Chapel Hill, working with kids. I grew up in a very rural part of Catawba County, in the foothills of North Carolina, and was always out playing in the woods, building forts, and climbing trees. This work has kept me grounded and saved me from burnout. I suppose I’d just keep doing more of it if I changed career paths. – Steph
Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?
I’m thinking comfort food: meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans paired with Roy Orbison. In particular, the album Crying. – Mario
The Wildwoods are not shy about the pride they hold for their home state, Nebraska. The Lincoln-based trio – guitarist/vocalist Noah Gose, violinist/vocalist Chloe Gose, and bassist/vocalist Andy Vaggalis – named their gorgeous new album, Dear Meadowlark (out April 11), after the state bird, while songs like “Sweet Niobrara” and “I Will Follow You To Willow” represent odes to specific Nebraska towns.
“The album really is about our home here in Nebraska,” elaborated Noah, who is the group’s principal songwriter.
The Wildwoods have been together, in one form or another, for over a decade. Noah and Chloe, who are now married, first started performing together as teenagers, while Andy had played in the Wildwoods on and off for several years before officially joining them as a trio in 2022. Dear Meadowlark is their fourth full-length, but the first with Andy as a full-time member, and this album showcases their marvelous vocal chemistry throughout its set of gentle, pastoral acoustic music.
Before heading out on an East Coast tour, the three spoke to BGS about their new album, their growth as a band, and how the pandemic actually helped them become more widely known.
You all have been really upfront with how the new album reflects your deep affection for your home state, Nebraska.
Noah Gose: You know, living in a place like Nebraska, you hear a lot about people wanting to move away. But we’ve just grown to really appreciate our life in Nebraska and appreciate having had the opportunity to grow up in a place like Nebraska.
Chloe Gose: As much as we leave, I think we’ve all always appreciated our home.
Dear Meadowlark also has a very smooth musical flow to it. The title track opens the album like a lovely overture, while the contemplative closer, “Postcards From Somewhere,” bookends it as something like a reflective travelogue-type tune.
CG: It kind of felt like [“Postcards From Somewhere”] was the perfect fit to tie everything all together.
Andy Vaggalis: I think it works super well at the end, too, because [the album] is almost like little stories being written on the postcard with the last song for the postcard to be sent off.
NG: And that song originally wasn’t going to be a part of the album. It was just going to be a single. I wasn’t too keen on adding it to the album, but you know what Chloe says goes, so it was her decision to put it on, but now I’m really happy that we decided to do that.
The album’s music is really rooted in your acoustic instruments; however, drums, keyboards, and cello are used to nicely fill out the arrangements. Was that a conscious choice?
CG: I’m glad that you say that, because with our last album, Foxfield Saint John, I feel like each song is very epic-sounding in the sense that it just has a lot going on in all the arrangements, and we really wanted this album to sound more like us like how we sound live.
NG: All those extra instruments don’t really have the main spotlight at any point throughout the album, but they’re definitely kind of underlying things that brought certain parts of the arrangement out.
Noah, you are the primary songwriter – how did you approach writing the songs for Dear Meadowlark, which sounds like it is a quite personal album?
NG: Yeah, our first two albums, Sweet Nostalgia in 2017 and then Across the Midwest Sky in 2019, were all songs that were music first, lyrics second. And Foxfield was kind of half and half. Most of the songs on Dear Meadowlark were lyrics first. I feel like the songs mean more to me personally when the lyrics are first, because all the lines feel more purposeful.
CG: Things that are happening in our life are inspiring the words. So, all the words are very truthful and mean something in real time… I can tell when certain songs were written.
NG: I don’t like writing songs that just feel like everything’s completely made up. I like to just relate every song I write to things that happened in real life.
Are the vocals something that you think about when you are writing the songs, Noah?
NG: I very rarely have Chloe’s vocal range or Andy’s vocal range in mind when I’m writing the initial bones of the song, because I don’t want anything to get in the way of whatever kind of creativity goes into the initial writing. Most of the songs though, I arrange with Chloe singing the melody. I just don’t feel as confident in my own voice as I do in Chloe’s voice. And just with her being the only female voice, I feel like her voice stands out the most and works the best most of the time as singing the melody.
Your wonderful harmony singing seems to have become central to your sound now.
NG: The whole album of Dear Meadowlark was written around three-part harmony being kind of the main focus of the album.
AV: When I joined the group, I had it in my head – “I’m playing bass.” I wasn’t envisioning doing all these three-part harmony stuff. … When I first came back into the fold, it was like learning the songs and just finding a part in between [their voices] that fit. I remember like one night we were trying to make a fun ad for a show, so we switched around the words to “Teach Your Children” by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. And I remember just feeling way easier than I normally would at [how] to put the three-part harmony together, and just like, “Oh, shit, that sounds good!”
Andy, while Dear Meadowlark was your first full album in the band’s trio setup, you have been with Chloe and Noah frequently over the years?
AV: I started playing with these guys in 2017. We were like a six-piece band. So, I was on Sweet Nostalgia and Across the Midwest Sky. Through the years, I’ve been lurking around.
CG: We’ve had different musicians playing with us throughout the years, but Andy has always been like a core member – basically since the beginning. … We were in choir together in high school. I think there’s kind of like an epiphany with Andy still playing with us. We’ve had other members and clearly that wasn’t like their dream to be doing that anymore. I feel like the reason why we are all still together and doing it is because we all have the same appreciation for what we’re doing.
Okay, speaking of beginnings, I must ask about the beginning of your musical partnership, Chloe and Noah. You two have been making music together since you were both teenagers.
CG: Noah and I met in 2012 when we were 14. I was playing music with my brother and we just like played for fun basically at farmers markets and stuff. [Noah] joined my brother and me, and we played all throughout high school [as] the Wildwoods.
NG: If you were to see videos of us playing at 14, you would probably turn your computer off. … I only really ever had this acoustic guitar that was my dad’s. So, I didn’t ever dive into any other kind of music other than songs that I would play on the acoustic guitar. And when I met Chloe and I learned that she played the violin, I think I just immediately felt like we should play music together. We really enjoyed each other’s company. And playing together so much over the past 13 years, I think it’s just there was no kind of epiphany at first; I think it’s been a 13-year-long epiphany
Andy, when you decided to formally join the band, you still hadn’t finished college yet – was that a big decision?
AV: I was going to college for music. When I would think about what I wanted to do after graduating college, it was travel around and play music. So, I figured might as well. I didn’t necessarily need college to do that at the moment. I can always go back, right? We’ve been great friends since before I was even playing with them. And then, after years of playing with them, it was a pretty easy decision to talk myself into it.
When you rebranded as a trio, it was also when your group started to get a lot of attention during the pandemic for the cover song videos you put up online.
NG: When we started posting his videos, the response that we were getting from the trio videos was just far better than anything that we had ever done in the past, and so we just felt, “This is what works best!”
AV: Then when the “Home” video (a cover of the 2010 Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros hit song) blew up, I think it was Halloween night. All of our phones were just notification after notification after notification, and we’re like “This is insane!” And then the next day, it dawned on us, “Okay, this is exciting, but also this is like a little opportunity here that we need to maximize.” We were trying to still practice together, because we were still kind of in the infancy of playing together as a trio.
CG: Yeah, it was kind of a stressful time during that time, because all three of us were teaching music lessons as well as doing the Wildwoods full time. So, we would meet up early in the morning. We’d start our days at like 8 a.m. and just go until 3 or 4, and then we’d all go and teach lessons. Then we would meet up after lessons to finish what we were working on.
Did the viral success of your cover song videos change what the makeup of the audiences coming to your shows?
CG: We went on tour not really knowing what to expect after our social media blew up. And then [on] our first tour, it was really amazing to see. We started just selling a bunch of tickets in cities that we had never even gone to…
Did you fear that your cover of “Home” might become your “Free Bird”?
NG: Yeah, it was definitely a worry at first, just because we usually throw in one cover, maybe two. We’re mainly an originals band.
CG: I think it has evolved, now that it’s been a couple of years, where people are finding our original music. And they’re requesting them at shows more so than the cover songs.
AV: Even some deep cuts, too.
The songs on Dear Meadowlark, besides drawing inspiration from your home state Nebraska, also holds a warm, woodsy vibe that suggest to me about being out in nature. How would you describe your sound?
CG: Yeah, I think that’s the vibe we’re trying to go for, like aesthetically and musically. I feel like our music too is very soothing – even our upbeat songs. I don’t know if that’s just because of the harmonies fitting together. It’s very calming and soothing music.
They may be called The Lil Smokies, but the bluegrass bangers birthed by the band originating from Big Sky country are anything but small.
Formed in the late 2000s when the group’s current sole remaining original member, Andy Dunnigan, began bringing his Dobro to picking parties during his college days in Missoula, Montana, the Smokies have gone on to become one of the West’s most captivating modern-day string bands, as they release their fourth studio album, Break Of The Tide.
Out April 4, the album is the Smokies’ first since 2021’s critically acclaimed Tornillo and features new band members, bassist Jean Luc Davis and banjoist Sam Armstrong-Zickefoose, for the first time. They’re joined by the core of Dunnigan, fiddler Jake Simpson, and guitarist “Rev” Matthew Reiger. According to Reiger, who joined the Smokies in 2015, his nickname stems from a life changing trip to California’s High Sierra Festival in 2007, where he earned the label for his love of the Stanley Brothers and gospel music. When he later joined the band, the name stuck, due to him sharing first names with their banjo player at the time, Matt Cornette.
“High Sierra changed the whole course of my life,” Reiger tells BGS. “It was at that festival that I made the decision to drop out of music school, grow out a band, get a band and most importantly, set out on a path to create a life where I really enjoyed the music I played instead of the academic pursuits. We made it back to the festival 10 years later to play it for the first time in 2017, so it’ll always have a special place in my heart.”
Ahead of the release of Break Of The Tide we caught up with Reiger to talk about the four-year process of bringing the album to life, recording in Texas, and the band’s separate lives while not together on the road.
What’s it been like for you, first joining an already well-established band and then welcoming two new members into the fold in recent years now with plenty of experience with the Smokies under your belt?
Matthew Reiger: It was a fast moving train when I jumped into the band. I had a decent place in Seattle at the time that I sublet to abandon everything I had and jump aboard. At the time we played and moved a lot faster. It was an incredible ride at the beginning and has been the whole way through, but what I love is the steady progression from runaway train to a rowboat on a gentle pond, which musically is more of where we’re at right now. This new record is as honest as anything we’ve ever recorded. Most of the songs were slowed down a bit, which is a good metaphor for how we are as people now.
Right now is about as introspective and pensive a time that I’ve ever experienced. A lot of people are making changes and finding a new path forward after COVID and the instability that ensued. For example, I recently started practicing with a metronome, not trying to play faster, but rather to see how slowly I could play a song. I want to see just how slow and deliberate I can play the song of my life. When you do that you find some challenging points where it’s not all bouncy, happy, and driving forward. The stillness is sometimes unnerving, but I’m happy we’re going through it on this record.
In that regard, [producer] Robert Ellis played a big role in slowing things down, especially on my songs. The way he heard the songs was perhaps even more honest than I heard them. It was quite a display of skill and artfulness on his behalf.
This was the second album in a row you’ve gone to Texas to record, following 2021’s Tornillo with Bill Reynolds at Sonic Ranch. What made y’all want to head back there to record with Robert at Niles City Sound this go around?
It was all for Robert. I’d fly anywhere in the world for the opportunity to work with him. He likes to produce the records he works on in Texas and I don’t blame him. We also recognized the impact of using a familiar place and equipment to a producer. On Break Of The Tide I probably played four guitars and there were a couple more involved beyond that. I think there’s a special alignment between instruments and the places where they live – they’re all there for a reason. It could be a big deal or seemingly innocuous, but there’s a reason they’re in that space and I think you can create some really cool things in those environments. That really came through on this record.
As we mentioned previously, Break Of The Tide is the Smokies’ first record since 2021. Was that four-year gap intentional and a byproduct of what you said earlier about slowing down, or is it due to something entirely different?
COVID, the resulting instabilities, and the band’s general desire to slow down were all factors, but if I had to pick a standout factor it’d be all the uncertainty within the touring music world. Just finding the time, money, and other resources necessary to continue doing that in the midst of a global shakeup was on our minds. It has taken every bit of determination and willpower I can muster – and I’m sure the rest of the guys would agree, too – to keep playing and stay together as a group. Adding an album to that was too much for us for several years and once you summon the courage to go do that you have the arduous process of working through the business side of things and everything that goes into making a record that’s non-musical.
You just touched on some of the struggles and the grind of being a touring musician, especially these last few years. Are those things y’all are singing about on songs like “Lately” and “Keep Me Down” from this new record?
You’re spot-on. I don’t think there’s any way to explain how challenging it is to juggle one’s personal life and touring. It is something I didn’t understand until I did it. The size and shape of the pieces you have to make the puzzle are always changing. It takes a radical toll on who you are at home, even when you’re not touring. You have this recovery period, you have this social adjustment, you have this relationship adjustment, and it’s sort of like you’re always jumping onto or off of a moving treadmill. Going on tour is like jumping on the moving treadmill since you often stumble because everything’s moving so fast, but then when you return home you have to slow down that uncomfortable pace and hop off the treadmill, which feels weird at first even though you’re hopping back onto stable ground since you’re so conditioned to running at full speed. Because of that there’s a lot of picking yourself up each time you go on tour and each time you come home, which is something both those songs touch on.
Similar to what we just talked about with “Lately” and “Keep Me Down,” it seems like “Break Of The Tide” and “Bad News Babe” are sister songs about being there for people you love while also knowing when to cut them off. Your thoughts?
I love the term “sister songs!” Like we talked earlier, touring takes a huge toll on personal relationships. I’ve said before that my first marriage isn’t to the Smokies or touring, but to music in general. It’s my first partner and has been for a long time. It takes a very special person to be in a relationship with someone who already has a partner, though it’s all very trendy in the coastal areas. [Laughs]
“Break Of The Tide” in particular is a song about feeling powerless, which is one of the biggest struggles we can face, and how it’s difficult to help those you love and even harder to walk away and recognize you can’t save them when those situations arise. Sometimes you just have to walk away to protect everyone involved, including yourself, which is oftentimes easier said than done.
We’ve been talking about the sacrifices of being a touring musician, but I’m also curious about your sacrifices within the band, particularly the miles between y’all being spread out in Seattle, Montana, Oklahoma, and Colorado. How has that affected how you operate together as a group?
It certainly makes it harder to get together and practice. [Laughs] I live just west of Seattle on Vashon Island, which is a 24-mile existence with a lot of retired folks. Everything’s a little slower than you expect and there’s a lot of hippie stuff going on – like I have a shower in my backyard. It’s super rural with a lot of farms, but it’s also just outside Seattle. Driving my car there is a little tricky, because I have to hop on a boat, but there’s ways to cross on a ferry and get to the city in 45 minutes to an hour. You have to put in some work to get there, which is what I love not only about this island, but the band as well.
It’s important for us all to feel like ourselves when we’re not on tour, because it’s a lot of costume-wearing when we are out on the road. Having that separation makes it easier to go back out on tour with more energy once it’s time to throw the costumes back on and jump in the van with a bunch of crazies for a while.
From the title of this record, Break Of The Tide, to songs like “Sycamore Dreams,” nature’s influence can be heard throughout the project. How would you say the outdoors informs The Smokies’ sound?
In some ways I think you could argue that nature is the only muse. There’s something so powerful about the ocean that I love. It’s the biggest thing in the world and connects nearly every point in it. In order to write in the way that I want to I have to be able to feel small and insignificant, and there’s nothing quite like an ocean to remind us just how small we all are and to be grateful for that. Because of that I’ve written very few songs that didn’t mention water.
What has music, specifically the process of bringing this new record to life, taught you about yourself?
I’ve spent most of my life trying to write music, but something that I’ve come to see – especially these past few years and what I hear on this record – is that the best art is not so much written, it is captured, and in order to do that you have to practice your listening. Writing and working on things is great, but in the end you have to turn off the metronome, stop thinking and just listen. That’s where you’ll find the beauty in every facet of life, not just in music.
One day, as a favor for a friend who was building a recording studio, Rose Cousins wandered through a piano showroom. She had no intention of buying anything for herself, but then she came upon a 1967 Baldwin baby grand. She asked the salesperson about it and was told it already had a buyer. She asked to put her name on a waiting list, though, just in case.
“A few days later,” she said in our recent Zoom interview for BGS, “they called me and said, ‘It’s become available.’ So then I went [back to the store] … and they pulled it into a room so I could play it. I spent a couple of hours with it and then freaked out over the next month. And then ended up buying it as my first real piano.”
Piano had been an early acquaintance for Cousins, when she was first finding her voice as a musician. Growing up on a Prince Edward Island farm, the second of five children in a tight-knit family, Cousins was both poet and athlete. The piano was an early friend to her empathic insides as she began to find her voice amid the bustle of a busy household.
More than twenty years and nine releases into her JUNO Award-winning career, Cousins has long since migrated to Canada’s mainland. Based in Halifax, Nova Scotia, she is one of her country’s finest contributors to her generation of singer-songwriters. Across her career, she has mostly recorded her own songs, often on guitar, but the piano has been a constant presence, both in the studio and her live performances. She has turned to it for pulling the feelings forward in cover songs like Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind” and Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” She has relied on it for original songs that are especially emotionally demanding, such as the devastating “Go First” from 2012’s We Have Made a Spark and “Grace” and “Like Trees” from GRAMMY-nominated Natural Conclusion (2017).
Now, Cousins has reached her tenth release, Conditions of Love – Vol. 1. For it, she has laid her Martin acoustic guitar to the side. From the album’s opening instrumental overture, “To Be Born,” to its final rumination, “How Is This (the last time),” we hear Cousins playing that beautiful old Baldwin. Taken in its entirety, Conditions is a collection of songs that is even more deeply vulnerable than usual, with good reason.
“The sensation of playing a full, real piano of my own and having it in my space,” she says, “it’s kind of like a zone I go into. It’s a very intimate relationship.”
These are strong words coming from an artist who has sold T-shirts at her shows that read “Feelings Welcome” and “Rose Cousins Made Me Cry.” That there might be some deeper well of emotion available to her than she has been willing or able to access on previous projects, might make some listeners nervous. But there is no need for a wellness warning on Conditions of Love – Vol. 1.
Once the listener is “Born” into this album, the first song with lyrics is called “Forget Me Not.” It’s delivered in list form, an ode on spring and, perhaps, a nod toward rebirth.
In 2020, Cousins says, the pandemic lockdown saw her moving neighborhoods. “I got a dog, and that meant I was walking outside multiple times a day. I was walking through, particularly, the spring and summer.” Free of the administrative tasks that pile up when she’s planning for another show or tour, she adds, “It’s like my peripheral vision widened and my top vision heightened and my noticing was so much sharper. I was just noticing things blooming – and when they were blooming. It seems ridiculous, because I’ve lived many, many springs, but I actually haven’t experienced spring in the same place multiple times in many, many years. And here I was experiencing it. … It really was this, like, holy shit [moment]. Like oh, snowdrops are the first thing you see. You see them come up and there’s still snow on the ground.”
For an artist – a poet – who had grown up on an island roaming the woods and the beach and playing outside with her siblings, this return to the city oddly necessitated a return to nature. As the rest of us watched YouTube videos of mountain goats and bears roaming urban neighborhoods the world over quiet from COVID lockdowns, Cousins was developing a kinship with those wild things reclaiming their natural environment, even if just for a moment.
“Sweet fern and knapweed,” she sings. “Lavender and rosemary.”
Perhaps an accident, perhaps a nod to the album’s theme, the flowering plants come in pairs. There is some kind of partnership between, say, the “buttercup and poppy,” though it would take a gardening expertise beyond this writer’s own to specify why. And yet, the casual observer, rekindling a relationship with the earth, can sense it.
“Forget Me Not” shifts when Cousins begins listing trees. “Dogwood and gingko,” she sings as the lyrics evolve into sentences. “The poplar leaves clap as the wind blows.” Nature is spreading its roots and branches. There is more space for more observations, more developed ideas, more potential.
The blossoms open. The bees arrive. The eye draws upward.
By the end of the song, Cousins is simply imploring, “Don’t forget me,” but there is a sense that she is not speaking to a lover or even a friend. This is a dialogue with the earth, with the seasons and sky. She is speaking for and to them as much as she is speaking for and to herself.
“Dogwood was one of the trees that I absolutely fell in love with,” Cousins continues. “I planted one on my property two falls ago. The fall dogwood. I just couldn’t even believe how beautiful it is. … I probably would have seen the dogwood before, but didn’t know that it was called dogwood, you know. I didn’t have a relationship with that tree.” But now she does.
Perhaps one condition of love is first knowing what it is.
Here is where the idea of love’s conditions immediately turns. After all, love is one of the most commented upon musical subjects. Contemporary music typically focuses on the romantic sort – particularly brand-new or just ending. But that is not all Rose Cousins is here for. (The album is not called Conditions of Romantic Love.)
From the first set of lyrics on this album, we are handed an implicit definition of love: It is small and big. It is colorful and everywhere. It is where you may not expect it. It is of the self and of the earth. It emerges at the right time. It withers and hibernates and invisibly readies rebirth.
Perhaps love is always – even when it is not. Yet it can feel so elusive, so impossible to pin down. “Love makes us insane,” Cousins says, while discussing the album’s third track and its first single, “I Believe in Love (and it’s very hard).”
“We’re kind of told that we want it. We kind of do want it. We get into it. We struggle with it. It’s ridiculous. … And it’s like, ‘I want to have this. I’m doing my best out here to try and have this love thing.’ … But then [there’s] the choice between being in a relationship with somebody and working through all the ridiculousness – or being wild and free.”
Which brings us back to the mountain goats and bears wandering cities during lockdown. Back to Cousins walking her dog, noticing flowers and trees. Reacquainting with oneself is part of love, whether it comes in the throes of a long connection with another human, or after such a relationship has come to an end.
Indeed, this juxtaposition between endurance and ending is among the running themes on Conditions. In reality, love does not have a beginning, middle, and end. It is not a story we tell as much as it is an ongoing pursuit of life itself. “There [is] a cycle to every relationship where you come in close, and then you move back, [and then] you come in close,” Cousins says.
“Denouement” is another sort of list song. “Dissonance,” she sings in its final verse. “Elephants. Vigilance. Grand defense.” And as she lists these rhyming words, the inclusion of “Elephants” feels so ridiculous. She is recounting a lovers’ spat, which ends with “dinner mints” as her protagonists presumably leave the restaurant together.
All kinds of love relationships can turn on what we tend to call “elephants in the room.” There are the things we decide to not bring up over dinner – with our families or our lovers or our friends. The times we hurt one another, the grief and fear, the secrets between us. The willingness to hold these things, to let the elephants stand as we take our dinner mints and move on, that gives love room to persist.
“There’s this movie I watched on an airplane on my way back from Calgary in 2023,” Cousins recalls. “It’s just this small Canadian independent film called Wildhood. … There [were] a couple characters who come from tough homes. One of them says, ‘Love has conditions, I guess.’ … And I was like, fuck, it’s exactly that. Does it ever, you know?”
Cousins is careful to clarify that she doesn’t understand her album’s theme as merely a push-and-pull between conditional and unconditional love.
“Conditions, in all of the definitions of ‘conditions,’” she says. “It’s like – what is the weather in this relationship today? What are the guises under which I’m going to be loved and that I belong, or that I will be accepted, or, you know, that I can be vulnerable? There’s no one [condition]. There’s just so many.”
While many of the songs are clearly circling around an understanding of romantic love, there is also the love that exists within a family of origin. Love that is perpetual and yet can feel as though it rests on one or more people behaving a certain way. This love can feel more like a barrier than a connection. Like reaching toward a wall, unable to even see whether the person on the other side is reaching too.
The places where this image resonates most – “That’s How Long (I’ve waited for your love),” “Wolf and Man,” “Borrowed Light” – come in the second half of the disc. If we are to take Conditions as a birth-to-death exploration of love, these are the songs that come with middle age. When we have the same amount of time behind us as we do in front. When we begin to wrestle with familiality and community and our own identity in relation to both. The balance of love between self and others.
“I am borrowing light from the moon, who is borrowing light from the sun,” she sings in the album’s penultimate track.
Perhaps another condition of love is connection and disconnection, the way we use each other, the choice to depend upon another body.
“As we age,” she adds, “if you choose it, there’s a lot of facing oneself that can be really fruitful and deeply painful. And I think that the pandemic did that for me. As glorious as it was to have the ‘Forget Me Not’ experience of … [a] revisited relationship with nature. It also was really arresting in the way that it was holding up a bunch of mirrors.
“Like, where are all these mirrors coming from? I was able to kind of ignore [them before], or didn’t know that they were there, that I needed to look into them, because I was just so busy with work and motion and the next thing. So, as painful as that was, it was a rich ground for growth. And growth is most often painful. I definitely learned a lot about myself during the last four years.”
Cousins pauses before continuing: “I don’t really know how to talk about this.”
Fair enough. The music she’s created, as usual, speaks plenty.
Artist:Rose Betts Hometown: London, United Kingdom Latest Album:There Is No Ship (released March 7)
What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?
When I lived in London, my parents would often come to my shows. Right before I’d go on, my mother would say, “Tell me a story.” It seems so simple to put it that way, but really it was such a wonderful gem of advice, a steady light, a root to hold onto. It’s easy to get caught up in other things, when I’m playing live I have to fight against the problems of not hearing myself, the lights, raucous crowds. When I’m singing a song to my phone to share on TikTok I’m thinking about the lighting, or whether its engaging enough. Even when I’m in a room with executives and they’re trying to figure out if I’m worth investing in – keeping that line of “tell me a story” in my head and my heart ties me to the old and beautiful tradition of what songwriting is and, when you take all the egos and the money out of it, what everybody wants to be a part of. We are born storytellers, all of us, and that is the thing that ties us together and helps us grow.
What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?
I actually turn to other art forms for inspiration much more than I turn to music. Literature has always been important to me and totally informs more songwriting. Melody is a gift from the air, it isn’t something I overthink, but words, and everything that can be poured into a melody through them, are so magical to me. Authors like Tolstoy, Turgenev, Austen, and Emily Brontë, poets like Keats, Philip Larkin, Seamus Heaney – they all inspire me in different ways to become a better songwriter. I love the challenge of finding new ways to say old things. It offers me and also the listener a chance to look afresh at the world and at themselves.
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
Nature is my church, it is where I go to free my mind. Living in LA, I’ve become acquainted with a different kind of nature and I’m not sure it suits me. England is lush, the greens are abundant, the air is rich and full of moisture, it weighs the sky down, bringing it nearly within touching distance. None of this is in LA. So my favourite thing to do here is to drive to San Bernardino, up into the mountains, to Crestline. Being around those trees fills me up, I can feel it nourishing something in me.
Nature roots me to the simplicity of what it is to be alive. It is passive and without pity – a witness. I feel like songs need what human beings need: air and light and water. But everyone has feet that touch the earth, so all songs need to have a part of themselves in contact with the ground, the roots, the stone.
If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?
I’d like to think I’d have some quiet job somewhere which gave me lots of time to read, maybe as a librarian or a translator of foreign literature. Or perhaps something in costume or fashion – I love making clothes and I love film costume, so being someone who brought the world of film to life through costume would be pretty wonderful.
Does pineapple really belong on pizza?
Surely trying to police pizza is like trying to say that a violin only belongs in an orchestra and you can’t have pancakes for dinner. Think about all the wonderful things we’ve made because we broke the rules. I love when cultures mix together and make something new and unexpected, it happens all the time, and should be celebrated. That said I don’t have pineapple on my pizza.
After over 20 years behind the wheel of Western North Carolina-based bluegrass and roots band Steep Canyon Rangers, founding member Woody Platt is forging a new path ahead as a solo artist with his debut album, Far Away With You.
Released on October 11, the 10-song project sees the GRAMMY and IBMA Award winner teaming up with a variety of collaborators – from the North Carolina writers whose songs litter the collection to guest spots from legends like Del McCoury, Tim O’Brien, Sam Bush, and Darrell Scott. The album also showcases covers from Georgia bluesman Blind Willie McTell (“Broke Down Engine”) and rockers Kings of Leon (“Beautiful War”) that showcase Platt’s ability to take songs from far outside the bluegrass space and capture them within it, casting these familiar tales in an entirely new light and making them new all over again.
“This album is a big step for me,” Platt tells BGS. “When I left the Steep Canyon Rangers, it was only to slow down and be home more. I didn’t really have a plan to make a record or to have any sort of solo career, but when you spend half your life on the road and playing music, it just becomes a little bit of who you are.”
That big step has come with even bigger adversity in recent weeks as Platt has joined others in recovery efforts after Hurricane Helene pounded his home region. While his property and most of the city of Brevard were spared catastrophic damage, countless other communities nearby were not. Though recovery will likely take years, Platt is determined to help for the long haul with both power tools and his baritone bluegrass bops.
During a break from hacking away at a fallen tree with his chainsaw to get a neighbor’s bridge reopened, Platt spoke with BGS about the mixed emotions leading up the release of Far Away With You, how Western Carolina informs his music, his song selection process, and how fatherhood has impacted his outlook on music.
What’s it been like for you balancing promoting and preparing for an album release while simultaneously helping your community recover from Hurricane Helene?
Woody Platt: I’m not going to lie to you, I’m conflicted. This is the first time I’ve ever focused on a record that is a solo project with my name on it. With that comes a general sort of concern, anxiety, and excitement, and I’m proud of it, but at the same time I’ve been conflicted about trying to promote something that’s so singular and personal during this huge storm event that’s got so many people in such a bad situation.
Originally, I thought there’s no way the album release show can go on, but when you think about it a little bit more, you realize that music is a great way to bring people together, create a healing environment, and use it as a platform to continue to create awareness and raise money. There’s so many benefit concerts and there always has been, but that just gave me some peace of mind that if we can transition this into being less about the album and more about the community at large and the health of the community, these two things can coexist in a really good way. Being further and further away from the storm and as more people are getting power back, I think it’s a good chance for people to come together and contribute to a greater sort of healing process.
Aside from the pivot to the release show turning into a benefit, what do you hope to accomplish with Far Away With You?
The reason I first started playing music was to play bluegrass music, so this album for me represents a return to my roots. I never stopped playing bluegrass music, but when I was with the Steep Canyon Rangers we evolved and developed more of an Americana sound, so this [album] has been a good way for me to get back to basics and playing the music that originally got me fired up about creating a band and performing in the first place. Also, there’s a lot of great songwriters here in my home community, including my wife Shannon [Whitworth], which has allowed me to tap into some of the local talent to put a spotlight on them as well.
Do you see yourself getting back on the road for any tours or solo runs in support of this record or anything else you may do in the future?
I see shows always on my calendar, but tours, not so much. I don’t envision long runs of shows, but I do see myself playing a festival here, a concert there. I’m also doing a fair amount of work with Shannon, which is sort of separate from this. Between the two, I feel like I’m actually playing more music than I thought it would be. I didn’t have any expectations of what was next after years of touring, but every time I look at my calendar I have some work to do. It’s all been really organic. I’m not out there chasing it or pushing it very hard, but if an opportunity presents itself then I’m usually pretty willing to take part in it.
As you just mentioned, most of the songs on the album are penned by other songwriters. How do you go about deciding what work from others to incorporate into your shows, or in this case, an album?
I’m really drawn to songs, melodies, and just the feel of a composition. I didn’t start this project with a goal to find the songs just within this community, but when a song speaks to you, it speaks to you. Because of that, there was no real roadmap of what the final 10 songs would be. I just went with my gut and the songs that meant something to me or moved me for one reason or another, and this is where I ended up. It was only when looking back on them at the end that I realized that most of them came right out of Brevard.
I was so lucky when I was with Steep Canyon Rangers to be in a band with some really great songwriters. It set the bar pretty high for what I look for in a song, leading to this album where every song is one that I love to play and sing.
From songwriters to nature, how do the mountains of Western North Carolina inspire and inform your music?
We live in such a beautiful place. One of my favorite things about it is all the water. It’s no secret that I’m a lifelong, serious fly fishing angler and I get in the river a lot, like more than most. There’s a real sort of music to the river, so when I’m in the water there’s a lot of inspiration that washes over me. There’s a lot of sounds and what you see is not what you hear and the way it surrounds you is all very inspiring and helps to clear my mind. It’s always been a way for me to reset, which leads to loads of creativity and inspiration.
That’s interesting you bringing up water, because I agree it can be peaceful and relaxing, but as we’ve seen it can also be powerful, destructive, and deadly. Quite the duality.
That’s very true. I just spent the morning in the river with some other guys trying to clear a neighbor’s bridge. Right now the rivers don’t feel as peaceful as they have. There’s a lot to be done, but it’s amazing how rivers can heal themselves and how water can be healing in general.
Sticking with that concept of duality, I can’t help but get a similar sentiment from the song “Like the Rain Does,” which lyrically plays out like a love story (“you’ve got me falling like the rain does”), but is also flexible and ambiguous enough to tie into the recent storms y’all have experienced.
I absolutely love that about music. A song might be written for one particular perspective, but the listener might take it in a totally different direction based on personal experience or, like you said, a recent natural disaster that can sort of change what a song means to you. I’ve always liked that about songs and feel that many of the songs on this record have that sort of ambiguity and openness to interpretation while others are more direct.
Another song I’ve really enjoyed is “Walk Along With Me,” an original of yours that combines your life at home as a father with your love of music. How did it come about?
“Walk Along With Me” was one I wrote in 2015 shortly after our son was born. Shannon and I would work different shifts and I would put our little boy in a Moby [Baby] Wrap on my chest, staying up real late with him while she got some uninterrupted sleep, sort of like a night shift. I wound up writing a lot of songs with this classical guitar nestled against his back, which was really inspiring, because I’d never really thought of myself as a songwriter. I was a part of a lot of song creation, but not as a first writer of songs.
With this one in particular, I was emotional about all of the sudden becoming a father, so I thought about my life and the experiences that I’ve had and how that translated into how I would be as a father. And, how close I would keep my child or how far I would let them go, the ebb and flow of wanting to keep your arms around them and be by their side while also realizing that they’ve got to blaze their own trail. Being a father is ultimately what led me to slowing down my touring. It really changed my whole life, having a son and starting a family and that song is just one example of how I felt about it at that time.
Given that your son is eight years old now, has he started catching the musical bug himself yet?
He really is. Just this morning he was getting ready for school and he had his own music on in his room. He’s also been singing a lot and is getting quite good on the drums. He takes drum lessons from [Aquarium Rescue Unit and Leftover Salmon’s] Jeff Sipe here in town. We were at a little jam not too long ago and he found a cajon and next thing I knew he was a part of the jam and was holding it down pretty well. We’ve tried not to push music on him, but I think just being around these rehearsals at the house and these shows that we play is causing it to seep into his bones.
You’ve mentioned your wife Shannon a couple of times now. What does it mean to you to not only have her by your side for encouragement, but also to lean on as a songwriting partner?
It’s wonderful. She’s super creative [and] also a painter in addition to being a multi-instrumentalist, a songwriter, and a great singer. We play and write a lot together now, but when she was touring with her solo band or with The Biscuit Burners and I was touring with Steep Canyon Rangers we’d oftentimes just put our instruments by the door and not get them out when we got home. We were working so hard with our other groups that when we got together, we were just hanging out. Now that we’re both not playing as much we’re doing a lot more together. It’s been a lot of fun to write together and have her as a good sounding board, and vice versa. We’ve come to a really good place of musical compatibility and creativity.
What has music taught you about yourself?
I was never naturally made for this type of thing. For a long time I didn’t even realize that I had the talent and the capability to carry a show. Because of that, I usually show up over-prepared – I’m not the kind of guy that can just show up and jump on a show, I have to be studied and be ready. That preparation and drive to be good has helped to keep me humble and honest about it. I’ve always felt like at any minute this could all go away. It’s not only aided in keeping my head down and staying focused, but it’s also kept me playing and enjoying music for all the right reasons.
Artist:Kate Prascher Hometown: Hudson Valley, New York Latest Album:Shake The Dust (out August 30, 2024) Personal Nicknames (or Rejected Band Names): Kate or Katie. I go by my middle name, which I have always thought of as a Southern thing. Growing up in Tennessee, it was not uncommon to go by a middle name or even a family nickname and it has taken some explaining over the years. Especially when I moved to New York.
What rituals do you have in the studio or before a show?
I like to move some way or other, I will often practice yoga and try to get out of my head a little bit. I also warm up my voice and hands, drink tea, and run through whichever songs are new or have parts that need attention. I try to practice the week before a show and avoid day-of practicing whenever that’s possible, especially when there is new material. I have also started working with visualization this year. It is a thing I’m trying, so that I can see the audience in my mind before I meet them and give my brain a roadmap for how the next performance will go.
What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting – inform your music?
Books are a huge part of my life and a big part of my songwriting practice. I read all the time, all different kinds of things. I think of reading as stuffing my brain with words that are then (hopefully) at my fingertips when I sit down to write. Reading so much has given me a clearer picture of what good storytelling can be, the moves a writer can make to hide, to expose, and to captivate. And it has taught me about characters. I do the same kind of gathering with music, I pack my mind with good songwriting – or bad – and try to name the things that work or don’t work, things that I find interesting, and ideas or themes I would like to filter through my own voice. Also, I find myself asking: What’s fun and intriguing? Why do I love this song so much?
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
I am lucky to live in the Hudson Valley now. This after years of city living. I see the mountains every day; a privilege that I do not take for granted. There is something about this area, the Shawangunk Ridge and the Catskills, that cradles a person and whispers of things I’ve never known. I go walking or for a hike and usually return with a more rounded perspective. These old beings, these mountains, offer some kind of magic to us who live around here. They have seen things that they keep secret, but maybe also transmit in some silent way. I know at least one song of mine has come from a walk through the mountains, over a railroad trestle near my house.
What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song you adore that would surprise people?
I love the Cranberries. Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can’t We? was on heavy rotation in my preteen years. I love Dolores O’Riordan’s voice and the intensity that she could hammer across, but then release to tenderness. Love and love. Also, who doesn’t adore Snoop Dogg? Watching him at the Super Bowl in 2022, the charisma he threw out in that giant arena, surrounded by other huge stars, reached past the fireworks and through the screen. He. Is. So. Good. But you didn’t need me to tell you this.
If I didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?
I would very likely be a writer. I am word nerd at heart and not sure I could ever really let go of that part of myself. Maybe an actor? I thought I was going to be an actor for a while, even majored in theater. I am sure the actors and writers who have worked tirelessly and sacrificed daily to master their craft just love hearing this casual statement from me!
I do have a day job, as an elementary school teacher, love the kids, love the work, I learn something every day from teaching. It is a part of my life I am very proud of.
Since 2013, The National Parks have embodied their name in a way few other bands can. In fact, they’ve made a mission of translating the breathtaking majesty of the outdoors into awe-inspiring roots pop – music that ends up like oxygen for the soul, especially if you happen to be lost in a concrete jungle.
A Provo, Utah-based quartet featuring Brady Parks, Sydney Macfarlane, Cam Brannelly, and Megan Parks, the band have explored all over the stylistic trail map in the past, but their new LP Wild Spirit (out August 23) marks a return to base camp. Back to resonate wood-and-string soundscapes, soaring harmonies, and rivers of rushing energy. These days, their brand of upbeat jangle pop is brighter, more encouraging, and more connected to the rhythm of nature than ever.
Speaking with BGS about Wild Spirit’s creation, primary songwriter and guitarist/frontman Brady explains where the mix of uplifting vibes and down-to-earth instruments comes from – and why the group’s new tunes feel like sunrise after a long night.
You’re 10+ years into the band at this point. How’s everybody feeling creatively these days?
Brady Parks: We’re feeling really good. I feel like this new album was kind of just a beautiful process, start to finish. It was, in a way stepping back to our roots – a little more folky, there’s some country elements, some bluegrass, and so it really just feels like rediscovering us. It was just a really fun project to do.
Once you get that far down the road, at some point you have to loop back around and remember what you were doing in the first place, right?
Totally. I mean, we’ve definitely dipped our feet into going more pop at times, and including those elements, so it was fun to bring everything we’ve done over the course of our career back to our roots.
Tell me a little bit about those roots. You seem to capture these natural themes and sounds within the music – the sway of trees in the wind, the rush of a river. Has that always been with you?
Totally. I feel like nature has always been a huge part of my songwriting. I grew up in Colorado and living in the mountains, I just loved it. I was outside all the time. And now living Utah for the last 13 or so years, just being surrounded by so much natural beauty, I tend to find a lot of parallels between love and life and nature, and how it all comes together.
I think it’s always been really inspiring to me musically – and also not musically, just in general. So I think it’s always naturally played a role in our music. And then over the years as we kind of discovered who we are more and more and more with each project, I think it’s become a bit more intentional. We want our music to inspire people to get outside. We want to capture what it feels like.
What do you think is so intriguing about that connection between nature and the human soul? Is there wisdom in slowing down and just learning to look around?
Yeah, and this is something that we talk about all the time as a band when we’re feeling overwhelmed, or depressed, or anxious, or anything. The thing that grounds us the most is getting outside, and it helps us recenter ourselves. I don’t know, I think when you’re out on a hike or you’re out in nature doing something, your soul kind of connects to something bigger than yourself, and it helps you breathe again. I think that’s a big thing for all of us in the band.
Wild Spirit arrives August 23. Tell me, from the band’s perspective, what do you think makes this one a little bit different?
I think this album comes from a lot of soul searching, a lot of going through different personal things. This album captures what it’s like to get lost, and then what it feels like to find yourself when you’re lost. … When I was writing this album, I was working through all those things that I’ve been going through and kind of had this picture in my mind of a forest at night and being lost in it, and what it is to be terrified in this darkness, this unknown, this uncertainty. But also when you’re lost, the daylight comes and you start hiking up and you get different vantage point, and you see things clearer and see the beauty in the journey of it all.
During the writing process, was there a moment where things started to coalesce?
There was definitely a moment pretty early on that we kind of hit on, “This is what the album is, this is what it’s going to feel like, this is what it’s going to narratively be about.” And that was when I was writing “Wild Spirit.” I actually wrote that in Nashville, and it was just one of those writes that was super inspiring and [I] walked away from it really excited to re-listen to this song a million times. I sent it to the band after – I actually sent a group of songs – and that was the one song that everyone was like, whoa, “Wild Spirit.”
Tell me about “Timber.” I love mixing the natural theme with the romantic idea of falling like a tree in love. Where did that come from?
That was written as a love song to my wife Megan, who plays violin in the band. It was a song about letting go of anything that was holding me back and not in our relationship, but I mean, just candidly, we’ve been going through some stuff with our faith and our journey in that aspect. And yeah, this was a song about letting go of everything we’ve known and trust falling with each other, and just realizing that this is what is important to us – our relationship and each other. And that’s all. You just kind of let go of the roots that hold you and fall, and I think there’s a lot of beauty in that.
There’s some wonderful duet harmony on “Where You Are.” Can you tell me where that song came from?
“Where You Are” was a song I wrote about feeling kind of stuck in between places. Sometime I feel this “in-between” in life, coming out of something and moving into something else. Like antsy to get going again, and it was a song I wrote to myself like, “Hey, you can get where you’re going, but it’s okay to be where you’re at right now.” So it’s kind of a song about knowing that one day you’ll get to where you need to go, but it’s okay to not be there.
How about “Scenic Route”? This one is really beautiful to me and lyrically full of natural references. Spiritually speaking, do you tend to choose the scenic route? Or are you more of a direct to the point kind of guy?
I would say I’ve been a direct to the point kind of guy most of my life. And now I feel like more on the scenic route of things, just enjoying life, enjoying the things that matter and trying to slow it down. “Scenic Route” actually is one of the first songs I wrote for the record when I was still trying to figure out thematically what to do, and I really wrote it about Meg and being on a journey together. No matter what hard times we go through, again, it’s about leaning on the person that matters most to you and slowing it down and just enjoying life, even through uncertainty.
Big picture, I’m just wondering what you hope people take away from this one?
I just hope this album in particular can help people that are feeling lost, that are feeling confused, that feel stuck. I hope they know that they’re not alone and that it’s okay to be where you’re at. And then I also hope it can uplift musically. A big part of our brand and messaging is to inspire people to look at the world around them, to get outside and see the beauty in life. So I think those would be the main takeaways.
Counting John Prine, Linda Ronstadt, and Wendell Berry among her fans, Laurie Lewis is arguably one of the most diversely influential figures in American roots music culture. She’s a songwriter, fiddler, frontwoman, performer, producer, teacher, and mentor. She’s been nominated for multiple Grammy awards and graced the stage at the Grand Ole Opry. The International Bluegrass Music Association has twice named Lewis Female Vocalist of the Year, and the association’s former executive director, Dan Hays, once called her “one of the preeminent bluegrass and Americana artists of our time and one of the top five female artists of the last 30 years.”
Lewis’s latest release — her 24th full-length record — pairs the artist’s musical mastery with her willingness and courage to face the full spectrum of life’s experiences. From personal grief to environmental despair, Lewis does not shield her eyes from difficult truths. In many ways, the album pays homage to its namesake, trees. When asked why, Lewis notes their tenacity. When something is tenacious, it grips firmly, with determination and persistence. Even in the face of immense challenge and uncertainty, trees abide in their purpose and work — and so does Laurie Lewis.
TREES is a long-play collection of songs that tenderly, earnestly, and sometimes joyfully explore what it means to exist on a vulnerable planet through times of loss and love. Supported by a band of masterful collaborators — Haselden Ciaccio (bass, vocals), Brandon Godman (fiddle, vocals), Patrick Sauber (banjo, vocals), George Guthrie (banjo, vocals, guitar), Tom Rozum (vocals, cover art), Andrew Marlin (mandolin), Sam Reider (accordion), and Nina Gerber (guitar) — Lewis dives into the deep end of sorrow and change with tenderness, authenticity, and Americana storytelling prowess.
In the album’s liner notes, Lewis shares that TREES is the first project she’s made in nearly 30 years without the mandolin accompaniment of her partner Tom Rozum, who recently developed Parkinson’s disease. “This collection represents a difficult transition in my musical life,” Lewis shares. “Think of it as ‘Music Minus One.’”
From bright bluegrass tracks like “Just a Little Ways Down the Road” to the somber invocations of “Enough” and “The Banks Are Covered in Blue,” this album is intricate and complex, much like a healthy forest. The album brings us “Quaking Aspen,” showcasing Lewis’s characteristic lyrical fiddle style, and title track “Trees,” an a cappella bluegrass-gospel ballad that gently yet hauntingly denounces the violence of industrial civilization.
Always looking to the natural world for strength and guidance, TREES is about love — for life, for land, and for people. But love isn’t a purely hopeful or romantic thing; it encompasses both loss and pain, and Lewis gracefully and vulnerably reckons with both on this album.
You just returned from a string of shows playing songs from the new album. Where did you go?
Laurie Lewis: My string of shows was actually mostly a river trip. So I did play every night, but I was mostly spending the days in the canyons… On the Yampa River, which starts in Colorado and goes into Utah and flows into the Green River. It’s a really, really beautiful canyon.
I love that. When you were playing shows, how did it feel to share these new songs with the world?
I’ve been doing a lot of songs from the new album, yeah, and I’m really enjoying that. But also, in any of our sets with my band, we pull out the old ones, too.
Speaking of the older stuff, I listened to your first solo record, Restless Rambling Heart, directly after listening to your newest record from start to finish. The first thing I noticed was that the tempo has downshifted quite a bit from that first release. Does TREES feel more introspective to you than other records you’ve made?
Oh yeah, it definitely does — especially compared to Restless Rambling Heart.
You’ve collaborated with the great poet, writer, and activist Wendell Berry — he asked you to set some of his poems to music. What was that experience like?
It was really fantastic. I’m such a fan of Wendell Berry’s writing. It came about because I was putting out a songbook and the publisher said, “Well, you need to get some blurbs for the back.” I happened to be at a writing workshop and one of the writers there said, “Hey, do you know Wendell Berry?” And I said no, and he said, “Well, he’s a big fan of yours.” [He had been] at a writing conference with Wendell and Wendell asked if he knew me and, you know, small world sort of thing.
So I thought, Well, how do I get in touch with him? Maybe he could write me a blurb, who knows? But [Wendell] famously doesn’t do e-mail or anything like that, so I got his mailing address and wrote him a long-hand letter on one of those yellow legal pads, you know, and I sent it off to him. And lo and behold, he wrote back. He said, “Well, I really don’t know anything about music, and my wife says I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, so hadn’t I better say no to writing a blurb?” And I thought, Well… that’s a question, so it deserves to be answered. So I wrote back and said, “Of course you should say yes, because really, the only prerequisite for saying you like something is that you actually like it. It doesn’t matter that you don’t have a background in music. It’s a personal response.”
And he said, “Well yeah, okay. I’ve been telling people I’m not writing blurbs anymore because too many people ask me, but didn’t I write something in that first letter that you could take out [and use]?” And there was this really nice thing…
So we just ended up having this back-and-forth conversation. He sent me some books. I sent him some CDs. I finally got a chance to meet him, but eventually I just felt like this is a person who is so conscientious, he’s going to respond to whatever I write. And he’s so busy, and he’s got so much stuff to do, I don’t want to bother him anymore. So I kind of dropped the correspondence. I wish I hadn’t, but it felt like the right thing to do. I just didn’t want to be that pestering voice that he felt he had to write back to.
Did he get back in touch with you at some point? Is that how his request came to light?
In the midst of all our back and forth, he sent me a poem in the mail and asked if I wouldn’t mind terribly trying to put it to music. So I did. That was “Burley Coulter’s Song for Kate Helen Branch.” It was quite a puzzle, because it’s not a standard rhyme scheme or anything. I had to make it loop around like a little crooked fiddle tune to make it really work.
Trees aren’t just the theme of this album — they’re growing all over your creative imprint. Your label is called Spruce and Maple Music, for example. What is it about trees specifically that inspires you?
I love the tenacity of trees — the way they just wait ‘til you get out of the way and then come back. … There are too many humans on the earth. We take up way too much space and way too many resources and we’re crowding everybody else out. And by “everybody else” I mean all the animals and plants and everything that also shares our earth. I just feel that, you know, trees are these beneficent beings that just wait and take their time and come back whenever they’re given a chance. They’re responsible for the oxygen we breathe and for taking in the CO2 we release. They’re sort of purifying everything. So it makes me feel very hopeful… If we just get out of the way a little bit, trees can come in and help set the planet right again.
Speaking of trees, the title track on this album is written from such a unique perspective. You literally embody the voice of the trees. How did this idea come about? Had you written from the perspective of the natural world before?
Well actually, “The Maple’s Lament” … I think that was the first time I tried to embody a tree. But I’ve done a few songs like that since. “American Chestnuts,” from my Skippin’ and Flyin’ album is from the voice of the American chestnut trees, which were the main tree along the Appalachian Mountains before the Chinese chestnut blight.
You know, I have, and I thought, Well, this is my song! [Laughs] But I wasn’t inspired by the book.
I personally take comfort in the knowledge that the world will go on spinning without us, despite how powerful we imagine ourselves to be. What sustains you as a sensitive person who feels the weight of what’s happening in and to the world? What carries you through?
Well, that’s that hope – [in] the other beings on the earth, their ability to repair the damage we’re doing. But I don’t hold out a lot of hope for human beings to rein in our excesses. I just don’t. I unfortunately do not see that happening in a timely enough manner to prevent, for instance, desertification of much of the earth’s crust. I’ve never said this stuff in an interview before, but yeah– I do not hold out a lot of hope.
I really appreciate you saying that. I feel like we’re often pressured to feel hopeful, but sometimes it feels more important to just be present with our grief about what’s happening to the world. Where did your deep relationship with and love for the natural world begin?
Oh boy, well, lots and lots of places. From ages three to eight, I lived in Ann Arbor, Michigan, in this new subdivision a block from the country. I loved to ramble in the woods and just see the farms and stuff like that. When my family [moved to] Berkeley, California, it was really a shock for me, and I have to say, Tilden Park probably saved my life. It’s a big regional park that’s up over at the top of the Berkeley Hills. It’s a huge park — you could get lost in it for days. Being able to take the bus to the top of the hill and disappear into Tilden Park when I was a kid was the best thing ever, and it really helped me through a lot. So I would say Tilden was maybe the first place where I really sought refuge in the natural world.
In addition to environmental grief, you’ve spoken about the role personal grief played in the creation of this album, and the presence of these feelings is very tangible throughout. Has some part of you had to practice becoming more vulnerable as an artist over time, or did the process of sharing your pain through your songwriting come naturally?
I have been accused throughout my career of writing songs that are a little bit too easy to figure out, you know, where they’re from. They’re personal songs — people have noted that. [But] maybe they’re putting stuff in them that’s not actually there, and I believe that to be the case on some of the stuff. Writing has always been my best source of communication with the world and I think I’ve always just written from an emotional place. If my songs are deeper now, it’s because events in life are a lot harder when you’re 73 than when you’re 23 or 33 or 43.
One of the more uncommon forms of grief is the grief over the loss of one’s own voice. A few years ago, you lost your singing voice for six months. What was that experience like for you, as someone who’s spent so much of your life using your voice to connect with the world?
It was terrible. It was paresis, [so] the right side of my neck muscles were paralyzed, and I couldn’t move my larynx on the right side. It made singing very, very difficult, until it got to a point where my voice just quit. And I thought, I’m not gonna sing anymore. It took about six months to recover, and it hasn’t completely recovered. My voice is different now.
It was a very difficult time. I went to many doctors, and one said, “Well, you have about a 50/50 chance of getting your voice back.” And I’m going, “Those odds are just not good, you know? It could happen or not — it’s a coin toss.” That freaked me out.
But some amazing things happened in that time. I have an annual gig, the concert I do at the Freight & Salvage here in Berkeley, my hometown, over Thanksgiving weekend. When I had no voice, I didn’t want to give up my night, so I asked my friends to come and sing my songs. I put together a folder of tons of songs and nobody picked the same song. It was amazing. It was the most incredible healing night of music for me. I mean, it was really the best Laurie Lewis show ever and I never opened my mouth except to speak a little bit. It was really lovely. Out of anything, I think that helped me get my voice back.
I’m honestly tearing up a little hearing you talk about that. It really speaks to the power of community. Speaking of community and audiences, who do you write music for? When you’re writing a song or recording an album, do you have a particular listener or audience in mind?
Just myself, really. It’s very selfish. [Laughs] I mean, I just write for myself, what I’m feeling or what I’m observing. … That’s always the starting point. If I think up a story, it’s because I want to tell the story, you know? I want to hear the story. If it’s an emotional thing, it’s because it’s something I’m dealing with or going through. But after the initial thought, I try and use my craft to make the songs better so that somebody can actually understand what I’m singing about and talking about in my music. And that’s really the most gratifying thing, when a listener really responds. It’s just great.
You’ve described your music, particularly on this album, as a way of interpreting the voices of the landscapes you adore. How do you experience or receive the voices of the natural world? How did you learn to listen for these much-needed voices?
I’ve always been a fairly quiet person. I listen more than I speak. I’ve had to actually learn to speak, you know, out loud. But I think I just have an observational approach to the world. I would rather listen and observe people talking to me than jump in and add my own spin or make a lot of noise myself. The same thing is true in my relationship with the natural world. I’m an avid walker and I find that walking and listening and looking in the natural world is my favorite thing to do.
Do you have a favorite song on the album?
I like a lot of them actually. You know, they’re different moods. Speaking of walking, “Just a Little Ways Down the Road” I find to be just so fun to sing and play. And of course, “Enough.” It’s heart-wrenching for me. It’s still hard for me to play that song in public. It requires a really different audience. It’s not a festival song. It’s much quieter, so I hold it back a lot. I just love the sound of the instruments on that cut. But I really like them all, from “Just a Little Ways Down the Road” to “Rock the Pain Away.”
It depends on the mood too. If I talk about John Prine and I sing that song [“Why’d You Have to Break My Heart?”], that really goes over well with audiences. I truly appreciate that people connect with that song.
Do you have a favorite tree?
[Laughs] No. I do not have a favorite tree.
Fair enough. [Laughs]
The California buckeye – I think it’s the prettiest little tree ever. But then I see another, you know? I was just out in Colorado among the junipers. That was the main tree alongside the river, junipers and cottonwoods. Every one of those trees was astoundingly beautiful – and so tenacious.
Is there somewhere special close to home where you’ve been going recently to be with the trees?
Well, yes. I stick around home quite a bit, because I have a lot of caregiving to do with my partner. We had to cut down a tree in our yard a couple of years ago and I was very, very sad about cutting down this great big old blackwood acacia. But we had to do it – it was gonna fall over and wreak havoc. But it cleared the way for me to view these two enormous birch trees that are like four-stories high in the neighbors’ yard. Those two trees are just remarkable, through all the seasons. They’re so graceful, and they change so much. I’ve been enjoying those trees a lot from the kitchen.
And Tilden Park is still my go-to. It’s five minutes up the road, so I can get out and walk amongst the oaks and the laurels and, unfortunately, eucalyptus, which is an invasive fire-hazard tree around here, but they’re still beautiful.
It’s so special that you still get to spend time in the same place that meant so much to you as a kid. There’s really so much we could talk about, but is there anything else you’d like to share about the album?
I did it mostly with a very small group of fantastic musicians – my bandmates Hasee Ciaccio on bass, Brandon Godman on fiddle, Patrick Sauber on banjo, and then George Guthrie also on banjo and some guitar. It’s just been really great working with these wonderful people. What they bring to the songs and how they help shape the music, they really are part of the fabric of what makes this album what it is, and it feels important to me to share that.
If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?
I would work in construction or be a lawyer or a therapist.
If you were a color, what shade would you be – and why?
I would be green – green represents plants and herbs that heal us. I’d like to be the person that saves a person’s day
What would a perfect day as an artist and creator look like to you?
Cooking and having good healthy meal, editing projects I produce for friends, playing soccer with friends, having a cocktail in a dive bar watching a local band perform.
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
It was when I was like 12, I went to this school that had a choir and when I listened to them sing, it was amazing then I knew I have to try singing. That’s where singing starts for me, but wanting to be a musician was never a plan, I just went with the flow of life and ended up being one… none of my friends even believe I sing.
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
Gardening and soccer always reminds me that life is not all about just work, it calms my mind; when I get back to work I feel less pressured by the whole work system and pace.
Photo Credit: Jim Herrington
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