You know Jarrod Walker because for nearly 10 years he’s been Billy Strings’ mandolinist. But within the tight-knit bluegrass community, Walker has been a well-known and sought-after sideman for much longer. Before going on the road with Strings, he did stints touring with Claire Lynch, Missy Raines, Rebecca Frazier, and more, and he got his start in the rich bluegrass landscape of Florida, gigging with his brothers – including East Nash Grass banjoist Cory Walker – in a family band, the Walker Brothers.
Beloved for his taste, virtuosity, and a cleanliness to his picking unparalleled in modern bluegrass mandolin – except perhaps by his childhood friend and peer Sierra Hull – Walker enjoyed a reputation pre-Billy Strings that holds strong now, as he’s gone from being a humble bluegrass sideman and session player to having nearly 50,000 followers on Instagram and a niche fandom of his own within the greater Billy Strings Cinematic Universe. His song “Red Daisy,” recorded and performed by Strings and co-written with longtime friend and fiddler Christian Ward, has garnered more than 10 million streams and was awarded IBMA Song of the Year in 2022. (Though, shockingly, Walker has still never even been nominated for Mandolin Player of the Year by IBMA.)
Earlier this month, Walker took yet another step toward the limelight and away from the increasingly reductive “sideman” title. He released Nighthawk, his debut solo album, a fascinating and artful collection of bluegrass and string band-centered Americana that demonstrates the incredible depth and breadth of skills he has developed since his Lynch and Raines touring days. All but one of the 13 tracks are Walker originals – many co-written with Ward, who also plays fiddle on the project – and all but the two instrumental tracks are sung by Walker, as well. His vocals are thoughtful and intricate; he’s clearly put in plenty of time and energy into crafting an equal level of virtuosity with his voice as an instrument.
For a picker who’s remained booked, busy, blessed, and performing on stage hundreds of times a year on average for the greater part of two decades, it’s notable that Walker has launched Nighthawk and, with it, shown the remarkable level of growth and development he’s undertaken simultaneously, right under our noses. An impeccable sideman has blossomed into a fully-fledged, intentional, and multi-faceted artist. Even if, like me, you’ve been fortunate enough to call Walker your friend and a collaborator over those years, this is a revelatory, infinitely expressive body of work – surprising if not at all unexpected.
This isn’t an album meant to capitalize on Strings’ rabid audiences and pick up some extra spending money at the merch booth. This isn’t a vanity project or simply a mandolin record – or a hobby with which to spend time and keep him occupied when he’s not on the road with his main gig. No, it’s clear that with Nighthawk Jarrod Walker is telling the world exactly who he is, what he does, how he thinks, and what he sounds like. And it sounds damn good.
I wanted to start by talking about how you kick off the album with “Miles on My Shoes” and how the first single released was “Nighthawk,” the title track. Both of those tracks, to me, feel like straight-ahead, traditional bluegrass. I was curious about this being the audio “swatch” that fans and listeners first get of this album and about what you’re trying to communicate to them by the first track and the first single being pretty much straight-down-the-middle trad bluegrass.
Jarrod Walker: It took a long time to decide what to put forth as the first single, and same goes for the first track on the album. But I did feel like there was a certain expectation of me putting out a record and there being bluegrass elements to it. I wanted to reassure people that there would be some bluegrass elements. And, like you said, those two tracks are probably the most straight-ahead bluegrass tracks on the album. But the rest of the album is very different. The second single, [“Cordova Street Blues”] is very different from the first track or the first single. I think it was somewhat a conscious decision, but also just listening to people around me and seeing what they thought.
For no particular reason both of the singles that came out wound up being the two songs that Billy Strings sang background vocals on. It just worked out that way. We decided not to do the whole “featuring Billy Strings” route, because then that puts such an emphasis on [what’s] really just background vocals. But of course you could put “featuring Jake Stargel” or “featuring Christian Ward” [on it] by the same regard, ‘cause it’s not a true feature or whatnot.
But yeah, Cordova Street is a street in St. Augustine, [Florida] where I’ve spent a lot of time. I have some family who still live down there and some deep family roots going back to a store in the main part of town, which is now the historic district, called Denmark Furniture. It was probably very misleading to people, because I don’t think they sold Danish furniture. [Laughs] I think it was just American furniture with my mom’s maiden name, which is Denmark – and it’s my middle name. I’ve spent a lot of time down there and it’s inevitable that some St. Augustine imagery would make it into one of these songs. “Cordova Street Blues” is more of a dreamscape, ethereal kind of track, which is entirely different than the first single, “Nighthawk,” which is more or less just a Stanley Brothers-style bluegrass song.
It’s funny that you say “dreamscape,” because I was already drawing parallels here between single one “Nighthawk” and single two “Cordova Street” and track one “Miles on My Shoes” and track two “Leaving Canaan’s Land.” What I wrote in my notes for “Leaving Canaan’s Land” is “it’s like an Americana dreamscape” – especially with that groove and its pacing. So I see this parallel with the singles and also with the sequence: “here’s what you’re expecting, here’s where we’re going eventually.” Bluegrass, then beyond. You’re immediately showing people the continuum on which you’re creating music, sonically.
The groove differences between “Nighthawk” and “Cordova” or “Miles on My Shoes” and “Leaving Canaan’s Land” are incredible, too. It’s the best kind of whiplash from barn-burning, leaning-forward bluegrass to this sort of languid, lazy river, chill, floating vibes. Can you talk a little bit about that?
I’ve always liked the contrast and the juxtaposition between something, like you said, very bluegrass and something that offsets that. It’s like sometimes I wear camouflage and then I wear a tie-dye T-shirt. “Who the hell is this person?” I like to do that musically sometimes, too.
There are a lot of songs on the record that I wrote with just a guitar. It was more of a folky kind of approach. But then I decided to get drums and percussion and pedal steel on nearly the entire record and that really shaped these songs into something that I hadn’t imagined before – in a very positive way. I think it’s turned out how I would’ve wanted it to, ultimately. But it wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision. I think I just have that mentality throughout a lot of aspects of my daily life.
The variety also makes the album listen by really quickly. You have so many different textures and so many different style points and references. But, when I listen through the whole thing, to me it still feels like a bluegrass album. It reminds me of Jim & Jesse when they had pedal steel and drums in the band. Or a lot of those bluegrass bands from that golden age of bluegrass where they still were calling themselves country – the Osborne Brothers, Ricky Skaggs, J.D. Crowe and the New South.
Oh, for sure. I feel like I have never been afraid to introduce some drums or exterior, non-traditional bluegrass instruments into the mix. Like you said, I think it just adds some texture. And I love the early bluegrass where they were still figuring out and shaping the sound. There’s so much snare drum in Jimmy Martin music. And like you said, the Osborne Brothers, Jim & Jesse – and listen to J.D. Crowe and the New South’s first record. There’s steel, there’s piano, there’s drums and percussion. By that definition a lot of people, on paper, would consider it not a bluegrass record. But of course it’s one of the classics that everybody thinks of.
I think it was the reason that I put drums on nearly everything. But I made the decision after things started shaping up and I heard the songs that were more folk-oriented coming together. They would’ve been incomplete without drums. I wanted to use drums as glue for the record and to offer some cohesion. The pedal steel served that same purpose, too. Spencer Cullum is a fantastic steel player. And Jamie Dick is playing drums on this. They’re both coming from a different musical background, so it kinda makes everybody else think on their toes. Everybody has to adjust a little bit in order to accommodate each other, and I think everybody being a little bit out of their element gives it a certain freshness that it might not have had otherwise.
I was struck by how your voice sounds so good and confident. You’ve always been a singer, but on this record I hear so much more personality in your voice and I hear more of your musical point of view – in your voice as an instrument, instead of your voice just being something you also do. How did you feel in the process of getting to the point where you’re singing on all but two of these tracks? Your voice sounds really dynamic, even when you’re shifting between trad bluegrass and those slower, grooving songs. It doesn’t sound like you’re intimidated by the space that’s left for your voice to inhabit. It really feels confident and self-possessed.
Oh, thank you. I think you’re right, most people see me playing on stage and think of me more or less as a sideman. That’s what I have done for years. But behind the scenes, I have been writing a lot of songs, and when I have written those songs oftentimes they are sung by Billy Strings. So the outlet was not necessarily available to me.
A lot of these were songs that I threw into the mix over the years with Billy and they wound up getting passed on for one reason or another. For some of them that’s the case, others I was holding onto for a record. But this was really just an opportunity to work that muscle. And myself, if I’m going to listen to a record, most of the time I prefer to listen to lyrical music in some shape or form. Having written all these songs, it was like, “I’m not gonna get somebody else to sing these songs.”
So, over the years it has been something that I’ve worked on, and I guess somewhat behind the scenes. This project was very informative. I might have died a thousand ego deaths in the vocal booth. [Laughs] … It’s been just like playing an instrument. You learn things about it over the years. Now I listen to some of the singing [on the record] and I’m like, “Oh, I wish I would’ve done this differently,” but that’s the name of the game. I think, ideally, I will not look back 20 years from now and be like, “This is the best thing I ever did.” ‘Cause hopefully I continue to improve, love it for what it is, and move on from it. …
We tried to leave everything as live as possible, which– emphasis on “live as possible.” Because sometimes you hear something and it’s so wrong you have to change it. There are some moments where I could have probably taken a better mandolin solo than what I left on the record. But you just start going down a very deep, dark rabbit hole when you start chasing the perfect solo. If I can live with what I played in the moment, it’s probably gonna come across as a more real representation anyway. There’s something that you lose when you try to perfect things.
I want to talk about the songwriting, because in a similar way to noticing the development of your vocals I think your songwriting is really great. It doesn’t feel “try-hard” or contrived. So many of these songs are about movement, traveling, covering ground, putting miles underneath your feet. That’s not entirely surprising, given the last eight to 10 years of your life being you doing exactly that. Can you talk a little bit about the songwriting process and the inspirations for the songs? And that sort of overarching theme of movement and traveling – and that sort of loneliness and longing that comes with that?
Most of the songs that I’ve written in the past 10 years have been with Christian Ward, who’s playing fiddle on the album. Early on we would just get together and spend the entire day trying to just come up with a verse. We would work on things maybe to a fault. Extensively. But through doing that I think we found a rhythm where we were able to get things done a little faster. He and I both like and hate many of the same things.
I don’t think it was a conscious decision to write songs that are involving movement, but like you said, it does make sense. That’s how they turned out. Oftentimes I’ll just see a pond and I’ll say, “Oh, I could make a chorus using the word pond.” And then, “What rhymes with pond?” That’s how it takes shape. Generally I don’t start with, “I wanna write a song about leaving home on the next train” and that’s what it turns into. Most of the time when I start writing something it turns into something vastly different than what I originally imagined.
For me at least, I’ve only written one song – as far as I remember – where I wrote the music before I wrote the lyrics. … Almost always it’s just an object or a singular thought that winds up turning into a song. That song that I wrote with Christian called “Red Daisy” was kinda the same way. It’s a very simple song, melodically and lyrically, but it more or less sprung from that.
So maybe you knew this question was coming, but we gotta talk about “Nighthawk,” not just from the perspective of it being a song about longing, existential dread in the middle of the night. But also, to me, nighthawks – as a group of birds – I always equate them with Florida. Florida’s one of the only places you see them during the day when they’re migrating; it’s where I’ve had some of my favorite experiences with whip-poor-wills or chuck-will’s-widows, out in the middle of the Everglades and you hear them booming their song in the middle of the night.
When I saw the lead single/title track come out I immediately drew a line from that song to Florida – I have a feeling I’m making that connection up, but I wanted to ask you about that song, the inspiration of it, and if there is any reference here to all the nightjars – nighthawks – in Florida. [Laughs]
When I lived in Florida, I didn’t know different bird species – other than maybe a Bald Eagle and a turkey. [Laughs] So unfortunately, I probably have seen a bunch of them and didn’t realize that I was looking at them. I probably wrote it off as something else. But the way that I found out about nighthawks was through this book called The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. Little did I know these were made-up definitions [in the book]. When I first was thumbing through this book I was just like, “Oh, this could make a good bluegrass song.” Nighthawk – it sounds a little macabre, a little gothic. One of the pillars of my songwriting is that I can’t write a joyful song. So I was like, “This is perfect.”
When I first started writing that song, I was trying to make it more of a vibey song. Eventually, I was just like, “This works better just as a bluegrass song.” Sometimes I want to expand my horizons and try to do something entirely different, but ultimately, the world that I know the best is bluegrass and a lot of times it’s very difficult to write a good bluegrass song. It can be very challenging and there’s also such a precedent and such a box that you seemingly – at least from my experience – have to write within. You can’t talk about modern technology or you have to pretend a little bit. It’s a little bit of cosplay.
With those kinda songs, I try to make them as authentic as I possibly can. Which oftentimes is just being a little bit more ambiguous and not as direct in the songwriting. These lyrics – “nighthawk, just an old memory” – that’s very vague. But I come to find out the word nighthawk was associated more or less with that famous painting. I was writing with somebody one day and I was like, “I just wrote this song called ‘Nighthawk.’” He was like, “Oh yeah, like the painting.” I totally had seen the painting, but didn’t know the name of it. It’s called Nighthawks.
I probably should have done some research before completing the song. [Laughs] Truth be told, I thought it was just a hawk. Which is very logical of me to assume, right? But then I found out it’s its own species of bird. I had to make sure when I was having all the artwork drawn – I was like, “Hey guys, just want you to know a nighthawk is not a hawk. Don’t draw a hawk. Here is the silhouette of a nighthawk. Let’s do something like this.” ‘Cause I knew somebody like you would be out there and would catch it instantaneously!
Oh man, I would’ve been so happy to “Um, actually…” you. It would’ve been the first thing I said on this interview! [Laughs]
That’s what keeps me honest! [Laughs] I just downloaded the Merlin app [for identifying birds by song and call], which I had never heard of. It’s great! …
It’s so hard for me to try to write a song without including either a bird or a flower or trees. I want to get to a point where I can write about any given subject and just talk about that thing. But once you put birds or trees or flowers or mountains into a song, it’s like, “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.”
I think my favorite track on the album is “Cold Daylight.” I love the groove of it, I love the feel of it. I love the long, extended vocals. But the thing that jumped out at me is that this must really be a bluegrass record, because you reference a bluegrass song in one of the songs!
Which is against the rules. [Laughs]
Since when?! You sing about “True Life Blues” – again you’re talking about lonesomeness and that same sort of existential feeling, sitting around a fire, singing “True Life Blues.” Can you talk to me a little bit about that song and where it came from?
Jarrod Walker: That particular song was maybe the best example of a song that I just wrote in more or less typical, boom-chuck, medium tempo bluegrass, folky, singer-songwriter [style]. It bored me at first, just the way that the chords were, the way that they laid, didn’t resonate with me. I revisited the song and tried to imagine it with drums – this was a couple weeks before actually going into the studio – then I fell in love with that song again.
I think the idea for this was just another example of some word association. Like, daylight is generally warm, but what if you call it cold? That’s where that came from. It was a challenging one to get the groove of [right], but it wound up being one of my favorite tracks on the record, too. It was probably the toughest vocal to lay down.
It feels pretty exposed vocally.
Yeah, it is. Like I said, being in that vocal booth is no joke. Singing the line that’s, “Pass the bottle around the fire and sing those ‘True Life Blues,'” I was a little hesitant to reference another bluegrass song within a bluegrass song – to do the bluegrass inception thing. But I was like… “Gillian Welch does it. I gotta give myself a pass to do that.” It adds another dimension, another layer. If you just said “singing those blues” it wouldn’t have the same effect. And most people don’t even know what the song “True Life Blues” is. It also just works as a phrase. it doesn’t necessarily have to be a song, so it kinda works on a couple levels.
Photo Credit: Jesse Faatz