Tag: pandemic

Dualities & Disorientation: Olive Klug is Older, Wiser, and Still Feels Like a ‘Lost Dog’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

“If the world is my oyster I’ve been poking at it with a plastic fork,” sings Olive Klug on “Taking Punches from the Breeze,” the first track off their second album, Lost Dog, which released April 25. Klug writes with a mesmerizing combination of levity and intensity about a slightly off-kilter world. Through closeups on minute, funny, and revealing moments in life, they illustrate how schisms can be beautiful, too, if you see them right.

Though often joyful and whimsical, Lost Dog isn’t always rosy. On it, Klug works through immense life and perspective shifts. Their takes on breakups – “The butterflies have all got broken wings” (“Cold War”) – and depression – “When my friend hangs up / and my mind turns gray” (“Opposite Action”) – are refreshing not for their angst but for their realism. But nowhere is their combination of playful, revealing storytelling more evident than on “Train of Thought,” their love letter to their neurodivergent brain.

There’s a train in the sky in the middle of my mind and it’s flying off a one-way track
And they try to button up my suit and tie in an attempt to hold me back
But I’m this strange old conductor wearing pearls and a backwards baseball cap…

Klug grew up in Oregon and studied psychology in college, intending to work towards a master’s degree and career in social work. Not long after graduation, the COVID-19 pandemic hit and they lost their job. Like so many others, Klug ended up at home, on TikTok. There, music took off fast, and their song “Raining in June” scored them an audience. From there, life hit warp speed – a record deal, a move, a music career, a new relationship – and then it fell apart.

Now older and recalibrating, they’re releasing their second album, Lost Dog (their Signature Sounds debut), about aging with a neurodivergent brain, leaning into their differences, and coming to terms with not having everything figured out.

Your first album, Don’t You Dare Make Me Jaded, came out in 2023 and now we’re talking about your new album, Lost Dog. You’ve lived a lot of life between recording the two albums and you’re clearly writing from a different place this time around. What’s changed for you between those two projects?

Olive Klug: I was 23, 24 when I really started to pursue music as a career. I was not particularly young, but I was kind of naive in the music industry world. I blew up pretty quickly after giving it a go and then moved to LA and signed a record deal. When I look back, I had a lot of hubris, I was very self involved. I was living in LA. It was very exciting. I thought “I’ve made it.” I was making all my money off of music. [But] I was dropped from that record label directly after the release of that album, Don’t You Dare Make Me Jaded, which I think now is kind of like funny and ironic and is hilarious.

That’s funny, “Damn, I said don’t.”

So I was dropped from that label and I also went through a breakup. I had these two years of riding this crazy high and then everything came tumbling down at the same moment. I realized that that whole era of my life was a little bit gilded; that relationship wasn’t right for me, that record label wasn’t right for me. But I looked like I had it together on the outside.

All of that made me dig pretty deep into what I wanted out of my life. It was a moment of soul searching and a moment of having to believe in myself, understand who I was, and motivate myself to keep going in music, because there was nobody around me believing in me anymore.

The past two years have been this wild journey of figuring out what I want, figuring out who I am, and maturing and leaving that hubris behind – and [leaving] that life behind. Since that happened, I moved to Nashville, Tennessee, I recorded a bunch of songs, I wrote a bunch of songs. I bought a van. I now live in my van, but I still don’t really have things totally figured out. I’m still lost at times. I think that’s the reality for a lot of people my age.

I’m in my late 20s now and I think that this album is really about the moment that I woke up. I was 27 and things were less figured out than they were when I was 24. That’s where the Lost Dog title comes from, feeling like I am getting older yet I am still feeling like a lost dog, wandering around the country.

There is so much pressure in this world to have it figured out or to be one specific way, and it feels like you’re pushing back on that and saying you don’t have to do that if it’s not right for you.

I’m not really trying to make a statement. My first album, I tried to tie all of my songs up in this neat little bow to be like, “Here is the message that I want to send with this song.” This next album is much more unfiltered. It’s just what came out of me. This is my experience. I’m not trying to reassure anybody with these songs.

You’ve said that this album is about aging as a neurodivergent free spirit. Particularly talking about “Train of Thought,” where you’re leaning into the chaos you feel inside your brain sometimes, instead of trying to hide it. What about that experience felt like what you needed to write about on this album?

I spent my adolescence trying hard to fit in. I had my little secret moments at home. But at school and in my regular life, I got good grades. I dressed up in a way that I thought would be rewarded [at] school. I still was very [much] conforming to my gender, and I tried really hard to be “normal.” I was scared of what would happen to me socially if I did not try to fit in, even though there was this part of me that really wanted to be different.

It wasn’t until my adulthood that I felt the freedom to experiment more with my identity and experiment more with rejecting those norms. I think that’s totally the opposite of what a lot of people experience. A lot of people, when they’re a teenager, they rebel and they dress really crazy and they try to be as weird and challenge the norms as much as possible. I didn’t start doing that until maybe even slightly after college. Since then, it’s been a deep spiral down into allowing myself the freedom to really be myself.

I didn’t understand that I was neurodivergent. I didn’t understand that my brain worked a little differently than other people. Now I’m like, “Well, what do I have to lose? I’m just going to be totally myself.” Having this community of people who are my listeners and fans who really like that about me, and who really celebrate that about me, has been really healing. I think that a lot of artists and writers are neurodivergent in some way and the superpower of it is that’s what allows us to write the way that we do. That’s what [“Train of Thought”] is about, allowing myself to stop trying to put myself in a box and let the chaos of my mind roam totally free.

I’m curious about “Taking Punches from the Breeze,” which is you letting yourself wander in a different way. There are these great lines in there like, “…If the world’s my oyster I’ve been poking at it with a plastic fork.” I don’t think anybody has ever presented that concept before in that way.

I wrote that one living in an apartment in LA by myself. And I love living alone. It’s like the best for my creative flow. But I was really sad. It was in the aftermath of that breakup and being dropped from the record label where I wrote these songs. “Taking Punches From the Breeze” was one of the first ones I wrote. That and “Cold War” were the beginning of this Lost Dog era, so to speak. I got really high one night, to be so honest with you. I was in my apartment and I had just gone on– you know when you have your first date after a breakup? I was on this first date after a breakup. I feel like I am pretty good at asking other people questions and I was asking this person all these questions. Then they would turn around and ask me those questions and I’d be like, “God, I don’t know what I’m doing right now.”

When I’m doing shows, I’m like, “Oh, I’m a Gemini. That’s why this album is the way it is.” I think it’s true, it’s about holding a lot of dualities. A constant disorientation is what I’ve really felt for the past two years. But there’s a lot of fun and joy and possibility in that constant disorientation. It can be hard at the same time.

The other side of the duality, or another part of the duality, is “Opposite Action,” where you’re really pretty down in the middle of the album. Tell me about writing that song.

That was also in that time. I think it was late summer, I was in my apartment in LA feeling weird. I was a psychology major, and I learned about DBT [Dialectical Behavioral Therapy]. That song borrows from a DBT concept called opposite action. I remember having questions about it when I learned about it. But it’s basically the concept that you do the opposite of what your instincts are telling you to do: If you are feeling particularly depressed, you’re supposed to take a deep breath and try to do the opposite. So if you wake up and you want to lay in bed all day and do nothing, you’re supposed to force yourself to go out and be social, go to the park, go to the beach.

I was like, “I’m gonna go to the beach, even if it’s by myself. I’m gonna try to plant things in my backyard.” It was all these things that I was trying to do to make myself feel better, but then feeling really frustrated, because I was taking good care of myself and I still felt bad.

How the song really started was, as a touring musician, so many of the things that people tell you to do to establish some sort of stability and happiness are just impossible to do. Growing plants is something that I would love to be able to do. I can’t do that, because I’m not at my house most of the time. I came back from a trip or a show or something and I had tried to grow jalapeños and tomatoes in my little back patio area. They had died.

That to me is one of the things that really sticks out about your music. You have this way of dialing in on these minute observations. Is that how your brain works all the time? Is that how you’re seeing the world?

I don’t know, maybe. I don’t know how people see the world differently or not. But my writing does feel sort of matter of fact to me oftentimes. So maybe that is how I see the world.

It’s matter of fact, but it’s really joyful.

I think a lot of Lost Dog is coping with those decisions I can’t really take back. If I had gone down that traditional path, if I had gone to grad school, become a therapist, I would have health insurance right now, I would have job security right now. There would be a lot of things that I would have right now that I lack in my life. It is scary to be even a semi-successful musician. I have no certainty. It’s really, really hard to feel any sense of stability or certainty. And to not have any health insurance and to not have any benefits, and all of that stuff, it can be really scary. I wish that small working artists had that. It makes me feel like I’m never going to be able to really have a family, if I go keep going at this rate, I am never going to be able to go to the dentist.

That’s the thing that I really wish more people understood. You’re looking at this artist on stage every night and you relate to their music, they’re still on the road maybe 200 days a year. They don’t have that personal life stability. They don’t have that health insurance often. Even if you think they’re well known, the margins are so crummy and what it takes is so intense.

But if I had not taken this risk, I would always wonder what would have happened. I’m really glad I took the risk. It’s such an incredible payoff. One thing that I can always feel when I’m on stage every night is I have the most fulfilling career ever. That is something that I will never question.

People are like, “I want to have a job that has meaning and that feels aligned with what I’m good at and who I am.” Every night I go on stage, I’m getting paid to do the thing that I feel like I am meant to be doing and that is really worth it. Maybe one day that will include some stability.

And just like that, we’re back to dualities.

Yes, exactly.

Photo Credit: Alex Steed

Nobody Tells It Like It Is, Except Perhaps Anna Tivel

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

“Nobody tells it like it is,” Anna Tivel sings on “Disposable Camera,” the first single from her new album, Living Thing. The song radiates with the joy and pain of reality, climaxing with the lines:

That big black train is rolling
And that deep down scream is growing
A hurricane come howling
A shot heard from the mountain
A blessing and a burden
I swear this will be worth it…

Which are followed by a melodic and cathartic yell. I don’t know how I first came across Tivel’s music, but when I found the song “Blue World,” I got stuck on it. I listened to it over and over, trying to take in every aspect of it, break it into pieces, open it up like a watch so that I could understand how this perfect song ticked. It is still the most beautiful meditation on dying that I’ve ever heard. “You come to the heavy gate and you open it all alone…” is a line I think about often. To me, it sounded like she herself was telling it like it is.

A few weeks after discovering “Blue World,” I was on tour with Kris Drever, who is one of my favorite folk musicians from Scotland. We were trading new music discoveries and I played him that song, after which he became obsessed with it. We traveled around listening to “Blue World” and talking about death for the rest of the tour. Giving someone a new song to love is a special kind of transaction. It’s a gift for the new listener, but also a point of pride to have found something that someone else also finds meaning in – especially when the recipient of said gift is a musician you admire. New song discoveries are an unmatchable currency, a communication beyond words.

“Blue World” sent me on a journey through Tivel’s catalogue, with hours spent listening to Small Believer, The Question, and Outsiders, before the release of her latest record on March 31. With Tivel’s latest collection, I have to come to the conclusion that someone does tell it like it is and that person is Anna Tivel. I spoke with her over the phone for BGS about the inspiration behind her songs and the unique circumstances that led to her production choices on Living Thing.

I’ve been a fan of your work for a long time and I’m curious to know what feels new and different about this record than your past work?

Anna Tivel: I think there are two main things. I’ve worked with Shane Leonard before [who produced Outsiders and The Question], but this is the deepest collaboration we’ve ever done. There is so much of his heart and his sonic experimentation in these songs.

We made this squarely in the pandemic years, so there was no way to call upon a band for live tracking. It was just me and him in his studio. He went insane trying all kinds of sounds, playing all different instruments, and I scribbled extra verses on napkins as I heard what he was coming up with. We worked all day, every day and I slept on his couch for a month. I tried to say yes to everything and I learned so much. I really feel like the sounds feel different than what we’ve worked on before.

The other thing is that going through that year, I was craving soaring choruses… more melody and rise and rhythmic happenings that I normally do. Maybe it was a result of just sitting and looking at the same window for so long. I usually write long and dark monotonous stories with no chorus at all, but I think I craved a little more hope and joy. In general I feel like less people died on this album than usually die my albums… it’s still melancholy as fuck though.

Knowing that these songs were written and recorded during that very existential time, and now that they are being released into a different time, do these songs feel different to you than they once did?

Yeah, it’s interesting, the whole process of putting out a record. I really got stuck in the machine for a little while so it took quite a long time for this album to come out.

They are older songs now in my soul, but the project still feels really fresh. I think because Shane drew them into this more alive, sonic world. It was really exciting and fun to explore joy and rhythm and movement, especially in that isolated time. It felt good to have some hope and just wiggle around and try to feel the good parts of being a human.

So coming back to it now, it feels new and exciting to take them out on the road with a band. It’s making me realize it’s fun to have some songs that we can really move into, rather than building up from the ground.

One of my favorite tracks from your new record is “Desperation” – “Real life is far from fair, you tried and tried and got nowhere/ It’s like somebody rigged the whole damn thing/ Bloody knuckles, empty hands, you want to fight, but all you ever had/ Is desperation.” Can you tell me a little about what led to that song?

I think that one came out of the heart of that pandemic time, watching people, and having an awareness of how close many folks are to the edge, simultaneously knowing how the people pulling the strings aren’t the ones close to the edge.

Maybe your kid gets sick, and you miss work, and then that’s that, you’re evicted, and into the car. You don’t choose what you’re born into and if you’re born with the short end of the stick, it’s so hard to imagine anything but that reality.

You can see getting stuck, because that imagination isn’t generously shared by the people that own it. But if people that are living in a different world reach out to help it can really change the situation. Sometimes that means helping people believe that a different reality is possible. You have to go into your mind to create what you need. It’s sort of the same idea as representation, in the sense that if you’ve seen people that feel like you in very different situations than you, you can imagine yourself into a different situation.

I want to work on making that imagination more widely available.

That’s an amazing point, and a great one to keep in mind especially for artists. Artists can and have played that role for people, I believe. Does this same idea carry through for the song, “Disposable Camera?”

I like songwriting because you’re sort of always looking inward… You think you’re reflecting the world, but so much of yourself gets in there and the things that you’re learning into. A lot of this album is about getting free, getting loose of the way that you’ve  taken in that it “should be,” the way that you should express yourself or the way you should move…

A lot of friends in the pandemic were having kids or trying to have kids and I was thinking about how, when we were all born, our parents were these people. [I was] realizing that everyone making babies has no idea what is going [to happen] and it’s kind of beautiful that it’s this big wheel of nobody knowing what they’re doing. Everyone is kinda hoping that someone else will be like “this is what it is,” but maybe the not knowing is actually a freedom. It feels scary to think you’re supposed to be certain, but you aren’t yet. The freedom is that nobody actually is certain and that’s not going to change.

I was listening to your song “Kindness of a Liar” and thinking about how important escapism was in 2020 and 2021. How badly I needed books and TV shows to get lost in so that I could come back to the present and have energy to cope with what was happening. Is that what this song is about to you?

In this batch of songs I was thinking a lot about what is truth, what is honest, what is listening, and what is being able to have nuance in all of those realms. You don’t just stay certain. To be able to move and shift and read situations and try to be learning in real time, messily, is very different from saying, “This is a fact and I’m going to hit everyone over the head with it until I’m proven wrong, and then I’m going to pretend I never said it.”

To try and tell stories to one another that are compassionate and messy – sometimes telling a story that might not be true is the most gentle and kind thing you can do while something hard is happening.

I think it’s about recognizing how much we crave each other’s stories and being really aware of how we paint the world for each other. The more artfully and more compassionately we tell each other’s stories the more we connect, and it’s not about trying to prove our point.

The most loving thing you can do is to share your mind and heart with people in the most nuanced way. And maybe there’s some fiction and lore in that.

Photo Credit: Kale Chesney

The True Healing Found in Kaia Kater’s ‘Strange Medicine’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

A deep reflection born from a time of the extreme silence and noise of the pandemic, Kaïa Kater’s new album, Strange Medicine (out today, May 17), digs into the feelings society tells us not to feel, imagines healing and revenge from abuses, and reckons with themes of racism and sexism of the past and today. While the undercurrents are heavy, the arrangements are gentle and flowing, juxtaposing our expectations of what we think it means to process the darkness in life with the truth that many emotions can exist simultaneously.

Written from home in Montreal, Strange Medicine takes us on a cathartic journey imagining characters interwoven with parts of Kater and parts of the world she observes. Drawing on inspiration from artists like Steve Reich, Brian Blade, and Johnny Greenwood and partnering with Montreal-based producer Joe Grass (The Barr Brothers and Elisapie), she took a different musical path than in the past.

Leaning into her primary instrument, banjo, Grass and Kater built the framework for each of the tracks slowly, starting with bedroom tracks and expanding to include arrangers like Franky Rousseau (Andrew Bird, Chris Thile) and Dominic Mekky (Caroline Shaw, Sara Bareilles) and musicians Rob Moose (Bon Iver, Phoebe Bridgers, Paul Simon), Robbie Kuster (Patrick Watson), and Phil Melanson (Andy Shauf, Sam Gendel). Kater spoke to BGS via Zoom.

Hi! How are you?

Kaia Kater: I’m okay! A couple of days ago I dropped my phone directly onto my laptop screen and it cracked. I had to go to Apple. So I am without a laptop, but thankfully have my 10-year-old iPad, bless her!

Apple is coming in clutch. Also, Apple product destroying Apple product is kind of funny.

Yeah, it’s an Apple-on-Apple hate crime. It’s terrible. I feel so weird about it. But I have AppleCare, which is good.

With the couple of sentences that you just said it’s no wonder the Department of Justice is looking into Apple as a monopoly. Vertical integration. Well, how are things going other than Apple problems?

The record is out in a week, so I’m excited. Thank you for doing this piece. I never take any press for granted, especially after the pandemic, when things were so terrible and hard.

What a weird time. Is that when you started writing this record?

Yeah, pretty much. I wrote my first song in April of 2020. We finished the record in 2023. So I would say like 2020 to 2022, was the writing window.

This album is a pandemic baby!

It is. Yeah, I’m proud of my little pandemic baby. Born out of a lot of feelings of stasis and confusion, but also just so fun to record. I think that there’s a lot of grief in the lyrics. But you can still vibe to sad songs, especially when they feel groovy. So that was the intent.

So when did you start recording it?

Let’s see, we went in to record in October of 2022 but the official recording days were preceded by a ton of demo days. So throughout 2021 and into 2022, I would go to my co-producer Joe’s studio in Montreal. We would just track stuff and either bring people in or ship the songs out to people and pay them a demo fee and have them kind of like splash around and see what their interpretation of the song was. That was kind of like how we selected personnel. I think we had a pretty strong idea of what we wanted to do by the time we got into the studio, which is so different from other projects I’ve been part of and other records I’ve done.

How was it different?

I guess, with the pandemic, I had the blessing of time, which I never had before really. With Nine Pin, I recorded on my winter break from college in my senior year, and then Grenades was done from start to finish in two weeks. And so with Strange Medicine, it was about two years. There are advantages and drawbacks to that. It is very easy to start second guessing some choices that you’d made in the previous calendar year, but I think it was to me such a novelty to be able to write and then listen back, and send the arrangement to someone and have them send their work back. It was so much more thoughtful because we had the time to do that.

That makes total sense. So you started writing it during the pandemic. What was your writing process like? Did you have ideas that you came into the lockdown with, or were you processing things in real time?

Well, originally I was like, “I’m never gonna play banjo again.” I don’t know what I was thinking. I think I was trying, to a certain extent, to escape my roots, transform, or do this phoenix thing. Where people are like, “Whoa! She was a banjo player and now she’s an electronic pop musician.” That was maybe a facet of my mid-20s to late 20s, having that crackling feeling that all the different paths your life can take feel like they’re narrowing. And so you’re kind of like fighting against that and going, “No, I still can transform again, musically.”

Really what led me to write more songs on the banjo, especially for Strange Medicine, was that it was really comforting to me. I think I went back to it after wanting to spread my wings. Once I was alone in a room I was like, “What do I want to do right now? I just wanna play banjo.” And for a long time that’s all I did. I didn’t really write. The songs trickled in bit by bit. But you know I definitely gave up that idea of trying to metamorphosize in the way that I thought I was going to. I think I did it in a different way.

Can you talk a little bit about what it meant to be in Montreal writing this record and just in general? What influence did the town have on this particular record? And how does the music community there influence you?

Well, it’s very experimental there. And there’s a kind of freedom and risk-taking. People are not afraid to have things fail or to have things not quite work. Even now, I’m sort of deconstructing the idea that I grew up with, this idea of what a songwriter is, which is that you work really hard at your craft, you play the song down. And the way that you improve every night is how you perfect and tighten the song as much as possible. I’ve been getting into this idea of improvisation.

I don’t know if it’s because the rent is cheaper there, so you don’t have to hustle as much. I just felt so much more space to play around.

While we’re on the subject of Montreal, you collaborated with Allison Russell on “In Montreal” about your shared hometown. I was curious since Aoife O’Donovan is from Massachusetts and you’re talking about witches on “The Witch” – was that a purposeful choice?

No, but that occurred to me about a week ago. I was making dinner, and I was like, “Wait. Aoife’s from Massachusetts!” It must have been in some way subconscious. I kind of see people as the roots that they’ve grown from. And definitely, when thinking about the features I wanted, I wanted it to make sense with who that person is. For example, with Taj Mahal, he’s who I learned about the black roots of the banjo from first. He was doing that in the ‘60s, and he has a lot of Calypso and Caribbean influences and heritage. Bringing him into a song about a Caribbean revolutionary felt like, “Well, of course.” I even wrote him a little letter explaining the song, because he’s 80. He doesn’t need to be on anybody’s record. And so I was like, “Let me tell you what the song is about, and maybe you’ll want to sing on it.”

That’s so cool. And how did the collaboration on “The Witch” come about?

Aoife has always been really supportive of me as a person and as an artist, going back to 2017. She’s kept me in mind for a lot of things and she’s suggested me for opportunities. She’s also really community-oriented. She’s very cognizant of supporting women musicians and young musicians. I’m a mega fan of hers.

I had written “The Witch” and I thought she would sound great on it. Fast forward to the end of the process, when all we had left to do was harmony vocals and I was really nervous to ask her because I think I was scared to get a no. But I’ve been practicing. You have to ask, because if you don’t ask you don’t receive anything. I texted her, and she immediately responded yes without even hearing the song. Then she laid down all these like really intricate harmony parts. She’s a genius.

Your voices are beautiful together. It works really well. And the Massachusetts thing — it’s perfect. While we’re on the subject of that song, what connects you to the stories of these women who were accused of witchcraft or adultery and were punished for it?

To me, it is the juxtaposition of having this perceived power in the minds of men as being capable of influence, capable of seduction and luring, and superseding a man’s high intelligence and thoughts of himself and overtaking will power. But then, when women were accused of being witches, their already limited power just absolutely disintegrated and they were executed by mobs. I was thinking a lot about these kind of polar ideas of women having so much power over men, but then we’re struggling to be taken seriously in a workplace or struggling to feel like we are on equal footing.

I think sexism and racism today are much more insidious – as are homophobia and transphobia. It’s so palpable. Being able to give voice to someone in history who may meet a different fate; maybe they try to kill her, and she’s like,”Ha! I survived. And now, aren’t you scared of me?”

The influence came from a lot of different places; the witches from Macbeth, and the Roald Dahl witches. They are all in our popular consciousness to a certain extent, and I think we have a fascination with them.

Absolutely. Let’s talk about the song “Floodlights.” It reminded me of Joni Mitchell for two reasons. One is the sonic palette and the orchestration reminded me of her. Second, I saw a video of her recently and she was talking about how a good song should make a listener think of themselves rather than of her. That’s obviously an objective idea, but this song, though focused on a romantic relationship, reminded me of some of my own, but also friendships and working relationships and how the dynamic of one person’s power over another can be so incredibly detrimental. But there is hope and life on the other side of that. It is a special way you tell the story in a cafe where the protagonist is feeling herself rise over a past love for the first time. I was wondering if you find that you have clarity around power dynamics yourself as you grow older as the protagonist does?

I’ve recently turned 30. And to me, that seems to be the absolute blessing of your 30s, that you have this kind of clarity and understanding of who you are and what you are willing and not willing to tolerate. That song itself is about an age-gap relationship that I was in. We had an 11-year age difference. I was super young. I was 18 or 19 when we got together, and this whole conception that I had was, “I’m mature and I’m actually better than the other women my age, because I have someone who is super mature and who thinks that I’m interesting. I’m also better than the women his age. There’s something special about me,” like I felt chosen.

That was such a powerful feeling at that time when so much of my self-esteem was dependent on what other people thought of me. Slowly, through the course of this relationship, I realized that he chose me, but not for the reasons that I thought I had been chosen.

I mean he was a walking red flag and I just did not trust my intuition to understand that. This wasn’t a good scenario, and now, on the other side of it, at 30, I couldn’t imagine dating a 20-year-old. There’s an inherent power dynamic there. I wrote the beginning of the song two years before I finished it, because in the beginning, I couldn’t think of an ending. I couldn’t have seen him at a bar (which really happened) and just been scared and left. I wanted to give the protagonist a better ending than that.

It sounds like you did a lot of processing on this record through your writing, like maybe you released some frozen anger. I think most women can relate to that in general, because we are so often encouraged or told to suppress that emotion. I was wondering how your relationship with anger and revenge evolved and shifted through the creation of this album?

I think therapy seems to be a theme in a lot of artists’ albums these days. I didn’t realize how much anger I carried until I went to therapy. I had always grown up thinking that any kind of anger is debasing yourself. You’re losing power and you’re not being your highest, most evolved self.

Every time I got angry, I felt like I’d failed to access my more evolved emotions. It was through therapy that I learned that anger is, in many ways, necessary. We are refusing to be treated a certain way.

I think adventuring through these ideas of revenge where it’s like, “Well, what if I don’t choose forgiveness? What about that? Why do I have to be the peaceable one? Why do I have to be the one to absorb all of your violence, and then somehow process it out so that we’re good?” I have to say, it was really fun to write these lyrics and not shy away from some more violent imagery, especially in “The Witch.”

I heard someone say something like, “Anything that’s human is mentionable. And anything that’s mentionable is manageable.” I think singing it out is so nice because it’s mentionable. It’s manageable.

Speaking of, this is a great segue. How does it feel to perform these songs live?

It feels really good. It feels vulnerable too, having lived with them so long during the pandemic. It’s interesting to start sharing them with people. I have this ritual where the day before a single comes out, I listen to the song on a walk. And I’m like, “Okay, this is the last time this is gonna be only mine.” I think that ritual has really helped me. It’s a really personal album in a lot of ways for me.

I’m looking forward to trying it out in many different configurations, continuing the idea of play that we started out with this record, and seeing the different ways it can evolve and change.

Photo Credit: Janice Reid

STREAM: Ira Wolf, ‘Rock Bottom’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Ira Wolf
Hometown: Montana
Album: Rock Bottom
Release Date: October 13, 2023
Label: Nettwerk Music Group

In Their Words: “When I began writing Rock Bottom, over a year had passed since the onset of the pandemic. Every piece of my life had been affected. It felt like I had lost everything that once gave my existence meaning: My career as a touring musician, my nomadic way of life, my passion, my sense of community, and finally, my person. I was alone for the first time in almost five years after calling off my wedding and leaving an unhealthy relationship that had wreaked havoc on my mental health. As I sat by myself in the van amidst the red rocks of the Utah desert, I couldn’t fathom how things could deteriorate further from where they stood, amidst the depths of sorrow that paradoxically offered some solace. ‘If this is rock bottom, at least I’m on solid ground,’ I mused, finding a semblance of stability in the sentiment. I knew healing would take time, and writing and recording these songs helped me process an immense amount of grief in the way I needed – slowly, viscerally. It helped me feel everything, say everything, forgive everything, and in doing so it helped me find a way back to myself.” – Ira Wolf

Photo Credit: Kendall Rock

WATCH: Ross Hammond, “Blue Hoodie”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Ross Hammond
Hometown: Sacramento, California
Song: “Blue Hoodie”
Album: It’s Been Here All Along
Release Date: October 23, 2021
Label: Prescott Recordings

In Their Words: “This song is dedicated to the inner circle of friends and family that my wife, daughter, and I have relied on throughout the pandemic. As we maneuver and pivot through this time it’s a blessing to have a crew. This song, like all of the songs on this record, was made with a resonator guitar on a two track reel-to-reel recorder. All of these songs use a Freeport tuning (CGCGCD) and the themes are written to be improvised on. For the video I made a collage using a grocery bag and some Polaroid and Sprocket photos from the past year. I thought using physical photos in a video shoot would give the sense of vagueness to the faces, like anyone who saw this could imagine their own crew in a ghostlike, snapshot form.” — Ross Hammond

Photo credit: Lola Hammond

WATCH: Robert Finley, “I Can Feel Your Pain”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Robert Finley
Hometown: Bernice, Louisiana
Song: “I Can Feel Your Pain”
Album: Sharecropper’s Son
Label: Easy Eye Sound

Editor’s Note: Read our BGS interview with Robert Finley.

In Their Words: “‘I Can Feel Your Pain’ relates really to what is going on today. From people losing loved ones to the pandemic, all the marches going on, people being slaughtered by the police. Even if you don’t really know about the situation from a personal perspective you feel sympathy for that person who had to go through those things and this song is for them.” — Robert Finley

Photo credit: Alysse Gafkjen

Billy Strings Draws a Line in the Sand with Sobriety, Not Bluegrass (Part 1 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

From carving out a name for himself on the road as a teenager to winning a Grammy for Best Bluegrass Album (2019’s standout Home), the prodigious 29-year-old guitar player Billy Strings has cultivated a devoted following and collected an impressive list of accomplishments along the way. His latest Rounder Records release, Renewal, capitalizes on the confidence and artistic growth those experiences have delivered, with experimental new instrumentation, contemplative lyricism, and trademark picking. Produced by Jonathan Wilson (Roger Waters, Father John Misty), the sixteen-track opus offers a glimpse at an artist who is continuously rediscovering himself.

“I’m going through a part in my life where I’m looking through the windshield instead of in the rearview,” he says. “I think of a new day, the morning light, a spider molting, or a snake shedding its skin: It’s a renewal.” In the first of our two part BGS Artist of the Month interview, we caught up with Billy Strings about those new beginnings — on the stage, in the studio, and in his day-to-day life.

BGS: Renewal is mostly acoustic, but it pulls from a lot of different sources of inspiration — and not all of those are necessarily bluegrass. Is there any particular moment on the record where you noticed the influence of a genre that may be unexpected to some listeners?

Billy Strings: “Hide and Seek” is a song that maybe draws more from my influence of playing in metal bands — trying to write a song that’s more like a metal song, but with acoustic instruments… using odd time signatures, diminished chords, and avoiding the major scale. I grew up listening to a lot of death metal, and a lot of that music is just not verse-chorus-bridge, verse-chorus-outro. The songs are like 10 different parts. They’re hyper-composed, and that stuff’s sort of neat.

Was there anything that you did in the studio that took you out of your comfort zone?

I mean, I wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it was different playing synthesizers and different instruments hands-on. I think I gained a little confidence when I won that Grammy — the next time I went into the studio, I was the one calling the shots: “Hey, do you have a triangle? Let’s all come together and do a singalong.” I was the one coming up with the creative ideas and feeling confident in myself to do that. On “Heartbeat of America,” I’m playing some old synthesizer, playing with the pitch wheel and stuff. That shit’s fun.

“Hellbender” stands out as a reasonably upbeat, fun song when you’re listening to it, but the lyrics are… kind of dark. What was going on in your head when you were writing that?

That song’s about a real bad headache and a real bad hangover — being lost in the demons of alcohol, not knowing where to stop, saying, “Fuck it, I’m going to drink until the night’s over.” I haven’t drank in over five years: I haven’t had a sip of alcohol because I had a real bad headache one day. So it’s not really about me, but I wouldn’t really call it a fictional song either. I have been there and done that: woken up like that. It’s about a guy who can’t freakin’ stop.

“Know It All” on the new album talks about learning from your mistakes. Has there been any kind of a difficult learning experience that you feel shaped you as an artist?

Well, maybe that headache I was talking about.

Oh yeah?

One day we had this awesome gig. A lot of people showed up, and we sold a bunch of merch, and I thought we were fucking rock stars. I had been up all night and drinking beer and liquor and a bunch of shit. We got to the bar after and I was all, “Old Fashioneds! Get one for everybody, on me!” I was raring and tearing. But the next day, we barely made it to our gig, because I was puking every 10 minutes. We made it there in time to set up our stuff and play — we had to set up our gear in front of the audience. This was at a time where my career was really starting to take off, and I saw that as an opportunity to draw a line in the sand.

How so?

I think it’s about being conscious of my surroundings, being aware of the vibe that people are giving, and also being aware of the vibe that I’m putting off. I don’t want to be a drunk asshole when some fan comes up to me and says, “Hey man I really enjoyed the show.” I want to be there. I want to be able to say, “Thank you, man. Thank you for coming. I fucking appreciate it.” I just came off four gigs back-to-back. We played Spokane, Washington; Portland, Oregon; Seattle; and then somewhere in Montana. And right now I’m on my way to Salt Lake City. I can’t do that if I’m drinking. It’s all I can do to take care of myself. There’s no time for that shit.

You won Breakthrough Artist of the Pandemic from Pollstar —probably the first time anybody was awarded something like that. What motivated you to try new things when you lost your outlet on stage? Was there anything that struck you as a special moment even remotely connecting with your fans?

I’ve been doing this since I was 19 and I went on my first tour across the country. It’s all I’ve really known, just keeping this going. I’ve been “striking while the iron’s hot” for 10 years. [Laughs] So when all of a sudden I don’t have anything to do, it’s like, “Well shit. We need to keep doing something to engage the fans. We can’t just stop.” We started doing little streams at my house, and then that moved to doing a streaming tour around venues and stuff, and then eventually the whole Capitol Theater run, which was six nights, including this whole experiment where we tried to interact with our fans through telekinesis. That was really special. Even though there wasn’t anybody there, it felt like we were really connected with the audience.

You are out there day in and day out, and I’ve also seen you talk candidly about having anxiety and nerves before going on stage. Is there anything in particular that you do to manage that?

I mean, it’s been a journey. I hit the road when I was 19, playing 200 gigs a year, and for a while there, I was invincible, untouchable. I thought I could drive the van, sell the merch, book the hotels, settle up at the end of the night, write the songs, perform the shows, do everything. It was all on my shoulders. But I hit a wall where all of a sudden, instead of being confident, strong, and untouchable, I was fragile and scared of the world. Anxiety really fucked me up. I started having these crippling panic attacks where my whole body would go into convulsions.

I’m not trying to be a tough guy. I’m trying to be an honest guy. It’s uncomfortable for me to pretend like I’m feeling any way that I’m not, so if I’m angry, sad, anxious, mad? You’re going to know it because I don’t want to hide that shit. I’ve been going to therapy ever since 2019 and it’s helped me a bunch. I had a lot of trauma from my childhood that I had to sort out so I could keep moving forward and stop looking back. That’s what Renewal is all about.

Editor’s Note: Read part two of our Artist of the Month interview here.

Photo credit: Jesse Faatz

Jim Lauderdale Envisions the “Memory” of Friend and Co-Writer, Robert Hunter

Posted on by Editor

Jim Lauderdale’s new album Hope has a sound reminiscent of dreamy ‘70s folk rock records and largely centers around themes like perseverance, with much of the music bred from his 15-month hiatus from touring and performing. One of its most eloquent tracks celebrates the legendary Grateful Dead lyricist Robert Hunter, a longtime friend and collaborator of Lauderdale’s who died in 2019. As one of the final songs they wrote together, “Memory” arrived on June 22, just one day before what would’ve been Hunter’s 80th birthday. In addition, the album cover and packaging feature paintings by Maureen Hunter, Robert’s wife. About his dear friend, Lauderdale says, “Losing Robert just before the pandemic was so hard, but he left the perfect lyric, to sum up my feelings about him and to honor all the people we’ve lost since.”

In the light of Hunter’s companionship and storied career as a writer and musician, “Memory” is a perfect song to celebrate his life and work. Meanwhile, Hope features a cast of musicians who just get it when it comes to traditional country and folk rock. Chris Scruggs, Russ Pahl, and Kenny Vaughan are just a few who grace the record with their classic sounds. “I wanted to get a musical message out there during this time of what we’ve all been going through, about the hope for better days ahead,” Lauderdale says. “If we can find any glimmers of hope, that really helps get you through another day.”

Photo credit: Scott Simontacchi

WATCH: Del Barber, “Nothing Left to Find”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Del Barber
Hometown: Inglis, Manitoba
Song: “Nothing Left to Find”
Album: Stray Dogs: Collected B-Sides Volume One
Release Date: August 20, 2021
Label: acronym Records

In Their Words: “Stray Dogs is a result of over 10 years of writing and recording music. When the pandemic began I was lost, scared about the future and in the depths of an unprecedented creative slump. I built a studio out of an old shed on my farm in an attempt to force myself to try and write songs. Every day I’d go out there in the mornings and struggle to get one line that I liked or one chord progression that was inspired. I wasn’t getting anywhere and it was my first taste of the fabled ‘writer’s block.’ Instead of writing new material like I had intended, I began to delight in the process of looking back. ‘Nothing Left To Find’ was one song I kept coming back to. I had so many versions of it in my files, it begged to be finished. After cutting a dozen of the verses I had written, it’s now a short and sweet song that really ties the tonal landscape of Stray Dogs together.” — Del Barber

Photo credit: Haylan Jackson

These Members of the Roots Community Embraced Innovation Amid a Pandemic

Posted on by Editor

The roots music community, like the rest of the world, faced an uncertain future as the pandemic essentially wrecked everybody’s plans in 2020. However, a number of musicians and industry leaders figured out a way to navigate the uncharted waters with grace and bravery. The Bluegrass Situation invited five members of the roots community to share their thoughts on how they harnessed their creativity and embraced innovation over the last 12 months.

Billy Strings, Winner of “Breakthrough Artist of the Pandemic” at the 2021 Pollstar Awards:

It was almost kind of a welcomed break, you know? I was tired, man. We had toured our asses off and I was like, I don’t know if I can do this anymore. Then all of a sudden, this stuff happened and we got a big break. And now I realize how lucky I was. Now there’s nothing I’d like more than to be stuck in some hotel room somewhere after a gig with some random folks at 3 o’clock in the morning, just hanging out and having a good-ass time.

For one thing I wanted to get the quality [of livestreaming] better than what I could do at my house. It started with just me on my couch playing, and the next thing you know we’re doing that tour where we’re playing the Exit/In and gigs around Nashville. It was kind of cool and eerie and weird. I’m just thinking, I know there are people out there watching us, but they’re not here and I can’t see them. When you’re used to playing for crowds, it’s like, man, this sucks! [Laughs]

We did debut a lot of songs at the Capitol Theater when we did our gigs there in February. We played like 16 brand new songs when we were over there. … People will go on fan pages and say, “Holy shit, did you hear that song?!” I don’t want to pay attention too much to that, because it just feels like you’re playing for the internet, but then it is good to get a good little gauge on what songs they’re digging.

Mercy Bell, Singer-Songwriter and Cast Member of the New Documentary, The Sound of Us:

I think a fallow season is really important for everyone, or we’re producing from an empty well. Not of creativity, I think creativity is always there, but contrary to popular opinion of the tortured and manic creator, even artists need to sleep and drink eight glasses of water a day. Like all of us, I spent 2020 trying to survive. I had a nervous breakdown. I lost my job. I had a heartbreak. I turned to art, pop culture, movement, exercise, my cats, meditation, to keep me going. …

There was a period of time I didn’t know if I’d make it. I was in a pretty dark place before I got some new treatment for my mental health. I was obsessively walking 14 miles a day, really scared, really not wanting to be alive, in quarantine far from my family, unemployment wasn’t coming through. Scheduling livestreams gave me something to look forward to. Playing music to my supporters, all over the world, it made me feel less alone. I don’t know how any performance will ever beat that. We really needed each other. Singing to people gave me a reason to keep going in the most literal sense. And my supporters also kept me fed! All those $5 tips kept groceries in my fridge. And then Netflix and podcasts, Cardi B’s “WAP,” and my cat kind of saved me. It gave me something to look forward to. That’s the power of art and pop culture, and pets. It cuts through to places we can’t get to. It got me through each day, one day at a time.

Without giving too much away, The Sound of Us spotlights a variety of musicians and the incredible impact their work (or lack thereof because of COVID) has. Some of those highlighted include folks working to bring music to underprivileged neighborhoods, into prisons and hospitals, working on researching lost works of art from the Holocaust and other genocides, and of course, how musicians were affected by institutional racism and the pandemic. When I saw the screening, I cried all my eye makeup off. It’s an incredibly emotional and profound documentary. I am so proud to have been part of it.

Robert Meitus, Co-Founder and VP of Industry Development of Mandolin.com:

Roots music fans tend to have a strong connection with artists and a desire to connect frequently and deeply. Additionally, the nature of roots music itself is built around intimacy, vulnerability and honesty, so that desire for connection really runs both ways. Mandolin’s vision has always been to build a space in the digital world where the noise of the industry fades away; one where a musician and their fans can connect not only through a concert stream, but through other unique experiences like interactive/online VIP events, soundchecks and workshops with artists.

Specifically, Mandolin started with a name that is itself an acoustic instrument and a workforce full of people who had worked a lot with roots music, including among others: myself, representing as an attorney artists such as John Prine, I’m With Her, and Keb’ Mo’; Jason Wilber, longtime guitarist for John Prine; and Larry Murray, formerly of the Luck Reunion. The name and connections naturally led us to develop the roots music connections in our first year, although Mandolin’s technology and services are certainly applicable to all music genres.

I have been a bit surprised at the almost uniformly positive views about integrating streaming into the live festival experience. It helps that cameras have been in place on and around stages for many years already, largely for the IMAG projections on the sides of stages, so musicians are used to this. COVID introduced livestreaming technology and practices to the music world at a much faster rate than would have been the case otherwise, and we have all learned how technology can connect us around the world and accommodate those that may be challenged to attend an event in person. The result is that, coming out of the pandemic, I believe bluegrass and other festivals will be more interested in the hybrid livestream for all sorts of reasons. This may be a bold claim, but I would expect that almost every festival — roots or otherwise — will have a virtual experience component. Think about it: with a phone in hand, every single fan is a digital fan, whether they are streaming at home or on the festival grounds.

Jackie Venson, R&B/Soul Artist and Guitarist from Austin, Texas:

I was pretty well-versed in livestreaming pre-pandemic. I had a series called Jackie Venson Live on Thursdays, which was an effort to help sell tickets to my album release at the Paramount in Austin, Texas, in 2019. I saw the potential in it when it first came out in 2014. I attempted to livestream a concert from Berlin, Germany, but the technology just wasn’t there yet so it was a really bumpy experience. I remember feeling really grateful that the technology existed when the pandemic was ramping up so that I could keep performing once there was no option for in-person shows. There was literally nothing else to do, and when there’s nothing to do I lose my mind and default to the first thing I can think of, which in this case was filling the performance void with livestream performances.

I used my Austin City Limits TV performance as a platform for Black Lives Matter because that episode will be rerun and it’s important to me that this message doesn’t die. The response overall was positive; of course there were some naysayers but that’s why we need to keep repeating the message. During the pandemic I received overwhelming support and positive feedback from the Austin music community. Everyone was on the same page and it seems as though things are changing for the better. I will absolutely continue to stream from home when possible, and I plan to livestream some of my shows from the road for those who want or need to stay home. I think livestreaming will be a staple in the world of live music. It makes live shows accessible to those who are unable to come out due to economic, accessibility, or other issues. (Read the BGS interview.)

Aengus Finnan, Executive Director of Folk Alliance International:

Everything was upside down last year, but the greatest challenge was envisioning and delivering an event we had never done, with half the staff, all new software, no roadmap, and little sense of whether anyone would want to gather online 11 months into a Zoomed-out pandemic. Being able to offer a sliding scale registration fee, including free, was absolutely necessary given how hard hit our community was, and despite that approach, we exceeded our modest revenue goals to cover the costs of the new online systems we used. The most rewarding element was definitely having new artists and industry join us for the first time, and to see a sharp increase in BIPOC and marginalized community representation across all panels. That happened because we were able to extend invitations to participate in more accessible ways. We were also thrilled to finally provide honorariums to all panelists this year, which we are committed to continuing.

Personally, it’s a joy to see FAI play a part in curating, commissioning, and compensating artists for meaningful new content and partnerships, which is the central aim of our Artist In Residence program — playfully renamed Artists in (Their) Residences this year for the pandemic. There were certainly some artists we approached who simply don’t do co-writes, some for whom the online process felt odd, and others who, while flattered, were simply too busy with other projects or recordings. But for the most part, there was instant interest, especially when they knew that one of their peers had selected or recommended them. The cross-border collaboration as part of a bigger collective project, reflecting on a traumatic year, with the added element of raising awareness for The Village Fund to support the community rang a lot of “count me in” bells.

We are already full steam ahead with a hybrid event this year, and we’re not looking back. Our focus will naturally be on ensuring that the in-person event is top-notch and delivers the experience we all know and love, but there are thousands of people who can’t attend each year, for myriad reasons, and providing online content, as well as live-streamed and interactive content enables more community engagement, participation, and inclusion, and builds bridges and connections that folks will use as an entry point leading to the growth of our genre and industry. While daunting, we’re excited about the opportunity to innovate what we do and offer, and who we can reach.

Photo of Billy Strings by Emma Delevante