Tag: peter bradley adams

LISTEN: ‘Once Upon a River’ Soundtrack

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Written and directed by Haroula Rose and based upon a best-selling novel by Bonnie Jo Campbell, the award-winning indie film Once Upon a River tells the story of Margo Crane, a Native American teenager who sets out to find her mother as her own life takes one dramatic turn after another. Margo is portrayed by Kenadi DelaCerna, in her screen debut.

Shot to evoke rural Michigan in the 1970s, the mood of Once Upon a River is frequently elevated by original music from Rodney Crowell, JD Souther, Will Oldham, Bridget St. John, Fran Farley, Peter Bradley Adams, and Haroula Rose, as well as an atmospheric score by Zac Rae. Hear the soundtrack below, and enjoy an exclusive interview with Haroula Rose.

BGS: This story is set in 1977. How did that influence the music you chose for the movie?

Rose: Having it set in the 1970s made me excited about being able to use my favorite era in both music and cinema as inspiration. It was one of the reasons I loved the source material for this very unique kind of road movie, because I knew at once that I could use some psych folk, soul, country and ambient sounds to get into this tale and characters. My film partner at Thirty Tigers (David Macias) was literally the first person onboard for this project, while composer (Zac Rae) and music supervisor (Mike Turner) were also among the first people creatively involved once I had the shooting script. As a musician first, I am always thinking about it as a central element even as I am writing, and the music is deeply embedded into the process from the beginning. I used certain themes Zac had created to play for the actors while we were on set and they were very moved by hearing them.

There are moments of quiet in this movie, too. It reminds me of the adage that a good musician knows when to play a solo, as well as when not to. Can you tell me about your process for placing the music into the film without distracting from the storyline?

I love that analogy! I feel that silence can be as potent as noise, and the pauses in the film all have a voice and are communicating something as well. Margo is not the most traditionally vocal character but is so expressive, thus the music had to parallel that… such that we are still able to feel her subjective experience through the pregnant moments of quiet as much as the action scenes. Ultimately it was about continually paring the story down, sculpting it to its very essence, and the music supported that goal since we were always allowing it to evolve and not give too much away too soon. There was this balance we had to strike with regard to supporting the story and not giving away the emotions before their time. I’m really happy to hear you say it worked!

The placement for Will Oldham’s “Always Bound” works especially well in this film. Can you describe why you felt that scene and that particular recording synched up so well?

Will was the first person to write an original song for the film upon reading the script, and it was this magical piece. In fact “Always Bound” was what I used for our very first scene we shot of the film, which was Margo by the fire when she is eating canned food and camping. I brought these bluetooth speakers out to the woods and played it as we filmed, so we all dropped into this same emotional zone. It was a special moment, having Will as a creative force of support right then at the start. So I already knew which space it would inhabit in the film right when I heard it.

As you were writing dialogue, were there any characters whose perspective, or “voice,” that you particularly enjoyed?

Writing Smoke and Fishbone’s dialogue and banter was super fun, because like so many other parts of this story that inspire me, it is a unique relationship. I loved it in the book too. In terms of perspective/voice, writing Luanne because she is someone who is very complicated and all too easy to depict in a one-dimensional way, was a cool process. I really liked trying to find a way into her that is more complex and nuanced, more empathetic in seeing and understanding her pain, as she struggles to communicate and to exist in the world.

There’s a Rodney Crowell song here, too, and it’s filled with imagery. How did that song, “The Damage,” make its way into the film? And what do you remember about hearing that song for the first time?

Well, Rodney was one of the people considered for acting in the role of Smoke! David Macias reached out and then Rodney and I had a conversation about it. It was surreal because I have long been a Rodney fan. Hearing him play years ago at the Old Town School of Folk literally changed the stream of my life. When he found out he couldn’t do the role, Rodney kindly offered up the idea of a song. I was tremendously honored and then upon hearing it, with its visceral imagery and his manner in singing it, I got very emotional.

He got to the heart of two lonely but loving souls we don’t often see, and their connection. And then recording it — I sang harmonies with him — was so special in many ways. It was similar with JD Souther who wrote a song that Smoke (John Ashton) sings in one of his final scenes. It feels like a dream how this all came together, very fulfilling in terms of making music and making films. I co-wrote a song with Peter Bradley Adams and Zac Rae for the soundtrack as well, that plays in the final scene; that song always gets me emotional too.

To me, cultural identity seems to be a significant theme in this film — in a sense of racial identity, but also privilege. Was that element of diversity part of what attracted you to adapting this film?

Definitely. Bonnie’s novel alludes to Margo’s bloodline, and I thought it would be a great opportunity to showcase talent that would also add a dimension of depth to what the story is saying about “otherness” in her character as well as others, like her father (Tatanka Means) and Will (Ajuawak Kapashesit), who she meets along the way. It’s also part of her journey in coming to know herself and who she will be, that she knows where she came from. Will is the first person who asks her about her own potential, and hence why she makes the choice she does towards the end (no spoilers). In terms of privilege, I think it’s also depicted in terms of the Murrays and how they have interacted with and abused the land and the community, but I hope it’s conveyed that Margo is also someone with skills and talents that she learned from her father, which are a great gift. She has the depth and the comfort in being in the wild, knowing how to survive.

This film will be finding its way to even more viewers in the months ahead. Watching it now, more than a year after you completed it, what are some of the emotions you feel?

I still feel very inspired and emotional, especially at the ending. I also feel beyond proud of every single person involved and their hard work. It’s hard making an independent film and it’s my job to bring out the best in everyone. I hope the world out there sees that as they experience the film, the story, the music. A year after it premiered, 40 festivals and 19 awards later and many years after first reading the book, well it has been a wild and ambitious ride all to support a story that I truly believe we could see more of — seeing one another with compassion, empathy… Margo’s nonjudgmental and generous philosophy of live and let live… even or especially for those who cause you pain. It helps you find your own way.

Once Upon a River is available to watch via Film Movement. You can listen to the soundtrack on all streaming platforms.

BGS 5+5: LULLANAS

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Artist: LULLANAS (twin sisters Atisha and Nishita Lulla)
Hometown: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Latest album: Before Everything Got Real EP

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

It’s really hard for us to pick just one… honestly our music catalogue really started developing when we noticed the music in the background of tv/film/commercials. Once we saw how instrumental (pun intended) songs were to telling the story… that’s what really took our breathe away. Some artists who inspire us through that realm are Ingrid Michaelson, Peter Bradley Adams, and Gregory Alan Isakov.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

We drove down to Nashville for a week and got a chance to play at the Bluebird. It was a moment we built up in our heads for a while and it did not let us down. We only played a few songs, but as soon as Nishita strummed the first chord to our song “Melody” on her guitar… the room went silent. It was the kind of intensity every artist craves. We could tell that the audience was taking in every feeling, every lyric, every note and any intimate artist to listener moment like that is a favorite stage moment for us.

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

When we aren’t creating music, we are in the kitchen baking up a storm. For us, baking is all about the process and attention to detail. The same goes for our music. One of our favorite things to do is create custom cookie designs inspired by artists who we look up to. We use baking as another outlet of artistic release. What we can’t write/sing about, we can bake about.

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

We had the chorus scribbled on a page for one of our songs off our latest EP. It was just a chorus for about seven months. No matter how bad we wanted to finish it… we just couldn’t. Eventually, taking a step back from it was what helped us complete it. It was one of the toughest times, but also one of the most rewarding.

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

To create music that helps people feel something in a world that can be a little numbing at times.

Photo credit: Lenne Chai

Hangin’ & Sangin’: Peter Bradley Adams

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From the Bluegrass Situation and WMOT Roots Radio, it’s Hangin’ & Sangin’ with your host, BGS editor Kelly McCartney. Every week Hangin’ & Sangin’ offers up casual conversation and acoustic performances by some of your favorite roots artists. From bluegrass to folk, country, blues, and Americana, we stand at the intersection of modern roots music and old time traditions bringing you roots culture — redefined.

Hey everybody! Welcome to Hangin’ & Sangin! I’m Kelly McCartney from the Bluegrass Situation. With me today at Hillbilly Central, Peter Bradley Adams over there in the middle, flanked by Caitlin Canty and Evan Galante as support folks and court jesters, in the case of one Caitlin Canty!

Caitlin Canty: [Laughs]

We were dishin’ a little bit before we went live. We’ll get to that later.

Peter Bradley Adams: Heckler.

Yeah, heckler. So Peter, latest record, A Face Like Mine, came out April?

PBA: April

I got that right. Didn’t even write it down!

PBA: It seems so old!

Well, it took us like six months to get you pinned to come on here. We’ve been trying!

PBA: I’m sorry, its all my fault.

Okay, as long as the people know.

PBA: But I’m glad to be here, and I’m glad these people came with me.

…

I said this to Andrew Combs, when I had him on, but it fits you. As a singer, to me, and this is, again, part of why I feel drawn to your stuff in certain moods. But you’re like a drummer who just sort of hangs back in the pocket a little — like you’re not pushing the beat, you’re just right on the back end. And what you’ve done by creating the soundscape that you have, it’s like you’ve created this musical world that supports that so well.

PBA: Thank you.

That’s an observation more than a question.

PBA: I mean, for me, it feels like I’m just kind of hiding and trying not to mess anything up. [Laughs] It’s all fear! But I understand what you’re saying. It does kind of sit in there, but I’m growing weary of just sitting in there so nicely.

Interesting.

PBA: So I’m trying. I’m not there yet, but eventually, I’ve gotta get out of that little soft pocket.

Well, you’ve been stepping forward a little.

PBA: Yeah, I’ve been leaning in a little bit.

How do you feel like you’re gonna [push for it]? What’s next? You have the physical voice — what you’re born with — so how do you take that further? You’re not a crooner.

PBA: Yeah, I don’t know. For me, it’s just about … to sort of find the sound which is [natural]. I mean, I can’t have a different voice, so just trying to find that sound. And also don’t spend so much time styling it, trying to make it sound nice. Which then you immediately lose the way you sound. I mean, it still can be effective for some people and the intention can be there, but I guess that’s kind of what I’ve been thinking about a lot — just how to strip off all the affectation, and I definitely haven’t figured it out yet.

…

At this point, what’s your process for figuring out your phrasing? Because I know that was something that, particularly on this latest record, you were very intentional about your phrasing and things like that. So what’s your process for polishing that up without falling into the pretense?

PBA: Well, I don’t know. I think you’ve just gotta …

You’re a mystic, Peter Bradley Adams!

PBA: [Laughs]

CC: You do know! I’ve written a lot of songs with Peter, and he’s like our construction man! Like, you’ve said this term, “the way the words feel in your mouth,” the way they come with the vowel sounds. You’re really good at the bricks of building a song, the foundation is really strong.

PBA: Thank you.

CC: I’m like a mosaic maker, like “Ooh, that’s pretty!” And I try to cobble all the other stuff together and figure out how it fits. But you always have the good, solid [foundation] of everything.

PBA: It could be that I’m just being overly controlling, like “Oh, no, you need to hold that out just a little longer then do that little turn at the end there.” Because, to me, that’s important …

CC: It is!

PBA: But then I’m like possibly squeezing the life out of it, you know? By telling you, I mean, she’s had a lot of experience with me asking her to phrase stuff differently. [Laughs]

CC: Well, that’s when I’m singing to your stuff, but when we’re writing, it’s like figuring out the words. And I think you sing based on what word sounds best in the rhythm. So it’s like you’re just reacting naturally to it, sort of. That’s how you’ve talked about it before. Just inserting myself!

PBA: Then, what she said! That’s how I do it! [Laughs]

…

Because your songs are sort of ridiculously rich with that sort of, to me at least, what I hear in them, is that sort of spiritual seeking and self-examination and that stuff. And I know not all of it is based in your day-to-day reality. I mean, it’s storytelling, but you’re still in them, you’re still putting yourself out into the world to be under a microscope.

PBA: Yeah.

How does that feel? Do you have any qualms about that, or is there just no choice — you kind of have to?

PBA: Yeah, I kind of have to. I mean, I have some regrets about some stuff I’ve put out, you know, a little “ugh,” a little cringey. [Laughs] Not much, I mean everyone does.

Because of the writing or because of what you revealed?

PBA: I think, maybe both. [Laughs] How it was performed or sung, but I’ve let that stuff go. Yeah, I don’t [have a choice] and I don’t set out to write a song about something — ever. It just kind of happens. You sort of start and these words start coming kind of unconsciously, and then, when you figure out where it’s going, then for me, it’s this very conscious, tedious effort to really hone it in. And that’s the harder work part, the less kind of flowy part. But yeah, then there is some sort of running theme, I think, onto a lot of the stuff.

Do you feel like you can express your fill-in-the-blank emotion better through music or through words?

PBA: Well, that’s a good question. I mean, since I’ve just gotten back into writing some instrumental music, it’s been really liberating in a way.

Yeah, because melodies can express things that words never can touch.

PBA: Yeah, absolutely. And I think that a lot of my lyrics work well and they resonate really well with the melody, but you wouldn’t want to sit there and read them as a poem. [Laughs] It’s not something that I would ask anyone to do … I don’t think songs have to achieve that. I think that they’re sung for a reason.

Watch all the episodes on YouTube, or download and subscribe to the Hangin’ & Sangin’ podcast and other BGS programs every week via iTunes, Podbean, or your favorite podcast platform.

Broadband Download: A Ramble through Folk Alliance

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Of the three big roots music conferences — World of Bluegrass, AmericanaFest, and Folk Alliance International — Folk Alliance demands the most mental musical bandwidth. More than 1,000 musicians were on hand in Kansas City, Missouri, between February 15 and 19, organizing themselves into more than 3,000 individual showcases, designated either “official” (jury-selected for the hotel meeting and ball rooms) or “private” (hosted by labels or other groups in the rooms and suites of the fifth through the seventh floor between 11 pm and about four in the morning).

Folk Alliance may have the biggest stylistic tent in the field, as well. It’s an explosion of variety-spanning established folk forms from around the world and some pretty heady fusion. The organization has wrestled in years past over musical orthodoxy and come out the other side as perhaps the most diverse and inclusive of the roots music frameworks, even if that comes with some trade-offs in careful curation. Still, there was more great music than one person could possibly hear, so I approached it with curiosity and excitement, as well as an inevitable sense of inadequacy to the task.

I checked one important Folk Alliance artist off my list before leaving for Folk Alliance by catching Austin fiddler/singer Phoebe Hunt and the Gatherers at Nashville’s Basement early in the week. She is back with a refreshed take on the bluegrass/gypsy jazz that distinguished her first band, the Belleville Outfit. Travels in India and study with an Indian violin master have injected a microtonal raga sensibility into her songs, which are arranged with great subtlety for a six-piece band.

Turning to Kansas City, I arrived too late for the Wednesday night awards show, where Bruce Cockburn accepted a People’s Voice Award from Kris Kristofferson and where Michael Kiwanuka, Sarah Jarosz, and Parker Millsap received (in absentia) “of the year” prizes for song, album, and artist, respectively. But Thursday evening, I plunged into FAI’s swift river of music.

Chicago’s wise and funny Susan Werner offered new songs inspired by a trip to Cuba. Nearby, Australian all-female quartet All Our Exes Live In Texas showed resourceful stagecraft, keeping the audience entertained during a PA outage. When the sound returned, they cooed with quirky chord changes and an urbane mix of accordion, mandolin, uke, and acoustic guitar. And Kayln Fay, a Cherokee country rocker from Tulsa, Oklahoma, led a band formed around understated drumming and washy steel guitar. Fay, an endearing singer, offered a lot to think about and closed her set with a brand new “protest song” that was actually more like a plea for better listening and more understanding.

From the Midwest to Coal Country I went, for a set by rising Appalachian star Sam Gleaves. So tall he almost bumped the ceiling in the Brookside Room, he had a boyish look, longish hair, and a sweet disposition. Performing with the support of duo Cathy Fink and Marcy Marxer, he bravely and bluntly sang about being a gay hillbilly from rural Kentucky. Folk hero Tom Paxton was in the audience and could be heard gushing post-performance.

Upstairs in the private showcase halls (the most poster-festooned place I’ve ever been), Music City’s Wild Ponies previewed new music from an upcoming album cut entirely in a rustic Tennessee farmhouse. Married couple Doug and Telisha Williams play guitar and bass, respectively. He’s got country power and she’s got a sort of brassy refinement. Their song “The Tower” about a mighty tree’s long lifespan just floored me. I wrapped the night with beautiful Spanish-language songs of lament and protest by Brooklyn’s Ani Cordero in the Bloodshot Records room.

Somebody took great care with the audio systems for the official showcases, from small to large. And, on Friday night in the main ballroom, Peter Bradley Adams and his tasteful three-piece band sounded like God’s hi-fi. It helps that the artist has a dreamy silk-and-sand voice and a penchant for Celtic folk-rock vibes blended wtih a modern pop feel. He was joined for a song or two by Caitlin Canty who followed his set with a moody folk-pop performance of her own. Her energetic and melodic debut album impressed me in 2015 and, based on this live impression, she ought to be a thing with anyone who ever loved Sheryl Crow or Alison Krauss.

Way up the elevator in the 20th floor club with fabulous views of downtown Kansas City, British rock ‘n’ roll cat Robyn Hitchcock showed off some of the solo acoustic sound he’s been cultivating during his recent years living in Nashville. He’s a finger-picking balladeer who’s been challenging the status quo for a long time, evidenced by his 1989 song “Queen Elvis” with its lyric “coming out’s the hardest part.” He told the crowd after singing that one, “I never dreamed we’d be dealing with the same old homophobic shit, 30 years later.”

At Folk Alliance, one can almost, at any time, seek out and plunge into old-time sounds, and my urge toward same led me to Molsky’s Mountain Drifters, led by fiddling icon and educator Bruce Molsky. He adapted FAI keynote speaker Billy Bragg’s “Between the Wars” to an old-time dirge and excelled on the old mining song “Black Hills.” Rounding out the clockwork trio was brilliant clawhammer banjo picker Allison de Groot and flattop guitar player Stash Wyslouch, about whom there will be more to say later.

That segued right into one of the most refreshing sets I saw all week. Laura Cortese and the Dance Cards of Cambridge, Massachusetts, head-faked me into thinking they would be a swingy retro quartet, when in fact they’re out there on the searching edge of chamber folk and minimalist pulse grass. From the risk of opening with an emotional four-way harmony ballad to the serene beauty of “California Is Calling” (the title track to an upcoming album that’s been featured on the Bluegrass Situation), their close and complex harmonies and imaginative arrangements signified the best of folk right now.

It came as no surprise that John Fullbright was astounding in the big ballroom. “Where my Okies at?” he asked from the stage as part of his very funny banter. His songs peel the skin right off of the truth, which means sometimes revealing sweet fruit underneath and sometimes a painful scraping. “Social Skills” was blistering and self-effacing. “All the Time in the World” is a rambling, witty meditation with a hard country-blues backing. Fullbright’s remarkable harmonica solos would have been difficult for someone who wasn’t playing guitar at the same time, yet he was.

Upstairs, my favorite stumbles of the night led me to a sophisticated jazz/grass fusion set by Nashville’s Frazier Band, featuring a hip rhythm section with electric bass and keys. Leader John Frazier plays the fire out of the mandolin and sings with echoes of John Cowan, the voice of the New Grass Revival. And then I made my way with purpose to see the Lonesome Ace Stringband from Toronto. I became a fan of fiddler/singer John Showman when he led the defunct New Country Rehab. Now he’s focused on this exciting old-time band — one that surges and pulses with that perfect push-pull feeling. They covered “Hills of Mexico” and a surreal Mississippi John Hurt song, but also offered Showman’s original “Pretty Boy Floyd,” an alterative take on Woody Guthrie’s magisterial ballad.

On Saturday night, Showman took his fiddle downstairs and joined Nashville’s Matt Haeck on stage for a set of vibrant songs that included the uncomfortably true line “All the world’s watching America; America’s watching TV.” Later, Haeck lent a Marty Robbins vibe to a duo with the wonderful Tim Easton. Staying on in this room proved smart because William Prince brought his insightful and deeply traditional country songwriting from Winnepeg. He’s absolutely magnetic, with a burnished pewter voice that could stand up to Keith Whitley’s on the radio. Prince is baby-faced and almost uncannily kind and gentle, but his songs — while romantic — are not wimpy. “Little Things” was an insightful song about marriage. “Breathless” was similarly heart-piercing.

Nashville’s incredibly tiny old-time and bluegrass duo Giri and Uma Peters fired up a set featuring fiddles, banjo, and mandolin. The Indian-American siblings, who were inspired to pick up traditional music by the Goat Rodeo Sessions, have garnered a lot of attention for their youth (12 and 9 years old, respectively) and their cross-cultural journey. They’ll have to develop some more rhythmic suppleness and their voices will mature, but there’s a lot to celebrate and enjoy in their music today. File for the future.

He’s no secret in or out of Music City, but Anthony da Costa is an artist who is more than ready to be signed and take the world by storm. Playing textural electric guitar with a tidy bass and drum backing, he dazzled. His voice can float or penetrate. His songs can brush like a feather or hammer with power. He offered “Neighbors,” a favorite of mine. There are not many triple threats like this guy.

I should have found my way to the Colorado Room earlier in the week because that sky-high state has done as much to diversify and advance roots music as anywhere. And sure enough, there were the Railsplitters to validate my theory. I expected old-time, but heard and felt something like Crooked Still meeting Strength in Numbers. The coursing, melodic style banjo of Dusty Rider and the clean singing of Lauren Stovall framed the music, but the super lush harmonies (up to four parts) lifted it higher.

Even with all these bands, the staple of Folk Alliance is still the songwriting troubadour and I caught several excellent such artists in a row. Levi Parham from Tulsa brought his gravel voice and country blues finger-picking to the Oklahoma Room. Nashville’s Mary Bragg hit a tender spot and brought up Becky Warren, a co-writer, for some joyful fun. And Hope Dunbar from little Utica, Nebraska, caught me off guard with some incredible language and truth telling, including the mystical “We Want.” It’s these kinds of surprises in the after-midnight hours, when the endorphins of music ecstasy meet the endorphins of fatigue, that make Folk Alliance special.

Two newgrass offerings rounded out my final night, the first a shocking revelation.

Remember Stash Wyslouch who played old-timey guitar with Bruce Molsky? The Deadly Gentleman alum invited me to see his own Stash! Band and, holy hell, it was a whole brain experience. It’s Frank Zappa meets the Red Hot Chili Peppers at the Berklee College of Music. Stash and fiddler Duncan Wickel deadpanned their way through lightning fast, dissonant melodic figures like some Return to Forever fever dream. Yet there was also a flood of emotion from the leader as he vamped, pounded, jammed, and, somehow, rapped (in Portuguese?) too fast to be believed.

Stunned by this outer-reaches folk music, I sought the familiar for a nightcap in the form of Bay Area band turned Nashville-based Front Country. In the Alaska Room, with a stuffed bear looking on, Melody Walker led the crafty quintet in songs that will be coming out on an album later this year. Want to release this prize-winning band’s foray into what they’re calling roots pop? They’d love to talk to you.

In recent years, Folk Alliance has earned more affectionate buzz among musicians than any other conference. The official showcases sounded great and gave the artists room to stretch out. The private shows, as roulette-like as they can be for the wandering fan, offer the abundance and energetic intimacy that bluegrassers fondly remember from the Louisville days of IBMA. While a few rooms set up PA systems, most of them are as unmediated and acoustic as folk music was 100 years ago. Players play and sing. Listeners listen. There is a kind of unforced but focused attention that ennobles the music and those who make it. The “alliance” in Folk Alliance speaks to a collaborative business development mindset, but it gets just as well at the union between artist and audience. We are one.

Lede image: On Saturday evening at Folk Alliance, several hundred conferees stood on the roof of the Westin Hotel at sunset where they held up pocket copies of the US Constitution provided by the American Civil Liberties Union and sang “We Shall Overcome.” Photo credit: Jayne Toohey

The Producers: Lex Price

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Lex Price started early. As an eight-year-old growing up in Maryland, he became obsessed with the mandolin after seeing his cousin’s bluegrass band. When his father bought him one, he taught himself to play by listening to Sam Bush and David Grisman. Later, he graduated to guitar and bass.

But it was his Tascam four-track that held special interest for him. He turned his bedroom into a makeshift studio and turned himself into a one-man band. “I think I was 10 or 11,” he recalls. “I had a Tascam four-track that I recorded with constantly, just overdubbing myself over myself. That was my favorite thing. I didn’t put the pieces together that I could make a career out of it.”

And yet, that’s just what Price has done, albeit gradually. After recording his first album at 12 years old and gigging with alt-country bands in the ‘90s, he moved to Nashville and started playing bass for k.d. lang. During that time, he gradually migrated to a spot behind the board, never with any set plan, but with an adaptability that has become his calling card.

Through his work with Mindy Smith, Robby Hecht, Peter Bradley Adams, and others, Price displays considerable range and a sensitive ear for nuanced roots arrangements that complement but never overpower the vocals. On his records, the music usually works like a soundtrack to score the stories told in and the emotions conjured by the lyrics.

How did you move into production?

The first time I even considered it was when I was working with an artist name Clare Burson. This was 2003, I think, and we had been playing together for a couple of years. She was talking about making her first record, and it just seemed like a natural thing that I would play on it. Then she asked if I wanted to help produce it. Up until that point, that hadn’t been something I was pursuing, but I helped to produce that record and it sparked something in me. I loved it. That was the beginning.

So this wasn’t something you set out to do. It wasn’t necessarily a life-long ambition.

No, not at all. I wanted to play on records. That’s what I wanted to do since I was a kid. I always thought that was the end goal. I hadn’t even considered producing until we made Clare’s record, which I think we did in three days. I had moved to Nashville in 1998 or 1999 and, the first few years, I was trying to figure out what my place was here. I worked some odd jobs and started playing with people. I gravitated toward singer/songwriters — being a sideman for them. Clare’s album was about four years after I had been here, and that was really my first studio experience in Nashville. It really hit me hard, and I fell in love with the process.

That was your first studio gig? That’s really a trial by fire.

It was. But it wasn’t that scary, because we had been working together and we were friends. We just went in the studio, spent the three days, and that was that. There wasn’t time to overthink it. We had a great band and that was all we needed. And that’s still my favorite approach — to have a roomful of people and everyone feeding off each other. I enjoy that a lot more than building tracks, at least at this point in my life.

How do you prepare for a session? What kinds of conversations are you having with artists before you go in the studio?

The first conversation is always about the songs. I like for them to send me as many songs as they have, even stuff they might have forgotten about. Everything. At that point, I listen to all of them and start to choose songs and talk to them about that. You can get to know someone discussing their songs over a period of time. That’s the doorway into the next part of it, which would be figuring out what kind of vibe they’re going for.

Then we talk studios — what type of surroundings would be comfortable for them. Everybody’s different. For some folks, making a record means going to a very expensive studio. Well, maybe “expensive” isn’t the word. A very professional studio. But some people find that intimidating and they’d rather do it in a small studio, maybe a home studio. It’s all about the different situations you can get yourself into. And budget always plays a big role. Ultimately, it’s just getting to know someone and trying to figure out what’s going to make them comfortable, what’s going to make them feel like performing and having fun. I guess making them comfortable is a big part of my job.

Tell me about your studio. Where are you most comfortable?

I have my own studio that I mix out of, where I do overdubs. Then, for tracking, Nashville is a great place for studios. Specifically, I like Sound Emporium and Southern Ground. I’ve worked at those two quite a bit. The rooms just sound really good. The folks that run them and work there are fantastic. And great gear, for sure. Everything is dialed in really well. I have some friends with great tracking rooms, as well. It’s all budget dependent, wherever we end up. My process usually involves tracking at a studio that’s not mine. I get as much done as I can in that room, then bring it back to my place where I can finish it out with vocals or any overdubs that need to happen. Then I mix it and that’s it.

It sounds like those experiences as a musician inform your production work, but does it go in the opposite direction? How has your work as a producer informed your work as a sideman?

My hope is that I can see the big picture better while I’m playing and not just worry about myself. Mixing, too, informs how I play. If I’m hired as a session player, it definitely helps knowing what the engineer and the producer are going to have to deal with at the end of the project.

One distinctive aspect of your production is the emphasis on the vocals. Everything revolves around the singer’s voice, complementing it but never intruding on that space.

That’s incredibly important to me. I think I attract singer/songwriters who want that, as well. They want the lyric and the voice to be the center of it all, so I try to stay out of the way. The longer I do this, the more my goal is to be transparent as a producer and not put too much of my sound into it. I really want to get the song over. That’s what I’m thinking about going in and that’s what I’m thinking about through the whole process — somehow staying out of the way, but also helping to steer the whole project.

It’s like the Wizard of Oz: You have to stay behind the curtain but still pull all the strings — on a technical and aesthetic level, but it sounds like also on a social level.

A lot of it is social. That’s the trick. I don’t even know what to say about that. But it is true. You’re working with so many different personalities, and it’s so stressful for the artist. There’s always so much to worry about. My job is to do whatever I can to take your mind off those worries.

You’ve worked with artists on multiple albums — four albums for Peter Bradley Adams, two or three by the Westies. Is it easier to reach that point of comfort after you’ve gone through the process together, or does it reset itself every time?

I think it does make it easier. Peter and I have worked together for years now. We’re just wrapping up a new one, in fact. So we know each other very well. I think that helps. It’s a good question. I did a few with Robby Hecht. I think I’ve done three with him. It’s always nice to have people come back to do more records, and knowing their personalities certainly does help. It’s not like it’s any easier making the record, but there are certain aspects that you can foresee.

The first record you make with somebody, there are a lot of unknowns and that’s really exciting. You’re getting to know each other, and there’s a lot of fun in that. I’ve been fortunate that the folks I’ve been working with are all such cool people, and they have a good vision of what they want. We just all collaborate really well together. And we’ve ended up being friends, too, which is one of the best parts of doing this.

How did you meet?

With Peter, the way we met is, we ended up playing shows together. We played some shows with Clare Burson years ago as a trio, and we got to know each other and started making records together. With Mindy, a friend of mine brought her over to my house. My friend was like, "Hey, you have to hear her sing." This was before she had put out her first record. Our friend was trying to introduce us as music people, and we sat there and jammed for an hour or two. It was incredible. She played all of her songs that would end up on her first record. I was just blown away. We became friends and started playing together, then she made her first record and invited me to play on it. We worked together for years after that. When it was time to make a second record, she asked me to co-produce it with her. So it all stemmed from playing shows and working on tours.

We were talking about the emphasis on the voice, but it also sounds like you work with a lot of storytellers. Does that inform your approach? I’m thinking in particular of something like Mindy’s Long Island Shores, which has a very cinematic sound.

I don’t know exactly what my approach will be, but I am thinking about it. When I listen back to a song, I’m listening to the lyrics and the voice and I’m trying not to get caught up in all the little details. I’m just trying to listen to the song. If the song has made it through, then I know we’re on to something. I feel like that’s something I’m getting better at as the years go by — not getting caught up in the details. If the song is good and the performance is good, then you’re golden.

Photo credit: CJ Hicks