Our guest this week on the Working Songwriter hails from Canada and has spent over four decades writing hit songs. Eddie Schwartz got his start as a solo artist, but has found great success writing for and with other artists. His song “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” was recorded by Pat Benatar and became a certified platinum crossover hit. He went on to pen songs for Donna Summer, the Doobie Brothers, the Pointer Sisters, and many others.
As a former president of the Songwriters Association of Canada and the International Council of Music Creators, Schwartz has been a tireless advocate for songwriters. He’s received multiple BMI, SOCAN, and JUNO Awards. In 2012, he was awarded the Order of Canada, one of the country’s highest civilian honors.
I got a chance to catch up with Mr. Schwartz a few months ago to hear about his musical journey so far.
We are live at sea aboard Cayamo 2026 with Abraham Alexander and Kashus Culpepper! The pair had not met prior, but we found a couple of very cool parallels between them, so we decided to interview them together. Plus, we knew it would be more fun to have them both up on stage in front of an audience. Abraham, based in Ft. Worth, Texas, and originally from Greece, has had an impressive rise in profile thanks to opportunities from friends like Leon Bridges, Gary Clark, Jr., and Adrian Quesada (Black Pumas). Quesada actually worked with Abe on the song “Like a Bird,” which was nominated for an Oscar for its inclusion in the deeply moving 2023 film Sing Sing. Navy veteran Kashus Culpepper, born and raised in Alexander City, Alabama, grew up singing in church and learned to play guitar while deployed in Spain. His deployment actually occurred during the pandemic in 2020; left with nothing to do and nowhere to go, he spent his time learning guitar, drinking plenty of sangria, and playing for his fellow sailors (who would also be enjoying said sangria).
Abe and Kash have a few things in common that we discuss: their emotive and boisterous singing voices, learning guitar as adults, intense histories with sports, and, of course, being very handsome. We introduce our conversation with the two musicians as “Handsome Club,” (a shout out to Lizzie No’s OnlyFans handle, @handsomelizzie) and ask them to speak about their relationship with beauty. After ensuring them that we were for real, they spoke of beauty found in the process of turning pain into something positive, and how confidence in yourself is everything. We have some poignant moments and some major laughs that are enhanced by an awesome crowd. Thanks to everyone on board Cayamo for making the first meeting of Handsome Club so successful!
“I don’t know when I became an activist,” MORGXN admits. “I’m just a human being who sings from the heart, but my heart is very broken by the world that we are currently living in.”
The singer-songwriter lived in Los Angeles for 10 years before moving back home to Nashville in 2022. “The minute I came back to Nashville, I ran into a guy once. He was like, ‘I only see you at the Capitol singing,’” he recalls. “When I moved back, they were trying to ban drag queens. They were trying to ban women’s access to health care.”
Most recently, he took to the Tennessee State Capitol to protest bills against same-sex marriage. “This is how rights get tested: one state, one bill, one ‘exception,’ and suddenly the floor moves under all of us,” he wrote on Instagram.
“I don’t even think about it as activism. I think about it as humanity. We are more alike as human beings than the media, the news, and politicians would want you to believe,” he explains. “It breaks my heart. If you have listened to this album, there are songs about love and the human experience. The album is for anybody bold enough to live as who they are in the middle of the heartland.
“That is what I hope people get from this album. I hope they feel less alone in their activism… I wouldn’t even use the word activism. I hope they feel less alone in their humanity, period.”
On March 6, MORGXN released a deluxe edition of his album, HEARTLAND, and while it pulls from country music, he wouldn’t exactly label it as such. “I don’t care what genre you tell me it is. I care that I’m speaking something that is true to me, and that’s how I make music,” he says. “I don’t make music outside in.
“I make music inside out. I find what’s inside, and I try to bring it outside,” he continues. “And the heartland is a place that is normally not reserved for people like me and you. And yet, living in the heartland, I see that everyone belongs in the heartland. The heartland is a space for everybody, and I want to reclaim the heartland for everybody.”
Good Country hopped on a Zoom call with MORGXN a week before the album’s release and chatted about collaborations with Tenille Townes and Maggie Rose, the meaning of community, the political divide in country, and the hardest lessons he’s learned since coming out as gay at 19 years old.
What are some of your favorite lyrics on the album?
MORGXN: “GOD CODED” is maybe the most important song I’ve ever written, whether or not most people hear the song – it’s not a radio song. But it is probably the most important song I’ve ever ushered into being. I have no problem with god or religion. I have a huge problem when people use god and religion as a weapon of their hate.
“WILLOW” I wrote for my friend’s daughter who has cerebral palsy, so that she knows that she is a bright light. Already that song has inspired other people, which really means that she has inspired other people. It’s hard for me to choose… “MIGRATION” is about losing my dog. I don’t have a favorite lyric – it’s like choosing a child. [Laughs]
Okay, here’s my funniest favorite line, “EVERGREENS.” The first line: “Tell me your sign/ And I’ll tell you mine/ And I’ll tell you if we’ll be okay.” I think that’s funny, because if I’m dating somebody, I will be like, “What is your sign?” And I’m going to decide right away if we’re even going to be compatible, which is maybe absolutely chaotic, but I love it.
With the deluxe edition of HEARTLAND you have several collaborators, including Tenille Townes, Ruby Amanfu, and Maggie Rose. How did you choose who you wanted, and what did they bring to the table?
Collaboration is like water to me. You know, I have many liquids here on my table. I am a gay man, so I have tons of liquid everywhere around – iced coffee is always a yes. Collaboration is also like breathing to me. When I think about making music, “the bible” to me is Willie Nelson and “On the Road Again.” The life I love is making music with my friends, and I can’t wait to get on the road again. That is how I think about music.
When I moved to Nashville, there were voices that I saw popping up that were saying really important things, like [Tenille Townes’] “Jersey on the Wall.” They were saying messages that really resonated with me inside of a space that is still not reserved for people like me.
I came here in 2022, which was 11 years after this manager told me I would never make it in music as an openly gay person. In Nashville, there was a thing bubbling up, but it was like you were reserved for this sideshow experience. You can be gay, but only during June, only when there’s a tent for you to stand under. That’s not how I believe in love or life or humanity. I reached out to several people wanting to create. Truth be told, I have people in my DMs who are massive artists, who love what I’m doing, but who can’t align with who I am because it will hurt their fan base. That’s insane. That’s 2026 for you.
But artists like Tenille Townes, Maggie Rose, Ruby Amanfu, Katie Pruitt – who’s obviously a queer beacon – and Langhorne Slim, they were people who were brave enough to collaborate outside of what is the norm for them. I’m really honored that they’re helping me create this version of the heartland where everyone gets to live.
With Tenille, “HEAVEN KNOWS” was the first song we ever wrote together. It was actually the day we met. The song has this sort of inner child: Why do we even keep trying in a world that feels so hard? Why do you love when your heart has been broken so many times? Why do you keep making music when it feels like the music industry is as crazy as ever? And why do you keep being a good person in a world that is hell-bent on trying to make you feel like you are an abomination? I try because I care. I love so deeply, you know.
Having grown up in Nashville, what did community mean to you then, before you came out at 19?
The one thing I’ll say about being queer in America – maybe anywhere in the world – is you’re forced to create community, and sometimes family, when that is not a given for you. I was very lucky that my family was… more confused and scared than they were not accepting. But my husband’s journey with his community – he grew up evangelical and his community kicked him out. He was going to be a pastor, going to seminary, and once he came out, he was kicked out of the church. I didn’t have that experience … but family to me widened the moment I came out. The idea that family was not just the people you were born into, but it is the people and friends and lovers who you collect along the way that were missing for me as a kid. Growing up here, I had a hard time fitting in, because everything I did stood out.
I played the Bluebird [Cafe] last night with Molly Tuttle, Maggie Rose, Liz Longley, and Ketch [Secor] from Old Crow Medicine Show. I’m sitting there singing “MY REVIVAL” – and I’ll cry thinking about this, but it’s like I’m sitting there singing [that song]. My husband is over here and the whole room is singing along with me. I have painted nails, singing my song at the Bluebird with legends. I’m the co-chair of the diversity committee for the Recording Academy in the Nashville chapter. I don’t know if I’ve “made it,” because I don’t think making it is even like the goal here. I want a career and a life, not a moment in time. That’s “making it” to me. For the closeted gay boy who was scared to ever reveal who he truly is, that’s my revival. There’s retribution. There’s deep healing, and there’s tons of gratitude, as well.
The divide in country music right now between people who are willing to sacrifice a fan base and those who aren’t is always widening. It’s cool to see who has come forward to make their voices heard.
Country music is three chords and the truth. That’s still the bible, but it has lost its way. There is a real ricochet happening where people are afraid to be truthful, because truth can sear and truth can be very quiet but very powerful. Nashville is at a breaking point. It’s a small town. We are growing by leaps and bounds. There’s a real deciding line between: do we make this a city for everybody or do we make this a city for the select few? That’s the same for country music, folk, Americana, and gospel.
“HEARTLAND,” the song, definitely pulls on gospel, folk, Americana, and pop, for sure, but it also pulls on country because it’s a story. I thought I’d see my name in lights. I thought that my life would be this flashy thing. It’s not. I fell in love with a man, and we have a farm, and we’re building a life together. That’s love to me. It’s a story. It’s my story. It’s real. So, it’s country; it’s folk; it’s Americana; it’s gospel. Now, will any of those genres accept me? I have no idea.
But the people on my album have accepted me for who I am and love me for who I am. And that, I think, is what the heartland is all about. You know, love thy neighbor. What happened to that?
You turn 39 this year, which happens to be 20 years since you came out. Was there any significance in releasing HEARTLAND (Deluxe Version) this year?
It’s funny. Titles of an album are like mystery buckets. I actually have a title for my next album and I’m so excited about it. Prince once said that he’s like two albums ahead of whatever’s commercially released. And I love that for him. I’m one album ahead of what is commercially released. Album titles visit me like a fever dream. Even HEARTLAND – the song, I gotta call out Josh Dorr, the co-writer on that song, who had a number one with Blake Shelton this year with “Texas.” He’s a legitimate country songwriter. Not even legitimate country songwriters would take a session with somebody like me and it takes guts to do that.
I haven’t thought about how it’s 20 years since I came out, but it makes a lot of sense. I have a song called “home.” When people were like, “Where is home?” I would be like, “Well, anywhere but Nashville, Tennessee, because that place would never accept a person like me.” Now, to be making a life here, building a farm, hosting Pride on our farm, there is something beautiful in that. It may have taken 20 years, but I’m home. It’s beautiful. I hadn’t really thought about time like that.
When we wrote “HEARTLAND,” I wrote it on the piano that I grew up on. There’s always ghosts in the bones of old instruments, but it’s safe where my heart lands. It’s the heartland, but it’s also where my heart gets to land safely. That’s the kind of love and belonging I wish for everybody. I’m not somebody who believes that you have to be in a relationship to be happy, or that you have to be married to be happy. That’s bullshit. That’s heteronormative, capitalist nonsense. You can find belonging amongst community, friends, and lovers. Does your heart have a place to hang its hat? That’s home.
What have been the hardest lessons you’ve learned over two decades?
The thing that comes up in my head is: it’s not over ‘til the fat lady sings. I’ve been a fat lady so… [Laughs] It will fall apart, and that’s okay. The true story is what happens when you pick yourself back up and keep going.
I’m far less interested in talking to somebody who’s never moved across the country once. I can’t really relate to you. If you’ve never sold all your belongings and moved somewhere at least twice, we might not have a lot of similar things to relate to. It doesn’t have to be grand moves. My husband has lived in a bunch of places in Nashville, has not left Nashville, but he’s lived a lot of life. You have to have lost everything once, probably twice, and hopefully that’s it. But it’s really about how you pick yourself back up at the bottom, and keep trying again.
Whether you think it’s good or not, it won’t last, and that’s okay. There’s beauty and grace in that. I have a friend, Kristen Griffith[-VanderYacht], who’s a [floral designer] – I think he’s now in Detroit – and he’s gone through a lot. He was on the Drew Barrymore Show, and the guest host was asking, “How do you keep flowers alive for longer?” Kristen grabbed his hand and he was like, “Here’s the thing, lean in close, I want you to hear this: they’re not meant to last. They’re meant to be beautiful for the moment that they’re there, and you’re meant to appreciate them in all their glory, and then you’re meant to let it go.”
That is really hard. That is maybe [informing] some of the themes about my next album, actually. It’s loving and letting go. Life is not linear. It’s not meant to be. Cherish all of the beauty, because nothing lasts forever. And there’s a ton of freedom in that sentence.
Our guest this week on the Working Songwriter resides in Los Angeles, but spent many of his formative years in St. Louis, Missouri. Ricky Montgomery first built an audience on Vine in his early twenties before releasing his self-titled debut album in 2016. That bedroom pop album was a cult favorite until 2020, when several of its songs exploded on TikTok, leading to a deal with Warner Records.
Montgomery’s singles, “Line Without a Hook” and “Mr. Loverman,” are RIAA-certified platinum and, all told, his catalog has collected more than a billion streams worldwide. That grassroots support has led to headlining tours with stops at the Wiltern in Los Angeles, Irving Plaza in New York City, and the Pageant in St. Louis, to name just a few.
This interview was recorded nearly 18 months ago and has been delayed due to a snafu on my end, but I’m so glad we get to hear it now. I think you’ll very much enjoy hearing about Ricky’s musical journey through his own words.
“Lightning & Lipstick” is exactly what it sounds like – strength with sparkle, power with personality. This is a Mixtape full of songs that remind us we can be fierce and feminine, gritty and glamorous all at the same time. These are the anthems that shaped me – the ones that say you don’t have to shrink, you don’t have to apologize, and you definitely don’t have to choose between softness and strength. That duality is who I am, and it’s woven into everything I’m creating right now, from the fire and fight in “Warrior” to the swagger of “Beauty Queen” to the passion of “Hearts On Fire.”
As I gear up for shows at Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, The Cutting Room in NYC, Vanish Hall in Maryland, CMA Fest, and beyond, this Mixtape feels like the heartbeat behind it all – loud, fearless, and unapologetically alive. – Laura Bryna
“Rise” – Laura Bryna
I believe my song “Rise” resonates so deeply with women because it speaks to that quiet strength so many of us carry. It’s about pushing through the moments that try to break you – the doubts, the setbacks, the heartbreak – and choosing to stand up anyway. I’ve heard from so many women who see their own story in that song and to me that’s everything. It’s not about being fearless, it’s about being brave enough to rise even when you’re scared.
“Queen Of The Night” – Whitney Houston
This one resonates so powerfully because it’s pure confidence. There’s no shrinking, no second guessing – just a woman standing fully in her power and daring the world to keep up. That kind of boldness is contagious. For so many female listeners, it’s not just a song, it’s a reminder that you’re allowed to take up space, own your presence, and rule your own night without asking for permission.
“Miss Me More” – Kelsea Ballerini
I love “Miss Me More” because it flips the breakup narrative in such a smart way. It’s not about missing him, it’s about rediscovering yourself. That’s such a powerful shift. It reminds women that sometimes the biggest glow-up isn’t finding someone new, it’s remembering who you were before you started shrinking. It’s confident, catchy, and such a great reminder that losing someone can actually mean getting yourself back.
“Stronger” – Kelly Clarkson
“Stronger” is one of those songs that just hits you in the chest in the best way. It takes heartbreak and turns it into fuel. I love how it doesn’t pretend pain doesn’t exist, it just refuses to let it win. For women especially, it’s such a powerful reminder that the thing that knocked you down might actually be the thing that builds you back braver, louder, and more yourself.
“Jawbreaker” – Laura Bryna
My song “Jawbreaker” is that no-filter energy I think every woman deserves to tap into. It’s about being bold, a little dangerous, and not watering yourself down to make anyone else comfortable. I wanted it to feel playful but powerful – like, yes, she’s sweet… but she’s also not someone you mess with. For female listeners, it’s a reminder that you can be soft and strong at the same time, and that confidence looks really good on you.
“Survivor” – Destiny’s Child
This track hits because it turns every setback into a statement. It’s not about pretending things didn’t hurt, it’s about saying, “You didn’t break me.” That kind of energy is so powerful for women. It reminds us that resilience isn’t quiet; sometimes it’s loud, proud, and sung at the top of your lungs. It’s the ultimate glow-up anthem: strength with rhythm and attitude.
“I Will Survive” – Gloria Gaynor
“I Will Survive” is the blueprint. It’s the original standing-ovation moment for every woman who’s ever been underestimated. What I love about it is that it doesn’t just move on from heartbreak, it rises above it with dignity and fire. It’s strength wrapped in melody. For female listeners, it’s a reminder that resilience is timeless, and sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is, I’m still here and I’m stronger than ever.
“Before He Cheats” – Carrie Underwood
“Before He Cheats” is just fun. It taps into that dramatic, slightly unhinged energy we’ve all joked about at some point, and Carrie delivers it with such sass and power that you can’t help but sing along. It’s not about actually keying a car (please don’t), it’s about reclaiming your power in a moment where you felt disrespected. It’s fiery, bold, and the ultimate girls’ night, windows-down anthem.
“Strong Enough” – Cher
This song is such a timeless empowerment anthem because it’s strength wrapped in attitude. I love how the production carries that steady, almost defiant pulse; the groove feels grounded and unshakeable, like the confidence the lyrics are claiming. Cher’s vocal delivery is cool and controlled, which somehow makes the message even more powerful. For female listeners, it’s that reminder that independence isn’t loud for the sake of it – it’s steady, self-assured, and completely unbothered.
“Pink Pony Club” – Chappell Roan
“Pink Pony Club” feels like freedom in glitter form. It’s about choosing the life that lights you up, even if it doesn’t look like what everyone expected for you. I think that’s why it resonates so deeply with female and LGBTQ+ listeners – it celebrates self-expression without apology. The production is big, theatrical, and dramatic in the best way, like stepping into your own spotlight. It’s not just a song, it’s a permission slip to be fully, fabulously yourself
“Over Being Under You” – Laura Bryna
This song came from a really honest place for me. I wrote it during a season where I realized I was bending over backwards trying to keep the peace, trying to make everything work and slowly losing myself in the process. The song is about that turning point, when you decide you’re not going to shrink or overextend just to be chosen. For female listeners, I think it resonates because so many of us have been taught to over-give. This song is the reminder that you don’t have to over-bring anything to be enough – you already are.
“Unstoppable” – Sia
“Unstoppable” is that anthem you blast when you need to borrow a little courage. What I love about it is how the production builds — those pounding drums and cinematic layers make it feel larger than life, like you’re stepping into your own movie moment. Sia’s vocal has that mix of vulnerability and steel, which makes the message hit even harder. For women especially, it’s a reminder that even if you don’t always feel unstoppable, you can choose to show up like you are.
“My Strongest Suit” – Sherie Rene Scott
This one is a little out of left field but it’s such a clever, empowering anthem because it flips the idea of vanity into self-confidence. On the surface it’s playful and glamorous, but underneath it’s about owning your presence and knowing your worth. The production is theatrical and bold – bright brass, dramatic builds, and that larger-than-life Broadway energy – which makes it feel like you’re stepping into your power with every beat. For us women, it’s a reminder that confidence isn’t shallow… it’s strength dressed up and shining.
“Born This Way” – Lady Gaga
“Born This Way” is one of those songs that feels bigger than music, it feels like a movement. Gaga wrote it as a direct celebration of identity and self-acceptance, inspired by conversations around equality and the idea that we’re all designed exactly as we’re meant to be. I love how the production is bold, anthemic, and loud – it doesn’t tiptoe around the message that you were born powerful
“Time To Say Goodbye” – Laura Bryna
This is one of the most personal songs I’ve written because it’s about that breaking point. The moment you realize love shouldn’t feel like walking on glass. I wrote it thinking about anyone who feels stuck in something that’s slowly dimming their light. The production builds intentionally. It starts restrained and vulnerable, almost fragile, then opens up into this powerful, emotional lift that mirrors the courage it takes to finally choose yourself. For listeners in toxic relationships, it’s not just a goodbye to someone else – it’s a hello to your own strength.
“Espresso” – Sabrina Carpenter
“Espresso” just has that effortless, confident sparkle to it. It’s playful but self-assured, like she knows exactly the effect she has and isn’t apologizing for it. It’s flirty without being desperate, powerful without being preachy. The production is slick and minimal in the best way – that tight groove, the punchy bass, the airy vocal stacks – it feels cool, modern, and addictive. It’s the kind of song you put on when you want to walk a little taller and remember you’re the energy in the room.
“Beautiful” – Christina Aguilera
One of those rare songs that meets people exactly where they are. The lyrics are so direct and vulnerable – there’s no metaphor to hide behind, it just says what so many people are afraid to admit: I don’t feel enough sometimes. That honesty is universal. Production-wise it’s intentionally stripped back at first, soft piano, space around the vocal, which make Christina’s performance feel intimate and raw. Then it swells just enough to feel like a release. It’s not flashy, it’s sincere. And that sincerity is why it resonates across every background, identity, and experience.
ButchWalker has spent decades at the summit of the music industry, producing multi-platinum records for icons like Pink, Katy Perry, and Green Day while fronting his own high-energy solo tours. Yet, despite reaching that peak, he found himself “climbing the hill” so intently that he had forgotten to look at the view, leading to burnout and a desire to step back. In this episode of the Other 22 Hours, we explore the courage required to dismantle an ego-driven path in favor of a soul-driven one, and finding unbridled joy in the simple act of being a “sponge” for new inspiration.
The ’90s might be cool again, but there was more to the era than Friends and Seinfeld. In the shadows of the dot-com boom and bust, NAFTA and off-shoring, life wasn’t as slow or quirky as those shows made it seem. American women had more independence than ever before – but they were still waging battles for gender equity from kitchen tables to C-suites to recording studios.
Sarah McLachlan was just reaching the peak of her powers in 1997, enjoying international success but frustrated by radio programmers’ limited ideas of how their audience received women. McLachlan and other women were constantly pitted against each other, told that no one would listen to two songs by women in a row – and certainly no one would want to see women tour together. So, McLachlan set out to prove the world wrong, reshaping popular music in the process.
Lilith Fair: Building a Mystery is a new documentary produced by ABC News and released in September 2025. Available to stream now on Hulu, the project captures the festival’s revolutionary three years with pride and exuberance, encapsulating Lilith Fair’s confident strength and joy. Archival footage of shows and interviews with some of the hundreds of thousands of fans who flocked to the event are resolute testaments to the festival’s enduring impact – if only people remembered it.
The film, directed by Ally Pankiw, premiered at the 2025 Toronto International Film Festival in early September. Dan Levy (of Schitt’s Creek fame) co-produced the film under his Not a Real Production company. The documentary follows the story of Lilith Fair from its genesis, examining the festival’s place in history, the misogyny women artists faced at the time, and the trails it blazed for women artists today. Featuring McLachlan, Sheryl Crow, Erykah Badu, Paula Cole, and more in interviews, the film explores how McLachlan’s forward-thinking vision animated Lilith Fair into something much more than a package tour.
Lilith Fair’s Place in History
“The cultural memory of Lilith is clearly very skewed,” observes co-producer Cassidy Hartmann, who spoke to BGS. “There are a number of reasons for that. Women’s achievements in history have often been overshadowed or skewed in some way and there’s often been backlash against that.”
The documentary opens with a series of TikTok videos featuring half a dozen Gen Z-ers breathlessly recounting the massive package tour devoted solely to women artists of all genres. In 1997, 1998, and 1999, Lilith Fair main stage featured McLachlan, Badu, Cole, Crow, Tracy Chapman, The Indigo Girls, Jewel, Missy Elliot, Bonnie Raitt, and many more – while the “village stages” featured then little known up-and-comers like Christina Aguilera, Dido, and Nelly Furtado.
McLachlan and her team led the massive undertaking with a steady hand and, as the documentary shows, a willingness to learn from critiques. By the festival’s third year in 1999, the event boasted artists of many genres, cultures, and ages – though the sound leaned predominantly folk.
“I don’t think that any genre classified us,” Paula Cole demurred when speaking to BGS.
“I think that everyone was so unique and had their own music, and we fall into different classifications. I personally hate genre classification, because it’s limiting. Great music is usually a blend, anyway.”
Cole, who was nominated for three GRAMMYs for her 1996 album This Fire, would know about great music. Yet, a half hour into Lilith Fair: Building a Mystery, you’d be hard-pressed to miss her twang and carefully crafted lyrics forming the backbone of, well, Good Country.
But Cole has a point. While Lilith is often remembered in pop culture as a collection of (white) folk-inspired dryads, the festival featured an array of talent across all genres of music. As the documentary illustrates, McLachlan received feedback that the tour’s first year was too racially homogeneous, so she sought to build a tour that encompassed the totality of women working in music: Badu, Missy Elliott, and Queen Latifah all played the festival. (The documentary details a hilarious anecdote about Missy Elliott’s ride to the show after her tour bus broke down – we won’t spoil it here, but it’s the kind of thing that simply doesn’t happen in the age of smartphones.)
According to Badu, her time with Lilith Fair inspired her to create the Sugar Water Festival with herself, Queen Latifah, and Jill Scott in 2005 and 2006. Like Lilith, that event brought together community orgs that addressed women’s (and in this case, Black women’s) concerns.
Rippling Energy
Cole was a part of Lilith’s story from the very beginning, joining McLachlan on short, experimental runs to see if an all-woman lineup could indeed draw a crowd.
“It was uncommon for women to open for women. Every night I would tell the audience, I want to thank Sarah for having me here because this is uncommon,” Cole says. “This doesn’t happen. And audiences would erupt into applause when I would tell them that. It felt like a zeitgeist. You could feel the energy ripple.”
But Lilith Fair did not happen in a vacuum. It stands as one chapter in a long-ignored legacy of self-made movements among women in music. In the ’60s and ’70s, there was, in fact, an entire movement-turned-genre known as “women’s music.” The folk-inspired sounds were championed by queer record label Olivia Records and Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival was one of the scene’s organizing forces from 1976 to 2015. MichFest, as it was known, was an annual convergence of feminist women across the sexual and gender spectrum. But, the festival’s refusal to admit trans women in 1991 contributed to its decline. (The silver lining here is the subsequent organizing of trans rights groups and cis allies, but that’s a story for another time.)
While the Indigo Girls and Chapman performed at both Lilith Fair and MichFest, the headlining artists on Lilith’s lineup already had major label backing and widespread commercial success by 1997. Yet, history has collapsed and often conflated the two.
“A lot of people think Ani DiFranco was at Lilith,” executive producer Hartmann observes. “Clearly there is some overlap there. I think all of these women had a righteous anger and were super blunt about it.”
Indeed, while DiFranco has earned her reputation as that decade’s feminist iconoclast, Cole’s This Fire would certainly belong right next to DiFranco’s records on the shelf (likely much to the dismay of ’90s rock critics.)
Lilith Fair received quite a bit of criticism from women critics – certainly, McLachlan’s gentle forcefulness may have been more palatable to record labels than, say, riot grrl, but with time sanding down the edges of the record bins, it’s easy to see how they all form part of a whole.
“Women often don’t get to hear and understand the stories of generations of women before them, because culture has a tendency not to platform those stories. That lineage is often broken,” explains Hartmann. “Another thing that Lilith did really well was it had multi-generational artists. Emmylou Harris and Bonnie Raitt were there, bestowing their own wisdom and experience to these younger women. I think that’s also a really powerful element to keep in mind and hopefully replicate in the future.”
Building a Documentary
According to Hartmann, the documentary was inspired by Jessica Hopper’s Vanity Fair article “Building a Mystery: An Oral History of Lilith Fair.” Co-produced by Dan Levy and directed by Ally Pankiw, the film draws upon footage from MTV News, band members, and festival staff – plus a trove of 600 unreleased tapes gathered by Lilith on Top, a 2001 documentary that was only released in Canada.
There were plenty of reasons to resurface the story.
“Many of these people are at a point in their lives and careers [now] where I think they can reflect on that moment and have some perspective on it as well,” Hartmann says. “Unfortunately, I think the themes of the Lilith story are as relevant as ever, in terms of what’s happening in our society and culture at the moment with women’s rights being rolled back. It’s a moment to be reminded of what’s possible.”
Cole echoes that sentiment.
“Politically, things are so frightening as we’re witnessing the formation of autocracy without checks and balances and a lot of backlash [to liberalism],” she says. “I think Lilith is needed now more than ever. Anytime that someone’s talking about it is important. The conversation must go on, must go on, and we must keep telling people about it. It just gives hope, it gives breath, it opens doors, it lifts the ceiling.”
Indeed, if the film’s archival live footage conveys just a micron of the incredible energy in those venues, then Lilith was a revolution indeed.
Passing the Baton
McLachlan has repeatedly stated that, while the world needs something like Lilith Fair again, she is not the one to lead it – and that it would need to be very different than Lilith Fair was.
“I think Lilith was its own unique entity,” Cole reflects. “There are artists that, you know, sell a lot more tickets than Sarah that could drive this and that could do such a thing. I’m calling on the younger women of today to create their own version of Lilith Fair.”
But one message should still resonate: that quiet defiance Lilith Fair proudly bore – proving conventional wisdom wrong.
“When someone tells you something’s not possible, If you believe in it and you commit yourself to it, look what can happen,” Hartmann observes. “If it comes from a true organic place, the sky’s the limit.”
“Culture change, feminism, fresh thinking, intersectional thinking, it takes time,” says Cole. “It’s like a slow, long, quiet revolution.”
Images courtesy of ABC News Studios; Paula Cole photo by Merri Cyr.
When Joshua Ray Walker received a cancer diagnosis in early 2024, he thought he only had months to live. This led him to contemplate not only his life and what he’s done with it, but his possessions and what would happen to them if he were to perish.
His latest album, Stuff, is the culmination of that pondering. Across 10 songs, the Dallas-based singer breathes life into a variety of inanimate objects ranging from a brick to the scent of perfume on sheets, bowling balls striving for perfect games, and even Barbie dolls eyeing everlasting love. Despite its deeply personal nature, the record leans into universal themes of grief and mourning since we’re all ultimately destined to suffer the same fate.
“We’ve all had someone in our lives die,” he says. “That’s why love and death are go-to topics for most songwriters – they’re two of our most universal concepts.”
With his future uncertain, Walker threw the rule book out for recording Stuff. Teaming up with longtime producer John Pedigo inside his home studio, the duo laid down everything on their own in a week – even instruments like the synth and melodica that Walker had never tinkered with before. The result is the “Sexy After Dark” singer’s most personal, dark, experimental, and hopeful album all rolled into one.
“Growing up everyone wanted to make records in their bedroom, but I never knew anyone with nice enough equipment to actually do it,” says Walker, who’s now stacked up a year’s worth of clean CT scans. “In junior high and high school I remember recording vocals in my friend’s laundry room or sneaking into a friend’s house whose mom had a piano and recording parts on it on the fly. There’s just always been something really fun about trying to make something sound the way we wanted from a sound people wouldn’t expect.”
Ahead of Stuff’s release, Walker spoke with Good Country from inside his van stacked to the gills with merch ahead of a run supporting Molly Tuttle. Our conversation covered his health struggles, the healing nature of writing these songs, experimenting in the studio, and more.
How’d the idea for this album come about?
Joshua Ray Walker: Before I even got sick I had thought about writing a song or album from the perspective of inanimate objects. Once I fell ill, I made a plan with my best friend and producer, John Pedigo, to write a song every week so that at the end of my year [at] home doing treatment I could have 50 new songs. When you’re planning to write that much, it’s easier if you pick a theme.
At the time, I was also starting to do estate planning for myself due to the nature of my advanced cancer. Even though I had multiple family members die where I was the main person who had to deal with their belongings after they passed, it was an eye-opening experience. So somewhere between the inanimate object song idea and thinking about where all my personal belongings would go if I died, I came up with the idea to write a whole album of songs from the perspective of stuff that was left over at an estate sale.
Subconsciously I was feeling like a burden to people. Anytime you’re sick, it’s a lot of effort that your loved ones have to put in, and even though they reassure you that you’re not a burden, it doesn’t stop you from thinking that way. [On this album] I was trying to think about that while projecting onto these items how leftover stuff can be a burden even after its owner is dead and gone.
Were any of the songs on Stuff more difficult to bring to life than others?
There were around 30 different ideas for the actual items, so the ones that got made were the ones that came the quickest since we were in a time crunch to make the record. If it was difficult it just didn’t end up getting written.
That being said, there was definitely some unexpected stuff. Like on “Brick” – I wasn’t necessarily expecting a brick to make it on the record, but it actually ended up being one of my favorites. I’ve always been very nostalgic for physical items as well, which only made it easier to connect with these objects. It made for a fun challenge writing from these perspectives and trying to get people to relate to it or have some emotional response. I’m known for being able to write from a character’s perspective and have been fascinated by how fictional characters can conjure up real emotions. It made me wonder if I could take things a step further and get people to feel something for these fictional objects.
Well, I’d say mission accomplished!
In addition to the concept and lyrical depth of these songs I also adore the sonic direction as well, which pulls from your previous material at times while navigating into pop, electronic, and other territory elsewhere. What motivated you to take that approach?
Because of where I was at with my health when we were conceptualizing the record, I really just wanted to explore some sounds that I’ve always loved and been influenced by, but didn’t make sense for the projects I worked on previously. Since I wasn’t sure how many more records I would be able to make I wanted to have as few limitations on what I was making as possible. If you put yourself in a box it forces you to be pretty creative. The rules were that John and I had to play all the instruments and we could only use ones we already had inside his home studio. It forced us to stretch a bit from our normal production style and was a lot of fun to make. We did it all in a week, locking ourselves in the studio for as many as 14 hours a day to get it all done.
Were there any instruments you played that you hadn’t tinkered with much before, if at all?
I played a lot of the keys, which I’d never really done before.I’d never played synths or melodica before, either. There were also just a lot of weird ambient sounds on the record. At one point we even had a sponge tucked under the bridge of a guitar as I was playing the strings with drumsticks, giving it a dulcimer-esque sound. We also utilized paper clips on ukulele strings to make them rattle, the pull string from a lamp on a cymbal so it would sizzle and random cups and pillows as percussion on the song “Stuff” – we wanted to turn non-instruments into instruments.
One of the songs I love most on Stuff is “Barbie,” a song about playing with dollhouses that contains some of the best one-liners on the whole record like, “…Do you want to play house with me and practice making babies?” Tell me about how it came to be?
Like you said, it’s a song about kids playing house put onto the characters of Barbie and G.I. Joe. It’s Barbie looking out her window and seeing G.I. Joe get played with in the sandbox and pining for this love connection. For one reason or another, G.I. Joe makes it into the house one day and they have the chance to run off in her Jeep and canoodle. When you’re a kid you don’t even really know what that means, but if you watch kids play with dolls at some point they’re going to make them kiss. They know people fall in love, but they don’t understand how or why – they’re just acting out what they see their parents doing. Such a big part of childhood is trying to figure out what all that means, so I thought it’d be funny to have Barbie trying to work that out for herself in this song.
Sounds like it has the potential to lead to a lot of conversations about the birds and the bees between parents and their kids. [Laughs]
Another song I want to ask you about is “Bowling Ball,” which features by far your lowest vocal register on the entire album. Tell me about your decision with that along with what made you want to bring a bowling ball of all things to life?
I don’t bowl much anymore, but used to be in a league when I was a kid. There’s a local bowling alley in my neighborhood called Jupiter Lanes that I’ve been very nostalgic for since I had a birthday party there and won a Johnny Bravo bowling ball when I was eight. [John Pedigo] is also a good bowler who grew up with a mom who worked at a bowling alley. We both know more about bowling than the average person, which allowed us to write a song from the ball’s perspective pretty well.
It’s got the best beginning, middle, and end to any song on the record, because it’s one short story about someone getting ready to finally bowl a perfect game. Only a frame away they throw too hard and pick up a chip or crack in the ball return, leading to a “put me in coach” or Rudy moment. They’re contemplating whether to walk over to the pro shop to get a new ball to finish out their first perfect game or continue on with ole faithful that got you there.
In terms of the vocal delivery, that’s pitch-shifted down with a Whammy pedal – I simply don’t have that kind of range on my own. That’s also something you’re just not allowed to do on a typical country record, which is another rule I guess we broke.
I gotta know more about this Johnny Bravo bowling ball!
I got it from that bowling league I mentioned, which was sponsored by Cartoon Network. At the end of the league, if you placed in the top three you were able to pick out a custom ball with whatever Cartoon Network character you wanted on it. The color was called galaxy, which is this purple kind of nebula-like color with Johnny Bravo etched into the side. It was awesome!
I remember choosing between him and Dexter, but I wound up choosing Johnny because of my dad, who would jokingly do an impression of Johnny Bravo’s voice that I loved. I also just related to that character and had a blonde pompadour haircut of my own.
You mentioned the song being about the journey to bowling a perfect game. Have you ever tossed one?
Definitely not. [Laughs] The best I’ve ever done is in the 220 range. I peaked at bowling when I was around nine years old. If I were to go bowling right now I would not do well at all.
With how much you’ve stepped outside your comfort zone on Tropicana and Stuff, what direction do you see taking next, musically?
I have a lot of projects, but only thought I’d have a couple years to make them, so I focused on jotting all of them down since I tend to see records as entire concepts, not just collections of songs. I have an autobiographical project I’m wrapping up now, but I also have a western trilogy on my mind along with a bluegrass record and even something a bit heavier.
Hopefully I’ll get to keep making records and all of these projects will come to light. Even though my music sounds different record to record they’re all still country in my mind. I’m always trying to make country music, whether it sounds like that or not.
What has Stuff and everything you’ve experienced the last couple of years taught you about yourself?
I hold onto things a lot less now than I used to. But in general, I just want to spend more time doing things I like with people that I like. This health scare has taught me to make music however I feel like making it and to do it as much as I can while I still can.
Hitting play on singer-songwriter Madi Diaz’s latest album, Fatal Optimist, one wouldn’t automatically identify her close-to-the-mic, chunky strums and anxious, confident vocals as “metal.” But keep listening and trust.
Fatal Optimist is heavy on numerous elements of metal – fantasy, humor, darkness, anger. For much of its runtime, it feels like the inside of a clenched fist, slowly but surely letting go. With songs that are, this time, centered around her solo voice and acoustic guitar, Diaz turns her liminal songwriting further inward than ever. This is saying a lot for an artist who’s no stranger to personal narrative. While her prior album, 2023’s Weird Faith, brushed up against hopeful optimism, this follow-up proves that earned optimism is perhaps the better version.
After all, Diaz chose to open the disc with the wordplay stunner “Hope Less,” a stiff shot of reality that reorients us to a heart at least as full of darkness as light. If the LP’s vibe is “clenched fist,” its songs play like spokes in a wheel rolling us toward the jubilant title track – a progression Diaz admitted in our recent BGS interview was equal parts intentional and inevitable.
This album starts out very quiet. It feels very close and very intimate, then it slowly opens up. Was that the intentional vibe and arc of the album for you?
Madi Diaz: It definitely ended up being a much more lean-in [kind of] record. The further I got down the road, the more it felt very obvious that was just what the song content needed. It’s kind of heavy stuff, I think. It was a lot of mining of the self, which I did a lot privately. So I felt like I wanted the songs to match that [vibe], in the end.
I was listening to it this morning, thinking about your song “Everything Almost” from the last record. Like, how optimistic and full of hope that song is and then this album starts off with a line like “hope less.” Obviously, when you’re writing about personal events in your own life, it’s easy to see connection in the rearview. But I’m wondering if there’s something more to what feels, to me, like a connection between that song and this project.
That’s funny. I was just talking about this. I do feel like a lot of the songs in the last record … are about following that gut intuition. That gut feeling. So a lot of the songs on Weird Faith are absolutely going like, “I think this is it. I think this is gonna work. I think we’re really gonna get there.”
There was a really funny moment I had recently. I was practicing for this tour and putting [together] the set list. I wrote this song called “This Is How a Woman Leaves” for my friend Maren Morris, her last record that she put out [Dreamsicle, 2025]. I am planning on releasing a version … at some point down the road a little bit. But I was practicing “Everything Almost” and then I wanted to go into “This Is How” because in “Everything Almost,” I’m packing the boxes and moving in. In “This Is How” I’m fucking moving out.
Like, “How it started, how it’s going.”
It’s the “fuck around and find out” journey right there, in a nutshell.
Nice. I was reading that you went to an island when you were writing the album. Can I ask what island you went to? And did you know that’s what you were going to do when you started your trip to that island, planning, like, “I’m gonna get it together.” Or was it just kind of like how life happens?
There were, actually, many islands. Physically, mentally. … I started off coming off of this European tour. We finished this tour in Italy, so I went to an island off the coast of Italy and was there by myself. I did a lot of journaling and walking – so much walking. I’m a big processor by walking and talking, so I would kind of record myself as I was processing things out loud. I really wanted to be in a space where I felt safe to do that. It felt like the safest thing was to just take myself away from everybody, so as to not barrage people with [my feelings].
I started off in Ischia and then I ended up, really wonderfully, being asked to be a part of this [songwriters’] colony in Nantucket. So I did that. I ended up going to Long Island with my dad, to Noyack, and just [did] a lot of journaling there.
Also, [I was] feeling very much like I couldn’t tell whether I was the island or the island was the island. It was just this very unescapable lonerism. Solo mission, you know. Like in a spacesuit, kind of feeling. I just couldn’t shake it, so I just took it with me everywhere I went.
Can you talk a little bit about the process of songwriting? Your songs are so personal, almost uncomfortably so. I wonder if that’s the result of writing in an actual journal on paper and if that’s a different kind of creative experience for you than voice memos on your phone, which so many people do now instead of journaling.
I definitely rely on journaling still. A lot. Sometimes, if I’m in a pinch, I’ll text myself an idea. Or, I have [the] Notes app open. A lot of Fatal Optimist was pulled from about a year’s worth of pretty serious journaling and going back over certain words that kind of stuck out. I love journaling. I think it’s like a life scrapbook, you know? There’s a funny thing that happens. Sometimes I’ll open a journal and I don’t even know what year it’s from, because some of the issues [are] so consistent. … But it’s kind of like a sweet reminder, of survival, I guess.
Totally. Do you remember writing the couplet at the beginning of “Lone Wolf”? “Lamb’s gotta lamb, god planned it/ Wolf’s gotta wolf, goddamn it.” It’s such a perfect little song, but it doesn’t feel trope-y. It feels, really, like a strike of inspiration.
Well, I remember it was dead of winter. I was sitting on my couch with Stephen Wilson Jr. and I was going through my journal. I was talking about what was on my heart that felt so difficult, about reaching this person who chose to be a loner. I mean, he literally said to me, “I’m a loner. I’m a lone wolf kind of guy.” And I [thought,] “You just said that. That’s ridiculous.” Like, have you not seen the Pee-wee Herman movie where he’s like, “I’m a loner, Dottie. A rebel!”
But it was this thing, you know, that I almost didn’t take seriously, because it was such a crazy thing to say. And I should have [believed him], obviously, because here we are. I was talking to Stephen about it and we were laughing about this wolf character and the lines just fell out. In the aftermath of it, it’s funny.
You know, when you push somebody that wants to be alone away, they tend to want to be less alone. They feel very confronted. I mean, I’ve been there. All of a sudden, you’re confronted with your loneliness and wishing that you actually had that connection. So, when I pushed him away initially, he would just kind of show up and stick around. I really wanted him to leave me alone. Damn it. “Goddamn it” definitely came from that.
The lyric on that song is so simple. You don’t go into a lot of poetry, you don’t go into a lot of storytelling. The wolf keeps showing back up, looking good, trying to get back in. Can you talk a little bit about trusting yourself to keep it so simple? Does that come from editing or did it just feel like that’s what the song was?
I try to say it in a way like we were just talking about it sitting in the bar. I’m trying to not be misunderstood. I’m trying not to feel misunderstood even to myself. So I think I try to keep it clear and cutting, and [the way] it comes out. If it’s possible to get even closer to it, I’ll edit, but I don’t really edit a lot.
Oh wow. So it just comes out that way. That’s impressive.
Sometimes it does just come out that way. Not all the time, but sometimes it mostly does.
The other line on this album that I really wanted to unpack is in “Heavy Metal.” The line is, “In some religions, repetition is spiritual.” I wanted to unpack it a little bit, because music is often a place where people will repeat words or phrases, for a whole bunch of reasons.
But that line made me really listen to the words and phrases you were repeating elsewhere on this album: “Whose move is it to move on.” “I always love you.” “God knows how long.” “Ambivalence.” Can you tell me a little bit about how you decide what to repeat? Is it a conscious choice or just part of the process?
I think when I’m repeating something, it’s because it feels different on every lap. I’ll repeat something when the feeling is lingering in a way that– maybe if I say it enough, some magic spell will break and I’ll be released by this thing. Sometimes I feel like the repetition of it comes from a bit of a desperate [place] like, “Just get it out of me.” Maybe if I do this ten times, I’ll never have to do this ever again, which is why the [line,] “In some religions, repetition is spiritual.” …
You’re always going to carry it with you. You can learn how to hold this. I can learn how to learn from it differently every time, you know.
I guess that’s why repeating “ambivalence” is really interesting to me, because it seems like repeating that particular word is a contradiction.
I guess that’s true. Ambivalence means “caught in the middle.” Feeling in so many different directions. For me, ambivalence feels like a very desperate feeling. It almost feels like it should come with a bit of an alarm bell. Like, “Oh God. I’m feeling all of the feelings at the same time and I don’t know which one to choose.”
That makes sense. The other thing in the song “Heavy Metal” – I wanted to ask about your mom. I feel like you have mentioned your parents in other songs on other albums. But this made me wonder about your relationship with your parents. Somehow, I don’t think people talk about their parents much in music. I can’t figure out why. Do you have any thoughts on that?
I think it’s scary. It’s so scary. When I know a song is about me, I definitely tend to listen with a microscope. No one is trying to hurt anyone, but we’re all really trying our best to process love, pain, joy. I don’t know. Our effect on each other. What’s mine, what’s yours. So yeah, it’s not an easy thing to write about. …
I feel like I’ve felt the most loved and I’ve felt the most hurt by both of my parents. I think that that’s pretty normal. Or maybe not? Maybe it’s not normal.
I think it’s pretty universal.
It always kind of ends up that way. The people closest to you hurt you the most, which is why you really have to trust the people closest to you. So that when they do hurt you, you can [heal].
I think “Heavy Metal” felt right to start you talking about my mom, because she’s kind of a badass and kind of a hardass. In all the best ways and all of the hardest ways. There are some things about being tough and resilient that I wouldn’t trade for the world. It helps me survive in so many corners of my life. But also, I’ve had to really undo some of the damage that being tough does. You start to weaponize that toughness against yourself and others in a way that I didn’t even know I was doing for a long time.
Then [again,] you just don’t want to piss them off because you also want to be able to go home for Thanksgiving and stuff.
Right. That’s what makes it such a metal move, you know, to comment on your mother in this way. I’m assuming she’s still alive. Has she heard the song? Does she have any feedback for you?
I haven’t heard [feedback] yet. I really don’t know. But I’m so grateful to my mom for raising me the way that she did and giving me and my brother the lives that she gave us. I feel so lucky that she’s my mom. It’s hard to have a song like this. … But that’s just fucking art, man. It’s so hard, at the end of the day. You know, we can make it as personal as it is or as just-about-me as it is.
The last thing I want to ask about is the song “Fatal Optimist,” which is sort of a sonic departure from the rest of the album even though it’s obviously very on-topic. As a listener, it feels like we just went on this long, arduous, emotional journey, and now we’re suddenly above the tree line and the drums are here and everybody’s in the room. Not to get too nerdy about sequencing and stuff, but was there any world in which that song could have been anywhere else on the album?
It would have been a nice break, wouldn’t it have been? I just couldn’t do that. I couldn’t interrupt the intensity of this record.
I do know that optimism is a soothing balm. When it hits you, it just hits you. There’s no explanation for it. And I knew that, for me, I want a reason to listen to a record again. … This whole record feels like one step after the other. It’s like my attempt at a gift or something [for] going through it. Hopefully, these [songs] can all be like little lights on the path that lead the way to this finish line of fatal optimism. Then we can run it all back again.
Last week, GRAMMY winner and renowned Canadian singer-songwriter Sarah McLachlan performed on Jimmy Kimmel Live!, the first musical guest on the show after its controversial short-lived suspension and return to the air. McLachlan performed “Better Broken,” the title track from her brand new album – her first in 11 years – which released September 19. In her signature style, simple unadorned piano and vocals in duet, McLachlan reminds the Kimmel audience exactly why she’s so beloved all around the world. Her voice is rich and plaintive, leaning into the sadness and reckoning in the lyric. It’s immediately clear a decade-plus is too long to wait for new music from McLachlan.
Not only was she appearing on late night television to promote Better Broken, but also Lilith Fair: Building A Mystery – The Untold Story, a new documentary directed by Ally Pankiw that celebrates, explores, and canonizes the enormous impact the Lilith Fair all-women festivals had on folk, indie, and popular music in the late ’90s. (Watch the official trailer below.) An excellent and moving documentary, Building A Mystery is available to stream now via Hulu, a film and television streaming platform that, like Jimmy Kimmel Live!, is owned by ABC / Disney. At the documentary’s Los Angeles premiere, McLachlan and several of her artist colleagues refused to perform music from the film as previously planned, standing in solidarity with Kimmel as he was mid-suspension for his comedic remarks on the murder of Charlie Kirk.
On Kimmel’s historic first night back on the air, just a few days later, it was a perfect full circle moment as McLachlan performed as if honoring a raincheck for her refusing to play at the documentary premiere in protest. With Margo Price as the final musical guest before Kimmel’s suspension and McLachlan the first after its return, it was a mighty pair of activism-minded artist bookends to help reinforce the importance of freedom of speech and expression for creatives who work in any/all media and formats. From Lilith Fair to JimmyKimmel Live!, these rights are vital for everyone in this country and around the world – and for the art that they create.
Photo Credit: Randy Holmes for ABC
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