Tag: Pop

Swedish Singer-Songwriter Sarah Klang Brings ‘Beautiful Woman’ Stateside

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

I meet Swedish performer and singer-songwriter Sarah Klang in the glorious maximalist backstage area at Nashville’s the Blue Room before her first-ever Music City show in mid-January. She’s cozy on the couch, a tin of pouched nicotine by her side, a hippo skull on the coffee table in front of us, and her brand new album, Beautiful Woman (out February 7) on our minds. The first thing I notice – besides her beautiful tattoos and the shimmering gemstone stud on one of her teeth – is her gaudy and gorgeous red-white-and-blue acrylic nails. Complete with rhinestones and glitter.

To Klang, the country aesthetic is the “coolest,” and in her part of the world she’s seen as something of a country queen. Her work across her discography varies greatly in genres and sonics, including folk, indie, pop, Americana, and so much more. But Beautiful Woman, which was produced by Eric D. Johnson (Fruit Bats, Bonny Light Horseman) doesn’t feel like Klang is just putting on rootsiness because it’s “cool” or “in” or trending. These are sonic spaces she knows well and strides through with ease.

Beautiful Woman boasts bold and brash moments that feel like Adele covering The SteelDrivers alongside tender story songs that could have almost been pulled from the catalogs of country queens this side of the Atlantic like Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton. Danceable tracks, finger-picked ballads, and honest lyrics speak to impactful issues of motherhood, agency, feminism, embodiment – and so much more – but still feel light and joyful, leaning forward in the beat and finding hope in the melancholic.

Catching her debut Nashville performance at the Blue Room felt a bit momentous, though Klang seemed remarkably chill and relaxed, on and off stage. She and collaborator Theo Stocks (who also helps record and produce her projects) performed in duet, with lush reverbs and simple backing percussion tracks to a rapt audience. An audience who knew they were lucky to have Klang on this “side of the pond.”

Before the show, we dove into Beautiful Woman, speaking about the death of genre, choosing your own joy, always wanting more banjos, and so much more.

Do you see what you do as roots music? How do you place your own music within roots or folk or Americana? Your music has so many things – it’s got moments of grandeur, it’s got moments of subtlety, it’s got indie, it’s got pop, it’s got a little bit of everything. But I wonder how you identify it.

Sarah Klang: That’s sort of a really hard question. I always feel it’s a little bit like I don’t really know the genres. So, mostly when I put out my albums, afterwards people will review them and they will tell me what genre it is and I will be like, “Yeah, yeah! Mhmm, that’s what it is.” Because I don’t really think about it.

I mean, I listen to so much– random indie, folk, Americana, all those things that you mentioned. And I’m introduced to iconic classical things mainly through Theo [Stocks], my guitarist that I make albums with, and also Eric [D. Johnson]. Like a very normal thing in the studio would be that they would say, “Oh, this is very Kris Kristofferson-ish.” And I would be like, “Could you play it for me?” And then they play the song, and I’m like, “Okay!”

I don’t really have a special aim for where I’m going, because I don’t have any roots in anything. Really. I know what I like. I know the feeling [of what] I’m after. I guess the sentimental [and the] bittersweet, those always end up in some sort of Americana thing.

If it’s not the genre, or style, or the aesthetic that you’re going for – or that you’re following – it sounds to me like you’re following the songs themselves and the feeling you’re trying to evoke.

Yes. I mean, it’s just like an imprinted thing in my brain, “What sounds do I like?” It has always been like that, really. I don’t really play any instruments anymore. I used to play the guitar and the piano, but now I don’t. We’ve been here [in Nashville] for seven days and had sessions every day and Theo knows very well how to describe [the sounds]. He’s kind of like my interpreter. How do you say it? My interpreter? When it comes to melodies and shorts [takes], because someone at the session could play me a bit and I’ll be like “Hmmm?” And Theo will say, “It’s the last short. She doesn’t want that last short. Let’s go with that instead.” He understands.

I think I just have quite a small range of melodies that I like. I mean, my songs are kind of similar, how they are made. The aesthetic of country music has always felt like that’s the only way to go. That’s the only aesthetic that really looks cool, you know? When I started to dress up in country-ish things in Sweden, people were like, “Okay, well she makes country music.” That’s how far they would go. So in Sweden I’m often categorized and called the country queen of Sweden. I get a little bit nervous about that, because I know so little about country music and you know that everybody has such strong opinions about it.


What’s funny to me is even with how strong of opinions people have about country and what it is, it’s always in the eye of the beholder.

I’ve obviously been listening a lot – maybe not classic country, whatever that is – but I mean, I’ve been listening to Kurt Vile, Kevin Morby, Sharon Van Etten, you know, those very big country rock people for a long time. I think that is my biggest influence, really. Then we take that and Theo and Eric on this album, who are just very nerdy in music, they put their spin on it.

But for me, it’s not important to me. Where this album lands, in which genre – I couldn’t care less. But, I think that’s why I started having a western aesthetic. ‘Cause it’s the coolest part, I think. I was like, “Okay, I’m gonna start a solo project. Where do I want to be? What’s cool?”

That, probably. [Laughs]

You’re talking about collaborating with Theo and Eric and it sounds like having that trust and having that rapport is really important to getting the music where you wanted to get it. When I listen through and I hear the banjo moments and the really rootsy and Americana moments, trying to connect the dots, how much of that came from Eric producing?

I asked for that specifically! I mean, if it were up to me, I would say, “More banjo! Put banjo on everything!” ‘Cause that makes everything a jam.

But the boys are more tasteful when it comes to that. When [Eric] played, I think I asked him to try and play on like every song – and not because I wanted to be a “diddly doo” out there, but just because that’s my vibe. I mean, when someone plays on a banjo, there is nothing more tearjerking.

Of course, “Last Forever” jumped out at me for that quality. That was the track from Beautiful Woman that we premiered on BGS. I think it’s my favorite song on the record. But there are so many moments that feel like you’re a genre shapeshifter. And I think that that’s the time we’re in too, genre’s dead. Even while we get more and more and more genre names every year, it feels like genre’s dead.

For me, it’s probably a good thing that it is. That I’m not locked in a genre. I don’t think I’m ever gonna have to be like, “Okay guys, I’m breaking free from this [genre.]” I don’t have to do like a Miley Cyrus thing – “look at my new clothes!” – because I wear everything and that’s nice because I think I’m gonna keep on producing albums as long as I can, and I would like to not be stuck if I were to start feeling this [genre] is boring.

I mean, I’m a huge house fan. I love dance music. When I was a teenager, I mostly listened to weird party drinking music from the UK. I always wanted to make a club album. So, hopefully I could just like sneak over there. When the time’s right. [Laughs]

Another song that jumped out at me as feeling really rootsy is “Childhood.” Not only because of the aesthetic of the song, but the storytelling of it and the nostalgia in it. Something about it feels kind of theatrical to me, too, and I think country is so theatrical.

Yeah, it’s very dramatic. I think when I’m making a song, I feel like “more is more” and if you are going in a certain direction, just go all-in and don’t cringe. Because then it’s just going to end up in some halfway world.

For me, with “Childhood” I was like, “Oh, is this song too nice? Is it too sweet?” Like, no! It’s great. It’s a great song. You just have to go all the way with the feelings. Because then if you don’t, I don’t think you’re going to reach the point you wanted to reach.

Many of my melodies, when I write, I ask myself or Theo or Eric, “Is this too pop-y? Does it sound too much like yada yada yada? Is this a rip off?” And they’re, “Let’s go for it!” You just go straight into that vibe and feeling.

Our music goes all the way into the feeling without hesitating if it might be too much. If you are driving your car, you want to listen to Tom Petty. And he wasn’t like, “Oh, I’m gonna write a song that is making people feel free… but it can’t be too much!” [Laughs]

“I want a driving song, but for 35 miles an hour.”

No! [Laughs] Pedal to the metal.

The overarching concepts that the album is talking about, I think what some people, especially in the U.S., would think these are deep topics – feminism, womanhood, gender and gender roles. But I found it interesting that even with these subjects, the music still feels joyful, it feels like it’s looking forward, it feels like it leans forward – in the beat, literally and figuratively. But, it doesn’t feel like cotton candy, and it doesn’t feel like you’re minimizing anything. Can you talk a little bit about that?

I mean, that makes me so happy that you felt that way. I’ve done interviews about this album in Sweden, with women, and they’re like, “Sarah, you do know that you are a beautiful woman now, right? And I’m like, that’s not the fucking point! As if I were singing it, meaning that that was the point. Maybe I thought when I was younger that that was a goal, but it’s not now.

I just want to write whatever comes to mind, and since English is not my first language, I have to write it very straight and simple. Like, “This is what happened, period.” I don’t really have the energy or time to hide the message. That is not my thing. Some people are great with that, leaving clues. I just write words – it’s also like, I’m busy I need to write the lyrics now! [Laughs]

I always ask my friend when I’ve done an album, “What is the catchphrase for this album? What would you say now when you heard it?” So, for VIRGO she was like, “This is your sex album.” And Mercedes, “This is your pregnancy album, obviously.” But this one, she was like, “I think this is a celebration of girlhood, period.” And I was like, “Yep, that’s perfect.” I’ll just use that. Because I obviously just collect songs. Over a period of time, and then I feel, well now it’s done. And I don’t write an album after a theme.

One of the things I love about the album is that it ends on “I Have Everything.” I like that that’s the way that you’re putting a punctuation mark on the album. Right now, I’m really worn out by attention economies, consumption, consumerism, and like, “buying our happiness.” I was really struck by that song. I love having it at the end; it feels like you are not just talking to us, your listeners, but you’re also talking to yourself. So I wanted to ask you about the song and about the placement of it in the sequence.

I think I wrote it to myself. Like, “Listen! Stop being a complete asshole all the time!” It’s annoying, but I’ve learned – and it’s nice, but it’s hard to talk about it without it sounding so cringey and boring – but the only thing that makes you happy is to take walks outside, be with your family, eat right, and take care of yourself. And that is boring, but it’s the truth. I always felt that people who said, “I wake up every morning and tell myself five things that I’m grateful for–” and I’m like, “Okay… that’s weird.” [Laughs]

If you do that, you will probably feel better. If you are nice to people around you, you will probably feel better. If you’re nice to yourself. I mean, grown up people have been telling me [this] all my life. During my 20s, through periods where I was just unhinged and didn’t feel right. They were like, “Well, maybe if you took a little better care of yourself and didn’t party so much and spent time with your family, you would feel better.” And I was like, “Listen, it’s more than that.”

Yeah, like I am so deep. [Laughs] My traumas are so deep! You have no idea! I’m a fuck up. And then, turns out you’re not. That’s a nice thing about getting a little bit older, you just know, “I’m gonna be fine.” And it’s also my responsibility to make that happen.

Every time somebody had ever told me that “joy is a choice” and “happiness is a choice,” I didn’t realize at first that what they meant was joy or happiness that you construct for yourself isn’t fake.

No! And it doesn’t undermine your sad parts. Like, that is always going to be there. Don’t worry. I think so many of us are just melancholic people. I mean, people have had worse experiences than I’ve had and are so chill and so fine.

I think happiness is definitely something you can work on and give to yourself, and it’s not like a miracle.

Photo Credit: Fredrika Eriksson

For Indie-Folk Sensation Mon Rovîa, ‘Atonement’ is Just the Beginning

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

When one really digs below the surface of Mon Rovîa, there’s this intricate kaleidoscope of self, this winding path where the road to the here and now for the singer-songwriter has truly been one of restless resilience, dogged passion, and spiritual curiosity.

The rising artist has already lived this whirlwind existence of trials and tribulations, but also one of triumph and transcendence. Born in the West African country of Liberia, Mon Rovîa (taking his stage name from Liberia’s capital city) was adopted by Christian missionaries and taken from his homeland in the midst of an extremely violent and daunting civil war,

From there, Mon Rovîa bounced around the United States in a highly religious household, one where he wasn’t exposed to modern culture or the endless depths of music, either new or old. But, nonetheless, he fostered many existential questions about his unfolding life, with one main query in the forefront: Who am I?

The intricate nature of Mon Rovîa became heavy and tumultuous within his heart and soul, these deep layers of internal conflict. Being an immigrant in America. Being a Black man raised in a white family. Being adopted with no sense of his biological parents. And being filled with survivor’s guilt about leaving Liberia.

Yet, it was writing in his journals that launched the long process of healing and understanding within Mon Rovîa. Those words, thoughts and emotions soon took shape as songs, all while he began to learn to play the ukulele, guitar and other instruments. Add into that, his continued exploration of recorded music itself.

What has resulted is this unique tone, a vibrant crossroads of indie-folk, Americana, and shoegaze pop stylings, with many viewing Mon Rovîa as a talented rising voice in the Afro-Appalachian folk scene.

Fast-forward to 2025, where Mon Rovîa has become a very popular star on TikTok, yet his soothing sounds and melodies echo far across the massive social media platform. Several studio EPs have been released to wide acclaim, with the latest, Act 4: Atonement, putting a period on this chapter of his art – his eyes now aimed at the unknown horizon of his intent, head held high and optimistic.

When you’re looking out the window these days – in terms of your career, where the music’s going, and also where you’re going – what are you seeing?

Mon Rovîa: From even last year, I think things have accelerated a lot faster than I would’ve hoped in music, to be honest. It still seems really fresh though. It’s a lot of taking in the new fans and a lot of the joy that’s come with the acceptance of the music on a broader scale. At times, I wonder if I was really prepared for all of it, because a lot of these songs and a lot of the roadmap was written from a place of deep sadness and things that I was going through at the time. It’s crazy when you get to the place of living the thing you hoped for and realize that, “Oh man, there’s longevity that needs to be tied along with it now, since it’s becoming something that people are really desiring.” But, I’m very thankful. I try to be truly in tune with my energy and spirit. The world is super heavy and I tend to feel it a lot.

As things get crazier for you, expectations may shift and things change. How do you keep that piece of you that’s honest and real intact in your music?

A lot of it is, for me at least, having perspective. I know that’s easier said than done. But, being able to understand that you’re doing what you love and to be honest with whatever it is you’re presenting. Write what you know, write what you feel.

Your popularity soared through TikTok and now you’re playing more live shows. Has that been an interesting transition in being face to face with your fans that normally see you from behind a screen?

Absolutely. It’s totally different. I’m a pretty quiet, shy person. So now, transitioning to moving from the screen and having that barrier, that river that can divide, all the little things that come into play when you’re face to face? It was a little bit scary at first, especially with the first couple tours we did. With being in front of a crowd, the most important piece I think that I’ve learned now is the stories that I’m telling are the tales of my journey with each song. As I play music, that’s helped me become a lot more confident onstage, because I know what I’m speaking about and I know what the songs are about. It’s not this kind of idleness and just good music to listen to. I try to take the listener a little bit deeper, and that’s fun for me to do that. It creates a lot more fun. I’m just not someone that likes to be in front of a lot of people or be the center of attention, to be honest. I prefer writing things in silence, being in my room and contemplating.

@mon_rovia_boy To those alchemizing your traumas… this is “to watch the world spin without you” 🫂 #folkmusic #mentalhealth #derealization ♬ To Watch The World Spin Without You – Mon Rovîa

With all of this going on, you’re also on this journey of finding yourself and figuring out who you are, where you came from, and where you’re going.

I think every adopted kid eventually hits the point where they want to know so many different things about their life, their story, what their background was. And that’s what was happening to me around the time of [my 2021 album] Dark Continent. And that’s even before we were taking this route of Afro-Appalachia. But, it led me to dive deeper into music and I just happened to be [living in Chattanooga, Tennessee]. Being in this area helped me to dive deeper into where all this music kind of came from and the history [behind folk, bluegrass, and Americana]. So here I am, just a Liberian refugee, but somehow in the perfect hands of history learning from where I was, not necessarily anything else. It is a very full circle moment.

That’s got to be a lot to wrestle with as you get older and you become your own person. I mean, there’s a lot of layers there.

So many layers. But don’t forget, there’s that layer of being the Black kid in a white missionary Christian family. And then the experience of growing up Black in that private school kind of world, having no tie to the African American experience. Being exiled as well from that group, because I didn’t have the same upbringing. I was always looked at as being a white Black person, a Black person that spoke white, because I spoke pretty properly. Kids that have my experience are very lonely, you know? There’s not really a place you fit, because you don’t fit with the white kids because you’re Black in their eyes, clearly. And then the African Americans don’t accept you because you don’t know their world either.

It was a very tough upbringing. I was very quiet and I watched a lot. I learned how to be what I am in social settings, how to relate to [others] and keep things to myself a lot, just try to fit in as best as possible. It was tough. It was lonely. Music didn’t really come to me as Mon Rovîa until 2018, and that’s when I really started to take music a little bit more seriously. [Growing up], it was more of an outlet. It was just a fun thing I did with my brothers. I didn’t think of a career or me being good at it, because nobody said I was good at music or writing music. My friends did like my writing. They thought I was very clever, but I didn’t consider it for myself at that time. I just did it.

With this period of your life and career, it seems Act 4: Atonement seems like the end of the beginning of this chapter of your music and your journey.

Yeah. That’s what Atonement is. It’s the end of the beginning. Everyone is a hero in this story of life. So, everyone has their hero’s journey, whatever that is to them. Some don’t make it to becoming the hero, which is a tragic thing. And some do, but everyone has that journey in their life. For me, this atonement ending is the start of what I am now. I think it gets me to this place where I’ve gone through a lot of difficult things. Hopefully now, in my next chapters of Mon Rovîa, whatever that is, I can atone to the people – people that are hurting and going through different things. The point is, I can hopefully now be some kind of light to these people, where I can tell them things I’ve learned along the way. And hopefully it helps them through their things and through their time. That’s the important piece of what atonement is – the knowledge then turns hopefully to wisdom.

Have you been back to Liberia at all?

The last time I was there I was 10 or so. But, I’m supposed to go back next year to see my sister and brother. They still live there.

Have you tracked down your parents?

My mother passed away during the war and my father also did. I keep in contact with my sister, and that’s only recently. Growing up, these people were not in my thoughts. I tried to forget a lot of these things and just assimilate to American culture. It wasn’t until I was older that that guilt set in where I realized, “Man, I hadn’t even thought about anybody else in my country or the gift that it is to be chosen,” because it could have been my sister or brother that was chosen to come to America. I was just picked out of the group of them like, “Hey, he should go with this missionary family.” So, a lot of those things didn’t even come to my mind until I was older, to really see how much time I wasted absolutely doing nothing for anyone else but myself in this place. At that time, I was going through a lot of different vices and dealing with a lot of different bad things. I was constantly drinking and deep into my depression and lack of understanding of what my purpose was at all.

Or who you are.

I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t really know my past and history. I had glimpses of it from just some things my adopted parents had told me. But, I hadn’t dove into it until I contacted my sister and heard the real thing, the truth of it all. The goal is to go back [to Liberia] and try to get some colors from my native country and, and just, you know, spend some time with people that I haven’t seen in a long time and learn. The last time I went was really difficult. When I was there, it was in the middle of the second civil war and we ended up staying longer than expected because the child soldiers had taken over the capital city of Monrovia. It was a really scary time and that was the last memory of Liberia during the conflict. That’s a whole other cathartic piece of my journey, to [once again] step foot on that soil. I think once I step foot on that soil, I’ll probably weep. A lot of things have been bottled up and lodged into different areas of my body, [and will be] released onto the continent. But, not until I go there. My story won’t end until I go back. That’s a major piece.

You have such an interesting perspective, because I think a lot of times people in this country take things for granted, where they’ve either never traveled out of this country or they’re not from other countries. I would surmise that you probably see things that are beautiful in this country that a lot of us don’t acknowledge.

Yeah. There’s so much beauty in this country. Through all of the tirades against each other, there is still so much goodness. I mean, being able to walk out your door and be able to get anything you want at a store that’s there and not be–

Afraid to go for that walk.

Not afraid to go, yeah. Not afraid to go on that walk knowing I might not come home today, and there’s many countries like that currently. People don’t even have that freedom to go out their door and just see something and or go walk in the woods.

Or make an album.

Or make an album. It’s crazy to me that we forget so easily the good things when times are tough. And when times are tough, you think that the good won’t come back again. Man’s memory is so short and it’s really the plague.

That’s really what kills us all is that our memory is terrible. In times of famine, you never think good will come again. So, you lose hope. But, everything’s cyclical as well. Good comes back and hard times come again. And then you weathered the bad time before, but you forget that you weathered it, so you suffer. That’s us. That’s humanity.

Photo Credit: Glenn Ross

Righteous Babes All Around: Joy Clark in Conversation with Ani DiFranco

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Joy Clark and Ani DiFranco connected over something unexpected: a Christmas song. Slated to perform at the same benefit show in 2022, the two singer-songwriter-guitarists were grouped to take the stage together and needed a holiday tune, ideally an original one. Clark’s “Gumbo Christmas” made it to DiFranco before the show, and the legendary artist and founder of Righteous Babe Records heard a hit. Once the pair synced up, they felt an instant musical kinship, and it wouldn’t be long before DiFranco signed Clark to her label.

Last October, Clark released her critically acclaimed debut album, Tell It to the Wind. Informed by her experience as a side player and imbued with a deep reverence for her craft as a solo artist, the record was one of 2024’s finest releases, announcing Clark as an artist with a keen sense of who she is and what she wants to create. The album sonically pulls from Clark’s roots as a Louisiana native and thematically from her experiences as a Black and queer woman making her way through the world. Highlights include “Lesson,” a bluesy, groovy reminder to keep your head up in the face of struggle, and the record’s vulnerable closing title track.

Before the holiday break, BGS caught up with DiFranco and Clark over Zoom to chat about Clark’s signing to Righteous Babe, her album Tell It to the Wind, and what she and DiFranco admire most in one another – as they prepare to hit the road together on tour next month.

Let’s start by having you share how you met and what drew you to one another.

Joy Clark: Well, it started with a Christmas song. It was 2022, and we were both on a Christmas show. There was a big lineup, with Big Freedia, John Goodman, and a lot of other people. So, they tried to group the performers together and I got grouped with Ani and Dayna Kurtz, and I happen to have a Christmas song called “Gumbo Christmas.” My agent contacted me and said, “Hey, can you make a recording of your song and send it to Ani?” He sent it to Ani and I heard back that it was a hit. She liked the song. So, they grouped us together and we performed it.

Ani DiFranco: It’s a total hit, this song. I mean, I don’t understand why people are not holding hands all over America singing this song right now.

JC: I wrote about my grandmother making gumbo every Christmas, it got to Ani, and I think that’s how I got on the radar.

AD: From my perspective, I’m asked to do a benefit and it’s just tons of New Orleans usual suspects involved, like she said. Then, I found out a little later everybody had to play Christmas songs for this thing. I was thinking I’d just show up and play a song or two of my own. I’m like, “Oh, man, Christmas. What the hell?” So, I’m combing through Christmas songs, and I’m like, “I don’t know.” And then I thought, “Oh, I’ll just write one. I’ll write a Christmas song.” I pounded my head against that wall for a few days and discovered that it’s harder than you think to write a Christmas song that anybody ever wants to hear.

Finally, somebody rescued me by saying, “Well, you know, Joy’s got a Christmas song. Maybe you could sing with Joy Clark.” And in comes this little video of Joy singing. I was like, “Oh, my God, that’s the best. That’s the best.” Now I know how hard it is to write a Christmas song, so my respect for this woman is already right up here for making this sweet, soulful Christmas song. And then [Joy] came and recorded it.

You don’t hear many artists getting signed off a Christmas song or even having that be their entry point to meeting their eventual label. That’s a great story.

AD: It was also just hooking up, you know, in person, doing a little rehearsal at Joy’s house, and then going and doing the gig. We got to hang out. It’s not just like I heard the song somewhere. I got to see firsthand that Joy can play and sing her ass off and was an artist in the world doing her thing. I always say that we’re not really a label with tons of resources that can create something out of nothing, or market somebody into existence or something. But what we can do is support working artists and try to get behind them and help facilitate what they’re already doing.

JC: I think that’s the cool part, because I’ve been a working musician for a long time. And not just being Joy Clark, just writing my songs and performing – I played in a lot of different bands, playing guitar, singing harmony. … I’ve really just been working, been doing the thing. I played as a side person for a long time, which is how you learn. That’s how you learn to just be a musician. I feel like that’s been a gift for me. So, now to be able to just to step out up front and write and put out music, I feel pretty lucky. But it also feels really right.

It sounds like you came into the picture with a fully realized sense of who you are and the kind of music you make and what you want to do. And it sounds like the label is a great home for artists like that, who already have strong senses of self and don’t necessarily need, like you mentioned, Ani, a lot of development and marketing.

AD: Certainly at Righteous Babe, you’re not going to have some pencil pusher telling you what you should do with your songs. The thing about an artist-run label is the artist has to follow their heart. That much is clear at Righteous Babe.

Joy, I’m going back to what you were saying a moment ago about being a side player and the opportunities that provides – or sometimes forces – for you to adapt and learn and be able to do things on the fly. How do you feel that those experiences have shaped your solo work?

JC: There’s pressure in it, but then there’s not really pressure, too, because it’s not about me. I think it allows me to just be and not think about, “What do I look like?” or “How do I feel about this certain thing?” It’s giving somebody else space to do their thing. And that gave me a lot of confidence, actually. It gave me a lot of freedom. … I think that helped me step into my work, because when you do need people, when you do need support, you get both sides of it. I think it’s made me more compassionate. I hope I’m not an ass. I don’t think I’m an asshole. [Laughs] I understand what it is to support somebody’s work.

AD: I can really relate, too. I remember the first time I worked on somebody else’s record that wasn’t my shit, and I was like, “Whoa. This is all the fun of making music without the crushing emotional baggage of exposing your guts and putting yourself up for judgment.” So, I completely hear what you’re saying about how it’s a different experience to make music when you’re not on the hot seat, when it’s not you being judged. I love working on other people’s music for exactly that reason. It’s so freeing emotionally. … And now we’re about to go out to make some live music together. That will be fun times.

I wanted to ask about that. As you get ready to hit the road together, is there anything you can share about your plans, or what you’re looking forward to, in particular, about getting to share a bill with one another?

AD: Another thing that is always in the back of my mind with Righteous Babe, if we’re considering releasing a record, is whether this is an artist we could have the means to help. Somebody came to us with a very different genre of music recently and it was a super cool record, but I just thought, “I don’t know how to get to the right audience and get this project where it needs to go.” But from the minute I met Joy and saw her play and interact with an audience, I thought to myself, “My audience will love this person.” So, that’s always in the back of my mind, like, if we put out a record on Righteous Babe, could we do shows together? That’s a really easy way for me to assemble a bunch of people and then point, “Look at her. Check this out.” I just know that they’ll eat you up, Joy. And I haven’t told you yet, but I was hoping to ask you if we could play a song or two together.

JC: Of course! Just let me know what you want. I’ve already been listening. You know it.

AD: I’ll text them to you.

JC: One thing I’m looking forward to is being on a bus. My dates have been fly, pick up a car, then drive, you know? And it’s not like I have a right hand. It’s me and my guitar, driving. When I’m driving, I can’t do anything.

AD: And it’s exhausting. Most of your energy is zapped when you get to the gig.

JC: Yeah, it’s like, “Can I just sit in the green room? Can I just recover from that?” I’m looking forward to having that tour experience of being on a bus and chatting it up and maybe even writing. We’ll see if I can actually write on the road.

AD: Yeah, you need a certain amount of space just to do that, like your own dressing room and your own hotel room. It’s so hard when you’re just out there driving around, doing all the things. Funnily enough, Joy and I were just at another benefit the other night, both playing a tribute to Irma Thomas, singing Irma Thomas songs and benefiting the New Orleans Musicians’ Clinic. We were joking and I was like, “You got to be careful because once you get on that bus, it’s so hard to get off.”

JC: I can feel that coming. I’m looking forward, too, because I’ve really only seen Ani perform once, at French Quarter Fest in 2023. Now, I get to check out the show night after night.

Ani, you mentioned a moment ago that feeling of knowing that your audience will love Joy’s music. I see a lot of connection points in what both of you do. There’s a lot of vulnerability there, for one – I think you described it as “exposing your guts” earlier, Ani, and that feels true for both of you, at least from my perspective as a listener. What points of connection do you see in one another’s music?

JC: I think Ani is a badass guitarist. I respect that, because it takes a lot to be able to play with the band and then to just be a person on stage with a guitar. I think I really connect with that fingerstyle picking. I prefer fingerstyle because it gives you a lot of different textures and it gives you different choices. Instead of strum – a strum is great, it’s just when you can pick, there are these other things happening. These little flavors and lines that I connect with, because that’s the type of player I am. I don’t have the picks on my fingers, it’s just my fingers. But I think that’s how I connect [to the instrument].

AD: Ditto for me. Keep those naked fingers, because it sounds so much better. I put on these plastic nails, but that’s just because I get so violent with my guitar and I bloody myself if I don’t have them. But the sound is so, so great with the real finger and the real nail. I’m really more of a rhythm player, and I just sort of play by ear, but you can play solos. You know what key we’re in and what the notes are supposed to go with that – all the things that I don’t actually freaking know. [Laughs]

I’m just super impressed with anybody who can legitimately play guitar like you do. There’s knowing how to play or knowing how to sing or this or that, and then there’s knowing how to stand there alone on stage and hold an audience. And Joy can do that, too.

I’m glad y’all brought up each other’s guitar playing, because there’s clearly so much passion and care there for both of you. And I don’t think we ask musicians about their instruments enough. People ask a lot of questions about songwriting and lyrics but not so much about, say, devising chord progressions. How does incorporating guitar into your songs work for each of you?

JC: It’s always different. When I write, there is no one way that it comes. But there is a feeling. There are colors that appear. Sometimes, there are sounds that come out. But one thing that I can say, for me, is that [writing] happens simultaneously with messing around on a guitar. I often sing as I play. I’m not usually writing. I do write, but the core of it is a feeling. If it’s something sentimental, then sentimental lines appear. Sometimes it happens if I’m driving, then I pick up my phone and I hum, and then when I pick up the guitar, I’m flowing. There’s an improvisation that happens and it’s a little bit mysterious. I don’t really understand it. It’s just mystery. But I love chords and I love to pick out cool shit. Then, I just put words to the thing that I’m picking.

AD: I can basically relate to everything you’re saying. Same for me. It’s different all the time. There’s no, like, set process, of course, and each song happens in a different way. But generally, it’s just being able to hang out with your instrument and just be with your guitar, hang out, and process your feelings with it. I miss that myself in life these days. I’m older and at a different point in my road than Joy. And I, many moments, wish I could put myself back where you are, Joy, just embarking on something and being really focused and having that guitar by your side all the time. Now, my kids are in the way most of the time, you know? [Laughs] … But that’s really what it is, having a relationship with the guitar that deepens and deepens. The understanding between you and this instrument deepens, and the guitar starts finishing your sentences.

JC: You can find some really pretty jewels in something that didn’t really feel good [while] writing it. But I want something to grow on me. Maybe it doesn’t fit so perfectly, but in time, “Oh, yeah, that does make sense.”

AD: I feel like that’s what you want for other people, too. It’s not necessarily to always be making songs that are instantly like, “Oh, Skittles! It’s sweet and fruity.” But, something that, maybe, on repeated listens, it takes its time to get under somebody’s skin. Then it really lives there. … What I’ve learned over many years and many albums and hundreds of songs is that, even after you get back to your disillusionment or you sour on something that’s not new anymore, you just have to have faith that somebody out there in the world is still going to have that first experience that you had with it. Somebody is going to feel that way about it, even if it’s not you anymore.

That feels like a lovely place to wrap. Before we sign off, do you have any parting words for one another?

JC: I’m really freaking grateful. I’ve been doing my work and I feel pretty lucky that people want to hear what I have to say. And I feel really lucky to have an album out on Righteous Babe, on your label, Ani. I feel like it’s right. I just turned 40 a couple months ago, and I think it’s pretty fantastic to feel like I’ve just started.

AD: Well, I would say – in a way that’s not weird, in a way that [reflects] that we’re on the same level – that I’m proud of you. It makes me so happy to see you stepping into yourself and your music and stepping out there in the world. You’ve paid a lot of dues and you completely deserve this moment. I can’t wait to see what’s next.

Photo Credit: Joy Clark by Steve Rapport; Ani DiFranco by Shervin Lainez.

Embrace the Past,
Move Forward

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Music has and continues to be a form of healing for Fancy Hagood. The Arkansas-raised singer who takes his forename from the Drake song – not the Bobbie Gentry and Reba McEntire hit – first began writing songs as a queer junior high student struggling to fit in before dropping out of school at 17 to chase his newfound dreams in Nashville.

Despite growing up listening to everything from contemporary Christian music to The Chicks, Shania Twain, Tim McGraw, Destiny’s Child, and Missy Elliott, it was choir and theatre that brought Hagood’s own creative aspirations to life.

“I really found myself in those classes,” Hagood tells Good Country. “I was dealing with a lot of bullying at the time and writing music became one of the few ways I could truly express myself.”

But upon his arrival to Nashville, Hagood was told that a career as a queer country musician was unlikely. This was followed by a move to Los Angeles, coupled with a transition to pop, that led to him to opening for the likes of Meghan Trainor and Ariana Grande as he juggled a day job at Forever 21. Those opportunities coincided with a decrease in creative control over his own work, something he’s taken back for himself on 2021’s Southern Curiosity and his most recent project, American Spirit, which released October 25.

“I was hell-bent on this album not being a breakup record, but instead one about healing, moving forward, and finding yourself,” Hagood says of American Spirit. “I don’t want to be on the road singing songs about my ex, but I do want to sing about reclaiming your story, bouncing back, and that being the most powerful thing after experiencing something like that.”

Speaking on the phone from his Nashville home, Hagood detailed his ambitious Music City move, experiences with gatekeeping, his work with Apple Music, and more.

What was it like for you moving to Nashville so young? I imagine on one hand it’s quite empowering, but it can also be overwhelming too.

Fancy Hagood: On my song “Fly Away” I sing, “You were scared as hell to take the highway/ You barely knew how to drive…” and that’s the truth. I got my driver’s license when I was 16 and I never drove on the highway until I moved to Nashville, so it was very much a culture shock. I know a lot of people don’t view Nashville as a big city compared to New York or Los Angeles, but when you’re coming from small-town Arkansas it felt like the whole world had opened up for myself. There were parts of it that were really intimidating, but for the most part I had so much enthusiasm that you couldn’t really tell me anything. I had this idea that I was going to be a country superstar and you couldn’t tell me otherwise.

I know things haven’t always been easy for you though. You’ve dealt with some gatekeeping and other hurdles along the way. What’s that been like?

Before I moved to LA, I was getting all this attention in Nashville, selling out shows on my own. A lot was going on for not having any music out in the world yet. I quickly got a publishing deal, but instead of things taking off from there I started getting a bunch of people putting their own opinions on me and putting their own stuff into my music, thus limiting me because of their own fears. That was something I never had going into all of this – fear. It’s a complicated thing when you start mixing art and commerce. The powers that be recognize you have talent, but in figuring out how to make money from it they start thinking of Middle America and who’s going to buy it, leading to a fear game rather than just letting the artist be an artist.

When I moved to LA and got a record deal, that’s where other people’s fears began sinking into my own train of thought and my delusion began slipping away. I was accomplishing all these things, from performing on Dancing With the Stars to hitting the road with Ariana Grande, but on the inside I felt miserable. I realized I’d sacrificed so much of myself and my art to get to a place where other people found it comfortable for me to be successful, but a year and a half into it I just imploded and lost all the deals.

It wasn’t until moving back to Nashville in 2016 that I was able to shake all that off. In 2018 I signed a new publishing deal and began work on my album Southern Curiosity, a slow burn that didn’t release until 2021. It was a really difficult transition having [to go from] a Top 40 hit and everyone treating you like you’re the king of the castle to no hits, no deals, and nobody wants to touch you with a ten-foot pole. It was a humbling experience that taught me that the industry in place was not set up for someone like me to be successful. Because of that, my train of thought stopped being about how do I fit into the industry to thinking about how to create my own, which is exactly what I’ve been doing since Southern Curiosity.

One way you’ve been building that community you speak of is through your role as the host of Trailblazers Radio on Apple Music. What’s that gig meant to you?

I’ve never experienced a company that puts their money where their mouth is quite like Apple. They were supportive of me and my first record before hosting a radio show was even a thought. They first came to me after I guest-hosted on the late Leslie Jordan’s Apple Radio show, which I did three or four times with him. After that, they approached me with the Trailblazers idea and threw me into the deep end. When they offered it to me in 2021 I’d never done radio before and just recently we were picked up for our fourth season. My idea is to feature artists who don’t typically get those opportunities, allowing country music to be for everyone. If you look at our playlist you’ll see all kinds of artists on there, not just what country radio suggests Nashville is.

It’s also been meaningful getting to sit across from actual legends and people who have shattered the glass ceiling in country music. Each artist that’s come through our doors has taught me that not one artist’s journey is the same, which has done a lot for inspiring, motivating, and informing me as an artist.

Are there any particular moments or guests from the show that stand out?

I’d never met Jelly Roll before he came in for his interview and his heart just blew me away. Who he is at his core is so full of joy and his philanthropic side was really inspiring to me. He had just sold out Bridgestone Arena and donated all the money to an organization that helps incarcerated youth. Even when we weren’t recording he was wanting to know more about me, my art, and what I do. He’s just a stand-up person.

A moment ago you mentioned Leslie Jordan, whose loss you touch on (along with your grandmother’s) on the song “Good Grief.” I guess that goes back to songwriting being a method of healing?

Yeah, it came about during a writing session with my friend Jeremy Lutito on a particularly solemn day. We were both in sad moods, but in typical fashion when two guys are alone in a room the last thing they’ll do is ask, “What’s on your heart?” We got to talking about a situation with his family where their dog had passed away the night before, which led to a conversation about grief and having to walk his kids through it for the first time. As he was telling me this I just fell apart thinking of how grief is such a hard thing to come to terms with and reckon with, but sometimes it’s ultimately a good thing. We’d been struggling all day, but that song came about in only an hour or so. It was pure magic.

I’ve seen you refer to this album as a “breakup record,” and I feel like one song that really captures that essence is the title track, “American Spirit.” How’d it come about?

I wrote that with Gina Venier and Summer Overstreet. It started with this idea of cigarette season or a time in your life where you’re smoking and stressed. But with Gina, who’s also a queer artist, it evolved into a song about becoming someone else’s vice. It’s not an unheard-of story in the South, people not being able to fully speak to who they are or how they feel – there’s a lot of closet cases among us. I’ve dealt with that a lot in my time in Nashville and I know others have, too. The song is mostly a nod to those experiences and being an openly queer person dealing with others who aren’t open but are addicted to your openness and freedom and not being able to let that go.

What has music taught you about yourself?

It’s taught me that I’m resilient and can get through anything along with the power of believing in yourself. I’ve gone through a lot in this industry, but I keep coming back. This is what I love and I’m never going to stop.

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Photo Credit: Natalie Osborne

On Her Debut Solo Album, MUNA’s Katie Gavin Searches for Connection and Finds It

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

On the album cover for singer-songwriter Katie Gavin’s solo debut album, What A Relief, she sits half-dressed in the middle of her shiny, sage-green bedspread with various clothes and possessions strewn around her and the floor; even the cat stands awkwardly mid-sit or stand, it’s hard to tell. The immediacy of this messy in-between moment conveys the intimacy Gavin reaches to again and again on the album.

I want you to see me
When you’re not looking
I want you to fuck me
When we’re not touching

The album’s opening track, “I Want It All,” exhumes a lust for connection so all-consuming she knows already, “I’m gonna lose my mind / I’m gonna lose…” But it’s also Gavin’s thirst for and attention to these acutely relatable moments of humanity that render the album enticing.

“I’m really hungry for connection. And I think that in putting out songs that express that, or putting out images that express that, and having it met with understanding gives me that experience of like ‘we’re all humans having a human experience,’” Gavin says. “I want to push myself in terms of what I allow other people to see.”

Much of Gavin’s career has been with pop band MUNA (who opened for Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour earlier this year). Solo, Gavin sheds her dazzling pop-star persona and the trappings of MUNA’s spectacular auditory and stage presence, retaining their honesty and emotional precision. What A Relief, which was produced by Tony Berg, is a collection of 12 songs Gavin wrote on the side over the past seven years. With them, and a clarity born of self-assurance and yearning for connection, Gavin pulls up a chair to settle in for a heart-to-heart with her audience.

“Some days you do your best / Some days you do what gets you out of bed…” Gavin sings on “Casual Drug Use,” possessing an inscrutable ability to pinpoint reality neatly and poignantly. That realism remains throughout the album, which unfolds as a masterful look at the human condition through the micro view of Gavin’s relationships with the world, herself, and others. Many times, she sounds so thrillingly close to the microphone it’s as if she’s singing right into your ear.

As she winnows down her experiences to a few kernels of truth, Gavin deliberately and deftly seeks accessibility and relatability without catering to weirdness or discomfort simply to make a point. “I am pleased with the same chords, over and over, as long as there’s a story and someone is saying something compelling,” she explains.

Her lack of pretense serves as shorthand for her palpably raw portraits of life: “But I think this is as good as it gets, my love/ I think this is as good as it gets/ Pray to god that you think that it is enough…” she sings in “As Good As It Gets” – which features guest vocals by Mitski – about a relationship that is not always a fairy tale. It’s an acknowledgement that you can both love someone and be underwhelmed by them, at least some of the time.

“‘As Good As It Gets’ reflects this big question that I’ve had for a long time, and I still have about what is reasonable to expect from a romantic relationship. And how good is it supposed to feel?” she says.

Elsewhere on the album, in “Sanitized,” Gavin carefully takes a wet washcloth to the bottoms of her dirty feet, afraid to stain her lover’s clean bed (“I lie perfectly still so I don’t mess up my hair/ I’m a sanitized girl, I clean up for you my dear”); or promises not to stalk her ex online, except “once in a while I’ll wanna know if you’ve died,” as she muses in “Keep Walking.”

Growing up in Illinois, Gavin’s parents gave her free reign to explore music and she gravitated unsurprisingly to pop music, entertaining preteen love for the Spice Girls and Samantha Mumba, and teen obsessions with Riot Grrrl, Gravy Train, and the Weepies’ “Gotta Have You.” She also gravitated toward queer, explicit music (Gavin is queer, but was in the closet at the time). When she started writing her own music as a teenager, her mother introduced her to Imogen Heap and her father stoked her folkie music interests with Jackson Browne and Jim Croce.

Gavin’s broad musical tastes inform her writing of course. In the case of What A Relief, she draws particularly on her love for John Prine’s flawed, human characters, and perverse, weirdo songster Loudon Wainwright III whose Attempted Mustache remains one of Gavin’s favorite albums.

“It’s the same magic that’s in a lot of John Prine songs, where these people aren’t afraid to talk about what real people experience in their real lives, even if it’s really silly, and then really mixing that with the profound.”

Silly mixed with the profound is perhaps the best possible description of Gavin’s own music. In the middle of the album, Gavin drops the bluegrass-folk portrait “Inconsolable,” about generational baggage’s impact on our well-being. Wrapped around a divinely-gratifying fiddle melody (she brought in Nickel Creek’s Sara and Sean Watkins to add a little extra bluegrass cred to the track) the song is first and foremost a reflection on learning to be vulnerable while falling in love.

It’s an experience that feels every bit as familiar as Gavin’s messy bed, but in a way that seems to make sense for the very first time – the gift of a stellar songwriter. More than that though, “Inconsolable” is a study in the way tiny moments elevate Gavin’s songs through her allegiance to the balance between silly and unvarnished experiences. We’ve all curled up on the couch hesitant to show how we’re really feeling.

But I’ve seen baby lizards running in the river
When they open their eyes
Even though no one taught them how or why
So maybe when you kiss me I can let you
See me cry
And if we keep going by the feeling
We can get by

Mid-verse, Gavin pivots from the endearing image of baby lizards learning to swim to emotional vulnerability in a fledgling relationship with the blockbuster realization that salvation and connection again might just come from that blind leap of trust.

Gavin’s quest for an honest examination of emotional intelligence stems in part from time spent with her grandparents, two of whom she lost in the last few years. Soaking up their stories, she thought about how much they endured and how many times older generations weren’t afforded a chance to be heard, or to feel their feelings.

Elders teach both by omission and by passing the torch. In “The Baton,” What A Relief’s anthemic third track, dedicated to the lineage of socially and generationally inherited womanhood, Gavin outlines her understanding of resilience as it passes from mother to daughter. Imagining what she’d say to her own daughter, Gavin also reaches to the wisdom from generations before her:

I’d pass her the baton and
I’d say you better run
‘Cause this thing has been going
For many generations
But there is so much healing
That still needs to be done

Not for rebellious reasons, but rather to instill a deep love of self, by the end of the song, Gavin’s come out the other side as her own mother.

“It’s a sense of learning, a sense of ownership and agency and learning to really listen to myself and trust myself, like if I’m going into a situation that I’m nervous about,” she explains. That’s a transformation not unlike her experiences writing the album, which she started when she was 24 and concluded at the age of 31: “You’re kind of moving from this archetype of maiden to mother.”

“I’m aware of a younger part of me that might be nervous and might have needs,” she says. “I often talk to her and say, ‘I got you, you’re coming home with me.’ And, ‘You don’t need to worry that I’m gonna forget about you or give you away to somebody else, or make you tap dance for somebody else.’”

Part of mothering yourself is finding your pitfalls and learning to prevent them. For Gavin, that includes thinking about addiction a lot, well beyond drug use.

“I can get addicted to a lot of different things; I can get addicted to different processes; I can get addicted to people; and I can get addicted to looking at furniture on Facebook marketplace,” she says. “I was thinking about this idea that when we as humans get stuck in the process of addiction, the things that make us feel good, and our actual relationship with the world gets smaller and smaller.”

That idea became the song “Sketches,” wherein Gavin distills addiction into a two-dimensional study of self reduction. In a simple acoustic guitar and cello-accompanied track, she imagines her character reduced to a sketch by an overbearing relationship: “That the deeper I’d go/ The smaller I’d get…” until she takes back control, painting herself back to size.

“The process of recovery has been really one of expansion, learning that I can feel intimacy and connection and pleasure and joy from so many different experiences in life and from so many different people,” Gavin says. “And there’s something that just feels very profound about that for me in this time.”

Even when it comes to writing about climate change, Gavin filters her stories through our relationships to one another. It feels more effective than shaming people for not recycling, she says. In “Sparrow,” she ruminates on the dangers of the quick fix, hoping in vain for the song of a sparrow in spring, only to discover that the tree it would perch on has died of a cure applied rashly and without thinking.

But perhaps Gavin’s most profound relationship moment on the album comes when she eulogizes her dog in “Sweet Abby Girl.”

“She’s taking up most of the mattress/ Can’t imagine being so un-self conscious/ She’s pushing her back up against my legs…” Abby becomes a foil for Gavin’s insecurities, as throughout the song she considers the vulnerability within unqualified love for another being.

Buried late in the album, “Keep Walking,” its penultimate track, reveals Gavin’s raison d’être: “What a relief / To know that some of this was my fault.” Superficially, it’s a breakup song. But it’s also a relief for Gavin’s to put these songs into the world, to share another side of herself, and forge new connections with listeners.

Fundamentally, we get through hard times by laughing with our friends, Gavin says. As she’s matured as a songwriter, she’s been drawn to including those moments of levity in her songs. Invariably, they feel like the best of conversations with friends and lend themselves well to What A Relief’s stripped-down, singer-songwriter format.

“There was just something funny about this idea of putting out this part of me that had up until this point been unexpressed; it does feel like a relief to just let it out,” Gavin says. “I like the sentiment in the song … ‘what a relief to know that some of this was my fault,’ which is just agency. I haven’t behaved perfectly, and that gives me some space to have compassion and forgiveness for you.”

“Real life” is such a tired phrase. Gavin’s version, though, feels scintillatingly, comfortingly relatable, and like her messy bedroom, gives the listener agency to let go and just be, too. What a relief.

Photo Credit: Alexa Viscius

Becca Stevens Strips It All Back on ‘Maple to Paper’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

In her dynamic, restless career, Becca Stevens plans to never repeat herself, like the proverbial waterway that’s never the same river twice.

Since being noticed by New York Times jazz critic Nate Chinen in 2008 as a 24-year-old “best kept secret,” she’s collaborated with: David Crosby and his Lighthouse Band; jazz orchestra Snarky Puppy; the modernist ensemble Kneebody; pianist Brad Mehldau; harmony genius Jacob Collier; the neo-classical Attacca Quartet; and others. Her five solo studio albums, especially the mind-stretching and richly grooving Regina (2018) and Wonderbloom (2022), have mingled folk-grounded melodies and jazz-deep harmonies with pop dazzle. The common denominator has been her uncommon voice, which is conservatory-trained, but utterly unique and enthralling. She is, in my humble opinion, one of the finest overall musicians making song-based music today, a peer to 21st century savants St. Vincent and Madison Cunningham.

One frontier that remained for Stevens was, ironically, the most obvious for a singer-songwriter – the solo acoustic album. Her version of this venerable format finally arrived in late August with Maple to Paper, a 13-song collection that was shaped at every level by a series of landmark life events. After marrying Nathan Schram, violist in the Attacca Quartet, she gave birth to daughters in 2022 and 2024. Their family moved from New York to Princeton, New Jersey. Her mother died, as did her close collaborator and friend David Crosby.

Stevens alchemizes this season of change, love, and loss through songs that challenge conventional forms with rich and fearless lyrics that play at times like Emily Dickinson set to classical guitar. On the cover, she’s demurely naked behind a guitar. In the grooves, she’s as vulnerable as we’ve ever heard her. As she told me of her emotional multiverse of the past few years, “I felt uncomfortable about sharing it, but I also was like, well, if I’m going to do this, I might as well make it completely exposed.”

It’s easy to suppose that the changes of the past few years – moving, having children, losing your mom – made a solo acoustic record sound more appealing at both artistic and practical levels?

Becca Stevens: Absolutely, yeah. You’re spot on. Two things can be true. So the choice to do this album completely solo and from home both served the concept and integrity of the album. But it also was maybe the only way that I could have gotten it done during that time.

Just to put that into perspective, you know, there was the logistics of the grieving. The loss of my mom was super fresh, and I had a six-month-old who was part-time in daycare. And then towards the end of the recording and writing process, I was pregnant again. So there was the logistics of being a new mom, of having morning sickness, of being in a new place, of grieving my mom, and all of that was so much more possible to do from home. But I resisted it.

For a long time, I had the idea of recording the demos at home and then going into the studio. But I went back and forth a lot with Nic Hard, who mixed it with me. He also did Wonderbloom. And the deeper that we got into the material, the more crystal clear it was that the songs were best served if performed live – guitar and singing at the same time – and performed at home, where I was really in the character and in the feelings.

Did writing and making art feel like what you wanted to do under all those cross-cutting pressures and changes, or did you have to force yourself a bit through the work?

“Want” is maybe the wrong word. I felt like, at least for the grieving part, I had to do it because it was like I was going to explode if I didn’t do something. And it was a confusing loss – something that left me with a lot of questions. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been somebody who processes confusing emotions through writing songs or stories, or art in some way.

I felt like I needed to do it. But also, yes, there were times where I just absolutely did not want to and just wanted to lie on the floor. And I had to find a way to incorporate that as part of the process, so that I could forgive myself. I literally had a futon on the floor of my workspace, where I told that part of my brain, “You are invited to lay down there whenever you need to. You’re not at a studio. The clock’s not ticking. You’re not paying for this.” I called it my Womb Room. And I would put on salt lamps and put the lights down really low and lay down. And then some of the songs came from that space.

Some of these feel more like classical art songs than folk songs, in that they’re not shaped around a set number of measures or predictable beats. Did they feel a bit like that to you?

Yeah, the song “Payin’ to be Apart” comes to mind. It definitely felt that way; a little less folky, more like poetry that just happens to be on a wave of music. It’s interesting to hear you say that, because in the writing process – harmonically and in the accompaniment – I took a much simpler approach than what I have done before, on Regina or Wonderbloom, on everything really. Because I put so much intention and honesty and, like, blood, sweat, and tears into the lyric, I gave myself permission to let the waters that it was floating on be a little less turbulent artistically, a little less complex and a little more like I was trying to cradle them and deliver them in a way that takes care of them and makes it easier to metabolize – or something.

Was your mindset different, knowing there’s not going to be the grid of the drum beat? Can drums be a bit of a cage sometimes?

Yeah, they can be a cage. But they can also be like something that’s really cozy to lean on in the arrangement. Like, I can drop everything and have it just be drums and vocals for a verse and it feels really good. But for this album, I set a goal that the songs are meant to be performed as just me and the guitar, because that’s how they were recorded. That means that whatever break that I gave you in Wonderbloom by stripping down the arrangement and going to drums now needs to be created with whatever tools I have by myself, whether that’s narrative, or a right hand finger pattern, or fill in the blank.

This made me wonder how much you have performed solo acoustically in your career, given the emphasis on arrangement on a lot of your records.

Quite a bit, yeah. I have a lot of respect for my bandmates. And if there were ever gigs that we were offered where I felt like I couldn’t cover their fee and treat them well, I would just take it solo. I’ve done that a lot. I’ve done a lot of solo tours. A lot of my writing has started out solo, and I have solo versions – for example, “You Didn’t Know,” the song from Wonderbloom that was inspired from watching the documentary about R. Kelly. That song, I poured my heart out solo and then stripped the solo version back when I was in the studio turning it into the Wonderbloom version.

Solo feels like a home base to me, and it’s something that I think I’ve resisted, because maybe I felt like it wouldn’t be enough. There’s this narrative, especially in the booking world, that they don’t want to book you unless you have more than one or two people on stage, because it’s not enough to create the energy to get the focus of the audience. And maybe it’s not loud enough, you know? I also had that in mind. This might not be very marketable, but I’ve got to do my best to just serve these songs to the best of my ability. And it’s got to get done anyway, because this is how I’m processing this part of my life,

Meanwhile, your tempo of collaborative work never seems to let up. I have my personal favorites, but can you address some of your favorite partnerships here in the last few years?

We haven’t mentioned this yet as part of the story of this record, but knee-deep in the writing and recording stages of this album, we also lost David Crosby. I’d already gotten punched in the face and then I was like, kicked on the ground. Not that it’s about me. The whole world grieved that loss. As I mentioned, when I lost my mom, it was a very complicated grieving process. I took a lot of inspiration from listening to albums like Sufjan Stevens’s Carrie & Lowell, where it’s okay for grief to be ugly and complicated and to show that. But with Croz, it was so sad, because I loved him so much, and I loved being in his band, and I loved writing music with him. But the presence that he held in my life didn’t diminish. I couldn’t hug him, but there was this sort of heavenly presence when I was writing the songs for this album, where I could hear him and see him in my mind, kind of rooting me along.

And tell me about Michael League of Snarky Puppy and the universe that he inhabits with the GroundUP record label, which has been supportive of you all this time. It’s such a fascinating record company. I feel like they’ve got a lot to teach the music industry about curation and cultivation of a tribe, and I’d love for you to remark on how that model has served you.

I like the word tribe. I often think of it as family, but I think tribe is even stronger. I feel safe with that label in a way that I’ve never felt safe with labels before, especially major ones, where, if you’re not performing exactly the way that they want you to, you get kind of put on a shelf, and then your art doesn’t get heard because, because you’re not pleasing the corporation.

With GroundUP, I’ve always felt like whatever I’m getting into is what they want me to do. They’re like, “Your health and happiness and artistry come first and if that’s what you need to make right now, we’re behind it.” And I can’t tell you how liberating and comforting that is as an artist to know that the people that are helping you put your music out have your back. And we all love each other too. We all play together and love each other too.

And speaking of Sufjan Stevens, you got to be on Broadway in his Illinoise musical. What did that add to your world?

Yeah, it was a limited run on Broadway and I did half of the run. So I had Isla, my second daughter, on February 24 of this year. And then I got a call from Timo Andres, who did the orchestrations, saying, “I know you’re on maternity leave. This is crazy. I shouldn’t even be calling you, but I can’t not think of you for this role. Is there a world where you would ever audition for this?” I was like, “Yeah, I could audition and see what happens…” and didn’t expect to get it. I came in with my newborn baby. I handed her to my manager, did the audition, and they called me within a day and said they’d love for me to do it.

Initially I thought, “There’s no way.” I’m giving you all of this extra detail because a huge part of the experience for me was the chaos and the balance of the life that I was living at home for the first half of that day in Princeton – nursing my baby and being a new mama – and then handing her to my husband and jumping on the train for two hours, going into the city just in time to perform, and then coming back home and doing it all again and nursing through the night. It was this superhuman thing that initially I thought, “Oh, there’s no way this is going to work.”

The whole experience was like a dream state – being on stage and singing that music, which I’ve loved for so long. And also, having it not be about me was very refreshing. I’m not the band leader and I’m singing someone else’s music as a narrative that’s coming from the bodies of the dancers. We can lean on the coziness of the production, and just enjoy it.

I would say coming out of that helped me to be less self-absorbed. The headspace that I was in for Maple to Paper was very me, me, me, me, me, me. And then Illinoise was like, “No, it’s not about you. It’s about being in service to something greater than you.” Whether you’re writing a song about your feelings or singing somebody else’s, that’s always what it’s been.

Editor’s Note: Need more Becca Stevens? Check out our recent Basic Folk conversation with Stevens here.

Photo Credit: Shervin Lainez

BGS 5+5: Lily Kershaw

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Lily Kershaw
Hometown: Los Angeles, California
Latest Album: Pain & More
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): My family calls me Lou or Lulu

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

Hearing Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence” for the first time. I was 8, in the back seat of my parents car, and the world just stopped. I wanted to write like them.

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

The toughest time I’ve ever had writing a song was on a song of mine called “Depreshmode.” I initially wrote it in less than 30 minutes, but it ended up taking me 18 hours (I tallied!) to get it into its final shape. About halfway through those 18 hours I thought something inside me had broken. I was like, “Am I ever going to write again?” I did, of course, write again and I am super happy with and proud of the final shape of “Depreshmode.”

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

Just finish the song. You can always go back and edit. You can go back and edit for 18 hours if you want, but you can’t edit something that doesn’t exist. So just finish it.

Does pineapple really belong on pizza?

Yes, but not with ham. If you’re going to add pineapple to pizza, let it be the only topping. Now I want pizza!

What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?

I really love the song “Mary On A Cross” by Ghost. It was my most-played song a couple years ago. I was also surprised to find this out! I kind of think of it as rock opera, but the internet has called their music things like black metal and doom metal. I think most people, myself included, would be surprised to know how much I love it!

Photo Credit: Cort Wilson

MIXTAPE: Theo Kandel’s Dinner Party Playlist

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Welcome to my dinner party. It’s a potluck, of course, and because I can’t cook so well, I picked up a few cases of Miller High Life. Maybe a couple bottles of chilled red: delicious! Someone cooked an orzo salad, someone else made Ina Garten’s Engagement Chicken, maybe some tomato/mozz/basil type of dish – I don’t know. That’s up to you!

All my friends are here; some people even flew in from out of town. It’s the kind of night that you don’t want to make a big deal out of, but somehow someone’s crying happy tears over dessert and saying, “I can’t believe it’s been so long, why don’t we do this more often?” It’s the nights you took for granted in those early years after college, the ones that seemed to come together so easily, like a puzzle for children where all the pieces fit in such an obvious way. We fall into friendships; the hard part is keeping those friendships strong as we get older and move to different cities.

That tension exists at the heart of Eating & Drinking & Being in Love, my debut album that came out on September 20. It’s the tension of life, man! And that’s what makes it so beautiful. I hope you enjoy my Dinner Party Playlist – I’ve organized it into courses of a meal, highlighted as such for your digestion. – Theo Kandel

Appetizers:

“Sky Blue Sky” – Wilco

This is the easiest song of all time – you can listen to it when you’re sad, happy, angry, whatever. Breezy drums, melancholic lyrics. Welcome in!

“Honeydew Moon” – Theo Kandel

The first song on the album (not counting the intro), “Honeydew Moon” is for sunset cocktails, tasteful hors d’oeuvres, and saying, “How the hell are ya?” to friends you haven’t seen in a while.

“Fool” – Adrianne Lenker

Man, I love Adrianne Lenker. She is making beautiful music with thoughtful lyricism and melodies that float, but somehow still dig deep to scratch whatever itch you’ve got.

“Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard” – Paul Simon

Okay, things are ramping up here. People are getting loose – people are drinking – people are starting to think to themselves, “Jeez, I hope we get to eat the real food soon.”

Entrees:

“Magnet” – NRBQ

Uh oh! We’ve sat down at the table and this funky ass jam pops on. People are cheersing, laughing, digging in.

“Tall Boy” – Abby Webster

Country alert! We’re cracking fresh beers, and they’re ice cold, baby.

“The Dress” – Dijon

Somehow, this wistful song still bangs hard at a dinner party. Dijon makes you think about your past, but also the awesome night you’re about to have.

“One More Night (With My Friends in the City)” – Theo Kandel

This song is really my ode to this kind of dinner party. Who brought the pizza? Who brought the beer? In this crazy universe, we all did.

“All Right” – Christopher Cross

Did you know that Billie Eilish was the first person to sweep the “Big Four” categories at the GRAMMYs since Christopher Cross in 1981? Of course, his best song (in my opinion), “All Right,” was not on Sailing, but still. This guy rips.

“Rosanna” – Toto

I put on “Rosanna” at every party I’m at. It’s a song that requires no introduction – quite literally, the drum intro speaks for itself.

“Dancing Queen” – ABBA

Okay now! Someone put ABBA on the speakers and people are getting out of their seats to dance. Everyone has finished eating, and it took only that iconic piano sweep to get everyone up and at ’em.

Desserts:

“April Come She Will” – Simon & Garfunkel

Everyone’s sitting on the patio/balcony/fire escape, sipping on the rest of the red wine and smoking cigarettes. It’s winding down, but not in a sad way, just in the way that a beautiful night with friends does.

“Perdido de Amor [Lost in Love]” – Luis Bonfá

I wish I knew any Portuguese, but luckily you don’t need to know any to understand this song. It’s so viscerally romantic, with Bonfá’s gorgeous guitar playing supporting his voice. Yes.

“I Must Be in a Good Place Now – Live at Spacebomb Studios” – Fruit Bats, Vetiver

This live cover of Bobby Charles’ original song makes me feel like I could cry tears of joy every time I hear it (secret: I have). Everyone is sitting comfortably at the end of the night, just happy to be here. Hope you enjoyed the party.

Photo Credit: Kate Stephenson

BGS 5+5: Max McNown

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Max McNown
Hometown: Bend, Oregon
Latest Album: Wandering
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): Almost went by Max Winter (Winter is my middle name)!

What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?

My pre-show rituals remain somewhat consistent from show to show. I stay hydrated throughout the day leading up to soundcheck and I typically take it easy on my voice while I rehearse the songs (because I haven’t warmed up at that point). Post-soundcheck, I rest in the green room and use a steam inhaler to clear my sinuses before letting my vocal cords cool down from the heat for at least 30 minutes. After that, I kill time until around 30 minutes before I hit the stage, occupying myself with iPhone games to distract me from the pre-show nerves. At 20 minutes before the show I do a 10 minute vocal routine. At the 10 minute mark I call a circle with my band and say a prayer of thankfulness, asking that whatever happens, we impact the crowd for good. Minutes before stepping on the stage I conduct a box breathing exercise to slow my heart rate, and I’m off to the races!

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

Growing up, I leaned on music to get me through some of my most difficult moments. If I could summarize my “mission” it would be to return that healing… To repay what music has done for me to those who hear my own songs.

How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?

Considering nearly all my songs are directly influenced by my own life, I hide behind characters often. I purposefully keep it vague when discussing which lines in which songs are fully “true stories.” Some of the most impactful films of my life are “based on a true story” and I take that knowledge into every writing room. Occasionally I take liberties when storytelling, but a lot of my work is pretty accurate to my own life journey.

Does pineapple really belong on pizza?

Considering Hawaiian-style pizza is one of my favorite foods, I strongly believe if you enjoy the taste, you can put whatever you want on pizza!

If you were a color, what shade would you be – and why?

If I were a color I’d have to think I’d be my favorite one, forest green… Simply because of my upbringing in the lush Oregon trees, my green eyes, and my love for nature!

Photo Credit: Benjamin Edwards

Out Now: Ally Westover

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Ally Westover is a Nashville-based artist known for a blend of lullaby-like sounds and groovy indie-folk tunes, stitched together with warmth, imagery, and honesty. Her new single, “Rotten Milk” (available September 6), is an exploration of queer identity. The lyrics circle relatable themes like love gone sour and compulsory heterosexuality – a term coined by Adrienne Rich to describe societal expectations queer women face around conforming to heterosexual norms. The concept resonates with many queer women who struggle to navigate their identities.

It’s exciting to feature an artist who is opening a discussion around these ideas. Ally’s EP, Changing Room, dives further into these themes and is to be released in January 2025. In our Out Now interview, she shares her current state of mind, what it means to her to be an LGBTQ+ artist, and how she balances the business and creative aspects of being an artist.

You are releasing an EP in 2025 titled Changing Room. What was the process of creating this project? And, what do you hope listeners will take away from this collection of songs?

I created this project with my friend and musical mentor, Oliver Hopkins. He is one of the people that inspires me most in this world and to make a record with him is an absolute dream come true. I came to him with a few songs that I loved and believed in, but wanted him to help me make them sound more focussed and sonically interesting.

We wrote “Rotten Milk” in his backyard in the height of the summer heat after I had just gotten out of a relationship with a man that felt like a stranger. The track that follows is “Waterbug,” which is my absolute favorite. It encompasses queer desire and yearning. The last song is called “Digital Body” and it’s all about decompressing and slowing things down. I hope that listeners enjoy the songs and feel maybe a little more understood in their own lives. More than anything I am just happy to have the songs in the world!

Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?

Songwriting itself is pure magic. The energy present during the process is what propels me to dig for more songs. I create music because I have to! It is the way that I work through my emotions and thoughts and fears. It is the time capsule for my life. It is the way that I cope with being human.

Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?

Initially, I create music for myself. And when it is done, I look forward to sharing the songs with other people so that they may feel less alone as I believe we all have similar struggles. It’s my hope that through sharing music, we all feel more connected to each other at a soul level.

Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?

Courtney Barnett, MUNA, Big Thief, Chappell Roan, Katy Kirby, Arlo Parks, Tash Sultana, Cassidy Maude, Ab Lag, Molly Martin, Erin Rae, Liv Greene, Purser, Jobi Riccio, and Saltwater Baby are some of my favorites. Wow! There are so many! I am so grateful for queer visibility!

For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?

The band MUNA saved me! Chanting songs about being gay and worthy of love really helped me feel empowered. I have an incredible sister, friends, and therapist who have stood by me through the hardest moments. The queer community in Nashville is amazing. Shout out to Jonda, the owner of Lipstick Lounge, for creating a safe haven for queer people. It was only when I realized that it is not my job to make other people comfortable, was I set free.

What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?

I would not be openly making music as a queer person had it not been for the Black lesbians and trans people of color that fought back during Stonewall riots. Thank you to Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, and Stormé DeLarverie for fighting for my right to exist and to love who I love. Being an LGBTQ+ musician means that “no one is free until everyone is free.” It means liberation, justice and resistance.

We’ve had a conversation before about how you left the music industry for a few years and decided you needed to return. What was that like for you? Could you share what drew you back and the importance of creating and sharing your music?

In the time that I was away from music, it was still plaguing my every thought. I tried to study fashion to explore a different creative outlet and that brought me to sustainability, as I learned about the horrors of the fast fashion industry. Because of this, I make all of my merch on thrifted clothes in hopes to be as eco-conscious as possible. Sustainability led me to an existential crisis so I switched majors to philosophy, which only dug me a deeper hole. It was during my philosophy class that I realized I must pursue my bliss – music! Coming back to music as my career focus felt like coming home.

What’s your ideal vision for your future?

When I think of “future me” I imagine myself traveling and playing shows with a small band, throwing killer dinner parties, and tending to a sprawling garden. The ideal vision of my future has much to do with “present me” leaning deeper into the things that I already do.

What is your greatest fear?

I have realized that I am the person who will ultimately affect the outcome of my life – so I would say that I am most afraid of the part of myself that harbors doubt.

What is your current state of mind?

My current state of mind is a collage of gratitude and helplessness; of joy and sorrow; of yearning and grieving. I grieve the genocide in Palestine amongst the many other humanitarian crises in the Congo, Sudan, and in the United States. I find it really challenging some days to be hopeful, but I try to find joy in the small moments and do everything I can to uplift marginalized voices.

I am hopeful about creating and sharing the project that I have been working on for over a year now. Entering into the fall season, I am looking forward to slowing down, going inward, and continuing to lean into my cozy home and my community.

How do you balance being on social media, promoting your music, playing shows, and looking after your mental health?

I tell myself that I want to do this for the rest of my life, so if it takes the rest of my life to do it then so be it. I remind myself that the long game is what matters and that slowly chipping away making good art is what counts. I lean on my community and try my best. I’ve also been trying to intentionally rest without guilt and to say yes to fun experiences that do not center around music. I have found that I create the best and most interesting art when I am living my life for myself. My partner is very organized and business focussed and they gave me some killer advice. They said, “Why don’t you focus strictly on music business for 2 hours a day, in the morning, so that you don’t have to spiral about it for the next 22 hours?” They created the term “Ally’s Office Hours” and it has helped tremendously.

What would a “perfect day” look like for you?

Soft sunlight and fresh air seep through my window. I indulge in light roast pour over coffee and fresh fruit for breakfast. I sit at the kitchen table with my journal and my mini Yamaha as ideas for songs flood my mind like a heavy summer rain. Once the rain has cleared, I walk to the grocery store and grab some fresh seafood, sharp cheeses, and Castelvetrano olives. The rest of the dinner setup will be a harvest from my garden. I pop by the local wine shop for a floral Spanish white wine and perhaps a juicy beaujolais. Friends will arrive at golden hour to a home full of fresh flowers and candle light. We eat and drink and enjoy rich conversation over a delicious meal. I fall asleep beside my lover as we count our blessings.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?

“If it is urgent, then it is not God.” I can be so impulsive about my decision making, and when a friend told me this, it blew my mind. A sense of urgency is likely never a good sign that something is right.

What are your release and touring plans for the next year?

I am releasing my second EP, Changing Room, in January and could not be more excited. The first single, “Rotten Milk,” comes out today, September 6!

Changing Room encapsulates self exploration, and more specifically queer exploration. The project begins with “Rotten Milk.” It’s about the last man that I ever dated. We were together for a few short months in the summer and much like the milk at the restaurant, the love, too, had gone sour. It was as if I was playing dress up. I couldn’t get access to my true self until I freed myself of compulsory heterosexuality.

I am opening for Louisa Stancioff, Molly Parden, and Eliza Edens in Portland, Maine on October 4 and again in Washtington, D.C. on October 15. The plan is to go on a sweet little tour in early spring to share the songs on Changing Room and then get back to creating more tunes.

Photo courtesy of the artist.