WATCH: Fruition, ‘Live at Wonder Ballroom’

Artist: Fruition
Hometown: Portland, OR
Project Title: Fruition: Live at Wonder Ballroom

In Their Words: “The show that night was particularly special for us and for a lot of fans — especially fans that have been following us for a long time. We busted out some of our oldest material, perfomed some songs in our original instrumentation (guitars, upright bass, and mando), and toyed with some of them in the style of our current sound. It was definitely a way of saying thanks to Portland for supporting us and believing in us for so many years. There was an element of nostalgia while playing these older tunes, but also an element of excitement for how far we’ve come, how much we’ve grown, and how much we still have to accomplish.” — Kellen Asebroek


Director credit: Mark Burgin of Mark’s Memories

WATCH: Quiet Life, ‘Finally Back’

Artist: Quiet Life
Hometown: formerly Portland, OR
Song: “Finally Back”
Album: Foggy
Label: Strange Light Records

In Their Words: “‘Finally Back’ is a typical rock song — no frills, just a bit of loud guitar and words about driving home with a six-pack. We met Bill Antonucci years ago, when he was working for Paste and Pitchfork. We were happy to have him behind the lens documenting the first show of our month-long tour. He did a great job showing some behind-the-scenes things. Rough Trade is a great club, too. Looking forward to getting back there.” — Sean W. Spellman


Photo credit: E Ryan McMackin

No Expectations, High Hopes: Sallie Ford in Conversation with Charlie Cunningham

On first listen, it would seem Sallie Ford and Charlie Cunningham have little in common, except that they are human musicians. A singer/songwriter born in North Carolina but based in Portland, Oregon, Ford writes soul-baring lyrics that reveal a caustic wit, a persistent self-deprecation, and an abiding love for doo-wop, rockabilly, punk, and crunchy guitars. With her backing band, the Sound Outside, she released two albums, then went solo with 2014’s Slapback. But her latest, Soul Sick, may be her best yet: a set of lean, mean songs that reveal an ongoing battle with her baser urges, an emotional landscape where “the feeling of failing … is freeing.” Her music is blunt and direct, like a fist applied swiftly to your jawline.

Cunningham’s music, by contrast, starts as a gentle caress but ends as a deep scratch — fingernails digging into skin to draw blood. Through a series of EPs and singles, this London-born, Oxford-based musician has established himself as a formidable guitar player and a songwriter with a brutal economy of language. “I’m not here to pick a fight,” he sings on “An Opening,” “but we can, if you like.” Released on the Swedish label Dumont Dumont, his debut album, Lines, is taut and tense, with flourishes of synth and drums that underscore his percussive guitar playing.

Aside from a certain musical violence, Ford and Cunningham happen to share an understanding of music as a fundamentally cathartic endeavor, of songs as vehicles for the kinds of dark secrets you wouldn’t normally admit to a roomful of strangers. Never exactly grim nor simply self-absorbed, they are hyper-confessional lyricists, which means their albums are equally harrowing and relatable. Beyond that, they both come across very differently in conversation than they do in their music: amiable and animated, Cunningham speaking quickly and Ford punctuating her remarks with a piercing laugh.

One of the reasons I wanted to get you two on the phone together is that you’re both incorporating some styles that I don’t hear in a lot of music right now — Sallie with doo-wop and early rock, Charlie with flamenco. Those styles seem integral to your songwriting, rather than just sounds you’re dabbling in.

Sallie Ford: I just like retro music, in general. I grew up listening to a lot of oldies. My parents really liked the Beatles and Aretha Franklin and James Taylor, and we would have dance parties in the living room. [Laughs] So a lot of my music is about nostalgia. If you’re going to be influenced by anything, it has to be something that just calls you. What about you, Charlie?

Charlie Cunningham: First, I want to say well done on your album. There’s so much going on there, especially on that song “Unraveling.” You can definitely hear your soul influences coming through. As for me, I’ve always liked all sorts of music, but particularly acoustic guitar music. I used to listen to a lot of people like John Martyn and Nick Drake and Leonard Cohen — those kinds of people, playing that finger-picking style. I wanted to learn how to do that. I’d run out of tools, as far as playing goes. I went for flamenco because it seemed like the kind of thing I could understand. It sounded alien, but it also sounded somewhat familiar. It sounded very human and relatable. Once I did learn it, I was off. It just took a long time. I don’t know about you, Sallie, but it took me a very long time before I was ready to say, ” Here’s my music, people. This is what I do. This is me singing. This is me playing guitar. That was the biggest hurdle for me.

SF: I grew up playing music, but it always mortified me to perform in front of people. My mom would have to make me. I played classical violin, and she would throw these concerts at her friends’ houses, and I would just die from embarrassment. It took me moving to a new city where no one knew who I was to realize that maybe I actually did like performing. Which is strange, because my whole family are performers. They’re much better than me. My father is a puppeteer, and he would make puppets with us. We lived way out in the boonies, and I was home-schooled. It was a pretty unusual upbringing. What about you?

CC: I was born in London, but I grew up about an hour outside of the city in a bit of country. I say “a bit of country” because you have these cities like London and Birmingham and Northampton, and then you have the bits of country between them. I lived in one of those. There was always music playing in my house, but there weren’t many players in my immediate family. My granddad used to sing. I’ve got lots of brothers and sisters — I’m one of five — and we were always trying to out-sing each other, not with any kind of skill, just in terms of volume. It was mainly a thing I did on my own, really. Music struck me early. I’d watch a lot of MTV, back when it was just one channel, and VH-1, and I stared to get interested in the world of music. We listened to a lot of Stevie Wonder and Elton John and these classic songwriters at a very young age … Why does my answer suddenly seem so much longer than yours?

SF: Ha! I think you’re just good at talking. I tend to clam up.

CC: I don’t think I am. You’re quality over quantity. Anyway, do you feel any relief now that your album is done, or do you feel anxious putting it out there in the world?

SF: I’m really excited. I’ve had a whole year off, and I have a new band, so I’m excited about all that. This will be my fourth album, which is crazy. But one thing I am nervous about is just now realizing how hard it is to be a musician, and I think it’s getting harder with digital downloading. Are you familiar with that really nerdy TV show in the U.S. called Nashville?

CC: No, I don’t know it.

SF: It’s not great. It’s a lot like a soap opera, but the reason I bring it up is because they’re all talking about how musicians are being affected by downloads. The fact that they’re talking about it on a major network television show about pop-country musicians is scary to me. I’m like, “Oh my god, what did I get myself into?” Maybe it’s not as bad in Europe, so I guess I could stop touring the U.S. and just tour over there.

CC: When I was listening to your stuff, there’s definitely this sense of being aware that what will be will be — like in that song “Failure,” when you’re talking about failure being freeing and a fleeting thing. That’s a good way to think about doing music, just knowing not to expect much. It really can be liberating. It does free you up writing-wise, because you don’t have to worry if it will sell. I think live music is one of the only things now that’s actually flourishing, perhaps more than ever, just due to the fact that people have to play gigs and tour to make a living. That’s the only way I can do it. So, in a way, maybe there are some positives, but it’s a bit of a Wild West, at the moment.

SF: I feel like I’ve written my most important album, and it’s just … I’m trying not to think about the past and how it’s been such a struggle. I want to change my way of thinking. I feel like I’ve been doing this long enough that I start to make assumptions about how things are going to go. Maybe that’s just how I am — always preparing for the worst.

CC: Preparing for the worst and hoping for the best.

SF: That is my motto, actually, although I word it slightly differently: No expectations, high hopes.

CC: That’s the only way to be, isn’t it? Because, at the end of the day, it’s the music that’s going to stay forever. That’s not going anywhere. That’s your thing that you’ll look back on and say, “I’m so glad I did that.” And it’s such a good record. I like the guitar sounds. What’s going on with the guitars there? Were those vintage amps?

SF: Yeah. I have tube amps. It’s actually all new equipment, but it’s modeled to sound old. I really dig Fender guitars, especially if you put them on the most trebly sounding pickup. I really love a thin, trebly sound. I love surf music. Actually, when I first learned guitar, my first teacher was trained in flamenco playing. He could do all this fast picking because of that training. He got some of the chops. Here’s a question for you: Do you play solo when you tour, or do you have a band with you?

CC: I’ve been playing solo for the last couple of years, but I’ve got a European tour starting pretty soon and there are going to be a couple of other people on stage with me. It’s still really minimal stuff, just some light percussion and some soft synths underneath to give it a bit of a lift. It’s still fairly simple and calm stuff, nothing too dramatic. I think the only way I was able to play music for the last couple of years was to do it on my own. Otherwise, it’s just too expensive to travel with a group of people. But I could usually say yes to anything because it’s just me and my guitar and a bag. But now I think I could probably justify getting some people on board, so I’m looking forward to traveling with other people for a change.

SF: Sometimes I think I might go back to doing that. I never did it that much. I did open mic nights, when I first started playing. My biggest goal right now is to go to Japan, and I feel like that’s not going to be a money gig. So maybe the next record will be a solo record that lets me tour in Japan.

Why do you want to go to Japan?

SF: I went to Japan when I was 12 because I had a bunch of pen pals. Since I was home-schooled, my parents would let me write to pen pals as part of my homework. So I would spend hours researching the countries they were from, and I was obsessed most of all with Japan. I learned Japanese and had a Japanese teacher, and she took me back with her to Japan to meet some of my pen pals. I’d really like to go back. I find that most Americans are pretty fascinated by Japan. What’s your dream tour, Charlie?

CC: To be honest with you, I really want to tour across the pond in your part of the world. I’ve never played a gig in America, but I’m coming over for the South by Southwest festival in March. Hopefully I can get some other dates during that trip. That would be fantastic. It’s a bit of a dream, but growing up in England, watching the telly and listening to American music, we knew American culture really well over here. So I think it would be interesting to see it and play some gigs over there. I’m just going to go over on my own, not with a band or anything. So, you’re from Portland, right?

SF: I lived here for about 10 years. I moved from this little city in North Carolina called Asheville, which is like a miniature Portland but not as famous. It’s one of the most liberal college towns in the South. Have you heard much about Portland over there?

CC: I’ve been to the States once, and one of the places I went was Portland. I went there and Seattle. I really like Modest Mouse, so I was excited to see the city. I heard this band called Mimicking Bird. Did you ever hear them? I think they’re on the label that Isaac Brock from Modest Mouse runs. It’s really nice music. And Johnny Marr from the Smiths lives in Portland, I think. I’ve seen that program Portlandia, as well, which I love.

SF: So many cool musicians who live here, for sure, but it still feels like a small town. That’s what I like about it. You run into people you know all the time, and most people know each other, especially in the music scene. Most of the time people aren’t very competitive with each other.

CC: A little bit of healthy competition can be okay, but generally you need to be supportive. That sense of community is important. I think that’s why I keep ending up back in Oxford. There’s a sense of community here, and good music. People go to each other’s shows and they keep an eye out for what everybody else is doing. That really helps the creativity and makes you feel involved.

What took you to Oxford?

CC: It’s not a million miles away from where I grew up. Basically, I grew up between Oxford and London, and I ended up studying there — not at Oxford University. I should just clear that up right now. But I did study at a university in Oxford for a little bit. I met a lot of people there, and there’s a big music scene going on there. You’re only an hour away from London, so you can be really involved in that scene, but then you can step out of it and be in this much smaller town. It’s an inspiring place to be. There are lots of people from all over the world in Oxford, because of the university. So you get to meet a lot of different people. And I love a bit of history. It’s nice to walk into town and see all these really old buildings. It’s a clam place to be. When I get home from touring, Oxford is a good base. I’ve lived here for eight or nine years total, but I keep moving away and coming back. Maybe I’ll end up staying a bit longer this time.

SF: I saw something on your Facebook about how you went to Abbey Road. What was that like?

CC: Yes! I went there to master the album. I recorded it in New Cross in south London, and then I did the mastering at Abbey Road. What a great day that was. I was such a Beatles fan when I was growing up, so it was just crazy to be there. You go through the studio and see all these pictures of people who have played there. And it’s everyone. It felt humbling, and I was really trying to be present for it. There’s a lot of stuff that happens and you don’t sit with it properly, but I spent most of that day really trying to take it all in. And they did such a job with the mastering. They really took it to another level, and it was incredible to watch and hear that happen.

Here’s a quick question for you. That song “Get Out,” is that about trying to get songs out of you, trying to get music out of yourself?

SF: I love that interpretation. It’s cool when songs can mean different things to different people. When I wrote it, I was thinking about how I tend to give up pretty easily. If I’m feeling overwhelmed by a situation, my first inclination is to remove myself, especially struggling to do music. It’s overwhelming, and I tend to give up on things too quickly. I’ll take some new class or try some new hobby and, before I even start, its like, “Oh no, I’m already over this.” You can’t do that before you’ve even started. You can’t be the best at something as you’re learning to do it.

I recently took this weird circus class, and I had this competitive feeling, like I want to be really good at it. But it was so hard and I struggled so much that I swore in front of the whole class. They were trying to get me to hang upside down, and I finally went, Screw this!” It was the very first class. I made the mistake of going with my friend who was really good at it. I was jealous.

CC: At least you went to the class. Some people might not even try. I think that’s admirable.

SF: I started doing hip-hop dancing a few years ago. I was pretty bad, but it was so much fun that it kept me coming back. I would never do it in front of anyone, but there’s so much about it that I love. It shuts your mind off. Everybody talks about yoga shutting your mind off, but for me, it’s dancing.

CC: I used to dance a lot more than I do now. I need to dance more. I used to enjoy going to clubs and dancing, but when I got older, I got more self-conscious. Maybe that’s something to fix. Maybe when I’m in Austin, I should have too much to drink and end up dancing somewhere. Note to self …


Sallie Ford photo by Kim Smith-Miller. Charlie Cunningham photo by Louisa Stickelbruck.

Patterson Hood on Music, Moving Around, and Making Peace with Southern Heritage

Patterson Hood was just eight years old when he wrote his first song and was a youthful 14 years old when he joined his first band. At 21, he teamed up with fellow singer/songwriter/guitarist Mike Cooley to form the Drive-By Truckers. Over the course of their 20 years on the road and in the studio, DBT have drawn on influences as diverse as Willie Nelson, Muscle Shoals R&B, and Led Zeppelin to make music that revives and redefines the words “Southern Rock.”

Now living in the sunny climes of Portland, OR, Hood talks about everything from growing up the son of a musical legend [Muscle Shoals session man David Hood] to race relations in the American South to DBT’s voluptuous new live album, It’s Great to Be Alive!

The first question I was going to ask is: What’s a boy from the Shoals of Alabama doing in Portland?

Well, my wife and I have lived our whole lives in two states. I’ve traveled — a lot — 15 years now, really heavy on the road. And we’ve always said we wanted to experience living somewhere else. We also wanted to live in a city. Athens, GA, is lovely. It’s one of my favorite places on earth. It’s a great town, but it’s a town. It’s a college town, so there’s a lot more art and cool stuff than most Southern towns with 100,000 people in it. But there’s also the downside of the college town thing, too, which after about 20 years, we needed a break from.  

We both kind of kept a list and I’ve spent a lot of time in a lot of towns. Portland’s been on the top of my list since at least 2000. And, likewise, top of her list, too. We didn’t want to move our kids across the the country when they’re teenagers; we had a little bit of time, but it was running out. So we decided to do it. We thought of places that were closer to home, but this was our first choice. We said, “If we’re going to go through the trouble of moving, let’s go to our first choice, and let’s experience living in a different part of the country.” Kind of a different part of the world, honestly.

[“And a blue state,” comments Patterson’s wife, Rebecca, from the living room.]

And a blue state, yep. That certainly factored in.  

We’ve loved it here. It’s a long way from home. We’ve both gone through some homesickness, for sure. Especially her and the kids, because I’m kind of used to being homesick. It’s kind of part of my existence, because I’m gone 100 days a year. But I think it’s worth it. It’s a beautiful, beautiful city, and it’s kind of nice just having the new adventure. I mean, my job is an adventure, to a big extent, but it’s kind of fun having this personal adventure, at this point.

One of the things I wanted to talk with you about is the controversy over the Confederate flag. I'm going to read a quote from an essay you wrote for the New York Times Magazine back in July and ask you to illuminate it a little: "If we want to truly honor our Southern forefathers, we should do it by moving on from the symbols and prejudices of their time, and building on the diversity, the art, and the literary traditions we've inherited from them."

Damn, did I say all that?

You said all that!  

That's pretty good! [Laughs]

Yeah, that's definitely how I feel.  There are a lot of beautiful, wonderful things about the South and then there's this albatross we've put around our own necks down there, based on our history and a really dark part of our country's history. It seems like there's so much else to be proud of than your great-great-grandad fighting in the war they lost, you know? It seems like we're selling ourselves short when we hang onto that as our tradition, because there are a lot of traditions. Today [on the day of the interview] is William Faulkner's birthday. Put him on a flag and you can wave that flag anywhere you want to. I won't object to it. Or whoever, you know? Harper Lee. There are so many great writers. Or Booker T. Jones.

Put Booker T. on the flag!

Or Helen Keller — she's from one of my hometowns. She's from the Shoals area. There's no shortage of people and things to be proud of in the South. Rock 'n' roll came from the South. That's a pretty big one.

White man's country and black man's blues meeting at a crossroads …

Yeah, totally. It's one of the great art forms of our time and hopefully will continue to be.  

We were actually on our drive cross country, on our way here, when the Charleston thing happened. We were checking into a hotel in Denver and I saw it on the TV. I was like, “Get the kids in the room, away from the TV. Don't turn the TV on.” And then I sneak downstairs to watch it because I wanted to know what the hell was going on. And I could tell it was something terrible.  

If someone wants to have the Confederate flag in their yard or on their car, I don't give a shit — that's their choice. No one’s taking their flag away. But it should not be ceremoniously displayed on the courthouse or the capitol grounds. That's something that all our citizens pay taxes to support and there's a huge percentage of our citizenry down there that's rightfully very offended by that. And it's very much a "fuck you" in their face. I don't think our government should be in the business of saying "fuck you" to a vast swath of our citizenry. So that was where I was coming from on that. I think I worded it better. [Laughs]

[Laughs] At one point in that same article, you talked about how, when you were young, you weren’t aware of what was happening in Selma or Birmingham or Montgomery. At the same time, you were witnessing what was, in my opinion, one of the great moments of integration in our history — when your dad and the Muscle Shoals Swampers were making records with some of history’s greatest black musicians, like Aretha Franklin.

I absolutely agree! It's one of the things I'm proudest of in the world. I can't fathom that it was my dad who did this really amazing, great thing during this really dark, horrible time. He's forever proud to have been there, too.  

The Shoals is a weird area; it's a very conservative town. There's no shortage of people with all kinds of antiquated and unsavory viewpoints. But it wasn't the definitive notion of the town. I started first grade a couple years after the schools were integrated and I don't remember any big deal about it. There were black kids in my classroom and it wasn't a big deal. It wasn't like Birmingham.  

The things that dad and they were doing … no one knew about that, either. That was a secret. It was like this underground thing happening that I kind of learned early not to talk about at school. I think most of the people in that town had no idea that any of that was going on until years later. There were probably some people who really started finding out when they made that movie a few years back.  

It's a very, very different place now from when I grew up. When I go home now, it looks similar in some ways — buildings and stuff — but they're very proud of dad and the Swampers. They've got statues of them now. They're in the process of putting statues up of the musicians in different places in the town; it's kind of a new thing. They're very much honored and revered there now.  

But, at the time, they weren't going to take any chances. They couldn't afford to be harassed and bothered. It was a dry county, you know, and musicians drink. They had to have liquor in the studio that had to come from the Tennessee state line or a bootlegger somehow. Not to mention other things that happened at recording studios … especially when the Stones came to town. [Laughs] It's a crazy, crazy story. The movie is a wonderful thing, but it honestly just scraped the surface, because there are so many facets to that story. People are starting to write books about it. There are probably several books worth of stories floating around.

I want to take a little detour from my list of questions. I’m looking over at your bookshelf and seeing Songwriters on Songwriting. Open it up and see where it lands.

Oh, Lord. I opened it to Todd Rundgren.

Todd Rundgren to the Drive-By Truckers … how do we make that connection?

It's crazy to open it right to that, ‘cause I always say that Something/Anything? is, like, my one desert island record. It has been since I was 12. I started writing when I was eight. Listening to that record was kind of a turning point in my writing. He's a madman. [Laughs]

That record had everything.

It did, and I loved that. Every side was a totally different genre.  

It had hits; it had scream rock.

That's probably as much of an influence as anything. My taste is really, really eclectic. Our band may have a definite sound due to the way that I sing, or [Mike] Cooley sings, or just the way we play together, or whatever, even with all the different personnel changes through the years. There's a common thread, but if you look at the direction that thread is pointing at any given time, you get a lot of diversity. Our first two records were attempting to funnel this thing we do through the lens of old-time country. The third record, the live record, was kind of a punk rock record. Then the fourth record was Southern Rock Opera, which was this whole take on arena rock, set in the '70s, and trying to sound as '70s as we could. I think we kind of pulled that off, and that's probably not a stretch for us in retrospect. And then Decoration Day was this, and Dirty South was that.

Dirty South was us trying to take on some of the subject matter of the hip hop records of the day, filtered through the sound of the way we were and the way we played. We obviously couldn't rap, you know, so we didn't try that, but as far as the themes of the songs … we were all really into that. Blessing and a Curse was sort of our take on the post-punk Replacements era. Brighter Than Creation's Dark is sort of an Americana record, I guess. Big To-Do is an attempt at doing power pop. Go-Go Boots was country soul. I don't know what English Oceans was. We just wanted to make a record.  [Laughs]

Which is what I really like!

We just wanted to make another Drive-By Truckers record, I think, without any kind of a genre idea. I think we felt like we'd done too much of that by that time. But I'm sure part of that influence was Todd Rundgren and Neil Young, too, ‘cause he's all over the map. A lot of the artists I love tend to go all over the map.

So, this is a good lead-in to the next question. You've got this new live record that came out recently called It's Great to Be Alive! There are 35 songs in the set. How do you choose what songs to put in there and how do you tie all these diverse influences together?  

This line-up of the band is so great. I'm proud of all the different line-ups of the band. I love the various places the band was in, even if some of them had some issues or had some things that didn't work. But we've kind of landed on our ultimate band at this point. And Cooley and I both feel the same way about that. The way it plays together, the way it interacts, the personal dynamic, is all really fantastic.

We had made English Oceans, which is very much kind of the first time we went in with that line-up. The goal then was that we wanted to record it really quick and really immediate — we wanted to go in and just capture the moment. Everyone had a working knowledge of what the songs were. We all sent demos. In the case of my songs, they were literally just me on acoustic guitar. Cooley's demos were a little more done. I think he has fun doing that, building tracks. We just wanted to capture this band attacking that material. We'd been saying for years we wanted to do a live record. And it just seemed like now is the time. We had the band right, everybody's having fun, and if we were going to do a live record, I wanted everyone to be having fun, because that's part of the joy of the better live records. There's an aspect of fun to them.

As far as the song selection, we have 150 songs, at this point, in our history. We all had in our head, I think, what was most important for it to be. We don't use a set list, so that provided a challenge. We knew we were recording for three nights at the Fillmore. We didn't want to go through a set list and have it be different than a regular show, where we're having to follow a list. We still like to do it where we decide the first song as we're walking on, and then it just happens.  

So our compromise was that we did a master list of maybe 20 songs that we wanted to make sure we captured over the course of the weekend. If on Thursday night we knew we had great takes on three of those, we'd mark them off the list. By Saturday, it was a pretty small list we knew we had to hit at some point during the show. It worked like a charm. We ended up with about 50 songs to choose from that had really great takes from over the course of the weekend. Then it's a matter of just whittling it down to a more usable group … well, if you can call 35 songs usable. I wanted it to touch fairly equally on the different eras and records of the band. There's a fairly even number of songs from the various incarnations of the band and records.  

Why the Fillmore as opposed to some place closer to home, so to speak?

Well, we've always done really great on the West Coast. That's kind of a myth about our band. The South was actually a little bit of a later place for us to break. Historically, when we started out, the first towns we really had followings were Atlanta, Richmond, New York, and Baltimore. Chicago came pretty early, Austin came pretty early, and then we expanded out. But it took us a few years to get our touring up to the point where we could afford to make the trek cross-country and get out here, but we always did well on the West Coast once we started doing it.  

When we put out Southern Rock Opera and all of a sudden got real management — someone besides me booking the band — our benchmark for being able to tell where we were at was the Fillmore. We were interviewing booking agents and we had narrowed it down to two. We point blank said, "We want to play the Fillmore. How long will it be before we can play the Fillmore?" One of the two people we were interviewing told us that we were being a little overly ambitious and we should think smaller. The other one told us, "I'll have you there opening in a year, headlining in three." He got the job. And he's still our booking agent — he's been with us since 2002, and will be with us as long we are together, as long as there's a band. He made those benchmarks. We played there about seven months later and we made the headline a couple months shy of three years.  

Last year, we played three nights there. It was the end of our touring year. It just kind of made sense, like it was meant to be. I knew it would be a great room to record us in. It's a great-sounding room. It's not too big. If you get too big a room to record a live record in, you get that boominess. The acoustics are great, and also they don't have a barricade between the front row and the stage. The crowd is right up in your face. And we always play better in those rooms. They're rare. All my favorite places we play are like that. Our next choice after the Fillmore probably would have been the 9:30 Club, because it's the same thing. It's a similar-sized room. It's a room with a great history, but we played there at the beginning of the tour, and we played the Fillmore at the end of the tour, so it made sense for it to be there.

Is there one song on the record that, when you listened to it or when you were putting together the album, you felt was transcendent or a defining moment?

As far as my songs go, "World of Hurt." That's a song that always felt like one of the more special songs I've ever written. I was proud of the version on the record when we made Blessing and a Curse, but that night, I knew that night it was a good one — it was special. We had the horns and it was a really, really good take of it. I knew on stage we had gotten it, unless there was some kind of technical problem. Having David, our engineer, out there, you knew there wouldn't be any issues. That would have sucked — this great three-night stand and you listen to the tapes and it's all mangled. But it happens!

One more question I think ties up the whole conversation. Prior to playing "Made Up English Oceans,” Cooley talked about Jimmy Carter and the KKK coming to your hometown. He said it was a source of embarrassment for the home city. How do you see that conversation — in what you've said, in what you've written for the Times, in your music, in what he said there continuing for Drive-By Truckers as you move forward?

I think it's something that's definitely on all our minds. I'm curious to see, moving forward, exactly where the next record goes. We're actually pretty close to starting another record. I've been writing a lot for it; Cooley's writing a lot for it.  

I think the general mindset is definitely a part of what we're writing, it's kind of where we are as a country. We're not going to get past any of this shit until we can talk about it. It's an uncomfortable conversation, so I understand why people shy away from wanting to talk about our country's history with race. And, you know, we're these white dudes from the South talking about it … but whites dudes from the South need to talk about it. It doesn't just need to be black people saying black lives matter. It needs to be something that we all can talk about and move forward from or else we're going to not move forward.  

I was certainly one of those people that, when Obama was elected, thought, "Oh man, we have turned a corner!" I still idealistically hang on to some of that, but actually there's a lot of work left to do. I think it was probably overly idealistic to think that that was going to be the beginning of the end of that conversation. It was just the beginning of the beginning of that conversation, you know?


Patterson Hood photo by Andy Tennille. DBT photos by David McClister.

The Unforeseen Singer: A Conversation with Liz Vice

For 32-year old Portlander Liz Vice, a career as a singer is something she’d never considered. As a kid, she wanted to be an actress. As a young adult, health issues sidetracked her acting career and, ultimately, led her to work behind the scenes as a filmmaker and producer. Until a year-and-a-half ago, that is, when a project with Blitzen Trapper’s Eric Early began opening up some musical doors. Vice recently sat down with the BGS at Albina Press coffee house to talk about her recently released album, There’s a Light, and what it’s like to find herself onstage, in the studio, and, to her surprise, mentioned among some of American music’s most notable names.

So, I voted for you.

Oh, for the Cayman Islands thing.

That’s a lineup, man. Did you look at who’s on that trip?

I didn’t know I had been entered into that contest [the Cayama Journey through Song Cruise] until Jacob Abbott from Ramseur Records said, “Hey, you were selected in the top 10." I didn’t even know that he had submitted us; he did it a long time ago. It’s insane. These people have been doing music for their whole lives.

I know!

Last night, Leon Bridges did an Instagram post about me because I’d given him my album when I performed at Pickathon. It was mostly because we have mutual friends and I wanted to say "What’s up?" He said he didn’t get to hear my set so I gave him my album.  And then my friend said something on my Facebook page that I was in Relevant magazine, which is a magazine I grew up reading when I was a teenager.

Then, to be in-the-running to play on a boat with these people … like John Prine … I’m like, "Did I just kick over a set of dominoes? I’m so sorry." I don’t even know how to make it stop or where the next trigger point’s going to be. It feels like one thing happens, then something else happens. It kinda leaves me speechless. Not like, "Oh my God, I’m so speechless," then I’ve got a lot to say. It’s really like, I don’t know how to react to it.

John Prine, John Hiatt, Steve Earle, Jason Isbell … you certainly deserve to be there, based on hearing the record.

Thank you.

You were on World Café recently, too, which is pretty awesome. How’s the response been to that?

Honestly, with most of these things, I don’t even find out about until a friend tells me.

Growing up, I wanted to be an actress, but there weren’t a lot of brown people in movies that I wanted to be in. And I don’t want to portray a slave and I don’t want to portray a teen mom in poverty. Even though I grew up in a single parent home and poor and without a dad, I went to college. I got my Bachelor’s degree. I was an honors student. So I didn’t let statistics and media define who I am as a black woman.

And I’ve always known the Academy Awards and late night TV shows … when I was a kid I used to pretend I was being interviewed by Jay Leno. I would write imaginary Oscar acceptance speeches. So, in the film world, those kinds of things were on my mind.

Suddenly, I’m in the music world. And it’s different from me listening to the radio or to Spotify all day long and finding new music but not really investigating the hub of where these musicians come from. I knew about NPR when my music was featured — not because I had any idea about their music coverage — but because I love the TED Radio Hour and Planet Money. I love podcasts, just learning something new about technology and humanities and the nature of people.

So when things like World Café are presented before me, it’s usually something I’ve never considered. It’s the first time I’ve ever had to think about questions like, "Would you be interested in doing an interview for World Café or for the Bluegrass Situation?" I’m like, "Can I have a few days to think about this and figure out what I’m getting into?" A lot of the things being presented to me are really big deals in the music world but, honestly, I’ve not heard of a lot of them. I don’t realize how big a deal it is. It’s like jumping into cold water.

I learned about you from Eric Early [of Blitzen Trapper] …

Oh, I love Eric.

… because I interviewed him about the live album they did, on which you sang on “Shine On.” And you tore it up. I was like, "Who’s this girl? Liz Vice. What’s her story?"

I was so scared when I did that.

I was part of a project that Eric and I did [in October 2011] with Josh White called Wounded Healer. We opened up for Josh Garrels at the Aladdin Theater [in Portland] and it was the first time I’d been onstage. But, I was in the background, where no one really knew who I was. Then, when Eric asked me to sing at the Doug Fir with him and the band [for the live album], I was so scared.

I remember Brett Way, from the Parson Redheads, standing backstage with me and she could tell I was freaking out. I had taken my shoes off — because when I get nervous I have to be barefoot because I’m afraid I’m gonna fall over. [Laughs] Brett just grabs me by the hand and says, "Let me pray for you." And I just went out there and she just watched and I sang for the first time in front of an audience like that. And that opened the door to sing at a New Year’s Eve show. Adam Shearer [of the Portland band Weinland] was like, "You got this. You can do this. We’re here to play with you."

Eric was in the studio when we recorded my album and, when I would feel bombarded by "the professionals" who would say, "Yeah, we’re going to do it this way or that way," Eric would look at me and say, "No, no, no. What does Liz want to do? How do you feel about this?" I’d say, "Well, I don’t really know the vocabulary of this, but I don’t like how it goes from this key to this key so abruptly. It’s too hard for me; I’ve never sung like that before." Eric is awesome.

He’s a good dude. And a true pro.

He is and, in a way, that’s so unassuming. He’s so talented and I never feel like I can’t try something new with him. Which, for me, having never done music, I’m okay with taking risks. It’s not like I expected to be here, so let’s take a risk. When I work with people who allow me room to sing something and they’re like, "Hmm, that’s not working." I’m like, "You’re right. That sucked." But at least I tried and I know it didn’t work out. Or I tried and I knew it was supposed to happen that way and it did work out.

It’s all about the gut, a lot of times. That’s why I keep doing music. It’s not a matter of "Music is my calling. This is what I was made to do." It’s a gut feeling. I just need to see why doors keep opening. I just need to see, if music is my calling, what would happen if I just keep saying "yes."

How does the filmmaker part of your brain influence your music?

That is a great question. Music becomes visual to me. I remember when I wanted to prove to myself I could direct a music video. I approached an artist because the song was very visual to me. I’ve noticed that, if someone asks me to sing on a song with them or someone presents a song to me to sing, if it doesn’t become images in mind, it's hard for me to connect to the story that’s being told. There are definitely some songs on my albums that are way more visual to me than others; it just allows me sing it in a way that’s more intimate.

What was your number one goal going into the recording of There’s a Light?

My number one goal was to sing this album, that we could give it away free, then I’d go back to struggling in film. The whole time I was in the studio I was like, "Oh my gosh, I’m an imposter. They have no idea I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know if this sucks. No one is saying anything. Okay, I guess I’ll sing the song like this."

I feel like that as a photographer sometimes. Like, "Don’t these people know I’m just guessing?"

Yeah. I have a friend, an actress, who came up to me and said, "How are you doing with all this music stuff?" I was like, "I … I … I don’t know." She said, "You feel like an imposter, don’t you?" All my actor friends say they feel like imposters. Then one day it clicks and they think, "Yeah, I know what I’m doing."

Playing at Pickathon, people were saying, "I’ve been doing this for 10 years. I’ve been doing this for 20 years." I’ve been doing this a year-and-a-half. So, I have a long way to go but, at the same time, what I’m going through is unique and this album is unique. In my mind, it was supposed to be a one-off thing — that we give away for free, that talks about Jesus, proclaims the gospel. Making music that isn’t cheesy, shove-it-down-your-throat, unrealistic kind of music. Then it just took off. The fourth show I ever played was the Bluesfest. How is this even possible?

What appeals to me about the record is that the message is palatable to anybody. There’s the message and there’s the language of the message. In your music, the language of the message doesn’t overshadow the message itself. So, regardless of what language I may choose to define my religious point of view, the message is still the same.  What I also like is how much you just pour it out. It kind of reminds me of Mavis Staples.

[Laughs] It’s so insane to me when people compare me to these musicians. Like, "Oh yeah, everyone knows who that is." I don’t really know how to respond but to say, "Thank you," I guess.

Well, Mavis does what you do. She sings the message, in her own way. From my point of view, that’s a pretty high compliment.

Our human language is so limited. How many times can I say I feel so honored? But, I am honored.


All photos by Michael Verity for BGS

7 of the Best Independent Bookstores in the U.S. of A.

It's back to school season already, so your Summer reading days may be behind you, but there's still time to get some good reads in … even if they are for class. If you aren't into supporting Amazon, independent bookstores are a great way to find new reading material while supporting local businesses. Plus, the actual humans who work in those stores probably give better recommendations than some algorithm, anyway. Here are seven of our favorite independent bookstores in the U.S.

City Lights Books — San Francisco, CA

Photo credit: Mobilus In Mobili via Foter.com / CC BY

Beat Generation figure and poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti founded this bookshop, which is known for its progressivism as much as it is its poetry section, in 1953. You'll also find the most extensive selection of Beat literature and poetry around.

Faulkner House Books — New Orleans, LA

Photo via Facebook

Oxford may have Rowan Oak, but New Orelans has Faulkner House Books, an indie bookstore housed in — you guessed it — a former home of William Faulkner's. Located right in the French Quarter, this shop is a welcome breather from some of New Orleans' less book-centric activities.

Housing Works Bookstore Café — New York, NY

Photo via Facebook

Housing Works Bookstore Café is connected to Housing Works, a non-profit fighting both homelessness and HIV/AIDS. All of the profits from their bookstore benefits their mission. Books and a good cause? Sign us up.

Powell's — Portland, OR

Photo credit: dog97209 via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND

Nicknamed the "City of Books," Powell's is the ultimate indie bookstore, offering used and new books by the thousands. If you can't find it at Powell's, you probably can't find it anywhere.

Sundog Books — Seaside, FL

Photo credit: Aprile C via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND

Is there anything that sounds better than a walk on the beach followed by a trip to the bookstore? How about a trip to a bookstore situated directly below a record shop? Yep, that's what you'll find at Sundog Books, and it's pretty darn hard to beat.

Square Books — Oxford, MS

Oxford's Square Books has been around since 1979, a mainstay on the main drag of Faulkner's hometown, with a Faulkner section to prove it. Look for offshoots Square Books Jr. and Off the Square, both just short walks from the original, three-story location.

Parnassus Books — Nashville, TN

Photo via Facebook

Nashville's literary scene got a much-needed kick in the pants when renowned author Ann Patchett opened Parnassus in 2011. Five years later, the store itself has expanded, with the city's literary community following suit. Parnassus is your one-stop shop for books, author events, and, most importantly, shop dogs.

 

Because we know you also love music, check out our favorite indie record stores.


Lede photo credit: visitmississippi via Foter.com / CC BY-ND

A Minute in Portland with Chris Pureka

Welcome to "A Minute In …" — a BGS feature that turns our favorite artists into hometown reporters. In our latest column, Portland's Chris Pureka takes us on a tour of her favorite haunts, from a dog-friendly Mexican joint to the best spot to get your hair trimmed.

Grindhouse Coffee

Start your day getting caffeinated … This place is a local, woman-/queer-owned coffee shop that I love to support, which is convenient because it is right in my neighborhood. They use beans from a local roaster, Extracto, and they have a really good breakfast sandwich. The best selling point for me is — because it is a coffee stand and not a shop — I can walk my dog there and she can sit with me while I read the paper. (But there is still a roof for those rainy Portland days.) Plus their motto is "Sexy Coffee."

Tin Shed

I used to visit here long before I moved to Portland. It has been a brunch staple for at least 10 years and it still has a super-long wait on the weekends. There are now a bunch of trendier spots around, but the Tin Shed continues to be a solid staple with all kinds of brunch goodness and large bloody marys and mimosas. Plenty of veggie and gluten-free options. Again, added bonus, you can bring your dog — and they even offer a doggie meal, if your canine friend is hungry. 

Tiger Tiger

Maybe you are in need of a little pampering or just a trim … Tiger Tiger has become my spot to get my hairs clipped. Photo evidence of my latest cut. There are a lot of really great stylists there, but I go to Jenny Lewis (no relation to Rilo Kiley). Tell her I sent ya! 

Communion

You might want a new outfit to go with your stylin' new hairdo. My favorite place for new threads is called Communion, and it's located in the vibrant part of the Hawthorne neighborhood strip. The shop has men's and women's clothes, and I almost always find something I love. (You've been warned!) Plus, while you are there, you can visit Jackpot Records down the street or check out some of the many local vintage shops. 

Breakside Brewery 

If you're getting thirsty and want a happy hour beer, Breakside is my favorite brewery in Portland.  In a town that is pretty famous for beer, there are a lot of options and this one is my spot. Their beers are consistently great quality, so I'm game even when it's a style that I don't typically go for. They usually have 6-10 seasonal beers, plus their standard four flagship beers — all of which are excellent. Plus they have outdoor seating and great food. Located in the super-cute Dekum Triangle of Woodlawn.

Tamale Boy 

I have a lot of old favorites from many years of visiting Portland before I moved here, but this one is new to me. I just went there recently and loved it. Portland is definitely not known for it's Mexican food, so this is a gem. The food is traditional and what I would call comfort food but with great flavors. The cocktails are superb — try the El Diablo (roasted habanero-infused tequila, mango purée, lemon and lime juices, and a salty, spicy rim), or their excellent classic Micheladas and Palomas. Also, it's dog-friendly with outdoor seating and right next door to a gelato place. 

The Doug Fir

Portland is an amazing town for live music. The Doug Fir is not only my favorite venue in Portland, but one of my favorite venues in the country — both to be in the audience and to be on stage. The sound is generally excellent, and the room is vibey and offers different options depending on what mood you are in (seating/standing/bar). It also has a swanky bar/restaurant upstairs and a connecting hotel. It's got it all. I recently played there as my homecoming show to wrap up my album release tour and it's always such a pleasure.

The Kennedy School

If you want to catch a movie or need a place to rest your bones, the Kennedy School grounds include a hotel, a movie theater (pub style with pizza, beer, and second-run flicks), several restaurants and bars, and a soaking pool. There is a lot you can do without leaving the premises, which can be kind of nice if you are looking for a restful vacay without a lot of traveling about. This is one of the "McMennimans" properties which is a local chain of sorts — quirky, re-purposed buildings and unique boutique-type lodgings. Another one, Al's Den downtown, has free music every night — it's a great spot to just pop in and see who's playing.

My home

When I am not touring, I spend most of my time at home in either the garden or the music room: my total happy places. It's great to come home from tour and get my hands in the dirt and get back to writing. 

Chris Pureka is a Portland resident and musician. Her new album, Back in the Ring, is available now. 


Lede photo courtesy of the artist. All other photos by Chris Pureka.

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The Producers: Tucker Martine

Tucker Martine had to move as far away from Nashville as he could before he could have a career in music. Just out of high school, he headed to college in Colorado, then kept heading west until he reached water. He settled in Seattle in the ‘90s, when that city was a center for American alternative music. Then he moved down the road to Portland, Oregon, just as that city was becoming a hub for indie rock.

In the 21st, Martine has become a central figure in Portland’s bustling roots music scene, producing national hits by almost every major local artist. He has added a spacy shimmer to almost every album by singer/songwriter Laura Veirs (who happens to be his wife) and, when the Decemberists graduated from a regional indie label to a Capitol Records, they hired Martine to conjure detailed backdrops for their diorama-songs about Russian shapeshifters and Irish gangsters.

Martine anchors the West Coast roots scene so strongly that even non-locals head west to work with him. Abigail Washburn hired him to combine Asian and American folk traditions with indie-rock techniques on her 2011 breakthrough, City of Refuge. More recently, he produced The Waterfall, My Morning Jacket’s darkest and most daring album in years.

While Martine does not thrust any particular aesthetic onto his projects, he has developed a distinctive ambience: a clarity of sound that is both ethereal and earthy, elaborate and direct, engaging but somehow mysterious, as though he’s reluctant for any album to spill all of its secrets on your first listen. Emphasizing the distinct tones of each instrument in the mix, he helps to convey a rich intimacy, as though even an acoustic set can sound like a headphones album. One of his latest projects is also one of the most highly anticipated albums of 2016: a new collaborative record by Neko Case, Laura Veirs, and k.d. lang — out in June on Anti- Records.

At what part of the process did you come in on the case/lang/veirs record?

Shortly after k.d. had sent an email to Neko and Laura asking if they’d be interested in starting a group together — which I think mostly meant making a record together, perhaps doing a tour for the record. I don’t think it’s a band that is going to be a long-term project. k.d. sent an email to them, and Laura and Neko quickly responded with an enthusiastic "Yes," and then they had a little back-and-forth between themselves. Maybe a week later, they cc’d me on the email thread and asked if I’d be up for working on it with them which, of course, I was honored and excited to be roped in, so I said yes.

I think it made a lot of sense — I mean, hopefully, musically it made perfect sense. I had worked with Neko on her last record and, of course, I’ve worked on a lot of records with Laura. I was getting to know k.d. a little bit because she’s a Portland resident now, and she’d done a couple of things at my studio. That brought one common element into a project that maybe, at least on the surface, didn’t appear to have a lot of common elements to start with. I think the process of making that record was about discovering where the common ground was between all of them. And that was really so much of the excitement of that record — and the challenge of it, too.

So figuring out how those pieces fit together becomes part of that process.

I don’t think any of us wanted to make a record that sounded like four tracks that could have been on the next Neko Case record and four songs from the next k.d. lang record, four songs from the Laura Veirs record. They wanted to figure out where all their sensibilities converged and how they could challenge each other to find interesting places outside of their comfort zones. And there was plenty of that, because they’re all used to being the leader, the person who ultimately calls the shots. But this was a bit of a democracy, and the whole dynamic of the group was being discovered while we were in the middle of making the record. It wasn’t like they had discovered some common chemistry beforehand and then thought, "Well, this means we should make a record." I think everybody knew it felt kind of risky. None of us were talking to people about it beforehand, because we were reserving the possibility that maybe it just didn’t quite work. But it did, and it was apparent on the first day that it was going to work. Everyone was pretty thrilled with how it was sounding right out of the gate.

What does your role, then, become for artists who are still finding out how they relate to each other?

There are so many facets of it. Making them all feel comfortable, for one. Assuring each person that their point of view isn’t going to get steamrolled in this mostly democratic process. I’m always looking to find the strength and the uniqueness of the artist, so I’m constantly having conversations with them about what they’re excited about, and checking in with them all the time to make sure they feel like they are being represented. And I would sometimes have to challenge people to maybe not rush to judgment but let it play out a little longer, and listen to the result rather than not try something because the suggestion sounded like a direction they wouldn’t normally take.

I think that’s something that I knew, but never but a fine point on it — that you’re not just overseeing things in the studio; you’re negotiating aspects of the art and trying to usher this person into making the best thing they can or the strongest thing they can.

Absolutely. All three of these ladies have such different working processes. And I had a little insight into what those processes were, in some cases more than their other collaborators did, because I’d spent many weeks in the studio with Neko and made records for years with Laura. I had only done demos with k.d., and she had sung on one of Laura’s records. So it was really just a matter of trying to honor a bit of each of their processes while reminding all of us that this is a new experience and it’s not going to feel like the process of making one of their solo records.

And that was what was exciting about it. Sometimes, when I thought maybe they were reverting to something too safe, I just tried to remind all of us that the exciting part of a collaboration like this is that it pushes us into some places that we wouldn’t normally go. I think most or all artists ultimately do want to get into some territory that feels new to them, so they feel like they’re moving forward and progressing. And I can only guess that k.d. chose Laura and Neko as collaborators because of how different they are from her, yet she still had a lot of admiration for them and their music and, I think, was looking to shake up her own music-making process. And by accepting that invitation, I think Laura and Neko acknowledged that the same thing was true for them.

It does seem like two generations of artists going back and forth.

I think I can speak for myself and Laura and Neko in saying that we’ve all been fans of k.d. for so long, but you have to remind yourself for a minute that, even though she’s this larger-than-life musical figure in our minds, she’s looking for a three-way collaboration between them. They all really got in there and had to fight for some of their ideas — in a healthy way. At the end of the day, each person got a final say in the songs that they were singing lead vocals on.

I had a moment when it was being planned when I wondered what I had to bring to a project for someone like k.d. lang, but she made it really clear that she wanted me to feel comfortable speaking up. I assured them, in the beginning, that I knew it was going to be a challenging record to make, but we weren’t going to call the record done until everybody was happy with it. It gets emotional, at times. It’s tricky to be giving people confidence while at the same time sometimes you’re asking them to be open to trying something new or to just trying to get a better take of it.

You mentioned that k.d. had recently moved to Portland, and I wanted to ask about that. There is certainly a strong roots scene there, and even though you’re from Nashville originally, I feel that you’re at the center of it … or at the very least a prominent figure there.

To me, the Portland community feels like the more immediate version of the larger music community. And a lot of the artists that I’ve been working with the last few years are not from here. Sometimes it’s artists from out of town, but there will be people from Portland who play on the record, or the artist is from Portland and we bring in some people from out of town to play on the record. There is just a ton going on in Portland, and there are some insular scenes — like the old-time music scene, the singer/songwriter scene, the indie rock scene, and all that — but also a lot of those people just overlap and play with each other.

I left Nashville the morning after my high school graduation because, as much as I loved growing up there, I just felt like there was a narrow-mindedness about music and what it could be — all the different ways it could be presented and written and explored. So it was healthy for me to leave at that time. Since then, of course, it’s transformed into something completely different, with all the transplants and musicians of every variety there. I think most of the Nashville scene is, and has always been, transplants. It’s just that they transplanted themselves there to do a specific type of music, where I think a place like Portland draws people — including myself — more for the environment and the lifestyle, and then that informs the music that comes out of it.

I hadn’t thought of Nashville that way. It’s like Portland — a city full of transplants.

Nashville’s a place where people go to make it. For the most part, Portland’s a place where people moved because it was inexpensive and it’s just a great place to live. You can bike or walk anywhere, and it’s gorgeous. You have access to the ocean and the mountains and the rivers. There aren’t a lot of labels and managers and industry stuff here. A lot of times the best music scenes just kind of come out of somewhere that’s affordable for young people to live. And, until recently, that’s been true of Portland.

It also seems like a place where more established musicians end up, like k.d. lang or Peter Buck or Patterson Hood.

If you’re in a position where you feel like you can be based anywhere and still do your work, then you just start looking at where you want to live regardless of what kind of infrastructure that place might have for your chosen field of work. It doesn’t make any sense that I moved away from Nashville and moved to Seattle and started producing records. I mean, to me it makes perfect sense, but people are always asking me why in the world I left Nashville, which is one of the premiere cities in the world for recording studios. But it just felt like a trap to me, at the time. I felt like, if I stayed, my growth would be radically stunted. I think it was the right move. I’ve always thought I might move back someday, because it’s still home to me. I couldn’t be more fond of it, even if it was necessary at that time in my life to be elsewhere and find my own identity outside of the familiar and comfortable.

And it does seem like you’ve developed a signature palette that I don’t hear in Nashville.

My sensibilities don’t seem to overlap a lot with what Nashville’s known for, although I certainly have loved some of the music that’s come out of Nashville. I’m not a fan of overly glossy productions, and certainly Nashville is known for that. But there are countless examples of records that have come out of there that weren’t that way. You had guys like Jack Clement making really interesting, soulful country records, and now you’ve got guys like Dave Cobb, who’s crushing everything he touches. It’s cool to see Nashville having a resurgence, but I feel like I’ve really found the right spot for myself.

But people don’t usually come to me because they’re chasing the latest, hottest sounds or because I have the latest chart toppers. Maybe there’s just some quality in the way the music is translated and presented that speaks to them. To me, my approach is different for every record and every artist; but for somebody less close to it than me, I guess you can hear some continuity — or, as you put it, a sound. And it’s convenient that people like Portland. Someone might be interested in working with me and, when they find out I’m in Portland, they usually get excited about the idea of coming here for a little while.

You mentioned that you approach every project differently, but are there elements that are common from one project to the other …

I really like to be surprised, so I always try to leave some room in the process for some things to happen that surprise all of us. Those often end up being favorite parts of records. I feel like, the longer I’ve done this, the less satisfying it is to just put up some mics and make everything sound perfectly nice, make sure that nothing sticks out, and there’s nothing that could possibly offend anyone. If it came to that, I feel like it would just be time to hang it up. I want to be moved by what’s coming out of the speakers, whatever that means. Sometimes, that means just blowing things up and making it sound ratty and raw. Other times, it means muting everything except for the vocal and the harpsichord.

At the outset, it’s just dictated by whatever the material suggests to me. I try not to take on a project where the songs don’t suggest a lot to me about how they could be presented. You want to leave plenty of room for it to end up going a different direction if something presents itself that is maybe even more interesting than what I imagined. And no record ever ends up sounding like whatever I thought it was going to sound like at the outset. Still, I think it’s important to have some kind of vision as a launching point, or else you’re all just sitting there looking at each other like, “I don’t know — what do you want to do?” Nothing gets done, or what gets done is just lifeless.

Are there any examples that come to mind?

Oh man, it could be anything! You might have an idea of a nice drumbeat for a track, and then you get everything set up and the drummer starts playing some angular, syncopated thing where you can’t even find the one. At that point, you can either say, “No, man, this is like a straight-ahead kind of thing.” Or you could say, “Let’s check this out. And let’s see how the rest of the band responds to that idea.” More often than not, those things end up sticking and being some of my favorite parts.

The song “Down I-5” from the case/lang/veirs record is a good example. The demo was okay, but I think we all knew it needed something — some joie de vivre — and we all had our own vague ideas of what that might be. I had spoken to Glenn Kotche, who was playing drums on that record, and I just told him that it really needed a unique perspective and that the reason he was there to begin with — why Glenn was chosen to be the drummer for that record — was because his default mode is unpredictable. I told him that this was a perfect scenario for him to lean on his instincts. I didn’t want him to try to guess what the singers are expecting to hear, and he just pulled out that wild beat. There was a look of confusion on the faces of the people in the room, but within a minute it had transformed to elation.

So that’s what I mean by surprises. It’s easy to tell people something that’s safe and predictable, and then you can just get it done and check it off the list. But that’s not why I do this. And that’s not why I think most of the people who call me are doing this. I just try to keep myself and the artists honest.

When you were talking about that, one album that came to mind is City of Refuge by Abigail Washburn. Every song seems to have that sense of discovery to it, some new idea to get across.

For that record, we approached every song from scratch. That wasn’t a record where we had a band for five days, pick a song, knock it out, and go to the next one. We would just start with a song, and sometimes the song wasn’t even finished being written, so we would just start with the one thing we knew it needed. Maybe that was Abigail and her banjo. Maybe it was something else. By the time that we tracked that, it suggested the next layer. We really weren’t too concerned with it all sounding like it happened in a short time span with the exact same people set up the same way.

In fact, one thing Abby and I found out was that we both love old Alan Lomax recordings and Folkways stuff, where there might be talking before a song. We approached “Bright Morning Stars” like a field recording. We just went into a church and told a bunch of people to meet us there. Abby showed them the songs, and they’re of course all playing into one mic, which means you can’t fix anything. Other songs, we meticulously put together. We hoped that if we committed to giving each song its own singular treatment, then the variety of production sensibilities would actually be a strength rather than a weakness.

Very often, you start in on the process, and things are pretty ambiguous. You don’t really know what the identity of the record is yet. But gradually, over time, it starts to show you. In that case, once we had enough songs, I started tinkering with the sequence, and once the sequence started making sense, the whole record started making sense. That helps you figure out what the songs do and don’t need, or which songs might transition well into the others, at which point you might add some extra layers to bleed over into each song. That’s the fun of it. You just take the next step and then it shines the light on where to go after that.

It seems like that might be pronounced when you’re working with an artist for the first time, but how do you keep it fresh for somebody like Laura Veirs or the Decemberists, with whom you’ve produced several albums over the years?

It’s unspoken with each artist that you don’t ever want to make the same record twice, even if you loved the last record you made together. With the Decemberists, when it really felt like we needed to shake things up, we went to a barn and just set up some gear out there. That can have a profound effect on the process in a lot of ways, technically and emotionally, for people. The one thing all the best records that I’ve worked on have in common is that we went into them wanting to do something we’d never done before. You do have to be conscious of that, but it’s a very natural thing to make sure that you’re not just rehashing old territory. We always have a dialogue early on about how to approach it in a way that’s unique compared to what we’ve done in the past.

And that starts with the songwriting. I try to be honest with the artists upfront, if I feel like we don’t have the material to make something that’s up to the standard of what we’ve made in the past, or if it just feels like rehashed versions of something we’ve already done. Often, when I hear demos, six of them sound like the bulk of a really strong record, and four or five seem like maybe they don’t fit in. But I do think when the artist really goes to bat for a song that I’m not feeling, it’s important to record it and try it out. About half the time, just on the strengths of their convictions for it, we find a way to get something we all feel is special. So there is a theme here: It’s important to have a vision, it’s important to have convictions for your ideas, but the second you stop being open to other ideas is the moment you stop being a good collaborator. And, for me, producing records is a collaboration.

There is an adrenaline rush when you start a record. It’s like you jump off a cliff into a river. You’re pretty sure everything’s gonna be fine, but you still get a rush the moment you jump, because you don’t know exactly what’s going to happen. At the start of every record, I’m always a little bit scared, but I’ve learned over the years that that’s a good thing. It always ends up working out, and it never turns into a disaster — no one ever dies, or makes a record that they regret or are embarrassed about. So it’s just that kind of excitement of not having any idea what’s going to happen.


Photo credit: J Quigley

Experience Your Favorite Cities Through These Vintage Photo Collections

Everyone likes to talk about the "good ol' days" of their city — the days before high rises and high-end coffee shops took over and a little bit of history got squeezed out as a result. Most people, however, neglect to look much past the decade or two they've lived in a certain spot, forgetting the years of growth and change that brought the city to its current incarnation. We've rounded up some of our favorite spots on the web to check out cool, historic photos of some of our favorite cities, and you can give them a look.

Nashville, TN

Bob Grannis and Leila Grossman

Grannis Photography has an extensive collection of vintage photos of Nashville, from way back when at the Grand Ole Opry to the days when Green Hills Market was a fixture in what is now Trader Joe's and Whole Foods territory. The site is run by professional Nashville photographer Leila Grossman, who bought the photo archives of Bob Grannis in 1997.

Denver, CO

Photo via Denver Public Library

The digital archives of the Denver Public Library are a gold mine of historic photos, many of which are essential to understanding Western history. With over 50 collections of photographs available, the archive is sure to have something for everyone.

Chattanooga, TN

Chattanooga has a lot of history, and Deep Zoom Chattanooga is one of the web's best resources for exploring it. The image galleries, which are categorized by decade and go back to the 1800s, were pulled together by Sam Hall, a history enthusiast who spent years making the project into what it is today. 

Portland, OR

City of Portland Archives, Oregon, SE 4514 E Burnside Street near SE 45th Avenue, A2011-013, 1964

Vintage Portland is a photo blog created and run by the City of Portland Archives and Records Center. With categories broken down by both decade and geographic location, the blog is a wonderful source for anyone looking for the history of a specific Portland locale.

Los Angeles, CA

Photo via Shorpy

Shorpy, an online archive of historic photos from all over, has an extensive collection of vintage photos of Los Angeles, ranging from Old Hollywood to early businesses in some of the city's most popular neighborhoods. 

Chicago, IL

Photo via Shorpy

Shorpy is also a wonderful resource for historic photos of Chicago, collecting early images of landmarks like Grant Park and showing what 1910 Chicagoans saw as a "Changing Chicago."


Lede photo: City of Portland Archive, Oregon, Logan Oldsmobile Company on the corner of SE Grand Avenue and SE Yamhill Street, A2011-013, 1961