LISTEN: Zach Person, “Wanna Fly”

Artist: Zach Person
Hometown: Austin, Texas
Song: “Wanna Fly”
Album: Zach Person
Release Date: April 2, 2021

In Their Words: “2020 was a crazy year for the entire world. All the political and social uproar in countries across the globe inspired me to write ‘Wanna Fly.’ I was listening to an episode of Broken Record (a podcast by Rick Rubin) where he was discussing protest songs, and I got to thinking about what a modern-day ‘Dylan-esque’ protest song would sound like. That thinking inspired much of the lyrics to the tune. I also wanted the song to have that big, open, and spacious feeling that you associate with sounds of the Wild West and open plains of early America. All of these elements blended together to make for a really unique but familiar experience for the listener.” — Zach Person


Photo credit: Christopher Durst

LISTEN: Crys Matthews, “Call Them In”

Artist: Crys Matthews
Hometown: Richlands, North Carolina (currently Washington, D.C.)
Song: “Call Them In”
Album: Changemakers
Release Date: March 26, 2021

In Their Words: “As a social-justice songwriter, my approach to songs has always been to lead with love and hope, even when it is hard to do, especially when it is hard to do. That message is at the heart of ‘Call Them In.’ It is so easy for those of us committed to justice to do the work of calling out injustice, but it is much harder to take that next step and try to invite people in. But that is the charge, that is the task before us. Not a lot of people did that better than John Lewis.

“As a fellow Black southerner, I grew up hearing about the freedom songs people would sing (like ‘Eyes on the Prize’) as they marched for justice, and I wanted this song to feel like something they would be proud of and maybe march to, which is why I wanted to build a choir into the song. Fellow social-justice songwriters Kyshona Armstrong and Heather Mae, who are singing on the track, definitely helped me achieve that. I hope that this song passes on a little of the love and hope that he and Dr. King passed on to me and so many others. May we never stop believing in good trouble, or in the vision of America that Congressman Lewis bled for on that bridge all those years ago.

“In the summer of 2020, while the entire world was learning how to live through a global pandemic, America was in the middle of a reckoning nearly 400 years in the making. George Floyd’s brutal killing at the hands of police in Minnesota sparked the kind of national outrage that had been sparked decades ago when John Lewis and so many others were brutalized on Bloody Sunday. And while George Floyd was not the first and, in some ways, not even the most horrific of these all too frequent instances of police brutality, he woke so many people up to the reality at the heart of the Black Lives Matter movement.

“In an interview he gave on The TODAY Show, Congressman Lewis said that he thought Dr. King would be very proud of how many Americans were standing up for justice, and speaking out for better. Lewis said, ‘He’s looking down and he’s saying to each and every one of us, keep it up, and never give up, never give in, but to keep the faith and to keep your eyes on the prize.’ At 80 years old, and after having suffered so much cruelty and brutality, this great man was still doing the work of calling out injustice while simultaneously calling in more allies, more willing change agents, more of what Dr. King called ‘drum majors for justice.’ So when he died on July 17, 2020, I knew that I wanted to honor him. It is my sincere hope that ‘Call Them In’ does just that.” — Crys Matthews


Photo credit: Rah Foard

WATCH: Chris Pierce, “American Silence”

Artist: Chris Pierce
Hometown: Los Angeles, California
Song: “American Silence”
Album: American Silence
Release Date: February 26, 2021

In Their Words: “It’s important to not give up on reaching out to those who have stayed silent for too long about the issues that affect those around us all. Complacency is an addiction that plagues our society. If you smile and applaud for those different than you, be willing to fight for those folks too.” — Chris Pierce


Photo credit: Mathieu Bitton

Six of the Best: Protest Songs

It’s hard to pick my favorite protest songs. The Woody, the Dylan, the ’60s counterculture pop hits, the singularly chilling “Strange Fruit” — I love them all. The original “This Land Is Your Land” is an anarchist hymn, Dylan’s “Masters of War” is as scathing and righteous today as it was then, “Ohio” by CSNY was so poignant and cathartic in its time, and Billie Holiday laid bare the terrorism of whiteness, breaking the silence for a new generation to sing and speak their truth.

But I’ve opted to go toward the personal: the formative songs that revealed to me just how powerful songwriting could be in conveying a message. The ones that viscerally grabbed me, shook me and changed me; that still send a chill down my spine when they twist the knife. The songs that made me look up from the pages of my diary and want to write songs about the world and the way it could be.

In the past three years I have ramped up my commitment to learning to write this kind of song, and I have had plenty of inspiration. So much so that Front Country’s next record is almost entirely protest songs of one kind or another. Songs of meaning and truth and change. Here are six of the songs that made me the hopelessly idealistic and sanctimonious songwriter I am today. — Melody Walker, of the band Front Country.


“The Wagoner’s Lad” – Traditional

The old ballads are not known for being feminist anthems — far from it — but this one has to be my favorite. The first verse is one of the most honestly brutal accounts of what life was (and still is) like for women in most of the world living under Abrahamic religious rule: “Oh, hard is the fortune of all womankind / They’re always controlled, they’re always confined / Controlled by their parents until they are wives / Then slaves to their husbands the rest of their lives.” As well as the first known field recording sung by Buell Kazee, I recommend Joan Baez’s version because I love her interpretation of the lyrics, and my favorite modern version is by The Duhks. Interestingly, Doc Watson recorded it with a declawed first line “The heart is the fortune of all womankind,” as did several others after him, and I’d be ever so curious to know the story behind that change.


“Killing in the Name” – Rage Against the Machine

You know how parents in the latter half of the 20th century were convinced that music was radicalizing and warping the minds of their children? Well, I can safely say that Rage Against the Machine was my gateway drug into politics and protest, and I’ve never looked back. The raw angst and explosive energy drew me in, and the messages made me stay. Fox News themselves couldn’t write a more cliché tale of my descent into liberal madness: I went to my first RATM show at age 13 in Oakland, California, got a million pamphlets outside the show, read them all, and was immediately indoctrinated into progressive politics. Rare in the realm of protest music, this song, the performance, and the production still sound as fresh today as they did all the way back in 1991. This song was released in the wake of the Rodney King protests and it’s famous refrain sadly still rings true in America: “Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses.”


“One Tin Soldier” – written by Dennis Lambert and Brian Potter

Cheesy as all get out, preachy as hell, but one of the most hard-hitting story songs with a pacifist moral out there. The one time I got to go to sleep-away summer camp at 10 years old, our cabin counselor would sing us to sleep with her favorite folk songs, and when she sang this one I was pretty sure it was the best songwriting I had ever heard in my life. What can I say? It never fails to turn me into a blubbering mess by the end. Truly great songs can stand up to any style or instrumentation, so take your pick of the original ’70s AM gold, punk rock, and pop reggae versions — or this legendary clip of the Bluegrass Alliance from the documentary Bluegrass Country Soul featuring baby Sam Bush and Tony Rice!


“Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee” – Buffy Sainte-Marie

I first heard this song on a live Indigo Girls album and it turned me on to Canadian-American First Nations singer-songwriter Buffy Sainte-Marie. Though she has had a long and successful career as a writer and performer since the early ’60s, including co-writing the inspirational “Up Where We Belong,” this song is from her ’90s comeback album and it pulls absolutely no punches in its accounting of ongoing terrorism against indigenous people in North America. One listen to this song is an invitation to learn more about the activists of the American Indian Movement and how corporations still collude with governments every day to displace and destroy native cultures around the world.


“My IQ” – Ani DiFranco

No one artist embodies the 3rd Wave Feminism of the 90s more than prolific and perpetually independent songwriter Ani DiFranco. Every song is a stream-of-consciousness integration of the personal and the political, redefining and queering the protest song in a polarizing performance style you either love or hate. She paved the way as a completely DIY artist with her own independent record label from the beginning, sending a message not just through her music, but also her entire business model. Each song is a subversive blend of breakup song, political manifesto, slam poetry piece and almost jazz-like playful vocal exploration, unwilling to be pinned-down as a singular statement. I finally settled on one that ends with my favorite of her famous zingers: “Every tool is a weapon… if you hold it right.” I love this well-worn, reimagined live version from 2002.


“If I Had A Hammer” – Pete Seeger & Lee Hays

Speaking of tools, it’s easy to see why this menacingly titled early hit of the “folk scare” put the fear of revolution in the hearts of the powerful. While it was debuted in 1949 by writers Pete Seeger and Lee Hays at a meeting of the Communist party, it became as mainstream as apple pie by the time Peter, Paul & Mary had a hit with it in 1962. Perhaps considered a children’s song today, it has a subversively empowering message in its simplicity. The night Trump got elected, Front Country had just flown to Seattle to start a tour, and there was a palpable sense of grief in the air at those West Coast shows. We closed every show of that run acoustic, on the floor, with a singalong of this song. It seemed to provide a much needed collective catharsis for ourselves and our fans. When one feels helpless, this song reminds the singer that we each have our own unique tools to bring to the work of dismantling systems of oppression and creating the world we want to see. There are a mind-bending number of recording of this song, so here are a few lovely ones.


Photo of Ani DiFranco: GMDThree

LISTEN: Red Yarn, ‘Old Hen Cackled’

Artist: Red Yarn
Hometown: Portland, OR
Song: “Old Hen Cackled”
Album: Red Yarn’s Old Barn
Release Date: April 27, 2018
Label: Red Yarn Productions

In Their Words: “I can’t remember which Seeger’s version of ‘Old Hen Cackled’ I heard first, Pete’s or Mike & Peggy’s take on Ruth Crawford’s. Either way, I had been tinkering with this old folk song for a few years and had come up with the main riff and the chord progression for the bridge, but I was searching for something innovative to do with the lyrics.

In August 2017, right after the racist rallies in Charlottesville and the president’s tepid response, I found my inspiration: The old hen needed to be a progressive activist. I modeled her after my mom, my mother-in-law, and other feminist boomers who’ve been fighting the good fight since the 1960s. Folk songs have always been an essential part of protest movements, and I thought an old hen cackling all the way from the farm to the White House would be an accessible image for the budding young activists in my audience. Once I had the concept, the lyrics pretty much wrote themselves.” — Andy Furgeson


Photo credit: Aaron Hewitt

Canon Fodder: Tracy Chapman, ‘Tracy Chapman’

For the week of August 27, 1988, the number one song in America was George Michael’s “Monkey,” a crackling dance-pop tune off his multi-platinum Faith. Rounding out the top 10: Elton John’s “I Don’t Wanna Go On with You Like That” and Chicago’s “I Don’t Want to Live Without Your Love,” along with “Simply Irresistible” by Robert Palmer and “Sweet Child o’ Mine” by a new band out of L.A. called Guns n Roses. Lodged at number six — as high as the song would climb, but still remarkable — was “Fast Car,” by a young singer/songwriter named Tracy Chapman, who just a year earlier was busking in coffee shops around Boston and Cambridge. She had released her self-titled debut in the spring, and “Fast Car” had become a radio hit. She was a curious presence on the singles chart, as she was not a pop artist nor does she play power ballads: “Fast Car” is an acoustic ballad about poverty, hardship, and the kind of dreams that prove more burdensome than freeing.

She was never going to give George Michael a run for his money, but Chapman’s success in 1988 is remarkable for a newcomer making her debut, especially one who chronicles the lives of people who can’t afford to buy albums or cassingles. In “Fast Car,” a pair of lovers determine to escape their hardships together. “We gotta make a decision,” she sings, “leave tonight or live and die this way.” They move to the city, look for jobs, live in a homeless shelter, have kids, continue to struggle as much as they ever did. The end of the song is ambiguous, as the narrator tells her lover to leave: “I got no plans. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, so take your fast car and keep on driving.” Is she giving the driver their freedom? Or has her lover become extraneous, one more anchor weighing her down? Is it an act of love or of its opposite?

Bruce Springsteen is the obvious touchstone, in particular songs from Darkness on the Edge of Town and The River — his grimmest albums with his most desperate characters, many of whom drive fast cars and nurse dashed dreams. In other words, Chapman was not as much of an anomaly on the charts as she might have initially appeared. Just a year before, Suzanne Vega notched a number three hit with “Luka,” about child abuse and our responsibilities to the people around us. And even before that, there was a song that shares a story with “Fast Car,” albeit definitely not a sound: Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.” As the Reagan era died down in the late 1980s, pop music was reflecting the woes of the country back to itself, and Tracy Chapman appeared in 1988 as the culmination of pop’s newfound social engagement.

Chapman grew up in working-class Cleveland, raised by her single mother who saved money to buy her daughter musical instruments. She began writing songs as a child and, after winning a scholarship to a progressive private school in Connecticut, Chapman began performing at the school coffeeshop. An anthropology major at Tufts, she developed a reputation, locally, as a protest singer, which brought her to the attention of a fellow student named Brian Koppelman, whose father co-owned a major publishing company. Soon, she had a record contract with Elektra and a new manager (who also managed Bob Dylan and Neil Young). Making her debut, however, was much more difficult, because most producers declined to work on a folk album. Eventually, David Kershenbaum, who had previously helmed hits for Duran Duran and Supertramp, accepted the job and promised to keep the music austere and subtle.

The focus is on Chapman’s expressive singing and surprisingly dexterous acoustic guitar playing, which naturally led fans and critics to connect her with the ‘60s folk revival. They’re not wrong, but the comparison is more limiting than revealing. Yes, Chapman sings about revolution and peace and poverty and the military-industrial complex just like Dylan and Baez, but her musical palette is broad. “She’s Got Her Ticket” rides a percolating reggae beat without sounding like a musical tourist. “Baby Can I Hold You” is a domestic drama staged as chamber pop. “For My Lover” is a thumping blues number, with Chapman boasting about spending “two weeks in a Virginia jail … for my lover, for my lover.” (Given the persistent and unseemly speculation about Chapman’s sexual orientation, it’s tempting to hear that song as a gay blues, which would place the song in the tradition of Bessie Smith and Ma Rainey.)

Perhaps the most startling moment on Tracy Chapman is “Behind the Wall,” which she sings a cappella. It’s a story about domestic abuse, the narrator describing the violent arguments she hears coming from the apartment next door, and the lack of any accompaniment contrasts the noise that keeps her up and eventually draws the police. Chapman pauses between the lines of the verses, letting that silence scream loudly, yet the song is as much about how society ignores or disregards the dangers faced by women, in particular black women: “It won’t do no good to call the police, always come late, if they come at all.”

Not everything is quite so powerful. Some of Kershenbaum’s flourishes anchor the music to 1988, in particular the sitar on “Baby Can I Hold You.” And, occasionally, Chapman skirts actual outrage for naïveté, especially on “Why?” “Why are the missiles called peacekeepers, when they’re aimed to kill? Why is a woman still not safe, when she’s in her home?” Her desire for safety and community are sound and all sadly relevant today, but the rhetorical structure of the song does them little justice. Answering rather than simply asking those questions would make a more substantial song. Chapman had been working on many of these songs for nearly a decade, back when she was at that private school in Connecticut. There is a youthful idealism animating many of them, which is at odds with the harsh realism that animates others. That tension gives the album an electric jolt, even 30 years later. Tracy Chapman is the sound of a young artist clinging to her optimism, even in the face of so much cynicism.

Tracy Chapman peaked at number one on the album chart and earned three Grammy nominations, including Album of the Year. She lost to George Michael, but did pick up a trophy for Best New Artist. Also in 1988, she appeared on the Amnesty International Human Rights Now! Tour, on which she shared a stage with Springsteen, Sting, Peter Gabriel, and Youssou N’Dour. Was it all too much too soon? Chapman’s follow-up, Crossroads, released a year later, was arguably better than her debut, but sold fewer copies. She enjoyed a massive hit in 1995 with a 12-bar blues called “Give Me One Reason,” but it seemed like a fluke. Gradually, Chapman’s musical protests grew more general: Songs like “The Rape of the World” and “America” are as broad as their titles, less rooted in story and character, no longer enlivened by the well-observed detail or the thorny insights. As of this writing, it’s been a full decade since she released an album of new material, and yet, Tracy Chapman sounds as sadly relevant as ever.

A Harmonic Convergence: An Interview with Robert Ellis and Courtney Hartman

There’s a strangely specific conversation that takes place between two guitars. Long-time friends Robert Ellis and Courtney Hartman know the very kind. They’ve been playing music together for some time now, but they partnered in a new way when they set about to record a selection of folk singer John Hartford’s songs for their collaborative tribute album, Dear John. The musicians — solo artists in their own respect (with Hartman also playing in Americana group Della Mae) — paired their guitars, as well as their voices for a harmonically infused update on Hartford’s work, both known and obscure.

While their voices ebb and flow like the river that runs central to Hartford’s songwriting, it’s their stunning guitar work that elevates the 10-track LP into a conversation within a conversation. The slow, building guitars of “Delta Queen Waltz” trickle like a stream, widening at the first verse’s start to allow Ellis’s and Hartman’s voices space to enter. Then, of course, there’s their take on one of Hartford’s most famous songs, “Gentle on My Mind.” As the song winds down, their guitars spend nearly two minutes in a tête-à-tête that is as evocative as their harmonies at the beginning. Dear John is a winsome nod to the “weird” writing of Hartford told not through his traditional banjo and fiddle, but two very talkative, beguiling guitars.

What was it about this opportunity to sing together that felt so enticing?

Robert Ellis: We’ve been friends for a long time. We’ve been taking every opportunity to play together ever since we met. I think the tour and the record are products of that vibe of enjoying each other’s company.

Courtney Hartman: Exactly. And, actually, the record had been made before we toured.

What about Hartford’s songwriting feels modern or timeless to you, and how do you feel his subject matter still resonating?

CH: John Hartford writes really specifically and really poignantly, and I think those lyrics will always feel timeless. He would also write some really specific cultural or political or environmental songs, and I think they’re still very relevant today.

RE: Yeah, I think that’s a strength of his style. I was explaining to a student the other day — we were talking about writing — I think, when we’re young, all of our instinct as writers is to want to be profound, to search for this way to say something meaningful that no one has said, or just say something in this unique or profound way. I think, as we get older, we figure out that the most profundity there is in the universe is in the little details of, you know, ironing your shirt or the weird interaction you had with a lover at a coffee shop. There’s something about the very specific narrative nature of that tradition that makes these profound things happen. I think, for John Hartford’s stuff, they’re specific ideas about a specific thing happening, and that says something about this much larger, more important thing.

Speaking about his political songs, “Old Time River Man” comes to mind because I couldn’t help drawing parallels to, let’s say, “Peg and Awl,” and the plight of the laborer. Even that feels relevant still.

CH: I think his songs about interactions, people’s interactions, are imminently relatable, and I think it’s the same specific details that he gives that make you go, “Oh, I know that feeling.” Those are still and always will be relevant.

He once described his compositions as “weird songs.” Where do you see them fitting in the greater tradition of folk?

RE: Especially in the context of the world he was in, he’s very weird. I guess everyone’s odd in some way, but he definitely embraced his eccentricities. Rather than shy away from something that’s really nuanced and John Hartford-y, he would embrace it. “Down on the River,” from an arrangement perspective, you have these weird, old-time fiddle lines, and it sounds like he overdubbed 20 tracks of them. It’s a huge section of fiddles. His instinct was to really be himself regardless of the context. I think that’s what drew both of us to him.

As far as themes, one thing I really like about his meaning and motive for writing songs is that he’s really careful to highlight beauty in the world rather than to call out specific things. You catch more flies with honey. Instead of going out and saying, “This is messed up! This is messed up!” he really shows someone how poignant a day of labor can be. A song like “Tall Building,” it’s not necessarily about how the city sucks. There’s this depth to everything he’s saying that’s much more fair and real-life to me, it’s not so preachy.

CH: I don’t know if he would have said it was protest songwriting.

Not exclusively, but I do think protest comes up in a rather sneaky way.

CH: Mmhmm, and I think it comes with a sense of tenderness.

RE: Exactly. It’s not that he’s softer; I just think he’s more honest. Life is this really nuanced, gray area most of the time, and I think songwriting has a bad habit of not allowing that. Instead of being the gray, uncomfortable feeling we all feel, songwriting tries to be very pointed and very one-sided. Writers like Hartford were comfortable being nuanced.

CH: And he wasn’t afraid to use humor and just be a weirdo in the way that he wrote. His ability to make people dance and his deep rhythmic groove and integrity … when people are dancing, you can’t help but listen to what someone’s playing, so songs like “Up on the Hill Where They Do the Boogie,” who knows what that’s about really. I think there are a lot of things that song can be about. Part of the gift of getting to play it for generations is to go, “Oh, maybe it’s about this. Maybe it’s about the hippies on the hill. Maybe it’s about the White House.”

RE: We were playing it the other day, and I thought, “Oh, maybe it’s about Capitol Hill, and you were like, ‘Well, yeah.’”

CH: I was like, “Duh.”

RE: That had never occurred to me. I had never heard it that way.

CH: The whole time I’m like, “This is such a political song.”

Hartford brought together banjo and fiddle for his compositions, whereas you’ve partnered your two guitars. How did you want to cultivate that particular sound while paying homage to Hartford?

CH: My first introduction to learning Hartford material was his fiddle tunes. I think one of the strongest components of his songs is to shape melodies, and to write really memorable melodies. Coming from playing fiddle tunes on guitar was a bonding place for both Robert and me, when we both came to this material. The first tune we learned together was “Delta Queen Waltz.” We thought it sounded really good; we had a lot of fun playing it.

RE: A lot of it, for me at least, was really intuitive.

It does seem that way watching you two play, but that makes sense, if it’s born of this friendship.

CH: We had two days to rehearse this material, but rehearse meant play it over and over again and learn it, and then we had two days to record, so it was all done in four days. We kept being like, “Dang, this is pretty easy,” because we both had similar instincts, so we didn’t have to talk about nuanced arrangement parts of dynamic because there was a deeper level of understanding, musically.

RE: It was really easy. All of it’s been really easy.

It’s nice when it works out that way. This is a weird question, I admit, but besides sounding beautiful, what did you hope your harmonies would achieve?

RE: I think there’s definitely a tension in the harmony thing that we’re doing on this record; I think we went for more of a conversation within the harmony itself because we are doing this thing as a duo. I don’t know. This is all subconscious. I think when musicians do interviews, a lot of the time they do things because it feels right and they do them naturally.

Right, and then they’re asked to think about them more critically.

RE: And then they have these grandiose explanations as to why. The harmony is having a conversation while the two of us are having a conversation, and I think it accidentally — in a good way — reinforces the lyrics of a song. If it’s a love song, then the harmony tends to be really sweet and beautiful and then, if it’s a song about tension in a relationship, we kind of leaned on dark harmony. I think it’s entirely natural that it happened that way. A lot of it is taking cues from the writing. Hartford already did a lot of the work in the writing.

Jim James, ‘The World is Falling Down’

“The news is really very sad,” so goes a line in Abbey Lincoln’s 1990 song “The World Is Falling Down,” a poetic lament with the contrast of jubilant horns laced through. Singing through the Civil Rights movement and nearly up to her death in 2010, she is one of music history’s most dynamic and under-appreciated figures, particularly in the mainstream: While lovers of jazz would hold her modern influence as tantamount, particularly as a vocalist, she didn’t become the kind of household name to survive the internet generation.

Jim James, of My Morning Jacket, tried to change that in his version of “The World Is Falling Down,” off of his new LP, Tribute To 2. It’s a follow up to his first record of covers, 2009’s Tribute 2, devoted to George Harrison. This time, James picks songs that could easily have come straight from current times — and, looking back on 2017, it has often felt as if the world was indeed falling down. And fast. Beneath the news and the Twitter feeds and the noise, it’s hard not to panic, and even more difficult to find beauty beneath it all. James takes Lincoln’s version and slows things down into a gorgeous, acoustic folk song, gently singing in the softer side of his range through lyrics that so closely mirror our daily struggle. But he makes sure to reinforce the most important point: When times are tough, reach out. Find a hand to hold, and walk together through turmoil. And don’t let go. “The world is falling down, hold my hand.” Don’t let go.

Won’t You Be a Neighbor? (Op-ed)

It all started in the Hague. I was backstage getting ready for the first night of tour with the Mastersons when the Dutch venue crew turned on a live broadcast of the inauguration. I’d hoped that touring Europe during the early days of the new administration would offer a bit of relief from the constant media bombardment that I’d been experiencing in America, but it turned out that the opposite was true. American politics are world politics, and so the rest of the trip was spent responding to questions about current events that had no good answers.

There was a sense of dread every time I connected to a hotel WiFi network. What executive order had been signed since the last time I had Internet access? Who was the president attacking now? What progress was being undone? Dressing room conversations often centered around feelings of frustration and helplessness at being so far away from home during such a tumultuous time. My friends were back in the States protesting, but outside of attending the Women’s March in Amsterdam, there seemed to be little I could do to participate. That changed after a backstage chat with Shovels & Rope in Gothenburg, Sweden, though. I left the venue that night feeling fired up and reinvigorated about the power of music and what I could do as an artist to make my voice count, and I decided the minute I got home, I would start work on the Won’t You Be My Neighbor? EP.

This group of songs is my attempt at channeling all of the anxiety and energy and negativity of 2017 into something productive and positive. I wanted to bring together a diverse group of artists I admired and create a collection of political music for a cause I believe in, but I also wanted to push on the idea of what exactly makes a song political. The tracks here are a mix of covers and originals reimagined for a year in which kindness and empathy have become their own form of political statements. I remember lying in a hotel bed in London watching the Super Bowl and reading about the uproar from conservative outlets about commercials that advocated for treating immigrants and the poor with civility and respect. Displays of human decency were being treated as attacks on Trump. (How that doesn’t give his supporters pause to consider which side of history they’re on, I may never understand.)

The collection opens with “This Land Is Your Land,” which includes background vocals contributed by Josh Ritter, but it’s perhaps not the version you’re used to hearing. I peppered it with samples of American political speeches from George Wallace to Donald Trump to highlight that the struggle for equality — whether it be in regard to race, religion, sexual orientation, nationality, etc — is an ongoing one, not simply a part of our past. I also used Woody Guthrie’s full 1940 lyrics, in which he denounces walls and bears witness to the struggle of the poor. “As they stood hungry, I stood there wondering if this land was made for you and me,” he pondered. We don’t teach those verses in school, but I think they’re important. Being patriotic means holding the country you love accountable to its own ideals and asking the tough questions.

The song feels even more prescient in light of the president’s decision to withdraw from the Paris climate accord. Guthrie’s not just singing about the concept of “America” here; he’s very literally singing about the trees and the air and the water. If these things do, indeed, belong to all of us, then it’s our duty to be responsible stewards of them. This land doesn’t just belong to us; it belongs to the countless generations yet to come.

Some of the songs I covered surprised me as I dug into them. Bob Marley’s “One Love,” for instance, revealed itself to be entirely devoid of rhyme. Separated from the music, the lyrics felt like a prayer or recitation (in no small part because some of them are lifted from the Bible), so I decided to recast them over a very solemn, hymn-like arrangement. I’d always been a fan of Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down,” but with a professional bully in the Oval Office, the urgency of those verse lyrics hit me harder than I expected. And I’m not sure “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” has ever served as a protest anthem, but in these days of refugee bans, ICE raids, and border walls, I can’t hear it as anything else.

All profits from sales of this collection will be donated to the International Rescue Committee to help fund their efforts aiding refugees around the world. Everything was recorded at no cost in bedrooms and home studios around the country, and all the guests contributed their time and talent out of the goodness of their hearts. Even the packaging is made with recycled cardboard and is handpainted at home in Brooklyn. I hope that folks enjoy the collection and think about what the songs have to say, and I hope that the money we raise with it can do some real good for people who are in desperate need around the world. I know a project like this is a small gesture in the grand scheme of things, but I truly believe that every little bit counts in the fight for what’s right.

See you around the neighborhood,
Anthony D’Amato

For the Won’t You Be My Neighbor? charity EP, Anthony D’Amato created a stripped-down collection of reimagined political music to benefit the International Rescue Committee’s refugee aid efforts. Musical pals — including Josh Ritter, Sean Watkins, Israel Nash, Michaela Anne, the Mastersons, Lizzie No, and MiWi La Lupa — contributed background vocals. Donate to the cause and pick up a handprinted copy of the EP here.


Photo credit: tinto via Foter.com / CC BY

Rev. Sekou on the Past, the Present, and the Protest

As a pastor, theologian, author, filmmaker, and community organizer, Rev. Osagyefo Uhuru Sekou has dedicated his life’s work to social justice. He’s given lectures and speeches around the world and trained thousands of people in the tactics of nonviolent protest. Now, he’s lending his passion for activism to a popular form of protest: music. His forthcoming record, In Times Like These, is out May 5 on Thirty Tigers, and features brothers Luther and Cody Dickinson of the North Mississippi Allstars. The fact that the Dickinson brothers’ moniker is a nod to the music of their home state makes their pairing with Sekou all the more fitting. Sekou was born in St. Louis but raised in Arkansas, where he was immersed in the South’s deep blues and gospel tradition. In Times Like These pays as much homage to place as it does to time.

“I recorded the album, in part, to keep track of the best of the blues tradition,” Sekou says. “It’s what I was raised on. It is the nature of the musical tradition that produced me, and so I’m just trying to honor the ways in which that music comes to speak to the best of ourselves.”

By working through a deep-rooted musical heritage, Sekou uses the language of the past to inform the present, serving up a direct response to the current political climate. “We recorded this album a few weeks after the election and so, given the spirit of the moment, the sense of depression, almost desperation that many people were feeling, I wanted to keep track of that music and that musical tradition that has preserved the people,” Sekou explains.

The album is a life raft of sorts, keeping everyone afloat who is all too familiar with that sinking feeling. “[The album seeks] to acknowledge the blues but not let the blues have the last word,” he says.

Sekou has been communicating with the blues his whole life.

“My biological grandfather played with B.B. King, Albert King, and Louis Jordan,” he recalls. “In the South, they would sweep the yard and put a piano on the porch and [my grandfather] would play and they’d sing and dance and drink all night.” Sekou never met his grandfather, who died in 1955, long before he was born, but he remembers hearing the blues in the gambling house where he worked for his uncle, counting money. While recording In Times Like These, Sekou took a break from the Dickinsons’ Zebra Ranch Studio in Coldwater, Mississippi, and made a trek home to Zent, Arkansas.

“I got a chance to go home and stand at my grandmother’s grave, the place that made me, and talk to my 93-year-old aunt and see my cousins and to be in the space and with the people who built out the capacity of who I am by tearing off the best pieces of themselves and sewing it into a quilt that still covers and warms me to this day,” he says.

Sekou channeled that energy back at the studio on the song “Old Time Religion.” “It was midnight, and we had been going for about 16 hours, and I had been to my grandmother’s grave and my grandfather’s grave and, in our tradition, we have this thing called devotional service, which is distinct from praise and worship,” he explains. “It’s what old country folks would do. And so I just did old-time religion music, which is essentially what I heard growing up in terms of a devotional service on Sunday morning.”

In order to achieve this sound, Sekou was working with a slew of musicians who had their own strong musical ties. Luther and Cody Dickinson’s father, the late Jim Dickinson, recorded with the Rolling Stones, Aretha Franklin, and Bob Dylan. For the sessions, they recruited pedal and slide steel guitarist AJ Ghent, Rev. Charles Hodges on the Hammond B3, who is most recognized for his collaborations with Al Green, and others.

“In addition to trying to respond to the contemporary political moment, there’s something else at stake: Everybody was at least one or two generations — if not three generations — deep in the music so there are literally four generations of musicians on this album,” Sekou explains. “And so it was amazing, you know, in that they have the music in their bones, which I think comes through on the record.”

The album’s first single, “Resist,” is a tribute to Standing Rock and revolves around a mantra: “We want freedom and we want it now.” Elsewhere on the record, a cover of Bob Marley’s “Burnin’ and Lootin’” stems from Sekou’s time in Ferguson, Missouri, protesting the shooting of Michael Brown.

“I’ve helped train about 5,000 people around the country in civil disobedience, non-violence, and we trained well over a thousand in Ferguson. And we kept telling them to trust the process, trust the system, it’s gonna work out,” he recalls. “There were military forces occupying Ferguson and they were tear gassing us night after night and it was essentially a war zone. And on the night of the non-indictment, as soon as they said they weren’t going to indict the officer, all hell broke loose, and I was trying to get to a studio that had been set up and I had my staff with me and they wouldn’t let my staff in. And, at this point, there’s gun shots, buildings are burning, there’s tear gas everywhere, and they were saying, ‘We’ll let you in, but we can’t let your staff in for security reasons.’ And so I refused to do the interview and I was just in the middle of the riots. I refused to go into the compound. And so it’s me kind of capturing what I’m seeing with the tear gas and the buildings on fire and feeling as though I have failed and I had lied to the young folks by telling them that the system would work on their behalf.”

In the wake of these experiences, Sekou, who went to college on a vocal performance scholarship, looked toward the music for release. “At the existential level, I am my freest,” Sekou says. “And so, hopefully, that freedom I feel is communicated through the music.”