Tag: Punch Brothers

Punch Brothers’ Gabe Witcher: Finding Narratives

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Gabe Witcher, the fiddle player – and some might say secret weapon – in Punch Brothers, has been a performer for nearly his whole life. As a kid, he toured the Southwest playing bluegrass with his family’s band; that’s how he met Chris Thile, forming a musical friendship that has spanned more than three decades. Though his stage presence is low-key, his musicianship is undeniable, playing as joyously or mournfully as a song requires. This is also true on Punch Brothers’ newest album, All Ashore.

In this interview, Witcher kicks off a five-part series as the Bluegrass Situation salutes the Artist of the Month: Punch Brothers.

I love the fiddle part you play on “Three Dots and a Dash.” I was wondering, how much of your music is arranged when you go in to record, or how much of it unfolds by feel when you’re in the studio?

Yeah, this record is a lot different than our previous records. We really had the bare minimum amount of time to get it done. Historically, there is a good deal of improvising on all, throughout our music, and so that’s always spontaneous every time we play – in the studio, out of the studio, whatever. But there is a good deal of highly-arranged stuff as well and historically that stuff would have been written and rehearsed for months leading up to getting into the studio … and we just didn’t have that luxury this time. So, while there’s a good deal of arranged things on the record, it all kind of came together in the studio anyway.

“Three Dots” is a good example where we had the form, we had the melodies, we knew “this is how the arrangement is going to unfold, this is who plays when, this is what the song’s going to do” when we got into the studio and played it a few times – and didn’t like it. So, we put the brakes on recording and went and huddled up in one of the corners of the studio for three or four hours and completely reworked the entire middle section of the song. From post-middle-solo until when the melody returns at the end.

It’s just one of those things: “This isn’t good enough yet, so let’s make it good enough.” When we did, when we finally got something we liked and went back in and recorded it, a lot of that section, I’d say it’s about 50/50 arranged and improvised. Solos are improvised, but we got something that we absolutely loved and that all happened in the moment in the studio. That is a new thing. That has never happened to us before because we had always historically gone in super prepared with, “This is the music, this is what it’s going to be.”

One of the things I love about this record is that what you’re hearing on the record is the first time any of these songs were performed to our satisfaction. You’re getting the excitement of us discovering this music and playing it for the first time. That’s always an exciting thing to hear.

Yeah. So you said bare minimum. What was the timeframe for this?

Oh, let’s see. I think we wrote the record in about four weeks. Not all together. We had three days in October, we had eight days in December and then two weeks in February to get it all situated. Then we recorded it over the course of three weeks in March. And then mixed in April.

The Phosphorescent Blues took almost three years to write. We had the luxury of writing it over the course of three years not work every day, of course. We might have worked twelve weeks total on it, but we had the chance to sit with things and revise, and change, and live with it. This one was more of a “Let’s just get it out.” And I think it worked to our benefit because everything feels super fresh on the record.

I read that you played on the score for Brokeback Mountain and Babel – and they both won the Oscar for best original score. Do you think there’s a cinematic component to Punch Brothers’ arrangements as well?

Yeah, absolutely there is. That’s a comment we get quite frequently. It’s not intentional, but I think everyone is in love with trying to find narratives that can happen instrumentally along with a lyrical narrative. We’re always trying to find textures and new ways to approach presenting musical ideas and finding interesting ways of getting you from point A to point B. I think there’s a definite classical music influence in that regard. Not only is the music supporting the lyrics in a vocal as it would in folk-based or pop music, but the music itself is also helping to create the narratives.

You in particular have a bluegrass background, from playing in your family’s band. How did that prepare you for this experience of touring with Punch Brothers?

Surprisingly enough, doing that is how Chris and I met. We met at a festival called Follows Camp Bluegrass Festival that happened in Southern California. My family would always go up and camp and play and my dad would emcee a lot of the time at that festival. There was a contest and our family band got booked to play it. I think it was the second year or the second time it happened. A 5-year-old Chris Thile just happened to be there that time. As he tells it, he saw me playing onstage with my dad and was like, “Oh my God, that’s so cool. Another kid plays!”

After we got done, we were introduced and immediately became friends. I think we played baseball in the road that ran along the campground, then spent the rest of the time playing tunes with each other. Doing that led directly, a couple decades later, to this band becoming a thing. Of course, you can’t discount the years and years and years spent learning the craft of playing, and playing in an ensemble, and performing. I didn’t know it at the time, but it’s a unique way to grow up.

The good news is, I got all the … well, not all, but a good portion of the dues-paying out of the way before I even knew I was paying any dues, so by the time I was out of high school I had a level of proficiency as a professional that most people don’t have the luxury of gaining until they are well into their 20s. I was able to hit the ground running. I went to college as well, for music, but I’ve got to say: music was there all along. The only thing that changed was that I finished school. So that went away but the music continued.

You were able to play with Bill Monroe as a kid, too, right?

Yeah, when I was 6, we were at the Strawberry Music Festival. This is the thing that launched the family band. My folks decided that we were going to go up to the Strawberry Music Festival, which at that time happened in Yosemite, California. I had been playing for almost a year at that point. We just went to camp and hang out and check it out. One of the days my dad and I were jamming at the campground, and people wandered around the campground, so people were coming in to listen. Then they’d wander off.

Monroe was playing that night at the festival. He was headlining the show that night and they had gotten him to do a workshop during the day, a mandolin workshop. My dad took me over to that. I didn’t know who that guy was. He was just some old guy up there playing. There were a couple hundred people at this workshop listening to Monroe, and right towards the end, and my dad would probably remember better than I do, but somehow, someone pointed me out and said, “Have you heard this guy play? You should pick a tune with him, Monroe.” And so Monroe got me onstage and he and I played a tune called “Gold Rush.” It’s actually one Byron Berline wrote when he was in Monroe’s band.

So Monroe and I played that tune and I got a pretty cool picture with Monroe afterwards. Then, later that day, probably because of that, the Strawberry folks asked if my dad and I would do what they call a ‘tweener set, where you go up and play two or three songs in between the main stage bands. So, Hot Rize was playing and then New Grass Revival was going to play after that. I think this was the day after Monroe played. So my dad was like, “Yeah, sure! Yeah, we’ll work up three songs.” So he grabbed a bass player and a guitar player and also asked Byron if he would sit in on the solo. And so we got up and played three songs, and Byron came out, and we played “Gold Rush” together. And it was so much fun, my dad said, “Hey, do you want to do this more?” And I said, “Sure!”

Illustration: Zachary Johnson
Photo: Courtesy of Red Light Management

Baylen’s Brit Pick: Worry Dolls

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Artist: Worry Dolls
Hometown Liverpool, England. Well, that’s where they met at university, anyway. Now they call London homebase.
Latest Album: Go Get Gone

Sounds Like: Sara Watkins twice or Punch Brothers minus three

Why You Should Listen: If the last couple of years is anything to go by, you’ll want to dig in now so you can be smug when all your friends start discovering them. They’ve gone from virtual unknowns gigging their socks off across Europe to being nominated for UK Song of the Year at the Americana UK Awards 2018 and holding their own performing on that stage with Robert Plant, Mumford & Sons, Angaleena Presley, and Seth Lakeman. Actually, they did more than hold their own, they announced with a bang that they have arrived.

They’ve collaborated with the likes of Sam Outlaw and Ian Hunter, and even released a limited edition white vinyl for Record Store Day and, if that ain’t cool, then I don’t know what is. Their songs can be as sweet as pie or as cold as ice, but either way, these two multi-instrumentalists manage to say it in the unique way that only old friends can. The Worry Dolls are going places and that doesn’t worry me one bit.

As a radio and TV host, Baylen Leonard has presented country and Americana shows, specials, and commentary for BBC Radio 2, Chris Country Radio, BBC Radio London, BBC Radio 2 Country, BBC Radio 4, BBC Scotland, Monocle 24, and British Airways, as well as promoting artists through his work with the Americana Music Association UK, the Nashville Meets London Festival, and the Long Road (the UK’s newest outdoor country, Americana, and roots festival). Follow him on Twitter: @HeyBaylen

The Producers: Gabe Witcher

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Gabe Witcher has a superstition about shutterbugs in recording sessions. “I’m a strong believer that all photos that come out of the studio must be in black and white. Color photography is too real. It loses mystery to me. Black and white has enough fantasy in it, where you can use your imagination to create the world that existed at the time the recording was captured.”

It is, he admits, a “weird little thing that I think about,” but he’s not wrong. Most iconic music photos — whether it’s Paul Simon smashing his bass onstage or Johnny Cash furiously flipping the bird — need no other hues beyond black and white. Anything else is a distraction: too flagrant, too revealing, too matter-of-fact. Witcher would rather let the creative process retain some sense of fantasy and wonder.

Thirty years into his career, he has yet to tire of the mystery. Something like a child prodigy on the fiddle, he paid his dues in the Southern California bluegrass scene, appearing on Star Search in the 1980s before joining Herb Pederson’s band, the Laurel Canyon Ramblers, as a teenager. Witcher has recorded with Béla Fleck, Dave Rawlings, Eric Clapton, and many others, but he’s best known as a founding member of the renowned prog-grass group Punch Brothers. Comprised of superlative musicians, they’ve recorded four albums of adventurous acoustic music with such producers as T Bone Burnett, Jacquire King, and Jon Brion.

Throughout his career, Witcher has gravitated toward the other side of the glass, gradually accepting more production responsibilities within Punch Brothers and without. He helmed Sara Watkins’ breakout third album, Young in All the Wrong Ways, in 2016, and this year he produced two new records by his Punch Brethren: Universal Favorite finds banjoist Noam Pikelny going truly solo, just his voice and banjo in a variety of styles and settings, and Witcher ensures it sounds both intimate and expansive. For Mount Royal, the second collaborative album by guitarists Chris “Critter” Eldridge” and Julian Lage, the producer emphasizes their masterful technique as well as their subtle and insightful arrangements. They’re representational albums, he says, but full of verve and skill and even a little mystery.

How did you gravitate toward this particular role?

I had a band with my dad when I was young called the Witcher Brothers, and we made a record when I was 11. That was my first foray into the studio, and I remember having so much fun. Back then, it was all tape. I remember the feel of the machines, getting the microphone set up and coming into the control room for the first time and hearing the sounds of the instruments coming back at me through the speakers. It was a thrill. At that moment, I was hooked on recording. I got a four-track machine, and I spent a lot of time at my cousin’s dad’s house — I guess my mother’s cousin. His name is Don Was, and he’s a huge record producer. He had a bunch of recording gear, and I was always in the studio, setting up equipment and recording for fun. It was something I loved to do in my spare time. When I was about 14, I was asked by someone I didn’t know to play on their record, and that started my career as a session musician in Los Angeles. I got asked to play on other things and, little by little, I managed to build up a reputation. So I’ve always felt at home in the studio.

Were there any particular albums where you started to notice the production?

One of my earliest musical memories was listening to Abbey Road on my parents’ turntable. I couldn’t have been older than two or three, and especially as I got a little older, I remember listening to that record and realizing that there were only four guys in the band, but the sound they were making was much bigger than that. This guy plays the drums, these two guys play guitar, and this guy plays bass. How are they able to get all this other stuff going on? That really opened the door to figuring out what the technology was and what overdubbing was: “How does that work?” I started to think about how they were building tracks and, from then on, a world of possibilities opened up.

When Punch Brothers started making records, I was already an old hand at it and could instinctively take on the role of producer with those guys. Everybody finds his own role within the band, and that became mine. For the last record, Phosphorescent Blues, we had the amazing T Bone Burnett to produce, and I had already been working with him as a co-producer on a bunch of projects — and as an arranger. When you work with T Bone, it means you’re going to hear him say something like, “I’d love for you to write a string arrangement or a horn arrangement for this song.” So you’d do that and, “Okay great, now go record it.” He’s giving you the keys to the kingdom. Sometimes he would show up for sessions and sometimes he wouldn’t, and to have him place that level of trust in me gave me the confidence to think of myself as a producer.

How did that affect the sessions with Punch Brothers?

He was there for all the tracking and he got all the performances out of us, but when it came time for all the editing and mixing, I knew what the band wanted and I knew what I wanted, so he let me take the reins. I was there with the engineer, Mike Piersante, and we finished tracking all the guys. When everybody else had left, I was sitting there with a bunch of hard drives with hours and hours of music — and it’s up to me to edit and oversee the mixing. It was a natural extension of all the things that I’d already been doing.

The band has worked with a different producer on each album. How were those experiences different?

Each producer brings a different aesthetic and a different worldview to the proceedings. Early on, we were very idealistic and dead set on making only representational documents. With The Blind Leading the Blind, we knew it was an ambitious piece, but we wanted to make sure we could actually perform it live. We were very stubborn about capturing it all live, so Nonesuch recommended we get a classical producer. Because that’s what we were doing: We were making a classical piece, so we needed to record it in a classical way with a classical producer [Steven Epstein]. Looking back 10 years later, was that the best way to present that music? I don’t know. If we had to do it over again, we would probably play most of it live and overdub harmony vocals, but you learn.

Jon Brion had a different method on Antifogmatic. He set us up in a semi-circle because he wanted to capture the energy and interaction of what we do. We played all of the music live, but he was able to get a better vocal sound by overdubbing the vocals. I understand that, but it’s very hard when you have five people imagining trying to play based on what they imagine the vocals are going to sound like. We had to learn on the fly how to do that. We had to learn to listen in a different way, and I think it was successful in its own way.

Jacquire King was a lot of fun. He was down for a lot of experimentation on Who’s Feeling Young Now? By that point, we wanted to utilize the studio as another sonic tool instead of just something take a snapshot. We wanted to use the element of fantasy that the studio provides. We dipped our toes in a little bit with that record. We experimented with sounds and overdubs — anything to introduce new things, but always dependent on the song and what it needs. Jacquire really helped us figure out what works for our instruments, and he had us thinking about ways to capture sound that I had never really thought about before.

And the thing with T Bone is, he’s wide open. He wants to do whatever is going to make the best end product. We had different set-ups for different songs. It was a fun process because he’s a master and keeping the bigger picture in mind. The Punch Brothers have a tendency to overdo things and try to squeeze so much perfection out of everything that we squeeze the life out of it. So it was a real education to see how he worked.

What did you take away from those experiences that you’ve applied to your own sessions as a producer?

The most important thing you can have in a producer is trust. You trust that they’re going to understand your vision and you trust that they’re going to help you achieve your goal. It’s such a deep relationship with the rest of the band, and we understand each other so well, that it made sense that I would be the one sitting on the other side of the speakers telling them if they’ve gotten what they want. And I know what they’re capable of doing, so I’m in a unique position to push them. Someone else might be like, “Hey, that was great.” But I would be like, “Hey, that was great but I know you can do better.”

That seems like it would be crucial, especially on these records where there’s nothing to hide behind. It’s just one banjo or two guitars.

Those are very, very representational records without many studio tricks. You approach that kind of project as though you’re making a document. There’s not a lot of fantasy involved. Your job as producer is to put them in a position where they’re comfortable and playing their best, then you have to make sure you capture the sound they’re making as fully as you can. That all sounds very simple, but you become something more like a psychologist at that point. You’re talking a line between keeping people happy and creative, but also trying to find positive ways to shape what they’re doing, to get the best possible results. It helps that the Punch Brothers guys have been working together for so long that we know how to speak to each other in a way that avoids any bad clashes or setting each other off and making them freeze up.

For instance, Noam is extremely thorough — more thorough than I think he needs to be. There’s an interesting dynamic where we’ll work on a song for a couple of hours, and I’ll be very happy with what we got. I’m confident in what we got, so why not come in and take a break before we start working on the next song. But he’ll say, “Let me just do one more. One more time.” Three hours later, he’ll finally feel okay about it even though we have three times as much material as we actually need. He’s familiar with me, but he might not feel as comfortable with someone else to sit there for hours on end. He obviously does feel comfortable: It’s just Gabe. He can’t get mad at me.

As a producer, you have a couple of jobs. One: You’re a proxy for the artist. You’re basically in a position to say, “If I was an audience member, would this be reaching me? Is this going to impact me emotionally?” Two: You have to make sure there is some underlying theme that ties it all together and makes it work as a whole. All the best records tell a story of some kind. It’s all just storytelling. Even though one song is about one thing and the next song is about something else, you can still construct some kind of narrative out of them, even though it may not be a linear story. That’s a big part of the producer’s job: to make sure everything fits together in a satisfying way.

Is telling a story easier or harder with instrumental versus vocal tracks?

They’re challenging in different ways. To create a narrative on an instrumental record, you have to make sure there’s enough variety to feel like you’ve gone somewhere. When you’re making a record, you’re making a 40- or 50-minute piece of music. It might be divided up into 10 or 12 or 15 segments, but you’re making a piece of music that’s roughly the same length as most symphonic music, so you have to approach it that way. You have to piece it together in a way that gives the material shape and keeps it interesting. For a record with singing on it, you have the added difficulty of that extra layer of words. You have to have the musical narrative and then you have to have the lyrical narrative. There’s some wiggle room in there, but you also have to keep in mind the artist and what they’re trying to say. On the Critter and Julian record, they brought in a bunch of vocal songs that were all great, but I just didn’t believe Critter when he sang them. I had to figure out why, which was tricky, but it came down to what I knew about him — where he comes from and what kind of music he has made in the past. The material had to fit within the story of him as a performer, as an artist, and not just within the context of an album.

How does that work with someone like Sara Watkins? What I love about Young in All the Wrong Ways is how it plays against what we know of her as an artist and takes her story in a new direction.

Absolutely. What makes it work with her is that she acknowledges that it’s something different from her. People change and evolve and grow, and this is where she is right at this particular moment. I really felt the honesty of what she was singing to me in those songs. It all made sense. There was a weird incident in the studio with her. All of the songs that ended up on that record were her original songs, but early in the process, she had brought in a song that Benmont Tench had written. It was a new song of his and we had permission to record it. I thought it was good, so we put it on the list. We were about three-quarters of the way through tracking her record when we got to that song. It was just her singing and Benmont playing. The song is dark, about a relationship that’s past its prime and she’s struggling to break from it. She started singing, and the mood in the studio shifted. It had been very happy and positive and constructive, but it turned really dark really quickly. It had been easy-going up to that point, and I watched everybody get very frustrated.

The next day, Jay Bellerose, who plays drums on the record, was talking to me and asked me what happened. The only thing we could come up with was that the song just wasn’t her voice. Nobody believed it, when it was coming out of her mouth. It was a case of the wrong song for the artist, and it’s the only song that didn’t make the record. Don’t get me wrong: It’s a great song, when Benmont sings it. It’s his experience. It wasn’t Sarah’s experience. There was just something about the vibe of the song that wasn’t right for her.

It’s extremely hard to explain that kind of thing, and everybody feels it in a different way. The studio is such a vulnerable space, especially for the person who’s being recorded. It’s such an intimate setting that interpersonal dynamics become the thing that makes or breaks a record. You’re going for an indescribable feeling — something way beyond playing in time or singing in tune, all the technical aspects that make a good performance. When you achieve that next layer, it’s hard to describe. There’s an energy that comes from getting the right people in a room together. Sara’s record was successful because we got the right people playing the right music, which becomes a positive feedback loop. Good things start happening, which inspire more good things, which inspire more good things, and then you have this wonderful document of that time and those people. This kind of thing never happens, especially when you hire a band, but for Sara’s record, people were hanging out in the studio after the tracking was done. We would play for hours and hours, then we would do overdubs in the evening and people would just hang out. We’d open a bottle of wine and people would just hang out in the studio. It was beautiful.

I feel like people sometimes fixate on gear — finding the right pedal or using a certain kind of microphone. That seems much less important to these sessions.

That’s exactly right. People can get caught up in the technological aspect of the studio — at great detriment to the music. At least in regard to the music that I’m interested in making, we have way too much ability to manipulate sound. I hear so much recorded music that has no vibe, no human quality to it. It sounds like the people weren’t even in the same room and maybe not even in the same country when they recorded it. It’s all been pieced together very carefully, but it’s missing an essential element: There’s no interaction. Some people can do beautiful things that way. For what Radiohead does, it’s great. They’re able to use those tools in a musical way. But the music that I want to make has to feel, in some way, like it’s being passed from person to person. It’s interesting because, when you nail it, it’s the kind of thing that sinks into the background. It becomes so effortless that you don’t think about it. It’s the same with movies: You know a director has done his job right when you can’t tell that they’re even there. The goal is to get lost in the storytelling.

 

Photo credit: Brantley Gutierrez

Chris Thile and Brad Mehldau: Playing Against Type

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The repertoire for mandolin and piano isn’t exactly teeming with arrangements. Compared to other duets, those two specific instruments haven’t conversed with one another as often, but consider that dearth a starting point from which anyone daring enough can create their own dialogue. Mandolinist Chris Thile and pianist Brad Mehldau, virtuosos in their own right, have concocted just such a conversation — by way of original composition and cover, alike — on their first duo debut album, Chris Thile & Brad Mehldau.

The pair first experimented with what they could “say” when they performed a handful of live shows together in 2011 and briefly toured later in 2013. But getting to the studio would take some time. Thile sums up the reason in one word. “Schedules,” he admits, with a sharp chuckle. “We both have pretty voracious appetites for musical projects, and we both love to perform. The little touring things that we had were always coming in the cracks of other projects.” Those projects ranged from Thile’s role in progressive bluegrass band Punch Brothers to Mehldau’s eponymous trio, as well as a whole host of solo, duo, and collaborative projects in between.

The two stay busy, to put it mildly.

Thanks to their respective projects, Thile and Mehldau have learned the art of accommodation, but embarking on this particular album required a novel approach. “I felt like Chris and I were orchestrating for each other a lot,” Mehldau says. “We were finding the right ‘instrument’ to play for each other. Sometimes Chris gave me a drum part during my piano solos, sometimes I gave him low cellos during his. That orchestrating is a big part of the fun of the project.” Beyond that, Thile and Mehldau needed to find a balance between airy mandolin and weighty piano. Mandolin lacks dynamic range. It excels at being soft — Thile compares all the ways it can “whisper” to the myth about the Inuit’s many words for “snow” — but other instruments tend to sacrifice their own clarity to make way for it. “The challenge for me was to not drown out Chris with the piano, because the instrument is simply louder and bigger,” Mehldau explains. “I really enjoyed that challenge, though.” Thile credits Mehldau’s ear with helping the two instruments find a shared space. “He’s such a sensitive listener,” he says. “He immediately intuits the potential issues.”

Listening, as an exercise, has shifted for Thile ever since he took over hosting A Prairie Home Companion. “I feel like my ears have grown four or five sizes,” he says about his new gig. “I’m listening to everything with far more open ears. I’ve often listened to music like, ‘What can this do for me and my musicianship?’ as opposed to listening for pure joy. But joy is improving. Within my craft, I can get so mercenary about it. That hunger to improve can result in unhealthy listening habits, and I feel like this show is actually helping me grow out of that.”

As critical as Thile may be about his listening habits, he has always heard outside the box. It’s a connection he shares with Mehldau. Both men have covered artists seemingly antithetical to their styles, such as Beyoncé or Nirvana but, in that kind of play, they’ve forged edifying creative spaces, and the same is true on Chris Thile & Brad Mehldau. The 11-track album features an array of covers. There’s Gillian Welch’s “Scarlet Town,” Bob Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright,” the 17th-century Irish tune “Tabhair dom do Lámh,” and more. “I think the reason why it worked so well was because of the common musical ground Chris and I share,” Mehldau says. “Roots rock, Bach, Radiohead … a whole bunch of stuff.” In short, there’s a level of fanboy about the album.

Thile and Mehldau went back and forth trading favorite songs, some familiar and some not. Thile says, “He and I have operated that way for a long time, as individuals, whether it’s something we’re listening to because we love music and hope that this thing we’re listening to seeps into the stuff we’re creating on our own, or whether it ends up as a performance piece or something we record.”

One particular track shows off the imaginative possibilities inherent in piano and mandolin, or at least when Thile and Mehldau play them. It’s a striking seven-minute cover of the jazz standard “I Cover the Waterfront.” Mehldau takes over the song from Thile’s anxious mandolin shortly after the 1:30 mark, at which point Thile concentrates on singing. What results is one of his most diaphanous vocals thus far. “I really enjoyed it because I had all this time to listen,” he says about the song’s extended phrases. “So then it was like an out of body experience for me. When I would start singing, I didn’t feel like I was singing, I felt like I was listening to myself sing.”

If there’s a parallel to Billie Holiday’s infamous version, it’s because she influenced Thile. “It’s so mournful and beautiful and delicate but strong,” he says. Thile captures those qualities in bits and pieces, but puts his own hurt on the track, as well. Mehldau says, “I think it’s a double challenge for Chris when we think about the possibility of a cover. Sometimes with vocals, the original performance is so iconic, it’s not immediately clear what more there is to do. I was just thrilled by what Chris did with all the covers that he sang on — he got to the heart of what was great about the song in the first place, lyric included, but also just completely made it his own, in this very easy-going manner, like he wrote the tune himself.” Thile, for his part, admires what Mehldau accomplished on “I Cover the Waterfront,” calling it a “masterpiece of a solo.”

As much as Mehldau brings a jazz and classical sensibility to the album, playing with Thile revealed a new quality to his own style. “In some deeper sense that is hard to put in words, I really have discovered another kind of musical expression with Chris, but I would say it was like unearthing something inside of me that I didn’t know was there,” he says. “It’s definitely not the jazz guy from New York; it’s the hillbilly who was born in Jacksonville.”

Aside from covers, Thile and Mehldau include a handful of original compositions on their debut, like “Noise Machine,” a song about a restless infant and sleep loss. Thile wrote the song to his son Calvin, but it ends up taking on the form of an ode indirectly addressed to his wife, actress Claire Coffee. “Whatever I go through pales in comparison to what she goes through, and she has a full-time job,” he explains. “I’m doing what I can, but I travel and he needs her because he’s still nursing.” The song oscillates between explaining sleep’s incredible fun to Calvin and making sure he knows just how lucky he is to have the mother he does. “So I sing just above the noise machine. Your mother is a hero,” Thile sings on the chorus, extending his delivery while Mehldau dances around him on piano. In the lyrics’ nuanced construction, Thile hit his intended mark — a way to praise Coffee for all she does — without becoming overly saccharine about it. “I’m amazed at my wife and won’t hesitate to praise her, but a song where I’m like, ‘Baby you’re great,’ doesn’t feel like the right approach in this case,” he says. As for sleep, that’s still hard to come by in their house. “I wrote that song over a year ago now and I thought for sure it would only be relevant to me for a little while, but, no, it’s still very relevant,” he says.

Chris Thile & Brad Mehldau is, at turns, compelling, curious, and playful. The two create soothing music together because they bring such care and consideration for one another to the recording process. Each track contains a deep breath, of sorts — one that comes from Mehldau’s jazz approach and Thile’s bluegrass-tinged response. But Thile knows the real secret to the album’s success. It’s not a matter of experimentation or improvisation or the sheer gumption of taking two instruments and exploring the conversation that results. “The secret is for the piano player to be Brad Mehldau, and then it works real well,” he says with a laugh.

Lede illustration by Cat Ferraz.

Serving the Story: An Interview with Gabriel Kahane

Posted on by Editor

If you’ve picked up a copy of the Punch Brothers’ new EP, The Wireless, then you’ve heard the work of Gabriel Kahane — the Brooklyn-based songwriter penned “Sleek White Baby” for the band. But Kahane’s skills far exceed that single song; in fact, he’s got a steady track record of beguiling works that range from his 2006 collection of short, hilarious interpretations of Craigslist ads to full-blown symphony commissions. Last year, Kahane released a stunning LP, The Ambassador, which examined the city of Los Angeles through songs that were stirring and poignant. With each listen, the album slowly reveals itself to be a richly complex and breathtaking work.

Kahane followed the summer release with a staged presentation of the record, which premiered in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, last October before moving on to the Brooklyn Academy of Music and UCLA. For much of the past year, Kahane has been crossing the country in support of the album. 

Your songs aren’t what most people would consider traditional folk or Americana music. But some of your work, like The Ambassador or Gabriel’s Guide to the 48 States, is still about distinctly American experiences. Is that something you’ve focused on in your work on purpose?

I don’t know that it’s something that I’ve thought about deliberately, but I did have this revelation at the beginning of 2014. I’d been sort of continually frustrated by journalists writing pieces about genre, people writing about my music and writing about genre like, “He’s a composer and he’s a songwriter!” I was doing this Q&A at some festival and suddenly it occurred to me that the thing that really unifies all of my work as a musician — whether if it’s in an orchestral realm or in a club setting where it’s just me and a piano and a guitar, or me with a band — is that I love telling stories. I think that the spiritual kinship that I feel with the folk tradition is very much about storytelling.

I realized that the best way to sort of side-step a conversation about musical sophistication — or why is this song in 11/8 or what are those weird chord changes — is to just make it clear that I’m first and foremost interested in telling stories, and whatever musical vocabulary is necessary to tell those stories is the vocabulary that I will go after. I am glad that I have a broad musical palette to draw on, but that musical vocabulary is only worth as much as it can enhance the telling of a story. If it becomes about doing some weird polyrhythm or some weird harmonic thing or some weird chord change as an end to itself, then I think it sort of defeats the purpose for me.

So you draw on your musical background just as a means to illustrate these stories as colorfully as possible, as opposed to sticking to one particular style?

I wouldn’t even say telling as colorful a story as I can as much as identifying the story I want to tell and telling it as truthfully as possible … whatever that means. Obviously, some of the stories that I tell in my songs are fictional and others are not. But the music, for me, is really in service of the story, and that’s how I would think of it.

You premiered the staged version of The Ambassador in Chapel Hill almost exactly a year ago. How has the year since been for you?

There’s been a lot of uplift, and there’s also been some frustration. The positive things that have happened are that I’m really, really proud of the piece that John Tiffany and Christine Jones and I made with those seven extraordinary musicians. I feel like we set out to try to find a different way to tell stories on stage through music, and it felt — both from a critical standpoint and an audience standpoint, in Chapel Hill and New York and Los Angeles — it felt like we were really getting our message across and that people were engaged in what we were doing and were moved by it.

The frustrating part is that, I guess there were sort of two frustrations. One is that my record label had basically checked out before it even got to BAM. To a certain extent, it’s understandable. The recorded music industry is in a total free fall. But it was definitely frustrating, given that their line from the outset had been, “Oh, this is going to be a slow burn,” and we had the rare luxury of a second phase of the album built in in the form of this staged piece in Chapel Hill and at BAM. There were some pretty serious missed opportunities in capitalizing both on the really generous press, and that we’d made something that we felt really good about, and that audiences were responding to in a really beautiful way. That was frustrating, and we’re still very much hoping to stage it again, but I don’t know when that’s going to happen, exactly. And then there’s been the other side of performing these songs, which has been outside of the context of the stage version.

This year, I’ve spent a lot of time on the road with the Punch Brothers, and will continue to do so in December, and that’s been really, really wonderful. Their audience has been incredibly generous toward me. And I think part of that is just a function of Punch Brothers training their audience in a beautiful way to be great listeners. I’ve had a really extraordinary time in a lot of really unexpected places singing these songs and telling these stories … and finding that their audience has basically been always game for it. That’s been a huge pleasure. It’s still a slog. Being a songwriter is a slog.

Even though you have really different styles, your and the Punch Brothers’ music fits together really nicely. Can you tell me more about your musical relationships?

I think something that Chris [Thile] and I have in common — and I don’t want to speak for him, but I’m going to speak for him, because he’s not here — I think we’re both interested in tricking people into listening to music that is more complicated than it sounds … which, to put it another way: I think we both are interested in making sophisticated music that sounds simple. I think very often, in technical terms, it has to do with writing melodies that are very singable, but having a shifting and murky harmonic space underneath that.

From a rhythmic standpoint and a harmonic standpoint, we’re trying to both honor the tradition of American song while also pushing against the walls that confine those forms. My suspicion, just based on the extent to which the audience has been receptive to my music, is there is some kinship there. On the surface, I’m playing piano and electric guitar, and it’s pretty far from what Punch Brothers are doing, but there are a lot of similar values there.

Have you found it frustrating to have been pigeonholed into specific roles as just a composer or just a songwriter?

Yeah, and I think the thing that was probably most frustrating for me for a long time — and I think this is finally starting to change — is that there was this idea that somehow became prevalent that I was a composer who started writing songs … when, in fact, it was the other way around. When I finished college, I moved to New York and I started writing songs. In 2006 was when I wrote Craigslistlieder, which I wrote initially to just sing in clubs and in bars, and the fact that it was kind of a classical piece was secondary. There’s nothing unapproachable about that music. The texts are so incredibly contemporary and so bawdy, like, “You looked sexy even though you were having a seizure,” or whatever. And so it was through that I started getting invitations to do classical commissions.

Then, for whatever reason, I was written about more in the context of being a composer for a while than being a songwriter. That was frustrating to me because I feel like I am first and foremost a songwriter, and actually, I’ve taken some steps to kind of limit what I do in the strictly classical world as it becomes more and more clear to me that my heart is really in being a songwriter. That’s both what I love doing the most, engaging in audiences in that way. And I think it’s also where my skill set lies the most clearly — in the relationship between music and words, and putting them together.

What do you see happening for you in the next year? Do you have a new record planned or are you going to keep working with The Ambassador?

I’m doing some tours in the Spring. I’m doing a tour with Brooklyn Rider, the string quartet, and that will be a lot of stuff from The Ambassador and also some other chamber music of mine for string quartet and voice. And I’m doing a tour with my friend, the pianist Timo Andres. But, yes, I am getting started on a new record. I thought I was going to be working on a big adaptation of a big novel, which will remain nameless for various reasons, and ultimately I decided that I wanted to do something that grew more from my own imagination.

The last three big projects that I’ve done — which I would consider to be The Ambassador, Gabriel’s Guide, and before that, the musical February House — they were all adaptations of one kind or another. Even though The Ambassador was all original words and original music, a lot of the stories that I’m telling are stories that are inspired by other popular culture — film, fiction, architecture, so on and so forth. There’s this way that a lot of what I’ve been doing has been referential. Not to say that I’m going to write a hyper-confessional singer/songwriter record, but there is something really appealing to me about making a new body of work that isn’t mediated by some source material, where I can just wake up in the morning and write really, really intuitively and not have to triangulate with some other source.

Photo credit: Josh Goleman

Root 66: Sawtooth Brothers’ Roadside Favorites

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

Name: Sawtooth Brothers
Hometown: Twin Cities, MN
Latest Album: One More Flight 

Pizza: Dulono's Pizza in Minneapolis has always been our home. They've hosted bluegrass music since before we were born, and we've been playing there and enjoying their incredible thin crust since before we could drive.

Burger: Whenever we drive through Rochester, Minnesota, we make a point of stopping at Newt's. They claim to have the best burger in town, but we think that's an understatement. Great tap selection, too.

Health Food: Every band knows how hard it is to find wholesome food out on the open highway … because there's only so many times you can stop at Subway. We like to find a grocery store and stock up on Clif Bars and sweet potatoes (you can microwave them in your hotel room).

 

A photo posted by @sawtoothbrothers on

Coffeehouse: We used to record in NE Minneapolis, which has its fair share of coffee houses (although the number of breweries might be overtaking it). Our go-to stop on the way into the studio or out of town is Matchbox Coffee. Look closely, it's small. About as small as a matchbox, but the coffee is perfectly hot and fresh. We dare you not fall in love with this place.

House Concert: Last Winter, we found ourselves in Michigan's UP on a bitterly cold February afternoon. Thankfully, we were playing a house concert at the Rainbow's End Alpaca Farm in Norway, Michigan. It was more than enough keep us warm. Pack a bluegrass band, a bunch of shelves full of alpaca wool products, and about a hundred people into a tiny gift shop, and you'll forget it's only five degrees outside! The Full Moon House Concert series was incredibly welcoming and hospitable.

Day Off Activity: Fishing brings us together on our off days. We could be on a lake up north or down on the river, but we're always looking for fishin' holes while touring around. We usually fail to plan for the discovery of an enticing stream, though, so "We should have brought our fishing poles!" is one of the most common things we say.

 

A photo posted by @sawtoothbrothers on

Car Game: You'll typically find everyone asleep except the driver (hopefully), but if we're feeling restless, we'll flip through the radio channels and compete to see who can name the band first. Our guitarist Clint usually wins.

Music Festival: A highlight of every year is the Laughing Waters Bluegrass Festival. It's in Minnehaha Park, the crown jewel public space of a city renowned for its parks — Minneapolis. There's an incredible waterfall, biking, fishing, miles of trails, and, every year on Labor Day, a free bluegrass festival with a huge turnout. Seriously … so many people come to this thing, it's almost like everyone has the day off of work. There's always a great lineup, awesome food vendors, and perfect weather (knock on wood).

Tour Hobby: Sometimes you find yourself with time to kill in a city you know nothing about. We take this as an opportunity to stroll the streets and explore. We usually end up in a local brewery or at a park. Recently, in Viroqua, Wisconsin, we stumbled on Eckhart Park which must be the quaintest thing we've ever seen. It's on a wooded hillside with a city time capsule cemented into a rocky outcropping which overlooks a baseball field we played some softball in for a while.

 

A photo posted by @sawtoothbrothers on

Backstage Hang: The Rochester Civic Theater is home to the Americana Showcase series and also a fantastic backstage. It's one of those classic spaces underneath the stage with a bunch of squishy old couches and posters for former productions. It's got a great energy, and the bands hangout together before and during the show. The last time we played this series, we were finally old enough to join in the ceremonial tequila shot that starts off every show.

Listening Room: Our claim to hipster cred is that we thought the Punch Brothers were cool before anyone else. We saw them a couple times back on their first tour when they came to the Cedar Cultural Center in Minneapolis. When they come to town now, they play First Avenue or the State Theater, but it was extra special to see them at the Cedar. It's an intimate setting, and everyone sits down with rapt attention for the musicians. The sound is top notch, and you can usually meet the band.

Driving Album: If you want to ride along with us, you'd better like Nickel Creek, cause we'll be listening to A Dotted Line … a lot.

Get Off Your Ass: May Is Upon Us

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The Cactus Blossoms // Echo // May 1

Luke Bell // Echoplex // May 1

Jackson Browne // Thousand Oaks Civic Arts Plaza // May 3

Chris Pureka // The Satellite // May 12

John Prine with Jason Isbell and Amanda Shires // Greek Theatre // May 13

Richard Thompson // Teragram Ballroom // May 14

Andrew Bird // The Theatre at Ace Hotel // May 14-15

Joseph Arthur // Troubadour // May 16

Damien Jurado // Troubadour // May 18

Tim O'Brien // McCabe's Guitar Shop // May 22

Petunia & the Vipers // El Cid // May 26

Brett Dennen // El Rey Theatre // May 27

Punch Brothers // Schermerhorn Symphony Center // May 2

Bonnie Raitt // Ryman Auditorium // May 3-4

Charles Bradley // Exit/In // May 4

The Avett Brothers // Bridgestone Arena // May 6

Lucinda Williams // Ryman Auditorium // May 8

Hayes Carll // The Basement East // May 11

Fruition // Exit/In // May 12

Old Crow Medicine Show // Country Music Hall of Fame // May 12-13

Dale Watson // Nashville Palace // May 13

Dylan Fest featuring Jason Isbell, Emmylou Harris, Kacey Musgraves, Holly Williams, Nikki Lane, Rayland Baxter, Ruby Amanfu, Amanda Shires, Cory Chisel, Robert Ellis, and more  // Ryman Auditorium // May 23-24

Billy Joe Shaver // City Winery // May 28

Will Hoge // City Winery // May 29

Carrie Rodriguez // National Sawdust, Brooklyn // May 1

Mary Chapin Carpenter // 92nd Street Y // May 1

Delta Rae // Bowery Ballroom // May 2

Elephant Revival and Ben Sollee // Bowery Ballroom // May 4

M. Ward // Webster Hall // May 4

James Taylor // Carnegie Hall // May 5

Joan Osborne // City Winery // May 8

Loudon Wainwright III and Iris Dement // Tarrytown Music Hall // May 13

Graham Nash // Town Hall // May 14

Parsonsfield // Mercury Lounge // May 20

Lindsay Lou & the Flat Bellys and Ana Egge // Rockwood Music Hall, Stage 2 // May 24

Roosevelt Dime & the Bruce Harris Orchestra // National Sawdust // May 29

Chris Thile Makes ‘Prairie Home’ Host Debut

Posted on by Editor

In mid-2015, it was announced that Chris Thile would take over A Prairie Home Companion, filling the shoes of longtime host Garrison Keillor, who is retiring. This weekend, listeners got their first taste of what a Thile-helmed Prairie Home would sound like, and, well, it sounds pretty good.

An all-star lineup of guests included Thile's Punch Brothers, Brandi Carlile, Sarah Jarosz, Ben Folds, and our own Ed Helms, who joined Thile for a conversation about crickets, among other things. A music-heavy evening, listeners and audience members were treated to tunes like "Magnet" from the Punch Brothers, "The Eye" from Carlile, and "Yes Man" from Folds, the last of which featured Thile and his bandmates. 

Thile also performed the never-before-heard tune "The Mississippi Is Frozen" with a little help from Jarosz. He plans to reveal a number of new songs over the course of his hosting gig.

While there have been questions about whether or not Thile can fill the giant shoes left by Keillor, this first broadcast should do much to ease those concerns. And, for you purists out there, Keillor will resume hosting A Prairie Home Companion on February 13 before completely retiring from the gig and passing the torch to Thile this Fall. Listen to this weekend's show and watch video clips here. Look for Paul Simon and Andrew Bird on next Saturday's broadcast.

On Life and Lessons: An Interview with the Grascals’ Kristin Scott Benson

Posted on by Editor

Six-piece bluegrass band the Grascals have been a genre staple since they first formed in 2004. What continues to set the band apart in a landscape overflowing with competition has much to do with the sweetness apparent in their songs, which already overflow with driving rhythms and full-bodied harmonies. It’s a sweetness that original members Danny Roberts, Terry Smith, and Terry Eldredge have built together over time, and which the band’s current banjo player, four-time winner of International Bluegrass Music Association’s Banjo Player of the Year Kristin Scott Benson, has helped underscore since joining them six years ago.

Although the band has undergone changes over the years — most recently by adding fiddler Adam Haynes and vocalist/guitarist John Bryan to the mix — they’ve managed to infuse their modern sound with an exuberant air that refuses to become staid. That much can be seen from their work output. The Grascals released their ninth studio album, and then there’s this…, in early January and will hit the road shortly for a series of shows that will effectively keep them on the road until September.

The Grascals have a pretty lengthy tradition of playing the Grand Ole Opry. What’s it like getting on that stage … even today?

Yeah, I still remember the first time I played it; I was 19 years old. Needless to say, it’s very nerve-wracking. The first time I played it, it was at the Opry House. That’s where it is most of the time, and it’s still got all the elements that you associate with playing the Opry. It’s there at either location, but the Ryman [Auditorium] just happens to be a little special because of the history.

Absolutely. And it’s such a beautiful venue. I imagine the acoustics there are tailor-made for this genre.

I heard when Earl [Scruggs] would play a banjo solo at the Ryman, it would just explode, and you couldn’t hear what was going on because people were so excited about it. It’s easy to envision, and I’ve seen pictures from that era. It’s not an exaggeration. It’s a super special place, and it still has a lot of that charm today.

You hear, especially with some of these older auditoriums, that you can feel a sense of the history about it. Do you feel that weight when you take the stage?

Yeah, I think we do. We’re blessed to have in the band, with Terry Smith and Terry Eldredge, a couple of guys that are part of that history. We could argue at this point, they started playing the Opry in the 70s. They were both very young musicians and they are part of the history now, when we see the pictures, especially backstage. Terry Smith knows everybody in every single picture. And they have stories. I’ve listened to some live shows from the Opry before, and they’ll actually have been there, so it’s even cooler to get to play with some guys who’ve been doing this for a long time now.

Turning to the music, I’m always struck by the sweetness that comes across in the Grascals’ songs. Where does that come from? Does it have to do with each member’s different personality?

The material, oftentimes, is driven by the singers. If you’re doing vocal songs, we can all bring ideas, but the singer has to feel it and believe it. It’s primarily (I think anyway) their decision, because they have to deliver that song night after night. Especially for an emotional singer like Terry Eldredge, it has to be something he believes in because that’s how he sings. I think most of our material is driven by the taste of the vocalist.

I do really agree with what you said about personalities. The band is — it’s clichéd to say — but it’s such a great group of guys. It genuinely is. I’ve been in the band for eight years now, but they were a band for a few years before I came into it. The thing I admired most about the Grascals is they seemed to have such a great time when they played onstage; it felt like they were happy to be there. Now, as a member of the band, I can attest to the validity of that.

That’s such a hard thing to fake.

It is, and I think people can tell when you fake it. People respond to authenticity, whether it’s stage presence or vocal delivery or instrumental execution. No matter what area of music you’re talking about, whether it’s the entertainment side or the music side. They know whether it’s real or not. Sometimes the masses will respond to an extreme musical force — even if it’s not necessarily a mainstream sound — if it’s real and authentic. The Grascals do have a lot of personality. I can say that humbly, because I really don’t contribute to that.

No! How can you say that?

I get to benefit from some of the personalities in the band. They really do have a lot of cool personalities; they’re personable guys, and people can sense that it’s real.

I’m curious how the band continues to push itself creatively in new directions. More and more, you have these different versions of bluegrass popping up. I’m thinking of Punch Brothers and maybe even Greensky Bluegrass. How do you all keep pushing yourselves?

One thing that’s certainly sparked creativity is having two new members. We added Adam Haynes on fiddle a couple of years ago, and a huge transition has been adding John Bryan as one of the lead singers and a tenor singer for the band. Adam, Danny, and I all agree on what an instrumental influence adds in a group, but we also agree that a vocalist — primarily a lead singer — is such a crucial aspect of any band. You’re absolutely going to change and transition when something like that is different. John has brought a lot of energy and youthfulness to the group, and it’s pretty easy to be creative and different when you have a fundamental shift in personnel like that.

As far as the overall style of the Grascals, it’s stayed the same; it’s actually what we just talked about before. You know, Terry Smith and Terry Eldredge are very much oblivious to the bluegrass scene, as a whole … and I say that lovingly. They are not driven by anyone else. They only do what they like and what they want to do. They’re not concerned about trends or what other people like, and it’s not because they’re snooty or disinterested; they just aren’t. The Grascals have always kind of had an identity that reflects what they like in their hearts, which again goes back to authenticity. They aren’t even aware of anyone else enough to care to chase after any other thing.

I, personally, am a fan of the different sects in bluegrass, because we have this huge umbrella of acoustic music, and you take the genius of Chris Thile and the Punch Brothers, and Noam Pikelny, and all these people that I just think … I’m fascinated by them. They’re so amazing. I really think there’s room for everyone, and they’re quite different crowds with each of these circuits that you may play and see, as far as live performances.

It’s nice to know there’s room for growth because a lot of times, with any creative art, you can bump up against egos. It’s nice to hear that that’s not necessarily the case here.

Yeah, and I think everybody has their own opinion, and that’s mine. But I really do welcome it. For one thing, you named the Punch Brothers, and I’m so much a fan of Noam. I think he’s a fantastic guy and an amazing banjo player and musician. I can’t imagine not being proud to be associated with him, even in a minor way, in that we’re both banjo players. Even though we do entirely different things, an association with someone that great? Gosh, I’ll take it!

Building off that idea, then, of this collection of banjo players, you obviously sing with the Grascals. What has the banjo allowed you to express that your voice hasn’t?

Well, I’m certainly in my comfort zone playing the banjo and not singing.

Really?

Oh, yeah. I don’t like to sing. I just like to play the banjo. When I heard a banjo the first time, it was in the context of a bluegrass band. I love the instrument. I like to hear what it can do, and I love its role within a bluegrass group. The first aspect of a bluegrass band that really captured my attention as a kid was seeing Scott Vestal with Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver. This would’ve been mid-'80s. The part of that group that got me more than anything was Scott’s banjo playing. It’s certainly what I’m most comfortable doing.

There’s a heightened sense of visibility when it comes to singing. Is that what becomes intimidating?

I absolutely feel that increased visibility, and I don’t like that. I’m much more content to be on the sidelines and contribute to the band. I certainly would not like to be the center of attention. Thank goodness that there are people the other way, because some people thrive on attention. We all have our places.

I read that you give lessons. How does teaching push you to be a better player?

Well, I could talk a long time about that. It’s done so many things. My husband [Wayne Benson] — he’s a mandolin player with IIIrd Tyme Out — and he teaches, as well. We were actually a bit reluctant to teach. It wasn’t something we envisioned doing, and yet it’s grown and become a huge part of who we are. It’s almost become an entirely separate entity. There’s us when we go play and there’s us when we teach.

One thing it will do is shore up your fundamentals. This is a very specific example, but my pull-offs on the banjo have gotten better because I teach people how to do pull-offs all day and when you do ‘em slow — time after time for people — they are naturally going to get better when you play. It’s also then some more abstract things. For instance, it’s put us back in touch with the general public and put us back in touch with our audience. We do associate with the crowds after the shows and stuff, but you don’t really get to know people. You just see them for a few minutes and then they’re gone. It’s been a healthy reminder to me that people really do come to shows to enjoy themselves and they try to play these instruments to enjoy themselves, and that’s the reason you start playing an instrument. It’s a therapy and it’s an escape, and it’s something that you look forward to doing whether you’re going to come from school or work.

It’s easy to become jaded as a musician because it’s so associated with you’re living; it’s a job. Students help refocus me to the original intent I had when I played the banjo, and it was just to be excited about wherever I was. I see students in their 60s who get through a song, and they’re so excited about it and they’re invigorated. That’s how I used to feel when I was learning and I still feel that way sometimes, but the students reminded us of those super pure parts of music, which haven’t been corrupted by being overworked or being overtired, or having to travel too much, or not traveling enough. These students are such great people, and that’s how you become successful as a teacher. The skillset for that is entirely separate from performing. You really become a better teacher when you get to know your students and care about them and want to help them enjoy their instrument and help them get better. Then you really tap into a fullness where you’re not going to burn out and get tired of teaching, because it becomes personal to each of the students.

What a lovely idea, and it builds into my next question, which is something we kind of touched on earlier. You’re traveling so much; you’re playing show after show every night. In addition to having your students serve as this reminder about what the music can be and the way you can approach it, how do you keep things fresh? I feel that’s always the risk you run when you do a creative endeavor for a job.

That’s absolutely right. Anytime you’re passionate about your job, there are a lot of advantages to that. There are a few disadvantages; it’s hard to detach, if you’re not necessarily happy with something about your job. Whereas, if you just go and mindlessly invest yourself for the paycheck, it’s easier to keep things separate, I think. Because music is art, it becomes very personal. It’s tough to stay fresh and excited when the passion and the creativity of art is drug down by the mundane facts of life, as far as you’re just tired or you’re homesick.

A couple of things that help me personally — one is, there is always this underlying thankfulness I get from playing music. It’s not what I intended to do; I just started playing the banjo and one thing led to another, and I’ve been so blessed to do it, and so thankful for it. That actually doesn’t go away. Even if it’s stale, or we can’t hear each other, or whatever the circumstances may be, that underlying thankfulness is always there and I don’t lose sight of it. Now we have a son — he’s nine years old — and he’s still little, but we are all praying that he can do something for a living that he’s passionate about, because it can greatly determine how you feel about your life.

The other thing is, being in a band with guys that are overall happy guys. Like any other band, we have things going on and it’s a job, and there are things that try to pick away at the creative parts of it, but they’re good guys. We’re all pretty happy; we’re all pretty even-natured. I stand next to Terry Eldredge on stage and he’s always in a good mood. It’s kind of hard to not give it your best, when you’re up there with people who you feel like they’re doing that. It helps you have a right attitude and a right outlook on each and every night. And, then, remembering that the people who came … it’s one of many nights for us, but it’s one of one night for them. You owe it to them to try your best.

Creatively, again, having [Adam and John] come into the band, it totally changes everything. When you have a new fiddle player and singer, everything about the dynamics — personally and musically — everything about it is different. I was the last band change before Adam, so we had about six years, I guess, of complete continuity, and that’s a great thing. But you make the best of things when they happen and you just have to embrace it. We’ve been really blessed to have Adam and John come into the band, and help us move on. Now this is the new version. It’s still the Grascals, but it’s with some new people, and they have something new to bring to it.

It’s an ever fluid, changing process. How exciting.

Yeah, it is. And, when it’s people-driven, you don’t have to force it. It just is.

BGS Class of 2015: Albums

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From Jason Isbell debuting at the top of three Billboard charts to Chris Stapleton sweeping the CMA Awards to Alabama Shakes nabbing five Grammy nominations, this year has proven that roots music is alive and very, very well. But, because our coverage area is so dang wide and deep, we decided that making a ranked list wasn't fair to anyone. After all, Sam Lee is baking apples while Dawes is juicing oranges. So, here are 21 of our favorite graduates from the BGS Class of 2015: Albums. For a whole bunch of others, check out BGS Class of 2015: Songs.

Valedictorian/Prom King/Class President: Jason Isbell, Something More Than Free

It's no wonder this album topped the rock, folk, and country charts when it dropped. Jason Isbell made another masterpiece of an album that absolutely defies the lines of genre and the limits of genius. Meandering through throwback country-rock and contemporary folk, Something More Than Free is a cornucopia of sonic goodness and solid songwriting. — Kelly McCartney

Best Avoidance of the Sophomore Slump: Alabama Shakes, Sound & Color

If you've only ever heard Boys & Girls, forget what you know — or think you know — about Alabama Shakes. Brittany Howard had a vision and, on Sound & Color, she let it rip, roar, rock, and roll. This album blasts soulful Southern rock into a whole new dimension. Indeed, the last third gets pretty trippy, but it's a ride worth taking. — KMc

Best Ameripolitan Hat Tip to '70s FM Radio: Andrew Combs, All These Dreams

Andrew Combs has been in and around the Nashville music scene for years now, but it's with All These Dreams that he truly came into his own as an artist to be reckoned with. From the gentle melancholy of "Rainy Day Song" to the heartful vulnerability of "In the Name of You," Combs proves that all those years listening to Guy Clark and Mickey Newbury have paid off in spades. — Brittney McKenna

Most Likely to Give You Hope for Contemporary Country Music: Ashley Monroe, The Blade

Since she couldn't make a better record than 2013's Like a Rose, Ashley Monroe made a different record with The Blade — one that is equally exquisite. Much like Lee Ann Womack, Monroe turns heartache into an almost enviable position. This is what country music is supposed to sound like. — KMc

Most Likely to Make You Shoot Some Whiskey: Chris Stapleton, Traveller

Bearded, burly, and bounding with heart and soul, the rise of country music's "new savior" is no surprise when you speak of Chris Stapleton. The Kentucky-born, Nashville-based songwriter (and former bluegrasser) has been penning tunes for big stars for years. Now it's his time to shine. Traveller isn't your typical country album: Influenced by R&B and Southern rock, it'll throttle you with different shades and colors of the genre — in a good way. — Cameron Matthews

Most Likely to Be Played in Parked Cars: Dawes, All Your Favorite Bands

The title song says it all: "May all your favorite bands stay together." Please Dawes, never never never break up … if only so we can always have albums as wonderful as this. — Amy Reitnouer

Most Likely to Make You Want to Be a Sea Captain: The Decemberists, What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World

It would be easy to take the Decemberists' joy and jauntiness for granted, if not for the humility and humanity that they temper it with. As evidenced by the title, this one balances out those scales pretty gloriously and very gracefully. — KMc

Most Likely to Make You Give Up the American Dream: Father John Misty, I Love You, Honeybear

Who knew that the twilight of the American Dream could be a time of celebration? Singer/songwriter Josh Tillman's sophomore release as the dirty reverend, Father John Misty, encapsulates all of our fears of earning less, dying younger, living harder, and feeling nothing. But Misty wants you to be in on the joke. He's not laughing at how you bought into it all. He's laughing with you, man. I Love You, Honeybear is a brilliant satire, an absurdist love story, and, above all, one of the most important albums of the decade. — CM

Most Likely to Get You into Bluegrass (Least Likey to Start a Blood Feud): The Gibson Brothers, Brotherhood

The hermanos Gibson are a powerhouse of emotion and vocal talent in the world of bluegrass and folk music. On Brotherhood, the pair cover myriad brother bands — like the Everlys and Louvins — with grace and crystalline vocal arrangements. Put this one on the ole speakers and, after you're finished sobbing, realize that you've been a bad brother and call up Missouri asking for forgiveness. — CM

Best Soundtrack to a Love Affair: Glen Hansard, Didn't He Ramble

The man who gave us one of the most heart-wrenching love stories ever on film (He won an Oscar for Once.) is back with an equally emotional second solo record. The songs on Didn't He Ramble are all about asking for grace, forgiveness, and mercy, and by the end of the record it's the listener — like the jilted lover in one of his songs — who comes crawling back for more. — AR

Most Likely to Help You Through Some Dark, Dark Times: Gretchen Peters, Blackbirds

On Blackbirds, Gretchen Peters stretches out her glorious wings and soars into some deep valleys. This album offers not so much a light at the end of the tunnel as a candle along the way. — KMc

Most Likely to Make You Wish You Were a Better Songwriter: John Moreland, High on Tulsa Heat

With his sophomore album, In the Throes, John Moreland proved himself one of the best songwriters making music, and he somehow managed to out-do himself on this most recent collection — one that is a truly jaw-dropping listening experience from start to finish. — BMc

Most Likely to Bring About a Soul Revival: Leon Bridges, Coming Home

Soul music had a good year this year. Much of it, though, came in the blue-eyed form, from guys like Anderson East and Nathaniel Rateliff putting a modern spin on an old sound. What sets Leon Bridges and Coming Home apart is his attention to detail, as evidenced by the album's art. He's not remaking the music in his own image; he's doing exactly the opposite. And it flat out suits him. — KMc

Best Aural Equivalent of Red Wine: The Milk Carton Kids, Monterey

The Milk Carton Kids have long been known for their intricate guitar arrangements and gentle harmonies, becoming outliers in a genre that often favors banjos and bombast. On Monterey, they double-down on what sets them apart, crafting a gorgeous, cinematic album that proves sometimes it's the quiet guys who have the most to say. — BMc

Best New Kids on the Block: Mipso, Old Time Reverie

The guys and gal of this North Carolina quartet are an exciting distillation of modern bluegrass. They dress in the fashions of today, sing about issues new and old, and incorporate the athletic musicianship necessary to be a top-notch string band. Mipso's sophomore release can best be described as deliberate and care-filled. Each song is executed with a steady hand, beginning with the palindromic "Marianne." But it's the addition of Libby Rodenbough on fiddle that makes Old Time Reverie required listening. Prepare yourself a tall bourbon and enjoy this one on your city balcony. — CM

Most Likely to Make You Cry and/or Burn a Box of Photos of Your Ex: Natalie Prass, Natalie Prass

Break-ups suck and if, like Natalie Prass, you need to turn love lost into found art, you might as well do it with a kick-ass horn section. Lyrics like "our love is a long goodbye" may have you in tears, but the '70s-inspired brass will have you dancing on your way to grab those Kleenex. — BMc

Best Dystopian Opera by a String Band: Punch Brothers, The Phosphorescent Blues

Punch Brothers' latest album is the band's most mature offering to date — it's also their most difficult to handle. Lyrically, The Phosphorescent Blues is heavy, even burdensome, but it saves itself from being a droll appraisal of modernity through boundary-pushing string music. Fiddle player Gabe Witcher introduced drums into the Brothers' world, while the rest of the band acheives a synergy they have not seen before. If we're talking simply, it's like Yes made a strings album with the lyrics of Louis Carroll. — CM

Most Likely to Make You Love a Kanye West Song: Ruby Amanfu, Standing Still

Not every singer knows how to make a song their own. Ruby Amanfu does and, with Standing Still, she offers a master class in the art of interpretation. Here, she takes tunes by Bob Dylan, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, and, yes, Kanye West and turns them on their ears. The results are stunning to behold. — KMc

Best Gypsy Revival Not Starring Patti Lupone: Sam Lee & Friends, The Fade in Time

Every artist in the "heritage" movement could learn a thing or two from UK artist and song collector Sam Lee. The Fade in Time is a mystical mix of traditional folk songs and gypsy tunes — often incorporating the original recordings that Lee himself has captured — with innovative, modern, and at times tribal sounds. Highly recommend turning this up during late-night trips driving through the desert (as we did en route to Telluride Bluegrass this June). Pure magic. — AR

Most Likely to Make You Re-Think the Blues: Son Little, Son Little

Blues is one of those genres that people love to debate: Is it still alive? And, if so, is it well? Son Little is here to tell you that, yes, the blues is indeed alive and, in capable hands like his, it will be well for many years to come. — BMc

Best Multi-Generational Supergroup: Watkins Family Hour, Watkins Family Hour

When WFH announced their record early in 2015, we had serious doubts as to whether anything could encapsulate the special experience that is Sara and Sean Watkins' monthly variety hour at Largo in Los Angeles. But lo and behold, this self-titled record not only captures the warmth and camaraderie that makes the live show so special (featuring the likes of Benmont Tench, Fiona Apple, Greg Leisz, and others), but it stands up as one of the best roots albums of the year. — AR

 

For more musical goodness, check out the full Class of 2015. Follow the playlist on Spotify and add your own favorite songs to it: