In the press release for their 2024 album Anniversary, Adeem the Artist, the non-binary, self-described “cast iron pansexual” singer-songwriter, mentions that the album is queer country – as a genre, not simply as music made by queer people, but as a whole new thing. They also mention recording and creating with their child, their partner, and their tour manager, in a week off from touring in semi-rural Texas. The album is a deeply moving, hauntingly specific, and profoundly sophisticated look at the interweavings of family and a (literally) hostile landscape.
This is queer country – queer as a sexuality and gender and musical identity, but also as an indication of being a little askew, not really fitting plumb, as a political and personal identity. Here, a genre, Adeem notes, is a way of working against expectations or histories:
“Country music is important to me, because it’s so much tied into the dirt of where I grew up. It feels like a place I can comfortably speak from, in the authority of my testimony as a Southerner and a child of Confederates. That’s my responsibility, my calling. That’s why I’m making country records right now. It’s where I need to be, to be processing the things I’m processing.”
One of the ways of keeping safe in this landscape, while acknowledging and trying to make amends, is to move inwards, to lean on the “cast iron” of “cast iron pansexual.” This album moves from the outside – a world that is toxic and violent – toward one that is domestic. In the coruscating rock breakdown of “Plot of Land,” with its minute-long, Tom Petty quoting coda, Adeem sings:
And the politicians cast their lies like street craps, And they sweep up every time So baby I’m gonna find us a plot of land With a little home to put a family in …
The plot of land is a long term plan, but there are moments in this record where you can see possibilities – of a loving home, of a rock and roll life, of a genderqueer Southern utopia, of the perfect dive bar meetup – falling out of an ambitious set of recordings. The too muchness of the album can be understood given it was made in a week, in a hostile place.
Adeem talks about how they made “Nightmare” in Texas, incorporating all the elements in their surroundings including “Isley’s laughter [their daughter], Kyle’s gentle presence [their tour manager], Hannah’s bouncing energy [their wife] as she pitche[d] hymns we could reference irreverently. That week away from the internet and the news cycle was a little insulation bubble that gave us so much room to breathe and feel safe. I don’t think this song could’ve been delivered with a different midwife.”
The midwife analogy is especially relevant to understanding some of these songs, particularly “Carry You Down,” where Adeem writes gorgeously about having and raising babies. The song is so gentle, so respectful of the autonomy of the child, but also filled with the details of domestic life that have become rare in country lately. In an album about adult pleasures and pains, it is a rest song, about carrying a child down the stairs when they ask to be carried, even if that interrupts “chorin’,” doing dishes or work in the garden.
If “Carry You Down” is a waltz, then “The Socialite Blues” is a romp about “staying up to the break of dawn/ making out of tune songs with you” – another kind of domestic, with “out of tune” its own kind of queerness. These songs have a sweetness, a refuge from harm, a way to escape not outside, but within.
The invocation of “out of tune songs” is a euphemism, but there are spaces on the album where Adeem is explicit about desire, as explicit as a country song has ever been, like in “Nancy,” which expresses exactly how difficult it is to fuck while on pharmaceuticals; or “One Night Stand,” about relationships that happen between last call and sunrise, but whose memory might, out of mercy and grace, stay on for “a lifetime of nights with him;” or “Part and Parcel,” where they sing, in gentle but urgent tones:
Take it all apart, it’s part & parcel I came here with a strange and honest feeling Chase all of these contradicting versions Childhood perversions, & dreams that never steered Let them drive a little while so that I can disappear
Those “contradicting versions” include being a child from the South, so the history here is not only personal, but social and political. There is a cluster of artists working out the history of the South right now – Justin Hiltner’s “1992,” Miko Marks’ Race Records,Willi Carlisle’s recitations of the failures of Appalachian and rural drug work, the entire career of Jake Xerxes Fussell, all of the ancestor work in Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter. It might seem like Adeem’s work is personal, but all of this historical work flows from the personal to the corporate, an understanding of history that includes both last week and last century, trauma and joy twisting into a complex homecoming.
Homecoming for Adeem also includes the history of Knoxville, Tennessee; on the album’s last song “White Mule, Black Man,” they begin by asking if it’s too much to do one more, but after the end of the track, it’s clear that nothing could be more proper. Here, Adeem telling stories of the South, from Confederation onward, means taking racial politics seriously.
In almost exactly three minutes, they tell the story of a white mob rioting after a foiled lynching, the eventual coverup of that lynching, and the layers of myth-making and storytelling to prevent the truth from being revealed. Moving from talking to singing, somewhere between Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There Is” and Dylan’s “The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll,” the story in this final song laments, “But if the Tennessee River runs red with blood/ ‘Til the city runs white again/ Well, a white mule’s curse means more round here/ Than the last words muttered by murdered Black men.”
Adeem has been blunt like this before, tearing down the charnel houses of violent American racism and its myths, and this song is a deepening and extending of that practice. By ending the album on this note of violence, not as a lecture but as a moral accounting, that history work is ensuring that everyone is seen and known, their family is known, and the origins of their family’s prosperity is known.
Such knowledge is the necessary, sometimes haunting, sometimes delightful, attraction of Adeem as a person and “the Artist” – earning that sobriquet.
Izzy Heltai is an indie-folk artist whose songs touch on themes like growing older, feeling lost, and finding yourself – his music resonates with many people. Izzy played the first Queerfest event, a virtual festival in 2021 hosted in partnership with Club Passim. His latest single, “My Best Friend Sam,” came out on April 25.
Izzy has a debut New York headline show coming up. If you’re in the area, be sure to check out his show at Union Pool in Brooklyn on Friday, June 21. Our Out Now conversation covers work-life balance (a large theme in his new single), his favorite LGBTQ+ artists, and his current state of mind. We’re so excited to highlight this phenomenal artist, Izzy Heltai!
Your lyrics cover themes that many people can relate to such as being anxious, growing older, self-esteem, feeling lost, etc. Do you write with the listener in mind for the relatability of these topics? Are you mostly thinking of your own experiences and emotions? Or are you considering both during the creative process?
Izzy Heltai: I think a lot of what I experience is universal. I think as we get older we all deal with issues of identity, anxiety, a sense of feeling lost, etc. I don’t really think about writing, or creating, for the purpose of being relatable. I think inherently what I write about is relatable, but the only way I can keep it authentic is by simply saying exactly what I’ve experienced. I don’t claim to know, or want to tell other people what they’ve gone through, all I can do is talk about what I experience.
Your single that came out last month, “My Best Friend Sam,” includes the lyrics, “I’ve wasted close to a decade chasing dreams and expectations / I wanna leave, I wanna stop everything / I wanna be hanging out with my best friend Sam.” How are you balancing a demanding career in the music industry with taking time for yourself and personal relationships?
Honestly, it’s been tough. This work exists in oscillations of highs and lows. One day it can feel like you have everything at the tips of your fingertips and the next day it can feel like everything’s falling apart. I’m trying to block out a lot of that. I’m trying to focus on what makes me happy about all of this, creating music with my friends, playing shows and connecting with people.
Recently, I’ve just been focusing on being in one place. Trying to be present, spending time with people I love, working on my next body of work and doing things throughout the day that make me feel the most present I can be. Reading, riding my bike, climbing, and writing songs.
What is your current state of mind?
If I’m honest, it isn’t the best it’s ever been. I broke my hip about a year ago and some things changed in my life that I had a hard time adjusting to. I’ve been refocusing recently and just putting energy into making things I love. Working on new songs I’m really proud of, investing in my friendships, riding my bike a lot, climbing with my friends. Things that make me feel grounded and most myself!
What’s your ideal vision for your future?
I love making my music, I love my friends here in Nashville and my routine, but I also love touring. Touring and playing shows, connecting with people, seeing new things, is such a big part of this for me. My ideal future consists of a balance between a routine at home, bike rides, yoga, rock climbing, writing and creating my next body of work, and a consistent sustainable touring schedule.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
This one’s easy. A sunny hot day, a very long bike ride, and cooking with my friends.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
I make music, because at one point I was a lonely, confused kid, and for some reason this was the way I processed the world. I’ll always make music regardless of who’s paying attention, but it’s easy to lose sight of that sometimes. I’m fully aware, with my identity, if my music reaches a certain level of success it has the power to really impact a marginalized population quite powerfully. I think my music becomes much more than “just for me,” because of that.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Lucky and honored to call her a close friend, Katie Pruitt is absolutely at the top of that list. Leith Ross, Ethel Cain, and Chappell Roan are other favorites of mine.
Sadie Gustafson-Zook is a detailed songwriter, pulling together collages of images and ideas and stitching them into melodies and lyrics. I met Sadie in 2019 at Club Passim, a renowned folk venue in Cambridge, Massachusetts known for promoting generations of great folk music. I was studying in Boston at the time, surrounded by incredible developing artists. Sadie was one of them, alongside Liv Greene,Jobi Riccio (featured before on Out Now), and Olivia Barton, another queer artist who came through the Club Passim folk scene and is now gaining traction.
We are excited to share our interview with Sadie the same week she releases the incredible new album, Where I Wanna Be (available May 10). Their thoughtful writing, pure voice, and creative guitar lines are sure to impress. Many of the songs on the album have a lullaby-like feel enhanced by Sadie’s soft voice and soothing melodies.
This month, Sadie is touring the Midwest with Brittany Ann Tranbaugh, who we also featured on Out Now earlier this year. They are powerful songwriters and performers alone, but seeing both artists in one show is a treat that you don’t want to miss! If you’re in the area, be sure to catch their tour through Wisconsin, Minnesota, Michigan, and Indiana.
What’s your ideal vision for your future?
Sadie Gustafson-Zook: Ideally, I would be able to keep doing what I’m doing, but slightly more of it. I think my music offers something special and I would like for more people to hear it. At the same time, I really do like living at least part of the time as a normal person who is in their house and has a cat and is a part of their local community’s life – so maintaining a sense of balance is definitely something I’m passionate about.
Right now, my ideal vision would be to play 100+ fun gigs per year (I’m not really interested in gigging for the sake of the grind – I mostly want to have a good time and hang out with people I love); continue teaching privately and at music camps (I’ve been really lucky to be able to do this at Kerrville’s Song School, Kentucky Music Week, and this summer I’ll be at Ossipee Valley’s String Camp); spend a lot of time in nature and with my family; and keep absorbing so I have things to write about.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
I create music because I think it’s fun to sing and play instruments and I like writing about my own life in a way that other people can relate to. Personally, I like being able to organize my thoughts into a nugget that is shaped like a song and that helps me sort out my emotions. And then socially, I love having the opportunity to share those songs and feel a broader sense of connection with people around me – and people who I don’t know! So, I think the process and the outcome are both things I really enjoy.
Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?
In college, I was a voice major and I spent four years singing operatic arias. I didn’t initially think this was what I was going to spend my college years doing, but once I started singing in such a big and full-body way, I had a really fun time experimenting with the extremes of what sounds my body was capable of producing. But when I performed these songs written by classical composers I didn’t feel very connected to the essence of the music. I sang it for myself, because it was fun (and probably also because I wanted people to pay attention to me), but I wasn’t assuming that my performance would touch something deep in someone else.
Since then, I have shifted towards writing and performing original music. I enjoy writing songs that are fun to sing and I write based on what I’m going through and what I need to talk about. Ironically, this feels like a more communal act than performing music that someone else wrote. I have the greatest chance of connecting with an audience over a shared experience if I’m speaking directly from my own experience, and ultimately my biggest goal is connection.
You shared about maintaining a sense of balance between being in the music industry and living in a home, with your pet, surrounded by community. Many artists and music-industry professionals have a challenging time with this. How have you built a sense of balance between these things? Do you have any words of advice for others working through the same challenges?
I’m very privileged to have an affordable living situation right now thanks to moving back to my hometown in the Midwest and having my parents as landlords. This freedom has made it possible for me to pay my bills exclusively with music-related work, which helps keep morale high in the music department. So I just want to preface everything else I say with the acknowledgement that it’s a lot easier to feel balanced when I’m not constantly worrying about money. While my situation is a privilege, I also know that not everyone would want to leave their music city hub and move in across the street from their parents in Indiana! Ha!
In terms of time balance, I’ve been testing out the way it feels to have music plans that take me away from home for one(ish) week each month, with some longer exceptions in the summer. That has been a nice way to not get too antsy at home, while also giving myself time to do more administrative work and be present in my town between tours. My first year of living in Goshen, I was pretty lonely and spent most of my time online, which honestly was horrible. I was really craving more in-person connections, so this year I’ve been digging into local activities as well as being really intentional about seeing my songwriter friends’ shows when they’re in a nearby city. Even when I don’t feel like leaving my house or driving a few hours away to see someone, I’m almost always happy that I did.
Your music is so descriptive, thoughtful, and well-crafted. What was the process like for you to write these 10 songs on the new album?
Thank you! The majority of these songs were written when I was living in Nashville in the spring of 2022 and then also when I was traveling around, sleeping in my car that summer. I had just had a breakup in Seattle and had to figure out where I wanted to live and between those two major changes I had a lot of processing to do! I also was spending a lot more time alone than I was used to and I felt like I had a lot of pent up creativity that came out really fast. Then there are also a few songs that I wrote once I was starting to feel a bit more settled in my hometown, as memories from my past kind of overlaid on top of my newer understanding of myself. Those came out more like steady drips throughout the end of 2022 and into 2023.
What inspired you to write Where I Wanna Be? What does the album mean to you and what do you hope others will take away from this collection of songs?
Although the album is called Where I Wanna Be, thematically the songs are more about who I wanna be and what I need to change in order to be that person. When someone asks, “How are you?” it’s easier to talk about geographical location (“I’ve been traveling a lot!”) as a substitute for emotional location (“I’ve been feeling really ungrounded”), especially when everything is in flux.
Each song, in its own way, speaks to who I want to be; I want to be someone who is free and expansive, who knows what makes me happy, whose identity reflects who I know myself to be, who is a part of a team/community, who doesn’t give my power away, who is consistently and historically queer, who trusts myself, who speaks up for myself and takes accountability, who feels at home in my geographical location, and someone who maintains a sense of curiosity in the midst of uncertainty. And that’s basically the whole album.
I think that’s why the album feels so intimate. Though I wrote this collection of songs for my own processing, I know that a lot of people go through this process for themselves, so I’m happy to lend my own experience to folks who might find it helpful.
The title track of the album, “Where I Wanna Be,” includes the lyric, “Every year I drive around, scope out the towns, thinking is this where I wanna be found.” I am curious if you feel a sense of the “grass is greener” in another town? I feel like this is a huge theme, especially among young adults, the idea that we may feel more fulfilled in another place.
Even if I daydream about moving, I find that I feel pretty aware of what I’m missing out on (in a positive and a negative way), and that helps with not over idealizing certain places. I know about the realities of living in Boston, or Brooklyn, or Nashville, or the PNW, and so all things considered, I’ve chosen to live where I am and visit those other places.
Sometimes I still daydream about living somewhere else, but mostly what I find myself imagining are the different communities I could be a part of. I’ve gotten little windows into different communities through meeting people at festivals and conferences, which are mysterious liminal spaces where people who live in different places gather together. They don’t represent an actual location where I could live permanently. And I think it’s helpful for me to remember that when I start feeling like I should move. Likely I’m imagining somewhere that doesn’t currently exist. Not that we couldn’t start an artist commune, though.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
God, more like who isn’t LGBTQ+! [Laughs]
Spencer LaJoye, Flamy Grant, Jean Rohe, Liv Greene, Jobi Riccio, Singer & the Songwriter, Cloudbelly, Lindsay Foote, Olivia Barton, Joy Clark, Allison de Groot & Tatiana Hargraves, Olive Klug, Jane O’Neill, Brittany Ann Tranbaugh, Elisabeth Pixley-Fink, Adrienne Lenker, Taylor Ashton, Eliza Edens, Rachael Kilgour, Emily King, Judee Sill, and tons of obviously bisexual woman performers who aren’t publicly out.
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
Although I’m bisexual, reading the Lesbian Masterdoc was very helpful as a way to sort through my past, draw connections between memories and feelings, and generally deconstruct the idea that being straight was the only option for me (compulsory heterosexuality). I also really loved reading Katie Heaney’s book, Would You Rather, and The Fixed Stars by Molly Wizenberg. (In addition to following every cute queer person I found on Instagram.)
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?
I often feel like performers are treated kind of like inspirational court jesters, where we’re being the weird, thoughtful, creative ones, and the normal people come to shows to live vicariously through us. Honestly, it’s pretty similar to how queer people break boxes and live expansively just by being ourselves (except that queer stories are often suppressed and not amplified). So, if I have the opportunity to have a platform and the power to influence my audience, I want to take that responsibility seriously and show up as my fullest self so they can see that it’s possible for them as well. I love being a queer musician and knowing that by just being myself, I might be helping audience members learn more about themselves as well.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
In 2016, I was attending the Rocky Mountain Song School and was a part of a partnered songwriting class where each participant told their partner a story from their life and then the partner would use that story as a songwriting prompt. My songwriting partner told me about his career trajectory and how someone advised him to get an entry-level job at the local venue that he wanted to play. So he got a job as a busboy at this venue and then progressively worked his way up, eventually becoming tight with the booker until he was selling out shows with his name on the marquee.
Although he wasn’t giving advice per se, I kept this story in mind when I moved to Boston after college and I got a job working at the box office of Club Passim. Regardless of career prospects, I think it’s a really good idea, for community building purposes, to become a regular wherever you want people to know you. For me, in working at Passim, I was hanging out there all the time and it was inevitable that I met a ton of super cool people who are doing really great things and now I feel pretty well-connected.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
This year is a big one for me! I’m (obviously) releasing this new album, Where I Wanna Be, and I actually have another recorded project scheduled for the fall! Tour-wise, I have been upping my booking game and will be touring around the Midwest in May with Brittany Ann Tranbaugh (we’ll likely be around Wisconsin and Minnesota when this article is published), the West coast in October with Jean Rohe, and the Northeast in November, and a lot of other spots in between! I’ll be teaching at a few songwriting and music camps as well, which I love to do. So I think it’ll be a great year!
This week, we’re excited to feature Joh Chase in Out Now. Joh is an artist from Seattle, Washington now rooted in Los Angeles, California. They’ve spent the past two decades developing their craft as a songwriter and performer and they’ve opened for artists like Noah Gunderson and David Bazan. Joh’s music steps outside the lines of any single genre and blends influences of blues, folk, pop, and indie rock.
Joh Chase’s brand new album, SOLO, was released today. It features diverse sounds, intimate lyrics, and an exploration of love, loss, self-discovery, and independence. Our conversation touches on why they create music, their greatest fear, and their process of self-funding tours and crowdfunding albums.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
I create music because I am lucky to have claimed music as something that I do. I just do music as much as humanly possible, because it makes me feel alive and helps me know who I am and how much I love the world and life and others. Both the outcome and the process are satisfying. The payoffs for showing up always feel rewarding, but the long game reward of gaining muscle memory around showing up when it feels like the last thing you wanna do, is its own kind of reward.
Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?
I’m very “Oliver Sacks” about music. I unabashedly create music for selfish reasons – coping, pleasure, and connection. And then I love playing music for people or hearing the music of others because everyone has a “secret public song space” in their bodies and minds and they want to be there as much as possible.
Your songs cover a wide range of genres with traces of blues, pop, folk, and indie rock influences. How do you navigate genre diversity while maintaining a cohesive sound throughout the album?
I think the genre diversity and how that comes across in the different sounds is a reflection of the kinds of music I used to make and the sounds that have stuck with me throughout the years. Using the baritone saxophone, finding a way to express some soul music as well as some Americana licks amongst folky tunes indie folk/rock sounds are endemic to my musical expression. Over the years people have said, “Oh your voice would sound good singing… country, bluegrass, blues, soul…” and in this record I found a way to fit the genres to my voice, a bit. The surprising Flaming Lips-sounding party that is “Daniel” or the more jammy “Smoother” with its less Western sounding scale, are consequences of me feeling 100% happy with creating and releasing music that genre melds, as opposed to making sure I stay in some sort of shape, genre-wise.
The lead single, “Avalanche,” is both explosive and personal. What is the inspiration and significance of this track?
I honestly cannot remember the exactitude of where or when I wrote “Avalanche.” It was in the same set of songs as “Gone” when I first wrote it, but I can’t remember that session as well as I can remember the writing of “Gone.” The song centers itself around the powerful polarity of belonging and loss. Love is not just the “hot fire sex flame” of pop bangers, but also the unexpected mountain shelf of love that you didn’t know you had until it was gone.
This album, SOLO, reflects your do-it-yourself perspective as an artist. Could you share the challenges and rewards of self-funding tours and crowdfunding projects?
One of my favorite books that I was reading around the time that I decided to do the crowd funding that led to this record is the book Real Artists Don’t Starve. The book inspired me to go back to school while I was making this record. The record business is tough and very uncontrollable, but I will never stop making music. So it’s not a question of “do I want to keep making music”, but rather how and at which costs? I think some artists or bands are in a place where they feel comfortable sharing the financials of their music business with fans and some do not for many valid reasons. I feel comfortable sharing with my fans, I need $x to do this, will you help me make it happen. It’s much more acceptable now to have folks follow your Patreon or Substack or subscriptions than it was, so I feel grateful that there are things like Kickstarter and Patreon etc.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
Eating a Berliner from Black Forest Bakery in Los Feliz with my coffee, going home to the studio and making music or playing out with my band.
What’s your ideal vision for your future?
I’m sitting behind some tape machine or TEAC-2A, coming up with my next record and building more beautiful songs. I’m walking my dog and going to queer line dancing and the LA women’s soccer games with my city and then touring and meeting wonderful people and getting to play music for them. Definitely going back to Europe for more shows – I’d really love to do that.
What is your greatest fear?
My dog dying when I’m on tour.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
Get pet insurance.
What is your current state of mind?
I’m so deeply excited about playing these new songs for people this year and for people to hear this record. I couldn’t sleep last night after doing my taxes, ’cause I was so buzzed from the band rehearsal.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Brittany Ann Tranbaugh. Brennan Wedl. Bitch. Melissa Ferrick. Perfume Genius. Hand Habits. Sasami. Rhett Madson. Rachel Mazer. Ryan Cassatta. Brittany Howard. Sinead O’Connor. Jonnie Reinhart. Hurray for the Riff Raff.
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
Willie Nelson’s “He Was A Friend of Mine” – I think struggling to come out of the closet or living in it or the aftermath of coming out revolves around loss of community and friendships. Nelson’s version of this song helps me still deal with some of the sadness around that loss. I was lucky enough to get sober and it was through the 12 step community that I met lovely, strong, vulnerable queers in LA who showed me the beauty and joy of what it’s like to be out and to be sturdy in your own way. I’m also spoiled with LA’s LGBT center – it’s an incredible organization with so many resources and events. Find the queers you want to be when you grow up. And then be the queer you want to be when you grow up.
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?
I think it means that my music gets to be a safe LGBTQ+ place. That my shows and my music centers the queer experience.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
After touring this summer to promote the record on the West Coast, I’ll head east later in the year and jump into some Folk Alliance conferences. No release plans on the radar yet after SOLO.
How do you find a balance between the business and artistic aspects involved in your career as a musician?
I honestly don’t totally know. It’s intuitive and chaotic and intentional and has been part of my personality or my way of life for so long, now, that I don’t know if I can pinpoint one precise center of gravity. I have to protect my creative time, nurture my playfulness in life, let myself ditch friends or ditch overworking or ditch over-cleaning to let those creative moments remind me of who I am. I am lucky to have a manager, a team at Kill Rock Stars and friends who support me and my music. Inside of community, the glaring nature of the music industry is dulled out quite a bit.
Knowing how 2020 and the years that followed would unfold, the dynamism of Katie Pruitt‘s debut record is even more awe-inspiring. Expectations introduced the Nashville-via-Georgia singer-songwriter alongside her deepest aches and most intimate struggles as an openly queer individual raised as part of a devout Roman Catholic family in the conservative South. It would go on to earn a GRAMMY-nomination and ample praise for her lyricism, empowered performances, arranging, and instinct for production. In short, it’s undeniable that Pruitt set quite the high bar of expectations for herself and the music she would choose to share next.
Four years later, Pruitt has unveiled Mantras. While flashes of brilliance from a familiar autobiographical lens inform and inspire the 11 track recording, these aren’t simply more straightforward, memoir-style anecdotes. The truths and experiences Pruitt shares on Mantras feel more revealing than Expectations, as this time, Pruitt’s lens looks decidedly more inward at what she has lived through, reflected on, and learned from since writing her last album.
Not only is Mantras‘ thought process largely internal in nature, but each song leads to paths, stories, and developments that have yet to be fully resolved – if ever they will. The album showcases a great deal of inspiring perseverance in the self-contained conclusions of songs like “Self-Sabotage” and “Worst Case Scenario” and more generally, it unveils a journey of self-healing from start to finish.
However, while Mantras ultimately provides reassurance, peace, and closure, the takeaway isn’t meant to be one of permanent resolution or rigid perspective around anything Pruitt has seemingly conquered in each song. Like the recapitulating nature of a mantra, she is mindful of being continuously attentive and compassionate towards her inner struggles, rather than seeing them as singular moments of adversity.
Speaking with her by phone, BGS shared an insightful conversation with Pruitt about how her focus on inner-healing shaped the sound of Mantras, how her perspective around disagreement and connection has changed, how she cultivates inner strength, and much more.
How was it navigating the presence of expectations for Mantras, considering your intent to move away from a focus on external validation?
Katie Pruitt: On the first album, I was dodging different expectations, you know? I was dodging expectations of my parents or of how people in my hometown saw me and who I am now. I sort of accidentally set high expectations for this next record. I felt like I was competing against myself in a lot of ways and I really had to find moments to just surrender, come back to center, and just focus on the fun feeling in the present moment and talk about that, instead talking about things that I think people want me to say. I needed to focus on what I needed to say, which is maybe different than what other people expected or wanted to hear on this album.
Knowing this album is an expression of personal growth and a journey of sorts for you, what does it feel like to just now be talking about these songs after holding onto them for so long?
Coincidentally, I feel like everything on Mantras is lining up with my life as it’s coming out.
With me talking about my parents selling my childhood home [in “Naive Again”], yeah, my parents are selling my childhood home as we speak. And when I finished a lot of the songs about my partner slowly checking out and leaving, maybe a week after I turned in the record, we broke up. So I’m still experiencing a lot of these things in my life. It’s kind of a first for me, because when Expectations came out, I had kind of already patched things up with my parents and there were things in my personal life were kind of resolved. But then I was having to dive back into those issues every day on stage or whenever I sang those songs. This is different, honestly. It kind of feels good to be able to deal with what’s going on in my life with the songs in real time.
You’ve talked about building “the tracks from the ground up as opposed to cutting everything live, which gave so much more room to let the songs evolve and become what they needed to be.” What does that mean for you and what did those moments of full realization for the music feel like for you, and producers Collin Pastore and Jake Finch?
Jake and Collin’s workflow is very quick. And that was a challenge for me, but I felt like we challenged each other in the right ways. They move very fast and I was like, “Wait a second. Let’s take a look at this. Let’s sit with it for a second and make sure we like it.”
I think having the option [to record parts individually] instead of having all this pressure to be in the studio with a full band and having everyone play the right parts at the right time, was nice for us – to just build one part at a time and ask ourselves, “Is this correct? Does this fit?” And if it doesn’t, we’d say, “We can always mute it.” … There’s not necessarily a wrong answer. We’re just trying to evoke a feeling and if we feel it then other people will too.
What brought you together with Christian Wiman’s work, ultimately inspiring you to writing the album title track?
I was listening to this poetry podcast, [Poetry Unbound], I was really into that during the pandemic and that was obviously a tough time for a lot of people, [creating] a lot of points of contention, especially around beliefs and belief systems. I just felt like, my parents believe different things than me and my friends started to believe different things than me. So that poem, [“All My Friends,”] just really resonated as this “A-ha!” moment.
At the very end of the poem [Wiman] says something like, “My beautiful, credible friends.” In the first part of the poem, you almost feel like he isn’t mocking them, but like, he’s kind of poking fun at how many rabbit holes there are to go down, as far as spirituality goes or, finding yourself goes. Then at the end, he’s like, “And all of them are credible, all of them are valid.” And that really struck a chord for me and I just think that’s a really powerful statement.
Given the open and accepting mindset you impart through “All My Friends” and its juxtaposition with the piercing, personal insights you share in “White Lies, White Jesus, and You,” where would you say religion, particularly Christianity and Catholicism, exists for you now, compared to when you were writing Expectations?
I really try to make clear to my parents or to some of my friends who are still Christian, that [the song] is talking about people who take the Bible and abuse it for their own benefit – whether that be political or just to justify shitty behavior on their end, like saying, “Oh, well, it says that gay people aren’t allowed in heaven. So I’m allowed to say this.”
That’s the part of [Christianity] that really turns me off to it in general. And that’s a shame, because the dude in the Bible, Jesus, the version that I have kind of come to discover as I’ve gotten older, is a pretty progressive dude. And I don’t mean that in the political sense. I mean, in the sense of he’s accepting of everyone no matter what their background is. Like, Jesus himself never says anything about gay people. He’s friends with kind of some sketchy characters if you were going to look at it through a lens of today. So that’s the Jesus that I wish I were taught more about when I was growing up. I think “White Lies, White Jesus and You” was a way for me to process the [version of] Jesus that I have experienced as a closeted gay kid and how the ways that version hurt me and put that in the past and put that behind me.
In what way would you say your journey of self-healing helped you to stop seeing religion as having the power to dictate your worth?
I let go of religion dictating my self-worth a while ago. But then I let other things [take its place]. I used to seek external validation from the church or from my parents or from older mentors in my life. I let that go as I became a young adult and then I started giving other things power to do that. Like success and relationships. I let those things dictate my worth. But then I started delving into the power that intrinsic happiness has.
We really fully don’t have control over what happens in our life. We have some control, but very little. And if your worth can come from within, then those moving parts of life have less control over you or less effect on you … once I learned that, I was able to focus more heavily on, “Let’s have this voice in my head be kind and then I can go from there.” Just me practicing being kind to myself first kind of put this armor up around me and it helps me navigate the world.
What’s changed about your songwriting process since you’ve taken on more personal strength and inner compassion?
For a long time, when my inner voice was more critical and cutthroat and editorial, I couldn’t really write. I wasn’t able to get the thoughts just out of my head and onto the paper, which is the first step you know? Then you have something to work from when you’re able to just say what you feel. But I was just so scared to write a bad song that I wouldn’t write anything. And I think that’s the worst mistake you can make. There’s no harm in writing a bad song.
I think that it’s just about setting the bar, taking a chill pill and [remembering], “Oh yeah, songwriting is fun, songwriting should be fun.” It should be a way for me to get an outlet, a way for me to get this out of my head and look at it. So removing the critical voice is huge. And that was connected to therapy and to me slowly learning how to be kind to myself and slowly learning how to just enjoy writing songs again.
Where, with whom, or in what, do you find your hope and strength to persevere when life feels overwhelming or your inner reserves are running low?
The past or other people’s experiences really help me. I read a lot of Patti Smith and sometimes I’ll just open to a random page and it’ll be the piece of advice that I needed. So definitely words and art and poetry. Another thing would be when I’m feeling, “Okay, all hope is lost,” I have this urge to just run to nature and I just go to the mountains or go sit by a river for a long amount of time and think and meditate and try to put my problems and my fears and everything into perspective. I think, “Well, I’m on this planet right now and I’m sitting by a river. How cool is that?” Just kind of zooming out and not zooming in so closely – that helps me. And like, just good friends and just laughing and having buddies that you know you have a drink with or dinner with and just fuckin’ laughing about the crazy things that have gone wrong. Like, laughter is huge. I know it’s like, “Oh, laughter is medicine,” but it literally is.
Lillan and I spoke together on a panel presented by Bluegrass Pride in 2023 at Folk Alliance International. The panel examined on a systemic level how the music industry can adopt more socially sustainable models of business, especially for folks who have been historically marginalized. Lillian works hard to promote inclusivity. They are a pillar of the queer music industry, a gem of a human being, and someone who isn’t often found on stage, but holds up the community from behind the curtain.
What is your greatest fear?
My greatest fear is having my intentions misunderstood. Being responsible for others and making decisions on their behalf can be nerve-wracking, and I like my reasoning to be clear.
What is your current state of mind?
Anticipatory! I feel I should state that my mother died earlier this year, so my “current state of mind” fluctuates regularly. In a year, there is so much to celebrate and mourn that I find myself generally in a state of anticipation of the next moment.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
My current ability to balance work/life can come down to the hour, as my personal and professional lives blend 7 days a week. A “perfect day” is when I’m able to accomplish what is needed professionally without sacrificing my personal relationships. Ideally, I’m awake before the sun, there are only a few tasks/meetings to accomplish, there’s at least 5 bouts of big laughter, and some time spent outside in the fresh air.
Why do you work in the music industry?
I can’t imagine being anywhere else. I find those who work in the music industry are a more serious type of authentic and genuine. Working from behind the scenes, I’m lucky enough to meet new people regularly. From the big smoke shows to hometown heroes, I find music lovers prefer to be unapologetically themselves. Which is interesting and entertaining most of the time!
When working on a project, what’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
The planning process is most satisfying and I enjoy the outcome more if I’ve helped execute. The process of taking a few ideas and elements, and building them into a project, can be magical for me.
You are the Chair of the Board for Bluegrass Pride. What drew you to getting involved with BGP? What do you like most about it? Are there any new projects that you’re excited about?
Yes, I’ve been Chair of Bluegrass Pride for a little over a year. I had been a board member and found I had more interest than my regular term. I enjoy developing programs and maintaining welcoming events for LGBT+ musicians. I’m most excited about our Rainbow Book initiative, which seeks to create a network of vetted venues to play and homes to stay. We launched the application process in early fall of 2023.
What has it been like for you to hold a behind-the-scenes role supporting queer music?
Being behind-the-scenes supporting LGBT and queer music allows me to revel in my own queer joy, which often takes a backseat to how I’m often perceived. When I’m able to fulfill these supportive roles, I feel more connected to the community.
In 2022, you won the IBMA Momentum Award for Industry Involvement. You are someone who is extremely involved. Could you share with us some of the great work you’re doing that led to this recognition?
My job by day is CEO and Co-Owner of Elderly Instruments, where I manage the overall business. It’s Elderly’s consistency that allows me to assist in other events and businesses in the U.S. I co-direct Midwest Banjo Camp, Midwest Ukulele Camp, and The Banjo Gathering. Aside from Bluegrass Pride, I sit on the boards of the International Bluegrass Music Association’s Foundation – where I am a committee member of The Arnold Shultz Fund – and the Rhapsody Project.
Mary Bragg crafts music with beauty and pain, vulnerability and authenticity, and raw emotions. Mary played Queerfest 2022 at The Basement East in Nashville. Tonight, January 23, 2024, she will be back on stage at The Basement to celebrate her new single, “Only So Much You Can Do.”
In addition to being a phenomenal songwriter and vocalist, Mary is also a producer. In 2022, she earned a Master of Arts in Songwriting and Production from Berklee NYC, elevating her skills to the next level. Her self-titled album centers around self-discovery with tender lyrics that touch on love, loss, and self-esteem. Mary writes compelling music filled with nostalgia and honesty. We’re delighted to feature this incredible artist, Mary Bragg.
What would you say is your current state of mind?
Mary Bragg: Wow, what a way to start the conversation; I love it. My current state of mind is as follows: Grateful – for my life, my love, my work. Steady – managing a wonderfully robust docket of creative work while continuing to establish balance in my everyday life and internal dialogue. Excited – always, about a song. Several actually, new ones, ever percolating.
When I co-write, songs typically arrive at a near-complete form pretty quickly, but when I write alone, I’m much more patient with the process. I move through the world keeping my antennae up, looking for a way back into a lyric I’m working on that gets me in the gut. I’m obsessed with it.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
Being a touring musician is a funny thing, because touring life is very, very different than home life. I’ll frame the “perfect day” for you on the road beginning at 2 or 3 p.m., when we load in and have a perfect soundcheck with a killer engineer. Doors at 6. Show at 7. (Did I mention I love early shows?). Merch table mayhem at 9. Cocktail at 10. In bed by 11:30, sleep until 8. Drive, fly, etc. to the next town, repeat.
At home, I’m an early bird. Up by 6:30 or 7, coffee, eggs, journal, write, attempting to avoid technology for a few hours. 11 a.m. workout. Afternoon – back to work – emails galore, phone calls, Zooms, everything. I wear a lot of hats (artist, writer, producer, occasional teacher), so there’s a lot of juggling to do. By 7 p.m. I force myself to stop working; my darling fiancé, by this point has probably created a ridiculously beautiful meal for us. I used to think I was a good cook until I met her. She blows me away every time she prepares a meal for us. It’s the best. And I’m a great dishwasher. Watch a little TV after dinner (okay sometimes during), and hit the sack by 10 p.m., otherwise I turn into a pumpkin on the couch.
Why do you create music? And what’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
The process is exhilarating – as a writer, the actual singing and playing in a small room, making music and hearing it travel through a space is one of my favorite things. No audience, just the song in a room. Hearing your thoughts as you’re framing them in melodic form is a bit of a head trip that has its own immediate reward. In the studio, there’s a whole other bag of satisfying tricks to uncover and of course performing live has its own rewards as well, mostly connecting with other people who feel what you feel. And, on the road I’m able to focus more on the enjoyment of singing; pushing my voice to try new things on the fly is incredibly fun. Up until that moment of live-show-exhilaration, I’m so focused on the writing and producing, but by the time I take it to the stage, I can really let go and dig back in to the music itself.
Could you tell us about your single that came out today?
Ah, my new single! “Only So Much You Can Do” is about chasing joy in the company of another person. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that New York Times article about the secret to happiness – and how relationships are the key to it. We are pack people; we need each other; we need other human beings around us in order to be our best, happiest selves. Friends plus community plus honesty equals joy. I wrote this song with my dear friend, Bill Demain, during the pandemic over Zoom; we craved connection again, waited eagerly for it to return. Now that we’re out from under it, the song is a nice reminder to spend time – actual face time – with your people; it sure does a lot of good.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Rufus Wainwright, The Indigo Girls, Brandi Carlile, Aaron Lee Tasjan, Jobi Riccio, Liv Greene.
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?
Well, I’m a person who is a songwriter and artist who is also bisexual living in a world that, at the moment, likes to extend a great to deal of judgment, disdain, disapproval, and harm to people in the LGBTQ+ family. Most of the time I feel as happy as the next person, then I’m reminded of the threats to our community, to my own family, and I remember how important it is to speak my experience, write through my own pain, and sing about the things that break my heart.
I think every human being deserves to tell their story, express their feelings, and be heard. If I can do that – tell my own story of coming out, leaning in to love while experiencing deep, simultaneous loss, then reclaiming joy and autonomy – maybe some additional jolt of kindness, empathy, and love will be injected into the world.
In 2021, you moved from Nashville to New York City to pursue a Master of Arts in Songwriting and Production at Berklee NYC. How did this educational pursuit impact your creative process and the way you approach your work today?
It’s funny – getting a masters degree might suggest you’re taking your work very seriously, going deeper on process and theoretical approaches to your craft. While I did very much feel that way during the program, by the end of it I felt a newfound sense of taking myself less seriously. I wanted to reconnect with a sense of lightness, play, curiosity, remembering that songs are a gift, that humans have so much in common, and we all just need to be acknowledging those commonalities more frequently and willfully. The more I can get to the heart of those feelings, and sharing them, the better.
Also, at the end of my thesis defense, one of my professors said to me, “Remember who you are.” It was such a nice thing to hear, because I do know who I am, what I stand for, and what I want to do with my life. All I have to do when I get distracted, spin out, or lose track of my focus is remember who I am.
Your latest album addresses the universal themes of self-love, acceptance, discovery, loss, beauty, and pain. How did you personally grapple with these concepts during your own transformative journey, especially in the context of your relationships and coming out to your family?
Woof, the grappling was tough, but my gut was clear: I knew who I loved, what that meant for my place in a world that is obsessed with classifications, and how hard it would be for some people that I love deeply to accept.
I was raised in a huge, very conservative Christian family in South Georgia and coming out to them was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I love them so much, they love me so much, but many of them feel quite strongly that I’m, you name it, “living in sin,” “going to hell,” “choosing a ‘lifestyle’ that is wrong.” What I know in my bones is that none of that is true. The love I have for my partner and soon-to-be wife is as real and deep as any hetero relationship I’ve ever had or witnessed. Standing firm in that belief while also trying to hold on to relationships in my family that I don’t want to lose is pretty tough, but I’m grateful that my gut speaks very loudly and I have no interest in tamping it down.
(Editor’s Note: Don’t miss the exclusive premiere of Lila Blue’s new video, “Stranger,” as part of this edition of Out Now. Watch below.)
Lila Blue writes songs with angst, tender love, detailed guitar lines, descriptive lyrics, and witchy energy. Their lyrics pull you into scenes and stories. They sing with great variation, Lila’s vocals are sometimes harsh, like aggressive growling and howling, while at other times they’re a soft and soothing sound. Their craftsmanship is top-tier; their story lines are intricate and engaging. Lila has been working with several of their collaborators since they were a child, developing strong and meaningful relationships. That kind of connection, understanding, and growth creates the perfect grounds for a cohesive sound.
I’m honored to feature this phenomenal artist. I think you’ll find their sound to be engaging, creative, and distinctive. I hope you enjoy Lila’s music as much as I do.
Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?
Lila Blue: My creative process has become so tied to performing for others that I’m actually not sure anymore. I think before anything else, I make music because I love what storytelling can do. My first love was the written word, and as a sensitive and frequently-overwhelmed individual, it’s been there for me at every turn. I know that I would still write songs even if I never got to play them for anyone again, but I love watching what stories can do to those they touch and how deliciously unreliable they can be to make and ingest.
What is your greatest fear?
I kid you not, my greatest fear is steep inclines that have unsteady ground. If you ever want to catapult me into a state of pure horror (which as I write this down I realize I’m giving any future foe the ability to undo me…), put me on a hill with loose gravel, a sandy bluff, or even a shaky pair of stairs and my nervous system is toast. I fell down a bluff when I was a kid and it’s been ingrained in me since to avoid shifty ground.
What is your current state of mind?
It’s the final day of 2023 as I’m writing this, so I’m feeling more quiet and reflective than usual. There’s been so much pain this year, personally and globally, and I think I’m trying to hold reverence for the grief that comes with that, while also uplifting joy and mindful action whenever I can.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
I had a poetry teacher in college, Marie Howe. In our first class, she made it very clear that if we didn’t know an answer and pretended to, we would be missing the entire point of being a student and a person. I have pretended to know many things that I don’t for fear of missing out or being deemed less smart because of it. Having someone give me the permission to let that go – and illuminate how much I was actually missing out on in doing so – is something I’ve reflected on time and time again.
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
I grew up on the Indigo Girls and Brandi Carlile and those folks held out a light for me in their songs to feel seen, to have the thought, “Oh, I can do this as a calling and be vocal about who I am and who I love.” I got to share that with Brandi this year, which absolutely knocked my socks off in the most full-circle way.
I also had a middle school music teacher, Rachel Garlin, who was a proud lesbian folk musician and a huge support in my life at that time. Being in the presence of her living her life happily, full of queer love and music, woke something up in me around how I dreamt about my own future [and that it] was a possible reality. Reading Zami by Audre Lorde in high school was also a big turning point for me and what’s been beautiful about coming out and continuing to grow is that I realized the questioning doesn’t have to end at the point when the closet door opens – we all deserve to have a lifetime of discoveries! I felt that when I found Adrianne Lenker’s work or when I recently read The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson.
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?
I had a hard time answering this, as there’s so many paths to choose with a question so wonderfully vast. I don’t know how it would feel to not have who I am and who I love intertwined with the art I make, they feel inextricable to me and because of that, I have a hard time pinpointing what it exactly means to me that they intersect. What I do know is that uplifting queer and trans stories that make myself and my community feel desired, honored, seen and held is what I feel called to do with my life, and each time I get to do so and share it with the world, it feels holy to me.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
We’ll be releasing two videos for “Stranger” [watch above] and “I Met the Devil,” and a music video for “High on a Hill,” as well as dropping the new merch and vinyl available on my Bandcamp page. I’m planning to tour with my friend and dear collaborator NOGA in the spring, am continuing development on an original musical in February, and in the meantime will be consistently playing shows in NYC starting in mid-January!
Can you tell us a bit about the new video for “Stranger?” We’re so excited to be premiering it within this interview.
I wrote “Stranger” in the green room 15 minutes before going on as an opener for Kevin Bacon’s band in Lincoln, Nebraska, on Father’s Day in 2018 – which sounds like a fever dream when I write it out. Being in the midwest with the Bacon Brothers led to me ingesting a lot of country and folk music on the road and left me with a deep craving to write a tried and true country-folk tune. I wrote it a cappella, and then found the instrumentation a week or so later.
When I wrote it, I thought I was singing it to an “other,” a figment of someone I hoped could love me and see me. Now looking back, it feels like a letter from my closeted 18 year-old self to who I am now: Still ashamed of so much of themselves, trying to write to the stranger they craved to become. It makes me endlessly happy to sing this song to them every chance I get from the proudly queer, and deeply loved self I am now.
The video we got to film in Nashville felt like such a beautiful close to the chapter of bringing “Stranger” to the world. With the small and scrappy team at MOXE, and the amazing Elizabeth Olmstead, I feel we got to showcase what that song is about for me; the music and the words, and the creative lineage that got me there. Myself and long-time collaborators Saskia Lane and Phillip Roebuck got to play through “Stranger” on the beautiful land that MOXE is built on. I got to gaze at the studio in the distance as we sang through a song that means the world to me; I couldn’t have asked for more.
Like you mentioned, you’ve been working with some of your team members and bandmates for over a decade. Could you share that process of growing alongside folks you’ve been working with for years?
I was on a flight the other month with Saskia Lane and Phillip Roebuck (who were the first people I learned how to write songs from) and while the two of them were snoozing, I looked over and had a deep, reflective moment on how lucky I am to be able to collaborate with those who are part of my direct creative lineage. The folks who I made Sweet Pea with literally taught me how to play music, taught me how to be a musician’s musician, and I wouldn’t be the artist and human I am today without them. These songs wouldn’t have bloomed the way they did without Saskia Lane, Phillip Roebuck, Ashley Frith, Gabriel Ebert and Damon Daunno, and Kat Cook’s presence in my life.
You have a distinctive witchy-folk sound. How did you develop your sound and style?
Music has always been a ritualistic and spiritual space for me. As a kid, I was surrounded by folks and relatives who practiced witchcraft and around then I started writing songs in my sleep. Looking back, I wonder if that’s when I was least vigilant to certain turmoils I was going through, but I like to “yes and” when it comes to the rational and the mystic!
From the jump, what’s come out of me is tied to the lineage of folk music and those that taught it to me at the Lake Lucille Project, an artistic commune I’ve been a member of since I was eight years old. Learning to meld my practices of ritual and channeling, with the muscles I’ve built over the years in studying writing and music, has let me feel like I’m not powerless to what comes through me; I think if anything from here things will only get witchier.
Your music plays with intense variation in tempo and dynamics. Some of your songs whisper while others growl. This contrast creates engaging collections of songs. What is it like for you to write with so much diversity in sound?
Thank you for noticing that. I’ve always been really drawn to artists whose bodies of work are full of contradictions. A few months ago, someone asked me what I like most about music. It took me a moment to articulate it properly, but as someone who’s faced a fair share of trauma in my life, with that has come a distortion and “fossilizing” of time. I felt really trapped by my memories and through that felt trapped by time itself. But with music, I found that I could suspend time in the way my trauma did, but not from a foundation of harm. A good song can do that for someone – at least it does that for me. I figured out that for me to keep that suspension going, I needed to make music that felt surprising and dynamic to my ear.
You recently released your fourth album, Sweet Pea. Is there anything you’d like to share with our audience about the new album?
I’ve been so lucky to experiment with every record I’ve done and explore the current themes I felt drawn to at that time. When my producer Jordan Brooke Hamlin and I began to meet and discuss what this record would be about, I realized that I wanted to make a project where if someone asked me who I was when no one was looking at me, I could hand them a piece of music and show them. This is that record for me. If you listen to it, it will tell you all you need to know about me, and it wouldn’t have become that without the amazing crew at MOXE and my bandmates, some of whom have been my collaborators the past 12 years.
Photo Credit: Frank Theodore
“Stranger” Video Credits: Recorded at MOXE in Nashville, TN. Produced by Lila Blue & MOXE.
Elizabeth Olmstead – Direction, cinematography, & editing Lila Blue – Acoustic guitar & vocals Phillip Roebuck – Resonator guitar & percussion Saskia Lane – Upright bass
Special thanks to Jordan Brooke Hamlin, Lake Wilkinson, Kat Cook, & the MOXE crew.
Palmyra is one of those bands you discover and can’t help but continue to come back to. They are not easily forgotten. They write lyrics that are poetic while being relatable – a duality that is not easy to accomplish.
The musicality of these three highly skilled instrumentalists – Teddy, Manoa, and Sasha – is strong and their energy is quirky, fun, and engaging. Lately, they’ve been touring all over the East Coast, recording, working with artists like Liv Greene and Jobi Riccio, who was previously featured on our column. If you can’t tell yet, the queer music industry is incredibly small and interconnected!
Palmyra uses their innovative songwriting and performance skills to transform traditional folk instruments and three-part harmonies into something you’ve never heard before. We hope you enjoy our Out Now interview featuring Palmyra.
(Editor’s Notes: Interview answers supplied by Sasha Them)
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Among my absolute favorite things about our touring over the last few years are the moments that we get to share stages with other queer artists. Liv Greene is a personal favorite mine; all of their songs exist in their own world of brilliance and masterful craft. Brittany Ann Tranbaugh has songs that absolutely wreck me. Another artist that’s constantly on repeat in the van for us is Brennan Wedl! Their song “Bag of Bones” is one of the most incredible songs I have ever heard and turns me into a pulp every single time I revisit it.
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
Yes! I am an out-and-proud queer person now, but it took quite a while to settle into the person I am today. There are so many artists that helped move the needle for me; particularly the abundance of queer and trans folks I connected with online during the lockdown. Backxwash is top of the list for me; she’s a killin’ rapper and producer based out of Canada and her music helped me to understand that as artists we can channel complicated emotions and inner turmoil to create something empowering and badass and beautiful.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
Touring has been our full time job for two-and-a-half years now, and we plan on continuing to hit the road in full force in 2024. Our hope is to branch out to some new regions and cities, and I am sure we’ll be visiting all of our favorite places along the East Coast, from Maine to Georgia. Now that I say that, I’m realizing that, as a band, we kind of follow the Appalachian Trail in our tour routing…
We’ve got two more singles coming out this year, and are planning on putting out a few projects in 2024. I am so excited to share the music we’ve been working on.
This year, you’ve been sharing stages with bands like Watchhouse, playing festivals, and touring all over the East Coast of the U.S. What has that been like for you?
This year has definitely been our wildest one yet. Some of the experiences we’ve had, like opening for Watchhouse, have been so surreal to me. It feels like the work we’ve been putting in for so long has started to pay off in very real ways. Getting to play Newport Folk Festival is one of the highest honors any of us have ever had and it is beyond cool to get to connect with folks all over just by doing the thing we all love most – playing and writing songs.
What does your songwriting process look like? You have incredibly strong lyrics that are both relatable and poetic. Do you map out the structure and content of the song first? Do you think about song structure and tools like prosody, lyrical placement, and rhyme types? Do you spend a lot of time editing?
The songwriting process looks pretty different for all three of us, but each song typically starts with one writer and then is brought to the group to arrange and flesh out. There’s a very special (and sometimes uncomfortable) moment that has to happen when one of us brings a song to the group; you have to be able to release ownership of the thing you’ve created so that it can become a collective version that everybody has had their hands on.
For me, I usually start with one line that comes to me when I’m away from any instruments – typically when I’m out driving or walking! I am very particular about what words feel good coming out of my mouth and what feels the most authentic to my own personhood. Prosody and internal rhyme schemes are almost always on my mind, especially when I’m reworking a tune. I love getting into the nitty gritty parts of a song, and I love the moment I am able to zoom out when a song is finished and take care to make sure everything fits together.
Photo Credit: Joey Wharton
Out Now is a partnership of Queerfest and BGS authored by Queerfest founder and director Sara Gougeon.
Artist:Sarah King Hometown: currently Ripton, Vermont; formerly Columbus, Georgia Song: “Hey Hey What Can I Do” (Led Zeppelin cover) Release Date: September 1, 2023 (single) Label: Ringleader Records
In Their Words: “Recording ‘Hey Hey What Can I Do’ was a bold, last-minute decision in the studio to celebrate and share some self-love: It was the first song I learned to play by ear on guitar, and I kept the original pronouns as a nod to some of the wonderful women I’ve dated in the past. I am now married to a man, but owning my queerness through music felt like the right choice.
“When it came time to craft a video, I knew Loni (of Whiskey Ginger Goods, who also designs my logo and merch) was the perfect director. She’s excellent at capturing women feeling themselves, and those beautiful in-between, emotional moments that can really tell a story. During my summer tour in Montana, we set aside some time to film both the bar and bedroom scenes. Combined, the video leads us through the seductive, and at times silly, story of a woman in love with another woman who won’t be true. As the heartbreak unfolds, the video gets more unhinged, until I just flop on the bed, tired of trying. I loved recording the song and video, and I hope everyone who watches has a blast listening, too!” – Sarah King
Track Credits:
Sarah King – vocals, guitars
David Baron – piano, organ
Johnny Stanton – bass Jeff Lipstein – drums
Produced, recorded, and mixed by David Baron at Sun Mountain Studios, Boiceville, New York Renee Hikari – assistant engineer David Baron – mastering engineer
Photo Credit: Arielle Thomas Video Credit: Filmed & directed by Whiskey Ginger Goods, Bozeman, Montana
Edited & produced by Sarah King
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