Tag: rock and roll

Daniel Donato Has Many Horizons in Sight, Literal and Metaphorical

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Although names like Billy Strings and Sturgill Simpson currently corner the market at the intersection of country, jam bands, and bluegrass, rising star Daniel Donato has emerged in recent years with an out of this world sound – and his newest project may be his best yet.

On Horizons (which released in August) the prodigy who as a child honed his skills on Guitar Hero and Nashville’s lower Broadway turns a new page with an 11-song, hour-long compilation that brings his live and studio sounds together with drawn out jams conjured up by his longtime bandmates from Cosmic Country – a moniker that describes both the group’s sonic and spiritual ethos.

“I want there to be a Cosmic Country sound where you can hear it right away, you can hear the first eight bars of any song and say, ‘That’s it!'” says Donato.

“Some of it is technical, like using the same microphones and the same studio as the last record. And some of it’s just in the way we approach it – and that’s something we get better at every time.”

Sitting on the back of his month-old tour bus affectionately referred to as “The Snowman” prior to a recent show in Lexington, Kentucky, Donato spoke to BGS about his lower Broadway roots, creative freedom and restraints, and the catalysts for Cosmic Country.

We already touched upon your similarities with Billy Strings, but what about your parents’ influence – I know they played a big role in your musical foundation as well?

Daniel Donato: Everything when I was younger came from my parents. My father had a certain disposition for great rock and roll music like Pink Floyd, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Led Zeppelin. But to be honest, I really don’t know where all of it comes from, because if you and I listen to a record we’re both going to hear it in different ways. For that reason I think a lot of this just comes from something that’s already dwelling within us and we’re just expressing from within that place.

For example, when I first heard Marty Robbins, I loved all the great guitar on it. And when I heard the Grateful Dead play “Big River” and make it eight minutes long in a really artistic and authentic way, I love that too. They’re all influences, but they start externally and creep inside you to the point that you take them with you everywhere you go and create from that place of soul, which is a combination of the body, the mind and the spirit.

Ever since I started playing guitar, I’ve always felt like I sounded like me and that “me” is constantly changing and revealing itself more and more. It’s like what Bob Dylan said – “I contain multitudes” – and it’s true. There are multitudes of self that just keep getting revealed through this authentic expression.

Was there a specific moment that served as the catalyst for you picking up the guitar and pursuing a career in music?

There have been many, but arguably the biggest was when I first saw the Don Kelley Band at Robert’s Western World and was in a state of shock – I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it. That moment of hearing them and seeing how they interacted was amazing and was a big motivator in me wanting to do that too. It was a call to adventure and a reminder to believe I’m capable of anything, which is what ties all of these moments together.

That is not a self-assertive belief, that is a belief grounded in an authentic desire to make something beautiful so I can be of service. It was a big turning point in my life when I first started conceptualizing and receiving that, because then you can give it and then it turns into the cosmic circle of all things.

Some might perceive it as arrogance, but I think there’s a lot to be said for having the confidence to know what you’re doing is worthwhile and constantly chipping away to get better and reach your goals, whether that’s in a musical sense or wherever else life takes you.

I had already tried other forms of expression in my life before it, like sports. I also tried skateboarding and really loved video games like Runescape, World of Warcraft, and chess. Even so, there were so many things I was bad at and I didn’t have beliefs that I could do them. But with music and the guitar, I could intuitively feel the potential I had with it and immediately locked in.

Artistry nowadays is parasocial on a lot of levels because of this immense amount of connectivity that we have on the various social platforms. [They] make it so anyone can get into the business of needing the world to give them permission to say something or express something real, when in reality the world does not need to give you permission for any of that. I’m not saying you should participate in any of the unspeakable, ungodly things we see happening to humans around the world, but if you want to express something artistically and you feel it’s true to you, then why should you need to get someone else’s approval to do that?

That idea to the mind is [like a] letter to the Pony Express – it needs to be delivered and it needs us to exist in flesh so we can externalize these internal values and expressions. It doesn’t need other people, it needs you, but at the same time it does bring people together – it’s so strange. It’s the thing that comes from most within an individual, but it’s also the thing that is the most unifying to an external community. It’s this weird “as above, so below” reflection that is purely righteous, so as I get older I feel I have more grace in relation to that particular part of existence.

The communal element seems to be a huge driving force behind not only your live show and fans, but this new record as well. Whereas some artists opt for a more straightforward studio approach, what made you want to emulate the energy from a gig on Horizons?

Cosmic Country records, to me, are like movies. The most enduring elements of certain movies that I love are the really long ones that have a very dynamic and rich storyline with a lot of drama and comedy in an attempt to scale the human experience. Like in A Fistful of Dollars, Django Unchained, or The Hateful Eight. The art is asking a lot of you during these three hour-long films, but it’ll give you a lot, too. There’s reciprocity there and our community is always willing to take the trip, which is equal parts liberating and terrifying. [Laughs]

If you were asked to write the score for a film, what would you want it to look like?

It would have to be a very truthful opportunity for me. I have always wanted to do that, even when I was really young. I always wondered where music and movies came from. But for now, we put out our records, and we play a lot of shows.

Speaking of the new album, you’ve been playing most of the songs on it live for a while now. What kept you from holding some or all of these songs back until the project’s official release, which it seems more and more singers are doing nowadays?

I like to look at our music as living music. It’s liberating in potential, but it’s also liberating because it gives you a framework to operate and create within. Every day of your life is different, so why wouldn’t the music that accommodates your life every day be different? These new songs are no different than a young child – they do better when they get to go out and be around people so they can grow spiritually.

That’s why it’s also important to share stories that everyone knows, which is why we incorporate a lot of covers into our shows and even recorded a volume called Cosmic Country & Western Songs in 2021. It gives people context and I love doing that. My favorite part of playing at Robert’s was we only played covers all those years so I’ve always loved making other’s songs my own – because if a song is good enough, you can play it with an original feeling.

But with Horizons every song I had my hand to the pen, even “Hangman’s Reel” – a traditional Celtic fiddle tune that the band and I fit into the Cosmic Country framework.

You’ve mentioned Robert’s Western World a couple times now. A couple weeks ago you returned there after making your headlining debut at the Ryman. What was that like?

We’ve done what’s never been done down on Broadway – going from cutting your teeth on the street corners and at places like Robert’s to topping a bill at the Ryman. It’s a common storyline for folks in Nashville to get their starts down here. Some go on to become songwriters, others become singers on stage and some become session musicians, but it all starts down on Broadway.

What I learned down there led me to getting in the door at Roberts and leaving my blood and sweat on that floor there – like a dojo – before carrying us all the way to the Ryman. It was incredible getting to do a full headlining set up there and then going back home to where it all began at Robert’s and doing another set of music for their fans. We’re actually planning to release both soon as live recordings, so stay tuned!

With Horizons you placed parameters on how many times you’d go back to record and work on each song. With how open-ended so much of your creative process seems to be, what made you opt to place constraints there?

If your personality has a disposition for conscientiousness and open mindedness, it becomes that individual’s responsibility to see the trends of that because it can help optimize the way you engage with human relationships when creating projects. When we went and did Reflector we spent a lot of time on things we didn’t need to because I didn’t know better at the time.

When it came time to record Horizons I knew we could take half the amount of time to make it because we play it every night and shouldn’t need a bunch of tries to get it right. So I decided we’d just aim for three takes of a song to be more efficient. There’s a liberating faith that comes with knowing that’s good enough. If you know you have seven chances, you’re probably going to take seven – but we’re trying to work to ensure it only takes one.

You were talking earlier about creating living music, and stuff like this seems like it helps to keep what you do in the studio just as fresh as what you’re doing out on the road.

They’re two very different things. One’s a picture of a person and the other one’s a person. A picture can do a lot, but it’s not that person, especially when it comes to thinking about a picture of someone that you love who is no longer alive. Even then it’s not the same as them being in the room with you again to hug you.

For instance, I know that there will be a day where I have a gig and I won’t be able to call my dad to debrief – that’s gonna be a tough one. So the live thing is almost like a conveyor belt trying to make it an exact replica of what’s going on on the albums. There are people I see do that and I really respect how they do it because it’s authentic to them, but it was never for me.

How did your approach to bringing Horizons to life differ from how you tackled Reflector and other projects previously?

We had two years of intense experience constantly working on these songs between albums. It made me a different person on some level because I had a better idea of what to aim for and what not to aim that really allowed us to hit the bullseye this time compared to Reflector. And I’ll probably be saying the same thing again when the next record comes around, which will be a lot different than Horizons.

You just alluded to going a different direction with your next album. Someone else known for that who I know has heavily impacted your musical trajectory is Sturgill Simpson. How’d you get sent down the rabbit hole of his music?

Man, I remember when Sturgill Simpson worked at the Turnip Truck in the Gulch in Nashville, I would always see him there and thought nothing of it until one night when I was at The 5 Spot and heard him on stage singing for the first time. Then when Metamodern Sounds In Country Music came out I was in my friend Harrison’s basement. We had gone to Grimey’s to buy the record, we smoked some weed, turned it on, and listened with headphones on. It was and still is a defining moment in my listening experience of music – that record is so special.

Looking back I can see why Sturgill wanted to make a bunch of 180s, because from SOUND & FURY to Sailor’s Guide each album is its own thing. Most successful artists have one signature piece of work, like Tyler Childers’ Purgatory, Chris Stapleton’s Traveller, Tom Petty’s Wildflowers, the Grateful Dead’s Workingman’s Dead, or Neil Young’s Harvest. Unless you’re someone like Bob Dylan or Willie Nelson where you have over 100 albums out. There’s usually one record where you’re like, “that’s the one.” With cosmic country we don’t have that album yet, but I think Horizons could be it.

What has the process of bringing Horizons to life taught you about yourself?

The concept of a Horizons is two-fold. There’s a literal, geographical, physical, material horizon where the land meets the heavens. Then there’s the metaphorical one, and we’re always pushing the cosmic country horizon. But there’s also a psychological horizon where you’re meeting your potential that the sky is symbolic of.

As Alan Watts would say, “there’s a dance to those things,” and I feel that since we put out Horizons that the band and I are on the verge of new horizons. It truly is the dawn of a new day.

Photo Credit: Jason Stoltzfus

Caroline Spence in Conversation With Lori McKenna

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Caroline Spence and Lori McKenna are both lauded for writing songs that cut straight to the heart. In conversation, it’s clear they also share admiration and a generosity of spirit, offering insight into how a life built around family can both coexist with and deepen a life in music. The two met with BGS via Zoom to discuss Spence’s new record, Heart Go Wild, produced by Peter Groenwald, Mark Campbell, and Spence herself.

As Spence charts her first year of motherhood, McKenna reflects on building a catalog of piercingly honest songs while raising five children of her own. Together, they explore the mysteries of publishing, the influence of mentors like Mary Gauthier, and the butterfly effect of one songwriter’s choices on another’s path.

Their exchange drifts from songwriting craft to the role of co-writers in self-discovery into the bigger questions of life: how family and creativity intertwine, how community ripples outward, and how songs become offerings that carry meaning long after they leave the writer’s hands.

What emerges is a portrait of two artists at different points along similar paths, each proving that family life and creative life are not competing forces, but intertwined sources of inspiration and strength.

I know you two have a lot to talk about, but I’d love to start, if we can, with how you know each other? Did you know of each other musically first, and then how did you come to know each other personally?

Lori McKenna: I think the first time we met might have been at breakfast that time?

Caroline Spence: Right. I think that was another Bluegrass Situation connection. I think that was the first time I met you.

I had a good friend from summer camp and we would often trade mixes. She put one of your songs on a CD for me. I had already found Patty Griffin and was having my singer-songwriter love affair. That led me to The Kitchen Tapes, which led me to everything else. And I distinctly remember when Faith Hill cut “Stealing Kisses” and I thought, “Wait, that’s how that works?” I didn’t know what publishing was. I didn’t know how music worked in that way and that became a new little baby dream of mine that I carried with me: to write a song that was good enough that maybe somebody else would want to sing it. I feel like I would not be aware of the job that I have had I not found you, Lori.

LM: That is really cool. I remember not knowing anything about publishing, how it works and all that stuff, too. And I still feel like I know just a tiny bit more.

CS: I know, totally. It’s still a mystery.

LM: We were at a wedding over the weekend and my son Chris, who’s a writer in town, has his first single that he co-wrote that’s going to radio. So we were singing songs and at the end of the night, my brother was like, “Chris sold the song!” I’m like, “It’s not called selling the song.” He’s like, “Well, how does it work?” Nobody knows.

CS: Yeah, nobody knows. They just stream it now into the abyss.

LM: The only reason I knew anything was because of Mary Gauthier. I did know people who had moved to Nashville before Mary, but because I’m in the Boston area, they came back saying, “Yep, it’s very different.” It is very different in Nashville. I didn’t know anyone who had stayed before Mary, you know? I love being inspired by other people. I love it that that’s how life works, that you see someone else do something, and you’re like, “Wait! I can do that! At least I can try!”

CS: I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, the butterfly effect, and how that happens within our community. Like, if Mary hadn’t done this, then this wouldn’t have happened for you, and if you hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t have known about this, and I’ve been thinking about that as I’ve been in this creative community for a decade now. There’s so much stuff that you never know your little ripple is doing.

LM: The ripple is such a good word. It’s such a ripple, isn’t it? It’s crazy. We’re really lucky. I know you just had a baby, but the number of people that come up to me and ask, “How did you do this with kids?” Nobody told me that I couldn’t. I know stories of other artists that someone’s told, “You can’t do this and have a family at the same time.” I’ve heard those stories, but nobody ever told me that.

It didn’t seem impossible at the time. But now my son Chris has a baby. I look at them and I’m like, “Wait, how does anybody do that ever? How does anybody have a baby?”

CS: Man, some days it really feels that way. Most days it feels that way. No one ever said that to me either, but those are absolutely the cultural messages you absorb. There are certain gigs I might not get because of my familial obligations, but you just make your choices. And I’m not building my life around what I “might get.” I want to build my life around what I know I want to have. I just feel like all of that is gonna feed your person. You can’t starve yourself of these big, beautiful growth opportunities for some sort of potential. My life is bigger than my career, and I would like it to be as big as possible.

LM: And it’s crazy, right?

CS: Yeah, it’s nuts. Absolutely nuts. The fact that I got a shower this morning is a big win.

LM: Well, that and the fact you’re putting a record out!

CS: Yeah, yeah, and the record!

LM: You did good.

CS: It’s a little bit cuckoo, but it’s been done for a while. A lot of the heavy lifting was done even before I was pregnant, so that was an accidentally smart idea and we’ve just had to be strategic about everything else. I feel like there’ll be a lot of people who assume this is a record about marriage and family, which it’s not. I’m sure I will have that, but this feels like a record that’s more about the chaos before I decided I could do all that.

LM: From the minute I knew who you were, I’ve always loved the way that you express your feelings in such a way that makes other people be like, “Oh! I’ve felt like that! This song makes me realize that I’m not alone in feeling that.”

There’s something in the way that you write that is like arms are reaching out, but they’re also like, “I know you feel this way, too and it’s okay that we all feel this way.” I feel like that’s why music exists. For someone pulling over their car and being like, “Oh my god, okay, I’m not gonna die today because I just heard the song!” It is the biggest reason, the service of songwriting, as Mary Gauthier says. You don’t do it consciously, but it just is your way of doing it. It just seems so innate in the way you write.

CS: That’s so kind and means a lot to me, because that’s really how I feel about it. It’s been a progression. I started writing because I needed to get these hard things out when I was a younger person and as I started putting those out there, I would have conversations where someone would say, “I feel that way, too.” That kind of cemented in me to keep writing from that place, because that’s what music did, and still does for me.

What is personal is universal. I feel like someone smart said that before I did, but it’s so true. And Mary’s perspective of songs as a service resonates so deeply with me. There’s a quote I read when I was doing The Artist Way a few years ago that says, “The artist has to be humble, for he is essentially a channel.” To let the divine in, whatever it is, to flow through you, you have to get small and get in your humanity.

And when I’m feeling really in my head and when I don’t want to perform or I’m feeling self-critical, I think about what I’m doing as an offering, and it makes me feel better and more inside what I’m trying to do.

LM: I love the offering.

CS: People want to feel understood. As a listener, you want to find your soundtrack for your hard time or your good time.

LM: Well, congratulations on doing all this, because the record’s beautiful, as usual. You co-produced this whole thing, right? Did you always co-produce? Because this record seems, and I hate to use the word “rockier,” but it feels like it moves a little bit more. Was that intentional?

CS: I think a lot of that might sort of be a songwriting change for me. I feel like I’ve gotten better at translating what I’m hearing into the actual thing, so I think that’s a skill I’ve slowly developed from my slow folk songs for years.

LM: The transition is so beautiful. With the song “Soft Animal,” if I wrote that song, it would be just the slowest. It wouldn’t move the way [it does].

CS: It totally started on the page, too. It was very much like a poem. Sometimes I sit down to a piece of writing, if I’m going through my ideas, and if something’s sort of dead on the page, I’ll just start playing. That one was one where it sort of just came out that way. The clash of “Soft Animal” to something that felt really thrashy, the irony of that felt celebratory to me, and it was fun. That’s one of my favorites production-wise on the record.

LM: Oh, that’s great. When I work with a producer, you can tell. You can listen to the record and know that this is definitely different. But there’s been this really consistent line with you the whole time, which is kind of remarkable when you think about how much you’ve changed in life and as a person over the years. There’s this vibe that really just comes through where you can tell that you are a big piece of the production of everything.

CS: Thank you for saying that. That was actually a dealbreaker thing for me for this record, that I would only work with people who would give me a production credit, because I felt like over the years – and not to discredit the people who are credited as producers on my albums – but because of who they are as producers, it was collaborative, and there were times when I was making sure that my vision got to the finish line in spite of their initial instincts. I didn’t know it mattered to me until maybe I’d read some press that would bring that person’s name into it and it made me feel a certain way.

Producers are important because I think it’s really helpful to get outside of yourself and your own instincts, and to be challenged. But sometimes what’s helpful is to be challenged, and then you know exactly how firmly you feel about something.

For this record, I really wanted to know that it was collaborative from the jump. That felt incredible, and I worked with two people who had the best energy and a healthy sense of ego, and it was just really fun.

LM: That’s awesome. You come through. I’m exactly the opposite, because I can’t stand being in the studio.

CS: I understand that as well.

LM: I don’t know how you do it, because I literally only hear the song and what it sounds like when I sit at my kitchen table and sing it. People kept telling me over the years that I’d start to hear parts. So I am a person who needs producers… I’m just like, “Here are the songs.”

CS: Yeah, I’ve done that so many times, I’ve given a pile of songs and been like, “I don’t know what I made. What’s speaking to you?”

LM: Well, this morning I was listening to the album again, and I thought, “Oh, she’s gonna produce other people’s records someday.”

CS: That’s very kind and, honestly, a thought I hadn’t really had for myself, but I really did enjoy it. I think if I ever do that, it’s gonna be because of the experience I just had with these people that built up my confidence in that space. It was a lot of fun.

LM: You have this beautiful voice. I have an unpretty voice and you have a very pretty voice that you know how to use really well. You can say the hard things with that beautifully well-orchestrated production and then your beautiful voice, and it still makes you feel all the feels, versus I always feel like no matter what I sing, it’s gonna sound sad.

CS: I feel like a lot of the time I try to be like, “I’m not so sweet,” and grit up the production or avoid certain songs. I was self-conscious about it, which I think may be some internalized misogyny, because I have such a high female voice.

Speaking of songs being of service, babies and children come out singing, you know? It’s such a natural thing to do. We’re meant to do it. It’s joyous; it’s a release. And knowing the way it feels in my body to perform or really sing has changed the way I perceive my own voice.

LM: It is the first thing anybody knows how to do.

CS: Your voice has this wisdom to it. It kind of doesn’t matter what you’re singing; it sounds like you believe what you’re saying and you trust what you’re saying. You have this earnestness to your voice. If you were singing “Red Solo Cup” I’d be like, “That song means a lot to me.”

LM: I actually was at a round at the Bluebird [Cafe] with the Warren Brothers a couple of weeks ago, and they sang “Red Solo Cup.” I am so jealous of songs like that, because I could never write them.

In terms of writing for you, how have things changed since the baby?

CS: I haven’t had the same amount of headspace. My publisher held a sync camp and my mom came to town to help. I wrote for days straight and that felt really good to get back at it. As far as writing by myself, that’s just now kind of coming back.

LM: Is your son enjoying you playing the guitar?

CS: It’s a pacifying thing. I could put him in his playpen if I want to and mess around on guitar, and he’s super happy to listen. The other day, I was practicing for this Springsteen cover night that I got asked to do and I just started kind of riffing around. The flow started and that felt really good. I was like, “Oh, okay, it’s still in there.” I just hadn’t had the circumstances to put myself in the position where I’m visited by that energy. Being in creative spaces with others has been really nice right now, too, to slowly rebuild.

LM: When my kids were little, I actually wrote a lot. They all shared a bedroom and, after dinner, my husband would work on the house while I tried to sing them songs – sometimes terrible ones – or make up songs while they fell asleep. That routine gave me more time to write than I expected.

Two of my kids are songwriters now, though at the time they probably went to sleep just to get away from me singing the same line over and over. But honestly, if I hadn’t had that hour and a half every night with them, I don’t think I would have learned how to write. I wasn’t planning to be a musician. My children gave me the time and space to discover that.

By the time I had five kids, I started doing open mics. I never would have had the courage to get up there if I didn’t have my kids. They were my world, so if people didn’t like what I did on stage, I could always just go home and sing in the living room with them. That gave me the confidence to try.

CS: That balance is so important and it’s hard to reverse-engineer for people. If you move somewhere completely career-focused, you can get lost in that and miss the balance of family and partnership. I feel like any sense of longevity in life or career needs that.

For me, I’ve realized that to be a happy, well-rounded person – good partner, good friend – I need a rich family and personal life. Otherwise, my career just eats me alive. I think the reason you’ve been able to sustain your career and create a catalog of songs full of humanity is that you’ve always had that balance.

LM: Exactly. And it’s not just a woman’s thing. I know men who do it, too. But when you put family first, you have to say no to some things. You can’t always do that week-long tour, for example. But the things you say no to fade away; you don’t remember them. You only remember what you did. Instead, you stayed home and sat in the backyard with your kids and that’s the summer you wrote that one song that you’re still singing years later.

Love is supposed to be the thing you surrender to. It just opens up the universe wider. I’ve seen it happen again and again; even songwriters who know exactly what they want in their twenties, after falling in love or having a child, the world opens up in new ways.

CS: That’s making me emotional. That’s exactly where I am right now. I feel like my life is starting in a really good way. My career feels like it is starting over again. It is making me recalibrate how I want to show up in the world. And it’s freeing to have my compass aligned around my family. It feels like a new beginning. It’s really beautiful.

LM: That’s exactly it. Parenthood gives you a stream of love you hadn’t experienced before and it changes everything creatively. For me, it didn’t really happen until my fifth child, but it always happens. The universe shows up when you do something hard, like having a baby. I remember putting out a record in May, right around the birth of my son, David. By Thanksgiving, I had Faith Hill cuts. It’s like the universe says, “We should remind her that she gets to keep doing this.”

CS: That really resonates.

LM: I always listen to the last song on a record first.

CS: I love that because some of my favorite songs on your records are the last songs.

LM: When I heard “Where the Light Gets Through,” that song is such an offering, such a service. I don’t know if you want to talk about where that song came from, but years from now you are still going to have people tapping you on the shoulder saying “thank you” for that song.

CS: We’d made the record basically and we couldn’t figure out the last one. I said to the producers, “What if we write this one together?” Mark and Peter started building the track. I was going through ideas and I’d been writing a lot about my brother-in-law’s passing away. It just so happened that something I’d written fit almost exactly word for word and we shaped it from there. It couldn’t have just been me on that record, because it needed to feel lighter than I wanted it to.

LM: I know exactly what you are talking about. That’s why I love co-writing. You get perspectives that you could never create alone. Sometimes you can’t do it by yourself, and the song only exists because of that.

I’ve had that experience with Liz [Rose] and Hillary [Lindsey]. I had a song I’d been trying to write for a month by myself and I was so mad I couldn’t. I showed it to them and Liz was writing and singing it immediately. Hillary was like, “Do you know this song?”

CS: Do you feel like that is possible because you know each other so well that they can meet you where your brain is?

LM: Absolutely. And that’s another thing I love about co-writing. You fall in love with each other so quickly in the room. And when you trust yourself with someone, you can say the dumbest thing and it might turn into the smartest thing. I rarely sit with someone who doesn’t make me feel like I can speak my mind. With Liz and Hillary, Liz can read my mind and Hillary is like a musical and emotional genius. They both are.

Parenthood also gives you that focus. You don’t have all the time in the world, so you go straight to the point.

CS: I’ve heard many parents say they become more productive because they have to think differently about time and energy. I feel that now, with my baby being a little more self-sufficient.

LM: Exactly. And think of all the things you can do since having a kid! You weren’t opening drawers with your feet before, were you! Well, I love what you do, and I was genuinely happy when I heard you were pregnant. It’s a good thing for artists to step into family life.

CS: There’s a class of women my age choosing to have families now, balancing careers – it feels like a statement in all the best ways.

LM: Parenthood changes your perspective. You look back and wonder how you managed everything, but the flow and the creative life meet you there. You make the things you have to make because that’s what we’re here for.

CS: Man, there’s a lot of stuff I needed to hear today that you just spouted out. Thank you for spending time with this record.

LM: Congratulations. The record is so good. I hope the biggest challenge with it is all the things you have to say no to.

CS: And I won’t remember them, like you said.

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Photo Credit: Caroline Walker Evans

Hangover Terrace Shows There’s an Edge to Ron Sexsmith

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Now appearing in the role of nasty Bill Sikes in the musical Oliver! — Ron Sexsmith?

Well, not exactly. But Sexsmith had the character of Sikes in mind (specifically as played by Oliver Reed in the movie) when he wrote the original version of “Damn Well Please,” a jaunty, pointed highlight of his new album, Hangover Terrace.

The song was initially intended as part of a musical Sexsmith was creating based on Deer Life, a fairytale book he wrote and illustrated, that was published in 2017.

“There’s this villain character that was going to sing that song,” Sexsmith, a great fan of classic musical theater, says on a video chat with BGS from his home in Stratford, Ontario, Canada. “I just remember thinking how Oliver Reed played Bill Sikes. But he didn’t sing, because the director said as soon as the villain starts singing it takes away from his threatening element. And I thought that was smart.”

So, while he is still looking to bring the musical to the stage, he had put this song in a drawer. Eventually, though, he reworked it as a screed against what he sees as oversensitivity endemic to our era, with everyone so easily offended, and set it to perky Baroque-pop music and a tone bearing more than a shadow of classic Ray Davies.

“I refashioned the lyrics to be more about a kind of grumpy, bickering kind of thing,” he says. “Just because sometimes I’ll get mad or because [he and his wife Colleen Hixenbaugh] will bicker sometimes about my wine consumption. And I’ll be like, ‘I can have wine.’ Or whatever. And I just felt that it was fun to sing. We tried it out in a concert recently and it went over really big.”

Now, just in case you’re confused, yes, this is that Ron Sexsmith – Mr. Sensitive himself, Mr. Melancholy, Mr. “Secret Heart” (the first song on his first real album, 1995’s Ron Sexsmith, and arguably his most enduring and much-covered number). All vulnerable and romantic.

Yes, it’s him, the guy known for wearing his heart on his sleeve, weaving his feelings into stunningly indelible melodies sung with engaging understatement, all endearing him to fans throughout North America and Europe, earning him 15 Juno Awards (including eight as Canadian Songwriter of the Year) and a 2010 documentary, Love Shines. The guy who has been lavishly praised by countless fellow artists, notably among them Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe, Steve Earle, Daniel Lanois, and Feist.

That Ron Sexsmith is here, slinging arrows at people he sees as too sensitive. “I’m intent on poking the bear,” he sings.

“It’s just kind of a song about the culture we’re in now, there were a lot of people tip-toeing around and afraid to offend all the time,” he says of “Damn Well Please.” “And I think maybe we’re coming out of that a bit now. When I played it live, there were some people who came up afterwards and told me they found it really empowering.”

He laughs.

“I don’t want to empower the wrong people, though.”

The fact is, he is feeling empowered to show that edgy side a bit more. While there is plenty of the sensitivity, the romance, the explorations of heart on this, his 17th studio album in three decades, there are several songs that show this trait, lashing out some at matters both cultural and personal.

In “Camelot Towers,” another with a clear nod to his Kinks devotion in its sharp view and Baroque-pop tones, he expresses disgust at the proliferation of fancifully named housing projects that in reality are blights. In “Outside Looking In,” with Hixenbaugh chiming in as something of a Greek chorus, he suggests that “some friends should come with expiry dates.”

Mr. Costello, one of his biggest heroes and biggest fans (as a songwriter he has ranked Sexsmith with Paul McCartney and Tim Hardin), famously arrived in the punk era bearing the tag of “angry young man” before later evolving with great emotional nuance. Has Sexsmith gone the other way, from genteel young balladeer to, at 61, an angry, uh… mature man?

“I guess it’s better late than never,” he says, a wry smile and shrug tilting his country-gentleman hat and large wire-rim glasses.

“I mean, my earlier albums were more melancholy and kind of sad, just based on what was happening. But I had a song on [2004’s] Retriever called ‘Wishing Wells’ that was kind of angry. And I’m sure I could go and find those songs throughout my career. They exist before this. Maybe they don’t all exist in one place like on this album.”

Make no mistake: He still wears his heart on his sleeve. In fact, the opening line of “Easy For You to Say” is “I wear my heart is on my sleeve.” And the very first words of the album’s first song, “Don’t Lose Sight,” are “Hearts get broken,” sung with great vulnerability.

In other places there’s the romance of wistful, poignant nostalgia, as in “Cigarette and Cocktail,” a colorful portrait of the seemingly carefree life of earlier generations with “a cigarette in one hand and a cocktail in the other.”

“I wanted to express the full range of emotions, human emotions. I don’t want to be the master of one emotion, like some people do these days. ‘That’s the guy who writes all the sad songs,’ or ‘that’s the guy who writes all the ironic songs,’ you know. I want to be an actual human being.”

Hence Hangover Terrace spans from pastoral (“House of Love,” a lovely ballad with brass that’s an ode to “a dirty happy home” filled with play and laughter) to perky pop (“It’s Been a While,” his account of a reunion with his old bandmates, with “shades of our yesterdays” and ‘80s-ish Casio-like keyboard lines) to pumping power-chords (“Burgoyne Woods,” with a little spirit of the Who). Produced by Martin Terefe – who has worked with artists from James Blunt to Engelbert Humperdinck and produced three Sexsmith albums in the 2000s – at his bustling London studio complex, it features among its musicians former Pretenders/Paul McCartney guitarist Robbie McIntosh (he provided the Townshend-esque licks to “Burgoyne”) and keyboardist Ed Harcourt (a fine singer-songwriter in his own right). But for the variety, or because of it, there’s a flow, an arc – it’s not a big leap to imagine the album as being the tuneful bones of a musical or narrative song cycle.

“I think I could probably write a story where these songs would fit,” he says, noting that no one had mentioned that before. “In all my albums there is a document of a particular time or phase that I was going through. So definitely with this record it was coming off the heels of the pandemic and all that stuff. You could probably write a story. I don’t know if I’m the guy to do it. But yeah, I’m going to think about that.”

Much of this, he says, reflects the life he and Hixenbaugh have led since moving from Toronto to Stratford seven years ago. Especially the theater orientation.

“Stratford, where I live now, is an internationally renowned theater town,” he says. “People come here from all over to see the plays and musicals. Maggie Smith worked here, and Christopher Plummer. I really love the theater and feel we’ve landed in a kind of oasis. The world is going crazy and we’re going to plays and all. I can’t believe our luck that we ended up here.”

Even outside the theaters, in this Stratford, as that bard from the other Stratford put it, all the world’s a stage. The players there? Superb. And for this Canadian bard?

“It’s been inspiring,” he says. “We have a yard with all these critters running around, like rabbits and things. We had an owl. Didn’t have that in Toronto. I feel like Beatrix Potter or Huckleberry Finn. It’s a whole different way to live.”

That has also brought out a wistfulness that counters, or at least complements, some of the hotter feelings expressed. Take “Burgoyne Woods,” a look back to a time in his life when the world was open and the radio rocked.

“It’s a very nostalgic song for me,” he says. “Every song on this album has its own character and personality. Here, I like rock. I love The Who and all that stuff. I was trying to write that kind of thing they do. It’s about a time in my life with my high school friends and we’d just go on trips through the woods near our house.”

That was his hometown of St. Catherines, down near the Niagara Falls/Buffalo area.

“It was that free-range period where your parents don’t know what you’re doing,” he says. “You’re just out there and just, you know, doing things you shouldn’t do. And drinking.”

So sort of his “Cigarette and Cocktail.”

“Yes,” he says. “Exactly.”

Even in “Camelot Towers” Sexsmith has found himself considering the humanity within the walls of the eyesores. “I’m just noticing, I mean, obviously people live there and they make the most of it,” he says. “And my son [one of two adult children from a previous marriage] lives in a place like that. You walk the halls and you can hear the people or you smell the different foods that everyone’s cooking. I kind of get into that in the last verse. Everybody needs a home and a home is what you make it.”

So yeah. Mr. Sensitive hasn’t gone anywhere.

And how does he bring the curtain down on Hangover Terrace? Well, he’s sensitive there too. Several songs before the album’s close, in “Please Don’t Tell Me Why,” a buoyant folk-rocker reminiscent perhaps of the Beatles’ “I Will,” he lets us know what to expect, or not to expect. He’s all about cherishing the moment, relishing the life and love he’s built with Hixenbaugh, savoring the theater and the wildlife around their home, without looking down the road:

I don’t want to hear
Don’t want to know
The trouble that surrounds
The happiness we’ve found
Don’t want to see
The way our story ends

That might even bring a tear to Bill Sikes’ cold eyes.

Photo courtesy of Cooking Vinyl.

Dierkscography

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

In 1994, a not yet 20-year-old Dierks Bentley threw all caution to the wind when he packed up his dorm room at the University of Vermont with hopes to never return. Bentley’s relocation would not only forever change the course of his life – it would go on to catalyze his tremendous impact on roots music at large.

After a trip with his father to Nashville made quite the impression, Bentley decided to complete his college degree at Vanderbilt, dedicating his studies to English (the major most proximal to songwriting). After graduating, Bentley continued to foster both his musical education and career; his day job entailed archiving old country performances at The Nashville Network (in fact, his diligent field work even got him banned temporarily from the Grand Ole Opry), while his evenings were filled with bar gigs and songwriting sessions. After five years of grunt work, 2003 saw Bentley release a self-titled album with Capitol Records. His first single, “What Was I Thinkin’,” made waves on the country charts. Since then, Bentley has been responsible for the release of 20 No. 1 country singles and 10 additional studio albums, the latest of which, Broken Branches, arrived in June.

While Bentley’s career has seen major commercial country success, his deep respect for expansion and immersion has made him a beloved fixture within bluegrass, as well.

Of his instrumental move to Nashville, Bentley has shared, “I moved to Nashville in 1994 – I was trying to find that seed of truth, that authenticity, that thing ‘country music’ that I had in my head. And I got here and it was definitely different than I expected it to be. It’s big business, a lot of money.

“Luckily, for me, I found a little bar called the Station Inn where bluegrass music existed – and I found what I was looking for. Just the sound of a five-piece bluegrass band blew my mind. And they’re not trying to take meetings all the time and meet producers, and get their foot in the door. It’s funny, I moved to Nashville looking for country music, but I found bluegrass.”

Whether it’s his proclivity for cross-genre conversation, songwriting prowess, or patinaed tenor delivery, Dierks has proved himself a mainstay favorite for country, Americana, and bluegrass fans – here at Good Country and BGS, and beyond. In honor of his recent album release and his huge Broken Branches tour with Zach Top and the Band Loula concluding this month, we present you with our Dierkscography, a non-comprehensive compilation of more than 15 songs meant to show off some of our favorite Dierks gems from across genres sampled from the many years of his remarkable career.

“Never You” featuring Miranda Lambert, Broken Branches (2025)

Dierks’s new album, Broken Branches, arrived fresh off the press with a slew of impressive collaborators, from Riley Green to Stephen Wilson Jr. Dierks fondly calls the record a “special” display of “making music in the studio with our buddies.” Country giant and longtime collaborator Miranda Lambert joins Bentley on this banjo-driven track, with the pair’s velvety duet vocals imbuing tenderness and warmth into one of the album’s only love songs.

“High Note” featuring Billy Strings, Gravel & Gold (2023)

This rip-roaring tune off of Bentley’s tenth studio album features a whole handful of bluegrass greats. Not only does Billy’s high tenor soar above Dierks gravelly tones during choruses, his famous flatpicking joins the likes of Sam Bush, Bryan Sutton, and Jerry Douglas for a superjam ending.

Of the collaboration, Dierks recalls, “Bryan Sutton first tipped me off to Billy Strings about seven years ago, mentioning that the future of bluegrass was in good hands. I was totally blown away the first time I saw him. I’ve cut songs like these since my first record, and I knew I wanted to have him on this one, I’m such a huge fan. It was a lot of fun to have him, Jerry, Sam, and Bryan all passing licks around – having them all on this record means a lot to me personally.”

“American Girl” (2024)

Who doesn’t love an Americana “American Girl”? Bentley delivers this country-fied Tom Petty classic alongside some BGS favorites, including Chris Eldridge on guitar and Noam Pikelny on banjo. Dierks reprised the hit single joined by Bronwyn Keith-Hynes, Sierra Hull, and Molly Tuttle on stage at the 2024 CMA Awards, bringing down the house.

“For As Long As I Can Remember,” Broken Branches (2025)

The country canon has seen its fair share of heartache, murder, trains, and drinking. Also on his latest release, “For As Long As I Can Remember” shirks these motifs in favor of something a little more wholesome – a warm and adoring ballad dedicated to the strength of enduring familial bond. An ode to his brother and father, Dierks reminds that respect and love can be country, too.

“Train Travelin’,” Dierks Bentley (2003)

With many of his nascent Nashville days edified by nights at the Station Inn and in the surrounding bluegrass scene, iconic bluegrass family the McCourys quickly became repeat collaborators for Dierks. Their features pepper many of his earlier albums, dating all the way back to his debut self-titled release in 2003. “Train Travelin’” would become the first of many, with other gems such as Good Man Like Me (Modern Day Drifter, 2005) and Last Call featuring Ronnie McCoury (Feel That Fire, 2009) dotting the road to Bentley’s eventual bluegrass-centric album, Up On The Ridge.

“Up On The Ridge,” Up On The Ridge (2010)

The titular track off of Bentley’s bluegrass-inspired album is thrumming with energy, both quickly-paced and haunting with its descending melodic hook. Up On The Ridge was Bentley’s fifth studio album, featuring a star-studded list of bluegrass collaborators including Alison Krauss, Punch Brothers, Chris Stapleton, Tim O’Brien, Sam Bush, and beyond. Del McCoury even joins forces with Bentley and Punch Brothers to deliver a deliciously grassified cover of U2’s “Pride (in the Name of Love)” further evidencing the album as a culmination of both tradition and innovation.

“Freeborn Man,” (Live, 2025)

Another of our favorite timeless covers, Dierks has been adorning his Broken Branches Tour this summer with his vigorous take on “Freeborn Man.” This rendition includes a fiery feature by Zach Top, nearly toppling the stage with talent.

“Hoedown for My Lowdown Rowdy Ways” featuring Dierks Bentley, Lowdown Hoedown (Jason Carter, 2022)

With Jason Carter fiddling his heart out on Dierks’ records since 2003, it’s of course a polite roots custom for Dierks to return the favor. Released as part of Carter’s second solo album, Lowdown Hoedown, “Hoedown for My Lowdown Rowdy Ways” has Dierks singing harmony and strumming away on the bluesy breakdown. Lowdown Hoedown also features a tender Jamie Hartford number, “Good Things Happen,” that Dierks Bentley covered on his 2005 album Modern Day Drifter, yet another frame of conversation between the two artists.

“Prodigal Son’s Prayer” featuring The Grascals, Long Trip Alone (2006)

This acoustic tune features the bluegrass sensibilities of the Grascals, a long-running group lauded for their instrumental prowess. The song loosely follows the parable of the prodigal son, ultimately centering themes of repair and reconciliation. The song also features the stomps and hums of incarcerated individuals from Charles Bass Correctional Complex, who had been in Bentley’s producer’s Bible studies course at the time.

“Free and Easy (Down The Road I Go),” Long Trip Alone (2006)

From the same release, this breezy banger remains a hallmark of Bentley’s career, even after nearly two decades since it dropped. The fifth of his singles to top Billboard’s Hot Country charts, “Free and Easy (Down The Road I Go)” lures in listeners with its fast-paced country twang and life-affirming sentiment.

“Beautiful World” featuring Patty Griffin, Feel That Fire (2009)

No stranger to incredible collaborators, Dierks Bentley asked iconic folk and country singer-songwriter Patty Griffin to accompany him on this track, gushing, “Her voice is one of a kind and she’s such an important figure in the American music scene… She’s just amazing. And so I asked her.”

The result is a tender homage to the beauties of the world, largely inspired by his wife, who was pregnant with their daughter at the time of the song’s conception. “You hear people sometimes say, ‘Man, I can’t imagine bringing a child into this world. It’s so bad.’ That’s just such a negative outlook,” Dierks says. “You cannot live your life with that viewpoint of the world. Yes, there are a lot of things that are wrong, but it is a beautiful world, and you need to find the positive in it.”

“Heart of a Lonely Girl,” Home (2012)

From Bentley’s sixth studio album, Home, comes this spirited, emotionally deep number. The narrative song was penned by the infinitely talented Charlie Worsham, who would go on to join Bentley’s touring band a decade later – and you can currently see him on stage each night during the Broken Branches tour.

“Trip Around the Sun,” featuring Dierks Bentley, I Built a World (Bronwyn Keith-Hynes, 2024)

Fiddler Bronwyn Keith-Hynes first connected with Bentley through Molly Tuttle & Golden Highway, the popular bluegrass group that opened for him several times on tour. She’s also married to Jason Carter, so Dierks wasn’t just a professional collaborator, but a member of her personal Nashville network, as well. It’s no surprise, then, that she’d end up on stage with him at the CMA Awards and, in the same year, he would guest on her acclaimed and GRAMMY Award-nominated album, I Built a World.

“Mardi Gras” featuring Trombone Shorty, Black (2016)

Soaked in Louisiana charm, this tune was inspired by Dierk’s 2015 galavant on a Mardi Gras parade float. Featuring the indelible hornsmanship of Trombone Shorty, the track grooves along with bluesy undertones. “Getting Trombone Shorty to do his thing on it, what a great guy. I love working with him. He is so laid-back and so good at what he does,” Bentley boasts of his collaborator.

“Travelin’ Light” featuring Brandi Carlile, The Mountain (2018)

Featuring the powerhouse vocals of Americana giant Brandi Carlile, this tune appears on Bentley’s 2018 album, The Mountain. The collaboration between the two icons came to fruition after Bentley saw Brandi perform at Telluride Bluegrass Festival, inspiring him to approach her about dueting on the track.

“Sun Sets in Colorado,” Gravel & Gold (2023)

Written reflecting his pandemic move to Colorado (though he has since returned to Nashville), Bentley released this tune on Gravel & Gold. The song shouts out New Grass Revival and Telluride in a verse: “Sing an old new grass song with me/ Telluride along with me,” while also featuring New Grass Revival founding member Sam Bush on mandolin. Bryan Sutton also joins in on the studio recording, yet another sparkling collab with bluegrass greats.

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Photo Credit: Robby Klein

Finding Lucinda: Episode 8

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

In the latest episode of Finding Lucinda, Ismay drives to Nashville to share the incredible never-before-heard tape they found during their road trip journey with friend Buddy Miller. Miller is known to have contributed essential parts to Lucinda’s breakthrough, Car Wheels On A Gravel Road. Ismay reviews the commonly told story about the making of this record, how fraught it was, and realizes that there actually is important history to uncover – history that reveals a more interesting and unexpected truth about why this record was so challenging to make. Ismay discusses Lucinda’s history in L.A., where she met a critical collaborator Gurf Morlix and subsequently made her albums Sweet Old World and Lucinda Williams.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

Produced in partnership with BGS and distributed through the BGS Podcast Network, Finding Lucinda expands on the themes of Ismay’s eponymous documentary film, exploring artistic influence, creative resilience, and the impact of Williams’ music. New episodes are released twice a month. Listen right here on BGS or wherever you get podcasts.

Finding Lucinda, the documentary film that inspired and instigated the podcast, is slated for release in the fall. Both the film and podcast showcase never-before-heard archival material, intimate conversations, and a visual journey through the literal and figurative landscapes that molded Lucinda’s songwriting.

Credits:
Produced and mixed by Avery Hellman for Neanderthal Records, LLC.
Music by Ismay.
Artwork by Avery Hellman.
Nashville Recording: Recorded at Hummingbird Hill Studio.
Sound Recordist: Rodrigo Nino
Producer: Liz McBee
Director: Joel Fendelman
Co-Director & Cinematographer: Rose Bush
Special thanks to: Mick Hellman, Chuck Prophet, Jonathan McHugh, Sydney Lane, Don Fierro, Jacqueline Sabec, Rosemary Carroll, Lucinda Williams, and Tom Overby.

Find more information on Finding Lucinda here. Find our full Finding Lucinda episode archive here.

Cody Jinks:
“You Never Stop Coming of Age”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

For Texas country star Cody Jinks, his latest album – the fiery and rough-around-the-edges, yet poignant and sorrowful In My Blood – is a liberation of sorts. Not of sound or scope, but of self.

It comes from the eternal quest to find balance within the body, mind, heart, and soul of a singer-songwriter, one trying to understand just what it means to be human in the modern, chaotic world – which is why “Better Than the Bottle” was purposely placed as the opening track on the record.

“Been layin’ things down one habit at a time/ Never thought we’d get old…” Jinks rumbles through the melancholic number. “Now we’re damn sure tryin’/ And makin’ the most of the time that we have left.”

With his sobriety in recent years, Jinks has been taking a hard look at what he sees in the mirror. It’s not about having regrets or cringing at one’s past. Instead, it’s taking personal accountability and professional inventory of the wisdom gained from your existence in real time, all while the calendar on the wall seemingly changes faster and faster each year.

Now 44, Jinks is more focused on what’s just around the corner than continually looking back over his shoulder at the ups and downs along his life’s journey. It’s about a clear head, a keen focus on what matters most – family, friends, fellowship, the freedom to create and perform.

It sounds like you’re in a really good place right now.

Cody Jinks: Yeah. Well, whenever you’re a late bloomer like me, it takes you [til] later in life to figure things out. It’s a practice. I mean, obviously the last couple years I’ve been trying to work on myself, work on my family. I think it’s helped a lot creatively, as well. None of it’s been easy. It’s not like anything’s ever peaches and cream or roses or whatever. The music business is tough, and if it was easy, everybody would do it. I spent much of my marriage while I was on the road. Having been off the road the last four or five years, [not touring] as much as I used to be, I’ve learned that being a great husband and father is even harder than being in the music business.

And it all ties into everything though, because that creative side is also a big balancing act, where you need that outlet in your life.

Well, not only the creative outlet, it’s that I used to think that I was writing songs that are being vulnerable and they actually came across as being angry. There was an edge to [the older songs], where this new record really sounds like a guy that’s 45 years old that got tired of the fighting system. You get tired of just fighting everything. And I’ve obviously been fighting the music business my entire career. It’s kind of what I built my thing on.

And, at the same time, I had started bringing the guy in the music business home – that’s who my wife and kids had to live with, as well. So, we’ve been correcting some stuff like that. I’ve been getting some really vulnerable songs out of it. You never stop coming of age. No matter how old you get – when you’re in your teenage years, when you get in your forties – life is a continual movement, man. And if you are not moving forward, you’re going backwards. So, vulnerability is a strength to an extent.

How does that play into the album? I would surmise that the opening track [“Better Than the Bottle”] was purposely placed there.

I was actually going to speak to that track specifically, because that was the second-to-last song written for this record. I wrote it with a friend, Tom McElvain. We both quit smoking cigarettes. We quit doing recreational drugs. We’ve written together a lot over the years. I’ve got several songs with his name on it, but [“Better Than the Bottle”] was a real conversation.

He came over one morning, and in 20-plus years of friendship, it was the first time we had ever been around each other stone cold sober. We were talking about how we used to live versus how we’re trying to do things now and who we’re trying to be now for ourselves and for the people that we love, the friends that we lost along the way that didn’t pull out of it. We’re old enough to have friends that have died from it now. That song made its way to the first slot because it was everywhere – that song’s true. Tom was over here that morning in January and you talk about two grown men in their 40s and 50s just laying all out, teary eyes. Dude, we fucked a bunch of shit up in our lives and there’s a lot. At this point, we’re trying to atone for a lot of things.

That’s one of the beauties about getting older – perspective. There’s this kind of weird intrinsic value to hitting this age, where you still have mobility and your wits about you, but you also got some road miles on the tread.

[Laughs]. Yeah. At 40, I tell people the “check engine” light comes on. It’s not usually that serious, but you gotta change some things. It might be time to trade in the Lamborghini and get an F-150, slow down a little bit.

You have a family, as well, with these personal responsibilities and people that want you around for a long time.

That was really the big player. I quit smoking for my kids. I’d still probably be smoking cigarettes if it weren’t for my kids. I quit drinking for myself and for everybody around me. But, the cigarettes, I finally got that licked about five, six years ago. That was the one my doctor said, “Your kids are gonna thank you.”

This year also marks the 10th anniversary of your breakout album [Adobe Sessions]. I don’t know if you’ve been thinking a lot about the last 10 years, who that person was when you broke into the national scene and then who you are right now.

[I’m] a lot more patient [these days]. It’s been 10 years, [and back then] we’d been [playing for] 10 years by the time that breakout record came out. [I] still have hunger in this business, I just put in a smarter, more calculated manner these days.

I also found it interesting that you’ve mentioned Ray Bradbury as an inspiration for In My Blood. Can you speak to why that is and what he represents for you?

Yeah, absolutely. The focal point of the record, it’s a travel life, right? That’s where the record takes you, on this up-and-down journey of life. And, in that life, in everyone’s life, every fork you come to in the road, you take one way or the other, which leads you to another fork in the road. By the time you’re done, you’ve taken a bunch of forks, you’ve taken a bunch of different roads, and hopefully you took more good forks than you did the bad.

We planted a Ray Bradbury-inspired song (“Something Wicked This Way Comes”) right smack dab in the middle of this damn record, because it was the perfect frickin’ spot for it. It’s the only song that was snuck in the record that wasn’t really based on my life. If you’ve read the [Bradbury] book Something Wicked This Way Comes, it’s part of a series called the Green Town Trilogy. They’re all really good [books], but that one stands out. It’s my favorite. It’s a brilliant book. It’s good and evil.

We all have the same wants, needs, desires. What’s good for us? What’s not good for us? Is it good for me if I try to do this to obtain this or achieve this or to be this or to look like this? And those are the decisions that we make every single day. I had just read the book and I came up with this really badass little blues riff. It feels like a carnival ride.

That also plays into one of the things about getting older, which is that you choose to keep moving forward. When you’re younger, you might feel the pressure. And as you get older you realize there’s a lot of things you don’t need to worry about.

Yes. My parents had told me, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” And then, when you’re at the age we’re at, the big stuff you thought when you were 20, 25 years old, you’re [now] like, “Well, that’s small stuff.” And then, by the time you get to our parents’ age, they’re looking at stuff we’re worried about in our 40s and they’re thinking, “Oh, that’s small stuff.” We’re gonna get to the point, hopefully, where we’re looking at [things] going, “Ah, man, why was I worried about that?”

Case in point, the other night we had a very mild water leak in the upstairs [of our house]. My daughter came downstairs at two o’clock in the morning and there was dripping on a custom turntable in our living room. This was nobody’s fault. And I got upset about it. We stopped the leak. We dried the water up. I woke up the next morning and there’s flooding in Central Texas and there’s like a hundred families who have lost their children. Let’s not sweat the small stuff, man. Some people got real problems.

There’s probably a lot of weight that’s come off your shoulders in the last couple years, whether it’s personal or professional. Obviously life’s a continued journey. Whether you want to participate in it or not, that’s up to everybody on their own. But, it feels like you’re kind of leaning into life in a really good way right now.

Yeah, I’m living it more, as opposed to getting up and butting heads with [life] every day.

How do you square that with the outlaw image that the media puts on you? Because there’s stereotypes that get equated into that. At your core, you’re a singer-songwriter, you’re a country musician.

You know, my whole career, they’ve been calling me [an “outlaw”]. Look, I know they need an “outlaw,” whatever. I’ve never called myself an outlaw. That was something the media called me, and I just agreed. I’ve kind of gone with it. It’s okay. It’s easy to call me that. I’m not an outlaw, dude. I’m a punk.

And underneath all of that is still your punk rock and metal blood.

Yeah. It’s too big a piece of me. It’s just who I am. It’s the way I run my organization. It’s a family. It’s us against the world. We don’t belong with anybody, so we belong to everybody.

Photo courtesy of The Oriel.

Basic Folk: Olive Klug

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Olive Klug and I recorded this interview in my closet while they were in Portland, Maine, to play a show. Along with their band Cori, Haley, and Payton they stayed with us and it was a real pleasure to be around them for a few days. You can tell that Olive is at their best around their band and it is a true collaboration on stage. Shoutout to the whole crew for leaving such a remarkable impression on me and my wife and for assembling some baby furniture while they were staying at our house.

In our conversation for Basic Folk, Olive takes us on a journey through their musical upbringing, exploring their childhood influences, including their father’s eclectic taste in ’60s and ’70s rock and folk. Olive discusses their love for Joni Mitchell and Taylor Swift, which inspired them to learn guitar and develop their own musical tastes. They provide insights into their early internet presence on platforms like YouTube and Tumblr, and how these shaped their creative expression and online identity.

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Olive also touches on their experience of transitioning to a music career, going viral on TikTok, and the emotional and practical challenges that come with it. Additionally, they delve into how their psychology background and neurodiversity inform their songwriting, live performances, and day-to-day life. Our conversation wraps up with thoughts on the productive chaos of touring, the importance of community in the folk world, and their aspirations for long-term, sustainable growth in the music industry. Everyone belongs at the Olive Klug show. They leave their glow wherever their travels take them.

 

@oliveklugThe gay cowboys keep leaving nashvillea title=”♬ original sound – Olive Klug” href=”https://www.tiktok.com/music/original-sound-7519310944065817375?refer=embed” target=”_blank” rel=”noopener”>♬ original sound – Olive Klug

Photo Credit: Alex Steed

The Wood Brothers Appreciate Their “Slow Rise to the Middle”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Raised by a creative writing teacher and a music-playing biology professor who occasionally picked with Joan Baez, Oliver and Chris Wood were both destined for careers making music. Following time apart in the ‘90s – Oliver in Atlanta playing with King Johnson and Chris in New England staying busy with Medeski Martin & Wood – the Wood Brothers came together in the early 2000s during a co-bill between their bands in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

And they haven’t looked back.

In 2004 the Wood Brothers – their trio rounded out by multi-instrumentalist Jano Rix – officially arrived. Two years later came their debut record, Ways Not To Lose, and with it signature hits like “Luckiest Man” that over two decades later continue to stand the test of time, even as the trio’s sound shapeshifts. That sonic evolution is front and center throughout the band’s latest effort, Puff of Smoke, which features everything from boisterous horns to slippery synths and a bevy of world influences stretching across multiple continents.

Wrapped up in the 11 songs’ American-rooted and globally influenced aesthetic is a feeling of mindfulness that ranges from serious (“The Trick”) to comedic (“Pray God Listens”) and borderline cynical (“Money Song”). A prime example also lies within “Slow Rise (To The Middle),” an autobiographical ballad about the band’s methodical rise to making and maintaining a stable living from their music – as opposed to an overnight rise to stardom that oftentimes fizzles out in the most dramatic fashion.

“The lyrics are pretty abstract, but they’re pretty specifically about all the people who had the meteoric rise and died because of a plane or motorcycle crash or even an assassination – as was the case with John Lennon,” explains Oliver. “We were thinking of very specific people in rock ‘n’ roll who burned out and died young when they were at the top of their game. With that in mind, it’s almost a song of real gratitude that that didn’t happen to us.”

Ahead of the release of Puff of Smoke Chris and Oliver caught up with BGS to discuss the band’s roots, trajectory, experimental nature, mindfulness, and more.

(Writer’s Note: The following includes two separate conversations combined into one and edited for clarity and brevity.)

What was it that brought [Oliver and Chris] back together after over a decade apart to first form the Wood Brothers?

Oliver Wood: Having lived apart so long and played in different musical circles we were somewhat disconnected – both musically and and just as brothers – but we did stay in touch. In Medeski Martin & Wood’s early days they used to come to Atlanta and sleep on my floor before they blew up. I was always interested in the music [Chris] was making and he was interested in music I was making, but we just weren’t close.

At one point, it just happened that we played a show together where my band, King Johnson, opened for them – I believe it was at a place called Ziggy’s in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. We ended up having the best time and then they asked me to sit in with them on guitar on a few songs. [Medeski Martin & Wood] didn’t have a guitar player and I wound up fitting right in with what was going on [that] night. During it we stood next to each other and felt like we could just read each other’s minds, like we had this uncanny psychic (and obviously genetic) connection, musically.

In spite of the differences in the music that we were playing there was a lot of overlap. Both bands were really into traditional American music like blues and funk and jazz. It was like a musical conversation that went really well, so from then on Chris and I made efforts to play and write music together when we visited our family or had gatherings purely out of joy.

We had this thing in common, were all grown up, and had shed some of that brotherly baggage that family bands who’ve been playing together since they were kids sometimes have a harder time shaking, because they don’t never get a chance to form their own identities and feel like they’re their own person. It made it especially exciting to join forces and see what kind of recipe we could come up with everything we’ve learned over the years.

Chris Wood: One thing that’s not obvious looking from the outside in is how much overlap there was with [Medeski Martin & Wood] and what [Oliver] was doing with King Johnson. MMW formed in New York City in the early ‘90s in a very particular music scene where we were always trying new things and mashing together genres and finding new ways to play instruments. We operated with a fringe set of influences that included field recordings from West Africa and all kinds of other weird things that were out there compared to contemporary classical music, but when King Johnson opened for us in the early 2000s and Oliver sat in with us there was an immediate connection. In a way, it almost felt like I was watching myself playing because I could relate so well to his musical choices and approach to playing. He was a natural fit, leading to a moment that sparked the thought about doing something together that has lasted for over 20 years now.

It sounds like the time you guys spent apart has been critical to the bond you have, both as brothers and as bandmates, now over 20 years into the band’s life.

OW: Exactly! And I would say it also contributed to the unique sound that we were able to create because we were bringing some pretty different things to the table. I was really into blues and roots music and Chris went more of the jazz route, but he always said, “Well, what if you mixed Charles Mingus with Robert Johnson or Willie Nelson?” So the idea was to fuse together some things that you haven’t heard yet.

I feel like Puff of Smoke, with its barrage of horns and synth-heavy moments, is a prime example of that fusing together you speak of. What led you to incorporating more of those sounds on this album?

OW: Well, I think that’s always our goal, trying things we haven’t done yet. And a lot of times the metaphor for me is that we’re just trying different recipes. I’m still going to play guitar, Chris is still going to play bass, Jano is still going to play drums and keyboards. There’s going to be singing, there’s going to be familiar sounds, but we think of all these ingredients. There’s Calypso and African music and Chicago blues and gospel and a bunch of other things. These ingredients aren’t uncommon, so what makes artists unique is what they come up with from those sounds.

Oftentimes when we go in to make a record, it’s not conscious like, “Oh, we’re gonna make this kind of record.” We just know that we’re not going to do what we did last time or what somebody else is already doing, if we can help it. We’re trying to find something new that excites us and what that looks like is sometimes having a song written and ready to play, but going into the studio and saying, “I’m going to use this weird guitar that kind of sucks and see what it does.”

There’s an infinite number of combinations and ideas you can apply in the early stages of recording that really influence how different it ends up being. Our philosophy is to create a new recipe each time, which is why it’s so hard to pigeonhole us. That’s not good for business sometimes, but at the same time that’s what we’re going for because we’re trying not to fit in.

CW: We never know what we’re gonna do. What we end up doing is always based on what we’ve done in the past, which is wanting to push boundaries by continuing to evolve and try things we haven’t done before. Over the years we’ve surrendered to the fact that good things happen with the music when we’re not in control and we’re just paying attention to what’s happening and following each other’s lead instead of having a hardened idea of what things should look like. Usually that’s what kills the creative spirit, so relinquishing that control has always been a big theme for us.

We all have a lot of respect for each other and our opinions. Creating artistic things can be a rabbit hole that you get lost in quickly, so being around people you trust can prevent you from doing that in favor of encouraging you when something is really working that you couldn’t even see yourself. When we bring a song we’ve written into the studio, we have absolutely no idea how it’s going to turn out because even though there’s lyrics (and maybe even a key) we make a lot of very spontaneous decisions about what kind of guitar to use or which drum set should there be. Every little decision like that leads to a new spontaneous reaction to how that instrument is sounding. That in turn makes us play a certain way, then by the time the songs are on tape we’re all blown away at how differently it turned out than we would have ever thought.

A big theme throughout these new songs is mindfulness. Can you tell me about how y’all practice that, both in your daily lives and your musical pursuits?

OW: For any artist, whatever’s going on in your life or the world around you makes appearances when you’re writing music – it just seeps in there and gets baked in you. Over the years, all of us in the band have been trying to live a certain way by learning methods and tricks to finding peace and fighting depression and the scary changes going on in the world while continuing to stay connected with people. I’ve always written like a cheerleader for myself, like “The trick is not to give a damn,” but by no means am I a master of any of that stuff. It’s a reminder to myself and others to always keep that on your radar. But on “The Trick” I follow that line with “Good luck,” so there’s a little bit of cynicism there too. Another song, “Pray God Listens,” is meant to be a little humorous and a little cynical of God, but also hopeful. It’s also about wanting to believe that God is listening and that I’m skeptical, but haven’t given up.

CW: [Mindfulness is] a constant recurring theme for us, even going back to [2023’s Heart Is A Hero] and the idea of remembering to remember. I think the hardest thing about presence and mindfulness and being an agent of your own emotions is just remembering it’s even an option. We get so carried away by the constant churning of our minds that you forget it’s even an option to not take that stuff seriously. There’s lots of references in our music about that – this weird storytelling device that we have between our ears that never shuts up and how to live with it – and the idea of control and surrendering to the fact that the only thing we can control is to be present. A lot of our anxiety stems from not knowing what to do, but if you just pay attention to your environment it tells you what to do.

This becomes really useful for us when we’re on stage in front of a bunch of people and the part of your mind that takes credit for and wants to be good doesn’t want a slow rise to the middle but instead wants a meteoric rise to the top and will start fixating on how to be great at something to the detriment of not paying attention to what’s happening around you. For me to play a good bass line I don’t need to listen to myself, I listen to the drums and guitar and those tell me how to play. That’s what presence is for us – it’s allowing our environment to tell us what to do, not trying to figure it out alone.

Another way of describing the themes on this record is impermanence. Things happen and then they’re gone. We have very little control over most aspects of what happens in the universe, so really all you can do is just sort of pay attention, trust that you’re going to know how to react to all that craziness and surrender to the moment.

What about this record stands out to y’all from the rest of your catalog?

OW: For me personally, I feel like there’s more and more freedom to just do whatever the hell I want. We have our own label, so we’re doing things quite independently without the structure of a label or A&R or anything like that and we’ve been doing that for a long time. We’ve always joked that the band’s career trajectory has been a slow rise to the middle as opposed to a meteoric rise to the top. There’s a song by that name on the record that’s a bit tongue-in-cheek as we make fun of ourselves and how it took us years to land at a sweet spot in our careers where we play to around 1,000 people a night – which isn’t a lot compared to Phish or Springsteen – but enough to feel like we can make a living and be a little weird in what we do rather than always taking the conventional route. We can be a little more subtle and aren’t beholden to any one thing, freeing us up to experiment without the worry of needing to write another hit.

As far as this album goes … we really tried to combine our creative visions to see what we could make and we’re all really proud of the result. It was a very organic thing that took over 20 years of experience to make happen.

CW: Between the three of us, we have a lot of influences. When you first begin as a band you’re trying to find out who you are and what your sound is. With both the Wood Brothers and Medeski Martin & Wood we waited to introduce electric bass to the mix even though I play both because the electric bass signifies certain sounds.

For instance, with MMW in the early ‘90s having electric bass with instrumental music that was danceable made you think of jazz fusion, which wasn’t a category we wanted our music to fall into even though it was instrumental music that was sometimes danceable. Once we established our voice as a band we began to branch out, which is the same thing happening with the Wood Brothers.

We have so many influences that don’t fit into the genre boxes that a lot of people put us in in our early days, which was Americana and roots music. We have influences from all over the world, especially on this record. On this record we explored more of the Caribbean, Cuban, and Latin influences we have. Oliver and I are also into these great African guitar players that there’s a lot of overlap with in his fingerpickin’ blues. Throughout we try to find different ways to introduce those influences to the Great American Songbook-like material on this record. Jano is a very good salsa dancer and obsessed with Latin music of all kinds, and I’ve always been into that music as well. One of my favorite bass players is Cachao, who is like the Duke Ellington of Cuba and invented “the mambo.”

There’s things like that that you’re sometimes hesitant to put into the music you’re putting out, but over time as you establish your voice it’s like “why not?” Let’s have fun using those influences even if it’s not “American,” per se. This is the melting pot – we’re supposed to be able to use it all here.

What’s your biggest joy of getting to make music together?

OW: Both Chris and Jano are like titans of music. They’re both virtuoso musicians who are not only monster players, but very creative too. Medeski Martin & Wood was a very experimental band that made great efforts to do what we’ve been talking about, which is to not sound like anything else and really be themselves and allow their musical identities to come through without trying to. Sometimes in instrumental music and in the jazz world, it’s about technique and technical prowess and those guys were just pure artists. They were really trying to make beautiful sounds and odd sounds and dissonance. Sometimes you could dance to it and sometimes you just had to take it in because it was real trippy. And so Chris brings that spirit of virtuosity and creativity, as well as Jano. We first hired him as a drummer because he was such an amazing drummer and percussionist and had no idea he could play keyboards just as well. He’s like two guys at once.

No matter what I throw at them, they can throw something cool back at me, enhance it and make it better. We’ve been talking about the sort of mindfulness theme in some of the music, and it really is a way that we try to operate as a band and as players. It’s about staying connected with yourself and with other people. If we have a musical disconnect it’s because we’re not listening to each other. Music is always a conversation where you listen and you respond or you hear something and you react to it, so if you’re only listening to yourself you’re missing the point. It’s detrimental to the music, so we make sure that we’re listening to each other, and in doing so, we get into this mindful, sort of meditative trance where we’re just listening and having a conversation and not trying to fill all the spaces. It makes us a very cohesive unit and able to be ourselves.

CW: Learning how to be present – as cliché as it sounds – that’s where the joy is. The joy is finally learning that it’s not me, it’s everything else that tells me what to do. Every time we play music it’s amazing, even a song that we play night after night with that approach feels like it might as well be the first time. The hardest part about this idea is remembering to remember, so my way of practicing that is trying to remember throughout the day to ask myself a simple question.

It’s like a challenge – can you enjoy yourself right now? And sometimes it’s easy, because things are fine and you’re not in pain or there’s no drama going on, but it’s the most fruitful moments when there’s something difficult or boring like doing the dishes and I ask if I can enjoy myself? Do I have the ability? What does it even mean to enjoy myself right now? And the practice is that if I can do it enough in those times, then I should be able to remember to remember to do that on stage too. From that point on everything is obvious – I’m able to relax and listen to the drums play me. All the pressure just goes away because you realize you trust yourself to react to the environment, and that never gets old. It’s useful for both your daily life as well as on stage or in the studio or any time we’re creating music together. We’re always trying to make every experience joyful, which isn’t always easy but can be done with practice. It’s like a game, it’s playful – even if you don’t always have a smile on your face.

Photo Credit: Laura E. Partain

Brent Cobb
Ain’t Rocked In a While

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

He might be a renowned lyricist and self-proclaimed songwriter-singer (not singer-songwriter). His typical sound may simmer with a supremely chill mix of country, blues, and soul. But Brent Cobb got his start with the crunchy thunder of guitar-driven rock ‘n’ roll and his seventh album takes him back.

Tapping the raw rage of garage rock, the distorted domination of ‘70s proto-metal, and more, Ain’t Rocked In a While finds this GRAMMY-nominated master of phrase returning to a world where the guitar riff is king – his first love as a musician. Co-produced with Oran Thornton and recorded live, 10 songs combine Cobb’s laid-back style with the immortal edge of bands like Black Sabbath, Metallica, and heavier inspirations still. But while old metalheads do tend to get rusty, this project is razor sharp.

Speaking with Good Country, Cobb explains the change of pace, as well as his abiding love for the rock ‘n’ roll spirit and new appreciation for classic-rock lyrics. Plus, the long-haired country boy explains how Ain’t Rocked In a While could fairly be considered “dad rock.”

I want to get the story behind this record. Ain’t Rocked in While is one of those projects that really seems to do what it say it’s going to do. How much of a creative release was this for you?

Brent Cobb: Well, this project was cool because I was focused more on riff and just really digging back into the foundation of what I grew up on. My first band was a rock band with my best friend Justin, who played guitar. He was real into Pink Floyd and AC/DC and Black Sabbath, and had me learning all those songs to sing. So when I was writing riffs and lyrics for this album, I sort of went back and was rediscovering those songs that I grew up learning.

Back then, even though I was learning the lyrics, I was just learning them to sing it. I wasn’t really paying attention to what they were saying and I didn’t think of those songs as very lyrical songs. I just enjoyed the groove. With this go ‘round, it really took all the pressure off of trying to write a lyrical song – which in turn made the lyrics come way easier. It also made me aware of just how lyrical those old classic rock songs were.

Oh, right!

I didn’t notice it or I didn’t appreciate it, but I don’t guess you would as a teenager. So that was the whole process – I was just trying to write a riff album and wanted to rock a little and show the audience a reference for a live show when they came, but wound up writing lyrical songs anyway.

I guess you just can’t help it. You’ve always been known as a storyteller and a songwriter first, and you even did a gospel record just a few cycles ago. Where does hard rock fit into your listening habits?

It all has always coexisted in my little world. My mom’s from Cleveland, Ohio, and my uncles – her brothers – they were all rockers into Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, and just the classic stuff. But then here, my dad was in a band with his brother – my other uncle – and my dad would cover the early ‘50s and ‘60s rock ‘n’ roll and my uncle would do classic country. So I grew up around that, but if you looked at any of my playlists, it’s just always been real eclectic that way for sure. For this album, Master of Reality [by] Black Sabbath was probably the biggest influence and the one that I would keep returning to for inspiration. And not just in riffs, but in the way that they structured that album to ebb and flow.

This might be a hard question to answer, but how heavy do your tastes get? What do you think would be the hardest hitting band in your collection?

Oh man. Well, [for] modern [artists], I’d probably say the band Sleep. Have you ever listened to much of them?

I don’t think so. I’m going to have to check that out right after this.

It’s like stoner metal. That’s probably the hardest stuff that I’ll listen to right now. But I don’t know – I mean, Sabbath is so hard still to this day. Those first five albums are unreal. … With Sleep, that’s some heavy stoner metal.

Yeah, I’m looking on Spotify right now. They’ve got songs like “Marijuanauts’s Theme.” [Laughs] That’s an awesome title.

Dude, I know! But that stuff is like, you can go find sections of old Sabbath songs and it’s kind of like [Sleep] built a whole sound on little sections of Sabbath songs. But then if you go further, it’s all blues – that’s all it is.

For any true rock record, the recording itself is so important – trying to capture the energy. I know you recorded live-to-tape and that seems like the rock ‘n’ roll dream, right? Was that experience different from digital recording?

Well, honestly, each of my albums have always been recorded to tape except Keep ‘Em On They Toes. But with that said, it is a modern world and we still record to tape and then dump all that into Pro Tools to where it’s easier to edit, then take that and dump it all back to tape. You get the original physical, sonic difference that is recording to tape when each tape is completely different, because the needle’s hitting different, the amp was hotter, or whatever. But then we fast forward to the modern world to where we can just really be quicker and more efficient.

I think we had 10 days blocked off to record, and then I got sick on the first two days. And then Oran [Thornton], my co-producer and head engineer, he got sick for two days. And so we wound up recording in seven or eight days.

That is a plus of the modern age for sure. In any case, it came out sounding really tight – you recorded as a band, right?

That’s right. It’s the touring band [The Fixin’s] I’ve had for a while now. … The studio we recorded at in Springfield, Missouri, was this little bitty, almost broom-closet size live room, and they were all in the main live room together. I did want to isolate myself, so I was in an even smaller little isolation booth with a window where we could still see each other. … I obviously am not as experienced in singing those type songs and playing those type riffs at the same time, so I knew I was going to screw up some lyric phrasings and I didn’t want to mess everything else up. So I was the only thing I isolated.

Where’d that title track come from? “Ain’t Rocked In a While” – this definitely has that Black Sabbath feel, stretching out to five minutes.

Straight up. It started because I had bought my son a little drum kit for his fourth birthday a couple years ago. He just loves the drums … and then I would set my amp up and get my guitar out and we’d just be jamming in his room. One day he was like, “Dad, play some rock ‘n’ roll guitar.” And I’d hit a little lick and he’s like, “No, no, rock ‘n’ roll.” I’d play another little lick. And he said, “No, dad, like Mattman” – which is [the Fixin’s guitar player] Matt [McDaniel]. I was doing the best I could, really just trying to prove to him that daddy could rock.

That’s funny!

So I came up with that “Ain’t Rocked In a While” riff and then it turned into me proving to my son, “I have rocked before, boy. It just ain’t been a while.” I thought it would be funny, but I also thought, “Well, all of us are sort of that way.” I’m nearly 40 and a father of two, so you could definitely consider this album Dad Rock, but all our kids don’t know. We all had some rock eras, whether that be in life or musically or whatever it is.

Well, you still got the hair, so I think it’s easier to make that case.

[Laughs] Hell yeah. It’s funny you say that. My mama just yesterday, she used to be a hairdresser and had her own business, and she was like, “You need to let me cut your hair.” And I was like, “Look, I’m going to keep it growing until it don’t grow no more.” I’m barely gray and I ain’t thinning too much yet. Until that happens, I’m going to keep rocking the long hair.

A little earlier you mentioned how [hard rock is] all blues at the bottom, right? I think that really comes through in a song like “Do It All the Time.”

Man, I’m going to have to give my son some co-writing credit on this album, I guess. That riff did come out very Skynyrd-esque, but … I was actually trying to do my best James Gang feel with the riff, the melody, and the double vocals on that chorus. That early James Gang stuff is so badass – but I think Skynyrd also was probably trying to do their best James Gang on some of their stuff.

Anyway, the idea of that song is from when [my son] Tuck was even younger, we’d be like “Oh man. Look dude, you ate all your food!” And he would say, “I did it, and I do it all the time.” So I always had that. I started saying “I do it all the time!” And then I don’t know how much I should say, but sometimes when you’re parents, you and your other half may not be on the same page. … You’re just both sleep-deprived and sometimes it’s hard to see. And so I think we were having a little moment of that and I was going, “I tried then and I try now and I try all the time. I did it and I do it all the time, babe!” So that’s where it came from.

Okay, one more thing here. For fans who come out and see you live, do you think this is going to change the shows? Are you guys going to rock out more or what?

I mean the only way that we’ll rock out more is we just have more songs to rock out to. But no, in every album that I’ve ever put out all the way back to 2006 with No Place Left to Leave, there’ve always been rock leaning songs in my catalog – including songs that others have recorded; some of the Whiskey Myers stuff, or The Steel Woods stuff. For a little bit there seemed like a disconnect, because I don’t think [people at my shows] were aware of that rock stuff, but it’s just a funner show to me and for us especially.

Now we just have more to pull from, and for people who show up, it’s the same show. I try to do songs from every album and I’ll take requests, too. I don’t turn those down. But now, I think people will show up and they won’t be taken by surprise at all if it does drop.

Photo Credit: Jace Kartye

Jackson and the Janks Celebrate “Garage Gospel Jank”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Jackson and the Janks, we started in a living room in New Orleans. Piano and guitar playing old gospel songs and trying to make a dance band. First there were two, then a third came in to use the bathroom – he was living in his van out front at the time. He sat down and played along after nature’s call. Over a year it grew from there, adding bass, saxophone, and steel guitar. We started playing shows in New Orleans, sweaty dance shows, and we didn’t have a name other than “the garage gospel band” (officially, Sam Doores’ Garage Gospel Band). We’ve branched out now and adopted New York janks into the family.

The Janks as a name came up, describing all things Janky. An old time, do-it-yourself way of playing, inspired by New Orleans R&B, rock and roll, honky tonk, and of course the sacred songs.

This playlist is a mix of sounds that influence the sentiments of Jackson and the Janks. Rollicking dance music, garage band approach, songs of love and lost love, sweet and sour, irreverent. – Jackson Lynch, Jackson and the Janks

“My Journey To The Sky” – Sister Rosetta Tharpe

There’s something wrong if Sister Rosetta is not in the conversation. True muse and queen progenitor of rock and roll, she kills me with her gospel.

“Rockin’ Bicycle” – Fats Domino

The great Fats Domino. I picked this because it inspires an approach to songwriting that gets overlooked. Have fun with the lyrical content and make fun music.

“Unchained Melody” – The Fleetwoods

I don’t take baths, but listening to this tempts me to try it out. The harmonies do it to me. My favorite version of this song.

“No More Tear Stained Makeup” – Martha & the Vandellas

This one has that lyricism and rhyme that I love. Taking a simple theme and so cleverly making it heartbreaking, don’t see it coming. Smokey Robinson at his best.

“Young Boy Blues” – Snooks Eaglin

New Orleans for real songster Snooks Eaglin played everything. Country blues, jazz, and pop songs of his day. That’s the job: play what people want to hear, do it good, and make it your own.

“Let’s Leave Here” – Jackson and the Janks

It’s about trying to not be the last one at a party that’s going under. Nothing’s happening, but you gotta leave before something does. “Gates are dropped, the service stopped, at the shop on the corner…”

“I Got Loaded” – Keith Frank & the Soileau Zydeco Band

This is a great zydeco version of a swamp-pop party song. Keith Frank (son of the famed Preston Frank) and his whole family make some of the best music I’ve ever had the privilege to dance to.

“Sweet Nothin’s” – Brenda Lee

Sugar, spice, everything nice.

“Sitting on my front porch, well do I love you? Of course,” Brenda growls and tucks me in.

“Who Will The Next Fool Be” – Charlie Rich

This speaks for itself. Just listen to how Charlie Rich sings the word “Who.”

“Life Is Too Short” – Benny Spellman

A great ballad deep cut from the man who gave us that deep voice on “Mother In Law.” Operatic. ”

We do big things in a hurry/ Let’s do what’s right to live…”

“Immigration Blues” – Duke Ellington

This secular hymn is my favorite shit. Early Duke’s orchestrated pieces like this make me regret and hope, sad and happy.

Photos courtesy of Jalopy Records.