Tag: shout & shine

Guitarist Yasmin Williams’ Techniques Are Second Only to Her Songs

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Guitarists spend lifetimes — often gleefully, sometimes manically, or at times frustratingly — finessing techniques, especially with their picking hand. Entire careers can be made or broken by the idiosyncrasies of one picker’s striking and sounding strings. Fingerstyle guitarist and composer Yasmin Williams has mastered myriad forms of right-hand styles, each complicated enough for multiple lifetimes’ worth of study. But she doesn’t merely alternate techniques between pieces; to a transcendentally perplexing degree she effortlessly alternates her entire picking hand approach mid-song.

On her 2021 release, Urban Driftwood, a collection of thoughtful, dynamic, and engaging instrumentals written for fingerstyle guitar and harp guitar, Williams makes many of these technique-swaps while the compositions charge forward, each one earning tailor-made right-hand approaches. As a result, the songs don’t feel encumbered when Williams, mid-melody, goes from right hand fingerstyle to bowing her strings with a cello bow, or plunking out notes on a kalimba taped to her guitar’s face, now positioned laying across her lap. She utilizes hand percussion and tap shoes to fill out arrangements, interposing Afro-descended instruments from around the world into her compositions, and she picks up, puts down, and readjusts her stable of musical tools in realtime — as a foley sound effect artist, prop master, or choreographer might. 

In guitar-centered communities — which are, it’s worth pointing out, largely white, straight, and male — where the overwrought, complicated, and mind-bending are regarded as the highest value currencies, you might expect the intricacies of Williams’ compositions, and the physicality of these impressive, visually striking techniques, to be the entire point of the music. But, as Williams explains in our interview and demonstrates indelibly in her Shout & Shine livestream performance — which will air on BGS on March 31 at 4pm PDT / 7pm EDT  (watch above) — the acrobatics of her playing are merely a means to an end. While entrancing, each fresh, inventive way Williams creates a dialogue with her instrument is merely a tool for her to execute each individual song, as close to how she hears it in her head as possible.

We began our conversation discussing this phenomenon and how it’s an active, deliberate choice on the part of Williams to serve her own songs.

BGS: There isn’t nearly as much variation in right hand or picking techniques in bluegrass and old-time as you use – tap, lap tapping, fingerstyle, harp guitar, I’ve even seen you bowing your guitar. So many of these contemporary guitar styles that you switch back and forth between are so different from each other, so what ties them all together for you? What does it feel like when you’re thinking about switching between these styles?

YW: I don’t really think about it much at all! Unless it’s logistically for a live performance, like, “Oh, I need to put my bow here, I need to put my kalimba here.” That [stage choreography] is really the only context in which I think about it. These different techniques, I just use them for whatever the song requires. They’re more like compositional tools. It’s more like I’m trying to find the sound that’s in my head or I’m trying to find a sound that’s different from [how] my guitar [already sounds], something to supplement whatever I’m writing. It’s not really like, “I want to make a lap tapping song!” It’s not conscious like that. These techniques are kind of my inventions and I only really come up with them to well, finish the song, basically. 

I’ve never really been technique-forward – yeah, guitar culture is very nerdy and I’ve never been very into that, at least in terms of the techniques, I don’t usually care what people are doing. [Laughs] I care more about the result. However you choose to get there is cool, too! But I don’t really scout other people’s techniques or anything. 

It makes me think of Elizabeth Cotten, who you have mentioned in past performances and interviews as an influence of yours. She was left-handed and played “upside down and backwards,” playing the guitar the way she needed to play it. 

[Laughs] Yes! She just figured it out, she was determined! Elizabeth Cotten and Jimi Hendrix kind of served the same purpose for me. They’re both extremely unique, I love that about them, and they really didn’t care about how they were “supposed” to do things, they weren’t bogged down by tradition. Elizabeth Cotten, I love her because, somewhat obviously, she’s a Black woman who plays guitar fingerstyle, which is very cool — and banjo, too. How she played, I can’t figure it out! It’s fun to figure out and to watch, but it’s even cooler to not watch her play and just listen. All of her tunes are so catchy. She’s great, I’d love to be as great of a songwriter as her one day, hopefully.

Some of the songs on Urban Driftwood feel so huge and expansive, but some feel so introspective and meditative, despite the fact that most tracks have very similar, stripped down, simple instrumentation and arrangements. It’s not a lot of production and arranging. How do you accomplish that dynamic range? What is your own dialogue with your instrument like during the creative process, during recording and writing?

That’s a really interesting question! But, I don’t know! [Laughs] Sorry to say that, but I really need to think more about this. 

Some songs, I definitely did want to be more introspective, like “I Wonder.” That was definitely one I wanted to be very intimate. And I did think about, in a live setting, how I wanted the song to feel more quiet and more intimate than other arrangements. “Swift Breeze” is another one I wanted to have an edgier sound. I don’t really think about it, I guess I’m just extremely tunnel-visioned. At the time of writing or recording a song I only think about what the song needs. Whatever that particular song that I’m working on in that moment needs. I didn’t think about live performance at all until after the album was already out and finished, which was probably not the best idea, [Laughs] I’m kind of regretting it now, but I’m working it out. 

I did think about the arrangement for “Urban Driftwood” a lot. I didn’t want to use tons of overdubs or multi-tracks on many of the songs [on the album], because I don’t really “believe” in it, I guess. That one, I wanted it to sound expansive, but also I wanted it to be able to work in a more intimate setting, too. But even so, I’m not really thinking about it that much.

The guitar, when you take it out of the context of the average player’s experience — which is usually playing with a pick and using three or four chords — when you remove it from that context so many new and exciting ideas have to start flowing, like when you pick up a bow instead of a pick. What is your experimentation like when you’re composing/writing?

I tend to repeat things I like over and over again. I can do that for hours. [Laughs] It’s a bit of a mess, it’s not the most efficient way to write something, but I can make up a melodic line that I really like and play it for hours and hours and hours. Other things will start to form while I’m playing that. Then I’ll record it, or write it down in notation, whatever I need to do to remember it. That process can go on for months before I even finish a song. 

I love experimenting. I love finding new, different things to use. Like a hammered dulcimer hammer or a bow or tap shoes, which are something else I use. Those were another example of problem solving. Now I’m into pedals a lot more so I’m experimenting with those, too. There are tons of great pedals out there, so it can be pretty difficult. It’s another world on its own! I’ve always been an experimental player, ever since I started playing. 

Who are you listening to now who inspires you? And who – you already mentioned Jimi Hendrix and Elizabeth Cotten – do you look to and who influences you from past generations? 

I kind of want to go back to where I’m from [in Northern Virginia], Chuck Brown is an influence — maybe not directly, I don’t really model my playing after his at all. He’s a guitar player from the D.C. area, he plays go-go music, a kind of regional style of music here. I’ve always loved him, from when I was a kid. 

Libba Cotten, obviously, is a huge influence. I wish I had known about her when I was younger. I think I could’ve saved a lot of time by not trying to be something I was never going to be. I really wanted to be a shredding, metal-type guitarist. I think that’s what I associated the guitar with–

Is that where the tapping came in? 

Yeah! 

That’s amazing. There are a lot of post-metal pickers in bluegrass! We have quite a few. 

[Laughs] I mean, I used to play Guitar Hero and that had so many rock songs and metal songs on it and tapping stuff. A bit of southern rock, too. But it was really rock- and male-centered and it would’ve been great to find Elizabeth Cotten sooner. That would’ve been great. I still like Paul Gilbert, I still like Buckethead, all of them, but it definitely would’ve been better if I had found Libba Cotten or Sister Rosetta Tharpe or Algia Mae Hinton sooner. 

Ah! I love Algia Mae, when you mentioned tap shoes earlier I immediately thought of her and the tradition of buck dancing and clogging connected to finger-picking. 

I know! I didn’t know anything about that until recently! I didn’t really know anything about that until the past couple of years, I’ve definitely gone down the rabbit hole of all of that now, though.

I guess I am listening to more guitar music these days than I ever have before. When I first started playing I didn’t really listen to any, because I didn’t really like it, the fingerstyle stuff and the technical stuff. Whatever you want to call it. But now, it’s great. There are a lot of contemporary players I really enjoy, I love Daniel Bachman’s stuff. [The band] The Americans have cool stuff. Chuck Johnson and Sarah Louise. There are a lot more people releasing music that isn’t just a derivative of what already exists in the guitar canon or in traditional guitar scenes. 

This topic has come up recently — in my interview with Jackie Venson and also with Sunny War — but more and more when I find myself engaging with contemporary guitar music, it’s made by women. To a degree, I think the music women are making in fingerstyle guitar and in “guitar culture” right now is just not what you hear like… in the halls at NAMM. As a queer person, I think I avoid guitar culture a lot because it feels so toxically masculine. Do you feel that, too?

Yeah, I feel that now that I’m in the scene more. When I released my first album — and before that, when I was just learning and coming up — I didn’t feel anything like that, because I think I just ignored it. I didn’t really care. (I still don’t really care.) [Laughs] There are nicer sections in the guitar world as well as more “competitive” or kind of douchey sections. [Laughs again] Like the guy who will turn my amp on, cause he thinks I can’t turn it on. That happens a lot. 

Looking ahead to the future, with vaccines rolling out and it feeling like we’re at this transition point from pre-COVID to the beginning of post-COVID — and you’re gaining so much momentum with this record even during the shutdown — what are you looking ahead to? And what does this transition from “before times” to “after times” feel like to you? 

I’m actually kind of thankful for it. It’s giving me time to reflect — not only on the album’s success, but it’s giving me time to not worry about shows. I can plan and build a team around me and become more “professional” [to be ready] when touring does start up and venues do start opening again. 

Creatively and musically I am all OVER the place! [Laughs] I’m writing a piece for a berimbau group called Projeto Arcomusical, the berimbau is an old, Afro-Brazilian instrument. I’m really excited for that, I can finally use my college degree and be a composer for once. I’m working with another group, based in NYC, called Contemporaneous, arranging songs from my new album for a summer concert, which is fun. I’m working on new music, trying to write more harp guitar stuff, playing my twelve-string guitar more. My head’s all over the place, really. 

I definitely feel a sort of rejuvenation now that I’ve gotten past the “WTF is going to happen?” Now I’m just like, “Whatever happens happens,” and I’ve gotta make new music!

Photo credit: Kim Atkins Photography

Guitarist Jackie Venson Charges Down a Path of Joy, Vulnerability, and Shredding

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Jackie Venson, Austin, Texas’s resident singer, songwriter, guitar shredder, and joy dispenser, took a couple of months to restart the locomotive momentum of her career after it was halted by the coronavirus pandemic in March of 2020. A summer of stepping up her touring and festival appearances trashed, she had to purposefully and intentionally consider a way forward. 

She chose the path less traveled, but she never trekked it alone. By the end of 2020, Venson’s totally independent team had landed her at number 10 on Pollstar’s Top 100 livestreamers chart for the entire year — higher than superstars Luke Combs, Brad Paisley, and even K-pop, heartthrob boy band BTS’s stream counts, with streams totaling more than 2.8 million viewers. 

“It felt like the train stopped and then I created work for myself,” Venson admits, describing an intentional pivot to virtual, streaming shows and alternative programming that never felt like she was giving up the most important parts of her art and expression. Just the opposite. Venson is a rare example of a musician who has utilized the pandemic to not only discover a new, novel way forward in an industry that promises burnout, extractive power dynamics, and the commodification of selfhood even in the best, most profitable cases. She also grew her fan base, her community, and found enough time to release five projects in the last calendar year, as well. 

Jackie Venson’s Shout & Shine livestream (viewable in the player above or here) — which highlights many of the entrancing, charming, entertaining aspects of Venson’s music, creativity, and most of all her stunning improvisation — will debut on BGS on Wednesday, February 3, at 4pm PST / 7pm EST. We began our interview talking about joy, which is not only present in every note of Venson’s playing, but is the first song of her Shout & Shine concert and the title track of her 2019 album. 

I wanted to start by asking you about joy. It feels so obvious and palpable in your music, especially in your playing style. Not just in how you’re so engaging and charismatic, and not just because it’s the title of your 2019 album, Joy. On “Surrender,” for instance, you sing, “Feet are so tired, but I keep running/ Heart is so heavy, but I keep singing.” That sounds like the radical act of choosing joy, to me.

JV: Well, it’s literally what I’m feeling while I’m actually playing the music. It’s just really cool to be able to play the guitar. I worked really hard to be able to play the guitar and when I look in the mirror I see the same face who started guitar, I guess ten years ago now, except this person can play the guitar! This person can play the guitar, and everybody likes listening to this person who can play the guitar. Not only is this person having a really good time doing something she set out to do ten years ago, but everybody else is enjoying it and having a good time on a base level — and by base level I mean, often they’ve just walked in the room. [Laughs] They weren’t there ten years ago! They’re enjoying it, objectively, and I’m sitting here looking at the depths of [the music] and then I’m watching other people, who don’t even know the story, just having a good time. That is pretty awesome and actually, I’m pretty sure that’s why most people set out to play instruments. They see somebody having fun doing it and they want to have fun, too. 

It sounds like gratitude is equally important to you. You’re clearly expressing so much gratitude for being able to do this thing that creates so much joy in your own life and in others’.

Well, absolutely. Gratitude is the foundation of joy. You can’t really have joy if you don’t have gratitude. 

One thing that jumped out at me from your livestreams and performances is the way you sing along with your guitar lines, the way you’re constantly in dialogue with yourself and your own voice. It made me think of the age old tradition of fiddling and singing along with yourself — and of course, it makes me think of jazz and bebop solos as well — but I wondered where singing along with the line in your head came from for you? 

My dad told me the best way to learn how to improv solos. I had been working on trying to improv from even the time I played piano from when I was like fifteen. I remember getting another piano teacher who knew jazz so that they could teach me how to improvise. Obviously, [Laughs] that’s the wrong angle. I was four years into playing guitar before I learned that I was approaching improvisation the wrong way. The funny thing is that my dad told me, when I was fifteen, he was like, “All you need to know about improvising is that you just think of a melody and you play it, and after you play the melody you thought of a few times, you start messing with it.” So you play it, and add a note here or subtract a note there, and he’s like, “That’s all you’ve got to do and then it’s a great solo!” Because a melody isn’t just playing notes randomly, it has purpose. You want your solos to have purpose. My dad told me that fifteen years ago and I just didn’t hear him. I wasn’t ready to hear him. It took the guitar and years and years of singing, as well, to put it all together and arrive at the destination my dad tried to usher me to. 

I’m a picker and a teacher as well, and I’m sure you’ve had this happen, you’ll get students who are so intimidated by the idea of improvising, I’ve had students just cry when you say, “Can you try improvising something?” 

It’s a touchy subject! It’s like singing, how people are way more sensitive about their singing. They’ll show you their drum licks all day, but you ask them to sing and they’re like, “Noooo!!” 

It’s the vulnerability! 

It’s a new level of vulnerability. But here’s the thing, it’s not very hard, all you have to do is just listen to a crapload of music, stuff a bunch of melodies into your brain, and then, just think about all of the melodies you know and think about them a lot. Always listen to music. Keep listening to the music you already have listened to and listen to new music. If you’re constantly listening then you’re going to be sitting on stage and everyone’s going to point to you to solo — say Cm going to F — BOOM! All of a sudden you’re playing, [Sings] “They smile in your face/ All the time they wanna take your place” on the guitar. You’re playing “Back Stabbers,” because suddenly  you’re going from Cm to F7 and you know it will sound good. You know? [Laughs] Because you’ve heard that melody and it’s not very hard! A beginner could play it. [Hums line] But you’re crushing it with some tone and everybody in the audience is thinking you’re a master. When really, what you’re playing is not that hard. It’s just musical. 

My jaw literally dropped when I was doing my research for this interview — you released five projects in 2020. Two double, live albums, the two volumes of Jackie the Robot, and also Vintage Machine. You also landed in the top ten of Pollstar’s livestream chart for the entire year. I hear you say “the train ground to a halt,” and I see a new train that didn’t just start up, but is roaring. I’m sure you see that, too. What does that pivot feel like now that you’ve got some retrospect. 

In that moment, it felt really busy, but it also felt kind of maddening. I was busy, but I was never leaving my house. Then it felt crazy. And in the next moment after that, the numbers started to juice. For a couple of months it was full stop, for a couple of months it was maddening like, “Wow, these numbers are really rad, maybe this is the way.” A couple of months after that I knew this was definitely the way. I stumbled upon the way. I was walking along on a path and then that path had like, a giant tree fall over it and I couldn’t go down it anymore. I saw this side path — you know when you’re in the woods and you see a path but you’re not sure it’s a path or if your eyes are just tricking you? 

“Is that a deer trail or is that actually a trail?”

Right. Is that really a trail? It’s like, “I don’t know… but there’s also a giant tree over the path I was on. Can’t go that way. I guess I’m going to go down this path, I hope there’s not too much poison ivy…” [Laughs]

That was the livestream path. There was maybe one creature that walked down this path, one way, one time. It appears there’s a path, but it clearly hasn’t been followed very often. That’s what it felt like, to be on this uncertain path, which then ends up opening up and it turns out I was right the whole time. The way I feel now is not the way I felt when it was all happening. The way I feel now is all because of having retrospect on my side. And the development — the direction things are going in. It’s a lot more clear than it was six months ago. 

 

I have found myself repeating throughout the pandemic that we should be building the world we want to exist after the pandemic while we’re in it. To me that’s what it sounds like you’re describing, finding this other path. Looking to the future, what will you be bringing with you from this time, into whatever a post-COVID reality looks like? 

The thing I’m taking with me is the fact that there’s never any need to be desperate, there’s never any reason to act out of desperation. There’s no person or contract to be signed that holds the “keys to the kingdom.” There is no kingdom. We are IN the kingdom. We just exist within different perspectives of it. Maybe your perspective in the kingdom right now is that you’re a baby band, you’ve just established yourself. You’re in the same kingdom as Beyoncé! You’re just standing in a different spot than her. There are thousands of spots you can stand in this kingdom. Beyoncé’s spot isn’t the only one that’s good. There are lots of places to stand! Millions of artists, that you don’t know about, are standing in pretty sweet spots in this kingdom that we all exist within, together. 

There’s no person that’s going to give you her spot. She got to her spot by her own weird, twisty trail to get there. Maybe a deer walked down it once! She took her own path. You’re not going to be able to recreate that, but she just took a path to get to a spot, not the kingdom itself. You consider that spot the kingdom, but we’re all in the kingdom already. The way we used to live had this weird illusion that we all had to climb these ladders, but really you just need to get where you want to be. You don’t need to climb that same ladder just because someone else climbed it, and they’re famous, and you’ve got to do what they did. It doesn’t make any sense, it’s completely futile, and you’re going to just be spinning in your hamster wheel, stuck in the same vantage point. There’s not one guy or gatekeeper who can unlock everything for you. There are people who will say they can, but what happens? You end up stuck at one spot, one vantage point. There’s no one person, one artist who has it all.

All photos: Ismael Quintanilla III

The BGS Radio Hour – Episode 189

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

For the first time, we are so excited to bring to you the BGS Radio Hour in podcast form! Since 2017 the BGS Radio Hour has been a weekly recap of the wonderful music, new and old, that we’ve covered here on BGS. Check back in every Monday to kick your weeks off with the best of BGS via the BGS Radio Hour.


LISTEN: APPLE MUSIC

Shemekia Copeland – “Clotilda’s on Fire”

Highly awarded modern blues artist — and our current Artist of the Month — Shemekia Copeland brings us a new release, Uncivil War, offering us a number of topical songs with perspectives on gun violence, LGBTQ+ rights, and more.

StillHouse Junkies – “Mountains of New Mexico”

Colorado-based StillHouse Junkies bring us a classic murder ballad inside an ode to the American West.

Marc Scibilia – “Good Times”

Recent 5+5 guest Marc Scibilia brings us a song from his new release, Seed of Joy.

Leyla McCalla – “Song for a Dark Girl”

Leyla McCalla (who you may know from folk supergroup Our Native Daughters) brings us a song from her new Smithsonian Folkways re-release, Vari-Colored Songs: a Tribute to Langston Hughes.

My Darling Clementine – “I Lost You”

UK-based duo My Darling Clementine brings us a new interpretation of an Elvis Costello/Jim Lauderdale co-write.

The Caleb Daugherty Band – “Daylight’s Burning”

The Caleb Daugherty Band pays tribute to Aubrey Holt of the acclaimed Boys From Indiana with a cover of “Daylight’s Burning.”

Madison Cunningham – “The Age Of Worry”

Madison Cunningham is back on BGS with a brand new EP, Wednesday, an interpretation of a handful of cover songs chosen by the California-based singer, songwriter, and guitarist.

Adam Hurt – “The Scolding Wife”

“Clawhammerist” Adam Hurt was a recent feature on Tunesday Tuesday with a solo gourd banjo rendition of “The Scolding Wife.”

The Avett Brothers – “Victory”

Everyone’s favorite roots music brothers — that is, the Avett Brothers — are back with The Third Gleam, a follow up to the first and second Gleam EPs. Much like their earlier sounds, the new record is stripped down, with timely discussions of gun violence, mortality, and the human condition. Check out our conversation with Scott, Seth, and Bob Crawford.

Jeff Cramer and the Wooden Sound – “Aimless Love”

Denver-based singer-songwriter Jeff Cramer brings us an edition of The Shed Sessions along with his band the Wooden Sound, and a wonderful tribute to the late, great John Prine.

Max Gomez – “He Was a Friend of Mine”

Regular friend of BGS, Max Gomez brings us a timely, social justice-inspired song.

Mipso – “Your Body”

Pop string band Mipso is just one of so many great North Carolina groups that we’re proud to feature this month in our Made in NC playlist for #NCMusicMonth!

Julian Taylor – “Love Enough”

Julian Taylor was the guest of honor on our most recent episode of Shout & Shine, a series that serves as a platform for Black, Brown, Indigenous, Asian, LGBTQ+, and disabled musicians, who are so often marginalized in genres to which they’ve constantly contributed.

Tony Trischka – “Carry Me Over The Sea”

Quintessential banjo legend Tony Trischka was featured this week with a new single from his 2021 release, Shall We Hope, that also features Irish singer Maura O’Connell.

Susan Werner – “To Be There”

Like many, Susan Werner is currently hoping for better times. And better times is what this Carter Family-inspired number is all about.

Photo credit: (L to R) Tony Trischka by Zoe Trischka; Shemekia Copeland by Mike White; Leyla McCalla by Rush Jagoe.

Afro-Indigenous Songwriter Julian Taylor Connects Family and Folk on ‘The Ridge’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Canadian singer-songwriter Julian Taylor didn’t set out to make a country record with The Ridge, but the album oozes with authentic tinges of the vibrant, pan-Canadian roots music scene. Based for most of his career in Toronto, it’s not surprising that the album (produced by Saam Hashemi) feels crisp, modern, and listenable, but its inextricable linkage to place — namely, the titular Maple Ridge, British Columbia, where Taylor summered on his grandparents’ farm as a child — ensures the folky, rootsy facets of the album feel entirely intuitive, raw, and perfectly placed.

Of course, Taylor is quick to point out that the pre-genre, elemental quality of The Ridge not only stems from his decades in music or geography alone, but from his family, their shared musical connections, and his Indigenous roots. His grandparents and family members feature heavily across the eight original songs’ lyrics, and cousins Gene and Barry Diabo join the band on drums and bass, respectively, literally underpinning the entire project with a sonic connection to Taylor’s Mohawk and West Indian roots. That The Ridge is a critically-acclaimed, stunning work of country-folk is due entirely to his commitment to compassion, empathy, family, and letting all of the above stand on their own merits. 

BGS connected with Taylor via phone ahead of his Shout & Shine livestream performance, available to watch live on BGS, our Facebook page, and YouTube channel on November 11 at 7pm ET / 4pm PT. 

Watch Julian Taylor’s Shout & Shine performance above.

BGS: I wanted to start by asking you about The Ridge’s connection to place, because it sounds like your story is a pretty classic, roots music/country story — spending your summers on your grandparents’ farm in British Columbia — and the title track evokes the western wild of Canada. Can you talk about the geographical spaces you’re evoking on the album and the longing I hear for them?

Taylor: When I think about Maple Ridge, BC, we’re going back now probably thirty-five years. It’s almost as if, when I close my eyes, I can see the road leading up to the house. There’s a big hill, and my grandfather used to like old cars — it’s funny, I say “old cars,” but I suppose back then they weren’t. So there’d be a big old Buick, a Mustang, and I remember taking the Buick up that hill. You’d have to get the mail way down the driveway, literally a city block’s distance, where everybody had a mailbox and you’d grab the mail, go back up the path, past these two huge trees. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to British Columbia, but I came from Toronto going to visit my grandparents, and I was always in awe of how big everything was. The trees were bigger, the mountains were there, everything was bigger. Even the slugs were bigger! [Laughs]

[My grandparents] lived in a wonderful house, a couple of wonderful places actually, one of them backed up to the Alouette River and you could see the salmon spawn. They had farmland where they had horses and a chicken coop by the horse’s stables, fields where the horses could graze, and in the basement of the house they bred boxers — the dogs. My life would’ve been composed of getting up in the morning with my grandmother, taking care of the horses, my grandfather would take me swimming because he liked to do that at the community pool in town. After that it’d be fishing, hiking, farming, and just a lot of nature. That’s what we did. 

To me, the way you’re describing it with so much imagery, it’s really clear that these memories are indelible for you. I think that comes through the music — it’s not just that you’re text-painting to check the boxes of what a country aesthetic is, you’re painting a literal picture you see in your head. 

This is true, I didn’t set out to create a country record. I didn’t, I just wrote these words and those were the melodies and arrangements that came to my mind. It was certainly, for me, more of a folk element than a country one. 

This record feels like it bridges the gap between your life in Toronto and your experiences in British Columbia, and I mean in the way it sounds, its production, its arrangements. The music is crisp and clean and feels very polished, but there’s still this raw, sort of natural element that I feel like is the mixing of rural and city. Do you agree or disagree? 

Now that you mention it, I can hear it and I know what you’re talking about. Before you had mentioned it, I didn’t. It’s a very interesting thing, because I would say the rawness of it is because these are takes that are completely right off the floor, there’s no overdubs except for when we added the fiddle, the pedal steel, and the girls’ voices. Those were the only overdubs, because we couldn’t fit everybody in the room. My cousins Gene and Barry, they’re from Kahnawake, the Indian reservation close to Montréal, so we’d go and play, jam at the campfire, jam on the back porch, jam in the garage, and we’ve been doing that for years.

So when I asked them to be part of this record, I deliberately only sent them songs that were acoustic-based, and didn’t really tell them what I wanted, because I wanted this rawness and I wanted to sing the songs as they were. That’s why I think that particular [sound is evident], it’s a family affair, there’s a conversation between the core band that’s happening anyways. Saam Hashemi, who co-produced and engineered the record, he’s from the UK originally, he’s now Canadian, and we’ve worked together before. His production style is very pristine, the way that he captured it. That’s not deliberate, but it’s a wonderful hybrid for you to pick up on it. I hope others did and after this I hope that more do!

To me, part of this record sounding so country comes out of that Western Canada, American Midwest, Great Plains tradition of Indigenous country music and country bands that come from that region. Is that a community you operate in or interact with? Was that an influence for you, pulling from the generations-long tradition of hardscrabble, garage band, Saturday-night-at-the-local-bar Indigenous country bands of the rural Canadian and American west? 

Absolutely, I wouldn’t say that it’s the West or Midwest, for me, because it directly comes from the East, actually, oddly enough! My family are East Coast Indigenous people, my mom’s family is from Kahnawake. It does come from that kitchen party, grab-your-guitar, grab-whatever-you-got — doesn’t matter if it’s a pot or a pan. It comes from that aesthetic, for sure. Absolutely! When you research that aesthetic, it’s not necessarily a country feel, either. It has elements of country and blues. Blues is very big in that, too. The way that my cousins are playing on The Ridge, there’s a gentle sort of shuffle that’s very indicative of what we’re talking about, yet it has this kind of swing to it at the same time. It’s like a country swing. That happens on a lot of the tracks where you can really feel it. On “Ballad of the Young Troubadour,” on the conga and upright bass you can feel it really strongly, as well. It’s a garage band aesthetic, for sure. 

It’s a very Indigenous thing! If you go back and watch movies like Rumble: The Indians Who Rocked the World it’s interesting because the history of American roots music — in my personal opinion, I’ve read books on this and stuff, I know others think differently — without Indigenous people and without Black people we wouldn’t have roots music at all. 

Yep. Full stop. It’s that simple. 

[Laughs] Yes! Full stop. Exactly. It’s interesting to see so many new Americana artists that are Indigenous and Black, I’m really so honored to be even considered in that group of people!

I wanted to ask you about “Human Race,” because I think that song pretty clearly lays out a framework for creating empathy and understanding and I wanted to ask you where that comes from, within you, specifically. Empathy is such an individual thing, I’m always interested in how people take it from being intensely individual and personal and turn it into something universal and relatable. What is that process like for you? Especially in writing “Human Race?” 

That empathy comes across and feels universal because I know someone who is deeply close to me that has suffered from mental disabilities and mental illness and it has affected me and my family. You learn from a very young age, even before you know exactly what it is, that you have to be quiet and patient. You have to be strong, yet at the same time very gentle. You have to allow these loved ones’ triumphs and their dreams to be bigger than anything that you can possibly imagine, just so that they have an opportunity to express themselves in a way that makes them feel important. In writing the song, my message to this particular person was that I believe in them, their strength, and their pain — and to acknowledge that I go through all of those feelings too, just like they do. That’s how that song became so universal, by allowing myself to let go and also praise someone that I absolutely adore. 

What have listeners’ or fans’ reactions to “Human Race” been like? 

When I first posted it I think people really were shocked and gravitated to it in such a way that I didn’t realize would happen. This is the song that led me to believe I had to put this record out earlier than I was intending to. It was around the time the pandemic lockdown here in Canada started, so it touched a lot of souls. I was very pleased that it did. I think the aspects of the song about inner peace and overcoming challenges resonate with people. 

It feels like “It’s Not Enough” is a song about grace, about how we all are enough, but through the opposite lens. So I wanted to ask you about the idea of applying grace to ourselves, especially right now when that feels so much more difficult. 

Applying grace to ourselves is such a difficult thing to do, but such a necessary thing to do. People who think and think a lot, other people don’t realize just how much work that is and how tiring it is to try to figure out what’s on your mind, just as simple as that. I’m a person who feels compassion for other people and myself, but I’m also extremely difficult on myself and hard on myself — as most people would say, we are our own worst critics in a lot of ways. I’m trying to be a little less critical with myself and, in turn, with others. I’m trying to accept what is. I think this song, “It’s Not Enough,” in a way is insinuating that for humans to not to believe that is kind of an insidious frame of mind. 

Can you tell me about the final track, “Ola Let’s Dance?” There’s a meditative quality to the refrain that resonates with me, the way it’s almost like a mantra, really intentional in the way you’re delivering it. Where does that song come from? 

Well, I was thinking about beats in my attic where I do a lot of my demos. The beat came first, I just held onto it forever and ever and ever and ever and ever, just sitting. When my grandmother had passed away, and my grandfather had passed years before, we had to go out and collect all of her stuff. I was the one that inherited most of it. It’s sitting in my attic as we speak. Just rummaging through memories and stuff I found poetry that was written by my grandfather. The poem I recite in “Ola Let’s Dance” was not written by me; it was written by my grandfather, John Thomas Skanks. I just loved it so much, I had to try to write it into a song. I came up with the guitar part — it was very tribal, I wanted the whole thing to feel very tribal. It’s probably the furthest thing from a country or folk song on the record, yet it comes out like that anyway. [Laughs] It’s really bizarre! 

The amalgamation of my maternal grandparents is what that song exemplifies, to me. I was trying to sing it, trying to put a melody to it, ‘til one day I just said, “Why don’t I just recite it and see what happens?” [Laughs] I did it and everyone was like, “YUP! That’s how it’s going to go.” My maternal grandmother’s name was Ola. She taught dance at the University of Buffalo for a little while. She raised four girls on her own, doing what she could to survive, and ended up teaching dance. So the song, in my heart, is both the meeting and separation of my grandparents, which brought me to life. 

Photo credit: Lisa MacIntosh

Shout & Shine is proudly supported by Preston Thompson Guitars.

‘Color Me Country’ Host Rissi Palmer Finds a Musical Home in North Carolina

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Between caring for her two kids and hosting her brand new show, Color Me Country, on Apple Music Country, singer/songwriter and creator Rissi Palmer has had plenty to keep her busy since the touring industry shut down due to coronavirus. 

This week, Palmer will take part in our fifth annual Shout & Shine Online as part of IBMA’s World of Bluegrass conference and festival, performing a song from her most recent album, Revival. BGS jumped on the phone with Palmer to talk about the showcase, the musical heritage of North Carolina (her home for the past ten years), her musical community, Color Me Country, and more. 

(Editor’s note: Watch Shout & Shine Online here on October 3 at 2pm ET)

BGS: The production end of things has felt really different this year, putting Shout & Shine Online together virtually rather than in-person, like the last four years. But I bet being a performer feels pretty different to you in a pandemic right now as well? 

Rissi Palmer: The performance part of it is extremely strange. I’ll be perfectly honest, I don’t like doing livestreams. [Laughs] I do them, because that’s what we have to do, but yeah. Not a big fan. 

As far as the other [aspects], though, I have to say the time at home has been good for getting projects done. I’ll be honest with you, Color Me Country, I had been thinking about doing it for at least a year, but I didn’t have time, ’cause I was out on the road and doing all this stuff. Once we got to be home, once quarantine was happening, I had a little time — not a lot, because I have two children — to start working on it and actually sitting down and focusing. At the same time, with everything that’s going on I found it really hard to write. I’m flooded with a lot of different emotions right now, so I want to be creative, but the easiest thing for me has been channeling a lot of my feelings and frustrations into my show, not so much the music. I hate it, but I’m not being as musically creative as I’d like to be. It’s hard, I’m having a hard time. 

I did want to talk about Color Me Country, because Shout & Shine was created to literally provide a space for othered folks, marginalized folks, to exist within these genre formats and communities that have — whether stereotypically or traditionally or both — been white spaces for so long, and straight spaces for so long, and male spaces for so long. Shout & Shine is a space that’s not owned by any of the above, where we can celebrate the marginalized and underrepresented folks who have always been in these musics. I see you doing the same thing with Color Me Country. 

That’s exactly what Color Me Country is. That’s what I wanted to do. I feel like so many times, as an artist of color in a genre that is predominately white, you’re mostly talking to white journalists. You’re mostly talking to white outlets. A lot of times you are othered. I don’t think people do it to be mean, I don’t think it’s done in malice or anything like that. It just ends up being one of the more interesting parts of the interview, it’s more interesting to ask an interviewee [about identity or race]. For me, in my experience — and I can’t speak for everybody else — I spent most of my interviews when my album first came out in 2007 talking about being Black, not really talking about my art. That starts to wear on you after a while! 

When you’re in a situation where you know that you’re a part of “the system” and you don’t necessarily want to bite the hand that feeds you, you can’t be as honest as you want to be. You don’t want people to be immediately turned off. That’s how I felt as a new artist in a lot of ways. Now that I’m on my own and I’m older, I feel differently about the world and I have lots of opinions. [Laughs] I recognize the power in my platform that I didn’t recognize thirteen years ago. [With Color Me Country] I was just like, there has to be somewhere people can just talk. And not just talk about race, but about music and being a musician. A space free from worrying about alienating anybody or offending anyone. It’s just being honest.

Outside of the fact that I’m Black, outside of the fact that I’m a woman, I’m also a musician. I’ve been in a lot of the same rooms that these other artists have been in. I’ve had a lot of the experiences that they’ve had. So [on the show] we’re speaking to each other as peers. It’s an easier situation, I find. I end up getting stories or confessions or thoughts that people wouldn’t normally share. I think that’s good! I sometimes end up revealing things about myself in these conversations, because we’re being honest with each other. That’s what I wanted, because I didn’t feel like I had an outlet like that. Not that people weren’t kind to me or any of that, I just never felt that safe. 

The local connection of Shout & Shine has been a really important part of our mission, in years where we’ve held the showcase during IBMA’s conference in Raleigh in-person, connecting the show to the legacy of North Carolina’s roots music has been a part every year. The stories of bluegrass and country are tied so tightly to North Carolina, so I wanted to ask you about your connection to the state and what about its musical history and community that resonates with you?

First of all, I have been a North Carolinian for ten years now. I absolutely love it here. I live in Durham and specifically in our community — and I’ve lived in Los Angeles, I’ve lived in Nashville, I’ve lived in New York and Atlanta — I have to say this particular music community is my favorite. I say that because there are so many types of music here! There are so many really ridiculously talented people. I think that has something to do with the fact there are so many colleges here — or there’s something in the water! Really, nationally important music is being made here. Everyone is so open and so giving. It’s one of the few music communities that actually feels like a community. I know for me, being here has made me a better artist.

Being in Nashville, being in New York and being a part of the rat race, you tend to think in terms of commerciality and sales and that sort of thing, monetizing your creativity. Whereas here, mind you we want to make money, I’m always looking for ways to make money, but here it’s more like, “How can you use your art to help your community? How can you use your art to collaborate with these people for this cause?” Everywhere I turn there’s a way to use my platform, my voice, my art to elevate something. That’s really awesome and for me, that’s made my art more global. 

Just look at the art that comes out of here! Everything is extremely conscious, it’s thoughtful; I think that whatever is happening with the artists here, it resonates. Showing people what’s going on here and exposing it [to the world] is really important, because there’s so much good stuff here. 

Speaking of collaborations, your Shout & Shine Online performance includes Omar Ruiz-Lopez on a song you wrote called “You Were Here.” The performance is excellent and exquisite and we won’t give it away entirely, but tell us a bit about working with Omar and the song? 

First of all, I’m super excited to be a part of it! I was so excited when I got the email. Omar and Lizzy [Ross] of Violet Bell are two of my favorite people in the world. I think the world of them. They’re so ridiculously stupid talented. It’s not even funny. 

In 2018 I was a part of an artist in residency for like a week and we were all put in a house, the Oyster House, out on the coast. It was myself, Violet Bell, XOXOK — Keenan Jenkins, he’s local he’s amazing as well. We were there with a couple of playwrights, some artists, and we were in this house for a week. We got along really well, we’d jam at night, that sort of a thing. We all formed such tight relationships between us musicians, so any time we can perform together we try to make it happen. Omar actually played on the record of the song I did for the performance and so when I got the email and knew I was going to do this I knew I had to call Omar. Not only that, I was just chomping at the bit to have another musician in the shot with me!! I’m so sick of playing things by myself! [Laughs] I wanted to make it big and beautiful.

Another thing I just thought of while we’re talking, the song I’m doing is called “You Were Here.” It’s from my new album, Revival, and it’s about a miscarriage that I had in 2018. I had just met Lizzy and Omar and had just found out I was pregnant when we did the residency. The day that everything started happening I was actually in the studio with them — I didn’t even think about that, I was recording on their record. There was no one else I could do this with. 

Omar plays emotionally and that’s what this song needed. I remember when I called him to track on it, he did it in about two takes. We were sitting in the studio just bawling while we were recording it. He did an excellent job. I couldn’t imagine sharing this moment with anybody else. 

Photo courtesy of the artist.

Meet the Full Lineup of Shout & Shine Online

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

The entire BGS team is pretty stoked for our fifth year of Shout & Shine performances! In 2016 we partnered with PineCone Piedmont Council of Traditional Music in Raleigh, NC to showcase diversity in bluegrass and roots music at IBMA’s World of Bluegrass business conference and festival. In doing so, a wonderful platform has been provided to artists so often overlooked, as well as those just starting their journeys in the music industry.

Things are a bit different this go ‘round, and we’ll be celebrating equity and inclusion in a more pandemic-suited way this year with Shout & Shine Online! The showcase will take place Saturday, October 3rd at 2pm ET — viewers can tune in right here on BGS, or on our Facebook page or YouTube channel, as well as via PineCone’s channels, and IBMA’s conference platform, Swapcard (free music pass registration available here).

 

In celebration, we’ve put together a preview of what you can look forward to during Shout & Shine Online.

Brandi Waller-Pace

BGS joined hands with Decolonizing the Music Room’s founder Brandi Waller-Pace to curate 2020’s lineup. “The mission of Decolonizing the Music Room is to center Black, Brown, Indigenous, and Asian voices, knowledge, and experiences within the field of music education,” says Waller-Pace. “In addition to that, it is part of DTMR’s core values that we are an openly LGBTQ+ affirming non-profit organization. I am honored to have served as curator for this year’s Shout & Shine and to have had this opportunity to partner with BGS and PineCone on work that highlights a convergence of our values.”

Here you can see Waller-Pace along with Caitlin Hearn playing an old-time standard, “Five Miles From Town.” Waller-Pace’s music is dripping with that sweet, old-timey-ness.

Rissi Palmer

The IBMA isn’t the only thing we love in Raleigh — there’s also Rissi Palmer. In 2007 she released “Country Girl,” making her the first African American woman on the country charts in over 20 years. She’s been releasing consistently powerful music since, leading all the way up to her most recent album, Revival. On top of all of this, Palmer hosts the new Apple Music Country radio show, Color Me Country: a conversation between herself and various Black and Brown women in country/Americana/roots music. We can’t wait to have her right here on BGS!

Sunny War

You may have already seen our friend Sunny War’s episode 2 of our monthly Shout & Shine series. In our interview that came out earlier this month, War speaks about her current outlook on the music scene and how it feels to be surrounded by new “activist” musicians who weren’t doing it before, as well as her incredibly unique guitar style.

Kaïa Kater

Kaïa Kater is no stranger at BGS. She has been featuring in a Cover Story, she’s written an op-ed, and she’s had some important conversations with other musicians. Needless to stay, we’re ecstatic to have this Afro-Caribbean-Canadian songwriter and Appalachian musician back for Shout & Shine Online!

Stephanie Anne Johnson

While Stephanie Anne Johnson’s music is often rooted in America’s painful past, it’s always got down home roots. Maybe that’s why they’ve got the “American Blues.” A veteran of NBC’s The Voice, Johnson is the leader of Tacoma-based band The Hidogs, whose most recent album is entitled Take This Love.

Jerron “Blind Boy” Paxton

Blind Boy Paxton’s music is something of a journey back in time. But his songs and stories aren’t from dusty old books or archives — they are the soundtrack of his growing up in south-central Los Angeles, among the largest Creole and Cajun population outside of Louisiana. Our friend Paxton has been featured in our Shout & Shine column before, but Shout & Shine Online is his appearance on the showcase. We couldn’t be more excited!

Tray Wellington Band

North Carolina’s Tray Wellington is an acclaimed progressive banjo player — and he’s only 21. From his 2019 IBMA awards — one for Momentum Instrumentalist of the Year and another for Momentum Band of the Year with his former group Cane Mill Road — it’s easy to tell what a bright future he’s got in the world of bluegrass and beyond. He’ll be joining us with his whole band!

Amythyst Kiah

You may know her from Our Native Daughters, or our BGS Class of 2019  — either way, Amythyst Kiah is one of the most powerful, raw, and soulful singers and songwriters the roots music scene has today. We’re beyond thrilled that she’ll be joining us to anchor the Shout & Shine Online lineup!

Photos courtesy of the artists
Poster design by Grant Prettyman, Belhum

Shout & Shine Online Highlighting Black Roots Artists Set for Oct. 3

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

For five years now BGS and our partners at PineCone Piedmont Council of Traditional Music have used our voices, resources, and positivity to lift up and celebrate diversity in bluegrass and roots music through the Shout & Shine showcase. These live performances have given a platform to those artists who have been overlooked, while illuminating the paths of those starting out on uphill journeys in our music community. This year, the event’s 5th annual iteration will follow a format more suitable for a worldwide pandemic — with an all-online showcase as part of IBMA’s Virtual World of Bluegrass.

Shout & Shine Online will feature these artists from across the genre map of roots music: Rissi Palmer, host of Apple Music Country’s brand new radio show, ‘Color Me Country‘; IBMA Momentum Award winning banjoist Tray Wellington; punk-influenced fingerstyle guitarist and songwriter Sunny War; down-home blues and old-time musician Jerron “Blind Boy” Paxton; The Voice alumnus and guitar picker Stephanie Anne Johnson; and returning favorites Kaia Kater and Amythyst Kiah, who make their first appearance at Shout & Shine since playing on its debut lineup in 2016.

Shout & Shine Online’s roster is curated by performing musician and Decolonizing the Music Room founder and Executive Director, Brandi Waller-Pace. Shout & Shine Online will take place at 2 pm ET Saturday, October 3. Viewers will be able to tune in right here on BGS, or on our Facebook page or YouTube channel, via PineCone’s channels, and via IBMA’s conference platform, Swapcard (registration available here).

(L to R) Marcy Marxer, Alice Gerrard, Cathy Fink, and Tatiana Hargreaves perform at 2017 Shout & Shine showcase.

While Shout & Shine has continually championed underrepresented and marginalized folks in roots music, this year’s event comes at a time of reckoning in this country’s ongoing battle against institutionalized racism. “This year, Shout & Shine’s mission is as clear and galvanized as ever,” says BGS editor and Shout & Shine producer, Justin Hiltner. “Our lineup is a direct response to this current iteration of the Black Lives Matter movement and the righteous rebellion against police brutality and systemic racial injustice in this country. The greater bluegrass community needs to be having these conversations and needs to be centering the voices and perspectives of Black folks — especially Black queer folks. We saw that as our role this year.” 

BGS joined hands with Decolonizing the Music Room’s founder Brandi Waller-Pace to curate 2020’s lineup. “The mission of Decolonizing the Music Room is to center Black, Brown, Indigenous, and Asian voices, knowledge, and experiences within the field of music education,” says Waller-Pace. “In addition to that, it is part of DTMR’s core values that we are an openly LGBTQ+ affirming non-profit organization. I am honored to have served as curator for this year’s Shout & Shine and to have had this opportunity to partner with BGS and PineCone on work that highlights a convergence of our values.”

“In addition to Shout & Shine’s continued work centering the music and stories of underrepresented artists in the bluegrass community, we also continue to work toward making these programs as accessible and inclusive as possible. We’re providing American Sign Language interpretation for the entire Shout & Shine program, modeling what can be done and what we continue to work toward in making accessibility central to our work,” said Jamie Katz Court, Communications & Programs Manager for PineCone, the Raleigh-based roots music organization that has partnered with us on Shout & Shine since 2017. PineCone also produces the festival, IBMA Bluegrass Live! powered by PNC.

The showcase was first conceived in 2016 to celebrate diversity and inclusion at the International Bluegrass Music Association’s business conference and festival in Raleigh, North Carolina. Originally organized in response to the North Carolina General Assembly’s homophobic bathroom bill, HB2, the scope of the event immediately widened to include and celebrate not only the LGBTQ+ community, but any and all marginalized folks in roots music. Shout & Shine stages have included the most exciting emerging talent alongside bluegrass legends and stalwarts, with lineups that have boasted the Ebony Hillbillies, Alice Gerrard, Cathy Fink & Marcy Marxer, Laurie Lewis & the Right Hands, Missy Raines, Amythyst Kiah, Kaia Kater, Che Apalache, and many, many more.

Shout & Shine is also a monthly editorial feature, which debuted with world-renowned drag queen Trixie Mattel’s first-ever interview by a roots music publication. In 2020 the column grew into a monthly livestream series that has already featured harpist and songwriter Lizzie No and fingerstyle guitarist Sunny War, part of a six-month series focused on Black artists and creators in roots music. The next episode will follow Shout & Shine Online in November. Whether on stage, in print, or online, Shout & Shine’s mission has always been celebrating the marginalized and underrepresented folks of all identities, backgrounds, faith traditions, and abilities who make and love bluegrass music.

Tune in Saturday, October 3 at 2pm ET for Shout & Shine Online!

Lede photo (L to R): Kaia Kater (by Todd Cooper); Stephanie Anne Johnson (courtesy of the artist); Amythyst Kiah (Anna Hedges).
Poster art by Grant Prettyman, Belhum

BGS Launches Shout & Shine Video Series with Black Harpist & Songwriter Lizzie No

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Like many of us, Lizzie No is weary of quarantine. Yet as the New York City musician and harpist joins BGS on the phone to talk about her life in pandemic isolation, her songwriting, her creative processes, and the growing pains intrinsic to all of the above, the joy in her voice cracks through the fatigued outer layers we all wear right now. A Black creator in traditionally white genres, No brings a distinct and important perspective to help guide longtime BGS column Shout & Shine into a new era.

In 2017, Shout & Shine began as an interview series dedicated to exploring identity, advocacy, and marginalization, along with the ways these paradigms filter into music and art, especially of roots varieties. Taking today’s civil unrest and righteous rebellions into account, we’ve purposefully refocused this column’s mission with the hope of giving a platform to Black musicians in roots music specifically, because these spaces too often relegate Black, Brown, Indigenous, and Asian voices to the sidelines.

Now, in addition to interviews and an upcoming podcast, BGS is proud to announce Shout & Shine will be moving to video! Lizzie No is our debut guest for the livestream version of Shout & Shine, which comprises short-form, intimate video performances by underrepresented and marginalized artists in Americana, folk, and bluegrass.

Lizzie No’s Shout & Shine set, presented by Preston Thompson Guitars, will feature a brand new song, “Mourning Dove Waltz,” and will be streamed live on BGS, our YouTube channel, and Facebook page on August 5 at 4pm PT / 7pm ET. In the meantime, read a little more about No’s songwriting, her approach to roots-driven harp, and her thoughts on tokenism — and why white folks perhaps shouldn’t feel free to lead that kind of conversation.

Editor’s Note: You can watch Lizzie No’s Shout & Shine performance in full below:

BGS: I wanted to start — and this is a little selfish — with “Mourning Dove Waltz,” because I’m an avid birdwatcher and in shelter-in-place everyone is watching birds! This song is not only about quarantine, but also the idea of being in an old space, but with new intention. Can you tell us a little bit about that song, through the lens of isolation, and creativity in isolation?

Lizzie No: That’s a brand new song and I think you can tell I wrote it during quarantine. I was never terribly interested in birds before March of this year. My mom always loved and delighted in them and I always thought it was very cute, but they never captured my attention. Right as we were truly locked down here in New York and a lot of people were making the decision to try to go somewhere else, it felt like there weren’t any rules anymore. I decided to stay here in my apartment and I ended up having so many hours, especially first thing in the morning, where I would just sit and try to make the day’s activities stretch out over the longest period of time possible so I wouldn’t go insane. 

That’s when I started to notice a couple of Mourning Doves had nested in my plant boxes on my balcony. It felt miraculous to get to watch them every single day through the balcony door. [They] laid two eggs, we watched them hatch, we posted about them on Instagram, we took name suggestions. It was this unfolding thing I didn’t think I cared about until I had this uninterrupted time where I didn’t need to be doing anything other than staying calm. I was pretty much on these birds’ schedule. I noticed when they took their breaks in the middle of the day and when mom and dad would switch places. Of course, this is so cheesy, but I felt a real loss when the babies grew up and flew away. As a songwriter, it led me to thinking about losing people. About losing a sense of connection. That’s what led to that song. 

The harp is one of my favorite instruments, but through no fault of its own — besides maybe its complexity — it’s not common in roots genres. How did you find it, and how did you infuse it into your songwriting and artistry?

After giving up on violin as a kid [Laughs] I thought harp was one of the biggest and weirdest and coolest-looking instruments. I took lessons for all of elementary, middle, and high schools and then I hit the point in high school where friends were starting bands and I wanted to be part of it. I wanted to be able to sing and play and strum along while singing, but I didn’t play guitar and I didn’t play piano; I played harp. Basically the harp just had to catch up with my evolving interests in the Indigo Girls and Brandi Carlile. That’s where I was at when I was 16. 

I didn’t really see any examples of people who were doing that — though now I know that there are. I think I saw videos of people like Joanna Newsom and Edmar Castañeda, people who weren’t playing the classical music that I was used to. Then I tried to just treat it like a bass, then trying to pick out a few chords. The motto being, “Nothing too fancy.” I wanted to get to a point where I could play and sing at the same time. That’s when I was first starting to write songs, so the skills developed together. 

I can notice that! I notice mainly because I play banjo and songwrite on banjo, and it’s such a different beast than writing on piano or guitar. There are so many similarities in the way you’re writing and backing yourself up. Especially in the way you’re comping on harp, it reminds me so much of banjo rolls — how John Hartford or Ashley Campbell or Béla Fleck, banjoists that might have more “composed” songs, might play. Do you see those similarities? 

That’s a very kind comparison! That’s the kind of music I listen to, but it’s funny because I don’t feel like I really have any harp inspirations to my playing — which is not to say I’m not inspired by great harpists, because of course I am, but that’s not really what influences me when I’m writing songs and figuring out how the harp is going to fit into the songwriting. Someone like Béla Fleck especially, I listen to his playing a lot and those are the types of textures and rhythms that I’m hearing when I’m writing on harp. Rather than something that actually contains a harp. [Laughs]

For the remainder of the year, our Shout & Shine series will be devoted to Black artists and part of that is in response to the current rebellion against racial injustice and police brutality — and also due to the heightened awareness of how Black voices and forebears in country and roots music have been erased for so long. Do you worry about this sudden uptick in enthusiasm and awareness resulting in more tokenization of Black artists? And I have to add a quick aside, because it is intrinsically tokenizing for me to ask that question, right? It’s a hard thing to unpack, so I’d love to hear your perspective on it. 

I really appreciate that and I appreciate you acknowledging that it’s difficult to talk about. Even assuming that it’s OK to have the conversation between a white person or a white journalist or a white audience or a white editor — whomever is doing the asking — and a Black artist is one of the problems. That being said, I’m happy to have it right now because I knew we were going to come into this conversation and talk about a whole bunch of topics. I’m happy to give my two cents: I think if non-Black listeners and fans and enthusiasts of the genre are thinking about [these issues], just know that those of us who deal with this day in and day out are going to be exhausted and aren’t going to be the best people to always go to. That’s a great place to start, knowing it’s so much heavier. It’s not intellectual, for us. It’s a lived reality. 

As far as tokenization goes, I do worry about it and I worry about it because I remember when I was in high school — I went to a really competitive boarding school — college acceptance letters were coming out and everyone was on edge. This is a time when we had Honesty Box on Facebook, where you could send an anonymous message — which, in retrospect, what a horrible way to let people bully each other. I remember getting a message that just said, “Affirmative Action” after I got into Stanford. It was so hurtful to me. Intellectually I knew that Affirmative Action is a wonderful program and it helps deserving people get into schools they deserve to get into. (I also had excellent grades and, you know, I’m smart as shit. So go away!) But it was hurtful to think that my peers didn’t see that in me and what they saw was my skin color. 

That’s such a trite way of putting it, but I think a lot of people maybe subconsciously think about Black artists in Americana, in spaces where Black people are not the standard, as “diversity hires.” They may even be for that. Like, “It’s great that we have these diverse perspectives!” They don’t realize that we are a fundamental part of these spaces and we deserve to be here. Just as much as everybody else. We have roots in these geographical regions and these genres that go just as deep as white artists. We shouldn’t have to rattle off our qualifications. 

There have been so many movements of Black artists who didn’t want to be called “Black artists” for this reason. They didn’t want to be put on the “Black Feminists” bookshelf and be marginalized [further] in that way. I definitely identify with that. I’m Black and I’m proud, in a very 1970s way, so I am proud to have the label of a “Black Americana artist.” I think my Blackness informs my work just as much as my hometown, my feminism, etc. 

I do worry about the swingback of resentment! That anonymous message of, “OK, when are we going to be done giving these people a hand?” Meanwhile, [Black folks] have been working twice as much for all of our careers. If anyone was wondering, we’re not going to stop asking for the door to be opened and we’re not going to stop kicking the door down just because people get tired of the trends. If people are about to get sick of it, well… you can leave. [Laughs] 

Who would you like to see on Shout & Shine? And maybe, beyond that, who are some artists or creators right now that you’re gaining inspiration, or joy, or energy from right now?

Lately I have been listening to mostly rock and I think it has changed how I think about my folk writing, so if I could be allowed to go a little bit outside of the genre…

I have been listening to The Beths a lot. They have a great new album out, [Jump Rope Gazers], and the lyrics are fantastic and their melodies are so fantastic, I’m probably going to try to cover one of their songs. I love catchy melodies — like, I love Carly Rae Jepsen, I listen to her constantly. 

A former bandmate opened my ears to new types, new ways of being a singer/songwriter. I don’t know if you know Bartees Strange but he used to play guitar for me. He does a really good combo of like, doing a really great solo show and he’ll do a full post-punk, indie-rock show. He and all of his collaborators are great. He just invited me and another New York artist, Oceanator, onto a live stream — she’s fantastic. She also plays solo and with a full rock band. Those are New York homies I listen to a ton. 

I love Sunny War’s playing. She’s a friend and she’s the best. Her live shows are the most mesmerizing thing ever. I’ve been loving listening to her as well. 

(Editor’s note: Tune in on August 5, 2020 at 4pm PT / 7pm ET for Lizzie No’s debut performance for Shout & Shine. On BGS, our YouTube channel, and/or Facebook.)

All photos: Gabriel Barreto

Indigo Girls Expand “Country Radio” With Black, Brown and Queer Musicians

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Hollywood, the 2020 Netflix series from director-screenwriter Ryan Murphy, is a resplendent show dripping in Art Deco that does not wholly reimagine Los Angeles’ golden era, but rather subtly inserts a quintessential question: “What if?”

What if Hollywood hadn’t been as… ___-ist? (Sexist, racist, misogynist, ageist, etc.) If one happens to be born into a region, a folkway, a culture, an art form that doesn’t include you, or that doesn’t quite love you back, one often doesn’t realize it until it’s too late. And then what? Do we, the rural, country-loving queers, wait around for our Ryan Murphy to reimagine the world to better include us? Not quite.

For Emily Saliers and Amy Ray of Indigo Girls — and, for that matter, almost each and every queer who has ever loved roots music — that “What if?” question is existential, but it also doesn’t matter. What if country music loved LGBTQ+ folks? The lyrics of “Country Radio,” a track off the duo’s sixteenth studio album, Look Long, tell it plainly: “But as far as these songs will take me/ Is as far as I’ll go/ I’m just a gay kid in a small town/ Who loves country radio.”

While curating the following playlist of their favorites from country music airwaves and songs they wish were included there, Saliers and Ray offer a quite simple solution actionable in each present moment: Be who you are, listen to the music that brings you joy, love who you love — and be anti-racist.

Emily Saliers: [I began with the idea:] What are the songs that I listened to that I latched onto, that sort of gave me a feeling of “I can’t get into this song [because of its heteronormativity], but I love this song so much”? One of the first songs that came to mind is “Mama’s Song” by Carrie Underwood. 

I should preface this by saying, I don’t expect that there can’t be heteronormative country songs, or that queer life has to be explicitly represented in songs, it’s not that. It’s the feeling of the way a song moves me emotionally, but then it stops me a little bit short of being able to fully experience it because of the language or the obvious implications of man and woman.

I love Carrie Underwood’s voice and she’s taken more of a harder, pop direction since “Mama’s Song,” but she sings this so beautifully. She’s talking to her mother, “He is good… he treats me like a real man should,” and yet the beauty of her song [is in] her telling her mom that’s she’s going to be okay. 

Amy Ray: For me it’s a little different because I never had the experience of feeling like I wish I could put myself in a song. I think it’s because, gender-wise, I always just related to the male singers. I kinda have that gender dysphoria, you know? [Chuckles] I have these filters that sort of make it my own — probably out of necessity, from growing up loving the Allman Brothers, Pure Prairie League, and Randy Travis so much. [Sings] “Amie, whatcha gonna do?” Pure Prairie League!

It’s very odd — Emily’s perspective on this is something I can understand, and I agree that it’s this weird disconnect with country music. We have to kind of acclimate it to ourselves, in some way, using some kind of trick in our minds. But I’ve always had that internal translator…

ES: Another example is Brett Young’s “In Case You Didn’t Know.” Now this is a song that you can listen to and fit your own queer life into it — as far as I remember it doesn’t have any gender pronouns. Then I watched the video and of course he’s singing to a woman who comes into the audience and he plays to her, alone. It’s a love song to his girlfriend — or wife or partner or whatever — so I could live in that song and think back to relationships and apply it in my own life, but then I watched the video and that door shut a little bit.

AR: I love Angaleena Presley, the Pistol Annies. Presley is such a great writer. “Better Off Red” is one of my favorite songs that she’s written… Honestly, if I hear songs, if I like it, I just put myself in it. I don’t really think about it or worry about it. It’s a survival mechanism from my youth, not that it’s the right thing to do. It’s built inside me.

…I thought you couldn’t be a country singer if you were gay and left-wing and a complete dyke. That made me feel more alienated than the songs themselves, that idea of its inaccessibility. Or, if you went to a show and you were sitting there in that audience, in the early days before it all kind of busted open, you would feel scared. Or judged. Or uncomfortable.

ES: Think about what a splash that song by Little Big Town, “Girl Crush,” had. Just the implication of a lesbian relationship or feelings! That song was a big hit, but it got people talking. [Probably] the majority of the people in this world lean more heteronormative, so they’re representing themselves in these songs. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. 

I wouldn’t want to listen to just albums that are for and by queer people, oh my god. No way! But we have to have them as part. I think about what an influence Ferron was, how much Amy and I love Ferron. When her first album came out, it was like, “Oh my gosh this is one of the best songwriters in the country and she’s queer!” I can’t describe how important it was to have an artist like that.

Even Lil Nas X, who had the number one hit forever-ever-ever with Billy Ray Cyrus. It’s awesome to know that he’s queer! And a guy like Young Thug, a rapper out of Atlanta, who’s not gender normative by any stretch, to me. It’s interesting. It’s good to have a mish mosh! It’s not that the majority of songwriters out there can’t be represented in their own songwriting, we just have to have ours, as well.

AR: [We] should add Amythyst Kiah. Amythyst is amazing.

[Racism] is the pivotal struggle of the Americana scene and the roots scene. How do you honor Black and Brown folks who want to be in this scene — and maybe some of them don’t even want to be in this scene because even Americana is rooted in questionable legacy. How much do people of color want to be immersed in that scene when it still feels so racist? Even the best parts of it. It’s a huge question to unwrap and it has to do with such a long history of where country music came from.

We stole the banjo and put it in our hillbilly music in the mountains and called it our own. We forgot all the stuff we learned from “our slaves,” you know? It’s crazy to me, if you think about the racist roots of where a lot of this comes from. Merging this racist legacy with this incredible populist music — music for the people, like Woody Guthrie, like the Carter Family. You get those two things bumping up against each other constantly, how do you entangle that and make this a space where it doesn’t matter what color you are? Where it doesn’t matter what your religious persuasion, or your political party, or your gender, or your sexual preference, or anything.

I think the way we deal with it is by all of us thinking all the time and being mindful of [that racist history]. And including [Black artists] in our playlists and touring with them. Some people are like, “What does it mean if you’re forcing this integration? Is it just going through the motions?” No! No, no, no.

ES: I’ll [echo] the things that Amy said, practically: Tour with Black musicians or Brown musicians or musicians who have not been able to feel that they’re welcome and make everybody welcome. Like Amythyst or Chastity Brown. Those are artists of color who have been discriminated against, who feel other-than in the world of their genres.

I think, first, we all — we white people, we people “of no color,” we “colorless” people — should dig deep, identify our own racism and how far it goes, how much we use it. Break it down, talk about it, identify it in each other. Really start from the core of things and hopefully act outwardly as a result of what we’ve dug through, inwardly. Try to heal and fix, you know? We’ve got to ask artists of color what their experience is like and why it’s like that. I’ve got to assume that there must be some Black artists, who if they hear a song from a white, country, roots singer about the freedom of driving down a dark, country road, they’re not going to feel the same way about the history of Black people down dark country roads. A lot of it is context and, as Amy says, there’s so much to be unraveled. But we are at a tipping point.

AR: Sister Rosetta Tharpe, I feel like there’s a lot of crossover, to me from that and the beginnings of early rock ‘n’ roll. That’s kind of what Elvis Presley was doing and borrowing from. I think about that sometimes, that territory. I like old recordings, like field recordings almost, of all the Alan Lomax type stuff he would collect. Field songs, prison songs. I think a lot of country writers have taken from that stuff, you know? 

I remember an interview with Kathleen Hanna that really resonated with me. She said, when they ask you who your favorite artists are, most of us name all these male artists. That’s who we can think of, because that’s who’s archived the best. Straight men, bands, and writers. If you sit down and really think about who you love and make a list of the women and the queer folks — this is what she was talking about, she wasn’t talking about color at the time or race or the social construct of race — and you take that list to your interviews and rattle off those names, you’ll be more honest, because you’ll be talking about who you really listen to and not just trying to remember [anyone] off the top of your head. 

People are so out of the habit — and so in the habit — of white supremacy that we don’t even know how to do the right things, just in our instincts. We have to learn, write it down, so we remember to do it.

Photo credit: Jeremy Cowart

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Sam Lee’s Garden Grows Songs and Fights Climate Change

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

A lush, resplendent, living and breathing album, Sam Lee’s brand new record, Old Wow, is something of a garden — and not simply because the opening track, “The Garden of England/Seeds of Love” sets such a tone. In this arboretum, Lee is collecting the most rare and fragile of cultivars — ancient folk songs. He is carefully tending them, gently fertilizing, grafting, hybridizing, and cross-pollinating them with bits of himself, bits of this global moment, and bits of this generation.

BGS contributor Justin Hiltner strolled down New Orleans’ Canal Street with Lee during Folk Alliance International to find a secluded, sunshine-y balcony for a chat about action, queerness, folk traditions, fatherhood, and much more.

My first experience with the new record was the video for “The Garden of England.” It felt so lush and verdant, it immediately made me think of your relationship with nature and the ecosystems you operate in, as well as your environmental activism. How strong of a presence do you think that part of your life — the activism, especially the environmental aspects — carries through the album? It’s visible in a lot of places overtly, but there’s an undercurrent in there, too. 

It’s funny, you use all of the words that I use, “How overt/covert” or “how implicit/explicit it should be.” Since the previous album I’ve gone through a very different journey of who I am, what I am meant to be doing, and why I’m doing music. I’ve come to the acceptance that actually, first and foremost, I’m an activist, not a musician. Music is the medium through which I disseminate, articulate my activism and my beliefs within that.

I’m very thrilled that I can do it in a way that is emotionally guided, as opposed to having to be statistically informed, or having the best persuasive political argument, which I’m terrible at. Through the mediums of song, ancient song, song that’s connected to the land by nature of its ancestry, I found I’ve got these really unusual resources and tools.

Something I like to ask musicians a lot is, how do we make this music relevant? How do we show people it’s not just throwback music or time capsule music? What I heard you describing is that you’ve found a relevance in these old songs for this current moment in geological time, due to the climate crisis, but also socially and politically. 

It is that, but I say it’s more about the essence of the songs. … I’m playing with tradition, but there’s a certain distillation process that I’m using within them, which like any distillation process is also highly adulterative and adaptive. I’m contorting them, but I’m also working with an unusual aesthetic, because that’s all we can do, be artists. I’m taking risks.

Like, with videos like [“The Garden of England”] and the one that’s just come out last week for “Lay This Body Down.” I’m going to use mainstream values and imagery and concept on some deeply ancient ideas in a way that doesn’t really happen very much.  And I’m not saying that’s because I’m pioneering! [Laughs]

I think it’s a vital thing to have to address, how does one tell these stories in ways that are going to be digestible by a new audience? One that actually would never encounter the tradition, in certain ways, because in the UK we live in a very musically segregated society. Most people aren’t thinking about music or that music can change identity, especially on such an ancient level. I’m having to test these things out.

Roots music and eroticism don’t really feel like they go together. “Lay This Body Down” feels so timeless and ancient, but the video for it has this level of eroticism and sensuality that feels current. I may be projecting my own queerness onto it, but I wanted to ask you how much of that eroticism comes from your queerness, or doesn’t it? 

You know, you might be the first person to ask me these questions. Generally music journalists where I come from are uninterested in that, or the ones that are wouldn’t come across me.

I didn’t approach it from a sense of wanting to work with queerness, I love working with dance. I come from a dance background 

And dance is very queer as is. 

It is, but why does it have to be? Because the irony is, and it shouldn’t make any difference, that all the dancers in that video are heterosexual. That doesn’t matter, but it was so wonderful working with men who were actually very comfortable with their heterosexuality, but also in their intimacy and physicality and their sense of body contact. Working and being in that space was so energizing. It wasn’t erotic, it was simply sensual. The funny thing is it comes across as erotic, as homoerotic, but in all honesty I think that’s the viewer’s perception.

 Maybe what I mean by “the video feels queer” or “dance itself is queer” is more accurately, “It leaves the door open for non-normative ideas and feelings.” Is that what you mean? The viewer can sense this because you left a crack open in the door of normativity for people to step through?

You’re absolutely right, and I’m very conscious of that. There’s a very Caravaggio-ness to this film. You couldn’t put any more arrows pointing [toward eroticism and homoeroticism.] I’m also fascinated with the queerness of folk song, particularly in the ambiguity when men are singing from the perspective of women and all those sort of rule-breaking things that were never rules in the first place.

I think it’s only the conservatism, in the sense of boxing what “is” and what “isn’t,” that binary-ness, that starts to do that. When you actually go back into history, those sorts of boundaries [weren’t as present], and I think that’s what I’m celebrating a little bit.

It’s a song about death, actually. These aren’t sexual beings, they’re mortal or immortal or transitionary. Their nakedness is as much about that shedding of materiality of the living and this idea of the trajectory from one realm to the other. They’re all expressions of myself… That’s what these movements are all about, for me.

 That sort of ambiguity you mention, “Sweet Sixteen” felt to me like it was pulling from that tradition — am I reading too much into that? Where did that song come from?

Interesting. It’s not [from that], in fact, for me it’s the most heterosexual moment of my entire career, that song. [Laughs]

Interesting! And right, I heard heterosexuality in it, but also — and again, perhaps this is my projection — more than that, too. 

This is the funny thing about making music, once you’ve put [the songs] out, you don’t own them anymore. They’re not yours. And never would I ever want to make music that was utterly explicit.

The song was a really hard one to choose to do and I don’t know why I did choose to do it. It’s actually more about me being a parent, because I’ve become a dad. In many ways I’m living in a heteronormative set up, even though it is unusual. We’re not together and we don’t live together and we never have, but the itinerant-ness of being a musician and leaving mum doing most of the care requires a little bit of me acknowledging that, through song.

This is my acceptance that I am a bit of that, packing my bag and heading off, away from the family set up. It also holds a little bit of my judgment upon that nuclear family thing, of husband and wife and child at home, and my terror of that. Which, I think has nothing to do with being gay. I think if I was straight I’d probably feel like that, too. [Laughs] It’s very much me trying to channel what a baby’s mother is thinking.

You carry on this tradition of folk singing unencumbered by music, a capella, but that to me, as someone who is a singer and musician, is kind of terrifying. The space that you play with, as a vocalist, on this record feels so vulnerable. What does it feel like to you?

I think I’m quite comfortable with vulnerability. Which is sort of a paradox, in a way, because the point of vulnerability is that it is uncomfortable. I think that space of exposure, for me, is a very exciting place. It’s not exciting because I get to see myself more, it’s because by being vulnerable you have to step outside the realm of protection, of comfort, of security. In that position you can do much more interesting things, finding perspective and placement and by that, a relationality to the world around you.

[Sometimes] you have to be an outsider, and that’s something that, by nature of who I am — by being gay, by being Jewish, by being the kid that never quite fit into any of the places that I was I’ve always been in that position. It’s a place I’ve always been drawn to, most artists are like that one way or another. I’m not particularly exceptional, I’m not saying I’m necessarily special, but that’s something that I’ve certainly been accustomed to.

When it comes carrying on the tradition, I did exactly the same. I went down the deepest root of folk music, but never went fully into those folk scenes. I was always an outsider in the folk world. I was always an outsider in these deep traditions, I was never part of the communities that I’m learning from. Yet, at the same time, you find yourself weirdly in the center of these places as well. This idea of, there is no center and there is no outside. Actually, these are all constructs only in our minds and we are all outsiders in the end.

When it comes to the music — and it’s funny, because I didn’t mix the album, though I was very involved in it — when [producer] Bernard Butler did that we were very aware of keeping the voice up front and center. Maybe there’s a little bit of ego and selfishness that he’s recognizing. That, as a singer, you need to be center. You are your voice. Not because I want to be up front, but maybe because I’m very clear about what I want to say in this record, so I think I have to mark my place in that respect.

Photo credit: Julio Juan