Tag: singer songwriter

Donovan Woods’ Thoughtful New Album Grew Out of a “Midlife Crisis”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Donovan Woods is not really the solid, secure man you might think you know through his thoughtful, deceptively soothing songs.

But he’s working on it.

“A lot of my songs are much more magnanimous than I am in real life,” said Wood, 43. “So I often am wrangling with that feeling of people thinking that I’m a very morally superior person, when in fact, the reality of me is not very close to that.”

Woods, a burly, bearded, soft-spoken Canadian who has been consistently releasing quality albums and touring since 2007 (except for the COVID years), recently released his new album, Things Were Never Good if They’re Not Good Now. It’s a typically solid offering from a writer who writes deeply personal songs, some of which work as mainstream country hits, like “Portland, Maine” for Tim McGraw.

Though modest and self-depreciating, Woods knows he’s come up with something special with “Back for the Funeral,” a song on the new album that captures the stage of life when the only time you see old friends is when one of them has died.

“After the service we’ll all meet up at the bar,” he sings. “Where my dad used to drink, now he just drinks in the yard/ And we’ll laugh about all the young dumb dreams we had/ And we’ll pretend we’re all only sad/ Because we’re back for the funeral.”

The song, written with Lori McKenna, is one of those that doesn’t seem like a new one. It feels familiar, like it’s always been there. McKenna had the title and it turned out Woods lived through the experience a few months earlier, when he returned home to Ontario to attend two funerals.

“Not all those details are exact, but I’m trying to get at that weird feeling of when you go home and you’re able to see it all at 30,000 feet for some reason, because you’re in the throes of grief,” he said.

In our exclusive BGS interview, we spoke about grief and mental health, poetry and Music Row songwriting, and more.

So I understand the new songs were influenced by therapy you underwent for your mental health. Is that true?

Yes. I’m as liberal as they come, but I think I still have this toxic masculinity in me. I do think that expressing need threatens my masculinity and it’s such a deep, ingrained thing in me. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I still do have those hang ups.

What kind of therapy did you have?

I had probably what would be considered a midlife crisis. … I felt like I was losing touch with my life slightly. I was unwell and I could tell [it was true] by the reaction of people in my life who weren’t particularly thrilled with me. I did some addiction therapy, I did some standard stuff and I did some couples therapy with my wife.

Like a lot of men, I wasn’t admitting when I was sad or when I was upset or when I was unhappy, because we love this image of this stoic individual that we’ve all grown up adoring — this unaffected, unflappable man. You’re trying to be that, because you think that’s the right thing to be for your family. I let that get away from me. I had become two guys, my internal self who knew that I was upset or hurt or I need something, and then this forward-facing person that I created, which was sort of a lie. I had to reunite those two things again, and I found it really difficult.

Your rather gentle singing sometimes belies the depth and the hurt in your lyrics. Is that an artistic choice you’re making?

That’s kind of just how my voice is. In the days before microphones, I don’t know that I would have been able to have this job. I don’t talk that loud or sing that loud, either. Singing is more like self-soothing to me than it is communication. I do it because I like it. It makes me feel good. When I’m stressed, I do it. It’s like being nice to myself.

Your lyrics are effective even separated from the music. Have you done any poetry or prose writing?

I appreciate that. My heroes are the people who are actually singing poets, like Paul Simon and John Prine. I feel like that’s what a singer-songwriter is at the core. … I will write poetry for myself now and then. I have tried to write short stories and I’m not good at it. I don’t know how to do long things. The idea that it can be anything is terrifying to me.

You must like Mark Cohn too, based on your cover of his “Don’t Talk to Her at Night” on the new album.

He’s kind of a high-water mark in songwriting for a lot of writers, especially men. There’s an elegance in his writing that is so unreachable to me. His American earnestness is not available to me as a Canadian. I always think I have to be self-deprecating or not showy in my writing. I think it’s just like the mindset of a Canadian. My dad is a big fan, and I have listened to him my whole life.

Do you have a family background that pointed you toward becoming an artist?

I grew up in a really working class town [Sarnia, Ontario], where everybody’s dad works in these petrochemical plants around the border of Michigan. My dad worked in construction estimating jobs. … My friends all work in petrochemical plants, or they work in adjacent fields to those plants. One of them is a chiropractor, which actually is adjacent to the petrochemical plants too, because everybody has a bad back in the entire city. … I was not a wonderfully artistic kid. I was given a guitar by my mom and I took like, four or five months of lessons. I just really enjoyed writing songs, and did it for myself for a decade before I ever did it publicly.

Is it true your dad named you after the folk singer Donovan?

I am. He’s one of my dad’s favorite singer-songwriters, along with Fred Eaglesmith. I got to tell [Donovan] that once, too. I’ve never seen anybody be less interested in something.

Do you still live in Canada with your family, or have you moved to one of the music industry cities in the states?

I have three kids. I have one ex-wife and my wife that I’m married to now. I live in Toronto mostly, and I’m in Nashville sometimes to write.

Do you do the Nashville writing thing where you have appointments and try to write hits with other writers?

I still have a publishing deal in Nashville, so I’m there writing sometimes with other people. I do it less than I used to, but I still enjoy that very much. I love other songwriters. It’s pretty rare that I don’t like a songwriter. So I enjoy that, that afternoon of trying to finish something.

And that’s worked out for you sometimes with hits, right?

There’s a song called “Grew Apart” that was a hit for Logan Mize. When somebody else wants to record one of your songs, that’s about as good of a compliment as you can get as a writer. It’s always really flattering. I hope [more of] that happens. … I mostly fail at writing Nashville songs. I fail like about 95% of the time.

You’ll be heading out on tour this fall to promote the new album. Are you looking forward to that?

I am always on the road more than I would like to be. But I’ve had much worse jobs. I enjoy 85% of it.

Photo Credit: Brittany Farhat

Out Now: Madeline Finn

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Madeline Finn is a thoughtful writer and dynamic artist. Madeline transcends the boundaries of genre, crafting pieces that pull elements from folk, rock, and indie. Their songs are honest, relatable, and catchy.

Madeline feels that her role as an LGBTQ+ musician is bigger than herself and she values uplifting her community. She hopes to embody the queer representation that she longed for as a kid. In our Out Now interview, Madeline shares their vision for the future, their upcoming projects, and their journey into self-producing music.

We are thrilled to be featuring Madeline Finn at our next Queerfest show in Nashville at Vinyl Tap on Wednesday, August 7. The show runs from 7-9 pm and features four local LGBTQ+ artists. There’s a ticket suggestion of $10 that goes directly to supporting the artists. Don’t miss out on the chance to hear Madeline Finn live!

Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?

Madeline Finn: I used to be more amped up on the outcome, but these days I have really fallen in love with the process. Mostly since I have started self-producing. It’s so much fun and I could do it literally all day.

You create within a wide range of musical genres including folk, rock, and indie. How do you navigate your identity as an artist who works across several genres?

Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve been trying to just let go and make music that’s fun and meaningful to me. Whatever the genre might end up being doesn’t matter that much to me.

What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?

Being a queer musician is a special thing. Especially because it’s becoming less and less special, if you know what I mean. I am one of many LGBTQ+ artists who make up a whole force of nature. I see my role as a part of the whole, a part of something way bigger than me. The more we uplift our community with art that speaks directly to the queer experience, I think the more healing can be done. The more healing that can be done within each individual, the more we heal the human experience as a whole.

I’m so jazzed on the queer music community and wish I would have had more folks like that growing up to listen to. Honored to be what I needed when I was a kid, now.

For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?

Specifically, I found a lot of help as a kiddo from The Trevor Project. I also was able to find a safe adult/family member to talk to about it before I came out to my immediate circle. For those who are in adulthood I would highly recommend THERAPY!

You’ve been on the team at Wild Heart Meditation Center for a few years. What has that experience been like for you? Do you find that your meditation practice influences your music?

Wild Heart Meditation Center has been the single most important part of my personal growth and healing over the past five to six years. I came to the center interested in meditation and since then have fallen deeply in love with the practice and the teachings of the Buddha. It’s been so rewarding to be offered an opportunity to share that with the community and others as a facilitator. My practice influences every single part of my life, music included. It’s helped me let go of the craving that often surrounds a career like this, I have gained a deep freedom from contentment within my musical career. I honestly think you can hear it in the music. The shows are more fun for me, I am not afraid of what others think, not sitting around waiting for someone to give me my golden ticket. Instead, I know that I can rest in the reality of this moment and have a deep, non-attached appreciation for all the beautiful parts I encounter.

What has it been like for you to work with other LGBTQ+ artists in the music industry?

The LGBTQ+ music scene here in Nashville has been amazing. It’s this collaborative, joyful machine that just runs all on its own. Getting to hear music direct from artists like Autumn Nicholas and to play for so many other queer folks just gets me so pumped.

It’s like “Y’ALL WE ARE DOING IT!!!” I’d like to believe it’s deeply healing for my inner child.

What’s your ideal vision for your future?

My ideal vision for my future is to have chickens, mainly. If I can have a little space in the world with chickens, my wife, and my dog I am all set. Beyond that, I try not to set too many expectations for the future. Instead, I am really practicing following my intuition towards the next most meaningful step. One day at a time.

What are your release and touring plans for the next year?

I have been hard at work on my own record based on the IFS (internal family systems) model of therapy, it’s my first venture into self-production and I’m hoping to have it ready to start sharing singles by the end of the year.

My pop-rock project ENVOI just released a brand new album in May, so there is a chance we may be doing some live shows to support that. In addition, I’m working on a project with Liv Lombardi here in Nashville that is going to totally slay.

As far as touring goes, I’ll be around playing bass, guitar, and singing for a TON of artists throughout the rest of the year and there have been talks about an East Coast run for my solo material in the fall.

Photo courtesy of the artist.

Josh Grider on Only Vans with Bri Bagwell

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

(Editor’s Note: Only Vans with Bri Bagwell is the latest addition to the BGS Podcast Network! Read more about the podcast coming on board here. Find our episode archive here.)

Josh Grider is a successful songwriter and touring musician, as a solo artist and as half of the Topo Chico Cowboys. We also happen to share a hometown in Las Cruces, New Mexico. We talk about the desert we were raised in, New Mexico food, not being qualified for real world jobs, and much more in this hilarious episode of Only Vans.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

Find Josh Grider’s music, tour dates and merchandise here.

Thanks to our sponsors for this episode, The MusicFest at Steamboat, Lakeside Tax & CH Lonestar Promo!

Kim Richey Travels the World in Search of ‘Every New Beginning’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

With a voice that shimmers like sunlight on a rippling lake and songs that step deftly through ever-shifting emotional terrain, Kim Richey is the queen of understated finesse. On her latest album, Every New Beginning, she carefully tempers the ache of loss with moments of humor and even optimism. Produced by Doug Lancio (Patty Griffin, John Hiatt) and containing collaborations with Don Henry, Mando Saenz, Jay Knowles, Aaron Lee Tasjan, and Brian Wright, among others, it provides yet another elegantly nuanced reminder of why other singer-songwriters revere her talents.

Dozens of country and Americana artists have invited her to sing on their albums and/or recorded her songs or ones they co-wrote, including Rodney Crowell, Vince Gill, Martina McBride, Patty Loveless, Will Kimbrough, Chuck Prophet, the Chicks, and Brooks & Dunn. Radney Foster had a No. 2 hit with their co-write, “Nobody Wins;” Richey earned a Grammy nomination for co-writing Trisha Yearwood’s No. 1 song, “Believe Me Baby (I Lied).”

In October, she’ll open the final show of Jason Isbell’s annual Ryman Auditorium residency; last year, she helped celebrate the 10th anniversary of his career-making Southeastern album by reprising her vocal contributions. During Brandi Carlile’s solo-set debut at the 2019 30A Songwriters Festival, she spotted Richey and declared, “Kim Richey has been my hero since I was 16!” Citing the Ohio-born East Nashville resident as a major influence, Carlile beckoned Richey onstage to sing “A Place Called Home.” Turns out that wasn’t the first time — and, as Richey notes in this interview, conducted during her recent U.K. tour, it wouldn’t be the last.

Listening to these songs, one could assume this is a breakup album. But you’ve mentioned that songs like “Take the Cake” aren’t necessarily about a specific person. Are there breakups reflected within these songs?

Kim Richey: People always assume they’re breakup songs. [The “Feel This Way” line], “It hurts like it’s always gonna feel this way” — my mom passed away in November. It can be the loss of a friend, the loss of a family member, or it’s just a lot of looking back. COVID really had an effect on me that way, and maybe a lot of people as well, where I had old friends getting in touch out of the blue, and people taking stock, and that’s stuck with me.

You could hear “Feel This Way” as a song about grief or even generalized depression, which certainly doesn’t have to be precipitated by an event.

Or [the song] “A Way Around,” it’s like, “Oh, man, things are not going my way.” It can be general. That’s a great thing about songs; people can have their own interpretation of them and it can connect with them and help them. Maybe it’s something that they’re going through, which was not necessarily my intention when I wrote it, if that makes any sense. If I’m going through a hard time, it’s just nice to hear a song and think, “They know exactly how I feel.” You don’t feel alone.

I think that’s one of the major functions of songs — giving us something to connect to, even if it’s just to pull the tears out. Sometimes that’s all you have when you’re feeling like that. But let’s talk about something that must have been a really happy time: Brandi’s Girls Just Wanna Weekend in Mexico. Was that the first time you got invited, or the first time it worked out to go?

I actually did get invited a couple of years ago, but I’d already promised my parents I was going somewhere with them. But this was getting organized while my mom was in the hospital and everything, so I went down [in January] not really having any idea what to expect. When I got there, they asked if I could come to the rehearsal for Ladies of the ’80s, so I go to the rehearsal, and there’s Annie Lennox. And that was just the start of me crying the entire weekend.

Then I got to meet Wendy & Lisa, and Wendy was so sweet. And when the four of us — Brandy Clark, Brandi Carlile, Mary Chapin [Carpenter] and myself — were onstage playing songs, the crowd was so overwhelmingly amazing that Chapin and I just sat up there and cried in-between songs. It was absolutely one of the most intense and beautiful musical experiences, really, ever, for me. It’s hard to explain the vibe of it. The feel of the festival is so inclusive, and so kind and fun. I’ve never been to anything like that before.

Brandi’s always been really great to me. Like that year of the Pilgrimage Festival, that’s right outside of Nashville, got rained out [2018], her people called City Winery and said “Hey, can we come there and play?” and they packed it out. I had just gotten home from a tour and she texted and said, “Hey, you want to come and play with me tonight?” and I’m thinking, “Absolutely not. I don’t know who you are. I’m in a bathrobe, and I’m gonna watch TV and do absolutely nothing.” I texted back and said, “Who is this?” And it was Brandi and it’s like, “OK, I’ll be right over!”

I love seeing your Instagram traveling pictures. It seems like you seek out interesting places wherever you go. Is that something you’ve always done?

I always want to explore the places where I go, whether it’s a big famous place or some town nobody’s ever heard of. I don’t want to sit in a hotel. I like to find the local great food or coffee or something. One of my most favorite parts about doing music and playing shows is the touring and getting to go and see all these different places. It doesn’t have to be some really exotic place, because one of the things I love about touring in the states is you get to see some of these smaller towns and out-of-the-way places that you would never go to on purpose, because you don’t even know they’re there. I’ve found some fantastic restaurants and sites and hiking places; there’s all kinds of fantastic places in the states. Like, I love Michigan, the Great Lakes; that’s beautiful.

That brings me to the song about your home state, “Goodbye Ohio,” which you describe as “a leaving song.” Do you still have ties there?

Well my mom’s gone, but my stepdad still lives in Ohio and I’ve got my cousins and auntie. I still have a lot of people in Ohio. I go back up there pretty regularly.

So it’s not bittersweet to go home.

Oh, no, no, no. I got all the time in the world for Ohio. I like the people there. It’s very Midwest, and I like that. It’s interesting, too, because the different parts of Ohio are really different, like Southeastern Ohio has more in common probably with West Virginia. And then when you get further up toward Cleveland and Akron, that’s more Northeast-y vibes. It’s great; it’s got a lot going on.

What are some other destinations you would recommend?

I love Glasgow, that’s always been one of my most favorite places. Mostly these days, I’m not in a [tour] bus, I’m in a car or a van. You actually can see all these places you’re driving through, and then you have the ability to go, “Hey, what’s that weird shop there? Let’s pull in and see what that is.” When you’re on a bus, you’re just [taking] the quickest and easiest way to get from one point to the other. So I’ve really enjoyed that part of traveling in a car.

I’ll tell you someplace I just went that was absolutely amazing. My friend Dean Tidey was playing guitar with me and we had a couple days off on the West Coast, so we went to Sequoia National Park and stayed for a couple days in this Airbnb that was right on this beautiful mountain stream. And since it was still early springtime, there weren’t a lot of people there. There was still snow on the ground. I love doing stuff like that. The more I travel, the more I want to see. And the more I travel, the more I know there’s just so much stuff out there to experience and see.

Gosh, I’ve been all over the place. I love London; I lived here for five years. I love Belfast. I got to go to Croatia last year on a boat trip with the Accidentals, and that was amazing.

I love that band! Tell me how you wound up on a boat trip with them.

Well, they asked me to come along. It was a fan trip, and we played and slept on the boat and went to these different harbors. We docked in a different place every night – it was just a cool trip. There were bike rides; there was a lot of swimmin’. We went to Dubrovnik and toured different cities; we were all over the place. And I had no idea. I didn’t think of that as being a Mediterranean country. The food is fantastic. The people were super, super nice. I really loved being there.

You have such a great body of work, and younger artists who appreciate that, and appreciate you, they’re hooking into you and having you play. It seems so important for that kind of give-and-take to happen, in both directions.

It’s great for me, because I get excited about stuff. I love writing with Aaron Lee. He used to live just across the alley from me, so that’s how I got to know him. He’s definitely one of my favorites and one of the most talented musicians and songwriters. He’s great with lyrics and music, the whole deal, and a brilliant player. So it’s fun for me, too, to find somebody new that I really love writing with. It’s one of my favorite things, to write with other people.

Is there anything else you want to talk about?

Well, I would like to like thank the guys who played on the record, especially Doug Lancio, who did so much great work. He played most every string thing aside from when Aaron Lee played on a couple songs. And we had [bassist/mandolinist] Lex Price, who I’ve been wanting to work with for a long time. And Dan Mitchell and Neilson Hubbard; I’ve been playing with those guys for years. And the Accidentals came and put strings on a couple songs. So I just really want to give a shout out to the musicians, and my songwriting friends.

One song, “The World Is Flat” is an old one that I wrote with Peter Vetesse. He lives in Bristol, [England], and we played and he came and we got to play the song that we wrote together. I just never recorded it because it was so sad. I have a lot of sad songs, but there’s always a little kernel of something [positive]; “The World Is Flat” was like, you’ve just kind of given up. But the demo that he made was so beautiful, I just thought if I never make another record, I want people to hear that song.

You just said, “If I never make another record” – obviously, we hope that’s not true. Do you feel like you’re at a point now where you think in those terms?

A little bit. I do enjoy playing, but [touring is] tough physically. But I love to travel and I have super-close friends over here, in New York, in Washington state. Playing and touring allows me to go and spend time with those people. I do love playing for people and writing songs and making records, so we’ll see. I don’t know how much longer I’ll do it. This could be my last record, but you don’t want to say it is, because you never know.

Photo Credit: Stacie Huckeba

Basic Folk: John Smith

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Originally from Devon, English singer-songwriter John Smith got his start playing bars and clubs in Liverpool, both with his own songs and as a side player for artists like Lianne La Havas, Lisa Hannigan, and David Gray. Growing up with folk music and guitar music influences from Eric Clapton to Maria Callas to Nick Drake, John’s sensitivity as a player is one of the cornerstones of his music, especially when it comes to his live music. It’s earned him a passionate fanbase ever since his first EP release in 2009.

Host Lizzie No got to witness the connection he shares with audiences on a recent month-long tour around the UK. Everywhere they went together, audience members had stories of how important John’s songs were to them and guitar nerds flocked to have a look at his pedal board.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

Beyond his musicianship, John’s music is imbued with an earnestness that invites listeners to look around and feel gratitude: for nature (especially the vistas of rural England), for the wisdom that memory can provide, and for the people close to us. His latest album, The Living Kind, is a meditation on how delicate love and life can be, but also how enduring. It also showcases the creative partnership between Smith and his longtime friend and roots music industry icon, Joe Henry. One of the album’s highlights is “Milestones,” in which John reflects on how parenthood has changed his perspective on the artist’s life.

Photo Credit: Phil Fisk

Basic Folk: Peggy Seeger in Conversation with Dawn Landes

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

(Editor’s note: For this episode, we invited our friend Dawn Landes to interview Peggy Seeger, the perfect choice to interview this feminist folk icon. Landes also recently joined us on a special episode with Aoife O’Donovan to discuss their new feminist-themed albums. We’re thrilled to welcome Dawn back as guest host!)

I can’t believe it took me 40 years to come across Peggy Seeger’s music. I’m a little mad about this honestly, and have been trying to make up for lost time by diving deep into her songs and her story. I’ve been a fan of her older brother, Pete Seeger, since I was a kid, but didn’t realize the depth of talent and reach in the Seeger family. They are truly folk royalty! Peggy Seeger is the daughter of a celebrated modernist composer and a musicologist who grew up with people like Alan Lomax and Elizabeth Cotten hanging out in her family home. At 89 years old, she’s released 24 solo recordings and been a part of over 100 more. She’s built her career on wit, incredible musicianship, and unflappable activism.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

On this episode of Basic Folk, I am honored to talk with Seeger about her beginnings in feminism, her decades-long partnership with Scottish singer Ewan MacColl, the creation of the BBC Radio Ballads, the importance of hope, and her dream tattoos! She even sang us a song from memory that I doubt she had sung in many years. Peggy is a repository of traditional songs and continues to tour and play music with her family, as she’s done throughout her whole life. Although she claims that she doesn’t write anthems, Seeger’s songs have become synonymous with women’s rights and environmental activism. Coming from a woman who once sang her defense in a courtroom, we should all take Peggy’s advice: “Something wrong? Make a song!” – Dawn Landes

Photo Credit: Laura Page

The Many Folk Art Threads of Jake Xerxes Fussell’s ‘When I’m Called’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Two weeks before the release of his new folk album, When I’m Called (available today via Fat Possum), Jake Xerxes Fussell’s sister, Coulter, who is a quilter, had a show of her work in Oxford, Mississippi. In this show, Coulter patchworked 24 small quilts with fabric sourced from her friends and fellow quilters. There was one quilt for every hour of the day.

Though Fussell has said that he and his sister do not talk about her work very much, there are some profound resonances between her quilts and his music – the idea of updating tradition by the use of unusual materials and freer forms, for example, or the idea of using old material to make new texts, but also something deeper. The songs and the quilts mark time, but not in conventional ways. Instead, they track time in a looping, stuttering fashion. Time is both abstracted and made concrete, as a quilt can appear like midnight and a song can be both a work song and a travel song; but also how a quilt or a song can be a mark of a 19th century technique using 21st century material.

The sources for these records and quilts are a network of people. They include those as close as their parents or close family friends, but also as wide as academic song catchers from the 1950s and 1960s, the folk revival of the same era, the careful annotaters of 1990s web forums, or 2020s Instagram accounts. In the time I spent talking to Fussell, he was careful to note these networks, where and who he learned from, the songs he picked up, but also the methods.

These methods were not only adapted from family and friends, but also professional contacts and music legends who pursue a similar ambition to extend what “folk” means. They include Blake Mills, who has been a session musician for everyone from Bob Dylan to the Avett Brothers; or Robin Holcomb, the avant garde vocalist and multi-instrumentalist whose estranging 1992 album, Rockabye, provides a conduit from artists like Bill Frissell and John Fahey to contemporaries like Blake Mills or Daniel Bachman.

For Fussell, the creation of a drawing, painting, quilting, or song-making can come from the same geographical site, the same kinship network, or the same historical records. His parents were academics who painted, sang, wrote, and quilted, but he also had friends like Art Rosenbaum, who painted, gathered songs, taught them in and outside of the University of Georgia, and won the 2008 Historical Recordings Grammy.

Rosenbaum died in 2022 and the songs on this album are in his memory, absorbing captured Scottish songs from the 1970s. The track “Feeling Day” is both bright and mournful, moving in the body of Rosenbaum from Georgia to Scotland and back, where it was taught to Fussell and then captured here. The intermingling of technology, memory, curiosity, professional competence, and ancestor work all made contemporary by skill and memory. (Like the quilts.)

Fussell talks about reclaiming and re-interpreting these songs, versions of versions, updated for contemporary listeners. The album includes the work of Rosenbaum, but it can also be seen on the very first track, about the Mexican painter Maestro Garry Gaxiola, whose decades-long (and most likely one-sided) feud with Andy Warhol centered on questions of what populist art is and what folk art is.

It can also be seen in how Fussell sings “When I’m Called,” a song partially composed from a found paper scrap (again, the quilting) containing a child’s to-do list. It reminds me of the folk anthologist Harry Smith, who spent a long time cataloging paper airplanes he found on the street. It can especially be seen on Fussell’s version of “Gone to Hilo.”

Depending on who you ask, the song’s original title is either “Johnny’s Gone to Hilo” or “Tommy’s Gone to Hilo.” For most versions, those who sing “Tommy” think that the song is about Ilo, Peru and those who sing “Johnny” think it is about Hilo, Hawaii. Fussell sings “Johnny.”

The song is not really a sea shanty, because they require a stronger beat to function as a work song; but it was intended as a song for sailors, a kind of lament, and the gap between forms here has deepened as it has moved further from the sea. The work quality dropped, and the lament quality ratcheted up. It has been sung by dozens of people, one of those tracks that criss-crosses the Atlantic with the folk – Peggy Seeger sang it when she was in England with Ewan McColl, for example.

Perhaps the saddest version of the song is by Paul Clayton. I think maybe three people in the world care about Paul Clayton, and Fussell is one of them. Clayton grew up in New Bedford, Massachusetts, and collected songs about that town’s whaling history since before he was 20. He went to UVA and studied under the legendary song collector Arthur Kyle Davis, traipsing through Appalchia finding songs and then moving to the East Village, integrating himself with Van Ronk and especially Dylan. Fussell claims that his version of “Hilo” is directly in the tradition of Clayton – that how he weaves a song is how Fussell weaves a song.

Between 1954 and his too early death in 1967, Clayton made almost a dozen records of revolutionary war songs, sea shanties, timber shanties, songs of marital discord, songs which Dylan ripped off, and songs which are only remembered by enthusiasts. Fussell is an enthusiast, his version is the lament that Clayton created from the work song and the interweaving of the lament and the work song – the doubling down on the historical memory, the absorbing of a technique renewed in the knowledge of history – is key to the whole enterprise.

Listen to how Clayton emphasizes certain words – for example, “bully boy” – but also listen to how it’s just Clayton; a clarion voice, and a melancholy one. Listening to Fussell’s, with Robyn Holcolmb singing harmony, the sadness is still there, but the tradition is too. The tightness of the version traps tradition, that it is in the middle of the album, that it’s a single, marks a network of relation, an aesthetic about public choices, and a wrestling with tradition.

Folk music asks again and again, “Why are we making these choices?” and, “Whose choices are we making?” Fussell, at his best, makes choices that are smart, open, generous, and mark a time and place – be it Georgia or Hilo or Oxford, Mississippi or a room where Clayton and he can have a conversation with all those 19th century sailors.

Thinking again of Coulter’s quilts, they both mark time in an abstract sense – the idea of what noon or midnight looks like – but they also mark the time it takes to create a work. There is this idea that time is linear, that it marches forward relentlessly. The quilts mark the history of their creation, the actual moments that Coulter made them, but they also weave together the stories of those who gave her their scraps, the interlacing of decades of commercial and domestic enterprises intended to make an object which shows its sources/seams.

Everytime someone sings a traditional song, this kind of citational practice renews the song, the text, the material. Like a quilt, when Jake sings, time bends and loops, inviting other people’s time, other people’s lives. In a worst-case world, this could be greedy, or wolfish, consuming without respect; in Jake’s work, a much better world, this is a kind of kinship network, sharing and consuming mutually.

Photo Credit: Kate Medley

Basic Folk: Ana Egge

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Folk singer Ana Egge’s 13th album, Sharing in the Spirit, came out of the musician one song at a time. She didn’t even think about moving onto a new song before the writing and production of each song was complete. Working with her friend and collaborator Lorenzo Wolff, the songwriting process and music arrangement plan was to just work on a handful of songs. Their creative partnership manifested an entire record’s worth of indie folk, acoustic, and new folk music. The record includes eight originals and two covers: one by Biloxi songwriter Ted Hawkins and one by Irish musician Sinead O’Connor.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

Ana gives a huge songwriting credit to her dreams, which started getting more and more intense when she began her sobriety journey four years ago. Since then, she’s recorded her dreams, especially those with music segments and full songs, on her voice memos app. We go through the new album track by track, addressing themes in the songs like not sleeping through the revolution, the importance of telling the truth, feelings on mortality and how we’re gonna feel when Bob Dylan dies. Also: Ana was the VERY first guest on Basic Folk! I can’t go back and listen to myself four years ago, but I encourage you to check it out and then dive into her great new album.

Photo Credit: Lorenzo Wolff

BGS 5+5: Rose Gerber

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Rose Gerber
Hometown: Portland, Oregon
Latest Album: Untraveled Highway

Genre is dead (long live genre!), but how would you describe the genres and styles your music inhabits?

I like to describe my music as rock meets country, though I have some ’90s alternative and pop influences in there. To mash all those up into one genre, I settle on calling it alt-country.

How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me?”

All the time. It’s almost impossible to exclusively divorce my own emotions and experience when creating a character. It’s very freeing, though, and I like to weave in and out of not just the character’s perspective, but the perspectives of other people I know, too, as well as mine.

What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?

I wrote a song called “Back of My Mind,” which is about my father who passed away when I was young. I cried my way through writing it and relived a lot of the grief I hadn’t felt in years.

What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?

I love Enya. I put it on when I am super stressed, need to fall asleep, or just want to feel some mystical vibes. Last time I visited Ireland, I fulfilled a dream and put it on full blast as I drove along the Irish west coast taking in the scenery.

Does pineapple really belong on pizza?

I fought it for so long and one day I was high and hungry enough to be talked into it. It was an instant love affair. I’ve since branched out into being open to other fruits on a pizza. Fig, pear… though I might draw the line at watermelon.

Photo Credit: Whitney Lyons Photography.

Alisa Amador’s New Album Contains ‘Multitudes’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

After getting a preview of Alisa Amador’s new album, Multitudes, I was excited to catch up with her and hear more about it. The production and strings on songs like “Nudo de raíces” and “Extraño” reminded me of the work of Brazilian artist Tim Bernades, someone I have recently been addicted to. When I brought that up in our interview, Alisa got very excited and showed me a playlist she had made on which Bernardes was the first featured artist – as it happens, she is also a huge fan!

Thus, our conversation started off with a bang of enthusiasm for Bernardes’ Mil Cosas Invisíveis – while it turns out Amador’s Multitudes string parts had been recorded before she ever heard the Bernardes record – and we continued by talking about her life as the child of touring musicians, her guitar inspirations, and how she interacts with songwriting as a bilingual musician.

Multitudes is full of wide, spacious arrangements with lyrics that shoot straight to the point: “I love my life/ But I hate it sometimes,” she sings on “Love Hate Song.” On “Milonga Accidental” she sings, “Cuando miro el agua / Cuando miro el cielo / Cuando miro el agua otra vez…” Roughly translated, this means: “When I look at the water / When I look at the sky / When I look at the water, once again.”

Through our chat, I learned the reasoning behind these direct and simple lyrics – and how her reasoning differs depending on the language she’s working in. Amador is an artist that has found a rare confidence in the way she makes music. I couldn’t help but feel inspired by her calm demeanor and rooted presence. I soon learned that she had been on a long journey to reaching that place for herself.

I want to ask you about your time growing up playing with your parents, who are folk musicians in the band Sol y Canto – what did you take from those experiences and what did you want to do differently?

Alisa Amador: My parents are Latin folk musicians who are touring to this day. They are amazing, and I would not be the musician I am without that primary education. It’s interesting to think about what I’d want to do different, I am always wondering that without being conscious of it I think.

The big thing is just trying to take care of myself better. I think the culture of the music industry is that of completely running yourself into the ground and then some. It seems that being an artist and being a human are often at odds with each other…

I just witnessed my family work so hard, and not have a lot of breaks or self care or healing factored in, we were always [in] survival mode and worrying about money constantly. Although, at the time, that part didn’t traumatize me at all, I don’t know why.

As a kid we just had such a rich life; traveling everywhere, seeing live music, being around people who really care. Getting to experience that much art from such a young age, while really taking touring life in stride, it was a fantastic way to grow up. But I do look back and realize how exhausted and how stressed my parents were and I don’t want that for myself.

So is this something that you realized more recently? Given that as a kid you didn’t feel affected by it?

I think there was a moment – because what my bio says about winning NPR Tiny Desk contest, that just at the moment I was going to give up, that is really true. I was going through the logistics of leaving music, it was terrifying and really painful, but I was at a point in my career that I had done everything for everyone else and had no idea how to advocate for myself. It had ruined me; I was playing gigs where I didn’t feel safe and not being paid wages that were sustainable. … Consequently, I felt like a life in music was not feasible for me.

When I got that call that day from NPR, I almost told them to call someone else. Eventually I decided to say yes, but I had to treat that “yes” as a total reset, a complete reimagining, almost a starting over, and this time I had to take care of myself.

With this reset, did the actual music you were making change at all, or was it only your intentions with how it would be made?

I had been in a period of writers block for two years and I didn’t come out of that for another year after winning the Tiny Desk Contest. I felt like an imposter, I was like, “Little do these people know that I don’t write songs anymore…” But I chose to relearn how to write songs and to try to meet myself where I was, instead of trying to making something perfect or good.

I just had to remember, how did I start writing? I was 15 and struggling, I didn’t know how to coexist with painful things, and I started writing because it helped me get through it. I didn’t write because it needed to be good or I needed to sell it. At that time, I had all these other creative practices, [like] journaling and dancing around my room, and I had let go of all of them during that period, and I felt like I couldn’t make anything. I wasn’t ready to process what I had been through.

When I did starting writing again, it had to come from this place of childlike curiosity and wonder and I had to tell myself every time I wrote, “It will probably be bad.” And letting it be bad is what allowed me to write anything at all.

As a bilingual writer, you have access to another tool – choice of language – that many of us don’t have. How and why do you approach your songs in one language or the other, and how does it color them?

I heard Allison Russell talk about this in an interview. I’m paraphrasing, but I think she said something like, “Writing in different languages is like accessing different channels of the unconscious …” and similarly, I feel like I don’t make a conscious choice about what language I write in, but it could come from a different place.

I have noticed that writing in English, it tends to be more conversational. I just tell what I’m feeling, literally, and try to trust that the feelings will reach people, as long I’m being honest.

When I’m writing in Spanish, even though it’s my native language, I’ve always lived in the U.S., so I just have a limited vocabulary. There was a period of time where I was only speaking Spanish at home, it was the strict language at home, so I think it’s my childlike language, but it gets used in new and poetic ways. Whatever words can capture that feeling are the ones that I’m gonna stick to, because I don’t have that many to choose from! I don’t have trick phrases or literary devices, and maybe I have a little less judgement in Spanish as well. Limitation is really a gift in that way.

That’s really interesting! So with that in mind, how do you feel about language translation with songs? Is it helpful or harmful to the meaning?

I actually love translating and when the first album review came out from No Depression about Multitudes, the headline was “…Alisa Amador is Found in Translation.” I was so happy about that. Because really, my best language is Spanglish, switching in between is where I’m most comfortable, and that in-between-ness is where I’m always existing.

In my parent’s band, they would often give a translation of the song for an English speaking audience; my dad would play the progression of the song and my mom would stand there dramatically, looking fabulous, telling the lyrics in a beautiful way, always within the frame of the chord progression.

So I really enjoy giving a translation before singing the songs now as well, and so many people have come up to tell me they love it. The translation being in time with the song makes it possible for them to even follow along while I sing it in Spanish.

There’s something so metaphorically perfect about that, because when you’re living in between you feel like you’re always missing something, but there’s something gained from that, too, because it makes it possible to give grace when someone isn’t understanding, or bring them in when they aren’t feeling heard. And that is what I’m able to do when I give a translation.

Can you tell me about your guitar style? It’s really beautiful. Who or what influences the way you play? And how did you learn?

I started because I idolized my dad. He is a classical guitarist and he’s trained in flamenco. As a kid I studied flamenco dance, too, so I used to dance while he would play. He gave me one of his old foot stools and I played nylon-string guitar for a long time, that was my first instrument. I just studied folk songs like “Monster Mash” and “Blackbird” and “American Pie.” My dad was super technical, but I didn’t study with him, and I knew I wanted to become a better guitarist.

Then in college, I saw a musician just playing solo electric guitar and singing and I had no idea an electric could sound like that. I love electric – but nylon-string acoustic will always be the origin of my playing, so I approach the electric guitar that way. Resonance is really important to me and noticing how chords feel. A lot of my writing is just simple chords and adding and taking away notes. I’m very much still learning guitar, I’m in this stage of guitar learning where I get lost in self doubt, so I practice whatever I play live so much in order to feel confident performing.

I’m sure there’s a lot of Spanish language folk music that folks in the “Americana” scene are really missing out on, myself included. What are some other artists that sing in Spanish or in other languages, that you think folks should know about?

One of my big inspirations for the overall sonic work of Multitudes was the album Domus by Sílvia Pérez Cruz. I listened to it obsessively seven years ago without realizing it was the soundtrack of a film, Circa de Tu Casa, which is about the real housing crisis in Spain. [Pérez Cruz also stars in this film.]

Something I thought Cruz did so well on this record is that she is so feelings-oriented. What she feels is what dictates how she sings the song, which is a philosophy that I share. But she also has this riveting voice, so it’s all about telling a story. The production on the record completely holds what she’s singing, but it is also musically and technically beautiful. You want to have a record you can turn to again and again and notice new things to love.

Is there anything else you want readers to know before we end?

I guess I’d like to give a gentle reminder to human listeners, to the people listening and reading, that you really matter to independent artists. Every listener is the life force behind our careers. When someone comes to a show, and then comes back with a friend or presses play on a record they’ve not heard before, those things are what make my job possible, so thank you to the individuals of the world who press play and pay attention!

Photo Credit: Sasha Pedro