Fifteen years ago, bluegrass band Della Mae’s vocalist Celia Woodsmith wrote her future self a letter. She was 25 years old, burned out on trying to make it in Boston’s rock scene, and reeling from the loss of her father.
“If you can just die, why would you be doing something that you didn’t love to do?” she asked.
Her answer – and her hopes for her future self, which Woodsmith wrote into that letter – inspired the title track and underlying message of the band’s new album, Magic Accident, which marvels at the improbability of existence. As Woodsmith sings on “Magic Accident”:
We all start with something No one comes from nothing It took a millennia to get you here You’re a magic accident, the way that fate bent With a little carbon and gravity Carbon and gravity
“Our life is just a series of these little accidents – my parents meeting, their parents meeting. And it’s a beautiful and magical thing that we’re all here right now. It’s a beautiful and magical thing that Della Mae is here,” Woodsmith says. “That’s the basis behind that song, and it’s the basis behind how I think about a lot of my life. It’s just a beautiful accident that I’m here at all. So I might as well enjoy it and do the best thing, the best that I can, while I can.”
Magic Accident, as an album, a song, a concept, and a band ethos, celebrates following one’s own path. All four members of Della Mae – Woodsmith, founder and fiddler Kimber Ludiker, guitarist Avril Smith, and bassist Vickie Vaughn – lost their fathers prematurely, which bonds them as a band and altered how each woman sees the world. And making it as one of the few all-women bluegrass bands inherently required the Dellas to push boundaries and carve out space for their lives and stories.
“If I could talk to the little girl inside of me/ I’d let her know the world ain’t what it seems/ And if she would listen/ Could I keep her safe from making my mistakes?” the band wonders on “My Own Highway,” the album’s second track. Later, they remind the next generation of the same sentiment in “Out Run ‘Em,” written by Smith (co-written with Caroline Spence) for her pre-teen daughter, advising, “If you go with the crowd, you can’t out run ‘em.”
Indeed, all of Magic Accident listens like a set of love and advice letters to the band’s younger and current selves.
“I don’t think we could have written this album as young women. This is an older, wiser woman sort of thing,” Woodsmith says.
Elsewhere on Magic Accident, the band appreciates life’s small, sweet, desperately important moments. “Nothing at All,” which Woodsmith wrote with Spence, is a gentle appreciation of love that’s aged comfortably, while “Little Bird,” which the pair also wrote, relishes slow days and simple life joys.
“What do they say? One of the biggest forms of revolution is having joy in spite of what’s going on around you,” says Vaughn, about including these kinds of emotional interludes on the album. “And sometimes, the little things are all we have right now, whenever all this bullshit is happening.”
These songs would not be confused with light subject fare, though. The weight and wisdom of lived experience grounds Magic Accident in conviction and clarity, even when it may appear uncomfortable. “Family Tree,” a furious track driven by producer Alison Brown’s banjo picking and Ludiker’s fiddle, explores what it takes to break harmful generational cycles. “What You’re Looking For” ends a relationship that no longer serves the narrator. On the album’s only cover, Bruce Robison’s “Lifeline,” Vaughn on vocals (with Mary Bragg on harmony), reaches a hand down to anyone struggling to find their footing in the buffeting of life.
“The weight has become unbearable,” Woodsmith says. “We speak our minds and we fight for the things that we think are right; we all feel strongly about a lot of the same things, like women’s rights. But that can be a heavy load to bear and to sing constantly night after night.
“Sometimes we choose not to sing some of these songs that we believe so strongly, just because it’s become hard to bear that weight. I think this album lets us see the light a little bit.”
Though it’s full of interpersonal songs, on the final track of Magic Accident Della Mae zooms out to consider the state of the world. Sonically bluegrass and lyrically a protest, “Takes All Kinds” – co-written by Vaughn and singer/songwriter Melody Walker – asks the world to consider its future, as well:
Oh, the politicians who write the laws (Oh, lord it takes all kinds) They say they stand for the underdog (Oh, lord it takes all kinds)
But then they take my rights away (Oh, lord it takes all kinds) For a greenback dollar at the end of the day (Oh, lord it takes all kinds)
Ludiker started Della Mae in part out of frustration with how few women she saw on concert bills and in bluegrass bands. “After talking with a lot of people, it was pretty clear that maybe those bands also wouldn’t hire women for various reasons; I eventually got the idea to start my own band,” she says.
“My brain just wouldn’t accept the fact that [otherwise] maybe I wouldn’t have some of the [same] opportunities that I would have if I was a boy.”
To that end, Della Mae has been part of building a more inclusive, supportive community in bluegrass. Indeed, Woodsmith joined the band soon after writing herself the letter that inspired “Magic Accident.” At the time, she planned to quit music and join the Peace Corps. Instead, 15 years on, Della Mae has produced six studio albums (including their GRAMMY-nominated This World Oft Can Be on Rounder Records) and toured over 30 countries with the U.S. State Department music diplomacy program.
Della Mae is, by their own estimation, the longest-touring all-woman bluegrass band. Which would prove, as they put it on their website, “once and for all, that a band of all women is not, nor has ever been, a mere novelty.”
“Hopefully we can inspire other little magic accidents,” Woodsmith says. “Like other women or other young people who want to play, who see us at the right time in their lives to push them forward to playing music, and to step outside of their comfort zones and do something they thought might be impossible.”
You know what would be the perfect way to end the week? A bevy of new roots songs and videos! Well, we have just the thing – and You Gotta Hear This.
To start us off, South Carolina-based husband-and-wife duo Benson – Wayne and Kristin Scott Benson – deliver a brand new instrumental, “Slayton Court.” Inspired by Wayne’s first address when he moved to Nashville 30+ years ago, and their young adult son’s similar journey in the present, it’s a thoughtful and tender tune that’s lyrical and evocative. Their labelmates, Unspoken Tradition, who hail from just up the mountains from Benson, also debuted a new single today, “Rhythm of the Ridge.” Written by North Carolina native Milan Miller, it’s an excellent song built on regionality, community, and the importance of the cultures that birth roots music.
Keep scrolling, though, as there’s plenty to explore. Singer-songwriter Cuchulain offers an adorable, painstaking stop-motion video for his new single, “Flip Turns.” As he puts it, it’s a song for swimmers and/or folks trying to keep their head above water wrapped in smooth and jazzy, alt-Americana sonics. New Jersey singer-songwriter Sean Kiely kicked off 2026 with a brand new track featuring his friend and hero, Kaia Kater. We’re pleased to share a live performance video of “This Is The Year,” a perfect song for starting the new calendar year on the correct foot.
Los Angeles stalwart Jonny Fritz returns to his most recent album, Debbie Downers, to offer all of us a woodwinds version of that critically acclaimed LP coming in April. Today he unveils the first delightful woodwinds version from the reimagined collection, “Tea Man,” featuring clarinets, bass clarinet, flute, and Fritz holding it all together himself. For a dose of old-time, check out “Cheeky F” by George Jackson’s Local Trio. Stemming from the tradition of Texas-style old-time fiddling and melodies, Jackson, his trio-mates, and guest guitarist (and producer) Stash Wyslouch pick through the swinging and acrobatic pizzicato head with “Flight of the Bumblebee” aplomb.
To round out our roundup this week, we get a healthy dose of alliterative outlaw country from Ameripolitan crooner Dale Watson. “Willie, Waylon and Whiskey” brings alt-country, the Bakersfield sound, and psychedelic surf rock together as only Watson could. The track is driving and frenetic, leaning forward in the beat and referencing so many classic lines, melodic hooks, and tracks from his fellow outlaws. Would country be country without self-referential songs? It’s hard to imagine.
From bluegrass and old-time to folk and outlaw, there’s plenty to enjoy this week on BGS. You Gotta Hear This!
Benson, “Slayton Court”
Artist:Benson Hometown: Boiling Springs, South Carolina Song: “Slayton Court” Release Date: January 23, 2026 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “‘Slayton Court’ was the first address that I had when I moved to Nashville, Tennessee, around 1993 with my good buddy Greg Luck. This instrumental is inspired by kind of reflecting on that time when you first gain your independence. For me, I was a young working musician for the first time playing with IIIrd Tyme Out. And you fast forward all these years and now I have a 19-year-old son going through a similar season. We were going to make a slideshow to document those years, especially with his activity as a young angler and going into the world of college fishing. As we made that slideshow it felt like this same melody would serve as great background for that, as well. I hope you guys enjoy ‘Slayton Court.'” – Wayne Benson
Track Credits: Wayne Benson – Mandolin Kristin Scott Benson – Banjo Cody Kilby – Acoustic guitar Kevin McKinnon – Bass
Cuchulain, “Flip Turns”
Artist:Cuchulain Hometown: Rock Hill, South Carolina, but currently live in Ithaca, New York. This was recorded in Eugene, Oregon, though, which was our hometown for the past five years. Song: “Flip Turns” Album:It’s Always Something Release Date: January 23, 2026 (single); April 3, 2026 (album)
In Their Words: “‘Flip Turns’ is a song for swimmers, for folks keeping their head above water. Written between swim breaks on summer tour 2024 and recorded live last January 2025, this song was our Tiny Desk Contest submission last year. I’ll be touring East Coast listening rooms in April 2026 to support It’s Always Something, the live in-studio album for which this is the lead single. A stop-motion music video accompanies the single release. The video took me most of fall 2025: I hand-felted the figures, constructed sets, and filmed frame by frame on my phone during my newborn daughter’s nap breaks. Equally at home on a coffee shop playlist or swimming workout playlist, the songs on this album are meant to be photographs of what my Oregon band sounded like at our peak, and love letters to hopeless romantics trying to make sense of this wild world.” – Cuchulain
Video Credits: Video by Cuchulain, color by Ashley Barry.
Jonny Fritz, “Tea Man”
Artist:Jonny Fritz Hometown: Los Angeles, California Song: “Tea Man” Album:Debbie Downers – Woodwinds Release Date: January 20, 2026 (single); April 3, 2026 (album) Label: Gar Hole Records
In Their Words: “I love woodwinds and have wanted to make this type of record for as long as I can remember. I’ve had this vision of clarinets playing chicken pickin’-style telecaster solos. Just imagine a Jerry Reed covers album played with clarinets and piccolos. There’s something about the staccato tonguing of a reed instrument that seems to me as enjoyable as playing roadhouse country solos. I’ve never played one, so I don’t know, but I do think about it all the time. I couldn’t be happier to finally hear it out loud and share it with the world.
“The version of this record I brought to Andrew Conrad was very different from what it became. My version was ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ and he made it into ‘The Star Wars Theme’ (or something like that). He was so clearly overqualified for the job and it made me appreciate him even more.” – Jonny Fritz
Track Credits: Jonny Fritz – Vocals, songwriter Christine Tavolacci – Flute Andrew Conrad – Clarinets Michael Mull – Clarinets Brian Walsh – Bass clarinet
George Jackson’s Local Trio, “Cheeky F”
Artist:George Jackson’s Local Trio Hometown: Originally, Christchurch, New Zealand. Now, Madison, Tennessee Song: “Cheeky F” Album:Center Of The Universe Release Date: January 26, 2026 (single); February 13, 2026 (album) Label: Adhyâropa Records
In Their Words: “I was inspired by the way Texas-style old-time fiddlers hide all sorts of weird notes on upbeats, so this was a bit of a riff on a Texas-style tune and seeing how many non-chord notes I could hide around the melody on weak beats. Stash took a break from producing in the control room to join us with some driving rhythm guitar, which really helped channel the Texas-style energy. I’m really happy with some of the spontaneous energy that we were able to capture in this take, a real edge-of-your-seat, improvised, studio take.” – George Jackson
Track Credits: George Jackson – Fiddle Frank Evans – Banjo Eli Broxham – Double bass Stash Wyslouch – Guitar
Sean Kiely, “This Is The Year” Featuring Kaia Kater
Artist:Sean Kiely Hometown: Jersey City, New Jersey Song: “This Is the Year” featuring Kaia Kater Release Date: January 1, 2026 Label: Multiple Logo
In Their Words: “I’ve been working on a new record since the fall and I was thrilled that Kaia Kater joined us on ‘This Is the Year’ singing and playing banjo. She elevated the tune so much, both in the vocal and in the groove of the banjo with the band. It came together really naturally and quickly, so we decided to release it on New Year’s Day, even as the rest of the album is still taking shape.
“I have a long list of favorite things about my friend and hero Kaia, but two in particular are her songwriting and her posture as a performer – the self-possession and power that’s just so right-there in everything she sings. They’re qualities I’m reaching for, so having her bring that craft to something I wrote was so rad.
“This video from the afternoon of New Year’s Eve is actually the first time we ever played the tune just as a duo and I gotta say it was no less exciting (and fun) to sit and pick ‘This Is the Year’ on Kaia’s couch just the two of us.” – Sean Kiely
Unspoken Tradition, “Rhythm of the Ridge”
Artist:Unspoken Tradition Hometown: Western North Carolina Song: “Rhythm of the Ridge” Release Date: January 23, 2026 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “The first time I heard the demo of ‘Rhythm of the Ridge,’ I realized it was as deeply meaningful for me as it was for Milan [Miller]. I grew up in an immigrant family and straddling two worlds. The mountains of Appalachia are where I found the inspiration to write my American story. It feels timely to tell a story of grounding ideals and identity in a time where external forces attempt to rend us further away from each other. Just as the culture of my family’s home is written on their hearts long after they left it, so too is the ‘Rhythm of the Ridge’ on my own.” – Sav Sankaran
“Although it wasn’t my original intention when I began writing ‘Rhythm of the Ridge,’ the song quickly took on a deeply personal narrative as the lines started falling into place. I left the mountains of North Carolina for Nashville almost 30 years ago, yet home is a melody that follows you long after you leave it – a rhythm in your bones and blood that quietly keeps time. This isn’t a song about longing or looking back; it leans into a sense of place that steadies you and guides you through new endeavors and experiences. Fully adept at honoring the traditions of bluegrass while championing material that feels fresh and forward-thinking, Unspoken Tradition has become one of my favorite bands to emerge in the genre over the past decade, and I am beyond thrilled that they’re adding ‘Rhythm of the Ridge’ to their stellar catalog.” – Milan Miller, songwriter
Track Credits: Audie McGinnis – Acoustic guitar, harmony vocal Sav Sankaran – Upright bass, lead vocal Tim Gardner – Fiddle, harmony vocal Ty Gilpin – Mandolin Zane McGinnis – Banjo
Dale Watson, “Willie, Waylon and Whiskey”
Artist:Dale Watson Hometown: Austin, Texas Song: “Willie, Waylon and Whiskey” Album:Unwanted Release Date: January 23, 2026 (single); April 24, 2026 (album) Label: 40 Below Records
In Their Words: “This song was written on stage in San Antonio at the Lonesome Rose Bar. Inspired by a large man standing in front of me all night because he was wearing a shirt that simply said ‘Willie Waylon and Whiskey.’ I asked if it was a band name or a song name and he just said, ‘No, I just saw it in Walmart and liked it.’ Well, I liked it, too, so I wrote the song on the spot. I knew it would be a keeper when by the second time the chorus came around the entire crowd was singing it with me.” – Dale Watson
By the time Sammy Brue finished recording The Journals, he already knew something unsettling: this might be the most meaningful work he ever makes. Not because it would be his last, but because it arrived fully formed, heavy with inheritance, responsibility, and grief.
“If I never made another album again,” Brue said, almost laughing at the impossibility of topping it, “this was it.”
The Journals (out January 23 on Bloodshot Records) is a spare, intimate record built from the handwritten notebooks of Justin Townes Earle – Brue’s mentor, hero, and one of the most restless, brilliant American songwriters of his generation. Earle died of an accidental drug overdose in 2020 at age 38. What he left behind, scattered across hotel rooms, trains, taxis, storage units, and decades of living, was a vast, unfinished body of work. Hundreds of pages of lyrics, fragments, revisions, false starts, and songs carved and recarved like stone.
Entrusted with those journals by Earle’s widow, Jenn Marie Earle, Brue didn’t approach them as artifacts. He approached them as living documents. “I never got to write a song with Justin,” he said. “And then I thought – maybe I could.”
The result is neither a covers album nor an act of ventriloquism. Some songs on The Journals emerge directly from lyric sheets Earle left behind. Others are co-writes in spirit, with Brue completing ideas Earle had shaped over years. A few are Brue’s own songs, written from compilations of Earle’s images and themes. One track, “For Justin,” is entirely Brue’s – a quiet, aching letter written two years after Earle’s death, “by a Justin fan for Justin’s fans.”
The record was made quickly, almost violently so. With GoFundMe money raised to finish the project, Brue booked two days in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, a nod to the sparse manner that Earle once cut Yuma, his breakthrough 2007 debut. Brue wanted to honor that lineage directly: no band, no overdubs, no safety net. Just voice, guitar, microphones.
“I wanted it all live,” he said. “No tracking. No instrumentals. Just me.”
Brue practiced obsessively for months, then walked into the studio and recorded ten songs in a single day. When nerves crept in, he leaned on a conversation with Joshua Black Wilkins, Earle’s longtime collaborator, asking how Yuma had been made so quickly, so ferociously. “He said Justin was desperate,” Brue said. “He had to make it happen or he was going to sink.” That urgency – career, life, survival – became Brue’s template. The next day, they listened back, drank, and let the record sit where it landed.
Brue has been playing these songs live since the moment they were finished. Unlike most of his own catalog, they haven’t worn thin. “I’ll never get sick of playing these,” he said. “I’ll play them until my demise.”
To understand why requires also understanding what Earle represented to Brue long before the journals ever entered the picture. Brue grew up in a household steeped in American roots music – Justin Townes Earle, the Avett Brothers, Old Crow Medicine Show, Dave Rawlings. As a child, he assumed Woody Guthrie and Lead Belly were simply what came on the radio. At 10, he asked his father to take him to see Earle play in Salt Lake City, only to discover the show was 21-and-over. Fate intervened: Earle was outside the venue, smoking, when they pulled over. He signed Brue’s guitar. Years later, Earle invited him to open shows, tour, and appear on the cover of Single Mothers as a kind of “mini-Justin.”
They stayed connected. Brue watched Earle fall in love with Jenn, watched his life oscillate between discipline and chaos, sobriety and relapse. “He always treated me the same,” Brue said. “He put on a strong front for me.”
When Earle died, Brue felt the loss in stages – shock, numbness, then collapse. He later read Earle’s rehab journals but couldn’t bring himself to take them home. The pain on those pages was too raw. “Some of the most heartbreaking stuff I’ve ever read,” he said. “You want it released. You don’t want it released.”
What struck Brue most, beyond the suffering, was the work ethic. Earle wrote obsessively, filling 150-page notebooks song by song, revising endlessly. Saint of Lost Causes alone contains nearly 80 pages of drafts. “He carved songs like marble,” Brue says. “No wonder they’re undeniable.”
That rigor reshaped Brue’s own sense of craft. Archiving Earle’s journals – more than 800 pages total, still only a fraction of what exists – forced him to confront the fragility of legacy. “I’m looking at my own songs now like, why was I writing in the Notes app?” he said. “I need a box.”
The emotional core of The Journals came together when Brue met with Jenn and Etta, Earle’s daughter, flipping through the notebooks together. Etta clung to Brue’s arm as they turned the pages. “It felt like she was closer to her dad,” Brue said. “Jenn, closer to her husband. Me, closer to my idol.” From that moment on, failure wasn’t an option.
The album arrives alongside renewed attention to Earle’s life and work, including Jonathan Bernstein’s authorized biography, What Do You Do When You’re Lonesome. Together, they suggest something rare: a continuation rather than a conclusion.
“I feel like I’m a link in the chain,” Brue said, naming the lineage he feels bound to – Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt, Steve Earle, Justin Townes Earle. “It’s rough and tumble right now. Which is perfect.”
For all its weight, The Journals isn’t morbid. It’s alive. It moves forward. Brue knows he doesn’t have to top it. He only has to honor it. And for now, that’s enough to keep the fire lit.
Welcome to The Working Songwriter, the show where today’s best songwriters come to talk shop. Each episode we host a distinguished guest and we ask them to go deep on their inspiration, their process, and the general ups and downs of making a life in music. Whether you’re a grizzled veteran picking out custom chrome trim for your tour bus or a scrappy upstart, trying to determine whether your Toyota Tercel can make it through a three thousand mile tour, this is your show. Because, ultimately, it is what every writer seeks most. An ironclad excuse to put off actually writing.
Our guest this week on The Working Songwriter hails from The Woodlands, Texas. Hayes Carll is a singer, songwriter, and storyteller whose sharp wit and plainspoken poetry first broke through with his 2002 debut, Flowers & Liquor. That was followed by 2008’s Trouble in Mind, which delivered the hit “She Left Me for Jesus” and cemented his place among the genre’s most distinctive voices.
Carll has toured with artists like Old Crow Medicine Show, Todd Snider, and Alison Krauss and his songs have been covered by Miranda Lambert, Lee Ann Womack, and Kenny Chesney. He’s recorded for Lost Highway, Dualtone, and Thirty Tigers and he’s performed on stages from Newport Folk Festival to Austin City Limits and the Grand Ole Opry.
Rolling Stone praises his work for its “razor-sharp wit and lived-in warmth,” while NPR notes his “keen eye for the human condition wrapped in disarming charm.” American Songwriter calls him “one of Americana’s most reliable truth-tellers.”
Aotearoa (New Zealand) doesn’t have a strong history of bluegrass bands – except one. If you mention bluegrass to New Zealanders, some will have at least heard of the Hamilton County Bluegrass Band. New Zealand has produced some great players, notably fiddle player George Jackson, banjo player BB Bowness, guitarist/singer Cy Winstanley, and bassist/singer Vanessa McGowan. (Now that we write this, these four would make a great NZ bluegrass band!) But while these names are well known in American bluegrass circles, it is fair to say they aren’t known (outside of folk circles) in Aotearoa.
Many of the songs on our new album, Midnight (out January 30, 2026), are situated within a day, or feature characters who are sitting at the cusp of who they have been before delving into something new. That sense of “in-between” also reflects our place within Aotearoa’s musical landscape, where bluegrass arrives without a long local history, but can be shaped in ways that feel natural to how we live and create here.
“Our Kiwi fans know bluegrass from traditional songs and contemporary artists such as Alison Krauss & Union Station, and Billy Strings. But they are more familiar with the other genres that bluegrass sits alongside. We’re also collectively members of the New Zealand folk, country, and jazz communities,” says our bassist, Rob Henderson.
Midnight starts with bluegrass at its core, but gently widens scope, bringing in different genres with their rhythms, broader chord progressions, and influences drawn from our own environment and lives lived in Aotearoa.
Here are the songs and tunes that anchor us in tradition and inspire us to find our own path as the clock strikes twelve. – You, Me, Everybody
“Ain’t No Grave” – Crooked Still
I love groove and the forward motion in all music, so when I heard this tune for the first time I was naturally inspired by the push of the cello part. This feel was a factor in my own bass playing across the album, especially for up-tempo tunes such as “Misdirection.” – Rob Henderson
“Dorrigo” – George Jackson
George Jackson’s tune “Dorrigo” feels friendly and familiar. It’s one of those tunes that will just keep going around and around the jam circle. When the Dorrigo Challenge did the rounds on the internet a couple years ago, it was a reminder of how a tune can bring people together. I had this in mind while writing “Sam’s Tune” on our album. – Sam Frangos-Rhodes
“Wildfire” – Watchhouse
I find when I sit down to write a song, I usually follow the same template or theme. Of course, there is variation in a lot of my songwriting, but I find rhythmically it’s always much of the same thing. A while back I wanted to break that cycle and try to write a more chilled out, slower tempo song, so I wrote “Heart of Stone,” which leads to “Wildfire” by Watchhouse. I enjoy this song because I think it has a very similar vibe to “Heart of Stone.” For me, it captures the same emotion and feeling I was looking for. I find it’s always nice to find what I was looking for in other people’s writing and relate that back to my own music. – LaurenceFrangos-Rhodes
“Heart of Stone” – You, Me, Everybody
Laurence originally wrote this while we were producing our previous album, Southern Sky. I love the backbeat to it, but he also writes great chord progressions; they feel natural and authentic to the song and surprising at the same time. I’ve known Sam and Laurence since they were in their early teens and while our audience love our instrumentation, singing harmonies with them feels like home to me. “Heart of Stone” gives us an opportunity to showcase our vocal blend and milk those beautiful chords Laurence gifts to his songs. – Kim Bonnington
“Railroad” – Béla Fleck & Abigail Washburn
When I try to serve the song with three-finger banjo, I frequently look to Béla Fleck’s work with Abigail Washburn. He plays parts and the two of them fill out the texture of a song so well! Ironically, when we arranged “Silver Spoon,” I was hearing Abigail-like clawhammer behind it, so I did my best to provide that kind of sound with three fingers. – Nat Torkington
“A Hundred and Sixty Acres” – Marty Robbins
Our track, “The Ballad of Bubs and Beautiful,” started when I overheard a conversation between two women shearers in a camp ground in Waipukarau. I knew that I wanted to capture their relationship to each other and their working life, all framed within a day. My Dad’s vinyl collection is 50% Marty Robbins and I remembered the picture that “A Hundred and Sixty Acres” colored of a life well lived. That’s why the first line in “Bubs and Beautiful” is, “Up ‘fore dawn to greet the sun.” There’s a tendency for NZ songwriters to still write about American experiences and places due to an inability to describe ourselves that has been labelled “cultural cringe.” But I knew the description of the women was genuine when I heard someone go, “Oh” as we played the last line live for the first time. – KB
“Orphan Annie” – Tony Rice
As a guitarist, I’ve been heavily influenced by Tony Rice – who hasn’t!? Whenever I listen to the Church Street Blues album it leaves me feeling creative and inspired. I love the minimalism; stripped back to one guitar and vocals telling a story. A lot of the songs on Midnight started in this exact same way, guitar and vocals alone. So it only feels appropriate to give credit to Church Street Blues where credit is due. I cannot pick one track from the album as a favorite because they are all great, but here is “Orphan Annie.” – LFR
“Was It You” – Joy Kills Sorrow
“Was It You” is a song I love for how it drives. That rapid mando chop over a fast rolling banjo held down by a thumping bass is a sure way to make a foot stomper. I took a lot of inspiration from Jacob Jolliff’s mandolin playing in “Was It You” when I put together my part for our song, “Busy Without Me.” – SFR
“Busy Without Me” – You, Me, Everybody
Kim writes wonderful slice-of-life songs. The Midnight album has everything from the plight of an unwed mother to mother/daughter sheep-shearers. “Busy Without Me” is perhaps more #relatable, though: we have a short life with ample temptation for busyness, it says, but it’s important to take moments to “sit and breathe and let the breeze wash over me with nothing in my way.” I love the way the busy-ness of the music reflects the lyrics. – NT
“Caleb Meyer” – Gillian Welch
Country/folk/bluegrass songwriters have always done a great job of writing songs about things we won’t talk about, but make us happy to sing about them. Our song “Silver Spoon” was initially written to an Irish jig. But the joyfulness didn’t eclipse the bleakness of the lyrics. At different times when we were arranging it, different band members would say, “What would Caleb Meyer do?” and our producer Rachel Baiman asked exactly the same question when she arrived for our sessions before we recorded. It’s become the quintessential modern murder ballad. – KB
“Distant Sun” – Crowded House
I grew up in ’90s New Zealand with parents who would play in a country band at the local barn dance while my brother was DJing at the rugby club rooms. So while Marty and Merle would be in one ear, Crowded House was in the other. If you think of great bridges in songwriting, “Distant Sun” has one of them. It also has my favorite line ever in a song: “I don’t pretend to know what you want, but I offer love.” The melody lines in our own track, “The Rest of Us,” hark back to years of admiring Neil Finn as a songwriter. – KB
“The Rest of Us” – You, Me, Everybody
When Kim first brought the concept of “The Rest of Us” to the band I was immediately a fan, and thought it would a great fit on the album. Before we went into the studio we all spent some time together to arrange the new material. As a band I feel like we work uniquely well when it comes to putting a song together and it’s one of our biggest strengths. I think “The Rest of Us” is a great example of Kim’s songwriting and a great example of how we function as a band. – LFR
“Natchez Trace” – Béla Fleck
In my mind, this is the classic G minor banjo instrumental, from Béla Fleck’s landmark album, Drive. Recorded with his B string tuned down to B flat, Fleck often plays it live out without the re-tuning. That was the inspiration for me to write my own Gm instrumental for a banjo tuned to open G major. – NT
“What a Fool Believes” – The Doobie Brothers
I wrote “She’s Alright With Me” a few years ago before I joined You, Me, Everybody. At the time, I had been deep diving into a lot of Doobie Brothers music and the moving parts within their songs. When “She’s Alright With Me” was born, it was originally a heavy keyboard driving tune – having written it on an old 1960s Wurlitizer Piano and styled it on some of the Doobies’ keyboard parts. It’s safe to say it’s transitioned a lot as we don’t have a keyboard part, but you can hear the rhythm now being driven in the same way by Laurence’s guitar. – RH
“Old Train” – Tony Rice Unit
Laurence’s epic album-opening “Misdirection” is a straight-ahead driving bluegrass song, which nonetheless has a few surprise chords in it. For some reason that reminds me of this epic Tony Rice track. – NT
“Misdirection” – You, Me, Everybody
“Misdirection” fits nicely as the opener on our album. It’s a fun example of progressive bluegrass while still staying true to its roots. “Misdirection” is my favorite track on the album and I would like to think the amount of fun we had recording this song is reflected in the final result. – SFR
Your weekly dose of new music is here! You Gotta Hear This.
We’ve got a couple of brand new music videos, leading off with Big Richard absolutely smashing a David Olney song, “Millionaire.” To say the track is apropos for this moment in time would be a laughable understatement. The string band/bluegrass supergroup give it their signature impassioned treatment, with energy, conviction, and musicality. Their new music video for the just-released single was shot in and around Salt Lake City. Plus, Boston-based alt-folk duo Sweet Petunia bring us a new music video, as well. Their new, stark indie folk track “Grub” is set to a delightful animated, stop-motion, hand-drawn music video. The song explores identity, embodiment, beauty, and pain, and holds space for solidarity for trans and gender-nonconforming folks.
You’ll also find a music video for Michael Haney’s new cover of a Bruce Springsteen song, “Brilliant Disguise,” rich in Americana rock ‘n’ roll. Haney knew he wanted to record the number because of how it “speaks directly to the heart of the human condition.” Singer-songwriter Kirby Lyle picks up the same mantle on the title track for his brand new EP, Change Is Hard. It’s also a song of solidarity and community, because who is going to save us if we don’t save us? But we are going to save us.
It’s a lovely collection of tracks this week highlighting community, togetherness, and how roots music is built upon both. We hope you enjoy, cause we think You Gotta Hear This!
Big Richard, “Millionaire”
Artist:Big Richard Hometown: Denver, Colorado Song: “Millionaire” Album:Pet Release Date: January 13, 2026 (single); February 6, 2026 (album) Label: Signature Sounds
In Their Words: “‘Millionaire’ is a song about the greed and corruption of the rich written by David Olney, originally released in 1991. It is still wildly topical nearly 35 years later, although it might be time to change ‘millionaire’ to ‘billionaire’ at this point.
“We added this song to our setlist just after the inauguration last year and it has become one of the most emotionally charged moments in our sets. For us, this song is a unifying message, because regardless of which side of the line you voted on, we are all on the same side in the great class war. All of us are at the mercy of a very few, who only have their own best interests in mind, and who would never dismantle the systems that hold them in their places of power. It’s up to us to join with our neighbors and tear it down, from the joke that is the insurance industry to the politicians that are openly bought and controlled by corporations.
“We filmed the music video in Salt Lake City, where local fans will recognize many of the landmarks, which include the state capitol building, the offices of the LDS (who currently own more real estate than any other entity in the world), and the fuel refineries that choke the air of that beautiful city.
“We sing this old song with a lot of hope in dark days like these. Our species is brilliant, and more than capable of solving the problems that we have, if we would put the money in the right pockets and put limits on the folks that choose to hoard it.” – Dr. Joy Adams
Video Credit: Wonderstone Films
Michael Haney, “Brilliant Disguise”
Artist:Michael Haney Hometown: Originally from Columbia, South Carolina; now living in Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Brilliant Disguise” Release Date: January 23, 2026 Label: Rock Ridge Music
In Their Words: “I chose to record ‘Brilliant Disguise’ by Bruce Springsteen as an up-tempo rock version, because I’ve always been drawn to the tension and truth in that song. It’s one of his most well-known pieces from a transitional period in his life, and I think it speaks directly to the heart of the human condition — that universal experience of hiding parts of ourselves, even from those we love most. The more you sit with it, the more you realize the song captures something even deeper: how often we don’t truly know who we are in the first place. We walk through life trying to piece together our identities, yet we still build masks on top of that uncertainty — sometimes to protect ourselves, sometimes because we’re afraid of being seen, and sometimes for reasons we don’t fully understand.
“I liked the idea of doing late-’80s Springsteen as if mid-to-late-’70s Springsteen had taken it on, with that raw, energetic edge that defined his early sound. Reimagining it that way let me lean into the emotional conflict at the center of the song — the push and pull between authenticity and self-deception — while giving it the kind of drive that felt truer to my own voice. It’s not a song that’s been covered often, which made it feel like the perfect addition to my catalog: both as a tribute to his songwriting and as a reflection of where I am personally right now, navigating my own questions about identity, honesty, and the parts of ourselves we choose — or struggle — to reveal.” – Michael Haney
Track Credits: Michael Haney – Vocals Ben Jackson – Drums, percussion, keys, Hammond B3 organ Luis Espaillat – Bass Brian Fechino – Acoustic guitar, electric guitar Brad Sample – Electric guitar Kaleb Thomas Jones – BGVs
Kirby Lyle, “Change Is Hard”
Artist:Kirby Lyle Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Change Is Hard” Album:Change Is Hard (EP) Release Date: January 16, 2026
In Their Words: “‘Who’s gonna save us if we don’t save us?’ That’s the line. We are. Us. You and me. Right here in the moment. Every time I play ‘Change Is Hard,’ my soul activates! I’m so full of gratitude that the heart has an infinite capacity when it’s shared, because I can’t express this feeling alone. The music commands a full choir and joyful ruckus of players to lift it up to megaphone level. When the audience engages, our positive energy is ubiquitous! The hope is simple: inspiration toward progress – personal and societal. It’s on us. Be moved. Get better. Make each other better. Together.” – Kirby Lyle
Track Credits: Kirby Lyle – Lead vocals, guitar, auxiliary percussion, songwriter, background vocals Kyle Tuttle – Banjo Keyboard – Jacob Merlin Erika Nalow – Saxophones Jordan Perlson – Drums Background Vocalists: Maya de Vitry, Kyle Tuttle, Ethan Jodziewicz, Anthony Saddic, Brenna, Dana Baker, Emory Major, Noelle McFarland, Rachel Isabella, Sean Donovan, Kimberly Albertson, Laura Stack
In Their Words: “‘Grub’ is a song about my experience of being trans and the beauty and the pain that come with it. The song came to me almost completely at once. Most of the first verse came out in one fell swoop as you hear it today, but the second verse was inspired by a video of beautiful baby birds crowded into a small nest. I was so jealous of how close and happy they looked — a perfect opposite to reflect the isolation and sense of otherness that I explore in the first half of the song. Maddy and I then spent two hours just playing it over and over and over again until we finally found the perfect duet of banjo and vocals to support the song.
“I feel so lucky to have been able to share this song with so many other trans people through years of performing it live and hear how they connect to it within the context of their own experiences. It feels particularly special to be putting ‘Grub’ out in a time where our rights and lives as trans people are being put in harm’s way in a much more visible way than in the past few years.” – Mairead Guy
Video Credit: Riley Halliday
Photo Credit: Sweet Petunia by JJ Gonson; Big Richard by Rett Rogers.
The duo of Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham have amassed an astonishing set of credentials, not only as exceptional soul, pop, rock, and country songwriters, but also as vocalists, producer (Penn), and session musician/sideman (Oldham). Both Alabama natives, they’ve maintained a successful professional relationship and close personal friendship since meeting in the late ’50s as teens. They’ve always characterized themselves as “country boys who love Black music.”
Penn initially viewed himself primarily as a singer. He was the lead vocalist for two local Alabama bands, the R&B group the Mark V Combo and a later one, Dan Penn and the Pallbearers. But he began to shift his focus in 1960, after his tune “Is A Bluebird Blue?” became an early hit for Conway Twitty. That song also reflected the joint musical influences that have always permeated the tunes co-written by Penn and Oldham. It’s country’s powerful storytelling edge combined with soul’s passionate energy and quest for personal salvation. Once the Twitty tune made it big, things changed in Penn’s mind. “That’s when I first decided that maybe this songwriting thing might work out,” he added. “After I saw some of the checks that were coming in, I decided to just keep going with it.”
Penn had already been working at SPAR Music studio, a place co-founded by Rick Hall and Billy Sherrill above a drugstore in Florence, Alabama. When Hall decided to open his own studio titled FAME (Florence Alabama Music Enterprises), Penn became their first resident songwriter. He and Oldham began writing together at FAME, and both say they had a chemistry from the very beginning.
“Back in those days, co-writing wasn’t quite what it is today,” Penn continued. “But just from hanging out with Spooner and getting to know him, we had real good rapport from the beginning. I got to know and like him, and then things just kind of took off from there.”
“What Dan says is pretty much how it happened,” Oldham added. “We got a rhythm going and it’s never been one of those things where we’ve had any problems or issues.”
Interestingly, Oldham views himself as a musician first, then a songwriter. A prolific organist and keyboardist, he got his start playing in a traditional jazz band while in high school. The extensive list of top musicians he’s played with over the years includes Arlo Guthrie, Jim Croce, Gram Parsons, The Everly Brothers, Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt, Gene Clark, Ry Cooder, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett, Bob Seger, Maria Muldaur, Rita Coolidge, Bobby Womack, Albert King, Helen Reddy, Harry Nilsson, Stephen Stills, J.J. Cale, and Neil Young. But in his earlier days, he also made his way to the FAME studios and had the first of many collaborations with Penn. Among their notable FAME triumphs were Percy Sledge’s “It Tears Me Up,” James and Bobby Purify’s “I’m Your Puppet,” and Joe Simon’s “Let’s Do It Over.”
But Penn wanted to produce as well as write and he left FAME for Memphis in the late ’60s, moving to Chips Moman’s American Studios. Oldham would later follow him there. Penn and Moman would craft their own set of soul classics, notably “Dark End of the Street” for James Carr, and “Do Right Woman, Do Right Man” for Aretha Franklin. Penn got his first major production opportunity in 1967, with the Box Tops and then 16-year-old lead vocalist Alex Chilton. Penn produced their number one hit “The Letter,” then joined forces with Oldham to co-write the group’s second smash “Cry Like A Baby,” and the Sweet Inspirations’ “Sweet Inspiration.”
Oldham would eventually depart for Los Angeles and a prolific career as a session musician and sideman. He played keyboards on Young’s 1978 album Comes a Time, and continued to work with him on such other albums as Old Ways, Harvest Moon, Silver & Gold, and Prairie Wind. Oldham joined Bob Dylan during his Christian era, contributing to Dylan’s Saved album, the Saved Tour and the Shot of Love Tour. With Dylan, he played 79 shows, appeared on Saturday Night Live, and on the GRAMMY Awards telecast. Oldham also partnered with John Prine for the 1984 album Aimless Love and appeared on the 1994 release, A John Prine Christmas.
When Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young reunited for their Freedom of Speech Tour, Oldham played keyboards. He also worked as a sideman and collaborated with Steve Wariner through the ’80s. They teamed on the song “Lonely Women Make Good Lovers.” During the ’90s, Oldham was featured on Jewel’s album Pieces of You, which produced the hit “Who Will Save Your Soul.” In the 2000s, he appeared on a pair of Frank Black albums, joined the Drive-By Truckers for their 2007 The Dirt Underneath tour, and played with Amos Lee, Aaron Neville, Bettye LaVette and Cat Power in 2008. He contributed to Keith Richards’ 2015 album Crosseyed Heart and Sheryl Crow’s Threads in 2019, as well as the Mountain Goats Dark In Here in 2021.
Penn established his own Memphis studio, then subsequently relocated to Nashville in the ’70s. He would have some country success with songs written for Ronnie Milsap and Johnny Rodriguez, and he’d also produce a pair of Milsap LPs – his debut album Ronnie Milsap, and co-producing A Rose By Any Other Name with Moman. He contributed the song “A Woman Left Lonely” to Janis Joplin’s album Pearl (later covered by Charlie Rich) and he’d cut an acclaimed solo album, Nobody’s Fool.
Penn and Oldham had another reunion in 1991 at New York’s Bottom Line, appearing in the songwriter series “In Their Own Words.” They also contributed to Arthur Alexander’s 1993 album Lonely Just Like Me. Later the duo made an acoustic tour throughout parts of the U.S., Europe, Australia, and Japan. It yielded the live album, Moments From This Theater, that was released in 1999. Penn also made another critically praised solo LP, Do Right Man, in 1994. Both Penn and Oldham are members of the Alabama Music Hall of Fame. Oldham is also in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as a sideman, as well as the Musicians Hall of Fame in Nashville and the Birmingham Record Collectors Hall of Fame.
Both men currently remain busy. Penn’s Christmas tune “One Blue Light” was released last November and it was a message of “remembrance and hope” to highlight the holiday season. It’s the first single from Penn’s upcoming album, Smoke Filled Room, which is scheduled for release later this year. “There’s a song on there that I worked on for 20 years and I finally got it right this time,” he said in discussing the upcoming album. “Billy Lawson mixed it and we finally got it sounding the way that we wanted.”
Smoke Filled Room was recorded at Penn’s home studio and will be available on various streaming sites. “When I started out as a singer in the studios I’d always pay attention to what they were doing on the boards, the engineering, mixing, all of it,” Penn added. “So it wasn’t that much of a shift for me to go to production.”
Besides playing dates last year with Neil Young, Oldham also played with the Scottish band Texas on the 2024 release The Muscle Shoals Sessions, a collection of soul covers that the group recorded at FAME studios. He will be playing on an upcoming Robert Cray LP, with the sessions set to begin the week after our interview. Together, Penn and Oldham are doing some select dates this year in both the United States and United Kingdom.
Unfortunately, Oldham suffered an injury early in his recent appearances with Young. “The first week out I fell playing basketball and just tore myself up,” Oldham said. “But I’ve moved from a wheelchair to a walker to a cane, so I’m doing alright.”
Neither man will commit to claiming any one of their classics as their favorite, nor will they cite any one artist as the greatest that has covered their songs. But Penn mentions some names he was particularly happy he worked with as either a producer or songwriter. “Alex Chilton, Aretha Franklin, Joe Simon – so many I can’t really name them all.”
“I’ll just say I’m grateful to all the wonderful singers that did our songs,” Oldham added. “I really saw myself starting out – and still do – as a musician first, and I approached songwriting from that perspective. Dan would work on getting the words right, if there was a problem, and I’d work on fixing the music if anything went wrong on that end.”
Penn added the name of one singer who’s not recorded one of his songs that he’d enjoy having cut one: “Tom Jones,” Penn said. “I doubt if that’s ever going to happen, but I’d love for him to do one of them. He’s got a hell of a voice.”
Their opinions on the phenomenon of streaming aren’t as tinged with anger as some of their contemporaries, though they acknowledge that the compensation end has its problems. “Well, this generation has really gotten accustomed to getting its music that way, and you’ve got to be willing to adjust to that reality,” Penn said. “I don’t really have anything against it, but really, as a songwriter, [you] aren’t going to make a lot of money off it.”
“They definitely need to address the payment side of it,” Oldham said. “It’s definitely a way to get the music out to the public, but the musicians themselves aren’t really getting the benefits from it. That’s the area that they need to address.”
The exploits of Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham are chronicled as part of the “Muscle Shoals: Low Rhythm Rising” exhibit at the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum in Nashville. They will be appearing in concert at City Winery Nashville on January 18, 2026.
For more than 20 years, Langhorne Slim’s folk-leaning songs and rebellious nature have captivated crowds across the world. That trend continues on his ninth studio album, The Dreamin’ Kind, which takes a page out of Dolly Parton’s book and pivots toward rock ‘n’ roll in what’s arguably his most eye-opening collection of songs to date.
Out January 16 on Dualtone, the album is something Slim had long desired to make, finally coming to fruition after he had the opportunity to open for Greta Van Fleet at a show in Connecticut in 2021. The moment came mere months after having dropped what would be his debut on the Billboard Hot 200, Strawberry Mansion. But according to Greta’s bassist Sam F. Kiszka – who produced The Dreamin’ Kind – that wasn’t the band’s introduction to Slim. They’d been fans of his long before.
“I remember hearing Lost at Last, Volume 1 for the first time and it absolutely resonated with me,” Kiszka said in a press release. “[Slim] has the conviction of a hundred singers. He puts his entire body and soul into it. I listen to ‘The Way We Move’ and I think, ‘That’s a rock ‘n’ roll song, right there.’ Rock ‘n’ roll isn’t a sound, necessarily. It’s an energy, and he’s got it.”
Although the production takes on a strong Greta Van Fleet flavor on songs like “Haunted Man” and “Loyalty,” The Dreamin’ Kind also mixes in Slim’s folk-fueled identity as well, painting a sonic canvas that shows both where he’s come from and where he’s headed. Others, like “Strange Companion” and “Rickety Ol’ Bridge,” bring stylings together, with fuzzed out guitar licks and backbeats that portray a more folk-oriented stomp and clap mentality.
Ahead of the holiday season and a weekend run of shows opening for comedian Jordan Klepper (more on that below), Slim spoke with BGS about what inspired his foray into rock ‘n’ roll, how a letter inspired one of its songs, and how working with Greta Van Fleet’s Sam Kiszka and Daniel Wagner pushed him creatively.
What was your motivation for making the pivot to rock ‘n’ roll this deep into your career?
Langhorne Slim: It’s been a dream of mine for a long time. Some of the songs are definitely more of a departure from what I’ve previously done than others, but I don’t think that’ll come as a surprise to people who’ve been following me for a while now. Our live performances have always taken a page out of punk rock and rock ‘n’ roll, in addition to soul and folk music – genres be damned. Regardless of what it sounds like, most people just want to be moved by music.
When I first got started, I was playing a certain way, then a record deal followed and before you know it you’re forming an identity. But I eventually reached a point where I still loved my folky songs, but if I met new people or a fresh opportunity came about that would push me creatively, then let’s go for it! As I’ve grown older and built a family I think more and more about the identity I’ve built and what else is there when I start peeling back those layers – what else do I want to express? How might I want to use my voice or the instrument I play differently?
Rock ‘n’ roll was the natural progression of that, so when I became friends with Sam and Daniel from Greta Van Fleet, I think they saw that in me. From then on there was no pressure, we were just in it to have fun.
So this is something you’ve been wanting for a while, you just needed to find the right people to work with for everything to fall into place?
I’d been talking to a couple friends and people I admire about how when I made [2005’s When The Sun’s Gone Down] I wanted something at the crossroads of bluegrass and punk rock, like the Violent Femmes. I didn’t necessarily want to copy their sound, I just felt a kindred thing with their influences. So with [The Dreamin’ Kind], in my mind I was going for a garage rock meets gospel thing. I wouldn’t say that’s what the record actually became, but how I collaborated with Sam and everyone else for this record was so different from how I’ve worked in the past.
I liken it to a pitcher in baseball. As artists we sometimes focus too much on our strengths or “strong arm,” but I’ve only got so much time to live and I’m hungry to create. Before music my first thought ever about creating something had to do with building robots. With that in mind, the possibilities are endless when you think about all the people you could potentially collaborate with and the different creative bursts that could come from each.
That reminds me of something Ketch Secor told me in an interview a few months ago – “I am a container of multitudes.” It sounds like you’re the same way?
Ketch has been doing Old Crow for even longer than I’ve done my thing. I’m not somebody that says I don’t care if it lands, because I do, but most importantly I want my longtime supporters who’ve been so good to me to connect with this record. I’m not the first songwriter or creative person to say you can’t do the same stuff over and over, and I won’t be the last. At the end of the day, the power of music comes from the wonder and awe it provides us, so if what I’m doing doesn’t give me that same feeling then I’m not doing my job for the people, the energy and whatever else provides groove, melody and beauty in the form of music.
Another way you’ve pushed yourself outside your comfort zone lately has been on your gigs opening up shows for comedian Jordan Klepper. How did that connection come about and what have you learned from playing to a comedy show crowd?
I first met Jordan because my best friend Joel is a cameraman for The Daily Show. Jordan went on to officiate his wedding and through that Joel turned him onto my music. From there, we hit it off at the wedding and about a year later I got an email from Jordan about coming out and opening a few shows for him, which I was thrilled to do because, like you said, it’s out of my comfort zone. I knew there’d be a lot of people in the crowd not familiar with who I was.
That mix of excitement and fear reminds me of early in my career living in New York City, when I became friends with Eugene Mirman, a well-known comedian best known right now for his work as Gene Belcher on Bob’s Burgers. He had a comedy show on the Lower East Side that he’d invite me to be a regular musical guest on, so I did have experience playing comedy shows where nobody knew me. [Laughs] At one point Eugene invited me to play on a comedy tour that included him and a few other comedians who went on to make it big, like David Cross. They’d do their sets then I’d come out with my little hat and funny outfit and the entire crowd would start laughing thinking they were in for some musical comedy, but I was just playing my regular songs.
It was a tough place to break through at, but it taught me a lot. Jordan’s crowd is a little different though, because there’s people in the audience who actually know who I am, which is nice. I also try to cater the songs I play to his show to make them more topically relevant. It seems to be resonating so far – the reception I’ve received at the shows has been wonderful and beyond expectation.
It’s such a treat being on tour with a comedian, because when I’m on the road with another band I’ve found that I can’t watch them without analyzing and thinking how I could pull off what they’re doing. It’s hard to not put oneself in it, whereas watching a comedian it’s a lot easier to sit back, because it’s the same monologue and jokes. It’s how they’ve mastered the art of timing to add emphasis and help the joke land. It’s really fun to observe because I’ll just be sitting there laughing rather than wondering how I’d tell that same joke since it’s not the art form I do.
Sounds like a dream come true, which is also the name of one of the album’s songs. Is that a tune about manifesting the vision you have for your future, or are you unpacking something entirely different there?
You’re spot on. I wrote a letter to somebody, because my partner and I were thinking of moving out of the city and getting this country property, but it was way more than we could afford – I didn’t even know if they were gonna let our raggedy butts in there to take a look at it! So I wrote a letter to this woman and at the end I wrote, “It might be a long shot, but without a dream you can’t have a dream come true,” which also pulls a bit from Hammerstein’s “Happy Talk” (“If you don’t have a dream/ How you gonna have a dream come true?”).
On more general terms, it’s a song about casting aside your doubters and anything else in life that tells us to conform or dims the fire burning within us.
Like you said, you might not have gotten the house, but at least you got the song!
I look back now and there’s songs where I may not have gotten the girl (or in this case, house), but I did get the song, and that’s lasted longer than any relationship probably would. [Laughs]
Songs are like little miracles in that way.
While “Dream Come True” is all about looking ahead, you seem to be looking back on “Stealing Time” – which I’ve interpreted as a song about cherishing your moments with others and not taking them for granted. Is that the case?
There’s some reminiscing I’m doing on that one, too. Being a fairly new dad and sober man, I’ve noticed that being present and giving myself to and receiving somebody else’s time or energy is so rewarding. It’s so easy nowadays to run from our emotions and thoughts, which I used to do a lot with alcohol and drugs and all of us do now with our phones. There’s so many different ways that manifests and plays in my mind.
That song is also a phenomenon of love and infatuation and how one’s heart can be so on fire for somebody that closes theirs off to you. It’s like [Gotye’s] song “Somebody That I Used To Know” in that way.
Another song I wanted to ask about is “Haunted Man,” which to me comes off as the most Greta Van Fleet-sounding track on the album. What was the process for bringing it to life?
That song is the most collaborative that I did with those boys. It was also the tune that I fought Sam on the most, as far as not thinking it’d be a good fit [for the album]. Even after recording it, I didn’t think we’d include it as one of the dozen tracks, but Sam insisted I sit on it. Once all the songs were done I remember walking around my neighborhood pushing my son Silver in his stroller, listening to the songs, and making a mixtape of what stuff went well together. It was then when my perspective on the song changed and we decided to include it. Since then, the song has grown to become one of the most-liked tracks among our friends, which made me both happy and sad at first due to my ego. It’s easily the most different song on the record from what anybody’s heard me do before.
You just mentioned not thinking “Haunted Man” would make the cut onto the album. Does that mean you have extra material recorded we might hear more of sometime down the road?
For the basic tracks we spent nearly three weeks in the studio, with the first half with the Greta boys – me, Sam, Daniel, my dear friend Casey McAllister [who plays keys in my band], and multi-instrumentalist Cameron Neal [who mainly played electric guitar]. That portion was supposed to be the “rock” record, then for the second half I brought in my longtime band, The Law, to record a bunch of different stuff.
The plan was for them to be two separate records, but we wound up mix-matching a bit. Because of that, we have a bunch of leftover stuff we captured that I hope will be on my next record.
What has the experience of bringing this rock ‘n’ roll record to life taught you about yourself?
Do what scares you. See what else is there and burning inside you, don’t be afraid to take chances and rock out. I just want to keep making music that moves me and inspires other people. I never want to feel like I’m stagnant or compromising parts of myself.
I want to kiss the spirits in the way I feel they’ve kissed me so that I can give my all to the music.
Courtney Marie Andrews’ story begins in Phoenix, Arizona. An only child raised by her mother, she found solace and an outlet for her creativity and imagination in music. She planted her music roots in a self-described “feminist punk band” and began touring while in her teens. Along the way, she recorded a number of albums – best known are Honest Life (2016), GRAMMY-nominated Old Flowers (2020), and Loose Future (2022) – lived in a number of cities, and worked and toured with a number of musicians, including rock band Jimmy Eat World.
Andrews eventually made her way to Nashville, where she now resides. There, she creates music and other art, fueling her soul and inspiration with long walks and her love of animals, bonding with friends’ dogs, and feeding an assortment of “porch animals,” mostly cats, who take up residence outside her door.
In addition to music, Andrews expresses herself through painting and poetry. She has published two collections: 2021’s Old Monarch (2021) and the recent Love Is a Dog That Bites When It’s Scared. Her music, writings, and artwork explore a broad scope of emotions and experiences: loss, grief, fearless love, deep darkness, pure joy, and acceptance of the entire spectrum.
These outpourings are at the essence of her new release, Valentine (out January 16 via Thirty Tigers). Written in the throes of anticipatory grief, the album plummets into the vortex of her trajectory. While the message is raw, the recording is anything but. Valentine is an unfiltered look into Andrews’ heart, filled with waves of sounds and layers of instrumentation.
Among the numerous instruments she plays on Valentine, Andrews is featured on an assortment of guitars and basses, including a 1973 Martin D-28, 1968 Gibson B-45 12-string, 1970s high-strung Japanese Epiphone, Gibson J-45, Epiphone Casino, 1972 Fender P-Bass, 1960s Kay K5915 bass, and 1960s Teisco six-string bass. Longtime friend and colleague Jerry Bernhardt joins her on various instruments, with drummer Chris Bear rounding out the trio. The album was recorded by Michael Harris at Valentine Recording Studios in Los Angeles and produced by Bernhardt and Andrews.
BGS reached Andrews via Zoom for an Artist of the Month conversation.
Has Nashville changed you as a songwriter?
Courtney Marie Andrews: I thought it would deeply shift everything for me, but if anything, it made me want to do other things as well, maybe subconsciously. I started painting and focusing on poetry. But that core sense of self, that songwriter self, will always be with me wherever I go. It’s hard to say how it has shaped me until I’m looking back on my life 20, 30, 40 years from now.
But I will say the community I’ve found here is profound. I’m a Western girl. I’ve lived in Arizona and Seattle up until pretty much my 30s, and I didn’t realize how lonely the West can be. I think that’s apparent in my early work as a songwriter. That subject is throughout the work. When I moved here, I was almost overwhelmed by how much people wanted to hang out. It took a while to adjust and now I can’t imagine it any other way, not having that community to feel into and understand this work, because it is a strange career. So I think more [that] it has affected me personally, but I’ve always continued to write and been on this journey on my own and in my own time.
This is a stripped-down album – only three musicians, including you, and one of them is also your co-producer. Did you know, when the songs were written, that this is how it needed to be done?
I completely funded this album on my own, so if I’m being frank, it was an economical choice. Originally, we would have loved to have a band, but in hindsight, ultimately it created the record it created and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. There’s some power to it being a very condensed group of people, because the focus is a little bit more zoned in, and it becomes a vibe if it’s coming from a few core people, rather than everybody adding their stroke to what you’re doing – which I think is also valid. But looking back, it was probably the best thing we could have done, having Jerry and I playing all the instruments and Chris Bear, of course, on drums.
You played a number of guitars on Valentine. Do the songs determine the guitar, or does the guitar sometimes direct the song?
The songs ultimately lead the way on feeling and vibe. Jerry and I wanted to layer the record. There are a lot of different layers of guitars. We would varispeed one guitar up, so it’s super-high, and then we’d varispeed one guitar lower, so it’s super-low, to create the rounder sound, especially if you’re listening in headphones or on a high-definition speaker system.
But it’s definitely song-driven, whatever the feeling. “Best Friend” is just my guitar and Jerry’s twelve-string. We didn’t go much further than that, because the song was meant to be a bit sparser as far as the depth goes.
“Everyone Wants To Feel Like You Do” is about a certain type of misogyny where it’s, “I do whatever I want and I don’t care about the consequences, nor am I held accountable for the consequences.” The song was written with that feeling, and I thought it would be funny if I played guitar like that, where I didn’t care, so I over-distorted my guitar and played as crazy as I could to assert my power.
How do songwriting, poetry, and painting each fulfill a different side of your artistry and emotions? Is there ever some cross-pollinating?
I wanted to tell the same story with a different perspective, so there is cross-pollinating in terms of the source of the material, where it’s coming from, where I’m at in my life, whatever darkness or lightness I feel. It all sources from the same well of emotion and experience. But there are different ways of telling the same story. I found that when I was songwriting exclusively, I would write the same song over and over again. Whereas if I take a step back, do a different medium, and come back to songwriting, I feel fresher.
Ultimately and forever, I’ll always identify and feel the deepest connection with songwriting. That’s the first thing I fell in love with. It’s the thing I understand the most. But the mystery of these other mediums has really flourished.
There’s a natural through-line between poetry and lyrics. What about painting? Do lyrics sometimes inspire a painting? Does something you create on canvas ever become words in one of the other mediums?
There’s not a lot of crossover. I don’t look at painting like I would look at a page or a song. Painting is, for me, a place to describe emotions that are unexplainable. That’s why painting is so cool. It’s almost equivalent to jazz; it’s more of a feeling that you can’t describe. That was enticing to me. To express myself as a word person who ultimately values words so much, it was important to think outside of the box a little bit. Painting allows that. To not be confined by words is really interesting.
Tell us about your recent Artist in Residence at the Iowa City Songwriters Festival. You performed and did a reading from your new book, but what does “artist in residence” mean at this particular event?
Because Iowa City is a UNESCO World Heritage City of Literature, there’s a heavy college-funded element. I’m not sure if that was their direct funding, but they definitely have more of a collegiate approach to an artist in residence. I’ve done some residencies where they don’t want anything from you. They just say, “Come up and write whatever you want. We don’t care.” But this one was definitely a bit more mentorship-driven. I led a class, a songwriting workshop. I also had one-on-one mentorships with young songwriters, people who are just getting started. They had a packed schedule for me, but it was so lovely.
I think their ultimate goal is to prop up songwriting among the other literature of the world, having songwriting classes in college, and having it there with poetry, fiction, nonfiction, memoirs, memoir writing, and all that. I think that’s ultimately what they’re trying to attain with the residency program. So it was great.
I’ve found that I really love to talk about songwriting in that way. I think that, in our culture, it’s a dying thing, at least from where I’m sitting, to seek out opportunities to learn from elders, from people who’ve been doing it a long time. The more we can do that in our culture, the better off we’ll be. It’s an incredible festival, and I would highly recommend people going. The people who run it are just wonderful.
When you lead workshops and do one-on-one mentoring, is it as much a learning experience for you as it is a teaching experience?
Absolutely. I think to teach is to be a constant student. The moment you feel like you’ve figured it all out … I don’t know if that’s a good thing. Even as I speak about songwriting, I say things that open doors all the time to myself. It’s good to be endlessly curious.
Do you think being an only child contributes to your storytelling ability through songwriting and poetry? Living inside your head, escaping into your own head, in a way that might have been different if you had been surrounded by siblings?
Oh yeah, absolutely. Because I was a latchkey kid, I spent a lot of time alone. If I didn’t have a friend to play with, I had to go into the inner landscape of my mind. That was my way of communicating in a deeper way that I couldn’t quite get in my home life if my mom wasn’t home. I can attribute a lot of my childhood to that. I was a deeply imaginative kid and would create stories all the time. So I think the loneliness also fueled what I do now.
Do you draw from those past emotions when expressing what you’re currently experiencing?
How it manifests is that it’s like a period of reckoning when I’m writing songs. I’m generally alone. I find it very hard to write if I know somebody is even in the next room. I’ve had weird moments in my life where I wrote at soundcheck and stuff, but when I listen back to those things that I’ve written around people, it’s not as dialed in. So when I’m writing, I’m alone and reckoning with the life that I’m leading, or the life of others. It feels like this very quiet thing that needs to happen.
Are you an old-school pen-and-paper writer or have you gone the way of voice memos?
I do both. I exclusively use a green book to write in. It doesn’t matter what color green. They all are green, though, green-colored notebooks, generally the Moleskine variety or that look. I have plenty of them in a pile. [And] I love Micron, the ballpoint art pens. I really don’t like the standard DMV pen. I’m a little bit bougie when it comes to my pens. I like the flow of a Micron. I write and then voice memo. Generally, once I’m done writing a song, I try and always get it down in its unproduced form. I think it’s important to have that, and the phone happens to be the easiest way.
Is playing guitar, just playing, as much a part of songwriting as writing lyrics?
Oh, yeah. I love the guitar. I love open tunings. I love acoustic guitar music, Hawaiian slack key, and classical Spanish-style guitar on a nylon. I love to play and try and emulate that style. And so in certain works, it’s the first thing that happens. There’s many ways to come to a song, but one of them is [to] play a chord progression I like and sing gibberish, and that sometimes leads to a song. In that case, absolutely I need the guitar. But yeah, the instrument can definitely lead the way. It just depends.
When you spoke earlier about adapting to the Nashville community, it brought up the thought that growing up as “an only” maybe affects our social skills to a degree. It can make community something new, as opposed to something you’re used to having around you.
Yeah. I feel that. I have a hard time with small talk for this reason. I want to go immediately for the jugular, as far as intense conversations. I go from zero to a hundred. It’s really hard for me to be like, “Hey, how are you doing?” I feel like such an actor in those circumstances. Of course I’ve learned to do it by way of being a musician – you have to talk to new people every day. But small talk doesn’t do it for me. I have a hard time going in a simple, surface level.
In the bio accompanying this album, you said, “I was in one of the darkest periods of my life and songs were the only way I could reckon with it. I felt cursed and the only mental cure felt like songwriting and painting.” Have you always felt that darkness?
Obviously, as a teenager, I went through a pretty wild part of my life where I felt dark, but I think I actually denied my darkness for a very long time. I lived in a haze of denial and hope, which is a beautiful thing. It can do wonderful things for your mental health. But you also can’t really grow if you’re living in that state.
When I was younger, especially in my early twenties, I always had this hope – “Oh, one day things are going to change.” That denial, that hope, kept me in this holding place, which for a time was really nice, and as a matter of defense and self-preservation, I stayed there for a long time. It wasn’t until I started therapy that I realized I always had this underlying darkness. When I had that, we worked on that, and real things started to happen. Things in life that are so hard that happen to all of us – it became deeply dark and profound to experience that in a more awake state.
How did that help with writing this album?
During a lot of writing this, I was caretaking for my family member who was terminal. If you’ve ever been in that situation, it is all-consuming. The only way I could turn my brain off from that was to write. It wasn’t “I need to write an album.” It was “I need to get back to myself for a moment.” I wouldn’t say it was a conscious decision. It was just I know how I am, and I know that songs are my only way of regulating in these crazy times.
You once said you felt embarrassed by the vulnerability of your songwriting. Where do you draw the line, or do you draw one, between what needs to be said for yourself and what needs to be said for listeners for whom you are the voice? How do you do this and protect your mental health when performing these songs every night?
I’ve always said that once the song is written, it’s not mine. It also transforms for me as I sing it. There are songs I wrote fifteen years ago that I still perform, that have taken on completely new meaning and feel different to me when I sing them. I honestly can’t remember the headspace I was in when I wrote them, or the origin of them, or who I was thinking about, to a strong degree, but I feel differently about them.
As far as what needs to be said, ultimately I try to relate to people, or first myself, and then you put the song out and it becomes a different thing. I try, in an artistic space, to be as true to myself as possible. I try not to put up any walls in that space. As far as my life where I’m not playing music, that’s a different thing. But music is a safe space to say whatever the hell I want to say. That’s the reason it’s such a powerful thing. It’s a safe place for me to communicate. Whatever walls are up in a song are walls that I have up with myself. That’s always very apparent when you write a song. It’s not quite clicking and you’re like, “I’ve got some walls up to my subconscious, clearly.” So the extent to which the boundaries, the walls, are up is truly only the stage at which my heart is at in that moment.
Did that happen with Valentine – the walls, maybe the fear of the vulnerability? It’s deeply personal and powerful, going deeper and deeper into those emotions as your journey is sequenced.
I hate to say it, because I don’t want to sound trite, but making albums, making bodies of work like this, fear is the last thing on my mind. Obviously, natural fears come up: Is it going to be what I wanted, what I envisioned in my dreams? But as far as songwriting and being vulnerable in a song, that’s not the fear. In fact, if I got very close to the heart in a song, it’s generally the ones that I’m like, “That’s a good one. I got there. I got to the essence of this thing I was feeling.”
Being vulnerable in life can be really hard in my personal life, in some ways, and I think that is more where the fear is. But, for whatever reason, the way I direct it is okay in a song, and I’ve made up my mind for that to be true. I don’t know why; I guess it just makes sense to me. Human emotion makes the most sense to me in the backdrop of music.
As far as sequencing, Jerry and I argued quite deeply about the sequencing, but ultimately it did go to a place where once we got the sequence, it was undeniable. Side A and Side B are completely different frames of minds. Side A, you’re fighting for love and you’re desperate. Side B is a resignation – this is how it is, this is how it’s always been, and this is my childhood. By the end, in “Hangman,” you’re just “This is how it is, and you can fight for it or you can walk away.” So the sequencing was purposeful. I wanted it to be a journey. I think records should be like that. They shouldn’t be all one color or palette the whole way through.
Explore more of our Artist of the Month content featuring Courtney Marie Andrews here.
The songs for my album Cry Love came like automatic writing, as if exhaled after too long at a high altitude. And they were recorded as if my band, the WPA Ballclub, had known them for a long time.
A common theme thematically and lyrically is absence. Absence can be volatile. The songs that inspired Cry Love have much in common, particularly a sense of space. Bedrock instruments such as bass or drums are absent or played as loops. Sometimes there’s hardly instruments at all.
Our decade since 2020 has been a slow developing picture of things absent or out of focus. First place. Then time. Then people. Then, this year, the absence for me and my family became the loss of a person. Earth, air, sky, salty sea, and sand were thrown amuck. Cry Love and these songs guard that space – that absence – with music. – Paul Burch
A while back, if I remember right, my life was one long party where all hearts were open wide, where all wines kept flowing.
I ran away. O witches, O misery, O hatred, my treasure’s been turned over to you!
I managed to make every trace of human hope vanish from my mind. I pounced on every joy like a ferocious animal eager to strangle it.
So…it dawned on me to look again for the key to that ancient party where I might find my appetite once more.
– A. Rimbaud, A Season in Hell
“Paris” – Moondog
The Viking of 6th Avenue, who lost his sight as a boy, spent most of his life performing on the corners between 52nd and 55th street. His compositions and collages made him friends like Charlie Parker, Benny Goodman, and Arturo Toscanini, who testified in court on Moondog’s behalf in his suit against DJ Alan Freed for co-opting “Moondog” for his radio show in Cleveland. Freed lost and apologized on air. This is Moondog’s late in life collaboration with the London Saxophonic. Beautiful.
“If I Lived in a Picture” – The Green Pajamas
The Green Pajamas are from Seattle and, like me, have never been on a major label. But that’s never stopped them from making gorgeous tunes like this one that upon first listen instantly vaulted them to one of my favorites ever.
“Telephone Blues” – Snoozer Quinn
My dear friend, supersonic guitarist and producer Richard Bennett, turned me on to Snoozer Quinn, the lost jazz pioneer who in the ’20s and ’30s scared the wits out of contemporaries Lonnie Johnson and Eddie Lang with his out of this world sound. There are stories of musicians filling hotel rooms and hallways to gander at a Snoozer jam session. Louis Armstrong was a great fan, as well.
Snoozer left the cutthroat NYC scene and went home to Louisiana where he died young from tuberculosis – but not before a musician pal captured him literally in his deathbed. The best part of this story is I turned Tim O’Brien onto Snoozer and Tim turned on his ole pal Bill Frisell. My good deed.
“How Much I Owe” – The Radio Four
All of the Nashboro gospel recordings are beautiful, but I’m especially drawn to the urgency of the Radio Four. Thanks to Jonathan Marx of Lambchop for the introduction. Featuring the great country bassist Lightning Chance, whose credits include Hank Williams and the Everly Brothers – and suggesting the Jordanaires’ “number system” for vocal parts be applied to Nashville sessions.
“Poinciana” – Ahmad Jamal Trio
Recorded live at the Pershing Hotel in Chicago. I especially love “Poinciana” for drummer Vernel Fournier, who reminds me of Nashville great and WPA batteur Justin Amaral. Bassist Israel played on Charlie Christian’s “Profoundly Blue.” Recorded by Chess Records engineer Malcolm Chisholm, who probably cut a session for Muddy Waters the next day.
“Sun Rays,” “Last of My Kind” – Pony Hunt
Jessie Antonick, who performs as Pony Hunt, is a musical gem. I love this live performance of “Sun Rays.” The finger snaps just send me.
I also dig their lovely version of my tune, “Last of My Kind,” which sounds like an alternative version of the WPA Ballclub.
“So Sweet You Are” – Dog On Fleas
I’m sure these lyrics got into my head for songs like “I Won’t Miss My Baby Anymore” and “Braggin'” which share the Willie Dixon “left is right, I may I might” school of playful revelation.
“Ready to Leave” – Emahoy Tsege Mariam Gebru
For me, all of Ethiopian composer and pianist Emahoy Tsege Mariam Gebru’s works are enchanting. But I especially love the album Souvenirs, her first vocal collection. Mississippi Records describes it as “songs of wisdom, loss, mourning, and exile sung directly into a boombox,” which aptly describes my feelings writing Cry Love.
“The Whale Has Swallowed Me” – J.B. Lenoir
Both John Lee Hooker and Mr. Lenoir excelled at sparse blues storying around a hypnotic, looping beat. And a whale of a story it is. The great Fred Below, on drums, powered hundreds of classics at Chess.
A hypnotic, menacing tune in which melancholy carries a blade and a broken bottle. Sung from the heart of misery itself by Motown’s first hit artist (“Money”). I love the looping carousel bass line. Los Lobos did a beautiful version, too.
“I Need Somebody to Lean On” – Elvis Presley
Elvis was having a hard time musically and spiritually in the early ’60s but still made some beautiful records. By Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman (“Save the Last Dance for Me”). Elvis sounds inspired and committed with phrasing that evokes a bit of Chet Baker.
”
“Complex” – Tristen
I’ve been crazy for Tristen’s music since I first heard her perform with a trio in front of Whole Foods (of all places) over a dozen years ago. That was the old Nashville. We both play Epiphone Casinos, which makes us siblings of sorts – members of an exclusive club. I’d like to think so, anyway. “You can have your way until you get in my way.”
“Blow Wind Blow” – Muddy Waters
A great era for Muddy on stage with fiercely driving rhythm courtesy three guitarists and Pinetop Perkins.
Photo Credit: Jim Herrington. Pictured: Paul Burch (L) and Fats Kaplin (R).
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