Tag: singer/songwriter

The String – Caroline Spence plus Lee Roy Parnell

Posted on by Chris Jacobs

Caroline Spence moved to Nashville eight years ago fresh out of college with a “vague dream” of writing songs — probably, she thought, for other artists. But as her network and her confidence grew, it became clear she needed to be out front.

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Spence has released two solo indie albums and a duo project with Robby Hecht. She also won a Kerville New Folk award, capturing attention with her coursing country melodies and incisive observations. Now she’s been signed to Rounder Records, who’ve released her latest, Mint Condition. Also in the hour, a catch-up with Texas-reared, Nashville-based country bluesman Lee Roy Parnell.

BGS 5+5: Erik Koskinen

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Artist: Erik Koskinen
Hometown: St. Peter, Minnesota
Latest album: Burning the Deal

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

Playing with Tom Rush was great, because he was a big influence when I was young. I’ve played with a lot of others as well. Also, the first time I looked up and saw a good-size audience singing along to one of my songs.

What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc. — inform your music?

Literature and poetry. When it’s good it has flow and rhythm like music does. Good writing makes you think, it doesn’t tell you what to think, and songwriting should be like that as well.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

I was in a play on stage acting with no music and I got a standing ovation from 700 people at age 11 and I was hooked on the stage. Rock ‘n’ roll came a few years after that and connecting with an audience deeply is what we strive for. Otherwise we’d stay home and play to ourselves.

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

That has changed over the years, but now I live on an old farm and I have a garden that is big enough to feed my family and the neighbors. I am not great at it but I do it a lot, so something is bound to grow.

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

All the time, or never at all. The thing about songwriting is that you can lie, tell the truth, scam, fool, be humble, and exaggerate. And we might never tell the secrets beyond that. That is our right as songwriters. We need to leave it up to the listener to decide for themselves what is and what isn’t.

Photo Credit: Darin Kamnetz

Artist of the Month: Buddy & Julie Miller

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Buddy & Julie Miller have assembled one of Nashville’s most satisfying songwriting catalogs — and although their songs have been covered by a multitude of artists, there is something undeniably ethereal about hearing them sing together. As our Artist of the Month in July, Buddy and Julie continue to prove they’ve still got it. Don’t miss “I’m Gonna Make You Love Me” and “Secret” from their latest album, Breakdown on 20th Avenue South, in the playlist below. And check back later this month for much more content, including our in-depth BGS interview.

Illustration: Zachary Johnson

ANNOUNCING: BGS Takeover at the Long Road Fest

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BGS is thrilled to announce this year’s lineup for the Bluegrass Situation Takeover at the Long Road Festival, to be held September 6-8 in Stanford Hall, Leicestershire, England.

Performers will include Rose Cousins, Matt the Electrician, Jessica Mitchell, and Beth Rowley. In addition, the festival will feature a Nashville-style “In the Round” set at the BGS Songwriters Parlour.

The three-day festival will also offer performances from Rhiannon Giddens, Asleep at the Wheel, Suzy Bogguss, Sam Outlaw, John Paul White, Charley Crockett, and many others.

Get more information and purchase tickets here.

LISTEN: Jordi Baizan, “Between the Sun and the Moon”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Jordi Baizan
Hometown: Houston, Texas
Song: “Between the Sun and the Moon”
Album: Free and Fine
Release Date: June 28, 2019
Label: Berkalin Records

In Their Words: “‘Between the Sun and the Moon’ is a song about love at first sight that weaves in my fascination with serendipity and synchronicity. I was inspired to write it when I was out in the Central Texas countryside towards the end of a beautiful spring day. The sun was setting in the western sky just as the moon was rising. If it was not for that memorable moment, the song would not be written today. Here are two lovers who meet, dance, and are forever marked by their romantic encounter between the sun and the moon. Is their story one of luck or is there a greater significance?” — Jordi Baizan

Photo credit: Valerie Fremin

Ian Noe Finds Carnage and Compassion in ‘Between the Country’

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Folk rocker Ian Noe captures both beauty and ugliness on his debut album, Between the Country, populating his isolated Eastern Kentucky home with vivid portraits of human carnage.

Heavily influenced by John Prine, the 29-year-old writes with insight and deep compassion for what some might describe as the dregs of society. Meth-addled junkies, alcoholic drifters, and the gangs that prey on them dominate his songs, but he says shock and awe has never been his real goal. Instead, it’s to write songs reflecting the hardscrabble truth of his hometown. It’s a great place to grow up, he explains, but there’s no denying the dark reality which lurks down almost every holler.

“I guess it’s just the environment and the stuff you see growing up in Eastern Kentucky,” Noe says of his inspiration. “There’s a vibe to it. I hate to be so vague, but there’s a definite vibe.”

Noe has articulated that vibe so well he was invited to serenade Prine during a pre-Grammy Awards tribute at Los Angeles’ iconic Troubadour in February, and this summer he’ll open a series of shows for the legend in Europe. But for now he’s touring the U.S. with a batch of tunes that make traditional murder ballads sound like lullabies.

Noe spoke with The Bluegrass Situation about his admiration for Prine’s work and how it led to Between the Country, as well as his connection to the doomed souls of his songs and producer Dave Cobb’s help in creating a full-band sound.

BGS: Your vocal and the literary quality of the lyrics remind me of John Prine, which I’m sure you get a lot. How big of an influence was he on you?

Noe: Oh, he was huge. I would have to say he’s definitely the biggest influence for me. I started out wanting to be Chuck Berry on guitar, but it didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t Chuck Berry. [Laughs] Then I heard John Prine through my dad, who would play his songs all the time in between Merle Haggard and Neil Young. But when he went to Prine songs, they would stick out … and I was just obsessed ever since.

What was it that stuck out about Prine?

He can just take simple things and make them profound. He’s the best at that. He can look at a sidewalk and write a song about it, make you laugh and think at the same time.

You’ve done something similar with Between the Country, but there’s a lot of dark themes – songs about substance abuse and self-destructive behavior. Why are those topics given so much prominence in your own writing?

I imagine it would have to be all the stories and people I know, as well as people I didn’t know but heard stories about. Just stuff that you hear happening in a town of six or seven thousand. Lee County is not that big, and it’s a cliché, but you hear everything that goes on in a small town.

Were you exposed to that stuff personally?

Not really, to be honest. I never did go to a meth house or anything like that, or even see anybody using it. But it’s one of those not-really secrets. Everybody knows it’s around.

I think that’s interesting because you seem so good at getting into these characters’ skin. How do you make that happen without first-hand knowledge?

I just think about them. Just think about it and picture in my head how it might be to live that way. It starts with a melody. I like to get the melody going in my head and if it’s a good one, try to see what’s going on with it.

I guess what I’m getting at is even though there’s bad stuff going on, it never seems like you’re judging anyone, or the area, for it.

Yeah, I tried to be real careful not to do that or come off as holier than thou. “Meth Head” is harsh, but I just wanted to be as extreme as I could be because it’s such an extreme drug, you know?

Tell me about coming up with that song. It’s really specific, I mean the imagery of this guy hunting for scrap metal and the woman covered in sores is chilling.

That song used to be about a war hero who was coming home, or at least the melody did anyway. I thought I was wasting the melody because I had already written some songs about battlefields and stuff like that, so I scrapped all of that and started again with the melody. I came up with that first verse pretty quick and just kept going.

How did you get so vivid with it?

It just comes with there being an actual junkyard in Lee County and thinking about the sound of the junkyard, thinking about the rest area that’s down the road and all the smells and sounds, things like that, just trying to get as descriptive as I could be.

Tell me about the title track. What does that phrase, “Between the Country,” mean to you?

Just being in the country, and everything that’s going on in between it. In between this hill or mountain, or what’s going on up in this holler, that’s what it means.

Why did you decide on that for the title track?

My grandmother used to say stuff like “If you treat your parents well, your days will be long on this earth,” which I’m not saying right but it’s from the Bible. She used to say stuff like that all the time, and I got to thinking about it, like “On down between the country, where deer lay along the road / On down between the country, where a long life’s a blessed one, I’m told.” It was like some people don’t make it past 40, you know? And that’s everywhere, it’s not just in a small town. But I didn’t grow up everywhere. I grew up in Lee County.

“Irene (Raving Bomb)” is about an alcoholic who’s not hiding it so well, even though she seems to think she is. How hard is it for you to find compassion for a character like that?

Not hard at all. We’ve all had our issues with this or that or the other, and I grew up seeing a lot of things like that. It wasn’t hard to have compassion for somebody whose disposition turns them to something like that.

How about “Letter to Madeline”? It’s about this guy who’s on the run and he’s carrying a letter he never mailed. What’s his backstory?

I was and still am a big fan of [the FX series] Justified, and I think it’s season two or three where there’s a story arc about the Detroit Mafia. I wanted to make it sound as if it was older. “A Detroit general” just meant a Detroit Mafia boss, and then his company just refers to his gang. It just came from that and people like D.B. Cooper — thinking about somebody robbing this guy and him trying to make it back to Kentucky.

Tell me a little about the sound here. It’s got this mix of folk rock and even a touch of ‘70s psychedelia at times. I know you’ve mostly worked solo in the past but teamed up with Dave Cobb for the album. Did he have a big impact?

It was pretty natural and easy. We were going back and putting in some of the electric lead you hear on “Dead on the River,” and he had bought a specific amp from Carter Vintage [Guitars in Nashville] the day we were mixing and overdubbing, and I believe he said he’d been listening to The Byrds that week. It was off the cuff, but the tone fit the themes, if that makes sense. … I like that there’s not a whole lot of crazy guitar solos, but every one of them suits the song. We don’t have congas or whatever, and it just has enough to breathe. Anything we overdubbed didn’t get in the way of any of the stories.

What do you hope people will take away from this first record?

Like everybody always says, when you make an album you just want people to appreciate it as much as you appreciate it. You want them to listen from track one all the way to the last track, and not everybody does that, which is all right. But the subject matter is all a common theme through the whole thing, and the cohesiveness is important. That’s what I love about all my favorite albums.

Photo credit: Kyler Clark

Josh Ritter: The Weird, Dark Rhythm of ‘Fever Breaks’ (Part 2 of 2)

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When it came time to record his new album, Josh Ritter hired not only Jason Isbell to produce it, but Isbell’s band to play on the sessions. Because they had built a sturdy friendship while touring together, the resulting album, Fever Breaks, offers a familiarity that should appeal to fans of both artists. Longtime listeners may recognize that Ritter is more political than on his past albums – and that’s not a coincidence.

Leading up to a TV taping inside a cave in Tennessee, Ritter invited the Bluegrass Situation into his dressing room for a visit. (Read the first part of our interview.)

BGS: I caught a reference to “a fever broke” in the song “Losing Battles,” which I assume led to the album title. Why did Fever Breaks seem to fit as a title for this project?

Ritter: I love coming up with titles for the record. That’s one of my favorite things, because it’s a chance to look at the record you made from 30,000 feet and say, ‘What is it that sums this record up?’ With this one, it came to me in a dream. I just woke up with it, and I thought, ‘Fever breaks…’ I don’t know exactly what it means, but I thought with this project, so much of the writing was guided by instinct, and I felt like it was important for that dreaminess to come in.

It really feels, in a certain way, like a comforting thing – even though I feel like the record is not comforting. It’s a reminder that fever will break, and that’s as close as I can come, because the period that we’re living in feels so overheated and so full of chaos, that it has to be a sickness.

What’s your response if someone hears this and says, “Oh, Josh made a political album.”

I would say I would be thrilled! I think it’s important, right now. I don’t know how you could make music, or anything, that doesn’t have this time wrapped up in it. Like some kind of weird, dark rhythm. It’s just everywhere in the whole tapestry of things, and how do you speak about anything in our lives without referencing this period of time?

One of the great things about making records over a period of time is that they feel like little vials of perfume from that moment, you know? You open it up and you remember. I remember where I was when I was making The Animal Years, and for me, this record will always be wrapped up with this strange, dark moment, and I have to express that on the record. And if it comes across as political, that’s great. I hope that it doesn’t come across as anything else.

So much of someone’s success in the music business comes down to who you surround yourself with. Why was it important for you to bring Jason and Amanda [Shires] to this project?

I think for a long time, I lived on an artistic island that was self-imposed. Just from being busy all the time and touring all the time, I started to realize that my circle of friends – while very tight and incredibly close-knit – was very small. And around this time, I went on the road with Jason and Amanda and the 400 Unit, and I got a chance to see that there are other families on the road, and there are other people touring with their families.

I felt a sense of connection through shared choices, artistically and just how he was choosing to life his life. There was a kinship that I felt was artistic and personal. So when I identified that I wanted to work with somebody, like a peer, he jumped into my head. I sent him a note and I was really so surprised and happy when he was into it, and when we could schedule the time to do it, which was an impressive feat.

How long was the email you sent?

Just a few sentences. And my initial idea was that he would produce, but that I would bring people to play. So I was really excited and nervous when he suggested the 400 Unit because they’re amazing players and I didn’t know what it would be like to not play with my band. So I had frank conversations with everybody in my band. I was overwhelmed that they were so supportive of me going to do this crazy thing.

I think it’s just so cool that you can play music with people for so much of your life, and work so hard on things, and then they understand that I’m going to go off and try this thing and take this chance. Because I feel so close to them, it’s really important for me. So once I talked to the band, I embraced the whole philosophy of going in and realizing that I wasn’t going to know anybody very well.

You’ve worked with some legendary figures like Joan Baez and Bob Weir. They’re in their 70s, still creating music. Do you see a similar trajectory for yourself?

I hope so! The main goal is that your mind doesn’t get smaller as you work, and that your neurons are always branching out. … I learned so much from working with Bob and Joan. What brought me into this world of working with Jason was that I had to learn how to collaborate, and listen to how my portion could fit and work with somebody else’s artistic vision. It was super cool to work with them and learn that.

You have to trust yourself in that situation, too.

Yeah, and trust that what you’re bringing is worthwhile, and trust that what they’re bringing also has its own [value], and these things are going to intermesh in ways that you can’t expect. That’s just amazing! You get so few opportunities for those unexpected, great musical moments that you just cherish.

When I was looking back on your discography, I realized that this is the 20th anniversary of your first record. What do you remember about making that decision to go into music full-time?

Well, my parents are both scientists, so I grew up around an academic structure in my family. I saw how it worked when you went to college, and then went to graduate school. So I approached making a career in that way. I said I’m going to need everybody to trust me for four years, and we’ll see if it can happen. I remember I quit my last temp job in 2004 and I realized I had no Plan B of course. I wasn’t particularly good at anything. What I loved was songs and it was all I could spend my time thinking about. I remember the first time getting money out of an ATM to buy gas and go on my first gig – and what an exciting moment that was. I didn’t realize it at the time the same way I do now. It was so exciting!

You’ve built an international audience since that time. Was it always a goal for you to be a world traveler?

I think so, yeah. I think I got into it for the traveling. A lot of people get into it for the traveling. I have found that music takes you to the most incredible places, but also it takes you to some places that are incredibly mundane as well, you know? They can’t all be caves in Tennessee, but that’s fantastic for that reason.

Photo of Josh Ritter: David McClister
Illustration: Zachary Johnson

Josh Ritter: Smiling Across a Microphone (Part 1 of 2)

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Josh Ritter is the kind of guy who will give you a hug even when you’ve never met him. It’s that warmth and sincerity that has allowed him to build a significant fan base across the US and abroad, not to mention his undeniable enthusiasm for performance. He’s currently on tour with a new album, Fever Breaks, which he recorded in Nashville with Jason Isbell in the producer’s role – along with fiddler-vocalist Amanda Shires and Isbell’s band, The 400 Unit, in the studio.

During a spring tour stop at a cave in Tennessee, Ritter chatted with the Bluegrass Situation about playing these songs for the first time, taking chances, and getting Josh Ritter-y with it. (Read part two of our interview.)

BGS: This album starts with “The Ground Don’t Want Me” and that character’s a bad dude. What led you to kick off the album with that song?

Ritter: For some reason, a lot of this record was totally guided by instinct. Some of those artistic choices felt like there was sort of a still small voice that told me that was the way to start. In fact, “Ground Don’t Want Me” was the first song that we recorded, and the first song that I played for Jason and Amanda when I went down to visit them and was playing through the stuff. So it was kind of the song that was on the tip of my tongue.

When you were playing those songs for Jason and Amanda, were you playing a demo? Or were you saying, ‘Here’s a song I wrote….’ and then sang it?

That’s how I did it, yeah. With my last couple records, I really went in deep with the demos and fleshed them out more on my own. With this one, it felt like the songs were a little more spry and just they needed to be strummed through.

So, they were probably your first audience on some of these songs.

Yeah, totally.

Was that intimidating for you?

No, because that’s one of the moments that I live for. I love the moment when somebody plays a new song for the first time. I think it’s an amazing moment that you can’t ever return to. You can only recreate it. It’s like that moment of ripping a sheet off a statue. That’s how I always think of it — that moment where you can show what you’ve been doing. Playing for them, I was hoping that there would be something in there that they would gravitate towards.

“I Still Love You Now and Then” is a beautiful song and it’s bittersweet, too. What do you hope people will hear in that song?

It’s a song that’s written from a different point of view, in terms of age, you know? I think there’s a time to sing about first love and there’s a time to sing about enduring love. And enduring love can be enduring for all kinds of things! [Laughs] By the time you’re 42, you realize the sort of loves that endure and “I Still Love You Now and Then” is exploring a character who has those kinds of feelings.

I related to it because somebody told me once that there are people in your life that you can never get past. Do you find that experience true for you, too?

Yeah, I find that experience true in so many things. Whether it’s the first book that you read that you really loved and that brought you home, or the first beer you ever had. Those first moments, those are great, and I think one of the reasons that playing music is so fun is that you can be part of that experience. It’s a moment in time that you can’t exchange for anything else.

“On the Water” captures that feeling when you are in love, and when things are going right, and someone loves you back. What was on your mind when you wrote that?

That was a song that I really worked a long time crafting. I started off with an idea in my head and I wanted a new way to say “a leap of faith,” and even a short walk on the water is pretty far. I wanted the song to be about hoping somebody makes a choice, and I worked on it and worked on it… There were a bunch of lines in there that I really loved and I brought it down to play for Jason and Amanda, and they said, ‘This is great, you can go farther here.”

I was like, “OK… I don’t know if this song is anything.” They said, “No, go here in this middle section and get way more Josh Ritter-y with it.” [Laughs] I said, “OK, I can do that!” They forced me to work harder on the song, and that was one of those songs that developed out of constant playing and knowing there was something in there. Once we got into the studio it was clear that it fit the rest of the record.

You must have a pretty good friendship with them, for them to give you such candid feedback and say, “It’s not ready yet.”

It’s what I wanted, you know? It’s what I really craved, and what I hoped for in this situation is that I wanted to make a record in a different situation, with a different lineup of people than I’ve ever worked with. I just really needed that, but working with them was great because I got a chance to work with people who were behind the same microphone, you know? Lyrically they really pushed me to push the songs farther. I took them to different spots than I would have.

Can you tell me more about that need to work that way?

Well, the need is what you really grasp hold of as time goes by. Because you want to stay hungry and you want to be hungry all the time. And you have to take chances, you have to pin what you do to things that might fail. You know what I mean? So, doing that stuff is important because all the nerves — all those fluttery nerves and that weird instinct – was really kicked in to high alert. I really think it’s important to respond to the nervousness that is proactive, especially with art. In the end, it’s just art. It should be fun and it should be exciting, and if it didn’t work, then you tried something. And in this case I took all that advice from them and really embraced it as part of the process for this record.

I’ve read and listened to a lot of interviews with you, and the word “fun” comes up a lot. It seems pretty central to your artistic vision – to have fun while you’re doing this.

Yeah, I don’t like to get into situations where the art gets wrapped up with being something that’s torturous. I appreciate that as part of the story of making a record — like when I got divorced, I had to make a record about that just because I felt like I had to. And that wasn’t the most fun, you know, but in general, making records is a fun thing. You enjoy it and you get a chance to hang out with your friends and make music and have a celebration for a while. I think that that comes across. You can always hear when somebody is smiling across a microphone.

Illustration: Zachary Johnson

John Paul White Captures the Countrypolitan Era

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John Paul White, who rose to prominence as half of The Civil Wars, has just delivered his most fully-realized solo set, The Hurting Kind. When he couldn’t find a modern album that gave him the feeling of his favorite countrypolitan recordings of the ‘50s and ‘60s (think Patsy Cline and early Roy Orbison), White set out to make an album that would capture the aesthetic of that era without going full-on retro. He wrote with some legendary songwriters of those decades still working in Nashville, including Country Music Hall of Fame members Bill Anderson and Bobby Braddock. One of those Braddock collaborations, “This Isn’t Gonna End Well,” is included here as a duet with Lee Ann Womack.

Recorded at his own Sun Drop Sound studio in Florence, Alabama, with producer Ben Tanner (Alabama Shakes) behind the console, The Hurting Kind finds John Paul White going for broke as a vocalist, flexing his creative muscle as a country songwriter, and speaking his mind about what it means to live and work in Alabama in 2019.

BGS: When you were growing up, your father’s record collection contained a lot of classic country albums, but you didn’t gravitate towards those sounds back then?

White: When I was growing up, I hated those records. It was not my cup of tea. I was more of a rock ‘n’ roll guy. I was listening to Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin and AC/DC — stuff like that that. When I got to college I started listening to Steve Earle and Rosanne Cash and Emmylou Harris. I realized the reason I was digging those records so much is because of all those country records I grew up with. That’s what they grew up with, too, so we had a common DNA. So, I dug back into all those records that I knew by heart and realized how much I loved them. They influenced my decisions musically all the time whether I knew it or not. I finally just fully embraced it.

Over the last few years, you’ve been drawn to music from the countrypolitan era. Why did you want to tap into that for The Hurting Kind?

I think it was just a huge hole in that part of my discography that I was listening to. I was looking for that stuff everywhere. I’d worn those records out, and I knew them backwards and forwards. I was trying to find something in a modern setting that was doing that thing, because that’s just what I craved and what I wanted to listen to.

I then went out and made the record that I was looking for. I decided, “Well, I’m going to find the guys that wrote a lot of those songs.” So I got to write with Whisperin’ Bill Anderson and Bobby Braddock for this album. I got the seal of approval from them that I was on the right track. That’s huge.

You wanted to capture that countrypolitan aesthetic, but you didn’t want The Hurting Kind to sound retro. How did you achieve that?

I didn’t actively do anything to keep it from sounding retro. I wanted it to sound like a modern record, but with those same sensibilities of the string arrangements, vocal harmonies and that country-jazz Chet Atkins-type guitar style. But I wanted to capture it in the way you capture sounds today and not feel like you have to use all old ribbon mics and old RCA microphones that they were forced to use. We have lots more tools at our disposal. If we had finished this record and were just following our guts and it sounded like an old record, then so be it. But I’m glad it sounds like its own thing.

The aesthetic I was going for was really captured in the songwriting process. I arranged all these songs in my head the way that I thought they should sound, and the way they should progress dynamically, before I ever walked into the studio.

“You Lost Me” is such a great cheating song, and one of the most devastating on an album full of heartbreak songs. How are you so good at writing these sad songs?

I’m not meant to write songs to cheer you up. I’d fail miserably because they don’t move me. They don’t make me feel something. My songs aren’t necessarily sad as much as they’ll stir up an emotion. It might be longing or it might be love, but at an angle. Like, “I love you and you’re so horrible for me.” That’s more interesting to me, ‘cause just the straight up love songs, it’s been done. I come at it from a completely different perspective.

Doomed love is also the topic of “This Isn’t Gonna End Well,” a duet with Lee Ann Womack. Why was she the right fit for that song?

I needed a timeless voice — a voice that could straddle genre, but also, I won’t lie, I wanted a voice that would be recognizable. Lee Ann was every one of those boxes checked. She’s really made strides towards creating true, traditional music and sort of separating herself from the typical Music Row stuff. We’ve known each other for a while and have talked about collaborating and never have. I knew, because of Bobby writing it with me, I could be confident enough to walk in the room and ask her out, as it were. She said yes.

You’re singing with a lot of emotion and vulnerability on this album, which isn’t common for a man to do in 2019. Why is that?

Because it’s ain’t cool, I guess. I love Roy Orbison and Marty Robbins — the guys that just put their heart on their sleeve and are not afraid of the drama and bowl you over with it. They make sure you know exactly what they’re feeling with those big notes and the trills and stuff. I think ever since Nirvana came along, so many wonderful things about that whole movement, but it also became so much shoe-gazing. That’s fine, and I like some of that music, but what I really like is a guy up front with confidence putting it all out there and letting you know exactly how he feels and not giving a shit what you think about it.

It’s not easy to pull that singing style off, either. Your voice has really evolved on this album.

I appreciate you saying that. I think it was a confidence thing, too. I think it was a conscious decision to step forward and be counted and give people what I have and not hold back. Not give them 80 or 90 percent. I honestly feel like I’m singing better now than I ever have. I feel like every time I get in front of a microphone or get onstage or am in the studio, I figure something out. I tweak something that makes it a little less hard, a little more comfortable or easier to project — a little better tone, and that’s exciting.

Being an Alabama native like yourself, I’ve found a lot of meaning in the album’s opening song, “The Good Old Days,” with the news coming out of the Alabama state legislature. You’re now performing that song all across the country and overseas and in some ways representing the state to your audience. I have to say, it’s complicated to be from Alabama these days.

It most certainly is. I get it left and right. I’m proud to be known as an Alabamian. I don’t take that lightly. I don’t tend to want to be the preachy guy around here, because I’ve never gravitated towards those sorts of people anyway. The whole proselytizing thing of, “This is what you should believe and this is what you should not believe” does not sit well with me. But at some point around here, it just gets to a fever pitch to where you can’t keep your mouth shut.

That song was definitely a big middle finger to the idea of “Making America Great Again,” because for most people in this country that aren’t white, straight dudes, it wasn’t great. It hasn’t been great. I’m trying every day to teach my children about tolerance and compassion and making sure they know this country was really, really hard on a lot of people that didn’t fit what people considered the norm.

I don’t ever want to see that shit happen again. I don’t want it on their watch. I want to make sure they’ve got their eyes open and that they change things and don’t ever say we should have it back like it used to be. No. I don’t want that for a minute. I want it like it says in the song, “Our best days are in front of us.” I have to believe in that. There are days when I wonder, but I have to have that hope.

Photo credit: Alysse Gafkjen

LISTEN: Buddy & Julie Miller, “Til The Stardust Comes Apart” + “You Make My Heartbeat Too Fast (Live)”

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Artist: Buddy & Julie Miller
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Songs: “Til The Stardust Comes Apart” + “You Make My Heartbeat Too Fast (Live)”
Album: Breakdown on 20th Ave. South
Release Date: 7″ single, June 7, 2019; album, June 21, 2019
Label: New West Records

In Their Words: “We’ve been together for almost 40 years… and although sometimes a bumpy ride, it looks like our love is going to stick. ‘Til The Stardust Comes Apart’ is one of those songs that fell out of the sky…quickly and literally. We often have a television tuned to history or science documentaries and heard of a recent study finding that we actually have stardust in us as old as the universe. Astrophysicist-author Karel Schrijver put it this way: ‘Everything we are and everything in the universe and on earth originated from stardust, and it continually floats through us even today. It directly connects us to the universe, rebuilding our bodies over and again over our lifetimes.’ Julie wrote the song after the show ended.

“‘You Make My Heart Beat Too Fast’ recorded live, not sure when or where or why…… possibly The Bottom Line in NYC or Slim’s in San Francisco. It was fun to play and different every night. Bryan Owings on drums, Rick Plant on bass.” — Buddy Miller

Photo credit: Kate York