Editor’s Note: Last month, we featured an interview with singer-songwriter Cole Chaney on the site for the very first time. The Kentuckian artist was more than generous with his time, spending a couple of hours speaking to BGS and Good Country contributor Alison Richter.
Many lovely portions of their interview ended up cut for length, so we’re excited to share a few selections from those edits here as a bonus follow-up to our feature conversation. Below, enjoy Chaney discussing how songs morph and change over time, his practice regimen, guitar and songwriting as crafts and forms of expression, and much more.
Songs Evolving Over Time
The intention is the same as it was back then [when they were written], but your taste grows as you develop as an artist and musician.
When you listen to the Mercy version of “Ill Will Creek” (above) and the Live AF version, those are two almost completely different songs, but they’re still the same. The thread, the root of the song, remains the same. They’re just wearing a different coat.
Practice and Technique
I don’t have a concrete practice routine. I’ve never been able to sit down and make myself do scales or anything like that. I’d probably be a lot better guitar player if I did more technical playing.
I’ve always idolized guys like Hendrix, and if you look into how he looked at it, he didn’t have time to practice because he was always writing riffs and coming up with cool guitar licks or creating in some capacity. That’s what I do when I have a guitar in my hands. I warm up and play some scales or whatever, but it eventually turns into, “Oh, man, that sounds cool. What can I attach to that?” and I start writing riffs. That’s just how I do it.
I would be a much more technically proficient guitar player if I actually did sit down and make myself practice a lot. But I think a lot of that creativity comes out of me having a weird picking style and not being necessarily educated on what is supposed to sound good and where that’s supposed to go, and just letting stuff happen where it happens.
Guitar As Expression
Especially in recent years, as we talked about the bands I’m influenced by – very guitar-heavy bands, for me – it always starts with a riff. I like chunky, heavy stuff a lot of the time. A song doesn’t always call for that; sometimes you write something that may sound a little more sensitive, but the direction it’s gone with me has been catchy riffs that stay in your head when you play it. That’s when I know I’ve got something cool and that I should keep plugging away.
I sat down last night with a little $300 Breedlove and plucked away at this riff I’ve been messing with for two-and-a-half hours, just seeing what I could add in here, if this would sound cool there. And so, yes, the guitar is just as important, if not more, to my music as the lyrics.
The Craft of Songwriting
It’s not always riffs first, lyrics second, but I find that is most often the way it goes down. I don’t know. I can’t give you a way my songs come together. It feels like it happens in a different way every time. I’m very melody-driven; it’s the way I listen to music. Everybody’s got different things they’re trying to get out of the songs, but, for me, the melody is the most important thing.
Reinterpreting “Spirit” for In The Shadow Of The Mountain
It was a work in progress, because there’s a challenge in having songs be out for two or three years on their own as solo acoustic pieces.
I kind of look at the OurVinyl [Sessions] as demos– in a way, that was not necessarily what I saw as the finished product for any of those songs. And then they get the attention, that becomes the versions of the songs that people know and love, and it puts pressure on the situation of, “Oh, damn, people care about this song now, so I have to do it justice.’ It has to be tasteful, it can’t be too much, and all these things. It’s an equation that you’re trying to find the answer to.
“Spirit” maybe took the longest out of all of them. There’s me and Duane Lundy and Zachary Hamilton co-producing. If you talked to them, they would probably tell you the same thing – it took us the longest to get that song to where we were all feeling really good about it.
We were maybe one day away from having to have the mix completely wrapped up on everything and send it off to be mastered. I was listening to “Spirit” on my way to the studio and I was like, “This sounds really good, the groove is there, but something’s missing and I don’t know what it is.” It was driving me nuts. I was wracking my brain. “What would sound good on this? What would sound good?” And I was like, “It needs a piano, an actual piano.”
I’m a huge Bruce Hornsby fan, so I wanted something nimble like that. The one person I knew I could lean on to do it was Aaron Bibelhauser. I called him, and it was one of those “something that’s meant to be” type of things. It was, “Man, I don’t know if you can get in here today. We’ve only got one day left to finish this thing, but ‘Spirit’ really needs a piano on it. And if you’re around” — he’s from Louisville — “and you can make the trip, I’d love to get you to put some piano on it.” He said, “I’m actually in Lexington right now, so I can just run right on over.”
I think it really tied the whole song together and made it the full picture that I had been envisioning for that song the whole time.
Looking Ahead
I still write and love to write folk songs, but I keep running into this issue while I’m writing folk songs of trying to make them a little too brooding or complex when they don’t need to be all the time. You can have complex folk songs. I think Billy Strings is a good example of that. “Gild the Lily” is a fantastic song, and that’s complex, but it’s still very much a string band song.
There’s a lot of creative energy flying around in the Cole Chaney realm right now. I don’t know what it looks like yet, so I can’t step out on a limb and say a whole lot about it, because there’s nothing certain happening.
But we’re all working on contributing towards something that will be really interesting and cool, if it ends up coming to fruition, which I think it will. It will probably be a thing on its own. I need to do a dedicated rock project — I’ll just leave it at that. I think it’s safe to say at some point there will be electric guitars involved.
Jo Dee Messina wants to know where the real cowboys are.
“Well, are they in some greener pastures?” she asks on “Where the Cowboys Ride,” a spicy sendup of Tecovas-rocking poseurs and a standout on Bridges, Messina’s first album in over a decade, out June 5.
Sometimes cheeky, often affecting, Bridges condenses a lifetime of lessons into 12 tight tracks. Whether she’s taking a narcissistic partner to task (“It’s All About You”), warning about the dangers of self-medication (“Message in a Bottle”) or setting the record straight on scripture (“The Jesus I Know”), Messina explores life’s complexities with her signature mix of grit and hard-fought joy.
Lead single “Some Bridges” is a power-pop-country belter that recalls the triumphant highs of 1998’s I’m Alright, which spawned three consecutive No. 1s and cemented Messina as one of the leading voices of country pop’s golden age. Like “Bye Bye,” Messina’s indelible ode to putting “a lead foot down on my accelerator” and leaving a bad relationship in the rearview, “Some Bridges” reminds listeners that self-preservation sometimes means burning things down.
“You have to learn to forgive, but do you go back to that abusive situation?” she says. “Do you go back to that addiction? You don’t have to subject yourself to these things.”
Jo Dee Messina is our Artist of the Month for June 2026. She sat down with Good Country to talk burning bridges, her “sweet” relationship with Ella Langley, and what she hopes fans will take away from this new era. Check out our interview and don’t miss our Essential Jo Dee Messina playlist below, too.
Why was now the right time to put out new music?
Jo Dee Messina: Because it was done. [Laughs] I’ve been writing a lot with people, and [my co-writers] are just so encouraging. We’d write a song and they’d be like, “Man, you should record this.” It happened so many times, and I was like, “Well, I think I’m at a stage right now where I have time I can dedicate to a project,” releasing the songs and a tour schedule to support it. It just seemed like the right time.
Do you feel like you’ve gained confidence as a writer as your career has gone on?
I’ve always been a songwriter. I do believe that in the last few years, my songwriting has had time to develop and I’ve written a lot more. I’ve had more time to write, so I’ve had a lot more content.
To hear songs like “Some Bridges” on the radio kind of brings tears to my eyes, because it’s like, I actually wrote this. I actually wrote the songs on this record.
“Some bridges are meant to burn” is a great lyric. Do you feel like you’ve had to burn bridges in your career?
I wouldn’t say career. But with life, sometimes there are situations that aren’t beneficial, or jobs or that really take the life out of you. I think everybody has experienced that. And it doesn’t have to be heavy. It could just be like, “I feel like my talents aren’t being used, and so I’m going to move elsewhere.”
With that song, we were in the writers’ room, and somebody brought up the idea that you can’t be burning bridges. But what if they’re meant to burn? What if that bridge leads you to pain and abuse, or to a job that sucked the life out of you? Forgiveness is for us, we’re not built to carry the weight of unforgiveness, but you can forgive from the other side of the bridge.
“Where the Cowboys Ride” is such a fun song. Did that song come out of any experience in particular?
It’s funny, because it’s not portrayed in the song, but the truth of that song is that a friend of mine went down to Lower Broadway [in Nashville] one weekend and came back and had his foot in a sling. I’m like, “What is the deal? What happened?” And he’s like, “I wore my cowboy boots down to Broadway this weekend.” I was like, “I’ve never seen you in cowboy boots. You wear sneakers every day.” But he dressed the part.
There’s a line in the song about how you don’t see them around here on a Friday night. I want to see the guys that are slinging dirt for a living. I want to meet the guys that will lay their life down for their family. All the things that a true cowboy does.
Everyone’s certainly throwing on the cowboy boots right now. Any theories as to why country music is having such a moment?
Country music tells the story of life. The messages don’t change as far as the relatability to different generations. Dolly Parton wrote “I Will Always Love You” in the ’60s, and then it came back in the ’90s, and people are still cutting it. You ask seven-year-olds and they know that song because their parents are singing it. With some songs, the emotion and the life story behind them doesn’t go out of style.
Of course, some of your older songs have been getting renewed attention as well. You recently performed “Lesson in Leavin’” with Ella Langley at the Ryman Auditorium, and then the two of you interviewed each other at Country Radio Seminar (CRS). Can you tell me about your friendship with her?
That started off with us messaging each other online. She sang “Lesson in Leavin’” on TikTok, and I reached out to her. We talked about writing together, but then life got crazy. Then when she played the Ryman she reached out to me and was like, “Hey, do you want to do this deal with me?” And then she did CRS and asked if I wanted to do that.
I think it’s just a mutual admiration. I’m really proud of what she’s doing and how she’s handling it. We both know Jesus, and we both love Jesus, and so I’m able to have that connection with her, and just say, “Hey, if you need prayer, I’m here. If you need a safe space, I’m here.” It’s a sweet friendship.
“If He Knew Jesus” is one of a couple songs on that album that takes up the topic of faith. What’s the backstory behind that song?
I’ve been a single mom for a while, and it’s difficult because you can’t split yourself up. Especially if you have more than one child, you can’t go to one’s recital at school and one’s hockey game, so one of them is always missing something. Someone had asked me if I would ever consider dating somebody, and my first response was that he would have to love Jesus. And so in these conversations with other moms is where we came up with the line, “If you knew Jesus, there’d be no raising these babies alone.”
I started to cry in the writing room when we wrote that. I was like, “That’s the saddest thing,” and then I went on to other examples: “He wouldn’t crush you beneath all that he did,” all of the hurt and pain and abuse and whatever, where Jesus raises us up. He protects us, and He cares for us, and He puts us first, and He dies for us.
What’s the best thing someone can tell you about what your music means to them?
I think, “It gave me hope. It made me not feel alone.” That would be the greatest thing. “It made me not feel alone in my situation,” whether it’s a happy situation, a lonely situation, a feisty situation, because the songs cover everything. Keep in mind the enemy tries to separate us so we feel alone, and when we’re alone, all sorts of crazy things go through our brains.
Who’s the enemy?
Satan. It’s like, if you get alone, your mind starts going, “Why am I alone? Oh, because nobody likes me, or I’m not good enough.” All these crazy thoughts go through your head, and so you don’t start to think, “Wow, I’m beautiful, and I’m worth it, and I’m treasured.” That’s why it’s called the enemy of who you really are and who God created you to be. He’s working against it.
Are there experiences you’ve had in life where you felt like you were alone?
I think we all have. So I just want to be sure that people know you’re never alone. Even if you don’t see another person in the room, you’re still not alone. Period. God’s word tells us you can never go too high, too low. He’s there. We just have to open our hearts and see it.
I work with teenagers and I remember a teenager saying, “I don’t even think my parents hear what I say.” It was such a sad statement, and it inspired the song “Can Anybody.” In my inner circles, I’ll call that song “The Teenager’s Lament,” because they all feel invisible. It’s why they’re doing things on social media and hanging out with certain people. It’s why they sometimes don’t talk to their parents.
That’s where the first verse came from, and then the second verse came from myself: “I’ve got a history of trying to save myself/ But God, if you’re listening/ I’m screaming out for help.” That’s me. I’m a doer, and I have a history of thinking, “I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it.” But there are some things I can’t fix. You can’t fix someone else’s health or their mental state. After my mother had anesthesia, she was confused, and I couldn’t fix that. I tried and drove myself crazy. I’d made her photo albums, and I made her song playlists, and, and I couldn’t do it. She was still confused. It made me realize the humanity of myself and the limits of a human.
Our guest on the Working Songwriter this week originally hails from Boston, Massachusetts, and now makes his home in Toronto. Joe Pernice got his musical start, though, in Northampton, Mass. At the time, it was a hot bed of indie music creativity. His band the Scud Mountain Boys built a loyal following in the 1990s with a string of critically acclaimed releases. He’s recorded for Sub Pop, One Little Indian, Team Love, and New West Records.
Over the years Pernice has collaborated with a variety of blue-chip songwriters such as Aimee Mann, Neko Case, Norman Blake (of Teenage Fanclub), Jimmy Webb, Rodney Crowell, and Jim White. He’s also a man of many talents; his novel It Feels So Good When I Stop was published by Penguin Books in 2009. NPR calls him “a workhorse of a songwriter who delivers hard truths with the softest of whispers.” Brooklyn Vegan declared, “Few songwriters today imbue frustration and anguish into the sweetest of melodies as Joe Pernice.”
I got a chance to catch up with him a few months ago to hear about his musical journey so far.
Twenty-six years into its life as a band, the Steep Canyon Rangers get back to basics on Next Act, unplugging their amps and instruments in favor of an acoustic setup with minimal percussion. It marks a return to the foundations that first set the group up for success.
Releasing May 22, Next Act is the second studio effort to feature guitarist and vocalist Aaron Burdett, who joined the Rangers in 2022 following the departure of founding member Woody Platt. In addition to appearing on their 2023 album, Morning Shift, Burdett is part of the Rangers’ 2024 live record, which features several of his own compositions, too.
Alongside the band’s other members – Graham Sharp (banjo), Mike Guggino (mandolin), Nicky Sanders (fiddle), Mike Ashworth (percussion, Dobro), and Barrett Smith (bass) – Next Act brings Burdett into the fold even more, with six tracks written or co-written by him. “Roll of the Dice” catalogs Burdett’s early days traveling with the band and “Hard Times” finds him reflecting on adversity and how moments that once felt overwhelming can later soften in memories.
According to Ashworth, the growing role of Burdett in the band is simply a carryover of having multiple voices contributing to their songwriting over the past decade, with Sharp being the other primary force of late.
“Aaron came into that role really well with a bunch of his own material while also taking lead on some of the stuff Graham had written as well,” Ashworth explains. “After incorporating more of his own stuff on that live record, the next step was to up the ante even more on this album by bringing even more of his older work into the studio.”
Steep Canyon Rangers’ Mike Ashworth and Barrett Smith caught up with BGS to delve into how books inspired two of the album’s songs, how a road trip instigated “Halfway To Reno” featuring Edie Brickell, what remains on the group’s bucket list, and more.
How did Aaron’s level of involvement on this record grow compared to Morning Shift?
Barrett Smith: It feels like Aaron has always been here – he just fits with us so well. He’s become such a close friend and a great person to work and make art with. We’re just excited with everything having to do with the band right now, and Aaron is a big part of that. Things went well when we worked together on Morning Shift, even though we were considerably less worn-in and stable than we are now on this album. We’re really cooking right now and feel great together as a group.
Mike Ashworth: From a relationship standpoint, things have gelled much further than I’d ever hoped. It does feel like Aaron’s been a member for more like 10 years, not three. On this record you can see the band in more of a way that feels like a group that’s sure of itself. The last time we were in the studio we arranged in more of a rock ‘n’ roll style where everybody reinforces the same rhythms, but on Next Act we gave everyone a lot more room to explore their own parts. It’s indicative of how much we trust each other now and how much growth artistically the band has seen in the last few years.
BS: Another good indicator of the growth is that on Morning Shift we worked with a producer, Darrell Scott, even though we enjoy and produce ourselves really well. But then when Next Act came along, we felt like we had enough chemistry together that we could move forward without an outside producer this time. Doing that allows us more space to bounce ideas around and feed off each other, which we feel like is our greatest superpower as a band.
As well as y’all work together, it’s hard to pass up a collaboration with someone like Darrell Scott when it presents itself!
MA: I imagine it’d be hard to come into a band like this and produce, because oftentimes we have to be careful to not already be done with everything. As a result, we intentionally leave certain things unarranged or on the table to give them something to do or else we’ll just wind up taking everything away from them.
BS: I remember Darrell, a number of times, looking around and saying, “Y’all are pretty weird with how you do things.” One time when we were recording, I remember him stopping and asking us if we always had so many opinions about each song that we communicated to each other. Eventually he started telling us to just “shut up and play” – that was one of the catchphrases of our studio time together. [Laughs] If you have an idea, we want you to be confident that it’s going to be heard. There’s a lot of trust in the whole system.
MA: Another thing Darrell pointed out was, “Y’all really care so much about the story.” He’d never heard an entire band comment on the lyrics and stories behind each song like we do – whether it’s where to punch things up or down or when to add harmonies.
That’s the cool thing about this new record. It delves even more into that exploratory realm of the band trying to sell the story – and the whole band, not just one singer, absorbing what it’s all about.
Tell me about naming the album Next Act. Is that a nod to this full circle journey that’s brought you back to being more of a traditional string band?
MA: The intention was twofold, but that was definitely a part of it. As the title of the song, it’s about picking yourself up, moving into a new phase of life, and embracing change. However, Next Act for the band is us reflecting on our change and growth and the ability to reveal what our potential is at any given moment. Because of that it became a pretty conscious decision to make it the title of the record.
BS: On Arm In Arm [in 2020], it was fun getting to mess around in the studio with organs, electric guitars and all these special guests – it was like our own mini-Brian-Wilson-like experience. But on this record, we wanted to bring it back home and return to being a string band again. Because of that, this new record doesn’t have any electric instruments on it. There is percussion, but it’s not a full drum set. We’ve been doing a lot more stuff around one mic at our live shows recently and feel like these new songs are very representative of that.
MA: We’ve all had amps and drums buzzing around our heads for years, so we wanted to remind ourselves that this thing still starts around a campfire and can always come back to that. I don’t think fans will know what to call what we’re going to do on any given night, because even we won’t [know] until we see the room and start to feel the vibe of the city and people there. Doing this record has allowed us to rediscover the foundation of what we are when you strip everything away. That’s been a really cool and unnerving process to get out from behind all the extra noise and see that when you take those things away, the art is still really good.
There’s a couple songs on this record – “Back of Beyond” and “Circling the Drain” – that were inspired by books, Barbara Kingsolver’s Demon Copperhead and Horace Kephart’s Our Southern Highlanders, respectively. With that in mind, how would you say literature informs the band’s songwriting, not only with this record, but overall as well?
MA: Graham actually wrote both those songs, but I do want to speak about Demon Copperhead, because we all just absolutely loved that book. We’re not just a band, we’re also a close circle of friends, and with that comes shared mutual interests, like books. I’m so glad that Graham is my friend, because he can write things that I wish I had the ability to say. But once something is written, whether it be a book or a song, it doesn’t belong to [the writer] anymore, it belongs to you, [the reader/listener]. That’s the really cool thing about art.
I love that Graham is a voracious reader because we wind up getting a lot of great songs out of it, like these two. Damon [Demon Copperhead’s protagonist] is such a wonderful, resilient character that reminds me so much of people I grew up with – and I’m sure Barrett would agree.
BS: As a writer, artist, and creator, I think it’s a good habit to have different areas you pull inspiration from to keep you out of a rut. For Graham a big one is literature. Demon Copperhead threw all of us for a loop as it was getting passed around the bus. When we found out he was basing a song off it we jumped right on it.
As for “Back of Beyond” and Our Southern Highlanders, I think that book is essential reading for any Western North Carolinian. “Back of Beyond” was simply a term that came from meaning the middle of nowhere out in the country, in a place where you can go for days without seeing anyone or speaking a word.
“Back of Beyond” is a song that’s been lingering with y’all for several albums before finally getting recorded now. What made Next Act the right spot for it to land?
BS: During my time in the band, I would say that “Back of Beyond” is the biggest survivor, in terms of songs that have stuck around and taken on many different forms before finally making it onto a record. We actually wanted to include it on Morning Shift, but Darrell Scott didn’t think it would be a good fit, so we didn’t. We may have even called that album “Back of Beyond” if it had been on it. But when that happened, we knew it would reappear on our next record. After it missed the cut we all really wanted it for this one, which is why we call it a survivor.
I was also curious about the song “Halfway to Reno,” which came from a roadtrip you [Mike] had with Aaron from California to a gig in Reno, Nevada. Is that right?
MA: That’s right. I think Aaron was behind the wheel that day. From my view, he’s someone that is more influenced by an experience or feeling than anything else, which he can then take like putty and mold into a piece of art. That’s the beauty of being in this band, these guys will come up with these nuggets – and if it hits the Steep Canyon grinder and comes out the other end still in one piece, then they’ll take it and finish writing it.
Then when we were mixing that song we kept envisioning a high voice on it, but couldn’t figure out exactly who to ask to fill the role. Then we sent it to our dear friend Edie Brickell and she ended up putting the icing on the cake. The song is about one lover trying to get back to the other and the little things that you carry through your day – especially when you’re separated by distance – that keep you tied to home. She really understood the assignment and put this beautiful piece on top of the tune that I absolutely love.
How did the opportunity to work with Edie on the tune come about?
MA: We first met her over a decade ago through Steve Martin. He would send her banjo ideas and she’d send them back to him with lyrics over them. That quickly evolved into a fantastic record produced by Peter Asher called Love Has Come For You in 2013. But touring together is where we really befriended her, during late nights on the bus and in the dressing room. I remember being drawn in by her spontaneity and creativity and the way that she can write a song in the moment about that moment. It’s almost like a fortune teller.
Since that first encounter we’ve recorded many times together through the years and she’s become not just one of my favorite female artists, but one of my favorite artists, period. She’s just so heartfelt every time she adds to something. It comes from a real place and that’s harder and harder to find these days.
Speaking of Steve, what did it mean to have him featured with you on “Heart’s the Only Compass”? I think this is his first time on an album or single with you since 2020’s “California.”
BS: It’s always a huge honor any time we’re able to work with Steve. He’s an iconic American art figure, so to have the opportunity to create with him is a treat. When we decided we wanted clawhammer banjo on that tune we tossed a few other names around first, but it all came back to Steve, because the prowess he has on the instrument is second to none.
From what I understand, you reconstructed “The Kindest Thing” in the studio at the behest of Nicky. Tell me about that process and how the final song differs from what you were initially going for?
BS: That song took on a bunch of different forms in the studio, as our songs often do. At one point it had this Don Williams, cool country kind of feel and Nicky heard that pretty late in the game, but didn’t care for it. Instead he kept talking about “Going to California” by Led Zeppelin, which led to Mike Guggino kicking off this riff similar to the one in that song that wound up setting the foundation for what the song eventually turned into. Ultimately, it was a good decision on Nicky’s part.
Steep Canyon has been together for 26 years now. With that in mind, is there anything that remains on your musical bucket list?
BS: The band hasn’t won a GRAMMY since I’ve been a part of it, so I’d love to see that happen – maybe even with this album. [Laughs] Aside from that, it’s hard to think of specific venues, not that there aren’t any, but because we’ve gotten to play so many of our dream places already. My bucket list is mainly just keeping on and continuing to discover and hone my role in this band.
What has bringing this album to life taught you about yourselves?
MA: I thought I’d become more patient as I became older, but I actually think I’m becoming less. [Laughs] In all seriousness, this session taught me to slow down again. I kept wanting to schedule and have it done sooner rather than later, but instead, the cycle for this record was one of the longest we’ve ever endured. In the end I think it’s exactly what it wanted and I’m grateful for how it got me to take it easy and be more in the moment.
BS: Even though we’ve been playing together for so long, working on this record brought me a new level of comfort and trust with the band. I have more faith in the people in the band, what we’re doing and my place in it than ever before, which is such a good feeling. I’m really enjoying where we are right now and am excited to see how we keep building upon it.
Well, is this not an excuse to get the girlies together if we’ve ever heard one!? For our final live interview aboard Cayamo, we arranged a check-in with some of our favorite folks to talk about the state of Folk Music (and folk-adjacent music). Our panel included country artist and host of Apple Music’s Color Me Country Radio Rissi Palmer, Canadian sweethearts Rose Cousins (CEO of emotions) and Kaïa Kater (Dean of Sad Songs), and Jobi Riccio, a self-proclaimed “rizzler.” We spoke about the function of folk songwriting, the hope and confidence of Gen Z, the inspiration taken from elders, and the fact that there are Black people in the future (thank you, Alice Randall).
We’ve noticed some folk songs coming out recently about moving forward and persevering despite living in hard times. It seems like the folk zeitgeist is collectively coming together to say something and we wanted to explore what’s happening with folk musicians at this time. What is the function of folk songwriting in modern times? Comfort? Information? Inspiration?
Folk is the big scoop that catches everyone. We need there to be a place for everyone else – and we are the everyone else. When you choose to be in this community, you grab onto this big rope, pulling against all that needs pulling against (feeling, current events, poverty, capitalism, things that homogenize, surveil, and control). These artists and the stories they tell take care of communities in a way that is similar to healthcare workers, but how are these workers being taken care of? We wanted to ask, “What’s the state of your workplace and how is care being taken?” And, “What does it feel like to be moving through the world playing music for people at this time?”
Our guest this week on the Working Songwriter hails from my neck of the woods, Washington, D.C. Mary Chapin Carpenter got her start in the proto-Americana music scene of 1970s and ’80s D.C. She broke out of that local circuit with her signing to Columbia Records; her 1992 album, Come On Come On, went quadruple platinum.
Carpenter has toured with Emmylou Harris, Shawn Colvin, and Rosanne Cash, she’s won five GRAMMY Awards, two CMA Awards, and two Academy of Country Music Awards. Her song, “Shut Up and Kiss Me,” went to the top of the country radio charts. She has appeared on the Late Night with David Letterman and Rolling Stone calls her “one of the most grounded, sentient songwriters of her generation.” NPR has said that she’s “a singular voice in country and folk” and the New York Times praises her “intelligent, literate songwriting with emotional depth.”
Simply put, she’s an all-timer. I got a chance to catch up with her earlier this year and hear about her musical journey so far.
As a founding member of the legendary Nitty Gritty Dirt Band and a three-time GRAMMY winner, JeffHanna has navigated nearly 60 years in the music industry. His resumé includes credits with the likes of Linda Ronstadt, Emmylou Harris, Johnny Cash, and many others. In this episode of the Other 22 Hours we explore the geography of inspiration, from the 1970s Troubadour scene in LA to his 40 years anchored in Nashville’s songwriting community. Jeff reflects on the economy of a perfect line, the creative vitality of a “hard reset,” and why the bedrock of this work has to begin with the simple intention of having fun.
Thomm Jutz has worked with a wide cast of characters since moving to Nashville in the early 2000s – John Prine, Nanci Griffith, Todd Snider, Billy Strings, and the SteelDrivers’ Tammy Rogers. But on his latest record, Ring-A-Bellin’, he strived to capture each song with the smallest musical unit possible.
The result of the 18-track album, released April 3, is a distinctly timeless vibe that feels just as much rooted to the present day as it does the mid-1900s or Civil War era, due to its recurring themes of history, mythology, and working with your hands. From self improvement (“Sharpen Your Knife”) to using natural disaster as a metaphor for perseverance (“Holy Mother Mountain”), the mastery that comes with time (“The Hammer And The Anvil”) and becoming more grounded in yourself (“Settle Me Down”), the GRAMMY-nominated transplant from Germany waxes philosophical and takes listeners back to a period long before we walked the Earth.
According to Jutz, the approach – recording with only a small group of people all in the same room not wearing headphones – is his way of replicating the process for how musicians would’ve recorded a century ago.
“This is how I want to make music right now,” he declares. “I don’t want to make a layered record – not because there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just not what I’m feeling at the moment. It’s like saying I don’t want to use red in my paintings right now, because I’ve used enough of it already.”
During a lengthy conversation with BGS at his Belmont office on Music Row, Jutz spoke about his concept of home, how psychology and mythology informed Ring-A-Bellin’, and a companion book that takes listeners even further into the world of his 18 new songs.
You’re releasing this album with a companion book. Tell me a little about what’s inside and why you decided to adopt this approach?
Thomm Jutz: It’s more and more important to create some kind of parallel narrative to the music nowadays. Vinyl has seen a resurgence over the last couple years, but it is not practical for me to take on my one trip to Europe every year. Because of that, I wanted to create something that was still a larger format, fun to hold, and had all the liner notes present without being something so small it’s hard to read.
I’ve also always enjoyed writing and reading – especially during my last 10 years as an instructor at Belmont – so I wanted to articulate some of those thoughts as they relate to the songs on this record in a longer form. When I got to working on it I quickly realized I was in over my head with the graphic design aspect of it, so I consulted my friend Gina Meredith. I just told her what I wanted artwork for and commissioned various folks to create pieces for each song. But rather than tell them what to make, I just sent them the music and had them use the songs as their creative prompts. Because of that I don’t always see the linear connection between the songs and the graphics that were made, but that’s also my favorite part.
A lot of my thoughts on this record revolve around analytic and Jungian psychology, alchemy and things like that, which are difficult to talk about in a tiny CD booklet, so I wanted to do something that allowed for a more longform format.
Overall, this record has a timeless feel – it could be (and is) from 2026, but if I didn’t know any better I wouldn’t second guess if someone told me it was from the mid-1900s or Civil War era as well, especially songs like “Sharpen Your Knife” and “The Hammer And The Anvil.” What are your thoughts on the vibe you were able to conjure up here?
I’m a traditionalist at heart, so everything I do is always trying to bring something new to the way I perceive what came before us, whether that’s lyrically, thematically, or in the recording process – which in this case was mostly all done live. I just think there tends to be more mystery with that music. There’s new music that does that too, but it’s easier for me to find that in old music because the cultural context can be studied since it’s not as close to my own lived experience. No matter how much I listen to or read about Charley Patton, I’ll never understand what he fully experienced because I was never there.
Regarding the songs you mentioned, both talk about people working with their hands, but they’re also metaphors for working on yourself – like you are the hammer, you are the anvil, you are the iron that’s being forged. Those mantras are rooted in human thought and analytical psychology, which is something I’ve dealt with and thought about a lot over the last 15 years. Particularly in terms of how mythology and history go together, and how understood the former is.
On one hand, some people think a myth is a lie and others say a myth is a fact, but both are wrong. A myth is a metaphor and must be understood as one. These songs are an effort to create a mythological framework that is a mirror image of my development as a person and artist. If you ever want to develop as an artist, you must develop as a person first.
With so much of this record wrapped up in concepts like history, psychology, and mythology, what’s the timeline for bringing the 18 songs on it to life?
These songs came from a period of about three years, but when I started I wasn’t setting out to make a record – I just wanted to experiment with a couple things. I had a few songs that I co-wrote with my friend Adam Wright that I wanted to test out with only me singing and playing and Mark Fain on bass. And it worked out really well. As I got fascinated with that process I began looking through my catalog and noticed that the songs which spoke to me the most were all ones that formed a narrative arc.
However, it’s not an autobiographical record that says, “I was born here,” “I did this,” and “This is how it made me feel.” But more so, one that explores spiritual development. I’m not interested in autobiographical songwriting. I find it very claustrophobic how you have to spell everything out to the listener. When you do that you’re shutting them out with nothing to do, which has me opting for a more open approach. A song is only ever truly finished when the listener interprets it for themselves, not with what the person who wrote it intended.
One of the songs on Ring-A-Bellin’ that is tied to more recent events is “Holy Mother Mountain,” which was inspired by the fallout of Hurricane Helene, specifically in Western North Carolina. But it’s also a metaphor for overcoming adversity. Care to explain?
That song is a good example of how writing with someone else – in this case Mando Saenz – can profoundly shape an idea. I remember Helene happening and having this line “Holy Mother Mountain” appear to me out of nowhere. From then on I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I brought it to a writing session with him and said I didn’t know what to do with it. Then the co-writing dance ensued, with him taking the lead, followed by me for a bit, until it started becoming much clearer that there was no way to move forward without it being about Hurricane Helene somehow.
While it was inspired by that, the song is also about overcoming adversity and understanding that it’s going to happen again. Just because you live through Helene doesn’t mean there’s not another storm coming right behind it. If that storm showed us anything, it’s that perceived climate safety in Appalachia is not true. Also, “mother” and “mountain” are not just a nice alliteration, but there’s also a feminine quality about a mountain. An inverted mountain is a valley – or a place you can seek refuge in – and if you go on top of a mountain, you might find yourself closer to some kind of spiritual awareness.
The song is much more a collection of images that relate to the archetypal images of mother and mountain. Maybe even the word “holy” in the title has something to do with the fact of how little modernity treats nature with respect. Maybe that’s what we need to do – not bring offerings, but bring out attention to it instead of riding around and abusing it like crazy.
On “Too Many Walls” you sing about the idea of home. Given that you moved to the states 25 years ago from Germany, what is “home” to you?
Home and time are two of the biggest themes we write about, and it’s longing that connects the two – longing for home, longing to belong somewhere, longing to live in a different period of time, longing to get over something. Over the last couple years, I’ve also started thinking more about how strange a thing it is to build a house, because you’re just enclosing space that’s been there all along. You’re building and calling it something that wasn’t there before, but the land was always there. It’s a strange construct, and at the same time we need shelter.
From an early age I didn’t feel at home where I was because I longed for a place where music was part of the everyday lived experience. But in Germany after 1945 that was completely out of the picture, because the Nazi regime had completely and absurdly abused any sense of folklore. Since I was longing for an environment where people played music, I went to Ireland for the first time with my wife when I was 18 since it was much closer than coming [to the United States], which we couldn’t afford at the time. I was amazed by the music coming out of the pubs there – it felt so natural, like it was rising out of the Earth.
That fascination carried over into my love of American roots music. In that sense, “home” is where I feel connected to a place through music since that’s my main way of expressing myself. Additionally, southwestern Appalachia and the Black Forest that I’m from in Germany can look astonishingly similar sometimes, so when I go back to visit my parents I occasionally feel like I’m navigating the mountains around Johnson City, [Tennessee]. When I’m in Johnson City I sometimes imagine I’m back in Germany. But Appalachia has more importance to me now because it’s where I live and long to be. If it weren’t for all the writing I do in Nashville and my work at Belmont, I’d be in Appalachia fulltime, because it just speaks to me. When I haven’t been in a while I can start feeling something deep inside me – it’s not a heaviness, but a feeling of “I just really wanna fucking go.” [Laughs]
What has bringing this record to life taught you about yourself?
It’s taught me that I know nothing about graphic design and should always let someone else handle that instead. [Laughs]
In all seriousness, it has taught me that while I don’t consider myself a great singer, I can still enjoy the way I deliver a song if I do it correctly. It’s also taught me that while I have great deficiencies as a guitar player, I do enjoy the way I play guitar and this record, where I’m keenly aware of everything wrong with my playing. Even Tony Rice said that about his playing.
It’s not a sense of having completed my journey as a guitar player, but quite the opposite. It’s more like I’m aware of what’s missing. It’s also taught me that staying on the path of creating and writing a lot. You have to be in it for the long game in today’s environment and be doing it for the right reasons or you’ll run yourself ragged. I already understood that a little bit, but now I understand it even better. Maybe that’s what it’s all about – gaining a little awareness and moving on.
It is deeply joyful sitting with Jonny Fritz at a restaurant he suggested (Pollos Puebla #1) in an area of Los Angeles he’s an expert on (Pasadena/Altadena border) and talking about subjects he thinks about a lot, ranging from rebirthing ceremonies to alimony to how…“different” Nashville is now. He’s keenly honest about his life, his work, and his thoughts about any question thrown his way. Nothing is out of line or off limits. Nothing is filtered by a publicist or an agenda. It is off the cuff and real and wild.
We met over grilled chicken, rice, and beans to discuss his newest work, Debbie Downers (Woodwinds), a reimagining of the original 2025 album Debbie Downers. The conversation unfolded much like the album, with unexpected turns and humor that expose raw nerves about an unfriendly music industry, the beauty of PG Tips, the subtlety of serving a song, and the goal of taking a ride on the wave of a sliced open above-ground pool.
Well, let’s talk about Woodwinds. I’m a huge woodwind fan. How’d this come about?
Jonny Fritz: Oh, yeah? Me too. I love woodwinds. I’ve always loved them. I think they’re so great.
It’s so expensive making a record. It’s just stupid, you know? For example, the last record I made, Sweet Creep, I made it pretty cheap. I think it cost about 12,000 bucks. But ATO Records had an option on it so they could pick it up. They bought Dad Country, the record before that, for 5,000 bucks. It cost me five grand to make. “We’ll pay you five grand for it.” All right, fine. And then, hidden in the contract – or at least hidden to me – they got the option on the next one. Same deal. So when I made Sweet Creep they picked up the option. So for $5,000, they got this record that cost me $12k. I was like, “Jesus, man, this business is so rough.” And I just knew it was going to be something similar with the next one.
By this one, Debbie Downers, I thought, “What do I really want to do?” I might as well just do what I want, because there’s nothing worse than having something be expensive and unsatisfactory. I just decided I really wanted to make the record over and over and over again. I have a bunch of different visions for how it should go and I wouldn’t call any of them the one.
The Woodwinds one was something I’ve always just wanted to do. So I’m pretty pleased with it. I got this amazing guy in Highland Park who does film and TV stuff. There’s not a lot of work going on right now, so he was willing to do it. And the first couple of arrangements that he came up with, I was just giddy. I couldn’t believe how cool it was.
Were there any revelations for you? When you heard them in that arrangement, was there anything that shocked you about it?
Hmm… Yeah, some of the versions with the woodwinds really lent themselves to the winds better than any other version. I wrote this song called “Have You Seen Her.” I wrote it coming off of anesthesia. I was out of my mind. I got a hip replacement at UCLA 10 years ago. You know, coming off anesthesia affects people in weird ways. I’m one of them. It really got me, I wrote this song and I felt like it was the most brilliant thing.
It was so embarrassing. I wrote everybody who I knew who was high up at Rolling Stone, and all the Newport Folk Festival team, and all their PR team. I mean, I wrote everybody. And I wrote these really incoherent emails. I haven’t actually looked at them in a long time. I looked at them right after I wrote them and I was so ashamed. But I wrote all these emails being like, “You’re gonna want to get Scarlett Johansson down here. I need to perform this for her. And you need to get Joaquin [Phoenix] here, too.”
I’m not a social climber, but there was something in me that was like, “You need to make some moves. Call out a lifeline.” I was so ashamed of it for so long, because it was one of the most embarrassing moments in my life, for sure.
All of that to say, I didn’t want to play it or record it. I had to overcome it, admit it, and start talking about it. When I heard it with the woodwinds, I was blown away.
Years ago, I worked with Chris Crofton on a comedy event at Third Man Records that involved a compilation of found video footage that was submitted. There were so many submissions of people coming out of anesthesia, and I remember Chris immediately going, “No, that isn’t funny.” It really isn’t; you aren’t in your right mind.
God bless that man. He always knows exactly what the fuck is up. He is driven by pure heart and knows exactly where his morals should be. He’s incorruptible.
Do you spend a lot of time on social media? What is your relationship to it as a creator?
Pretty passive. I like social media. I feel like I’m kind of floating above social media. By like eight feet, just kind of looking down at it. Like, “What are you guys doing? That’s insane.” Then I dive into it to interact, and then just kind of get out of it. I get a little hooked on it for sure, but I hear about the addictions and the stuff that people fall for, and just like the amount of engagement. But it’s like engagement versus quality of life. I get so much fulfillment from everything else. I like playing with it. I always have fun with it, but I try not to let it get sticky.
Well, one of my favorite social media posts in the past bit is the one with your kiddo singing “Tea Man.”
Oh, wasn’t that so sweet?
So sweet.
She’s 6.5 now. She was like 2.5 then. And I just was like, I can’t post this. It felt so…I don’t know…
Personal?
It was personal, but I didn’t have a problem with that. I definitely want to protect her, you know? But that’s not her anymore. She doesn’t even look like that. She’s like doubled since that song came out. But then I was like, “Oh, fuck yeah, I’m posting this!” There was no risk of seeing her in public and recognizing that she’s the girl from the video.
Are you a tea man? In real life?
I got a PG Tips tattoo. I really like tea. I drink enough tea to float a canoe every day.
Really? All caffeinated?
Usually. Well, when I’m on tour, yeah. I get so tired. I can’t really mess with coffee. It just makes me so jittery. But I can just drink tea all day.
Are you an equal opportunist, or is it mostly black tea?
Oh, I like it all. Really like it all, but I love the black stuff, though. I think it happened when I was on tour 10 years ago with Josh Hedley. We were in England somewhere on a train, and they came down the lane with a steaming cart and it was £1 for a cup of tea. I don’t have an addictive personality. I don’t care about alcohol or anything. But I felt like, “Oh, I’m in trouble.” Just sitting on a cold, rainy train going through England with a cup of PG Tips.
It reminded me of something I heard about Andy Warhol. Although I’m not a big fan, I don’t know much about the guy. But what I do know about him is that one thing that made me really like him. I heard that he doused his whole world in a certain scent for a season. For example, in the summer of ‘63, he would just cover everything with lavender oil. And then come winter, it would be a totally different scent. And you’d put lavender away, and it’d be bergamot. So then the sense memory of whatever happened around that time would be so strongly connected to that scent that you could be completely brought back. And I really love that.
I think there’s something to it with the tea thing, because that tour was really big for me. It was a fantastic time. It was a really, really wonderful, lovely tour, and drinking PG Tips like that, I just got into English culture too. Everywhere you go, somebody’s like, “Well, you want a cup of tea?” Like, yes, I fucking do. I decided I’m never turning down a cup of tea. And I never have since.
Tell me about writing “Hot Chicken Condos” with Jordan [Lehning] and Skylar [Wilson]. I deeply connect with that song because I also left Tennessee, and for many of the reasons you list in the song.
Yeah, that was the point. Everybody who really gets this place will really understand these things, even like Pit Bull puppies in parking lots.
And humidity.
Fucking unrelenting humidity.
Were those things you were storing? How did that song come about?
God, why I love writing with Jordan and Skyler is because they don’t bring any ego to the write. They don’t fucking care. They’re just such good vibes. I’m really pretty neurotic about writing and also I’m pretty protective of my words, too. When I get into the writing space, I’m just so sensitive about what’s being said. So if somebody says or suggests the wrong thing, I can quickly be like, “This is the wrong association.” I can be a little trigger-happy.
But with Jordan and Skylar, they’re always just like, “Just play what you got.” And they usually edit everything that I have. With that song, one of the lyrics was “Mustard in the corner of his tiny little mouth.” And Jordan said, “Why don’t you say, ‘Mustard cracking in the corner of his tiny little mouth?'” And it was perfect. Mark Twain said the difference between the right word and almost the right word was the difference between lightning and the lightning bug.
It’s so true.
I got to hang out with Guy Clark once in Nashville, and it was like one of the best moments of my Nashville career. I was going through really bad writer’s block. And I asked him, “Do you ever get stuck?” And he said, “Yeah… Do you ever write with other people?” And I told him, “I don’t like the idea of giving somebody 50% of the song just because they’re sitting in the same room.” He leaned over and he goes, “Well, you never would have fucking wrote it if they weren’t sitting there.”
I was like, “Damn, old man schooled me.” Because so much of writing, I feel like, is picking up on something else that’s happening. And who’s to say you don’t owe somebody credit just because they’re sitting there?
The other thing that Jordan suggested for [“Hot Chicken Condos”], which was so right on, was that he asked me how high I could go on the Tennessee part. I told him I could go falsetto, and he told me to try it. I hit it and he said, “That’s it.” He took an idea of a song and made it a song. I just so appreciate those guys.
I just feel it is like a pedal steel player who plays about eight notes per song. That’s the best player in town, ‘cause all the other players are nonstop. Same with fiddle. Take Josh Hedley. The guy just stands there most of the time, then he pulls out something incredible, and he sets it back down. He doesn’t overplay. If you don’t overwrite and you don’t overplay, those are heavy attributes.
Those are both things to do in service of the song, not in service of self.
Absolutely. You know who I saw last night was Erin Rae. Kevin Morby and I were standing next to each other, just like, ”Oh my god, she’s so good.” One of the most amazing things about her is that she underplays the guitar. She’s playing the whole time, but if you really focus on how much she is actually playing, it is barely. It’s just enough to fill in where she’s not singing and she works the mic so well.
All those things are so important, but nobody teaches them, you know? You have to kind of know it. It’s innate, right?
Or you got to learn it trial by fire. And you have to be playing with players who know what they are doing to learn that.
Yeah. That’s right. Sometimes people are technically good, but they just don’t stop noodling, and it sucks.
You took a long hiatus from music, huh?
I did. I took nine years between records. I didn’t mean to. And I didn’t actually think that I was doing it. I was playing shows here and there. I blame it on real estate. I got into real estate because my heart got broken from music so many times from wanting to do better. Wanting to succeed more. Really, really caring what people said and thought and comparing myself. All the things you really shouldn’t do ever in any aspect of life. I mean, if you did that in a relationship, then your therapist would be like, “That’s your problem. Stop. Don’t do that.”
I couldn’t get out of it. I just felt so bad about how it was going. And I know what I’m doing is not for everybody, and it’s not gonna take off. But I love what I do. I’m not putting myself down, but I just knew my ambition was a lot faster than everybody’s interests. It was just wearing on me and I needed to do something that’s purely about money and doesn’t have anything to do with creativity, because I’m just getting my feelings hurt. And I got polyps in my vocal cords. I was touring too much. It just wasn’t going well.
So I thought, “I’m just going to pivot. I’ll still do shows and if somebody asks me to do something, I’ll do it. I love music.” I stopped prioritizing writing. I stopped prioritizing recording, and then the pandemic happened, and I had a kid, and real estate took off, and I looked up, and it was 9 years. It really was like, “Oh, crap, how did that happen?” It shocked me.
What’s your writing process like typically? Do you write everywhere?
I write everywhere. I use my voice memos a lot. I really love just making up new country songs and fake country songs – like, really bad ones. I find that if I can get them out, I can expand upon them or delete them and move on.
I was writing with Skylar [Wilson] one time and we were trying to write a song called “Remember the Alimony?” We wrote for hours and hours and it was a stupid song and it didn’t go anywhere. It went, “I’m just a poor man. All I eat is beans and write checks to my ex, one and only. I rolled the dice, but I lost my wife. But I remember the alimony.” So stupid. God. But we were writing all day and just hanging out, and neither of us thought to finish it. It just didn’t work. But then I got home and I had like 6 other song ideas that went on Sweet Creep. It’s that muscle thing that everybody talks about.
I’m also a pleasure seeker to the nth degree. If things aren’t fun, I just drop them so quick. I’m really bad about that. So I just make sure that it’s really fun and get the idea out quickly. I try to stay hovering above it, just stay light. Because as soon as I dig into it, that’s when I’m like, “Oh, my God, right. I don’t know how to do this.” Just keep it fun and it will grow. But I like to write all the time, every day.
Do you wake up and do it?
It is in the shower, on the way to school, washing dishes. You know, when you have a great idea and no way to write it down.
Soapy hands! Sometimes it happens when there’s an absence of anything else and those ideas pop up.
I have to really protect myself when I’m diving in. I wash all the dishes, do all the laundry, sweep up a bit, and make sure no one is going to ask me for anything. I’m really self-conscious about that. If nobody is home, I’m going to the basement and putting on Ken Burns’ Civil War, and I turn the radio on at low levels where it is just kind of humming. I drink a tremendous amount of caffeine. That’s my favorite.
But it is intense. I can get really emotionally rocky after diving in pretty deep.
I was thinking about Roger Miller when you were talking about the “Alimony” song. I’m drawn to that kind of writing because you can get really dark while staying very light.
People think that the meat is deep, but the nerves are on the surface. There’s meat down there, but it’s dead. I feel like the most cutting and incredible songs kind of sound like an email to an old friend. My favorite Lucinda Williams songs all sound like they were written to a buddy.
Or she’s talking to somebody over tea.
So true. And John Prine, too. Everyone’s like, “How did they do it?” They just did it. They’re just talking.
Will you play any live shows with the woodwinds?
Yes, actually, April 14, we’re doing a free show at Zebulon. It’s going to be good. I have this giant golf ball, it’s like a concession stand, and I’m bringing that to the show. The whole point of it is to give away free tea. It’s my tea ball. The tea is free, just buy a house from me!
What will the live configuration look like? How many players will you have?
Four, but they play multiple winds. It’s the players on the record. They’re such pros. They’re all symphony kids.
There’s something about stripping it down to just woodwinds; it’s so cinematic. It takes you directly to the meat and it makes you lighter when it is time, as music does for film. It helps direct your emotional experience.
I like that. I’ve always loved demos of songs. Sometimes I just want to hear someone play the songs, not the record. Or just hear someone sing it. As close to the song as I can get, I’m most happy. I love a cappella stuff. Sometimes the most powerful way to arrange a song is to remove everything.
With winds, too, it’s nice because that’s pretty much it. There’s the vocal and then there’s some wind behind it. I love that.
At the top of my notes that I took while listening to the record, I have the words “jello rebirth” scribbled down regarding the song “Polished Turd.” Can you tell me more about that concept?
For this record, it was a bit of a cynical and fatalistic career thought, but I wanted to make a record of real estate songs. The whole idea behind it was that people would hear it and would say, “This sucks.” And my reply can be, “Yes. That’s what happens when you give up on your dreams.” Music really suffers when you just write about what you’re doing. It’s like this martyrdom thing.
You know the three D’s in real estate are like death, diapers, and divorce – all the things that make people sell their homes. So I wrote one that went, “Death, diapers, and divorce. And the lottery, of course.”
During the pandemic, I had this fantasy of buying someone an above-ground pool. Have you heard of rebirthing ceremonies?
No.
Oh, rebirthing ceremonies are a thing. A fucking thing. People simulate a mother’s vagina in like a mega fucked up Christian ceremony. They make you relive your birth so you can be reborn and let go of all your childhood traumas. They have a gelatinous vagina and people push themselves through it. So anyway, I got that in my mind and thought, “What the hell is this world?” But I could see that for real estate, like a used car salesman going, “We are doing rebirthing ceremonies, come on down!”
And I have always wanted to slide through the tsunami of an above-ground pool that gets sliced open.
Yeah, that does look fun.
Right, who hasn’t wanted to do that? But then I want to turn it into jello. And then I thought maybe I should do that for my clients or have a commercial about it. I could cut a slice in the pool with a katana sword, then they’d ride in slow motion through the incision of the above-ground pool, I could hand them the keys, and they’d be reborn into home ownership. Follow me?
Yep.
That is a song very near and dear to me, but it is a hard one to explain. What was your experience with it?
Well my first thought was that wherever it was coming from and whatever it meant, you have thought a lot about it.
Our guest on the Working Songwriter this week hails from Augusta, Georgia, but has made his professional bones in Music City USA. Charles Kelley was one of the founding members of Lady Antebellum – now known as Lady A – and is one of the group’s principal songwriters. Their crossover hit, “Need You Now,” became one of the defining songs of the 2010s.
Lady A have sold over 18 million albums, won 7 GRAMMY awards, and their songs have been streamed over 5 billion times. Along the way Charles has also released a pair of solo albums, including last year’s Songs for a New Moon. He’s recorded for Capitol Records Nashville and Big Machine and he’s toured with Luke Bryan, Tim McGraw, Keith Urban and many others. He’s also appeared on The Tonight Show and The Late Show with David Letterman.
Rolling Stone has said that Lady A’s “vocal harmonies helped redefine country radio in the 2010s” and Billboard calls them “one of Nashville’s most successful songwriting teams.” I got a chance to catch up with Charles a few months ago to hear about his musical journey so far.
Photo courtesy of the artist.
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This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. But opting out of some of these cookies may affect your browsing experience.
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and security features of the website. These cookies do not store any personal information.
Any cookies that may not be particularly necessary for the website to function and is used specifically to collect user personal data via analytics, ads, other embedded contents are termed as non-necessary cookies. It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website.
