Tag: Songwriting

John Moreland Figures Out How to Love Music Again

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Turns out there are drawbacks to any career – even when it’s your dream job – and you can confirm that with dark-folk favorite John Moreland.

After winning widespread acclaim on the strength of his devastatingly direct songcraft, often by casting an unflinching eye toward himself, it’s a truth the prolific writer and soul-mining vocalist has been forced to accept in recent years. Almost a decade into his solo career, rising expectations and a grueling tour schedule weighed so heavily on him Moreland even admits he “fell out of love with music” for a while. But the Oklahoma talent has fought his way back with his fifth solo album, LP5.

“It’s just that when you go from music being your passion and your hobby … to the point where it’s your job now, there’s an adjustment period where you have to figure out, ‘How do I do this?’” Moreland explains. “So I think that’s what the past five or six or years have been for me.”

Moreland feels like he finally has some of it figured out now — or at least is on the right path. He accomplished that partially by exploring new sonic territory with the help of producer Matt Pence (the first time he’s entrusted someone else with his songs), and also through hard-won personal growth, eventually deciding to treat himself a little better. Building off that foundation with tasteful drums, quirky synth embellishments, and whirring beds of B3 organ, what emerged on LP5 preserves the thought-provoking beauty of his stark songwriting, but adds a layer of intrigue … and perhaps, hope.

BGS: Music is such an outlet for you. How much did it bother you that you basically didn’t enjoy it anymore?

Moreland: Well, it was definitely a bummer. Writing music has always been the way I express myself, but it started to become harder and harder to do. It was like, if it’s just me sitting down with an acoustic guitar, there’s only so much I can do before it starts to feel like “OK, I’ve written this song 10 times already.” So it took messing around with some other instruments to get the creativity flowing again.

Did that feeling creep up on you, or come all at once?

I think it kind of crept up gradually. It just got more and more difficult to write and be creative, and then all of a sudden one day it was like, “Wow, I hate everything I’m coming up with.” I just needed a new context to see it in.

For LP5, you ultimately teamed up with a producer for the first time, and the textures and layers you and Matt Pence created are really interesting, but they don’t overwhelm the songs. What was the approach going in?

When I was writing the songs, like I said it got to the point where I needed to mess around with some other instruments in order to give the acoustic guitar and my voice a new context to live in. I was messing around with different drum machines and samplers, different pedals, getting different sounds at home, and that’s how we did the demos. … [Then in the studio] it was all pretty intuitive. We didn’t really talk about anything. We recorded the basic tracks like guitar, bass and drums together, and then we had a few days where me and Matt and John Calvin went crazy on overdubs. It was just flying by the seat of our pants, like “You wanna play synth on this song?” Or “You wanna put the Wurlitzer on this?”

Have you always played a lot of different instruments? If so, why haven’t we heard it in your previous work?

I actually started making hip-hop music when I was a teenager, so I’ve always done that as a secondary creative outlet. Then I stopped doing it for a few years when I started touring more and was busier with my career, and I got back into it when I needed that extra creative outlet. In the past, there were times I thought I’d like to incorporate it into what I was doing with my songwriting stuff, but maybe I wasn’t sure how to do it yet. I think because I feel a lot more comfortable with myself now I’m more open to whatever. If I like it, then it’s good enough to go on the song.

Is any of that hip-hop stuff out there?

No, not really. It’s just kinda my little home-studio hobby that I do.

I’d love to hear what kind of flow you’ve got, John.

[Laughs] Well, I’ve never actually rapped. I just make beats.

You say you’re feeling more comfortable with yourself, and I know these songs were written during a time when you were trying to be kinder to yourself. What does that look like in your everyday life?

I think it’s just in your thoughts and how you see yourself. I think there’s ways that we’re taught to be cruel to ourselves when we’re kids, and we just do it and think it’s normal. So I feel like I’ve been gaining more of an awareness of that and being able to catch it when I’m doing it, just being more careful and more mindful of how I talk to myself in my head. So it’s not like a big, visible change in my life I guess, but privately I’m in a better headspace because of it.

In “A Thought’s Just a Passing Train,” the central line begins with “I had a thought about darkness.” What were you going through at the time?

That just goes back to being kind to yourself and how it’s all in your thoughts and the way you talk to yourself. I think we place a lot of importance on our thoughts, but they’re not necessarily that important – they’re always just kind of coming and going. I wanted to try to talk about that.

I love the idea of a train as a metaphor for this, since that’s such a part of the country and folk canon. But you’re using it in a very modern setting.

Yeah, thanks. It’s funny, I don’t know if would feel comfortable doing a train-type song unless it was kind of a weird one, you know? [Laughs] I think it would feel a little too traditional to me otherwise.

“I’m Learning How to Tell Myself the Truth” is another interesting one, because to me, your songs have always been about exploring the truth around you. But maybe that’s different than telling yourself the truth?

You know, I think songwriting has always been my attempt to tell myself the truth — or to uncover the truth. So I guess I meant it in more of a personal, everyday life kind of a way. Like, I want to see things the way they are and not delude myself.

Are you getting better at that?

Yeah, I think so, and I think that’s another thing that comes with age and maturity. Hopefully you begin to see things as they are more, and not let things be as colored by your emotions.

The album ends with “Let Me Be Understood,” and that seems important. Why was that the way you chose to go out?

That’s a song that when I wrote it, it just felt like, “Yeah, that should be the last song.” And again, kind of like “Learning How to Tell Myself the Truth,” I think “Let Me Be Understood” is just what the impulse to do this is for me. I just want to understand myself and I want to be understood in the larger context.

To that end, I think this album is at least asking the right questions.

Thank you, that’s all I want to do.

It seems like you’ve learned something about life over these five albums …

Maybe. [Laughs] I don’t know what it is, but maybe I have.

What do you want listeners to get out of this project?

Whatever they can take from it is fine with me. I think I made it because it made me feel good, so I hope it can make somebody else feel good in whatever way they need.

Photos: Crackerfarm

BGS 5+5: Aaron Espe

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Artist: Aaron Espe
Hometown: Roseau, Minnesota
Latest album: Wonder
Nickname: ‘Spe, Espe, Aar-bear (Mom)

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

I used to fear (still do) that nobody would come to my show. But you want to know what’s actually worse than nobody coming to your show? Let me tell you. One person coming to your show. One. If nobody comes, you’ll feel embarrassed and ashamed, but it will be your embarrassment and shame to keep. If, however, one person comes to your show, you will find yourself sharing that awkwardness with a stranger. It’s a bit of a pickle, to tell you the truth.

And that’s what happened on a cold December night in Lewiston, Maine. The reason I’m calling this my favorite memory is because I’m still alive and that makes me happy. I can still remember his silhouette, backlit by the streetlight coming through the venue window.

After two songs, I finally just sat on the edge of the wooden stage.

“Hi, what’s your name?” I asked.

“Paul,” he said.

“Hi Paul, I’m Aaron. Thanks for coming to my show.”

“Sure, good music.”

“Thanks, you don’t need to clap after each song if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s ok. It’s good. I like it.”

One person clapping in a venue is how you think it sounds. Echoey. Strangely sad for an otherwise happy activity. Ask yourself when was the last time you heard someone clap at a sad event? You can’t think of one, can you.

For your sake and mine, I want this story to end like this:

…and when the light’s came up I saw Paul was actually Paul McCartney. Paul and I rode off into the sunset and never looked back.

Due to the truth of the matter, I can’t actually end this story that way, but I can tell you that Paul bought my CD and I learned a little about how he was feeling lonely and looking for something to do on a cold night. A traveling businessman, missing his wife. We had that in common.

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

Actually, I’m surprised when writers and artist don’t have mission statements for their careers. As much as I know a lot of this business is serendipitous and out of my control, there’s still a lot within my control.

Knowing the mission makes it easier to say yes to things and, more importantly, no. Because I don’t know about you, but time becomes increasingly scarce and valuable the older I get. It could have something to do with having three kids and another on the way, but… still, FOMO is real and you often feel like you need to say yes to everything in the music business.

So, I find mission statements pretty much a must-have. Nothing fancy. Just, what do you offer the world and what’s at stake if you don’t?

Anyway, my mission statement for Aaron Espe Music is to share openly and honestly about my life experience so that others don’t feel alone.

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

If what I’m doing is actually songwriting, then it’s always tough. Sometimes (once in blue moon) there’s a slight chance I might be song-channeling. Getting a gift from the song gods or whatever. That’s hardly work. That’s also hardly songwriting. It’s something else.

I’m not even saying I song-channel well, ha. The song fairies probably tap me, give me a chance, and then say, “Um… nope, we’re going to move on to someone else, thank you, goodbye.”

The reason I think actual writing is so hard is because the rush of serotonin leaves after you’ve completed the first verse and chorus. After that it’s mostly work ethic. Avoiding lunch, or watching Netflix, or falling asleep. Those are song graveyards. I bet a billion songs have died around lunchtime.

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

Imagine me with my two cousins, Karl and Erik. I am 15. We ditch the wedding reception of our older cousin to hang out in the parking lot. We’re listening to music in my uncle Ed’s Lincoln Town Car. It’s got a CD player and a great sound system. Erik says, “You gotta hear this.” He slides a black disc into the player and skips to Track 02.

Out of those state of the art speakers come warm, bassy picked notes on an acoustic guitar. Rhythmic slaps in between the phrasing. A smoky baritone voice. Within 30 seconds of Martin Sexton’s “Glory Bound” I am convinced this what I need to do for the rest of my life.

What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?

Before a gig, I’m in the habit of pacing in circles until it looks like a golden retriever’s been left alone in the room for days.

As for the studio, I turn off the WiFi. I put my phone in a drawer or facing down. I place my instruments and gear as accessible and ready-to-go as possible. I don’t want laziness to thank for an unrecorded part or an idea forgotten.

One thing I will say is that I try to never make important editing decisions after 2 p.m. I’ve learned that I don’t like myself or my art very much around that time. That’s right around the time I’m thinking of asking my father in-law if he’ll hire me as an insurance salesman.

The feeling goes away, so I just need to hold steady. It’s part of the process. But I used to make major changes, delete recordings, slash and burn. Now I know that I need to go on a walk and probably quit for an hour or so. Return to it in the evening or the next day.

Photo credit: Heidi Lin

BGS 5+5: Catherine MacLellan

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Artist: Catherine MacLellan
Hometown: Baie-Egmont, Prince Edward Island, Canada
Latest album: Coyote

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

If I couldn’t include my dad, then I would say Joni Mitchell. But truly, the artist that has influenced me the most is my father, Gene MacLellan. He wrote such songs as “Snowbird” and “Put Your Hand in The Hand.” He died when I was 14. Learning his songs and sharing his life story over these last few years has taught me so much about him, but also about the art of songwriting. As a kid I would watch him constantly with guitar, pen and paper — always editing, jotting down ideas, working out songs. That work ethic plus the singability and melodic structures of his songs have taught me all I need to know.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

It’s hard to choose one favourite moment, there have been so many. From unexpected collaborations to beautiful settings or amazing connections with audiences. But if I have to choose one… I remember my first tour to the UK. It was my first trip that far from home and I had left my young daughter, Isabel, with my mom. I was feeling very homesick and far away from Isabel. I was touring with two other artists and when we entered the Bell Pub in Bath it was noisy and chaotic.

I felt depressed and frustrated that we had to play a loud bar. I really just wanted to go home. I offered to play first, so I could just get it over with. But then, as soon as I hit my first chord on the guitar, the entire crowd turned towards me and you could hear a pin drop. They were one of the most attentive audiences I have ever experienced and very forthright with their love for the music we were playing. It was such a switch of gears for my head and heart, it reminded me to have faith in hard times.

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

I remember being in high school and everyone always asking “What are you going to do with your life?” I tried so many times to pick a practical career that also included creativity. Nothing ever seemed to stick. Music, though, was a constant companion and songwriting (as a severely shy kid) was my voice to the world. Music seemed to pick me, rather than me deciding. As far as a career choice, I did have to make a decision when I was still a fledgling artist and about to become a single mother. I decided to keep going with my music career, despite knowing it would be challenging to do both well. My daughter is now 14 and I feel like it was all worth it; she is amazing and I am still making a living at music as well as making a life at home.

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

I recently promised a young girl that I would write her a song for her birthday. What should have been an easy project turned into painstaking research and a “try, try again” approach. By the time it was finished, and I shared it with her, I was happy with the song. Part of the problem for me was the pressure of doing a good job, as I knew how much it meant to her. It created a real roadblock for my creativity.

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

I live rurally, so nature influences just about every one of my songs. Where I write I can look out over a big field that leads to a river, and if I’m outside I can hear the sounds of the ocean, birds, and the wind through the grass or over the snow. These elements seep into everything I write.

Photo credit: Millefiore Clarkes

Sean McConnell: Just One Song That Came the Quickest

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Editor’s Note: Sean McConnell will take part in the Bluegrass Situation Takeover at The Long Road festival, to be held September 6-8 in Stanford Hall, Leicestershire, England.

“The quickest song I’ve ever written is the title track off of my newest record, Secondhand Smoke. For me, my favorite songs, and the ones I feel are my best, happen very quickly. They tend to be the ones that come out of nowhere, like they are already finished and are just trying to birth themselves into this world.

“‘Secondhand Smoke’ came to me while I was driving. I had just had an intense reunion with my father who I hadn’t seen in many years. I was thinking about our time together that day as well as our time together when I was a kid. The lyrics just started coming and coming and coming. I heard the chords that belonged underneath them and everything.

“By the time the idea entered my brain and I had arrived at my hotel, pulled out my guitar, and recorded a voice memo of it I think maybe 45 minutes had passed. Structure-wise and lyrically speaking, that voice memo sounds pretty much exactly like what you hear on the record. I’m grateful for it. It’s a song I know I’ll play for the rest of my life.” — Sean McConnell

Photo credit: Joshua Black Wilkins

The Ever-Shifting Dance of Shovels & Rope

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On an unseasonably cool summer afternoon in Los Angeles, something very interesting happens as Cary Ann Hearst and Michael Trent chat with a third person at a cafe patio table, though it takes a few minutes to unfold.

The topic, at first, is how much real life is in the songs Hearst and Trent make as the sweetly rackety, Charleston, South Carolina-based duo Shovels & Rope. Does it reflect their decade’s worth of experiences as a married couple and, now, their experiences with two small kids? The material, after all, gets kind of dark at some turns.

“Yes and no,” Trent says. “I mean, we’ve always kind of been character writers. That’s just the type of writing that’s been interesting to us. And also, we’re, you know, generally happy people. We don’t need the suffering to…”

“I hate suffering,” Hearst interjects cheerfully.

“Some people feel they need to experience firsthand some kind of suffering to make art,” Trent continues. “And I’ve never really subscribed to that. We just make up the world and make up the character thing and write about it.”

Then, as it does, the subject turns to murder ballads. They’ve done a few in the course of their time together. There’s “Evil,” a song they wrote on the 2014 album Swimmin’ Time. And their new album By Blood features “Pretty Polly,” their reinterpretation of the staple of the British-Appalachian folk canon.

“We’ve got a song like ‘Evil,’ right?” Trent says. “So we didn’t have two kids at the time. And we’ve definitely never abused them. And Cary’s still alive. So that’s obviously just a made-up story.”

“And ‘Pretty Polly,’” Hearst notes. “We’ve never gotten anyone pregnant and killed her by the river.”

But then things take an intriguing turn. They get talking about the whole nature of murder ballads, the enduring place of them in music and culture. Hearst wonders about the clearly misogynistic violence of the form still having a place in our supposedly enlightened culture: “Why is it OK in this day and age that the murder ballad is this weird, sacred musical thing that we aren’t like, ‘Cancel! Hashtag cancel’?”

As they discuss this, though, they focus on each other. They lock eyes, talk only to each other, and it’s as if the rest of the world has gone away. He defends the form, noting the relationship to and appeal of crime drama and horror stories.

“You’re right,” she concedes. “I never thought of it that way. It just feels closer to home and personal because these are songs. Maybe it’s like, ‘What are you singing this song for? Did you do that? Is that what you think?’”

Trent shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Just occurred to me that you might have the answer,” Hearst says.

“Oh, like I’ve got some dark secrets?” Trent wonders.

And so it goes for a few minutes.

If you’ve seen them in concert, you’ve seen this. In a small L.A. club the night before this conversation, it seemed they spent the first several songs hardly looking at the audience at all, just staring into each other’s eyes as they performed before later turning things more outward.

They laugh at this notion. The truth is, they say, on stage that behavior tends to be more pragmatic than romantic.

“I think we were trying to figure out what this was,” Trent says. “We check in with each other a lot. This was a bit of a weird show in a weird place. And we also do a lot of musical communication on stage, just checking in with each other. A lot of people mistake that for us, like, lovingly looking at each other. And it’s really like, ‘Oh. I know you missed your cue…’”

“‘Are you going to miss it again?’” Hearst interjects.

Their 2008 debut, self-titled album, they say, preceded them becoming a real item in life and music. Since that time, they’ve figured out the ever-shifting dance of the personal vs. the professional, art vs. life. They’ve figured out how to put them together when necessary and keep them apart when demanded. After making 2016’s Little Seeds as new parents, they added a buffer between work and family space.

“After Little Seeds, when our first kid was born, we were like, ‘This is insane,’” Trent says. “We need a place that’s not in the house. So we just built a utilitarian building in the backyard. Now we have a place that we can separate the work by at least a few feet.”

“Being parents for the first time, everything was insane,” Hearst says. “We would have somebody come over to hold the baby while we went upstairs to record, and you can hear it, the baby’s screaming downstairs. It’s just so much better now. It’s saved everything. It felt like it was a smart move to make.”

And, touring now for the first time with two kids, they’re spending part of the summer as the opening act on fairly big shows with Tedeschi Trucks Band and Blackberry Smoke.

“First of three acts at big sheds,” Hearst says. “Great catering! On early, like around 7.”

“We’ll be able to put our kids to bed at night and then have our jammies on by 8:30,” Trent adds.

Still, they allow, there are some deeply personal things that, pardon the expression, bled through on By Blood. The opening song, “I’m Coming Out,” with its very specific birth references and their second child now having been born a mere five months ago? That’s just the start.

“There’s some pretty personal things on this record for sure,” Trent says. “Like ‘Carry Me Home.’ Is it a pretty confessional song? Yeah, that’s true, like leaning on the other person.”

And there’s “The Wire,” which opens with the line, “I’ve been a disappointment at times.”

“‘The Wire’ is very much about how nobody is the perfect partner that you want to be,” Hearst says. “If you’re accountable, and they want accounts, good enough. This whole record is people who are jussssst good enough, but want to be a little bit better.”

Then there’s the title song, about the light and shadows of being in each other’s space all the time, of never having to be alone but never getting to be alone. Not only does the song close the album, but they put the lyrics of it in clear, can’t-miss type right on the front cover. That, and the whole album, per Hearst, serves as something of a marker in their lives and career.

“I think that we have many years of records in us,” she says. “But if this were to be the last stand, you know, of our creative output, there is a kind of timestamp with By Blood. We’re like this little baby that’s grown from making our first homemade record in the most rudimentary situation, and we got a little better at our instruments, a little better at record-making.”

But it goes deeper than that.

“I feel like we’ve become adults on records,” she continues. “Definitely we got adulted by Little Seeds. I mean, that time period after Swimmin’ Time and before Little Seeds was like, ‘Oh, you mean we’re growing older? We’re not gonna live forever? And our parents are getting old and babies are coming? Oh my God, we have to have life insurance and how come we can’t be just like, you know, freewheeling children for the rest of our lives?’ It kind of turned inward and now we’re kind of on the other side looking out and moving forward.”

Photo credit: Curtis Millard

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

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

BGS 5+5: Gillian Nicola

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Artist: Gillian Nicola
Hometown: Hamilton, Ontario, Canada
Latest album: Dried Flowers
Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Ginny, Giggy, Giggz

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

This is a really tough question for me to pin down, because I am influenced by so many people. Kathleen Edwards is probably my most influential songwriter. I love her storytelling and how easily she can float between fragility and strength. She was one of the first Americana/Canadiana artists I started listening to and I think her music very much shaped the way I think about songwriting. I am also very influenced by genre-fusing artists like Joni Mitchell and Kacey Musgraves.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

Last year, I performed a small house concert in cottage country in Ontario. We performed the concert on a dock and it was a very beautiful, intimate concert — with a nice summer breeze as the sun was setting. That on its own was magical enough. What I didn’t know at first was that while we were playing, boats were pulling up to watch from the lake. It was such a perfect Canadian scene and I will remember that one forever.

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

I don’t remember this one too clearly, but I’m often told this story by my family. When I was about 4, I was at a family friend’s birthday. In a party mostly full of boys who were playing sports and racing around the room, I took out a chair, sat down, and insisted that everybody stop what they were doing, because I was “going to sing for them now.” Music has always been a part of me — it’s not a firm memory, but rather, an inseparable part of who I am.

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

I think open space and the atmosphere of nighttime is a strong part of my work. I sing about the night a fair bit on my new album (“Night Comes to Call” and “Moonshine”) and write the most during the night. There’s also been a lot of influence from water, mostly in terms of writing about space and distance, and how well that’s reflected through bodies of water.

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

I have a very strict policy of never revealing who a song is about and whether or not it’s a personal anecdote or about someone else. Many of my closest friends don’t know who or what I am singing about (though I’m sure many could take a stab at it) and I prefer to keep it private that way. The only song that I’ve written where I explicitly talk about who the character is on “Across the Sea” off of Dried Flowers.

I wrote this song about one of my best friends who moved to London, England, a few years ago. He is the first person I send new songs to and despite the distance, we have remained very close. It was really nice to be able to write a love song for a friend, instead of from a romantic angle. Other than that, everyone will just have to make their own assumptions, which they probably would do anyways even if I confirmed or denied anything.

Photo credit: Jen Squires

Molly Tuttle: Confident and ‘Ready’

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Even before releasing her first full-length album, Molly Tuttle made history. She became the first woman to be named IBMA Guitar Player of the Year, a title she’s won twice, in addition to winning Americana Music Association’s Instrumentalist of the Year, all on the strength of her 2017 EP, RISE. But to focus exclusively on Tuttle as a guitarist would be a mistake. She isn’t interpreting others’ songs. She’s writing and singing her own, and as her debut record When You’re Ready proves, she’s doing it not only with classically trained musicianship, but with an exciting willingness to explore and trust her own wide-ranging artistic instincts.

Tuttle talked with BGS about When You’re Ready, feeling optimistic about women in music, and why California’s Bay Area has her heart.

BGS: When You’re Ready is such a confident debut. Were you feeling confident from the jump, or did your confidence grow as you recorded?

Tuttle: I think it grew. As I was writing the songs, I got more and more confident just saying what I felt and what I was thinking in the songs. I remember feeling really confident in the studio in what I was saying and in the parts I was playing. Ryan Hewitt, who produced it, helped me feel confident. He wanted everything to sound really strong – it was a good experience.

A lot of these songs seem to explore relationships and how we interact with each other. Do you feel like there are some currents that run through thematically and connect all of these songs?

I think there’s kind of a theme of longing on the album, and also a theme of just being confident in who you are and what you’re feeling. When I was writing it, it was, “I’m just going to say where I’m at.” The theme on the album for me would be accepting your feelings and embracing them.

You’re from California, then you went to college in Boston, and now you’re living in Nashville. Do you feel like all of that geographic diversity changed the trajectory of your music?

I think so. I got exposed to lots of different kinds of music in California, and then especially when I was at Berklee, there were all sorts of different kinds of music going on all the time at school. Then, obviously, Nashville is one of the most amazing music cities in the world. I think living in California was influential, growing up there. I really relate to the Bay Area and a lot of my songs are still inspired by California. It’s where my soul is, still.

What is it about the Bay Area you love so much?

I really love the ocean. I love the nature there, the scenery. I think people are really open there. Everyone — well, not everyone, but a lot of people in the Bay — are just trying to be good people and trying to be accepting of other people. That was something I was taught in school a lot as a kid: that you should accept everyone as they are. Of course, nobody is perfect at that. But I think people are trying to do that there, and that’s a feeling I’ve tried to carry with me.

When you write, are you focusing on the guitar part first and then the lyrics, or does it vary?

There are times when I do the guitar part first, but for this album, I was really focusing on the lyrics and melodies. The guitar parts were the last parts that came with these songs — and I really wanted to have interesting guitar parts on this album. I thought it’d make it more interesting to have a singer/songwriter record with guitar lines that could weave it all together, so I worked on that after I finished writing the songs.

The guitar playing on “Take the Journey” jumps out: the percussion, the lead, the bass, the counter-melodies — that’s all you on acoustic guitar. How’d you come up with this song?

I wrote that with Sarah Siskind. We wrote it pretty quickly in a couple of hours, which for me is quick for writing a song. We had a song that was in that modal-key feel — you don’t really know if it’s major or minor. When we were writing it, I went into this different tuning: it’s an open G tuning, but you get rid of the third and tune the B up to C, which makes it like a Gsus4.

I like that style of guitar playing. When I was a teenager, I learned clawhammer banjo because I really liked old-time music. Someone showed me that you could move the clawhammer style onto the guitar and play a really percussive-sounding style. I went with that and created different rhythms that I like to use — more syncopated — and really worked on getting the bass notes to pop out, letting my hand hit the guitar so it’s percussive sounding.

Your vocals on “Don’t Let Go” move between smooth and comfortable verses to more of a staccato and breathy chorus. How’d you decide to approach the vocals this way?

Where the melody is in my range, I naturally had to go up to a breathy head voice, so we thought that could be a really cool thing, to make it sound really emotional. And on this one, when I was singing the chorus, I did get really emotional in the studio. That helped me get the quivers in my voice. I think you can hear it in the track. There are little things that came out in my singing that I hadn’t really done before recording this. I had to go to an emotional place to get the take that worked.

Do you have a favorite song on here or is that impossible?

I think my favorite is “Sleepwalking.”

All of that imagery on “Sleepwalking” – and on some other songs too – blurry screens, white noise, and even sleepwalking itself: it’s such a direct contrast to the specific, refined sounds you’re making. What is it about the hazy imagery that you’re drawn to?

Yeah, I think a lot of my songs have themes of trying to make a connection with a person or a place or a feeling. There are a few songs that talk about white noise or static or anything that’s kind of blurring the connection. That’s something I feel — like with technology, sometimes it makes me feel like I’m not actually connected to anything and not connected to myself.

I think that comes through in my songs. “Sleepwalking” is a song I wrote about that specific feeling of being disconnected from the world around you. Maybe you’re relying on one person or one place or feeling to be your connection. It’s kind of a love song, but it’s kind of a cry for help in a way. [Laughs]

Of the women who are widely known first as guitar players – a number that’s still too low – most aren’t acoustic, steel-string players. It’s also a physically demanding instrument, especially the way you play. Why were you drawn to it? Why do you think you’ve succeeded?

I’ve never really seen limitations on guitar for me as a woman. I remember, I was first drawn to it in a really natural way when I was a kid. I just liked the mellow sound of it. So I don’t remember specifically what drew me to it, but I remember seeing guitars around, and I told my parents I wanted a guitar. That was after I’d tried like three different instruments and failed at all of them. [Laughs] I tried to play fiddle, and I think I got tired of just not sounding good on it. Guitar is a lot less abrasive when you’re first starting out. I had a tiny guitar when I started, and my dad showed me some stuff on it.

I really liked that you could play it while you were singing. I never thought about it being a physically demanding instrument, even when I first played and my fingers got really sore. It felt pretty natural to me. Then, when I went to Berklee, I was 19 and all of a sudden there were no other women in any of my guitar classes. [Laughs] That was weird. It was definitely an uncomfortable experience at times.

But it was good because I’d walk into class and be the only one, and because all this attention was instantly on me, I thought, “Oh, I better practice and be good or they’re just going to write me off as some girl trying to play guitar.” It felt like there was some added pressure there, which is not really fair, but at least it made me practice more.

You’re not the “best woman guitar player.” You’re the best guitar player. Do you feel like the industry and culture in general are beginning to consider contributions of women more fairly – that you’re weighed equally?

I think it’s definitely changing at a rapid pace right now, especially with the #MeToo movement. Now that’s starting to affect the music world. I’m seeing so many women coming up and their careers are just exploding in new ways – like at the Grammys. There were so many women winning awards and playing.

I think women are feeling really empowered to just say, “No. I’m not a female musician. I’m just a musician.” Women are fully embracing feminism more and just feeling like we can say what’s on our minds. We don’t have to tiptoe around these issues anymore. I think that’s helping everything change. We are not accepting any crap anymore — like “you’re a female guitar player.” [Laughs] I certainly don’t want to be pegged as a female guitar player. My gender doesn’t have anything to do with my guitar playing. We’re talking about the issues more and that’s helping everything to change.

Photo credit: Alysse Gafkjen