BGS 5+5: Mikhail Laxton

Artist: Mikhail Laxton
Hometown: Mossman, Queensland, Australia; now based in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
Latest album: Mikhail Laxton
Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Mik (Mick)

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

I had a lot of great artists that I loved when I was growing up. But when I was 18, I was introduced to an artist that pretty much changed everything.

I had just joined a music school that was made up of mostly international students. One day, I was relaxing on campus when I heard this amazing song. The style of the song is what gripped me at first, then came these beautiful lyrics. I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, so I started searching the campus, and as I got closer a friend of mine was just sitting there strumming her guitar and singing.

At first I was just so impressed with her skill and talent. She then told me she couldn’t take all the credit as the song was a cover. She gave me the name of the artist – Amos Lee. I spent the rest of that day and night watching YouTube videos of this guy, and I was just absolutely blown away by his music, his singing and songwriting. It wasn’t long before I was covering his songs and trying to emulate his voice. Not only did that ignite the fire of songwriting in me, it also sparked more interest in the idea of possibly pursuing music more seriously.

Since then, there have been only a few other artists that have impacted me the way he has (Chris Stapleton, and right there with Amos Lee is Glen Hansard). But Amos Lee’s self-titled album is what truly got things started.

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

Mostly it’s film and photography.

I’m a very visual person. When I hear music, I automatically start seeing visuals in my head like scenes from a movie, and my mind also works the opposite way. When I see something like a film or a photograph, my mind starts playing sounds in my head.

A little interesting side note: A few years ago, shortly after I got married, my wife had an interesting observation. She said, “I find it strange that you’re a musician, but you don’t actually listen to a lot of music at all.” At that particular point, we had been driving for a couple of hours without any music. I’d never taken notice of that before, but when I thought about it, I realized that it’s because most of the time there’s music playing in my head, whether it’s a well-known song or something my brain is working on. And usually if that’s not happening, I’m most likely writing songs and lyrics in my head.

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

The very first moment was when I was about 12 or 13 years old. I’d started to show a real interest in playing guitar, and I kinda had a knack for it already.

One night, I went spear fishing with two of my uncles. We came back late that night with a great catch. One of my uncles was cleaning the boat, and I was fileting the catch with the other. After a while, the latter uncle looked at me and said, “Mik, you see that guitar over there?” pointing his fileting knife to an acoustic guitar leaning against the wall. “Can you eat it?” I was very confused and said, “No.” He went back to cutting the fish and said, “What about this fish, can you eat it?” Realizing what he was inferring, I said, “Yep!” He then finished by saying, “Always remember, you can’t feed your wife and kids with guitar strings, but you can always feed them with fish!”

Basically, he was trying to squash any ideas I may have had about becoming a musician. I remember staring at that guitar at that moment, and it just made me want to go for it. I never liked being told what to do when I was that age. I’ve always had a bit of a rebellious streak in me, and this incident, thankfully, was no exception, even if it was coming from someone I admired. From that moment on, I knew music was something that I wanted to take seriously.

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

I do have a “pre-game” ritual.

– If I’m hungry, I’ll eat no less than two hours before the show. I usually just perform on an empty stomach. This is literally just so I don’t belch into the microphone, ha ha!

– I like to get in my vocal warmups within an hour of performing. I usually do this either on the way to the venue or right before soundcheck at the venue.

– I then like to stretch and warm up my body. This includes cracking my back with some random and probably incorrect yoga poses. I love the way it makes me feel, and it’s good to manage any nerves I might have.

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

Wow, this is a really good question!

A long time ago, early in my songwriting career, I was always extremely hesitant when writing songs that had some heavier content behind it — around then I had allowed my entire existence to be dictated by my faith and community of like-minded people. When I did start taking my writing seriously, I had tried to write without a filter, and I was heavily criticized by so-called friends and fellow musicians who felt that what I was writing wasn’t “nice” enough or was “too dark.”

And so I began to create a habit of censoring my writing accordingly by hiding meanings behind metaphors, and, yes, sometimes characters. Before too long, I found myself having constant bouts of never-ending writer’s block, and perhaps I developed a bit of an imposter syndrome. I felt like the music that I was creating wasn’t really art because I wasn’t allowing myself to freely create and say it how it is.

It took me a while, but thankfully I broke away from those influences. Art and music mean so much to me, and all I’ve ever wanted to do with my art is be honest, no matter how beautiful or ugly it can get. Our stories are worth telling in all their glory.

So, to finally answer your question, I do not hide behind characters. If the song is based on my own experience, you’ll know. But I also don’t mind telling the stories of others from a first-person point of view. I just use the song as a way to walk a mile in their shoes, I let those stories affect me emotionally, and I do my best to put that to paper as accurately as I can.


Photo Credit: Jen Squires

Basic Folk Debate Club: Performance vs. Authenticity

Welcome to Folk Debate Club, our occasional crossover series with fellow folk-pod Why We Write! Today, to discuss Performance vs. Authenticity, we welcome our panel of guests: music journalist and former singer/songwriter Kim Ruehl, Isa Burke (Lula Wiles, Aoife O’Donovan), illustrious male folk singer Willi Carlisle, musician and Basic Folk guest host Lizzie No, and yours truly, Cindy Howes, boss of Basic Folk.

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In music (and life), there is debate over authenticity versus performative. On stage, in written music, online and in person: what is the artist going for? Realness or entertainment? It doesn’t seem that simple. There are many examples of artists who do both very well and I think the best art is created at the intersection of the two.

There is no question: it’s hard to pull off. We want to try and break down what each of these elements is in music, how to achieve each and what is more important: to perform a personality or just be your genuine self?


Photo Credit: Sam Kassirer (Isa Burke); Cole Nielsen (Lizzie No); Rich Amory (Kim Ruehl); Joseph W. Brown (Willi Carlisle)

Basic Folk Debate Club: Lyrics vs. Melody

Welcome to Folk Debate Club, our occasional crossover series with fellow folk-pod Why We Write! Today, to discuss Lyrics vs. Melody, we welcome our panel of guests: music journalist and former singer/songwriter Kim Ruehl, Isa Burke (Lula Wiles, Aoife O’Donovan), musician and Basic Folk guest host Lizzie No, and yours truly, Cindy Howes, boss of Basic Folk.

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Our conversation begins with a case each for melody and lyrics from members of the panel. Some panelists are more fluid with their thoughts and feelings and at least one of us changes sides mid-discussion. Some interesting opinions emerge! For instance, manipulation in music is no good if the listener can see through your bullshit: “Part of the job [of songwriters] is to emotionally manipulate people. When you are feeling manipulated is when the person has missed,” says Kim. The panel talks about rawness: it can take lyrical editing before it can be presented to the public. “It’s sometimes hard to tell as the songwriter, like, how raw am I actually being?”, shares Isa, who goes on to talk about how being raw in melody can be very effective. She points to her emotional guitar solo (that was done during a difficult moment in her life) in the Lula Wiles song “The Way That It Is” as one of her most favorite musical accomplishments (listen below).

Bob Dylan comes up within 90 seconds of the debate! Don’t worry, Taylor Swift, Maggie Rogers, Stevie Wonder, Adele, and Paul McCartney also make cameo appearances. And Lizzie No ftw: “Lyrics are the hand-holding that we need to bring us into the glory of instrumental music.” Enjoy! We had a good time doing this, so we’ll see you again soon!


Photo Credit: Liz Dutton (Cindy Howes); Louise Bichan (Isa Burke); Bernie McAllister (Lizzie No); Kim Ruehl

BGS 5+5: Jaimee Harris

Artist: Jaimee Harris
Hometown: Hewitt, Texas
Latest Album: Boomerang Town (out February 17, 2023)

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

Emmylou Harris. I got my first guitar on Christmas Day. That holiday season, every moment I wasn’t at school or at church I was sitting by the stereo putting “Light of the Stable” on repeat. I was mesmerized by Emmylou’s voice, the production, the melody, and the harmonies. I learned later in life the backing vocals are Dolly Parton, Neil Young, and Linda Ronstadt. Not only have I been tremendously influenced by Emmylou’s voice as a lead singer and a harmony singer, but also by the songs she cut. They opened me up to songwriters who laid out the road map of my own songwriting journey.

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

It’s a tie for these two golden bits of wisdom that have been passed down to me by my partner, Mary Gauthier, who is much farther along in her career than I am.

1. Do not sign anything unless they’re writing you a check.
2. Don’t take the Ambien until the plane takes off. (I think this one came from Ralph Murphy)

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

The most powerful experience I’ve had sharing my music wasn’t on stage. It was sharing my songs in a circle at an incredible place in Tulsa called Women in Recovery. WIR is an alternative to prison for women facing convictions for non-violent crimes related to substance abuse. Oklahoma incarcerates more women per capita than any state in the country and this place is trying change that brutal statistic by offering twelve step recovery meetings, educational resources, therapeutic resources, and housing solutions. I had no idea that a song I wrote in early sobriety, “Snow White Knuckles,” would go out into the world and be of service in such a powerful way. It’s opened doors for me to play in prisons and recovery centers all over the world. That song has a power so far beyond me. I’m deeply grateful to continue to have the opportunity to share it and follow it into spaces where it can be of service.

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

I’m a huge fan of Michael Fracasso. In addition to being a tremendously gifted songwriter, Fracasso is a fabulous chef. I’ve been extremely fortunate to receive a return invitation to a holiday party in Austin where tons of great songwriters (like my friend Darden Smith) and musicians (David Pulkingham is always a highlight for me) come together to swap songs campfire-style. Michael always puts together a beautiful meal for everyone and sings with us. It’s extraordinary.

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

After being a songwriter for 13 years, I went to my very first songwriting workshop in 2017. I couldn’t possibly recommend it more. I wish I’d done it sooner! It helped me to consciously access methods I’d previously been using subconsciously and taught me a lot about where to laser beam my focus in the editing/rewriting process. I co-teach with my partner, Mary Gauthier, often now. This topic comes up often. When we’re working with a student’s song, Gauthier points out that when a listener hears “I” in a song, they’re not thinking about the voice delivering the song. They’re thinking about themselves. I believe this is one of the most powerful tools of songwriting – singing “I,” brings the listener into the experience of the narrator, which creates an opening for empathy to glide through.


Photo Credit: Brandon Aguilar

Texas Songwriter Vincent Neil Emerson Believes Indigenous Music Is Folk Music

The self-titled country album by East Texan singer-songwriter Vincent Neil Emerson (Choctaw-Apache) oozes of the iconic “Wild West” with honky-tonk sensibilities and bluegrass touches that combine so many favorite textures and styles of country and Americana’s primordial ooze. His personality and identity are forward in every aspect of the project, from the lyrics to the production to the genre fluidity of each individual track – all of which marvelously combine into a cohesive whole.

In Emerson’s exclusive Shout & Shine live session (watch below), he performs two tracks from the album, “High on Gettin’ By” and “The Ballad of the Choctaw-Apache,” a song that dutifully tells the story of his grandmother’s community which was impacted by the creation of a man-made lake, the Toledo Bend Reservoir. The flooding of Toledo Bend had a disproportionate impact on impoverished, rural, and marginalized communities – including many Indigenous people – on the Texas-Louisiana border. 

On first listen, “The Ballad of the Choctaw-Apache” feels like many classic country songs telling of injustice and standing in opposition to empire and “the man,” but Emerson’s personal connection to the tale is the entrancing spotlight under which this song shines. As you enjoy Emerson’s performance, take in our interview, when we connected via phone to discuss the album, Emerson’s creative process, and the overarching fact that, as he puts it, “Indigenous music is folk music. Indigenous stories are part of American folklore.”

BGS: I loved listening to the album and something that’s striking to me is that it feels so country, but also combines a lot of different genre aesthetics from different subsets of country in a unique way. I hear bluegrass in it, I hear string band music in it as well as western swing and classic country. How do you approach production and deciding which songs sound like what? There are a lot of different flavors here, but they still sound cohesive as well.

Emerson: With this one I got really lucky having Rodney Crowell producing the album. I think a lot of his ideas were what I was hearing in my head anyways. It matched up very well. As far as instrumentation, song by song we sat down and said, “Here’s what I think the song needs.” We were trying to fit the instrumentation around the song and around the story of the song. As opposed to doing it the other way around. If it sounded bluegrassy, that’s because it probably needed it, I guess! 

To me it sounds like that golden age of country before it was divided into sub-genres and all country was just country. 

I appreciate that! 

What was it like working with Rodney? What was the balancing act like as far as his fingerprints being on the music and yours? 

Nothing was forced, it was kind of like, “We got this song and this is what we’re going to do.” And, “Yeah, that sounds good!” [Chuckles] I wouldn’t say he was very hands-off, he knew exactly what he was doing. I didn’t really question any move that he made. It was kind of surreal getting to work with him. 

A bystander, or a casual listener, when they hear “Ballad of the Choctaw-Apache” might just hear a country & western song, but I know for you it’s not just a classic, archetypical country song tale, it’s much more personal. It tells the iconic story of this country and this continent of the theft of land, culture, and ways of being from natives. I wonder if you could tell us a bit more about that song and how it’s more than just you writing a “rootsy” song.

I started writing that song after I sat down and talked with my grandmother about her upbringing, what she went through, and how the whole Toledo Bend Reservoir [creation in Texas and Louisiana and the displacement of natives and entire communities] affected her family. As I’ve been learning more about my tribe I felt that it was necessary to write something about that. I haven’t heard any songs written about it – in fact, not a lot of people talk about it. I thought it was needed. 

Sometimes music like yours can get pigeonholed as “time capsule music” or throwback music. Something I love about this collection of songs is that, even though it’s classic and timeless, it doesn’t feel dusty or antiquated or divorced from the present. Can you talk a bit about that? Your music is down to earth, too, but it doesn’t feel like you’re trying to make music that’s retro. 

There are a lot of bands out there that sort of play dress-up. There’s nothing wrong with that! I respect that and I’ve done it, too, but they’re trying really hard to be a certain era. I love all that music from the old school — I love Bob Wills — it’s just a personal choice. I don’t feel the need to “dress up” or try really hard to make the music sound like it was from back then. I’m so heavily influenced by the people around me and what’s going on around me constantly. 

One guy who really had a good mix of that, too, was Justin Townes Earle. He had the old-time thing going on, then he could bust out “Rogers Park,” a piano ballad, and move in and out of [many different styles]. A personal style of songwriting should be a melting pot, it should be all eras – past and present. 

Music is so subjective, I’m a firm believer in the idea that however you hear it is what it is. Whether that’s a positive thing or a negative thing to someone, I think it’s their right. I can’t tell anybody they’re wrong for forming their own opinion about my music – or anybody’s music. 

It sounds like the process of letting a song have a life of its own is a big part of the process for you and that you understand an audience is always going to project onto or perceive meaning maybe where you didn’t yourself. 

I don’t like to bounce my stuff off of people that much, because I’m going to write what I’m going to write. I don’t want to let people influence me too much in that way. But it is a really good feeling whenever you write something and you get a positive reaction or positive feedback. I think I’m more focused on the songwriting. As long as I’m being one hundred percent honest with myself in the song then I feel like it’s a tool for me to express myself completely. I feel that’s good enough. 

A point that I always try to make about country, Americana – especially “country & western” specifically – Texas swing, and western swing traditions is that none of these genres would exist without the contributions of Indigenous folks. Especially when you think about Indigenous folks living in the occupied “Wild West” before any other folks did. And there were Black and brown folks who were cowboys before white folks ever were. I feel like that’s always missed, forest-for-the-trees style, by the roots music establishment these days. Country wouldn’t exist without Indigenous folks. Do you have thoughts on that? Have you thought about how your music draws on that legacy? 

That’s something I’m still trying to understand myself and really learn about. I think you definitely have a great point there. If you think about it, the settlers came over and they didn’t know how to work the land, they didn’t know how to hunt over here. Natives taught them all that and the settlers took that information and they thrived with it. Our society would not exist in the U.S. if it weren’t for the people who were here before. And it applies to the music as well, yeah.

The album feels so western. Like rhinestones and cactuses and false-fronted buildings. It feels so “authentic,” but it’s not just about the nationalism of settling the Wild West and it’s not about these white supremacist myths about cowboys and western culture. Could you talk a bit about that aesthetic? How Texas and the West and something like cowboy poetry and storytelling come through your songwriting? 

I never really set out to try to write about these things, it’s just the things I’ve been surrounded by. I worked on a ranch for a little while. “High on the Mountain,” that song came to me while I was literally on the top of a mountain – well, it was more of a hill – while I was in Palo Duro Canyon. Growing up in Texas, seeing all that stuff, it kinda [left an impression]. A lot of it, as far as stylistically, comes from listening to people like Bob Wills and Townes Van Zandt and Blaze Foley. Anyone that I’ve been influenced by, their influence creeps into it. It’s definitely not just a brand, it’s more my life. [Laughs] I never really thought about it, actually! 

I grew up between a horse ranch and a cow pasture in East Texas. I grew up in the middle of nowhere. When you get into cities like Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston, Austin, San Antonio, these bigger cities, there’s a lot more to the area I’m from than just little podunk country towns. I learned that when I was 19. I moved over here [to the Fort Worth area] and was like, “Holy shit!” There was a lot going on. There’s a lot of rich, cultural, musical history. I’d like to dive more into that on the next record. I want to try to put some Tejano music in the blender. Maybe some polka and western swing. See what happens! If you go down around the Hill Country there’s a lot of German music, German immigrants, there are entire communities that still speak German over there. 

Maybe this is a good way to wrap up our conversation: Who’s inspiring you right now? Who are you listening to? 

As far as Indigenous artists go, I think folks really need to listen to Leo Rondeau. He is one of the baddest motherfuckers out there doing it right now. Really, really great music. In the realm of music I play, there’s not a whole lot of Indigenous people doing it. Of course, I think there are a lot of people with Indigenous heritage, but as far as being able to immediately trace your roots back like my grandmother who is Choctaw-Apache from Ebarb, Louisiana, there’s not a lot of that. It’s kind of a shame. And I’m not the end-all be-all on the subject! I’m not the most up to date on things. I’m sure there are a lot more, I’d love to learn more and hear more. It’s a good thing to bring up and a good question to ask, because it’s something people should be thinking about. 


Photo credit: Melissa Payne

The Show on the Road – The Felice Brothers

This week, we call into the Catskills of New York for a deep conversation with James Felice: accordionist, pianist, songwriter and co-founder of fun-house-mirror Americana group, The Felice Brothers.

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James started the band with his brothers (poet lead singer Ian) and percussionist Simone in 2006 as a busking folk pop experiment with a literary rebel streak within the subways of New York City. They’ve joined roots-pop luminaries like Bright Eyes at venues as storied as Radio City Music Hall — but somehow the gritty, back-alley bar seems like their natural habitat. Ian, James and their longtime quartet (Will Lawrence and bassist Jesske Hume round out the band) returned after years of hibernation to release their daring party-through-the-apocalypse rollercoaster of a new LP From Dreams To Dust in 2021 on Yep Roc Records.

Some bands record at home, or maybe in tricked-out cabins or plush studios, but The Felice Brothers seem to make records that use their unique and often bizarre surroundings as an added character in the band. Their beloved self-titled record, which came out 2008, feels like a gin-soaked saloon party where Hemingway and Lou Reed and Sly Stone would join in on swaying sing-alongs besides a sweat-soaked piano. It was somehow recorded in a converted chicken coop, while their brassy, bizarro-rock romp Celebration, Florida (2011) was recorded in a booming high school gymnasium. “Honda Civic” is a musical-theater-esque favorite, with an explosion at the local Wonder Bread warehouse taking center stage in the narrative. Does any of it make sense? Does it matter?

Their newest work is a more emotional, sonically lush, storytelling-driven operation, having been recorded in a church in Harlemville, New York, with award-winning mixer Mike Mogis at the helm. Mortality takes the spotlight. Ian Felice is in rare form here, spitting more words and setting more strange scenes per song than most slam-poets or absurdist playwrights. The lead song, “Jazz on the Autobahn,” has become a staple on Americana radio, showcasing what TFB have always done best: taking their listeners on a white-knuckle ride that has no predicable end or resolve in sight.

WATCH: Glenn Echo, “Moon Seems Lost”

Artist: Glenn Echo
Hometown: Northeast
Song: “Moon Seems Lost”
Album: Fixed Memory
Release Date: October 15, 2021

In Their Words: “A nod to the intimate, ‘Moon Seems Lost’ explores the topography of bodies in union, and of beings in relationship. This song was written at a time when I was reading a lot of Pablo Neruda, specifically his Odes, and the seasons were changing. With this song I wanted to focus on the connections between seasons and physical intimacy, trying to really zoom in and magnify small sensory moments, similar to what Neruda does in the Odes. In the song I explore the changing of bodies overnight, like the image of roots growing, entwining, and hardening, and also the image of transitions within the self, a molting of an exterior like the metamorphosis of a butterfly. Time plays such an important role in Neruda’s poetry, and I wanted to do the same through songwriting. My producer Peter Brownlee and I explored this by starting the song off as intimate as possible, almost as if I was playing right next to the listener in a room, then morphing to an expanse that feels enveloping.” — Glenn Echo


Photo Credit: Ariana Dixon

BGS 5+5: Taylor McCall

Name: Taylor McCall
Hometown: Easley, South Carolina
Latest Album: Black Powder Soul

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

“Black Powder Soul.” It took me three days.

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

It used to be standing in a river fly fishing. But now I don’t get to do as much fishing these days and slipping out into the country fuels my songwriting.

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

Cold shower to start the morning. Breath work and meditation.

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

To me there are deeper layers of hidden message and “hiding” in a song. A tasty sonic phrase can not only sound cool and intriguing but also mean a million different obscure things. To not only me but the listener.

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

Easy! Jimi Hendrix and jambalaya!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0rFdqyreyBtJhzIEjDQFlT?si=gdYxqJ2ZRgyNeUW29izWFw&dl_branch=1


Photo credit: Laura Partain

From the Scrap Pile, James McMurtry Crafts a Frank (and Fictional) Album

Holding a conversation with James McMurtry is similar to experiencing his music. He is frank, eloquent, and gets to the heart of the matter with few words. On The Horses and the Hounds, his first album of new material in nearly seven years, he tells sometimes complicated emotional stories through his fictional characters, crafted within the limits of rhyme and meter. His deft chronicling of human nature woven with descriptions of place and scene give the listener context beyond the experience, almost like each song is the essence of a short story or novel. In “Fort Walton”, he describes a knotty internal conflict in three lines as his grumpy narrator admonishes himself for losing his temper at his hotel:

The internet’s down and they don’t know why
And I damn near made the desk clerk cry
And there wasn’t any reason for that

McMurtry dialed in to Zoom for this conversation with BGS.

BGS: You recorded this album in L.A. at Jackson Browne’s studio. When you went to do that, did you have a precise amount of songs ready? Do you overcut or undercut?

McMurtry: It depends on the record. I’ve never really overcut by much. This time it was the way I used to do it when I was in my 20s. I sort of metaphorically do my homework on the school bus. The way this one worked out is Ross Hogarth, the producer, knew Jackson and he found a window when we could get into his studio to track, but he said, “You gotta finish the songs by this date.” Most of the songs were finished within the last month before tracking. Some of them I actually finished in a Rodeway Inn in Culver City the night before we tracked it. Sometimes that works. That adrenaline rush of having a deadline will get you through. Very few of the songs were started and finished from scratch for this record. Mostly I work from a scrap pile. I have a laptop. I scroll through my notes app. I scroll through my writing programs and look for lyrics that go together or something that I want to work on right then. But there were a couple like “If It Don’t Bleed” that I wrote specifically for this record.

How often do you write?

Not very often at all. I write when it is time to make a record usually. And that depends on when my tour draw falls off. When I started making records thirty years ago the strategy was to tour to support record sales. The business model was that you were supposed to sell enough records to make royalties and to live off them. That never happened. My records were very expensive to make when I was on Columbia. They never came near recouping their production expense and so I wound up learning how to tour cheap. That came in handy much later when Napster and Spotify turned the whole business on its head. Everybody had to figure out how to do what I and some of my contemporaries were already doing. Which was just drive around in a van and keep everything cheap and profit on the tour.

I’ve read that you don’t consider your songs to be autobiographical. Where do you find your characters? How do you bring them to life?

I am a fiction writer. There will be a little bit of my life in a song but it is gonna get rearranged for the sake of a better story. Usually, I’ll hear a couple of lines and a melody in my head and I ask myself, “Who said that?” I try to envision the character who would have said those lines then I work backward to the story.

Speaking of melody, when you are writing, rhyme and meter are clearly important to you and you are masterful at both. But do you consider melody as you are crafting lines from the get-go?

Definitely. I’ve put words to music a few times. I have had jams with my band that I did off the cuff and years later I’d put lyrics in them, like “Saint Mary of the Woods,” which was the title track to one of my records. That came out of a jam that we recorded just for the fun of it. But it is very hard to put words to music. I don’t think I have ever tried to start with just words and then tried to put music to that. I usually have to get a little bit of melodic sense.

In terms of the song “Operation Never Mind,” you hone in on the lack of information we have about what war and conflict are really like these days. Can you talk about your inspiration for that song?

When I was a kid, Vietnam was still going on in full force. We only had three or four television networks and everyone listened to Walter Cronkite. He was the voice of the center and everyone right left and center listened to him. That war did not end because kids were marching in the streets. We pulled out because Walter Cronkite got enough of it. His generation decided it was a stalemate and we were never going to get out of it so we left. … One of the things that has struck me over the years is that we no longer have actual war coverage. Back in Cronkite’s day, we’d watch the 6 o’clock news and we’d see actual footage from battles and shots of the troops walking along and looking bored and lonesome on a hot dusty day. We got more of a feel for what that war was actually like. Whereas now, we get nothing.

Now they say there are embeds out there with the troops, some of whom are doing very good journalism but it is not front page, because there is no front page. Everyone has their own channel to go to hear their own opinions shot back at them. We just don’t have coverage. We don’t have any idea of what the actual war is like. Or what it is about or why we are there, really. War is big money. I think there are a lot of powerful people who would have just as soon stayed in. That’s kind of what I tried to do in the song. Just remind people, “Hey, we got people in harm’s way over there. As citizens, we are supposed to question why and we are not doing it. Nobody is pointing the way.

In lieu of being able to tour, you’ve been streaming performances, right? How has it been connecting to fans online?

It is a different skill. I have yet to really elevate it to an art form. But it needs to be done. People need to do more of this. A lot of people looked at streaming as a stopgap measure. I’ve gone into it thinking, this might be what I’m doing. I might have to be this twisted Mr. Rogers guy for the rest of my life. I better figure out how to have fun with it. And I have. I can sit here with six or seven acoustic guitars, all of them tuned and capoed for whatever song I’m going to do. It is easy. I don’t have to move a lot of stuff. I’d never carry that many acoustics on the road. They’d take up half the van.

You have a dedicated page to COVID-19 on your website and you’ve been vocal about the pandemic. Have you had any revelations about how the music industry works or things you would like to see changed?

I’ve never had a firm handle on the music industry. I work my little corner of it. I really can’t predict what is going to happen but I do think that Jason Isbell’s mindset will prevail in the concert industry. I’m trying to impose that myself. I don’t play indoors unless you’ve got a vaccination card and a mask. Outdoors I’ll be a little laxer. We can’t have big indoor gatherings with the delta variant going on.

Austin is just rife with breakthrough cases now, especially amongst musicians. Seems like the drummers and the singers get it first because they are breathing down to their toenails. Drumming is an extremely aerobic activity and the same with singing. If there is some viral load hanging in the air, a singer is going to get it probably. It’d take two hands to count the cases — fully vaccinated COVID cases — among Austin musicians. And that’s just this morning.

I’ve played a couple of outdoor shows and I’m going to New Mexico and Arizona in early September. I had to cancel a show in Phoenix because they wouldn’t agree to my safety protocol but it turns out another venue in Phoenix was fine with it. Jason Isbell has really taken a big stand and he’s had to move a lot of big shows. Overall the trend is going to be towards his state of mind. If we are going to have a concert business in the future, it is going to be mask and vax. It will take a little while for people to flip over or else nobody is going to play.


Photo credit: Mary Keating-Bruton

WATCH: Kirby Brown, “Ashes and Leaves”

Artist: Kirby Brown
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Ashes and Leaves”
Album: Break Into Blossom
Release Date: September 17, 2021
Label: Self-released via Soundly Music

In Their Words: “Sometimes, we are the ones being left — by lovers, friends, family, etc. At other times, we are the leavers. Maybe this is one of the inevitable arrangements of life. No matter which side of that bargain we find ourselves on, I believe there’s a resolve that comes when we are able to let go of our control, our power, our solutions. ‘Ashes and Leaves,’ at least as it appears to me, is a song about that sacrament of open-handed release: ‘They say you never know ‘til it’s too late / But you say it like you know it now / Life is full of aches that you just can’t shake / Full of things you learn to do without.’ It’s a meditation on acceptance. Even if nothing stays the same, everything (and everyone) finds a home in its own way. Even if that’s a moving target, there’s a kind of peace that comes in letting go and leaning into perpetual motion.” — Kirby Brown


Photo credit: Jordan Sirek