LISTEN: Roses and Cigarettes, “California Going Home”

Artist: Roses and Cigarettes
Hometown: Los Angeles, California
Song: “California Going Home”
Album: Echoes and Silence
Release Date: February 22, 2019

In Their Words: “‘California Going Home’ was written about a relationship that didn’t work out but the love there remains. Not everyone will stay forever and this song is about appreciating that person for who they are and where they are, even if it means your heart is broken in the process.” — Jenny Pagliaro

“This was the last song we wrote for the album. We were over at Jenny’s house, and we were talking about needing one more rockin’ song for the album. I sat on her couch and summoned Janis Joplin to help us out. The chords literally poured out from my hands. Jenny and I looked at each other and she immediately grabbed her phone, a pen, and we recorded the first draft. The song came together fairly quickly. Jenny created this beautiful scenery and imagery with her lyrics and I just love the story she tells in this song. We’ve all been there, and have felt those feelings before.

“We took a lot of inspiration from The Allman Brothers, John Mayer, and Susan Tedeschi for ‘California Going Home.’ After recording our debut album in 2015, I knew I wanted Album 2 to have a song with harmonizing guitar parts. I really had fun playing my Fender Telecaster on this track! Jenny and I both wanted a jam song and a sing-along on this album, and we are so thrilled with how this song turned out! Our producer and bassist, Michael Lyons, really dug deep to create a beautiful production on this song that truly grasps that down-home, sparkly, Americana vibe Jenny and I had envisioned when we wrote it. We were very honored to have Ryan Lipman mix this album, and he really hit it home on this track. Chris Lawrence (pedal steel,) Bobby Victor (keys,) and Vic Vanacore (drums/percussion,) completed the circle with their great energy and musical vibe in the studio to make the song a real jam! — Angela Petrilli


Photo credit: Rachel Louise Photography

WATCH: Larkin Poe, “Bleach Blonde Bottle Blues”

Artist: Larkin Poe
Hometown: Atlanta, Georgia
Song: “Bleach Blonde Bottle Blues”
Album: Venom & Faith
Release Date: November 9, 2018
Label: Tricki-Woo Records

In Their Words: “’Bleach Blonde Bottle Blues’ is a punchy little number that lends itself to a stripped-back performance. We really had fun working it up just the two of us — this is the first time we’ve ever sung three-part harmony with Megan’s slide joining in as the third vocal! During the writing process, the rhythmic imagery of the lyric came so naturally to me that it almost felt like this song wanted to be written; it feels like a reminder of the importance in choosing to vibrantly live our lives while we have them: ‘You’ve gotta ride, feel the fire like a first kiss… you’ve gotta ride at your own risk.’” — Rebecca Lovell


Photo credit: Robbie Klein

WATCH: Ben de la Cour, “Face Down Penny”

Artist name: Ben de la Cour
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Face Down Penny”
Album: The High Cost of Living Strange
Label: Flour Sack Cape

In Their Words: “Written with Olivia Rudeen, really the only co-write I’ve ever done. It takes more than one broken spoke to stop a face down penny from rolling on, and it’s never too late or too early to give up hope. A strange fever dream of bad luck gone right, of embracing the long odds and playing them anyway… of playing the long odds BECAUSE they’re so long, of laughing in the face of despair and then inviting her in for a nightcap.” — Ben de la Cour


Photo credit: Stacie Huckeba

From Sad Bastard to Groove Master: A Conversation with Sam Morrow

Apart from going all TSwift-style pop crossover, the easiest way to distance oneself from modern commercial country is to make loud and clear references to an old older era of the genre — or to just play it straight throwback style. But at a time when honoring the past has become so fashionable that it may elicit a blasé response from the more cynical of listeners, Sam Morrow remains grounded in the present through a commitment to his own ears and a desire to grow and try new things. He intentionally breaks up and flips sonic variables, but only to a degree that the studied listener will still recognize the presence of bygone innovators such as Gram Parsons, Little Feat, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Waylon Jennings, while guessing at the precise methods used to achieve those sounds. If the progression of his works to date means anything, and as Morrow continues to put forth new recordings, expect evolution and growth. It wouldn’t be surprising to see both deeper dives into and further departures from his current country funk/Southern rock sound.

Morrow is an artist committed to finding and refining his true voice, but on his newest album, Concrete and Mud, he doesn’t weigh that pursuit down with an agenda or a need to sound too profound. He laughs at his foibles and winks at his vices. Like so many artists before him, when the Los Angeles-based Morrow got clean from an opiate addiction, he had strange emotions to process, so he turned to songwriting in an effort to root out a bevy of conflicting feelings and past wreckage.

2014’s Ephemeral was his first artistic exorcism, expressed in the emotional, sincere style of a Damian Rice or a Justin Vernon. However sincere, Ephemeral doesn’t sound like someone who has quite discovered his authentic voice yet. Despite its title’s indication to the contrary, Morrow’s second album, There Is No Map (2015), sounds more like someone who knows where he’s come from and where he’s going. But his newest work, Concrete and Mud, displays the confidence, mastery, and winsomeness of an artist who knows exactly who he is, what he wants to say, and what he is doing. The set marks the moment Morrow rightfully claims his place among the very best that country and Americana have to offer.

You’re from Texas, which has a pretty rich musical heritage. What Texas musicians were you into growing up?

I’ve had a really weird musical journey. I started out playing in church, kind of a natural path for any musician from the South. I’m super grateful to have all of that because it got me practiced playing with a band. It got me a lot of experiential stuff that I wouldn’t have learned, if I wasn’t playing every Sunday with a band or had to learn new songs all the time. No matter how good the songs were, they were still songs. So I did that, and once I was maybe 15, I got into rap a little bit — like Screwed Up Click, Houston rap … Paul Wall, Lil Flip, all of those kind of dudes. I don’t real listen to them anymore, but that’s just kinda how it went.

So your Texas influence is not necessarily a Texas country influence?

No, I was very like — I didn’t listen to punk rock, but I had a punk rock attitude when I was a kid. So, being from Texas, I didn’t want to like country music because that was like … everyone in Texas likes country music, so I wanted to go against the grain, you know? So I liked rap. I liked ZZ Top, or emo/screamo, or whatever it was. I didn’t start really listening to country music until I got sober almost seven years ago.

I mean I’d always kinda heard it. I knew a bunch of Garth Brooks songs. I knew a bunch of George Strait songs. You know, all those Texas country musicians — Robert Earl Keen, Jerry Jeff Walker. I knew those songs, but I had an aversion to the whole thing because of my punk rock sort of attitude. Then I kinda saw the light, I guess, and realized that it’s just what I related to the most.

Country, traditionally, has that whole thing about the primacy of the song, and you seem to be quite the songwriter type of guy.

I mean, whenever you get sober, you’re super raw and vulnerable and everything feels weird. So, really, through the three years that I was just a gnarly junky, I used being a musician as a reason to not have a job. Or I would get out my guitar every once in a while during an acid trip, and we would all freak out about it or something like that. I wasn’t really into it. Even in that phase, I was listening to electronic stuff. I got really into dubstep and Skrillex, so it just blows my mind thinking about it now, but in any case that’s where I was. When I got sober, I wanted to start writing songs, and I had all these weird feelings and vulnerabilities.

Did you feel like it was a way to get out all the weird emotional turmoil that comes with getting sober?

Yeah, exactly. And naturally I kind of gravitated toward more folk and singer/songwriter stuff because that’s where that kind of songwriting lies. And it wasn’t something that was necessarily foreign to me. It was just something that I kind of pushed away for a long time. But yeah, my first record was just like sad bastard, super depressing shit.

I can definitely hear the progression from Ephemeral through There Is No Map. And even that one is not quite as straight-ahead country as Concrete and Mud.

Yeah, I don’t know. Concrete and Mud definitely has it’s country tracks and what not, but I didn’t want to make a country record. Everyone and their mom is making a country record right now, so I wanted it to be … like, obviously that’s kinda the music I play — Americana, whatever you want to call it — but I wanted to have a uniqueness to it. I didn’t want it to just have pedal steel and some violins here and there. Though there’s nothing wrong with that.

You definitely have some weird sonic stuff going on that’s out of the box.

Right. I wanted it to get a little weird in some spots. Four years ago, I got super into Little Feat and started listening to a lot of deep Skynyrd stuff.

Is Little Feat kinda where the funk element came from?

Yeah, and I’m very groove-oriented when writing songs. If I’m sitting at a desk or something, I’m always banging on it. I don’t know. It’s just kinda there. I’ve just kinda always had that funky element. One of my favorite things to see is people actually dancing to the music I play live. And a lot of the country covers I was doing, like Don Williams, I consider him like country disco. Even Willie Nelson’s Shotgun Willie, it’s pretty funky that record.

Going back to what you said about the dance thing, you never get people dancing to sad bastard music. So what was the turn for you? Did you suddenly discover your love for groove? What happened there? Because it’s a pretty hard turn.

Going on the road and playing more bar gigs, like, “Here, we’ll give you this much money to play three 45-minute sets,” or something like that … I don’t have that many original songs. And also just seeing how people would respond to my sad bastard stuff in a weird bar where people are trying to eat their pizza and shit. So I learned covers that had a good groove or were a little funky, or I could put my own twist on and make it groovy and funky. And a lot of the songs on this record are just grooves that I took from covers that I’ve been playing for the last two years. And to answer your question: I don’t know if I really did. I just kinda hit that point where I was playing songs that people were dancing to and I was like, “Oh, this is what I like to do.”

So it was a response to the joy that you witnessed?

Yeah, just people having fun. I’m not really a dancer, but I can dance with my guitar in my hand. That’s about it.

There are some serious themes on this record, but you have a lighter approach to those themes. Was that a conscious move? Do you think about being sincere without being too sentimental?

Right, yeah that was, of course, intentional. I was definitely conscious to make this record lighter and sort of more sarcastic. I almost didn’t even understand that you could do that — that songs could mean a lot but be light or sarcastic or whatever. I could have never written “Quick Fix” six years ago, just poking fun at all my vices, noticing all my vices in everyday life. That’s not something I would want to point out — my flaws — even now, and make fun of. Maybe “make fun of” is not the right word, but make light of them or talk about them in a naïve sort of light.

You’re sober, which to me says that you take care of yourself, but then you sing a song like “Quick Fix,” and it makes me think that you’re not heavy-handed about the way that you take care of yourself, or prescriptive or preachy in some kind of way. Right?

Right. I mean, I still do a lot of shit. Like I play poker all the time. I’m super impulsive. I still have these addictive behaviors, but I’m in control and I recognize them. I keep them somewhat healthy. And that’s just a sign of maturity, I guess.

Kind of like, if you can wink at them, you’re giving them less power?

Yeah, exactly.

You nod to some funky and psychedelic country sounds, but then, at times, you take them a bit further. What made you decide to push the sonic envelope, so to speak?

I think we tried to do that on a couple tracks on the last record, but just didn’t quite get there or didn’t think it out enough. For instance, on “Paid by the Mile,” we initially had my phaser pedal on my guitar, and I was like, “This sounds cool, but how many people have put a phaser pedal on a guitar? Everyone fucking does it. Why don’t we try to put the phaser pedal on the Wurly?” So that’s what we did. We put the phaser pedal on the Wurlitzer, and it sounded fucking killer. And it still gives the whole mix that phasey, wobbly thing, but it’s just coming from a different place than where you normally hear it in a guitar.

So me and Eric [producer Eric Corne] both were willing to take more chances, I guess, this record. And the guy that plays keys — his name is Sasha Smith — what I really love about the way he plays keys is, he’s so percussive and rhythmic that it couldn’t have been a better person to play on this record. He fills in all the spots and uses whatever he’s playing like a rhythm instrument.

Yeah, even the organ on “Weight of a Stone” is so precise and punchy that it works like a rhythm instrument.

Right, exactly. And yeah, we took influence from … have you ever seen Peaky Blinders? So the Nick Cave song that’s the show credits opener…

“Red Right Hand”?

Yeah, so we wrote the song, and it’s sort of a murder ballad sort of song, but we wanted it to be sort of droney and have a keyboard theme in it. It’s pretty close to it. I don’t know how many people I should tell that we took it from that, but it’s far enough apart.

You do have a way of nodding to influences without aping them. There are some nods to Gram Parsons, for example, like the amphetamine queen line in “Coming Home.” Is that an homage to “Return of the Grievous Angel”?

That’s kinda where it came from. I don’t remember if I exactly took it from that. I think I just wanted to use “amphetamine” in a song. Like Jason Isbell uses “benzodiazepine” …

Yeah! How does he do that?!

I know! Dude! And it’s so perfect, too, the way he phrases it and everything is so perfect. So I wanted to have an elongated, full drug name in one of the songs and it just kinda fit. But yeah, Gram Parsons … “Skinny Elvis,” we referenced pretty closely “Ooh Las Vegas.”

Right, but Concrete and Mud doesn’t sound like a Gram record at all.

And that’s what we wanted. I was a little bit worried about “Quick Fix.” At first, I was resistant to the Clavinet because I didn’t want it to sound too much like “Cripple Creek” [by the Band], but then we started playing it, and it just didn’t sound as good without the Clav, so we were just like, “Aw, fuck it.”

To quote our mutual friend Jaime Wyatt, “Texans like to sing the shit out of a song.” What happened to your vocal performance? You’re earlier stuff is good, but you sound like a completely different vocalist on this record. You’ve got a level of control that I’d say is as good and as professional as it gets.

Thanks! I really appreciate that. Yeah, I think just playing out a lot. I’d never really taken a guitar lesson or a voice lesson, and I took a few voice lessons in the past couple years just to kind of understand my voice a little bit. And since my first record, I was playing with a friend doing a show four or five years ago, and we were playing this song and he said, “Why don’t you add some growl to this part? You can do that.” And I was like, “I don’t really have a growl to my voice, man.” And he was 100 percent right. My voice is like 98 percent growl, just like howling and seeing what comes out, and I just didn’t realize that until he said that to me.

So that’s kinda shaped my tone a little bit, too. And then I sorta started growling and yelling too much, so it was a matter of honing that in a little bit, and I think I’ve found a balance. Once you figure out you can do a new trick, you just do it all the time.

You do that really well at the top of the chorus on “Weight of a Stone.” There’s a lot of power in the attack. It’s really cool, one of my favorite moments on the record.

That one, we were a little bit worried when we first started. That was the hardest one to sing in the studio, for some reason. I think it was just a weird key or something for me. Initially we wanted to keep that song kinda soft. I even toyed a little bit with doing it falsetto, but once we got that kind of cool growl in there, it sounded a lot more epic, I guess.

One more thing: I’ve seen a term thrown around a lot lately, and it’s been used of you, and I wondered if you have any thoughts about it — “left-of-center country.” Does that mean anything to you?

Honestly, it doesn’t mean anything to me. Cool, you can call it whatever you want. You know, when people ask me what kind of music I play, I say country music just because it’s easy. You don’t have to sit there and explain it to them. Although these days you kinda have to explain to most people that it’s not the kind of shit you hear on the radio. A lot of lay people don’t know what Americana music is. When you say “Southern rock,” they don’t know what you’re talking about. You can call it whatever you want. We just made the record that we wanted to make, and we’re happy with the way it turned out.

Promised Land Sound, ‘Otherworldly Pleasures’

Nashville outfit Promised Land Sound flew under the radar with their 2013 self-titled record, but it's not too late to catch up on their loose, twangy brand of rock. Their forthcoming For Use and Delight expands on the group's already excellent foundation, and the first peek at the record via "Otherwordly Pleasures" is tantalizing. The song conjures the best parts of Southern rock and country, but Promised Land Sound adds a grittier edge that separates them from the flood of wishy-washy, too-pristine pop country. "Otherworldly Pleasures," frontman Joe Scala explains, reflects on the struggle of squaring your hopes and dreams with the reality of everyday life.

"'Otherworldly Pleasures' is a metaphysical love song about an unrecognizable but familiar person who only appears in your dreams. It is about obsessing over finding 'the one' so much that they can only exist within your dreams, about balancing life and love within your dreams with life and love in reality," he says.

The song slinks along, settling into a good groove before lifting off with plenty of oohs and crunchy guitar riffs that make the song a pleasure indeed. 

You can grab For Use and Delight via Paradise of Bachelors on October 2.

Patterson Hood on Music, Moving Around, and Making Peace with Southern Heritage

Patterson Hood was just eight years old when he wrote his first song and was a youthful 14 years old when he joined his first band. At 21, he teamed up with fellow singer/songwriter/guitarist Mike Cooley to form the Drive-By Truckers. Over the course of their 20 years on the road and in the studio, DBT have drawn on influences as diverse as Willie Nelson, Muscle Shoals R&B, and Led Zeppelin to make music that revives and redefines the words “Southern Rock.”

Now living in the sunny climes of Portland, OR, Hood talks about everything from growing up the son of a musical legend [Muscle Shoals session man David Hood] to race relations in the American South to DBT’s voluptuous new live album, It’s Great to Be Alive!

The first question I was going to ask is: What’s a boy from the Shoals of Alabama doing in Portland?

Well, my wife and I have lived our whole lives in two states. I’ve traveled — a lot — 15 years now, really heavy on the road. And we’ve always said we wanted to experience living somewhere else. We also wanted to live in a city. Athens, GA, is lovely. It’s one of my favorite places on earth. It’s a great town, but it’s a town. It’s a college town, so there’s a lot more art and cool stuff than most Southern towns with 100,000 people in it. But there’s also the downside of the college town thing, too, which after about 20 years, we needed a break from.  

We both kind of kept a list and I’ve spent a lot of time in a lot of towns. Portland’s been on the top of my list since at least 2000. And, likewise, top of her list, too. We didn’t want to move our kids across the the country when they’re teenagers; we had a little bit of time, but it was running out. So we decided to do it. We thought of places that were closer to home, but this was our first choice. We said, “If we’re going to go through the trouble of moving, let’s go to our first choice, and let’s experience living in a different part of the country.” Kind of a different part of the world, honestly.

[“And a blue state,” comments Patterson’s wife, Rebecca, from the living room.]

And a blue state, yep. That certainly factored in.  

We’ve loved it here. It’s a long way from home. We’ve both gone through some homesickness, for sure. Especially her and the kids, because I’m kind of used to being homesick. It’s kind of part of my existence, because I’m gone 100 days a year. But I think it’s worth it. It’s a beautiful, beautiful city, and it’s kind of nice just having the new adventure. I mean, my job is an adventure, to a big extent, but it’s kind of fun having this personal adventure, at this point.

One of the things I wanted to talk with you about is the controversy over the Confederate flag. I'm going to read a quote from an essay you wrote for the New York Times Magazine back in July and ask you to illuminate it a little: "If we want to truly honor our Southern forefathers, we should do it by moving on from the symbols and prejudices of their time, and building on the diversity, the art, and the literary traditions we've inherited from them."

Damn, did I say all that?

You said all that!  

That's pretty good! [Laughs]

Yeah, that's definitely how I feel.  There are a lot of beautiful, wonderful things about the South and then there's this albatross we've put around our own necks down there, based on our history and a really dark part of our country's history. It seems like there's so much else to be proud of than your great-great-grandad fighting in the war they lost, you know? It seems like we're selling ourselves short when we hang onto that as our tradition, because there are a lot of traditions. Today [on the day of the interview] is William Faulkner's birthday. Put him on a flag and you can wave that flag anywhere you want to. I won't object to it. Or whoever, you know? Harper Lee. There are so many great writers. Or Booker T. Jones.

Put Booker T. on the flag!

Or Helen Keller — she's from one of my hometowns. She's from the Shoals area. There's no shortage of people and things to be proud of in the South. Rock 'n' roll came from the South. That's a pretty big one.

White man's country and black man's blues meeting at a crossroads …

Yeah, totally. It's one of the great art forms of our time and hopefully will continue to be.  

We were actually on our drive cross country, on our way here, when the Charleston thing happened. We were checking into a hotel in Denver and I saw it on the TV. I was like, “Get the kids in the room, away from the TV. Don't turn the TV on.” And then I sneak downstairs to watch it because I wanted to know what the hell was going on. And I could tell it was something terrible.  

If someone wants to have the Confederate flag in their yard or on their car, I don't give a shit — that's their choice. No one’s taking their flag away. But it should not be ceremoniously displayed on the courthouse or the capitol grounds. That's something that all our citizens pay taxes to support and there's a huge percentage of our citizenry down there that's rightfully very offended by that. And it's very much a "fuck you" in their face. I don't think our government should be in the business of saying "fuck you" to a vast swath of our citizenry. So that was where I was coming from on that. I think I worded it better. [Laughs]

[Laughs] At one point in that same article, you talked about how, when you were young, you weren’t aware of what was happening in Selma or Birmingham or Montgomery. At the same time, you were witnessing what was, in my opinion, one of the great moments of integration in our history — when your dad and the Muscle Shoals Swampers were making records with some of history’s greatest black musicians, like Aretha Franklin.

I absolutely agree! It's one of the things I'm proudest of in the world. I can't fathom that it was my dad who did this really amazing, great thing during this really dark, horrible time. He's forever proud to have been there, too.  

The Shoals is a weird area; it's a very conservative town. There's no shortage of people with all kinds of antiquated and unsavory viewpoints. But it wasn't the definitive notion of the town. I started first grade a couple years after the schools were integrated and I don't remember any big deal about it. There were black kids in my classroom and it wasn't a big deal. It wasn't like Birmingham.  

The things that dad and they were doing … no one knew about that, either. That was a secret. It was like this underground thing happening that I kind of learned early not to talk about at school. I think most of the people in that town had no idea that any of that was going on until years later. There were probably some people who really started finding out when they made that movie a few years back.  

It's a very, very different place now from when I grew up. When I go home now, it looks similar in some ways — buildings and stuff — but they're very proud of dad and the Swampers. They've got statues of them now. They're in the process of putting statues up of the musicians in different places in the town; it's kind of a new thing. They're very much honored and revered there now.  

But, at the time, they weren't going to take any chances. They couldn't afford to be harassed and bothered. It was a dry county, you know, and musicians drink. They had to have liquor in the studio that had to come from the Tennessee state line or a bootlegger somehow. Not to mention other things that happened at recording studios … especially when the Stones came to town. [Laughs] It's a crazy, crazy story. The movie is a wonderful thing, but it honestly just scraped the surface, because there are so many facets to that story. People are starting to write books about it. There are probably several books worth of stories floating around.

I want to take a little detour from my list of questions. I’m looking over at your bookshelf and seeing Songwriters on Songwriting. Open it up and see where it lands.

Oh, Lord. I opened it to Todd Rundgren.

Todd Rundgren to the Drive-By Truckers … how do we make that connection?

It's crazy to open it right to that, ‘cause I always say that Something/Anything? is, like, my one desert island record. It has been since I was 12. I started writing when I was eight. Listening to that record was kind of a turning point in my writing. He's a madman. [Laughs]

That record had everything.

It did, and I loved that. Every side was a totally different genre.  

It had hits; it had scream rock.

That's probably as much of an influence as anything. My taste is really, really eclectic. Our band may have a definite sound due to the way that I sing, or [Mike] Cooley sings, or just the way we play together, or whatever, even with all the different personnel changes through the years. There's a common thread, but if you look at the direction that thread is pointing at any given time, you get a lot of diversity. Our first two records were attempting to funnel this thing we do through the lens of old-time country. The third record, the live record, was kind of a punk rock record. Then the fourth record was Southern Rock Opera, which was this whole take on arena rock, set in the '70s, and trying to sound as '70s as we could. I think we kind of pulled that off, and that's probably not a stretch for us in retrospect. And then Decoration Day was this, and Dirty South was that.

Dirty South was us trying to take on some of the subject matter of the hip hop records of the day, filtered through the sound of the way we were and the way we played. We obviously couldn't rap, you know, so we didn't try that, but as far as the themes of the songs … we were all really into that. Blessing and a Curse was sort of our take on the post-punk Replacements era. Brighter Than Creation's Dark is sort of an Americana record, I guess. Big To-Do is an attempt at doing power pop. Go-Go Boots was country soul. I don't know what English Oceans was. We just wanted to make a record.  [Laughs]

Which is what I really like!

We just wanted to make another Drive-By Truckers record, I think, without any kind of a genre idea. I think we felt like we'd done too much of that by that time. But I'm sure part of that influence was Todd Rundgren and Neil Young, too, ‘cause he's all over the map. A lot of the artists I love tend to go all over the map.

So, this is a good lead-in to the next question. You've got this new live record that came out recently called It's Great to Be Alive! There are 35 songs in the set. How do you choose what songs to put in there and how do you tie all these diverse influences together?  

This line-up of the band is so great. I'm proud of all the different line-ups of the band. I love the various places the band was in, even if some of them had some issues or had some things that didn't work. But we've kind of landed on our ultimate band at this point. And Cooley and I both feel the same way about that. The way it plays together, the way it interacts, the personal dynamic, is all really fantastic.

We had made English Oceans, which is very much kind of the first time we went in with that line-up. The goal then was that we wanted to record it really quick and really immediate — we wanted to go in and just capture the moment. Everyone had a working knowledge of what the songs were. We all sent demos. In the case of my songs, they were literally just me on acoustic guitar. Cooley's demos were a little more done. I think he has fun doing that, building tracks. We just wanted to capture this band attacking that material. We'd been saying for years we wanted to do a live record. And it just seemed like now is the time. We had the band right, everybody's having fun, and if we were going to do a live record, I wanted everyone to be having fun, because that's part of the joy of the better live records. There's an aspect of fun to them.

As far as the song selection, we have 150 songs, at this point, in our history. We all had in our head, I think, what was most important for it to be. We don't use a set list, so that provided a challenge. We knew we were recording for three nights at the Fillmore. We didn't want to go through a set list and have it be different than a regular show, where we're having to follow a list. We still like to do it where we decide the first song as we're walking on, and then it just happens.  

So our compromise was that we did a master list of maybe 20 songs that we wanted to make sure we captured over the course of the weekend. If on Thursday night we knew we had great takes on three of those, we'd mark them off the list. By Saturday, it was a pretty small list we knew we had to hit at some point during the show. It worked like a charm. We ended up with about 50 songs to choose from that had really great takes from over the course of the weekend. Then it's a matter of just whittling it down to a more usable group … well, if you can call 35 songs usable. I wanted it to touch fairly equally on the different eras and records of the band. There's a fairly even number of songs from the various incarnations of the band and records.  

Why the Fillmore as opposed to some place closer to home, so to speak?

Well, we've always done really great on the West Coast. That's kind of a myth about our band. The South was actually a little bit of a later place for us to break. Historically, when we started out, the first towns we really had followings were Atlanta, Richmond, New York, and Baltimore. Chicago came pretty early, Austin came pretty early, and then we expanded out. But it took us a few years to get our touring up to the point where we could afford to make the trek cross-country and get out here, but we always did well on the West Coast once we started doing it.  

When we put out Southern Rock Opera and all of a sudden got real management — someone besides me booking the band — our benchmark for being able to tell where we were at was the Fillmore. We were interviewing booking agents and we had narrowed it down to two. We point blank said, "We want to play the Fillmore. How long will it be before we can play the Fillmore?" One of the two people we were interviewing told us that we were being a little overly ambitious and we should think smaller. The other one told us, "I'll have you there opening in a year, headlining in three." He got the job. And he's still our booking agent — he's been with us since 2002, and will be with us as long we are together, as long as there's a band. He made those benchmarks. We played there about seven months later and we made the headline a couple months shy of three years.  

Last year, we played three nights there. It was the end of our touring year. It just kind of made sense, like it was meant to be. I knew it would be a great room to record us in. It's a great-sounding room. It's not too big. If you get too big a room to record a live record in, you get that boominess. The acoustics are great, and also they don't have a barricade between the front row and the stage. The crowd is right up in your face. And we always play better in those rooms. They're rare. All my favorite places we play are like that. Our next choice after the Fillmore probably would have been the 9:30 Club, because it's the same thing. It's a similar-sized room. It's a room with a great history, but we played there at the beginning of the tour, and we played the Fillmore at the end of the tour, so it made sense for it to be there.

Is there one song on the record that, when you listened to it or when you were putting together the album, you felt was transcendent or a defining moment?

As far as my songs go, "World of Hurt." That's a song that always felt like one of the more special songs I've ever written. I was proud of the version on the record when we made Blessing and a Curse, but that night, I knew that night it was a good one — it was special. We had the horns and it was a really, really good take of it. I knew on stage we had gotten it, unless there was some kind of technical problem. Having David, our engineer, out there, you knew there wouldn't be any issues. That would have sucked — this great three-night stand and you listen to the tapes and it's all mangled. But it happens!

One more question I think ties up the whole conversation. Prior to playing "Made Up English Oceans,” Cooley talked about Jimmy Carter and the KKK coming to your hometown. He said it was a source of embarrassment for the home city. How do you see that conversation — in what you've said, in what you've written for the Times, in your music, in what he said there continuing for Drive-By Truckers as you move forward?

I think it's something that's definitely on all our minds. I'm curious to see, moving forward, exactly where the next record goes. We're actually pretty close to starting another record. I've been writing a lot for it; Cooley's writing a lot for it.  

I think the general mindset is definitely a part of what we're writing, it's kind of where we are as a country. We're not going to get past any of this shit until we can talk about it. It's an uncomfortable conversation, so I understand why people shy away from wanting to talk about our country's history with race. And, you know, we're these white dudes from the South talking about it … but whites dudes from the South need to talk about it. It doesn't just need to be black people saying black lives matter. It needs to be something that we all can talk about and move forward from or else we're going to not move forward.  

I was certainly one of those people that, when Obama was elected, thought, "Oh man, we have turned a corner!" I still idealistically hang on to some of that, but actually there's a lot of work left to do. I think it was probably overly idealistic to think that that was going to be the beginning of the end of that conversation. It was just the beginning of the beginning of that conversation, you know?


Patterson Hood photo by Andy Tennille. DBT photos by David McClister.

‘Back to Birth’

On this Steve Berlin-produced longplayer, Jackie Greene adeptly inhabits the same neighborhood of fashionable yet forthright pop and roll that was built 40 years ago by Andrew Gold and Stephen Bishop and has been regularly reinhabited by the likes of Matt Nathanson and Howie Day.

Greene’s somewhat more soulful, though — more a mix of Daryl Hall with Amos Lee — and that adds considerable strength to tunes like the opener, “Silver Lining.” Southern Cali oohs-and-aahs anchor the song’s semi-funky harp as well as its Hall and Oates hand-me-down groove, as Greene bids goodbye to Bowling Green. “Now I Can See for Miles” is a head bopper and toe tapper that rings with the same sunny ocean shimmer as Robbie Dupree did when he stole away. “A Face Among the Crowd” is a pretty ballad, albeit with some platitude-packed poetry, while “Light Up Your Window” settles into a nice backbeat. “Trust Somebody” draws on the Philly soul ballad with considerable strength, while “Motorhome,” one of the rootsiest songs of the set, takes to the road with an easy attitude. One of the most beautiful songs on the record, his rendition of “Hallelujah,” features Greene singing softly in his upper register to start and then breaking into the full-on gospel clap and praise at the finish. He gets the blues on “Where the Downhearted Go” — a touch of Memphis contained therein — then balances the ballad against the beach on the ebb and tide of “You Can’t Have Bad Luck All the Time.”

Though the words sometimes hang on the precipice of prosaic — and the band members seems a little gentile about their intentions at times — this is a nice record that mixes well with many of the aforementioned musos. If he’s half as good live as Amos Lee, this’ll be a fun record to hear in concert.

 

Southern Culture on the Bid: A Conversation with Blackberry Smoke’s Charlie Starr

Blackberry Smoke, the Southern rock band based in Atlanta, Georgia, has often said that they grew their following one fan at a time. To see them live, though, you have to figure they’re wrong: They’re making converts of country fans one show at a time, really. The five-piece has toured relentlessly, playing dive bars alongside opening gigs on mammoth tours, and their loud-as-hell live shows are a fitting intro to their more refined studio material, as evidenced on their latest full-length, Like an Arrow. Suffice it to say, frontman Charlie Starr knows a bit about navigating the country music industry without caving to expectations.

You worked with Gregg Allman on the record, and it really calls attention to the legacy of great Southern music coming out of Georgia. What has your home in Atlanta meant for the band and the music that you guys make?

Growing up in the Southeast, we absorbed all of this wonderful Southern culture. It's everywhere — from the food to the way people talk. I love to talk to the older people. My grandmother was a great source of inspiration when she was alive, with the stories and the music, too. She sang and played music. Obviously, we look to all the great bands after that — the Allman Brothers and Lynyrd Skynyrd and Wet Willy and bands like that. They all have ties to Georgia, but then also looking to the Black Crowes and Drivin’ N Cryin’ and the Georgia Satellites. There's all sorts of culture to cull inspiration from.

And Atlanta has remained your home base, even as a lot of the Southeast has hightailed it to Nashville. Has that been a deliberate choice?

It's been very significant. We made one record in Nashville, our second album, and I think that the band just decided we don't want to work that way — the way that a lot of the music industry works in Nashville. There’s nothing wrong with the way people do things there, but we wanted to try and keep everything in-house. We had done that already for the first several years that we were together. I think we were already stubborn, and we wanted to do things our way, and it seems like it was a more comfortable fit to stay in Atlanta.

Years and years ago, when we were teenagers, everybody wanted to move to L.A. That was the thing. "Let's form a rock band and move to Los Angeles." I'm glad we didn't do that either. It feels more like family here.

When you say you like keeping things in-house, what are the specific elements you’re most excited to bring to the record yourself?

We didn't want to go to Nashville and record a bunch of other people's songs. We didn't want to work with producers that pushed other people's songs on us. I was thinking, "Well, we made one record where we did record a few songs that other people wrote, and they're great songs, but we're not trying to record hit singles here." We're not playing the singles game, I guess is what I'm trying to say.

I thought, "Well, if my songs aren't good enough, then maybe we're not your band." We handle our own merchandise, as well, and then we have our own touring company. The fewer hands in the pot, the better, when you're trying to make a living and support a family. There are lots of ways to cut a pie up, and the goal is to try and cut it up as few times as possible.

You have some songs on the record that point to hard work. Tell me about “Working for a Working Man.”

That one is a snarling rock 'n' roll song. It deals with something that most people can understand. Most of being middle-class is very frustrating: As the years go by, you work and work and work, and you look around and you don't have anything. You work your whole life for very little return. It's a middle-class love song, basically.

You also have a bit more of a rebellious song on the album with “Waiting for the Thunder.”

That one is probably as close as I'll ever come to writing a protest song. It's really not in protest of anything, but it’s an observation of how scary the world is. It seems like it just gets scarier and scarier as I get older, thinking about my own children and what kind of world they're going to live in. I don't know. It's 50 percent observation and 50 percent warning, I guess. There's a little bit of Biblical reference thrown in there for good measure. Every song needs a little bit of Biblical reference.

Oh yeah?

I'm joking, but it's a Book of Revelations, impending Armageddon kind of song. We hear so often about horrible things, shootings, and kidnappings. We didn't hear about them as much before because the mainstream media wasn't as intent upon filling all of our lives up with that shit every day. Now it's just rampant. I read a meme the other day that said, “People have been mean, since the beginning of time; it's just easier to read about it now.”

I could definitely see how that relates to the song. Tell me about writing, for that song and others on the record. It seems like you're always changing up. How are you able to keep your identity and still change things up musically? Is there anything you do to challenge yourselves or to try to keep things from getting to be the same old thing?

We do exactly that, I think. When I'm writing songs for an album, I try and write a lot of different types of songs for the band to play, especially thinking about the different aspects of production. Whether it be a really big, nasty rock 'n' roll song or a laid-back acoustic song or a funky song or a very traditional country song, I try and infuse a lot of different elements into the way we play them. We know that we don't want to make the same record over and over and over again. It can be a calculated process.

You said that you haven’t really played the “singles” game, but you’re finding an audience and climbing mainstream country sales charts, all the same. What do you think is unique about the way you interact with your audience?

I think it's just been tenacity on our part and our fans' part. The fan base continues to grow, and they are intent on letting as many people know about it as possible. You can't put a price on that. We owe them so much and they continue to support us, year after year and album after album. We would love to be playing arenas, of course, and if the radio would play our music, that would be great, but we're not willing to go record a cheesy pop song or something that we don't believe in musically to get there.

Whiskey Myers, ‘Mud’

Texas-born Whiskey Myers hasn't formally released a record since 2014's Early Morning Shakes, but you wouldn't know it by their following: The group has doggedly continued touring and performing, and their forthcoming full-length, MUD, is nothing if not a testament to the work they've put in outside the studio. The album was produced by Dave Cobb, Nashville's latest household name and the producer behind hits from Jason Isbell and Chris Stapleton, and it bears the same reverence to the live setting and the recording space that have lent his recent slam-dunk releases an authentic edge. By now, too, the five-piece has honed in on a down-home rock 'n' roll sound — while nurturing the country and roots influences that built them — and the album varies richly between songs.

What the songs on MUD do have in common is a quality that lends them to dialing up the volume: "On the River" holds a torch for bluegrass influences without leaving behind the group's hard-rocking persona, while "Good Ole Days" sounds like the product of a bunch of buddies singing along to an off-the-cuff jam in the kitchen. But the title track leaves country music on the backburner in favor of heavy riffs and anthemic delivery. It's the kind of sound you'd pick out for a walk-up song — whether that walk is over to home plate at a blazing hot baseball game or across the room to the jukebox. The number closes out with a chorus of "ohs" that feels more like a rock-tinged battle cry, fearlessly chanting through the melody and capitalizing on a well-honed rougher side for these booze-soaked Southern rockers.

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