WATCH: Tommy Emmanuel, “Bella Soave” (From ‘Endless Road’)

Artist: Tommy Emmanuel
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Bella Soave”
Album: Endless Road: 20th Anniversary Edition
Release Date: May 17, 2024
Label: CGP Sounds

In Their Words: “The song was written after my first visit in Soave, Italy in 1999. It was the first festival I ever played. I was so happy and overjoyed from the experience of the festival that I started writing when I got into the backseat of the car. We were driving from Soave down to Rome for a show and workshop, and I wrote this song on the way there. I got it finished and played it that night at the show. I tried to give it a sort of Spanish feel in the bridge, because I had met a lot of Spaniards that weekend at the festival. Bella Soave means ‘beautiful Soave.’ It’s a beautiful place and has been a big part of my musical life.” – Tommy Emmanuel


Photo Credit: Simone Cecchetti

LISTEN: Josh Rouse, “Hollow Moon”

Artist: Josh Rouse
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Hollow Moon”
Album: Going Places
Release Date: July 29, 2022
Label: Yep Roc Records

In Their Words: “A couple of friends of mine — my Spanish band — bought a small venue, sort of like a 1950s American bar. I said, ‘Let’s get together and play some songs in the bar — something that feels good in a smaller room. Just toe-tappers.’ A year later, after things opened up a bit, I said, ‘Why don’t we just go in and I’ll produce it, and let’s just record these songs and see what happens?’ And that’s what the Going Places record is — stuff that just felt good to play to a live audience.

“‘Hollow Moon’ started as a guitar riff on my voice memo with what sounded like me mumbling ‘hollow moon’ over and over. Through the course of several decades, I’ve learned it’s best to stick to the original mumble whether it has meaning or not. I came up with some lonely, only-child verses and sent them to Matt Costa to lay some of his Kinksish harmonies. Very catchy. Perhaps a hit.” — Josh Rouse


Photo Credit: Jim Harrington

BGS 5+5: David Berkeley

Artist: David Berkeley
Hometown: Santa Fe, New Mexico
Latest albums: Oh Quiet World and The Faded Red and Blue
Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Shaggy (You can’t really tell it from this young, put-together, dashing picture, but I’m not always the best at “grooming.”)

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

I once played a show that was accessible only by boat (or a treacherous daylong hike). I was living at the time on the island of Corsica with my wife and our 2-year-old son. We met a couple who produced shows in this magical roadless village on the water. The actual concert was in a big Moroccan tent, but the show was also projected onto the outside of the tent so that people could watch from their boats. My wife and our boy threw our gear onto this little motor boat that was waiting for us at an unmarked dock, jumped aboard, and off we whizzed across the water. Eventually an old crumbling tower came into view, and we came into this beautiful little harbor with olive trees growing and donkeys milling about.

The hosts let us stay in his bohemian guest house looking out onto the Mediterranean. We were treated like royalty. They fed us delicious local cuisine (like wild boar, really strong cheese, figs, and fresh Clementines). We drank cold rosé from grapes grown nearby. Like all the shows I played during that year, I tried to talk only in French, which caused a lot of fairly awkward moments where I inadvertently insulted the audience or told incoherent stories. Sometimes I’d just let a string of words trail off when I realized I had no more vocabulary to pull from. I made up for it with the biggest smiles I could muster, and I dove into each song with a wave of relief. I’ve played a lot of memorable shows in some incredible spots, but that show was hard to top.

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

Good poetry probably influences my writing the most (bad poetry, the least). A good poem can slow down your perceptions and teach you to focus on the beauty and meaning in the small scale and the ordinary. It reminds you of how incredible words can sound when chosen and placed with intention. This year, though, my family and I were living in Madrid and I was trying to read in Spanish. Therefore I didn’t get through as many pages as I might have wished (as my Spanish isn’t what it should be). So lately, I’ve been more influenced by the energy on the Spanish streets, by the sounds from the outdoor bars and mercados, by the clear Iberian light on the colored buildings and in the alleyways.

I wrote and recorded this new album at a time when my family and I were in a kind of mourning after having left Madrid so abruptly. We were attempting to figure out what our world was going to look like during a pandemic, and I wanted to write songs that articulated the hope that a shutdown might actually help us, might crystallize what actually mattered, what we really need to live and be happy and to thrive as a society and an ecosystem. So though literature has long been one of my biggest influences, this project was determined more by place and circumstance.

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

The closing song on my last release, The Faded Red and Blue, is called “This Be Dear to Me.” I wrestled with her for months. The EP is political. It released just before the midterm election in 2018, and each song tried to tackle one of the main issues of the day (immigration, gun violence, Trump, etc.). But I wanted the last song to rise above the fray. I wanted it to be a kind of political love song. Instead of trying to describe the many problems that were plaguing our country, I wanted to aim higher and think positively, and so I tried to list some of what I find most vital, to articulate what is really worth fighting for.

I filled pages and pages of things I love, writing maybe fourteen verses full of examples I believed were universally important. Eventually (and lucky for listeners), I edited it down to four verses. I suppose the thought was that if we could remember some of the things that we all (regardless of our politics) need and love, then maybe we could return to more surface squabbles with a deeper connection and respect for what matters and even for each other. It took a lot out of me to finish the piece. The song is like a kind of hymn or prayer, and singing it kind of feels like praying.

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

I love food so much. And I particularly like waiting to eat until after a show. Somewhere toward the end of a concert I get this major rush when I remember that I’m going to have a big meal after it ends. Sometimes I’ll order Thai or Indian food to the venue and set up a table right onstage after the venue clears out. But that’s not what you’re asking. You want some sort of dream meal/musician combo.

How about a seaside table on the Galician coast (north/northwest coast of Spain) with my wife, probably no kids in the picture yet. Local wine. Seafood just pulled out of the water. For some reason Neil Young is there. But it’s Neil Young from 1971. Huge sideburns. Maybe he just walked the Camino de Santiago. He pulls up a chair. We share our food with him. He’s very hungry after the long walk and so is really grateful for the platters we pass him. Then he notices my guitar and asks if he can borrow it and play us his new material. He plays through Harvest as the sun dips into the Cantabrian Sea.

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

All the time. Well, not so much with my solo work, but I have had a side project, which for the past few years up until the days of Corona had become a primary project, called Son of Town Hall. My British bandmate Ben Parker and I have created a whole fictitious world where we dress in shabby Victorian clothes and travel from show to show by a junk raft that we built. The entire show — every song and every word we say — is in character. Oddly, though, the costumes and the backstory have allowed us to sometimes be even more honest and open than we might otherwise have been comfortable being. The show is very funny. But, despite the artifice, when we are talking about big things (which we do a lot in our show), like the human condition, say, we mean it.


Photo credit: Kerry Sherck

The Haden Triplets Share Their Musical Legacy in ‘The Family Songbook’

“No,” says Tanya Haden, to a question pertaining to the new album she and sisters Petra and Rachel have made. “We don’t yodel.”

She thinks about it a second, as her siblings, sitting to her left around a right-angle sectional in the living room of her Los Angeles home, watch her warily.

“We kind of pretend-yodel sometimes,” she says.

To prove her point, she lets out a half-hearted yodel-ay-eee, to mild laughter.

The subject came up because there are a few songs on the Haden Triplets’ new album, The Family Songbook, in which yodeling would not have been out of place. These songs — “Who Will You Love,” “Ozark Moon,” “Gray Mother Dreaming” and “Memories of Will Rogers” — were written in western style by their grandfather, Carl E. Haden, and were very likely sung by the family band he oversaw.

That included their dad, Charlie Haden, who went on to be one of the most respected and influential jazz double-bassists of the modern era, working with Ornette Coleman, Keith Jarrett and his own groundbreaking groups. But back then he was a very young (and yes, yodeling) tot billed as Little Cowboy Charlie, held up by his mom to the microphone of radio station KWTO, “Keep Watching The Ozarks,” in Springfield, Missouri.

Those songs form the heart of the album, through which the sisters evoke the spirit of that legacy, filling it out with an array of folk/gospel/country/old-timey tunes that were quite likely in the family group’s repertoire. This follow-up to the first album they did together, 2014’s The Haden Triplets, draws heavily on stories passed down of those radio days.

That comes through strongly in such chestnuts as “Wildwood Flower” (the signature song of Mother Maybelle Carter, who rocked young Charlie as a baby when the Carters and Hadens hung out together), “I’ll Fly Away,” “Flee as a Bird” and an incredibly moving version of the gospel challenge “What Will You Give,” all likely part of the old Haden Family repertoire. Connecting this to current times, there’s a beautiful version of “Every Time I Try” (written by the triplets’ older brother Josh, who leads the band Spain) and, more of a wild card, a gorgeous take on Kanye West’s “Say You Will.”

The idea was not to recreate the old days, but to interpret and pay homage. The result is a lovely set of songs full of atmosphere, with contributions from, among others, guitarists Bill Frisell, Greg Leisz, and Doyle Bramhall II, bassists David Piltch and Don Was (as well as Josh on “Every Time I Try”) and drummer Jay Bellerose, all under the watch of producer Woody Jackson.

Yodel or no, they give their grandpa’s songs a tremendously vibrant run, centering on the evanescent harmony blends that can only come from siblings (and, specifically in their case, triplets).

“Those were the most straightforward songs,” says Tanya, who notes that she tends to be the most talkative in the group interviews.

“That’s more like the hillbilly songs on the first record,” Petra adds.

Yes. But figuring out how to approach them was a bit tricky. For most of the songs on the album, there are recorded versions on which to model, some of them many versions. Not these four.

“They’d never been recorded,” Tanya notes. “So we’d never heard them. We only had the sheet music.”

They’d heard a couple of recordings by the Haden Family, though no transcriptions of the regular radio broadcasts seem to exist. After a lot of research hoping to come up with something they did find some KWTO pamphlets and flyers with photos of their ancestors. But little else.

So they made their best guesses as to how best to evoke the aura of those times, with their own sensibilities. The result on those four songs is a sort of cowgirl-harmony effect — you could almost picture the three of them in gingham and ranch hats, leaning against a split-rail fence as they sing.

They’re not sure how their father, who died in in 2014 just months after the triplets released their first album, would have assessed it, though.

“If our dad was around, he probably would have said, ‘Oh no, you don’t do it like that,’” Tanya says.

But they got a strong thumbs-up from their uncle, Carl Jr., who was also part of the family group.

“I sent Carl Jr. the CD and he said he loved it,” Petra says. “He said it brought him to tears.”

Tears also figured into the choice of Josh’s “Every Time I Try,” originally on the 1999 Spain album She Haunts My Dreams, and used by director Wim Wenders in the soundtrack of his movie, The End of Violence.

“[Josh is] such a good songwriter,” says Tanya.

Petra adds, “Our dad used to say all the time that Josh should be rich and famous through that.”

“When he wrote that song, I just related to it so well,” says Tanya. “It’s [about] a relationship that is push and pull. I just love that song. It’s so beautiful. I remember when we were listening to it for the first time. He was all excited, and our grandfather on our mom’s side was listening to it. And he just teared up. He was crying.”

“I hope we did it justice,” says Rachel.

“Because I feel like it’s got this quietness when Josh sings it,” says Tanya. “But it’s hard to get with the three of us.”

And that leads to a key question. Given their close tie to their family, given their family history and given that they’ve been singing together pretty much since the moment they left their mother’s womb: Why did it take them so long to make an album as the Haden Triplets — they were 42 at the time — and why is this only the second one?

The fact is, Petra, Rachel, and Tanya are very different people, with very different lives. Petra has in recent years been in demand as a singer and violinist with artists from Bill Frisell (a frequent collaborator and guest on the album) to the Decemberists, as well as her own covers projects in which she recreates elaborate arrangements of classic songs all with her own layered voice. Rachel, a bassist, has been in various bands, currently including the reunited L.A. indie band, that dog (which, in its original form also included Petra). Tanya, a cellist who has played regularly with Silversun Pickups and numerous other L.A. bands, is mostly active as a visual artist and the mom of two boys.

“It took us a while,” says Tanya. “Between the three of us, we’re so busy. And we’re not like, you know, take the reins and say, ‘Let’s do this.’”

She pauses for a second.

“We also tend to fight a lot.”

Petra and Rachel laugh knowing laughs.

“We all give each other wounds — flesh wounds,” Tanya explains. “It’s hard to work together and get along.”

This is, of course, no surprise to anyone with siblings. Or who is the parent of siblings. Or who knows anyone who has siblings. But those differences are key to making the harmonies on these songs that can only be made by siblings, and here could only be made by triplets. That’s the signature of this album as much as the last one. Pointedly, the album begins with a somberly atmospheric version of the American standard “Wayfaring Stranger,” sung not in harmony, but in unison, the three voices together as one.

That proved a bigger challenge than doing the complex harmonies.

“Yeah, it is really hard,” Petra says.

It happened not so much by design, Rachel starting working out a melody for herself to start.

“Then Petra automatically started singing it too,” Rachel says. “And then it was like, ‘Oh darn! It started!”

“It started to sound good!” Petra says. “It was like, ‘Wow, this sounds really pretty.’”

“And on it there are moments where we’re not singing it exactly on time, you know,” Tanya says. “But it just shows we’re human.”

“It always feels great to come home,” Petra says.

“Come home to the family,” Tanya adds. “There’s nothing like singing with your siblings. We’re all locked in and we sound great together. And I do a lot of singing with other people, but it’s with my sisters that is most special to me.”


Photo credit: Shervin Lainez

LISTEN: Edan Archer, “Scenes from a Spanish Cantina”

Artist: Edan Archer
Hometown: Gainesville, Florida, generally nomadic though 🙂
Song: “Scenes from a Spanish Cantina”
Album: Journey Proud
Release Date: August 2, 2019

In Their Words: “This song was inspired by Miami, where I spent many years, both as a young child and later as an adult. The rhythm is a kind of samba and references the drum schools of Brazil where ‘all of the dancers come, and all of the little drums.’ It also contains imagery of fleeting love and celebrating — roses going for a dollar and a half, Valentine’s chocolates melting in the sun of a street market. The singer is warned not to go ‘running with the leader of the band,’ but when the drums play in the street, the dancers still come, and in the moment, it’s worth it.

“My grandmother was from Cuba and my mom also grew up in Spain, so I’ve always loved Latin music and felt a special connection with it. I do speak Spanish and sing in Spanish also. I learned traditional Cuban songs from my uncles and even sang Spanish songs at their funerals. I sang in the Brazilian ensemble in college and developed a love of Samba and big percussion. We also spent most summers in Mexico so mariachi and ranchero music are faves too. I loved being able to combine all my influences in this album, and that had to include something with a Latin vibe.” — Edan Archer


Photo credit: Gregg Roth

Courtney Hartman Steps Into a Solo Career With ‘Ready Reckoner’

Courtney Hartman told only a few people about her plans. She bought a transatlantic plane ticket, packed a small bag of clothes, and flew to Spain to hike the Camino de Santiago. It’s a 500-mile hike along old pilgrimage routes in rural Spain, an arduous journey that often prompts a spiritual journey. During that 40-day trek she would step off the trail, pull out her specially-made, travel-ready guitar, and sing a few bars into her phone. Eventually those voice memos — those notes to herself, journal entries chronicling her trip — coalesced into songs that ended up on her solo debut, Ready Reckoner.

It is not, however, an album about walking or wanderlust. Rather, it’s about motion: the physical movement that propels oneself along a path, but also the spiritual motion it takes to gain a deeper understand of your place in the world — in particular, your place in the world as an artist. Drawing from the music she made as a member of Della Mae, Ready Reckoner forays into new territory: folk and pop, of course, but also jazz, avant garde composition, drones, even musique concrète. It’s often dark but just as often hopeful, as Hartman traces the both subtle and sublime changes that she is still going through.

BGS: What took you to Spain?

Hartman: I think anybody that I met on the trail had a similar story. There was something that started popping up on their radar[s] over and over until they couldn’t ignore it anymore. That’s what happened with me. I had friends who had gone over there and I was listening to several albums that were influenced by that region of Spain.

Also, two of my writing heroes are Anne Lamott and Mary Oliver. While I was teaching writing at different summer camps, I would talk about how they talk about writing and walking. In the books they’ve written, they talk about how good it is to go out and walk. That would be my assignment to students: Go take a walk in the woods and do some writing.

At one point I realized that I was giving this assignment, but I’d never done it myself. I wanted to know if that was something I could do, if that was a way of creating that would resonate with me. And then a cheap flight to Spain popped up and I bought. I had 24 hours to cancel and I didn’t. So I went!

How did you prepare musically and creatively for such a trip?

I called Dana Bourgeois, who has built a number of guitars for me. I said, Dana, I’m doing this thing and I haven’t told anybody. What do you think would be the sturdiest, most lightweight, best-sounding guitar I could take? And he said, well, what if we build you something? So they did. They weighed out every single component of the guitar and then I had somebody build a guitar sling for me. And then I walked and I wrote. I took me forty days. There’s something about the repetition and the movement, let alone being out in the open.

What did you learn from that experience?

I learned so much, but one of the things that kept occurring to me is that you’re carrying the weight of your belongings with you every day. It didn’t matter if I wrote anything or played anything that day. I still had to carry the weight. There was a point when someone helped me go through my bag and decide what was necessary.

You think you’ve really narrowed it down, and then you’re like, okay, I guess I’ll get rid of this extra layer of clothes. But every night I would think, no I need this or I need that. I need this because I’m afraid of what might happen without it. So I learned that our needs and fears are linked. But I didn’t need that extra layer of clothes, even though I thought I did. When that snow came — that’s what I was afraid of — I made it through.

Did that change your perspective on music?

I want to say that I need to be writing songs or I need to be making music, that they’re my life source. But I don’t need to write or play. Those are extra gifts. I would survive without them. I don’t want to. Don’t ask me to. But I think letting go allowed me to hold them a little more loosely or with a bit more gentleness, instead of clinging to them or gripping them too tightly.

Often, writing meant stepping away from the trail. It meant taking my guitar down or taking my pen out or singing voice memos. I have hours and hours of endless mumbling. You step away from the people you’re walking with, and you might not see them again for a few days or even a week. Or maybe never again. It’s very much like life that way.

That experience seems to inform this album in ways that are very explicit. Even just the sound of footfalls on “Too Much.”

About half the album came directly from songs I wrote on the trail. But it’s not a walking record. It’s just a shot of where I’ve been the last year. I worked on it while I was staying in a little wagon in Oregon for a couple of days, just trying to finish putting together takes and sequences. I would walk and listen. But the album pretty evenly spread out between songs I wrote before, during and after walking. The first track I wrote was “January First,” and I wrote all the other songs later that year. I don’t know that it always works that way.

Tell me about the album title. Why did those words resonate with you?

I was obsessed with the word reckon. I was reckoning with myself and my work, reckoning with the relationship to the music I was making, reckoning with whether I should even be doing it at all. That word felt like it had a lot of motion, so I looked it up and found that a ready reckoner was at one point the name of a hard-copy calculator. A merchant might have a ready reckoner, which is essentially a book of tables. I found one from 1905 for sale and ordered it on Amazon, as you do. I keep it in my guitar case. It’s this tiny, beautiful book with all these weird calculations for things. I felt like these songs were trying to calculate something, trying to get to a formula or an equation.

There was some trepidation on your part about recording this record and taking on the role of co-producer. How did you reckon with that?

Shahzad Ismaily, my co-producer, could have easily taken the wheel and produced this record himself, and I think I would have felt good about that. But he believed very strongly that that was not his role. He wanted mostly to be engineering. He was pushing me to make the decisions that needed to be made and to listen more deeply. Just by stepping away he became a guiding hand. I didn’t want to be producing this record but I’m grateful that he was able to ease me into that place.

And I realized that I really love it. It’s such a different space. I’ve produced one other record for a band since then, and I want to do more. There aren’t a lot of women in that role. The studio can be a very intimidating place for women who are trying to explore and learn and admit what often feel like deficiencies, but if I’m able to do that in the future, I hope I can make that space feel comfortable and gracious and open.

I remember I was so afraid to record this album, so when I went into the studio the first day, I was reading through some of my walking journals. I opened the first page, and I was writing about feeling terrified. It was the same feeling I had about going into the studio, but it’s exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. We learn the exact thing in so many ways over and over. Or we don’t learn it at all. Maybe that’s the thing. Maybe I didn’t learn anything.


Photo credit: Shervin Lainez

Baylen’s Brit Pick: Joana Serrat

Artist: Joana Serrat
Hometown: Vic, Spain (Okay, okay. I know this is called “Brit Pick” and Spain is decidedly not in Britain, but Joana is signed to a British label, gigs in the UK often, and is just so good that I wanted to tell you about her, so forgive me for not staying in my lane on the left side of the street.)

Latest Album: Dripping Springs

Sounds Like: Mazzy Star, Slowdive, Mojave 3 with the slightest hint of a Spanish accent

Why You Should Listen: We all like to get a bit dreamy sometimes and, what with everything going on in the world at the moment and the daily grind determined to keep us in our place, we could all use a little trip — even if it’s only in our minds. If drugs aren’t your thing (or even if they are), try Joana Serrat, as she is clearly the key to another place. That’s not to say her music isn’t completely grounded — it is. Grounded in Americana, grounded in Texas where Dripping Springs was recorded, grounded in Spain where she’s from, and grounded in real emotion, which her music has plenty of.

So, while her feet are firmly planted on the ground, her head is clearly in the clouds, and that’s a wonderful thing. With Dripping Springs being produced by Israel Nash, and featuring musicians from Trampled by Turtles and Midlake, I’d expect nothing less. Joana proves the point that Americana is bigger than a geographical region, bigger than a strict set of rules, and bigger than me and you. It’s a feeling, and Dripping Springs is dripping with feeling.

It’s a trip, man. And it’s one you deserve to take. Go on, let yourself go. Joana Serrat is waiting to take you to a better place.


Photo credit: Joan Alsina


As a radio and TV host, Baylen Leonard has presented country and Americana shows, specials, and commentary for BBC Radio 2, Chris Country Radio, BBC Radio London, BBC Radio 2 Country, BBC Radio 4, BBC Scotland, Monocle 24, and British Airways, as well as promoting artists through his work with the Americana Music Association UK, the Nashville Meets London Festival, and the Long Road (the UK’s newest outdoor country, Americana, and roots festival). Follow him on Twitter: @HeyBaylen