Tag: Squared Roots

Squared Roots: Scott Biram on the Legend of Lead Belly

Posted on by Editor

Though Lead Belly was merely a man, his story reads like the stuff of legends. He had multiple encounters with the law, was sentenced to a chain gang, escaped, killed a relative, and got thrown back in the hoosegow, earned himself a pardon because the governor was a fan. But then he stabbed someone else and got put back in prison, this time in Angola, where Alan and John Lomax found him. He was released, again, after serving his minimum and pleading with the governor, but committed a second stabbing, in the late ’30s. All the while, he so impressed everyone who heard him that he also landed himself in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Known primarily for playing 12-string guitar, Lead Belly also played the piano, mandolin, harmonica, violin, and diatonic accordion on the hundreds of songs he recorded over the course of his all-too-brief career.

Texas songwriter Scott Biram grew up on those songs and, later, learned the stories that went with them. In his own bluesy, folky, soulful Americana style, Biram hears the inevitable echoes of Lead Belly coming through, including on his latest release, The Bad Testament. The influence is there in the miscegenation of musical styles, but also in the way Biram approaches his role as raconteur.   

Why Lead Belly?

Well, Doc Watson was taken! [Laughs]

[Laughs] Fair point.

I would definitely say he’s among my biggest influences — Doc and Townes Van Zandt are my other two. Lead Belly has been in my life my whole life. My dad listened to him a lot when I was a kid. I have quite a few songs where I do a little rant in the middle, where it’s not really singing as much as it’s telling a little story or saying something. I think I got that from listening to Lead Belly.

Right. Must be nice to have parents who listened to cool music. I grew up on Barry Manilow and Dionne Warwick.

[Laughs] There was definitely a lot of Eagles and Crosby, Stills, and Nash at my house. But my dad listened to a lot of Doc Watson and Lightnin’ Hopkins and stuff like that.

I can see why he would gravitate toward that stuff. Lead Belly really did have a singular style — this mix of blues, folk, gospel, and country on a 12-string guitar. What was it that spoke to you in that mish-mosh or maybe it was the mish-mosh?

I think a lot of it had to do with just being a part of my life when I was a kid with my dad listening to it so much. We had this vinyl record that was the soundtrack to the film Lead Belly which is a pretty obscure movie, not really easy to find. I think they filmed it in ’76 or something like that. I was a little kid. They filmed it in the little town that I lived in and I was in my dad’s arms on the edge of the set while they were filming the scene where Lead Belly shot his friend and went to prison.

Well, one of the times he went to prison …

One of the times … yeah. [Laughs] So I heard that soundtrack a lot, which wasn’t actually Lead Belly playing on the soundtrack. It was Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee and someone named Hi Tide Harris who I haven’t been able to find too much on, even with the Internet.

Once I got into roots music, when I was a little older and started playing bluegrass and started really playing the guitar a lot and learning blues, Lead Belly was just naturally somebody that I gravitated toward. And his story is so interesting. I read all the biographies. I read a lot of biographies on musicians that influence me so that I don’t just have a shallow knowledge of them. If I’m going to be playing some of their music, I want to definitely know as much about them as possible.

That’s awesome. I had never studied much of his life until prepping for this. But, I mean … the guy recorded hundreds of songs, worked with the Lomaxes, had a radio show on WNYC, went to Europe, and was in and out of prison multiple times — sang his way out of jail a couple times — all before dying at 50 or 51. That’s some hard living. Can you imagine spending even a couple years in his shoes?

No. [Laughs] I mean, I can imagine, but I’m probably not going to do a very good job of imagining what something like that would be like. I’m just a guitar player. [Laughs] Actually, he only sang himself out of prison once. There’s a legend about him that he sang himself out twice, but really, the second time was kind of exaggerated. I think he was in prison in Louisiana, at that time, and he got out on something called “good time” which is, I think, probably good behavior.

Right. He served his minimum and got out. Here was an interesting thing that I learned: He played at the Apollo, but the Harlem audience didn’t really resonate with him as deeply as the folkies did. He had a lot in common with Woody Guthrie, maybe more so than some of the old blues guys, but why do you think the Black audience didn’t connect?

First of all, he was a country guy. And I don’t mean country music; I mean from the rural South. So I’m not sure anyone from New York would really see it as anything but a spectacle, at that time. But, also, I wonder — and I’m just guessing here — I know that John Lomax used to kind of have him dressed up in a prison uniform and stuff like that, kind of clown him around out there and make him seem like he was just straight from the prison. I imagine that might have been a turn-off to some people in Harlem back then. I know Woody Guthrie, when he went to New York and was supposed to be on something and they wanted him to dress, as he described it, “as a clown,” he said he’d be back in a few minutes, went downstairs, and left. Didn’t even come back to the studio. [Laughs]

[Laughs] Yeah. I read that Life magazine did a three-page spread on Lead Belly and the title of the article is not something I’m going to repeat.

Yeah, I get ya.

And it was considered an honor that he was getting this prominent placement. But it makes sense that the minstrel thing wouldn’t fly.

It might’ve been a turn-off to people in Harlem. If there was anyone from the South who lived in Harlem at that time, they probably weren’t impressed by it because, to them, it was just a reminder of what they just left.

The other thing I love about listening to his stuff and pouring over his stories is that he lived through an era of history that was rife with huge moments and he documented history as it happened, writing songs about the Titanic, the Hindenburg, Jim Crow, FDR, Hitler, etc. Pete Seeger carried his style forward. Bob Dylan, to a certain extent. Who else do you hear carrying the Lead Belly torch?

You mean documenting history as it happens?

Yeah. Ani DiFranco does a bit, which she picked up from Pete Seeger.

Honestly, nobody comes to mind that is documenting current events in music so much that it’s actual historical stories in the songs. There are a lot of people saying their thoughts about the current states of everything, but I can’t think of anyone that actually sings a story about a tragedy.

Santiago Jiménez, Jr. — Flaco Jiménez’s brother — has a record called El Corrido de Esequiel Hernandez: Tragedia de Redford. The album is titled after the song about a kid in Redford, Texas, down in the desert on the border, who was walking his goats one day and the guys in the DEA or Border Patrol came and shot him because he had a rifle walking, like he did every day, with his goats. He was basically a shepherd and he got shot. That’s the only one I can think of that pops out and that’s not a popular artist or anything. [Laughs]

[Laughs] Right. I was just thinking Hurray for the Riff Raff does it a little bit. Rhiannon Giddens, a little. But no one to the same extent. I mean, if you read Lead Belly’s song titles, you can trace history.

A lot of the time you have to listen to it as “The Hindenburg Disaster, Part I” and “Part II” because they couldn’t fit the whole song on the single. They had to put it on both sides!

Squared Roots: Jane Siberry in Praise of Leonard Cohen

Posted on by Editor

True songwriting heroes are a rare breed and, in roots music, a few names take up more space than all the others combined — names like Hank Williams, Woody Guthrie, Townes Van Zandt, Dolly Parton, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and John Prine. For artists on the darker end of the spectrum, from Jeff Buckley to Amanda Shires, Leonard Cohen would also make that list, if not top it, because of how Cohen's incredibly mystical and oddly majestic way with a pen burrowed its way deep into the souls of his listeners. For proof of how the song is often bigger than the singer, look no further than the power and proliferation of "Hallelujah," his best-known composition which has been covered by dozens of singers over the past few decades. Tenderness and thoughtfulness pervade Cohen's work, winding their way around and through his sometimes eccentric, always captivating perspectives.

One of the singer/songwriters who came up in the wake of Cohen is Jane Siberry. A fellow Canadian, Siberry has also blazed her own artistic trail littered with mysticism. Reaching back to songs like "Bound by the Beauty," "Love Is Everything," and "Calling All Angels" all the way through to her latest release, Angels Bend Closer, Siberry never shies away from life's big questions and contemplations. Rather, like Cohen, she pours herself into them, exploring every nook and cranny through song and serving as a docent for those willing to follow.

As folks have reminisced about him since his passing, it seems like almost everyone has a Leonard-related tale to tell … either a personal encounter or a meaningful musical moment. You taught yourself guitar with his songs, right?

Yes. When I was 16, I moved away from home. I had played piano up til then. So I bought a cheap guitar and started learning from my sister's guitar songbooks. She had Leonard Cohen's, which had a very clear tablature. It even showed the rhythm of the finger-picking, which was fantastic and easy, so I learned to play his songs. The only songs I learned were from Songs of Leonard Cohen — “Sisters of Mercy” and “Suzanne” and all of those.

Did you have any interactions with him as you were coming up in music?

No, I didn't really. I just always really respected him, when I'd hear him speak in public. I think we met once or twice.

What do you think it was that made him not just so great, but also so special?

What's the difference?

Well, I think there are great artists, but there are also ones who are really special in terms of who they are and how they affect people. To me, it seems like many of the ones we've lost this year — David Bowie, Prince, Sharon Jones, and Leonard Cohen — they were all both great and special. And I think their passings have hit people especially hard. Does that make sense?

Yeah. I think it's pretty simple. It's not just about being great. We love them. We love ourselves through them.

In addition to both being Canadian, you are both more than just musicians. Authors, poets, performance artists … was he a bit of a role model for you?

I've never liked the term “performance artist,” but “entertainer” …

Got it.

A role model, as a musician, yes. I really thought he was underrated as a musician. I found his chord changes really beautiful and his phrasing beautiful. I think there's a similarity in what we draw from in the musical atmosphere, in that some people say he used a lot of “church chord changes.” That really isn't what it is. It's that there's a completion at the end of the song or at the end of choruses, like Irish folk songs. Like “The Water's Wide,” I think a lot of people would call it “churchy” in the way that the chorus lifts and the way you're allowed to draw out the end like a soft touch on a cheek when you say goodbye to someone.

There's also the similarity in that you both explore deeper emotional and spiritual themes in your songs. Neither of you are afraid of those. So, even a simple-sounding song isn't necessarily simple-minded. It feels like, to me, with both of you, that music is always sacred or has the potential to be. Is that maybe part of that church-sounding potential?

Most of the world, other than the First World, uses music as a way to pray. I think it's natural and organic. Drawn up from our primal selves. I consider music as one of the few ways to connect in a way that's meaningful to so many people. If it works on a lot of levels, it's generous and people can draw more from it — as much or as little as they want because it works on a lot of levels. To me, a good song should sound good, even if you don't know what it's about. It should feel good, whether it's the chording or the rhythm that you tap your fingers to. But, if you look deeper, it's also … I guess I'm saying that a song can be as rich as life is or humans are, if you want it to be. That's multi-purpose, so I guess that's why I said “generous,” if you're offering something in that way. I also consider humor as sacred. Those are the only two places where I go slightly bonkers. Humor and music are sacred to me.

Thinking of those layers of what a song can do … “Hallelujah” feels a perfect song. And not just due to its technical structure or melodic beauty, but also because it can be interpreted so differently depending on who is singing and who is listening.

Yeah. The first time I heard it, I loved that he was describing what he was doing musically — “the fourth, the fifth.” I thought, “Oh, yeah, that's how they do that. Amazing!” [Laughs] Then I started listening to the words … I remember being in Belfast and the opening guest was a choir from Belfast and they sang “Hallelujah.” They all had smiles on their faces. After I said, and I didn't mean to make people feel embarrassed, but I said, “That's the best version I've heard of a song about erotic requests and orgasm and its manifestation.” Because it is about that. And it's like, “WOW. You sing 'hallelujah' and it becomes” … [Laughs] He must have had a good laugh about that, too. Maybe people in the choir knew that and were having their own laugh about it, too. But it's very funny, I think, to hear a choir sing it with a smile on their face. [Laughs]

[Laughs] It was interesting to read up on the song. Different people who've done it have different interpretations of what it means to them. Jeff Buckley agrees with you, but k.d. lang has a slightly different take. But, I mean, he wrote more than 80 verses for the damn thing.

Did he?!

Yeah! Different people have picked different verses to sing and I think maybe the Jeff Buckley version has become a bit of a standard model.

That makes so much sense. I think that's the real way to operate as a musician. You offer different verses to different people and they make it their own. I think that's great. People get so precious about the right words. That's so cool.

I feel like your “Calling All Angels” is also a perfect song.

Someone took the publishing rights to “Suzanne,” so he never got money from it. But, later, his understanding was that that wasn't the kind of song he should ever benefit from monetarily. I see “Calling All Angels” the same way. But, every now and then, when it's in a film, I benefit from it, which I really like. [Laughs] But everything I make goes into more music.

I do feel like there's a constellation of musicians wherein our stars are a bit closer. And I feel that about me and Leonard Cohen and the people who influenced me when I was young, like Joni Mitchell and Neil Young — people I really trusted when they spoke to my 15-year-old ears. I trusted them. There was a connection.

I do connect with Leonard Cohen in that way. I know he talks about how everyone's “in service.” The first temptation is sort of getting the word “service” clear. It's not, “I'm gonna go out and fix the world.” It's more like, “I think I need to clean up my own backyard before I ever use the word 'service.'” I feel so lucky in my life. I always feel rich and that I need to give back. I want to spread the wealth, so to speak.

Jane Siberry photo by Sophia Canales. Leonard Cohen photo courtesy of the artist.

Squared Roots: BJ Barham on the Brilliance of Bruce Springsteen

Posted on by Editor

Bruce Springsteen. What, really, is there to write about him that hasn't been written thousands of times? (Although this ranking of all his songs is awfully cool!) He's a working-class hero, a thinking-man's poet, an activist-artist, a national treasure, and a songwriter's songwriter with 18 albums and millions of record sales to his credit. Over the past five decades, Springsteen has witnessed and documented in song the American dream — its promise, its realization, and its demise. For that, he can also be credited as an oral historian.

To American Aquarium's BJ Barham, Springsteen is also the greatest ever. Full stop. On his recent solo debut, Rockingham, Barham puts that admiration and influence on full display, working through an Americana song cycle about small-town living with a gruff voice and a simple message.

What is it, for you, that makes Springsteen so great?

Springsteen, for me — and I've argued this with plenty of people — he's simply the greatest American songwriter we've ever seen. [Bob] Dylan's good. I really like Dylan a lot. I really like Tom Petty a lot. Dylan wrote a lot of artsy, abstract stuff, too. Springsteen always writes to the core of America. Springsteen writes songs that 21-year-old hipsters in East Nashville can relate to or, you can play them for my father, and he relates to the same exact verbiage, same exact song. It's timeless. You play Thunder Road, you play Born to Run … you play anything from Born to Run and it could've happened today; it could've happened in the '60s.

There aren't many songwriters that we come across in this business that have that ability. And I'm one of the countless songwriters who spent my entire 20s at the “Church of Springsteen” and am, really, sometimes just doing a pale imitation. Everybody who writes songs about small-town living that comes out and says Springsteen didn't influence their music are liars. [Laughs]

He taught me that you can have a guitar and three chords and tell people stories about where you're from and people will relate to it. There's no greater lesson that I have learned than from Springsteen: Write what you know. He made New Jersey sound romantic. That's how good Bruce Springsteen is. New Jersey is a terrible place. Springsteen is the only guy who can make New Jersey sound appealing or romantic or nice or not a shithole. I can say this because my bass player and my guitar player are both from New Jersey.

Having never been to New Jersey, on my first tour, I made sure to book a gig in Asbury Park. On the way up, I was like, “Man, this is going to be a game-changer. This is going to be life-altering!” Then, you pull up to Asbury Park, New Jersey, and you're like, “What the hell?!” [Laughs] “Did they do nuclear testing here after the Springsteen records came out?! Maybe this is the desolate wasteland that came after the vibrant city he painted picture of …” Then you realize, that's how good Springsteen is. He's such a good writer, he can make New Jersey sound like a hotspot tourist destination.

Being a guy from a small town that's not really desirable in too many different ways, it taught me that you can sing about what you know — sing about things that are close to you — in a way that made it relatable to the rest of the world. On my new record, Rockingham, all of these songs are about my hometown. They are all about a very specific time and place. And I attempted to make these songs so that somebody in Anchorage, Alaska, or somebody in Wichita, Kansas, can hear these songs and put themselves in these characters' shoes. That's what Springsteen taught me, that most of us have the same perspective.

It's interesting what you said about how his old records are still just as relevant today. That's great for him — that he's able to write such timeless pieces. But it's also a little bit sad for us — that there's been very little progress.

Very much so. If Springsteen came around today, he wouldn't exist as Bruce Springsteen. He would've put out his first record, Greetings from Asbury Park, and he would've been dropped from his label immediately because he only sold 100,000 copies. And he might live in obscurity. If Springsteen came out today, he'd be one of the guys who're on the road 200 days a year playing in empty bars singing songs about common people. It was the right place, right time for Springsteen. Luckily, Columbia Records gave him three shots. That's unheard of today.

Well, he was a critical favorite, right out of the gate, some 43 years ago. But, you're right, the big sales didn't come along until later.

Don't get me wrong, by '84 or '85, that man was playing football stadiums — a level of fame, arguably, nobody today really understands … unless you're Beyoncé.

Right. A singer/songwriter doesn't do that.

Nobody walks into Giants Stadium and plays, at the root of it, folk music. Don't get me wrong: He had the bombastic band and, in the '80s, he made the horrible decision to add synthesizers to everything; but, at the base of everything, those are three-chord folk songs. Nebraska is a great example of what Springsteen sounds like in his room just playing an acoustic guitar.

I was just listening to Nebraska and Tom Joad. That's John Moreland. That's Jason Isbell. That's Lori McKenna. Those are the artists making that kind of music today. But, yeah, they are, at best, playing a nice theatre or maybe a small shed.

If you look at some of the outtakes from Nebraska … “Born in the U.S.A.” was supposed to be on Nebraska and there are acoustic versions floating around of demos he did for “Born in the U.S.A.” It's a haunting folk song about the reality of the Vietnam War and what it did to the American psyche. But, if you talk to anybody my age about “Born in the U.S.A.,” it's, “Oh, that's that cheesy Springsteen song.” It's all because of that synth line that makes it danceable and pop-py and sellable. But, when you strip everything away from any of his songs, they're John Moreland, they're Jason Isbell. They're everybody that we look up to today in the Americana scene. Springsteen just put 20 instruments over the top of it to sell it.

But he was a product of his environment. That's what was going on in New Jersey. If you wanted to play on the beach, you had to have a band that made people dance. He learned that, as long as he had the band to make people move, he can sell it mainstream. And he got to sneak in all these amazing poems. The best part about it was, America thought, “This is really catchy.” But they were listening to, in my opinion, the greatest American songwriter ever to write songs.

It's interesting because, I think, those are the people — much like Ronald Reagan trying to use it for a campaign song — they weren't listening. They're listening on the surface to the riff and the chorus, but they weren't actually tuning into it.

And it blows my mind because the first line of that song is such an epic line: “Born down in a dead man's town. The first kick I took was when I hit the ground.” WHAT?! [Laughs]

[Laughs] So do you have a favorite era or album? Or can you not pick?

For me, it's Born to Run. It's eight songs. It's perfect. A 47-minute record. It's funny that my debut is an eight-song, 45-minute record.

[Laughs] Hmmm. That is interesting.

[Laughs] Springsteen taught me that, nowadays, everybody wants to put out 16-song records with a five-song bonus disc, if you get the deluxe edition. Born to Run, arguably one of the best records that will ever be made, in my opinion … eight songs. It's the perfect four songs on each side of vinyl. I can't even get started. “Jungleland” … I still cry.

Every generation has great songwriters. For my generation, Isbell is that … for me. He's playing big theatres. Let's be generous and say he's playing for 3,000 people per theatre. That's one-tenth of what Springsteen was playing. We'll never see anything like what Springsteen was. It was a cultural phenomenon, the fact that America rallied around a songwriter. Beyoncé is lucky to sell out a football stadium now and she had 16 ghostwriters on every one of her songs. Springsteen was a guaranteed sell-out. So, if he booked a football stadium, he might have to book two or three nights because it sold out so quickly. I don't think we'll ever see that again, in our lifetime. It was such a perfect storm.

Looking back, I don't understand how it happened. It's like if John Moreland got famous, or someone you loved in your record collection that you wondered why nobody else knew about them got extraordinarily famous. The closest we have, to me, is Isbell. Knowing him pre-Southeastern and going to one of his shows now and seeing how big it is, it's still not even a speck on what Springsteen was, which is hard to wrap your head around.

For more songwriters admiring songwriters, read our Squared Roots interview with Lori McKenna.

Photo of BJ Barham by Joshua Black Wilkins. Photo of Bruce Springsteen courtesy of the artist.

Squared Roots: LP on the Only, Lonely Roy Orbison

Posted on by Editor

Roy Orbison was the kind of artist who defied all qualifiers and quantifiers. His voice, alone, stops time. And his songs stand the test of it. Though Orbison had myriad contemporaries, he had no counterparts. Not really. His indelible talent and understated style collided to create a mesmerizingly mysterious allure. Across his more than 30 years in music, Orbison earned six Grammy awards, four inductions into various music halls of fame, and numerous hit records going all the way back to “Ooby Dooby” in the mid-1950s.

Similarly enigmatic, singer/songwriter LP has fun with both form and function. Taking cues from Orbison's operatic vocal timbre and cinematic lyrical bent, her latest release, Death Valley, finds her digging into her roots in a different way than on previous efforts.

There are several aspects of him that I want to get into, but give me the nutshell … for you, why Roy?

It's really the emotion. I strive to infuse the kind of emotion that he infused into his singing and his lyrics. That would be a benchmark for me. I can relate to him. He didn't look in the mirror and go, “I should be in show business. I'm fucking beautiful!” [Laughs] “The world should see me! I gotta a real face for radio.”

[Laughs] “I'm a STAR!”

Yeah. “I'm a star!” He was in it because he couldn't not do it. I relate to that, as well. I still hear stuff of his that I'm like, “WOW. What in the hell is that song?!” I always love it. He's a singer, for me, that I don't have to know the song. Besides the unbelievable songwriting, he's the kind of guy who can carry a 24-piece orchestra — or more. Or he can carry it off with just a guitar. There's just something about him. He strips you bare of expectation and artifice. He's a total rock star and he looks like one, but not your typical one. So many things … I could go on and on. There's a truth, an essential core of legitimacy and authenticity, that he gives that's impossible to argue with, in my opinion.

Let's break it down: the voice. His vocal range and control was staggering. I'm guessing you've studied him quite a bit, yeah? As a singer, is that intimidating or inspiring?

It's inspiring. I love singers who have several voices, that can do a bunch of different shit. That's always turned me on. I've always felt that was a cool thing to have. He could sing super-low or sing in falsetto. It's intimidating, for sure. But, if he were alive and I had to open for him, I'd be like, “Hell yeah! I'm excited.” [Laughs] He makes me want to sing. When I do covers of stuff, I look out for singers who make me want to sing. I almost can't control myself from singing.

That's a good segue into the songs. In terms of his structures, he blurred quite a few lines and pushed just as many envelopes. But everything was still accessible, though not necessarily immediately accessible. What do you think it was about that? He attributed his compositional eccentricity to never having learned the so-called “right” way to write. There's a certain freedom in that, I guess.

Like “Running Scared” … he had a bunch of different songs that I felt, like you said, defied structure, that were an ongoing …

Like an aria or something?

Yeah. They drew you in and were catchy on repeated listens, but were also, as far as the initial stab of the song, you were like, “Wow. I am enthralled by where this emotional content and this emotional arc is going to go.” That's not that common. It's not common at all. There's not anyone else I know who you can just fall back and say, “Wherever this guy goes, I'm going with him.” [Laughs] He forces you to go along, and I love that.

“Running Scared,” for sure, and “Crying,” as well, encapsulate what makes him so special as both a singer and a writer. What are some other Orbison tunes that really do it for you?

I love “It's Over.” That one … that's another one that just keeps going. It's a story, basically. You feel like you're right there. Then he manages — and I don't know how he does it — but on repeated listens of that song, you keep going, almost like you're watching a movie where you're like, “Oh my God. This is that part!” And you can see the part where it's his face looking at the other guy who he thinks might make his tenuous new relationship turn around and run back. Even though I know, ultimately, she's going to come with him, every time I listen to that song, I'm like, “Fuck! Is she going to go back to that guy?!” [Laughs] I don't know how he does it. That's what's so crazy!

[Laughs] Part of that, potentially, is his style. You touched on that earlier. Music aside, there was something about his persona … he was a blank slate, so the listener could project anything on him. His style didn't get in the way of him being a storyteller.

Yeah, totally. He told all these different stories, but there was inherent pain in his voice. And, when you delved further into him and read about his life, there was a lot of pain in there. It definitely came through. But he wasn't often, at least to my knowledge, literal. He skirted and told stories that got his pain across. A lot of his songs are also inherently lonely which his life was very indicative of, and he sang a lot about being lonely, in general. That's an emotion that 99 percent of the world — from the most successful to the least successful person — can relate to.

Sometimes you're in a relationship and you're lonely, which I just went through with my last relationship. And I think a lot of people can relate to that, too. You can be lonely for a lot of things. You can be lonely for a good life, a good love … all kinds of things. And he managed to loop them all in together so that, whether you were having love problems or life problems, you could sit down and commiserate.

LP photo courtesy of the artist. Roy Orbison photo credit: nico7martin via Source / CC BY.

Squared Roots: Grant-Lee Phillips on the Ageless Spirit of Neil Young

Posted on by Editor

The list of singer/songwriters who cite Neil Young at or near the top of their influences is overflowing with names … and with good reason. From his early Buffalo Springfield days on through his most recent solo efforts, the man has carved out a legacy that spans nearly 40 albums across six decades. Songs like “Tell Me Why,” “Down by the River,” “Heart of Gold,” “Rockin' in the Free World,” “Southern Man,” and countless others offer a master class in what it means and takes to be a songwriter of humbly epic proportions.

Grant-Lee Phillips proudly proffers his name to that lengthy list of Neil Young disciples. Having come of age, musically speaking, in a scene that included R.E.M., Robyn Hitchcock, the Pixies, and Bob Mould, Phillips has written his fair share of alt-rock anthems. Underneath that Sturm und Drang, though, has always been a lover of roots music, and Phillips lets that side of himself shine brightly on his latest release, The Narrows.

What's your favorite Neil Young era and why? He has so many different incarnations.

That's true. Goodness. I mean, I was exposed to Neil Young around the time I was maybe 14, 15, 16. I had a 45 of “Heart of Gold,” then I went and saw him when he came through the Bay Area on his Trans tour. He played the Cow Palace all by himself. That kind of opened up my mind. But I found that I instantly began to back-track. I got into the album Decade which was that great collection. Essentially, all of that stuff: After the Gold Rush, Harvest, Tonight's the Night … all of that stuff made the most lasting impression.

So, early era. I would say that's probably true for a lot of people.

Yeah. Now, that said, I was totally into Harvest Moon, as well. I love all of those songs, as well. He's one of those people I've been able to see over the years, to hear him play live and be on a few festival bills where I got to get really up close near the man.

Nice. He's stated his fondness for Elvis, Little Richard, Fats Domino, Jerry Lee Lewis, and a bunch of other early rock 'n' roll pioneers. In what ways do you hear those cats coming through his music?

Oh, wow.

[Laughs] Right? I'm not letting you off easy on this thing, man.

[Laughs] There's definitely a reverence for the roots of rock 'n' roll and all of that primitive, hot blood stuff you mentioned. I read somewhere that Link Wray was even a big influence. I think of that music as being the basic building blocks that inform everything that we consider to be rock 'n' roll today. So, yeah, all of those songs that pertained to dancing, that metaphor — “life as a dance” — I hear all of that kind of stuff merging in Neil Young.

I think what attracted me to his work is that it has all of the strengths of melody and the strengths of poetry, but it has this other element … the element of spirit. And that's really where he operates. He touches upon these feelings that are ageless. It doesn't matter that the songs are written or recorded 50-odd years ago or yesterday; it's pertinent today.

Along those lines, with his guitar playing, is there a technical aspect to what he does that you and so many others admire or is it all about the heart and guts of it?

Yeah, you hit upon it: It's the guts. [Laughs] Yeah. For him, there's a sense that there's a very short electrical nerve between his impulse and his hands. It goes beyond all the technique, beyond whatever knobs he turns to acquire such sounds. Just plug it in, turn it up, and let the emotion rush over you. The greatest musicians in the world … it doesn't matter how well-schooled or how many hours they've spent practicing in the mirror, they could learn something from Neil Young. [Laughs]

[Laughs] How would your music be different without Neil Young in the world?

I can't even imagine what my music would be like, if I hadn't been turned on to Neil Young. I don't know. It might suffer from too much head and not enough heart. There's music for all parts of the body. Some people make music that's appealing to the heavens. I feel like Van Morrison is like that. And some of it's meant to appeal to the butt region. [Laughs]

[Laughs] The lower, nether regions.

[Laughs] Yeah, yeah … the butt chakra.


Photo credit: kyonokyonokyono via Foter.com / CC BY.

To me, another part that's so appealing about him and is a huge part of his legacy is his activism — all the way from “Ohio” and other songs to his Bridge School Benefits and everything else he does. He walks the walk. Why is it important for artists to do that kind of work, both through their music and in their lives?

I don't necessarily draw a line between artists and every other civilian. I think it's important for all of us, no matter what we do in our lives, to be informed so that we can live with greater empathy and greater understanding and affect change where we need it. If you're an artist, then you have that opportunity to use your voice in such a way. But, yeah, I think it's imperative for all of us to do that, to have that kind of responsibility.

What I love about Neil Young is that he seems to take a flashlight to the human experience. Some of his songs, I couldn't tell you what they are about. It's like a dream that you're sharing. Then others are quite clearly drawn from a tragedy of a given experience, like “Ohio.” It's that whole gamut, the whole range of experience that we have here. On that note, politics needn't be left outside of the conversation. It doesn't have to be the entire conversation, but it certainly has a place.

Considering how many up-and-coming singer/songwriters cite him as an influence, who do you see coming up that seems to have the chops to go the distance he's gone?

Oh, wow. Goodness.

[Laughs] Totally putting you on the spot.

[Laughs] Yeah, it's an unfair question because most of my listening revolves around the same 10 records that I've been listening to for the last 40 years. [Laughs] But I feel like Gillian Welch is in that tradition, in a lot of ways. There's the obvious folk connection, but maybe in that maverick way of not being pinned down to whatever preconceived notion we have about what folk music is or what acoustic music is or what being a singer/songwriter is. You have to be willing to shed all of that in order to be true to your own voice.

Grant-Lee Phillips photo courtesy of the artist. Neil Young photo courtesy of Stoned59 via Foter.com / CC BY.

Squared Roots: Sam Lee Follows the Footsteps of Alan Lomax

Posted on by Editor

In his work collecting field recordings and documenting oral traditions of roots music, Alan Lomax captured the history of a nation — of a world, really — as it was happening. Lomax learned the trade from his father, John, and carried the torch forward, moving in circles that included Woody Guthrie, Lead Belly, Pete Seeger, Burl Ives, and myriad other singers — many of whose names were never known, though their contributions were no less vital in Lomax's eyes and ears. Because his work was necessarily integrated racially, Lomax was the target of investigation and scorn during the mid-century years of McCarthyism and civil rights struggles. He, nevertheless, found ways to carry on with his mission, leaving a massive trove of historical documentation as his legacy.

English folk singer Sam Lee has taken it upon himself to adopt a similar vocation, learning and recording old world songs from Gypsy and Traveller singers in the UK, including Stanley Robertson, May Bradley, and Freda Black. Much like Lomax, Lee gets the job done by keeping one eye on the past and one on the future, using whatever technology he can to best capture these traditions before they are gone. His latest album, The Fade in Time, stands as a testament to his passion and respect for not only the old-time music, but his own duty as its keeper. 

It's pretty well impossible to quantify the importance of Lomax's role in music history. From your perspective, what does his work mean — to you and the broader roots music world?

I think, firstly, it’s important to say I will probably never fully understand or appreciate the impact he made on the world, for that is to understand the enormous social revolution that happened in the U.S. and world over the '50-'60s and before and after. How he brought such a formidable energy and determination to the task of documenting the cultures of America, but also the rest of the world. The care he brought to this endeavour and sense of importance and value … to give voice to the outcasts, the marginalised, the poor, the persecuted, the outsiders. How, through his deep love of people and ability to converse with anybody on their level — combined with his weight as an academic, as a charismatic leader — how he focused the attention of a nation on the treasure on its doorstep.

The responsibility he took in the legacy of his father was such a huge task with cultural divides and technology all working against him. Now, in a time of supposedly progressed cultural assimilation and technology as good as one could ever dream of but facing the cultural ecocide and extinction we see ahead of us, I feel the Lomax journey is one to reflect upon as a reminder of the need to protect, conserve, and celebrate the beauty of self-made, localised, home spun, informed, and unaffected culture on both U.S. and UK shores — but also across the world where the great vanishing is happening, the huge forgetting of the old ways. Lomax married old world creativity with the possibilities of technology and popularisation in a ground-breaking way that’s still possible as long as we keep listening to the old ones!

In the early 1940s, he was pushing against the boundaries of race and class with his presentations, and he felt the establishment push back. But he saw that as part of his calling because a documentarian has to approach the world with equanimity and objectivity. Is that how you view the job, as well?

Nicely put. And, yes, as a "documentarian" (I’ve never been called that, by the way, but I like it, so thanks!) I think the issues are not about the establishment pushing back so much as they are generally very embracing of the work I and the Song Collectors Collective do. The challenges today are about making it financially feasible to execute this sort of research not being in an academic institution and doing it in such a way that serves the communities as well as the multitudinal interests of the outside world.

But, yes, the need for equanimity is constantly there when faced by both the regular failure in the searching for old tradition bearers, the occasional rejection, apathy, or resistance from the communities toward the work due to much more serious social issues they’re facing. But most of all what troubles me is the reactions from some of the institutions that should be endorsing and supporting the work and the establishment within the folk community. Sometimes I think those that are supposedly endorsers of folk culture seem to care so little for the communities that have kept it alive and honouring the keepers of the lore. This frustrates me a little.

Lomax spent most of the 1950s in Europe to avoid the House Un-American Activities Committee. By the time he died, his FBI file contained more than 800 pages. But he never stopped his work. Can you imagine how it must have felt to get tangled in the “Red Scare” or something similar?

It’s funny because the consequence of the Red Scare was that Lomax spent a lot of time in the UK recording our singers and the documents of which have had great impact on the preservation and popularisation of our traditions and repertoire, so it was very much in us Brits' favour. However, the folk singer's responsibility is to be fighting back against institutional or political insanity, and I am lucky that I may never live to experience such unbelievably systematic vilification by the state. In my mind, though, the subtle evils of governmental policy and corporate ravages are as devastating and corrosive as they eat away at community.

Ironically, the effect of the Red Scare was to galvanise the people into a formidable force of solidarity like we have never experienced. I am not sure how huge the collective voice of opposition is today at the slow erosion of our civil liberties. Maybe one already exists, but I hope one day there will be a file on me somewhere. I won’t have done my duty, if i haven’t challenged the regime enough to gain some sort of "listing."

Of all the amazing sessions he documented, which ones would you have wanted to witness?

Ouch! This question hurts to think about. I longed to wonder what sitting in on those Jelly Roll Morton recording sessions would have been like as that was, in my mind, a phenomenal meeting of two worlds and a transmitting of such a principal memory of the birth of a musical genre. But also, having spent a lot of time with Shirley Collins — the English folk singer and ex-lover and collecting assistant of Lomax — she tells me endless stories of their time together recording singers on their porches and, in some ways, I feel like I was there vicariously through Shirley’s telling of stories.

While I was at the Library of Congress in September 2015, I was reading some of his diaries and of the numerous recording situations he found himself in. The one that stands out was an episode of him gathering a whole crowd of Black American workers in this old shack and recording the songs of some of the best entertainers amongst them … each one stepping up, or being pushed up to sing something or play a tune. I am not sure if it was the way he described this dark room crowded with faces piling in to see this single white man record their music, their faces gleaming out from the darkness, the sense of uncertainty and fear, yet also the compulsion to record and commit this precious music that they themselves were probably not aware of its cultural wealth, depth, and evolved brilliance. Everything about the way Lomax described this experience and the joy that came from them tentatively sharing and being acknowledged and their songs valued seemed like such a magnificent mini revolution … this idea of Lomax going to each singer one by one and letting them know how very special they are … I think that is radical!

He clearly understood his place in history, even as it was unfolding around him. Do you have a similar sense, as you attempt to capture the oral traditions of your world?

Yes, I very much do and, with that, goes an immense sadness alongside the privilege. It’s like sitting near a rare white rhino or some vanishing beast, powerful and majestic, feeling the vibrations as it moves and breathes, knowing that when imminent death arrives, no one else will ever get to feel the ground shake beneath it or smell its unique breath, feel its presence. The old singers I get to meet and record are the last of the old world. They are fading custodians who sit at the edge of this great, nearly forgotten tradition and, when I leave, I know I may never see them again as is sometimes the case, returning a year later to find they have passed on.

What is left is a musical and cultural silence filled only with the noise of cheap MP3 downloads, karaoke-style music devoid of any muscle or memory. I guess that is where my responsibility as being the artist steps in and is ever more necessary — to take the essence of what I have experienced and develop it into new, informed, and "acceptable" music that can survive in the modern-day campfires and porches of musical appreciation — the mobile phones, earbuds, and YouTubes of planet Internet.

Squared Roots: Jill Andrews on the Heart and Mind of Joni Mitchell

Posted on by Editor

Pretty much every singer/songwriter today counts Joni Mitchell among their heroes. If they don't, they should. From her 1968 debut to her 2007 finale, Mitchell's talent has been both steadfast and elusive — remaining constant even as it evolved. Her early records (Blue, Clouds, Ladies of the Canyon, Court & Spark) showcased a craft so fully formed and so emotionally mature that they continue to stand as high marks in her career … if not in music as a whole.

By the mid-'70s, Mitchell needed more than acoustic music could offer and she branched out into jazz alongside Charles Mingus, Jaco Pastorius, Wayne Shorter, and other legends of the form. Having issued 10 studio albums in 11 years, Mitchell's output slowed in the '80s and '90s, with only six releases spread across those 20 years, including the Grammy-winning Turbulent Indigo in 1994. At the turn of the century, Mitchell won another Grammy for Both Sides Now, the concept album that follows the arc of a relationship as told through jazz songs performed by Mitchell with an orchestra. Two years later, Travelogue paired her own songs with an orchestra and, in 2007, Shine shone as her last-released collection of original material prior to her retirement from music.

As one of the singer/songwriters who count Mitchell as a hero, Jill Andrews found inspiration in her early acoustic albums. That influence wasn't exactly obvious on Andrews' first band project, the everybodyfields, or even on her solo sets, including her latest release, The War Inside. But it's in there, in her DNA, just as it is in all the other singer/songwriters who have come along over the past 45 years.

So that I know who I'm dealing with here … what's your favorite Joni record? This is going to determine a lot.

Blue. I feel like that's the most obvious one, but … There are several that I hadn't really listened to, so I've been listening to them. And, still, that's my favorite … by far, I would say. But I think Ladies of the Canyon is really good, too. What about you?

Early on, in my early 20s, I was all about Clouds . I mean, Blue is fantastic. No question. But, like you said, it's the obvious one. Then Court & Spark got me, particularly after … I'm guessing you've seen the wonderful documentary about her on Netflix.

No, I haven't, actually.

Oh my goodness. It's called Woman of Heart and Mind. I watched that a couple of years ago and listened to Court & Spark for about two weeks straight … nothing else.

Oh, nice! Is it a documentary about her whole life of just that era?

Her whole life. What's fascinating to me about her is that the music industry never knew quite what to do with her … and that's true of most artists who color outside the lines. It's amazing that their art ever gets documented and distributed.

Yeah. And she did so well, record sale-wise, for a really long time. The ones, to me, that weren't the most obvious still sold so well. And it's interesting to think that, if she were trying to do what she did in the '70s now, I wonder how different of an experience that would be for her.

Starting in 1968, when she was 24, she made nine albums in 11 years.

That is insane!

Clouds at 25 and Blue at 27. Today, artists that age are sitting naked on wrecking balls to get attention.

When you think about that, that is so true! [Laughs] Have you seen the live BBC videos she did in 1970?

Yeah, some of them.

She's wearing this pink dress and her skin is the most flawless skin I've ever seen in my life. I can't even believe how flawless it is. You know there was nothing making her look better, except maybe a little makeup … but she barely had any makeup on. She was just singing and playing guitar. She didn't need a single other thing. It was just her doing that and it was so good. It was songs from Ladies of the Canyon and some songs from Blue. It's just so simple.

It's tempting to wonder where the Joni Mitchell of this or that generation is, but really, the original is perfect and timeless. Do we need another one?

I mean … not really, but at the same time … I'm interested in the simplicity of all of that. It's actually caused me to think a lot because I've been thinking about what my next record is going to be. I'm so over the moon about this new one that came out, but I finished it a while back, so I've been thinking about my next one for a while. I've been working on a couple of things at home and a lot of it is pretty simple … a lot of my vocals stacked up, one on top of another, used as another instrument. I don't know … it's not necessarily as simplistic as just a guitar and vocal, but it's definitely more simple for me.

Well, the setting that she used was simple, but her phrasing, melodies, lyrics … all of that was very complex. That kind of talent can't really be learned, but have you spent time really studying the craft of her songs?

In high school, I definitely listened to a lot of her stuff. That was before I was a musician, really. I didn't play an instrument. I remember, specifically, when I was dreaming about being a musician, that I wanted to be like her. The reason I wanted to be like her was that I wanted to be able to play an instrument really well. I wanted to be able to sing really well. And I wanted to be able to write my own songs. That was the triad for me.

So you might as well aim for the absolute highest! [Laughs]

[Laughs] Yeah. Exactly. I guess I haven't really studied her craft, necessarily. But I have listened to her stuff a lot and just been a big fan. Her lyrics are so interesting. In general, they're all slice-of-life lyrics. You can see her in the story, almost every time — standing on a street corner in “For Free.” You can see her in so many of the songs. I just love that. The imagery is so beautiful.

Not that she ever made pure folk music, but that's just too small of a genre to contain her, so it's no wonder she gravitated toward the complexity of jazz. Are you a fan of that phase, as well?

I've listened to some of that stuff, but I wasn't as drawn to it, to be honest. I've listened to Court & Spark. I've listened to Hissing of Summer Lawns. I wasn't particularly drawn to either of those records, but I do really like Hejira.

Interesting …

Yeah. I don't know what it is. I think the melodies drew me in more, on Hejira. I love “Coyote” so much. That song is amazing.

Squared Roots: Rhiannon Giddens Studies the Songs of Dolly Parton

Posted on by Editor

Dolly Parton turns 70 in January. And, while that might seem impossible, it takes that span of time to accomplish all that she has over the course of her various careers as a songwriter, a singer, an actress, and a businesswoman.

Rising out of the ashes of unspeakable poverty in east Tennessee, Parton blazed a trail like none other. From her early days with Porter Wagoner through her unrivaled run in the '70s and '80s to her artistic eclecticism of the '90s to today, Parton has composed more than 3,000 songs (by her own admission), charted 42 Top 10 country albums, and garnered more awards than anyone can count. She even has a TV movie of her life, Coat of Many Colors, slated for release in December.

In contrast, Rhiannon Giddens emerged only a decade ago as part of the Carolina Chocolate Drops after studying opera at Oberlin Conservatory. Though the Drops were known for their passion for and handling of old-time music, Giddens has taken a different tack with her solo debut, Tomorrow Is My Turn, and her guest appearance on Lost on the River: The New Basement Tapes. But, with everything she does, Giddens keeps one eye on the past and one eye on the now.

I gotta say … for whatever reason, I thought your pick would be maybe a little less polished — like Hazel and Alice or Ola Belle Reed or somebody like that. So why Dolly?

Well … I'm kind of obsessed with her right now. I guess I've been focused so much on the non-commercial parts of country music and old-time music — you know the Ola Belle Reeds and the Hazel and Alices. I love that so much, but as of now, I'm a more commercial artist. I'm not making CDs while doing something else. It's what I do for a living and I've had a bit of radio play. So I've been really thinking about what Dolly did — and she still does. I mean, she's not writing as much as she was. She definitely had a golden period of songwriting.

The thing that fascinates me about her is how she worked feminism into pop songs. That's kind of what I'm fascinated with right now because, as I look at being a songwriter myself, as I've developed over the last couple of years as a songwriter with definite activist urges, wanting to figure out how to say things while making them effective to as many people as possible … I've been really digging into her early stuff and been kind of amazed at the strength of writing and the really strong feminist themes wrapped up with this sort of smile. I've just been kind of fascinated with it. I've been talking about her every night because I do one of her songs in my show.

So according to the Gospel of Wikipedia, she has written more than 3,000 songs over the span of her career. What does it take to hit a milestone like that?

I mean … what I think is … of course, you'd have to ask her to get the answer. You can't pull all of that … I mean, you can pull all of that from yourself. But I think you'd probably go crazy in the process. I think you have to observe and see what's happening to other people, find things to write about that maybe nobody else ever thought of. If you're really engaged with life, you see that. That's what I think.

Yeah, it seems like the level of empathy that she must have — especially coming from … it's crazy to think of where she came from and where she is now. She's the most honored female country artist in history … and so much more.

Yeah.

I was reading that she got some early words of encouragement from Johnny Cash, then the gig with Porter Wagoner, and off she went. Now here we are 50 years later.

And, still, you think about how she's written that many songs and yet, is she known as a songwriter?

Right!

I know. She's not. And I think part of that's her image. That is sort of the image that she's put out there. I still think people have a hard time seeing a pretty smile and a pretty voice, and they have a hard time connecting that she has a razor-sharp brain … and those songs!

Yeah, you don't get where you are — where she is — by not having the razor-sharp brain.

She is so freaking smart. Oh my God! She's such an inspiration. Just watching what she's done with her career, how she's taken care of her family and people at home … how she's all-successful. Stuff doesn't come up and then collapse, you know? Books for children all over the world? And she does it all without fanfare.

And it's hard to imagine — because she did start as a songwriter with the songs for Bill Phillips and Kitty Wells and stuff — but it's hard to imagine a world where she rested on that, on those songwriting laurels, and didn't pursue being a performer. But what if she had just kept to songwriting? What do you think …

Oh, that would be a sad loss! There are people out there who can write but can hardly sing. But her voice is beautiful. Her phrasing's gorgeous. She's such a great performer and a great actress. She's a real triple threat. There are not many of those out there, really, where each thing is just as great as the other.

She's also — even just within music, taking aside Dollywood and acting — she's had so many different musical lives, as it were. I'm a child of the '70s, so I have to confess to loving 9 to 5 and Best Little Whorehouse in Texas … that was my childhood.

Oh yeah!

But your favorite era is the early stuff? Which cuts?

Right now, I'm obsessed with the early stuff. There's one record that's got a ton of stuff on it … which isn't really fair because I have a bunch of songs on my iPod, but … "A Little Bit Slow to Catch On," "Just Because I'm a Woman," "I'll Oilwells Love You." I've been writing all the lyrics down, studying how she does this stuff. "The Only Way Out (Is to Walk Over Me)" … just so good! That's the stuff that's not known, in addition to “Jolene” and "Coat of Many Colors" and that kind of stuff … you know, "9 to 5."

I first was introduced to her through her second bluegrass record, Little Sparrow. That was the first time I really … I had seen that stuff growing up, and I knew “9 to 5,” but the first time I really got a sense of Dolly as an artist was Little Sparrow. I loved it. I thought it was beautiful. One of my first introductions to old-time music was actually at the end of "Marry Me" — there's this like little old-time jam that kind of fades off. And I was like, "That sounds so good!" It's funny to think about that, before I knew about old-time or anything.

Everything old is new again, I guess.

You know? The lyrics of "I'm a I'm a little bit slow to catch on, but when I do I'm caught on. I'm a little bit slow to move on, but your baby's a-movin' on" … I mean that early stuff, I'm really into it right now.

Rhiannon Giddens photo by Dan Winters; Dolly Parton photo courtesy of RCA

Squared Roots: Brandi Carlile Makes the Case for Elton John

Posted on by Editor

The classically trained Sir Elton John wasn’t always just so. In his early days, Reginald Dwight was so hooked on the American sounds of Elvis Presley, Ray Charles, Jim Reeves, Bill Haley, and Jerry Lee Lewis that the band he formed in 1962 was called Bluesology. Then, in 1967, John met lyricist Bernie Taupin and music history would soon be made. The pair continues writing together today, after more than 57 Top 40 hits (in the U.S.) on 30+ albums … and nearly as many awards.

“Border Song,” “Tiny Dancer,” “Crocodile Rock,” “Philadelphia Freedom,” and myriad other John/Taupin collaborations fill the soundtracks of so many lives … singer/songwriter Brandi Carlile‘s among them. She grew up idolizing the two British music men and, after combining their influence with a dash of Johnny Cash and a pinch of Patsy Cline, found her own rootsy sound evolving and emanating from that somewhat surprising foundation.

To connect the dots between Sir Elton and American roots music, you have to go back to his days as Reggie Dwight. Draw that line for us.

I feel like sometimes an artist’s separation from their influences by proximity and culture almost intensify and exaggerate the effect that a certain genre has on them. Examples of this that come to mind are Paul McCartney’s passion for Buddy Holly and American rock ‘n’ roll; Old Crow Medicine Show cutting their teeth in Ithaca, NY, only to become incredible live Appalachian bluegrass on steroids — complete with Ketch Secor’s almost savant encyclopedia of knowledge on the genre and his preoccupation with southern culture; British, bluegrass-influenced arena band Mumford and Sons and Colorado-based Lumineers are also good examples of this … not to mention my personal obsession with country music and the South as a northerner or, as an American, my obsession with Brit Pop — Freddie Mercury, the Beatles … but, above all these, Elton John. Admiration from a distance is the strongest kind.

While Elton, by definition, is decidedly British, he has pushed the envelope on genre so far that it’s completely inapplicable to him. He was deeply influenced by American rock ‘n’ roll and roots music. Being so far away from Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Elvis Presley only seems to have fueled the obsession with the culture of early American rock ‘n’ roll roots music for him.

Elton once said that Elvis looked like an alien to him. My great uncle Sunny, a guitar player and singer, told me that he was too busy (along with his friends) being jealous of Elvis Presley to be influenced by him at the time. The space between an artist and the music that inspires them becomes purer as it grows, erasing lines of competition, jealousy, even racism and politics. Elton John is a lover of early American rock ‘n’ roll roots music, pure as the driven snow. He could probably teach you and me a thing or two about it!

The most defining influences from early to current Elton John are his deep love for Leon Russell and Buffy Sainte-Marie. It took an eccentric British man in his 60s to teach me about these two absolute pillars in American folk/roots and to see something fundamental that was right in front of my nose whole time.

Once he teamed up with Bernie Taupin, things shifted. What threads of honky tonk, gospel, and other roots do you hear in their early work?

When Elton John started writing with Bernie Taupin, it was like rock ‘n’ roll met roots — Captain Fantastic meets the Brown Dirt Cowboy — and now you don’t only have early American overtones, musically, but they’re touching lyrically on early American themes. The entire Tumbleweed Connection record is Civil War fantasy meets early American Western. Good guys and bad guys, riverboats, Yankees and the Union, sons of their fathers, New Orleans, and “good old country comfort in my bones.”

Early American gospel makes its way onto Elton John many times, most notably in “Border Song” complete with a nod to ending racism. These themes are a constant throughout their career and continue to be. “Texan Love Song,” to Roy Rogers, all the way to the T Bone Burnett records of today, The Union and The Diving Board.

Bernie Taupin, to me, is the best lyricist there is and certainly the most fantastical and unselfish in his work. He is deeply interpretative and, honestly, self-revealing while also introducing us to fantasy and objectivity unchanged for 40 years.


Elton John with Bernie Taupin (left) in 1971. Photo credit: Public domain.

You have a thing for big personalities in your musical heroes … Elton, Elvis, Freddie Mercury, Johnny Cash. So you clearly don’t think Elton’s flamboyant, costumed persona took anything away from his respectability as an artist. Correct?

No! No way! Elton John’s eccentricity is authentic. Picture Elton John in the hipster attire of his time — skinny jeans and a beard, all browns and fedoras with a tiny tie. Who’s going to believe anything a guy has to say about “Bennie and the Jets” in that? He proved that he could make you cry dressed like Donald Duck. That means everything. Little Jimmy Dickens and Minnie Pearl probably loved him.

There aren’t many artists who could do a duets album that included Tammy Wynette, Leonard Cohen, and RuPaul. So what is it about Elton and his music that create such a wide berth?

The thing about Elton John that creates a wide berth is that he is a truly authentic person who thrives on enthusiasm and loving people! In fact, he loves so many different kinds of people that he regularly offends someone over his acceptance of someone else. Dolly Parton also has this rare gift. Elton tends to embrace the unacceptable — from collaborating with Eminem when he was in such hot water, to playing at Rush Limbaugh’s birthday party, to insinuating that Jesus might be gay, to now getting on the phone with Vladimir Putin on behalf of LGBT Russian citizens. As a result, when Elton john speaks out against something, everyone listens … I certainly do.

Elton is wildly diverse in his efforts to become a bridge builder. He’s very intriguing and his musical collaborations have been very reflective of that. I used to listen to Duets, his collaborative duets record from the ’90s, and I never got tired of it because even if I was over [Don] Henley that day, I could hear him sing with Tammy.

Which album can we point to as the one where he moved completely away from his early influences? Or is there an argument to be made that they are still there, even in “Circle of Life”?

The beauty of Elton and Bernie is that there are no absolutes that can be applied to any one of their albums. They are a wild ride of genre twists and turns, career long. Say what you will about musical consistency, none of these records are background music. You don’t want to have them playing while you’re hosting a dinner party.

If I had to point to a departure from roots music — although never completely — I’d say maybe some of the mid-80s to early-90s stuff. From Leather Jackets, Breaking Hearts, maybe Too Low For Zero, or The Big Picture. However, having said that, those records made a huge impact on me and, last time I checked, I’m still a roots artist. Elton’s Americana leanings are firmly in tact. His last two records with T Bone Burnett are truly some of the best of his career. The Union with Leon Russell is a favorite of mine and The Diving Board is a return to form in a way that feels to me like hearing Johnny Cash sing alone on American Recordings.

Elton and Bernie have deeply influenced me as an American roots artist from 5,000 miles away! Thanks for giving me the chance to say so.

Brandi Carlile photo courtesy of Brandi Carlile. Elton John photo credit: Heinrich Klaffs / Foter / CC BY-NC-SA.

Squared Roots: Ruby Amanfu on the Simple Brilliance of Bill Withers

Posted on by Editor

To escape the wilds of West Virginia, a young Bill Withers joined the Navy, where he worked as an aircraft mechanic. After his service, he landed a job in an airplane parts factory, but soon realized he could get girls by singing, so he decided to give it a shot. He taught himself guitar, wrote some songs, and got a deal with Sussex Records. Fun fact: His first single — the Grammy-winning, platinum-selling “Ain't No Sunshine” — was inspired by the 1962 movie Days of Wine and Roses starring Jack Lemmon and Lee Remick.

Withers kept up that pace with a string of hits that included “Grandma's Hands,” “Lean on Me,” and “Use Me.” After three records on Sussex, he shifted over to Columbia in the mid-1970s, where he released a few more albums … and encountered a bit of resistance. The label execs, which he called “blaxperts” because they were trying to change his sound to sell more records, all but halted his career. Withers has commented that he found it hard to swallow that his label would put out a Mr. T record while preventing him from releasing anything.

Though he collaborated with other artists and issued one more LP, 1985's Watching You Watching Me, Withers pretty much walked away from music. Since then, he has noted, "What few songs I wrote during my brief career, there ain't a genre that somebody didn't record them in. I'm not a virtuoso, but I was able to write songs that people could identify with. I don't think I've done bad for a guy from Slab Fork, West Virginia."

Singer/songwriter Ruby Amanfu was born in Ghana, and moved with her family to Tennessee when she was three years old. Growing up in Nashville, Amanfu couldn't help but gravitate toward music, studying at Hume-Fogg Academic Magnet School before heading off to Boston to attend Berklee College of Music, and finishing up back home at Belmont University. Around the time that Amanfu had a dance hit in Europe (2001's “Sugah”), she also connected with Sam Brooker in Nashville, and the two began writing, recording, and performing acoustic soul as Sam & Ruby. A handful of years on the road landed them a deal with Rykodisc for their debut LP, The Here and the Now, in 2009, and a follow-up EP, Press On, in 2010.

Appearances on NBC's The Sing Off (Season 3) and Jack White's Blunderbuss — as well as collaborations with Brittney Howard, Wanda Jackson, Patti LaBelle, Ben Folds, Chris Thile, and others — eventually led to Amanfu's latest release, Standing Still. It's a collection of songs by Bob Dylan, Brandi Carlile, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Woody Guthrie, and the Heartless Bastards stunningly re-imagined and rendered in Amanfu's smoky soul voice.

Bill got a late start, but he came out of the gate with “Ain't No Sunshine” and followed that up with “Lean on Me” and “Use Me.” Even now, when he talks about those songs, he plays them way down … as if they hadn't made a mark on music at all. But we know better …

Yeah, yeah. In everything I've seen and heard from him, when he speaks or when people write word-for-word what he's spoken, he seems to be the epitome of humble. And it is so opposite of what most artists are. Most artists feel like, “Well, I need to be not humble because I have to act like I'm the greatest so that other people will believe I'm the greatest.” I'm just so fascinated by Bill Withers, and I adore him so much because he is so humble. And I think that's kind of the mode of operation that is more enticing, at least for me — in how I like music and how I receive music. If I have an artist who is like, “I'm the shit!” then I'm probably, just out of spite, be like, “Uh, nope. You're off my list.”

And yet you recorded a Kanye West tune.

Oh, I sure did. Guess what? That was a battle to the bank, honey. That was a battle to the bank. I had a couple of producers on this project and sometimes you gotta listen when people talk. There were obviously things I had to come around to, and I had to come around to that. What I heard in that song … when “Street Lights” was presented to me, I heard lyrics that I connected with. I heard a story, when I stripped away all of that production and I stripped away his voice, and I just received the words. I was like, “Oh, damn! That's actually legitimate.” He co-wrote that with a fella, Mr. Hudson, who is a brilliant writer and producer. I couldn't do a disservice to Mr. Hudson just because Mr. Kanye West was out there shootin' and salutin' and highfalutin! [Laughs]

[Laughs] That brings up an interesting point. To me, classic R&B like Bill Withers, you can feel the rhythm and you can hear the blues. That's not always the case in contemporary R&B. Sure, there's a slickness to the new stuff, but is there a more significant difference in the artistry between then and now?

Well, yeah, I'd say. With someone like Bill, I don't even know if he knew what slick was. And I think, now, I don't know why this happened, but part of me thinks that, as the world continued, as the years went by, as technology increased, I feel like people — artists and record labels and producers — I think they felt like they had to do more to keep fans' interest and attention. The attention spans, I do believe, have become less and less long. So I think there can be a bit of desperation where some of it is concerned.

I won't say it's all of it because I still listen heavily to R&B, currently. Sometimes you definitely hear production where you're like, “Man, slow your roll. Let's just hear the song.” But there's still a lot of classic-sounding singers out there who are still doing it. Even somebody like John Legend, when he just strips it away and it's him and the piano, he's a great example of somebody … you know that he gets that it's just about the openness and the vulnerability of the music. The attention span is shorter, so you gotta get hyped quickly. Obviously, I didn't do that on this record. [Laughs] I'm trusting that people will be able to take a breath and listen to this record from a completely open place. That's how I fit into this whole thing.

Right. Another difference is that, in the mid '70s, Bill released an album a year for five in a row. To be that prolific and, then, to just turn it off … because he kind of counts that as the end of his eight-year career. What does that take — because he wrote all his own stuff?

I know. I think he got fed up with the system which … [Laughs] is not hard to do. I got my first record deal — I was a baby — in 1999. Even then, the system was baffling. I did it as a means to an end … record deals and management deals and all of that. But it felt sickening on a number of occasions. I did it, but I can see how he, who is who he is unapologetically and is so homegrown and so grounded, that he was like, “You don't care about me. Why am I going to care about you?” This man who was … at first, he still kept his other job, even when he had a couple of hits. That's brilliant because he wasn't resting his laurels on that. Then, the labels were taking advantage of him. I heard once that he'd had a couple of hits and he was going to put out this album and his label said, “We don't hear a hit on that.”

Yeah, they wanted him to cover an Elvis tune.

Oh my gosh, that's right! “In the Ghetto.”

Yeah.

What did he say? Something like, “That's like asking to buy the bartender a drink.” Or something like that. And he was like, “I'm not going to go there.” It cracked me up. Because, exactly! They don't get it. They don't get you. That's the separation that has been cycling through the business.

I will say that I have seen a big difference here, in 2015, because everyone got hip to what was going on and got wiser, started to change the system to make it a little more genuine … at least for indie artists like myself choosing different paths that allow us to have creative rights again, and freedom. But Bill, at the time, was like, “No. That's not good enough for me.” And I respect that.

Well, when one of your A&R guys tells you, “I don't like your music or any black music, period” … you're not off to a great start.

No. No. And that's the thing … he knew it. He was like, “I'm gonna try this out and see what people are talking about.”

[Laughs] Or not.

Yeah. “That's what I thought you were talking about. Goodbye.” [Laughs] It's brilliant. And I'm like that, in a way. I don't think it was arrogance with Bill, and I'm not like that. But I definitely have convictions and sometimes people don't understand or relate to my convictions. But I still stand by my convictions. I have to. I think … I know for a fact, actually, that I have been inspired by Mr. Withers because of that. Because you can stand by your convictions and still do what you do, still be out there doing the music. I oftentimes say that, if I were ever to get to a point where I was surrounded by a team of people who didn't get that, then I would gladly, happily walk away and go put on my apron and start cooking in the kitchen. I would do that. But I'm really lucky right now. It's been a long time coming. This team around me totally gets me — what a concept — and supports me. We'll ride it out that way.

But there are no Withers' tunes on your new album. Are there deep cuts of Bill's that you love?

Well, “Grandma's Hands” I love so much. It's funny … the first version I heard of “Grandma's Hands” was … [Laughs] “No Diggity.”

Oh, yeah yeah yeah. [Laughs]

Sam [Brooker] and I had looked through a bunch of his songs to see what we could maybe do because I've always wanted to do a Bill Withers song. There were some on the short list for this record, too, but I had presented Sam with a song from Still Bill called “Who Is He (And What Is He to You)?” It's so simple, but that song is one for me.

Me'shell NdegeOcello did a pretty slamming version of that one.

She did. She nailed it. That's why I was like, “If Sam and Ruby are going to do it, it's going to be different.” But that's the thing … you bring up a good point … I find myself in that situation because there are some songs on this record that I'm like, “People I admire and respect have done slamming versions of these songs, but they mean so much to me and I believe in them so I'm going to go for it.” Not to do a copied version, but do something different. Obviously, when Brandi Carlile spoke up that she liked what I'd done [with “Shadow on the Wall”] … It was stressful. I was nerve-wracked to do that because I knew what she'd done with it.

But, anyway … the song “Hello Like Before” is amazing. “I Wish You Well” … but that's more of a hit than a deep cut. “Make Love to Your Mind” … that's a great one. That's the thing, just too many.

Photos by Shervin Lainez and Columbia Records