Artist:Adam Chaffins Hometown: Louisa, Kentucky Latest Album:Trailer Trash EP (released May 16, 2025) Personal Nicknames: “Chaffins”
Genre is dead (long live genre!), but how would you describe the genres and styles your music inhabits?
I’ve considered myself a multi-genre artist from the beginning. While I feel confident identifying as a country artist, that label doesn’t capture the full range of my influences. Growing up, I listened to country alongside Top 40 hits and classic rock – those styles shaped my ear just as much. In high school, I discovered bluegrass and jazz, and during college I really dove deep into those genres and honed my craft within them.
All of those influences have filtered into my writing today and I think that’s especially clear on this new EP. Music, like culture, is becoming increasingly interconnected and multi-dimensional. It’s exciting to see more country artists exploring new spaces and I want to make music that is part of that evolution.
Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?
Speaking of multi-genre artists, Willie Nelson is a great place to start. He’s part of the foundation of country songwriting – hell, songwriting in general. His music draws from so many different influences and we wouldn’t have the classic Willie Nelson records without that breadth.
It’s tough to single out just one artist as my biggest influence, but more often than not, when I’m writing a line or delivering a phrase, I catch myself asking, “What would Willie do?” His sound has never felt forced or put on – it’s authentic because he’s lived every word of it. Beyond the music, his lessons in patience and positivity have been a huge influence on me and have played a big part in keeping me grounded and continuing to make music.
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
I love the outdoors – it’s essential for my creativity. Whether I’m kayaking on the lake, hiking with my dog, or cycling down country backroads, being outside helps me reset. When I’m feeling bogged down by the ‘business’ side of music, stuck on a lyric, or just need a break from a piece I’m learning, nature gives me the space to clear my mind. It’s like a creative reset button – being in the elements helps me return with energy and perspective.
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
Some of my earliest memories are of wanting to be a musician – or at least be around musicians. I had toy guitars and drum sets and would just bang away, trying to get the sounds in my head out long before I had any idea what I was doing.
One moment that really stands out happened before I could even read or write. A local DJ I was obsessed with was doing a promo at a car lot and my mom took me to meet him. I thought he was the gatekeeper to all of music. I remember scribbling on sticky notes – what I explained were the instruments and band members I wanted for my future group. He smiled, folded the notes, and tucked them into his shirt pocket with a wink, just before going back on the air.
Looking back, that moment felt like an early manifestation. Even then, I knew music was where I wanted to be – I just didn’t have the words for it yet.
If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?
I love to cook. When the world shut down during COVID and there were no shows to play, I got a big offset smoker trailer and started smoking whole chickens outside a locally owned grocery store. Honestly, I probably earned fans faster with barbecue than I ever have with music…
That said – it’s tough work. Tending fires inside a steel pit during a Tennessee summer isn’t for the faint of heart. But then again, neither is rolling around the country in a van playing songs for strangers. I guess one just happened to be the dream I had first. I still cook and smoke meat whenever I can and, if I weren’t making music, I could absolutely see myself doing that full-time.
Artist:Southern Avenue Hometown: Memphis, Tennessee Latest Album:Family Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): We don’t remember any rejected band names, but being from Memphis we definitely call everybody “mane.”
Answers have been provided by Tierinii Jackson, Southern Avenue lead vocalist and songwriter.
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
It wasn’t one moment, it was the absence of one. I never imagined not being a singer and a songwriter. I grew up singing in church with my sisters and family and even when I ran away from all of that, the music stayed with me. Beale Street gave me my second education. That’s where I chose to be a full-time musician, even if the world didn’t choose it for me.
What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?
I love musical theater. It’s drama, it’s storytelling, it’s emotion on 10. I used to want to be on Broadway. Sometimes I still do. The song “Flying” on our new album is just about that. My mom actually turned the plane around mid-air so I wouldn’t fly to New York to make my dream come true. I do believe that it all connects and I have plenty of time to still do something special in that world.
What’s one question you wish interviewers would stop asking you?
People always ask how we met and how the band started. It’s everywhere online already. We just hope to get asked about new things now, go a little deeper. But it’s all good, no hard feelings at all. We love it when we have an interview where the person in front of us already has an understanding of who is in front of them.
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
When we toured with Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, and John Mellencamp, it was already unbelievable. But then we found ourselves on stage at FarmAid, after two weeks on the road with them for the Outlaw Tour. I remember standing there thinking, “Am I dreaming?” It was one of those moments where everything just hits you, how far we’ve come, and how real it all is.
Genre is dead (long live genre!), but how would you describe the genres and styles your music inhabits?
We like to describe our music real simple. It’s Memphis music. That’s what raised us. We’re a mix of where we come from, how we grew up, and everything we dreamed of becoming. It all comes together in the sound.
KC Johns is an incredible singer-songwriter and artist based in Nashville, Tennessee. We had an excellent Only Vans conversation live from the mountain at Steamboat MusicFest 2025! In this episode we get into old fashioneds, cruise ship jobs, Nashville, singing in the mountains, touring overseas, and more.
KC Johns and I met over social media and we became fast friends. She is a whiskey girl like me and has her own mesquite-smoked Thunder Whiskey. This was a live-audience episode recorded and filmed at MusicFest in Steamboat, Colorado. The audio for her live acoustic performances ended up being unusable, totally on our end, and I am so sorry about that. KC is such a great live singer, but unfortunately the recording was too distorted to use. Please go see her sing live if you can, or check her out on Instagram.
During this episode, I jump into talking about her life as a cruise ship performer, and also provide no context when I bring up her super clever song, “I Wanna Rock for Christmas.” Sorry gal, I just love that tune!
Anyway, this is KC Johns. Check out her new single, “Break From the Heart,” and KC, I will come find your next Key West show at Hogs Breath and crash your stage!
And, happy birthday to Only Vans producer Kyle! You rock.
The traditional path of a musician’s career would say that gaining a record label’s approval reflects a certain level of accomplishment and stature. That’s a good thing, right? It can be, but what makes for the right fit to a musician’s career – whether with a label or as an independent artist – largely depends on how a person wants to navigate the ebbs and flows that come with making music for a living.
Just over five years removed from her fourth full-length album, 25 Trips, the aforementioned fork in the road is exactly the juncture at which Hull recently found herself. Now bearing her fifth full-length album, A Tip Toe High Wire, the Nashville-based mandolinist and songwriter decided that the extra work of an independent release didn’t scare her.
In fact, Hull is someone who keeps busy – “I’m not good with time off,” she says – and A Tip Toe High Wire may turn out to be her most true-to-form album to date. From her collaborators – Béla Fleck, Tim O’Brien, Aoife O’Donovan, Lindsay Lou, Ronnie Bowman, Justin Moses, Ethan Jodziewicz, Geoff Saunders and more – to her co-writers, to production, arrangements, and underlying theme, every aspect of the record evokes Hull’s concentrated instincts as a musician, composer, and experienced public artist.
These songs let the rest of us know just a little more about the “who,” “how,” and “why” behind the music and how it fits into Hull’s life and of the lives of those she holds dear. It’s a multifaceted expression of individualism and independence while also being nowhere near a display of isolated work – truly a balancing act of coexisting contrasts.
BGS spoke with Sierra Hull by phone ahead of a packed tour, about the significance of going independent, embracing new ways of songwriting, how her perspective of making music has changed, and more.
How would you describe where you were creatively, between the release of 25 Trips and leading into this new independent recording?
Sierra Hull: Part of it is that I didn’t really have the opportunity to go out and tour 25 Trips. When things were starting to open up [after the pandemic shutdown], I put together this band that I’m touring with and was able to think about what I wanted the music to feel like on the heels of [COVID]. I tried to think about songs that would would feel fun to stand on a stage and perform, you know? And I think some of the context of moving into [A Tip Toe High Wire] was thinking about that.
[25 Trips] was also my last record as part of my Rounder Records contract. A Tip Toe High Wire just felt like this new chapter. And having fresh songs that I had started to write, having been inspired by the time off the road to write music, I kind of leaned into that. I was loving playing with this band and I felt like I had the freedom to not necessarily have outside chatter in my ear about what the next thing needed to be. It felt like an opportunity to just make music that I felt excited by and capture it. At first I wasn’t sure if it was going to become a record, or a single, or what it might be. But the further we got into it, I would just continue to book sessions that we could get in the studio and record in between all the touring.
I feel like [being independent] gives me more of an opportunity to have a direct offering and connection to my fans in a way that maybe I couldn’t have in another scenario, and it feels really important for me to have that in this moment.
How has your perspective of the music and album making process changed? What kind of goals did you set for yourself in this new career chapter?
I don’t know if my goals felt different, because the goal for me has never been to try to chase a particular thing or to please a certain kind of entity. But at the same time, when you’re independent, you get to call all the shots, you know? You decide when you’re recording, how you’re recording, when the music gets released, how it gets released, all that kind of stuff. It’s kind of like a difference of me deciding what’s on the puzzle pieces and then figuring out how to put the puzzle together, rather than just somebody handing you a puzzle and the picture is there already.
I often say, “If I was only making music for me, I could do that anytime I want.” I can sit at home in a room by myself and enjoy music that way. But I think that we as artists and performers, we create and we make stuff because we want to be able to share with people. We want to be able to share a common emotional experience with people. It’s the struggle between trusting yourself, and being vulnerable enough to receive the good things and knowledge that other people around me have to offer.
In deciding, “I’m going to do what I want to do,” it almost prompts the question, “Wouldn’t she have that figured out already?” It’s a nice reminder that there’s no timeline to connecting with self-discovery.
It’s funny, because I feel like it’s one of those things with every album I’ve made. [People say,] “She’s finally coming into her own” – it’s like that every chapter! But the truth is, that’s the human story at any level. You can be coming into your own your entire life. you know? It looks different at 16, and it looks different at 20, it looks different at 25, and it looks different now in my 30s.
There is a certain amount of weird calm that I feel about more things in my life and I think part of that is when you work hard throughout your 20s and there’s such a grind taking place. For me, I love the grind. I live for the work part of all this. Like I said, I’m not really good at just sitting around doing nothing so I’d rather be working than not. But at the same time, I need to not clench my hands too tightly around the thing that is my art and my career. So much of this is out of my control. People will like it or they they won’t and it’s about trying to find some peace and asking myself, “Do I feel like I’ve done my best?” And how much that really matters, instead of being as validated by the praise one receives. We all long for that – I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, too. But I think there’s just a little bit less worry about that. It kind of feels like age gives you that.
What about your songwriting approach did you change for A Tip Toe High Wire?
I think songwriting is always such a journey. This was the first record that has been primarily made up of my touring band. Some of the songs were written and then performed live before we even recorded them in the studio – not all of them – but a good chunk of them have been road-tested, which is an interesting way of [developing a song]. “Lord, That’s a Long Way,” I wrote that tune because I literally was imagining in my mind the way it would feel to play this live with this band. It’s a different kind of approach when you’re thinking that way. I imagine one instrument kicking it off and then another one joining in on that same riff and kind of building the opening. In this way, sometimes you can almost hear it and feel it in a live experience before you’re even finished writing a song.
“Muddy Water” is a beautiful song with an equally beautiful sentiment about staying true to oneself. How does this mentality applies to your experience as an artist?
I think part of it is about trying to not become jaded by [the life of a musician]. If you’re doing something over and over and it kind of becomes your world, it’s easy to get burned out. I’m always trying to make sure that I don’t get burned out and am finding ways to be inspired. So much of that is about keeping a positive mindset and trying to keep an open mindset to the inspiration around us. The other thing that I’ll say is, I’ve gotten to do so much collaborating over the last few years. That’s been a big part of my musical world and I feel like it’s been really broad-reaching too, in ways that I’m inspired.
Stepping out on tour with Cory Wong – that’s a fun time. It’s way different than what I do, but it’s a fun time. Going to make music with Béla Fleck – that’s about really getting in the weeds and rehearsing and working hard on incredibly complex instrumental music. Getting to go join Sturgill Simpson on something, it’s about not over-rehearsing the songs and making sure there’s something about the freshness of maybe one or two takes in the recording studio. That’s why I love collaboration. Being part of something that’s not yours, but you’re kind of part of it so you’re getting to learn and grow and experience and have that excitement rub off on you.
Several of the songs on A Tip Toe High Wire – “Red Bird,” “Haven Hill,” “Spitfire,” “Lord, That’s a Long Way” – nod to the matriarchs of your family. How would you describe where and how music fit into their lives and shaped each of their relationships with you and how you remember them?
Music was part of everyday life. My whole family is very much rooted in the backwoods of Appalachia, the boonies of Tennessee, as far back as I know. Not a lot of money, no college degrees, but such smart, strong characters and people with a wealth of knowledge and grit and toughness and all that. I think music was a way that they were able to cope and have it be part of their way to pass the time. More a way of life than trying to dream of being a performer.
I remember my Granny singing when I was a kid, hearing her sing in church, and I know [my husband Justin Moses’s] family background was much the same. So certainly a different kind of musical experience. But music has always been a big part of both my family story and Justin’s family story. And I was lucky enough to get to know all of his grandparents – he’s since lost three of them – but I was lucky to get to know them and my grandparents too. Not everybody gets that. So I feel super lucky. And yeah, I think inevitably those stories kind of wind up weaving their way into my songwriting.
How do you balance so many different but interconnected objectives – especially finding space to let out parts of yourself through your music?
I’ve been able to say yes to a lot of things, because [I’ve chosen] to say no to some other things and that feels rewarding because normally I’d be stressing out. So trying to think ahead and find the balance as a human, asking, “How can I be focused in the moment, not stack too many things on top of each other, and instead carve out the balance where I do have time to write, I do have time to record, and I do have time to tour?” Because I love all those things. In a perfect world, you make them exist in a cohesive way and that can inform what the art becomes on the other side of it, because I’ve given myself space to enjoy all these things in their own way, instead of just the constant chaos of trying to do five things at once.
(Editor’s Note: The entire BGS team would like to congratulate Basic Folk on 300 amazing episodes of the podcast! Celebrate #300, featuring GRAMMY nominee Sierra Hull as our guest, with us below.)
When mandolinist Sierra Hull was little, her dad told her she was really good “for a 10-year-old.” The older Hull knew Sierra had a fiery passion for the instrument and he knew exactly how to motivate his daughter. He went on to say that if she wanted to go to jams and porch-play for the rest of her life, she’d learned enough. He gave her realistic advice, saying if she wanted to dedicate her life to music, she would have to work really hard. Because “that 10-year-old cute thing is gonna wear off.” Sierra, who would draw pictures of herself playing at the Grand Ole Opry with Alison Krauss and doodle album covers with the Rounder Records logo, took his advice to heart and got to work.
Since then, Hull has shared the stage with more heroes than one could count. She’s inspired a new generation of younger players, she’s released five albums, and she’s considered a master of the mandolin. Her new album, A Tip Toe High Wire, is set for release March 7. In our Basic Folk conversation Sierra reflects on how growing up in the small town of Byrdstown, Tennessee, shaped her musical identity alongside bluegrass, gospel, and family traditions. She shares memories of family gatherings filled with music featuring Aunt Betty and Uncle Junior, the profound influence of church hymns, and how these experiences continue to resonate in her playing and songwriting.
Sierra also discusses the significance of A Tip Toe High Wire, her first independent release, highlighting the freedom and growth that come with that independence. She emphasizes the importance of authenticity in her music, allowing herself to explore new sounds while remaining grounded in her bluegrass roots. Elsewhere in the episode, she opens up about her personal growth, the pressures of being labeled a child prodigy, and her journey toward embracing imperfection in her art. We also dive into what we’ll call her “Stevie Nicks Era” with the amazing cover art on the new record. Sierra enjoys playing with elaborate styles in her album artwork and red carpet looks (helloooo CMA Awards). With a candid perspective on the challenges of the music industry, she encourages listeners to find joy in the process while appreciating the beauty of vulnerability.
Artist:Max Wareham Hometown: Middletown, Connecticut Latest Album:DAGGOMIT! (releasing February 21) Personal Nicknames or Rejected Band Names: The Bluegrass Pagans, The Bluegrass Feds, The Bluegrass Paranormal Investigators, The Bluegrass Rats
Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?
I play in Peter Rowan’s Bluegrass Band – he’s been a pretty big influence on me. His spirit as an artist burns strong; he has a vision that isn’t restricted by parameters of tradition or genre and he has an incredible way of singing and playing from the heart. Who else has played in a band with both Bill Monroe and Jerry Garcia? I was honored to have him produce my album, DAGGOMIT!. He’s also a distant cousin of mine.
What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?
I like to write and practice photography, especially film. The great French photographer Eugene Atget is a huge inspiration to me. His photographs have profound harmony in them – every proportion is perfect and the simplest lines can be so expressive. To me, it’s very musical. I also love the German author W.G. Sebald. His writing often explores themes of decay and loss through a gauzy lens of nostalgia, not unlike bluegrass music.
What’s the most difficult creative transformation you’ve ever undertaken?
I’ve worn lots of different musical hats, so I generally don’t find it difficult to transform creatively. While bluegrass and the banjo are my primary focus, I played electric bass for years in psych-pop band, Sun Parade, and studied jazz guitar performance at school. I write and record some non-bluegrass songs under the name Sir Orfeo and was in the chamber-pop studio band Cousin Moon – to me, it’s all music.
If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?
I’d probably work in archaeology. I quit music for a short while and worked on an archaeological dig in eastern Tennessee, excavating a 16th century Cherokee settlement. There’s something I love about digging, whether that’s literal or uncovering the history of forgotten banjo players.
I crewed for a hot air balloon pilot for a while, too, but that’s a tough gig.
Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?
Well, I did once find myself grilling a steak in a parking lot behind a venue with Dobro legend Jerry Douglas. I thought his company and the steak were a perfect pairing. He was wearing denim and the steak was medium-rare.
Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?
Gillian Welch. She has shown me that lyrics can be both beautiful and dark, honest and true. Her instrumentation is brilliantly simple and to see her play live is to transcend to a different plane.
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
We played “The Wild” in Seattle, and I asked if anybody had gone fishing that day. A fella had been out that morning and caught three coho salmon. When the song started he closed his eyes and I knew he was back on the ocean in the breeze and the water. I love to see other people getting to escape through my music.
What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?
Photography, antiquing and home décor design, cooking, and hosting friends.
What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?
I love Daft Punk. Especially their song “Something About Us.” They influenced a lot of the cosmic aspect of my album and I greatly admire their lyrics and musicality.
If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?
There is nothing I could do instead, I am married to the music.
When one really digs below the surface of Mon Rovîa, there’s this intricate kaleidoscope of self, this winding path where the road to the here and now for the singer-songwriter has truly been one of restless resilience, dogged passion, and spiritual curiosity.
The rising artist has already lived this whirlwind existence of trials and tribulations, but also one of triumph and transcendence. Born in the West African country of Liberia, Mon Rovîa (taking his stage name from Liberia’s capital city) was adopted by Christian missionaries and taken from his homeland in the midst of an extremely violent and daunting civil war,
From there, Mon Rovîa bounced around the United States in a highly religious household, one where he wasn’t exposed to modern culture or the endless depths of music, either new or old. But, nonetheless, he fostered many existential questions about his unfolding life, with one main query in the forefront: Who am I?
The intricate nature of Mon Rovîa became heavy and tumultuous within his heart and soul, these deep layers of internal conflict. Being an immigrant in America. Being a Black man raised in a white family. Being adopted with no sense of his biological parents. And being filled with survivor’s guilt about leaving Liberia.
Yet, it was writing in his journals that launched the long process of healing and understanding within Mon Rovîa. Those words, thoughts and emotions soon took shape as songs, all while he began to learn to play the ukulele, guitar and other instruments. Add into that, his continued exploration of recorded music itself.
What has resulted is this unique tone, a vibrant crossroads of indie-folk, Americana, and shoegaze pop stylings, with many viewing Mon Rovîa as a talented rising voice in the Afro-Appalachian folk scene.
Fast-forward to 2025, where Mon Rovîa has become a very popular star on TikTok, yet his soothing sounds and melodies echo far across the massive social media platform. Several studio EPs have been released to wide acclaim, with the latest, Act 4: Atonement, putting a period on this chapter of his art – his eyes now aimed at the unknown horizon of his intent, head held high and optimistic.
When you’re looking out the window these days – in terms of your career, where the music’s going, and also where you’re going – what are you seeing?
Mon Rovîa: From even last year, I think things have accelerated a lot faster than I would’ve hoped in music, to be honest. It still seems really fresh though. It’s a lot of taking in the new fans and a lot of the joy that’s come with the acceptance of the music on a broader scale. At times, I wonder if I was really prepared for all of it, because a lot of these songs and a lot of the roadmap was written from a place of deep sadness and things that I was going through at the time. It’s crazy when you get to the place of living the thing you hoped for and realize that, “Oh man, there’s longevity that needs to be tied along with it now, since it’s becoming something that people are really desiring.” But, I’m very thankful. I try to be truly in tune with my energy and spirit. The world is super heavy and I tend to feel it a lot.
As things get crazier for you, expectations may shift and things change. How do you keep that piece of you that’s honest and real intact in your music?
A lot of it is, for me at least, having perspective. I know that’s easier said than done. But, being able to understand that you’re doing what you love and to be honest with whatever it is you’re presenting. Write what you know, write what you feel.
Your popularity soared through TikTok and now you’re playing more live shows. Has that been an interesting transition in being face to face with your fans that normally see you from behind a screen?
Absolutely. It’s totally different. I’m a pretty quiet, shy person. So now, transitioning to moving from the screen and having that barrier, that river that can divide, all the little things that come into play when you’re face to face? It was a little bit scary at first, especially with the first couple tours we did. With being in front of a crowd, the most important piece I think that I’ve learned now is the stories that I’m telling are the tales of my journey with each song. As I play music, that’s helped me become a lot more confident onstage, because I know what I’m speaking about and I know what the songs are about. It’s not this kind of idleness and just good music to listen to. I try to take the listener a little bit deeper, and that’s fun for me to do that. It creates a lot more fun. I’m just not someone that likes to be in front of a lot of people or be the center of attention, to be honest. I prefer writing things in silence, being in my room and contemplating.
With all of this going on, you’re also on this journey of finding yourself and figuring out who you are, where you came from, and where you’re going.
I think every adopted kid eventually hits the point where they want to know so many different things about their life, their story, what their background was. And that’s what was happening to me around the time of [my 2021 album] Dark Continent. And that’s even before we were taking this route of Afro-Appalachia. But, it led me to dive deeper into music and I just happened to be [living in Chattanooga, Tennessee]. Being in this area helped me to dive deeper into where all this music kind of came from and the history [behind folk, bluegrass, and Americana]. So here I am, just a Liberian refugee, but somehow in the perfect hands of history learning from where I was, not necessarily anything else. It is a very full circle moment.
That’s got to be a lot to wrestle with as you get older and you become your own person. I mean, there’s a lot of layers there.
So many layers. But don’t forget, there’s that layer of being the Black kid in a white missionary Christian family. And then the experience of growing up Black in that private school kind of world, having no tie to the African American experience. Being exiled as well from that group, because I didn’t have the same upbringing. I was always looked at as being a white Black person, a Black person that spoke white, because I spoke pretty properly. Kids that have my experience are very lonely, you know? There’s not really a place you fit, because you don’t fit with the white kids because you’re Black in their eyes, clearly. And then the African Americans don’t accept you because you don’t know their world either.
It was a very tough upbringing. I was very quiet and I watched a lot. I learned how to be what I am in social settings, how to relate to [others] and keep things to myself a lot, just try to fit in as best as possible. It was tough. It was lonely. Music didn’t really come to me as Mon Rovîa until 2018, and that’s when I really started to take music a little bit more seriously. [Growing up], it was more of an outlet. It was just a fun thing I did with my brothers. I didn’t think of a career or me being good at it, because nobody said I was good at music or writing music. My friends did like my writing. They thought I was very clever, but I didn’t consider it for myself at that time. I just did it.
With this period of your life and career, it seems Act 4: Atonement seems like the end of the beginning of this chapter of your music and your journey.
Yeah. That’s what Atonement is. It’s the end of the beginning. Everyone is a hero in this story of life. So, everyone has their hero’s journey, whatever that is to them. Some don’t make it to becoming the hero, which is a tragic thing. And some do, but everyone has that journey in their life. For me, this atonement ending is the start of what I am now. I think it gets me to this place where I’ve gone through a lot of difficult things. Hopefully now, in my next chapters of Mon Rovîa, whatever that is, I can atone to the people – people that are hurting and going through different things. The point is, I can hopefully now be some kind of light to these people, where I can tell them things I’ve learned along the way. And hopefully it helps them through their things and through their time. That’s the important piece of what atonement is – the knowledge then turns hopefully to wisdom.
Have you been back to Liberia at all?
The last time I was there I was 10 or so. But, I’m supposed to go back next year to see my sister and brother. They still live there.
Have you tracked down your parents?
My mother passed away during the war and my father also did. I keep in contact with my sister, and that’s only recently. Growing up, these people were not in my thoughts. I tried to forget a lot of these things and just assimilate to American culture. It wasn’t until I was older that that guilt set in where I realized, “Man, I hadn’t even thought about anybody else in my country or the gift that it is to be chosen,” because it could have been my sister or brother that was chosen to come to America. I was just picked out of the group of them like, “Hey, he should go with this missionary family.” So, a lot of those things didn’t even come to my mind until I was older, to really see how much time I wasted absolutely doing nothing for anyone else but myself in this place. At that time, I was going through a lot of different vices and dealing with a lot of different bad things. I was constantly drinking and deep into my depression and lack of understanding of what my purpose was at all.
Or who you are.
I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t really know my past and history. I had glimpses of it from just some things my adopted parents had told me. But, I hadn’t dove into it until I contacted my sister and heard the real thing, the truth of it all. The goal is to go back [to Liberia] and try to get some colors from my native country and, and just, you know, spend some time with people that I haven’t seen in a long time and learn. The last time I went was really difficult. When I was there, it was in the middle of the second civil war and we ended up staying longer than expected because the child soldiers had taken over the capital city of Monrovia. It was a really scary time and that was the last memory of Liberia during the conflict. That’s a whole other cathartic piece of my journey, to [once again] step foot on that soil. I think once I step foot on that soil, I’ll probably weep. A lot of things have been bottled up and lodged into different areas of my body, [and will be] released onto the continent. But, not until I go there. My story won’t end until I go back. That’s a major piece.
You have such an interesting perspective, because I think a lot of times people in this country take things for granted, where they’ve either never traveled out of this country or they’re not from other countries. I would surmise that you probably see things that are beautiful in this country that a lot of us don’t acknowledge.
Yeah. There’s so much beauty in this country. Through all of the tirades against each other, there is still so much goodness. I mean, being able to walk out your door and be able to get anything you want at a store that’s there and not be–
Afraid to go for that walk.
Not afraid to go, yeah. Not afraid to go on that walk knowing I might not come home today, and there’s many countries like that currently. People don’t even have that freedom to go out their door and just see something and or go walk in the woods.
Or make an album.
Or make an album. It’s crazy to me that we forget so easily the good things when times are tough. And when times are tough, you think that the good won’t come back again. Man’s memory is so short and it’s really the plague.
That’s really what kills us all is that our memory is terrible. In times of famine, you never think good will come again. So, you lose hope. But, everything’s cyclical as well. Good comes back and hard times come again. And then you weathered the bad time before, but you forget that you weathered it, so you suffer. That’s us. That’s humanity.
It all began way back, nearly seventy years ago in Memphis, Tennessee, when an almost unremarkable thing happened: A record store opened its doors.
That a record store might exist in the home of the blues in 1957 was itself no remarkable thing. But this store, Satellite Records, was quite literally a sister operation to the recording studio next door. Satellite’s owner, Estelle Axton, was the older sister of the studio’s founder, Jim Stewart.
Stewart was a fiddler with a passion for country music. Long before the dominance of indie labels, Stewart had the idea to start his own studio and label, to get his music out to the masses. As luck would have it, his original country songs were… just fine. Nothing groundbreaking. But his work sparked the imagination of a young musician named David Porter, who strode into the studio one day and asked if he could lay down some tracks.
Long story short, Porter recruited some other artists who became a band known as Booker T. and the M.G.s – eventually the studio’s de facto house band. Suddenly, the label – named STAX as a combination of Jim and Estelle’s last names – was off to the races.
Now, a three-part docuseries from HBO titled STAX: Soulville USA is available for streaming on MAX. The series premiered at South by Southwest earlier this year and earned two Emmy Award nominations (Outstanding Documentary or Nonfiction Series and Outstanding Sound Mixing for a Nonfiction Program). While the series did not prevail in those categories, it is a powerful, thorough, emotional telling of the relationship between music, its makers, and the world in which they live.
The series’ director – Peabody, Emmy, and NAACP award-winner Jamila Wignot – strung together an incredible array of rare and never-before-shared footage of the rise and fall (and rise again) of STAX Records between 1961-1975. But footage isn’t just from inside the studio walls. We see musicians on their first trips to Europe, relaxing in the pool at the Lorraine Hotel – a frequent STAX hangout before it became the scene of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination. There is footage from civil rights protests and speeches and moments of great grief and outrage. There are contemporary interviews with the musicians and staff of STAX and Satellite Records, including Axton and Stewart.
And always, at the heart of it all, there’s the music.
In a For Your Consideration panel also available on MAX, Mignot admitted that, when she was approached to direct the series, she was “really just into it for the music.”
“I thought it was going to be this great-big, beautiful music story,” she adds. “As I started to do more research, and particularly looking into the work that [STAX biographer] Rob Bowman had done, I understood that it was a much bigger story that touched on social issues, history, and [it] really was this beautiful story of these folks who were, I think, led by intuition and desire, and weren’t necessarily trying to do more than the things that they loved. But they were very responsive to the world that was around them.”
Of course, outside the walls of STAX studio and Satellite records, Black people were subject to the cultural and legal realities of living in the Jim Crow South.
“[Jim Crow] was too strong a system to tear down,” bandleader Booker T. notes. “In Memphis, you had to keep your mouth shut and hope for the best. Or fight.”
While that was the rule of the road outside, inside STAX studio, Booker T.’s band had two Black members and two white. Together, they developed an approach to Southern soul music that would become one of the most influential sounds of the 20th Century.
Granted, as the civil rights movement went through its various waves in Memphis and beyond, and STAX players marched on picket lines without their white bandmates beside them, this complicated interpersonal relationships in the studio. But the music continued to compel everyone forward. As a result, music fans got to find solace in some of the greatest roots recordings ever made.
The docuseries’ executive producer Michele Smith commented on the artists’ legacies in a recent phone conversation.
“Those artists were just teenagers who had a love for the music,” she says. “[They] just wanted to be heard. What they did not know at that time was they were forging a path to history. They were working, they did know that what they were doing was technically illegal in the Jim Crow South. … They were young people who just wanted to make music. And they did a whole lot more than that. Their music, to this day, will … outlive all of us. It’s globally renowned and it’s some of the best R&B soul music out there, sampled by young people today.”
Being able to watch this music get made is certainly one major draw of the series. Isaac Hayes and the Bar-Kays developing the “Theme from Shaft”; Sam & Dave rolling out “Soul Man” for a live audience the first time; and Otis Redding onstage at the Monterey Pop Festival.
In interview clips, STAX alumni recall how out-of-place Redding and his band were – sober and polished in their well-pressed suits – among the mostly white hippie, dropped-out crowd. Recognizing the one thread that connected him with his seemingly polar-opposite audience, Redding started his set by asking, “This is the love crowd, right? We all love each other, don’t we?” The crowd roared, so he closed his eyes and lit into “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long” with a passion and emotional clarity that was absolutely intoxicating.
“Otis Redding hit the stage,” recalled trumpet player Wayne Jackson. “All those hippies got quiet. They ain’t seen anything like us.”
Though that was the truth, it often was in those days of STAX artists making the rounds with their groundbreaking sound. But, certainly, nobody present for any of it – no matter if STAX was on its way up or its way down – would ever forget the way the music turned their soul.
MANCHESTER, TN – Bonnaroo is here, and what better way to experience your favorite national brands and a little music than by camping out with thousands of strangers. But after pitching your tent in the swampy hellscape of Tennessee, experiencing the serenity of a fetid port-a-potty, and meeting your new influencer neighbor, “Kylie B,” living it up in her $4,000 glamping tent, you might be craving some creature comforts of your own. Here’s how to secure the ultimate Bonnaroo experience that’ll make you the envy of the unwashed masses before human-being-turned-cigarette Post Malone even takes the stage.
FUNDRAGING
You’ve already blown your firstborn’s college fund on festival passes, so it’s time to get creative with money. Start by hitting up any old roommates who stumbled into lucrative STEM careers while you were exploring your passion for Russian literature, then consider who among them you might have particularly damaging kompromat on. Your roommate-turned-pediatrician Owen really doesn’t want you to email his wife the Polaroids you have of “Turtle Night” back at Sigma Chi? It’s probably best that he just Venmo you a few thousand dollars in your time of need so that they never see the light of day.
SECURING PRIMO DIGS
Booking sites like Hotels.com or Airbnb can be expensive, and during festival season, availability is limited. Instead of stressing out with a last-minute scramble to find a place to your standards, try heading straight to Google Earth. With satellite technology, you can easily see which nearby McMansions look empty during the summer months. Nervous about trespassing? Bone up on Tennessee’s excellent stand-your-ground laws. Once you’ve established residency, even a returning homeowner can be escorted off their own property using any means necessary.
EATING LIKE A ROCKSTAR
Festival food is notoriously overpriced and underwhelming. But the headlining artists at these festivals come with specific riders that all but guarantee a yummy backstage spread. Since anyone under 5’6″ with a shaved head and the confidence of a middle-aged white man can pass for Flea, you’re virtually assured a seat at the table once you whisk past security into the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ dressing room. Over 5’6″? Throw on a backward baseball cap and cosplay as drummer Chad Smith or his lesser-known doppelgänger, Will Ferrell.
DRIVING IN STYLE
Did you know that Tesla owners get roadside assistance anywhere in America? Of course, you don’t own a Tesla, but your ring-light-bathed glamper neighbor Kylie B sure does. A standard box cutter will make quick work of the tires on her new Model S. When the tow truck arrives, simply decline the repair and ask them to drop you at your new house. Your compelling tales of every performance you’ve witnessed over the weekend are sure to win over the driver, so at the festival’s end, don’t hesitate to make him take you all the way back to your old life in Iowa and your wistful year-long wait before you can do it all again.
Greg Hess is a comedy writer and performer in Los Angeles. His work has been featured in The American Bystander, The Onion, Shouts & Murmurs, Points in Case, and he cohosts the hit satirical podcast MEGA.
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