Tag: the beatles

Ringo Starr and T Bone Burnett in Conversation

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

On a sunny day in late April, I stood outside an ad hoc interview room at the Sunset Marquis in West Hollywood waiting for my turn to speak to Ringo Starr.

Sporadic laughter boomed through the door as the hazy afternoon light danced on the doorknob hanger. Instead of the usual “Do Not Disturb,” this one simply said, “Peace.” The verbiage, apropos for Ringo, served as one part levity and one part beta-blocker as I prepared to speak to a Beatle.

When the door opened, I was surprised and delighted to come face to face with Phil Rosenthal (of Somebody Feed Phil). The unabashed smile on his face foreshadowed the similar joy I would feel taking the same steps through that door just 25 short minutes later.

And yet another revelation unfolded as I walked in the room to find both Mr. Starr and T Bone Burnett, producer of Ringo’s newest album, Long Long Road. The ensuing discussion covered their relationships with genre, synesthesia, and inevitably bobbed and weaved across the rich musical history of these two icons.

Do I get both of you today?

Ringo Starr: Yes!

Excellent!

T Bone Burnett: Only if you want.

RS: Hi. I’m Ringo.

Ha! Yes. The man of the hour. How are you?

RS: Good. Excellent.

Thank you so much for having me.

RS: Oh, it’s our pleasure.

TB: Her dad is a great songwriter, a great guitar player from Muscle Shoals.

RS: We were just talking to someone else about that today.

Really? You were talking about Muscle Shoals today?

RS: Well, we didn’t actually mention it, but we were talking about the music that, for me, started with Johnny Ray and people like that. I was a teenager, and then it went up to country music, and then I got into blues music, and then I got into pop of the day music.

I love country music. And he’s the country boy [as he points to T Bone Burnett].

That’s a fantastic segue to my first question. So as we mentioned, I grew up in Muscle Shoals, and I had this record player that was a little battery-operated blue Volkswagen bus. Do you remember these?

TB: Yeah, I do!

It would ride around the record, and it had a little speaker in it, and I would lay on the ground, and I’d listen to Abbey Road. But it was also around the same time that the video for “Act Naturally,” the duet with Buck Owens, came out. So, for me, you were very genre-fluid from a very early age. I’m curious about a couple of things genre-wise, and T Bone, please jump in on this too.

TB: Okay, I’ll jump in, and I’ll say that the Beatles probably invented what became known as “country rock.” You know, with “I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party.”

RS: And what were the two that were Carl Perkins?

TB: “Honey Don’t” and “Matchbox.”

RS: “Honey Don’t” was the best line I ever heard.

TB: Yeah, it is a killer title.

RS: “Matchbox” was a blues song, really.

TB: Well, “Matchbox” was an old Blind Lemon Jefferson song.

RS: Yes. The interesting thing is I did those in the ’60s, and we just found a Carl Perkins tune that we’d never heard, and we’ve done it on this record. “I Don’t See Me in Your Eyes Anymore.”

I love it.

RS: It is so beautiful and he was just a cool guy. You know, I was a teenager when I first heard him, and it was like, “Oh yeah!”

T Bone: Yeah, he was cool. He, [Carl], had heard “Matchbox” or his dad had heard it by Blind Lemon Jefferson, but they could only remember a few words of it, so he rewrote it as a rockabilly song.

So you knew of country music when you were growing up, you were aware of it.

RS: I did. I was aware of country music. I loved it because it was emotional, and I was a teenager. That’s what we are at that age.

[Ringo singing:] “ Well the wife is dead and I’m leaving home. I got no money for the jukebox.”

Perfect for teenagers.

When I say the words “country music” to you now, what do you think of? Who or what or how do you think of it?

RS: I still think a lot about the people from yesterday, who I came in with. You’ve got to say Willie. I mean, he’s magical and still out there. Thank you, Willie. And who used to open for Willie?

TB: Waylon?

RS: Waylon! He was great. I have to think back.

TB: Well Hank Williams…

RS: Well, no, Hank was where we came in. And Hank Snow. No one mentions him. He was Canadian. Patsy Cline. There’s too many really.

I was talking to someone the other week and they asked, “What is your all-time favorite record?” I couldn’t answer. There is too much that I love. “Who’s your favorite artist?” I start with Ray Charles. And Stevie, and down that line. But I can’t answer it. We were on TV, and I stopped it. I said, “I just can’t answer.” There are too many in my life to say, “That’s the one.”

Plead the 5th.

Do you ever feel constrained by genre? Or inspired by it? What is your relationship with the idea of it?

RS: I’m a pop-rock music drummer. I’ll play whatever you’re gonna give me. If you want it heavy, I’ll hit the cymbals. Heavy metal has some great acts going down. We would jam sometimes and be that.

TB: Oh, well, I mean, the Beatles invented heavy metal, really.

RS: Yeah. It’s just playing the same shit, but heavier.

TB: “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey” or “Helter Skelter.”

RS: “Helter Skelter” was a jam. We had no song, nothing, we were just jamming, and then Paul came in with, “Hey! Helter Skelter.” Like “Say It’s Your Birthday,” there was someone in the newspaper who we knew, and it was their birthday, and we were jamming. Paul stepped up again, and we got another song. We were like that. You could jump in, any one of us could jump in. I’ve got odd lines we aren’t gonna talk about on certain tracks.

[A publicist chimes in to say:] “T Bone you have five more minutes before you have to leave and then you’ll go and he’ll stay in.”

RS: And then I’ll go and then you’ll stay in. [Laughter]

Well, let’s go back to the Volkswagen.

RS: Let’s get back to it.

Because I have a little bit of synesthesia, I think.

TB: I have that, too.

RS: What have you got?

TB: I see colors when I hear music.

RS: Oh, great!

So, “Octopus’s Garden” was very purple for me. “Act Naturally” is very orangey gold. I’m curious if you’ve ever experienced anything like that. And if it’s not colors, if there are certain textures that you’re looking for in a song, when you’re casting songs for an album? And T Bone, this question’s for you too, since you have it.

RS: T Bone will give me a lot of songs, and I listen to them and I picked my six at the beginning. There were only three I didn’t use. That’s how we started this. In the end, we were talking in my little studio and I said to him, “How many songs have you got?” And he had nine. It gave me the courage to ask him if he would produce the record. All the songs were not on my mind; we were just hanging out like two guys. But it turned into a fellowship.

TB: Well, I can tell you that the Beatles stuff that first came out was very dark blue, all of it. “Don’t Bother Me” especially was the most dark blue of them. It was interesting that the album cover that first came out over here [in the U.S.] was dark blue. So it all sort of coalesced, I think.

That was one of those blessed moments that happen occasionally on earth, you know? Where everybody heard the same thing at the same time.

Absolutely.

RS: I never saw colors. I mean, I did see colors some days… You know what I mean?

[All laugh]

RS: When I listened, it’s how I felt. A sad song, a happy song, a rock song– some of it will move you, and some of it moved me.

TB: Well, I’d better go. But thank you, great to see you again.

Yeah, you too. Nice to see you again.

[As T Bone got up to leave, his wife entered the room and chatter ensued, but he added before walking out the door:]

TB: By the way, “I Want to Hold Your Hand” was very dark blue.

Well, you know, what’s funny is, I had a synesthesia question for Ringo about you, because I didn’t know you were going to be here. But I was going to say that your musical color and texture is exactly like what you are wearing, to me.

TB: Oh, is that right? That’s wild. Thank you! Nice to see you all.

RS: God Bless, peace and love!

Tell me about what it is like for you working in Nashville? Tell me what it feels like working with those players.

RS: I did have experience in the early ’70s when Pete Drake invited me to come, because we were working on a George Harrison record. You know, we keep talking about the steps we take, the moves we make. And I was there with George, and I’m playing for him and he’d called Pete – I didn’t know Pete. Pete had landed at Heathrow, and the car George was sending broke down, so we sent my car. And then he arrived. “Hey, hoss, I see you like country music.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do. How do you know?”

He said, “All those cassettes in your car.”

And then a few days later, he’s saying, “You should come to Nashville.” And I thought, “I’m not going to Nashville. I’m doing stuff here. I don’t have a month or six weeks to go to Nashville.” He said, “A month? Six weeks? Nashville Skyline took two days.” And I said, “I’m coming.” And I went, and we did the same thing.

On the first day, five songs were picked in the morning. Between us, we listened to them all. Five songs were recorded, and five songs were finished. And the next day, we picked five songs. Anyway, it went on the same way, and it was finished. And it took two days, so that was great.

Well, Ringo, you have one of the finest reputations in the music business.

RS: As a drummer or else?

EM: As a drummer, as a human.

RS: Or as a tall person?

The tallest around.

Just for being so kind to people and emanating peace and love, obviously. And you’ve been such a beacon of that for so many decades. Especially in the last couple of weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about that, after finding out that I was going to talk to you. I was curious, I’m sure it’s mostly innate, but do you ever feel like it’s a responsibility – in terms of how you are in the public, in terms of what songs you’re picking? I’m particularly thinking of “Choose Love.”

RS: I just do my best, you know, to pick the songs that give you some movement, and you say, “Oh, I’d like to sing that.” That’s what I’m with these two country songs with T Bone. I mean, I don’t really do it in a political way, that it says this or that. It’s usually peace and love. If I write it, it’s always peace and love – I don’t know what the question was.

Just wondering if it ever feels like a responsibility to you.

RS: You know, I’ve had many a good year, but some years I’ve made really bummer mistakes. It’s like that’s when your brain wins. I mean, even on this record, I’ve got the lines about “let the stuff come in, but let it go.” And I’ve been pretty good at that for a long time. Not that it’s every second of my life. Sometimes it gets in. And it stays in your thoughts. Then you’re in hell. I’m blessed that that doesn’t happen half as much anymore. I can just dump the thought that comes in and deal with whatever it is.

I was going to ask you about that line in particular, because I think it does this beautiful job of talking about a meditative quality of finding peace without being preachy or telling people “how to” and I really love that.

RS: I meditated this morning. I meditate every morning, this time since ‘92. You know, we went to the Maharishi in India with the boys. And I was worried, you know, “Am I doing it properly?” I was talking to him [Maharishi] and he says, “Ringo, even if you fall asleep, you must have been tired.”

And it taught me a great lesson. I was into like, madness and stuff, you know, “It must be this. It must be me. What’s the problem?” And now I get quite calm.

That’s wonderful. Yeah. It comes across on this album. You’re talking about your own experience and that’s–

RS: What else can I talk about? I can’t talk about yours, you know? But thank you.

Tell me about the band that played on this record.

RS: T Bone’s whole band is great. The rest of Nashville is so great. They all came out to help me. To be there. It is in my heart.

Last January, when I was there and back three times. And every time when I’ve played at the Ryman… I’ve been playing there for the last 15 years with the All Stars, but when I go on that stage, I feel all the guys and all the gals who stood on that stage.

And then what happens? The Grand Ole Opry invited me to do three songs. And I go on that stage that has the Ryman circle that the singers stand on. It is magical. For me, coming from England, it was really magical to get on that stage. And the people are great. It is built for music coming out and hitting everybody, because it was a gospel church. I’m still moved. I get on the stage, and I have to go through a minute of, “Wow, wow!”

Photo Credit: Dan Winters

2025 Good Country

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

What is Good Country?

We wouldn’t ever begin to even try to define it. Good Country is a place. A feeling. A sense of knowing it when you hear it. Whatever you consider to fall under the term or qualify for the moniker, there certainly is plenty of Good Country to be found these days – and especially in 2025.

To wrap up the year in country, we asked our GC contributors not to simply select their favorite country song or album of the year, but to consider that titular question. We gave our writers no parameters or qualifiers for what their picks could be or include, leaving the prompt as open-ended as possible, asking our folks to focus in on the music that stuck with them, whatever the reason or impulse or staying power. Most selections are albums and songs, but some are artists, books, soundtracks, live shows, or other more intangible moments.

The results perfectly illustrate how much easier it is to triangulate the location of Good Country by showing, rather than telling. Spanish-language and Mariachi-infused country fall alongside twangy Mississippian working class messages over hip-hop beats and contemplative singer-songwriter mental health reckonings. Bluegrass pickers can be found beside books and motion picture soundtracks and songs sung in te reo Māori. Smash hits and household names bump up against newcomers and fresh discoveries. It’s all here. It’s all Good Country.

As you scroll, we hope you enjoy the broad, borderless, and endlessly entrancing territory we’ve come to know as Good Country. As we turn the page from 2025 to 2026, we’re proud of the community of folks who love and make Good Country – and beyond excited to hear what they’ll continue to bring to us in the very near future.

Sammy Arriaga, “Before The Next Teardrop Falls”

Freddy Fender’s masterful 1974 hit, “Before The Next Teardrop Falls,” with its Tejano guitar and half-Spanish chorus, is so cemented into the history of the place it was made that it sounds as contemporary as Willie in Austin, and older than the Carter Family, even maybe older than Nashville itself. Recording a cover of it, especially in this era of ICE raids and xenophobic facism, is to argue for a kind of double heartbreak – where the loss of a lover and the oppression of a culture work concurrently. I would have never thought that Sammy Arriaga was capable of this, his previous work was often vapid and derivative, but 2025’s Heart in Texas has an immediate, difficult tenderness.

If Fender’s work has hope that his lover will eventually need him in the same way that country music will need him, then Arriaga’s work is devastating because he knows that he will not be asked to be there at all. – Steacy Easton

William Beckmann, “Por Mujeres Como Tú”

Few things brought me more joy this year than videos of country crooner William Beckmann performing Pepe Aguilar’s “Por Mujeres Como Tú” at Floore’s Country Store in Helotes, Texas, in September. Beckmann was joined by Mariachi Campanas de America, a San Antonio-based group that’s been active in different iterations since 1978.

A native of Del Rio, Texas, Beckmann has made no secret of his bilingual roots – he sang Vicente Fernández’s “Volver, Volver” during his Opry debut in 2023 and included a cover of “Por Mujeres Como Tú” on his major-label debut, Whiskey Lies & Alibis, earlier this year. But this was clearly a special moment, as evidenced by the triumphant expressions on Beckmann’s and the mariachis’ faces and the sounds of the delighted crowd singing along. It offered proof of what many generations of Texans already know to be true: Mariachis make everything better. – Will Groff

Luke Bell, The King is Back

Luke Bell was a country music chameleon like no other. Western swing, country blues, classic country, outlaw, cowboy, trucker songs, and rowdy barroom country – he sounded at home in it all. Enigmatic and tough to pin down, Bell was a quintessential driving force in the Americana and independent country scene as it blossoms now. He also struggled with mental illness and substance abuse, and was found dead at 32, truncating his musical contributions.

Now, a posthumous double album, The King is Back, delivers both Bell’s ineffable joie de vivre and his remarkable songwriting in the most complete form yet. The King is Back’s 28 tracks range from bravado on “Rattlesnake Man,” “Long Gone Love,” and “Cold Stew,” to vernacular country with “Roofer’s Blues” and “Irrigator’s Blues,” and classic country weepers like “Seven and Steady” and the album’s spectacular, tragic closer, “Tiger’s Mouth.” Bell’s songwriting was often stunningly prescient. And on the album’s title track, it’s easy to imagine Bell’s just stepped back on stage with a wink and a grin: “I heard things just ain’t the same without me/ Hold your hats, the party’s on, the king is back,” he sings. This album is as close as it gets. – Meredith Lawrence

Cole Chaney, In The Shadow Of The Mountain

In 2023, as I was wrapping up an interview with music industry counselor JT Nolan about the mental health benefits of playing music, he asked, “Have you heard Cole Chaney? Go to YouTube and listen to ‘Spirit.’” When friends and family turn away, houses of worship slam-lock their doors, and society at large stigmatizes and ostracizes, the broken take refuge in the arts. Sometimes it’s complex work. Sometimes it’s the gentle strumming of an acoustic guitar and a high lonesome refrain: “I want to let go, I don’t want to hurt no more, I want to let go … spirit … I’m tired of holding on …”

A lot can happen in two years. Cole Chaney grew his hair, plugged in, turned up, and released In The Shadow Of The Mountain. The result owes as much to Cobain and Cornell as it does to Doc and Merle. Chaney describes it as “a little bit of a darker album.” That’s saying something, considering the emotional outpouring that is his debut, Mercy. Settled in midway on the new release is a revisited “Spirit,” somehow even more plaintive than the OurVinyl session.

Albums like In The Shadow Of The Mountain, in all its aching beauty, are reminders that while our brokenness may never truly leave us, music is the kintsugi that helps fill its deepest cracks. – Alison Richter

Tyler Childers, Snipe Hunter

Sure, Tyler Childers’ grungy Rick Rubin-produced masterpiece, Snipe Hunter, has been nominated for a GRAMMY Award in the Best Contemporary Country Album, but placing the project alongside releases by fellow nominees Miranda Lambert and Kelsea Ballerini illustrates how limiting this buzzworthy category split really is. To this listener, every single fascinating song on Snipe Hunter is built upon a centuries-old foundation of country and Appalachian tradition.

While the album has certainly had a polarizing effect among those who describe themselves as Childers fans, folks “in the know” inside and outside of the region – be it central or southern Appalachia, Kentucky, the South, or rural haunts in general – found endlessly artful complications and narrations of country (and country-ness) throughout the collection. Childers’ lyrics are all at once demonstrable and fantastic, far-fetched and absolutely grounded in reality. Over the half-year since its release, I find myself returning to Snipe Hunter over and over again to delight in new discoveries and freshly raised eyebrows and first time laughs-out-loud as I find more and more whimsical magic flowing from Childers’ true country pen. You may not see yourself reflected in this EP, but to those of us who do, the sensation is joyous – and addicting. – Justin Hiltner

Madeline Edwards, FRUIT

When Madeline Edwards started turning in songs for her 2025 album, FRUIT, an “industry leader” on her team suggested she package the project as a “grief EP” – a moment of catharsis in the wake of her younger brother’s death that would not distract her from more commercially viable musical pursuits. But the grief songs kept coming and the suits lost faith.

Edwards stuck to her guns and delivered the brilliant concept album independently. The pangs of mourning ring out throughout FRUIT, but so do hard-won determination and joy. Edwards’ range as a storyteller is on marvelous display from the instantly memorable piano ballad “Just A Dream” to the wall of guitars on “American Psycho” and gospel timelessness of “Holy Fire.”

Edwards is at home among the many different shades of contemporary country, while also dipping her toes in soul, rock, indie and her very own brand of classical pop vocals. Somebody please put this multifaceted performer on a massive headlining tour ASAP so we can watch her soar to even greater heights. – Lizzie No

Sierra Hull, A Tip Toe High Wire

With the release of her latest album, A Tip Toe High Wire, Sierra Hull has broken through a new level of national and international notoriety. With a songbird voice and soothing stage presence, the mandolin virtuoso took her deep bluegrass roots and blended it with a heady helping of Americana and indie-folk stylings.

Always cognizant of her traditional bluegrass foundation, Hull continues to use that steady footing to step over musical fences and into new realms of sonic possibilities, as seen with her appearances onstage in recent years with the likes of Slash, Cory Wong, and the Allman Betts Family Revival. If anything, A Tip Toe High Wire is, in many respects, Hull finally arriving into her own space and signature sound, something she’s chased after since she was a young kid playing alongside legends like Alison Krauss, Sam Bush, and Béla Fleck. The album itself is a testament to the unlimited possibilities she possesses and radiates with such ease and pure enthusiasm.

Not to mention, Hull also took home her seventh Mandolin Player of the Year honor at this year’s International Bluegrass Music Association Awards. – Garret K. Woodward

Nicholas Jamerson, The Narrow Way

Those plugged into Kentucky’s music scene will often put Nicholas Jamerson’s songwriting on the same level as that of Tyler Childers, Chris Stapleton, and Sturgill Simpson. With his latest record, The Narrow Way, it’s easy to see why.

On the 12-song project, the singer’s humility shines through as he tackles topics like the bond he’s built with his partner (“One With You”), remaining hopeful in life’s dim moments (“Dark In Every Day”), not taking your time for granted (“Running Out Of Daylight”) and reflecting on moments you can’t get back (“Prater Creek”).

Further recognition of Jamerson’s prowess as a writer can be found in the feature spots littering the project, which range from its producer Rachel Baiman to Ketch Secor (Old Crow Medicine Show), Tim O’Brien, Shelby Means (Molly Tuttle & Golden Highway), and his sister, Emily Jamerson (another artist to keep your eye on). Altogether, The Narrow Way follows the same formula Jamerson has rode to success for over a decade now – serving the song above everything else – and the best part is he’s showing no signs of slowing down. – Matt Wickstrom

KIRBY

@singkirbysing Did you know Mississippi has the most food deserts in America ? A food desert is where residents have limited access to affordable healthy & nutritious food options due to a lack of grocery stores. Spread the word. #fyp #foryou #foryoupage #fypシ #fypppppppppppppp #viraltiktok #viralvideo #fypdongggggggg #singing #relatable #singer #fypage #mississippi ♬ The Man – KIRBY

I spend more time on TikTok than I’d like Good Country’s readers to know, and it seems like most country artists’ content sits on a continuum between “here’s a bonfire scene that cost two million dollars to produce” and “pardon my PJs, the label made me post this :(.”

Mississippi songwriter KIRBY, however, used short-form vertical video as a canvas for her Southern Gothic storyscapes to great effect all year, turning album promotion into an opportunity for site-specific performances. In July, KIRBY posted a lyric video for “The Man,” a song from her then-forthcoming album, Miss Black America. She sings straight to camera in front of the yellow Dollar General sign you see on every block in the hood. Her vocal winks at Ann Peebles and the caption explains the prevalence of food deserts in America.

This fall, clips of “Na$ty” created their own cultural moment on the Black Internet. You kinda had to be there, which is a lesson in itself. On KIRBY’s internet, everything is text and anything can be useful. Hair, thighs, grooves, intertextual comparisons, and accents are thick, and AAVE will not be translated. We are cordially invited to keep up. – Lizzie No

Olivia Ellen Lloyd, Do it Myself

West Virginia native, now New York-based songwriter Olivia Ellen Lloyd taps into a deeper sense of love, heartbreak, liberation, and resilience on her sophomore album, Do it Myself. The release features an all-star band with Dave Speranza on bass, Connor Parks on drums, Duncan Wickel on fiddle, James Woodall on pedal steel, Sarah Glades on percussion, and Mike Robinson as producer – as well as playing guitar and pedal steel.

Lloyd’s storytelling is vivid, emotional, and quite powerful. Listening to both this album as well as her first, it’s beautiful to watch her story unfold in sentimental songs, which have a country twang, but you can also hear influences from other genres. Whether punchy songs or soft ones, all of her music has a groove that makes you want to sing and dance along – while also giving you a space to experience your own feelings, as she does while singing. – Emma Turoff

Rob Miller, The Hours Are Long But The Pay Is Low: A Curious Life in Independent Music

A question anyone who pursues a creative life will ask themselves: Why do we take a vow of poverty to put art into the world? As put forth in Bloodshot Records co-founder Rob Miller’s memoir, The Hours Are Long But The Pay Is Low, it’s because not doing it is not an option.

Chicago-based Bloodshot caught the wave of mid-1990s alternative country, releasing seminal works by Old 97s, Waco Brothers, Robbie Fulks, Sarah Shook, and more. Miller comes across as an OCD character straight out of High Fidelity, and his memories of the label’s hardscrabble early days are refreshingly unpretentious.

Bloodshot’s story wasn’t entirely positive. Its original incarnation ended badly amid disputes between Miller and his business partner (the label was ultimately purchased by Exceleration Music, which operates it now under new management). But Miller summarizes the bad-vibes part only briefly, concentrating instead on telling one man’s love story for music. It’s honestly impossible to imagine him doing anything else. And as the cherry on top, Miller dedicates the book to a pair of late friends including Dex Romweber, who he writes “left this world before he could read what his music meant to me.” – David Menconi

Kristina Murray, Little Blue

Little Blue is an understatement. Kristina Murray’s sterling third LP could convincingly have been called “Huge Bummer,” which is coincidentally the mark of a great country record.

“It’s gonna get worse, just give it time,” Murray incants on “Has Been,” a cheekily dour turn-of-phrase that just may stop you in your tracks. (Surely she means it’s gonna get better, right?) Later, on the dreamy “Fool’s Gold,” Murray tries her best at seeing beyond the proverbial grey skies, only to come up short: “It’s just more clouds,” she sighs. Such moments are appropriately slathered in pedal steel, but there’s also a swampy, rock ‘n’ roll groove to tracks like the deliciously jaded “Watchin’ the World Pass Me By” that makes the whole set go down easy. – Will Groff

Drew Parker

My introduction to Drew Parker was his 2020 single “While You’re Gone,” about missing a girl and drinking a gas station PBR while waiting for her to come back. That song had the classic hallmarks of a contemporary country breakup song. Little did I expect the curveball to come five years later.

For over a month earlier this year, Parker teased a big announcement with cryptic social messages like, “Some chapters end. Some chapters begin. This one… isn’t about me. 9•15•25.” The day came and Parker revealed in a short film testimonial that he’s felt God speaking to him, culminating in Parker’s non-religious manager calling and saying Parker should record Christian (country) music. This “moment” stuck out to me not only for the unexpected manner in which Parker revealed his decision, but because it’s obvious this isn’t a creative “phase.”

I don’t see Parker putting together a “token” record about believing and then going back to just girls, beer, and his pickup. Furthermore, Parker exudes unwavering peace about it all – whether he loses fans or faces mean-spirited judgment. There’s tangible risk to this move and there’s something to be said for Parker’s resolve and frankly, his faith in making this change. – Kira Grunenberg

Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats Live at the Kia Forum

Thinking back on all the great music I saw this year, the concert topping my list is one I saw at Los Angeles’ Kia Forum in February. The amazing triple bill – a solo Sam Beam, Waxahatchee, and headliner Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats – all delivered dynamic performances. But it was the unexpected parts of the concert that really made it so memorable.

During his set, Rateliff welcomed several special guests: Lucius’ lead singers Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig, Taylor and Griffin Goldsmith from Dawes, and Grateful Dead bassist Bob Weir. What especially impressed me, however, was how Rateliff generously let his guests take the spotlight – a gesture that conveyed his joy for making music, particularly in a “more-the-merrier” collaborative way.

The Colorado-based Rateliff and his band also made the extraordinary gesture of using the concert to raise funds for victims of Southern California’s January wildfires as well as partnering in a purchase of a mobile food pantry to assist those left homeless by the destructive fires. This night reminded me how musicians can not only create a genuine sense of community through their rousing performances, but also through their inspiring actions. – Michael Berick

Sinners (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

Ryan Coogler’s Sinners is the horror film of 2025. It’s been hard to ignore, and for good reason. Michael B. Jordan, who plays double duty as twin outlaws Smoke and Stake, leads the cast which also includes Hailee Steinfeld, Wunmi Mosaku, and Thomas Pang (also known by his stage name, Yao). The film ultimately raked in $367 million in worldwide box office receipts. From its unique spin on vampires to its rootsy, blues-driven music, Sinners excels in celebrating the rich history of Black music and connects the dots between African tribal music to modern day hip-hop and R&B.

Songs like “Travelin’” (a standout moment from newcomer Miles Caton as musician hopeful Sammie) and the mind-blowing time-traveling song “I Lied to You” (paired in the movie with a visual mixing all the styles of Black-made music throughout history) mark the soundtrack as one of the year’s best releases. It’s sure to give the audience a renewed sense of Black history that’s often correlated to specific moments and eras in time. The film and its soundtrack will be talked about for decades as being a vital cinematic moment. – Bee Delores

Ringo Starr, Look Up

Way back at the beginning of 2025, Ringo Starr reminded us how different the world would look today if not for his love of American roots music. Teaming up with GRAMMY-winning producer T Bone Burnett, Starr’s country album Look Up is a love letter to the sound that drove his imagination.

Over 11 new songs written mostly by Burnett for the occasion, a classic American art form got a British Invasion makeover, with modern masters like Billy Strings, Molly Tuttle, and Alison Krauss joining Starr’s fun. Yet, what made this project a year-end highlight was not just the tunes. It was what they represent. As Starr openly declared, his first musical love was American blues and country. Artists like Lightning Hopkins sparked a creative impulse that would ultimately help redefine pop forever. From releasing music as a self-contained band and writing their own songs, to making youth culture a dominant force, The Beatles would change the world – and who knows? With a different drummer behind the kit, maybe none of it happens. Look Up shows where Starr was coming from. – Chris Parton

Vandoliers, Life Behind Bars

Vandoliers’ fifth studio album, Life Behind Bars, is both joyous and contemplative as the raucous country-punk band dive deep into themes of gender, grief, and sobriety in equal measure. “Dead Canary” blasts eardrums with a Mariachi flavor that barrels full steam ahead, setting the stage for their most impressive record to date. Other essentials such as “Bible Belt” and “Thoughts and Prayers” take aim at the current social and cultural moment, addressing religious fanaticism and how it clouds any sense of empathy.

Songs like “You Can’t Party with the Lights On” and “Valencia,” another Mariachi-intoned moment, are just plain fun. These round out the album into a well-crafted snapshot of the group right now and where they fit into the ever-changing world. Additionally, Vandoliers have never sounded so in tune with one another, vocally and musically, opting for compelling and intricate choices that expand their style without sacrificing what’s made them so good. – Bee Delores

Kelsey Waldon, Every Ghost

As the editor for Good Country and BGS, I listen to hundreds of albums a year, but they rarely stop me in my tracks. That happens even more rarely when album creators are longtime close friends of mine. But despite having met Kentuckian singer-songwriter Kelsey Waldon nearly 15 years ago and adoring all of her LP releases in that time, when Every Ghost first arrived in my email inbox earlier this year, I was floored.

In a world – and industry and genre – absolutely dripping with affectations of country music in lieu of the “real deal,” Waldon’s sixth studio album is dyed in the wool, but unconcerned with meeting those expectations or checking the boxes of trends and salability. These honky-tonking songs are infused with old-time, bluegrass, outlaw, confidence, and Prine-ian philosophizing. Waldon somehow turns introspection and identity into gritty and engaging wit and metaphor, without ever needing to obscure her messages to make them feel artistic or serious or poetic.

Even listeners like myself, who have been in Waldon’s fan club for a decade and a half or who have swapped vegetable seedlings and chicken pics with her, or who have crisscrossed her Ohio river floodplain homeland dozens of times, will learn much more about Waldon, her approach, her sonic loves, and her inner machinations as she pulls back the curtain for all of us on Every Ghost. – Justin Hiltner

Marlon Williams, Te Whare Tīwekaweka

Down here at the bottom of the globe in Aotearoa and Te Waipounamu (the North and South Islands of New Zealand), 2025 has very much been the year of the Māori singer-songwriter Marlon Williams (Kāi Tahu, Ngāi Tai).

Back in April, I interviewed Williams for a Good Country cover story to celebrate his stunning fourth solo album, Te Whare Tīwekaweka (The Messy House) and director Ursula Grace Williams’s equally affecting documentary film Marlon Williams: Ngā Ao E Rua – Two Worlds. Since then, he’s brought his antipodean blend of country and western, folk, rock and roll, and mid-to-late 20th-century pop to audiences across the U.S., UK, Australia, and at home, culminating in taking home the coveted APRA Silver Scroll songwriting award for his single “Aua Atu Rā” in late October.

Written and sung entirely in te reo Māori, the indigenous language of New Zealand, Te Whare Tīwekaweka is a masterful example of how music can use mood and emotion to cross geographic borders and linguistic barriers effortlessly. Even when we don’t speak the same language, we can still find common ground. Sometimes a sense of connection is only a song or two away. – Martyn Pepperell

Photo Credit: Tyler Childers by Sam Waxman; Kelsey Waldon courtesy of the artist; Olivia Ellen Lloyd courtesy of the artist.

Fruit Bats’ Eric D. Johnson
Loves a Left Turn

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The road less traveled is always the road most traveled by singer-songwriter Eric D. Johnson, better known under the performing name of Fruit Bats. Johnson thrives in a world of creative dichotomy: he loves deadlines as much as he cherishes random twists and turns in his process.

He’s been making music this way for years, since time spent on the Chicago music scene, through his days with Califone, The Shins, and the creation and continuation of Fruit Bats. There’s also Bonny Light Horseman, the indie trio where he partners with renowned musicians and songwriters Josh Kaufman and Anaïs Mitchell. Their most recent album, Keep Me on Your Mind/See You Free, was released last year.

Johnson’s latest Fruit Bats project is Baby Man, a full-length album recorded earlier this year with longtime producer and friend Thom Monahan. The album is a reunion of sorts, after Johnson self-produced 2023’s A River Running To Your Heart.

Baby Man, which is his voice, guitar, piano, and little else, was an unexpected project – another deviation from original blueprint onto the less-traveled road. And one that called for Monahan’s expertise and sonic touch. The outcome, says Johnson, is “intimate and yet big. There wasn’t a lot of fuss over arrangements. Everything you hear came out of my hands or mouth earlier that day or the day before.”

It was early morning on the West Coast when Eric D. Johnson settled in to speak with BGS. “This is my second interview on this,” he noted about Baby Man, “so you’re hearing me work this out in real time in my brain.”

You have detailed this many times: iPhone voice memos, demoing, writing, the studio as a writing tool. You like a deadline, you like mistakes, you like left turns. Was this album true to method?

Eric D. Johnson: Yes. This was the leftiest of all left turns you could possibly take, because the original plan was a very lo-fi hair-metal covers album. [It was] basically a midterm project between album cycles.

During the pandemic I had done this full album cover of Smashing Pumpkins’ Siamese Dream. I had no real expectation for it other than a pandemic exercise/fun sort of bedroom thing and it hit a little bit. Everything I do is ambitious in some way, but this was a “throw something at the wall” idea originally and not a big deal.

I was talking to Thom Monahan, my producer/mentor. We hadn’t worked together in a few albums, although we’re still dear friends. I always talk to him before I make something, which is like, “What microphone do I put on this?” I’m asking all these questions, we ended up chatting for an hour and by the end of the conversation I was like, “I think you should do this record.”

This was all over the course of a very short amount of time in February. I started writing songs and I realized I was starting to do what I do, which is write a diary. Most of my records, songwriter-wise, are what’s happening now.

This record turned into something that was me and Thom working for probably a week and a half. It wasn’t a mandate I laid down, but the whole record was written and recorded in that space, which I almost never do. It’s usually fragments of things I’ve been putting together from notebooks or demos or sketches that are a year or more than a year old. So everything you hear is a week in the life.

When we delivered it to the record label [Merge], again thinking it was a midterm project, they were like, “This is really good. This is a real album.” So the hair-metal covers record will happen someday, but instead you get Baby Man.

How has your working relationship with Thom grown and developed?

If I had a breakthrough album, it’s probably Gold Past Life [2019], which was my last thing with Thom before this. I think that was us at the height of our language with each other in some ways.

I’ve learned everything from him. When we were first starting to work together, on Tripper [2011], I was just learning how to use Pro Tools and how to use the studio as a tool for writing. I would make demos and Thom would come in with a blowtorch on them, because I didn’t really know what I was doing yet.

We made a couple more records, and by the time you hear the stuff on Absolute Loser [2016] and Gold Past Life, if you went back and listened to the original demos, they’re surprisingly not that different. That’s Thom trusting me more, being like, “This sounds pretty good.” Obviously he adds an incredible boost to them. There are songs on that record, too, where Thom completely dismantled them and was like, “This sucks,” because he’s not afraid to tell me he thinks something sucks. Which is good. You need the extra pair of ears. So we kind of have a shared mind when we’re working together.

What have you learned from Thom that applies to your own production work? For example, Sarah Klang’s Beautiful Woman album.

I don’t do tons of it, but when I produce other artists, it comes from that demoing process I learned from Thom, where you go from skeleton of song, to demo, to studio project, to finished product. With Sarah, we worked together as writers first. When you write with me, and this has happened a couple times, we’re making demos and we realize, “We’re making a record now.”

That was what happened with Sarah. It was very similar to what Thom and I do together, which is me building a demo and then giving it to him. But in this case, you build a demo, you keep building it, go into a nice, big studio, and all that. So that was what that was about. It started off as a writing session and it snowballed into a record.

You’re taking Baby Man on the road. Alone. Could you strip it down any more than that?

It’s terrifying. I have no idea what to expect. Fruit Bats concerts have become big, rollicking rock shows. The audiences have grown and people have a good time. I think of it as a very intimate experience, but as much as we’re in the folk-rock realm, they’re big rock shows.

I’m nervous about this. I’ve obviously played solo shows, and I think I know how to do it, but there is a certain contract you have to have with the audience for that. You can’t just close your eyes and push through it. You have an extra responsibility to connect.

I’m always concerned with that, and not in a bad way. But if I’m playing to 1800 people, in my mind I still want to make eye contact with every single one of them, even though I know that’s not possible. So with the solo show, where it’s a little more intimate, you probably are going to make eye contact with however many people are there. It’s going to be very exposing and I don’t know what to expect.

You’ve said before that Fruit Bats is half your life and each album is like a chapter, a piece of an autobiography. Which chapter is this?

This chapter is … I am hesitant to say midlife, because I don’t know. My cliché answer is, “I’ve gotten better at making myself understood, but I care less about ma king myself understood.” When you’re a younger writer, you’re like, “You don’t get this!” Now I’m like, “You’ll get it, or if you don’t, that’s cool.”

I think I’m writing really well now. The very early Fruit Bats records are enigmatic because I didn’t know how to write yet. I came from indie rock. I came from Pavement. I loved Stephen Malkmus, and he wasn’t writing about feelings. And I had played in Califone, and those are impressionistic lyrics, very visual, so I was doing that.

When I accidentally wrote a love song with “When U Love Somebody” [Mouthfuls], in 2003, it kind of hit. I was never emo. Even though I’m from the emo generation and from Illinois, where all the emo dudes came from, I wasn’t doing emo. Maybe this is my emo period, I guess you could say. With Baby Man, there is that kind of feel. I’m writing some pretty direct stuff, but I still have my impressionistic side that gets smeared in.

Where does Bonny Light Horseman fit into that?

My work with them is not unlike my work with Thom, which is to say, it’s been an education. Josh Kaufman, as a producer, has been influential on my production and the way I approach albums, too, because he’s totally different from Thom.

Of course Anaïs, as a writer, has had a massive effect on me because she’s meticulous. She makes you be like, “What did you mean by this line?” So I’ve learned writing from her, and production and writing from Josh because he writes as well. Like with everything, you take things from it as you move along. I’m definitely “the guy in a band” in that band, the professional guy in a band.

On “Creature From The Wild,” you address pet loss and grief, which is too often met with “Just get another one,” as if the can opener stopped working, so just buy a replacement. Tell us about Pinto and the song.

Pinto was my first dog and, obviously, once you get a dog, the joys, the familiarity of it, and the relationship is really special. And Pinto was a unique dog. He was sort of a person, sort of a cat, but also a dog.

You raise pets and it’s such a foolish endeavor for us; it’s such a horrible thing that we do to ourselves, because we raise them like our children, but they have a lifespan of 15 years and so you have to understand that. You’re right – some people are like, “Get another one,” but I do think a lot of people get it, if they get it.

That was a song I wrote completely while on a run, into a voice memo, at about 10 a.m. The recording you hear is at 1 p.m., three hours later. The notion that they save you, the “for a while” part, is that these love relationships are destined to be fleeting.

I also wanted to write directly about him. He was a Mexican street dog, so I wanted to write a hero story and think of him as a little heroic hobo and it was a little bit of a hero’s journey for him. I was just trying to write what I know. It’s a love song. Grief really is love. My publicist Colette and I had a Zoom call over it and we both cried.

A portion of sales from the track and pre-orders are going to the Baja Street Dogs rescue.

Yeah. Pinto was a Baja street dog, not from that rescue, but there’s tons down there. This guy, this rescue, is like a shepherd. He has a flock of dogs. He rescues so many; the breadth of his work is really impressive. It’s his life’s work, which is fascinating to see somebody do something like that.

We have a lot of big problems in the world right now, which I totally get, and there’s probably bigger fish to fry in some ways than rescuing dogs. But there’s a certain eye-level universality to loving a dog, for me. They help us. There’s always the cliché of “We don’t deserve dogs.” And I’m like, “Fuck no, we don’t.”

You have spoken about music and mental health in the past. You’ve said that while you find your music riddled with anxiety, people say they find it comforting.

In the press materials, quoting, “Again and again, Baby Man sees Johnson ask a central question: Is any of this worth it? The album is the answer, a resounding ‘yes.’” But some of the lyrics … in “Let You People Down, ” it’s “days that I’ve wished that I cease to exist.”

I can say, with all honesty, that’s not suicidal ideation I’m writing about necessarily, even though it sounds like it might be butting up right against that and I’m trying to speak to it. If someone wanted to take that as that, I would allow it, but that’s not… my other publicist, Jim, really loved the record, but his first question was, “Are you okay?”

I’ve lost friends who ended their lives – Neal Casal and Richard Swift, who died from alcohol. In many ways it was a slow suicide, when you drink yourself to death in that way. So it’s some big, grownup shit, but that specific line isn’t about that per se. It’s “This world is hard.” It’s more like, “I wish I’d never been born,” but that’s not a direct nod to ending one’s life, either. It’s about the burden of living, which, like I said, certainly could butt up against something like that. I’ll let people take what they want from it. It’s a song about wanting to love and be loved.

Then there’s “That’s why I’m trying so hard not to die.” [“Moon’s Too Bright”]

Yeah. Again, the line, “I’ve never been good with goodbyes,” and death is the biggest goodbye, so I’m not singing about killing oneself. I’m saying, “Wouldn’t it be sad to leave? Isn’t it sad to leave? Isn’t it sad to say goodbye?”

I’ve always written a little bit about this stuff, but usually there’s a disco beat, which I love. I love the happy/sad nexus, like “A Lingering Love” [Gold Past Life], which has become this kind of pop hit. It’s really sad, but it’s got the “Dancing Queen” beat behind it. It’s the total cliché of “I’m laying myself bare lyrically.” I always have, but I think because of the production, you’re hearing it more.

I’m not afraid to answer you on those [questions], nor am I denying that I’m talking about some pretty heavy stuff in there. People can hear what they want to hear from it, but the central song of the record in some ways is “Baby Man,” which is some sort of Buddhist notion where I wasn’t alive before 1976. I was gone. I was dead before 1976. “Where were you during the Renaissance?” Those types of questions. “Baby Man” is this cyclical kind of Buddhist song – not to get too heady about it.

So my sad stuff always has an undercurrent of hope, and this record there’s a little bit of that in there, too. But the hope is sometimes buoyed by disco beats, and this one doesn’t have that.

Let’s end on a high note with a lightning round on a topic that comes up in many of your interviews: The Beatles. A Beatles song that always makes you feel good.

Ooh, this is real lightning round! I’m circling back on early Beatles, so “Please Please Me.” I probably would’ve said a Paul song from the White Album, if you’d asked me that not long ago, but I’m into older Beatles. Smash Hits has been my jam lately.

Most underrated Beatles album.

Is there an underrated one? Once again, I’ll say probably the early ones, like Help, but I don’t know if there’s an underrated one, because people who don’t like The Beatles will say they’re overrated, so you can’t say there’s an underrated one, but probably the early ones. Let’s say Help.

Beatles album you most would have liked to be a fly on the wall in the studio while they recorded it.

I probably would’ve said Let It Be, but then we got to be with that movie, which was one of the most astounding pieces of documentary filmmaking I’ve ever seen in my life. I couldn’t believe it. It was like finding the Dead Sea Scrolls. So I’m going to say White Album, because that’s the one that sounds the most like four solo records and I know it was a really fraught process, too. For a long time, in high school and stuff, that was my most influential Beatles record, so I’m going to say White Album.

The throughline from bluegrass to The Beatles.

Oh, that’s easy! A lot of people don’t realize how young bluegrass is of a genre, but the throughline from early American folk and country music to early rock and roll to The Beatles seems pretty simple to me – bluegrass obviously being its own little split-off in the 1950s… not to get all ethnomusicology on it!

Photo Credit: Chantal Anderson

Molly Tuttle Always Leaves a Mark

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Fresh off two back-to-back GRAMMY-winning albums, guitar virtuoso, songwriter, and artist Molly Tuttle is heading in bold new directions with her fifth solo release, So Long Little Miss Sunshine. A California native now based in Nashville, Tuttle embodies many sides of herself while staying rooted in where she comes from – both musically and geographically.

Already highly decorated as an instrumentalist (including two International Bluegrass Music Association awards for Guitar Player of the Year and the Americana Music Association’s Instrumentalist of the Year), Tuttle continues to captivate with her signature tone while stretching the boundaries of the genre that launched her. And she does it all with reverence and a playful sense of self-exploration.

From the scorching opener “Everything Burns” to the crush-worthy pop bop “That’s Gonna Leave a Mark” (co-written with Better Than Ezra frontman Kevin Griffin), the album weaves together personal reflections and observations of the world around her. It’s a colorful puzzle that reveals the many pieces of Tuttle.

When BGS sat down with her to discuss the album via Zoom, it was clear that her boundless curiosity about life and what’s next musically fuels everything she does. She spoke about her songwriting process, her reverence for her roots, the inspiration behind the album’s visual aesthetic, and how she’s already working on her next project.

You’ve called this record a departure, but to me it also feels like a distillation of all the people you’ve been, all the places you’ve gone, and all of who you are. Even though you’re experimenting with different genres, it feels cohesive—like you’re telling a story about yourself over a really diverse musical bed. Almost as diverse as the wigs on the cover of the record. Was there a lightbulb moment when this project came to life for you, or was it more of a gradual process?

Molly Tuttle: It was kind of a gradual idea. About a year ago, I was finishing the songs for this record. The first one I wrote was “Golden State of Mind,” a few years back, but for a long time, I just had this big batch of songs that didn’t feel like a cohesive grouping. Then last year, there was a light bulb moment where suddenly the songs really started flowing again, and it felt like I’d found this new voice – though it still connected to earlier songs like “Golden State of Mind” and “Everything Burns.” I reworked those older ones and then wrote about two-thirds of the record in the last year.

Making Crooked Tree and City of Gold helped me gain the confidence to do something different this time and not feel tethered to any particular style or genre. Those bluegrass records were me paying tribute to the music I grew up with, and once I did that, I felt free to branch out—try something bold and ambitious sonically while still tying it back to where I came from. I wanted to tie it to my past work but also really spring forward and try something new.

Did you have any trepidation about that shift?

I wasn’t really nervous, but we did have a lot of conversations about it – mainly between me and Jay Joyce, who produced the record. He first saw me play at the Ryman with Golden Highway, which was a bluegrass show, though we always stretched the boundaries a bit. The next day, he called me and said, “I think we should still incorporate your banjo playing and some acoustic elements.” That’s when we brought in Ketch [Secor] to play fiddle, banjo, and mandolin.

We wanted to make sure it didn’t feel like too far of a departure and that it still sounded like me. So we decided to make this a guitar record. Every song has guitar solos and I’m the only soloist on the album. That was new for me, and really exciting.

How did you end up working with Jay? Did you seek him out? Were you a fan of his work?

I actually wasn’t super familiar with him at first. I’d heard music he’d produced, but hadn’t connected it to him by name. During the pandemic, my manager, Ken Levitan, suggested I meet with Jay. Ken thought we’d work well together since Jay’s not only a producer, but also a great guitarist.

I played him some songs and liked his vibe, but at the time, I felt pulled to make Crooked Tree because I had those songs ready to go. Still, I always kept Jay in the back of my mind and really wanted to work with him eventually. Last year it fell into place: I sent him my new songs, we met again, and then started pre-production in the fall. I’m glad that I’d had that rapport with him for the last few years rather than just meeting him when we started making the record.

What was the studio experience like? Did it feel different from your past records?

Very different. We spent so much time on pre-production – more than I ever had before. We worked on arrangements, added solos, and rewrote bridges. By the time we brought in the band for a week of tracking, we already had these really fleshed-out demos. I’d played and sung a lot of my parts. Jay had been programming and I think Ketch had even played some of his parts already. We had a ton of tracks ready to go when we went into record.

Some of my demo takes even made it onto the final record, because I was just so relaxed, not feeling the pressure of having a set number of days to get it all done.

Much of this album was co-written with your partner, Ketch. What does writing with someone who knows you so well unlock for you?

Over time, we’ve developed a shared voice that feels like both of us. Earlier songs sometimes sounded more like his voice or mine, but now it feels like ours. He sees my daily life, so he can suggest ideas I might not have thought of, and that keeps the process flowing and honest.

Are you approaching the tour for this record differently than past tours?

It is going to be a little different. We’ve got some amazing special guests and openers joining us, and I’m excited to collaborate with them onstage.

The band is also super versatile: Ellen Angelico plays pedal steel, Dobro, banjo, and more, and Mary Meyer plays fiddle, mandolin, keys, and guitar. That range allows us to move between full-on rock moments and stripped-down acoustic sets, which fits perfectly with the mix of songs from this new record and my older ones.

The visual aesthetics of this record are striking. How did you land on the album cover concept?

Honestly, I didn’t have an idea at first. I was brainstorming on Pinterest and even asked a friend to pull tarot cards about it. She told me, “I think you already know the cover in your mind – you just need to uncover it.” Around that time, my friend Fletcher Moore sent me this grid of women with different hairstyles, and I was also looking at Let It Be by the Beatles. I thought, “What if I did something like that?”

This is the first time I’ve appeared without a wig on an album cover. I’ve worn wigs on all my past covers, but I wanted this one to feel more personal, like, “Hey, this is the real me.” At the same time, wigs are still a part of who I am. I wear them often, sometimes multiple in a day if I’m going to different things. What once felt like a source of insecurity when I was a kid now feels like a source of creativity.

So that inspired the cover, along with my song “Old Me, New Wig.” We had fun tying different hairstyles to songs – like a hippie look for “Summer of Love,” a goth look for “The Arsonist,” and even a Dolly Parton-inspired one. It was really fun but at the same time, I’m always nervous. I don’t want to distract from the music by making it all about the hair, but I like to have fun and experiment with it. It is something that feels unique to who I am.

That’s amazing. What inspired you musically and otherwise while making this record?

Playing with people like Sheryl Crow and Dave Matthews over the past few years has been hugely inspiring. I think you can hear echoes of artists like them.

As for books, I love California literature and that ends up inspiring some of the songs on the record. Angle of Repose [by Wallace Stegner] inspired some of this record and City of Gold. Joan Didion is another big one for me – her writing about California is just gorgeous.

You’re clearly prolific. Are you already working on what’s next?

After I finish a record, I usually take a little break from writing, just to focus on preparing the new music for live shows. But now I’m back at it – I’ve got about two-thirds of another record written already. I love being in the studio and I’m always chasing that feeling of making an even better record than the last. Touring slows down my writing a bit, but when I’m home, I’m already dreaming about what’s next.

Last question: from what I can tell, some fans feel a sense of ownership over your bluegrass identity. How has the reaction been to this new music?

Mostly supportive and loving, especially when I play the songs live. But yeah, when I released the first single, “That’s Gonna Leave a Mark,” probably the poppiest track on the record, some people online were like, “Oh my God, Taylor Swift!”

And it is not like I am never playing bluegrass again. Our shows are still half, if not more, bluegrass! I’ve stopped looking at online comments, because it’s not a real snapshot of what people are thinking and feeling.

But this is what I wanted to do. I wanted to shake things up. I feel like this record is full of little surprises. And if people are talking, that means they are paying attention. It means they care. If nobody said anything, I would be worried.

All photos by Ebru Yildiz.

Basic Folk: Edie Carey & Sarah Sample

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Friends and collaborators Edie Carey & Sarah Sample teamed up in 2014 for their first album, ‘Til the Morning: Lullabies and Songs of Comfort. The pair both had babies and were wanting to do a project that centered around calming music for both children and adults. They were shocked at the album’s reception by adults (AKA non-babies) who listened after experiencing grief, trauma, and huge loss. This type of music certainly had an important place in the world. Now, they have done it again, but with more of a focus on calming music for adults with their follow-up. Lantern In The Dark: Songs of Comfort and Lullabies includes some originals, their first co-write, and new interpretations of songs by Wilco, The Beatles, Cyndi Lauper, and James Taylor.

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In our Basic Folk conversation, we tackle the concept of comfort and what they experienced in the surprise reaction from their first record. What is a good balance of comfort? It was also a great time to talk about their experiences as touring musicians with young babies. For instance, the types of questions they would get asked that they are sure their male counterparts with young children would not get. They talk about the songs on the album, one of which was written by Edie in the aftermath of her mom’s sudden and recent passing. We wrap it all up, of course, by hearing each of their James Taylor stories and a delightful bedtime-themed lightning round.

Photo Credit: Steve Willis

The Cactus Blossoms’ Modern-Classic Sound Blooms on New Album

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

With a sound that’s like rain in the desert for fans of early rock and country, the Cactus Blossoms let their modern-classic vibe bloom on their latest album, Every Time I Think About You. But with pair of big shows to help celebrate the launch, this band is living very much in the present tense.

Made up of Minneapolis-based brothers Jack Torrey and Page Burkum, the duo’s new project arrives August 30 and once again captures the full, timeless magic of spacious melodies, tasteful twang, and tightly-wound harmony. That night, they’ll mark the release with a long-overdue debut at the Grand Ole Opry – where they ought to find a few like-minded fans of keeping music’s traditional cool factors alive – and then head home for a milestone gig in St. Paul.

After a trio of well-received albums and more than 10 years of riveting shows, it’s the perfect setup for a duo who seem totally at ease blurring the American roots timeline – and who promise they couldn’t fake it if they weren’t.

“I don’t think we’re very good at striving,” Torrey says, speaking from the verdant midsummer shores of Lake Superior on a much-needed break from the road. “I do think [this record] has a comfort level, especially since we’ve been able to start touring again, and really hit it. It’s been feeling like we’re a unit and we can kind of read each other’s minds a little bit.”

Speaking with BGS ahead of the release of Every Time I Think About You, Torrey and Burkum filled us in on what that telepathic bond helped create, and where it’s coming from.

A lot of Every Time I Think About You features the “modern-classic” sound you have both made a calling card – like it would sound fresh a few decades ago and today as well. But is that dangerous territory for a band? You don’t want to be pigeonholed as a throwback, right? So how do you walk the tightrope?

Jack Torrey: I think there’s an interesting aspect of that from our perspective. I got super into Bob Dylan and Hank Williams and I was singing songs by both of those guys way back, 18 years ago or whatever. Page was into Jimmie Rodgers and those other super old country things. We start singing together and it’s like if you harmonize on a Hank Williams song, it kind of starts to sound like an Everly Brothers song. You’re kind of accidentally falling into that and getting into territory that people went into 60 years ago – but it’s new for us and I think that has kind of kept happening. We’re not recreating or trying to do anything like listening to records and imitating it. It’s almost like we’re carving our own mini canyon, that resembles some of the other ones from the past.

Page Burkum: I was kind of thinking about this as a way of summing up our style and influences: The Band, The Traveling Wilburys. Those are like my four main food groups or something. I love where all those guys are coming from – a little Roy Orbison, a little Bob Dylan. They balance each other nicely. And I was thinking, when that’s your diet, you’re going to make something that comes out [like Every Time I Think About You]. … But we love other totally different kinds of music outside of that realm too, and I hope a little bit of that gets in there, too.

Where is the title track, “Every Time I Think About You,” coming from? It’s got that lovely, warm-and-fuzzy feel of a mid-century romance ballad to it, but maybe something more, too …

JT: That one is kind of a love song to losing a friend – it’s kind of a heartwarming grief, where you’re almost being consoled by the memory of someone. And that’s where that song came from. The way we wrote it, I just had a couple lines, and then Page jumped in and started singing the beginning of the chorus, and then I sang back the next line, “Every time I think about you …”

PB: Sometimes Jack and I have made fun of biopic movie scenes like in Walk the Line, where it’s like Johnny and June or whoever sit down with a guitar and they’re just writing a song in real time. Like, they sing one line and then pause dramatically, and then sing another line and then it cuts to them playing it for a thousand people or something. But in a funny way, that was kind of the closest to that. [Laughs]

JT: I was like, “I didn’t ask you to jump in and work on my song … but that’s pretty good idea. Let’s do it.”

The album kicks off with “Something’s Got a Hold On Me” – which almost has a Southern rock swagger to it. Where does that come from? Is that your Tom Petty influence showing?

PB: When I first had the idea for that one, the very original idea that set it off was actually a weird little piece of a Jimmie Rodgers song. So, I stole that line and that melody, which is about two notes or something, but it kind of inspired the whole song in a weird way. To me there’s some blend of Lead Belly and The Beatles or something in my mind, but then it ends up just sounding like a country-rock two step. That’s just what happens. It’s fun to roll with stuff. … I threw in another Jimmie Rodgers line, that “T for Texas, T for Tennessee,” to kind of keep that tribute going.

Oh that’s right, I should have known. Why did you end up finishing on “Out of My Mind (On Sunday)”? Is there a reason that seemed to wrap things up?

JT: It wasn’t a big dramatic decision, but it seemed like a nice bookend from “Something’s Got a Hold on Me” to end with being a bit of a crazy person. [Laughs]

PB: To me it actually kind of leaves the door wide open. I don’t know if you want to cap things off with the sweetest, most-concise thing you have, you know? There’s something about it that’s a little bit out there to me.

You’ll make your Grand Ole Opry debut the night this album drops. Then you’re having a big hometown party with show at Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul [on September 13]. What does that mean to you?

PB: We’ve got one of our favorite local bands, Humbird, joining us for that [St. Paul] show, so that’ll be really cool. We’re trying to get some of our collaborators to be involved too, if we can spice it up with an extra ensemble beyond our regular band. So we’re trying to get a piano on stage or something. I mean, it’s a theater show, so it’s a little different. And it’s our first time playing our own show at this theater. It’s a really beautiful building and I never thought I’d play there when I was a kid.

JT: It’s where [A] Prairie Home Companion used to be back in the day. Page and I actually played there when we were first getting started, which was a special time. So it’s cool, and should be fun. Some people can come that don’t like to stand, since we play a lot of clubs. [Laughs]

Photo Credit: Aaron Rice

Bonny Light Horseman In Conversation – With Each Other

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Editor’s Note: To mark the occasion of Bonny Light Horseman’s brand new double LP, Keep Me On Your Mind/See You Free – which were released in June – we invite our readers to be as flies on the wall during a special exclusive interview, an entertaining and joyful conversation between the members of this folk supergroup, Eric D. Johnson, Josh Kaufman, and Anaïs Mitchell. 

Read about the band’s memories of their first gigs played for money, about popular bands they don’t really “get,” and so much more below. Plus, dig into their deep and broad discography – together and separately – with our in-depth exploration of their catalog of recordings here.)

Eric D. Johnson:  We totally love each other a lot and we spend a lot of time together and we talk about everything, and I know everything about you guys, pretty much. I got some deep shit on you guys!

But, one question that I didn’t know the answer to, because I have a really funny answer for it is, what was the first show that you ever played where you got paid money? Do you remember? 

Anaïs Mitchell: Oh wow!

EDJ: Can you guys remember that? 

Josh Kaufman: I can remember. I don’t know if it was the very first, but it was certainly early. I played a yogurt shop in Port Jeff. I definitely played a lot of Grateful Dead songs. I think I played “Peggy-O” and like “Friend of the Devil.” I may have tried an ambitious solo acoustic version of “St. Stephen.”

EDJ: Tell me more though, was it a band? Was it you solo? And did you go just under the name Josh Kaufman? 

JK: Just me. I don’t know if I was even booked. I don’t know. I may have just shown up. 

EDJ: And what was the yogurt shop?

JK: I can’t remember the name of it either. I feel like I have a couple of friends that definitely would remember and definitely were there. That was the ‘90s, that was the era of the yogurt shop. It was basically a cafe, but let’s face it, it was a yogurt shop. I don’t know what I got paid, but I did get paid. I was probably 16; at a yogurt shop playing Grateful Dead songs for money. 

AM: I want to see you then, Josh! 

EDJ: I totally want to see him! I want to find the bootleg of that show. How did you get hooked up with the yogurt gig? 

JK: Well, I was kind of in bed with big yogurt–

EDJ: You’re a big deal going way back–

JK: Going way back now! Well, how did I know about [it]? I think my friend Kevin Jones worked there. I think this is what happened. My friend Kevin Jones worked there, who you guys will meet when we play in California, because he just moved to the Bay Area. He’s going to come to our show. I think they were looking to up their game [at the yogurt shop]. And he was like, “Let’s see what happens. Let’s bring in a professional.” It must have been such a hot mess. 

EDJ: I bet you were good from the jump. That’s my guess. 

JK: That’s generous. 

EDJ: Anaïs, what about you?

AM: I think the first time I made money for music was [when I was] 18 years old and I took a gap year. I was going to go to school, but I took a gap year and then I moved to Boston. You guys know this. I know you know this about me. 

JK: You were a waitress. 

AM: I was a waitress. Right. At this diner and then later as a waitress at this Cajun/Mexican place, which really sucked. It was in Central Square and I remember I had that job, because I quit it when I realized that I could make money playing in the subway. I could make equal money to what I made as a waitress. Basically, I would go down – I want to say that I played an Ovation Guitar. I’m sorry. [Laughs]

EDJ: Classic! Love this. I’m just gonna say: Ovation Guitar; yogurt shop. Just as visuals. 

AM: Totally. [Laughs] I love this. They go together. 

JK: You can actually eat yogurt out of an Ovation Guitar. 

EDJ: They are designed for eating yogurt out of – in the ‘90s!

AM: I had a little portable [amp], my first amp. I just started playing electric on tour with you guys, but that’s not my first amp. My first amp was a little Crate amp. Do you know what those are? It was bright yellow. And it was cool. For plugging in your Ovation Guitar when you played in the subway, they were amazing.

So I did that. And the cool thing was I was really just getting going. I had written maybe a handful of songs – that I’ve repressed [since]. Like they were really not good, but if you’re playing in the subway, the audience turns over every 10 minutes. I played the same songs. I would just play them again and again. It was mostly my new songs that I had written. And I think I played a couple of folk songs that I learned from the Rise Up Singing folk music bible. 

EDJ: But were people like throwing in money? What was your haul? Not because I care that much about money, but I’m just asking, is this your first profesh gig? Do you have your case? Do you have a little hat box?

AM: You got your case open and you put a couple dollars in there. You put like a five [dollar bill] to show people that. You don’t put coins, because then that’s what people put. I actually can’t remember,  with inflation, like, what was that? I want to say I would go down there for  an hour or two and make fifty to a hundred bucks. 

JK: Oh, that’s really good. That sounds really good to me. 

AM: That’s why I quit my waitressing job! I was like, this sucks. I’m just gonna do this. 

EDJ: You’re 18, what is that, the year 2000? 

AM: Or something… it was ‘99. Yes.

EDJ: Okay, sick. With inflation, I think that’s good. I think you did really well

AM: I might be misremembering, might be adjusting for inflation [wrong] in my memory. 

JK: I think I got paid, by the yogurt shop, like $46 or something like that, which when I think about it now it’s almost like the tooth fairy or something. I think somebody just felt bad for me. They’re like, “This is 36, 46 bucks, just take it, go.” You know that, “Here’s some gas money.” 

EDJ: I like that it was $46. 

JK: I don’t think it was $50. I think I’d remember it if it was $50. That would have seemed like a lot of money to me. I will say, the guitar I was playing, Eric, and Anaïs, would have been the same guitar that I still play – the Guild that we made our records with and that Eric played on our recent tour.

AM: I spent some time with that guy.

Eric, I want to hear your story. 

EDJ: I got you gonna beat financially by a couple bucks. When I was like 17, my friend Steve and I decided I was going to join Steve’s band just as a singer, but I was too scared to just sing and stand there. I did not know how to play guitar. So, I got a crash course in guitar from Steve. Steve came to one of our shows last summer, I think, or two summers ago when we opened up for [Bruce] Hornsby.

Steve gave me a crash course in guitar, but I didn’t really know how to apply guitar chords to cover songs, you know? I was like, “I guess I’m going to have to write.” I immediately became a songwriter, because I was too dumb to learn how to play a Pink Floyd song or something like that. 

All of a sudden we became this folk duo that played a mix of covers and originals, as I was learning chords. I learned how to play some covers. I think “Ripple” by the Grateful Dead was the first – speaking of Grateful Dead, Josh. We played at this cafe in our little downtown of our funny little suburb called Caffe Trieste. It was actually really cool. It was very ‘90s. When I remember it, it smelled like clove cigarettes in there and herbal tea. It was literally a coffee house, like from the old times where you smoke cigarettes and drink coffee at night and watch music. I’m not saying it was like Greenwich Village or something like that, but it was cool.

We would play there, but for no money. That was kind of like open mics and stuff like that. We played “Tangerine” by Led Zeppelin and we played “Ripple” by the Grateful Dead. I think we played “Wish You Were Here.” And then we played sort of a smattering of my originals, which were terrible. 

But, I was at home [one day] and this is in 1993. My mom was like, “You have a phone call.” And it was some lady and she says, “My daughter, Katie, she’s turning fourteen and she’s a huge fan of your music. And will you play her birthday party?” And I was like, “What?” We don’t have a band or like fans or anything like that. But apparently this girl had seen us at a school assembly – where all we played was the Cheers theme – and she’s turning fourteen. I was like, “What type of money do you usually get for things like this?” But I sort of fumbled and before I could finish and name a price, she was like, “Would $150 be good?”

That was like an unfathomable amount of money. But she also wanted us to play two sets and play for like literally two hours in their living room. We had about 20 minutes worth of material.We went to the house. Her dad owned an automobile dealership, so the house was nice. It was a room full of thirteen and fourteen year old, she was a freshman and we were seniors. I just remember that. So maybe she was turning fifteen.

When we walked in, it was like Beatlemania. They like, screamed and stuff. There were parents, friends, and stuff who were there and they were kind of these wealthy people. My house was very unsophisticated and it felt like we had sort of stepped into this sophisticated realm of our like dumb little suburb. These were the elites! We played our show, only we had not learned more songs in order to play. So we did the Anaïs thing, but without the audience turnover. We just played things over again. And they asked us to play “Rocky Raccoon” by the Beatles. Then there was a set break and we had no more songs. We went out to Steve’s Jeep and got super high and then came back in and just played literally the same set again and doubled up on “Rocky Raccoon.” We played it four times in one night.

Anaïs Mitchell: What were you wearing? Did you dress up? 

EDJ: I’m sure I was wearing something weird. I had a very schizophrenic style at the time. It was the ‘90s! I would wear plaid ‘60s golf pants, but I had this shirt that was a bread truck delivery shirt that had the name “Byron” on it like a name tag. My hair looked like Jason Priestley from 90210. I hadn’t honed my style yet, but I’m sure I just tried to dress up cool.

It was quite a first taste. 

AM: That’s amazing. You might be the only band to play “Rocky Raccoon” four times in a show. 

JK: The Beatles never played it one time in a show, I don’t think. So you beat the Beatles.

EDJ: Someone asked me this question recently – and you don’t have to answer with a modern band, because it could be more controversial – but what’s a band that’s iconic, that people love, that you’re like, “Not that…”

JK: Oh, Annie has a list of these they’re called like, unimpeachable bands that she doesn’t want to listen to. That she wants to impeach. 

AM: I want to know her list! 

JK: For instance, I think the Stones are on there. She’s like, “I mean, sure, the Stones are great or whatever, but I don’t want to listen to them.”

EDJ: For the Situation readers, by the way, this is Annie, Josh’s wife [we’re talking about]. Annie Nero.

JK: Yeah! But, for my own… let me think about that for a second. 

AM: I have one, maybe. Maybe it’s going to be the same. 

EDJ: Mine’s a little bit The Smiths – I actually think that the band sounds great. It’s sort of like The Doors, for me, where I’m not as into the front person [as I am the band], and I have to believe in the front person.

My other one is that I love Bob Dylan, but he’s like my 18th favorite songwriter. It’s still really high up there in the pantheon of songwriters, but probably a very low ranking as far as Dylan goes. I know Dylan’s a big one for you, Josh, but for me I have seventeen others I put above him. That’s an arbitrary number, but yeah. 

AM: I was gonna say Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. I’d be interested in hearing Annie’s whole list, ’cause I do wanna say, I feel like it’s a gendered thing. I’m not even gonna be eloquent about it, but I do think we have deified certain male artisan bands. 

Where it’s like, “Aren’t you into this?” And I’m like, “Actually no.” But I sort of feel like they’re unimpeachable. Like I’m supposed to be like, “Oh yeah, CSNY!!” But my feelings are complex about CSNY, because I love Neil Young and I love Graham Nash. I think it’s really David Crosby – rest in peace – that like, for somehow I’m [hung up on]. I read about how he produced the first Joni Mitchell record and, for me, Joni’s like the top of the totem. Reading about their dynamic, back in the day [is troubling.]

Everyone loved Crosby. She had to kind of be like, “Oh my God, it’s Cros!” You know, but she was Joni Mitchell! I couldn’t really feel that stuff. Yeah, that’s gonna be my band. It’s frustrating. 

Sorry, we canceled. [Laughs]

EDJ: No, I think CSNY is a reasonable one!

JK: I was gonna say The Who, honestly. The Who are awesome and everything and certainly there’s ‘60s garage [rock] stuff that’s fun and everything. 

EDJ: I think it’s okay to throw fire at those guys. Dylan can take it and be pissed. They can fucking take it!

JK: I guess I feel like that’s lazy of me. 

I think Anaïs’ comment about this sort of Mount Rushmore of at the time, early 20s baby boomer white men [was well made]. When they were very young with guitars, for some reason, we’ve decided that those guys are the best.

EDJ: It’s like the Rolling Stone magazine “top 40 cool guys” list. It’s like a mural at a guitar center in suburban Atlanta that you stopped at on tour.

But also Anaïs, sidebar, in my seventeen songwriters above Dylan, Joni Mitchell is my number one, so…

JK: She’s at the top of my list for sure, but I think in the top zone. I don’t know if they’re like tiered necessarily, because since it is art and stuff, it does sort of depend on the opening that I have for it on any given day to enter my heart.

AM: I got a couple more. You guys, this is going to be wild. Well, maybe not. I mean, you guys know me pretty well, because it’s some of these things, the music is undeniable and has shaped other music, but it’s not for me, you know? I would put the Beatles in that category.

JK:  I was waiting for you to say that!

AM: I would put both [CSNY and the Beatles] in there. And I sort of appreciate it when I hear it. Like when I hear it coming out of someone’s car or on the radio or whatever, but I will never put that music on myself. 

EDJ: I feel like with Beatles, if it didn’t catch you at a certain moment it’s a tough, massive thing to dig into. I didn’t get into Joni until I was 30, and it was like one of the pivotal musical moments of my life.

That’s not to say, “I think you have to be 38 to get into Joni,” but I think for whatever reason, she’s so deep and cool and crazy that I think it took me having a little life behind me to sort of understand what it was about. Someone who had seen clouds from both sides now, like at that point, it hit me like super hard.

I think Beatles, talk about iconography and stuff like that! It’s like, I totally get it. But I can’t. I love the Beatles. It exists in my musical and our band’s musical DNA. I’m never not thinking about like a McCartney melody.

AM: I had some grand thought while you were just saying that, about when you encounter music and when it speaks to you. Because yes, if you’re fourteen, if you’re fifteen discovering Ani DiFranco as I was. She became like my whole raison d’etre, but then for someone discovering her later, at a different time in their life or whatever, it’s different. You had to be a certain age to get the Joni. 

And, I wanted to talk about the Grateful Dead because, like the Beatles, I might’ve put them in [this category] if we had spoken a different time, but now I know and love you guys. I sort of became like a late-blooming deadhead, because of your love for the dead. I really got into it and  really into the lyrics. I genuinely, really appreciate that music now, in a way that I didn’t like, ten years ago. Part of that is because I love you guys.

I kind of love how your love for people then transfers to your love for the things that they love. And that then becomes a thing that you love. 

JK: I totally feel that. I’m not going to name any names here, because I feel like it could be misconstrued, but I do feel like I remember early on going out and opening up for bands with friends and at the beginning of it having already made up my mind about this music or something. But then, getting to know these people intimately over the course of a month and having these accelerated friendships as a result of being around each other every day and sort of falling for what they’re doing a little bit. Or maybe, at least being way more open to it than I ever would have been just hearing it on the radio or hearing it in a friend’s car.

So much music [from] growing up I associate with people that I love, for sure. Getting into Bob Dylan ‘cause I love my dad. At a young age like, “This guy’s obsessed with this guy!” And I guess I’m kind of obsessed with this guy who’s into this guy. 

A funny one for me is They Might Be Giants. I love the songwriting of They Might Be Giants and I love that band so much, but I wouldn’t expect one of you guys to get into it now if you weren’t into it when you were fourteen. You know what I mean? 

EDJ: I love the point you made Josh, about touring with bands or something, especially in the indie rock days, where you’re really like up in each other’s grills. You bond in a kind of a different way. …

You guys, we have four minutes left. What are your top three favorite foods, Josh. 

JK: My top three favorite foods, um… Today I would say, I like Szechuan Chinese food. I like Greek food. And I like Italian food. You know, all the classic Northern Italian things and all the Roman pasta stuff. I mean, who am I kidding, right? 

I’m going genres, not dishes, because for me, it’s definitely more about a palette than it is about a specific [dish]. You know, grilled fish and lemon and tomatoes and cucumbers. If I want something in that zone, then I want Greek food. If I want spicy, zingy Szechuan peppercorn, it doesn’t really matter what it is, it could be like shrimp or tofu or chicken, or it could just be string beans. I just get in the mood and go in that direction. 

EDJ: Anaïs, what do you got? 

AM: I just got so hungry when you described the fish with the lemon and then the tomatoes, Josh. Now that’s what I want. All right. The first thing I’m going to say is Josh’s food. I want not what you just said, but food that Josh Kaufman cooks. I would like the fluffy eggs that you make sometimes. And also one time you whipped up a chicken soup. Do you remember that? You just whipped it up so fast and it was the best chicken soup I’ve ever had. 

JK: Oh, I love that. That’s so sweet. I love cooking for you guys.

AM:  I also love and I recently had– do you remember the place Wang’s in Park Slope? It’s kind of like fried chicken, Southern stuff, but then also is it Korean? 

JK: Korean fried chicken? I think, right?

AM: I had something like that with Ramona, my older daughter recently, and I was like, “Oh my God, this is very delicious.”

Eric, you tell us yours. 

EDJ: Oysters, shrimp cocktail, nachos… uh, buffalo wings. And that’s it. Love you guys.

AM: Love you. 

EDJ: Love you. Hopefully it’s all turned out awesome and we have so many cool things to talk about. I’ll see yous on Thursday night!

JK: I love you guys so much. 

Photo Credit: Jay Sansone.

MIXTAPE: Books, Story, & Poetry by Ordinary Elephant

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

As humans, we have a history of turning to story for comfort, direction, and preservation – a way to keep the present alive in the future. Story can be found in books, poetry, song, and our minds and mouths.

This playlist starts with our song, “Once Upon a Time,” which was born of our turning to story in the deep uncertainty of early 2020, and is the opening track of our recently released, eponymous album. In this Mixtape, we feature songs that incorporate or allude to books, authors, poetry, or story, written by artists that inspire us to write our truest stories. – Ordinary Elephant

“Once Upon a Time” – Ordinary Elephant

When the world shut down in March of 2020, we found ourselves one show into a two-week Australian tour. After scrambling to get home, the quiet hit and the processing of a new world began from our Louisiana porch, deeply feeling the human instinct to turn to a sense of story when faced with intense uncertainty.

“Always a Little Less Time” – Justin Farren

“So I guess that’s always been the story of you and I.” Justin paints pictures with the specifics that draw you in and let you see yourself in his songs, then cuts straight to the truth. The impermanence and the importance of our time here. This song guts us, in the best way, every time.

“Nothing at All” – Clay Parker & Jodi James

“I’ve got books stacked on the bedside table, that are gonna make me well and able, but the light in my room is still burned out,” Jodi sings, as one of our favorite duos spins an ethereal tune of rejection and resolve.

“Walking Each Other Home” – Mary Gauthier

One of our favorite songs of Mary’s. Achingly beautiful, it details the uncertainty of a relationship ending, but also speaks to the broader idea of the unknown. “I don’t know how this story’s supposed to go,” she sings in the chorus, as it’s hard to know when we’re living it. But there is clarity and acceptance that “we’re all just walking each other home,” helping each other find our own stories.

“Under My Fingers” – Wes Collins

Wes is one of those writers who takes you places you didn’t know you needed to go. Both with his words and with his music. This song follows a writer’s thoughts, even alluding to the scarcity mindset that can sometimes take hold of creatives. The fear that it won’t last and the solution of surrendering to the pen.

“Paperback Writer” – The Beatles

The Beatles were Pete’s first musical love, showing up in his life around sixth grade and giving a wealth of melodies and harmonies to soak in. He studied guitar through their songs, which span so many genres, it was easy to get lost in their catalog for years.

“Windmills” – Mutual Admiration Society

The story of Don Quixote twisted into a song by one of Pete’s favorite songwriters, Glen Phillips. This song first appeared on Toad the Wet Sprocket’s 1994 album, Dulcinea. This version is from an incredibly underrated collaboration between Glen and Nickel Creek. Both of these artists changed Pete’s musical world, Glen being one of the first songwriters that he really dug into and in this collaboration, Nickel Creek introducing him to the world of acoustic music.

“Hemingway’s Whiskey” – Guy Clark

Guy Clark’s use of simple language to tell deep truths is unparalleled in the modern songbook. Here he salutes his admiration for another legendary writer, toasting with a drink, and reveling in the difficult work it takes to be a writer of that stature. Guy’s songs are revelations.

“I Ain’t Playing Pretty Polly Anymore” – Dirk Powell

We have the choice to perpetuate stories or let them die off. Some traditions continue to enrich our lives, but it’s important to realize when we’ve moved past them and when it’s time to draw the line between cautionary tale and normalizing certain types of violence. As someone steeped in tradition, Dirk makes an important statement about what songs are able validate, and that we can choose not to continue singing certain ones.

“The Other Morning Over Coffee” – Peter Mulvey

In remembering a conversation with a friend, Peter recalls talking about having lived lives “so full of poetry and adventure that if we died right then and there it would have been fine.” It’s a goal we can hope that some part of us is always aiming for. As the song unfolds, it becomes a perfect reminder that we’re all moving through the same world, the same bigger story, despite the difference in our details.

“Velvet Curtain” – Anna Tivel

Anna’s songs are movies, thick with imagery and emotion. She’s one of those writers who you’re thankful is walking this earth at the same time as you. This song shows us that sometimes there are words that need to be heard, and sometimes you’re unknowingly the one singing them.

“Billy Burroughs” – Jeffrey Martin

Jeffrey’s work tends to knock your socks off, right out of the gate. His rich voice and insightful command of language immediately demands your full attention. His background of teaching literature melds with his own writing here.

“Tailor” – Anaïs Mitchell

“When he said that my face he’d soon forget, I became a poet.” One of our favorite songwriters, Anaïs has a way of weaving a story that hits you in the softest spots. Here she spins a gorgeous warning of how easy it is to let others define our story, and that we can learn to tell our own if we remember to listen to ourselves.

“The Prophet” – Ordinary Elephant

Crystal came across a copy of Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet, gifted to her by a dear friend 20-something years ago. The bones of this song were hiding between the dog-eared pages, a discovery of self-love through returning to reminders of a love gone.

“Everything Is Free” – Gillian Welch

“We’re gonna do it anyway.” In lyric, and in delivery, Gillian shows us the power of song and story to persevere. Her voice and style are singular, and are always a welcome reminder to find comfort in the unique and truest version of ourselves.

Photo Credit: Olivia Perillo

Saddle Up and Get to Know the Artists Behind ‘Cowboy Carter’

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

On March 29, Beyoncé rode sidesaddle onto the world stage and took us all by storm with the release of her eighth studio album, Cowboy Carter.

Cowboy Carter arrived as the second installment of a three-act project that commenced with Renaissance in 2022. Renaissance incorporated house, disco, hyperpop, R&B, and funk while reclaiming the Black queer roots of dance music. On Cowboy Carter, she similarly reclaims the Black roots of country, blending it with folk, rock, R&B, hip-hop, classical, house, and gospel throughout.

Prior to the release of Cowboy Carter, country has been a longstanding muse for Beyoncé. While her affiliation with the genre was popularized by Lemonade’s “Daddy Lessons,” her first country-leaning performance dates back to nearly a decade earlier when she performed “Irreplaceable” with Sugarland at the American Music Awards in 2007.

Potent and impeccably saturated, Cowboy Carter makes clear that country is inarguably a huge part of Beyoncé’s creative and cultural identity. However, her presence in the genre has not always been well-received; in an Instagram caption 10 days before the album’s release, Beyoncé revealed that CC was largely inspired by an experience where she “did not feel welcomed” into the country fold. Many speculate that this refers to her appearance at the 2016 CMA Awards. The network received racist backlash after she performed “Daddy Lessons” with the Chicks, prompting the erasure of the song’s video from the show’s website (though a representative from CMA later denied the correlation between those two events).

Of Cowboy Carter Beyoncé writes, “The criticisms I faced when I first entered this genre forced me to propel past the limitations that were put on me.”

Beyoncé alchemizes a multitude of influences and collaborators across the gargantuan album in order to achieve the monumental musical feats of CC. With a credits list that sprawls for seemingly miles, Beyoncé enlists a number of guest artists, co-writers, producers, and musicians. Between them, they represent the Black roots of country, pay tribute to Black Americans’ impact on the genre, include legendary country artists and well-known side musicians and collaborators that assert the project’s roots in country, and represent the bright and diverse present and future of country by featuring several lesser-known Black country artists, many of which are also genre-bending in their own work.

In a list that is by no means comprehensive, here are just a few of the contributors that brought their musical magic to Cowboy Carter.

Rhiannon Giddens

“Texas Hold ‘Em” made history as the first hit single by a solo Black woman to top the Billboard’s Hot Country Songs Chart and 10 weeks later, as of this writing, it maintains its gilded perch. Fittingly, the song opens with the warmth and drive of the legendary Rhiannon Giddens strumming a standalone fretless, clawhammer gourd banjo. The talented multi-instrumentalist, singer, composer of many mediums, and roots scholar also sprinkles notes of viola throughout the track.

It is no coincidence that Giddens’ banjo playing, like much of her work, pays homage to the lineage of Black influence throughout roots music. Referred to by many as a “performing historian,” Giddens has spent her career shedding light upon the cross-cultural interweavings of the genre. Here, in an interview, she details the West African origins of the banjo, an instrument essential to American country music that was initially brought to the Americas by enslaved Black folks who used gourds and other accessible materials to recreate instruments of their homelands. By showcasing Giddens on the track, Beyoncé introduces a sonic representative of overlooked histories while uplifting one of the most celebrated Black musicians in modern day roots music.

Robert Randolph

Raised in a secluded religious community, Robert Randolph grew up without secular music. The renowned pedal steel guitarist heard only the music played within the House of God Church of Orange, New Jersey, for decades. He learned the instrument through Sacred Steel, a Black gospel tradition developed in the ’30s that highlighted the steel guitar during religious services.

During his early adulthood, Randolph became exposed to the world of music beyond; as he absorbed jazz, blues, funk, rock, and soul, he soon set out layering his gorgeous pedal steel tones upon a fusion of genres, particularly alongside his band, Robert Randolph and the Family Band. Across his musical arc, he epitomizes Beyoncé’s philosophy that music is transcendent; “All music is related,” he says. “Gospel is the same as blues. The only thing that changes is hardcore gospel people are singing about God and Jesus and in the blues people are singing about ‘my baby left me’ and whiskey.”

Justin Schipper

Like Robert Randolph, Justin Schipper is also credited for steel guitar on the track “16 Carriages.” A Nashville-based composer, multi-instrumentalist, songwriter, and producer, Schipper is a prominent figure in the current country landscape. His talents have landed him on tour with Josh Turner and Shania Twain (playing pedal steel and dobro), and he has gigged with the likes of Carrie Underwood, Chris Stapleton, Kris Kristofferson, Florida Georgia Line, and more.

Cam

Cam (given name Camaron Ochs) co-produced and co-wrote five songs on CC. An American country singer and songwriter, Cam began her career songwriting for musical giants in the industry such as Sam Smith and Miley Cyrus. Since then, she’s released three of her own studio albums with songs inspired by the songwriting styles of Patsy Cline, Ray Charles, Bonnie Raitt, Willie Nelson, and Joni Mitchell, amongst others. A prominent figure in the current country landscape, Cam lends crucial insights and layers with each of her contributions.

Sean & Sara Watkins

Renowned in the current bluegrass/newgrass scene, this sibling duo lends guitar (Sean) and fiddle (Sara) to the track “II Most Wanted.” Sean and Sara epitomize the familial quality so integral to bluegrass; their first band, Nickel Creek, was formed in 1989 alongside virtuoso Chris Thile when Sara and Chris were only 8 years old and Sean was 12. The siblings have been playing together ever since; Nickel Creek would go on to release seven albums, the latest of which, Celebrants, was released last year.

In 2002, the pair began The Watkins Family Hour as a monthly musical showcase featuring their friends and other collaborators in Los Angeles. Spanning over 20 years, the WFH has blossomed expansively. In fact, the pair released their third studio album, Vol. II, in 2022, a celebration of the project and the community surrounding it. Similarly to CC, the list of features for Vol. II is extensive, featuring the likes of Madison Cunningham, Willie Watson, Jackson Browne, and Fiona Apple, amongst others.

Stevie Wonder

A child prodigy who became blind shortly after birth, Stevie Wonder is widely regarded as one of the most influential musicians of the 20th century. He makes his contribution to CC by layering tasteful harmonica atop the sonically rich layers of “Jolene,” a reimaginative cover in the shape of Dolly Parton’s 1973 classic. Much like Beyoncé herself, Wonder is a trailblazer who, as Beyoncé stated in her Innovator Award speech at the iHeartRadio Awards, “defied any label placed upon [him].” From jazz to soul to funk to R&B to gospel to pop and beyond, Stevie Wonder has influenced and inspired creators across infinite genres and blendings with his vibrant propensity for experimentation. In the same speech, Beyoncé poured out a fountain of gratitude towards the legend, who presented her award —“Thank you so much Stevie, I love you,” she said. “I love you and I honor you. I want to thank you for making a way for all of us. […] Whenever anyone asks me if there’s anyone I can listen to for the rest of my life, it’s always you. So thank you, God bless you.”

Brittney Spencer, Tanner Adell, Tiera Kennedy, and Reyna Roberts

These four women are responsible for the ethereal background and third verse vocals for “Blackbiird.” Additionally, Spencer, Roberts, and Kennedy also lend background vocals to “Tyrant,” while Adell’s voice is woven into the sweeping harmonies of “Ameriican Requiem.”

Initially released in 1968 on The Beatles’ self-titled album, (colloquially known as “The White Album”), Paul McCartney wrote “Blackbird” in response to witnessing on television the harassment and violence that Black students endured upon attending newly-integrated schools. In 2018, he told GQ that he was particularly influenced by the young women who constituted, in part, the Little Rock Nine in Alabama — a nickname for the first nine Black students to desegregate the formerly all-white Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas.

As McCartney explained to TODAY, “In England, a ‘bird’ is a girl, so I was thinking of a Black girl going through this; now is your time to arise; set yourself free; take these broken wings.”

Within her illustrious arrangement of the classic, Beyoncé pairs the initial guitar track recorded by McCartney with the vocals of herself and these four Black women whose careers are actively altering the historically whitewashed landscape of country. By including them, Beyoncé nods towards McCartney’s intended meaning of the song while actively uplifting these young women so that they may prosper in a genre that undervalues and mistreats the Black artists who continue to give it wings. Brittney Spencer, Tanner Adell, Tiera Kennedy, and Reyna Roberts each have burgeoning careers in the genre that are largely influenced by traditional country sounds and themes.

Willie Nelson & Dolly Parton

In addition to inviting in many Black artists and roots musicians, Beyoncé strategically inserts more commercially successful country greats whose values align with her own. As Willie Nelson tells his faux-radio station listeners in the track “Smoke Hour II,” “Sometimes you don’t know what you like until someone you trust turns you onto some real good shit. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I’m here.” This line candidly demonstrates an awareness of the unfortunate truth that a vast array of today’s country fans are white listeners unlikely to take this music seriously without ample accreditation from respected white artists.

Merely four days after the release of CC, likely due in part to the inclusion of Willie and Dolly, the number of first-time listeners of Beyoncé’s music had increased by 85% on Spotify.

Willie Nelson, who celebrates his 91st birthday this year, is renowned for his left-leaning activism (especially advocating for the legalization of marijuana — hence the nomenclature of his feature tracks “Smoke Hour” and “Smoke Hour II”) and his role in pioneering the Outlaw Country movement. Outlaw Country began in the ’60s as a subgenre to rebel against the conservative suppressions, sonic and otherwise, of the country industry at the time. Willie and his like-minded contemporaries strove to achieve creative freedom beyond the political and sonic standards that dominated Nashville.

Similarly, Dolly Parton has used her platform, influence, and capital to enact social change. In addition to being an advocate for LGBTQ+ rights, she donated $1 million to Vanderbilt University in 2020 to go towards vaccine research amidst the early stages of the COVID-19 pandemic.

As of 2024, Willie Nelson and Dolly Parton are widely regarded as two of the most successful American country artists of all time. Nelson holds 12 Grammys from 57 nominations, and continues to tour (in fact, he is actively on the road again right now). Dolly has accrued a total of 11 Grammys from 50 nominations over the course of her career and recently gave a dazzling performance at the 2023 NFL Thanksgiving Halftime Show. The amount of esteem and respect each has garnered throughout their careers grants Cowboy Carter a certain amount of credibility within the wider country circuit.

However, it is clear that Beyoncé doesn’t just merely use these two for their name recognition. She is, indubitably, a seasoned scholar in the history of American country music and respects the discography of both artists immensely. While both give narrative voice-overs, Dolly also lends background vocals to “Tyrant” and, of course, shares songwriting credits for the innovative cover of her song “Jolene” that appears on the album.

Willie Jones & Shaboozey

Willie Jones joins Beyoncé on CC to lend his resonant, smoky vocals on the duet track, “Just for Fun,” and to “Jolene.” Having gotten his start as a contestant on the X Factor in 2012, Jones is currently making a name for himself as contemporary Black country artist that Grammy.com refers to as a “country-rap iconoclast.” As proves to be a crucial theme throughout Cowboy Carter, Jones galvanizes cross-genre musings to make a sound that is entirely his own.

Similarly, Shaboozey is a rapping Black country artist who represents the future of the genre. Combining hip-hop, rock, country, and Americana, Shaboozey further embodies the blending spirit behind CC. His contributions to the album include rapping verses on both “Spaghettii” and “Sweet Honey Buckiin.”

Linda Martell

Beyoncé ingeniously laced together Cowboy Carter to demonstrate the past, present, and future of Black musicians who have influenced the American roots music; and Linda Martell stands as a crowned example of the past. Martell, now 82, was the first commercially successful Black woman in country. In 1969, she made history as the first Black woman to play the Grand Ole Opry, and she held the status of highest peaking single by a Black woman on Billboard’s Hot Country Singles Chart for her song “Color Him Father” until Beyoncé’s very own “Texas Hold ‘Em” took its place.

However, Martell’s success was short-lived; she left Nashville and country music altogether in 1974 after receiving racist backlash following the release of her first album. Nearly every live show was corroded by racial slurs from belligerent audiences, and her label eventually shelved her music when her single, “Bad Case of the Blues,” failed to do the numbers they were expecting. As Martell postulates on the CC track “Spaghettii,” “Genres are a funny little concept, aren’t they? In theory, they have a simple definition that’s easy to understand. But in practice, well, some may feel confined.”

While Martell’s career arc fell victim to the confines of hegemonic racism within Nashville (and the country at large), her appearance on Cowboy Carter pays tribute to her historical strides for Black artists nevertheless. The track “The Linda Martell Show” (wherein Martell poses as the host of her own radio show) acts as a foil to Willie Nelson’s “Smoke Hour” — Beyoncé here reimagines the career of Martell, granting her the accreditation to host her own show, something history previously never afforded her.

Miley Cyrus & Post Malone

Beyoncé’s respect for innovation rings loud and clear in her inclusion of Miley Cyrus and Post Malone on CC. Each share a vocal duet with Beyoncé on the album — Miley sings “II Most Wanted” and Post Malone contributes to the track “Levii’s Jeans.”

Though both are primarily known as pop artists, each has a career largely informed by their capacity to genrebend. Miley, daughter of country icon Billy Ray Cyrus and God-daugher of Dolly Parton, adds additional credibility to Beyoncé’s country venture. Throughout her career, Miley has traversed country, rock, pop, and R&B.

Similarly, Post Malone has woven together pop, alternative R&B, hip-hop, and indie throughout his career, and many speculate that he will soon release a country album.

It should be noted that both Miley Cyrus and Post Malone have been able to immerse themselves in genres that are historically Black throughout their respective careers. That both have moved between country and R&B without controversy is telling; their capacity to do so seamlessly and successfully demonstrates how white artists are able to express themselves fluidly without systemic repercussions. It is this very ease that Beyoncé wishes to cultivate for artists of every race; in her Instagram post about the release of the album, she writes, “My hope is that years from now, the mention of an artist’s race, as it relates to releasing genres of music, will be irrelevant.”

Raphael Saddiq

Referred to by music critic Robert Chrisgau as the “preeminent R&B artist of the ’90s,” Raphael Saddiq made mark as an American singer, songwriter, record producer, and multi-instrumentalist. He rose to fame in the ’90s with his R&B/soul group, Tony! Toni! Toné!, and went on to have a successful solo career. Additionally, he has produced songs for musical giants such as Erykah Badu, Stevie Wonder, TLC, D’Angelo, Solange Knowles (Beyoncé’s sister), John Legend, and more.

He is credited 18 times over the course of Cowboy Carter for his producing, writing, and instrumental contributions to the tracklist.

Photo Credit: Mason Poole