Tag: Tony Berg

On Her Debut Solo Album, MUNA’s Katie Gavin Searches for Connection and Finds It

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

On the album cover for singer-songwriter Katie Gavin’s solo debut album, What A Relief, she sits half-dressed in the middle of her shiny, sage-green bedspread with various clothes and possessions strewn around her and the floor; even the cat stands awkwardly mid-sit or stand, it’s hard to tell. The immediacy of this messy in-between moment conveys the intimacy Gavin reaches to again and again on the album.

I want you to see me
When you’re not looking
I want you to fuck me
When we’re not touching

The album’s opening track, “I Want It All,” exhumes a lust for connection so all-consuming she knows already, “I’m gonna lose my mind / I’m gonna lose…” But it’s also Gavin’s thirst for and attention to these acutely relatable moments of humanity that render the album enticing.

“I’m really hungry for connection. And I think that in putting out songs that express that, or putting out images that express that, and having it met with understanding gives me that experience of like ‘we’re all humans having a human experience,’” Gavin says. “I want to push myself in terms of what I allow other people to see.”

Much of Gavin’s career has been with pop band MUNA (who opened for Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour earlier this year). Solo, Gavin sheds her dazzling pop-star persona and the trappings of MUNA’s spectacular auditory and stage presence, retaining their honesty and emotional precision. What A Relief, which was produced by Tony Berg, is a collection of 12 songs Gavin wrote on the side over the past seven years. With them, and a clarity born of self-assurance and yearning for connection, Gavin pulls up a chair to settle in for a heart-to-heart with her audience.

“Some days you do your best / Some days you do what gets you out of bed…” Gavin sings on “Casual Drug Use,” possessing an inscrutable ability to pinpoint reality neatly and poignantly. That realism remains throughout the album, which unfolds as a masterful look at the human condition through the micro view of Gavin’s relationships with the world, herself, and others. Many times, she sounds so thrillingly close to the microphone it’s as if she’s singing right into your ear.

As she winnows down her experiences to a few kernels of truth, Gavin deliberately and deftly seeks accessibility and relatability without catering to weirdness or discomfort simply to make a point. “I am pleased with the same chords, over and over, as long as there’s a story and someone is saying something compelling,” she explains.

Her lack of pretense serves as shorthand for her palpably raw portraits of life: “But I think this is as good as it gets, my love/ I think this is as good as it gets/ Pray to god that you think that it is enough…” she sings in “As Good As It Gets” – which features guest vocals by Mitski – about a relationship that is not always a fairy tale. It’s an acknowledgement that you can both love someone and be underwhelmed by them, at least some of the time.

“‘As Good As It Gets’ reflects this big question that I’ve had for a long time, and I still have about what is reasonable to expect from a romantic relationship. And how good is it supposed to feel?” she says.

Elsewhere on the album, in “Sanitized,” Gavin carefully takes a wet washcloth to the bottoms of her dirty feet, afraid to stain her lover’s clean bed (“I lie perfectly still so I don’t mess up my hair/ I’m a sanitized girl, I clean up for you my dear”); or promises not to stalk her ex online, except “once in a while I’ll wanna know if you’ve died,” as she muses in “Keep Walking.”

Growing up in Illinois, Gavin’s parents gave her free reign to explore music and she gravitated unsurprisingly to pop music, entertaining preteen love for the Spice Girls and Samantha Mumba, and teen obsessions with Riot Grrrl, Gravy Train, and the Weepies’ “Gotta Have You.” She also gravitated toward queer, explicit music (Gavin is queer, but was in the closet at the time). When she started writing her own music as a teenager, her mother introduced her to Imogen Heap and her father stoked her folkie music interests with Jackson Browne and Jim Croce.

Gavin’s broad musical tastes inform her writing of course. In the case of What A Relief, she draws particularly on her love for John Prine’s flawed, human characters, and perverse, weirdo songster Loudon Wainwright III whose Attempted Mustache remains one of Gavin’s favorite albums.

“It’s the same magic that’s in a lot of John Prine songs, where these people aren’t afraid to talk about what real people experience in their real lives, even if it’s really silly, and then really mixing that with the profound.”

Silly mixed with the profound is perhaps the best possible description of Gavin’s own music. In the middle of the album, Gavin drops the bluegrass-folk portrait “Inconsolable,” about generational baggage’s impact on our well-being. Wrapped around a divinely-gratifying fiddle melody (she brought in Nickel Creek’s Sara and Sean Watkins to add a little extra bluegrass cred to the track) the song is first and foremost a reflection on learning to be vulnerable while falling in love.

It’s an experience that feels every bit as familiar as Gavin’s messy bed, but in a way that seems to make sense for the very first time – the gift of a stellar songwriter. More than that though, “Inconsolable” is a study in the way tiny moments elevate Gavin’s songs through her allegiance to the balance between silly and unvarnished experiences. We’ve all curled up on the couch hesitant to show how we’re really feeling.

But I’ve seen baby lizards running in the river
When they open their eyes
Even though no one taught them how or why
So maybe when you kiss me I can let you
See me cry
And if we keep going by the feeling
We can get by

Mid-verse, Gavin pivots from the endearing image of baby lizards learning to swim to emotional vulnerability in a fledgling relationship with the blockbuster realization that salvation and connection again might just come from that blind leap of trust.

Gavin’s quest for an honest examination of emotional intelligence stems in part from time spent with her grandparents, two of whom she lost in the last few years. Soaking up their stories, she thought about how much they endured and how many times older generations weren’t afforded a chance to be heard, or to feel their feelings.

Elders teach both by omission and by passing the torch. In “The Baton,” What A Relief’s anthemic third track, dedicated to the lineage of socially and generationally inherited womanhood, Gavin outlines her understanding of resilience as it passes from mother to daughter. Imagining what she’d say to her own daughter, Gavin also reaches to the wisdom from generations before her:

I’d pass her the baton and
I’d say you better run
‘Cause this thing has been going
For many generations
But there is so much healing
That still needs to be done

Not for rebellious reasons, but rather to instill a deep love of self, by the end of the song, Gavin’s come out the other side as her own mother.

“It’s a sense of learning, a sense of ownership and agency and learning to really listen to myself and trust myself, like if I’m going into a situation that I’m nervous about,” she explains. That’s a transformation not unlike her experiences writing the album, which she started when she was 24 and concluded at the age of 31: “You’re kind of moving from this archetype of maiden to mother.”

“I’m aware of a younger part of me that might be nervous and might have needs,” she says. “I often talk to her and say, ‘I got you, you’re coming home with me.’ And, ‘You don’t need to worry that I’m gonna forget about you or give you away to somebody else, or make you tap dance for somebody else.’”

Part of mothering yourself is finding your pitfalls and learning to prevent them. For Gavin, that includes thinking about addiction a lot, well beyond drug use.

“I can get addicted to a lot of different things; I can get addicted to different processes; I can get addicted to people; and I can get addicted to looking at furniture on Facebook marketplace,” she says. “I was thinking about this idea that when we as humans get stuck in the process of addiction, the things that make us feel good, and our actual relationship with the world gets smaller and smaller.”

That idea became the song “Sketches,” wherein Gavin distills addiction into a two-dimensional study of self reduction. In a simple acoustic guitar and cello-accompanied track, she imagines her character reduced to a sketch by an overbearing relationship: “That the deeper I’d go/ The smaller I’d get…” until she takes back control, painting herself back to size.

“The process of recovery has been really one of expansion, learning that I can feel intimacy and connection and pleasure and joy from so many different experiences in life and from so many different people,” Gavin says. “And there’s something that just feels very profound about that for me in this time.”

Even when it comes to writing about climate change, Gavin filters her stories through our relationships to one another. It feels more effective than shaming people for not recycling, she says. In “Sparrow,” she ruminates on the dangers of the quick fix, hoping in vain for the song of a sparrow in spring, only to discover that the tree it would perch on has died of a cure applied rashly and without thinking.

But perhaps Gavin’s most profound relationship moment on the album comes when she eulogizes her dog in “Sweet Abby Girl.”

“She’s taking up most of the mattress/ Can’t imagine being so un-self conscious/ She’s pushing her back up against my legs…” Abby becomes a foil for Gavin’s insecurities, as throughout the song she considers the vulnerability within unqualified love for another being.

Buried late in the album, “Keep Walking,” its penultimate track, reveals Gavin’s raison d’être: “What a relief / To know that some of this was my fault.” Superficially, it’s a breakup song. But it’s also a relief for Gavin’s to put these songs into the world, to share another side of herself, and forge new connections with listeners.

Fundamentally, we get through hard times by laughing with our friends, Gavin says. As she’s matured as a songwriter, she’s been drawn to including those moments of levity in her songs. Invariably, they feel like the best of conversations with friends and lend themselves well to What A Relief’s stripped-down, singer-songwriter format.

“There was just something funny about this idea of putting out this part of me that had up until this point been unexpressed; it does feel like a relief to just let it out,” Gavin says. “I like the sentiment in the song … ‘what a relief to know that some of this was my fault,’ which is just agency. I haven’t behaved perfectly, and that gives me some space to have compassion and forgiveness for you.”

“Real life” is such a tired phrase. Gavin’s version, though, feels scintillatingly, comfortingly relatable, and like her messy bedroom, gives the listener agency to let go and just be, too. What a relief.

Photo Credit: Alexa Viscius

Amythyst Kiah Enjoys Challenging Assumptions

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Singer-songwriter Amythyst Kiah enjoys ignoring conventional wisdom and challenging notions she considers at best outdated and at worse reactionary and restrictive, regarding what music she should choose or what subjects she should address as an artist. But at the same time, she has never wanted anyone to label or pigeonhole her approach. Since 2010, Kiah has been steadily touring and recording, both solo and with other artists whose music also cuts across multiple thematic and idiomatic boundaries.

Kiah has a prominent, robust voice and is an outstanding guitarist and banjo player. A Chattanooga native and East Tennessee State University graduate, family and community ties are a major part of her life. Kiah’s father used to be her tour manager and she credits his influence (he also was a percussionist in a touring band during the ’70s) as well as that of her late mother (a vocalist in her hometown church choir) in shaping a performance style that is equal parts edgy and disciplined, adventurous but never chaotic or unruly.

After teaching herself to play guitar while attending a creative arts high school, Kiah would subsequently complete the Bluegrass, Old Time, and Country Music Studies program at ETSU and join the school’s marquee old-time band. Her array of activities since 2010 have included releasing the LP Dig In (cut at the ETSU Recording lab in 2013); the five-song EP Chest of Glass (recorded in Johnson City in 2016); and the critically praised Wary + Strange. Wary + Strange was done in Nashville for Rounder and was finally released in 2021 after going through three different producers over a three-year period before finally settling on Tony Berg. It addressed a lot of things in Kiah’s life that were difficult, notably the loss of her mother to suicide.

Conceptually, Kiah’s growth as a vocalist and songwriter is evident from the opening moments of her brand new album, Still + Bright, to its concluding refrain. Whether it’s the extensive lyrical quest for spiritual and personal growth unveiled with vigor in “Play God and Destroy The World,” or the search for peace of mind discussed in “S P A C E,” Kiah’s powerful vocals and insightful lyrics reveal a portrait of an artist willing to acknowledge uncertainty, yet able to find a sense of belonging and salvation through taking the journey.

Musically, the production incorporates a host of sounds, everything from mandolins and fiddles to crisp, crackling guitar lines – plus memorable guest vocals like S.G. Goodman on “Play God” and Kiah’s consistently poignant, stirring lead vocals. The new album, her third solo project, was already generating lavish praise before its release. It will no doubt continue to garner critical support as well as possible mentions on numerous best-of-the-year lists for Americana, folk, and country releases.

Kiah also has her share of high profile covers and collaborations. The most notable among them include being featured vocalist on Moby’s 2021 single “Natural Blues” and doing a cover of Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart” in 2022. But perhaps the most celebrated was appearing along with Rhiannon Giddens, Leyla McCalla, and Allison Russell in the supergroup, Our Native Daughters. Sadly, despite being a pioneering all-Black women’s group, Our Native Daughters’ music hasn’t found its way onto the airwaves at urban contemporary radio. But their LP, Songs of Our Native Daughters, was a critical and commercial hit within the Americana and roots music community. Kiah’s composition on the album, “Black Myself,” earned a 2020 GRAMMY nomination for Best American Roots Song.

All this set the stage for Still + Bright. Kiah performed some of its songs during a visit to Nashville for Americanafest 2024; she will be returning to Music City for a highly anticipated appearance on the Grand Ole Opry on December 10. She spoke at length with BGS about her new LP, the recording process, touring, and her love for science fiction, among other things.

Congratulations on the response to Still + Bright.

Amythyst Kiah: Thanks so much. I really wanted to do some different things on this album, show another side in terms of my personality. It was very important for me to say and express certain emotions on Wary + Strange and say some things that needed to be said. I did some of that with Still + Bright, but I also wanted to do some lighter things, some fun things, present other aspects of my life, and reflect more humor, more joy. I’m very happy with how it turned out and the mix of things that we covered and presented.

How was the experience recording in Nashville and how much did having Butch Walker aboard as a producer affect the recording?

Butch was and is so wonderful. Whenever I’d suggest something to him he’d just say, “OK, let’s try it and see what happens.” He was so open to everything and at the same time he knew when to step in and say, “Why don’t you try it this way?” or “Why not add this element to it?” He was so much more like a good friend and buddy than just a hired gun-type producer. When I came to town for this most recent date and asked him about playing, he not only said sure, he showed up and joined right in. It’s been such a treat working with him, a great personal and professional experience.

You describe your sound as “Southern Gothic.” Have you found that the Americana format works for you in terms of getting the necessary promotion and exposure for your music?

It’s really the ideal format, because it does fit so many different styles and types of music. One of the real problems with radio now, especially commercial radio, is that everything is rigidly categorized. If you aren’t doing a very specific thing production-wise, the content and quality don’t matter. With Americana I’ve been welcome to do and try whatever I think fits and whatever I think I want to do musically. I can’t tell you how much creative freedom that gives you as a performer. You’re not writing to fit what someone else thinks might work. You’re free to have your music unfold and develop organically, the way that you hear it.

One thing that really annoys me is that there’s a sizable audience segment out there that very well might relate to your music if they got to hear it, but for a variety of reasons they won’t. Does the restrictiveness of marketing sometimes bother you?

I want to credit the people at Rounder with doing the best job that they can in terms of getting my music out to different and diverse audiences. All I’ll say about that issue is I’ve found that when people get a chance to hear my music and songs, they’ve been universally positive. That’s all that I can do as a performer is present them to the best of my ability. Certainly I’d love to get all types of listeners; I think Rounder works on that as well.

You’ve chosen to remain in Johnson City. How would you describe the music scene there and are there any thoughts about possibly making a move to Nashville?

There’s a lot more of a music scene here than you might think and a lot of that is due to the presence of the university. But there’s an active singer-songwriter scene here. There’s a jazz and blues scene. Certainly it’s not as large as some other places, but it works well for me. I’ve been able to do a lot of playing in clubs when I’m home and also do some songwriting and collaborations with other artists around town. I’m quite satisfied with being here. That doesn’t mean at some time down the line I might not think about coming to Nashville. I really enjoy recording and playing there. Of course from what I hear about the cost of living, that’s a concern. Right now I have no plans to make that move.

One of your non-musical passions is science fiction. Who are some of your favorites?

Interesting that you bring that up. I’m a fan of H.P. Lovecraft from the standpoint of his creativity in depicting horror and fantasy. Now I’ve certainly also become aware of the problematic areas and that gets into the whole discussion of, can you effectively separate the artist and their work from things in their character that are less than desirable, to put it mildly. Clearly, there are things in the Lovecraft legacy that are totally anathema to me, in terms of my identity and all the things I espouse and believe. Do I find some value and get some joy from his writing from a technical perspective? Yes.

Octavia Butler is someone I’m just now beginning to really do a serious examination of and I’m very intrigued and delighted by what I’m seeing so far, especially in regards to how she sees the future and issues of race, class and gender. The Matrix series remains a favorite of mine as well.

You’re about to get back on the road. Does touring still remain something that’s exciting or has the thrill faded with time?

No, as a performer the interaction with the live audience is what drives you and keeps you going. Now I won’t deny that there’s a grind aspect, when you’ve been on the road for several days in a row or for months. But the chance to see new places and play your music for fresh faces and new audiences is an invigorating challenge. It’s really what you get into songwriting and singing to do, much more so than the dollars and cents of it. While no one would deny that you’ve also got to take care of business, it’s the exhilaration of performing that’s the ultimate reason for writing songs and making music. You get a reaction from audiences that you can’t get in the studio.

Photo Credit: Photography by Kevin & King

Amythyst Kiah Ends Her Shut-Up-and-Sing Policy on ‘Wary + Strange’ (Part 1 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

Amythyst Kiah took great pains to get Wary + Strange just right. After studying banjo and old-time music at East Tennessee State University in her twenties, she gained a reputation as an intense live performer, so much so that she was asked to join the roots supergroup Our Native Daughters, where she played alongside Rhiannon Giddens, Allison Russell, and Leyla McCalla. The group recorded Kiah’s bluesy anthem “Black Myself” as the opening cut on their 2019 album, Songs of Our Native Daughters.

The experience of working directly with her contemporaries — even the idea of considering them as her contemporaries — was a profound experience, one that stirred her to write songs that took bigger risks and told bigger truths about herself. She’d been struggling to make this record for several years by then, booking sessions with various producers, but never feeling satisfied with the results. She didn’t hear herself in the music.

That changed when she began working with producer Tony Berg (Aimee Mann, Phoebe Bridgers), and together they devised a way to combine all of Kiah’s influences rather than compartmentalize them. Wary + Strange is a headphones album, one that listeners will pore over intently. “It feels good to make music that helps people get through hard times,” Kiah tells the Bluegrass Situation.

Editor’s Note: Read the second half of our BGS Artist of the Month interview with Amythyst Kiah here.

BGS: Are you surprised by the response this record has gotten?

Kiah: This is my label debut. So it’s really the first time that I’ve worked with a giant team of people helping me get my music out into the world. So the whole experience has been completely new. My focus was really tol make this album where I’m excited about it and happy with it, so I felt pretty confident about it. Then I started promoting it and things started coming in, and I didn’t realize how much was going to come in because I’d never done it before. So now I have the craziest workload that I’ve had in a long time. I’m just drinking a lot of caffeine and hanging on as long as I can, because I’m getting an opportunity that a lot of artists don’t get.

And add to that the fact that you can actually play live shows again, if only for a little while. What has the audience reaction been like?

People are really excited to get back to playing or get back to just seeing live music. All of us that were doing virtual gigs for a year and a half. Any time I’ve played a virtual gig, I’ve made a point to say that we’re all in this weird situation together, so let’s make the best of it. The audience is just looking at me through a camera lens, and I’m looking at them through a camera lens, but we’re doing our best to share our energy with one another. I can’t tell you how many times over the past several shows that I’ve gone out to the merch table and people have told me, “This is the first show I’ve seen since quarantine.” They are so excited, so the energy has been more intense than I can remember.

You mentioned something a minute ago about wanting to make sure you were happy with this record. You recorded these songs several times trying to get to that point, and I wondered if you could talk about that process. What was missing from those early songs?

The first time I made the record, it was with Dirk Powell in Louisiana, and it was right before the sessions for Our Native Daughters. But I didn’t really have a strong idea of what I wanted. I was dealing with some writer’s block at the time, and I was putting pressure on myself to put out another record. So I was recording a lot of songs that I didn’t really play anymore, and it felt like I was just trying to fill out an album.

At the end of the recording process, it sounded like a record that was very safe. It sounded good but it was safe. It wasn’t showing any real musical growth from me as an artist. I felt like I was compartmentalizing a lot of my folk stuff and the stuff I played with my backing band. I had this folk side of me and this rock version of me, and it just slapped me in the face that all of those songs needed to be on the record.

What was the nature of your writer’s block? How did you get through it?

There was a period when I wasn’t really writing songs that much. A lot of it had to do with the fact that I was repressing a lot of emotions regarding my mother’s suicide. For twelve years I would do anything I could to avoid getting in touch with those feelings. I was in survival mode, and when you’re in survival mode it’s really hard to think deeply about some of your choices. I was just trying to ignore it all. By the time I got to Our Native Daughters, I’d written a handful of songs over the course of two or three years. That was my second year going into therapy, and I’d made a couple of breakthroughs in understanding how my grief was affecting other aspects of my life.

Being around Rhiannon and Leyla and Allison and writing songs with them, I started to understand something important about myself. We all had this similar background of being the token Black person in a genre that has some very obvious African influences. But that history and those identities had been removed and the music had been segregated. We were able to share stories about being confused with other people, stuff like that. Just to be able to have that conversation with other people who understood where I was coming from was wonderful. Being in that environment gave me the courage to write about the things I was talking about. I’d been afraid to put those experiences into songs because I have this shut-up-and-sing policy for a long time. So that was an important moment for me.

We’re telling stories of our ancestors who were able to survive the transatlantic ship voyage. They survived the Civil War. Reconstruction. Segregation. Civil Rights. We’re standing on the shoulders of so many people who survived, and we’re here because of their survival. Once you start to make those big spiritual connections beyond what you’ve read in a history book, suddenly there’s nothing to be afraid of. If they can survive, then I can survive writing a song about how I feel. There was a new sense of empowerment to really write about myself. So after that project, I wrote more songs. I wrote “Soapbox.” I wrote “Opaque.” I wrote “Firewater.”

Did that change how you approached recording the album?

Really I was still figuring myself out and how I wanted to be defined as a musician. It was a lot of self-exploration. I recorded the album again at Echo Mountain Studios in Asheville, North Carolina. But the third time’s the charm, as they say. I met Tony Berg, and he was able to help me encapsulate the inherent wariness and strangeness of all of these songs. We were also able to keep that essence of roots music while adding in these different textures and sounds. He actually told me once while we were recording, “I don’t think I’ve heard a record that sounds quite like this one.” He’s obviously listened to way more music than I ever have, so I knew we had something special at that point. I knew that would be the final time recording the album.

It sounds like you had to go through those first two versions of the album to get to that point.

Yes. I definitely don’t want to say that those first two didn’t sound good or weren’t worthy. And I’m appreciative of anybody who spent time in any capacity working on them with me. It took all of those moments to get where we are now. But something was always missing, and you shouldn’t be too afraid to explore that and figure out what’s missing. Unless you’re 100 percent excited about your record, it’s going to be hard to go out and play those songs.

There’s a malleable quality to your songs. I’m thinking about the two versions of “Soapbox” on the record, or the solo version of “Black Myself” and the Our Native Daughters version. You talked about learning not to compartmentalize your music, but the songs seem like they could fit so many different settings. “Black Myself” in particular sounds very different when you’ve got several people singing as opposed to just one person singing.

I think that’s a recurring theme that’s always going to be part of my creative process. I spent a good amount of time in my twenties focusing on reinterpreting songs that already existed and learning about the different ways to make it your own. Or at least give it another perspective. It made me hyperaware of, “OK, what am I saying? What if I deliver this particular line this way or what if I go to a minor chord here instead of a major chord. How does that change the meaning?” I’ve always been fascinated with that kind of thing.

That’s just as valuable as writing new songs, because that’s the way most of us learn music. We learn other people’s music, and within that we find our own voice. Reimagining certain songs — even if they’re your own songs — is a valid way to express yourself. Balancing that can be a little tricky. With the various incarnations of this album, I was rehashing a lot of songs that I’d already done. I was taking songs I’d already recorded and rerecording them in a different way. So I had to make myself write new material. I didn’t want to stop moving forward.

As for “Black Myself,” I remember thinking, “Man, I wish I could have some people singing with me on this song.” It’s not even just from a production standpoint. It was more personal. So it was good to record with Rhiannon and Allison and Leyla sticking up for me, you know? It’s different without them. For the version on my record I was doing my own background vocals, which is really enjoyable and helps me dig into a song in a different way. But I definitely missed singing with them. But I was really excited to record that song by myself, because it’s a way to continue that conversation about white supremacy and anti-racism. It was a good opportunity to bring the song forward.

Editor’s Note: Read the second half of our BGS Artist of the Month interview with Amythyst Kiah here.

Photo credit: Sandlin Gaither