Tag: Townes Van Zandt

How Susanna Clark’s Tapes Shaped a Film on Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark

Posted on by Editor

“I want every single person in the world to be a Guy Clark fan,” says Tamara Saviano. “When people ask me why I did the tribute album and when people ask me why I did the book and when people ask me why I did the movie, that’s my response. I want everybody on the planet to go down a Guy Clark rabbit hole. Go listen to the music. That’s what I care about.”

It may sound like a lofty goal, but Saviano is making a lot of headway. She has spent more than a decade making sure people hear songs like “L.A. Freeway,” “The Randall Knife,” and “My Favorite Picture of You.” In 2012, after years working as his publicist, she executive-produced the double-album tribute to the Texas singer-songwriter, This One’s for Him, featuring covers by Willie Nelson, Lyle Lovett, Hayes Carll, and Patty Griffin, among many others.

Five years later she published her exhaustive and affectionate biography, Without Getting Killed or Caught, which follows his life from Monahans, Texas, to Nashville, from his early years as a struggling songwriter to his final days as a foundational figure in Americana. Lovingly written and sharply observed even as it affectionately portrays him as a “curmudgeonly old dude,” it’s one of the finest music biographies of the last decade and will finally get a paperback release next month, with a new foreword by Robert Earl Keen.

And now comes Without Getting Killed or Caught, the documentary Saviano co-wrote with Bart Knaggs and co-directed with her husband, Paul Whitfield. While the book focused squarely on Guy, the film (which is available for streaming) examines his marriage to Susanna Clark, his friendship with Townes Van Zandt, and how those relationships overlapped over the decades. They all lived together in the 1970s and Susanna often described Townes as her soulmate, but the documentary never resorts to sensationalistic details or soap opera storylines. Instead, it explores the creative lives they led, not just writing songs but forming communities of likeminded artists wherever they went. “They all inspired each other,” says Saviano. “It’s a film about friendship.”

Susanna recorded herself the way other people might write in a diary, amassing stacks and stacks of tapes during her lifetime. Because Saviano and Whitfield rely on those audio journals to tell the story, she emerges as the main character of Without Getting Killed or Caught, a complex and contradictory figure on par with the men in her life. A painter and illustrator, she was never quite as dogged in her songwriting as Guy or Townes, but in the ‘70s and ‘80s she enjoyed more success than either of them. In 1976 a Texas singer named Dottsy had a huge hit with Susanna’s “I’ll Be Your San Antone Rose,” which was later covered by Emmylou Harris and Jerry Jeff Walker.

Each new project—the tribute album, the book, the film—has offered Saviano new insights into Guy’s character and catalog, and she’s likely not done with him. She spoke with the Bluegrass Situation about exploring Guy’s music in different media, creating art while grieving, and making sure everyone is a fan.

What was your entry in Guy’s music?

I grew up in Milwaukee, which is as far away from Texas you can get and not be in Canada. My stepdad had a friend who used to come over every Saturday night and they would listen to records and turn each other on to new music. I would just hang out and listen to them talk about music all night. My stepdad was really into Memphis soul, and his friend Rudy was into country and folk. One Saturday he shows up with Old No. 1. “Rita Ballou” is the first cut on that record, and I remember sitting down with my ear next to the speaker and looking over the liner notes. It said, Words and Music by Guy Clark. I tell you, I was 14 and a real knucklehead, because that was the first time I realized that of course people write songs. They don’t just come out of thin air. People write them! I fell in love with that album, and it sent me off on a journey to find other songwriters. But teenagers are fickle, and I didn’t really stick with him very long. I certainly didn’t buy all of his albums.

Many years later I finally met him. We were at an industry party in Nashville, and we started talking. He asked me where I was from—which is one of his favorite questions. I started talking about Wisconsin and the 15,000 lakes and Lake Michigan on one side and Lake Superior on the other and the Mississippi River and the North Woods. Obviously I love Wisconsin. But I could tell he was getting bored, and he just moved along. I did a story on him later and we hit it off. He was a curmudgeonly old dude, and I happen to love curmudgeonly old dudes.

Did you know writing the book that you would be doing this movie as part of this larger Guy project?

No. I had no idea. I was in the middle of the book, struggling and not sure that I would even finish it, when another filmmaker approached Guy about doing a documentary. Guy said to me, “Look, I’ve been spending all these years with you. I don’t wanna start over with anyone else. Would you be interested in doing a documentary?” I didn’t even think I could finish the book at that point! Guy said he didn’t care if there was a documentary, but he wasn’t going to start over with someone else. So then I felt like I had to do it.

My husband is a video engineer. His day job is with Bruce Springsteen. We met when I was working in television. So I thought, Maybe my husband can do the documentary with me. We know what we’re doing. He knows all about production, and I know how to tell a story from being a magazine editor and writer. I know what a story arc is. I knew it would be hard, especially raising the money, but I felt we had to give it a shot.

When did you start filming?

We started interviewing Guy on camera in 2014, which was way deep into my writing of the book. I turned in my book in the fall of 2015, and we got our final interviews with Guy on camera that fall. And then Guy died in early 2016. My book came out, but then it took us a while to even work on the film. I had no idea what the story was. That’s the hard part—if you’re going to tell a story, you have to know what you’re going after. We didn’t know that when we first got him on camera, and we didn’t really start working on the film until 2017, when Guy had been gone for almost a year.

And I was so overwhelmed. Right after Guy died, my mom died. They’d both been sick for a while. And I was just worthless. I went out on my book tour that fall, driving around Texas in my minivan. I’d be at an event talking about Guy and signing books and taking pictures, then I’d get into my van and would just cry my eyes out. Then I’d go to the next event. That was the whole fall of 2016.

That sounds rough. How did you move on?

My husband went to Australia and New Zealand with Springsteen for a few months, so I decided I would go to Austin. I’m just gonna eat good food and walk the trail and be in sunny weather and try to recuperate from 2016. I met this guy who ended up being my co-writer on the film, Bart Knaggs. Without him I don’t think I would have been able to do it, because I had this 450-page book and didn’t even know where to start. We went to a screenwriting workshop together, and it was Bart’s idea to tell the story from Susanna’s point of view and focus on the trio of her and Guy and Townes.

That gave me my mojo back. Plus, Guy had given me all of Susanna’s audio diaries after she died. I listened to them while writing the book, but frankly a lot of them were just her and Guy and Townes drunk and talking gibberish. When we decided to write the documentary from her point of view, I went back and listened to all those tapes. Thank God I had them, because we used a lot of that. My husband digitized them, and there was a lot of gibberish but there were also these nuggets of gold everywhere. They were truly a gift.

Those tapes really humanize the three of them. Usually you have talking heads in a documentary, but these are the subjects talking.

That was one of our rules: Only the people who were there at the time can tell us what was happening. Early on, when Guy and Susanna were having the salons in Houston, Rodney Crowell was there and Steve Earle was there. Then, when Guy started touring without a band, the way he wanted to do it, Verlon Thompson was there and Terry Allen was there. It felt like we had to say, “Anyone who wasn’t there doesn’t get a voice.” Later, we did add Vince Gill to talk about what was happening in Americana at the time and what was happening in the industry, but he knows all that. We brought him in to be the thread that connects all that stuff.

How did that change your relationship to the book? Were there aspects that you wished you could have gone back and rewritten?

Yes. There was a part of me that was like, “I wish I’d known all this doing the book.” But I had to look at them as two separate projects. The book is an overview of Guy’s life and music, but the film is about Guy’s relationship with Susanna and Townes. They all inspired each other. It’s a film about friendship.

It definitely seemed like a kind of love story, although one born out of grief. I appreciated the restraint of not trying to sensationalize what could have come across as a love triangle.

We were definitely cognizant of that. Guy and I talked a lot about it, and they came up in a time that was more… free love. It’s just a different way of looking at things. People ask me all the time whether Susanna and Townes were having sex, and it doesn’t matter. It really has nothing to do with the story. They all loved each other deeply. That’s what matters.

There’s such an interesting contradiction where Guy and Townes claim they’re not interested in having hit records, yet they’re clearly envious when Susanna has a hit record with “I’ll Be Your San Antone Rose.”

I remember Steve Earle telling me that when Gordon Lightfoot had a hit with “Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” he (Steve) and Guy got drunk for a week. They just couldn’t believe someone had a hit with that story! They all wanted to write the kind of songs they were writing, but they wanted those songs to be hits. And they weren’t. Susanna could just go off and write from the heart and have a huge hit and make all this money.

Has there ever been a compilation of Susanna Clark’s songs? I couldn’t find any in my research.

There has not. There are a few things I’ve thought about doing with her. She left a lot of half-written songs, so I thought about asking other women songwriters to finish the songs she started and then record them. That is something maybe someday I’ll do, but the problem is finding support money. When I did my other tribute albums, albums used to make money, so there would be a label willing to invest. But now I just don’t know. There isn’t one that I know of, but I’d love to do something with Susanna’s work.

Guy got so much overdue recognition later in life. What was his attitude toward all that attention?

Oh, I think he liked it. Townes died in ’97 and suddenly became this mythical figure, and I think that rubbed Guy the wrong way. Because Guy was still working. I think he was happy that people actually liked his work. Something I found really funny was, he got a Lifetime Achievement Award for Songwriting from ASCAP and a Lifetime Achievement Award for Songwriting from the Americana Music Association, and he was in the Songwriter Hall of Fame. But a couple years before he died, the Academy of Country Music gave him their Poet’s Award. Guy wasn’t even really country music, but that was his favorite because it was called the Poet’s Award.

Photo Credit: Al Clayton

Texas Songwriter Vincent Neil Emerson Believes Indigenous Music Is Folk Music

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The self-titled country album by East Texan singer-songwriter Vincent Neil Emerson (Choctaw-Apache) oozes of the iconic “Wild West” with honky-tonk sensibilities and bluegrass touches that combine so many favorite textures and styles of country and Americana’s primordial ooze. His personality and identity are forward in every aspect of the project, from the lyrics to the production to the genre fluidity of each individual track – all of which marvelously combine into a cohesive whole.

In Emerson’s exclusive Shout & Shine live session (watch below), he performs two tracks from the album, “High on Gettin’ By” and “The Ballad of the Choctaw-Apache,” a song that dutifully tells the story of his grandmother’s community which was impacted by the creation of a man-made lake, the Toledo Bend Reservoir. The flooding of Toledo Bend had a disproportionate impact on impoverished, rural, and marginalized communities – including many Indigenous people – on the Texas-Louisiana border. 

On first listen, “The Ballad of the Choctaw-Apache” feels like many classic country songs telling of injustice and standing in opposition to empire and “the man,” but Emerson’s personal connection to the tale is the entrancing spotlight under which this song shines. As you enjoy Emerson’s performance, take in our interview, when we connected via phone to discuss the album, Emerson’s creative process, and the overarching fact that, as he puts it, “Indigenous music is folk music. Indigenous stories are part of American folklore.”

BGS: I loved listening to the album and something that’s striking to me is that it feels so country, but also combines a lot of different genre aesthetics from different subsets of country in a unique way. I hear bluegrass in it, I hear string band music in it as well as western swing and classic country. How do you approach production and deciding which songs sound like what? There are a lot of different flavors here, but they still sound cohesive as well.

Emerson: With this one I got really lucky having Rodney Crowell producing the album. I think a lot of his ideas were what I was hearing in my head anyways. It matched up very well. As far as instrumentation, song by song we sat down and said, “Here’s what I think the song needs.” We were trying to fit the instrumentation around the song and around the story of the song. As opposed to doing it the other way around. If it sounded bluegrassy, that’s because it probably needed it, I guess! 

To me it sounds like that golden age of country before it was divided into sub-genres and all country was just country. 

I appreciate that! 

What was it like working with Rodney? What was the balancing act like as far as his fingerprints being on the music and yours? 

Nothing was forced, it was kind of like, “We got this song and this is what we’re going to do.” And, “Yeah, that sounds good!” [Chuckles] I wouldn’t say he was very hands-off, he knew exactly what he was doing. I didn’t really question any move that he made. It was kind of surreal getting to work with him. 

A bystander, or a casual listener, when they hear “Ballad of the Choctaw-Apache” might just hear a country & western song, but I know for you it’s not just a classic, archetypical country song tale, it’s much more personal. It tells the iconic story of this country and this continent of the theft of land, culture, and ways of being from natives. I wonder if you could tell us a bit more about that song and how it’s more than just you writing a “rootsy” song.

I started writing that song after I sat down and talked with my grandmother about her upbringing, what she went through, and how the whole Toledo Bend Reservoir [creation in Texas and Louisiana and the displacement of natives and entire communities] affected her family. As I’ve been learning more about my tribe I felt that it was necessary to write something about that. I haven’t heard any songs written about it – in fact, not a lot of people talk about it. I thought it was needed. 

Sometimes music like yours can get pigeonholed as “time capsule music” or throwback music. Something I love about this collection of songs is that, even though it’s classic and timeless, it doesn’t feel dusty or antiquated or divorced from the present. Can you talk a bit about that? Your music is down to earth, too, but it doesn’t feel like you’re trying to make music that’s retro. 

There are a lot of bands out there that sort of play dress-up. There’s nothing wrong with that! I respect that and I’ve done it, too, but they’re trying really hard to be a certain era. I love all that music from the old school — I love Bob Wills — it’s just a personal choice. I don’t feel the need to “dress up” or try really hard to make the music sound like it was from back then. I’m so heavily influenced by the people around me and what’s going on around me constantly. 

One guy who really had a good mix of that, too, was Justin Townes Earle. He had the old-time thing going on, then he could bust out “Rogers Park,” a piano ballad, and move in and out of [many different styles]. A personal style of songwriting should be a melting pot, it should be all eras – past and present. 

Music is so subjective, I’m a firm believer in the idea that however you hear it is what it is. Whether that’s a positive thing or a negative thing to someone, I think it’s their right. I can’t tell anybody they’re wrong for forming their own opinion about my music – or anybody’s music. 

It sounds like the process of letting a song have a life of its own is a big part of the process for you and that you understand an audience is always going to project onto or perceive meaning maybe where you didn’t yourself. 

I don’t like to bounce my stuff off of people that much, because I’m going to write what I’m going to write. I don’t want to let people influence me too much in that way. But it is a really good feeling whenever you write something and you get a positive reaction or positive feedback. I think I’m more focused on the songwriting. As long as I’m being one hundred percent honest with myself in the song then I feel like it’s a tool for me to express myself completely. I feel that’s good enough. 

A point that I always try to make about country, Americana – especially “country & western” specifically – Texas swing, and western swing traditions is that none of these genres would exist without the contributions of Indigenous folks. Especially when you think about Indigenous folks living in the occupied “Wild West” before any other folks did. And there were Black and brown folks who were cowboys before white folks ever were. I feel like that’s always missed, forest-for-the-trees style, by the roots music establishment these days. Country wouldn’t exist without Indigenous folks. Do you have thoughts on that? Have you thought about how your music draws on that legacy? 

That’s something I’m still trying to understand myself and really learn about. I think you definitely have a great point there. If you think about it, the settlers came over and they didn’t know how to work the land, they didn’t know how to hunt over here. Natives taught them all that and the settlers took that information and they thrived with it. Our society would not exist in the U.S. if it weren’t for the people who were here before. And it applies to the music as well, yeah.

The album feels so western. Like rhinestones and cactuses and false-fronted buildings. It feels so “authentic,” but it’s not just about the nationalism of settling the Wild West and it’s not about these white supremacist myths about cowboys and western culture. Could you talk a bit about that aesthetic? How Texas and the West and something like cowboy poetry and storytelling come through your songwriting? 

I never really set out to try to write about these things, it’s just the things I’ve been surrounded by. I worked on a ranch for a little while. “High on the Mountain,” that song came to me while I was literally on the top of a mountain – well, it was more of a hill – while I was in Palo Duro Canyon. Growing up in Texas, seeing all that stuff, it kinda [left an impression]. A lot of it, as far as stylistically, comes from listening to people like Bob Wills and Townes Van Zandt and Blaze Foley. Anyone that I’ve been influenced by, their influence creeps into it. It’s definitely not just a brand, it’s more my life. [Laughs] I never really thought about it, actually! 

I grew up between a horse ranch and a cow pasture in East Texas. I grew up in the middle of nowhere. When you get into cities like Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston, Austin, San Antonio, these bigger cities, there’s a lot more to the area I’m from than just little podunk country towns. I learned that when I was 19. I moved over here [to the Fort Worth area] and was like, “Holy shit!” There was a lot going on. There’s a lot of rich, cultural, musical history. I’d like to dive more into that on the next record. I want to try to put some Tejano music in the blender. Maybe some polka and western swing. See what happens! If you go down around the Hill Country there’s a lot of German music, German immigrants, there are entire communities that still speak German over there. 

Maybe this is a good way to wrap up our conversation: Who’s inspiring you right now? Who are you listening to? 

As far as Indigenous artists go, I think folks really need to listen to Leo Rondeau. He is one of the baddest motherfuckers out there doing it right now. Really, really great music. In the realm of music I play, there’s not a whole lot of Indigenous people doing it. Of course, I think there are a lot of people with Indigenous heritage, but as far as being able to immediately trace your roots back like my grandmother who is Choctaw-Apache from Ebarb, Louisiana, there’s not a lot of that. It’s kind of a shame. And I’m not the end-all be-all on the subject! I’m not the most up to date on things. I’m sure there are a lot more, I’d love to learn more and hear more. It’s a good thing to bring up and a good question to ask, because it’s something people should be thinking about. 

Photo credit: Melissa Payne

MIXTAPE: Jesse Terry’s Pure Seventies Troubadour Gold

Posted on by Editor

I’m not sure what it is about this era that has permanently ensnared my soul. Perhaps the raw, confessional nature of the troubadour has always reassured me that I am not alone. These are the songs that made me abandon my fine art career at the age of 18 and embark on a lifelong quest to appease the songwriting gods. The fact that all of these songs can be fully delivered with one instrument and one voice has always amazed and inspired me. It was wonderful to record a few of these classics on my current EP, Seventies Roots, part of a double album of covers that I’m releasing in February 2022 called Forget-Me-Nots. — Jesse Terry

Joni Mitchell – “A Case of You”

Was there any doubt it would start with Joni and a song off her masterpiece, Blue? I put Joni in a Jimi Hendrix-type category, where it feels like the artist was transported from outer space, in perfect revolutionary form. Her songs, chord progressions, lyrics and vocals have always been otherworldly to me. It was thrilling to record this song on my Seventies Roots EP. Actually it was intimidating, but in the end I love the song too much not to do it.

James Taylor – “Fire and Rain”

The blueprint for confessional, honest songwriting. It’s awesome to hear JT tell the story behind the song and know that he put every last personal detail into his lyrics. This inspired me to be vulnerable and completely open in my writing. Nobody sings or plays like JT. And to this day, if I’m having a rough go of it, I blast his records and let that warm voice console me.

Jackson Browne – “For a Dancer”

Another true original with an unmatched voice and sense of melody. I think Jackson is without a doubt one of the best lyricists of all time. His lyrics and melodies flow effortlessly off the tongue and never tire.

Bruce Springsteen – “Growin’ Up”

Springsteen is a legendary rocker and performer. But what really impresses me about the Boss is his songwriting. All of his anthems can be stripped down to an acoustic guitar and still deliver with the same emotion. There aren’t many songwriters that can paint pictures like Springsteen. With him, you’re not just listening to the song, you’re IN the song or maybe even one of the characters.

Carole King – “Will You Love Me Tomorrow”?

Like all of the truly great songwriters, her songs transcend and feel universal and timeless. This song feels perfect, whether you’re listening to Carole’s version or The Shirelles.

Tom Waits – “Shiver Me Timbers”

A truly masterful and utterly unique songwriter. Waits writes about characters and tells stories better than anyone. His lyrics and penchant for perfect timing are well-known, but I also adore Tom Waits’ gift for melody and harmony. His melodies break my heart and are married flawlessly to the lyrics.

Paul Simon – “American Tune”

If you created a singer-songwriter in a lab it would be Paul Simon. Some of the most endearing lyrics and melodies of all time. His songs are so perfect, it’s easy to overlook his guitar playing and singing, which are equally remarkable. Music schools often try to dissect his songs to display the craft of songwriting, but I get the sense that this magic simply flowed out of him.

Elton John – “Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters”

Over the years, some very talented folks have sent me lyrics and poetry to set to music and I’ve always been disappointed with my results. That makes me even more knocked out by Elton John’s ability to marry Bernie Taupin’s lyrics to the most perfect melodies, tempos and chord progressions. I recorded “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” on my Seventies Roots EP, but I easily could have chosen “Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters,” or any number of tunes. Way too many great options to choose from.

Neil Young – “Comes a Time”

What songwriter list would be complete without Neil Young? Neil is raw unfiltered emotion, live to analog tape with no rewriting or editing. That makes him so special. I can’t think of another songwriter that can cover so much ground with such authenticity.

Randy Newman – “Marie”

Randy Newman is a genius. His character-based songs are on the same level as Tom Waits and his lyrics are just as evocative, biting and unique. It’s impossibly rare to find Newman’s talents as an orchestrator and arranger in the body of a singer-songwriter. “Marie” especially breaks my heart. I believe every word Randy Newman sings.

Townes Van Zandt – “No Place to Fall”

A mythical figure in songwriting, Townes wrote some of the most beautiful and enduring songs of all time. “No Place to Fall” has always spoken to me and broken my heart. Was an honor to record this one.

Bob Dylan – “Simple Twist of Fate”

I admit, as a young kid I was more seduced by the “singers” in this group — artists like Joni, James and Jackson that could sing the phone book. But eventually I became spellbound by Dylan and my affection for him has never waned since. And as I listened more in my life, I realized what an amazing singer and communicator he was. His phrasing, his lyrics, his melodies and his hooks convey the lyrics perfectly. There will never be another Dylan.

Loggins & Messina – “Danny’s Song”

Kenny Loggins went on to have a huge solo career, but the music that he released in the ‘70s with Jim Messina in Loggins & Messina will always be my favorite work. My father used to sing this song to me when I was a kid and it felt like he wrote it for me.

Stevie Wonder – “Love’s in Need of Love Today”

Admittedly my playlist is Laurel Canyon-heavy and that’s what inspired me the most. But I also remember Stevie blaring through speakers as I was growing up. Again, one of the classic singer-songwriters that will never be replaced nor imitated. One in a billion. And on top of that, one of the best, most flexible voices of all time.

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young – “Our House”

I’ll end my playlist with this classic song that transports you to another time and place. You can almost smell the flowers blooming in this song.

Photo Credit: Alex Berger

‘Hard Luck Love Song’: It’s Americana Music, But as a Movie

Posted on by Editor

Filmmaker Justin Corsbie’s Hard Luck Love Song is a caring homage to Americana music and specifically to the music and culture born in Corsbie’s hometown of Austin, Texas. The story is based on the famed Todd Snider song “Just Like Old Times” and uses a plethora of songs from many pillars of Americana and folk music. From Townes Van Zandt and Emmylou Harris to Gram Parsons and Daniel Johnston, Hard Luck Love Song sews Snider’s lyrics into the fabric of this timeless music, creating a truly authentic film that immerses the audience in the ethos of Americana.

Asked about music as inspiration, Corsbie says, “Good music creates such a visceral experience, and storytelling songs have always offered a great window into the less explored corners of American life. Todd’s song was a great jumping off point for this film because it set up an amazing vibe and introduced characters that I wanted to know more about. Todd has an uncanny ability to blend drama, humor, grit and wit, and I humbly tried to infuse this film with those ingredients through my lens as a filmmaker.”

As this debut feature has made its rounds at film festivals, piling up awards along the way, it has become clear that Hard Luck Love Song remains a passion project. This talented filmmaker has created a movie using stories, settings, and songs that are incredibly dear to his heart. The film arrived in theaters this month via Roadside Attractions. Check your local listings and see what the heart of Americana music looks like on the silver screen.

Lead photo: Sophia Bush and Michael Dorman in Hard Luck Love Song
Photo credit: Andrea Giacomini. Courtesy of Roadside Attractions

LISTEN: Shay Martin Lovette, “Parkway Bound”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Shay Martin Lovette
Hometown: Boone, North Carolina
Song: “Parkway Bound”
Album: Scatter & Gather
Release Date: May 14, 2021

In Their Words: “This song is a tip of the hat to the Blue Ridge Parkway that runs from Great Smoky Mountains National Park on the western edge of North Carolina near Cherokee, to Shenandoah National Park at Rockfish Gap. I consider myself lucky to live near the Blue Ridge Parkway in Boone, North Carolina, and find myself in constant awe of the landscape that this region offers. In ‘Parkway Bound,’ I wanted to capture the natural beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the dead of winter. To me, the hiking trails and scenery in this area offer a means of escape from the confines of normal life and as I got further along in the writing process, I was drawn to the imagery of someone leaving their troubles behind and setting out for the Parkway as I have done so many times. The music could be said to be influenced more by great narrative writers like Norman Blake and Slaid Cleaves than your standard folkies, but there’s a little Townes Van Zandt and Gram Parsons in there.” — Shay Martin Lovette

Photo credit: Julianna Liegel

MIXTAPE: Music to Drive Your Kids Around (Without Driving Yourself Crazy)

Posted on by Editor

Among the many writer’s hats I wear is one of children’s music reviewer. When my daughter was in grade school, it was fun playing various kids CDs for her. She’s in college now, so those days are gone. I did keep her in mind, however, when putting together this playlist, thinking about songs that she would tolerate listening to now.

A lot of people associate children’s music merely with those simple, preschool music-time tunes about numbers, letters, and other lessons for toddlers. And there certainly a lot of those songs. But, as in any genre, there is a lot of interesting children’s music being made too.

This mixtape is a “mix” in a several ways. It mixes together songs by “adult” musicians who have ventured nicely into the family music world as well as children’s musicians with what some might call “crossover potential.” There are originals and covers. Fast songs and slow ones. And hopefully it’s a mix that Bluegrass Situation families can enjoy on an hour-long drive, whether it’s a fast drive or a slow one.

To create some parameters, I chose recordings released since 2000, only recordings made for children, and, yes, only recordings found on Spotify (I couldn’t find Jessie Baylin’s Strawberry Wind or I Love: Tom T. Hall’s Songs of Fox Hollow or else they might have been represented here). Also, I also stayed away from songs that seem to appear on every fourth children’s album (sorry, “Rainbow Connection”). — Michael Berick

The Okee Dokee Brothers – “Hope Machine”

These “brothers,” Joe Mailander and Justin Lansing, have put out a handful of excellent, old-school, folk-inspired albums that mix originals with traditional tunes. You can hear the Woody Guthrie influence in this cheery, gently philosophical original from their 2020 album, Songs for Singing. Here, as in all their music, there’s a wonderful, easy-going approach that doesn’t dumb down to kids.

Elizabeth Mitchell – “Blue Sky (Little Martha Intro)”

This Elizabeth Mitchell isn’t the actress from Lost, but the singer/guitarist from ’80s indie rockers Ida. Over the past 20 years, she has also made many terrific children’s albums, mainly for Smithsonian Folkways. Featuring nifty guitar playing from her husband and longtime collaborator Daniel Littlefield, Mitchell’s acoustic cover of this Allman Brothers classic hails from her Blue Clouds album, where she also reconceives Bowie, Hendrix, and Van Morrison songs.

Randy Kaplan – “In a Timeout Now”

On his album Mr. Diddie Wah Diddie, Randy Kaplan has great fun taking “poetic license” with old blues tunes and, in this case, the Jimmie Rodgers hit “In the Jailhouse Now.” Kids will love the comical lyrics and parents will appreciate Kaplan’s inventive, child-friendly renovations on roots music nuggets.

Laura Veirs – “Soldier’s Joy”

I read somewhere that “Soldier’s Joy” is one of the most played fiddle tunes of all time — and that it was a slang term for morphine during the Civil War. Veirs, who hails from the Northwest indie rock scene, keeps her version on the toe-tapping PG side. This duet with The Decemberists’ Colin Meloy comes from her highly recommendable, and only, children’s album, Tumble Bee.

Wee Hairy Beasties – “Animal Crackers”

This kooky side project by alt-country all-stars features Jon Langford (Waco Brothers/The Mekons), Sally Timms (The Mekons), Kelly Hogan, and Devil in the Woodpile. Pun lovers of all ages will revel in the wild wordplay running through the title track to this decidedly goofy 2006 album.

Little Mo’ McCoury – “The Fox”

Little Mo’ McCoury arguably stands as the most authentic bluegrass album for children, at least in the 21st century. Ronnie McCoury leads his family band through a set of old-timey tunes plus “You’ve Got A Friend” and “Man Gave Name to All the Animals.” While there are some overly familiar choices (“This Old Man,” “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad), “The Fox” provides a frisky workout of this bluegrass standard.

Meat Purveyors – “The Crawdad Song”

“The Crawdad Song,” along with “Froggie Went A-Courting/King Kong Kitchie Kitchie Ki-Me-O” must rank as the traditional tunes most frequently recorded for children. I included “Crawdad” here because it is the one ingrained more in my brain. And I picked this version because of the Meat Purveyors’ speedy bluegrass-y rendition. You’ll find it on Bloodshot Records’ irreverent kids’ compilation, The Bottle Let Me Down (although parents might want to listen to it before sharing with their little ones).

Red Yarn – “Rabbit in a Log”

Red Yarn (the nom de plume for Oregon-based musician Andy Furgeson) makes rootsy music that appeals to all ages. He frequently travels an early rock and roll route but he follows a more acoustic road on this hopped-up banjo-powered take of the old folk tune that appears on his Born in the Deep Woods album.

Johnette Downing – “J’ai Vu Le Loup, Le Renard Et La Belette”

Louisiana music is a popular Americana style in children’s music, probably because it so easily gets kids dancing. On her album Swamp Rock, the New Orleans musician Johnette Downing does a marvelous job presenting, and explaining, a variety of Louisiana-bred music and culture. This bilingual animal tale (“I Saw the Wolf, the Fox and the Weasel”) showcases two Cajun greats: fiddler Joel Savoy and accordionist Roddie Romero.

Kare Strong & Josh Goforth – “To The Country We Will Go”

Slowing down the tempo a bit, “To the Country We Will Go” offers a leisurely family trip. This song, as with most Kare Strong’s music, contains elements of English folk ballads. Providing the banjo, fiddle and other musical accompaniment is Josh Goforth, a bluegrass vet who has played with David Holt, Appalachian Trail, and Carolina Road.

Francis England – “Blue Canoe”

Sticking in the traveling mode, “Blue Canoe” is a charming little outing from Francis England, who makes consistently excellent music for families. This tune appears on her debut, Fascinating Creatures, an album where I would recommend “Charlie Parker” and “The Books I Like to Read” too.

Dan Zanes featuring Valerie June – “Take This Hammer”

While Zanes is right at the top of the best-known kids musicians today, I couldn’t resist including something by him. He has a whole bunch of fine tunes to choose from and I wound up landing on this one, which he sings with Valerie June, from his 2017 tribute album, Lead Belly, Baby!

Sarah Lee Guthrie – “Go Waggaloo”

I couldn’t exclude the name “Guthrie” from this mixtape. For this title track to her family music album, Sarah Lee (Woody’s granddaughter and Arlo’s daughter) wrote a song using unpublished lyrics her grandfather had written. Starting off like a silly sing along, the tune quickly goes deeper becoming a somewhat autobiographical look at Woody’s life.

Josh Lovelace with Spirit Family Reunion – “Going to Knoxville”

Lovelace took a break from his day job as keyboardist in rock band Needtobreathe to make a kids album. A standout track on Young Folks, “Going to Knoxville” is joy-filled, driving-in-a-car love song, with Spirit Family Reunion’s Nick Panken and Maggie Carson contributing some singing and banjo playing.

Beth Nielsen Chapman with Kid Pan Alley – “Little Drop of Water”

Kid Pan Alley, a Virginia-based nonprofit, sends songwriters into schools to collaborate with students. Chapman wrote this song with a third-grade class. Besides its strong message about water conservation, it’s pretty darn catchy too. My family still remembers it over a dozen years after the disc was last in our car’s CD player.

Justin Roberts – “Rolling Down the Hill”

One of the most skillful songwriters in the children’s music scene, Roberts usually operates in the pop/rock field, so this is a rare tune of his with a fiddle. Roberts injects just enough details into this playful ditty to make it resonate with both parents and kids — without slowing down the momentum.

Shovels & Rope with The Secret Sisters – “Mother Earth Father Time”

The just-released third volume in Shovels & Rope’s Busted Jukebox series is a set of family-oriented covers entitled Busted Juicebox. The husband-wife duo Michael Trent and Cary Ann Hearst partnered with The Secret Sisters for a sweetly sung rendition of this tune from the 1973 animated film version of Charlotte’s Web.

Sarah Sample and Edie Carey – “If I Needed You”

These two singer-songwriters teamed up back in 2014 to make ‘Til the Morning, a lullaby album that shouldn’t just be restricted to nap time. This Townes Van Zandt gem was a particularly inspired choice and their tender interpretation is quite moving.

Alastair Moock with Aoife O’Donovan – “Home When I Hold You”

Moock is a Massachusetts singer-songwriter whose family albums often tackle themes like inclusivity or social action. This track comes from Singing Our Way Through, an inspiring, powerful work he made for families dealing with pediatric cancer. His duet with Aoife O’Donovan conveys a simple yet poignant message of love from parents to a child.

Sara Watkins – “Pure Imagination”

Watkins’ first family album, Under the Pepper Tree, arrives on March 26, and its first single offers an appetizing hint of what’s to come. Watkins’ heavenly, soaring vocals highlight her gorgeous rendering of this Charlie and the Chocolate Factory tune. And celebrating the magic of creativity and the freedom of possibilities seems like a sweet note to leave families with.

 

BGS 5+5: Matt Urmy

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Artist: Matt Urmy
Hometown: New York City
Album: South of the Sky

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

If I had to choose one person who has had the widest impact on me and the way I approach my work, I would probably have to say, Cowboy Jack Clement. Jack was someone that I was able to get close to personally, which allowed me to be imprinted by him in a deeper way than just connecting to his art. He was also a businessman and producer, like myself, so he came at things from more than one perspective. … He was an all-around “content creator” before that term was ever even used.

For instance, Jack was vlogging before vlogging existed, he was vlogging before the internet existed! In the times I spent recording in his studio, sitting in his office and talking about art, business and life over coffee and cigarettes, or performing alongside him here in Nashville, I absorbed as much as I could from him. He had such a wide lens perspective on creativity, finding your voice, and being true to your vision. Our paths crossing was a real revelation for me.

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

All of the above. And not just those, but business (which I consider an art form), the healing arts, and nature all have an impact on my creative process. I find myself inspired every single day (to varying degrees) by things I experience personally, things the people in my life experience and tell me about, things I see on the news or in movies… and I just allow myself to feel those feelings and then toss it on my creative compost heap to breakdown and become part of the soil that I garden in, artistically speaking.

When it comes to those other forms of expression specifically, the way they inform my process is on two levels: 1. the direct inspiration they provide (feelings, thoughts, etc.) and 2. the way they inform craft and/or process. For instance, sculpting really has informed the way I view the craft and process of songwriting. There are techniques that I can draw from and apply to my forms of expression. So, I may see someone dancing, and be moved to go home and create, but also I may learn something that inspires a new technical approach to the craft itself. I hope that makes sense.

What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?

Ritual factors into my creative process across the board. One ritual is to make sure that I write at least one or two lines every day. In the studio, one ritual might be something like listening to a specific type of music or sound source before starting to work on something, just to clear the mind before beginning a session. Or, before a show, nursing a shot of tequila or mezcal for an hour or so before the show, so I slowly feel the effects of the spirit in my body before taking the stage. I find that my rituals change over time. I do believe they are important, but also that they are extremely personal. an artist has to find rituals that resonate with them and their unique processes for whatever situation they are in.

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

This is fun to think about. I think I would have to go with French cooking and Leonard Cohen. I choose French cooking, not just because I love it, but because it’s traditionally served over many courses, slowing the meal down and drawing things out. I choose Leonard Cohen because he was an artist who also wrote poetry, like myself, and was an artist who publicly savored drawing the creative process out over long periods of time. I would like to imagine that dinner and a bottle of wine with Leonard Cohen would yield a memorable conversation that would be an art form unto itself. I guess I’ll have to wait for another lifetime to have the chance to find out. Bummer.

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

I don’t think this ever really happens to me. The reason for that is that I don’t think I’ve ever written a song that was 100% informed by my own life. Obviously, everything that I write is heavily influenced by my personal experience… however, I find that experiences or pieces of information from the outside world always find their way into my work. For example, if a dear friend is going through something in their life, witnessing them work through their life creates feelings that intertwine with my personal story. The result of this is that I don’t ever feel as if I need to hide. All of my songs are made up of elements from my personal experience, as well as things I encounter in the world around me. It actually makes me feel more connected to other people and the world around me.

Photo credit: CM Howard Photography

MIXTAPE: Caleb Caudle’s Country Funk Favorites

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There’s a special thing that happens when the groove of soul music meets the sharp pen of country music. I’ve heard folks call it Country Soul, Country Funk, Cosmic American Music or simply “The Rub.” I refer to it as Down Home Funk. It keeps the toes tapping and the mind thinking. The special blend is a sound I gravitated towards a few years ago and it really made its way into my new record, Better Hurry Up. — Caleb Caudle

Guy Clark – “Texas Cookin’”

Guy comes out swingin’ on his sophomore record with the funkiest rhythm to any of his tunes up to that point. It’s so greasy and I’m hungry just listening to it right now. Long live food in songs!

Bill Withers – “Grandma’s Hands”

Drenched with nostalgia, this is one of my favorite tunes from Mr. Withers. He puts his personal experiences in a songs and something personal becomes so relatable. It gets me thinking about my own grandma. I’m a sucker for that Wurlitzer.

Bobbie Gentry – “Louisiana Man”

The first time I heard this tune was on a Doug Kershaw record. I love how she makes it her own. She has one of my very favorite voices. Even got a little bitty muskrat cousin! Bless it.

The Band – “Up on Cripple Creek”

I mean who am I kidding? This whole playlist could be The Band. They changed the way I heard music. They take every brand of roots music and blend it up effortlessly and effectively. God bless Levon Helm and all of his magic. I’ve touched the horseshoe at Big Pink on three separate occasions. It’s a healthy obsession.

Jeannie C. Riley – “Back Side of Dallas”

I got turned on to this tune from the Cocaine & Rhinestones three-parter on “Harper Valley PTA.” I love the vocal delivery here. Total swagger. The band is bold and the lyrics are gritty. Just feels real man, I dig it.

JJ Cale – “Lies”

His groove is so perfect, I feel like he drops the listener right into it. His guitar tone is always so on point. I’ve spent way too much time watching YouTube videos and trying to figure out what all is going on. Lies, Lies, Lies!

Townes Van Zandt – “Where I Lead Me”

I like sad TVZ a lot but I love TVZ when he has a chip on his shoulder and a blues band behind him. Everything feels nice and loose. I’ve always loved the line “In the meantime, make a little money and buy a little mercy”

Aretha Franklin – “The Weight”

As much as I love the original from The Band, I consider this the definitive version. The band is great, especially that slide work from Brother Duane. She is peaking the mic all over this one and it’s just so perfect.

Bobby Charles – “Small Town Talk”

Being from a small town, this one hits home. I love this Bobby Charles self-titled record. I hope more folks get turned on to it. The whole record sounds like a ferry ride down the Mississippi River. Who are we to judge one another? That could cause a lot of hurt.

Dolly Parton – “Jolene”

What hasn’t been said about this tune? I think the greatness comes from it still sounding fresh to this day. The riff, the vocal, the lyrics… this is a perfect song. I’m sure it really stood out on country radio at the time. It’s haunting. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know this song.

Leon Russell – “Tight Rope”

Like The Band, I’m sure I could have made this whole playlist the master of space and time. He’s peculiar and familiar at the same time. I like the way this one bounces. A great opening track for my favorite record of his, Carney.

Linda Ronstadt – “Willin’”

I was familiar with the Little Feat version because it was all over classic rock radio when I was growing up. I recently got turned on to this take, I really love how patient it is. Great vocal take from Linda.

Photo credit: Laura E. Partain

Ten Years After ‘Crazy Heart,’ Ryan Bingham Comes Around to “The Weary Kind”

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When Ryan Bingham accepted an Academy Award in 2010, he looked like he was on top of the world. Amanda Seyfried and Miley Cyrus announced that his song “The Weary Kind,” from the film Crazy Heart, had beaten two compositions by Randy Newman, and he took the stage with producer/co-writer T Bone Burnett, thanking his wife (“I love you more than rainbows, baby”) before showing gratitude to the cast and crew. It was a modest and heartfelt speech, not to mention a rare moment when roots music is given a prominent platform and one of the most prestigious awards in any art form.

A decade later, however, Bingham admits he was in a dark place, unable to enjoy the honor or the opportunities that came with it. “It was pretty tough when that film came out,” says the New Mexico-born/Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter. “A lot of people didn’t know that my mother had passed away just before it came out, and my father passed away soon after. People kept asking me to play that song all the time, and they kept saying, ‘Aren’t you happy about winning an Oscar? You must be having the best time of your life.’ But it was actually one of the hardest things I’ve ever been through. I didn’t know how to talk about it, and I was depressed.”

A downcast tune that captures his mood at the time, “The Weary Kind” is one of those songs that doesn’t sound like it was written; rather, it sounds like it’s been haunting dive bar jukeboxes for decades, even if it dispels any romance that might cling to such locations. “This ain’t no place for the weary kind,” Bingham sings, his voice tender as a bruise. “This ain’t no place to fall behind.”

There’s a danger to this place he’s describing, which might be one of the cramped bars depicted in Crazy Heart or might be something more figurative, like down in the dumps, but the song isn’t exactly grim. Bingham manages to locate a small, precious kernel of hope: “Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try.”

When asked by the press about the inspiration for the tune, he didn’t talk about his parents or their hard lives. “I would just tell them it was the film and the character,” Bingham says, referring to the main character, a washed-up outlaw country singer named Bad Blake. Played by Jeff Bridges (who won the Best Actor Oscar), Bad drives his trusty Suburban to shows around the Southwest, playing to a handful of aging fans while trading off the notoriety of a few dusty hits from decades ago. A barely functioning alcoholic, he bristles against all opportunities to crawl out of his rut, convincing himself that his knockabout life is somehow noble. In the novel he meets a tragic end, but in Cooper’s film Bad finds a possibility of salvation.

“The Weary Kind” is a remarkable piece of songwriterly ventriloquism, not only showing the obstacles Bad faces but how he feels about them. Cooper devotes several scenes to showing Bad writing those lines, picking out the melody on his guitar, searching diligently for the perfect rhyme. Rarely do movies give so much time and attention to the mundanities of the creative process, but the act of writing that song in the film is a transformative endeavor, a means of confronting his demons and embracing a future that has scared him for so long.

Bingham, however, could find no such solace in the tune. “I was trying to find my place in the world, and I’ve always struggled with my identity — where I was from and what I wanted my music to do. I hadn’t figured that out yet, and I was afraid of getting pigeonholed. I was young and rebelling against notoriety and fame and all that. It was all too heavy for me to bring up without breaking down. People just didn’t know, and that wasn’t their fault. How could they have known?”

Crazy Heart was a modest hit at the box office and a major hit during awards season, but it has proved surprisingly durable and influential over the last decade, too. It provided the template for Bradley Cooper’s remake of A Star Is Born last year, in which the actor-director played a much younger, somehow more grizzled version of Bad Blake. It also put outlaw country in front of a mainstream filmgoing audience, creating a space for such similar fare as Ethan Hawke’s Blaze (about the singer-songwriter Blaze Foley, who was partly an inspiration for Bad Blake).

Since winning an Oscar, Bingham has released four albums, including this year’s roadhouse-ready American Love Song. And he has continued acting, with a role in Cooper’s 2017 western Hostiles and a recurring part on the Paramount Network series Yellowstone, starring Kevin Costner and Wes Bentley. As Crazy Heart’s influence has grown, Bingham’s relationship with its theme song has softened, and he’s learned to embrace “The Weary Kind” and to appreciate its impact on his fans.

“I’ve grown up and grown more comfortable in my own skin. I’ve dealt with family stuff, so it’s been easier to get back into playing that song for people,” he says. To commemorate the tenth anniversary of the film, Bingham spoke with BGS about his impromptu audition, the film’s original downer ending, and growing up in the pool halls and dive bars of New Mexico.

BGS: When you think back on that time, what stands out to you most?

RB: The thing that always stands out to me is the script. I hadn’t written any songs for TV or film before. In fact, the songs that I’d been writing tended to be very personal — about things I’d gone through in my own life. But reading this script and looking at this other character allowed me to get out of my own skin and put myself in the shoes of someone else. I got to live vicariously through them and tell their story through the songs, and at the same time I was able to relate some of my own experiences as well.

And you’re not just writing for a character, but you’re writing for a character as he goes through this ordeal and tries to get his life together.

When I first read the script, the ending was different. They found him dead in a ditch outside some bar. It was really gloomy, so when I was writing that song, I was thinking about this poor son of a bitch dying by the side of the road somewhere. Then they changed the ending later on. I think the original ending was in the novel that Thomas Cobb had written, but I’m glad they changed it.

What kind of direction did you get from Scott Cooper or music supervisor T Bone Burnett?

None at all. I had met Scott just one time. He contacted me and said he was looking for some songs, so I met him for lunch and he told me about the project. I hit the road right after that, and he told me to read the script and let him know if I was inspired to write anything.

When I got home a few months later, I recorded this tune I’d been working on, and I called him up to ask where I should send it. I was just looking for an address, but he said he happened to be in L.A. visiting T Bone Burnett and asked if I could just bring it by.

So I drove over there to drop it off, and T Bone answers the door, all seven feet of him, and says, “Why don’t you come in and play it for us?” It was him and Scott and Jeff Bridges and Stephen Bruton and some other people. So I play him a little bit of the recording, and T Bone says, “That’s cool but can you play it for us yourself?” He gave me a guitar and sat me down on the couch, and I’m like, “Aw fuck, here we go!”

That sounds like a trial by fire.

It was. I wasn’t even sure I could remember it! But they liked it and unanimously decided to use it. I ended up hanging around with them and working on more songs for the film. I think from that point on I was over at T Bone’s house every day writing with those guys.

Did you have people in mind while you were writing? I see Townes Van Zandt and Blaze Foley in the character of Bad Blake.

I had a ton of people in mind. Where I’m from out in Hobbs, New Mexico, right on the Texas border, there are a lot of those characters out there, and one of them in particular was my father. He was very much a character like Townes or Bad, so I wrote the song thinking about my father and his situation.

When I was growing up, he would drag me into these old pool halls and bars. I was barely old enough to see over the bars, but he and his friends would give me quarters for the jukebox or the pool table. They’d all get drunk during happy hour and then I’d drive them all home. I grew up in those rough roadhouse places, and then when I got into writing songs, I discovered all these songwriters from that area, like Townes and Guy Clark and Joe Ely and Terry Allen and Billy Joe Shaver.

Those guys took me under their wing in a big way. I don’t know how many times I’d go see them play a show and they’d invite me up to play a song and introduce me to their audience. They really helped me out a lot and encouraged me to play. I was this young kid from a little town in the middle of nowhere, and I had no direction or any kind of formal lessons. I didn’t have anybody to teach me anything, so those guys were really important to me.

Was your father a musician?

He wasn’t. He was just a straight-up ol’ boozer who worked in the oilfields. My dad and uncles were all cowboys and roughnecks. When I was a kid, I used to go to these junior rodeos. My dad would haul me around on weekends, and it was always long drives on desolate roads. There was always the piss jug in the van. That translated into my own music later on when I started playing in a band and spending a lot of time on the highway. It was a lifestyle I had lived as a kid. So I could relate to that aspect of Bad Blake when I read the script.

Is that why you were cast as his backing band in those early scenes? How did that happen?

I had a show in Los Angeles at the Troubadour, and Scott came out to see me and my band the Dead Horses play. He said, “You guys gotta be in this thing!” He wanted to cast us as the backing band in the bowling alley. We were really just a bar band playing around in these roadhouses and honky-tonks in Texas, but we had just started coming up to the West Coast to play. We would play at bowling alleys, bars, backyard parties — anywhere anyone would let us play.

Did you ever work as somebody else’s pickup band?

I’d never done that before. I didn’t get into playing music until later on, and for the longest time it was just me and a guitar. Once I started getting gigs in these bars, they wanted you to have a band, so the whole experience of playing in a band was still new to me. I’d never been a side player for anybody or played in a backing band. That was new to me.

But some of my friends who were playing with me in the Dead Horses had been in backing bands, so they knew the deal. And I thought about those guys who’d mentored me when we did that scene where Bad Blake was giving advice to his band. He’s not passing down the torch, but those guys were always giving a little bit to the younger guys, showing them how you do it. There was a bit of that in those scenes.

It almost felt like he was trying to warn them away from that troubadour life.

You bet. I think about guys like Townes who lived a very hard, sad life, and that’s something I’ve always been cautious about. You don’t have to do it that way. You don’t have to be sad to write a good song. I’ve known a lot of songwriters who felt like they needed to live that lifestyle in order to create, and I grew up around that with my old man and my mother as well. That was something I knew I didn’t want to do, and I’ve always tried to get away from that stuff. There’s gotta be a better way or else you’re going to end up in a ditch somewhere.

Crazy Heart seems to suggest that that’s the easy way out. It’s easy to embrace that self-destructive side of it.

And that lifestyle too is so easy to slip into when you’re in a bar every night. You’ve always got people bringing you drinks and wanting to party with you. It’s hard to get away from it when it’s always around you.

Did writing for this character and this project change the way you write?

It didn’t really change the way that I approach songwriting, but it definitely exposed my music to so many people who might never have even heard it. It opened up a lot of doors for me to play in other places. We were this bar band from Austin, and a lot of those places we played early on… people went there to get drunk and dance and have a good time. They didn’t go to sit down and listen to a folk singer performing sad, quiet songs.

We were caught in between some of those things, with a lot of people coming out to our shows to hear that one song they knew from the film. But the rest of our set was full of loud rock ‘n’ roll and barn-burning honky-tonk songs. Our fanbase grew, but some people didn’t know what it was all about. So it was an interesting time, with fans getting to know what I was doing and me trying to figure out what they wanted. It was an interesting challenge because at the same time I just wanted to be myself and grab hold of whatever identity I had.

That has to be even tougher when you’re writing songs about your own personal experiences.

I had been around these older people who’d been playing for a long time, and they told me constantly that you have to have something to say in the song. You have to be truthful with people and be truthful about how you feel. So I’ve always felt an obligation to wear my heart on my sleeve when I’m writing songs. I need to be vulnerable, which is a way of carrying on that tradition.

“The Weary Kind” has started showing up in your sets recently. What has it been like to revisit the song?

I’ve been playing it a lot more these days. I’ve managed to deal with my family stuff, so it’s been easier to play that song for people. It’s still very emotional for me, but it’s different now. I think what brought it back for me was hearing stories from all these fans who have their own experiences and tell me how they relate to the song, how it’s helped them deal with certain things.

That was really inspiring, and now I sing it because I realize how much it means to people who come to the shows. I try to be respectful of that. If that song means something to them, then that’s a good thing for all of us — and a bit of a healing process for me as well. I can sing that song and not suppress all those emotions. I can get it all off my chest.

It makes for some heavy shows, especially when it’s just me and a guitar. I’ve played that song with four or five people in the front row just bawling. I’ve come to realize that the more I can give them, the more they give back to me. And they understand when there’s a rough night and I can’t play song. They know why.

 

MIXTAPE: Jade Jackson’s Songs for Loneliness

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Loneliness is something I’ve experienced [for] as long as I can remember. Before I fully comprehended its meaning, I became familiar with it in my earliest childhood memories. Finding comfort in what we’re used to, I naturally gravitated toward music that evoked that feeling and when I started writing and creating art, it was my biggest inspiration. – Jade Jackson

Bruce Springsteen – “The River”

Similar stories have been told by artists over the years. But Springsteen’s take on loneliness is untouchable. The harmonica crying in the intro sets the tone for this genius tale of faded love.

Sheryl Crow – “The Difficult Kind”

This song blends loneliness and strength. Owning up, recognizing you’re the reason for your loneliness is tough to face. The pain in her voice along with the electric fiddle combine to tug at your heart as the lyrics capture an honest look inside.

Mojave 3 – “Yer Feet”

This song reminds me of hopelessness, heartache, and the dull pain that foreshadows lost love.

John Fullbright – “High Road”

I remember bursting into tears the first time I heard the climax of this song. The story unfolds beautifully and illustrates true love ending too soon.

Hank Williams – “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry”

Hank Williams spun in our record player more than any other artist growing up. It’s a song I loved when I was young, because of its imagery, and as I grew older I related to it in a whole new way.

Violent Femmes – “Good Feeling”

“Vague sketch of a fantasy
Laughing at the sunrise
Like he’s been up all night
Ooh slippin’ and slidin’
What a good time but now
Have to find a bed
That can take this weight”

Enough said.

Townes Van Zandt – “Waiting Around to Die”

Townes Van Zandt is one of my all-time favorite songwriters, and in my opinion, the king of sad songs. Behind the vocals the guitar picking, drums, and harmonica in this song sound like a drunken heartache. The Be Good Tanyas have a rendition of this song that I find equally despondent.

Johnny Cash – “Hurt”

Trent Reznor’s song “Hurt” covered by Cash takes my breath away. Loneliness often leads to a numbness begging to be broken by self-inflicted pain. This song is a raw tribute to wanting to disappear.

Patsy Cline – “Walkin’ After Midnight”

This is the perfect lonesome song, with its desperation and hopelessness accompanied by pedal steel.

Mazzy Star – “Fade Into You”

I love how poetic these lyrics are. They evoke a yearning for emotional connection; walking through depression wishing to be loved by someone.

Jade Jackson – “Bridges”

I wrote this song during one of my loneliest times of my life.

Jade Jackson – “Loneliness”

This song was inspired by realizing you don’t have to be alone to feel lonely.

Photo credit: Matt Bizer
Editor’s Note: Jade Jackson released her new album, Wilderness, on June 28.