Tag: uncivil war

How Shemekia Copeland Found Fans Beyond the Blues (Part 2 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

Over the last 10 years, in a series of albums recorded with producers Oliver Wood and Will Kimbrough, Shemekia Copeland has progressed from a first-class blues belter into a wider-ranging, more nuanced artist whose music touches on Americana, rock, and country — and she’s still a first-class blues belter.

In addition to working with Kimbrough on her new album Uncivil War and 2018’s America’s Child, Copeland has recorded with artists like John Prine, Emmylou Harris, and ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons. In part two of our interview with Copeland, whose father is the late Texas blues great, Johnny Clyde Copeland, we discuss her musical development and the lessons she learned while teaming with these and other unlikely collaborators.

Editor’s Note: Read the first part of our two-part interview with Shemekia Copeland.

BGS: Over your last four albums, you’ve worked with producers Oliver Wood and Will Kimbrough, mostly in Nashville, and really started to open up the instrumentation and type of songs you’ve recorded. So I have a chicken and the egg question: did you start working differently because you wanted to change, or did you change because you worked with different people in different places?

SC: It happened organically. The first record with Oliver was in Atlanta and then he moved to Nashville, because everybody moves to Nashville, because that’s where musicians and studios are, and it’s inexpensive to work there. Oliver had Will Kimbrough come in and play and I was a big fan of his. When he played on my record, it was love at first note, because he’s just a musical genius.

We did our last record America’s Child with him and he just knows everyone. Nashville is such a small town in that way. All the musicians know, respect, and love each other. Will would say, “So-and-so would sound good on this. Let’s call him,” and within a day they’d have these guys in the studio that you couldn’t imagine working with as a blues artist, because you don’t know them. The gates of Heaven opened up being in Nashville because that’s where everybody is.

How about Oliver Wood?

I love him. He’s a very talented player and writer, and the best thing about him was that he really encouraged me to think about how I sing. I came from the blues shouter way of singing, and from him I learned that you don’t have to do that to move people. That was huge for me, to learn that you can capture people with subtlety just as much as you can capture them with the hugeness of your voice. We had that conversation and I took that away from working with him and have carried it on.

“Uncivil War” is a perfect example. I did not want to sing that song. I thought it was is a pretty song for somebody with a pretty voice to sing. I wanted the world to hear it and figured they would not if it was coming from me, because I don’t have a pretty voice. That’s when they all yelled at me and said I was being completely ridiculous and to just sing the damn song. But I still struggle with thinking that the subtleties of my voice work. I was just using the power of my voice more like a Koko Taylor, or Etta James.

Let’s talk about some of these people you’ve worked with. You did a duet with John Prine on his lesser-known blues song “Great Rain.” Tell me about that.

That happened completely organically, but here in Chicago, though he lived in Nashville. He’s originally from Illinois and we were both on a concert called Voices of Chicago. I was there to represent blues and John was there to represent the fact that he’s just frickin’ amazing. We were backstage and I’m standing there looking at John Prine thinking, “Oh my God, I’m standing here looking at John Prine.” And he looked down at my feet and said, “I love your shoes!” We started talking and I fell in love with his wife, Fiona. Amazing people. We got to talkin’, started working on projects together, and the rest is history. People like him know how to break the ice with people when they’re nervous around them.

How about Emmylou Harris?

That was just a Will Kimbrough connection. I met her a couple times, like in passing at festivals, but her being on “America’s Child” was Will. He plays with her. She heard the song, loved it, and wanted to sing on it, which was beautiful.

Steve Cropper, who produced The Soul Truth (2005), also plays on the new one.

Who doesn’t love Steve Cropper? He wrote all the hit songs that you can think of. I love working with him, loved his energy. We wanted to do something different after the Dr. John record [2002’s Talking to Strangers], so we thought, why not try to get a soulful record? And who better to make a soulful record than Steve Cropper? He also played on all the songs and Steve Cropper plays like Steve Cropper. He has a sound all his own. You know when you’re listening to him.

What about Billy Gibbons?

Billy was a big fan of Johnny Copeland; he went and saw my dad perform all the time when he was a kid. I was hanging out with him in India [at the 2017 Mahindra Blues Festival in Mumbai] and we were talking about all that. I wanted to do “Jesus Just Left Chicago” and John [Hahn, Copeland’s manager] had the bright idea to ask him. I never would have been ballsy enough to do that. Thank God for managers and producers.

I love Rhiannon Giddens on “Smoked Ham and Peaches.”

Yeah, and she sounded amazing on it. Oh, my gosh. I was a big fan of her and Dom Flemons and the Carolina Chocolate Drops! Just a group of interesting, amazing, talented people. But then I saw her perform as a headliner of the Chicago Blues Festival and she was just incredible. I really wanted to work on it and was so happy when she said she was aware of me, and would love to do it.

It’s probably the most acoustic, downhome song you’ve done and a good example of why some people started talking about you and Americana and not just blues.

I’ve always listened to country and bluegrass, even if I didn’t know who I was listening to. I just liked the instrumentation of it and the singers and lyrics. Americana was not on my radar, but I grew up listening to country music because my dad grew up in Texas and loved it. I’d walk around the house singing Patsy Cline and Hank Williams songs that my dad loved, but I hadn’t really even heard anything about the blend of country and roots music until a few years ago, so I think it’s kind of hilarious that people are saying I’m crossing over to Americana. But I welcome all listeners!

Has your audience changed over the course of these last few albums?

Yes, especially since America’s Child, but even going back to [2009’s] Never Going Back, I started getting people at my shows saying stuff like, “You know, I’m not really into blues, but I love what you do.” And I’m like, “Well, if you’re listening to me, then you could probably say you’re into blues. I think you’re more into the blues than you think you are!” I always hoped that I was getting fans that weren’t just blues fans, and I think the audience is growing a little bit for me — at least I hope so!

(Editor’s Note: Read the first part of our two-part interview with Shemekia Copeland.)

Photo credit: Mike White

Shaped by Blues and Country, Shemekia Copeland Launches ‘Uncivil War’ (Part 1 of 2)

Posted on by Editor

At just 41 years old, Shemekia Copeland is already an established multi-decade blues veteran. That’s what happens when you start performing as a pre-teen with your blues legend father Johnny Clyde Copeland and make your recorded debut at 18. As one of the primary hosts on SiriusXM’s BB King’s Bluesville channel, she’s also one of the genre’s highest-profile artists. A recent series of albums have both underlined Copeland as a star of the blues and pushed her beyond the walls of the genre, further into Americana and socially conscious commentary.

Her latest, Uncivil War, is another bold step forward. Recorded in Nashville with producer Will Kimbrough, the album features a wide range of guest performers, including Jason Isbell, Christone “Kingfish” Ingram, Steve Cropper, Duane Eddy, Webb Wilder and bluegrass legends Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas. She pushes boundaries not just with the instrumentation but the topics she covers, including “Clotilda’s on Fire,” which tells the story of the last slave ship to come to the U.S., and the title track, “Uncivil War,” is a plea for healing in our increasingly divided nation.

“Americana was not on my radar, but I grew up listening to country music because my dad grew up in Texas and loved it,” Copeland tells BGS. “I’d walk around the house singing Patsy Cline and Hank Williams songs that my dad loved, but I hadn’t really even heard anything about the blend of country and roots music until a few years ago, so I think it’s kind of hilarious that people are saying I’m crossing over to Americana. But I welcome all listeners!”

Editor’s Note: Read the second half of our interview with Shemekia Copeland here.

BGS: Over the past few albums, you’ve really stretched out musically and part of that is working with a wide range of musicians, many from outside the blues world. Let’s talk about a few of them on the new record, starting with two bluegrass greats, Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas.

SC: Oh my gosh! They are just really talented guys who make anything better. I just love those guys! I think my favorite part about them is that they exemplify something I love about Nashville: nobody cares about genre. It’s all about just whether or not it’s a good song and whether they want to play on it. And that’s it.

You think that’s notably different than other places? Do you find that not to be the case in New York or Chicago, for instance?

I have to say yes to that. I think it’s different in Nashville. People just want to play music. Down there, nobody ever even asks, “How much does it pay?” They’re just like, “What time do I need to show up?” It’s really about the music and Will Kimbrough, who produced the last two records, knows everyone in town and has played with most of them.

Jason Isbell is another great guest on this album and plays a great solo on “Clotilda’s on Fire.”

Yes, that one was a little different. We did a show at the Grand Ole Opry together, so Jason knew who I was when Will called and asked him to play on this song, and he was ready to do it. “Clotilda’s on Fire” is about the slave ship that they found off the coast of Alabama, and he’s from Alabama and we wanted him to play lead guitar on it. It just felt natural. It’s amazing how organically these things happen.

That song is really powerful and it’s just one of several very topical tunes on this record. That’s something different that you’ve really established. The first four songs are not about personal things like heartbreak, but heavy topics addressed in interesting ways. You have “Clotilda’s on Fire,” about the last slave ship; “Walk Until I Ride,” a modern-day Civil Rights anthem; and “Uncivil War” and “Money Makes You Ugly,” whose titles speak for themselves. Did you make a very conscious decision to do this?

Absolutely! I’ve been doing it for several records now. And I think the more confident I get, the better I get at it, and the more comfortable I get with saying what’s on my mind. Like on America’s Child, I did “Would You Take My Blood?” which was the first time I ever tackled a song about racism. On previous records, I did songs about domestic violence, date rape, things like that. But it feels more imperative than ever with everything that’s going on in this country now — and this was before COVID-19. This record was finished when all of this crap happened.

I was struck by the story about the Clotilda ever since the ship was found off the coast of Alabama. My ancestors came over here on one of those ships. I did my DNA and I’m 87 percent African, so I was very interested in that story. I wanted people to know about it and, more importantly, to understand why it still matters so much. The line in that song that’s one of the most important to me is “We’re still living with her ghost.” I want people to know that it hasn’t ended, that we’re still going through the same stuff and it’s very, very saddening. Heartbreaking, really.

Have you had any backlash to being more outspoken?

Oh, of course.

Do you care?

Not at all. You can’t satisfy everyone. The one thing that I’ve learned in my career is you’re going to piss somebody off. Not everybody’s gonna be happy with you. It’s just that simple, and it’s okay. Nobody wants their difficult history dredged up and put out in front of their face, but I’m good as long as I can look at myself in the mirror every day and be happy with myself.

Amidst all the great new original songs is a cool cover of The Rolling Stones’ “Under My Thumb.” How did you choose that one?

Doing that song was, for me, turning the tables on men. In fact, I actually hate it as a Stones song. I don’t want a man talking about a woman in that way — but it’s a great song! I don’t want to think of a woman being under anyone’s thumb, so the tables were turned… but one critic listened to it and said, “She’s talking about Black women being oppressed in this country.” I thought, “They’re making me sound so smart!” Same thing with “No Heart at All,” which a lot of people have read a lot into and interpreted as being about the president. Okay, but that goes for anyone who doesn’t have one.

That’s interesting about “Under My Thumb.” There’s a power to a woman flipping a song as Aretha did with Otis Redding’s “Respect.” That’s a completely different song sung from a woman’s perspective.

Yeah, to me, a guy singing that is just not right. Doesn’t work. Like, I couldn’t do some standard songs, as much as I love them. I would never want to sing things like “I’d Rather Go Blind” because, shit, I don’t want to go blind. You want to go? Get to steppin’! I don’t need you here. You know what I mean? It’s like this great love song but it leaves me saying, screw that. Peace out.

And you’d never think of Etta James as a pushover in any way! You were close with Koko Taylor, who turned some songs around as well.

She did! “I’m a Woman” was her turning the tables on men. I was devastated when we lost her [in 2009] because she always checked on me. She was so worried about me being in this business because of what she went through with her musicians and managers. Meanwhile, I’m out on the road with all these square guys that only drink herbal tea and don’t even smoke cigarettes. This was not her experience at all! I don’t think that she realized that it was just a different time. She had managers stealing money and disappearing into crack dens. She went through some stuff and wanted to make sure that I could avoid them.

You have a very interesting relationship with your manager, John Hahn, who is also your primary songwriter. How did that develop?

I met John when I was 8 years old. When my friends came around, I’d say, “This is Mr. John Hahn and he’s my manager.” Really, he was working with my father and I was just a little kid talking shit. But when I was about 12, he wrote me a song called “Daddy’s Little Girl” for fun. I started to go sit in with my dad. Now fast forward 33 years or so, and John and I talk every day on the phone, about everything. Having someone who knows me so well write songs is like having a tailor make you a suit. These songs are tailor-made to me, and I’m very fortunate to have that.

Your father was a great songwriter who wrote simple but profound lyrics that really resonated with me. Obviously you agree because almost every album you do one of his tunes, this time “Love Song.”

Yes, thank you! People have suggested I could do a whole record of my daddy’s songs, but this is my subtle way of doing it. I’ve already done ten of them. And, I got to tell you, I do believe that my little boy Johnny is my father reincarnated. He acts just like him. He’s three-and-a-half years old, and is so damn sure of himself. This kid knows who he is. He is arrogant in his confidence, and I always felt my father to be that way. Kind and sweet, but definitely sure of himself. You couldn’t tell him who he was, because he knew. And this little boy is all that and a bag of chips. By the way, my dad knew that I was going to be a singer the second that I came out of the womb.

That’s amazing. How?

I don’t know, but he told my mother when she was holding me in her arms, “She’s going to be a singer.”

And you always feel that way?

No! I did not have the confidence to be a singer. I never wanted to be in front of people. Audiences scared me. I’d always ask my dad how he could get up there in front of all those people and perform. That was always a problem for me.

But you did it from such a young age. I saw you when you were about 12!

I did, but I never was comfortable with it. And it’s now my favorite part. The music business sucks, but performing in front of people is the most amazing feeling in the world. That didn’t come to me until I got older, and became more confident in myself. I had to grow up. Eventually I realized this is who I am.

When was that? You put out your first record at 19.

It’s gotten better over the years. You’re always a work in progress. I started out as a child, and a certain confidence comes in when you’ve been doing it a couple of decades! You never ever stop paying your dues, but I’ve now accepted me wholeheartedly.

(Editor’s Note: Read the second half of our interview with Shemekia Copeland here.)

Photo credit: Mike White

Artist of the Month: Shemekia Copeland

Posted on by Editor

When it comes to modern blues, Shemekia Copeland is at the top of her game. Uncivil War, her newest release on Alligator Records, offers a number of topical songs, ranging from gun rights (“Apple Pie and a .45”) to LGBT affirmation (“She Don’t Wear Pink”). Yet as the album progresses, she delivers a few straight-up blues songs like “No Heart at All” and “In the Dark” that could have fallen anywhere in her decades-long career — or found a home with the generation of blues artists that inspired her. Throughout, her voice is strong, drawing you in to hear firsthand what’s on her mind.

Recorded in Nashville with producer Will Kimbrough, Uncivil War gives Copeland a chance to clearly speak her truth. From the historical narrative of “Clotilda’s on Fire” (with an electrifying guitar solo from Jason Isbell) to the philosophical title track (which features acoustic all-stars Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas), Copeland consistently comes across as persuasive, but not abrasive. The message of one of the album’s finest moments, “Walk Until I Ride,” is indeed empowering — but the fact that she needs to walk in the first place is not lost on the listener.

“You know, being angry doesn’t do us any justice,” Copeland told NPR in October. “I spent my time being angry and pissed off and mad about it. But at the end of the day, you know, that just doesn’t help anything.” That determination to channel her emotions into her music paid off in 2019 as she picked up multiple wins in the Blues Music Awards and Living Blues Critic’s Poll on the strength of her prior release, America’s Child. Since 2000, three of her albums have also received Grammy nominations.

In the weeks ahead, BGS will feature a two-part interview with Shemekia Copeland, where she reflects on the influence of her blues musician father, Texas legend Johnny Copeland, as well as the statement she’s making with Uncivil War. (Read part one here. Read part two here.) Author and journalist Alan Paul, who conducted these interviews, also provides us with the BGS Essentials playlist for November Artist of the Month, Shemekia Copeland.

Photo credit: Mike White

New Movement Music: A Black American Soundtrack of Struggle and Protest

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

For Black Americans, this day, Juneteenth, has long been a celebration of the momentous historical event of emancipation from slavery — and the nearly two and a half years it took for that news to reach all enslaved peoples in this country. Juneteenth is belatedly gaining wider recognition and arrives at a time of reckoning with systemic patterns of white supremacy, especially police brutality, that remain deeply entrenched.

Like many waves of national protest before it, the uprising in the wake of the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade and many others has spurred the creation of its own soundtrack, and the following list spotlights the contributions of seven roots-savvy, Black music makers. Some draw on lessons learned from how songs gave spiritual succor to those on the front lines of the 1960s Civil Rights struggle, with righteously raised fists and declarations of passion and purpose. Others opt for expression that feels far more personalized or particular, articulating an adamantly complex range of emotions and letting profoundly unsettled, and unsettling, questions hang in the air. All of them are fleshing out their own vivid, timely incarnations of movement music.

Leon Bridges specializes in sophisticated soul, sometimes artfully retro in presentation and other times landing at the thoroughly contemporary end of that musical lineage. His new song “Sweeter” is an example of the latter, two minutes and 50 seconds during which his buttery vocals glide over a lean drum machine pattern, delicate, gospel-dusted bits of guitar, keyboard, piano and bass and Terrace Martin’s saxophone figures. Bridges’ words land with the devastated finality of a black man whose life is leaving his body, taken from him by police. “I thought we moved on from the darker days,” he sings, his cadence fluttery and tone ruminative. “Did the words of the King disappear in the air, like a butterfly?” The blame-laying next line arrives in a burst: “Somebody should hand you a felony.”

Then, Bridges elongates his phrasing with righteous indignation, before steadying himself to spell out the loss: “‘Cause you stole from me/my chance to be.” The elegance he chose gives his performance subtly striking, emotional heft. “From adolescence we are taught how to conduct ourselves when we encounter police to avoid the consequences of being racially profiled,” Bridges wrote in a statement. “I have been numb for too long, calloused when it came to the issues of police brutality. The death of George Floyd was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. It was the first time I wept for a man I never met. I am George Floyd, my brothers are George Floyd, and my sisters are George Floyd. I cannot and will not be silent any longer. Just as Abel’s blood was crying out to God, George Floyd is crying out to me.”

Chastity Brown has been honing her ability to create space for emotional resistance within her songs for a while now. She draws on the pointed, confessional potential of folk and soul and the digital texturing techniques of contemporary pop and hip-hop, while depicting the patient pursuit and safekeeping of self-knowledge as a sign of strength — one that differs wildly from the sort of dominance modeled by systemic power.

In her new song “Golden,” created on her iPad in her garage studio and shared with the world this week, Brown sounds willfully unhurried singing over a skittery programmed beat: “I’ve got joy, even when I’m a target/If ya think that’s political, don’t get me started/You know I’m golden and I flaunt it.” That savoring of selfhood is in striking contrast to the furious question she circles around during the chorus: “Why have I got to be angry?”

In the artist notes accompanying the song, Brown explained that she began writing it when her nephew was beaten by four white cops while walking home in Harlem, mere weeks before George Floyd died in her adopted hometown. “This collective trauma that black, indigenous, immigrant, and queer/trans folk feel is real,” she spelled out. “It’s every god damn day. Yet, we still thrive and flourish in our nature beauty, we still have swag and songs for days. We still have wild and wondrous imaginations like we are all the children of Octavia [Butler]. …This is for me, my people, and the UPRISING to defund police here in Minneapolis and thereby set a new standard for how communities want to be protected.”

Shemekia Copeland, one of the brightest stars in contemporary blues, has been deliberate for years about broadening her repertoire and approach to encompass countrified styles, singer-songwriter song sources and statement-making folk and soul sensibilities and, in the process, positioning herself in the midst of roots music discourse. That’s the insightful perspective she brings to her just-released “Uncivil War,” whose string band style accompaniment boasts the contributions of Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas.

Coming from Copeland, and delivered with measured, dignified vibrato, the simple flipping of the name of the nation’s most notorious war to “uncivil” slyly strips a veneer of respectability from the racist and romanticized Lost Cause religion. She strikes a tone of weary but resolute optimism throughout. “It’s not just a song,” she clarified in a statement. “I’m trying to put the ‘united’ back in the United States. Like many people, I miss the days when we treated each other better. For me, this country’s all about people with differences coming together to be part of something we all love. That’s what really makes America beautiful.”

Kam Franklin, on her own and with her Houston horn band The Suffers, has the wide-ranging musical instincts, imagination, nerve, and ear for earthy verisimilitude to make big statements while zeroing in on small interactions. A couple of weeks back, she posted a brand new, self-recorded song fragment to SoundCloud, a platform well suited to off-the-cuff expression, and with it, this comment: “I saw a photo of Breonna Taylor with her homegirls earlier today, and it gutted me. I won’t forget her. I wrote this birthday song for her, her friends that wondered where she was before the news came out, and everyone that loved her.”

Titled “Happy Birthday Breonna,” it’s a pensive, sinuous bit of ‘70s soul that drives home the fact that Taylor was ripped from a web of close relationships. The first, and only verse, lands like a voicemail from a friend who grew worried when she couldn’t reach Taylor. Franklin’s graceful trills and softly insistent phrasing have an understatement that suggests fretful preoccupation. Then she moves into a point-counterpoint refrain, murmuring birthday wishes to Taylor in her breathy upper register and making a devastating declaration beneath: “You should be here.”

Singer-guitarist and actor Celisse Henderson began work on writing, recording, and filming a video for her song “FREEDOM” four years ago, following the slayings of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling, and watched as black deaths and protest momentum multiplied before she finally completed and released her project earlier this month.

In a message on her website, Henderson explained, “I, along with millions of people, watched video footage of these unarmed black men losing their lives in the most horrific ways. The truth that these unjust deaths revealed about our country, including the systemic failings of our criminal justice system, became my personal call-to-action. Then the 2016 election night happened, and the results added a whole new layer to the purpose of this song and project. Now, almost four years later, too little has been done, and the story remains the same. With the horrific and unjust killings of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd weighing heavily on our hearts and minds, it is time to release ‘FREEDOM’ as a rallying cry and a call to action to stand up and fight for our freedom.”

Historic footage of the March on Washington that opens the clip is a reminder of the buoying role that spirituals played in the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, and serves the narrative function of positioning Henderson to measure the too-meager progress for Black Americans since. The track is gospel-schooled and hard-rocking, powered by a thunderous, syncopated drum pattern and grinding electric guitar attack. With gospel fervor and a touch of theatrical flourish, Henderson summons a spirit of urgency and extends a broad welcome to all who are affected or disturbed by injustice.

Joy Oladokun, a Nigerian-American singer-songwriter who’s quietly carving out her place in Nashville’s professional songwriting community with introspective, melancholy warmth, steered a co-writing appointment with Natalie Hemby toward an expression of grief. The result was “Who Do I Turn To?” a naked airing of fear and distrust.

Oladokun’s reedy, plaintive performance is accompanied only by minimal piano chords. She spends the chorus adding up horrifying realizations that lead her to a resounding question: “If I can’t save myself/If it’s all black and white/If I can’t call for help/in the middle of the night/If I can’t turn to god/If I can’t turn to you/Who do I turn to?” Her voice subtly catches on the word “help,” as though knowing that life-giving protection is unavailable to her constricts her breath. Oladokun underscored the importance of the chorus lyrics to an interviewer: “[I]t’s illustrating that I don’t trust the police since I’m black. I don’t trust the police enough to know that they would think I’m not robbing my own home. I don’t think a lot of people understand what that is like. The feeling sucks.” In a separate statement she summarized her intent: “I wanted to write a firsthand account of how I feel and the question black people like me ask when this happens over and over again while nothing changes. I want it out now to help an already traumatized people cope, heal, and put words to their struggle.”

Wyatt Waddell, a young Chicago music-maker who’s been expertly, wittily, and self-sufficiently arranging home recordings of classic covers and singer-songwriter soul originals for the past few years, wrote “FIGHT!” as an anthem of admiration and uplift for young, Black Americans putting their bodies on the line in the streets and facing off against police force to agitate for change. “This song is me looking at what’s happening and what I’d tell the people protesting,” he specified in a statement. “I had to look outside of myself at what’s going on and how people are being affected. Hearing people’s fears, anxieties, and watching everything happening on TV really helped me write the song. I hope that it can be an anthem for my people as they’re fighting for a better America.”

Waddell begins with gospel-style repetition, creating a call-and-response pattern made up of his own layered vocals over a churchly foot stomp and hand clap groove: “There’s already so much pain/So much pain/So much pain/There’s already so much pain/And there ain’t nothin’ else we can do.” It seems like he could be building up to a confession of helplessness; instead, his funky refrain is bolstered by a sense of resolve and inevitability: “Nothin’ to do but fight.”

Photo credit: (L to R) Shemekia Copeland by Mike White; Chastity Brown by Wale Agboola; Leon Bridges by Jack McKain.

LISTEN: Shemekia Copeland, “Uncivil War” (Feat. Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas, and the Orphan Brigade)

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Shemekia Copeland
Single: “Uncivil War” (feat. Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas, and the Orphan Brigade)
Release Date: June 19, 2020
Record Label: Alligator Records

In Their Words: “It’s not just a song. I’m trying to put the ‘united’ back in the United States. Like many people, I miss the days when we treated each other better. For me, this country’s all about people with differences coming together to be part of something we all love. That’s what really makes America beautiful.” — Shemekia Copeland

Photo credit: Mike White