Grateful Dead Drummer Mickey Hart Remembers Tabla Genius Zakir Hussain

“I am here. I’m ready to play.”

That, Mickey Hart recalls, is the first thing Zakir Hussain said to him when the young Mumbai-born tabla player, having recently arrived in the U.S., knocked on the door at the Grateful Dead drummer’s Marin County ranch.

“Oh, okay,” Hart says he replied. “Here we go.”

That was 1970 and go they did, forming a deep musical and personal bond that lasted from that day until Hussain’s death from lung disease on Dec. 15 at just age 73. Hart had been studying with Hussain’s father Ustad Alla Rakha, Ravi Shankar’s long-time tabla partner.

“His father said, ‘I can’t play with you because I play the quietest instrument in the world and you play the loudest,’” Hart says, laughing in the den of his ranch house on a recent Zoom chat. “But he said, ‘My son, he could play with you. I will send him to you.’ And so he did.”

And? “It was just magic,” Hart says, beaming with the memories.

Soon Hussain moved into the barn studio facility at Hart’s ranch. And they played. And played.

“We played for four hours one time,” he says, then realizing that was nothing. “We played for four days and nights! Four days and nights! We really got to know each other and played every day. He was the crown prince of tabla, and when his father died he became the king.”

Father and son, in fact, duetted on Hart’s first solo album, Rolling Thunder, released in 1972. Soon other collaborations followed, including the creation of the Diga Rhythm Band, which grew around a multi-cultural percussion ensemble Hussain formed at the Ali Akbar College of Music in Berkeley. The group’s lone 1976 album also featured Hart’s Grateful Dead mate Jerry Garcia on two tracks.

“He loved Jerry, they just loved each other,” Hart says. “Their personalities were very similar. Jerry was really kind, loving, thoughtful, and so was Zakir.”

Hart and Hussain sparked creative energy in each other and an eagerness to explore.

“He taught me various ways rhythms could be used, exposed me to rhythms that I could never imagine, which I took to immediately, and I wanted to learn them,” Hart says. “When we did Diga Rhythm Band together, that was the first time I had to learn composition. He composed half of it and I composed the other half.”

If Hart had to learn new discipline, Hussain had to unlearn some.

“When he came to America he kind of picked up on some American traits, and he liked the looseness of my style,” Hart says, slipping back and forth between talking of Hussain in the present and past tenses with the freshness of this loss. “It freed him from the strictness of Indian classical music. My gig was a little serpentine, you know. His is straight down the pike. As accurate as he could be, it is like a machine. He’s the Einstein of rhythm, so playing with Einstein was really cool. But I didn’t have that sensibility. That’s not the way we did it in the Grateful Dead, right? And he loved that. He really took to it. And that’s what he said I taught him. It was a wonderful combination, a meeting of the minds and a meeting of the hearts.”

The meeting, and the mutual growth and openness to new vistas, continued as Hussain had key roles on Hart’s 1990 album At the Edge, 1991’s Planet Drum (which won the first-ever GRAMMY Award for World Music), 1996’s Mystery Box, 1998’s Supralingua and 2000’s Spirit Into Sound. Each brought together a world-circling community of percussionists on stage as well as in the studio.

With 2007’s Global Drum Project, the Planet Drum ensemble coalesced around a core of Hart, Hussain, Puerto Rican conguero Giovanni Hidalgo and Nigerian talking drum master Sikiru Adepoju, the quartet mounting several dazzling concert tours and coming together again for the 2022 album In the Groove. The joy they brought each other was clear to anyone who saw their shows.

The same spirit sparked much exploration throughout Hussain’s life. Around the same time he was creating Diga, he teamed in Shakti with jazz guitar boundary-breaker John McLaughlin, Indian violinist L. Shankar, and Indian percussionists Ramnad Raghavan and T.H. Vinayakram, rooted in traditional styles but reaching to new territories. Hussain and McLaughlin teamed regularly through the years with several other lineups (at times called Remember Shakti) and a triumphant final Shakti album and tour in 2023.

Hussain also had his own regular tours and recording projects with different ensembles under the name Masters of World Percussion, as well as a 2015 tour leading an East-West ensemble with veteran jazz bassist Dave Holland inspired by the oft-overlooked world of Indo-jazz.

Taking another tack, with Béla Fleck and Edgar Meyer he created a banjo-bass-tabla triple concerto, “The Melody of Rhythm,” crossing lines of progressive bluegrass and both Western and Indian classical as documented on a 2009 album with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. The three came together again in 2023 for the album At This Moment, which also features Rakesh Chaurasia on the Indian bamboo flute, the bansuri.

Other collaborators, among many, included Yo-Yo Ma, Van Morrison, George Harrison (Hussain played on the 1973 album Living in a Material World), Bill Laswell, and even Earth, Wind & Fire. He also had a long association with saxophonist Charles Lloyd that produced several wonderful albums, including 2022’s Sacred Thread, a trio with guitarist Julian Lage. And, of course, he made countless concert appearances and recordings with the top artists of Indian classical music.

“No one has crossed more borders than him,” Hart says. “Yeah, I’ve crossed a few myself. Not like him. He’s gone beyond me or anybody else I’ve ever met or heard of. He took to the air and went to all these different places, interacted magnificently with all these different cultures. What an incredible ambassador of music.

“And he was very kind when he played with you. He never overplayed, which he could do in an instant. But he was so kind, such a great person that he reserved himself. He never tried to show you up, he was never in competition with me. He was harmonious and rhythmically blissful, in a way. I guess you could call this bliss, bring the bliss word into this.”

Can Hart hear Hussain in some of his own and the Dead’s music?

“Oh God, yes!” he says. “Think of all the Grateful Dead rhythms.”

He cites “Playing in the Band,” for which he wrote the music with Bob Weir, adapting a piece called “The Main Ten,” a version of which appeared on Rolling Thunder.

“That’s 10/4 rhythm,” he says. “Nobody played 10/4 then! And there was ‘Happiness Is Drumming,’ which became ‘Fire on the Mountain.’ That was one we did in Diga. And the 7/4 on ‘Terrapin Station,’ and a lot on Blues for Allah. That was what we were playing in Diga and Phil Lesh picked up on it and everybody picked up on that rhythm and that became ‘King Solomon’s Marbles.’ No one did that in rock ‘n’ roll.

“So Zakir influenced me in so many ways, subtle ways and obvious ways. He was a big influence on the Grateful Dead. And he loved the way Bill [Kreutzman] and I interacted. That became kind of a model for him in some ways because it made it, I don’t know how you’d say it, legal for him in a way. He said, ‘Oh! Now I can do this! This is okay!’ Because only two drummers could do something like that.”

With all that, where would Hart recommend someone wanting to get to know Hussain’s music start? At first he insists that he couldn’t possibly narrow it down.

“I’d rather not,” he says. “Anything he ever played on is a wonder.”

But he gives it a little thought, mentioning several of the cross-cultural albums they made together, before focusing on Venu, a very traditional session he recorded in 1974 featuring Hussain in duet with Indian classical bansuri flute player Harisprasad Chaurasia. This came about when George Harrison’s “Dark Horse” tour, which featured the Indian all-star ensemble Ravi Shankar & Family (including Hussain’s father) as well as Western musicians, did shows in the Bay Area. Harrison and Shankar arranged for a private concert to be held at the historic Stone House, a granite building in Fairfax.

“We brought a bunch of them back to Marin County,” Hart says. “I had just got a 16-track machine from Ampex, threw it in the back of my pickup with a bunch of hay and all that. We went there and did the first 16-track remote recording.”

The music on the album is gripping, two long pieces featuring the venerable Rag Akir Bhairav, a devotional melody meant for the early morning hours, unfolding with grace and power. The first part is largely Chaurasia solo, with Hussain coming in for the second half, the pairing at times delicately rippling, at others building to frenzies, always in perfect, empathic sync.

Hart also cites Sarangi, a second album which he and Hussain co-produced at the same event with Ustad Sultan Khan’s sinewy playing of the bowed instrument that gave the album its title, accompanied by tabla player Shri Rij Ram.

Legacy is a difficult thing to predict. But to Hart, Hussain’s artistic importance is found in the drive the two of them shared to experience all music and cultures and to bring them together.

“He brought together cultures that no one had ever dreamt of, from Egypt with me and [oud player] Hamza El Din, from Nigeria with [drummer] Babatunde Olatunji, with Airto from Brazil. We introduced into the Western world something filled with all these gems and wondrous rhythms. That’s something that will never be forgotten. And all the cultures he touched around the world for all these years. He made quite a difference. There is no place that he’s played that he is not revered.”

It’s talking on a personal level, though, that Hart becomes emotional, effusive, as he reaches back through time to that day Zakir Hussain came to play.

“We just fell in love with each other,” he says. “We really liked each other. He is such a kind man. I don’t know anybody who doesn’t like him. I can’t say that about anybody else, actually.”

He throws his head back and laughs.

“He’s singular in that respect. And it reflected in his music and the way he played with other people.”


Photo Credit: Jay Blakesburg

MIXTAPE: Rebecca Frazier Celebrates the Here and Now

I’m honored to create a playlist for BGS. I’ll share a Mixtape inspired by the theme of time and celebrating the here and now. I grew up in Virginia by the water and my musical life has been influenced by the seasons and the tides. Life (so far) has been a counterpoint of going with my gut and enjoying the moment while also considering intention and the bigger picture. But I’ve learned that I am more in touch with myself as an artist when I can remain in the present. The songs I’ve selected tend to resonate with my intuitive sense of joy and unconditional love – that deeply rooted part of ourselves that is free and unburdened.

It’s celebratory for me to share two tracks from my new album, Boarding Windows in Paradise, out now via Compass Records. Produced by Bill Wolf – who’s known for his work with Tony Rice and Grateful Dead – the album features the talents of Béla Fleck, Sam Bush, Stuart Duncan, Barry Bales, Ron Block, and a constellation of other bluegrass stars. The writing and recording process for the album brought me to a place of learning to create my own paradise through daily intention and action, and I’m grateful for this experience. – Rebecca Frazier

“High Country Road Trip” – Rebecca Frazier

I grew up on the water, so I love going with the flow and being taken for a ride. But I’ve got that philosophical side, where I’m also asking, “Where is this leading?” This song is meant to capture that moment of joy somewhere in the middle; that elevated feeling of loving the lightness of not knowing what’s around the bend and not necessarily trying to create a specific outcome.

“It’s a Great Day to Be Alive” – Darrell Scott

This song brings back great memories of living in Colorado and seeing Darrell Scott singing this one at music festivals out west. His song quickly became an anthem for savoring the present: “It’s a great day to be alive, the sun’s still shining when I close my eyes.”

“Sailin’ Shoes” – Sam Bush

This one is another anthem on the bluegrass festival scene. It’s about cutting loose and feeling liberated. When Sam Bush goes into his signature chop to kick it off, fans start to cheer like wild and dance in recognition. The freeing and soaring feeling of sailing – we definitely feel that when John Cowan joins in with his soaring vocals. As the lyric expresses, “Everyone will clap and cheer when you put on your sailing shoes…” Sam sings and plays it with abandon and you can’t help it but smile (or dance!) when you listen to this classic Little Feat cover.

“All I Want” – Joni Mitchell

“Applause applause, life is our cause.” Joni’s lyric speaks volumes about her expression of letting go. She sings about that feeling of dancing and unleashing herself in a dive bar, falling in love, and letting the best in herself emerge by forgetting about herself for a moment. “I want to have fun, I want to shine like the sun… I want to make you feel free.”

“Time in a Bottle” – Jim Croce

“I’d save every day like a treasure and then, again I would spend them with you.” This classic is a poignant reminder about the essence of time and what seems to have mattered most at the end. Croce sings about savoring time with a loved one and realizing that the metaphorical box of wishes and dreams can only be answered by memories of time spent with a loved one.

“Nick Of Time” – Bonnie Raitt

This song brings back powerful memories from the ’90s, when Bonnie Raitt received well-deserved acclaim as an artist after years of hard work as a blues musician. The message of time passing and realizing that we have almost missed a great life experience-but found that fruition in the nick of time-resonated with a wider audience. Her relaxed and soulful vocals portray the hopeful message in a calming way.

“Days Like This” – Van Morrison

In his relaxed and soulful way, Morrison sings about those rare worry-free days when the pieces effortlessly come together in a satisfying way: “When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit, there’ll be days like this.”

“Cat’s in the Cradle” – Harry Chapin

This classic may be a tear-jerker, but it’s also a celebration of time. We’re reminded by Chapin to spend meaningful time with our loved ones now and not to wait for a speculative future time when our “schedule” is free. The lasting image of an adult son who’s now too busy for his dad – after spending years as a small child asking his dad to spend time together – is a powerful reminder about life’s priorities.

“Thunderclouds Of Love” – Tony Rice

Classic, powerful Tony Rice at his finest. This description of a thunderbolt moment can light up any heart, and Tony’s guitar solo takes us there with flashy, bluesy fireworks. Jimmy Headrick’s lyrics set the scene for Tony’s soulful and punchy baritone vocals: “I have been praying four nights on end for someone who could make me live again, and all at once from the darkness of my heart they came to light.”

“Alabama Pines” – Jason Isbell

This one snuck onto this list, because it always brings me into the present moment. Isbell’s writing and singing is just that good. Whatever you were thinking about or worrying about, it all tends to go out the window. Suddenly you’re driving in Alabama and seeing all of the imagery he describes, feeling all of the emotions he expresses.

“Help Me Make It Through the Night” – Kris Kristofferson

Kristofferson’s is my favorite version of this classic and I’ll admit that he also happens to be my celebrity crush. While he’s portraying relishing this moment, this night, I think many women are wondering if he really needs to ask for help with that cause? In all seriousness, he does pull us into the present with his poignant lyric: “Yesterday is dead and gone, and tomorrow’s out of sight.”

“Duck’s Eye” – Charles Butler

Banjoist Charles Butler is one of my favorite composers and this tune pulls me into an effortless feeling of gliding over an oceanic vastness. The call and response melodies bring the listener into a trance-like state, and the simple melody pulls the listener to that perfectly placed “eye” of the composition, echoing the David Lynch reference of Butler’s inspiration.

“Make Hay While the Moon Shines” – Rebecca Frazier

When I wrote this song with Bob Minner and Jon Weisberger, we wanted to express the feeling of unleashing ourselves and savoring the moment once the moon rises. We’ve all been told to “make hay while the sun shines,” but it’s just as important to put down our work and allow ourselves to be free and true to our inner selves.


Photo Credit: Scott Simontacchi

Asleep at the Wheel Turns 50, But Ray Benson Didn’t Know If It Would Last

The term eclectic hardly seems broad enough to accurately describe either the approach of the marvelous band Asleep at the Wheel, or the energetic and fluid style of its lead vocalist and guitarist Ray Benson. The band he formed along with Lucky Oceans and Leroy Preston while farm-sitting in Paw Paw, West Virginia, 50 years ago is now an American cultural institution, although things didn’t really explode for them until they relocated to Austin.

Their latest release, Half a Hundred Years, pays homage to Asleep at the Wheel’s diverse and impressive legacy, although it’s one Benson freely admits he never seriously thought would continue for 50 years.

“Well, when you’re a 19-year-old kid, you don’t even know if the band will be around for 10 years,” he tells BGS with a laugh. “It really wasn’t something at the time that I had any notions about, things about legacy or impact. We were a band that wanted to play a lot of different types of music and enjoyed being around each other. That’s kind of been the trademark ever since.”

Country and Western swing are the foundational genres of their music, but the ensemble is hardly restricted or limited by them. Over their tenure Asleep at the Wheel’s repertoire has also included R&B, blues, jazz, rock and pop, while their albums and live shows feature a constantly evolving blend of originals and inspired covers. In addition, the band seamlessly maintained its trademark sound through numerous personnel changes, while navigating shifts in audience tastes and music industry practices.

“I’ve always been a real music lover, and that’s what’s driven the band all these years,” Benson continues. “Of course, the music business today is so different from the way it was when we started out. Hell, when we started they didn’t even have fax machines. You really thought in terms of radio and marketing a song, and you were trying to get your album played and then that would be the springboard for having it sold in the stores. Today, there’s such a focus on streaming. Vinyl’s made a bit of a comeback, but that’s because CDs are doing so poorly. Then the technology changed so dramatically, with the ability to sonically do things in the studio that we didn’t even dream about back in the ’70s.”

Indeed, Benson’s entire career — inside and outside the band — has been one of variety and experimentation. He taught himself to play the guitar as a 9-year-old. The first song he ever played completely came from a beer commercial he heard during broadcasts of his hometown Philadelphia Phillies. Benson teamed with his sister in a folk group The Four G’s at 11, then while in college he encountered a group whose concept he utilized (with variations) upon forming Asleep at the Wheel. It was that Commander Cody & His Lost Planet Airmen concert in Washington, D.C., where Benson saw and heard a band brilliantly mixing multiple genres in a free-flowing performance mode.

Following their time in West Virginia, Asleep at the Wheel relocated out west in the early ‘70s, playing in various East Bay clubs in California. A show where they shared the stage with Van Morrison, followed by his raving about them in Rolling Stone, began to open some doors. They toured with Black country vocalist Stoney Edwards in 1971, cut a debut LP that did well in the Southwest, then moved to Austin in 1973 after being encouraged by Doug Sahm and Willie Nelson. Upon their arrival in Texas, their second LP was issued by Epic.

However it was after their third LP, with the Top 10 country hit “The Letter That Johnny Walker Read,” that Asleep at the Wheel emerged as a top attraction. By 1978 they were winning the first of their 10 Grammys. They survived a lean period in the ’80s, then bounced back in the ’90s. Benson made another savvy decision that helped sustain the band’s success, recruiting several top country artists to cut two Bob Wills tribute LPs. Then came another hit in 2000, “Roly Poly,” with the [Dixie] Chicks. As a result, Asleep at the Wheel became one of the few country acts that’s managed to have chart records across four consecutive decades.

Their journey is duly reflected in Half a Hundred Years. “I looked at this album as a way to kind of look back and ahead at the same time,” Benson continues. “It covers everything that we’ve done and are doing.” Besides including such heavyweight guest stars as Lyle Lovett, George Strait, Lee Ann Womack, Willie Nelson and Emmylou Harris, the CD is sequenced in an intriguing fashion. The first 11 songs are new tracks featuring original band members. Songs 12-16 (with the exception of 14) feature the current band teaming with various band alumni. Cuts 17-19 are previously unreleased material, while track 14 combines the current band with two of Asleep at the Wheel’s former female singers. “We’re putting this out pretty much every way (configuration) that you can,” Benson adds.

Despite the pandemic, Asleep at the Wheel’s already done several shows and plans more in the near future. Benson has also branched out over the years to do things outside the band arena, among them being on the board of Austin City Limits, a role that led to his hosting the regional TV series Texas Music Scene for several years. He’s also been a prolific producer on LPs by Dale Watson, Suzy Bogguss, Aaron Watson, James Hand and Carolyn Wonderland, plus singles for Willie Nelson, Aaron Neville, Brad Paisley, Pam Tillis, Trace Adkins, Merle Haggard, and Vince Gill. Benson even cut a solo LP, Beyond Time, in 2003 and his autobiography Comin’ Right at Ya was published in 2015. In addition, he’s a founding member of the Rhythm & Blues Foundation, and the owner of a recording studio and label (Bismeaux Studios/Bismeaux Records).

Though it doesn’t seem possible that there are things in the music world Benson hasn’t done yet, he’s quick to list a few people he’d love to work with. “Well, I always wanted to record with Tony Bennett, but he’s retired now,” Benson says. “I’ve sung with Boz Scaggs, but have never done a whole album with him. I’d really enjoy doing that. Also, Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top. He’s someone else I’ve sung with, but really would like to do a complete project.”

He concludes, “At this point I really don’t even think about how much longer Asleep at the Wheel will go on because who would ever have given us 50 years? But I can say that I’m still really enjoying it, and this latest project and going out and playing to support it, and the reaction of the people even with everything that’s going on now… well, that tells me we’ve still got a lot of folks out there who enjoy what we do.”


Photo credit: Mike Shore

BGS 5+5: L.A. Edwards

Artist: L.A. Edwards
Hometown: Julian, California
Latest album: Blessings From Home: Volume 1
Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): Lord Edward, Lorcey, Lorkis, Dad, El Drunko Supreme after some gin

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

We were playing a holiday show at this real dive a few years back and they had jerry-rigged a stage out of a pool table, milk crates, empty kegs, and plywood. The six of us were shoulder to shoulder and just cracking up at the whole thing and on the last song I tripped and fell off the stage. I was unconscious for a minute and I woke up with huge gash in my back on the barroom floor. Maybe not my favorite memory but thinking of that stage dive makes me laugh whenever we’re playing nicer rooms. I still have an impressive scar to show for it.

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

I’d really like to have a bitchin’ painting collection one day. My grandma was an avid art collector and even owned a Monet at one point. I inherited a few of my favorites from her house. I love reading, especially when I’m in a lyrical rut.

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

I spend a lot of time in the water. Surfing, fishing, and boats have always been part of my life. It clears my head to watch the horizon for waves or my line for a bite. Lots of good ideas come when I have a clear mind and I’m not trying to force it.

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

Van Morrison and Italian or Springsteen and a hot dog.

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

I don’t eat before shows. I like to go onstage hungry like the wolf, like Duran Duran.


Photo credit: Miller Hawkins

Glen Hansard: A Career in 12 Songs

Glen Hansard is a world traveler, a trait that is reflected in his tour calendar as well as his catalog of music. With his new album, This Wild Willing, he incorporates the textures of Iranian musicians he met while in Paris, where he decided to hunker down for a few weeks and record. Admittedly tired and under the weather, his singing voice is quieter and lower than usual on the album, although there are moments when he roars. And when he does, it’s as thrilling as his live show – like an electrifying moment in a listening room.

With his European tour dates now behind him, Hansard will embark on an American tour on May 29. His career stretches from rock bands to movie soundtracks to confessional songwriting, so it’s hard to predict a set list from an artist as prolific as Hansard. If you asked BGS to create one for this iconic Irish musician, though, we’d respectfully submit this one.

“Don’t Settle”

A highlight from This Wild Willing, “Don’t Settle” stands as an anthem to persistence, especially when you’ve been criticized from every angle. Rather than dwelling on the negative, though, “Don’t Settle” is uplifting and a reminder that, as he puts it, “You’ve worked hard for your luck.” Listen for Marketa Irglóva, his co-star of Once, whose earthy harmony underscores Hansard’s delivery here.

“Why Woman”

This song from 2018’s Between Two Shores would have fit right into The Commitments, with its moody lyric and “Dark End of the Street” vibe. It’s about that moment where the woman wants to leave and the man wonders why she’s giving up so easily. Lyrics like “You’re talking about a change now / but those changes aren’t with me” are particularly stinging, soothed only by a horn section that comes afterwards.

“When Your Mind’s Made Up”

The acoustic guitar intro still gives me all the feels. It’s a catharsis and a therapy session, wrapped up in a vocal workout. The dynamics are incredible, particularly the emotions that crest near the end of the song. When you can’t live with somebody, and yet can’t live without them, this is pretty much an anthem. I’ve included a breathtaking version from The Swell Season’s 2006 self-titled album, also worth seeking out.

“Mary”

This Wild Willing takes its name from a lyric in “Mary,” a love song that captures that moment of finding yourself open to a new relationship – in other words, turning your wildness of independence into a willingness to share your life. The string section gives it a sweeping, dramatic feel, and the delivery is subdued. This Wild Willing is an album that reveals itself over time, and this is one of its gems.

“High Hope”

You know, it’s next to impossible to sing with Glen Hansard, as his range soars and falls away at a whim. This track from the 2012 album Rhythm and Repose is the exception, thanks to the lay, lay, lay… that weaves through the lyrics. Rhythm and Repose may be the most approachable album in Hansard’s solo catalog, with moody gems like “Love Don’t Keep Me Waiting,” “This Gift,” and “You Will Become.”

“Cry Me a River”

Hansard isn’t shy about a cover song. Dig around and you’ll find him singing Dylan’s “Pressing On” as well as a particularly rousing “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” with Irglóva. He’s also sung “Coyote” for Joni Mitchell and “People Get Ready” for Mavis Staples. And let’s not forget The Commitments. But… a sarcastic Justin Timberlake pop smash with Hansard’s explosive delivery? Yes please.

“Falling Slowly”

This Oscar-winning song inevitably winds up in Hansard’s set list, but the last time I saw him play, it was close to the middle of the set. It’s the crowd-pleaser that will help him attract audiences in the decades to come and it’s sure had plenty of exposure in the Once musical and on prime-time singing competitions. Still there’s no denying the chemistry between Hansard and Irglóva on this modern masterpiece.

“Good Life of Song”

A celebration of the joy that music can bring you, “Good Life of Song” brings a beautiful sentiment to This Wild Willing. His near-whispered vocals give it an intimacy and warmth. In some ways it’s a message of thanksgiving, and approaching eight minutes long, it’s also entrancing. When it comes to touring, performing, and writing about the human experience, one gets the feeling that Hansard is a lifer.

“Star Star”/ “Pure Imagination”

I first Hansard sing live at ACL Fest in 2005, during a set by The Frames that I happened to encounter. Enthralled by their stage presence and straightforward rock ‘n’ roll sound, I became an instant fan, tracking down all the albums I could. “Star Star” has been a favorite since then, but it’s especially sweet in a live setting, with a few lines of “Pure Imagination” from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

“Winning Streak”

This track from 2015’s Didn’t He Ramble reminds me of an Irish blessing, with messages of positive reinforcement and hope. Hansard is a master of dynamics, bringing listeners to devastating lows, only to uplift them with an exhilarating melody and full-throttle voice. While these lyrics work as kind words to a friend, in a live setting, they could also serve as a stirring benediction to a night of splendid music.

“Step Out of the Shadows”

Hearing Glen singing unaccompanied is a powerful experience. This selection from the 2013 EP Drive All Night proves his expressive abilities as a singer, and carries the right imagery for an encore. He’s not singing only to “my little one” who needs encouragement; he’s also beckoning those folks who can join “a new wave rising strong.” Think of it as a universal statement sung by just one magnetic voice.

“Into the Mystic”

We all have our heroes, and for Hansard it’s Van Morrison. Hansard has performed “Into the Mystic” innumerable times — and it’s not an easy song to sing. However, it’s essentially part of Hansard’s canon now. Long may he rock our gypsy souls.

Inspired by Dylan, J.S. Ondara Spreads His Own ‘Tales of America’

Six years ago just about now, J.S. Ondara landed in Minneapolis on a pilgrimage, lured by his love of Minnesota native son Bob Dylan’s music. He made his way north to Duluth, where Dylan was born, and Hibbing, where the singer-songwriter was raised. It was not quite what he expected.

“I thought I’d go to Hibbing and it would be a magnificent city with music coming from all over the place,” he says, now, laughing at his thoughts of the small town as the Emerald City. “There wasn’t much to find.”

We can forgive him his youthful fantasies. He’d never traveled like that before. He’d never seen snow before, let alone a Minnesota winter. He’d never really been away from home, and home was a long way from there — Nairobi, Kenya, where as a teen he’d fallen completely for the music of Dylan. But at just 20, he impetuously decided to trek to where his hero’s story began.

“It was all very romantic for me,” he says. “I just said, ‘Oh, I’m going to do this. It makes sense right now.’ It was all a very romantic choice, a thing I tend to do regularly in my life, make all these romantic decisions and not have any expectations out of it other than, ‘Let’s see how it goes.’”

That, uh, freewheelin’ spirit went pretty well for him. This month sees the release of his own debut album, Tales of America, on Verve Records. It’s a collection of moving, personal folk-influenced songs drawn from the journey he’s made and the observations along the way, produced by veteran Mike Viola (who as vice president of A&R at Verve signed him to his deal) and featuring appearances by such fellow Dylan acolytes as Andrew Bird, Dawes’ Taylor and Griffin Goldsmith and Milk Carton Kids’ Joey Ryan. The release comes on the heels of his first major tour, opening for no less than Lindsey Buckingham, and a subsequent European jaunt.

And while the Dylan influence is present, this is in no way an imitation or even homage, per se. With an almost jazzy looseness, often swaying around stand-up bass played by Los Angeles stalwart Sebastian Steinberg, there’s a closer resemblance to Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks. At the center is Ondara’s high, pure, finely controlled voice, an instrument unlike any of his heroes’, though you might hear some Jeff (and Tim) Buckley in it, at times piercing the heavens with an otherworldly falsetto, movingly unguarded on the haunting a cappella “Turkish Bandana.”

Hibbing wasn’t Oz, but he’s definitely not in Kenya anymore. And what swept him to this new life was, of all things, grunge and indie-rock.

“We really didn’t have much growing up,” he says. “Had food, a place to sleep and that’s about it. And a tiny little radio, about the size of my iPhone. That was all we had.”

Through that little radio came Nirvana, Radiohead, Death Cab for Cutie, transmissions from another world in a language the Swahili-speaking youth didn’t understand. It was magical.

“I was intrigued by the music and language, all these sounds,” he says. “I couldn’t make any sense of it. To me it was a spaceship to another universe.”

He tried imitating those sounds, though not knowing the language he sang gibberish — well, maybe not that far off with some of Kurt Cobain’s often hard-to-decipher mumbling. But it worked its way into him.

“I heard all these songs and developed a kinship for a long time, and used them to study English because I wanted to understand what Cobain was saying, or [Radiohead’s] Thom Yorke or [Death Cab’s] Ben Gibbard,” he says. “I was curious about the language and the spirit and that spurred me to learn English, and I built my vocabulary listening to these songs.”

Another song that caught his ear was “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” — the Guns ’N Roses version, which he assumed was an original by that band. It was only after losing a bet to a school mate about the song’s authorship that he discovered the music of Dylan himself. It was an epiphany.

“I wrote stories and poems, from a very young age,” he says. “I wrote about a puppy, about school, I wrote a lot about the sun for some reason. I was fascinated by the universe in general and wasn’t really receiving the answers I needed. So I would write poems and stories about it as a way to process it and learn about the world. But I never wrote songs. One reason I believe I was drawn to Dylan was listening to his records I thought, ‘These are poems with melodies! I could probably do this!’ I felt I saw a path for me. ‘Perhaps there is hope. I can take these stories and poems and put them in melodies and perhaps people could like them in a grand way. This is something people like? Great! Maybe I’m not lost in my path!’”

He soon set his sights on America, where he had a few relatives and friends scattered about, including an aunt in Minneapolis. But finding a way was rough.

“I started by applying to the University of Minnesota and looking for work opportunities in the state, but nothing bore any fruit,” he says. “As I ran into a wall and was running out of options, I was suddenly awoken, quite rudely, in the wee hours of the morning to be told that I had won a green card lottery and could move to the States. Turns out an aunt had applied for these green cards for a few of us and mine went through. I had no idea. The mischief of the universe!”

His family helped get the money together for the trip after he told them that he was going to become a doctor. That was a fib, he admits. Once settled in Minneapolis, he dove into music-making seriously.

“I picked up a guitar and learned a couple Dylan songs, a couple Neil Young songs, then would go back to those melodies and these poems I’d written, turn them into a melody, call it a song and then go out and try to play for people. That’s how it began for me.”

He hit up the open mic nights around town, started getting some small club bookings, “gradually, very gradually trying to get these songs in front of people.”

And with some money he’d saved from work via a temp agency, he made an acoustic EP that he put online. Soon a local public radio station put his songs in regular rotation. Word spread and contacts started to come in from the music business, both in Minneapolis and around the country.

Among those reaching out was Viola, a veteran musician (the band the Candy Butchers, as well as singer of the title song from the movie That Thing You Do) who had recently taken the job at Verve. The two hit it off right away.

“I had done meetings with others, but with Mike there was a connection,” he says. “I’d do meetings and mention favorite Dylan records and no one knew what I was talking about. Freewheelin’ remains my favorite. When I met with Mike I brought this up, the idea of trying to make a very stripped-down record like that. A few things happen, but not crazy, doesn’t take away from the stories. And I brought up Astral Weeks, which does the same thing. A few things on it that embellish the stories. Those two records. He went, ‘Oh yeah! Those are my favorite records, too!’ There was just chemistry I hadn’t had before.”

From there it was simple.

“It was the old troubadour style of making folk records,” he says. “You get into the studio — you wrote a bunch of songs and maybe get some people around you and play this, and that’s the record.”

The result is an album that portrays the wonder and delight — and also the struggles and heartbreaks — of his time in America, with a facility for language that escapes most native speakers. (An essay he wrote about his life, “The Starred and Striped Fairy of the West,” shows another facet of that.) The opening song, “American Dream,” is equal parts welcoming embrace and distancing suspicion, his poetic images boiling the national spirit to an intimately personal level, a dream world, as it were. That inner view is there throughout the album.

It all came naturally from his experiences.

“I wrote the words ‘I’m getting good at saying goodbye’ just a month after moving to America,” he says of the chorus of the somber “Saying Goodbye.” “They were just words at the time. I didn’t know what they meant. But after turning them into a song and singing them over and over, I can see that I was grappling with thoughts of the past and future. I could see that the totality of my past — being family, culture, upbringing, all of it — was stopping me from becoming not just who I wanted to be but who I’d be best at being, which is the true ‘self’ within.”

That said, he’s also found that echoes of his past can be heard in some of these songs, even if very faintly. He wasn’t a big fan of Kenyan music, traditional or modern while growing up, but it seems some of it crept in anyway. A few of the songs, notably the loping “Lebanon,” bear rhythms echoing those common in music of that region of Africa — the national benga or Nigerian highlife, Tanzanian taraab and Congolese soukous, all quite popular in Kenya. And there’s something ingrained in the vocals that even Ondara only heard after the fact.

“I was listening back to some of the songs and I can hear toward the end of some that I start to make some sounds influenced by my native language, which is not something I tried to do,” he says. “There is African influence there, but subconscious. The more I listen, the most I can track down those sounds.”

Wild Things: Robbie Fulks and Linda Gail Lewis

Linda Gail Lewis was never destined to be the most renowned member of her family — or second, third or fourth-most famous, for that matter. There’s not a lot of oxygen left in the shotgun shacks of Ferriday, Louisiana or the public mindset when you have original rock wild man Jerry Lee Lewis for a brother and your cousins are Mickey Gilley and Jimmy Swaggart. But unlike her early-starter kin, Linda Gail has come more into her own later in life. The 71-year-old little sis has emerged as a heroine to the rockabilly crowd not just because she trades off the trademark style of the Killer but because she has slayer instincts, too.

Still, she’s traditionally benefitted more from being a duet partner than a solo act. She recorded and toured with Jerry Lee in the ‘60s and ‘70s — the sibling duo had a Top 10 country hit in 1969 with “Don’t Let Me Cross Over” — and then she reentered the consciousness of the music intelligentsia in 2000 when no less a fan than Van Morrison asked her to make a joint album and tour together. Now, she’s on to her third partner in musical crime: the alt-country great Robbie Fulks, who joined her for Wild! Wild! Wild!, an album he produced all of, wrote most of, and participated on as an equal vocal partner only with some urging.

So how does Fulks stack up against his two famous predecessors in the duet partner’s seat?

“I was the best of them all, I would say,” Fulks says. “Oh, sorry, go ahead.”

“Absolutely!” Lewis agrees, although when it comes down to it, she may not quite be ready to declare new Bloodshot Records partnerships thicker than blood. “Singing with my brother and Robbie, I love one as much as I do the other, which is saying quite a lot. And I don’t mean to say anything bad about Van. I appreciated doing the album [You Win Again] with him, and it was good for my career, and… I wouldn’t say it was actually fufn in the studio, but I did get through it, and I lived to tell the tale,’” she says, laughing. “It was impossible to really match up with him on the recording, because his phrasing is so different from my brother’s. But Robbie’s is similar enough that it was easy for me. You’re every bit as great as those other two, Robbie. And don’t tell my brother I said that.”

“I’m not telling anybody you said that,” Fulks says. “Maybe my wife.”

Wild! Wild! Wild! includes five true duets, two Fulks solo vocals, and six that feature Lewis alone as frontwoman. If that math leads you to suspect that the project might’ve started life as a Linda Gail Lewis solo album Fulks was producing before it became co-billed, your guess would be right.

Says Fulks, “The idea was a little bit imposed on us because the label said, ‘Well, we’d rather have a duet record,’ and that wasn’t what I originally had in mind. Duet singing with her, nobody would say no to that. And I think male-female duet singing is just about my favorite kind of country music. So to be able to write to that and then to perform with her was just a whole other level of fun over, you know, sitting in a chair and listening to people play.” Lewis, too, was happy it became a duo project, and cites “I Just Lived a Country Song” as her favorite track on the album, even though that’s one of the two tracks that Fulks sings without her.

To the extent that it’s partly a Robbie Fulks record, it’s an old-school Robbie Fulks album, which should tickle a lot of long-time fans who’ve charted his changes. It harks back to early- to mid-period records like 1996’s Country Love Songs, 2005’s Georgia Hard and 2007’s Revenge! when Fulks was the master of classic country pastiche, writing severely clever tunes with tellingly witty titles like “Goodbye, Cruel Girl,” “All You Can Cheat” and “The Buck Stops Here” (as in Buck Owens, of course).

There is certainly some pure country on the album to go with the more snare-smashing stuff, like their duet on “That’s Why They Call It Temptation,” which he wrote rather overtly in the George-and-Tammy mode. (Sample lyrics — Robbie: “I tried to keep my hands from where they longed to go.” Linda: “And I did all I could to help you, short of sayin’ no.”)

Meanwhile, there’s a Tennessee-meets-New Orleans horn section on a Fulks-penned tribute to Lewis’ adopted hometown, “Memphis Never Falls From Style,” which has Linda singing the lines, “Thank you Memphis for the great insight/That music is a drag if it’s too f—in’ white.” They went back and forth over whether to keep her singing the F-word; “I grew up on the road with a bunch of musicians, and I have no problem with a little profanity,” she says. But ultimately Fulks decided that a loud bleep was called for, out of nostalgia, if not bashfulness. “I remember being 8 years old and hearing ‘Johnny Cash at San Quentin,’ and those bleeps would come on real loud, and it reminded me of being a kid and the joy of bleeped-out profanity, which you don’t get to hear anymore.” For Lewis’ part, “I was worried about being in trouble with my brother. So I was happy to have the bleep,” she laughs. “And I plan to tell him that I didn’t really say it.”

Jerry Lee Lewis was into his country period — having fallen out of favor as the British Invasion superseded America’s pioneer rockers — when he started enlisting his little sister to join him on records and at shows. (For example, a 1973 performance of “Roll Over Beethoven” on the Midnight Special program.) Their sole hit together was a cover of the Carl and Pearl Butler song “Don’t Let Me Cross Over.”

“Jerry was a big fan of theirs and they were good friends of ours, and we never felt right about covering their song,” Linda admits. “But still we did it, and it was Kenny Lovelace’s idea,” she adds, mentioning her brother’s long-time sideman — and one of her ex-husbands. “Jerry and I had trouble getting through it because we were singing a love song and we’re brother and sister. We were on the same microphone, and we would look at each other and start cracking up. We only were able to get through it once.”

“That’s a little like Nancy and Frank Sinatra singing ‘Something Stupid’ together,” says Fulks, “although that was a lot creepier, I think.”

The sibling duo act came to an end out of jealousy, she says. “My sister-in-law at that time hated me and didn’t want me to be around, so I had to go,” Linda says. “And you know, sometimes even your enemies will help you. Because had she not done that, I would never have left my brother, and I would never have had my own career, and I never would have learned to play he piano. All the things my brother had shown me through the years helped me when I started playing rock and roll and boogie-woogie piano in 1987. My brother’s fans were coming to see me, and they wanted to hear ‘Great Balls of Fire,’ so I had to make sure that I could play it, especially because the piano player that I had in my band in Memphis had no feel for it.

“And I’ve had such a wonderful career, and now of course, with, this great album that I have with Robbie, I feel so blessed. To me it’s the highlight of my career, and life. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. And I just looooove my ex-sister-in-law that hates me, because she did this wonderful thing for me.”

Before they made the album, Fulks once blogged that hearing Linda Gail play piano put him in mind “of a cotton field with a candelabra in it.” He sounds embarrassed to be reminded of the phrase now. “Oh my God,” he says. “I didn’t realize I said that. It’s alliteration, anyway. It sounds like literature. ‘Cotton fields…’ I better stop blogging.” Lewis offers him a sharp retort. “Don’t you dare! I loved that. I actually saved that in my iPhone so I can just go back and read it over and over.”

In a separate conversation, Fulks talks about how his appreciation for Lewis developed. “You just say Jerry Lee Lewis’s sister and then go on to say yes, she plays like him and she’s a great singer, and she’s been doing it for 50 years or whatever, and that gets people interested. … With Linda, her voice and her career are so tied into his, it would be hard to separate it out too much, and a good deal of her act is a tribute to and an expression of love for him. But to me she’s interesting partly for the fact that she’s a woman in that family, and just as I’m interested in what it was like for people like Jean Shepard to get along on the road with Ferlin Husky and those guys in the ‘50s, I’m interested in what it was like for her to be part of that clan in the ‘50s and ‘60s, and to be holding her head above water.”

And he’s fascinated by the nature-versus-nurture aspects of the playing she picked up later in life. “She’s a great piano player, and it doesn’t really doesn’t boil down to the notes that she’s playing,” Fulks says. “It’s kind of a family style and a genetic style, and there’s something that’s unlearnable about that style. Anybody could read this off of a sheet and make the moves, but nobody could sound like that. I looked at her the other night when we played together, lifting her hands a foot and a half above the keyboard and banging down on two notes repeatedly, and you just think, well, that’s ridiculous! It’s a real mystery, and it’s thrilling to hear.”


Photo credit: Andy Goodwin

3×3: Renée Wahl on Home Bases, Underrated Movies, and Reliving with Presence

Artist:  Renée Wahl & Sworn Secrets
Hometown:  Nashville, TN
Latest Album: Sworn Secrets
Personal Nicknames: Riff, Riff Randall, R “Dub”, Dub

 

The Great Northern, coffee and cherry pie…

A photo posted by Renée (@reneewahl) on

What song do you wish you had written?  
Wow, that’s a tough one … I’m gonna go with “Into the Mystic” by Van Morrison. Such a beautiful song, lyrically and melodically. Always takes me to some faraway place when I hear it.

If money were no object, where would you live and what would you do?  
I would still have my farm outside of Nashville in Lebanon as a home base. It’s so open and relaxing. But I’d travel everywhere and play music. Whenever, wherever!

If the After-Life exists, what song will be playing when you arrive? 
"Angel" by Elvis Presley. I think that’s appropriate! Or “Where Is My Mind” by the Pixies. That would work, too.

 

A photo posted by Renée (@reneewahl) on

How often do you do laundry? 
Hmmmm, when I run out of clothes, sheets, or towels — whichever comes first.  

What was the last movie that you really loved?  
Again, so many movies I love. I will say Frailty.  It’s a bit older, but an extraordinary movie. It takes place in Texas. It’s very dark, lots of twists and turns … great acting, fantastic storyline. Certainly an underrated movie, in my opinion.

If you could re-live one year of your life, which would it be and why? 
I guess it depends on if I knew I was reliving it … if so, this year (2016). My mom passed away in July, and I would love to have been more present in the time I spent with her.

 

A photo posted by Renée (@reneewahl) on

What's your favorite culinary spice?  
Cayenne Pepper … flavorful and great for a sore throat!

Morning person or night owl? 
Not a morning person. For sure a night owl. Though I can’t quite seem to stay awake as late as I used to …

Coffee or tea?   
Hands down, tea.  I don’t drink coffee much anymore, but I can’t go a day without a cup of hot tea. There are some pretty cool tea places in Nashville, like Aromagregory.

Just How It Is: An Interview with Courtney Marie Andrews

At 25, Courtney Marie Andrews is already a hardened industry veteran at a point when many artists are just getting started. The Arizona native began writing songs and touring in her teens and has barely stopped since. In addition to amassing a catalog of five albums and a few EPs, she has recorded with Jimmy Eat World and Damien Jurado, toured with Belgian pop star Milow, and sung back-up for more than 40 artists.

So you believe her when, early on her sixth and best album, she declares, “This ain’t no rookie dreaming.” As impressive as that C.V. might be, it doesn’t even begin to hint at the maturity, the resourcefulness, and the hard-earned wisdom of Honest Life. It’s a stirring amalgam of folk, country, and rock, calling to mind Joni Mitchell and Van Morrison, but her songwriting is so personal and so self-possessed that it dispels such easy comparisons. Perhaps the greatest lesson Andrews has learned on the road is to sound like no one other than herself. It’s such a startling work of maturity — so far removed from her previous work — that it almost sounds like a first album.

Maybe that’s why it took her so long to make the record. Andrews penned half the record in Belgium and the other half in Duvall, Washington, where she waitressed at a small tavern and wrote lyrics between shifts. She assembled some talented friends into a makeshift backing band and produced the album herself. She shopped it around to labels, which either demanded changes to the production or couldn’t figure out how to sell it: Was it folk? Country? Indie rock?

It’s a situation that so many artists have found themselves mired in (most recently, Margo Price), but Andrews stuck to her guns, signed with small labels in the U.S. (Mama Bird Recording Co.) and Europe (Loose Music), and released the record on her own terms. Honest Life sounds like both the best sixth album and the best debut of the year. And, of course, it’s already taken her back out on the road.

What led you to settle in Washington State?

I started touring when I was really young. I did my first tour when I was 16, and I started out doing West Coast tours, where I would go to Seattle and come down through Idaho and Utah. When I was in Arizona, the Northwest seemed like the most different place you could go to, if you were from the Southwest like me. I gravitated to it originally for those reasons. I love change and I love to put myself in situations that aren’t normal to me because it helps me grow as a person. I just moved there because it felt completely different than the Southwest, and then I ended up playing around Seattle for some time.

I don’t intend to live there forever. Eventually, I’m going to make my way down to L.A., but I do think the Northwest has definitely influenced my writing. I was living in a very rural town called Duvall, and I lived way out in the woods, about seven miles from town.

Were you writing these songs while bartending?

I was going through a breakup in Belgium when I wrote about half the songs. When I got back to the States, I wanted the most normal job to support myself while I wasn’t touring. So I started bartending in Duvall, and those people’s stories resonated with me quite a bit. They’re all so different from me. They’re very much small-town folks, in the sense that a lot of them have lived in that valley their entire lives. I’ve been all over the world and felt like I was just passing through, but their stories definitely resonated with me. I think that’s why I loved bartending. People will always tell you a story.

It definitely seems like a very social occupation. Waiters can always excuse themselves to check on other tables, but bartenders are stuck at the bar.

Exactly. You’re stuck with those people at the bar. Fortunately, I did a lot of serving, too, so I got to walk around a bit. It definitely cultivated a feeling that I tried to capture in the songs — me as the constant, moving catalyst coming through this town and realizing that sometimes home feels better than the road.

But I’ll be the first one to tell you that, after six months of bartending, I was ready to be back on the road. I like to complain about it, but it’s where I belong. I don’t actually complain too much about it. I love playing. There are just times when you’re far away for five months and you haven’t seen your friends and family. You start thinking, "Oh man, what am I doing here again?" But I’m definitely at home on the road. I just can’t get enough of it. It’s ingrained in me, at this point.

One of the things that impressed me about this record is that you can sing about touring and traveling without it sounding like insider baseball. It’s something anybody can relate to.

I was thinking about this songwriting trope that I’ve heard before, in particular, with political songwriters. The reason Bob Dylan was able to write so many great political songs is because he never put dates on them. You can listen to them now and the ideas still apply to what’s going on today. I feel like that’s what I’m trying to do when I’m writing songs, whether it’s about traveling or whatever. I want to makes it so there’s not a date or a stamp on it. You can listen to it whether you’re a touring musician or not.

These are obviously very personal songs, but to what degree are they autobiographical?

There are definitely elements. A lot of them are very personal just because of what I was going through when I was writing them. But I definitely put other people’s stories in there. The song “Irene” was one I wrote for a friend, but I look back on it and wow, I was writing it for myself, too. I think that goes for a lot of my songs. There are little truths about me and reflections of other people that I know.

I would have guessed that “Irene” was a bartending song. It struck me as something a bartender might say to a patron.

That’s funny. Actually, “How Quickly Your Heart Mends” was written about a woman at my bar. When you’re bartending, you get the people who are drinking too much. My dad liked to call them flippers. People would flip when they had a few beers. There was a woman going through a breakup, and it made sense to write that song. It’s just a small town and the song is about being heartbroken in a small town and how isolating that can be.

What is it like to live with these very personal songs that have such a strong emotional component to them?

The songs still resonate with me, but not in a sad way, I don’t think. I know a lot of people find this record to be sad, but that’s not what I intended it to be. If anything, I intended it to be hopeful. To me, it’s about growing up and becoming the person that you set out to be. It’s about hard truths. When you’re a kid, you think everything will be set in place when you’re 25 or 26. But when you get to that age, you realize that’s not how it goes and you can be okay with that. So when I play these songs, I don’t feel sadness. I feel like they’re very much a part of me — probably the most honest songs I’ve ever written.

I do find some solace and comfort in them. When I first write a song, there’s a period of about six months to a year when I still feel exactly like that. But after a while, I start to feel like I’m just the speaker — I’m just relaying a story to somebody. I try to be in the moment and be present with the words that I’m singing, but it’s more that I’m relaying the story to somebody. It may not be my story anymore. Now it’s their story.

It sounds like you’re using the song for what you need and then passing it along to your audience.

Yes. I think, in a way, that’s the tradition of folk music. The songs are for the people. You sing it and then pass it along. “Red River Valley” doesn’t have a writer. Nobody knows who wrote it. That’s how we pass it along to somebody else. I’ve actually met and played with people who can’t sing their own songs because they connect with them too much and it hurts to sing them.

I don’t know that I’ve ever looked at it like that. I don’t mind revisiting songs, although I guess I could change my mind in five years. There are definitely some older songs that I never want to play again, although the reason I wouldn’t sing them is because I don’t like the way I wrote a line: "That line is terrible! Why did I write that? I could write it so much better now."

So it’s not so much that you outgrow a song emotionally, you outgrow it technically.

Totally. Maybe that’s why I think I became my truest writer on this record. I feel like I finally learned how to write. I don’t know. I’ve always loved writing. I’m proud of my writing, although I’d never want to be cocky about it. It’s hard when you start so young, because you’re passionate and you’re going to release everything that you’ve ever written. But I don’t think I was fully developed, when I first started writing songs. Some people who like my music might disagree, but I don’t think I was quite there yet. So, the past two years, I feel like I’ve been coming into my own.

What led you to produce this album yourself?

It was probably too much pride! I love having producers. It’s such a beautiful thing to be able to work with somebody else. I’ll start by saying that. I’ve done it in the past and I’ll do it in the future. That’s important to grow and change. But for this record, I just wasn’t connecting with anybody I sent the songs to. People were like, "Let’s put synths on it and make it an over-produced pop record." Or they were like, "I need to write a line in this song so I can get a songwriting credit and more money." I got this sick feeling in my stomach. These people just didn’t get it. They didn’t get my songs. I’m not going to enter a relationship with somebody who doesn’t get me. So I just booked some time in a studio, got all my friends in Seattle to rehearse the songs for a month straight, then we worked out all the kinks, went into the studio, and recorded it. I don’t think, in any way, about how modern or cool the production was. It was more about the songs.

Were you nervous about taking on that responsibility?

In the beginning I was, because the music industry tells you that you have to have the best producer and you have to have that producer stamp. There are all these standards that people are constantly whispering in your ear. I guess I’ve gotten to the point where I just don’t care. I’m going to make the record that I want to make, even if I’m just working at the bar for another 20 years. It’s way more important for me to make what I want to make. I will work with a great producer someday, but this wasn’t the record for it. This was just me and my friends making a record.

Did that make it harder to shop to labels?

Shopping the record took way longer than finding a producer, but the funny thing is, everybody who couldn’t work with me just kept listening to the record. That’s what messed with my head the most. They would tell me they loved the record and had been spinning it in the office. They said they were always listening to it. I got these long emails from people about the record, but they didn’t want to take a chance on it. They liked it, but when money comes into play, it becomes a big what-if. I get that. But I ended up going with two really great labels that loved the record from the start, which was a great feeling. It’s more important to go with the people you don’t have to convince. So I feel like it’s had a positive reception. I feel like it’s found its place.

You mentioned that you thought people heard the album as sad. To me, it almost sounds like it’s telling a story that starts out as sad but ends up in another place. Was that something you were thinking about when you were recording?

Definitely. This album is about accepting life’s circumstances. That’s what I was going through at the time. Everybody has gone through that stage when they realize that their life isn’t what they intended. So yeah, the sequencing is important. It starts with “Rookie Dreaming,” where I’m on the train and having that first realization that it’s harder than I thought. This isn’t a rookie dreaming. It’s something more than that. This is prime time. And then the album ends with “Only in My Mind,” which is sort of the same sentiment, but maybe that of a more mature person. Only in my mind did I assume these things had actually happened.

I just had a thought regarding the sad songs: The difference in this record and the things I’ve written in the past as a younger, more angst-ridden person is that now, when I write a sad song, I’m not asking anybody to feel bad for me. When I was younger, it would be like, "Oh pity me. This is how I feel and you should feel it, too." Now it’s more like, "This is just how it is. This is just life." This record doesn’t ask the audience to feel bad.

That’s an interesting distinction to make.

I feel like every songwriter is guilty of writing a few songs like that. When you’re younger, you just think the world is against you. The world hates you. But when you grow up, you realize that the world doesn’t care about you. That sounds harsh.

Maybe, but it also means that, whatever you’re going through, other people have been through it, too. Your pain isn’t special, which can actually be comforting and relatable.

And that’s what music is for — to make people not feel as alone in this crazy-ass world.

 

For more on young, '70s-inspired singer/songwriters, read our interview with Andrew Combs.


Photo credit: Susy Sundborg

MIXTAPE: Ben Glover’s Irish Heritage

The prospect of putting together a collection of my favourite Irish songs was somewhat daunting, as this geographically small land has given birth to such a monumental catalogue of music. So, in order to quell my anxiety levels, I restricted my choices to songs from the northern part of the country — the part of the country where I was born and raised. (I’m including County Donegal, too.)

I’m very fortunate to come from a place that has some of the most strikingly beautiful, rugged, and raw landscapes on the planet, and I know this has a large influence on the music that is created here. I’m a big believer that the outer environment greatly influences our inner worlds, and this is very apparent in the songs that are written by Irish artists. The traditions, the ancient spirit embedded in the soil, the wildness of the water, and the troubled history of this country have given the Irish a unique sense of melody and a haunted poetry that often seeps into our songwriters’ work. We can be magnificiently melancholy without slipping into complete darkness. There is such a depth of talent in this country that it’s impossible to make the definitive playlist but this Mixtape contains some of my very favourite tracks from northern Irish songwriters. As these songs and singers continue to inspire me, I hope too that they will make make an impact on your ears, heart, and soul. Enjoy. — Ben Glover

Van Morrison — “Into the Mystic”

This is definitive, Celtic soul and, in my opinion, one of the best songs ever written. It’s Van at his best — capturing mysticism and longing — and I know no other song to have such a timeless and beautiful spirit. Van’s the man.

Paul Brady — “The Island”

One of the great, most powerful anti-war songs which contrasts serenity and intimacy with the hypocrisy of political/religious leaders. It uses the troubles of Northern Ireland and the Lebanese Civil War as a backdrop. This track confirms Paul Brady as a master songwriter.

Four Men and a Dog (Kevin Doherty) — “The Greengrocer’s Daughter”

The members of trad/folk band Four Men and a Dog are from all over Ireland, but their singer/songwriter, Kevin Doherty, is from Buncrana in County Donegal, and so qualifies as being geographically from up north. Kevin has been an influence on me ever since I was a teenager starting to write songs. “The Greengrocer’s Daughter” has a very simple and straightforward lyric, but still is extremely captivating (the hardest kind of song to write). He’s the Irish Leonard Cohen.

Brendan Murphy — “Into Your Arms”

This melody, along with Brendan’s vocal delivery, makes this song plunge straight into one’s heart. Brendan’s band, the Four of Us, have been making great music for over 25 years, but I’m also a big fan of when he strips it all back acoustically. The sparseness and simplicity of this song makes it truly wonderful — a real beauty.

The Plea — “Windchime”

I grew up playing music in the bars of Donegal and, later on, in Boston with Dermot and Denny Doherty, the two brothers at the core of the Plea. They have the ability to write raw, gut-wrenching, folky songs but also make wonderful, big-sounding, indie records like “Windchime.” The song has a dreamy, cinematic sadness that’s as big as the Atlantic Ocean that crashes on the coastline of Donegal, the area where the Plea come from.

Bap Kennedy — “Shimnavale”

Here’s Bap poignantly displaying his shipwrecked heart and conjuring up some Celtic high-lonesome magic. The fiddle wonderfully adds to the haunted atmosphere of the song and, once again, (like in “Into The Mystic”) the deep sense of longing in the song is very powerful.

Gareth Dunlop — “How Far This Road Goes”

Gareth has been on a similar journey to me over the past few years, as he spends a great deal of time writing in Nashville. As well as being a fantastic writer, his is one of the best voices to come out of Northern Ireland over the past few years. He’s the essence of Belfast soul.

Anthony Toner — “The Duke of Oklahoma”

What makes Anthony stand out from a lot of writers is his delicate attention to the details of the characters in his songs mixed with a great musicality. In “The Duke of Oklahoma,” he wears his Dylan influence proudly on his sleeve, but still makes it identifiably Toner-esque with his wonderful narrative and turn of phrase.

Matt McGinn — “What Happens”

Matt and I went to college together and so have been making noise together for quite a few years. He’s a brilliant musician who captures a real elegance in his songs. Matt comes from the heart of the Mourne Mountains, and I can always hear something of the splendor of that environment in his songs — particularly in “What Happens.”

Malojian — “It Ain’t Easy”

Malojian (aka Stevie Scullion) has that rare, powerful gift of being able to knock you over with an almost brittle vocal, in the way Neil Young does. The lyrics of this one intrigue me. I can’t help but get a sense of the 1970s West Coast singer/songwriter in a lot of Malojian’s stuff. He should be on everyone’s alt-folk playlists.

Ben Glover — “Melodies of Midnight”

I couldn’t resist throwing one of my own on here … This is an older song, but I still like the sound of this record.

Cara Dillion — “The Parting Glass”

Cara’s voice is one the purest sounds in the world. She is my favourite Irish female singer, and her version of this old song is the best I know. This vocal performance of Cara’s is completely arresting and stirs up up so many emotions for me. It’s the record I go to when I’m feeling a distance from home.


Photo credit: Jim DeMain