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Mason Via Returned to Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains to Record His New Self-Titled Album

After a three-year run with revered bluegrass troupe Old Crow Medicine Show, Mason Via is breaking off on his own and returning to his roots on his new self-titled, 10-song album.

Out April 25 via Mountain Fever Records, the record finds Via toeing the line between the worlds of old-time and progressive bluegrass with hints of jamgrass mixed in, no doubt an homage to his father, revered picker David Via. Via initially presented nearly 100 songs for consideration to producer Aaron Ramsey – among them a bevy of solo cuts, along with co-writes from the likes of Boy Named Banjo’s Barton Davies, and Christian Ward, the newly minted fiddler for the Del McCoury Band and the Travelin’ McCourys – before whittling the material down to a fraction of that to actually record.

The resulting songs serve as a continuation of what fans heard from Via with Old Crow, particularly the band’s 2023 album Jubilee, where he wrote or co-wrote seven of the 12 tracks – including “Allegheny Lullaby,” “I Want It Now,” and “Belle Meade Cockfight.” According to Via, many of these new songs were even written with Old Crow in mind before he made the decision to step away and release them under his own name.

“This is an album full of stuff that, for the most part, I wanted to do while I was in Old Crow but never got around to,” Via tells BGS. “That being said, I was excited to get to put them on my album because these tunes are a deep dive into who I am as a songwriter from my time spent living in Nashville.”

Ahead of the album’s release and amid a run of shows through the Midwest and Southeast with Logan Ledger, Via spoke with BGS by phone about his path to Old Crow Medicine show, how a Virginia festival changed his entire career trajectory, how he came to love co-writing after moving to Nashville, and more.

You were joined by a trio of bluegrass royalty – Rhonda Vincent, Junior Sisk, and Ronnie Bowman – on the songs “Oh Lordy Me” and “Mountain Lullaby.” What did it mean to you having them join you on those songs?

Mason Via: It was very validating, because I’ve always felt that I circled around bluegrass and navigated on the outskirts or fringe of it, so to have those torchbearers of the genre sign off on this meant a lot. I didn’t know Rhonda as well, but Junior and Ronnie are old family friends. I hate when artists have other people as features, but they’re not really featured – it defeats the purpose of it all. Because of that I really wanted to go out of the way to showcase everyone. For instance, on “Oh Lordy Me” we all take turns singing lead on verses before coming together for the chorus [with Bowman and Sisk], whereas “Mountain Lullaby” is trio harmonies the whole way through [with Bowman and Vincent].

You mentioned Junior and Ronnie being old family friends. Is that a connection through your father, who was a bluegrass picker himself?

It is, they all go way back. They used to have big pickin’ parties every Tuesday at dad’s house in Dry Pond, Virginia, that they called The Blue Room. They’d pick all day and night, with the last person left awake taking home the coveted Bluegrass Buddy Belt, a WWE-style belt, for bragging rights.

In addition to growing up around them, Ronnie also cut a couple of my dad’s songs and Junior was often around Galax and the fiddlers conventions I grew up going to, which the song “Oh Lordy Me” is sort of an homage to.

Speaking of home, you returned to Floyd, Virginia, to record this new album. After spending time in Nashville in recent years, what made you want to go back there?

Floyd is about an hour from where I grew up. I remember going to the Floyd Country Store when I was younger and playing up there and it being like a little mountain getaway, which is exactly what going back to the area to record felt like. It was a bit more secluded than when I recorded in Nashville and elsewhere previously, which forced all of us – myself, producer Aaron Ramsey and all the players – to be in it all the way from start to finish.

However, people will soon be able to hear those different approaches when I release alternate versions of a few of the songs on this album that I recorded in Nashville before this bluegrass record deal happened. Two of them, “Falling” and “Melting the Sun,” are psychedelic indie rock ‘n’ roll – think War On Drugs meets the Foo Fighters – whereas “Hey Don’t Go” is one I released alongside my departure from Old Crow with pedal steel, drums, keys, and electric guitar. We also recorded a version of “Wide Open” with similar arrangements in the same session that we’ll be releasing soon as well.

Sounds like we have a lot to look forward to!

Sticking on the topic of Floyd, I remember seeing you for the first time at FloydFest in 2019 with your band, Hot Trail Mix, which finished runner-up at the gathering’s On-The-Rise band competition that year. What has that moment – and the festival in general – meant to your music career and trajectory?

I’d just gotten out of college and was working as a substitute teacher at a military academy when the opportunity to perform in the FloydFest competition came about. I grew up going to the festival, so finishing runner-up and getting invited back to play the main stage was a moment where I started to realize I should take this more seriously. Since the next year was 2020 that show never happened, so my next time back at FloydFest was actually in 2021 when I played the main stage on Saturday night with Old Crow.

So the festival played a role in you linking up with Old Crow then. How did that opportunity come about?

Ashby Frank, a great bluegrass musician, suggested me to Donica Elliott, who worked with the band at the time, who then passed my information onto Ketch [Secor]. Eventually I got a call from him asking to come audition, so a couple weeks later I drove out there for a casual jam session where we played a bunch of old-time pickin’ tunes from fiddlers conventions with a couple of Old Crow’s songs sprinkled in. I came back and did the same thing the next day followed by [going to] Ketch’s house the day after to help move some furniture, which led to us writing the song “I Want It Now” [from Old Crow’s 2023 album, Jubilee]. I wound up getting the gig and next thing I know we’re recording an album. Even my first gig with them was the Grand Ole Opry – I was thrown into the fire, but loved every minute of it!

I had a great run with Old Crow, but the big reason for leaving the band was to pursue this album, because unfortunately you can’t do both. It feels a little like starting over, but I couldn’t be happier with where I am now. And who knows, 10 years from now I could be back in the band – the world is very cyclical like that. I saw Chance McCoy is back with them and they’ve been touring with Willie [Watson] again, which got me thinking about how the band is an ever-changing cast. We left on pretty amicable terms, so I think there’s definitely room for potential collaboration or a reunion in the future.

During your three-year run with Old Crow, what’s the biggest piece of music-related advice you learned from them?

I like to tell people that I think of my time with Old Crow as getting a Master’s degree in music. They taught me that you don’t need to play the craziest solo in the world or sing the wildest riff, you just need to be distinctly, uniquely you. I’ve been trying to lean into that more in my new material including this new album, which I think is some of my most personal material yet.

I know one thing you started doing a lot more with Old Crow that’s a regular part of your repertoire now is co-writing. What’s it been like opening yourself up to more of those opportunities lately?

When I first moved to Nashville, I’d never really co-written before, but when you get here you realize really quickly that that’s a huge part of the community there, similar to jamming with your buddies. It’s a great way to connect with friends and something I really enjoy because you don’t always get to do something like that on such a deep level. I’m also a very ADD type of person so I love the aspect of being intentional with your time and what you hope to create within it like that.

One of the people you co-wrote for this record with was Zach John King, who you first met in 2021 during your stint on American Idol. Tell me a little about your partnership with him that led to your songs “Wide Open” and “Fireball.”

We were set up to have a conversation together on camera for the show. That’s how we were first introduced and we’ve since gone on to become buddies long after Idol. When I got the Old Crow gig he reached out and said he was thinking of moving to Nashville and if he could stop by to ask me some questions about my journey and the process of going from American Idol to what I’m doing now. I was a mentor there for a second, but now it’s the other way around since he just signed a deal with Sony Music Nashville [in January]. He’s already got some songs doing well in the pop country world and is really about to take off. Connections like the one with Zach are reminders of just how small the music industry really is.

What do you hope people take away from listening to this collection of songs?

Every song is its own kaleidoscopic spectrum of emotions that I’ve felt in one way or another. I hope you can laugh and cry and dance and feel every emotion the whole way through, which I think is a trademark of a good album or show. Pairing those emotions with the feeling of what it was like for me growing up in the Blue Ridge Mountains with all my influences, from rock and roll to country or the string band music that was always present during my raising, was a special experience and something I hope folks enjoy listening to over and over again.

What has music, specifically the process of bringing this new album to life, taught you about yourself?

I love how [music] takes you places, it makes you feel like an astronaut or something. You get to travel to different worlds, get outside yourself and figure out who you are. Each song is like its own barn quilt that showcases the different patchwork that holds a place in my heart.

Photo Credit: Ashli Linkous

Radiohead Reunites For Carter Family Tribute Album

ENGLAND, UK — After a seven year hiatus, Radiohead, the iconic alt-rock band known for its genre-defying sound, has announced their latest endeavor: a tribute to American country-folk pioneers, The Carter Family.

“There is no Kid A without ‘Wabash Cannonball,’” said lead singer Thom Yorke, speaking from the glass orb he calls home in Oxfordshire.

“I felt it was time to finally pay tribute to the only group Radiohead has consistently ripped off for years.”

The new album is a radical departure for Radiohead and will contain no original compositions. Instead, it’s a musical scrapbook of early Carter Family classics like “Poor Orphan Child” and “Single Girl, Married Girl.”

“I like it because the songs aren’t your typical Thom Yorke word salad,” guitarist Johnny Greenwood quipped. “When Sara Carter sings about a wandering boy, it’s not a cryptic reference to late stage capitalism. It’s literally about a time she misplaced a kid and couldn’t find it.”

Radiohead fans were thrown into a whirlwind of excitement with the announcement of the new record. However, tensions within the band were revealed when a demo track from the album leaked online. The tune “John Hardy Was a Desperate Little Man” features Yorke on vocals, Colin Greenwood on upright bass, Ed O’Brien on autoharp, and Phil Selway on spoons. But when Johnny Greenwood attempted to distort a 1928 Gibson L-5 through a Korg Kaoss Pad, it led to an expletive-laced tirade from Yorke.

“You put a f—ing sampler on Mother Maybelle and I’ll rip your f—ing throat out!” Yorke is heard screaming, followed by a loud crash before the recording is cut short. Greenwood was later seen exiting a clinic in rural Abingdon, Virginia with a bandaged head and a newfound appreciation for the dobro.

“I suppose I was ready to move on from all the squawks and beeps and boops I normally toss in there anyway,” he smiled sadly.

Radiohead’s upcoming 2024 summer tour schedule is as surprising as their newfound Carters obsession, and includes appearances at festivals like the Silver Dollar City Pick Fest and Tidewater Tunes Crab Boil before settling into a bi-weekly jam at Shenandoah Pizza Co.

Greg Hess is a comedy writer and performer in Los Angeles. His work has been featured in The American Bystander, The Onion, Shouts & Murmurs, Points in Case, and he cohosts the hit satirical podcast MEGA.

Moving & Returning

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I bet in the next few years, an expert taxonomist will come by and tell us exactly what country music is – and that this definition will create endless arguments. In the last few months, this argument about what exactly country music is has been growing louder. Jason Isbell has been fucking around with Nashville for decades, playing the field between rock, country, southern rock, country rock, and classic country. (He has recently said that he considers himself a rock singer). Adeem the Artist, the infamous cast iron pansexual, says that they are a folk singer. Willi Carlisle, a folk up-and-comer, has released Critterland, a certainly country album. On the other hand, Maren Morris released two singles last fall which were about burning Nashville to the ground, yet they’re perhaps the most country songs of her career – in terms of how she tells stories, how the bridges work, her vocal tones, and even some of the instrumentation. It seems lately, country is both everything and nothing.

Amanda Fields’ 2023 project deepens this ongoing problem. The album, What, When and Without, is a complex artifact of her own wrestling with genre, history, and biography. It slides into that complex sorting of genre and feeling that is key to Nashville right now. Fields calls this a country album – lushly produced, thick with strings, and dense with vocals, reminding one of an updated countrypolitan record – but sorting out what that means comes with a history of playing and listening.

Fields has a reputation on the bluegrass circuit, often an insular genre with an insistence on a certain kind of purity. She recognized how those questions of purity often don’t pay the bills, and her first major recordings were on a series of bluegrass cover records, called Pickin’ On – recorded by prominent bluegrass studio musicians, there are dozens of them, the artists covered include the expected (Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash), the unusual (Blink 182), to the fully flummoxing (Modest Mouse). Though Fields did not play on all of these records, she talks about them as an integral understanding of herself as part of a musical team: “When I look back on my experience within the ‘genres’ I’ve taken part in, I think about the groups of people I worked with… When I worked on Pickin’ On, I got that gig because of who I was hanging out with and playing music with at the time. I sang ‘gospel’ when I was growing up, because that was the community within my proximity.”

Proximity is a complex question for Fields. She has close ties to the bluegrass community, and there is something intriguing about the idea that genre is a social category – one about who one is near, or what the audience and the performer agrees to participate in. Yet there is a kind of roving that occurs here too; for Fields, roving is both a history of moving around geographically and, as she says here, moving from music that she considers bluegrass or gospel or country.

Fields moved around a lot as a child. Though she was born in Appalachia and currently lives in suburban Nashville (right next to Loretta Lynn’s old house), the line between these two legendary destinations was not direct.

Asking Fields about these roots – expecting a standard line in response – she honestly describes the complexity of her raising: “I’m originally from the mountains and it was my anchor growing up, but my dad moved us around a lot. He was one of those people who felt there was more to life than what was available to us living in that area, so he took job opportunities that carried us away from the mountains. I didn’t like that, because I was always longing to be ‘home’ with the rest of our family. I lived for summers and holidays when I got to be in Virginia and East Tennessee. Playing and listening to country and bluegrass music was my way to experience home when I couldn’t be there physically.”

This moving and returning is a common note for country musicians. Listening to her talk about the juxtaposition of moving, returning, being forced to leave, and finally finding home in an idea more than a place, I am reminded of Tanya Tucker or Merle Haggard. Tucker’s early childhood had a father who moved her from Arizona to Las Vegas to finally Nashville, chasing an acting and singing career. She broke out as a singer who fused a desire for rock and for country. It is similar to Haggard’s talk of moving – to California with his family as a consequence of economic disenfranchisement – and spending the rest of his career chasing economic stability. That idea was perhaps best written about in his tragic ballad “Kern River,” with its opening line, “I grew up in an oil town, but my gusher never came in.” (A Fields original from well before What, When and Without, “Brandywine,” strikes a similar note.)

This connection to Tucker, Haggard, and other classic country singers suggests that Fields landed not necessarily in a place, but as she says, in a music which has tight connections to place. What, When and Without, a classic country album, is infused with this kind of nostalgic listening.

Asked about her relationship to figures like Loretta Lynn or Haggard, she answers carefully: “Most of the music that really stirs my soul is older. I listen to all my friends’ new music and I’m always hunting something fresh to connect with, but on a day-to-day basis, I’m usually listening to the same stuff I’ve always loved. I’m talking Tammy Wynette, Loretta Lynn, Conway Twitty just about everyday. Classic country is what excites me (especially when I discover something I haven’t heard) and those familiar sounds and voices help me regulate my body’s nervous system.”

The album, rooted in those sounds, contains a deep knowledge of genre. Its ability to move between old school country, bluegrass chops, and deep, modern desire is one of its strengths. Figuring out how to sound both modern and historical is something Fields achieves with some skill. If her commitment to genre has a loose, rootless quality – or at least one which floats and lands depending on aesthetic or social need – then how she considers time has a similar quality.

Maybe her early commitment to bluegrass, a genre who remembers more than it forgets, and faces backwards as much as it faces forwards, and which was complicated by how hungry those covers were, suggests one way of bridging eras. But, her recent work, crafting contemporary studio craft with the careful polish of Studio A aesthetics is another. Asking her about memory and nostalgia, she again answers carefully: “One thing that was very intentional with the album was the pace. I think that going slowly is nostalgic in a way, because society and industry move so fast nowadays. I usually walk slowly and I talk slowly compared to most of my peers. My body responds to tempo and dynamics and I wanted to invite the album’s listeners to slow down with me.”

The slowness of the album can be heard in how she starts many of the tracks. There is often an instrumental intro where one waits a significant time for the vocals to be introduced and on occasion there are gaps, where her vocals recede and the band takes over – though the band itself is also quiet. There is a quality, listening to the work, of a kind of courtly two-step, the band asking Fields to dance, and vice versa.

The very first song, “What A Fool,” begins with brushed drums, and has a quite lovely open-ended moment where the pedal steel becomes central. On “I Love You Today,” the old-fashioned cheating song, heartbreak is introduced via an elegant, western swing sound, not outside of Lovett at his best. The last song, “Without You,” plays drums as solid and regular as a heartbeat. It’s another heartbreak song.

The pedal steel is crafted by Russ Pahl, who has been playing for decades. He has been nominated by the Academy of Country Music for his work on the steel guitar three times and for specialty instrument once, between 2004 and 2021. Before that, aside from being an in-demand studio musician, he was part of legendary Great Plains, another band who was excellent at moving between genres, across time, and throughout modes.

Talking to Fields about Pahl, she noted how good he was at not only playing, but matching vibes in the studio: “He came across very quiet and contemplative in the studio and I think he ‘got’ the vibe right away. After a song or two, he said, ‘…this ain’t Zip A dee Doo Dah.’ And it wasn’t. It was an album created in the midst of global pandemic [and] a time of great suffering for society and for myself personally.”

What, When and Without sounds like Fields has had some rough times, even outside of the lockdowns (regardless of how dense the record sounds, there is a yearning in the vocals that have a certain lockdown edge); but there is also an irony in this loneliness. Megan McCormick, who co-wrote on and produced the record and plays in Fields’ band, shows great intimacy throughout the project – there is a reason for this, McCormick and Fields are personal as well as professional partners. They sound good together, and the track where McCormick sings backing vocals, “Moving Mountains,” is the highest energy, most open of the entire record. It’s a great love song – but it’s a love song which calls to Mother Maybelle Carter as an avatar of country music, as a figure outside of space and time, which can tell the narrator how to love after years of heartbreak.

When asked about McCormick, Fields is still a little coy, but her commitment to their lives and sounds is made clear: “She really has a special gift and believing in her as a producer, as well as trusting her intuitions and abilities, has allowed me to grow as an artist. She’s my toughest critic, because that’s what I’ve asked of her. She’s also my constant cheerleader. We thrive when we get to travel together and both enjoy that feeling of being untethered that you get when you’re on the road.”

One can hear some of the untethered quality in Fields’ work, the road as untethering as much as time or genre, but the closeness that she has with McCormick is another kind of tethering, be it a consensual one.

Throughout the album, there is a quality of choosing which traditions are valuable, which are worth keeping, and which ones might have outlived their usefulness. When she talks about her childhood as a Pentecostal, she says: “I am very spiritual, still, and that energy I saw in church growing up is no different than the energy I feel when I’m composing music or playing music with other people with whom I am ‘tuned in.’”

She is definitely tuned with McCormick, their close contribution seen in how they work together – the harmonies without necessarily the negative consequences of some of that church life. She continues: “Those are universal aspects of the human experience that transcend dogma, class, and denomination and that’s what I carry on and value from my experience in church.”

One can see the universal quality in Fields’ work, and it contains interesting juxtapositions. A rootlessness across genre or time, which lands on something contemporary sounding; or a heartbreak record which rests on multiple commitments to one person; or even a religious tradition which widens and deepens.

Maybe we don’t need that taxonomy. An audience knows what a country record is.

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Photo Credit: John Brown

WATCH: Colby T. Helms, “Mountain Brandy”

Artist: Colby T. Helms
Hometown: Boones Mill, Virginia
Song: “Mountain Brandy”
Album: Tales of Misfortune
Release Date: January 19, 2024
Label: Photo Finish Records

In Their Words: “I am delighted my original song ‘Mountain Brandy’ is being featured on BGS. This song has been a local fan favorite for years. I wrote the song when I was 16 as a response to seeing my way of life disappearing around me. As a Franklin County, Virginia native, moonshine history and culture have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Over the years, family and friends have passed on, leaving behind a legacy and culture that I plan to keep alive. I wrote this song in honor of the culture, tradition, and landscape that has inspired me to pursue my passions. I hope that the fans of BGS identify with this tune and cherish it the way I have.” – Colby T. Helms

Track Credits: Written by Colby T. Helms.
Produced by Billy Hurt.
Mixed by Jason Richmond.
Mastered by Kim Rosen.

Photo Credit: Guadalupe Bustos
Video Credit: Video Director – Mike Mazza
Director of Photography – Christian Kline
Video Producer – Mike Mazza
Editor – Mike Mazza

With ‘Do You Recall’ Dori Freeman Demonstrates Appalachia is Not a Monolith

One of the most stunning and enjoyable albums of 2023 was released in mid-November by Galax, Virginia-based singer-songwriter Dori Freeman. Entitled, Do You Recall, it’s a vibrant and energetic collection of eleven original songs that also feel cozy and down home, like a back porch jam or guitar pull – there’s a buzz in the air, but no overhanging urgency. It’s pure fun, but it’s also earnest and, at times, devastating.

That homey sense, pervasive and enveloping on Do You Recall, is thanks in no small part to Freeman and producer, her husband, drummer Nicholas Falk, having tracked the entire album in their backyard studio. But these tracks don’t feel antiquated or pastoral, and they certainly do not evoke a revisionist, white-washed, or sanitized rural ideal. There’s no preaching or authenticity signaling undergirding these songs, they’re simply genuine representations of Freeman and Falk intentionally following or guiding each song to its best, natural endpoint.

Freeman has decidedly re-centered her career and her music making away from so-called Music Cities – like Nashville and New York City – over the course of her five critically-acclaimed albums. She clearly feels no need to peacock or to raise a middle finger to the Music Industry, or play to “outlaw” narratives in country. Rather, she and her creative community have deliberately shifted the focal point of her songs and albums away from industry currencies and social or political structures bit by bit, click by click. As a result, her music truly shines – and certainly reaches audiences that see and appreciate that deliberation. Each of her prior albums are testaments to this growth and action, but Do You Recall may be Freeman’s best to date.

Our Cover Story conversation began discussing this shift away from music industry models and naturally and languidly, as the album, touched on agency, nuance and complication in Appalachia, solidarity and class consciousness, and so much more.

BGS: I wanted to start by asking you about how your priorities maybe have shifted in relation to the music industry? I sense that there’s this insulation between you and the capital M, capital I, “music industry,” whatever that means, right? It feels like you care less about what matters to the industry and more about what matters to you. And that feels so tangible in the music. Do you agree or disagree with that?

Dori Freeman: I do agree with that. I think I kind of always have written music from a perspective of not really caring – I never approach music through the lens of what would please a record label or what is going to be a song that people want to play on the radio or anything like that.

But I do think that perspective has only gotten stronger as I’ve gotten older. The longer I’ve written music, [the more] I write music that means something to me and that I hope will resonate with other people, because I find that the music that I’m drawn to is written in that same way. It’s music that is honest in the best way possible.

That honesty you’re talking about feels so homey, so grounded in your everyday. I think that’s part of what makes it feel like you’re not just giving a middle finger to the industry. It’s more that you’re re-centering what you do away from the industry record by record.

I would agree with that. It’s not that music isn’t a big part of my life – I mean, it obviously is, it’s the career that I’ve chosen – but as far as day to day goes, the majority of my life is spent living in a small town and raising a young daughter. That’s [why] I write a lot about both of those things. I don’t necessarily think those are really topics that record labels are begging to have more songs about, but that’s just what my life is and so those are the things that I write and sing about.

Can you talk a little bit about where you live? You live in Galax proper, yes?

Yeah, I live in Galax proper. I’m actually the last house on the street that I live on that’s technically still in Galax. The population in Galax is around 10,000, so it’s not very big. I’ve moved around a little bit in my life, but the majority of my life I’ve spent here in Southwest Virginia. And Galax in particular is a town that’s known for music. It’s like the self-proclaimed old-time music capital of the world, and we have a Fiddler’s Convention every year that’s one of the oldest. It’s known for music.

I mean, even the way that we – my husband and I – made this album [was] literally in our backyard. He built a timber-frame studio during the pandemic, so we recorded it here too, and at a much slower pace than I’ve ever had the privilege of making a record. In the past I’ve always had a strict timeframe, we have these four or five days and we have to have everything recorded in that amount of time. This time, it was just much more relaxed, and we could go out to the studio and work on one song for a couple days and then do another one the next week. It was just really refreshing to be able to approach it that way, compared to the way I’ve done it in the past. There are things that are really fun about recording in both of those ways. The pressure can be good, too, but it was nice to have a change of pace.

It may just be the time of year where all I want to do is cook something simmering on the stove all day long, but “Soup Beans Milk and Bread” — there’s so much in it that I, and I’m sure other listeners, can relate to. Especially the line, “You can’t lose something you don’t have.” That line bitch-slapped me, for real. In the best way. Can you talk about writing that one and where that line and that song came from for you?

I always find it a little difficult to articulate when I’m talking about Appalachia, just because I find it easier to write about it in song form, but I will do my best to try to talk about that.

It’s such a nuanced issue. I wrote that one – and then there’s another song on the record that’s also about growing up in Appalachia – and about the different layers of that and the different experiences you have here. The good and the more complicated.

In particular, the line, “You can’t lose something you don’t have.” I wouldn’t say I grew up poor, but I grew up not necessarily having a ton of stuff. But, in a lot of ways, I feel like I had a really happy childhood. Part of that line [is positive]. I mean, you can take it in a negative or more sad way, but it’s also, “Well, you can’t be unhappy about something that you didn’t ever have.”

If you grew up with less, a lot of times you just make the most of that and it ends up being better for you in a lot of ways. That line is definitely meant to be a double-edged sword. This area has been so taken advantage of by the government and by big business that it’s clear, yeah, you can’t lose something you never had, because we were never allowed to have it in the first place.

Another one that was my a favorite on the record is “Why Do I Do This to Myself.” I feel like I asked myself that question all the time!

It’s just such a universal feeling, I think. We all do these things to ourselves, certain things are good for you, certain thought patterns aren’t good for you – and you just can’t help it.

What you were hoping to accomplish musically and sonically with that one? Because it reminds me of classic Patty Loveless or like Terri Clark, very trad ‘80s or ‘90s country. Can you talk a little bit about what you were trying to get out of the production style on that?

Well, ‘90s country was definitely what we were going for with that one. I’m glad that came across with that track. I’ve got to give Nick a lot of credit for the production on a lot of these songs and for just picking out the musicians and for directing and deciding what the vibe would be for a lot of these songs. Our guitar player, Adam Agati, Nick hired him and they both came up with that real country lick, they kind of led the charge on that one.

You’re really playing with agency, I feel like it’s such a character in these songs – what are you choosing for yourself, what is being chosen for you, what’s being handed down to you, and how the speaker in your songs is kind of dancing around these things and talking about them.

I don’t know if I consciously approached it in that way, but I do think that it’s interesting – ‘cause you’re not the first person to bring that up. Someone else that I did an interview with said they felt the songs sort of felt like short stories that were part of the same book. After the fact, sometimes it’s like that. Sometimes you just write the batch of songs and then afterwards it becomes clear.

So I do see that in hindsight, but I don’t know necessarily if I was looking at it that way when I was writing songs, because I just write songs so individually. I’m not thinking of a theme when I approach writing songs for an album. It’s more just work on the songs individually and then hopefully they sort of come together in some sort of cohesive way.

Another thing, which I actually think has been a blessing in disguise, is that I’ve only had one album on an actual label. The subsequent four I’ve self-produced and put out on my own little label at home. I think that’s actually ended up being a good thing, because it has just left me without a lot of boundaries or feeling boxed in. I feel like I’ve had a lot more freedom to write about the things that I wanted to. It may be a smaller audience that I’m reaching and it may be a slower growth and a slower track, but actually, in the long run, I’m glad that I have done it the way that I have.

There are a couple more songs I wanted to ask you about. One is “Movie Screen.” It’s the one that feels most bluegrassy to me in some ways, and it feels very “mountain music,” which is always a nebulous term to me. “Movie Screen” is a story song, and it feels very specific, but it also feels so general and zoomed out and aspirational. It kind of reminds me of Dolly [Parton] and the way that she’d write songs about wanting to be the girl in the movie or on the radio or on stage.

[Laughs] Thank you for the Dolly comparison. I mean, I will always take that.

Yes, that is a really specific song. I wrote that song after becoming really obsessed with, during the pandemic, watching Peaky Blinders on Netflix and just having such a crush on Cillian Murphy, the lead actor in that. It’s pretty funny, because I wrote the song and my husband is one of the first people, if not the first person, I always share songs with. I play him this song and he immediately was like, “Oh, okay– so this is about that guy from Peaky Blinders?” Which is just so funny, because, my husband has brown eyes and there’s a very distinct line in the song about blue diamond eyes. It didn’t take him long to put that together. He likes to give me a hard time over that song. But it’s also about entertainment and movies and TV shows and books, as like an escape from reality and anxiety and all those things.

The other song you mentioned as being about growing up in Appalachia, “They Do It’s True,” it reminds me of Charles Booker’s political action group in Kentucky, Hood to Holler. There’s a line: “If you’ve ever lived on a mountain side/ in a little shack or a double-wide/ Then there ain’t no seat at the table for you.” That line is so striking, especially because it then continues by naming solidarity with women and with Black and Brown folks. It mades me think of Hood to Holler and this idea that in the holler and in the hood, we are more similar than we are different. I wondered if you could talk a little bit about that line in that song and where it came from for you?

That’s definitely what I was trying to write about in that song. I think one of the tactics that conservatives and people in higher positions in government love to use is to pit poor white people against poor Black people just to use that for their own gain. It’s another perspective that I think gets lost when people talk about the Appalachians. They think it’s just 100% white and people have this very specific idea of what it is, but there’s a large Black population. West Virginia has one of the most concentrated populations of transgender teens. There are Appalachian queer film festivals – there are a lot of things that get lost in that bigger message, because people [in power] don’t want us to have solidarity, because that would mean there would be actual change.

Another example of that is the way prisons often end up in poor and working class white communities, and then that’s how they pit Black and white people against each other again, because the white people are afraid of losing the work from the prison. So they want it to stay there, and it’s just a very vicious cycle. I think that it’s something that we should talk about more, because I think the wider audience doesn’t realize a lot of these things about Appalachia.

The class consciousness in the album and the way that you wove class into these songs feels so artfully done.

Appealing to the commercial side of things has never been something that I’ve felt the need to do. That goes back to what I was saying as far as having the freedom to write about what I want to and not being beholden to record labels or anything like that or agents. But it’s also because those are all just important things to me. I grew up in a really rural area and I’m bringing up my daughter in a rural area. I don’t ever want to romanticize the area in an unrealistic way, but I do think it’s important to have conversations as much about the negative things that we do need to improve as all the positive things.

I think that’s it’s really important for people from the area to continue to talk about all of this. In music and writing – and whatever other mediums. So that the rest of America can see that [Appalachia] is not just one stereotypical picture that they have in their heads.

Photo Credit: Kristina Lynn

WATCH: The Steel Wheels, “Yes I Know”

Artist: The Steel Wheels
Hometown: Harrisonburg, Virginia
Song: “Yes I Know”
Album: Sideways
Release Date: February 9, 2024
Label: Big Ring Records

In Their Words: “‘Yes I Know’ dips into that feeling when you can see the moment you’re in with someone else as a beautiful moment, while simultaneously seeing the future – that no relationship is static. Is ‘forever’ a useful idea to comfort our fears? Maybe, or maybe it can be inspiring to remember all relationships will eventually end. For me, there are times of year when forever feels more real than others: the heat of the summer, when the days last 16 hours and feel full of forever energy, while the month or so of leaves changing in the fall always confronts me with change and the passage of time.

“The video for the song started as more of a 2 week autumnal leaf study. I live in Harrisonburg, Virginia, down the block from a beautiful city park. I wanted to try to film the changing of the leaves, so I started recording the same video every day for a couple of weeks in October/November. The video logs my small daily nature walks and the transformative show of the seasonal shifts.” – Trent Wagler

Photo Credit: Mike Lee

LISTEN: Amanda Cook, “New Star”

Artist: Amanda Cook
Hometown: Fancy Gap, Virginia
Song: “New Star”
Album: Restless Soul
Release Date: November 17, 2023
Label: Mountain Fever Records

In Their Words: “To me, ‘New Star’ perfectly describes the ups and downs of the life of a musician. The incredible highs of performing in contrast with insecurities and self-doubt, no matter the hardships, most musicians will never stop creating art and working towards their goals. As soon as I heard this Theo MacMillan-penned tune, I knew it would be the anthem for our new album. The third verse really stands out to me: ‘I could put down roots like a parachute that lets me land… but a restless soul is bound to go when the calling comes.’ I think Aaron [Ramsey] and the band did an incredible job bringing this song to life and I’m so happy to share it with everyone.” – Amanda Cook

Track Credits:

Amanda Cook – lead vocal
Carolyne Van Lierop – banjo and harmony vocal
Troy Boone – mandolin and harmony vocal
Brady Wallen – guitar
Josh Faul – bass
George Mason – fiddle

Engineered by Aaron Ramsey at Mountain Fever Studios, Willis, VA.
Vocals engineered by Aaron Ramsey at Black Crow Studios, Morganton, NC.
Produced by Aaron Ramsey and the Amanda Cook Band.
Mixed and mastered by Aaron Ramsey.
Executive Producer: Mark Hodges.

Photo Credit: CDC Artistry, Christina Stevens

One to Watch: Viv & Riley Are Much More Than Just Old-Time or Americana

Comprised of singer-songwriters and instrumentalists Vivian Leva and Riley Calcagno, Viv & Riley are an up-and-coming musical duo that defy definition. Their new album, Imaginary People, is a masterful blend that weaves together their shared reverence for traditional Appalachian music alongside indie-folk, pop-leaning adornments. The result is an emotionally potent 10-track album that covers a vibrant range of personal and universal truths — from the bittersweet nostalgia of visiting a beloved childhood hideaway decades later, to the poignant curiosities that accompany reckoning with climate grief.

Based out of the dynamic music scene in Durham, North Carolina, this duo is currently on tour across North America. With their insightful explorations of the past and creative probings of the future, Viv & Riley uncover rich and complicated explorations of what it means to be alive in this precise moment.

So how did the two of you first start making music together?

Vivian Leva: Well, we first started making music together when we first met in 2016, the summer after we both graduated high school. I grew up in Lexington, Virginia, and Riley grew up in Seattle, Washington, and we just happened to meet at a camp in Port Townsend, Washington. It’s one of those camps that has weeks back to back — there was a vocal week that I was teaching with my mom, and then Riley came to teach fiddle the following week. We happened to overlap by a few days, and Riley was there with his band The Onlies. The first night we met, we played music together all night! After that, I joined the band, and we also started playing together as a duo and writing songs.

Riley Calcagno: The origin of our sort of band, our duo, came later that year, in the fall. We had been communicating and texting some music back and forth, and then Viv invited me down to Asheville to play a gig with her and her dad. I was a fan of her dad, James Leva, for his fiddle and singing, so we did that gig. But we thought it’d be also fun to try out some duo material while we were down in the same place, even though we had never played songs just the two of us. We emailed a venue in Asheville called Isis Music Hall, which was a prominent venue there at the time. Somehow they slotted us in, on a Wednesday night, into this big hall that they had — 200-person capacity, maybe bigger. We had never played music together going into that, but we put together some material and we enlisted some friends to play with us. It was a bold move! Talk about faking it until you make it. Only about 15 people came out to the show, and I’m sure it sounded terrible. But it was fun!

That sounds amazing. So how would you describe your musical chemistry? What is it like playing together?

VL: Well, I think our initial musical chemistry initially came from our shared background in old time music and traditional music. That first night that we met, we played a lot of fiddle tunes, old music, and traditional songs. So it kind of began from a place of excitement about being exactly the same age, having never before met, and somehow both being raised around this same music that we have a shared respect and love for. So that was the initial spark of actually finding another young person who’s into the same niche genre and community. But since then it’s totally stretched into other realms. We are both so open to other kinds of music, and we have very similar tastes and aesthetics. It’s very easy to create music together because we come to it from a similar place.

RC: One of our dynamics in making music together has also been sharing our individual strengths with the other person. When we first started playing together, I couldn’t really sing harmony or find a harmony part. Vivian was very patient with me and helped me learn, and I still feel like I’m getting better all the time. That’s exciting!

VL: I just play guitar, and Riley plays every other instrument. He’s a great fiddler, guitar player, banjo player, mandolin player— instrumentally he brings so much to the table. And I feel I bring a lot of singing and songwriting-focused material to the table. We stretch each other, fill in the gaps for each other, and learn from each other.

What a beautiful thing! So what do you each feel like the biggest difference in your respective musicianships is?

RC: Viv is a very natural musician. She grew up traveling around with her parents as they toured, sitting in on harmonica at her dad’s gigs when she was only three or four. I also was born and raised around music, but it was a bit more formalized, whereas Viv’s music just comes very naturally and it’s not forced in any way. She does what she does super well and consistently and steadily, and I’m a bit more erratic. I take chances and get obsessed with things and take big leaps that sometimes fall flat. Every time she steps on stage, Viv can knock out a great performance, and I feel more streaky.

VL: But he tries lots of different things! And like he mentioned, Riley has a more formal background in music. He took lessons, he learned how to read music, he knows music theory, he did classical violin. So I think a big difference is that he technically knows what’s going on, whereas I don’t have the language or skills that he has. I’m definitely more intuition based than technically based.

You really balance each other out! So your new album, Imaginary People, just came out on September 15, and I’m wondering how your songwriting, as it appears on this album, has shifted since you first began as a duo.

RC: Well, in the past, before we started writing music for this record, we were living in different places so it was a lot of collaboration from afar. A lot of the songs on our last record came from texting voice memos back and forth. And you know, it’s not utterly different to work on them in person, but some of these new songs came out playing them together in the moment.

VL: Another big difference is Riley has started writing way more. So I think there’s more of an equal voicing on this record than in the past. There’s more of his perspective in it. And I think now that we’re living in the same place it’s also allowed us to write about a more diverse range of things. We’ve written a lot of intense emotional, romantic songs in the past, but in this recent past couple of years, we’re more interested in other things, like our shared experiences about other parts of life.

RC: And it’s also partly stylistic. Our last record was pretty much a country record. During that time, I was listening to a lot of classic country music, and this time we were listening to a wider range of things. Having a broader array of influences definitely helped us push the narrative forward.

What are you each proudest of on the album?

VL: I think what I am most proud of isn’t a specific track or anything — mostly it’s this feeling that I unlocked something. I think I let go of some fears in the process of making this record. I felt more free to just say yes to trying new things and became less concerned with things like what genre it was going to be considered, or if the people who liked our last record would like this record… and so on. I stopped worrying about categories like, “This doesn’t sound traditional enough,” or “This isn’t country enough,” or “That’s too rocker or indie.” Instead, I was able to adopt the mentality of “Hmm, that sounds interesting, let’s try and just do what feels fun!” I think I’m most proud that I was able to do that. It felt amazing to take things a little lighter and to roll with ideas that felt a little outside of the mold.

RC: When you start making music, being young musicians, you get immediately labeled. It’s not something that I think either of us necessarily anticipated, but when that first record got classified, people said it was Appalachian and classic country. And then the next one was classic country and Americana. Like “Hits-the-Spot Americana,” whatever that means. And I think there’s an urge for musicians, when you get labeled as something, to keep reproducing it. There’s this toothlessness to the modern Americana music label— it’s the creation of music that is literally meant to sound like other music under a category. I don’t have a problem with genre or specifications, I think it’s oftentimes useful, but it’s [useful] when you’re trying to reproduce sounds so that you can cater to an audience, it’s like you’re trying to sell something in a market that’s already been created. I think that can be the “dampification” of art. And while I think there’s been so many amazing things created within the Americana industry, I also think it often leads to less creativity and less interesting music.

Coming out of our last record, we had some buzz in the Americana world, and it would have been easy for us to make another “Hits-the-Spot Americana” record. But I don’t think that we did that, and I feel proud of that. Like Viv was saying, we didn’t just do what we were supposed to do. You know, there’s synthesizers, but there’s also a fiddle track, and personally, I think it all works together. So maybe if you’re an Americana devotee, you’re not going to love this album, but that’s okay with me. I think there’s a power in making an album that the machine doesn’t really know what to do with. The machine can make up albums and spit them out, but I feel proud that this one isn’t something that can just be spit out because of how we combine traditional and non-traditional music. For example, there were super organic moments where we all stood around one mic and sang together, coupled with other moments where we had things locked in, produced, and added synths because a particular song called for it. Making those two things coexist in the same ecosystem was definitely a challenge, but listening to the record, I think it all makes sense together.

It’s an album full of teeth! Now, before we wrap up, I have to ask: you’re our One to Watch, but who are you watching right now? Any creatives, musical artists, or otherwise that are inspiring you right now?

RC: One is our neighbor in Durham, North Carolina, Alice Gerrard. She’s almost 90, and she’s putting out a record on this indie label from the area called Sleepy Cat. She’s collaborating with a bunch of young people and their art for the record, like making these amazing videos. It’s a really cool thing! People around here are really conscious and thoughtful about aesthetics and sound and ethos. Everything is done with integrity, so it’s a cool scene around here in that way. Alice makes amazing music, I’m really excited for her upcoming record — I think we’ll all be glued to it once it comes out. Another one is our friend who we wrote two songs with on our previous record, “Love and Chains” and “Time Is Everything”— often people’s favorite songs of ours. I just had the honor of producing his upcoming record under his band’s name, Preacher & Daisy. I love the music, so I definitely want to give them a bump! The fun thing is that all this music is sourced locally from the Durham, North Carolina area, where we’re based.

VL: Some folks I’m enjoying listening to right now, not that they’re not already being watched, are: KC Jones, Canary Room, Dori Freeman, Alexa Rose.

Photo Credit: Libby Rodenbough

LISTEN: Jesse Smathers, “Sing Darling Sing”

Artist: Jesse Smathers
Hometown: Floyd, Virginia
Song: “Sing Darling Sing”
Release Date: September 22, 2023

In Their Words: “I believe that simple melodies and simple stories relate across generations and all walks of life. That’s the true beauty of string music: its relatability. This song was composed with that aspiration.

“Being raised in piedmont North Carolina, family roots in Western Carolina, and now living in Southwest Virginia, string music always surrounded me and the tunes that always struck a chord were the fun melodic tunes, and happy songs. ‘Sing Darling Sing’ is just that, a happy tune with a loving story.

“I am so very proud of this recording, musically and personally, for it draws inspiration from my own marriage as well as relationship examples I see set by older generations. I hope the music and imagery takes the listener to a simpler and scenic time when life didn’t move as fast, and communication wasn’t at our fingertips. However, the young man in the tale is chomping at the bit to marry the girl of his dreams, the day can’t come quick enough and nothing’s gonna stop him!” – Jesse Smathers

Track Credits:

Jesse Smathers – Guitar/ Lead Vocal
Nick Goad – Mandolin/ Harmony Vocal
Corbin Hayslett – Banjo
Hunter Berry – Fiddle
Joe Hannabach – Bass

Photo Credit: Laci Mack

BGS 5+5: Rebecca Porter

Artist: Rebecca Porter
Hometown: Harrisonburg, Virginia
Latest Release: “Happy Go Lucky”
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): Becca

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

RP: One of my most favorite memories from being on stage is a recent one – singing on stage with The Steel Wheels at Red Wing Roots Music Festival. This was my first year performing at the festival. A couple weeks prior to its tenth year celebration, The Steel Wheels’ fiddle player reached out and invited me to join them as part of a folk choir for their song “Till No One Is Free.” After a couple run-throughs with the band and The Honey Dewdrops backstage, it seemed The Steel Wheels’ set flew by and before I knew it, I walked out on stage with them. I faced the largest crowd I’d ever performed for, shoulder to shoulder with the founders of the festival. So many smiles and festival goers welcomed us all into their hearts with open arms as they sang along with our makeshift folk choir. While the air was filled with countless voices, a calm silence of comfort fell over my heart.

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

Visual arts impact my music by allowing me to observe and participate in the artist’s work, their vision, their experience. I may not be directly involved in the work’s creation, but the role of observing and appreciating a work, determining if and how it informs my thoughts, feelings, beliefs. All of those things are very similar to how I write, create and listen to music. A couple of my favorite artists include Cai Guo-Qiang, a Chinese artist who works in gunpowder drawings and explosives. The mere ability to utilize materials, typically connected to death and destruction, and repurpose them into visual wonders for peace, understanding and justice is beautiful. Kara Walker, an American contemporary who works in multiple mediums, creates mind-bending silhouettes that question and investigate race, gender, sexuality, and violence.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

I was known to dance on the family room coffee table to Billy Ray Cyrus’ “Achy Breaky Heart” a time or two, but the very first time I knew I wanted to be a musician was when I was four years old. I was watching an episode of Sally Jessy Raphael and a young girl sang “I Will Always Love You.” I still remember crying as I watched her sing and feeling a connection, a sort of sense of belonging.

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

Craft honest stories through lyrics, music and voice that foster and create connections. Utilize the power of song to build and inhabit spaces where individuals are safe to process, celebrate or escape themselves and the world around them. As with “Happy Go Lucky,” I want people to know it is okay, many times quite necessary, to feel the feels – do the shitty work for yourself – in order to move on and be at peace or replenish your happy-go-lucky when it starts to run out.

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

If music is what you want, take it. Seize the moment, keep strumming. Go wherever your songs take you and then some.

Photo Credit: Heather Goodloe