American Songwriter » CRAFT

Magnetic: A Q&A with Goo Goo Dolls’ John Rzeznik

Heather Thompson — Mon, 13 May 2013 18:25:47 +0000

Goo Goo Dolls have had a long and productive career, releasing ten albums (not including two greatest hits records), fourteen top ten singles and “Iris”, the song that Billboard ranked number one on their Top 100 Pop Songs of 1992-2012 chart. Lead singer John Rzeznik took some time before going on The Tonight Show for the seventeenth time to talk about the band’s new album (Magnetic, out June 11), his venture into co-writing and the song he is most proud of. What's the story behind the album's title? I was on the phone with my manager and he was yelling into the phone about coming up with a title for the album. That word just came out of my mouth. I just spat the word out: Magnetic. That’s good. And then he was like, “Ooh, I like that.” And I liked it too, so we just called it that. It was that simple. I’m very bad at naming things, putting titles on my songs, I usually wait till the last minute to do that. Many songs, like “Bulletproofangel” and “Last Hot Night” seem to have the lyrical style you’re you guys are known for, but others seem to be starting a new era in your sound. What caused the change? A lot of things. Certain things in your life change, and you just feel better. When we made the album Something for the Rest of Us, I was in a really bad place. Everyone goes through hard times, and I just happened to be making a record during mine. It was a pretty honest reflection of where I was during that time, just like this is an honest reflection of what I was thinking, feeling and doing when I was writing those songs. And I did a lot of collaborating on this album and I really enjoyed that. I was just so happy to do it. It was a joy to get up and work every day and I wasn’t sitting in a room by myself. I was learning from other writers and good friends I have a lot of respect for and they have respect for me. Were there any songs that gave you any difficulty during the writing process? Not really because we took each song and wrote them one at a time. We would write the music and the words and do a little producing on the song and we’d finish it. We’d put it away and move on to the next piece of work. Yeah, there were frustrating moments but I learned a lot about a songwriter’s work ethic. You go to work at noon and you can stay there until midnight and if you need to take a walk or take a break, you go take a walk or a break and then get back to work. Is there a particular song or lyric you are especially proud of on this album? I really like “Rebel Beat.” I feel like it’s a nice, tightly wound song. There’s no fat on that song. It’s all business. I really enjoy that. It works really well. The song just came to me; I’m just really sentimentally attached to it. Which are you most looking forward to performing? All of them. We try to do seven or eight songs off the album [every night]. I’m really looking forward to going out in public and doing all those songs for people. While we’re on the subject of performing, does it ever get tiring to play the old favorites? I think when somebody goes to work every day and then spends a chunk of money to see your show, you kind of owe it to them to give them what they want. I’m really grateful for the luck that I’ve had with the songs. Some of those songs stuck around for a long time and still get played. Yeah, it’s amazing how often I’ll hear a song like “Slide” on the radio still today. It is impressive. I’m really blown away by it. Do you find yourself co-writing more or writing on your own? Well in the past, I pretty much wrote alone most of the time. But, I’ve been doing this for twenty years so I wanted to hang out and try something new. I felt like I was in need of some schooling. Do you write with the guys in the band or people who are a bit more disconnected from the project? I wrote with Gregg Wattenberg, who produced a bunch of tracks on the album, and Andy Stochansky and John Shanks, who produced three songs on there. We all wrote together and that’s the way I wanted to do it. It was really fun. I highly recommend that for anybody who feels like they’ve hit a wall with their creativity working on their own. It completely opens up whole new areas. People think about and feel music very differently from each other. It’s interesting to put the two together and see what happens with it. You’ve mentioned being inspired by the stories of fans like with “Notbroken” from your previous album. Which tends to inspire songs more: your own life or events from those around you? Well, things that happen in my life a lot. It’s a combination of all those things. Once in a while you’ll hear a story that moves you and inspires you, in the case of “Notbroken”. Or you’re happy about something that’s going on in your life or you just had something on your mind and you wanted to get it out there. Do you write the lyrics and the music to a song, or more one than the other? I definitely was more involved in the lyrics, definitely more with the lyrics and the melody than the music. What is your favorite or most memorable song that you have written? I’m proud of a song that I wrote called “We Are the Normal.” It was never really a hit or anything, I was just really proud of it. Are there any songs that you find resonate most with fans? Are there any of the upcoming album you think may have that effect? You always hope that the songs resonate with the audience as much as possible but I think “Come to Me”, “Slow it Down” and “Rebel Beat.” I think we can all relate to all those lyrics.

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The Observer: A Q&A with Alessi’s Ark

Davis Inman — Wed, 01 May 2013 17:00:21 +0000

Alessi’s Ark is the project of London singer-songwriter Alessi Laurent-Marke.Alessi came up on Ben Lovett (of Mumford & Sons) Communion night in London, which also helped give rise to Mumford, Laura Marling, and Noah and the Whale.Her first album, Notes From A Treehouse, was produced by Bright Eyes’ Mike Mogis in Omaha, Nebraska, and embellished Alessi’s folk songs with strings and harp. That work feels closer to the twee bedroom folk of Belle & Sebastian, while 2011’s Time Travel is, as its title suggests, a travel journal of sorts.For her third album, The Still Life, Alessi traveled to Athens, Georgia, to work with longtime Bright Eyes engineer, Andy LeMaster. The new album moves away from the simple pastoral folk of her earlier work and becomes a study in electronic textures with dynamic arrangements and unexpected production choices. It's easy to miss the mark when mixing folk and electronic elements, but The Still Life takes dead aim and delivers. “I’ve been listening to the wind for you,” she sings on the album’s first single, “The Rain.” More whimsical than Laura Marling (who has taken Alessi on tour as a special guest in both the UK and U.S.) but possessing the mischievous smirk of Nick Drake, The Still Life could be one of the great unsung albums of the year—though, let’s hope not. After getting our international wires crossed in a failed phone attempt, we caught up with Alessi over email. Your songs are often observations on the natural world. Do you think of yourself as an observer? I haven't given it very much thought until now but yes, I suppose I am an observer for the most part. I do like feeling involvement with nature too though and don't always wish to sit or stand amongst it and solely observe. I love walking and listening. There is a wonderful park in central London called St. James' Park and it is one of my favourite places in which to take a stroll. There are always a lot of birds and ducks conversing along the waterside and at times, you can even spot pelicans. In the city! I’ve read that Graham Nash’s Songs for Beginners had an early impact on you. Why did that album make you want to be a songwriter? My mum shared Songs for Beginners with me when I was thirteen and hearing her describe her connection with the songs and the experiences that the record has provided a soundtrack for, I instantly fell in love with it. Graham's lyrics resonate and still stand up with relevance and beauty now. The album was the catalyst for then discovering Neil Young and from his music, my ear for electric guitar and rock music in general was moulded. Thank you Mum! You’ve worked with Mike Mogis and now Andy LeMaster. What do these producers bring to your songs? Mike and Andy are extremely gifted, special, colourful fellows and they bring a variety of goodness to every project they touch. I really didn't know the difference between a compressor and a capo when I first started working with Mike and so I am forever in his debt for having taught me about recording, the possibilities with sound and of the realm of a studio over all. Andy really understood the different sonic journey I wanted to embark on for The Still Life and he exceeded my dreams and still does. He is one of my favourite people and I cannot wait for the world to hear his own record. We are in for a treat I am sure. I saw you play on the French Legation lawn at SXSW a few years ago and it was a lot different from the album you’ve just made. What inspired this shift on The Still Life? Between the first album and the newest, I have listened to a lot of different music and have been moved and inevitably inspired by experiences. Between age seventeen and twenty one, I think our ears are fine tuning and highly malleable and so it was really only on The Still Life that I think I was able to hone in on the sound I really wanted to create. Andy held my hand through the process and having Jake Bellows (a good friend of ours and collaborator from the first album) with us for some of the session was just amazing. Those two are a force! Bellows is unstoppable and has a new record of his own coming out soon too! How do you plan to translate the arrangements on this record for a live show? I am fortunate to be playing with two lovely gentlemen who are very versatile and open-minded to exploring live sounds. Between the three of us we use a synth, a little vocal effects "station," a sampler, drums, electric guitar, bass and acoustic guitar.

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Q&A: Ronnie Fauss

Kelly Dearmore — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 14:53:44 +0000

Dallas native and newly-touring troubadour Ronnie Fauss has been garnering a good bit of rightful acclaim thanks to his New West-imprint Normaltown Records debut; I am the Man You Know I’m Not. On the strength of a handful of self-released EPs over the past four years, the raspy-voiced Fauss has honed his writing to the sharp point it displays today. At times, Fauss’s stories recall Rhett Miller or Joe Pug, and at others, he clearly draws from the legends of his home-state such as Kris Kristofferson, or even Todd Snider. What’s unique about the current state of Fauss’s career isn’t terribly distinctive on the surface. A family man in his thirties with a full-time job in Dallas that gigs on the weekends, hoping for an opportunity to breakthrough to reveal itself isn’t what put Fauss into rare company. The fact that such an opportunity has revealed itself – not magically, mind you, Fauss has long been a tireless writer, performer and promoter – to Fauss, and he now has the record deal, some critical acclaim and is in the midst of hitting more states than a Griswold Family vacation would typically terrorize. We recently caught up with Fauss, just as he returned from a few shows in New York to discuss small crowds, buddying up to disc-jockeys and covering iconic songs from legendary names. Most music fans see a guy like yourself hitting their town for the first time and think he's a "new" artist. Does it feel that way to you when going from hometown gigs to new places and unfamiliar faces? Oh, definitely. I still feel new myself in those situations. I just played my first shows on the east coast this past weekend, and aside from a handful of friends, I was new to everyone in the room. I like that. The clean slate is nice. You’re now gigging on both coasts and plenty in-between. For a family man that's still straddling the line of performing artist and stable provider, how does it all work for you? Leaving the kiddos behind is pretty hard. My road trips average three or four days away from home, which isn’t the most efficient model in the world, but it's what makes sense for me. It's just a line that I have to balance all the time, and it keeps me on my toes. I will say that when I'm home I have so much more appreciation for the simple moments. When I wake up in a hotel room a thousand miles away, I definitely miss my kids dive-bombing on me in the mornings. How different is this entire scenario for you now, at this age, than you think it would've been in your early 20's? Well, the advantage of doing it in your early 20's is that in a lot of cases, with less responsibilities, you have more of a license to jump in a van and kamikaze-tour your way in a van across the country, building a fan base the hard, slow, effective way. The advantage of doing it in your late 30's is that, at least for me, I've lived a little more and gone through some things that fuel my songwriting. I hadn't done enough 15 years ago to have anything worth saying. I had to live a little more. That's not the case for everyone. Some of my favorite artists are, or were, putting out great music at a super young age, but that's not my path. There was an arc of my own life that I had to let play out, and to my eyes, everything's the better for it - it's perfect. You've long been an active presence online and have partnered with many blogs to help get the word out on your music. Even with that, is getting radio spins form various NPR and indie Americana stations still the best vehicle for promotion, or has that changed? Yes, I do think radio is still the way to go in terms of getting your music to new people. I've developed a new level of respect for the art of radio programming and DJ-ing. There are so many great ones out there who hold true to the old form of a radio-show format. There's this whole hidden world out there of people who still cultivate that art, and they have a fanbase that listens to them. Getting airplay on some of these Americana shows has been an honor. On your record, you tackle the Gram Parson’s classic “Sin City” with your label-mate, Lilly Hiatt on harmonies. A lot of artists try to steer clear of tunes like that, since they're so iconic. Did you have any hesitation at all? The iconic status of the song didn't scare me off, though maybe it should have! Maybe I was too dumb to know better. My instinct was to pay homage to a forefather of the genre. I've been covering that song live for a few years and the fact that my delivery of it is pretty different from the original helped me decide to include it. People either love that I covered it, or they didn't like it all, there wasn't a lot of in between. For an artist hitting so many clubs and cities for the first time, there has to be some low-moments. Is there one that sticks out? How do you combat those when they occur? You certainly have to fight through some sparse rooms when you're getting started, but my most memorable low happened at home in Dallas, actually. There was one show a few years ago where I forgot a line, dropped my pick, broke a string, and kicked over the microphone stand all in the same instant. It was so ridiculous that I immediately had great respect for the moment. I just thought to myself, "Something like this will never happen again, hopefully!"

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Kris Kristofferson: On Record

Lynne Margolis — Tue, 02 Apr 2013 15:02:55 +0000

Though Kris Kristofferson just released an album titled Feeling Mortal and turns 77 in June, the man who penned some of the most beloved songs of the past half-century (including “Me And Bobby McGee” and “Help Me Make It Through the Night”) is hardly ready to put a coda on his celebrated career. He admits concussions suffered during his boxing and football days are now catching up to him, but says getting old ain’t so bad. “In fact, it’s kind of nice,” he reveals. “I’m surrounded by people that I love [including his wife and eight children] and I’m respected for doin’ what I love to do. It’s been a good life.” You’re calling this album the third of a “twilight-years trilogy.” Does that mean it’s your final recording? No, no. Unless they throw a curve on me. I think I’ll be recording for the rest of my days, as long as I can still come up with some songs I can believe in. I enjoy working with [producer] Don Was. In the title song, you thank your lucky stars “for the artist that you are/and the man you made of me.” Who does that refer to? Me. And God. [Laughs.] I’m grateful for this trip. When I look at all the things that I’ve been blessed to do – everything that I’ve always loved; even though I’m not big, I got to play football and box [and fly military helicopters], and when I decided to follow my heart and go into songwriting, it all turned out for the best. It’s surprising to hear your admission of “shaky self-esteem,” especially because you’re regarded as one of the most accomplished people in the entertainment realm and beyond. Have you always been driven by shaky self-esteem? Well, I don’t know if I’ve been driven by it. But it’s been part of me all my life. I’m not really concerned with it. But I’ve always been aware of my limitations. Regarding “You Don’t Tell Me What To Do,” this is not an issue for you at this point, is it? It sounds a little grumpy [laughs], but that’s how I’ve lived my whole life, doin’ what I wanted to do as opposed to what other people thought was the right thing for me to do. That’s part of the outlaw country ethos you helped create. Clearly, it’s had some success. Well, I had some good examples. Hank Williams and Johnny Cash and Roger Miller, all these guys who went their own way and did good stuff. “Stairway to the Bottom” … who’s that about? Oh, that was one of the early songs that I wrote in Nashville. It was sort of autobiographical and [pauses] … I was pretty critical of myself and others at the time. A lot of people have a tendency to be that way. It sounds like you’ve found a different way of regarding whatever makes you critical. What do you recommend? I recommend following your heart. If the whole world thinks you shouldn’t be doing something that you truly believe you’re supposed to be doin,’ you gotta do that. And that can alienate some people, but you just have to do what you feel like you were set down here to do. My mother had said, ‘Even if you get successful at this, it’s never gonna mean anything to us, songwriting, because nobody over the age of 16 listens to that kind of stuff [laughs], and if they did, it wouldn’t be somebody we wanted to know.’ So that’s what you deal with. So your parents never thought of it as something you could do successfully? Or they never respected it? She didn’t respect it. My father did. My father told me nobody wanted him to be an airline pilot, and he followed his heart and was always happy about it. He could understand me doin’ it. He loved flying; he was the first guy to fly solo over the Himalayas in the Second World War. You spoke at Willie Nelson’s statue dedication before a Johnny Cash tribute in Austin last year. Was it strange to dedicate a statue to a friend who’s still around and standing right there? Back when I first went to Nashville, years before I ever met Willie, he was idolized by those of us who considered songwriting a serious business. He’s always been my hero and he was always a hero to the singer-songwriters, and he’s never changed a bit. He’s always the same person — one of the funniest human beings in the world. You cracked some good jokes about him, too. Then you did a Highwaymen reunion of sorts, even though two of them are gone. Imagine if you’re me, standing up on the stage with Willie Nelson, this guy who was the serious songwriters’ hero; Johnny Cash, who still is larger than life to me; and Waylon Jennings, who is one of the greatest people I’ve ever known. It was like a dream that I was afraid I’d wake up from and find out that I was still the ashtray emptier. [Laughs]. That’s what I mean about looking at my life and being so grateful.

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A Q&A with William Tyler

Caine O'Rear — Tue, 02 Apr 2013 13:45:32 +0000

Nashville guitar ace William Tyler is a musician’s musician, an artist who commands a lot of respect in Music City picking circles. He also seems to have little trouble winning over even the most hard-boiled of critics (read: Pitchfork, who gave his newly-released album Impossible Truth an 8.0 rating). American Songwriter dropped in on Tyler at The Stone Fox (the restaurant/ bar/music hall he operates with his sister) to film another installment in our Martin Guitars: Sessions series. (Watch video here.) We also chatted about the inspiration behind his new album, and the lessons he's learned playing guitar for Lambchop and Silver Jews. The songs on this album don’t have any words, and yet the titles of the songs really grab you from a lyrical standpoint (“Cadillac Desert,” “The Geography Of Nowhere,” “Hotel Catatonia”). I really like instrumental music but I don’t like that it’s almost an afterthought, like being called “West Nashville Rag #2.” That’s a demo! If you’re going to be presumptuous enough to expect people to pay attention to instrumental music, you should have a story behind it. It’s pretty deliberate music. There are no words; it’s contemplative. It should invoke a lot of things but I think you can help steer that a little bit. The thing is, a lot of the titles I use are so obscure that I have to explain the context of them, which is fine. I like it when people do that. A lot of what influenced me was modern classical stuff, where there are pieces that are literally about something, like Hiroshima or the crucifixion of Jesus. They’re these really dense, atonal works. There’s a story, a background or a movement to it. It’s not really a concept album. It sounds kind of grandiose to say I was inspired by modern classical music. But it’s true. I feel like the album is one piece and there are different movements to that. There’s kind of an overarching story that I kind of have to explain, but it’s definitely in there. And the titles need to reflect that. I don’t think modern listeners associate instrumental music with a “story,” so it’s interesting to hear the way you’re talking about this album. What I’ve talked to people about is growing up in Nashville and being around so much vocal songwriting – that has pushed me more and more into the place where I want to be a bit different. I don’t necessarily sing, not that I could. Like when Robert Ellis played at The Stone Fox, I was like, “That dude can sing.” The dude is an amazing singer; I can’t sing like that. I don’t have a voice that’s that distinct. Needless to say, I am not even sure I could write lyrics anymore, it’s been so long. I’m not trying to be too self-effacing about it. Maybe it will change. Maybe I’ll get back into that kind of music. Touring with Mike [Hiss Golden Messenger] was the first time in a long time that I was like, “I wish I could write songs with words in them again,” because those were so awesome. He’s got such a distinctive voice. Living here, there are so many people who do it well and have such distinctive voices. Kurt [Wagner] from Lambchop was a mentor for so long but also a band leader. At some point, I was like, man, this guy has his own style of singing, his own style of lyric writing; it’s incredible. I guess I was just like, if I can’t do something that’s gonna be like that, I don’t know if I want to fuck with it. Or David Berman [of Silver Jews] with the lyrics. Exactly. David, too. And those are the two guys I’ve backed up and they’re two of the best out there and they are completely distinctive and very literate about what they do. I guess it spooked me away from lyrics for a while. Doing interviews and talking about this music so much has made me kind of, maybe not interested in lyric writing, but definitely in word writing, because I do so much talking and explaining of this music, but it’s still non-lyrical. Well that teaser you did for the new album was pretty good. That was fun. I’m glad people dug that. The part about the junk food cereal hit me. We couldn’t have it when we were kids, except when we went to my grandmother’s. Yeah, my parents are pretty liberal but they were almost so liberal they were still like, “We don’t want you to have shitty food.” There is this one cereal I remember, whenever the second Star Wars movie came out, there were C3POs that were shaped like C3PO’s head and tasted like a cross between Corn Pops and Honeycomb and I have been craving that cereal for twenty-something years. They need to bring that one back. But that was what inspired that line. What was the first Silver Jews album you played on? Bright Flight. How old were you, like 22? I was 21. It just sort of worked out the way it did. It was a pretty intimidating experience because I didn’t really know these guys. I didn’t know David’s music at the time as well either. It was a very intense period. He was partying pretty hard back then but also a really good friend of his had passed away right before we started recording and September 11^th was around the same time. There was an incredibly dark cloud over that album. It was either right before or right after September 11th. It was so weird because it was all going down right then. And I was aware of that kind of energy but I was so young that I was naïve about it. I was pretty sheltered. It was an interesting experience, having that be my first work on an album. That was before I had done any real recording with Lambchop. The first Lambchop album I was on was Is A Woman. The way we recorded that album was like five people barely strumming acoustic guitars. There were four other dudes, but I was one of them. It was like a muted ensemble. In that album, there’s a lot going on besides the piano and the voice but those are the things that are central. But the Bright Flight recording sessions were the first time I was in a position where it was like me and three other people and we were tracking a record. But it’s probably my favorite Silver Jews record of them all, not because of my involvement, but because I like the songwriting. It’s really bleak and touching. It’s a great record. All of his records are great. One of the things I respect the most about David and that I've tried to model a bit of what I do on is: the fact that he is so deep. He’s like that with his poetry as well. Most of his career has been spent outside the context of touring a record and having to follow this cyclical process: record a record, tour a record, do press, then go back in, write another record, tour. Ninety percent of people who make music are locked into this cycle. It’s almost antithetical to the way art should be made. He never was a part of that context so when he decided to tour, he was like, well I’m gonna try this out. And two years later, he was like, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” Kurt has the same approach to the way he makes art but I think because he’s always been a band leader of such a sprawling ensemble of people, he hasn’t had the luxury of stepping away as much. He’s always got somebody asking, “When are you going to tour again? When are we going to tour again?” There’s a lot of pressure on him. What’s always impressed me is how he’s put out such amazing work. He’s a de facto manager and band leader and songwriter. That’s a lot of hats to wear, but he always wears a hat.

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David Mayfield Parade: Full Album Stream & Q&A

Joshua M. Miller — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 12:00:18 +0000

Singer-songwriter David Mayfield doesn’t usually worry much about the vibe or look of a recording studio room. With his band the David Mayfield Parade he’s typically content going headlong into a song, relying on raw emotion. But for the recording of the song “Goodbye Farewell So Long” off his band’s sophomore release Good Man Down , he made an exception. Mayfield approached the vintage-looking microphone in the expansive recording room at RCA Studio B, while the rest of the band took their spots about eight feet apart. They started playing, and went through the song once. “Let’s dim the lights,” someone said afterwards. This trial and error series of events repeated several more times until the lights were so dim Mayfield could barely see the rest of the band. Seemingly alone in the darkened room he felt a flood of emotion. The vibe felt perfect. It was surreal. He started thinking of the legends that had sung into that very microphone and his own place in music history. David Mayfield’s life is made of these kind of moments, some big and some small.From days playing in his family’s band to playing alongside popular groups like the Avett Brothers and Mumford & Sons, the charismatic and eccentric Mayfield finds musical nourishment in each opportunity that comes his way. He’s found his music’s worth extends far behind being a singer and frontman in a band. We talked to Mayfield prior to the release of Good Man Down (out April 2) to explore some of these moments. (Ed Note: The album stream has expired, but you can buy the album here) When you were growing up you, were in band with your family. Could you talk about what that was like? My mom and dad met each other at a bluegrass festival. They were professional musicians most of my childhood. When I was about 12 or so their bass player quit and I said “Well if you’ll buy me a bass I’ll learn how to play it and be your bass player.” So they bought me a bass with their income check or whatever. And I started playing. Eventually my younger sister, Jessica Lea Mayfield, she joined when she was about eight or nine years old. And then the non-family members all quit and we kind of become the Partridge Family. We sold our house in Ohio and my folks bought an old bus and we traveled the country playing bluegrass shows and county fairs and churches. We did that for four or five years that we lived in that bus only. So it’s definitely connection thing with childhood. There’s this unique sense of closeness in the family because it wasn’t like dad brought home the bacon and mom did the dishes; we all as a family equally supported ourselves with music. So it was a unique dynamic. What was a typical day like? There weren’t a whole lot of typical days I guess. We were home schooled so there would be three or four hours of school in a day which was mostly my mom would facilitate that. And as we got older I would teach Jessica and myself. And after awhile we quit doing it at all. So kind of home school drop-out. For a year we parked the bus in Nashville and played on Broadway and the honky-tonk strip by day because we were kids so we couldn’t be down there at night. We would play noon to four at different places all day and at night we would go off and play a concert somewhere. A lot of the concern with homeschooling is that you don’t have the social life of going to school everyday but I definitely did have a social life. It was just with people twenty and thirty years older than me. So it was an interesting way to mature. And you played mostly bluegrass? Well my parents were kind of hippies. So there was some newgrass and some more progressive things. But I’ve always been obsessed with southern gospel and bluegrass gospel music. So we did a lot of that. My parents weren’t religious but I would force them to sing these gospel songs because I thought they were so cool. During that time you learned the guitar and mandolin? Yeah. I started on bass really to fill the need but I always loved the mandolin and would always be playing it. When we played shows people would show me things here and there. I never took a lesson or anything in my life but I stole lots of little lessons off of other musicians. I would ask about something backstage or something or at an informal party I would corner someone and ask them something. So the mandolin was my first passion. The guitar really came after as I started writing and singing. When I was 19 or 20 I started hosting open mic nights. It was before I started writing but it was hard to sing a song and accompany myself on mandolin. So I picked up a guitar and now that’s my main thing. What’s your guitar playing style like? Mostly what I do on guitar is kind of a weird mix between bluegrass flatpicking and rock and roll. I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s just fast and sloppy, I say. I play guitar like I eat, fast and sloppy. The family moved from Ohio to Nashville and back to Ohio. Why was that? I think my parents got burnt out playing music everyday so I was about 18 when we decided to come back to Ohio. My folks got a house and my dad got a job and I got a job. And we were like "Okay, we tried music but it’s too hard. We want to make sure we know we’ll have food every night." And have creature comforts and some consistency. We moved back to Ohio and stayed there the next five to six years and that’s when I really started writing and started hosting those open mic nights and all that. Jessica and I would play at a pizza shop every Monday night. I was talking to my buddy who also hosted open mic nights and I said ‘Man, next Monday will mean that I’ve played at that pizza place every Monday for almost five years.’ And he was like ‘Ah that nothing. I’ve played at the bar in Akron every Tuesday for 15 years.’ And I thought ‘I don’t want to be hosting open mic nights 10 years later. I have to do something.’ Just because my parents were ready to move past that professional musical act didn’t mean I had to. What was your move to Nashville like later? I moved back to Nashville a couple months after that conversation. And I didn’t know a soul. I found a room on Craigslist and rented it and just started auditioning on Broadway and handed out cards and was trying to become a session musician. Eventually I got a gig with country artist Andy Griggs who had a few hits in the early 2000s and late ‘90s. You knew he was on the downward slope of his career but it was a paying gig and we were on a big tour bus and I really felt that I made it. And I did that a couple years, which was a learning experience. We got to play the Grand Ole Opry like fourteen times and tour with Brad Paisley and Sugarland and all these people in the country world and really get to see the professionalism that goes into a touring act of that level. And that’s something I felt I brought into my own music was that even if I’m not playing the Grand Ole Opry I can still take that professionalism into my world. So I was playing with him when my sister was making her debut record. I went back to Ohio for a weekend and we recorded her album with Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys. And the Avett Brothers invited her to open up for them on their Emotionalism tour. So I had this choice where I could either stay in this country world and get the good paycheck I’m getting and play this music I wasn’t passionate about but I was playing professional music or I could take a big pay cut and go on tour with my sister and the Avett Brothers and be part of something I felt more personal towards and I opted for that. It looks like things started happening quickly after that. I did that tour with my sister and then I got a call from a friend of mine that’s like ‘Hey there’s this band that’s looking for a guitar player and a songwriter and singer. They’re called Cadillac Sky. Would you be interested in looking into this?’ And I was like ‘Well I’m playing with my sister and having fun but it would be nice to have an outlet for my songs because when I’m playing with my sister we’re just playing her songs.’ So I met up with Cadillac Sky and auditioned for that and they hired me. I was with them for two years and made a record with Dan Auerbach and wrote about half the songs on that. It was my first venture into frontman world and being the focus even though I was half-frontman. We went on tour with Mumford & Sons in February of 2010 I believe and we broke up after that. And that’s when I said ‘Well, now what? I guess I’ll do the Parade. I’ll give my own music a chance.’ It was terrifying but it seems to be the right choice now. You have a pretty unique relationship with Jessica. Could you talk about that? Growing up in that family band certainly gave us a unique relationship early on because we were each other’s best friends. We didn’t go to school or hang out with people every day. So it was just me and her just hanging out. And we got really close. When we toured together it was really fun to experience touring in this way together for the first time. We write a lot of songs together and I co-wrote 4 or 5 on her last record Tell Me. And she co-wrote some on my last record. And we’ve been writing for her new record. It’s neat. We can write together so well because we trust each other. We’ve only sat down and written one song together from beginning to end. Everything else has been she’s had a song that she can’t finish or I have a song I can start or something like that. And we’ll hand it off. Her and I were really personal songwriters and sit in the dark and write by ourselves. So that’s worked out really well co-writing as we can have something that is really personal to us and hand it off to the other person and they can write from their personal perspective. It opens and sheds new light on where we’re trying to go as opposed if I’m just writing it and I’m beating the same view into the ground. Last year you went on a sibling-themed tour with her. What was that like? It was a lot of fun. We didn’t have any new projects to promote at the time so we decided to play together. It felt like the perfect time to do something different and see if people would be interested in an intimate brother-sister duo acoustic show. There was a fun sense of family. It was a good success and we sold a lot of the shows out. We got to play a lot of the songs we used to play in the family band and her songs and mine and did some new songs. Now that I’m putting out a new record and she’s getting ready to put out a new one later in the year it’s something I don’t think we’ll be able to do for awhile. So it’ll be a year or two before we can do it again. But it’s definitely something we want to do. We talked about doing a duet album someday down the line. When you were on tour with the Avett Brothers you formed a pretty special friendship with them. What was the first meeting with them like? I first met the Avett Brothers at a festival southern Ohio called the Appalachian Uprising. We were playing there. My mom has a great stage personality so a lot of times she would MC festivals that we played at. The Avett Brothers played at midnight and my mom had been up announcing all the bands so she was like ‘Will you announce this band tonight?’ I hadn’t heard much about them but my sister was like, "You should listen to these guys. They’re great." And I watched a YouTube video and thought, "Oh, the banjo’s out of tune," and didn’t get it when I first saw them. So I met them and they told my how to pronounce their name and this was right before Emotionalism came out. They were really sweet and sincere guys. They’re the nicest people that you ever want to know. If you want to know what the Avett Brothers are like just listen to their lyrics. They live what they write. We became fast friends because they’re goofy and bat-shit-crazy as well so we got a long great. When Jessica toured with them we did the whole tour. And we all became fast friends. They had me sit in at Merle Fest and I played drums for them at Bonnaroo a couple years ago when their drummer was ill. I’m not a drummer so they must like me for some other reason. They eventually convinced you to make your own record. What was that conversation like? We were playing at Seth Avett’s house and Jessica was there and we were passing the guitar around. And I played him one of my songs. Seth was the first one that said ‘Man, you need to make a record of that kind of stuff because that’s a good song.’ And it got me thinking ‘Well maybe I should make my own record.’ Later in a discussion they were like ‘We like Cadillac Sky but you should be your own thing.’ I knew Cadillac Sky was looking like it was going to break up so it looked like the right thing to do, to give myself a chance. They ended up helping with both your albums. Yeah, the new one Seth sings on and that first record I did both Scott and Seth play and sing harmonies on most of that record. They were really enthusiastic about helping out.

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Dead Reckoning: A Q&A with Hiss Golden Messenger

Davis Inman — Wed, 20 Mar 2013 14:50:56 +0000

Hiss Golden Messenger is the project of songwriter MC Taylor and his longtime musical collaborator Scott Hirsch. Taylor and Hirsch played in the hardcore band Ex-Ignota and formed the country-leaning The Court & Spark in San Francisco in 1998. The Court & Spark disbanded in 2007 and the pair soon started Hiss Golden Messenger. Taylor packed his bags for eastern North Carolina and started his own label, Heaven & Earth Magic Recording Co., which put out early releases like Live in Big Sur (2007), Root Work (2009), Country Hai East Cotton (2009), and Bad Debt (2010). In 2012, the album Poor Moon brought the band to wider attention. Now comes Haw, named after the river that runs through Taylor’s new home in North Carolina. Its 11 songs are perfectly crafted and expertly rendered to tape with friends like The Black Twig Pickers’ Nathan Bowles, Megafaun’s Phil Cook, and Nashville guitarist William Tyler (who HGM will tour the UK with in May). While Bad Debt and Poor Moon dealt with Taylor’s questions about God, Haw centers on the family. “Hey, now Elijah don’t you know me?” Taylor asks his son on “Devotion.” “I’ve got a name for the meek and the mild,” he sings on “I’ve Got a Name for the Newborn Child,” written about a new baby. American Songwriter is pleased to present the premiere of “I’ve Got a Name for the Newborn Child.” We also asked Taylor about living in the South, the success of Poor Moon, and the riddle of the Haw. Find Haw in its entirety on April 2 and seek out Hiss Golden Messenger when and wherever possible. Haw’s epigraph is “a garland for the Southern Piedmont.” How vital is that geography to Hiss Golden Messenger? It feels vital to me, though I suspect listeners can have a fine time with the record anywhere. From a writerly perspective, these songs could only come from this place—there is a certain psychogeography, a certain mythography that is at work in the North Carolina Piedmont. Every place has its own map, but this is the one my collaborators and I are working from. It's a hidden place, our part of North Carolina—lots of shade and unknown rivers. And it's the South, it's important for me to be here and raise a family right now. Deep shit is happening in the Southern part of the United States, this is where culture is getting made. There are some alluring early releases in the HGM catalog, but Poor Moon’s 2012 re-release on Tompkins Square seems a turning point for the band. Were you surprised by the success of Poor Moon? I would contest that the turning point came with Bad Debt. That's when things went totally insular and—for a variety of reasons—I began a practice of trying to look inward and plumb the depths of whatever soul I might have. Poor Moon was an extension of that process, just with more fleshed out arrangements, and Haw goes further inward still I reckon. I have been glad and flattered for whatever recognition these albums have received. But it's not why I make music, or it shouldn't be. I continue to work a job, etc. Sometimes it feels like a harsh reality, to have to work and try to be a good and engaged person while also pursuing this dark dream, and then sometimes it feels like a tremendous gift, to not have to support myself with my music. I think it might keep it clean. “I’ve Got a Name for the Newborn Child,” and other songs on Haw, draw from family and domestic life. Is home life the new rock and roll? I'm not interested in rock and roll. “Sweet As John Hurt” is in part homage to the beloved Mississippi bluesman. Why is Hurt someone you identify with now? I've always recognized a gentleness of spirit in Mississippi John Hurt, in his music, in pictures I've seen of him. He seemed to have taken a road of the spirit that some of his peers—Skip James, say—did not. I didn't know the man, and I suspect he harbored at least some of the same kind of anger and resentment that others from his time and place did. But maybe he channeled these emotions in a different way? I don't know. When I hear his music, or see a picture of him, I think, “I would like to carry my spirit like that.” What can you tell us about the riddle of the Haw? The serpent is kind, compared to man. Is this the same riddle? I think the riddle may be in the eye of the beholder. The serpent is kind, compared to man—I think that's a truism, generally speaking. It would be worth asking Brendan Greaves what he thinks the riddle is, because he composed the one that appears on the sleeve of Haw. But I can tell you what I think the riddle—or the conundrum—of the album is as I hear it today, anyways: Contemporary overculture works incessantly to excuse and disabuse us of death, leads us to believe that we will live forever, forever buying things to fill the holes. And I am trying to reckon with death, to not be afraid of the idea that my time here is short. I am not very good at it, I am learning, I am still frightened. For every present breath that passes my lips, 1000 go by unnoticed. But this present-moment engagement sharpens everything, doesn't it? It makes everything high resolution. Check this out: In his poem “Elegy,” Wendell Berry is talking to a friend, a ghost. He says, “The crops are in the barn. The morning frost has come to the fields, and I have turned back to accept, if I can, what none of us could prevent.” What a gorgeous thing to work towards. In an interview recently, George Saunders said, “If death is in the room, it's pretty interesting.” And he isn't being morbid. He's saying that if we recognize the minutes and hours, it can be a glorious and instructive thing.

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Keys To The Country: A Q&A With Josh Charles

Heather Thompson — Tue, 26 Feb 2013 20:37:46 +0000

Many country artists would love to cross over into pop music territory, or even rock. Newcomer Josh Charles aims to bring piano and a hint of the blues to the genre. He took the time to talk with us about working with Dr. John, co-writing with Milton Brown, opening for Blake Shelton and how all of that comes together for his latest single "Wasted On Love" and his upcoming album. You’re known for your skills on the keyboard and learning from Dr. John. What made you journey into the country music industry? What I love about country music is the stories and the lyrics, the honesty that comes through country music. I’ve actually always had a Southern thing in my style, Southern influences: Southern rock, Southern blues, and I’ve always loved country music. It is just where it felt most natural for me to be after exploring all these other styles of music. Country’s so broad today; it comes with so many different genres. It feels like home. Are there things you learned while working with another genre that you think will help you in the country industry? What I’d like to do is bring the piano back into country music, like Jerry Lee Lewis did, when it was cool. The way somebody like Brad Paisley is known for being a virtuoso on his instrument and is also known for writing great songs and performing. That is kind of what I’d like to be seen as on the piano. I don’t see anyone else doing it, so I think it’d be a good place to be. Do you play any other instruments? I play guitar; I do write some on guitar. Keys are what I’m known for but I like to mix it up, especially if I’m playing live. I don’t want to sit behind the keyboard the whole time. Who would you consider your songwriting heroes? Springsteen, Tom Petty, Merle Haggard, Waylon Jennings, Bono and U2, are some of my favorites. You recently opened for Blake Shelton. What was that like? I opened for Blake last summer in my hometown [Kansas City]. It was an incredible, amazing experience. It was my first time playing in front of die-hard country fans. They heard me practicing in the morning and by the time I played it the next afternoon, people were singing along. I’ve gotten a lot of support from Blake’s fans [the BSers] and it just started really organically. And now I’m recording with Blake’s band. It was one of the best shows I’ve ever did. The country audiences are the best in the world. There’s no difference between you and that audience; you’re just getting up there to entertain them. What was it like working with Milton Brown? He was introduced to me by Clay Bradley at BMI who had heard me play in New Orleans. He asked if I had given much thought to going into the country market and I said absolutely but I’d like to write with people. He had him [Brown] in his office and he had heard my stuff and wanted to work with me. So he sent me a lyric and said see what you can do with this. I was expecting it to be a really profound lyric like from “Every Which Way But Loose” and instead he sent me a lyric from a song called “It Ain’t Over till the Flat Lady Swings.” I laughed as I wrote something and sent it back. He called me fifteen minutes later and said, ‘I think we can work something out.’ Ever since then, we’ve written all these songs together, never in the same room. The only one we have actually finished together was “Wasted on Love”. He comes up with a lyrical idea and I’ll write the music for it or I’ll come up with the music and we’ll send it back and forth. It’s been amazing in that respect. I feel so grateful and so lucky. Milton brought Jimmy Buffet to Nashville and he told me that I could be the same. Jimmy came to Nashville and was unique. Forty years later, he’s bringing me in. Tell us about your new single. “Wasted on Love” was an idea I had just playing around in my head for a long time. I sent it to Milton as a rough demo. We went back and forth on a bunch of lines until we nailed the story. We were set to go to Nashville to record some other songs and I kept thinking there was something special about that song. We went to BMI to finalize some lyrics to record the next day and I pulled it out. We had the story. It was this guy; he’s kind of had it. But then he transforms because instead of getting wasted on substances, he finds love and gets wasted on love. It transforms from a sad song to a happy guy. Is there an album on the horizon to follow the new single? We actually are currently recording what will be released. We were recording with [producer] Toby Wright and Blake Shelton’s guys. We just finished recording our basic tracks. This is his [Wright’s] first country record. Through my relationship with Blake’s guys, I was able to get them to play on it. Hopefully it will come out in the next month or two. We’re trying to create something new.

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The Lone Bellow Demand To Be Heard

Claire Gibson — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 16:42:03 +0000

When I first heard The Lone Bellow, I was nestled under a down duvet, hidden from winter’s first ambush. It was 10:30 p.m. on a Wednesday night, and my toes were finally warm when I heard my phone buzz on the nightstand. I pulled a single arm out of my cocoon, grabbed the phone and read the text: “Sorry if this is super late but there’s a secret show tonight. Text me back if you are able to come.” I tapped back quickly, wanting my cold fingers back under the covers, “We’re lame and in bed. What’s the show?” Her reply came quickly: “The Lone Bellow.” Leaving the comfort of a snug bed has never been so rewarding. Crowded within a Nashville home, this Brooklyn-based country band who’ve teamed up with producer Charlie Peacock (of the The Civil Wars), belted out melancholic melodies and skin-chilling lyrics with vulnerability and skill. The sound, which they call “Brooklyn Country Music,” weaves together cascading three-part harmonies, exuberant rhythms, and unaffected lyrics—a recipe for the emotional, yet joyful music influenced by the band’s southern roots. They formed in 2010 when Zach Williams, the band’s lead singer and principal songwriter, called an impromptu jam-session at a Brooklyn diner where his long-time friend and guitarist Brian Elmquist worked. “I just didn’t want to do another project on my own,” says Williams, who’d been pursuing a solo career. “I wanted to be a part of something bigger. And several minutes in, I knew this was what I should put my heart into.” That day in the diner was just the start of many magical moments over the past two years that have prepared The Lone Bellow to release their first self-titled album on January 15th. “I’m looking forward to that moment that I hope happens, where we’re playing in a city that we don’t live in, and people sing along,” says Williams who is gearing up to leave his 550-sq.ft. apartment in Brooklyn for a 2013 tour that includes an appearance January 22nd on Conan O’Brien. The band, which also includes mandolin player Kanene Pipkin, say they’ll feel relieved when the music is out of their hands. “It’s hard for an artist to sit on art that they’ve made for so long,” says Elmquist. “We’ve felt like we’re in limbo. It’s exciting for us to take our hands off of it, and let other people listen to it and let it become part of their story.” And the story is a long one. It reaches back eight years, when Williams’ first songs were birthed out of near tragedy. In 2005, while still living in his home state of Georgia, Williams’ wife was catastrophically injured in a horseback riding accident. Though her doctors originally predicted she would leave the hospital a paraplegic, months of rehab in Atlanta’s Shepherd Center helped her regain the ability to walk. And while she made her miraculous recovery, Williams poured his anger, sadness, and emotion out on paper. When he shared his writing with his friends, one pointed out that they weren’t just words—they were songs. It explains why The Lone Bellow’s first album ranges from the tragic to the utterly hopeful and redemptive. Together, the trio belt a heart-wrenching bridge on “You Can Be All Kinds of Emotional,” singing, “Take my ache and take my blood, wish I was gone, wish I was dust.” This sense of introspection echoes through the other ten tracks, all of which were recorded at the Rockwood in Brooklyn over three days. While recording one night, the entire band went swirling, dancing, and stomping out in the rain before returning inside to record “Teach me to Know” soaking wet. It’s moments like that which solidified the band’s commitment to one another—and what kept them patient through two long years of waiting. And now that the music can finally be out of their hands and into the world, there’s only two things left to do. “I just want to play rock shows,” Williams laughs, “and write.”

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Gregg Allman: The Road Less Traveled

Rick Moore — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 16:10:24 +0000

Gregg Allman doesn’t have a catalog of hundreds of original recorded songs like, say, Tom Waits or Willie Nelson. He hasn’t cranked out platinum albums like Bruce Springsteen or Tom Petty. But Allman, as both a member of the legendary Allman Brothers Band and as a solo artist, played a major role in defining the musical tastes of a generation, and set the standard for live performances that helped birth the American jam bands of today. While The Rolling Stones, Rod Stewart and other Brits made the blues fashionable, Allman was arguably the first, and best, white American male blues singer of the FM rock era. And he’s responsible for having written songs that are a part of the American consciousness on many different levels. Allman and his older brother, Duane, were influenced by the blues artists of the 1950s and ‘60s, and by the R&B that traveled the airwaves at night from Nashville’s WLAC-AM. But while Duane gravitated toward the guitar side of things, Gregg chose to emulate blues and singers and songwriters such as Jimmy Reed and Elmore James. He decidedly ended up at a different destination, combining those influences with more complicated and unconventional chord progressions (at least in the blues sense) in the creations of such songs as “Whipping Post,” “Melissa,” “Midnight Rider,” “It’s Not My Cross To Bear,” “Don’t Keep Me Wonderin’” and others. As much as he’s known for his music, though, Allman became even better known to the general public for a life of rock and roll excess and several failed marriages, including one to pop star Cher. The good, bad and ugly moments of his life and career were chronicled in his 2012 autobiography My Cross To Bear. Whether he meant to or not, Allman became a true bluesman in every sense of the word while he was still in his 20s. Born in Nashville, Tennessee, in 1947, Gregg originally was the Allman brother who played the guitar, though relatives and ancestors were musicians as well. Then older brother Duane caught the music bug, and a new hybrid of blues, rock and soul from the southern states soon took its place alongside the other evolving musical genres of the ’60s. “Duane saw me with the guitar,” Gregg recalls, “and asked, ‘Whaddaya got there?’ I said, ‘That’s MY – capital M-Y – guitar. Then the fight started. But then I basically taught Duane how to play, taught him the math, the I-IV-V.” It wasn’t long before Duane’s ability on the six-string had surpassed his younger brother’s. “If you look at a full-length picture of him you’ll see how long his fingers were,” Gregg says. “He picked it up, and … well, you know what happened.” “What happened” was that Duane became a major voice among session guitarists in the late 1960s, playing for Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Boz Scaggs and others at FAME studios in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. When Duane assembled an ensemble in Florida that needed a lead singer and songwriter, little brother Gregg was enlisted. The Allman Brothers Band was born, with Duane becoming one of the all-time legends of guitar – especially slide guitar – and Gregg becoming a major voice of the rock era both literally and figuratively, as well as the composer of songs that are classics to this day. The Allman Brothers Band was at its peak when Duane died in a 1971 motorcycle accident, and bassist Berry Oakley also died on a bike less than a year later. Since then, Gregg has soldiered on with different incarnations of the band and as a solo performer. Allman says that while his influences as a writer are still primarily from the blues arena, he also respects the more acoustic-based acts that were popular during the late 1960s when he lived in Los Angeles, where he briefly was a roommate of Jackson Browne’s. “There really weren’t any pop writers out there (in L.A.) who influenced me,” Allman says. “I’m dyed-in-the-wool in the blues, you know? But aside from the blues, I dug people like Jackson, of course, and Tim Buckley and Jesse Colin Young. I liked a lot of those folkie-type dudes.” Along the lines of those acoustic singer-songwriter tunes is Allman’s “Melissa,” a classic best known for the version on the Allman Brothers Band album Eat A Peach, but which was also recorded in Florida in 1968 by Gregg and Duane’s band The 31^st of February. “Melissa is the first one, the first song I ever wrote and kept,” Gregg says. “I was 17.” With its instantly recognizable acoustic guitar progression that begins on an open E, the song is a classic rock staple that has edged its way into the playlists of some AAA radio stations. Another Allman acoustic guitar-based classic, and perhaps his best-known song, is “Midnight Rider,” the non-resolving story of a man on the run, presumably on horseback. “Midnight Rider” has been covered by such artists as Joe Cocker, Willie Nelson with Toby Keith, Jamaican singer Paul Davidson, Patti Smith, Alison Krauss, The Drifters, Bob Seger, Hank Williams, Jr., Stephen Stills and more. At Zac Brown’s Southern Ground Music and Food Festival in Nashville a few months ago, southern rockers Blackberry Smoke performed the song, with Allman himself taking the stage later that night to sing it with Brown’s band and guests Sheryl Crow and John Mayer.

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