The Mammals Return on the Ashokan Express

The last time I inhaled was 23 years ago and it didn’t take long for the cravings to fade away. My motivation coincided with the birth of my first child, and the fear we’d go to the supermarket together one day and I’d forget to bring him home along with the potatoes, bacon and eggs. The image etched inside my mind was of driving off behind the wheel as he remained strapped into the metal cart all alone in the parking lot, crying and bewildered. And so I traded smoke for fatherhood and have happily walked the peaks and valleys with a clearer head, and quickly discovered that music, art and the written word could still deliver a mountain high without an altered state of consciousness.

On the morning of April 20th – a special day of celebration for those who still appreciate the power of things green and leafy – two of my favorite musicians and storytellers released a new album featuring a group of collaborators and old friends. Minus original founding member Tao Rodriquez-Seeger, The Mammals have re-emerged from their self-described hibernation with a collection of songs that weave together and showcase a unique ability to easily slide in and out of the various nooks and crannies of roots music that expand the fluid borders of Americana.

When I posted the video of the album’s title track “Sunshiner” on my Americana Roots Music Daily Facebook page, this is what I wrote: “Lovin’ the new album from The Mammals. The title track sounds to me like this is what happens when you blend a Mazzy Star vibe with two-part harmony, and sprinkle in some cosmic country dripping with pedal steel magic.” What I didn’t share was that for a brief moment I had a strong desire to allow myself one more chance to fall under the influence, lay down in a meadow of wildflowers and float away into space. Instead, with my eyes shut and ears open, I arrived at the same place sans the four-twenty experience.

From their home base and humble abode in Woodstock, New York, Mike Merenda and Ruthy Ungar have raised their family in a supportive arts community steeped in history, continuing in the tradition of past folksingers who have traveled the musical ribbons of highways across America. On their Web site, this is how they describe what they do: “Woody Guthrie’s guitar killed fascists. This family carries the torch.” A Mike + Ruthy concert, now performing again as The Mammals, has always touched me as a two-foot process: one planted in the past traditions of old-time music, and the other into the yet unexplored.

No Depression‘s former editor Kim Ruehl recently posted a review ofSunshiner over at Folk Alley, and I’d be a fool to try and improve on her words:

“The Mammals are here to reorient us to the beauty of the natural world and our place in it, and the opportunities that lie therein. Nature, after all, contains plenty of reminders to slow down and step back. (Consider how many generations can come and go—with all their petty squabbles—in the lifetime of a single tree.).

Similarly, music has a practical role to play in helping us survive times such as these, whether by providing an escape route or a tool box for building a better way. Count Sunshiner among the latter.

For context, the Mammals have populated these songs with the moon and the stars, the water, the birds, and a path into the unknown. There’s a floating leaf from a maple tree, an ode on solar power and geothermal energy (the title track, of course). There’s the abundance of children, family, and friendships, graceful confrontations with mortality, and even the very human (mammalian?) desire to be alone for just a moment.”

The reference to Ashokan that I used in the headline of this column refers to the center and retreat in the Catskill Mountains, whose mission is ‘to teach, inspire and build community through shared experiences in nature, history, music and art.” Founded in 1980 by Ruthy’s father Jay Ungar and his wife Molly Mason – themselves a beloved performing duo of traditional roots music – in addition to a number of educational programs, they also run a series of popular week-long music camps “where people come together to become better fiddlers, guitarists, mandolin players, uke players, percussionists, singers, dancers and teachers.”

In 2013 Mike, Ruthy and other musicians from the area began a festival series called The Hoot, that takes place twice a year in Winter and Summer at Ashokan. Described as a “down-home, multi-generational celebration of live roots music, local food & crafts, and the joyful spirit of this amazing community where the Catskills meet the Hudson River Valley,” this summer it runs August 24th – 26th.

The Mammals have listed upcoming tour dates on their site, and the album is available either directly through them or from the usual suspects. If you get the chance to see them live – they usually do either small venues or open air festivals – it’s easy to fall under the spell of their charming observational stories that they weave with music that’s easy on the ears and gentle on the mind. Good people, good times. No need to inhale.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Nashville Cats on a Tennessee Ant Hill

The Lovin’ Spoonful

Yeah, I was just fourteen way back in 1966 and “you might say I was a musical proverbial knee-high.” My entire life swirled around the sounds of the times as a compulsive record collector and a late-night radio-dial twirler who was all ears and in possession of a Silvertone guitar bought straight out of the Sears and Roebuck catalog. I was teaching myself how to play by sheer repetitive listening, catching the latest riffs of the day from the opening notes from songs like “Sounds of Silence” and “Last Train to Clarksville.”

It was the year of the mixed bag, with the airwaves not dominated by one band or genre over another, but a hodgepodge of one-offs and classics. Wilson Pickett blended into the soundtrack with Herb Alpert’s Tijuana Brass and Ike and Tina; Nancy’s boots walked alongside The Supremes’ chiffon dresses and choreography; The Beatles, Stones, and Beach Boys pumped out one hit after another, and one song released the week of Thanksgiving became my obsession.

Yeah, I was just thirteen, you might say I was a musical proverbial knee-high
When I heard a couple new-sounding tunes on the tubes and they blasted me sky-high
And the record man said every one is a yellow sun record from Nashville
And up north there ain’t nobody buys them and I said, “But I will.”

Released two years before Gram Parsons and the Byrds’ Sweetheart of The Rodeo, considered by many to be the keystone to modern day Americana, John Sebastian’s slightly geographically misplaced love for country music and the folks who played it — Sun Records was 200 miles away in Memphis — it was both a lyrically poetic and instrumental masterpiece that didn’t sound like anything else being played on the radio at the time. “Nashville Cats” was the ninth track of the Lovin’ Spoonful’s third studio album, Hums of The Lovin’ Spoonful, and each song sounds different from the next. The first big hits were “Summer In The City” and “Rain on the Roof,” and the only commonality with the other 15 tracks were that Sebastian either wrote or co-wrote each song and sang lead on most.

Well, there’s thirteen hundred and fifty-two guitar pickers in Nashville
And they can pick more notes than the number of ants on a Tennessee ant hill
Yeah, there’s thirteen hundred and fifty-two guitar cases in Nashville
And any one that unpacks ‘is guitar could play twice as better than I will

I’ve read that Johnny Cash’s “I Walk The Line” was one of Sebastian’s influences, since he was indeed just thirteen and living in Greenwich Village when it was released on Sun Records. The real story of how the song came about can be found here in this interview Sebastian did in 2016 for Epiphone, but the inspiration was the late Danny “The Telemaster” Gatton.

Zal Yanovsky was the guitarist and co-founder of the Lovin’ Spoonful, and I must have listened to him playing on “Nashville Cats” ten thousand times while trying to capture and replicate that great lead he did on his big Fender. When he passed away in 2002, Rolling Stone ran his obituary and quoted Sebastian on his playing: “He could play like Elmore James, he could play like Floyd Kramer, he could play like Chuck Berry. He could play like all these people, yet he still had his own overpowering personality. Out of this we could, I thought, craft something with real flexibility.”

Thirty-three years after it first came out, Del McCoury and his band covered it on his album The Family. Although I’m not able to confirm it, I think he may also have performed it with Steve Earle on The Jools Holland Show in 1999. In addition to Johnny Cash’s version and the Homer and Jethro parody, it was also done by Flatt and Scruggs. And while I hate to throw in this pretty awful novelty record, for you completists out there, this is The Lovin’ Cohens.

Nashville cats, play clean as country water
Nashville cats, play wild as mountain dew
Nashville cats, been playin’ since they’s babies
Nashville cats, get work before they’re two

I’ll close this out with Tony Jackson, the former Marine and banking executive who had a viral video (over ten million Facebook views) with George Jones’ “The Grand Tour” a couple of years ago. Hustled into a studio to record his debut album that came out in May 2017, he was backed by an incredible group of musicians and covered “Nashville Cats” for his first single, featuring John Sebastian, Vince Gill, Steve Cropper, Billy Thomas, Glen Worf, and steel guitar legend Paul Franklin. It’s a mighty fine version of the classic song that takes me right back to those late nights in my bedroom alone with my Silvertone, tryin’ hard to “pick more notes than the number of ants on a Tennessee ant hill.”

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Headphones and Hair Loss

Pixabay License

Although my kids are grown and I no longer need to buy 200-count boxes of diapers or 10-pound bags of pancake batter mix, I’ve maintained my Costco membership and usually stop by every few months to pick up a few personal necessities and cat litter. Now, realizing that this may fall into the “too much information” zone, I’m going to nevertheless take a chance and share with you a recent revelation: I no longer need to buy shampoo. Ever. Again. Never. Done. It’s over.

With the exception of a small amount of gray fuzz on the sides that I shave off each morning, I’m now as bald as Yul Brenner, Telly Savalas, and that Australian dude from Midnight Oil. I know what you’re thinking … age, genes, and male sexual dihydrotestosterone. But hold your horses, Mister Ed. I suspect a musical connection.

Growing up in the ’50s and ’60s, I went from a crew cut to flat top, a buzz cut to a modified duck-tail pompadour. My three main style influences were Elvis Presley, Ricky Nelson, and actor Edd “Kookie” Byrnes, who played the parking valet on the television show 77 Sunset Strip and was always combing his hair. He even had a novelty song he did with Connie Stevens – “Kookie, Kookie Lend Me Your Comb” – that was a top ten hit. And while the most popular male hair products on the market back then were Brylcreem (“a little dab’ll do ya”) and Vitalis Hair Tonic, I opted for this one.

On Feb. 9, 1964, millions of American families sat around their black-and-white DuMont or Admiral television sets to watch four moptops appear for the first time on The Ed Sullivan Show. Modestly short by today’s standards, the way they wore and shook their hair when they sang was an aphrodisiac to teenage girls, and a few months later I had grown my hair out over my ears and collar, carried a cereal bowl down the street to the barber shop that I placed on top of my head as a guide, and got my first official Beatle cut.

By the Summer of Love in 1967, men’s hair flowed longer and longer. When the Byrds sang “so you wanna be a rock and roll star,” we all said “yeah yeah yeah” and let it grow despite the social constraints. We all dressed in costumes anyway, so the musicians and audience looked indistinguishable from each other. In England there were Mods, Rockers, and Teddy Boys, and in America it was simply greasers and hippies. My father didn’t speak to me for two years; we ate our meals separately at different times and I wasn’t allowed to get a driver’s license until I got a suitable haircut, which never happened.

After college my career goals were pretty simplistic: I wanted a job where I could always wear jeans, get stoned, and keep my hair long. That led to spending the next 35 years being a music business sales and marketing weasel, with a variety of long hairstyles often tied back into a ponytail. By the late ’90s it had morphed into – God save me – a mullet. I was wearing cowboy boots, drove a Ford Bronco, and was influenced by way too many trips to Nashville. It was the beginning of the end, and it broke my achy breaky heart.

By the time Y2K came rollin’ around, I was sporting a short, combed back Vic Damone thing with an ever-growing spot of skin in the back, and I began to ponder possible solutions. Toupees, hair weaves, restoration, ointments, plugs, and assorted medicinals were considered and tossed aside.

For reasons unknown, India seems to have become the hotbed of new treatments for baldness. There are lettuce and carrot juices to drink, shampoo made from milk and licorice, a process of wearing a paste of seeds and coconut oil in the sun for seven days and something called Binaural Beats, which are frequency modulators that encourage your hair follicles to grow when you listen to them. You can check it out here for free if you’d like, or follow another suggestion I just read about: maintain a regular bowel movement every day.

For the past few years I’ve been rockin’ the bald head with a close-cut Van Dyke beard that’s favored by Ultimate Fighting Champions, border security guards, and dudes who like to take their four-wheelers out into the California desert on weekends. Recently I thought that I finally discovered why I’m bald: it was my darn headphones. Seriously … I read it on the internet. In an article I found from Seventeen published last year, a “celebrity hairstylist” named Castillo claims that wearing over-the-ear headphones can rough up your hair strands and cause them to break off. Another credible authority called Hub Pages speculates that “traction alopecia usually happens when there is a strain on the hair, so if your headset is pulling your hair or putting undue stress on your hair in some way, you could risk losing your hair to this method of hair loss.”

Don’t believe any of it. All these theories have been debunked by scientists. Mystery solved and this case is closed. Headphones, earbuds, or going to see live music will absolutely not cause your hair to fall out. On the other hand, it could lead to hearing loss. What? Huh? Did you just say something?

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.

Americana and Roots Music Videos: RPM 2

An occasional series of Americana and roots music videos. Sharing new discoveries, and revisiting old friends.

Like many of you, I’m always on the hunt for new music that’ll perk up my ears and lighten my soul. In the past I’ve relied on websites such as No Depression; a handful of blogs that I’ve followed through the years; the Americana Music Association weekly radio charts, which are both interesting lists to check out; and Bill Frater’s Americana Boogie, which offers a list of weekly releases. And since crossing over to the dark side and fishing in the deep digital stream, I’m finding that curated playlists have added another fast and easy way to catch a keeper.

It wasn’t all that long ago when your friends would show up at your house with a stack of their favorite new albums under their arms, and you’d each take turns spinning your faves on the turntable for each other. And the neighborhood record stores that were like Cheers, the bar where everybody knew your name. Maybe you’re too young to have experienced that, or too old to remember. But in that spirit, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

Here’s a handful of new music (or old music that I’ve recently found) that’s been buzzing inside my ears for the past few months.

Sweet Old Religion – Pharis and Jason Romero

It’s hard not to read a review about this Juno award-winning Canadian duo that doesn’t draw comparisons to Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. They each dwell in that same valley of old-time music played with acoustic stringed instruments with exquisite vocal harmonies, and there is similar tone and timbre. Their sixth album will be released in May, and I have been blessed with an advance copy that I can’t stop listening to. Here’s the title track.

The Ledges – Kieran Kane and Rayna Gellert

Gellert, a vocalist and fiddler who was a member of Uncle Earl before releasing solo and duet albums, teams up with her friend Kane, who is a legendary songwriter, performer, producer, and record label owner. Leaving Nashville for upstate New York, where Kane owns a bunkhouse, they bring a bunch of string instruments, stack some microphones on top of cinderblocks, and record one of the prettiest sets of harmonic wonder and simplicity.

The Orphan King – Ed Romanoff

A “late bloomer” who didn’t begin his music career until his forties, Woodstock-based Romanoff releases his second album supported by an interesting cast of players. Produced by Simone Felice, the collaborators include Rachael Yamagata, Kenneth Pattengale of the Milk Carton Kids, guitarist Cindy Cashdollar, The E Street Band’s Cindy Mizelle, and Larry Campbell along with his wife and duo partner, Teresa Williams.

Playing Chess – Elise LeGrow

It’s been nine years since this Canadian singer was signed to a publishing deal. In 2012, a single she released a single titled “No Good Woman” jumped into the top ten of our northern neighbor’s adult contemporary radio chart. Two years ago she recorded her debut album of covers from the Chess Record’s catalog, where she is backed by The Dap-Kings, and which features The Roots’ Questlove and Captain Kirk Douglas. Just released in February, this project is more about reinterpretation of the originals, and all the more interesting.

Love In Wartime – Birds of Chicago

I got a chance to see JT Nero and Allison Russell, who play as the Birds of Chicago, a few months ago and was blown away. Had no idea who they were, what to expect, or why my friend would book them into a 400 seat theater with less than 70 advance tickets sold. But he knew something I didn’t, because not only did they almost fill the space with walk-up customers, the band also presented a staggering showcase in advance of their new album being released on May 5 by Signature Sounds. This is a little taste from last year’s EP with Rhiannon Giddens on harmonies and banjo and Steve Dawson on guitar.

Motel Bouquet – Caitlin Canty

Like dozens of other musicians over the past couple of years, Canty has made the move from New York to Nashville. Not that it matters all that much, since I don’t think there’s anyone who has traveled more miles criss-crossing America with that big Recording King guitar of hers and that devastatingly clear-as-a-bell voice. I’ve seen her perform alone and in various musical configurations, and she sparkles and shimmers on every occasion. When I listen to the new album it makes me just want to stop, lay down, and set cool slices of cucumbers over my eyes. Every note and word draws me deeper. Two songs: the first from her new album, and the second is a few years old and the one that got away.

The Tree of Forgiveness – John Prine

In the evening on the day when the new album is released, Friday, April 13th,2018, I’ll be inside Radio City Music Hall in NYC on my feet and applauding loudly as Prine comes out on the stage. Don’t know what you might call it, but I believe it’s a blessing. (Alas…all the bad things one thinks about surrounding Friday the Thirteenth are true. Struck with pneumonia, I was unable to attend.)

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

United States of Americana: New Music For Old Ears

Each week when the new releases become available, I grab whatever I think might interest me and throw it into a playlist. I don’t curate it or make it public, it’s just my personal-virtual-digital equivalent of that stack o’ albums I used to have leaning against up the wall after a trip to my local record store. And despite still hearing the words of disdain from Grant Alden forever whispering in my ear, I hardly ever listen to an album from the first track to the last, but rather let the songs magically pop out randomly all by themselves in shuffle mode.

When the playlist grows too big — maybe over five or six hundred songs — I begin to trim the herd. The tunes will either get flipped into the main library or dumped in the trash can on my desktop. Sorry, that sounds harsh and heartless. But I also know what I like and what I don’t. And I guess I should mention that not everything is actually brand spanking new. Sometimes I’ll add an old favorite or two that I haven’t heard in a while. And other times I just can’t let something go because there’s still something more to get from it. Anyhow, music is timeless, right?

You can thank (or blame) Amilia K Spicer for giving me the idea for this week’s column, where I’ll share a few songs I just can’t let go of. Spicer’s Wow and Flutter, which was released last year, is full of earworms. Calling her music “red-dirt noir,” she co-produced it with multi-instrumentalist Steve McCormick and put together with the help of friends like Eric Heywood on pedal steel, Tony Gilkyson and Gurf Morlix on guitars, Dylan/Stones bassist Daryl Johnson, and Wallflower/Foo Fighter Rami Jaffee on keyboards. Last week when I told her I couldn’t stop listening to it, she said “Yay! The Glue Album!” And so here we are: tunes that stick like bubblegum on a hot asphalt highway. We’ll kick it off with a live version of Spicer’s “Windchill” and then a video she directed and produced for “Fill Me Up.”

The Tillers‘ self-titled album came out last March and is their fifth in ten years. Based in Cincinnati, they started out playing the great folk classics of the ’50s and ’60s, busking on the corners and playing bars that pass around a hat for tips. Over time they have developed into a super-tight stringband that doesn’t strictly adhere to one genre or another. They often sound like old-time Appalachian, other times they’re the Ramones on acid. They gotta love Iris DeMent’s quote: “The Tillers … I could sit and listen to them all night long!”

Pat Reedy is another musician who started out busking, making a name for himself on the streets of New Orleans. He put out a couple of albums with the Longtime Goners of great Cajun-style country before moving to Nashville and morphing into a band of honky-tonk outlaws. He’s an unabashed day-job construction worker who happens to write some great songs, and this summer he and the band are on the road promoting That’s All There Is (And There Ain’t Anymore).

I”ve been listening a bit to the five-disc Columbia Country Classics series and especially the Little Jimmy Dicken’s tracks. Born in Bolt, West Virginia, and standing at four-foot-eleven, he started out performing as Jimmy The Kid before he was discovered by Roy Acuff and signed to Columbia Records. He was a longtime member of the Grand Ole Opry, joining in 1948 and making his final appearance just weeks before he passed away at age 94. Along with Hank Williams, Minnie Pearl, and her husband Henry Cannon, he co-wrote “Hey Good Lookin’” sitting on an airplane in 1951. Only Williams got the songwriting credit.

Back in 2014 there was a one-night-only concert in New York’s Town Hall that was released as a film documentary along with a soundtrack album titled Another Day, Another Time: Celebrating the Music of Inside Llewyn Davis. It was far better than the original fictionalized feature film depicting a ’60s folksinger, and featured a ton of musicians, including Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings, the Punch Brothers, Elvis Costello, Jack White, Joan Baez, and Marcus Mumford, and it was produced by T Bone Burnett. For me, this is the standout track, and in these unsettling times, one that really sticks.

This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music website.

Talkin’ Bob Dylan’s First Album Blues

US National Archives

I was crawling around the concrete floor downstairs in the basement of The Strand, the massive indie bookseller just south of Union Square on Broadway in Manhattan, looking for nothing in particular when I came across a worn paperback about Gerde’s Folk City written by Robbie Woliver and published in 1986. The story he weaves goes far beyond Mike Porco’s small nightclub that became one of the top venues for Greenwich Village’s folk music roots scene. Bringing It All Back Home is an oral history told by the people who lived in the neighborhood, listened to rural music in Washington Square, performed for coins in the basket houses, came and went, rose and fell, and witnessed a constantly changing landscape and rotating cast of characters.

While Bob Dylan plays a large role in the eventual popularity and monetization of traditional folk music, he was simply one of hundreds who carried their instruments down the narrow streets in search of an audience. But he was also the one who broke out of the scene first, signing to Columbia Records in late September 1961 during a string of concert dates at Gerde’s, where he opened for the Greenbriar Boys. Music critic Robert Shelton wrote a review for The New York Timesthat was published the day after Dylan signed his contract and, although he knew about it, Shelton kept the deal out of the story at Dylan’s request.

“A bright new face in folk music is appearing at Gerde’s Folk City. Although only twenty years old, Bob Dylan is one of the most distinctive stylists to play in a Manhattan cabaret in months.

Resembling a cross between a choir boy and a Beatnik, Mr. Dylan has a cherubic look and a mop of tousled hair he partly covers with a Huck Finn black corduroy cap. His clothes may need a bit of tailoring, but when he works his guitar, harmonica or piano and composes new songs faster than he can remember them, there is no doubt he is bursting at the seams with talent.”

Over three afternoon sessions in November, John Hammond Sr. took Dylan into the studio where he produced his first self-titled album and paid him the union scale wage of $402. In discussing the difficulty of working with Dylan in the studio, Hammond told biographer Clinton Helin “Bobby popped every p, hissed every s, and habitually wandered off mike.”

“Even more frustrating, he refused to learn from his mistakes. It occurred to me at the time that I’d never worked with anyone so undisciplined before.”

Bob Dylan was released 56 years ago this month, on March 19, 1962. Of the 13 songs, only two were original: “Song to Woody” and “Talkin’ New York.” Along with a few folk standards, he included songs written by Jesse Fuller, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Bukka White, Curtis Jones, and John Laird. For two traditional tunes he lifted the arrangements from Dave Van Ronk and Eric von Schmidt.

Considered by many as “Hammond’s Folly,” the record wasn’t well received and was Dylan’s only album that never charted in America, although it did rose to number 13 in the UK charts three years later, in 1965. Mitch Miller, Columbia’s head of A&R at the time, said that in the US only 2,500 copies were sold, but Hammond defended Dylan vigorously and was determined that Dylan’s second album should be a success.

Recording for the second album began in April 1962, and continued for over 12 months, with eight separate studio sessions. Dylan was committed to including more of his own songs, and in a July session he recorded a song that he had debuted at Gerde’s Folk City in April, built on the melody of the old spiritual “No More Auction Block.” He called it “Blowin’ in the Wind.” The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan was released on May 27, 1963.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.

The Dixie Chicks: Freedom’s Just Another Word

From dixiechicks.com

I don’t even know the Dixie Chicks, but I find it an insult for all the men and women who fought and died in past wars when almost the majority of America jumped down their throats for voicing an opinion. It was like a verbal witch-hunt and lynching.

— Merle Haggard, July 25, 2003, CBS News

Truth be told, throughout the 1990s and into the early years of the new millennium, as the Dixie Chicks grew in popularity, they were merely a blip on my musical radar screen. While I indeed liked much of their music that would from time to time reach my ears, my perception was an emphasis on fashion, style, and image that equated to feeling there was too much sparkle and shine for my liking, and it completely overshadowed and obscured the true substance and remarkable talent of these three women. Add in a very strong message of empowerment, a strong bond with a primarily female audience, and their oversaturation on country music radio that seemed to have no relation to what I personally perceived as country music, and it was even easier to ignore and discount them. A classic case of male and musical chauvinism in equal measure.

The Incident on March 10, 2003

With our armed forces poised at the border in preparation of invading Iraq based on the lies and deception that came from our government, in a nonscripted moment Natalie Maines stood on a concert stage in London flanked by fellow bandmates Emily Erwin and Martie Erwin and spoke these words as they were about to introduce a new song called “Travelin’ Soldier”: “Just so you know, we’re on the good side with y’all. We do not want this war, this violence, and we’re ashamed that the president of the United States is from Texas.” The audience erupted in cheers, and you need to know that in the weeks leading up to that moment we were in the midst of an international anti-war movement that brought millions of people into the streets to protest America’s intentions.

Fifteen years have passed, and we now have a president who brags about grabbing female genitalia, has been accused of multiple instances of sexual misconduct, is an accepted and expected liar, a serial philanderer who gets a “mulligan” from the blind eyes of the religious alt-right, and on a daily basis sends out hateful insults often based on race, color, creed, gender, physical appearance, and opposing messaging to his own fractured points of view. Meanwhile, looking through the rearview mirror, Maines’ rather mild and justifiable swipe at “W” in 2003 caused an outrageous backlash that got the Dixie Chicks permanently banned from country radio, while enduring insults that mutated into threats of violence and death. It was an irrational and orchestrated far-to-the-right-of-center campaign that betrayed the values and freedoms we enjoy in America.

While they were down, they were hardly out. In 2006, their new album Taking the Long Way debuted at number one on both the country and pop charts, and they swept the Grammy Awards in February 2007 in each of the five categories in which they were nominated, including Album of The Year. But as they were able to hold onto the majority of their fan base, country radio continued to boycott their music, and with anemic ticket sales in much of America, they headed for friendlier venues in Canada and across the ocean. Letting the music speak for itself, all three women held that virtual middle finger high with “Not Ready To Make Nice.”

In a Time magazine article in May 2006, Martie Erwin said, “I’d rather have a smaller following of really cool people who get it, who will grow with us as we grow and are fans for life, than people that have us in their five-disc changer with Reba McEntire and Toby Keith. We don’t want those kinds of fans. They limit what you can do.” Maines also retracted her earlier apology to President Bush, stating, “I apologized for disrespecting the office of the president, but I don’t feel that way anymore. I don’t feel he is owed any respect whatsoever.”

With the 15th anniversary of Maines’ comments weighing on my mind, the other night for the first time I sat and watched the Barbara Kopple documentary Dixie Chicks: Shut Up and Sing. Filmed between 2003 and 2006, it follows Maines and the Erwin sisters from that night in London through troubled times and up to the recording and release of their album Taking the Long Way. It is a candid, raw, and very personal insight into what the band dealt with behind the headlines, and the film skillfully portrays the conflict between rhetorical hate-mongering and the strength, love, and sisterhood of these three women. It left me feeling ashamed not only for the unfair treatment toward fellow Americans exercising their right to free speech, but for my own self-absorption at the time that translated into sitting on the sidelines with my mouth shut.

From 2006 through 2008 the band shared concert dates times with James Taylor, and later did a summer stadium tour with The Eagles. After a hiatus to focus on family, the Erwins recorded as the Court Yard Hounds and Maines released a solo album. But the band remained together as a live performance entity, producing no new studio albums but conducting a worldwide tour in 2016 and subsequently releasing a live album and DVD. In November of that year the band returned to the stage at the Country Music Association’s televised award show.

(The Failing) New York Times, November 3, 2016:

On live television, Beyoncé’s improbable performance with the Dixie Chicks at the 50th annual Country Music Association Awards couldn’t have gone more smoothly. With a giant band and brass section, the pop star blew through an extra twangy version of “Daddy Lessons,” the southern-fried track from her latest album, “Lemonade,” even working in a section of the Dixie Chicks’ own “Long Time Gone” in the middle. The Nashville crowd was on its feet.

But online, the reception was decidedly more mixed, with some country fans arguing that Beyoncé, who has recently leaned harder into activism around police reform and the Black Lives Matter movement, had no place at the ceremony.

“Why are you showing Beyoncé & Dixie Chicks? One doesn’t believe in America and our police force while the other didn’t support our president and veterans during war,” one commenter wrote on Facebook, alluding to each act’s past political moments. Another added: “Neither are country, and Beyoncé could not be bothered to put some clothes on for the occasion.” Beyoncé, according to one common sentiment, “isn’t even what country represents.” Others were plainly racist.

In the days that followed, a majority of people in America voted for a woman and Democrat to lead our country, but with voting laws and electoral procedures in play that most people still don’t understand, we ended up with the single greatest threat to our democracy and rights. In what I consider to be a fractured fairy tale, three brave women sailed through rough waters with their dignity and values intact, while the rest of us were left holding an empty bag of wind. In my opinion we all owe Natalie, Emily, and Martie a debt of gratitude for keeping the flames of freedom burning. And I’ll keep my fingers crossed for one more album …

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed Broadside column at No Depression: The Roots Music Journal website.