Tag Archives: Lucinda Williams

Musicians, Fans and Mutual Support

Photo from Pixabay.

Musicians and fans are sharing common feelings in the midst of a pandemic: fear, anxiety, isolation, depression, sleeplessness, and daily visions of what potentially might be the worst-case scenario. And from my daily contacts with friends around the globe, it appears that we’re all waiting for the next shoe to drop. I suggest we let Leonard Cohen soothe our souls for a few minutes before we go forward. Why? Because that’s how it goes, everybody knows.

As a music writer I am in touch with a vast network of musicians, as well as those who run concert halls, clubs, festivals, and house concerts. Please pardon my language, but from all of the communiques and pleas I’m receiving, they’re all fucked. No other way to put it, but the fragile economy and supporting ecosystem of artistic creation in whatever form it takes has been shattered to pieces in a matter of days. From the most popular and successful musicians out on the road with a half-dozen 18-wheelers of equipment and luxury tour buses to the person who barely makes a living playing bar mitzvahs and weddings on the weekend, this viral scourge is completely indiscriminate.

Over the past week my inbox has been filled daily with requests to help support musicians. There are livestreamed concerts popping up with tip jars, websites to donate to money to non-working musicians, and of course reminders that you can and should buy merch. Our editor here at nodepression.com, Stacy Chandler, published a super helpful article titled “How To Help Roots Music Artists” that I would encourage y’all to read. Nevertheless, all of these solicitations and cries for help have left me feeling guilty for my inability to participate. I’ll share part of what I posted on my Facebook page after reading Stacy’s suggestions:

While people who are in the creative community have little or no safety net, there is an assumption that those of us with day jobs have the wherewithal to assist. The reality is that we too are hunkering down, worried if we can pay the rent, if we will get a paycheck next week, can afford food and medical care, and on and on. So I guess that while there are some things I can do — like not requesting a refund to a canceled concert, of which I currently have $350 invested — l simply can’t be made to feel guilty because I won’t buy your T-shirt.

My heart breaks every minute that I get a message or see a social media post from a musician who’s lost all their source of income, lost money on preparing for travel they can’t get refunded, or have invested every dime in a new project set to release when the world is too overloaded with worries on survival. So no answers here, and this article touches on significant ways to at least think about or consider.

If you thought that the headline of this column was insensitive or perhaps simply a grasp for clicks, you’re wrong. The roots music community is fortunate in that we’re small enough that musicians are close to their audience. Years on the road have created relationships and established bonds, and social media opens the door for personal communication. It’s not simply the music that connects us, it’s the spirit of being part of a community. And words matter.

Ana Egge, who recently released an album and had to cancel shows in Texas opening for Iris DeMent, posted this simple message that gave me some perspective as well as some comfort:

“While these are scary and crazy days, let’s not forget that these are also days that we are living to have more of. Especially those of us lucky enough to be stuck at home with the people we love. We can’t let ourselves be overrun by fear and anxiety and miss out on this time that we have together. To love each other and share our lives. If you’re not in the same house or apartment with those you love, call them and tell them.”

Jason Isbell tweeted: “Sitting here thinking of folks who might be stuck in a house that isn’t safe. Maybe if you have a friend who has a potentially aggressive spouse or parent, be as aware as you can right now. Check in.” and he posted the link for the National Domestic Violence Hotline. Brandi Carlile shared a helpful list of things people can do to protect themselves and their community, and Rosanne Cash wrote, “I got home off the road last night & am self-quarantining until the CDC gives the all-clear. I was on a lot of planes & in a lot of airports, hotels & venues. I don’t know if I’ve been exposed, & I don’t want to expose you. Let’s do this together, apart.”

These are just a few examples of musicians using their thoughts and words to help and connect with their audience, and I know there’s plenty more. Personally, it means a lot and touches me deeply when the people who enrich my life with their music take the time to let me know they are thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about them. Y’all have a big voice, and we all appreciate it when you use it in these troubled times. Stay safe.

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

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.

Gram Parson’s Hickory Wind: Groundhog Day #1

Warner Brothers/Getty Images

I was thumbing through the recent issue of New York magazine when I saw that they’ve made a Broadway musical from the 1994 film Groundhog Day. You know the story: Bill Murray plays Phil Connors, who goes to Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, to report on the annual de-hibernation of the town’s famed rodent and gets caught in a loop, living each day over and over. As author S.I. Rosenbaum writes, it’s “a film so beloved, idiomized and dissertated about that it’s passed into the English vernacular.”

Got me thinking: Perhaps I could take a song and follow its twists and turns from the original to multiple cover versions, and trace how it has evolved. Could become a new series, and since I have no idea where it’ll take us, it’s sort of like playing Russian roulette with YouTube. Hit or miss, up or down.

“Hickory Wind” is of course a treasured song written by Gram Parsons and Bob Buchanan, who were both former members of the International Submarine Band. It first appeared on The Byrds’ Sweetheart of The Rodeo album, and was recorded on March 9,1968. Lloyd Green is on pedal steel and John Hartford plays fiddle, supporting Parsons, Chris Hillman, Roger McGuinn, and drummer Kevin Kelley.

I should mention that there has been some dispute about authorship, as folksinger Sylvia Sammons has claimed that she wrote and performed it back in Greenville, South Carolina, when Parsons was also there doing gigs with his band, The Shilos. Both Buchanan and Chris Hillman rebut the claim, with the latter saying “As far as I know Gram and Bob Buchanan did indeed write ‘Hickory Wind.’ As unstable as Gram was in my brief time with him on this earth, I sincerely doubt he was a plagiarist in any of his songwriting endeavors unless his co-writer Bob brought him the idea.”

In 2012, Hillman, who was Parsons’ partner in both The Byrds and the Flying Burrito Brothers, expanded his thoughts to Bud Scoppa in Rolling Stone:

“If Gram had never written another song, ‘Hickory Wind’ would’ve put him on the map. If you know the guy’s life story, however he conjured up that scenario, it’s right at home. Gram was shuffled off to prep school, lots of money … that’s a lonely song. He was a lonely kid.”

This one is from Hillman’s 1986 Morning Sky album.

After Parsons left the Burrito Brothers, Hillman introduced him to Emmylou Harris and she appeared on his first solo album, GP, toured with his band the Fallen Angels, and worked together on Grievous Angel. She cut her own version of “Hickory Wind” on her 1979 album Blue Kentucky Girl. I was going to drop that one in here, but opted for the version that she and Gram did that appeared on The Comlete Reprise Sessions. This is a fan video set to a nice slide show.

On July 10, 2010, there was a Gram Parsons tribute in Los Angeles billed as “The Return to Sin City” that featured many musicians, including Lucinda Williams, Steve Earle, Norah Jones, John Doe, Dwight Yoakam, Raul Malo, and a backing band that featured the great James Burton and Al Perkins, both members of Parsons’ band. Then there was this guy who stole the night, singing “Hickory Wind” with a little harmony assist from Jim Lauderdale.

Lucinda Williams often performs the song in concert, and while you can find a few versions out there, this audio track with Buddy Miller that appeared on Cayamo Sessions At Sea is my favorite.

After spending a few nights listening to endless versions of this great song (and I haven’t even included Gillian Welch with Dave Rawlings or the great old video featuring the late Keith Whitley singing with J.D. Crowe and he New South), there was one I wasn’t familiar with that took my breath away.

Out in California a music teacher, bass player, and award winning fiddler named Jack Tuttle put together a bluegrass band with his kids Molly, Sullivan, and Michael, and they also added AJ Lee to the mix. Singing and performing since she was only four, AJ joined the Tuttles when she was just twelve. Molly Tuttle, now living in Nashville, is an amazing guitarist who was on the April cover of Acoustic Guitarmagazine. Now at 19 AJ already has two solo releases, and all of the Tuttles seem to pop up and perform together in various configurations, along with working on their own side projects. And the whole lot of them have scooped up numerous awards over the years.

So for me, this is the one. It’s from 2011. AJ is only 13 and takes the lead vocal, with harmony and guitar from a young Molly. Michael finishes it off with a beautiful mandolin run. This is perfection and the winner of my game: Russian Roulette with YouTube, the Groundhog Day Experiment.

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

Alive On Video: The Last Waltz At 62nd and Amsterdam

(L-R) Larry Campbell, Anderson East, Bob Weir, Lucinda Williams, Buddy Miller and Teddy Thompson perform as part of ‘The Last Waltz’ 40th Anniversary Celebration in Damrosch Park at Lincoln Center in New York City on August 6, 2016. Photo by Ebet Rogers/Elmore Magazine

This Thanksgiving, when we sit down for our turkey or tofu dinner, those of us who care about such things might take a moment to mark the 40th anniversary of The Band’s farewell concert. It was filmed by Martin Scorsese and released two years later as The Last Waltz, and remains not only a superb documentary, but also one of the seminal events in American roots music.

Earlier this year, Warren Haynes assembled a tribute show in New Orleans during JazzFest, and this past weekend it was New York’s turn, with a different cast of characters. In a collaboration with the folks at Lincoln Center and the Americana Music Association, several thousand souls squeezed into the mostly concrete Damrosch Park to enjoy a free concert with Larry Campbell and the Midnight Ramble Band, featuring special guests Bob Weir, Lucinda Williams, Dr. John, Buddy Miller, Patty Griffin, Howard Johnson, Teddy Thompson, and Anderson East.

I’m sure my editor would prefer that I earn my keep by turning in a proper and concise review, but I just read Scott Bernstein’s post over at JamBase and, to be honest, he pretty much captured the night. I completely agree with his observation that it was an “all-killer, no-filler version of The Last Waltz” and that “no one is better suited to play the music of The Band in 2016 than the Midnight Ramble Band.”

Having Larry Campbell as the evening’s music director, badass guitar-slinger, vocalist, fiddler, mandolinist, host, and emcee further solidified his standing in representing Levon Helm’s spirit and legacy. Vocals from his wife Teresa Williams and keyboardist Brian Mitchell cut through the summer humidity like a sharp knife. The horn section included Jay Collins, Erik Lawrence, Steven Bernstein, and Clark Gayton. Jacob Silver played bass, Shawn Pelton drove percussion, and 1980s Band member Jimmy Weider smoked and soared on guitar.

At the beginning of the show, each member of The Band was mentioned, and each received loud applause. The last name spoken was Levon Helm, and the roar of the crowd at the mention of his name was so charged it almost lifted me off my seat. I don’t mean to stir up the pot here, but if there is any question as to who the leader of The Band was, I know a few thousand people who would testify.

A large contingent of the crowd seemed to be there for Bob Weir, but Lucinda and Dr. John were greeted loudly and all three received standing ovations. Maybe I’ve been hanging out at No Depression too long, but I was really surprised at how many people sitting around me had no idea who Buddy Miller, Patty Griffin, or Teddy Thompson were. Perhaps just a reminder that in this great, big world of music, we’re still just a subgenre.

On the morning after, before I even got out of bed, I checked You Tube to see if any videos had been uploaded yet, and discovered Front Row Dave. A professional music videographer in the Hudson Valley, Dave Beesmer has a channel on You Tube with lots of concert videos and he’s closing in on almost four million views. He shot the show along with Joey Calderone, and I appreciate that he’s allowed me to share them with you here.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside at No Depression dot com.

The photo at the top of the article was originally published by Elmore Magazine and the photographer is Ebet Rogers.

Easy Ed’s Broadside Outtakes #3

SDD5

Easy Ed’s Broadside weekly column has been a fixture at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music for over ten years. These are odds and ends, random thoughts and fragments never published.

New Music Rising

By using the term ‘roots music’ as a description of what I listen to and wax about, you might come to think that I spend all my days listening to stuff like the Fruit Jar Guzzlers, Jelly Jaw Short, Wade Maniner…with a little Bull Moose Jackson and H-Bomb Ferguson thrown in for good measure. And while those musicians were indeed on this morning’s playlist, my taste runs deep, wide and inclusive…a tent so far and wide that I can barely see end to end.

Five years ago this week I published an interview…it was actually the first one I had ever done…on No Depression‘s post-print online website, my home away from home where I contribute a column called Easy Ed’s Broadside. I’d first seen and heard Massachusetts-based musician and artist Marissa Nadler on a few videos that she had uploaded to the Couch By Couch West online anti-festival that ran concurrent to that thing in Austin. Her music captivated and mesmerized me. It was right before her thirtieth birthday, and she’d already released five albums along with several side projects, amassing a highly-engaged international fan base that kept her on the road.

In my article and our conversation, which I do hope you can find the time to read or at the very least watch some of her videos that I’ve included, The Demystification of Marissa Nadler starts out with the words of others who’ve tried too hard to come up with a genre-box to explain who she is and what she does.

“The indie-folk pinup girl and mistress of the murder ballad.”

“She’s hacked away the art school whimsy, tossed out the crystals and burned the floaty headscarfs.”

“Simple, melancholic fingerpicked folk ballads that take advantage of her sonorous, spine-tingling vocals, narrating tales of damsels in distress or lovers absent or dead.”

“Compelling medieval twang.”

My take? I think Marissa makes incredible folk music. Maybe not your parents folk music, but it comes from a place where an eighteen-year-old Marissa would sometimes leaf through those early No Depression magazines and as she describes… ‘spend my awkward adolescence copying master paintings in my basement and listening to music on the boombox. A lot of this music was prog rock and classic rock. A lot of it was folk and Americana. I loved Gillian Welch and Lucinda Williams and they really spoke to me. Also, Emmylou Harris and Gram Parsons and the Fallen Angels. Elizabeth Cotton.’

On May 20th Marissa will release her seventh full-length album titled Strangers, and she’ll be doing April dates on the USA West Coast, followed in May and June with dates in England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Belgium, Germany, Holland and Denmark. Here’s the link to her site.

This week she released the new video which she shot, directed and animated herself. I’ll let her own words set it up for you.

“With ‘All the Colors of the Dark’ I wanted to marry my love for the moving image with the song in a compelling visual that pulsated with the same rhythm. I’ve been inspired by the beautiful phantasmagoric worlds created by Svankmejer and Francesca Woodman, The Brothers Quay, among others. In the video, everyday objects move on their own, representing a lingering presence in my life.

Every Picture Tells a Story

Sandy The image at the top of this page was shot by my long-time-we’ve-only-met-online friend Sandy Dyas, who is a visual artist based in Iowa City that I’ve written about often. You can visit her website here and check out her work, books (buy them…really) and blog. And more of her images can be found on this site….including this one I originally published back in January 2014 at No Depression dot com.

From The Pages of Kithfolk: The Howard Rains Pictorial

HR1

There’s a marketing and publicity company that works out of the Shoreline Washington home of the Leger family called Hearth Music. They are musicians, wordsmiths and designers, with a passion for traditional music and art that goes beyond simply running a business.

KITHFOLK is their digital roots music magazine of long-form interviews, engaging articles, video and audio streaming premieres, album reviews, and columns from guest writers. Most of the time they don’t write about the artists that they are currently working with, but the people and places and sounds that catch their attention.

Wandering around the site the other night, I happened to come across a gallery of paintings from a gentleman by the name of Howard Rains that really jumped out at me. Here’s a small sampling of Howard’s work along with his thoughts…the full story will take you to the gallery.

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I have painted since I was a kid, but for many years I have been painting old time fiddlers, drawing only from life and documenting living traditional musicians as they played. These portraits go through the filter of my style and I have often been told they look nothing like the individual I am painting; other times I have been told they look exactly like them. I have done this because I love to do it. Because I am obsessed with traditional music and the incredible people I meet through the music. Click here for the full story.

From The New Yorker: The Awkward, Enduring Influence of Hank William’s Jr.

AMHWJr There seems to be an avalanche of press focus on the music and life of Hank Williams Sr. with the release of the biopic I Saw The Light, but David Cantrell has written an expansive and absolutely fascinating piece on his son.

Here’s just a little taste, but you should most definitely click here for the full story.

Hank Williams, Jr., was raised to be an echo, not an influence. His mother, Audrey Williams, pushed him to perform as Hank Williams, Jr., (his given name is Randall) and to play songs pulled almost exclusively from the catalogue of his father, who died when Hank, Jr., was three. He made his stage début, warbling his father’s first hit, “Lovesick Blues,” when he was only eight years old; he débuted on the Grand Ole Opry at eleven. He released his first album, “Hank Williams Jr. Sings the Songs of Hank Williams,” for his father’s old record label, M.G.M., just after turning fourteen, in 1964.

His father remains the genre’s key repository of myth and tradition (though he’s lately moved it on over a bit to make room for Johnny Cash). But listen closely to country radio’s defining sounds and points of view at almost any moment over the last four decades and Hank Williams, Jr., is right there—often, he was there first. When it comes to anticipating the direction of country music, Jr. has mattered more than Sr. for a long, long time.

In that picture above, which is from an old copy of Billboard Magazine, Junior is standing next to my cousin, the late Arnold Maxin. He was a true music man…playing horn in the big bands when he was fifteen, selling records for a Philadelphia distributor after the war, working A&R at Okeh Records, producing a number of hits including Screaming Jay Hawkins’ ‘I Put A Spell On You’ and pretty much every Connie Francis album, and ending up as head of MGM Records in the sixties.

Lucinda Williams Takes Me Far Beyond The Blue

On a Tuesday morning, Lucinda Williams’ husband Tom sent me a message asking how far I was from Tarrytown. I punched out “ten minutes” although it’s probably closer to twenty, and hit the send button. She was playing at the old theater there on Saturday night, and up until the day before, I held out hope that I could arise and attend, but it wouldn’t happen. I sent my apologies on Friday afternoon and said “Another time, for sure.”

My column this past week at No Depression is mostly about me and some trouble I’ve had, but also about how Lucinda and her music moved my needle last June on a stormy night. Click here to check it out.

On the day you fly away, far beyond the blue
When you’re done, and your run is finally through
I’m forced to let go, there’ll be no greater sorrow
On that day you fly away, far beyond the blue

OH NO…A FACEBOOK FRIEND SUPPORTS DONALD TRUMP…WHAT WOULD PETE SEEGER DO?

I’ll make this quick. I used to be a serial-social-media -politicalized-poster. You know…that guy. The friend on Facebook who links every left (or right) leaning story on the internet because they think YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS!!! It’s ok….I’m in recovery. Here’s my story about what I now ask myself before I hit the button. What Would Pete Seeger Do?

Videos You Wouldn’t Know Existed, Unless You Found Them By Mistake.

A Note of Thanks to Lucinda Williams

Had I stuck to my plan, you’d likely be reading about the emergence of cowboy hats in roots music, after the genre enjoyed a brief fling with the fedora. Coupled with prairie couture, this year has seen a subtle shift in fashion and style among the younger set in particular, and it seemed to be a topic of interest that I am admittedly and imminently unprepared and unqualified to speak of. While I was nevertheless going to regale you with the history of the Stetson and bring in scientific theory as to why the ten-gallon hat holds only three quarts of liquid, a postscript to this year’s award show at the Americana Music Festival felt like it should take precedent.

I’m sure some of you already have heard that Lucinda Williams, along with her co-producers Tom Overby and Greg Leisz, received the album of the year honors for Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone, her sprawling and sparkling collection of 20 songs that clocks in at 135 minutes or thereabouts. It’s an album that has received much praise from music writers and bloggers on websites such as this, as well as in daily newspapers and monthly magazines. In his review that was published last year in The New York Times, Ben Ratliff wrote:

She’s pithy and penetrating, bruised but steadfast, proud of the grain and drawl of her voice. Her music places itself in a vanishing, idealized Southland where country, soul, blues and gospel all share a common spirit and a vocabulary of twang, and where life lessons can be delivered by a bar band.

Her new songs are full of advice, empathy and testimony to obstacles that have been overcome, or will be.

Fred Mills at Blurt described the album as “a snapshot — or feature-length film, take your pick — of a 61-year old woman fully renewed and at the height of her creative powers.” And Andy Gill at The Independent said that it “may be the best work of her career, a compelling survey of love and life to challenge the bitter insights of West and World without Tears.”

As these reviews mirrored my own listening experience, it pleased me to hear the news of this recognition. Williams is a beloved outlier who I connected with through her self-titled Rough Trade cassette, and Overby is an old friend. Admittedly I don’t usually pay close attention to polls and awards, and the concept that there is just one song, one album, or one artist that is better than the rest sort of gnaws at me.

There was a time in my life where I could argue for hours about the merits of one album over another. I was very opinionated about what I felt was good or bad, to the point where speaking or writing in a condescending tone was my default position. Somewhere along the line, I became agnostic in my relationship toward music. In other words, its all good. Or, an even better way to say it: it’s all respected.

It never ceases to astonish me that a series or pattern of notes, words, and/or beats can create a highly individualized emotional and physical experience. This past year, Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone took me exactly to the space that the title promised. You can figure out for yourself if you think it was the best or not. For me, it’s just another reason why I love music. And while I’ve got no trophy to hand out, this will have to serve as my own thank you note for a job well done.

This was originally published at No Depression dot com, as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column.

Ana Egge and Why I Cry at 2:35

I was not unfamiliar with the name Ana Egge when, on the first of July, I received a communique from a friend of mine that new music from her was on its way. Four years ago I took notice of this woman with an album called Bad Blood, at first, admittedly, because of its connection to Steve Earle. He handled the production, recorded it at Levon Helm’s studio in Woodstock, had Ray Kennedy mix it, sprinkled in both his own and ex-wife Alison Moorer’s harmony vocals on a few tracks, and the backup band included Chris Masterson, Eleanor Whitemore, Rob Heath, and Byron Issacs. All that roots music star power aside, what jumped out of my headphones was Egge’s singular voice, clear as a bell, with intelligent songs that offered stories, structure, emotion, and power.

If you missed Bad Blood, you can thank the now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t business paradigm that musicians face in this day and age as they try to be heard above all the noise in the aural soup kitchen. Too often great music arrives with so much promise, only to slide past us ever so quietly. We miss so much. It takes strength for an artist to stay the course, but Egge is one who has consistently delivered.

In 1997, when she was only 20 years old and living in Austin, Egge released her debut album, River under the Road. She has not stopped delivering great music since, and now we’re blessed with her eighth album, Bright Shadow.

Just to get you caught up, Egge was raised in a small town of about 50 people in North Dakota, and she also spent time in New Mexico. Her bio quotes her as saying:

“I was taught how to shoot a gun and how to enjoy alfalfa sprouts and tofu, raised by two back-to-the-land hippies. My folks loved the outdoors and eccentric people; I ran around barefoot and learned to ride a motorcycle when I was 5. I grew up with all the time and space in the world.”

While living in Texas, Egge had offers to go out on the road, and she opened for Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Iris DeMent, Shawn Colvin, and Ron Sexsmith. Later she got to share the stage with John Prine, Lucinda Williams, and – yes, this is sort of weird but it’s on her Wikipedia page – Sinead O’Connor. After spending time on the road. she moved back to New Mexico and settled in Brooklyn in 2002. She still lives there today with her wife of seven years and their young daughter.

Sifting through some of the marketing and biographical information about Egge, you start to find quotes like this one from Steve Earle: “Ana Egge’s songs are low and lonesome, big square-state noir ballads which she plays on a guitar she built with her own two hands and sings like she’s telling us her deepest, darkest secrets.”

Lucinda Williams said she’s “an exceptional songwriter, listen to the lyrics … the folk Nina Simone!”

“An artist’s ability to connect with an audience is frequently and disingenuously misrepresented in their marketing copy,” Mark Miller – a concert promoter and frontman of Spuyten Duyvil – told me. “Ana is a rare exception. She captivates a room and draws all eyes and ears with a combination of thoughtful and heartfelt lyrics, a heartbroken voice, and serious instrumental chops.”

As I’ve listened to this record over the past several weeks, I’ve come to think of it as a very special project. Egge has said she wanted to do an acoustic album with everyone sitting around a mic, and she self-produced this time around. While Bright Shadow is a collaborative effort with The Stray Birds – Maya De Vitry (fiddle, banjo, vocals), Charles Muench (upright bass, vocals), and Oliver Craven (mandolin, fiddle, slide guitar, vocals) – the cover lists only Egge’s name.

Over email, Egge recently told me: “The Stray Birds approached me as fans a few years ago wanting to back me up live at Folk Alliance [Toronto 2012]. We recorded the album two years ago and their success since then has been marvelous. I actually asked them about billing the album as ‘Ana Egge and the Stray Birds’ after we recorded it, but they didn’t feel that it was right. I had strong arrangement ideas going into it, and I think it would be different if we had co-written or recorded some of their songs.”

After they finished recording, Egge’s mother passed away and she also welcomed the arrival of her daughter. In retrospect, she says, the songs on the album mirror those intense and formative life changes. There is a very soft, warm feeling throughout the album, with layers of delicate textures in the instrumentation, and vocal lines that can go left when you expect them to go right. The tight harmonies that are a hallmark of the Stray Birds’ repertoire envelop and complement Egge’s voice. If you need an additional descriptor, I’ll sum up: stellar songwriting with sophisticated string band instrumentation.

Back in May, there was a video from Bright Shadow posted online for Mother’s Day. Egge wrote the song with Gary Nicholson, and in the description it says that it’s “a tribute to mothers everywhere as well as the divine feminine and possibility of redemption in all of us.” Filmed and directed by Paul Kloss and edited by Amy Foote, “Rock Me (Divine Mother)” features simply Egge and her guitar, interspersed with clips of moms and kids from what I imagine to be home movies.

Rock me in the arms of my divine mother.
Divine mother.
Rock me now.

It’s not very often that a song will come along that can repeatedly turn me into an emotional bowl of jelly at every listen, but this is the one: A tribute to mothers. Indeed it is. By the time the Stray Birds add their voices to the chorus toward the end, you can tip me over with a feather.

And I cry at 2:35.

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

Poetry At The Intersection of Miller and Hank

As this year begins, America has lost Miller Williams. The husband of Jordan, and father to Karyn, Robert and Lucinda, he was a poet, editor, critic and translator with over thirty books to his credit. In his biography published on the Poetry Foundation website, they posted that his work was known ‘for its gritty realism as much as for its musicality. Equally comfortable in formal and free verse, Williams wrote poems grounded in the material of American life, frequently using dialogue and dramatic monologue to capture the pitch and tone of American voices.’

For someone who spent his life in academia, teaching at several institutions before joining the faculty at the University of Arkansas in 1970, he seemed most comfortable writing in a style that was both accessible and captured a rhythmic quality. This unattributed quote about himself is one he seemed to enjoy: ‘Miller Williams is the Hank Williams of American poetry. While his poetry is taught at Princeton and Harvard, it’s read and understood by squirrel hunters and taxi drivers.’

Miller passed away on January 1. It was the same date that Hank died fifty-two years earlier, and what I find most interesting is the story of how the two men met. In March 2013, Oxford American published an interview with Miller by Jackson Meazle, and this is an excerpt:

Q: You have written somewhat extensively in argument for rhyme and meter in poetry. How has music informed your work? Arkansas, like many Southern states, has such a rich musical heritage. Has music always been of interest to you and your work?

MW: I do believe that poetry is more satisfying when it has a pattern similar to those of songs. I wish that I could sing well, as I’m sure you know my daughter Lucinda does, and writes her own songs. Hank Williams (no kinship there) told me that since he often wrote his lyrics months before he set them to music, they spent those months as sort-of poems. I think the kinship is real.

Q: Did you ever meet Hank Williams in person?

MW: Yes, [in 1952] I was on the faculty of McNeese State College in Lake Charles, Louisiana, when he had a concert there. I stepped onstage when he and his band were putting their instruments away and when he glanced at me I said, “Mr. Williams, my name is Williams and I’d be honored to buy you a beer.”

To my surprise, he asked me where we could get one. I said there was a gas station about a block away where we could sit and drink a couple. (You may not be aware that gas stations used to have bars.) He asked me to tell his bus driver exactly where it was and then he joined me.

When he ordered his beer, I ordered a glass of wine, because this was my first year on a college faculty and it seemed the appropriate thing to do. We sat and chatted for a little over an hour. When he ordered another beer he asked me about my family. I told him that I was married and that we were looking forward to the birth of our first child in about a month.

He asked me what I did with my days and I told him that I taught biology at McNeese and that when I was home I wrote poems. He smiled and told me that he had written lots of poems. When I said, “Hey—you write songs!” he said, “Yeah, but it usually takes me a long time. I might write the words in January and the music six or eight months later; until I do, what I’ve got is a poem.”

Then his driver showed up, and as he stood up to leave he leaned over, put his palm on my shoulder, and said, “You ought to drink beer, Williams, ’cause you got a beer-drinkin’ soul.”

He died the first day of the following year. When Lucinda was born I wanted to tell her about our meeting, but I waited until she was onstage herself. Not very long ago, she was asked to set to music words that he had left to themselves when he died. This almost redefines coincidence.

“Compassion” is a poem by Miller that was published in 1997. Should the words be familiar, it might be from the song of the same name that Lucinda released this year. The poem is rather short, and the song speaks volumes.

Have compassion for everyone you meet,

even if they don’t want it. What seems conceit,

bad manners, or cynicism is always a sign

of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen.

You do not know what wars are going on

down there where the spirit meets the bone.