Traveling On: A Conversation With Jason Eady

By Kevin Broughton

Jason Eady is a country artist with a bluegrass soul. He cut his teeth with his stepfather in central Mississippi, going to picking parties and bluegrass jams, but his six solo albums to date have all been in a traditional country vein. But on the heels of his critically acclaimed self-titled 2017 record, Eady has gone fully unplugged and put his own unique, rocking stamp on the bluegrass ethos. With help from an A-list duo from the genre, he’s made his best album to date, I Travel On, released today on Old Guitar Records.

It’s a good-time record made by a man at peace with himself and the world. We chatted about being positive while staying authentic, clearing out a Croatian bar in Paris, and jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. And other stuff.

I Travel On is a distinct departure – in several ways -- from your self-titled 2017 album. That one made our top 10, but it was pretty understated and a little somber in places. Musically and thematically this record may be its polar opposite. What were your mindset and/or goals with regard to the musical approach this time?

Well, this record and the last one seem pretty different, but I think of the last record as a bridge to this one. Before the self-titled album, I’d been very electric, with lots of steel guitar – country music. Sonically, they were bigger productions – not huge, though – than the last album. On the last one we kind of pulled it back; it was more of an acoustic album. I Travel On is fully acoustic. So I think there’s a sonic thread running through to it.  And I had been wanting to move that direction.

About three years ago we played a show in Bozeman, Montana. And this room is fantastic; it’s one of those places everyone plays when they go to Montana. But it is small. I don’t know the actual capacity, but I would guess 30-40 people, and it’s wider than it is deep, so there are only about four rows of chairs. And we started bringing in all our gear, but the thought of cramming all those amps in just seemed weird to me. So we grabbed all our acoustic guitars, stripped down the drum kit and played the whole set that way. And it just sounded great. So I went into the last album with that idea, and toured that way as well.

The first thing I noticed on the opening cut, “I Lost My Mind in Carolina,” was that you brought in a stud on acoustic guitar. Got a ringer on Dobro, too. Who are these guys, and what was the recording process like?

Rob Ickes (dobro) and Trey Hensley (guitar) are the two guys. And my favorite thing about this record is that it’s real and organic. Our developed the sound by touring around and playing that way, where everybody did their own natural thing. And we came up with a sound that’s sort of bluegrass on the top end and a real groove on the bottom. While we were driving around the country we listened to these guys – they’re a duo, and they are absolute studs in the bluegrass world; their very first album got nominated for a Grammy in the bluegrass category. They’re just phenomenal.

So as it came time to make this record, I wanted it to be our live band, but I didn’t want there to be overdubs. I wanted the record to sound like we’re all sitting in a room. Our lead player can do all those things, but I didn’t want overdubs. So since we had been listening to them, and I just called Trey and said, “Would you guys want to do this?” He said yes. It came from a very real place; we didn’t just say, “Who are some studio badasses we can call?” We tracked 100 percent live from top to bottom, no overdubs. Our band would work them up the night before, but we had never played them with Rob and Trey before we recorded. Everything you hear on this record is what you would have heard if you had been standing in the room while we recorded.

Wow.

Yeah, I know!

There’s a real blues/bluegrass feel to the whole thing.

I would never in the world set out and try to make a pure bluegrass record, because I have way too much respect for the genre. To be in that world, you really have to live it your whole life. You can’t dabble in bluegrass. But yeah, it was a conscious thing we were going for; we’re calling it “groove grass.” We wanted to hint at bluegrass, and people will definitely hear that aspect of it, but with pure bluegrass you don’t have drums or a bass guitar. “Groove grass” sums it up, really.

I want to get into several specific songs in a minute, but something stands out on the album as a whole and I’d like to get your take on it. Brent Cobb told me a couple of years ago that it’s possible to write country or roots songs with authenticity and depth without their all being sad and depressing. I think that’s rare, but it certainly holds true for this album of yours – and to a large degree the last one. What do you think of that premise?  You seem to be a pretty happy guy.

I am. And I love Brent, by the way, I think he’s one of the best artists around today. Just incredible. But he’s right. And there’s that temptation when you’re writing songs that you want to be authentic or real; they can turn out depressing. But I wanted this album to feel good. There are some points on the record where if you want to listen to words and dig into meanings – and I worked hard on the words – there’s some depth to latch onto if you want to listen to it that way. But I also wanted this to be a record that you could just put on and play and enjoy.  I get that there’s a need for feel-good music, where you don’t have to just think all the time. There are plenty of examples of people – like John Prine and Paul Simon – who write great songs, but I don’t know what they mean half the time. They just feel really good. Just put it on. Move your feet. Move your head.

But Brent’s right; you have to pull yourself out of that box, because it seems like there are two extremes in country music right now. It’s either said and depressing, or it’s so fluffy, about drinking beer on the river on the weekend.

Speaking of being a “Happy Man,” there’s a song with that very title. Were you making a statement for the record with that one?

I definitely was. I just wanted to get that out there. God forbid if anything happened to me, anyone could listen to that song and know that I’m a happy person and have lived a good life, and these are the reasons why. Because when you boil it down, there’s really only a few things that make you happy: There’s friends, there’s family, there’s doing what you love and the experiences you have. Here, there are two verses with three things each that make me happy. And at the end of it, I couldn’t think of anything else. The simplicity of it was very intentional.

And the origin of it – I don’t want to drag this out but this is a funny story – was overseas last year. We went to Paris, France to play a festival and wound up in a Croatian bar right across from the Notre Dame Cathedral. We could hear music playing inside that was lively, so we went in. This was like a Tuesday night but there was a party going on, so we wandered in. The bartender asks Courtney and me what we were doing there and we told him we were musicians. He asks my name, and dials me up on Spotify, and just started playing my music randomly, however that works.  And it was just like three of my most depressing songs, one after another.

Ha!

Yeah, man. Cleared out the bar. Everyone went outside to smoke all at once. Killed the whole vibe of the room. I started getting depressed! And I thought, “Good gosh, if I heard this for the first time I’d think this fellow is depressed, too. This guy’s got problems.” So I wanted to get it out there, that it’s not the case. I’ve written plenty of sad songs, but that’s just something I like to do sometimes. And ironically, “Happy Man” is one of the slowest songs on the record.

About the only thing that comes close to a downer on this album is “She Had to Run,” about a woman getting out of a dangerous domestic situation. Is there a story behind that song?

Yeah, I won’t go into the details of it because it’s a very personal song, but one I needed to write. And I knew when I got ready to make this album that this song would be the outlier, but it was too important to me. I had to get that one on there. I just hope that maybe there’s one person who hears it and thinks about getting out of a situation like that.

I won’t pry into specifics, but let me ask: Does the person who inspired it know about the song?

She does. We haven’t talked about it a lot because it’s still too close, too fresh. She got out, but it was frighteningly close. It was so close that the next person who was with that guy didn’t get out.  

“Always a Woman” is intriguing. Tonally, it’s dark and in a minor key – by the way, is there another chord, or just C minor?

That’s it, the whole way through.

Lyrically, it’s kind of an ironic Valentine. “There’s only one thing between the devil and a good man” is really clever, because it can mean two very different things.

Yeah, exactly.

Unpack that song for me.

That’s the first song I wrote for this album, and the only one where I had a title set beforehand. Courtney and I were hanging out with a friend who was having a bad time and she asked what was the matter. He kind of shrugged it off and she said, “Is it a woman?” He said, “It’s always a woman.” I wrote that down, and I sat down with my guitar and just started droning on that C minor chord. And it’s a very specific fingerpicking pattern that never stops for four minutes; if you watch me play it my fingers [on the neck] never move.

And like we were just talking about, I didn’t want to write another sad song. So I had the first verse and thought, “This song has to turn. ‘Always a woman’ doesn’t have to mean good or bad.” So musically we used some dynamics to change things up, and I tried to change that phrase from a positive to a negative as well. And I think the whole theme of the record is finding the positive in things and moving forward. And that’s why we called the album “I Travel On.” It’s about moving forward. A lot of the songs are about physically traveling; this one does it in a mental space.

And the feedback/distortion thing is a nice backbone. Nothing electric there?

No! That’s the dobro player raking across the strings, and the fiddle player doing it in some spots, muting his strings. Everybody thinks there are electric instruments on that song and there aren’t. We had a videographer come in and shoot while we were recording that song; you’ll see it when it comes out.

And I guess you had to include at least a couple waltzes to preserve domestic bliss. I take it that’s your bride singing harmony on “Below The Waterline?”

Ha. Yeah, if you hear harmonies on this album there Courtney’s. I’ve always wanted to write a bluegrass power waltz. I love those, because they make the harmonies just scream. Courtney and I wrote that one together.

I was gonna ask if she got a co-write on that one.

She got two. We wrote that one, and “Now or Never,” the second track on the album.

This is kinda random but the key of C minor on “Always a Woman” made me wonder: Do you have a favorite key, or one that you end up doing the bulk of your songs in?

I write most of my songs in D and I don’t know why. And I had originally written that song in D minor, but when we got into the studio to record we got to that point in the chorus where you go up, and I couldn’t quite hit it. And when we lowered it, it kind of came alive, got darker.

Staying with random: You recently went skydiving with your mom and daughter. What possessed y’all, and would you do it again?

That was all my mom’s idea. She had originally wanted to do that thing in Vegas where you bungee-jump off of a tower on one of the tall buildings. And later we were together at Christmas and she said something about skydiving, and my daughter wanted to do it with her. So I bought it for my daughter, but every time they tried to go the weather was bad, then my daughter went off to college. She was home a few weeks ago and the weather was perfect. And on the drive over I thought, “When am I ever gonna get to do this again? All three generations are here. This is once in a lifetime.”

Tell me about the moment before you went out the door of the airplane.

It’s the most terrifying and exhilarating thing. On the way up it’s in your head what’s gonna happen, but it’s just indescribable, the way you feel standing in that door. If you’re not afraid looking out, you’re not human. There’s nothing about it that’s natural or normal. You have to try and get it out of your head, and trust the person who’s strapped to your back.

That was the worst moment, because we did a high jump. We were at 14,000 feet. I loved it. But there’s really no way in the world to use words to describe what it feels like.

Would you do it again?

You know, when I first did it I said there was no way – I was glad I did it but wouldn’t do it again. But there are times I find myself thinking about it. I don’t think I’d go out of my way to, but if somebody said, “You wanna go do this,” I think I probably would.

Y’all are doing something kinda neat, a sightseeing, musical bus tour of Switzerland with 40 fans. I’m familiar with musical cruises; is this something y’all came up with, or have others done it?

Courtney and I have gone to Switzerland five years in a row, I think. We have a promoter over there and we love it there. And you can drive from one corner of the country to the other in five hours. But we did something like this last year, with Reckless Kelly and toured Ireland. We were their guests And Courtney and I decided we had to do this in Switzerland. So it’s seven nights and five shows, and we’re personally putting it together, where we’re gonna stay and eat and the venues we’ll play. The response has been great. We’re really excited about it.

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I Travel On is out today.

Chasing the Sky: A Conversation With Kasey Anderson

By Kevin Broughton

Almost two years ago, Kasey Anderson opened up in depth here about his spiraling descent from artist-on-the-cusp to grifting, locked-up addict. He was then not quite a year post-prison. And while there was still a hint of an artist’s confidence about him, it was tempered by the gun-shyness you’d expect of a guy fresh from the halfway house and with a long list of pissed-off victims, many of them former friends.

Little did he know that within a couple of months he’d begin the long, cathartic and ad hoc process of recording a comeback album. In fact, he really had no clue what would come of the sessions, done virtually pro bono by a collection of generous friends and musical colleagues from the Portland indie scene.

Anderson’s voice on the telephone is stronger today. He sounds healthier, no doubt buoyed by the album-making process that was critical to his ongoing restoration as a man. The humility is still there, no doubt, but the knowledge that he’s made a really solid rock ‘n’ roll record has put a spring in his step. From A White Hotel, released today on emerging label Julian Records, is poignant, introspective and sprinkled with Anderson’s trademark irony, starting with the title, a reference to his drab lodgings for more than two years. Oh, and his name isn’t on it.

We caught up with Anderson with just a few days to go before his nuptials, and talked redemption, recovery, the virtues of not being preachy, and the inevitable Steve Earle comparisons. And the whole, stupid “outlaw country” thing.

I’m curious about the way your band is billed. I was partial to the name “Kasey Anderson and The Honkies.”  “Hawks and Doves” is the name of an underrated Neil Young album & song; why the switch? Were you worried about the local Portland anarchist community torching your pad to protest your white privilege? Sorry, I know it’s low-hanging fruit…

Ha! No. First, I decided to do it under a band name because of the way the record came together. I had written all the lyrics and had the structure of the songs, but the instrumentation came together in such a collaborative way that it felt disingenuous just to put my name on it. And The Honkies, I didn’t want to go back to that because all those guys were such strong personalities in their own right, and I just kinda wanted to leave it there with those guys because I have such fond memories of that band.

And I love that Neil Young record. The phrase “hawks and doves” is a political and military term. It seemed pretty appropriate for what’s going on now. Plus, it just sounds cool.

The first time I heard that song was on Scott Miller & The Commonwealth’s live album…

Yeah, yeah! From The V Roys!

And since it’s not “Kasey and the Hawks and Doves,” just the band name, any concern that nobody will know it’s you?

I don’t think it’s a horrible thing for me to make a clean break with the work that I did and the life that I led as a solo artist. It wasn’t a calculated move to do that; maybe it’s an added benefit? And I think that the way it’s being marketed through the press, it’s pretty clear that it’s a band I’m involved in.

This is a collection of a dozen pretty dang good songs. How long have they been percolating? Did some of these words get put to paper while you were locked up?

Yeah, about half of them were written while I was locked up, during my second year in prison. “Every Once in a While,” for instance, is about my first cellmate. That’s his story much more than mine. The other five or six songs happened around after the election, in late 2016. It took us a long time to make the record because of the way we went about it.

Tell me about this band, and how you got the record made; I imagine raising funds to get an album done might have been challenging for someone in your position.

The band is Jordan Richter (guitars,) Ben Landsverk (bass, keys, viola, background vocals) and Jesse Moffat (drums, percussion). Other folks who played are Eric “Roscoe” Ambel, Kurt Bloch, Ralph Carney, Kay Hanley and Dave Jorgensen.

Jordan engineered it and owns a recording studio in town. And I think right after you and talked last time, some folks reached out and asked if I’d like to contribute a track for a benefit record they were involved in. I told Jordan, “Hey, I’d really like to do this, but I don’t have money to pay for studio time or to pay session players.” And he said, “Are you sure you want to do a benefit record?” (Laughs)

…I wasn’t gonna say anything. It was a real thing, though, right?

(Laughs) Yeah, it was a real thing. It was to help this woman named Jennifer Holmes – who has since passed away – with her cancer treatments. So once I proved to him that it was a real thing, he said he’d get some people together. We covered this song called “Wise Blood” by the band Tender Mercies.  At the end of the session Jordan said, “Man, if you ever want to just come in the studio and roll tape, everybody gets your situation and knows that you don’t have a bunch of money to throw into making a record. There are people willing to play your songs for fun and just see where it goes.”

And that’s what we did. Jordan would text a group of us that said, “I have this day where the studio’s not in use, and you don’t have to pay me for the time.” So it took us more than a year, because we’d do a day here and there, and everybody would go back to their lives. So that’s how the record got made, and it was really generous of him to do that.

And then I sent [the album] to several of my friends and said, “I really don’t know what to do with this; I can’t put it out.” I have a friend named Nathan Earle here in Portland who’s in a band called The Get Ahead, and he told me about this new label, Julian Records. “They seem to be looking for bands,” he said. “Why don’t you send it to them?” I had planned to just try and put it out digitally, but the Julian Records folks were into it, and took it from there.

That’s certainly fortuitous.

It’s very fortuitous, and the only way it was going to come out physically. I mean it’s not really cost-prohibitive to get an album out digitally. But this was very generous. Everybody seemed to think the songs were cool, and were like, “Don’t worry about it right now, let’s just see what happens.”

When last we spoke, we touched on your being medicated for bipolar disorder, and how that can sometimes stifle creativity in artists of all stripes. There’s a line in “Lithium Blues” that says, “You took the words right out of my mouth.” Is there a balance you find yourself having to strike between mental health and creativity?

Yeah, for sure. “Lithium Blues” might have been the first thing I wrote in prison that I was really happy with. I had to go back and figure out, okay, there’s an element of magic to creativity, but there’s a much bigger element of math to it. And I know how to make a song so that the pieces fit together. If I can trust myself enough to do that, the rest will come along in time. That’s kind of what that song is about.  We talked about this a little bit before, but I had almost resigned myself that [playing music professionally] was behind me, that maybe I could do some shows for fun from time to time. But over the course of making this record it became clear to me that I still know how to make a song work. Whether this is a thing I get to do on a larger scale remains to be seen, but I was able to prove to myself that I can still put a good song together, even when I’m not up for five straight days.  

An article in Glide mentioned that you’re training to be an addiction counselor.  Is there some sense of duty there? Have you become more zealous about “the program” and living clean? Maybe a little of both?

It’s a little of both. I have certainly become more zealous about making sure that people who deal with mental health and/or addiction issues – especially younger people – have someone they can talk to without feeling judged or dictated to.

The name of your band, as you mentioned, has political overtones, and there are some references to current events on the album. But you didn’t lose your mind and start bashing people over the head with your opinions, like so many artists have done since 2016. Why do so many folks make everything about politics?

When I wrote these songs, one of the things I tried really hard to do was invite people into a conversation rather than dictate to them how they should feel about any given thing.

Thank you.

I really feel that’s a far more effective way to engage an audience, if you want to have that conversation. I have never responded to anybody – even when I agree wholeheartedly with what they have to say – addressing whatever they imagine their audience to be, by dictating what their thoughts or beliefs should be. That just doesn’t work for me, and when I wrote these songs I tried really hard to stay away from that. I wanted to ground it in narrative and open-ended conversation.

Yeah. It’s there, but it’s not preachy, and it’s open to interpretation. And believe you me it’s refreshing. Because I didn’t vote for the sumbitch, but I’ve had about a bellyful of being preached to by guys whose music I otherwise love.

Switching gears, redemption is certainly a theme running through From a White Hotel. How cathartic was this whole process, and where are you on the whole making-amends thing that started when you got out of the joint?

Well, in terms of the process being restorative, the making of the record – playing music with other people, being able to work on songs – was really, really healthy.  And it was good to do it in a way that I didn’t have to feel like my life depended on whether people liked these songs. Obviously I wouldn’t have put the record out if I didn’t want people to hear the songs, but it’s not going to ruin my life if there’s a deafening thud when it’s released. I’m still gonna be married to this wonderful woman, I’m still gonna be helping people who struggle with mental health and addiction issues. At the end of the day, the act of making a record was rewarding in and of itself.

The amends thing? Well…the second you say you’re humble, you’re not.

Ha! I guess that’s true.

(Laughs) Yeah. I’ll just say I’m really proud of the work that I’ve done. I think I’m living out amends to people to whom I can’t make direct amends. I’ve worked really hard at doing a good job of that.

By the time this article runs you’ll have been married for about a week. Was Caitlin a part of your life before you went away? How big a part of your road back to normalcy has she been?  

She was a part of my life. She wasn’t my girlfriend at that time, but she was part of a close group of friends. My girlfriend at the time was named Tracey, and she called Caitlin that night and said, “You’re not gonna believe this, but he’s gone. He’s going to prison, so can you come get his stuff out of my apartment?” So Caitlin went and got all of my stuff and took it to Goodwill in East Los Angeles. A lot of us had drastic changes in our lives around that time but we all stayed in touch for the most part. And Cait and I stayed in touch while I was locked up, and she’s been so supportive. She was never judgmental. It’s been one of the most positive things in my life – if not the most positive – to have that person with me every step of the way.

On the title cut you say, “I ain’t no kind of outlaw, and I never claimed to be.” The wit and irony are strong in you, Kasey Anderson.

(Laughs) Well, you know, that’s true. I never tried to market any of the records we ever made as any sort of “outlaw country” thing…

Oh, wait! Gosh, see, there’s so much irony I missed the irony. I was thinking in the literal sense, in that you’ve done time and technically are an outlaw.

(Laughs) I technically am an outlaw, and that’s kind of the point I wanted to make. It’s not all those artists’ fault that they’re being marketed and trumpeted that way. But a lot of times I’ll read an article about some “outlaw country” artist and think, “Man, I’ve actually been an outlaw and it sucks!”

You know, smoking weed doesn’t make someone an outlaw. My mom’s 65 and she’ll smoke weed and watch Netflix. That doesn’t make someone a badass. Figure out what you mean by “outlaw.”

Speaking of outlaws: Everybody’s favorite badass, Steve Earle, gets a nod on “Clothes Off My Back,” right down to the title of his 1996 post-prison album.  I can understand why you could maybe not resist a tip of the ol’ driver’s cap; it’s just too perfect. But aren’t you afraid he might get a big head over it?

Um…no, I’m not. Because I think Steve knows how good he is. He’s far enough along in his career that he knows he’s revered by people who write songs.

Very diplomatic, by the way.

(Laughs) But the point of that song…Steve’s been sober for a long time now, and he’s done a really good job of living his life according to that. And so it’s an acknowledgement that I’m not anywhere near where this guy is as a songwriter, and certainly not in my recovery. But I’m certainly a lot better than I was five years ago.

Yeah. I was really hoping you’d rise to the bait there.

(Laughs) I can’t.

I know.

Also, just to clarify one comment: my issue with “Outlaw Country” isn’t with any of the artists, it’s with the folks who use it as an easy/“cool” way to market and categorize artists. I don’t know too many artists who are actively seeking that label. I know Sturgill and Aaron Lee Tasjan for sure have poked fun at it in the past. That kind of marketing and categorization, to me, draw attention away from how great artists like Sturgill and Margo Price and Elizabeth Cook and those folks are individually, and makes it into this one homogenous category. It’s counterproductive. Their work is great, so let it stand on its own.

Newlywed Kasey Anderson is on tour. Check dates here.

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From a White Hotel is available everywhere today, including Kasey's site.

Hearing the Prairie Wind: A Conversation with Jim Miller of Western Centuries

By Kevin Broughton

Hailed upon release of their 2016 debut album Weight Of The World as “the country super group we’ve been waiting for,” Western Centuries turned heads and impressed critics with their tight musicianship and honkytonk sensibilities. Two years later, the songwriting triumvirate of Cahalen Morrison, Ethan Lawton and Jim Miller – along with bassist Nokosee Fields and new pedal steel player Leo Grassl – have followed up by bending roots genres into a mosaic so eclectic it defies any simple description.

Songs From The Deluge, released today on Free Dirt Records, was recorded in Eunice, Louisiana and produced by bayou legend Joel Savoy. There’s a Cajun feel that moves in, under and through the album -- thanks to a warm, full accordion -- yet other influences permeate as well. Because while they’re without question one of the ten country acts you need to know in 2018, Rolling Stone copped out a little by bit calling Western Centuries a “bar band.”

There’s a heaping helping of old school Rhythm and Blues, evoking Otis Redding. Or even the BoDeans, if you like. Morrison’s “Warm Guns” recaptures some of the southwestern imagery from the band’s debut record, and “Our Own Private Honkey Tonk” shows the guys still like to mix it up.

But Grassl’s pedal steel – truly the understated backbone of Western Centuries – keeps a country flavor just under the surface. Whether trading licks with Miller’s lead, or subtly echoing any one of the three lead vocalists, this is the band’s steady trademark.

Still – as is the case with so much music reviewed on these pages – a definitive genre eludes classification. What’s really counterintuitive is that Morrison, Lawton and Miller share one dominant influence – bluegrass – and it’s the one flavor that’s missing from this big, swirly bowl of music.

Except for the harmonies. Each song to one degree or another showcases some wonderful blending of three quality tenor voices – the boys’ ever present if subtle salute to the high lonesome. Quality musicianship pervades throughout, too. The fact that Lawton and Morrison swap back and forth on drums might connote an ad hoc nature; it shouldn’t. Those two are skilled multi-instrumentalists, and Miller spent the better part of two decades as Donna The Buffalo’s lead guitarist. This is a band of top-flight players; an near-unplugged version of the Texas Gentlemen, if you will.

Overall, the whole thing just…fits.

We caught up with Jim Miller, PhD – noted musician, lepidopterist and museum curator -- for a brief conversation. Topics included nervousness associated with becoming a songwriter late in life; getting an undergrad degree in banjo-building; and hand-me-down butterfly nets.

The music y’all make has so many different influences, and I think even more of them emerge on this second album. Honkytonk, Western Swing, some Parsons-era Byrds flavor, and the Band of course (a big favorite of yours.) Not surprisingly there’s a Zydeco feel, too, this record having been recorded in Louisiana. You’re a New Yorker by way of Canada; Ethan and Cahalen are Seattle guys. How does this music get synthesized?

It’s hard, actually, to put a finger on that. The three of us met at a party – I was living out in Seattle for a couple years – and we met at a bluegrass jam, like a big party.  Ethan and Cahalen were the first guys I met inside this house, and we’re talking about the music we like, and all three of us love Ralph Stanley. And we just started jamming, though not with the idea of doing anything with it.

But we kept realizing that we all three really liked the same kind of music, although we each had our own histories, which are extensive. So we started thinking about doing the band thing together. And you know, I’ve played all through Louisiana with some of the best players there because I was a side guy. And Ethan is a badass bluegrass mandolin player. So there’s that sensibility. Cahalen is unbelievable, playing with the fingerpicking style of Mississippi John Hurt. He’s killer at that.

So it all kind of just came together. But the dynamic centers on a bluegrass-ish style, and a love of three-part harmony vocals. And now [on the second album] we’re trying to explore more and push the limits.

And it’s kind of odd, but with all the stylistic influences, bluegrass – other than the harmonies – is the one thing you really don’t hear a ton of. That’s remarkable.

Yeah, because we’ve all been…well, I wouldn’t say “fanatics,” but I’ve been a Ralph Stanley fanatic since I was young. I would follow him anywhere to see him play; like a Dead Head, but for Ralph Stanley! (Laughs) And Ethan’s pretty close, too, man. He’s out of his mind. Knows all the old repertoires. He’s way into it, and Cahalen is too. It’s a funny thing: Somehow that represents the core or soul of what we’re trying to do.

Speaking of geography, how does the long-distance thing work out? Obviously y’all are together in the studio & on tours. Afterwards, do you just say, “See ya’ next album?”

We just say, “See you next tour,” and usually schedule a day toward the beginning of the next one. I dunno. We’re good players. Not tooting our own horn, but we can get on it pretty quick, you know? And actually when you look at the level of bands we’re talking about, nobody lives together. I mean, there are a few where everybody lives in Nashville, but there are only a few of those, even. So it’s not that out of the ordinary these days to have people living in different places.

And for the record what we tried to do was play a lot of the songs beforehand, so we had a pretty good idea [before we went into the studio.] Some of them though, we’d never tried before.

On Weight of the World, y’all each came in with your own respective songs you’d written, and that was the first time you’d ever written for a band before. Was it a similar approach this time, or was there any co-writing?

It was mostly the same thing, where we each brought pretty close to finished songs to the studio. And what always happens – I’m a big historian of The Band, you know, my favorite band – and what happens is the band itself always creates the song. So you come and you think, “I’ve got this finished song,” but it isn’t finished. The song is re-worked and evolved by the band as a unit. And it’s the contribution of the band that makes the song come to life, right?

I’m a songwriter, Ethan’s a songwriter, Cahallan’s a songwriter, right? But Nokosee and Leo are totally kicking in, know what I mean? Getting into who gets the songwriter credit…Oh, Robbie Robertson gets every songwriter credit? That’s what freaking tore up The Band. So, no thank you. The song is created as a living, breathing thing by these players.

Did you happen to see the documentary – I think it was on Netflix – about Levon Helm that came out a few years ago?

I did, yeah.

Man, he was bitter. He was so pissed off.

He was so pissed off. I live in upstate New York in the Hudson Valley, and I come into contact with people who kinda peripherally knew him or were around him some. And you couldn’t say Robbie Robertson’s name to him. I had friends who accidentally did, and it didn’t go well. The depth of the bad feelings, man. That’s a wild story.

But that’s not us. (Laughs.) We’re far from that.

Oh, I know. The way you’re talking about your steel and bass players, Leo and Nokosee…I’m a big Led Zeppelin fan and a big fan of The Who. Those bands would have been nothing without their respective rhythm sections…

I know, I know…

…those guys were the backbones of those bands, and it seems like y’all have that same unselfish vibe going on here. And along those lines, one of the striking characteristics of this three-headed songwriting approach is that there are some really snug harmonies on every cut. I’m curious, when you’re  writing a song for Western Centuries, do you take the other guys’ voices into account when you’re working out a melody? Is it, Ethan will sing a third here, or does that just work itself out in the studio? Or is that just a luxury of having three really solid tenors in one band?

Absolutely. Yeah. And another thing that happens, and it just happened to me last week: You know, we’ve already got a bunch of songs ready for the next album. That’s one of the luxuries of having three songwriters; I don’t have to write 14 songs, I only have to write three or four. So I was working on a song last week, and I said, “Wait a second, this one doesn’t have a strong enough chorus.” Because I really want the song to show off all three voices, you know? And I went back and re-worked the song so that we could get to do what we love to do.

But you do. You think about making it…well, chorus-y. And I’m actually trying to write a song right now where we sing the whole thing…Well, there’s a song on the new record Ethan wrote that’s a three-part the whole way through. It’s called, um…

Do you have the titles in front of you?

Yeah.

Track four, what’s track four?

“Wild You Run.”

  

“Wild You Run.” Ethan wrote that with – in the back of his mind – The Wailers. In the very beginning of The Wailers, they always sang three-part through the whole song. And that’s such a cool idea, you know?

Yeah! It does have kind of a reggae flavor to it, now that you mention it.

So that got me thinking that I want to write one that’s three-part all the way through, where we get back to that bluegrass thing a little bit. 

It was pretty ham-fisted of me to drop a moth joke on a lepidopterist.

Haha, I had already forgotten about it.

Let’s call it a rookie mistake, and you tell me how Canadian country boy gets to curate in a New York museum.

My dad was a biologist. The reason we moved to Canada was that he had a professorship at the University of Saskatchewan. So I grew up playing outside on the prairies. And my dad expected my brother and me to become biologists; it was kinda like, “This is what you’re gonna be.” So, I got my “toolkit” handed to me pretty early on. (Laughs.) A butterfly net, etcetera, because he was an outdoor field biologist.

After that he got a job at Yale, so we moved to New Haven, and that was a tough transition. But I kind of found my footing in the little entomology world, and got my own thing going there. And I lived around the New York City area from High School on.

And where did you do your schoolin’?

I did my undergraduate at a little hippie college called Hampshire College in Amherst, Massachusetts. It’s no grades, you design your own things…

Sounds Montessori.

It kind of is. You better want to do it, because nobody’s gonna push anything into you. I built banjos.

What?

Building and playing banjos was my major. (Both laugh heartily.) But I took an undergraduate class my last year in butterflies and moths, and that got me really charged up. So I went to Cornell to get my PhD, and I worked at the Smithsonian and the museum in New York.

Where were you born?

Boston, actually. If you’re born into academia, it’s like being in the military. You just move all over the place. We went from Boston to Ft. Collins, Colorado to Saskatoon to New York. I guess I’m an academic brat.

If the scientific day job is in the rearview mirror, how do you occupy your time when not doing Western Centuries stuff?

I still do the scientific stuff. I got good at it because I did it for a long time, so I still do it to support myself. We all have…well, Ethan is actually a badass electrician, so he can make some money when he’s home. We all have things we can do to stay alive, because where we’re at band-wise, it’s kind of tough.

The in-studio y’all did at KEXP will be enlightening for a lot of folks new to the band. Seems the steel and bass players are the only ones married to their instruments. How many do you feel comfortable playing? I don’t think I saw you take a turn on drums, but I bet you can.

No, I’m not. I always kinda wanted to be a drummer but I never did. I played fiddle for a very long time and can actually play banjo pretty darned well. And acoustic and electric guitar, obviously. Cahalen can play banjo mandolin…he’s getting pretty good on the fiddle. Ethan plays mandolin, piano; he can play a lot of stuff. Nokosee, our bass player, is one of the country’s top, I mean top, fiddle players. He’s becoming a little bit of a “thing.” Ha.

“Wild Birds” is layered with imagery, with Canada geese right out of the gate. It’s a great road song on the surface, but there’s more to it than that. The structure is a tad unconventional;

Ha ha! Man, I like that. (Laughing) I’m laughing because it’s a compliment and that’s the way I see it!

Well, I decided I had to learn how to play this song, so I got my guitar out…

Oh, this is so cool…

…and I like the way you resolve each verse with what might be called a mini-bridge before the chorus, in a song that doesn’t have a typical bridge.

Right, right.

So tell me about where this song comes from, and how it came about.

Each verse is kind of a page of my life story. The first verse –“Heading North” -- is when we moved from Colorado to Saskatchewan, then kinda living up there with the moths and everything. We were so outdoors, my brother and me; we were just always outdoors. So that was the first section.

The next section is moving to Connecticut, trying to “make friends with the tide,” and the whole scene there. And then the last part is kinda sad, I dunno. I dunno, [dealing with dying parents.]

(Pauses) I don’t have really good explanations for my songs –

Yeah?

I’m new to it, as you probably picked up on. I haven’t been writing, except for this band. So even though I’ve played music since I was nine, I’d never written a damned song. For about 20 years I was in a band (Donna The Buffalo) and was the backup guy. It was all original music and I didn’t contribute a single song. This is pretty new to me, so you have to bear with me a little bit.*

[Is a bit stunned]

I don’t have exact explanations. Sometimes when you write, you choose the words because they make rhythmic sense. You don’t even know what they are sometimes.

Well, for what it’s worth, I took the time to learn to play it and I think you’ve summed it up very well.

You know the hardest part – for me, when I first started writing songs – is believing in your own songs, and defending your songs to other people. That is a freaking challenge. You can write a song and not know whether it’s any good, but you still have to perform it in front of someone and go, “this is what I’ve got to say.”

(Laughs). And it’s tough, man. It’s super tough. I can’t claim to have mastered it, I tell you.”

It all comes out very naturally. The whole record’s pretty remarkable.

Well, thanks, I appreciate it. Let me ask you, does it sound like one…thing? We’re wondering whether it sounds like three cagey dudes, or does it sound like a thing?

Aw, yeah, it’s a thing. I’ll say this, too: there’s a theme, I’m just not sure what it is.

Yeah. Yeah, we’re not either.

It all just fits together so well, and you know we talked about the disparate influences stylistically –

Yeah.

--but the backbone of the whole thing is the steel guitar, and the lead instrument a lot of the time.

Exactly. Which is a funny thing because then people go, “Oh, it’s a country record!”

Well, yeah, but…you know, a couple of my songs [e.g. “Time Does the Rest” – KB] I’m trying to be Otis Redding; (laughs) but then you hear the steel and it’s a “country” record. It’s such a signature, that instrument.

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*In between the time we talked & FTM premiered “Wild Birds,” Jim opened up about the third verse:

“The last verse and the choruses talk about frequent trips back home to Connecticut as an adult, from wherever I was living at the time - New York, Seattle, Chicago - to visit my dying parents. It's a sad song, but singing it in front of audiences has taught me how to dissociate myself from personal emotions, which seems to be an important aspect of performing.”

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Songs From The Deluge is out today on Free Dirt records.

It's also available on Amazon and iTunes.

Spring and summer tour dates are up at the band’s site, and we have it on good authority Western Centuries will head Southeast in September.

Courtney Patton: The Farce the Music Interview

By Kevin Broughton

Courtney Patton was in a good place, a really good one. And she had been for a little while, having settled into a marriage with her songwriting soul mate, the kind and humble Jason Eady. Having received critical acclaim for her 2015 album So This Is Life, followed up by the husband-and-wife collection of duets Something Together, Patton was finally happy and content as she set about to write, record and produce her own record for the first time.

But happy ain’t country. Fortunately, though, like the scorpion catching a ride from the frog, Patton’s nature prevails on an album full of truth, three chords at a time on What It’s Like To Fly Alone. Collaborating with heavy-hitting songwriters like Micky Braun and Larry Hooper (who along with Eady helped pen “Barabbas” on Eady’s self-titled album), she captures heartbreak, hope and a dash of redemption throughout. Her vocals combine the boldness of Kim Richey and the sweet, quavering vulnerability of Kelly Willis, while telling stories of characters both real and familiar.

Patton, with her self-effacing, hearty laugh and genuine humility, is a woman comfortable in her own skin. Her gregarious wit stands in contrast to the darkness of her songs’ characters, but the common thread is a genuineness that pervades. This is a compelling album by a woman serious about her craft.

She’s between Dallas and Houston when we connect to talk about hawks, snakes, rats, cigarette smoke and Botox.

A few years back on Jack Ingram’s Songwriters Series, you said, “I think sad songs, the way they’re produced and written, are the fabric of real country music.” It seems like you’ve really put your money where your mouth is on this album. We’ll get into some specific tracks in a minute, but how did this album come about thematically?

If I’m being 100 percent truthful, I was in a rut. I was in a writer’s rut, because I was happy for the first time in a really long time. And it’s hard to be the kind of songwriter I am when you’re happy. Happy songs are so hard for me, because you’ve really got to know how to do it without being cheesy.

And I had never co-written before, so I had made a goal after So This Is Life came out in 2015 that I was going to co-write with some of my friends and really get better at it. So I’m really proud that seven out of the 12 songs on this record are co-writes.

That being said, I couldn’t go about it this time with a theme. Every other time I’ve said, “Okay, the theme for this record is this.” This album, I just wanted to write songs and have a big pot of them to choose from. But when it came down to it and I started singing these songs, I realized they all kind of centered on the idea that we have to make ourselves happy. At the end of the day, we have to choose the person we’re with; we have to choose to get over addiction. Or whatever it is. We have to decide to make the best of what we have.

What about the title track?

I was driving home from Austin, where I’d had a really bad gig. A couple of fans had gotten up and left during the first song – and asked for their money back -- because they had driven in from out of town to see someone else -- who happened to be my husband. Jason was supposed to be there but wasn't, so Josh Grider was filling in for him. It had nothing to do with me, but it threw me off. I started forgetting lyrics and doubting myself.

I was crying the whole way home. I called Jason and told him I was going to quit: “I’m gonna go back to college and get my master’s, and teach public speaking in college. That’s what I’m want to do!” He said, “Get home, go to bed and wake up tomorrow. It’ll all be okay.”

And right as I’m wiping my tears away, this hawk shoots out and flies almost into my car. It shocked me out of my stupor and forced me to say, “Okay, focus, you’re almost home.” And it was 2:00 in the morning and I got home and wrote the whole song. And the whole point of it is at the end of the day, that hawk’s out to find a snake or a rat or whatever he can to survive, and he’s gotta do it by himself. I’m out here playing songs, singing songs that come from deep inside of me, and I’ve gotta do it by myself. I have to choose; when those two couples walk out, I have to be able to say, “I’m good enough. My songs are good enough. I can do this.” I made the choice to do this; I’ve gotta play that show and not let it affect me. I’m doing what I love, and I don’t want to go back to college right now. 

You’re a big fan of waltzes. Why? (And I have a follow-up question.)

So…I don’t know why, but all my life I’ve liked slow, sadder songs. I’ve listened to Counting Crows and Carole King and they’ve been huge influences on me. Willie Nelson…I love Merle Haggard. I just love slow songs. People have told me, “You’re in a waltz rut,” and I just can’t help it. The way that I write poetry it phrases itself in a waltz meter without my trying.

That was another challenge because I thought I was gonna end up with another slew of waltzes – and again, I’m not apologizing – but some people think it’s too much.

I asked Jason this last year, and I’m curious about your take. How does one go about writing a waltz? I mean, do you have lyrics ahead of time and bend them into a One-two-three cadence? Do you write the words with a ¾ time in your head? Or is it something else entirely?

Man, for me it just really comes out that way, in a waltz meter. I’ll have a phrase in mind and I’ll write the phrase out and as the words start coming, I realize that’s just the way it’s going to be. I really don’t try, “This is a melody, let’s write a song to it,” I never do that. I guess my heart beats in the rhythm of a waltz.

On the surface one would think, you know, you & Jason have been married for going on 4 years now, and y’all are perfect for each other – you should be in a really good place in life. But so many of these songs are dark and sad. How much of this album is autobiographical? I mean, obviously “Fourteen Years” is about the sister you lost…

Yes…

…but, for instance, “Round Mountain,”

Completely fictional.

Oh it is? Good!

Yeah! This was one of the first challenges I gave myself. I drove between two towns -- I wanna say Johnson City and Fredericksburg – maybe just past Johnson City, and it was literally just a sign: “Round Mountain.” And I looked into the history and around 1900 there was a church there, and so people started settling there. And when the church closed they all went back to Johnson City.

So I just made up a fictional story of a character named Emily, and she had an affair. And I don’t know if that kind of stuff happened back then, but I kind of wanted to go for a Chris Knight-type of song. I saw a head stone that said something like “Fare the well, Emily Bell,” and just made up a story about her, and her not wanting anybody to know she’d had a bastard baby.” I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate that, if she can hear me. (Laughs)

And she had died young, I should mention that, probably of dysentery or smallpox or something that actually happened back then. I just made it way darker. (Laughs)

Yes. Dark. And fictional.

You know, I got a Face Book message from a fan who said, “I’m kind of concerned, are you and Jason okay? The title of your album concerns me, and I don’t see any pictures of y’all together.” And I said, “You know it’s actually nice to have a private life where we don’t have to share everything we’re doing! But we’re sitting here having dinner, laughing at the absurdity of your concern. It’s a song about the music business. Calm down.” (Laughs)

You mentioned dealing with addiction; speaking from any kind of experience there?

Uh, not necessarily, but I have a grandfather who struggled with alcoholism and a brother who just celebrated two years of sobriety. But it’s hard for all of us, watching him struggle with that and not knowing what to do to help. But it’s not me; there’s nothing in me that says “I’ve gotta have that,” and then I’ve gotta have it more. I can have a drink, and I can not have a drink for three months and not think about it. Luckily it wasn’t something that was passed on to me. I just think everybody struggles with their own thing.

You’re on your way to a house show to help finance this record, and as best I can tell, your albums have all been self-released. Was this a business decision on your part to forsake getting a label and do it all on your own?

I’ve never looked for one, and I’ve never had anybody approach me. So I guess it’s mutual. I enjoy having creative control over my material and I think I’d be very disheartened if anyone told me I couldn’t do it the way I wanted to. I just think we’re very fortunate to live in Texas where you can make a living touring and driving around playing guitar. I don’t even play with a band. And I make more money doing this than I did at my day job…which wasn’t much, you know, but it’s a pride thing. At the end of the day I look at my guitar and say, “Me and you: we did that.”

And nobody told me, you know, that I had to shoot Botox in my lips…

Ha!

…or lose 40 pounds. I mean, I think of all the things – I hear horror stories from my friends in Nashville…these girls in their twenties who are gorgeous, but with these ridiculously plump lips and no wrinkles on their foreheads. And that’s just not country music! Country music is supposed to have wrinkles. And cigarette smoke and beer.

And that’s just not – I would not want anything put on me that way, because it’s frightening to me. I think they’d take one look at me – I’m a curvy girl – and say, “You don’t belong here.” So it’s never anything that’s come into the realm of the possible with me. And I’m okay with that.

Drew Kennedy produced the last album, and you did this one yourself. What was the recording process like? Did y’all lay everything down live?

I was nervous about it. But I’ve been missing a lot over the last few years. I’m a mom – going to basketball games and soccer games. But I had the opportunity to make and album in my hometown and I’ve never done that before, so I jumped on it.  So two of the guys who tour with Jason – Jerry Abrams on bass and Giovanni Carnuccio on drums – we went in the studio and tracked it live. I was in the control room and they were in the main room, and what you hear is what we did. There are no overdubs on that part.

Now when you hear Lloyd Maines, he did that from home. But the basic tracks – guitar, bass drums and vocals – we did that live, in about two and a half days. But I’m just so fortunate to have Lloyd and a bunch of other friends and people I trust who helped out. I just sent them my songs. And the thing is, they – and especially Lloyd – they listen to words, and they play things that match. A lot of musicians don’t do that. But Lloyd can hear me take a deep breath, and you can hear it correspond on the steel – inhaling.

It’s just cool things like that; I don’t think I could have asked for better people to play on it. But I was very excited to try and do it myself, and it’s been a very proud moment for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever do it again, but I loved it.  

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What It's Like to Fly Alone is available through Courtney's site, on Amazon, etc.