Author: Trevor from WUSB

Scottish folk singer Neev’s debut album “Katherine” is guided by clearly expressed deep thought. Many songs are reflections on relationships and the self. In most cases, those relationships or the character in the song aren’t in the healthiest of states. In some cases, the reflections aren’t the healthiest either.

“Fast Patterns” sees the a character struggling with a friend growing more distant. Instead of making some effort to reconcile, the song is a full on attack and a promise to make that friend change. It’s a last ditch overreaction that seems destined to doom whatever remains between the two.

“When I wrote that song, it was coming from a really ignorant and self centered voice,” Neev explained. “Every single line in the verse starts with ‘I think.’ If anyone’s coming from that point of view, there’s no agreement to be had. It’s me criticizing that voice. You’re never going to hold that person accountable because you’re not even thinking of them.” 

“Fast Patterns” isn’t the only time Neev criticizes unhealthy thoughts by expressing them, though it’s certainly the most effective. Other songs find effectiveness through more earnest expression and analysis. 

“The House” captures a relationship in a place where home no longer feels like a haven e and it seems like every move either party makes is just digging that metaphorical hole deeper and deeper. Neev imagined the central character as a 60s housewife (she’s from the UK; perhaps think 50s for American context) in search of liberation. 

“The character no longer feels home to be a safe place because they now feel it’s a place of repression,” Neev said. “It’s almost too small for them.”

Her observation is quite accurate. Nothing makes a space feel smaller than being trapped in it or sharing it with someone you’re uneasy around.

Neev’s voice is earthy and tender, something her instrumental arrangements match quite well. Both soft strumming and soaring strings work, though the understated sounds are much more common and hypnotic.

One song, “Without Warmth,” is truly special in terms of capturing healthy, rational, but emotional thoughts from the end of a relationship. The vulnerability and reflections on what’s failed are there, but the central character is able to frame the breakup as a gift and easing of burdens to the person their in a relationship with, and perhaps themselves. 

“The baggage that comes with spending time and having experiences with a person is that you feel like you have to hold onto those things in really petulant way even if the way you’re holding onto them might not be useful,” Neev said. “Bottom line, kindness and love are the most important things here, so how do we move forward knowing that?”

The fact that much of the album comes from a less healthy perspective makes gems like this and “Out of the Blue” mean even more. Moments of clarity somehow seem more valuable than clarity itself. Ending the relationship on kind, appreciative terms with well wishes and acknowledgment of the difficulties is the perfect way to end the album. It may be more of a dream breakup than a realistic one, but it’s incredible to experience something so nourishing, even if it may only be possible through well-written songs like these.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Neev and the songs we discussed, starting with Fast Patterns, which toxically describes how another person has become toxic. The interview begins afterward. You can hear the show live every Monday at 11am on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://neev1.bandcamp.com for more.

In setting out to tell the story of Newton County, Arkansas, Aaron Smith consulted books, historians, and local legends. In 13 songs, he introduces listeners to generations of colorful characters, historical atrocities on large and small scales, and a folk opera about a man trying to find his lost sister. 

“Newton County seemed like a magical place where big things could happen, a rough place where tough people settled,” Smith said, “As I started to hear stories, they just started to resonate with me.”

Sam Davis’ story was especially prominent. The Legend of Sam Davis plays out over the album’s final six songs and presents most of the story from the viewpoint of the titular character. There are moments of brilliance, like Davis’ desperate scramble to find “Bent Twigs and Hoof Prints” in tracking his sister after her possible kidnapping, and moments that are somewhat difficult to stomach, like Davis’ viewpoint that the Native American tribe took his sister “in the flower of her innocence.” The truth, Smith said, is likely more complicated.

“There’s a lot of reasons to doubt whether that’s a fact or not. There were people who left white society to live among Native Americans and that may have been what Sam Davis’ sister did and maybe it was an effort to save face that they framed that as her being abducted.” 

Smith, a man of mostly white but some Native American descent, said he didn’t feel comfortable appropriating the story of Native Americans during the era his album was set. But he does convey the horrors of the Trail of Tears by singing about Henri Martain, a Frenchman who settled in Arkansas and married a Cherokee chief’s sister. 

“He has Cherokee family and he sees what they were put through as very unjust,” Smith explained. “His family, from the time they settled in Newton County, made every effort to live as white people and be perceived as white as possible.”

While Smith uses terms like “half-breed,” it seems clear that he’s speaking as people then would have and not personally expressing those views. That’s further substantiated by “Looky There,” a song that allows Davis to speak but also contextualizes him as someone viewed as somewhat problematic even in his day. Still, Smith told me he has qualms about the way Native Americans are portrayed in the Sam Davis story even if he did eventually use a version of the story that Davis would’ve likely endorsed.

“It’s not about whether his sister was willingly or unwillingly taken into that life, but it’s really about how Sam deals with a world he can’t control,” Smith said.

Smith also had some worries about the role women played on his album, but he was able to write a couple of extra songs to make their story more complete.

“I realized all the women on this album so far have been kidnapped or murdered and we need to have some other stories,” Smith said.

Granny Brisco more than fit the bill as a strong woman, though Smith had to venture into the 1900s to tell her story.  Brisco was a midwife who travelled on horseback to her clients and worked into her eighties. He also credits another song, “The Snow Child” to having reached out to a local historian for better stories about women.

“Women like [Brisco] have held it together for us for a long time, and she played a really important role and was a respected person in her area,” Smith said.

There’s no shortage of drama to be found in Newton County. “Ab Clayborn” tells the story of a man whose plan to commit a murder of revenge was foiled by the intended victim already having committed suicide. That didn’t stop him from unloading his gun into the body and setting fire to it. “Dead Man’s Hollow” shows a colder side to the community as a noticeably diseased man traveling through town was given no aid and ultimately left to die in the elements. Brothers “Curly and Tom” commit a murder, causing their family to flee to Colorado. 

Each of these accounts are told beautifully. Contemporaneous viewpoints and values are woven into the songs while modern commentary exists in the narration. Even the music aids in the storytelling. “Ab Clayborn” benefits from hard strumming as gunshots. When Curly and Tom are revealed to have grown up rotten, the guitar strikes a decidedly sour note. 

The album as a whole serves as one of the most enthusiastic and thorough local history lessons in existence. Though “Ab Clayborn” may have to be left out, it would be easy to imagine local schools calling Smith in to perform and share some of the rich context he learned in his research. It’s a wasted opportunity if he doesn’t.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Aaron Smith and the songs we discussed, starting with Henri Martain, which came along with a book about the Martain family. The interview begins afterward. You can hear the show live every Monday at 11am on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://aaronsmithsongs.com for more.

On her standout song “She Don’t Know What To Sing About Anymore,” Rachel Baiman presents a bright musical character overcome by the weight of the world around her. It weaves autobiographical details into a story with a volcanic apocalypse that captures all the anxiety of the post-pandemic world.

“It came to me in a dream, the idea of the volcanoes, so I’m not sure why that happened but I can interpret it to mean that everything is going on at once,” Baiman said. “That was the summer when there were huge protests regarding racial justice and police shootings and it felt a little apocalyptic with the pandemic. But a lot of the disillusionment also comes with the current state of trying to be an independent artist.”

Unlike the character in her song, Baiman certainly seems to know how to write songs under the weight of a depressing world. Her new album “Common Nation of Sorrow” is another masterclass in political songwriting, a topic Baiman teaches to other songwriters.

“I’m always coming back in in my music stories of how people end up with hateful beliefs or stories of how people are affected by these systems,” Baiman said. “I teach political songwriting classes and a lot of times people get frustrated with me because I think they come to the class wanting to use it as a place to rant about their beliefs and what I’m trying to teach is how to convey something emotionally.” 

“Some Strange Notion,” effectively the title track, describes a world not unlike ours in which people have begun to notice the inequities around them and want to make a change.

“The notion that I’m trying to present is the shared experience of hardship,” Baiman said. “The idea that if you’re just sitting there alone and things are a little bit too hard, you don’t feel like there’s anything you can do with that feeling. But once you realize that everyone around you is feeling the same, then not only do you feel seen and more comforted, there’s also something to be gained from that. If everyone’s going through this together, then that’s an opportunity to make change.”

Baiman admits that perhaps we aren’t there yet as culture wars and tribal politics have distracted many people from realizing that the folks with the power and motivation to oppose their financial interests are the ones holding all the wealth.

“There hasn’t been an across the aisle realization of the way the majority of us are being taken advantage of economically. That feeds into everything. It feeds into anger and racism and misogyny. If people felt that they had opportunity and could build the life they wanted, I don’t think they would need to spend as much time on anger. 

Some of Baiman’s sharpest political songwriting comes on “Self-Made Man,” which effectively asks how many people need to suffer for one to become extremely successful. In the song, Baiman takes aim at the type of woman who’d marry a man who’s proven to be selfish and unconcerned with others. In reality, she sees a slightly more complicated picture.

“I don’t know that it would be as conscious,” Baiman explained. “It would be more that the way that the system are set up, if you have some money it would be very easy to make money. If you have no money, you’re constantly in debt and it’s really hard to catch up. So I think there’s such a thing as a well-meaning billionaire but there’s not a such thing as a system that maintains any fairness, at least in this country. 

One of the later songs on the album captures Baiman’s connection with music and, by extension, the relationship some of her fans have with her best work. Among the lyrics of “Old Songs Never Die” are “you can’t claim and you can’t own/ these songs that live inside our soul/let the money man try to gauge its worth.” Much like the music Baiman makes and sings about, it’s going to take an appeal to higher values to overcome the rules written by the men with money.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Rachel Baiman and the songs we discussed, starting with “She Don’t Know What To Sing About Anymore,” which certainly resonated with some of the darker periods of my life. The interview begins afterward. You can hear the show live every Monday at 11am on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://www.rachelbaiman.com for more.

Jenna Torres crafted an excellent album in Heaven & Hurt with most of the songs falling pretty directly into one of those two categories. The first track, “Godspeed” tells the story of someone letting go of a love when she realizes it’s not meant to last. It’s definitely a song of hurt, but it’s more remarkable for the maturity displayed through the pain.

“That particular song came from a place of wanting so much to take the higher road,” Torres explained. “It’s so easy to feel that we own each other and that if you don’t get what you want that somehow things aren’t right. But at the end of the day I do think it’s important to release and to accept the way things are.”

Torres displays more maturity in hurt in songs like “Your Time to Fly,” a farewell to an ailing loved one, and “Just A Mountain,” a song about persisting in the face of very real struggles.

“I think it’s very important to acknowledge when a mountain is large,” Torres said. “Having lived as long as I have I’ve walked over many mountains. I’ve managed to get over many mountains myself and I’ve been with people whose mountains were so great that even as we attempt to ascend we know we may never get to the top. But what I’m trying to say in the song is that no matter how great the mountain, you still have to climb it.”

The heaven in this album comes in many forms. Prayers Up offers a literal moment of holiness in an otherwise secular collection of songs. But Torres also explores a less pure form of heaven on songs like “Tell Me In Kisses” and “Tennessee Heat.” In both songs Torres is direct about her wants and needs and tastefully sensual. It’s a mindset that she actually finds easier to express on stage than in real life.

“I say things and do things in song that I may not do in person,” Torres admitted. “Song is freedom for me. It’s the place I go to let it all hang out and be more easily seen. To be a fully empowered woman who speaks about her sensuality and desire openly is something I want for myself and all women, frankly.”

The songs play out a bit like fantasies, or at least aspirations.

“It comes very naturally,” Torres said. “Being a person who has a pretty vivid imagination and can direct a whole movie in my head about how I want things to go, I’m pretty good at conjuring up an ideal world in my mind.”

“Talk to the Rain” is a song that asks someone to step into one of those roles that Torres might cast in her imaginary movies: someone who’ll support her through the hard times.

“Being supportive looks to me like good listening,” Torres said. “It’s not so much about giving advice and telling people what they should do. But what a person should do is really up to them. Encouragement, energy, faith, seeing the beauty in someone. I’ve been very fortunate to have several people meet me where I am. Meet someone where they’re at and try to lift them from there.”

As much fun as a country album with typical tales of self-destruction and dramatic breakups can be, “Heaven & Hurt” is a refreshingly mature take on many of those same topics. Even the love songs show that Torres is a woman who knows what she wants and knows what she needs to do. And it’s absolutely to her credit that she can display these traits without sounding preachy about it. And while Torres likes to avoid the word ‘should,’ I have absolutely no problem saying that you should give this album a listen.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Jenna Torres and the songs we discussed, starting with Godspeed, which handles saying goodbye a lot better than I could. The interview begins afterward. You can hear the show live every Monday at 11am on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://www.jennatorres.com for more.

Amie Miriello and Vanessa Olivarez are extraordinary country-rock harmonizers with lyrics and a sound that show off a bit of edge and a lot of heart, a combination that makes their songs feel like honest thoughts shared by a close friend. It’s what makes Boys Club For Girls so worth joining. 

The two spoke with me via zoom for an appearance on WUSB and often had me laughing. Olivarez went with large pink sunglasses and even larger and brighter pink earings while Miriello settled for a black zip-up hoodie. They’d often answer questions at the same time, sometimes differently. Miriello cursed just about as freely as she did on the album, recounting that they almost played their uncensored songs during a live radio performance on a different station. She described their relationship as like they siblings, though noted there’s sometimes confusion.

“People sometimes think that we’re together because when we sing live, I’d say 75% of the time we sing to each other,” Miriello explained. 

“There’s an intimacy about singing with each other and to each other that people sometimes translate as being romantic, but I think we are in love with the songs,” Olivarez added.

The songs range from mournful country to edgy roots rock and from introspective to funny. “The Weatherman,” the album’s most popular single, talks about unpredictable emotional turbulence by comparing it to the weather in Tennessee, which Miriello described as a “complete shit show.” 

“It’s like two seasons in a day here,” Olivarez said. “It’ll be warm and beautiful in the day and it hits night time and the sun goes down and it’s like winter. We really tried to take that idea and turn it into a song about how it’s difficult to control these emotions.”

Closest traces the mindset of someone attempting to engage in a dysfunctional relationship on a piano driven ballad that sounds sufficiently melodramatic for the topic being discussed.

“When I was younger, I didn’t think that a relationship was intense enough and the love wasn’t deep enough unless there was chaos,” Miriello admitted. “I think a lot of people feel like if it feels normal or it feels easy then it can’t be a big enough love. Love does not have to be chaos. It’s always going to be hard, but you don’t have to fight and make up to make things exciting.” 

“Eventually you just settle into a nice, slow kind of love,” Olivarez added. “I think even if you don’t think that’s what you want it’s what everybody wants.”

“Not Just Yet” showcases the duo’s typically great harmonies while also showing how they’re not always perfectly in sync. When I asked if understanding the idea behind the song, that you’ll eventually be okay after a break up, made the process any easier, the two disagreed. Miriello quickly said no, but Olivarez gave a full answer first. 

“It might feel black for a while like you’re never going to see the other side, but eventually there’s a light at the end of the tunnel and I think it’s important to remember that,” she said.

Miriello disagreed. “You know that you’ll be okay at some point, but I don’t think it makes it any better because it feels endless when you’re in it.” 

The two did harmonize on one point though. 

“Some people make it really easy for you to not grieve,” Olivarez said. Miriello laughed and nodded. I couldn’t help laughing along as well. 

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Amie and Vanessa and the songs we discussed, starting with Not Just Yet, which is the mid tempo song of the three I play. The interview begins afterward. You can hear the show live every Monday at 11am on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://www.boysclubforgirls.com for more.

Jaimee Harris named her sophomore album Boomerang Town after the town she grew up in. It seemed to have a certain gravitation effect on those who tried to leave and certainly didn’t impress Harris.

“It felt to me like a lot of folks who tried to leave my hometown ended up coming back, and ended up coming back pretty quickly,” she explained. “It’s not small enough to be a small town with small town charm and it’s not big enough to be a city. I think it’s not only common that you might feel stuck, but I think it’s common particularly in areas like this where the Evangelical Christian foot is on your face, that although the concept should be redemption that it’s harder to overcome that.”

The album Harris created is superb and weighty, tackling subjects like suicide, alcoholism, grief, and religion. It’s a reflection of not only her own struggles but the stories of folks from her boomerang town that she was so expertly able to inhabit. The title track is told from the perspective of a friend’s older brother who impregnated his girlfriend at a young age. Another is from the point of view of a mother who lost her young son to a bullet. 

Harris’ own story and that of her family is woven into the album. Though she managed to leave her hometown in her pursuit of music, a family history of suicide and alcoholism inhabits “The Fair and Dark Haired Lad.” The song captures at least three generations of pain, from her grandfather down to her.

“I’ve been in recovery for a little over nine years now, so my understanding of alcoholism is constantly changing,” Harris said. “I was able to see what my grandfather was dealing with and what other people in my family were up against. I’ve been privileged to have less of it, though my biology and mental health still goes there.”

Other standouts on the album include the comforting “Love is Gonna Come Again,” the boozy and hazy “Sam’s” and the deconstructionist “On the Surface.” But no song feels quite as raw as “How Could You Be Gone,” a portrait of grief Harris wrote with her partner Mary Gauthier, who happens to be a fantastic musician and songwriter in her own right. It describes what Harris experienced after losing her mentor Jimmy LaFave.

“Some days I can think about Jimmy and talk about Jimmy and I can hear him sing and I can laugh,” Harris said. “And other days someone can barely mention his name and I start bursting out crying, and her passed away in 2017. There’s several days when I want to call him and tell him that he died. There are all these moments when I physically pick up my phone and try to call him.” 

Throughout the album, the realness and power of Harris’ emotions come through on her well-constructed songs. Longer tracks feel epic in scope rather than drawn out and even the more hopeful tracks feel genuine and possible. Harris seems destined to become one of Americana’s greats after an album like this. 

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Jaimee Harris and the songs we discussed, starting with the epic Boomerang Town, which serves as the title track. The interview begins afterward. You can hear the show live every Monday at 11am on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://www.jaimeeharris.com for more.