Category: On Air

They made their way to Los Angeles to study comedy. They accidentally formed a country band. Haley Spence Brown and Jack Hackett of The Doohickeys have proven to be quite gifted in both realms.

The Doohickeys perform real country music while taking shots at tropes of the genre and pains of rural living. But they do it in a way that’s often loving and always healthy. Unbelievably, a song discussing ‘truck size’ turns into an opportunity to promote male body positivity and healthy sexual goals. It’s bold, unique, and funny. And it allows men to be satisfied with their appearance “as long as my lady gets to where she is going.”

“When we wrote it, we weren’t even really a band. We wrote it for sketch comedy,” said Hackett. “People have this machismo manly persona in country music. Very rarely do we talk about our insecurities.”

Shockingly, they originally planned for “I Wish My Truck Was Bigger” to be a slower song. It could’ve been ugly.

“You can’t do a real sad song about that,” Hackett added. “You have to laugh at it. I’m shocked at the number of deep dives there have been on this song. I thought people would just glaze over it but I’m happy about it.” 

There’s an important line in the song “This Town Sucks” that sums up their gentle touch: “I know I say I hate it here/but it made me who I am/so I can say it’s crap/but don’t think that means you can.” 

A few targets — an aggressive man at the bar, televangelists, and faux populist politicians — take a direct hit. But for the most part, The Doohickeys are laughing at themselves and celebrating things like Jack’s beat up truck and Haley’s hero of a father.

Hackett is from the Atlanta area while Brown comes from the rural Liberty, Missouri. 

“I think every mainstream country artist has a song about their small town and this is ours,” Brown said. 

While they aren’t aiming for mainstream country success, there’s plenty of commentary and discussion with the genre. One of the characters they take a less than kind view on in the title track is a country star from Seattle who fakes a Southern drawl. 

“I would argue that the vast majority of people from where I’m from are tired of musicians who pretend to be country,” said Brown. “They’re tired of politicians who pretend to be populists.”

Brown’s solution to the problem is hilarious and, considering her background in comedy, shockingly brilliant. 

“Have Congress work as a jury pool where we just randomly pull people to serve for two years,” Brown explained. “Cause it can’t be crazier than it is now.”

The pair were shocked how much love their song has gotten on both sides of the aisle, even as it took aim at mostly conservative leaning figures. 

“If you’re a televangelist, maybe just let us know what your net worth is, Hackett said. “Or maybe be taxed.”

What’s shocking is how good and meaningful one of their less comedic songs is. It tells the true story of Brown’s father, a lawyer who defends farmers against any governmental body looking to exercise eminent domain.

“My dad’s awesome,” Brown said. “I wanted to sit down and write a song that was authentically me but inspired by Dolly Parton.”

The song sounds quite a bit like Parton wrote and performed it. And compared to the subjects of “All Hat, No Cattle,” it’s a reminder of what a real populist hero looks like. It’s a man who left a job foreclosing on farms to defend the little guy who just wants to remain in his home.

“He saw what they were doing,” Brown explained. “He really wanted to get an inside view on their operations.”

Brown’s love for Parton runs deep. She received viral acclaim for an online audition to play Parton in a musical production. It just so happened she recorded it as the band fled Los Angeles during the recent wildfires. Brown doesn’t look much like Parton, but she absolutely has the voice and soul to perform her music. 

“It was a really nice positive moment in a really scary week,” she said.

There are some unhinged moments on the album that deliver on the promise of comedy. “Please Tell Me You’re Sleepin’” truly goes in an unexpected and hilarious direction. “Too Ugly To Hitchhike” is a good concept but perhaps a few decades too late. 

But most of the laughs come on songs like “I Don’t Give A Damn About Football.” A little comic exaggeration on a common but under discussed problem among country music fans — in this case a man more focused on football than his wife — and a couple of lines of observational humor, and you have a Doohickeys song. It’s solid blue collar humor that doesn’t resort to cruelty. Somehow, this occasionally raunchy album is one of the more unique and wholesome things you’ll hear in 2025. It’s just a beautiful thing that this project exists.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Haley and Jack and the songs we discussed, starting with This Town Sucks, which both roasts and stands up for small town living. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. You can hear the show live every Tuesday at 12pm on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://www.thedoohickeysband.com for more.

Mallory Chipman would love for you to come see the gorgeous wild plains of her homeland of Alberta. 

“Part of me has always thought that if folks could see it with their own eyes, they would feel the same way I do about this place being sacred and worth protecting,” said Chipman. “We as humans are part of this nature. We as humans are nature protecting itself when we take action.” 

On Songs To A Wild God, Chipman expands on her activism and spiritual connection to nature to create one of the more moving albums focused on environmentalism. The plea she makes is beautiful, multifaceted, and dire. It also regularly mentions waking up to the fact that there’s a problem. Recent summers have done that for Chipman, as wildfire smoke from British Colombia or even a national park in Alberta have made her skies hazy. One of her friends even became a climate refugee after losing her home and instruments to a wildfire.

“Most folks have work life balance and daily patterns they need to uphold just to get by. It can be really easy to let some of these collective responsibilities fall to the side, which I have a lot of empathy for,” said Chipman. “Until we have seen the destruction, we often don’t realize we’re capable of it. Sometimes we’re reminded that things are more dire than we think.”

“Saltwater Tears” underlines that urgency and hints at the album’s title with an encounter with a street preacher. He is predicting the end of the world and Chipman agrees, though not for the religious reasons he’d expect. “We’ve been praying to the wrong God the whole damn time,” she sings.

“Old Man River” hints at this conversion. In describing a decaying ecosystem, Chipman sings “I ask myself why didn’t I care until now,” hinting strongly that it’s too late in this case. 

Chipman benefits from a clear voice with a range that reaches to the skies. Though she’s tended toward indie rock thus far in her career, she’s a natural fit for folk music like this. The high notes she hits on tracks like “Sing Me Home” are impressive and sound a bit like birdsong. That, of course, feels right at home on an album like this.

“Mystic Time” is the one song on the album not rooted in nature and tells an extraordinary story of Chipman first discovering her heritage. Her father, who was adopted, did not discover where he came from until later in his life. Chipman sings of familiarizing herself with a culture and the hole in her history that was suddenly filled. On an album that serves as a warning call, a happy story is welcome. 

“Same Hands” is a standout both for its dreamy sound and the loss of innocence story it tells. It follows a young Chipman exploring her natural surroundings, picking lilies and bringing frogs home from the creek.

“I’ve always found a lot of kinship with these creatures. It was this innocent perspective of looking for friendship. Unfortunately, the next day they were belly up in their aquarium,” said Chipman. “I realized I can do as much damage as I can do good. As adults, that’s still true.” 

Chipman acknowledges that in an age of short attention spans, helping the environment can be a difficult concept to grasp. She points to her work removing invasive species near her home as an example of one of the speedier ways to make progress.

“You’re able to very quickly see when you come back the next summer how much more room there is for native plants. Even that, when I say it’s a shorter term thing, that’s a year away,” said Chipman.“We’re so used to instant gratification. The results are going to look different than that. Hopefully that’s not too discouraging.”

The album ends with an appreciative song about time spend in the wild and that invitation to Alberta. There are dire warnings on this album, but Chipman preferred to end it on notes of joyful reverence. It’s a leap of faith that people could be inspired to truly change, but for Chipman, the natural world and faith are quite intertwined

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Mallory Chipman and the songs we discussed, starting with Saltwater Tears, which deals with themes as heavy as the end times and Earth crying. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. You can hear the show live every Tuesday at 12pm on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://www.mallorychipmanmusic.com for more.

“Whether we listen or not, the songbird sings,” goes the refrain on the title track of Hannah Juanita’s Tennessee Songbird. They’re words the singer understands: her sophomore album is a true love letter to music and performance and a recognition that they form the core of her identity. Her earnest words stand out even among the thousands of artists I’ve listened to for the show. When she chose to cover “Mother Country Music,” it was because of a sincere gratitude to the genre.

“It was very consoling and really changed my life and gave me a lot direction and peace that I hadn’t had before,” Juanita said.

Her song original song, “Peace of Mind,” celebrates that living a hard life on the road has given her a sense of wholeness that she wouldn’t trade for all the creature comforts of a stable home life. 

“I don’t know what else I would do anyway,” Juanita said. “It comes with the struggles but so does everything. A lot of this record is me coming to terms with that this is what I’m doing and accepting the challenges.”

Her decision to stick to a traditional country sound and forgo attempts at making waves in Nashville is just part of that inner peace. 

“I don’t feel like I’m trying to make it big,” Juanita said, emphasizing her commitment to the music. “I want to have a long career and I want to be financially viable and keep the show going.”

The financial and logistical struggles didn’t bear much mentioning to Juanita, but she does find social media uncomfortable and balance tough to find.

“You are supposed to be putting yourself out there constantly, daily,” she said. It’s not like it used to be where people did radio interviews and shows. It’s constant. “The type of person that’s an artist, you need to go inward and you need to close off to the world to recharge and get inspired and make your art and hone your craft.”

There might not be a solution there, but she found a truly beautiful one to avoiding the alcoholism and unbalanced lifestyle of the road.

“I bring my dog when I can,” Juanita said. “That forces us to plan ahead and get to the park or get to the lake and run around or go swimming. That’s build in outside time. It keeps me grounded.” 

Not every song talks about passion for music, but every song shows it. “Blue Moon” and “Loose Caboose” feel like tributes to classic country, though very different varieties. But it’s the much more original “Granny’s Cutlass Supreme” that feels like a classic. 

The song tells the story of an older woman with a nice car and a few bad habits. In an inexplicable stroke of genius, Juanita chose to duet with Riley Downing and his distinct, nearly impossibly low voice. Her and the Deslondes performer make a unique pair, but there’s no way this song was meant to be conventional. In a genre of tight jeans and dirt roads and trucks, a grandma in a bikini with a classic car is a fresh spin that gently pokes fun at cliches while somehow receiving the benefit of featuring those cultural touchstones.

“Granny is a wild woman,” Juanita said. “She has country livin’ wisdom that she wants to share with the world. People often get overlooked in their older age, but I think it’s cool that granny is still kicking it.”

Personally, I think this particular woman would be hard to overlook. Still, the standout song on the album is “Fortune.” Juanita portrays the concept of fortune as an ex who rightfully left her. 

It’s about “looking back over your life and decisions and choices and feeling like at one point you had fortune on your side and maybe it doesn’t feel that way anymore,” Juanita explained. 

The execution is gorgeous as are the female harmonies. Out of all the tracks on this album, it sounds the most like it’s performed by songbirds. Anyone who can write and sing like this, much like Granny, should not be overlooked.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Hannah Juanita and the songs we discussed, starting with Fortune, which is a like a breakup song, but with a concept. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. You can hear the show live every Tuesday at 12pm on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://hannahjuanita.com for more. Photo Credit Emily Danielle Jones.

When I first met Twisted Pine, they were playing a festival on the island and had just released an EP primarily composed of Bill Monroe covers. They were talented, if not particularly unique. Things have changed. 

Clearly, they’ve been listening to most everything. Their progressive sound contains everything listed above, along with some pop and country. Above all, it’s fun and joyful. 

“When the four of us get together and get on stage, there is certainly an element of playfulness and fun and humor in our personalities that comes out in our music,” said mandolinist Dan Bui, noting that capturing that experience was a major goal when recording the album.

“It almost feels radical in a way,” added upright bassist Chris Sartori. “There’s so much sorrow out there in the world and it feels like something we can generate for ourselves and give to our audience.” 

Anh Phung, the band’s flutist, was the only member not available for the interview. Yes, this is a bluegrass band with a flutist. And yes, it works. The band may take on many styles, but they remain an acoustic outlet with (mostly) traditional bluegrass instruments even on their funkiest tracks.

Joy is quite literally the topic of standout single “Goosebump Feeling.” Parks says the feeling comes in waves, though sometimes she doesn’t expect that it will ever come back. 

“It’s continuous ups and downs. Sometimes you’ll even out but it’s nice when you catch that high,” Parks said.

“After Midnight (Nothing Good Happens)” captures a very specific moment of joy through which the band bonded and honed their sound: late nights at a bluegrass festival.

“That’s when the real fun of the festival is just getting started,” said Bui. “Everybody goes back to their campsite, they start breaking into their cooler, they start grilling, they build a fire, and start picking tunes.”

The members Twisted Pine make for particularly interesting guests at a campfire thanks to the presence of Phung. 

“The way Anh plays, she’s really good at blending her sound in with traditional instruments,” Sartori said. “People get excited about the flute because it’s so unique and Anh is usually the only flutist at the jam, although recently there’s been an influx. She’s building a little flute army.”

On the track the band acknowledges that factors like mosquitoes, nausea, and the simple difficulty of functioning the day after an all-night pickathon can lead to some regrets. They also know they’ll be back. 

The instrumentals on the album are already unique by virtue of the flute. So the genre-bending and playfulness put them into a category of their own. At least until the flute army gets recording contracts, these will be some of the most recognizable instrumentals of any bluegrass band. 

“A Beautiful Phase” is the only slower, plaintive track on the album, somewhere between reminiscing and regretting. But if any of these songs can be said to have a slight edge to them, it’s “Chanel Perfume.” It’s far and away the track least influenced by bluegrass and serves as notice to a man wasting the singer’s time. 

“Don’t use up my time in this way; I’m trying to get out there, strut my stuff, be free, be me, and I don’t need someone standing in my way,”  Parks said, taking on a slightly silly and chill tone of voice. She then switched to a serious tone. “In this day and age, for women in particular, there are so many people trying to take away what is ours.”

Quickly though, Parks said she wasn’t looking to elaborate on those comments. There is certainly a complex and difficult world out there, but Love Your Mind is about the joy.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Twisted Pine and the songs we discussed, starting with After Midnight, which captures the joy present throughout the album by describing a bluegrass festival. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. You can hear the show live every Tuesday at 12pm on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://www.twistedpineband.com/home for more.

Sweet soulful sounds and relatable, empowering lyrics are the unifying theme on Kelley Mickwee’s Everything Beautiful, which otherwise captures a number of moods and stages of life.

Mickwee didn’t write songs for this record so much as she assembled them from her catalogue. She wrote some songs a long time ago and only one specifically for Everything Beautiful: Force of Nature. It was, like few other soul tracks before it, inspired by an episode of the NPR show StarDate. 

“The beauty of life is the movement of change/It don’t ever stay the same/Light takes time to travel/Making its way through all that matter,” Mickwee sings.

“I don’t think I got it right, which is good because that would be plagiarism,” Mickwee joked. “I remembered pieces of what he said and put it together to fit what my point was.”

Her beliefs veer all over the place, jumping from scientific fact to religion to nurture. It’s a good reflection of where Mickwee is spiritually. She’s a bit all over the place and doesn’t pretend to know the answers, but finds use in positive practices.

“It’s all a wonder to me,” Mickwee said. “I feel very connected to astrology and Native American culture. I do a lot of grounding. Just straight up feet on the Earth. I’m not a Christian. I investigate different avenues.”

“Force of Nature” isn’t alone in being joyful; “Joyful” is quite literally the name of the first song on the album. “About Time” is an inspirational political sermon. And the title track is a sublime nature walk and the rare song of remembrance that avoids focusing on the pain. When the emotions hit, it’s hard to tell whether they’re hurting or healing you. There’s plenty of other moods on this album, but none so frequently drawn on as joy. 

“Comes Out Wrong” is one of the more unique tracks for Mickwee. It’s vulnerable and devoted in ways that few songs are. It’s a preemptive apology that’s genuine. It seeks to reassure loved ones that conflicts aren’t everything.

“It’s really hard to always remember how much I love them,” Mickwee admits, saying the song makes her think more of family members than a romantic relationship. “I was really humbled by an experience 9 or 10 years ago. Once you’re humbled, you learn the beautiful act of apology. I discovered how to be vulnerable and be accountable.” 

Perhaps the discovery was too life-changing.

“I admit I’m wrong all the time now,” Mickwee half joked. “Probably too much.” 

“You Lie” is a direct and somewhat fun takedown song, but “Long Goodbye” is a more satisfying breakup. The song presents the idea that trying to change someone is just a drawn out way of losing them. It’s something I’ve experienced from both sides but haven’t been able to put into such incisive words.

Of all the lyrics I’ve been delighted to hear put to soul music, it’s the self-examination and anxiety of “Verge of Tears.” 

“You’re not the kind of man you think you are,” an artifact of gender left in from a male cowriter, is the harshest line the narrator hurls at himself, but the notion that everyone else can see his internal distress is the main fear of the song.

“The truth is no one can,” Mickwee says. “You think that your stuff is so important and other people are going to want to talk to you about it or pick up on it, but no one cares. They got their own stuff.”

It’s these specific scenarios that makes Mickwee’s writing so good. And while the songs may have been written at different times, they compliment each other so nicely with a consistent soft soul vibe. And whether Mickwee is uplifting, resolute, or pissed, she’s certainly empowering at each opportunity. 

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Kelley Mickwee and the songs we discussed, starting with Force of Nature, which turns StarTalk into inspiration. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. You can hear the show live every Tuesday at 12pm on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and http://www.kelleymickwee.com for more.

Jontavious Willis is a leading voice in acoustic blues who describes the format as “close to religion.” He’s also a self-described amateur music anthropologist who interviews older blues musicians in his spare time.

“I didn’t know it had a name, but I knew I liked it,” Willis said. “I knew I liked to hear where songs came from, how people pick up songs, how they relate to the folks around them, and how they put themselves in their music.”

I interviewed Willis with more or less those intentions. During our conversation, he came off as tremendously knowledgeable, almost like an encyclopedia, assuming an encyclopedia could display emotions like passion and humor. I had to bleep him more times for radio than any of my other 200 something guests by a factor of about three, yet he knew enough about the format to insert his own public service announcement for the suicide hotline into our discussion on “Ghost Woman.” In an understandable burst of emotion, he revealed that he would have killed if facing the conditions that Black Americans were subjected to before the end of slavery. In over a decade of doing these interviews I haven’t experienced many conversations this dynamic. 

His new album, West Georgia Blues, is also the name of a style he’s developing. Jayy Hopp, who played second guitar on much of the album, is a fellow practitioner and Willis’ mentee. Willis performs as though the British Invasion never occurred, preferring to draw his modern influences from more local sources.

“You’re going to get hip-hop out of Georgia,” he said. “You’re going to get gospel out of West Georgia for sure. I don’t use pop music as a standard. I’m paying homage to the past, but also, I’m doing it now.”

A line from the title track sums it up nicely: “Some people sing the blues just ‘cause they know the song/But we singing these blues to carry tradition on.” 

The album still presents diverse sounds within those parameters. “Ghost Woman,” a throwback to 1920s style laments and the longest track on the album, borrows lines from a number of songs from the era and repackages them into a coherent story. The warble in Willis’ voice came naturally at first, he said, but he exaggerated it to match the old recordings. The requests by the narrator for a ghost to stop haunting him and for a river to wash him away are desperate and powerful.

“Keep Your Worries On the Dance Floor” sounds like the sort of soul that would be at home in the 50s or 60s. It also spells out one of the things that makes blues so appealing by offering to help alleviate pain through good music with frank lyrics.

 “I try to make it intimate, I try to make it personal, I try to talk to folks and not just shred and make the show all about me,” Willis said of his shows. “I want to get folks involved in my music, whether it’s listening or dancing. I want there to be a relationship for the time that we have.” 

West Georgia Blues sounds almost experimental on “Time Brings About a Change” as Willis spits about a butterfly talking to a dying caterpillar about the future it might have with wings. The idea that those who embrace change can evolve while those who don’t are stuck in a more infantile state was striking. 

I was curious how Willis, keenly aware of Black and American history through his musical knowledge and conversations with elders, would interpret the times we were living in. Like the butterfly he is, Willis said not everything needs to be perfect for him to appreciate the 160 years of change since the blues emerged from newly freed Black Americans.

“We’re living in a mighty fine time, and I’m glad to be alive right now,” Willis said. “Politics is always going to be politics, and we have further to go, but we’re always going to have further to go. Humans can’t live in harmony with themselves, so you know they ain’t gonna be able to live in harmony with people that don’t look like them or talk like them.” 

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Jontavious Willis and the songs we discussed, starting with “Keep Your Worries On the Dance Floor,” which illustrates the relationship Willis has with his audience. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. You can hear the show live every Tuesday at 12pm on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and http://jontaviouswillis.com for more.

Kaia Kater has covered a lot of traumatic topics on her past albums, and to some extent that pattern continues on Strange Medicine. But she’s coming at it from a different perspective now. 

“There was this feeling that if I want to write a song like ‘Both Sides Now’ or ‘Clouds,’ I have to put myself through hell. If I want to write anything good, I have to be traumatized,” Kater said. “In 2016 I wrote a song called “Rising Down” which was about police violence against black people. That was a really important song to me and to a certain extent it was very cathartic to write, but I also didn’t think about the fact I’d have to sing it each night.”

She’s progressed on this album as a result of reexamining her assumption. In “Floodlights,” Kater dredges up an age gap relationship she entered as a 17 year old. But this time, she’s on stage singing and able to move past spotting a man who had once caused her pain. She’s also learned the difference between songs she wants to release and songs she writes simply to help her process things. They don’t necessarily all need to be released. A key test she’s instituted involves how she portrays the protagonists in her songs.

“I think I’m much more keen to give whatever character it is in my song some kind of agency, so that when I sing it each night there is more of a 3D look at what life experience is. It’s complicated.”

It’s that type of reframing that makes Strange Medicine go down a lot easier for both Kater and the listener. The targeted woman in “The Witch” is standing up to her accusers, something that feels pointed even with the sweet harmony vocals of Aoife O’Donovan. Burned to death, the character still lets off lines like “I’ll stitch myself back together again” and “I’ll see you soon and hunt you then.” 

“Fedón,” which tells the story of a Grenadian abolitionist and revolutionary, does not focus on the fact his revolution failed. Instead, it spotlights his bravery, ingenuity, and the eventual triumph of his ideals. “Something’s blooming/I can hear it,” Kater sings.

“It had to have this pulsing war-like energy and it had to have forward momentum. It had to be something you look to when you feel discouraged,” Kater said of the song, noting that it feels good to share a story of a marginalized person standing up to the system rather than suffering under it. “Maybe what he really understood is that in 300-400 years his mission would be accomplished. It’s this kind of faith that you lose the battle but not the war.” 

“Maker Taker,” the song that frames Kater’s prior need to highlight trauma in her songs as pressure from record executives and critics, is an airy battle cry: “I’ll starve those hungry ghosts/Play what I know about hope/and confusion and laughing in tour vans.”

“In Montreal,” a highlight featuring fellow Canadian Allison Russell, presents that hope through growth. Kater sings to her younger self about ways she could improve, it’s implied that growth has occurred because she’s the one suggesting it. And therefore her problems in the present day seem likely to be solved. 

Perhaps certain critics may prefer unadulterated trauma, but pay attention to popular culture and it’s full of stories more like strange medicine. The average movie certainly has trauma or danger to overcome, but for the most part, the audience craves stories where the good guys win. People are looking to live vicariously through those victories, to be inspired by those coming of age stories like “In Montreal.”

There is one song on the record that breaks with the theme of agency. “Often As The Autumn,” a ghost story about a shadowy force picking off livestock one by one repurposed by Kater, takes us back to a time when not many of us had much control over what was going on.

“I think at that point we were three years deep into the pandemic,” Kater said. “I was 26 and I had all these plans and I felt like it was so unfair that there was so much death all around me. I was in New York when it started and I remember seeing those trucks. I felt like I was a human subjected to some biblical wrath. I think I needed something scary to recon with.”

The sound of the track is ridiculously cool, built from an untuned viola and a children’s sized pump organ and a vocal track without and room sound. Kater still gives agency to one character in the song, though it’s not the terrified women or the sheep. 

“I wanted this one to be the listener sitting with the inevitability of death. I think the creature is particular because it’s not motivated by good and evil,” Kater said. “I actually have a lot of affection for the creature. Whenever I sing, I feel conviction kind of like I identify with the protagonists in the other songs. I think the creature is telling it like it is, and there’s something cool about that.”

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Kaia Kater and the songs we discussed, starting with Maker Taker, in which Kater explores and rejects the notion that she has to write songs from a place of trauma. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. 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://kaiakater.com for more.

Steve Dawson, like many other songwriters, is an empath. And like many other songwriters and empaths, he has a way of processing losses at a personal and societal level at the same time. Take “Sooner Than Expected,” a song that mourns everyone from relatives who passed on to the increasingly hostile climate. Both were things Dawson knew would happen, but both seem to be occurring on an accelerated timeline.

It’s a gorgeous song, one of a few that shows Dawson only gains strength when he sings more softly. His vocals have a quality that allows for slight breaks on sensitive topics and he’s an expert highlighting them with sparse instrumentation. 

In our conversation, Dawson discussed facing the anxiety of a rapidly changing world, specifically when it comes to forces like death and climate change that no individual songwriter has the power to battle. 

“I try to take deep breaths and enjoy what I’m doing for the day,” Dawson said of his coping mechanisms. “Other days I’m filled with anxiety. It’s very helpful to talk in real time breathing the same air. Focusing on my insignificance is actually helpful to me.”

Still, he worries about those forces and about a population that seems indifferent to destroying our institutions. 

“When I see that half of the country is desiring retribution and this authoritarian world, it makes me very angry,” Dawson said, contrasting his “reasonable” liberal community in Chicago with his upbringing in Idaho. 

“Leadville,” a scorched-earth song documenting the questionable behavior that went on in his small town, was written as an answer to songs that idolize small town life.

“It’s a reaction to a lot of mythologizing that goes on in a lot of Americana and country songs about small towns and how those people are better than others,” Dawson said. “There’s plenty of horrible people in small towns just like everywhere else.”

“Try that in a Small Town,” a violent Jason Aldean song with a music video that featured racist undertones, was the first that came to Dawson’s mind that fit the description. The bad behaviors mentioned in “Leadville” feel so believable both because of how specific the descriptions are and how much some of the characters could’ve been ripped from a recent news story. Some of the offenders, like a handsy principal, probably get a pass due to their politics. Others, like the hedonistic restaurant employees, are just being ‘good old boys’ without realizing that their lifestyle isn’t exactly kind to the women they brag about.

Idaho was not exactly the ideal place for Dawson to grow up. He very much had different values than people around him and was bullied. 

“I kept to myself,” He explained of his childhood. “That’s where I learned guitar.” 

“Leadville,” with its angry drive and its increasingly less matter of fact tone, is the most compelling up tempo song on the album. But it’s the quieter songs and ballads where Dawson is absolutely unreal. 

“A Mile South of Town” is an intimate and detailed look at an accident scene he came across years ago in Idaho. While driving, he came across a man, once riding a nearby motorcycle, and a deer laying in the road dying. 

“That image has just stuck with me my whole life,” Dawson said. “I got out of my car and I did look at the deer and its eyes were open and it was breathing fast and I got the sense that it was panicking. I probably made more of a connection with the deer, because the guy was passed out and clearly had been drinking pretty heavily.” 

Dawson makes the bold stylistic decision to sing from the perspective of the man who crashed. Since he never learned who the man was or what his ultimate fate was, Dawson invented details of his life that sound broadly believable for the community he lived in. The narrator’s calm observations, prediction of being discovered too late, and empathy for the deer all heighten the atmosphere around the unusual and dark situation. There’s no anger toward the deer that essentially ended both their lives; it’s just a simple and deep connection between an animal scared to die and a man processing it a bit easier. 

Lighter tracks like “Time to Let Some Light In” and “I am Glad to be Alive” bring some much needed balance to the album, but the lyrics aren’t quite as unique or powerful as some of the darker songs or mood pieces. “Weather in the Desert,” which details a friend’s failed suicide effort, move from a respectful acknowledgement of what happened (“It was a solid plan”) to a desire for small talk. Here Dawson’s rambling style works better. The anchor of near tragedy means that any awkward moments or lost threads feel like a natural part of a conversation. “Walking Cane,” a song that documents repeated failures to wrestle climate change, feels the most urgent. “Oh, California” has the strongest harmonies. But it’ll be the thought of looking into those deer’s eyes and surrendering that will stay with listeners the longest.   

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Steve Dawson and the songs we discussed, starting with A Mile South of Town, which mines a strange subject for one of the most striking images painted by a song. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. 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://stevedawsonmusic.com for more.

Work-life balance is a difficult struggle to capture in an album, much less a soaring classic. Phil Cramer of Steele Creek is more than up to the challenge on a superb sophomore outing that regularly uses nature to explain complex ideas. It’s a beautiful piece that declares that challenges and the grind worth enduring, but not at the cost of missing the rest of life.

There’s a strange duality about life that “Ridgeline” manages to capture with a unique scene featuring a man pushing a rock up the hill. It’s emblematic of the complex mediations on work, domestic, and mental health topics Cramer explores through metaphor and deep thought on Toward The Light. On the one hand, there are “hard forevers” we have to deal with. Work. Chores. Other obligations. It takes up most of our time pushing that rock up the hill and breaking the momentum for a little inner peace can make it all the harder to continue on our way. But the view is breathtaking. Family is much more important. Cramer is perfectly happy to let that stone roll down the hill in exchange for time with his son or a chance to rest and take it all in. 

“It’s not a linear path,” Cramer said. “The stone’s gonna keep rolling down that hill. But if we want to get over the mountain and see the other side, we gotta keep pushing it up there.”

“Ridgeline” doesn’t just set the tone for the album ahead. The imagery of pushing a boulder up a hill and the views worth resting for conjure a strong image that’s timeless, clear, and gorgeous. And to compare something that big with a kid playing in the park is an effective way to establish the value of family life.

“Yes, we can pursue whatever’s on the other side of the mountain, or even that sense of peace, but it it’s coming at the detriment of of spending time with family, that’s when it starts to become a concern,” Cramer said, noting his family that includes three young children. “Helping them on their journey is the most important thing.”

“Marrow” continues to explore this topic. Its lyrics of missing family while away from them are a bit simpler than the opening song, but the melody is catchier and gives Cramer a better chance to flex his vocal might. “Resurrection Fern” is a metaphor for a relationship as it ages and is based on a New Orleans plant non-natives might not be familiar with. Galleries of hanging ferns there can look dead after a period of drought but spring back to life when the rains return. It’s hard work, according to Cramer.

“It’s in a place where you have to find each other again and again,” Cramer said of a maturing love. He explained that at that point, love isn’t so much a promise but something that actively needs to be nurtured. “The point is how I’m going to show up today for you. I’m gonna keep trying.”

A standout line in the song flashes back to when Cramer was “young enough to make plans as the universe unravels.”

“I think it’s a blessing that each new generation comes with its fresh energy and wants to reinvent the world anew,” Cramer said. “You make lots of big plans then, but it does get harder and more complicated as you have more responsibilities.” 

Another highlight on the album is “Tidewaters,” a song that sees an older person wade into the ocean and contemplate relaxing, something they haven’t done much of in their life. Cramer feels it’s quite important to relax a little, as well as find some form of wholeness. He chose the ocean setting for the way it makes him feel.

“If there’s any place that’s gonna put you in touch with the rhythms of the Earth and some kind of divine spirit it’s sitting out there watching the waves crash in both powerfully and indifferently,” Cramer said. “It’s one of the vastness of the universe moments for me. It becomes a moment when I’m most centered and rooted.”

The character in the song either seems ready to enter retirement or is already there and struggling to adjust.  

“It could be someone dealing with the wreckage of having worked so hard for so long and trying to find what’s left at the end of that,” Cramer said. “Culturally, we make it pretty hard for ourselves.”

There are plenty of other strong tracks on the album, including the incredibly relatable “Serpent’s Prayer” that talks about racing thoughts haunting us in the night. “Towards the Light” has perhaps the most compelling line in the album, where Cramer says he’d “lay down like a stone inside the stream” to give his children a chance to walk across him safely. 

Cramer explained he wrote the line “having had my own struggles with mental health and anxiety in particular and then looking at my son and first of all hoping that he doesn’t face those same problems, but also knowing those problems will come because we’re human and we’re all dealing with our own struggles.”

“I want him to be able to learn from what I’ve been through. At the very least wanting him to grow from the point where I left off.”

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Phil Cramer and the songs we discussed, starting with Ridgeline, which turns work-life balance into an epic struggle on a mountain through metaphor. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. 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://steelecreekband.com for more.