Category: On Air

Brian Kalinec is perhaps as close to the definition of a traditional folk singer as you can get. His songs are earnest and lyrical with sparse accompaniment aside from guitar and a piano. In an increasingly hostile and cynical climate, his reflections on racial progress and his friendship with his neighbor Henry seems downright quaint. But sometimes, especially in these times, it’s nice to hear a thoughtful piece about moving in the right direction.

“I was born into the change, but there was a lot of resistance to that change,” Kalinec said of watching the Civil Rights Act become law. “We’ve come a long way, but there are people who would like to see us go back to what they consider to be the good old days.”

Kalenic doesn’t exactly have his blinders on. He’s well aware of some of the regressive trends in education and muses on another track as to whether it’s possible for this country to become less polarized. He doesn’t answer the question except to say making improvements is worth a try. Speaking with me, a younger millennial, Kalenic indicated that he holds out hope for my generation. 

“My daughter went to school with kids of many different backgrounds and cultures and colors and she doesn’t see herself as special,” Kalinec said. “But when I was a kid, that demarkation was there.”

Much like finding hope in this news cycle, many tracks on The Beauty of it All are about extracting the joy from life, even if it is at times “aspirational.” The title track, in particular, shines with optimism despite recognizing that the singer has lived more of his life than not.

“As I get a little older, I recognize that I need to be a little more aware of everything, especially be more present,” Kalinec said. “I always want to be more present for family and friends, but also appreciate the beauty of the world.” 

In addition to the title track, Fix-It Man provides a particularly endearing look at an older man appreciating life despite some of the hardships that come with age. Big Hearted continues the trend of aspirational thinking and learning from younger, kinder viewpoints. Breakfast at Midnight is, if not the healthiest idea, then certainly a joyful one. 

If most songs deliver those messages in a simple, positive way, Two Roads provides the gut punch. A young woman with big dreams dies young after guiding an alcoholic neighbor to sobriety. Part of making the most of life is understanding it could end at any moment. Kalinec provides narration that he, like most people, aren’t trying to save the world or numb the pain. We’re just managing money and time. 

“We all think when we’re younger that we’re [going to save the world] and I guess some people are a little more successful at that than others,” Kalinec said. “The important thing is that we save our own worlds. That’s probably the most that we can do.” 

If that sort of reminder doesn’t help his listeners live a little more purposefully, I’m not sure what will.

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.

Jill Barber is an acclaimed musician and songwriter who has traveled the world sharing her thoughts. Yet she still finds the time to act as a homemaker to her children, husband, parents, and friends. Though her mother was a homemaker in the traditional sense of the word, Barber wrote “Homemaker” to celebrate all the people who care for others. 

“What I want to do is celebrate the work that goes unseen, the invisible work that you’re not getting paid for but is deeply valuable for society,” Barber said.

The title track “Homemaker” is tender and deeply empathetic. Barber realizes how difficult it is to do the work involved in running a home, whether that means doing the dishes or instilling values in her children. She’s gained a new appreciation of what her mother did for her.

“As a kid, I thought of my dad as the one who worked and my mom was just at home,” Barber said. “But my mom did all the heavy lifting raising us two kids.” 

Homemaker is a job that Barber had to on a more full-time basis during the pandemic with her concerts cancelled and her children constantly at home.  It wasn’t easy.

“There were days when I would scream into a pillow at the top of my lungs just to have a release,” Barber admitted. “And I’m sure I’m not the only one out there.”

Two of the most powerful tracks on the album, “My Mother’s Hand” and “Big Eyes” delve into the mother/child relationship in a way that show’s Barber’s deep reverence for the bond. “Big Eyes” is particularly effecting when she mentions her wish that her children always look at her the way they do now, a wish that’s completely understandable but hardly realistic as the kids enter their teenage years.

“I think they look to me like I’m their home base,” Barber said. “They always return to Mom because I’m a safe place for them. Although now that they’re getting older, part of their job is to break away from us.” 

Barber’s investment in her role as a homemaker translates to great songwriting material. Her desire to set a good example for her children led to thoughtful songs both about them and for them, such as the cheery “Helium,” the one song on the album that may work better for a younger audience.

“Beautiful Life” describes the “major double-edged sword” that Barber considers social media to be and her embrace her messy but beautiful real life. She finds herself bothered by the distortions and curations that social media tends to pressure people to put forward, even admitting that it’s something she does on her professional account. As a parent, she worries about her kids logging on one day.

“I’m worried about all of us,” Barber said. “I think we all have to get literate and wise to it. It can be very deceptive, comparing yourself to the people you see. I’m not one of those people who quits it or says we can’t do it, but I think we need to teach our kids how to use it.”

“Instant Cash for Gold” is a brilliant lead to the album that ruminates on dying dreams. It speaks to Barber’s determination surrounding her music career even though there’s disillusionment that doesn’t gel with other parts of the album. Barber seems unlikely to ever trade her dreams in at a pawn shop as evidenced by “Helium” and the powerful “Woman of My Own Dreams.” 

In terms of pure melodic magic, “Joint Account” featuring Slow Leaves shines brightest. It’s tender, hopeful, and, much like a lot of this album, demonstrates a healthy relationship beautifully.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Jill Barber and the songs we discussed, starting with “Beautiful Life,” which both talks about social media and is shared on a social media platform. 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.jillbarber.com for more.

Gemma Laurence’s Lavender is a honeyed collection of quiet and awkward moments that slowly tell the story of great personal growth. It’s hard to overstate how sweet Laurence’s voice sounds, how well the accompanying instruments contribute to the mood, or how real and precious the flawed love stories feel slipping through her hands. And with positive, tender songs about the queer and trans experiences, Laurence immediately shows that she’s a vital part of the growing queer country movement. 

“Adrienne,” a love song about one of Laurence’s first queer experiences, is notable for the way it holds up awkward details as something that contributes to the romance of the night.

“First dates are always so awkward,” Laurence said on a recent episode of Country Pocket. “There’s such a beauty in that awkwardness. It’s universal for any person on a first date but it’s also quintessentially queer too.”

Laurence credits the pandemic for giving her a unique chance to reflect on moments like the one in “Adrienne” and write songs about them. She does not make many mistakes during Lavender’s eight track runtime. The capturing of fleeting a moment in “35mm” is delicate while the earnest insecurity of “Watchdog” gathers a bit more energy. “Canyon Moon,” the only track that doesn’t sparkle lyrically, contributes plenty through its deep, layered, earthy sound. The album’s slow, rich instrumentation and attention to intimate details throughout makes it a consistently great listen. 

Lavender’s title track, which Laurence says she’s most proud of, isn’t autobiographical like most of the other stories. She wrote it as a song of joy for a friend who was coming out as trans.

“It’s just meant to be a love song to a friend saying I see you, I hear you, and I know that coming out is really difficult, especially for people in the trans community,” Laurence said. “I sent it to her, it meant a lot to her, and I thought it might be worth putting out for other folks who aren’t getting that message elsewhere.” 

While the words in the song and the building music show clear compassing and as solid of a grasp on the metamorphosis that any cisgendered person can have, it’s Laurence’s decision to write the song in the second person that I found particularly effective. It’s a great thing to tell an inspirational story, but it’s so much more important to speak directly to a person and tell them that they’re seen. 

The album closes on a song called “Rearview,” which is the first to capture Laurence outside the paradigm of a relationship. She sings about learning to dance with the person in the mirror.

“It’s really hard being alone.” Laurence said. I’m sure we’ve all felt that. It took me a long time of being by myself to kind of know how to be by myself and not feel like I was incomplete without another person.”

Though she wrote the song a couple years earlier with instrumentation that wouldn’t quite fit on Lavender, Laurence knew it was the right way to conclude her album and celebrate her personal growth.

“When we rerecorded this song I felt this triumphantness,” Laurence said. “I just felt so excited to finally be getting back to New York, to be ready to embark on this mission and have this album about to come out. It really felt in that moment when I was writing that song that there were just bigger things than romance.”

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Gemma Laurence and the songs we discussed, starting with Lavender, which displays remarkable encouragement. 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://gemmalaurence.com for more.

Austin Mayse’s “Wretch Like Me” is a sprawling track that starts out listing a few of his weaknesses before going into a lengthy explanation of his personal philosophy. Dignity, tolerance, community, multiculturalism, and love are prominent themes. It’s a remarkable song that Mayse formed after viewing posts on social media by conservative Christians.

“I would see things using the Christian example as ways to be against somebody,” Mayse said. “Using your religion to discriminate is not what I got from all those lessons growing up. If that makes me a wretch that needs to be saved somehow, that’s fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Most of the humility Mayse displays in the song is genuine. When he talks about not having all the answers or telling people what to believe, he means it. When he talks about burning bridges and drinking, that certainly tracks with lyrics on some of his other songs. Mayse said that his song is coated in just enough sugar to go over well with Texas audiences on both sides of the aisle. But when he questions how there could be divinity for a wretch like him, there’s a bit of an edge there.

“It’s more of a rhetorical question,” Mayse explained. “How could somebody who believes in equal rights for everybody deserve to get into heaven? I don’t think there’s that strict of a policy, and I’d rather be somebody who stands up for others than be somebody with a golden ticket punched into somewhere that I don’t understand or can define.”

Mayse’s sense of community and caring showed up elsewhere in our interview. When discussing his song “Rattlesnake,” which admires character traits in certain animals, he notes that wolves succeed as a pack.

“There’s this fierce individualism in the American culture, but really we’re stronger when we stick together,” Mayse said. “We can stand up for ourselves, but helping out those who can’t is what makes us strong.”

Elsewhere on the album, Mayse makes a strong impression with a lyric about being on “the Southern side of a Northern campaign” on nights he drank too much. It’s a nerdy way to explain that he was both in the wrong and burnt to the ground for his intransigence. The Civil War is a frequent topic in roots music, but I’ve never heard it used to describe a hangover before.

“Bluebonnets” uses the characteristics of the short-blooming Texan flower to describe a shielded woman and “The Rose of Thorndale” is a tribute to Mayse’s relationship done up like old Western mythology. Lastly, Mayse earned a few points with me by choosing a relatively unknown Walt Wilkins song to close out his appearance on my radio show.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Austin Mayse and the songs we discussed, starting with The Sober Light, which starts our conversation about his turn away from alcohol. 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://austinmayse.com for more.