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Most of the musicians I’ve interviewed on this show spend significant portions of the year on the road. A recent guest noted she played 160 shows in 2024 and immediately acknowledged it was a bit much. Bryant Roses is not one of those musicians. He works a day job and wouldn’t trade the road for the time he gets to spend with his three kids. 

The result is the type of album few touring musicians could produce. He dives fully into the small world of his home. Gardening takes center stage on a few songs. He documents the internal struggles and joys associated with raising kids like only someone fully involved in doing so can. 

“I like my domestic life and if that means sacrificing some of the potential success I’d have, I think that’s fine,” he said. 

He’s always enjoyed writing music and has used social media promotion as a way of sidestepping the touring. On his song “Small Star,” he celebrates the time he gets to spend with his wife as a result of his choice. He acknowledges that few will hear his music, but prefers that to being a bright shooting star. “We won’t burn out that easily,” he says.

“There’s a whole sea of small stars thanks to social media,” Roses said. “Anyone can make a song and have a million people listen to it and that’s more accessible to more people. Aside from all the pitfalls of social media, I do think there’s something beautiful about being able to make more artists.”

Artistry is something important to Roses, who has always been something of a songwriter. He started posting covers on social media and releasing new music in part to promote the idea that anyone can participate in something beautiful. 

“One of the reasons I started to pursue it again is for my kids,” Roses said. “It’s something that’s always been a big part of my life and it had taken a little bit of a back seat. But I really wanted to show my kids that you can pursue a creative life if you have a day job or aren’t living the life of a touring musician.”

The day job doesn’t get much mention, but the time with his kids certainly does. They’re the center of his world and he’s looking to make the most of his time with them. 

“Being a parent, you’re confronted with these moments of meaning that are so deep and so profound, but at the same time so fleeting,” Roses said. “The day to day life that may seem mundane are actually the kind of moments I want to stand in front of more fully and not just let them slip by.” 

“Hallelujah” is the closest he comes to complaining. There’s still plenty of appreciation, but the little difficulties get mentioning here. The title praise comes at the notion that eventually, he’ll get some sleep. This album is so noble and pure when it comes to parenting and love, so a little humor and realism goes a long way in making it relatable.

Gardening is a major part of the album, though the songs aren’t quite about maintaining a garden. In “Baby Redbud,” Roses is marveling at the experience of watching something under his care grow. It’s gorgeous to hear him sing about helping the tree through the winter and heartbreaking when he arrives at the eventuality that comes with being a parent: “I don’t want to leave but I got to.” In his telling, nurture is like watering a plant and pruning is a bit like stepping in when the kids are acting up.

“Exactly when it crosses the line gets pretty blurry when you have a bunch of boys laughing, and then wrestling, and then it gets a little too much,” Roses said. 

Echoing his father’s words, he noted that his role was changing as his kids got older: “As your kids age, the problems require a little bit less immediate attention but they get more complicated.”

The gardening metaphor extends to the internal struggles. Roses compares the early childhood years to a winter inside. 

“You’re focusing on keeping this small baby safe and fed and you just turn inwardly for an amount of time, Roses said. “When they grow up you slowly start to emerge into the world.” 

It’s not a coincidence then that he ends the album on a song called “In The Weeds” that marks going back into the world and the need to work on himself again. But that neat ending comes with a bit of a catch. At the time of our interview, the Roses had just brought their newborn third child home.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Bryant Roses and the songs we discussed, starting with Baby Redbud, which turns gardening into a bittersweet reflection on parenting. 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://bryantroses.comfor more.

Lou Dominguez is a folk musician who hungers for the type of folk musician he grew up listening to. 

“Let’s go back to the 60s/the village beatnik scene/when heroic writers still mixed politics with song,” he sings in “For Steve Earle.”

Lou Dominguez also happens to be that kind of folk musician. He didn’t expect to be writing for such dark times, but he seems more than up to the challenge.

“Barack Obama became the president of the United States and I thought maybe, maybe we were done with this,” Dominguez said. “Clearly we’re not.”

While he praises Steve Earle, Ani DiFranco, and Tracy Chapman in his music, he’s struggling to find a prominent folk artist who is at their most relevant today for writing protest songs. 

The key word here is relevant. Folk as a genre has faded in popularity and while some Americana stars have found mainstream success, songs about love, loss, and substances have driven them there. Adeem the Artist may be releasing some of the most brilliant political material ever released, but they’ve gained relatively little attention beyond the No Depression crowd.

Dominguez believes that this is due in part to algorithms deciding too much of what we listen to. 

“It becomes about the numbers and computers,” he said. “Companies are companies and companies are in business to make money. They’re less concerned with people’s feelings.”

This hasn’t deterred Dominguez from releasing his own protest music over the past decade and a half. Hangin’ at the Luna Star is one of his more varied works; it features a few love songs and happy stories along side the more characteristic protest songs, which Dominguez knows how to write well. His deep knowledge of the issues is made all the more impactful by the way he makes it clear how these problems can impact his listeners.

“Our Maldives” advocates for action on the climate to rescue low lying islands but raises the stakes for his home state listeners when he points out Miami might not be far behind. “The United States of Debt” makes brilliant connections. He illustrates how the working poor are bringing their little government support in the form of food stamps to the same superstores that are underpaying them in the first place. He also nails the comparison between what’s going on now and the company stores of days gone by, a system most roots music fans know of thanks to “Sixteen Tons.” 

“It was a problem then and it’s a worse problem now,” Dominguez said. “We have another version of it. You still owe the company store at the end of the week, you just owe it on your credit card.”

His most audacious act on the album was writing a new verse to Chapman’s classic “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution.” It’s a little more about cultural issues than the financial topics covered in the original, but it certainly captures the topics that most animate progressives today. 

“It’s no disrespect in any form,” Dominguez said of updating the classic. “I felt like that song was written in the 80s and we are almost 40 years from there now. I felt like there were new issues. It wasn’t me feeling emboldened to think that I can write something better than Tracy Chapman at all. I was feeling that there was new stuff going on and putting that into the song would make it more interesting.” 

Less expected for Dominguez was the inclusion of a few love songs, something he’d avoided throughout his career. They’re more melancholy than passionate but detailed and classy.

“When it comes to love, I’ve never come out on the side that wins,” Dominguez said. “My love songs are going to be a little bit sad. I’m probably guilty of part of that.”

“Eddie Went to Nashville” is an inspiring heartbreaker in which death isn’t the end of the joy a relationship brings. “The Runner Up” is a highlight for how emotionally intelligent the man is. When he finds out his first love is divorced, he leaves the bar and looks at the sky. The song might seem like it’s preparing for him to take another chance at love, but he ultimately just says a prayer for her. It’s gorgeous and somehow much more satisfying than a happy ending.

“That’s not real,” Dominguez said. “The real story is he knew that it was over years ago so he gave up on it, but he doesn’t have any less love for her. I think it’s a nice way of saying goodbye.”

Interestingly enough, he had originally written a song about a failed relationship where he did not come off well.

“‘Just Anyone,’ when I started writing it, I was just broken up with a woman who had a son,” Dominguez said. “I wrote it from my perspective. I was lucky enough to have a woman friend who didn’t smack me in the face, but she might’ve well.” 

He changed some details and instead sang from the perspective of a father and husband who felt like his wife held him low on her list of priorities. Suddenly he was more sympathetic.

Dominguez also tells two different stories of religion on the album. On one, he protests against a faith healer of sorts who profits handsomely from her work. On the other, he calls the words “thank you” his “Simple Little Prayer” and shows he doesn’t need a church in his life to feel blessed. Taken together, they’re a roadmap to a healthier relationship with faith than the most public advocates of religion tend to have.

An amusing highlight of our interview was Dominguez introducing me to the term “Trump Load.” As in, Dominguez has parents who a Trump voters who he loves very much. But as a result, he’s uninterested in letting other Trump voters in his life. He already has his Trump Load. 

Dominguez knows that things will be rough for a little while, but he said he’s optimistic. He said the next two years will be rough, not the next four, so he’s expecting strong results in the midterms. Even if Dominguez is right, I suspect there will be material for a few new protest songs.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Lou Dominguez and the songs we discussed, starting with For Steve Earle, an appreciative call for more protest songs in these difficult times. 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://loudominguez.com/ for more.

House of Hamill is led by Brian Buchanan and Rose Baldino, two married musicians with a background in Celtic fiddle playing. They are a contradiction in many ways. Lyrically, they are steeped in tragedy and even gore. Yet more often than not, they seem to be having fun with the material or find a way to convey a beautiful message. Even in their most pessimistic song, they encourage listeners to focus on the beauty of the world while they can. Meanwhile, their sound is an otherworldly blend of ancient folk and modern progressive sensibility. 

“When two musicians start a relationship, obviously, they’re eventually going to start writing together and see what comes out,” Buchanan explained. “I think the first couple of [House of Hamill] albums were just us grabbing every influence and thing we’d never gotten to do with our other bands and trying to impress each other”

Caroline Browning joining the trio marked a turning point. Harmonies and acoustic instruments were in, “wacky and wild” rock songs were out. The result is progressive folk like Americans have rarely heard because the backbone is so old world. With fewer modern influences, their take on “Silver Dagger” might be more welcome at a renaissance festival than a bluegrass festival. 

“Banks of the Brandywine,” their lead single, draws inspiration from tracks with percussive vocals like “Hayloft” from Nickel Creek and several by the band Metric. A mandolin and tightened strings provide a rhythm that feels fierce and urgent while the lyrics dive into horrors and urban legends.

“We really love old folk stories and we’re also big true crime fans,” Baldino said. “We often find these spooky stories and listen to a lot of podcasts because we drive a lot. Some of it is made up for sure, probably by teenagers, but there’s definitely folk lore that’s actually true. We like the creepy stuff.” 

“Usually truth is actually stranger and creepier than fiction,” Buchanan added.

A great example is the story of Michael Malloy, also known as the Rasputin of the Bronx. In 1932 the patrons of a bar took out life insurance on the heavy-drinking immigrant, thinking he’d quickly succumb to alcohol poisoning when being allowed to drink for free. He survived weeks of untold damage to his liver along with poisoning attempts, being doused with water while sleeping one off outside in the freezing cold, and being run over by a taxi. Other versions of the tale allege he was fled tacks, glass, and a machine gun shooting before finally being taken out by poison gas more than a month into the project. 

The song describes the frustration of his killers while giving off a sort of fun vibe. If taunting the failures of long since executed murderers can be mined for some joy, I’m all for it. The folk tradition, especially older songs, takes far too much joy in the actual murdering of lovers for anything on this album to be offensive. The suffering here is fodder for campfire tales far less lurid than a typical true crime podcast.

Wildfire features not just morbid enjoyment of dark tales, but inspiration in overcoming the darkness. If death can be played for spooky fun on this album, it can also be the source of tremendous tenderness and beauty.

“Into the Golden,” a traditional folk song by the standards of this band, is based on a William Butler Yeats poem called “Dream of a Blessed Spirit.” Sure, the poem is about someone dying. But the lines “When the stars but dimly shine/don’t go into the golden/light of the morning/with a troubled mind” are well, gorgeous whether it’s about ascending to the thereafter or simply starting a new day.

Twice on the album, House of Hamill departs from the world of lore and high art to tackle in-the-now type subjects. Twice, they show a knack for addressing painful issues with thoughtfulness.

It’s clear that “Shine” is a comeback story by the end of a refrain, though a difficult. The circumstances are not made explicit, but the main character is moving away after experiencing some kind of rejection by her church. The band revealed that it was about her seeking reproductive health, though it wouldn’t have shocked me if they said she was queer. 

Buchanan based it on stories “of people who thought they belonged in a community but then because of their life circumstances were forced to leave that community to find somewhere where they’d be respected or their rights would be respected,” he said.“I was inspired by the courage that it takes to make a break with your comfort zone and striking out on your own to find a place where you can truly shine and be yourself. We’re both lucky because we both have great families who are very supportive. But we’re also both proponents of the idea that your family can be the family that you choose. When you find the people who really are your tribe, they can be the ones who support you even when the other people in your life don’t anymore.”

There’s a great faith in the lyrics of “Shine” that our main character will find her way, if only by starlight. There’s nothing close to that kind of relief in the title track, which somehow ends the album on a more dour note than if it had concluded with a song called “Unquiet Grave.”

“It’s the realest [on the album], for sure,” Buchanan said of the track.“We were inspired because we had to go out and buy an air purifier because we couldn’t breathe in our own house. So very literally, by wildfires in Canada.”

The plume of smoke was memorable for many in New York, though House of Hamill saw it as a warning of a dark future to come. In their view, environmental degradation is coming and our best move would be to enjoy the beauty while it lasts. 

“It’s not a super hopeful song, unless you consider the image of a phoenix rising from the ashes to be a symbol of hope,” he added. “We did think the idea of a wildfire captured the imagery in a lot of the songs: the cycle of death leading to a new rebirth. So hopefully that comes through a little bit and it’s not just depressing.”  

For their part, House of Hamill is enjoying nature often. They speak highly of time spent in national parks, around mountains, and even decompressed on election night by sleeping in a cabin with a glass wall facing a wolf enclosure. 

“There’s no television in the cabin,” Buchanan said. There’s spotty internet and cellphone reception. So you’re sort of forced to just sit there by a window looking at nothing and waiting. Every few hours an incredible creature will come wandering by, and that’s just how it is.”

Wildfire may be a dark song and album, but House of Hamill is taking their own words to heart and soaking in every source unique, glimmering light they can find.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Buchanan and Baldino and the songs we discussed, starting with Banks of the Brandywine, which began without a specific river in mind. 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.houseofhamill.com/home for more.

Doug and Telisha Williams of Wild Ponies have a family now. With traditional procreation not an option for them, they turned to adoption and fetal embryo transfer to get their children River and Iris. Dreamers, as an album, documents this process along with the joys, pains, and anxieties of being responsible for tiny lives. 

“We looked at it like a quest like Legends of Zelda,” Doug said. “It didn’t matter what you had to do to get the parts, but you had to collect the pieces to make a family.”

As much as parenthood has changed their day to day and touring mindset, it’s also changed them.

“I’m up a lot earlier than I used to be, but it’s really fun to watch them learn and pick things up and think things out and interact with each other,” Doug said. 

”It’s also beautiful to see your partner — we’ve been together since we were in high school — and it’s been such a beautiful experience to see Doug as a dad,” Telisha added. “He’s a great dad. He’s so patient and so quick to do the most fun things. I’ve known Doug most of my life, but now I’m seeing this whole new human.” 

The anxieties and pains of parenthood are ever present on this album. Few songs will ever hit quite as hard as “Love You Right Now,” a description of caring for a foster child right before they’re due to be moved. Small sweet memories like making breakfast have to be stretched a lifetime. And yet, you can’t think about preserving them in the moment.

“I think the trick to doing that is not having an attachment to that particular outcome,” Doug said. You’re focused on the future instead of not letting it slip away.”

The foster process resulted in the couple and their partner Laura getting to keep their son River. But it also produced some heartbreak, like when the government came to place a child a week earlier than expected. Suddenly, the family had a few hours to say goodbye. 

“What a zen experience it is to foster, because you just don’t have a lot of information about the history  on these kids and you also have no idea what their future holds,” Telisha said, admitting that she regularly cries when performing “Love You Right Now.” “You have no idea how long they’re going to be with you. I had to be all in in every moment that we did have them in our care.”

The family is still in touch with that child and speak glowingly about where he ended up. 

“It’s a complicated grief, because I’m so thrilled that it’s working out for this kid,” Doug said. “But you can’t help but to grieve a little bit for someone who’s not going to be in your life in the same way anymore.”

Other anxieties and sorrows are present throughout. “Bury The Young” was written in response to school shootings, and gun policy is just one reason the Williams thruple are considering leaving Tennessee despite loving Nashville.

“We live in a state where when we had a big school shooting in our city, our governor and state legislature super majority decided that the best response was not to get guns out of schools, but instead to pass laws to allow the teachers to open carry in the classrooms and require firearms training for the students,” Doug said. “It’s just weird to look at the rest of the world and see what works and to see folks in America moving in what’s so clearly the wrong direction.”

The fetal embryo transfers had their own issues. Though Iris is alive and well, their first attempt didn’t take. 

It’s a bittersweet context to the song “Heartbeat,” where Telisha is thrilled to hear new life developing within and holding as tight as she can to it.  

In Tennessee, where abortion, drag queens and certain books are regularly listed as among the top threats to kids, this queer family is giving their all to making foster children feel loved and finding any way possible to bring life into the world, even if it meant the baby shared neither of their DNA. Iris has genetic siblings, just with different parents giving birth to each one. 

“It came with a community,” Telisha said. “It came with a whole other set of people who get to be a part of our family.”

The joys, the unconditional love, the hanging onto memories and tradition, those feelings make up just as much of the album as do the difficulties. It’s an honest album that captures every high, low, and nuance in between. It tells a truly unique story authentically and should be heard by all perspective parents, even those seeking a more traditional experience. In the end, it’s a later track that sums up the Williams’ determination that somehow overcame all the harsh realities stacked against them.

“Wind, love, and water go damn well where they please,” Telisha sings. By embodying that love, Wild Ponies completed their quest and elevated themselves to the status of force of nature.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Wild Ponies and the songs we discussed, starting with Love You Right Now, which details a hasty goodbye to a foster child and regularly produces tears for the band at live performances. 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.wildponies.net for more. Photo by Laura Schneider.

It feels like Kim Richey has been writing and performing folk music forever, but she’s still improving her craft. The 2018 song “Chase Wild Horses” was an impressive feat. The sadness of surrender and the security in having found wisdom played against each other beautifully and Richey seemed to shine in building urgency without losing any of the melancholy that’s always been among her most appealing traits. 

Every New Beginning is a continuation of the catchiness, tempo, and mixed emotions. It’s Richey’s most melodically pleasing album to date and consistently addresses topics with intelligence and specificity. Even on the songs that don’t quite dive as deep, such as “Joy Rider,” stick to their mood and work as entertainment.

The most interesting tracks on the album both have to do with strained communication. “The World Is Flat” is slower, darker, and more discordant than the rest of the album and I mean that in a good way. It’s a painful track about a relationship truly having run its course. High, icy piano notes and lines like “the best we can do is try to be civil” nail down the mood before a strumming guitar build the song into a slightly easier listen. It’s one of Richey’s older songs, and one she resisted recording for a while. 

“I never recorded it because it just seemed too sad to me. I know I write a lot of sad songs because they’re comforting to me, but there’s always some hope or defiance” Richey said. “But that song, the singer just seems to have given up.”

While it fits our current political mood about as well as “Floating on the Surface,” Richey is hesitant to say we’ve come to the edge of the map as a society. That would absolutely be too dark for her. 

“Floating on the Surface,” is her read on the larger picture. The song takes its name from the surface level conversation that seems so necessary at times.

“With our political environment right now, there are certain people who are friends or family and politics might not be the best choice of topic,” Richey said. As for attempts at healing, she said “it’s getting harder, but I think there are a lot of people making an effort.”

The metaphor extends deeper as she describes our relatively peaceful way of life as calm skies while all the while “we drift on the current and we never look back.” Richey herself is hesitant to dive to the bottom of the sea and try to have a conversation across the aisle, though she does enjoy podcasts that approach those tough conversations in a respectful manner. 

“Truthfully I try to steer clear, mostly,” she admitted. “It’s the most fun talking to people who believe the same thing you do.”

“Goodbye Ohio,” with its impeccable bridge, also describes a drifting apart with a chill settling in and a curtain-like night, though it at least implies that good things can come from moving on by virtue of all the time that’s passed. 

The closest thing Richey presents to an antidote for all of this is warmth and understanding. It’s not a solution but still damn good medicine. “A Way Around,” is a song that functions as a hug that sounds unusually saccharine for Richey with its gentle harmonies. Instead of fighting the blues, it recommends listening to a sad song. 

“I think I wrote that chorus a little bit to myself,” Richey said. “I like how the song says I know how you feel. It’s just nice to have somebody say ‘I get it’ instead of giving advice and trying to tell you how to fix something. A lot of when you’re not in the best possible place you don’t want somebody fixing you. You just want to feel heard.”

Perhaps that’s why “Feel This Way” works as well as it does for a late album song. It’s pure understanding and acknowledgement than healing takes time. Our tense society can’t last like this forever. It’s unsustainable. But it’s still hard to see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.  

“It hurts like it’s always gonna feel this way/it don’t help knowing that it won’t someday,” Richey sings. 

While “Every New Beginning” certainly describes some strained communication, it’s clear that Richey can sing exactly what someone who’s hurting needs to hear.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Kim Richey (who somehow actually came on my show) and the songs we discussed, starting with Floating On The Surface, which captures our tense mood around politics. 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://kimrichey.com/news/ for more.

Laurel Lewis’ self-titled debut has a certain heaviness about it. Her deep vocals mean most of the instruments around her have to come down an octave as well. Producer Rodney Crowell wisely allows Lewis’ vocals to convey more emotion than the relatively sparse backing band on her slow-paced tracks. Combine that with topics such as harassment, loneliness, addiction, and domestic violence, and the mood is dour.

Heavy isn’t a bad thing. Roots music has long served as a form of therapy. And while these laments aren’t exactly high and lonesome, they don’t miss their mark. Lewis’ lyrics progress as stories and few words are wasted for the sake of a rhyme. It’s not dancing music, but the quality of this record is unmatched on a cloudy night.

Lewis herself is significantly cheerier but just as thoughtful as her lyrics suggest. She joined Country Pocket to discuss the debut, including a song called “Imaginary Lover” she wrote as a teenager. It talks about the benefits, and hollowness, of going on dates with strangers that are more about a good time than any sustainable form of happiness.

“I felt left out compared to other people in terms of not having a partner,” Lewis said, defining an imaginary lower as “someone that you cling to for the night to satisfy your craving of wanting to be desired.”

That mix of hedonism and satisfaction is well established in lyrics that flash from self-destructive in the verse and putting a positive spin on things in the refrain.

“Consistently going out and finding people to essentially numb the pain is going to get tiring and overwhelming,” Lewis said. “Not having a constant in your life, I’ve found, is quite difficult.”

For the first track of her album, Lewis addresses catcalling. As a woman who frequently travels and visits bars to support her music career, she unfortunately has her fair share of experience with the subject. 

“Women are constantly judged for their bodies. For some reason, there are some people who feel it’s okay to make negative comments and weird remarks and faces about women when they don’t even know that person,” Lewis said. “I’ve been judged for my looks, good or bad. It’s difficult.”

The secondary concept of the song, that patience can erode over time regardless of how many different men are doing the catcalling, can apply to many a situation. And though the contrast between a woman having to work to control internal emotions like forgiveness and men not even attempting to regulate external behaviors is telling, Lewis seems to have come to the concept of her song genuinely.

“I want to forgive those kinds of people because I want to be the bigger person,” she said. “It’s hard to hold grudges against several people for your entire life. Even if it’s not the same man doing it every time, when that situation keeps arising, it just becomes extremely difficult to brush it off. It weighs you down so much.”

In addition to sharing how the situations have made her feel, Lewis criticizes these types of men for lack of self control and uses empathy to try to reach them. Still, she said she’s not interested in being the one to have that conversation with them. Men who catcall are not the most approachable or predictable bunch.

Lewis called writing about addiction leading to death as a tough decision, but it produced her most remarkable track.

“I’ve seen how it can destroy things so quickly,” Lewis said. “I felt compelled to use the information that I’ve gathered throughout the years. It affected me so greatly that I needed an outlet to express the suffering that I endured throughout years of my life”

The lyrics include flashes of the alcoholic’s personality and roller coaster relationship with his substance of choice, but perhaps more interestingly it looks into the mind of the bartender relaying the story. When she discusses the moral injury that comes with serving alcohol to desperate people night after night and watching their deterioration play out, it’s clear to me as someone with an addict in their life that Lewis suffered through much the same thing.

Also compelling is “Family Woman,” where Lewis both rejects the notion that she’d ever want to settle down with kids, but leaves the door open to it if “there’s freedom in the breeze.” She instead opts to chase “the bigger things in life” and in our conversation, said for some people who pursue certain lifestyles, having kids would “diminish their light a little bit.” 

“I have a few child free people in my life who I really look up to and I’ve asked them before do you ever want to maybe consider a family route, they’re like ‘nope, I’m good, I’m happy being me and having my own time. Anyone who wants to do that, absolutely excellent, go for it, but personally it’s not for me,’” Lewis said.

As you might imagine, she’s not a huge fan of the term “childless cat lady,” but doesn’t hold anything against people who want to have kids or even rule out the future for herself.

“Whatever my decision might end up being, it’s okay. The beauty of it is it should be a choice.”

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Laurel Lewis and the songs we discussed, starting with Room Without A View, which hews closely to trauma Lewis experienced in the past. 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.laurellewis.com for more.

“It was like everything I was raised to believe in and thought was true was picked up in a tornado and thrown out into a foreign land,” Stephanie Sammons said of discovering she was queer in a faith-based community. “It was a very cataclysmic event for me.”

On Time and Evolution, Sammons documents a difficult growth process that took her from evangelical in her faith, to queer and questioning, and finally back to a more healthier relationship with the Almighty. While the album is meditative, personal, and largely positive, Sammons does feel some anger toward those who took a message of love and charity and turned it into something uglier.

“The Evangelical Christians have hijacked everything,” Sammons said. “Even Christianity itself. The church, the Bible, the country. And if you don’t share their exact world view or share exactly how they think, then you’re evil and you’re going to hell. To me, that’s a message of discrimination, it’s preaching hate, and it ultimately leads to death. Physical death or the death of someone’s soul.” 

Nowhere does Sammons better illustrate the dichotomy of those views than on “Billboard Sign.” In addition to detailing having to leave her family, Sammons reminds us all that the Bible has more to offer than evangelicals might seem to think. It simply has the words “Jesus Saves” written on it. It’s a brilliant reminder that the Bible is more about forgiveness for imperfections than the punishment of them. If Jesus is as described in the good book, would he not save both Sammons and her family? The disgraced preacher may well be entitled to forgiveness as well, depending on where he goes from here. The theme of the Bible, as a work of literature, is hardly the minor commands that take up a couple of sentences. 

It’s a tricky song to write while still attempting to maintain a relationship with the subjects. 

“I do listen to the other side, globally and within my immediate family. I don’t want conflict. Maybe this is why I put it into song. It’s my way of expressing my feelings about these things versus just having an outright heated conversation. And believe me, there are members of my family who are really gunning for that.” 

“Year of the Dog” captures an interesting mix of appreciation and resentment for the people in Sammons’ life who both helped her grow, gave her a roadmap to salvation, and eventually showed her that love isn’t unconditional. It’s a useful song for queer listeners who have complicated feelings toward their family or first love. It gives you an idea of why Sammons stays in touch with her family but refuses to engage them in certain ways. She’s able to tolerate a little abuse without having her core beliefs shaken. Her relatives, too, have to take on a little discomfort to make the relationship work.

“We are all worthy of being here, Sammons said. “We are all worthy of the beliefs we have.” 

“Innocence Lost” is perhaps the most affecting song on the album. It starts with the stunning image of a young Sammons shooting a bird out of a tree and suddenly having to grapple with a whole new set of emotions.

“She’s looking up at me blinking her eyes and then she dies,” Sammons recalled. “I witnessed the death of this beautiful creature and I didn’t realize the magnitude of what I had done until I saw it happen. Now I don’t care about roaches or things like that, but I realized I’m an empath, almost to a fault, and I think a lot of songwriters are.” 

Sammons brilliantly describes the shame of losing her first queer relationship — the one she sold her soul for, according to her religious upbringing — before coming to terms with all of it.

“Blind faith that’s shaken by the truth/ is like seeing the stars instead of the moon,” Sammons sings. And as Sammons opens her mind, it’s clear she’s finding love and peace from realizing there are other truths out there in the universe, including hers.

Our discussion came around to recent attacks on the LGBTQ community Sammons and I are a part of from the right-wing faith communities she left. Sammons revealed that when her wife tunes into the nightly news, she leaves the room to avoid exposure to political stunts designed to inflict pain. She’s aware it’s bad, but hasn’t given up yet.

“We at least currently have the freedom to decide and be who we are,” Sammons said. “It’s not 100% safe for many people, by a long shot. But I don’t think we can give up. I think it’s destructive to individually be consumed by everything going on around us that we have no control over. It can be soul crushing.” 

When Sammons asks “How will we ever mend?” on her album, it’s a question she offers no answers to. The question of her faith, however, resolved. 

“Holding on to Jesus” is unlike the rest of the album in that Sammons doesn’t feature as the main character. It’s a heartwarming tale of an older married couple who get by on their faith and love in each other. Considering the album started with a song expressing doubts about both, it’s a strong message to send. Despite all the difficulties her rift with her family caused, Sammons is keeping the faith.

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Stephanie Sammons and the songs we discussed, starting with Billboard Sign, which reflects on what should be the non-controversial statement “Jesus Loves.” 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://stephaniesammons.com for more.

Creekbed Carter Hogan pulls off many transformations on his self-titled album. One minute he’s imagining that he’s a gun or an apiary and the next he’s a scorpion or tumbleweed. While it’s not unusual for a songwriter to step outside themselves and take on another perspective to tell someone else’s story, Hogan seems to be diving deeper into his own and his relationship with the world around him. 

“If I Was” is a hypnotic heartbreaker that quite reasonably imagines he’d be given more care and value as items like a gun, a coin, or a doll. It’s a completely reasonable assumption on both a personal and societal level. Laws and rulings in recent years have shown immense preference for the rights of guns, gender norms, and big money, especially when compared with a trans Texan. But there’s also a smaller scale truth to be gained here. We all know the hobbyist who devotes a little too much time to loving something that can never truly love them back. Say, an impressive folk music collection. It can’t feel good to be the human being also vying for their attention. Hogan wrote the tune with his father in mind.

“It’s a very capitalist relationship,” he said. “As long as I’m a product that can do what he wants me to do and be what he wants me to be, we have a relationship. But when I’m not doing those things, there is no value for me. It’s a very cold way to describe it and it’s a very cold feeling.”

“Lord, Make Me A Scorpion” relies on a similar device. Hogan asks for divine intervention to get over someone. He sees strength and the ability to move on in the desert environment around him. It’s a ruggedness that few introspective folkies possess, but the observations are gorgeous. A thunderstorm as a good cry. A rattlesnake as a fresh start. It absolutely works as the most traditional song on the album. Hogan thanked teachers in their life for helping them see value in everything.

“They taught me to see beauty and communication and language and interest and value in everything.” Hogan said. “I think a lot of that is indigenous knowledge. As a white person who grew up in Oregon, there were animals that were good and animals that were bad. You were afraid of the bad animals and protected the good animals. When I think about scorpions and rattlesnakes, they’re extremely beautiful objectively. They’re so interesting, they’re so resilient. I think being curious about the world is how you find value in everything.” 

“Sycamore” feels like the most personal track on the album. The trans songwriter discusses the struggles of trying to conform to gender roles for the sake of others with a delicate touch vocally. It’s a powerful contrast between the first “prayed for the day to be over” to the last “form of eternity.” The former is perhaps sweeter and more feminine than Hogan usually presents and the latter is a beautifully placed sour note, perfectly imperfect. Queer folk fans are going to feel that growth and share in the joy.

“I actually think most of us are outside in some small way.” Hogan said. “I think people are more related to each other in terms out outsiderness than they realize. That fear that someone will discover that outsider quality and lock you out for good is what keeps people separate. I think writing and performing Sycamore is a way for me to present my very small thing at the feet of everyone else and to try as hard as I can to invite them to find their small thing and bring it to the table. 

Creekbed Carter is certainly a more interesting album because there’s another role Hogan plays quite comfortably: the quirky humorist. “Through With Lovin’” is almost more comedy act than musical performance with its silly lyrics, tempo changes, and ability to skewer both form and self. “The Relic Song” is a similarly-styled history lesson that takes aim at the medieval church. Hogan grants the corrupt practices a measured amount of legitimacy while throwing in a Pokemon reference. There’s definitely some provocative intent behind this one, but it’s lighthearted enough to only offend those looking to be offended. The two tracks are certainly outliers in terms of the tone and depth of the album but are almost perfect for closing out a radio hour with a laugh. 

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Creekbed Carter and the songs we discussed, starting with If I Was, which has some profound and upsetting things to say about value. 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://www.creekbedcarter.com for more.

Ismay is ready to face the real world. The non-binary ranch hand turned folk singer may have spent a lot of time with animals and streaming television during the pandemic, but they’re now fully focused on a music career and learning how to cope with well, everything. 

Desert Pavement makes a strong argument for trading in vices and isolation for genuine experiences. It comes with an appropriate overhaul of Ismay’s sound. What on previous releases used to be almost monasterial finger picking has become more accessible strumming. If Ismay means to encourage more interaction with others, that’s a strong first step. 

It’s also an album deeply rooted in nature and ranch life, which makes sense for someone who spent a decade working more closely with animals than fellow people. One of Ismay’s great strength is capturing an animal’s point of view, be it the nervous shrew, curious raccoons, or shy coyote. That level of understanding makes them full characters in a song and turns something oriented in observation into relatable actions

“When you work on a piece of land you have to understand what you’re surrounded by from its own perspective in order to know what you’re doing,” Ismay said during a WUSB interview.   

Ismay takes a similar route to understanding people. Interestingly it was reading about dopamine that sent them in the direction Desert Pavement ultimately took. Ismay came to realize just how unnatural smartphones and instant gratification has made modern life and how much we rely on vices to numb discomfort. 

They explained that while everyone is entitled to some enjoyment, something becomes a vice when it’s used to fuel disengagement. Ismay used their own love of television comedies as the basis for “Streaming Family,” which showed someone relying on the company of a work of fiction instead of actual people. 

“We’re isolating ourselves and numbing our feelings it’s because it’s overwhelming to accept and address the complexity of the real world,” Ismay said. “I think that we nowadays don’t spend as much time with other people or being bored. We don’t spend enough time allowing our emotional waves going up and down. I have to be more willing to deal with the emotional roller coaster of being a person.” 

It speaks to how developed Ismay’s ideas were that they also included somewhat of a counter argument on the album. Some characters, especially the shrew becoming exposed to predatory birds and the family encountering a “Stranger in the Barn” are going to face genuine danger in the process of opening themselves up to the real world. Sure most of it will come in the form of stress and disappointment and we as people don’t have to worry about birds swooping down the eat us, but the discomfort can be real. It’s something Ismay certainly understands as an artist who’s performed before audiences and a panel of reality show judges. 

“I’m not really the most intrinsically confident person,” Ismay said. “Getting to see myself on those platforms talking about my lack of confidence was an opportunity for me to realize that I had to move past these insecurities and grow into the person that I really wanted to be.”

“Stranger in the Barn” winds up being about a drifter who just needed some shelter and was friendly to his unwitting hosts. The song is a parable meant to show that the unknown isn’t always scary, but even people without social anxiety know that situation can end up badly.  

“I would hope that my best self would go out and deescalate the situation, but I’d probably freak out,” Ismay admitted.  

Luckily there is, for most of us a place between befriending intruders and relying on the canned laughter of a sitcom for company. A place that can grant us the enjoyment a vice brings without relying on it to the point we can’t ride the wave. And while Desert Pavement points quite clearly to those lessons, I’d urge listeners to take note of the way understanding the perspectives of ranch animals makes for rich, positive interactions. That might have some applications for people too. 

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Ismay and the songs we discussed, starting with The Dove, the Shrew, & the Raccoon, which does a pretty good job of capturing animal personalities. 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://www.ismaymusic.com for more.