Margo Price has the kind of voice and taste that gets you crowned as country music’s next big thing, so it’s a bit of a surprise to see her third album, That’s How Rumors Get Started, is a rock album (with Sturgill Simpson, of all people, as producer). And this is the snarliest song, and one of her best yet.
Here’s what Margo told The Ringer about the song when asked who it was for.
I’m singing it to my husband and my children. There’s just a whirlwind of chaos going on right now, and it feels apocalyptic at times, even before we entered the Upside-Down or whatever this bad episode of Black Mirror is. But it’s like us holding on to each other in a dystopian world that we’re living in. It’s absolutely crazy just to think about what’s changed since I wrote that song, yet everything was all still there with the corruption and the greed and the hate. All of that was still there, but now it just feels like everybody had a chance to pause and digest what was going on.
John Prine’s passing due to COVID-19 is one of the many tragedies of the past year, but Prine had the last laugh with this song, which as an artist was about as charming an F-you to the pandemic as one could imagine. And yet, at the same time, he talks to love and family and all the things that live on with us and beyond us. Here, he talks about what he’ll do in heaven.
And then I’m gonna go find my mom and dad And good old brother Doug Well I bet him and cousin Jackie are still cuttin’ up a rug
I wanna see all my mama’s sisters ’Cause that’s where all the love starts I miss ’em all like crazy Bless their little hearts
Prine has his limits. A lot of his songs sound a lot like his other songs and his voice is his voice, especially after throat cancer stole some range. (My wife has never been able to warm to him.) He wrings about all you can out of three chords. But my god, the guy could write a song and tell a story in a couple minutes (Lake Marie, anyone? Hello in There? ). And I’m glad that Brandi Carlile will honor him at Sunday’s Grammys. His last song, I Remember Everything, is about being the one still here and thinking that in real life, it went the other way, really makes you think. Rest in peace, John. Enjoy the cocktail and that cigarette.
Back in October, 2019, which seems like a decade ago, Virginia and I went with our friends Majid and Mary to Nashville, then headed south to Florence, Ala., for Shoalsfest, a concert pulled together by Jason Isbell.
Even though it was October, it was 95 degrees and we watched Mavis Staples basically melt in the late afternoon sun. After 45 minutes, she sang herself off stage. As night came, Sheryl Crow took the stage — and she proceeded to remind us that Sheryl Crow is a huge f’ing deal. She blew through a killer set, with somewhere between 6and 10 songs that damn near everyone in the Western Hemisphere can identify immediately.
It’s a long way from 1993, when Virginia and I went to the Stone Pony in Asbury Park, N.J., to see John Hiatt, who was supporting Slow Turning, and the opening act was this funky act from California we’d never heard of, until six months later, when we started to recognize these songs on the radio from that night on the Jersey Shore. We’d seen Sheryl Crow before she was Sheryl Crow. She didn’t just blow up after that. For close to a decade, she was HUGE.
Which makes some of her recent decisions so interesting: after some fallow time, to go to Nashville, to do something more rootsy. She did an album, Threads, with lots of folks I like. This song, with Chris Stapleton, is one of my favorites from the album. And after a full year of COVID-19, I am literally ready for someone to tell me that it’s over. That, being this. Enjoy!
A lot of folks became aware of The Avett Brothers with their almost-perfect album, I and Love and You in … oh my god, 2009. So many great songs. But here’s the thing. Since then, they have created a bunch of spunky and heartbreaking songs, in equal measure. This is one of the latter, with a performance on New Year’s Eve, from a concert that Virginia and I really enjoyed. If you are looking for another tender, beautiful one, try No Hard Feelings.
I liked this song, but had never heard of Dead Man Winter and never bothered to learn more. When I decided to include it here, I did some checking in. DMW is actually Trampled by Turtles frontman Dave Simonett, who apparently retreated to a little town in Minnesota to recover from a marriage that didn’t last.
“ ‘Red Wing Blue Wing’ is a small, incomplete snapshot of a year spent living in a small town in southern Minnesota,” he says. “It’s kind of a look at the romanticism of small town life versus the reality of inserting oneself into a fairly settled-in community that isn’t really used to outsiders, so to speak. It has a happy ending, though. By the end of my time there, I genuinely felt like a citizen and had grown to enjoy the place.”
That’s it. I can loll around in the closing organ swell indefinitely. Sometimes I will replay it a time or two in the car for no particular reason than to hear it end again. Go ahead, try it.
It shouldn’t have taken TikTok user Dogg Face to remind everyone that Fleetwood Mac created some of the purest pop-rock ever, and this song is one of their most propulsive. That it got a twangy second life in 2019 from The Highwomen, who have their fingerprints all over this list so far, is a welcome thing, and it’s the 8th song in my playlist Songs to Get Through a Pandemic.
While I like the version recorded for the soundtrack to the movie The Kitchen (no idea if it was good or not), the best take I’ve heard came when the group paid a visit to Howard Stern’s radio show, back when people did such things in person and not via Zoom.
(Photo: Jason Isbell, Feb. 26, 2016, at Beacon Theater, New York City)
We’re a week in to Songs to Get You Through a Pandemic and I’m going to pull in this rocker from my favorite musical act of the past seven years, Jason Isbell. This song is a go-to, not just for the past year, but since it came out in 2017. And all you really need to know is encapsulated here:
Last year was a son of a bitch For nearly everyone we know But I ain’t fighting with you down in the ditch I’ll meet you up here on the road
So what is the high road?
The short version is this: I am bone tired of political posturing and culture wars. I am exhausted with people looking for a fight. I wish to extend grace and have it extended not just to me, but to everyone. What would that look like? I don’t know, but it starts with people wanting to.
And after this murderous pandemic, all I want is solutions. The previous Administration fundamentally did not believe that government should solve problems. It endlessly politicked; it rarely governed. In a crisis, that cost tens and maybe hundreds of thousands of lives. Its economic and immigration priorities can be debated; its basic unseriousness about governing is simply fact.
Yesterday, the new Folks in Charge reported that a record 2.9 million covid vaccine doses were put in peoples’ arms, 20% more than the previous best day. It continued the hard legislative work of getting help to the most vulnerable people in our country. That’s all I want—vaccines in arms, money in vulnerable people’s pockets. If that process ends up spreading the dollars more generously than is needed, I could care less. Money is often thrown around in ways that avoids those who actually need it. For me, this is the high road—solutions that benefit people who need help, which, in the middle of a pandemic that has stretched on for nearly a year, is a whole hell of a lot of us. I am endlessly thankfully that I am not one of those people now, but I’m not that far from having been unemployed. If we can provide some stability in a hard time, let’s do it. Overdo it, even, for a while.
If you want to contribute to figuring out the solution, I’d love to meet you up here on the high road. If you want to thwart aid for fellow humans, argue for arguments’ sake or engage in a political calculus that frustrating substantive action is to your benefit, I don’t have the time for that.
That’s not to say that there can’t be legitimate disagreement over how to help or that government intervention is always best. We can try to optimize the allocation and find the best approaches. But help is needed, and has been too long delayed.
I want to thank Joe Biden for doing what the moment demands—work to end this pandemic and ignore those unserious actors who live in the funhouse of fake discourse. I remain convinced there are more of us—the solutions-minded—than those who want to prove that the Commons can accomplish nothing. But it’s closer than I would have thought, and there are people who are anxious and uncertain where to turn. The high road is calling.
The lyrics:
I used to think that this was my town What a stupid thing to think I hear you’re fighting off a breakdown I myself am on the brink I used to want to be a real man I don’t know what that even means Now I just want you in my arms again And we can search each other’s dreams
I know you’re tired And you ain’t sleeping well Uninspired And likely mad as hell But wherever you are I hope the high road leads you home again
I’ve heard enough of the white man’s blues I’ve sang enough about myself So if you’re looking for some bad news You can find it somewhere else Last year was a son of a bitch For nearly everyone we know But I ain’t fighting with you down in the ditch I’ll meet you up here on the road
I know you’re tired And you ain’t sleeping well Uninspired And likely mad as hell But wherever you are I hope the high road leads you home again To a world you want to live in
We’ll ride the ship down Dumping buckets overboard There can’t be more of them than us There can’t be more
I know you’re tired And you ain’t sleeping well Uninspired And likely mad as hell But wherever you are I hope the high road leads you home again To a world you want to live in To a world you want to live in
Michael Kiwanuka is a 33-year-old singer from England, and this song is a simple affirmation in a time when isolation can make feeling like you’re failing or faking it hard to shake.
It was a little, yeah. I was thinking about being an artist and, specifically, how I used to get really self-conscious at festivals. I would see my favorite artists, or people who I thought were really cool and had these things that I aspired to have, and I’d be like “Man, I don’t know how to do that”; or “My songs are like this, but if only they were like that.” I just got really tired of that negative, beat-yourself-up mentality. I started to think, “Screw this, man: There’s nothing wrong with me. Of course I can work on myself and grow, but enough of this self-deprecating attitude. Let me just enjoy this amazing experience of being an artist, and believe in myself, and keep going.”
Amanda Shires is a Texas-born singer/songwriter/fiddle player extraordinaire and powerhouse collaborator. Her husband is Americana powerhouse Jason Isbell, who credits her with saving his life (see his song Cover Me Up), and one of her musical lives is as a member of Isbell’s band, the 400 Unit.
But that is selling her very, very short. She has a rich career on her own, with a series of well-received albums. Even more, she was the organizing force behind the alt-country, all-female supergroup The Highwomen (including Maren Morris, Brandi Carlile and Natalie Hemby), mentioned in my Day 2 post. And she has put her values (and herself) out front on several projects, including this song, which gives voice to a woman considering an abortion and the compassion she finds in her friends. It’s apparently drawn from her own experience and cuts to the humanity and heartbreak in the situation. It doesn’t lift me up, but it does ground me, as I am aware that all these everyday struggles that appeared to have been disrupted by the pandemic—oh shit, surprise!—were merely harder to see. Back and as bad as ever.
True to her A-plus networking chops, she’s joined on the song by Cyndi Lauper, Angie Stone, Linda Perry, Nona Hendryx and Peaches, as well as indie hip-hop artist K. Flay and Tennessee-based artists Lilly Hiatt, Morgane Stapleton and Valerie June. Isbell plays guitar on this version of the song, with Sheryl Crow helping out on bass.
If you want to check out Shires on her own, give a listen to When You Need a Train It Never Comes, Eve’s Daughter, Ghost Bird, and My Love (The Storm).
Remember Katie White, she jumped the fence that night She ran away in tears, your sister drank her beer We were just eighteen, the older girls could be so mean I was talking just to talk, you were still in shock
And all I could think to say Is everything’s gonna be okay It’s gonna be alright I’m on your side I’m on your side
Are you feeling well? Are you gonna tell? How long have you known? Did you tell him? Does he know? You knew there was something wrong Just a few weeks along You told him, and he broke it off And the money won’t cover the cost
And all I could think to say Is everything’s gonna be okay It’s gonna be alright I’m on your side I’m on your side
No one has to know The scars won’t even show At least that’s what I’ve heard No bigger than a baby bird (no bigger than a baby bird) No bigger than a baby bird (no bigger than a baby bird)
Do you think God still sees me? Coming out of this twilight sleep I’m not sure who I am Staring into my empty hands
And all I could think to say Is everything’s gonna be okay It’s gonna be alright I’m on your side I’m on your side
It’s been a weird few days. Saturday was rainy on top of the significant snowpack we’ve got. Late that afternoon I was headed to the basement to put something in the freezer when I saw a puddle on the floor on the front side of the house. I cleaned it up but it returned that evening. I wet-vacced it up a time or two overnight, but Sunday it stayed just warm enough that we had a hellacious rainstorm and the trickle became a flood. Now I was wet-vaccing on the hour and using a rotation of towels to sop up the ice-cold water so it wouldn’t run amok in the basement.
I was up pretty much all night cleaning up the water and cycling towels off the floor, through a spin-and-dry cycle upstairs. I tried to work Monday, but little got done. I called a contractor who was recommended, but he was busy and didn’t get back to me till 5 p.m. And rather than come over, we Zoomed a home visit and he offered some thoughts on how to determine what was happening.
Monday night was much the same, except Virginia took the first overnight shift (god bless her) and I got 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep, then took the 3 a.m. shift. By dawn, the flood had returned to more of a trickle and by the evening it had all but stopped.
But the contractor still hadn’t come over, I had chopped into our dry wall to see what was happening behind it, and eventually he and I determined (I hope) the source of the leak and it will be addressed next Tuesday.
Anatomy of my leak, shared with contractor. God, I’m getting old.
The funny thing was that the contractor and I developed a very Karate Kid relationship. He kept instructing me as if I was going to solve this issue. He asked if I was handy, I said no, and then he told me what to do anyway. He never said, “OK, then I’ll come over.” He just said, “Do that and get back to me about what you see.” Wax on. Wax off. That might sound like a critique, but I appreciate that he trusted me to say when I couldn’t do something.
By Tuesday afternoon, we were finally talking about costs, he ran me through what he would handle and what others could help with. He asked if that was OK. I said something like, “It’s fine. That scream you heard Sunday was my wallet realizing what this was gonna cost.” He stopped and he said, “You know, I’ve been dealing with assholes for two days straight. People yelling at me and arguing over everything. You’re the first person to make me laugh. Thanks.”
We’re all beginners, the class can be hard and, my god, if we’ve ever needed a laugh, this past year has been that time. A bow to you, Mr. Miyagi. And pray it doesn’t rain before next week.
I know not everyone is all that excited by Bruce’s late career arc, but I love it. There’s a grace he has brought to his later music; I thought Western Skies was brilliant, a new chapter in his American songbook and this song is sly, wise and fun. Not new themes, necessarily, but a mature take on the things that have always preoccupied him. My brother makes a face when I say this, and a friend calls it his “Glen Campbell album.” To which I say, I like (a little) Glen Campbell, and I like people trying new things. I got a kick out of Barry Gibbs’ neo-country re-take on his Bee Gees’ standards, Greenfields, released last year. I’d encourage Bruce to do more of that and less rehashing old songs with the E Street Band. Letter to You isn’t bad, and I’d LOVE to hear him play Ghosts and some of those songs to a jacked-up stadium. It’s just that, as a studio album, I’ve heard him do that before, better.
It’s the same sad story, love and glory goin’ ‘round and ‘round
It’s the same old cliché, a wanderer on his way, slippin’ from town to town
Some find peace here on the sweet streets, the sweet streets of home
Where kindness falls and your heart calls for a permanent place of your own
I’m a wayfarer, baby, I drift from town to town
When everyone’s asleep and the midnight bells sound
My wheels are hissin’ up the highway, spinning ‘round and ‘round
You start out slow in a sweet little bungalow, something two can call home
Then rain comes fallin’, the blues come calling, and you’re left with a heart of stone
Some folks are inspired sitting by the fire, slippers tucked under the bed
But when I go to sleep I can’t count sheep for the white lines in my head
I’m a wayfarer, baby, I roam from town to town
When everyone’s asleep and the midnight bells sound
My wheels are hissin’ up the highway, spinning ‘round and ‘round
Where are you now, where are you now?
Where are you now?
I’m a wayfarer, baby, I roam from town to town
When everyone’s asleep and the midnight bells sound
My wheels are hissin’ up the highway, spinning ‘round and ‘round
This is a road song in a world without road trips, where our collective experience is reflected in words like homebound,locked down and socially distanced. I’ve been on exactly two road trips (definition: a multiday jaunt at least 3 hours away from home by car) in the past year, one last spring to pick up my son when he hiked off the Appalachian Trail near Roanoke, Va., and the other to Maine for a September vacation. I drove fewer than 10,000 miles in 2020, the fewest since I was in college, probably. When I bought a used car in November 2019, one consideration was that it would be fun to drive on the highway. Haha. Nice thought. It has done a great job of sitting in a garage. Even worse, when out of the garage, I think I’ve regressed as a driver. I am a mess in parking lots — skittish and bad at estimating distance behind and around me. I don’t hit anyone. It’s the opposite. I don’t come near anyone if I can help it.
I do wonder if one consequence of this pandemic year is a lessening of the impact of cars in general — culturally, transportationally, environmentally. That’s great news for the planet and I do appreciate that young people are generally much cooler on cars than their parents and grandparents, and the pandemic took many people off the road. The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration report for the first half of 2020 showed a 17% decrease in miles driven. While numbers increased in the second half of the year, it looks like there was at least a 10% decrease for the year in total. One sad non-consequence: less driving equals fewer accidents, you’d hope, but accidents per driving mile increased about 18% for the year. Apparently, there was more impaired driving, more speeding and less use of seat belts, resulting in more-serious accidents.
That said, I miss traveling, I miss the road. More than flying, I want to go on a serious road trip when that becomes a thing again.
Oh yeah, the song …
Texas musicians Khruangbin & neo-soul singer Leon Bridges really got the vibe on this one. I could listen to Bridges sing all day. I first heard him about 7 years back when he had a song Better Man on his debut album. At Men’s Health, we had a book called The Better Man Project that came out about the same time, and there was some talk about seeing if we could somehow do something to bring together the two. Sadly, didn’t happen. Bridges hasn’t recorded as much as I’d like and I’m hopeful he’ll release something soon. For now, this suffices.
This is what Bridges had to say about the song:
“I feel like this song is the perfect marriage of country, soul, and R&B. And historically, artists have incorporated elements of country music — like Bobby ‘Blue’ Bland and Joe Tex — so it was important to keep the spirit of that. This song really captures the mood of cruising Texas highways and taking it all in while the sun sets.”
kevdonahue.com 